From: rolp@juno.com To: rolp@juno.com Date: Sat, 9 Dec 2000 22:11:51 -0500 Subject: seaQuest: Obligations coming soon X-Mailer: Juno 1.49 Hi folks, Because of the size of some of the files, I will be sending you all 31 parts of the story from another email account. If you want to respond or communicate with me, DO NOT reply to the other account, but instead use this "rolp@juno.com" account. Also, feel free to spread the story to other mailing lists and such as you desire, just be sure to give me credit and include my email address, I will be having it put up on the web soon (Rachel, that means you), so as soon as I get the URL, I'll send it out so people can download the story themselves. Take care and enjoy! Roberto X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com (Unverified) X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 22:37:12 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 1 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 1 "Hey, Lucas! You heard from your father since we got back from that planet?" Lucas wrinkled his nose at the question, but didn't turn his eyes from the computer screen to answer Tony Piccolo. He simply grunted and squinted his eyes in concentration. He knew that when Piccolo got started with the questions, he would not shut up. He had been holed up in his and Piccolo's cabin most of the day when his irritating bunkmate had come in and attempted to read quietly, for once, for several hours. Lucas had been working on this program algorithm for two hours with little success. The numbers and figures were swimming through his head and he certainly did not want to stop now to carry an inane conversation with Piccolo. Sharing a room with him had become the bane of his existence. "Hey, Lucas!" Piccolo persisted. "Luke!" He rose from his bunk to stand at Lucas' shoulder. Lucas still did not respond. "Hello!? Earth to Lucas!" Piccolo knocked his knuckles on Lucas' head. This drew an immediate response from Lucas. He turned and forcefully knocked Piccolo's hand away from him. He threw a look of extreme consternation at him and shouted, "Give it a rest, Tony! Can't you see I'm working here?" The sound of his own shout rather startled him. "Okay! Okay! I was just askin' a question. You been staring at that thing for four hours. I'm bored." Piccolo feebly indicated the computer terminal at which Lucas had been staring. Lucas sighed and relaxed a bit. With frustration in his voice he said, "Tony, it has not been four hours." "Yes it has." "No, it hasn't." "Sure, look what time it is." Lucas looked at his watch. Only about two hours had passed since he began. "What're you talking about? It's only been two hours!" He was bemused and frustrated. Suddenly a possible solution to the computer algorithm popped into his head. He turned and stared at the letters on the screen. "A'right! A'right! I was just askin' a question." Piccolo's voiced was laced with sarcasm. "Sorry if it was a stupid question. You've been sitting there for so long, I begin to think you'd grown a chair for a butt." Piccolo turned and flopped into the lower bunk. "Sorry, man." He turned and lay on his shoulder to face the wall. Lucas looked intently at the computer screen and prepared to attempt the solution that had come to mind. His fingers stood poised and ready over the keys, but they did not move. *Damn!*, he thought. *What was that solution?* It had slipped his mind already. He sighed and tightly closed his eyes. He *had* been thinking awful hard. He reached up and rubbed at his eye with the heal of his hand. He knew Piccolo too well. Not much programming was going to get done with Piccolo in this kind of mood and still in the same room. He would moan, grunt, nose into Lucas' personal property: all in an effort to get some attention. He gave up. "Okay, Tony what was the question." "No, you do your computer stuff," Piccolo said to the wall. "Tony!" Lucas had no patience for the game. Piccolo turned his head over his shoulder and looked sidelong at Lucas. "What?" he asked innocently. Lucas said flatly, "What was the question?" "You sure?" "Yes, Tony!" Piccolo had won the game. He eagerly turned to Lucas. "I asked if you'd heard from your dad since we'd gotten back home from that planet up there" He poked his finger toward the ceiling. Lucas blinked in surprise. He had expected something a little more asinine. "Yeah. Sure. Why?" He ran his fingers through his hair and scratched at his scalp. Piccolo sat up in the bunk and put his pillow in his lap. He fidgeted with the corner of the pillow case and stared at the floor. "What did he think of our little adventure in outer space?" Stretching his arms wide, Lucas could feel his shoulders pop from the cramp that had beset them while he sat at the computer terminal. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out before responding. "Well, he was happy to see me back. It'd been ten years and he'd thought I was dead. He looked so much older too..." Lucas still felt a bit of bitterness that his father had not bothered to actually see him, but had only used a vidphone. Then the line of questions from Piccolo clicked in his mind. He noticed that his friend was having a hard time looking him in the eye. "Why are you asking me this?" "Just wondering, that's all." But Lucas was wise to Piccolo and knew that something was wrong. "Why? Have you spoken to your family?" Piccolo looked straight at Lucas and held his gaze. He saw the concern in his eyes, but still felt uncomfortable. "Naw. Well, yeah. I talked to my aunt and cousin. She... You shoulda seen her, Lucas. She's all grown up now and really good lookin'. Hey, maybe I could set you guys up. Your a real good kid, Lucas. You'd be good for her. I bet you'd--" "I'm not interested in your cousin, Tony. Have you talked to your parents?" The direct question stopped Piccolo's blathering and he again stared at his feet. "Naw. My dad... he... Well, no. I got his number from my aunt, and I left a message on his machine, but he never called back." "Your parents haven't seen you in over ten years, and they haven't bothered to contact you?" He was flabbergasted. "Well, they probably been outta town or somethin'. You know, my parents, they do lots of travelin' and stuff. They might be out doin' somethin' and haven't got my message." Lucas was feeling great sympathy for his friend. "Tony, the news that seaQuest has returned is all over the place. How could they miss it? They could at least contact the UEO and try to find you. They haven't seen you in over ten years." "Yeah, I know. I just don't know if they... even care." "Oh, Tony!" The voice of Captain Hudson came over the intercom. "Ensign Wolenczak. Report to the bridge immediately." Lucas stood and looked at the door of the cabin. He wanted to stay and help his friend, but he knew he had to go. "Look, Tony. Maybe we can meet later and... uh... we can--" Piccolo quickly stood and seemed to easily slough off his discomfort, but Lucas knew him well enough to know that he had stuffed his feelings deep within himself. They hurt too much to bring them out like that. "Oh, no! That's alright. You gotta go and see the captain." He smiled weakly, his expression saying that felt like a great boot were squashing him at the moment and he wanted more than anything to run away. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at nothing in particular. Lucas stood there just watching him, trying to decide how to help his annoying friend. Suddenly, his expression transformed and he said with a smile, "So, you mind if I tag along?" It was obvious to Lucas what had gone through his mind. He could see his emotions by his body posture and the contortions of his face. He also knew that the wall had gone up. Guardedly he said, "Sure, no problem. But-- we're gonna finish this conversation later." "Hey, kid, don't worry about it." Lucas opened the door of the cabin and walked out with Piccolo at his heels. "It's no big deal." "Yes it is." "No it ain't" "If you say so." And the topic of conversation turned to something safe and inane as they made their way down the corridor. * * * As Lucas and Piccolo entered the long corridor leading to the bridge, Tony flailed his arms to make his point to Lucas. "Yes, it's true! Billie Jean Jackson *is* Michael and Lisa's kid. It was all over the news when she was born. She looks just like her grand daddy." "No she's not, Tony! That whole thing was proven to be a publicity stunt and a hoax six years later!" Lucas argued. "Aw, you don't buy that, do ya? C'mon! You can see it just by lookin' at her. It's their kid." "Look, Tony. First of all, Lisa came out and said that the whole marriage was a hoax designed to boost her acting career and he never--" Darwin's familiar squeal interrupted him as they entered the bridge. He looked around and everyone's attention was directed toward Darwin's pool. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a civilian squatting by the pool, stroking Darwin's head. As he approached, he realized he knew the civilian. "Captain Bridger?" Nathan Bridger turned and stood. "Lucas! How have you been?" He extended his open hand to Lucas. Lucas eagerly took the hand and a wide smile covered his face. Shaking the hand vigorously, he said, "Well, good... um... great!" Stepping up to stand beside his friend, Piccolo also greeted the man. "Hullo, Captain Bridger!" "Hi Piccolo. You people need to stop calling me 'Captain'. I'm not your captain anymore. He is." Bridger nodded toward the silent Captain Hudson standing in the background. "You can call me Nathan... or Bridger if you like." Bridger looked at Lucas, then down at their clasped hands. "And you can give my hand back." Laughing nervously, Lucas let go and jammed the errant hand into his pocket. "What're you doing here?" "I came to see my friend, Darwin" he responded. Darwin squealed in delight. Captain Hudson coughed loudly, creating a wave of nervous glances from most of the crew except Lucas, who still stared with a dumbfounded smile at Bridger. Bridger looked intently at Lucas. "Um... we need to talk." he said seriously. The smile quickly dissipated from Lucas' face. "What is it?" he asked. At this point, Hudson finally spoke. "Mister Wolenczak. Mister O'Neill. Come with us, please." He turned without a glance and began walking off the bridge. Lucas looked concerned at O'Neill who returned a befuddled look. O'Neill shrugged his shoulders. Lucas looked at Bridger who only motioned for them to follow Hudson. O'Neill quickly stood to follow and his headset clattered from his neck to fall on the floor. Both he and Commander Ford bent to pick them up and their gazes met. O'Neill questioned with his eyes and Ford only shrugged. Everyone was confused at the surprise visit and the mysterious reasons for it. As Lucas and O'Neill turned to follow Hudson, he asked, "What's going on?" "In a minute, Lucas. Just wait a minute." was Bridger's only response. Darwin could be heard squeaking in the background as they walked away. * * * The walk to the board room had been silent for Hudson and O'Neill, but Bridger animatedly asked questions of Lucas concerning his time on seaQuest. His responses were terse, as his mind raced on other subjects. *What could this be about that he would need to keep it from the crew? What's going on? Bridger looks almost haggard and... frightened.* O'Neill was the last to enter the board room and a hollow bang was heard as he closed the door behind him. As if on cue, Hudson said, "Go ahead Bridger." An expression of seriousness came over Bridger's face and he hesitated. He reached up and held his temples for a moment as if concentrating very hard. The others stood staring at the seaQuest's former captain, patiently waiting for what he had to say. Drawing the hand across his face he let out a big sigh and looked straight at Captain Hudson. "Captain Hudson! I need to *borrow* Lieutenant O'Neill, Ensign Darwin, and Ensign Wolenczak for about two weeks." Astonishment and anger showed on Hudson's face. "*Borrow* them?" "For a personal mission, that is, if they are willing to go?" Hudson sighed and turned in a slow circle, contemplating what he had heard. Looking at Bridger again, he stated, "You can have the dolphin. I've never liked him on this boat. I only let him stay here because the crew seems to like it and they want it to stay." Angrily, Bridger said, "Captain Hudson. Darwin is an intelligent, sentient being. He has his place on the seaQuest and he is a meaningful contributor to this crew. He could have left with me, but *he* chose to stay. He is a good friend of mine and most of the crew." "Nevertheless, you can have the dolphin." Bridger realized he had hit a brick wall on this issue, but he let it stay as he at least got what he needed. "What about Lucas and O'Neill?" "Why? What is this mission of yours?" "It's personal." "Mister Bridger. I cannot have members of my crew leaving at a moments notice without sufficient reason. I need my crew here. I must have a reason why you need them." Bridger looked at the face of Lucas and O'Neill. All he saw was concern and curiosity in their faces. He sighed. Turning back to the hard look on Hudson's face he said, "I've found Robert, my son." End Part 1 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 22:41:27 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 2 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 2 O'Neill was flabbergasted and spoke up for the first time. "You found your son, sir?" "Yes, Mister O'Neill. I have." was Bridger's only response. The room was quiet for a moment. As the news soaked in, a startled look came over O'Neill's face. "Why..." he stumbled. "Why do you need us, sir?" "Yes, why *do* you need them?" Hudson added. He was doubtful before, but he was willing to listen. He certainly understood the importance of family and would be willing to help Bridger, but he still wanted to know why Bridger wanted the crew of O'Neill, Wolenczak, and the dolphin to go with him. "Robert... is a prisoner of the Macronesian government. I discovered that he was living on an island in the Pacific Rim. The island was... annexed by the Macronesian army. Seems that Robert didn't agree with their philosophies, rather vocally I might add, and he's now a political prisoner." "Is he alright?" asked Lucas. "I don't know" "Do you know *where* he is being held?" asked Hudson. "I have a good idea." "Alexander Bourne and Macronesia are no friends of mine or the UEO. I might agree to allow a temporary leave for Wolenczak and Mister O'Neill, but you still haven't specifically explained why you need them." Bridger looked at O'Neill. "Mister O'Neill, how's your grasp of the languages of the Polynesian Islands?" "Well, sir. As you may know there are... a great many dialects. There's many native languages there, but most are variations of a somewhat similar language as the various tribes intermingled over the course of their evolution, and because of the French and American colonies established there last century, alot of French and English has crept into the language. Some speak French or English outright, as well as their native tongue. In fact--" Bridger interrupted, "That's enough Mister O'Neill." "That tells me where you're going," continued Hudson, "and why you need O'Neill, but why do you need Wolenczak?" Bridger noticed that Captain Hudson still failed to acknowledge that Darwin was a member of the crew, by his lack of requesting information. He wondered if seaQuest was the best place for him, if he was not able to grow under Hudson. He would remember to have a talk with Darwin about this. In answer to Hudson's question, he said, "Lucas is a computer expert. I need his assistance in getting into the prison where Robert is being held. There's alot of security out there and for reasons I don't yet understand, Robert is very valuable to the Macronesian government." "Do you really want to put him in that situation? Mister Wolenczak is still a child." "No!" Lucas forcefully stated, anger boiling up inside of him at the "child" comment. "I can handle this." Bridger looked at him. "I wouldn't have asked for him if I thought he couldn't handle it. I only need him to help me get past the security perimeters. After that, I'm returning him to seaQuest. But it's still a very tenuous situation." He turned his attention from Hudson to Lucas. "It won't be easy... or safe. Are you sure, Lucas?" "I'm with you all the way, sir." "No, no, no, Lucas. I only need you to get me into the prison. After that, you're coming back." "Understood," he said sullenly. "What about me, sir?" asked O'Neill. "I may need you all the way in, Tim. No guarantees, so it's your decision." O'Neill took a moment to mull over what he had heard. The idea of spending time with Bridger and helping him on such a personal mission appealed to him, but the idea of losing his life did not. Bridger had done many things to help and encourage him through the years. *For crying out loud!* he thought, *We almost died on another planet together!* He looked up and everyone was staring at him. He felt more than a little uncomfortable. "Of course, I'll do it, sir." He felt sick to his stomach. Bridger reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "Glad to have you, Lieutenant." Hudson looked startled. "I never said anyone was going anywhere. It's still my call." "I understand," stated Bridger. "But we don't have much time. I don't know how long they're going to keep my son there. There's a chance they may move him in the next two weeks." "Understood. I'll give you my decision by the end of the day. Dismissed gentlemen." He turned to leave. "Thank you, Oliver," Bridger said to his back as he opened the door. He began to follow, but Lucas reached out and grabbed his arm. "What I don't understand," he started, "is why you are keeping this from the rest of the crew. Why are we the only ones that know about you finding your son?" "Yeah, sir," piped in O'Neill. "You know that everyone here would follow you. They'd do anything they could to help." "That's exactly why I want as few people to know as necessary. This crew has other fights to fight. They don't need to worry about me... or us trying to break into a Macronesian prison. And I know this crew. The moment they find that we're in trouble, they'd want to come after us. We need to draw as little attention as possible. If seaQuest shows up or they find out that her crew is within their borders, Alexander Bourne will send everything he's got to stop us. I can't risk that. Not when it could mean Robert's life." Lucas relinquished his arm and he moved to exit the room. Under his breath, O'Neill said, "After all, we've fought an alien civil war together." Bridger looked back. "That's right." * * * As O'Neill returned to bridge duty and Bridger and Lucas left to talk to Darwin, Captain Hudson walked alone down the hall toward his cabin. Deep in thought, he unconsciously ignored the busy crew around him. *The dolphin:* he thought, *okay. O'Neill: it's his decision and I won't stop him. Wolenczak: now there's a problem. Irregardless of his intelligence, he's still just a kid. Going up against Bourne is not a job for him. He hasn't had near enough experience with that type of espionage and he's certainly not military trained. How can Bridger send boy to do a man's job?* *On the other hand, how can Bridger send a boy like Wolenczak to do a man's job unless he has confidence in his abilities? Because Bridger has a different style of command than me, doesn't mean he's a poor captain. I do respect Bridger. Would I trust Bridger if he were my commanding officer? I would. Then I should trust him to protect Wolenczak. He wouldn't ask for him unless he thought he could do the job and stay reasonably safe. So why do I feel so uneasy about this?* He paused to push the door to his cabin open. Upon entering he unconsciously sat at his desk and reclined. Propping his feet on the edge, he stared at the ceiling and continued his train of thought. *However I'm willing to let O'Neill go. Bridger trusts him and his abilities. I trust Bridger. Should I trust Bridger to know what Wolenczak can and can't do? I think I can. I know I can.* He dropped his feet on the desk and sat hunched forward with his elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped together. *I'll let them go...but I'm giving myself one hour to convince myself otherwise. I still don't feel good about this.* * * * "Darwin go with Bridger!" the little vo-corder spoke. "Yes. I'll be glad to have you with me again, my friend." Bridger said. Bridger and Lucas had come to the launch bay to explain the mission to Darwin. O'Neill had been relieved of duty and had come there to mull over what was ahead of them when Henderson and Dagwood came to visit with the group. Bridger sent Henderson and Dagwood to the other side of the room to talk privately with Darwin and they stood there with O'Neill watching their former captain. "He has missed you captain," stated Lucas. "I know. And I've missed him." He gently stroked Darwin's back. Looking concerned at the dolphin, he considered again what was best for him. It was obvious that Captain Hudson thought little of Darwin and he wondered if the seaQuest was still the best place for him. "Darwin, are you happy here?" Darwin squealed and the vo-corder translated his speech. "Darwin has friends at seaQuest. Darwin likes friends. Friends have fish." They laughed at this and Darwin squeaked with delight. He quickly dove into the water, circled, and resurfaced so fast that he gently splashed his two friends. Watching from a distance, Henderson and Dagwood laughed at the antics of the dolphin. Standing between the two, O'Neill smiled, but his uneasiness prevented him from laughing. "Darwin is glad to have the Captain back," stated Dagwood. "Well, of course, Dagwood," said Henderson. She reached out to touch the big dagger on the arm. "We all are." "But Captain Bridger looks unhappy." "I noticed that. What's going on, Tim?" O'Neill squirmed a bit. "He wants me, Lucas, and Darwin to go somewhere with him for a couple of weeks." "Where?" "Um... he... um... says it's personal." Henderson looked a little shocked. She gently curled her arm around his and pressed her cheek against his shoulder. "Personal? But what if... Will we be able to get in touch with you if we need you?" He stood stiff as Henderson held him, as if afraid she might bite. "The captain... uh... I mean Captain Hudson knows where we're going, but... he may not be able to... contact us." "Oh, really?" She looked up into his face. "Yeah, we're... uh..." He quickly squirmed his way out of her grasp. "we're probably... we're going somewhere where... well... it's not exactly a UEO sanctioned mission." He could not help but think of Jim Brody and felt more uncomfortable with Henderson. *She knows what it's like in a Macronesian prison. What must Bridger's son be going through. What if I end up in that prison! Oh, God!* He looked at her, but she simply looked back with a question written on her face. He turned to look at Dagwood, but he simply stared back with the usual childlike expression. Slowly Dagwood's expression changed to one of worry tinged with fear. "You don't look happy to see the captain," he said. "I *am* happy to see the captain, Dagwood. I'm just not too sure about where we're going." "Where are you going?" He sighed. "I can't say. Captain Bridger asked me not to." "I want to go with you and the captain." With exasperation, O'Neill stated, "We could probably use you where we're going." "Where *are* you going?" said Henderson knowing she wouldn't get an answer. O'Neill simply spread his arms, hands facing out, and shrugged to indicate his own exasperation. * * * "Mister Wolenczak, are you with Mister Bridger?" a voice said from Lucas' PAL. Hurriedly he answered, "Uh, yes, captain." "Mister Bridger. I have good news for you." "We're going," Bridger stated. "Yes, but I want to meet with you to get the full details of the where and the when of this mission." "Fair enough. Meet me down in the launch bay?" "I'll be right down." Bridger turned to Lucas. "Can you and O'Neill gather the supplies while I talk to Captain Hudson? I want to leave here as soon as possible." "Yeah, we'll do it." He began to list the necessary supplies for Lucas while he and O'Neill began preparations to leave. * * * In less than an hour, Bridger and Hudson had discussed the itinerary and the group was ready to leave. More crewmembers had gathered in the launch bay, including Commander Ford, Fredericks, and Tony Piccolo. Most everyone had said their goodbyes when Ford purposefully pulled Bridger aside and said in low tones, "Can't you tell me what this is all about?" "I wish I could Jonathan." Bridger stated. "Well, why can't you?" "The less people that know about this, the better." "But it sounds rather ominous. I mean, look at O'Neill." Ford indicated the man who was hugging Henderson at the moment. "He looks sick to his stomach. What if you need us?" Bridger looked his friend in the eye and contemplated a moment. Finally, he pulled Ford so that they faced away from the rest of the crowd and spoke under his breath. "I'm going after Robert. He's a Macronesian political prisoner." Ford's eyes opened wide. "Oh, my..." "That's right. The UEO wouldn't put up with me doing this, much less bringing in the seaQuest crew to help me. The less noise created by this, the better the chances of getting Robert out alive, and the less people that get hurt. I'm not making any political statement, I just want my son safely back." "I'm with you, sir." "Oh no, I don't want you involved in this. Just... keep an eye out for Lucas. As soon as he's done his job, I'm sending him back." "Okay. I will, sir." He reached out and the two men firmly shook hands. They looked at each other for a moment, respect and caring passing between their eyes. Bridger let go and turned to leave. Ford followed. O'Neill and Lucas stood in the hatchway of the transport in which Bridger had arrived. It was a bulky, yet sleek transport with a small lump on top. This lump was another small transport, not unlike seaQuest's Stinger, which Bridger intended to use to send Lucas back to the seaQuest when his part in this rescue was complete. Walking up to Hudson, Bridger said, "Thank you, Captain." "God speed, Mister Bridger." Bridger simply nodded his head in gratitude and turned to leave. Hudson took a few steps forward to say something out of earshot of everyone else. In low, mumbled speech, he said, "Take care of Wolenczak. He's too young to not come back. He's got too much life ahead of him." He slipped something out of his pocket. "I will, captain. Over the last few years, I treated him like he was my own son, and I wouldn't want to get Robert back, only to lose another son." Hudson placed a small device in his hand. He looked at it curiously. "What's this?" "It's an ultrasonic/ultraviolet homing signal. It works underwater. If you run into trouble that you can't handle, call us. I don't like Bourne and I'll use any excuse I can to be a thorn in his side." Bridger smiled. It was nice to know he had the support, but he had no intentions of involving the seaQuest in his problems. He placed the device in his pocket and simply said, "Thank you." He turned and walked up the ramp into the transport and off the seaQuest. * * * With O'Neill piloting, the launch was routine and smooth. Darwin followed a distance away from the craft. The transport interior was small and cramped, but it was made that much worse as it was loaded down with supplies and three people. Lucas squatted between the other two men who sat in the front two seats of the craft. "Captain Bridger?" "Lucas. Call me Bridger." "Bridger?" "Yes." "Do you know why Robert disappeared?" "Do you mean why haven't I spoken to him in twenty years, and why did he let me think he was dead the whole time?" "Yeah." "I don't know. I think he was running from something or someone. I certainly intend to ask him about it when I find him. If he's in trouble, I want to help." A loud clatter could be heard in the back of the transport as equipment shifted, fell, and clattered around. All three of them looked back in surprise. "I'll get it," offered Lucas. He unsteadily walked to the back, lifting scattered debris. As he heaved a lumpy bag on top of a pile others, he saw a mottled face in the corner. A look of astonishment moved across his face. "Dagwood!" "Hi, Lucas." End Part 2 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 22:42:06 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 3 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 3 "Dagwood! What're you doing here?" Lucas practically screamed. "Don't be mad." the big GELF pouted. "I'm not mad, I'm just... surprised." Bridger had made his way to the back of the transport and stood behind Lucas. "Dagwood! What are you doing here?" "Dagwood wants to go with Captain Bridger and Lucas... and Tim and Darwin," he pleaded. Bridger wrinkled his face and said, "Dagwood. This is not your place. Come out here." He pulled Lucas back so that Dagwood would have room to step out into the main compartment of the craft. He hesitated. "Is Captain Bridger mad at Dagwood?" "Yes, I *am* angry. But I'm not going to hurt you. Now, come on out." He gently stepped out of the corner and into the open while keeping a wary eye on Bridger. Gingerly he began to pick up the scattered supplies, but Lucas stopped him. "Don't worry, Dagwood. I'll get this stuff." "What *are* you doing here?" Bridger continued. "Tim said you were going somewhere and he was scared. Dagwood wants to come and help so Tim won't be scared. Dagwood wants to go with Captain Bridger." His eyes pleaded with Bridger for acceptance. Bridger sighed and, turning to the front of the transport, called out. "Tim, stop the boat. Hail the seaQuest and make sure it's a secured link." "Aye, Captain." he called back. *Will they ever stop calling me 'Captain'?* Bridger thought. Turning back to the dagger, Bridger continued. "You can't stay, Dagwood." "No! Dagwood wants to stay!" "Where we're going, it's not safe, and we won't have our friends on seaQuest to help us if we get into trouble. Most of your friends are back on seaQuest." "Captain Hudson is mean to Dagwood and Dagwood's friends." Bridger's eyes lit up. "Dagwood wants to stay with Captain Bridger. Captain Bridger is nice to Dagwood." Bridger grimaced and considered how to answer him. While Dagwood may have a limited intellect, he was certainly not stupid. He could conceive right from wrong, but could he understand the nuances of command and the many shades of grey involved? "Dagwood, Captain Hudson is... mean to you... and your friends, not because he doesn't like you, but because he *does* like you." "I should be mean to my friends if I like them?" "No, Dagwood. Captain Hudson is a very military man. He wants the best for you, therefore he... pushes you to do your best. When you, or some else on seaQuest, doesn't perform to the best of their abilities, his style is to let them know by telling them that what they have done is not acceptable. He knows his people can do better if they fail to do their best, and he will let them know if they have *not* done their best. It's just his style to... be mean when someone hasn't done their best. If you do good, he will let you know that too, with praise. I mean, look at this." Bridger touched Dagwood's chest to indicate his name on the breast of his uniform. "He gave you this uniform to show you that you've done a good job. He considers you a part of his team, Dagwood." Dagwood grinned at this. "Dagwood did a good job." "Yes, that's right. And Captain Hudson is going to push you to do the best job you can. If you do anything less than your best, he won't let you get away with it." "Dagwood always does a good job, because he doesn't like it when Captain Hudson gets mad." "Good. You keep doing a good job and he won't get mad at you." O'Neill called out to Bridger. "I have the seaQuest, sir." Bridger turned to talk to the seaQuest, but paused. Turning back to Dagwood he said, "But coming on board this vessel without authorization was a bad thing to do." Dagwood suddenly looked alarmed and frightened at that. Bridger turned away again to answer. Before Bridger began to speak, O'Neill stated, "It's Captain Hudson, sir." Bridger leaned into the microphone on the control board. "Captain Hudson." "I understand there's a problem?" came the voice of Hudson through the tiny loud speaker. "Yes there is." He paused. "We have a stowaway." Bridger's comments were met with silence for several seconds before Hudson simply said, "Oh?" "Yes, it seems that Dagwood wants to come along for the ride." Dagwood, listening over O'Neill's shoulder, desperately said, "Tim said Dagwood could help!" Exasperated, Bridger looked at Dagwood. He simply stared back hopefully. Bridger then looked at O'Neill who squirmed under the intense gaze. Remembering his conversation with Dagwood and Henderson, O'Neill said, "Well, I may have said something like that back on seaQuest. But... but I didn't... I didn't mean for him to get the wrong idea." He leaned back and looked at Dagwood for help. He looked back, pleadingly, "You said you could use Dagwood's help." "Yeah, Dagwood, but I didn't mean for you to actually come with us!" They both looked back to Bridger. Keeping his eyes on Dagwood, Bridger said "Mister O'Neill, return us to seaQuest. Captain Hudson, we'll be back in a moment." Dagwood looked despondent and walked away. "Understood." said Hudson, breaking the connection. O'Neill restarted the craft and began a course back to seaQuest. Bridger moved to the back of the craft to join Lucas and a disappointed Dagwood. "I'm sorry, Dagwood." "Dagwood wants to help." They stood for a few moments until Dagwood moved to stand directly beside the wall of the transport. "Dagwood can do this." He struck the transport wall with his fist and a loud, hollow crash reverberated throughout the interior. O'Neill pulled hard on the controls to regain control of the craft. Bridger and Lucas yelped and held their hands to their ears. "Ouch! Dagwood!" said Lucas. Dagwood smiled. "Yes, Dagwood," said Bridger, reaching out to grasp his arm. "I know what you can do." He shook his head. "You *would* be an asset on this trip." "Then why can't Dagwood go?" he pleaded hopefully. Bridger, realizing what he had said, looked up sharply. "Yes, why *can't* you go?" He stood silent for a moment, contemplating the question while Lucas watched curiously and Dagwood watched hopefully. Calling out, he said, "Mister O'Neill! Full stop, please! Contact Captain Hudson again!" To Dagwood he said, "If Captain Hudson says it's okay, you can come with us." "Okay," was his only response, worry still etched on his face. After a few moments of intense silence, O'Neill reestablished a secured communications link with seaQuest. Hudson was again put on the link. "What is it this time, Mister Bridger?" "Captain Hudson, as it turns out, we may be able to use Dagwood after all. Would you give permission for him to come with us?" They waited for the response. After several seconds of silence, Bridger began to wonder if he had been heard. "Captain Hudson?" "In a moment, Mister Bridger," was his only response. The group stood for several minutes in such absolute silence that they could almost hear the thoughts in Hudson's head. Finally, Lucas broke the silence. "Dagwood, I--" "Mister Bridger," came Hudson's voice. Bridger leaned into the microphone. "Yes?" "Dagwood has permission to go, but please explain to him the proper procedures for requesting assignments." "I will. Thank you, Captain." "Hudson out." Dagwood smiled broadly and the others couldn't help but to smile as well. * * * Captain Hudson switched off the communicator, stood facing the viewscreen, and forcefully placed his hands on his hips. He saw Ford watching him out of the corner of his eye, but ignored the stare. *Now, Dagwood's involved. I still don't feel good about this. I'm beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea...* * * * About half an hour later, O'Neill had put the transport on automatic control and the group clustered at the front of the craft, gazing at a surface map. Bridger was explaining the mission that was ahead of them by indicating a tiny dot near the Pacific Basin. "Robert was living here, Kaukura, when Macronesia annexed the French Polynesian Islands. I was there three days ago, hoping to find Robert, and that's how I found that he had been taken by the Macronesian military. While trying to find out what had happened, I met a woman who knew Robert. She didn't know him well, but he had helped her on occasion with things like fixing her roof, bringing water, stuff like that. She couldn't really tell me much about him. Just said he was quiet and kept to himself most of the time, which is unusual on a small island community like that. She doesn't speak English very well, Tim, which is one of the reasons I requested you. Her son is a soldier in the Macronesian army and she said that he knew my son and knew where he's been taken. She made up some phony story so that her son could come home and meet with me. The plan is to meet with him, find out where Robert is being held, and go after him. That's where I'll need you, Lucas. I need you to get me past the security and into the prison. Dagwood, I could use you just for brute force if necessary, but hopefully it won't come to that." "I don't want to hurt anybody." he stated. "I don't want you to hurt anybody either, but we must defend ourselves, too." Bridger continued. "Me and Tim are going to Kaukura to meet with Puka, she's the woman who knew Robert. We're going disguised as traders. The plan is that we'll be trading a few cases of fresh fruits and vegetables for some hand woven cloth that she makes. That's why I wanted so much of it loaded this morning." "Sounds simple enough." said O'Neill. "Getting on and off that island isn't going to be that easy. Macronesian patrols come and go without notice, and they have a nasty habit of search and seizure. Just remember who you're supposed to be, and you'll be okay. Lucas, you and Dagwood are going to stay put in this transport while we go up top. Darwin won't even be questioned." Everyone nodded in agreement. "Tim, time to get undercover." O'Neill stood and moved to the back of the already cramped transport to change clothes. "Lucas, you change too. If you're discovered, it won't do any good for them to know you're from seaQuest." "Yes, sir." he said and he too moved to change clothes. "What about me, Captain?" asked Dagwood. "Dagwood doesn't have anything else to wear." "Hmph!" He stared at Dagwood a moment, then said, "Since you stowed away, you're not going like my answer." "What?" Bridger reached up and began to tear the seaQuest patch from the shoulder of Dagwood's uniform. Dagwood immediately pulled away from his reach. "No! Don't! Captain Hudson gave Dagwood his uniform. Dagwood likes his uniform. Dagwood did a good job." "I know, Dagwood. But the moment anyone sees this uniform inside Macronesian borders, whoever is wearing it will probably be killed or taken prisoner." "Dagwood will go naked." Bridger laughed. "No, you can't do that either. That would probably draw more attention than the uniform." "Oh." "Captain Hudson will get you a new uniform when we get back." "Okay." Bridger began carefully removing all markings of seaQuest from Dagwood's uniform. * * * Commander Ford was sitting on his bunk, simply staring at the floor and deep in thought when he heard the knock at his door. He looked up and saw Henderson peeking through the tiny window, smiling and waving at him. He motioned her to come inside. Upon opening the heavy door, she said, "Hi! What's going on?" She closed the door and the noise grated at Ford. "You holed up in here as soon as you got off duty. Now I find you here just doing... nothing." She grinned devilishly. He slowly stood, as if in severe pain. "Oh, nothing really. I'm just not feeling too well." He reached out to quickly kiss her, then held her in a big, all encompassing hug. She held him tightly, feeling the taut muscles along his back. Running her hands up to his shoulders, she felt the tightness in them too. She broke the hug. "My God, Jonathan! You are tense!" She pushed him to sit on the edge of the bunk again. Crawling around and squatting on the bed behind him, she kneaded the muscles of his shoulders. Grateful, Ford's head lolled about on his shoulders. She silently worked the muscles until he held his head in a position that allowed her to get to a particularly sore spot. Continuing the work, she said, "What's got you so worked up?" "It's nothing, really. Just... work." "It hasn't been *that* bad, has it?" He didn't answer and she continued her work down the muscles below the shoulder blades. A sly thought came to her and she worked her way up to his shoulders again. Working her way about, she ended up reaching around his neck and rubbing on the chest muscles. Leaning over him, she gently nibbled at his ear. His response was not what she expected. He pulled away from her, irritated. "Jonathan! Is something wrong? What's going on?" He stood and faced her, clearly tense. She stood to stand close to him as he spoke. "No, it's just that... well, yeah. Bridger told me where he and the others were going and it doesn't sound good." "My God! What's going on?" She motioned her hand to stop his response. "I know you can't answer that. Tim already said it. But... but everyone who knows what's going on is so worked up. What could be so bad? Is it that bad?" He gently curled her in his arms and held on tight. "Yeah, very will could be that bad." * * * The next day, everything was going as planned. Lucas and Dagwood settled quietly on the ocean bed in the smaller transport while Bridger and O'Neill took the main transport to the Kaukura island to meet with Puka and her son. The island, while hot and humid, was something from a twentieth century postcard. Gently sloping beaches and great palm trees stretched out to the horizon. Lush greenery and rocky outcroppings could be seen further inland. O'Neill might have enjoyed himself if not for nervousness and the lack of breeze to blow away the humidity. The air was amazingly calm at the moment. The transport was parked at a primitive dock and Bridger and O'Neill carried two crates of produce up the beach. O'Neill had expected curious looks from the people on the island, but most simply ignored them. He did notice several children watching and laughing at the sight of his untanned legs as his shorts exposed them to the sunlight for the first time in a long while. His nerves prevented him from being annoyed at the children. By the time they reached Puka's home, all indications that they were on an island were gone. O'Neill was breathless from his efforts to carry the produce and keep up with his former captain's seemingly hurried pace. He gratefully put the crate at his feet when they had arrived at the front door. Bridger rapped three sharp knocks on the door. O'Neill had expected something more primitive, but the house was amazingly modern. It was built of solid brick, featured artfully designed roof structure, and had a huge deck jutting off the side of the home. He pondered at the ability to gather the supplies and build such a home in such isolation as Kaukura. O'Neill heard the slow "clip-clop" of shoes coming to the front door. The door opened and there stood an old, short, stout, and obviously Polynesian woman. She smiled widely and in heavily accented English, said "Bridger! Come in. Come in." Her exaggerated motions indicated for them to come in. O'Neill grudgingly lifted his crate of vegetables and entered the home behind Bridger. As she led them into the back of the home, she spoke in fast and thick English. O'Neill struggled to understand, but her speech was muffled by her speaking away from them and slurred by the thick accent. He was able to pick out certain French enunciations that clearly indicated she knew the language. Eventually they ended up in what appeared to be a dining area where she indicated that they place their loads in a corner. "Thank you, Puka," said Bridger after he dropped his load of fruit. Indicating O'Neill he continued. "This is my friend, O'Neill." She squealed with delight and warmly took O'Neill's hand, shaking it vigorously. "Hallo, O'Neel. Hallo. Sit. Sit." She indicated a chair for him. He sat and asked, in French, if she spoke the language. Excited, she stated that she did. They exchanged pleasantries to which Bridger was oblivious. Eventually she excused herself, to retrieve drinks of cool water for her guests. O'Neill, feeling pleased with himself, turned to Bridger. "She's an intelligent woman, Captain. We were talking about this house and I was asking how she was able to build such a nice home on Kaukura when it's so isolated from--" She returned with the drinks and placed them in from of the men. "--so isolated from the industrial world. She says that--" "Tim!" interjected Bridger. "We don't have much time. Ask her if her son has come home yet." "Oh, I've come home Mister Bridger." They all turned to the entrance from which they had entered. A handsome, young Polynesian man in a red and gray uniform of the Macronesian army stood there, looking grimly at them. "But I don't have good news." * * * "Do you... have any sixes?" asked Lucas. Dagwood stared hard at the cards in his hand. Finally he looked up at Lucas and said, "No. Go fish." Lucas grinned and drew a card from the stack of cards set between them. They had been sitting quietly on the ocean bottom, waiting for the return of Bridger and O'Neill, playing cards to pass the time. "Better be careful, Dagwood. Darwin might hear you and think you have fish." Dagwood laughed. Turning serious, he said, "Where is Darwin?" "I don't know. We haven't heard from him since yesterday." He put his cards face down in front of himself. "Let me check." He reached for the control panel and turned on the communicator that would translate his speech to the dolphin's squeaks and squeals under water. "Darwin, are you out there? Darwin, this is Lucas. If you can hear me, please respond." Silence. "Darwin?" Still he got no response. He shut the panel down and said to Dagwood, "Well, he'll probably be back soon." He lifted his cards again. "Go ahead, it's your turn." "Does Lucas have any jacks?" Lucas removed a card from his hand and gave it to Dagwood. He gladly accepted it and carefully placed it in his own hand. A soft thud reverberated through the tiny craft. They looked to the window to see the familiar shape of Darwin looking back at them from the water. "Told you he'd be back soon." said Lucas as he again turned on the communicator. "Hi, Darwin." "Darwin needs help." said the dolphin. "What do you mean?" "Dolphins caught. Dolphins can't swim. Dolphins can't breathe." Lucas became alarmed at Darwin's obvious distress. "Darwin, what do you mean? What dolphins are caught?" "Dolphins caught by boat. Dolphins can't breathe." Lucas frantically turned on the sensors. "Darwin, what dolphins?" But Darwin had left. "Darwin!" He followed the direction of Darwin on the sensors and saw what had alarmed Darwin. "Oh, no." "What is it, Lucas?" asked Dagwood. "Someone's net fishing for tuna and they've caught a pod a dolphins in the net." He powered up the tiny transport in a frenzy. "Hang on, Darwin! We're coming to help!" End Part 3 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 22:44:27 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 4 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 4 "Darwin! Wait for us!" Lucas throttled the engine of the little transport so hard, his ears were in pain from the quick changes in pressure. Darwin still failed to respond. Straining to see anything outside the bubble window of the craft, all Lucas could make out was obscure murkiness. He remained locked to the controls and staring out the window for what seemed like hours, but in reality was only minutes. He finally spotted it. A dark, living mass loomed above them as they approached. Moving through the water, the great net had scooped up a plethora of tuna, dolphin, kelp, shark, and many other forms of sea life. They had bunched together at the back of the net as the boat above continued to move through the sea, still collecting the living flesh of the sea. Lucas pulled back the engine and slowly brought the little transport close to the mass, keeping pace with its movement. Darwin was nowhere to be seen. "What do we do, Lucas?" asked Dagwood. "Um..." He could not concentrate on the problem as he watched the mass. The ocean flesh struggled under the pressure and moved as if it were one giant, wiggling life form. *We've got to open that net!* he thought. He could not stand to look at it anymore. He looked down at the controls and desperately searched for *something* that could help. The little transport was designed for speed, not maneuverability. There were no weapons either. "Just put a hole in the net, Lucas" offered Dagwood. "Yes, but with what, Dagwood?" "I don't know." Lucas put the heal of his hand in his mouth and closed his eyes. *Concentrate, Lucas! Concentrate!* He felt his jangled nerves settle somewhat. Opening his eyes, he scanned the controls. They landed on the controls for the grappling arms. They were small and only designed for light duty, but they could do what he needed. "Here, Dagwood. Use this." he commanded, while slapping downward the controls for the arms. "How does it work?" Lucas was maneuvering the craft in a position behind the net, but above the mass. "You put your hands in the gloves and operate the mechanical arms just..." the whirling current buffeted the craft and he fought to keep control. "...like they were your own." "Okay." The gloves were not designed to handle hands as big as Dagwood's and he struggled to put his hands in them. "C'mon, Dagwood!" shouted Lucas. The craft bucked at the currents. Lucas pulled hard on the controls and his hands screamed at him in pain. "Got it." Lucas instantaneously slapped the button that started the mechanical arms. "Okay, Dagwood. Reach out and grab the net. When you have it with both arms, pull the arms apart and see if it rips open the net." *Damn, the current...* Inexorably slow, the arms reached out to grab the net. As the craft swayed in the turbulent waters, Dagwood missed several times, before he finally latched on. "Pull!" shouted Lucas. "Pulling." The net would not tear. "Pull! Dagwood! Pull!" "I'm trying!" Finally the net ripped open. The initial tear made the rest easy and a fifteen foot tore into in the net. Lucas shouted in triumph. The tuna and other trapped life began falling out of the net. Wretching sounds of thuds and splats pattered the craft as it was pelted with fish. "Let go, Da--" The craft spun sideways and Lucas momentarily lost control. "Dagwood! Let go!" Control of the craft was ripped from his hands and it spun out of control. He felt his stomach twist into a knot. "Let go of the net, Dagwood!" "I can't!" "Whadda you..." He saw the net hopelessly twisted around the arms. "Damn! Hang on, Dagwood!" He intentionally spun the craft hard, in an attempt to detangle the net from the arms. For a split second, he saw a giant, dark mass as it sped toward them. BLAM! The impact twisted them around end first and the craft was now completely out of control. Lucas felt the world buzz around him and a cacophony of sounds assaulted his ears. Nothing he did with the controls seemed to make any difference in their somersaults. The net dragged them onward. "Lucas!" He dimly heard his name amongst the noise. "Lucas!" He felt a vice grip his shoulder and he instinctively pulled away. Looking up he saw Dagwood standing over him. "Lucas! Water's getting inside!" Dagwood pointed behind him. Lucas turned and saw the spew of water flooding the tiny craft. "Oh, God!" He grabbed again at the controls. "Dagwood! Hang on! We've got to surface!" He maxed out the pumps, dumping all the water from the ballast tanks. * * * Bridger stood to face the man who had entered the room. "You're Puka's son?" he asked. "Yes." He reached out to shake Bridger's hand. "My name's Jared." O'Neill noticed the use of the use of the familiar given name, rather than the surname. Also, his name was a bit unusual for someone of French/Polynesian heritage. The man seemed friendly enough, but there was a guarded, hard edge to him. Standing, O'Neill shook his hand and introduced himself as well. Cutting to the chase, Bridger asked, "Jared, What do you know of Robert's imprisonment?" Jared reached into his jacket and removed a folded and tattered piece of paper. "Let's sit down." He pulled out a chair and sat. The others did the same. Bridger leaned in close to Jared as if it might bring him closer to the information he wanted. Unfolding the paper and laying it out on the table, Jared indicated the faded and pencil drawn diagram on it. "This is a rough drawing of the place where your son is at." Bridger looked closely, and could barely make out some of the lines from the fading. It appeared primarily as a big rectangle with spidery arms extending from the rectangle. Each of the arms had circular bulbs on each end and some of these had still more spidery arms and bulbs. "It's the Tasman Prime Penitentiary, near the Lord Howe Rise in the Tasman Sea. That, of course, is directly between Australia and New Zealand so it's in the heart of Macronesia." Bridger's heart skipped a beat. "This area," he indicated the circular bulbs around the rectangle in the center "is the operations offices, maintenance area, and inmate processing." He moved his finger to point to the center rectangle. "Here is where the prisoners are kept. The top level is primarily security, but the actual prison cells are several levels below in the sea floor. I don't know, specifically, which cell Robert is in." Bridger picked up the hand drawn map and held it directly in front of himself. "This is..." The room was silent. "This..." He found it difficult to focus on what he needed to know. His mind reeled as he looked at the map. *My son.* he thought. He felt his heart pounding hard in his chest. *My God, Robert, What has happened to you? What are you hiding from?* He touched the rectangle and he felt that he was touching his son for the first time in over twenty years. A deadly chill ran down his spine. *Robert! Oh, God! I miss you! I miss your mother! The world was so much simpler then!* He closed his eyes and fought back the tears. *Robert!* his mind screamed. *Why? Why have you done this? Why have you done this to yourself?* He opened his eyes and again looked at the paper as if he were confronting Robert. The paper didn't answer. *I love you, son! I love you and I miss you so much!* By now he felt the tears wanting to come unbidden, but he fought them back. Dropping the paper, he fought to keep control. With a heavy sigh, to Jared, he said, "Do you..." He shook himself to remove the feeling that had come over him. *Focus on the problem!* he told himself. "Do you have any idea what condition he's in?" "No, I don't." "Does," he wiped at his face, "Macronesia treat its prisoners humanely?" Jared pursed his lips. "Mmm... usually." "So there's there's no guarantees." "No. They have been known to be brutal to certain... political prisoners. But they don't make that publicly known, at least not to other governments. Robert *is* in great danger." He sighed at the news. "How long are they going to keep him there?" "I don't know, but there's a good chance they're going to take him to the mainland of Australia soon." "What about the defenses at Tasman?" "They have standard laser cannons around the perimeter. There are sensor drones around the prison too. Patrols are fairly non existent outside, but inside there are guards at each entrance to the main building. There's an elevator that goes down to each level and several guards are posted at each elevator station. There's motion detectors throughout the interior also." "How many levels down does it go?" "Ten." Bridger turned and looked momentarily at O'Neill and Puka. "Is there anything else we should know?" "Yes, I have an access node for the computer system." He pulled a pen from his pocket and began writing it on a corner of the map. "This is for the inmate records, personnel, stuff like that, but the security system is on an independent system. This will give you access to information as to *where* Robert is in the penitentiary, but it will take some real work to use this to get past the security systems." Bridger thought of Lucas. "Thank you. I might be able to accomplish that." Jared's expression turned warm and genuine as he put the pen back into his pocket and stood. "I wish you the best of luck, Mister Bridger." Bridger and O'Neill also stood and Bridger began folding the map and putting it into his own pocket. "Thank you very much." "I have a question," said O'Neill. Jared looked at him. "Yes?" "If you're... if you're in the Macronesian army. Why are you helping us?" "Mister O'Neill, one does what one must to survive. When Macronesia claimed these islands and the surrounding waters as their own, I watched as several people, including Robert Bridger, lost their property and their liberties. Some unfortunate people lost their lives. Macronesia is expanding so quickly that it cannot keep control of all its citizens. By joining the army, I can examine the system, learn to exploit it, and pass that information to others that feel as I do. And besides all that, Robert Bridger was my friend." "Oh, okay." He looked nervously at Bridger. "Thank you." "Let me ask you one more question," interjected Bridger. Jared's expression again turned cold and he silently waited for the question. Bridger hesitated a moment before asking. "What... what was Robert hiding from me?" Bridger noticed the momentary glance that Jared shared with his mother. Guardedly he answered, "I don't know." "If Robert was in trouble, I want to help." Jared's face was stony. "I can't help you, Mister Bridger. It was clear to him that Jared was hiding something. *What can be so damn terrible!* thought Bridger. *Why did Robert hide everything?! What is it?* He could tell whatever the secret was, Jared was hiding it too. He didn't have the heart or the time to draw it from him. Robert's time was running out. He let it go. "Okay, thank you again." "Now, you must go." This set off a flurry of action as Jared left the room and Puka gathered cloth for them to carry back to the transport as part of their subterfuge. * * * The water entering the transport was already up to their knees by the time they hit the surface. The drag of the tangled net had slowed their ascent, so instead of rocketing upward, they gently bobbed to the surface. Dagwood had remained standing in the cramped compartment throughout the entire ascent. As soon as Lucas could see the sky through the bubble window, he let out his breath and slumped over the controls, gasping for air. All was quiet except for the gentle slosh of water in the transport. Dagwood waded forward and peered out the window. "They're not dragging the net anymore, Lucas." Lucas lifted his head and peered out the window. The boat was an old, four hundred foot long monstrosity. Its general shape and metallic design suggested something from the first part of the century. The design generally held a crew of only 20 men, as most of it was designed to catch, process, and store captured fish. Today they had no catch, except for a man and a GELF in a tiny ocean transport. He silently watched as the crew began wenching in the net and, in the process, drawing them toward the boat. End Part 4 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 22:45:23 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 5 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 5 The tiny floating transport swayed dizzily as it was pulled toward the fishing boat. Lucas considered what to do. These fishermen were not going to be happy to know that they had lost their catch because of their interference. "Dagwood, open the hatch." he commanded. "Okay." he responded. Dagwood put his hands over his head and twisted the wheel that popped open the little door. The sudden change in pressure of the outside air invading the craft stabbed at his ears. He shook his head and knocked his hand to his ears in an effort to reduce the pain. The smell of the ocean air and fish from the boat permeated the craft and Lucas considered calling Bridger or seaQuest for help. *But that could endanger this mission! If anyone from Macronesia finds out that we're here, and who we are, that could end everything! That could get us killed!* He looked at the boat and the men that were standing at the edge, watching them come in. These people clearly were not Macronesian military. *Not yet. We might get out of this if...* He kicked into action. He unsteadily stood from the controls and waded back to stand close to Dagwood. "Dagwood!" he said desperately. "These people are *not* going to be happy if they know we ripped open their net. We can't let them know we did this." "But how will they not know." "We'll just say it was an accident, okay? We were following with a pod of dolphin and got mixed up in the net." The lie did not sound too plausible to his own ears, but he couldn't think of anything better at the moment. Time was short. "Don't say anything about seaQuest. In fact, you've never even heard of seaQuest. You don't know Bridger. You don't know anyone on seaQuest." "But that would be a lie," he responded innocently. "I know, Dagwood. But sometimes it's okay to lie. Our lives are in danger and a lie might just keep us alive." "Okay." He paused a second and another thought came to mind. "But if I'm not supposed to know anyone on seaQuest... who do I know?" "Um..." Lucas had not thought about that. If they were not from seaQuest, who were they? They stumbled into each other as the craft banged against the boat. They looked out the window to see excited, Asian faces peering in at them. Time was up. He leaned close to Dagwood and desperately whispered, "Just don't say anything! Let me do the talking!" Miserably, what he had said had reminded of a the old bad "B" movies from the last century, but he didn't know what else to do. * * * Loaded down with the cloth from Puka, O'Neill could barely see over the top. The fabrics made his arms itch and he wondered what they were made of and if he was having an allergic reaction. He and Bridger stood in the doorway of Puka's home, but Bridger's arms were empty. He was thanking her for her help. She unexpectedly hugged him and he tentatively hugged back. As she let go, he held on to her arms and asked in low tones, "Can you not tell me what Robert had been up to?" Her face set in a stern expression. "No! That is not for me to say." She stared at him, daring him to ask more. Exasperated, he let go of her and took half of the load of cloth from O'Neill. "Thank you," was his only response and he turned to leave. O'Neill turned to follow, but Puka grabbed at his arm to stop him. Startled, he turned to face her. "Yes?" Bridger also stopped, turned, and waited impatiently. She said something to him in French which Bridger could not understand. He responded in the same language, then turned to follow Bridger. She closed her door gently behind them. As they walked along the path leading them back to their transport, Bridger asked, "What did Puka say to you just then?" "She told me to tell you that... she knows. Her son is involved. And sometimes it's better not to know." * * * Hudson looked up when he heard the knock on the door of his cabin. "Come in!" he called. He stacked the papers in front of him and set them in a pile on the edge of the desk. He gently placed a writing pen on top of the stack. The door opened and Fredericks entered. She immediately stood in a stiff military posture. "You wanted to see me, sir?" Hudson stood. "Yes. Relax Lieutenant." She changed to an "at ease" stance. "Lieutenant. I said relax." He pulled out a chair for her. "Sit down." She sat, but maintained a stiff posture. He sat heavily in his own chair and leaned onto the desk. Pressing the intercom button, he said, "Mister Piccolo." "Yes, sir?" came an almost immediate response from the little speaker. "Please come to my quarters immediately." "Will do, sir." Hudson leaned back in his chair and asked of Fredericks, "What do you think of our Mister Piccolo?" A bit startled, she answered, "Do you mean personally or professionally?" "Both." "Professionally, sir..." She pondered a moment before answering. "He's a quick thinker. When it comes to a crunch, he can often think of a quick way *out* of a bad situation. Also, he's a... different thinker. His background isn't exactly military training, so he comes up with new and different ways of looking at problems." Hudson was motionless, awaiting more information. Her silent look told him that she had nothing more forthcoming to say. He leaned forward and pegged her with his eyes. "And personally?" "Well, sir, Piccolo's uh... a bit of an ass." Hudson's eyebrows shot upward. "Really! What do you mean?" Fredericks fidgeted a bit. "He's cocky. He's not afraid of hard work, but he can be hell to work with. He's loud mouthed and insubordinate. He's like a little boy, and sometimes he can be hard to control." He locked eyes with her and a certain understanding passed between them. They had worked together for many years and Hudson had seen her through some really hard times. They knew each other well. She knew at what he was driving and where the conversation was going. She stared mildly back at him, waiting for the hammer to fall. "That *little boy* has done a lot of growing over the past year. He needs to continue to grow, if he's going to become a viable citizen. He's our problem to solve." He paused a moment before dropping the hammer. "The loss of Jim Brody has created a hole in our fighter crew that needs to be filled. I want you to train Piccolo on the use of the subfighters, specifically the Spectres. Teach him everything he needs to know to run the machine, fight defensively, offensively, and teach him everything he needs to know to stay alive." He stood. "And I don't care what you *personally* think of Piccolo; you're going to be working in close quarters with the man for the next few months, so get used to it." She grinned and watched him as he stood and walked to the door of the cabin. "I'll do nothing less than my best, sir." "I know you will, Fredericks." He knowingly smiled at her. A quick knock was heard from Hudson's door. Under his breath he said, "Perfect timing..." Opening the door, Piccolo stood there stiffly, but awkwardly. "You wanted to see me sir?" "Yes, Mister Piccolo, come in." Hudson moved out of the way to allow him room to enter. He took a long step to stand directly inside the doorway, as if afraid to step too far away from it. His eyes quickly scanned the room, trying to fathom what was happening. He locked eyes with Fredericks. A slight quirk was on her lips and it disconcerted him. The sudden clang of Hudson closing the door beside him startled him and he looked at the man. "What can I do for you, Captain?" Hudson simply pursed his lips and stared back at him in thought. Piccolo's gaze remained locked on his Captain. Hudson walked back toward his desk. Speaking away from Piccolo, he said, "I need someone to fill the hole that Lieutenant Brody has left in our staff of subfighter pilots." Piccolo looked questioningly at him as he sat down at the table. "Would you like to train on the Spectres and try to fill that hole?" A huge grin spread across Piccolo's face and he eagerly moved forward. "You want me to fly a Spectre?" Hudson smiled slightly. "Only if you want to. Your skills seem to be up to par. But it's not a safe job, especially in these times." "Oh, I'll do it, sir." He eagerly grabbed a chair, turned it around, and sat straddling the backrest between his legs. "When do we start?" Hudson looked at Fredericks. "Lieutenant Fredericks?" She looked mildly at Piccolo, a little annoyed as his sudden bravado. "I think I can handle him, sir." Piccolo's face dropped a bit. "We can start whenever he's ready." Hudson looked at him again. "Mister Piccolo?" "Uh... well, yes sir. I'm ready... right now, I guess." "Well, then--" he gestured at the door, "get started." "Yes, sir!" Piccolo lifted himself from the chair and stood stiffly at attention. "Thank you, sir!" He attempted a salute. Fredericks stood much more slowly and simply stared at him. "No need to thank me. Dismissed." Fredericks turned to leave the room while Piccolo stood awkwardly at attention. Hudson merely stared back at him. Finally, he relaxed, dropped his arm to his side, and said, "Thank you again, sir." Hudson nodded in acknowledgment and Piccolo turned toward the door. Fredericks was walking out the open door and Piccolo reached out to stop it from swinging shut. As he began to step out he paused and stuck his head back into the room. "Sir, I'm glad to do this, but I could never fill the hole that Brody left." Hudson sighed. "I know, Piccolo. I know." * * * With a boost from Dagwood, Lucas pulled his head and shoulders out of the little hole atop the tiny transport. Excited voices from the boat jabbered at him. They were clearly Asian, and the dark skin pigmentation indicated they were from the southern parts of Asia. Their language was unintelligible, but also clearly Asian. From their helpful behavior, Lucas surmised that they had not yet determined the real reasons for their transport being caught in the net. He grimaced and pulled the rest of his body out of the craft to sit exasperatedly on the hull of it, his hands holding himself steady from the gentle bobbing. The sound of the transport banging against the hull of the boat irritated him. Three men from the boat clambered onto the transport to help Lucas. As they reached him, they jumped in alarm when Dagwood popped his mottled head out of the hole. He pulled his shoulders out and rested there with his arms holding him up. The men laughed at their own nervousness and began pulling at Lucas, indicating that he go with them to the boat. He unsteadily stood and went with them. "Does anyone here speak English?" They merely gestured at him, spoke to him in their unknown language, and continued to pull at him. Dagwood climbed out to follow. When they had reached the general steadiness of the boat deck, Lucas nearly gagged at the smell of rotting fish. He looked across the deck and noticed the mix of blood and bird droppings that spattered the deck. He felt his stomach twist into a tight knot at the sight of two dead dolphins resting against the bow. He reached out and grasped the arm of one of the Asian men to steady himself. Closing his eyes tightly, he felt his stomach twist and he eventually could not hold back. He vomited onto the deck. Dagwood stared about in wide eyed wonderment. At the sight of the dolphins he became angry. "Lucas!" He pointed toward the dolphins. Lucas looked up bleary eyed at Dagwood. He followed where he was pointing. Wiping dribble from his mouth, he said, "I know, Dagwood. Just keep calm." One of the men, noticing where there attention was directed, walked to the dead creatures and kicked at them until they slid into a hidden compartment inside the boat. Dagwood balled his hands into fists and began walking toward the man. Lucas stood straight in alarm. "Dagwood! No!" Dagwood turned to him, angry. "There's nothing we can do! We have to stay alive!" Dagwood growled. The men pushed them toward one of the boat's cabins and Lucas watched helplessly as the other men climbed over and into the tiny transport. * * * Bridger was lost in thought as they walked through the trees toward the Kaurukan beach. O'Neill stopped dead in his tracks and cocked his head, listening. "Captain, do you hear that?" Bridger stopped and looked back. "Don't call me Captain! Especially not here." "Well, what should I call you?" "Call me Bridger, or Nathan." "Oh. Okay." "Now what do you hear?" "It sounds like... screaming." Bridger listened. "I don't hear anything." O'Neill listened very intently. "It's gone now." "Do you know which direction it came from?" "I'm not sure, sir." He sighed. "Well, okay. Let's go. Pay attention and let me know if you here it again." "I will, sir." After a few more minutes of walking, they heard a definite thrash of something moving through the trees. Bridger stopped and peered into the woods. He could discern nothing. Listening closely, he could hear voices and heavy equipment ahead of them. He looked at O'Neill, who's eyes were wide with fear. He noticed a tremble in the cloths that he was carrying. "Come on." Bridger hurried away and O'Neill followed. * * * Stepping into the cabin, Lucas and Dagwood noticed that the air was very warm and humid. The door closed behind them with finality. Dank and mildew stained walls surrounded them. A small table was bolted to the floor in the center of the room and nothing but a broken metal chain with a massive hook on one end rested on it. Two walls held sturdy metal cabinets which had some Oriental and English writing on them. Another wall held a full map of the Pacific Ocean with red markings to indicate the Macronesian borders. It was clear from the map that the borders were continuously growing, for the red markings were drawn out in concentric circles with Australia in the middle. The remaining wall was bare. In the corners were two stairwells, one leading downward, the other up. About six of the men were crammed into the tiny room with them and they all stood quietly, as if waiting for something to happen. An expectant quiet settled into the room. *My God!* thought Lucas. *Maybe I should have called for help. We can't communicate with these people. We don't know what they expect of us. We don't know what they are going to do with us. We don't know if they yet suspect what we've done!* Movement could be heard from the upward leading stairway. All the men looked toward it expectantly. After a few more moments of silence, a man came down. He was clearly a person of authority, by not only the deference shown to him by the others, but by his manner of dress. While the other men were haggard and dirty, this man was fit and clean. He had a pinched face which was only accentuated by the sharpness of his nose. The closely cut hair made him almost appear bald. He looked over Lucas and Dagwood with a stern expression. Finally he spoke to them in a short guttural speech which still eluded them. Lucas took a step toward the man. "We... uh... we can't understand you. Is there anyone here who speaks English?" The man said something else to him and turned to the nearest of his people. At his command, the man hurried over to the downward leading staircase. He then turned to the other men in the room and they carried an animated conversation which, from the looks and gestures, was clearly about Lucas and Dagwood. The man, the apparent captain or leader, occasionally spoke to them, but they could only respond with shrugs and confused looks. He appeared disgusted with them. Eventually, the man that had run down the stairs returned. He briefly said something short to the leader and everyone looked again at the downward leading staircase expectantly. A burly, dirty, and tired man slowly came up the stairs. He had loose, curly hair and a full beard, which appeared somewhat unusual on his Asian features. He breathed heavily coming up the stairs and as he stepped up into the room, they could see the wide, vinyl apron he was wearing was smeared with fish parts. After a short, angry exchange with the leader, he turned to Lucas and Dagwood. Clearly unhappy, he said, "Captain Ngo asks: who are you and what are you doing here." * * * As the trees thinned before them, Bridger and O'Neill could see a myriad of people moving about on the beach. They broke into a run. Coming onto the beach itself, the sun suddenly glared at them. Blinking at the sudden brightness, they looked about. Several men and a few women in Macronesian army uniforms were walking about and using cranes and sturdy beach buggies to move equipment about the beach. The island residents were also moving about, but Bridger noticed a distinct effort to avoid the attentions of the Macronesian army. Looking toward the dock, they noticed a swarm of soldiers poring over their transport. The load of cloth dropped from O'Neill arms. End Part 5 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 22:47:11 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 6 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 6 O'Neill nervously picked up the cloths that he had dropped while Bridger waited impatiently for him. Standing up again, the cloths were piled haphazardly in his arms and he precariously attempted to straighten one of them that continued threatening to fall. Bridger nodded his head at the group around their transport. "Remember, we're just simple traders. We don't need any trouble." "I will, sir." They slowly walked the rest of the way across the beach to where the large transport was docked. There were three Macronesian soldiers standing on the dock, talking amongst themselves and looking at the craft. Another soldier was crawling on top of the craft, searching for any markings to indicate the purpose or owners of the craft. One of the men on the dock noticed the approaching men and moved to intercept them. "Is this your craft?" he called to them. "Yes, it is!" yelled back Bridger. They walked the rest of the way to stand before the man. "What's it doing here?" "Waiting for us to return. We were just about to leave." "What business you got have here on Kauruka?" "We're just trying to make a living. We trade rare goods among the islands and underwater colonies for a small profit." The man looked intently at the cloth in his arms. A sour look came over his face. "C'mere," he said and gestured for them to move toward the group looking over the transport. As they came before to others, the man called out to the man squatting on the transport. "Hey, Wade! Here's the owners!" The man called Wade looked up at them and immediately jumped off to confront them. "Is there a problem?" asked Bridger. Ignoring them, the man who had first greeted them continued, "They say they're traders in *rare goods*." "Rare goods, huh." Wade's voice was low and rough. "Mind if we take a look at your *rare goods*?" Not waiting for an answer, he jerked several of the cloths from O'Neill's stack. O'Neill jumped in alarm, but kept his mouth shut. "They're fabrics, hand-made by the locals." offered Bridger. "We can get a fair price for them in New Hawaii." Wade opened one of the neatly folded cloths and closely examined it as if looking for something. "New Hawaii, huh." "Good fabrics are not that easy to come by on the ocean floor. That's how we work. We come to the islands. Find out what they need. We go to the underwater cities. Find out what they need. We obtain what they each need and we sell or trade it." "And you make a living at this?" "We survive." "Don't Macronesia provide this stuff for its citizens?" "They don't provide... everything." "Illegal goods, huh?" Bridger considered a moment before answering, "Mostly, no." "Hmm." He threw the cloths on top of O'Neill's stack. "You been good citizens and payin' your taxes?" Bridger smiled innocently. "For the most part, yes." Wade became angry and shouted, "Don't mess with me! Those taxes are payin' our salaries! Salaries that protect the people on this island and your damn 'rare goods' butts!" Bridger looked around them. Angrily he looked back at Wade. "Protect us from what?" "Damn it!" he fumed. "Don't mess with me!" He glanced at the others and back to Bridger. "What's your names?" Bridger looked at O'Neill for a moment. "I'm Luke Watson and this is my partner, Mack Harrington." "Check the names!" he shouted to one of the other men. To Bridger he indicated the transport and said, "Let's have a look inside this thing, huh." "Why?" "Never mind why! Just open it!" Bridger sighed. "Mack, give me your stuff and open it for him." O'Neill looked confused for a moment before he realized that Bridger was talking to him. "Oh! Yeah, sure... uh... Luke." He started to put the cloths in his arms on the ground. "No. No." exclaimed Bridger. "Don't put 'em there. You'll ruin 'em" He shifted his load lower. "Put 'em on top of these." "Oh." O'Neill hefted his stack of cloths on top of Bridger's. Checking to make sure nothing was going to fall, he asked, "You got it, Luke?" "Yeah, I got it. Now open her up." Wade waited impatiently while O'Neill fumbled for the key. After checking several pockets, he pulled it out of his shirt pocket. His nervousness caused him to drop it onto the dock. "Oh, damn it! Come on!" shouted Wade. He bent and picked up the key from the ground. "What're you so nervous for, huh?" Not waiting for an answer, he turned to the transport. As he set his foot on the metal surface of the transport, someone shouted at him from across the beach. "Hey, Wade! What the hell are you doing!?" Everyone turned to the new voice. It was Jared, Puka's son. "Oh, hell! Jared, these guys got illegal stuff in there!" "Really?" Jared asked sarcastically. The group waited for Jared to approach. As he stepped up to them he asked, "How do you know they have illegal stuff, if you haven't even been inside." "Look at 'em, huh. Look at this craft. It's all nice and clean and shiny lookin'. They gotta be dealin' in illegal stuff, huh." Bridger dumped the load of cloth into O'Neill's arms and O'Neill stumbled under the sudden surprise weight. To Wade, Bridger said, "This machine is our means of living. If we don't keep this transport in top working condition, we're out of business." "Yeah, I'll bet." He turned to step back onto the craft. "Go ahead! Have a look!" Jared reached out and grabbed Wade by the arm. "Give it a rest, man! They don't have anything." Wade jerked his arm out of Jared's grasp and continued for the door. "C'mon! We gotta get this installation up before the General arrives. We don't have time to mess with petty criminals." "I'm gonna take a look!" shouted Wade and he fit the key into the lock. Jared sighed heavily and looked at Bridger. Bridger shrugged in return. Wade opened the door on top of the craft and stuck his head and shoulders inside. The group waited tense for a moment in anticipation. Finally he pulled his head out and shouted at one of the other men. "Find anything on those names?" The man looked up from his palm sized computer pad. "Nothing yet." Wade closed the door to the craft and crawled back onto the dock. Standing, he said to O'Neill, "Next time, huh!" He threw the key at O'Neill's feet. He tried in vain to look around the cloth at the key lying on the dock. Bridger slowly bent to pick up the key. When he stood, he said thanks to Wade, his voice edged with sarcasm. Wade simply stormed away and the others, except for Jared, slowly moved to follow. To Jared, Bridger said, "Thank you." "Next time, I'd recommend you go to the regular port on the east side of the island." Bridger looked intently at the man, but his face showed no emotion. "I will." Jared walked after the others. They watched them walking away for a moment, then O'Neill let out a whoosh of air he had been holding in his lungs. "That was close." Bridger moved to open the transport again. "He wouldn't have seen anything if he'd gotten inside anyway." "Yeah, but these Macronesian people, they're... power hungry." "You're right." He opened the hatch and reached out to take some of the cloths from O'Neill. "And they're unpredictable." He set them on top of the transport and crawled inside. "And..." He picked up the cloths he had set down and set them inside. "...if they'd wanted to get us on some trumped up charges, who's gonna stop them out here?" He took the remaining cloths from O'Neill, put them inside, and entered the transport. "Scary," said O'Neill. He followed Bridger into the craft. As Bridger put away the cloths in the back of the craft, O'Neill closed and locked the hatch. He started to move toward the controls to power up, but he paused. Calling to the back of the transport, he said, "Captain!" Bridger looked up. "Yes?" O'Neill gave him a confused look. "Mack Harrington?" "He was in my high school graduating class." * * * Lucas licked his lips. His mouth was dry. "We, uh..." He looked around the room and everyone was watching him expectantly. "We were, um..." "We didn't mean to do it!" said Dagwood. "It was an accident!" The curly haired man looked at Dagwood in surprise. "An accident?" "Yes, we were following a pod of dolphin and we got tangled up in the net." And almost as an afterthought he added, "the dolphins were getting caught in the net too." The man passed the information to his captain. The captain spoke again, indicating Dagwood. The man translated. "You're a dagger?" "Yes, he is." intercepted Lucas. "You don't seem too bright for a dagger." "I'm a prototype," said Dagwood quietly. "Oh." To Lucas he asked, "Where'd you find a friend like that?" "He... needed a friend. Listen, do you think you can help us repair our transport so we can get out of here?" The man turned and carried a heated exchange with Captain Ngo. *C'mon!* thought Lucas. *Just buy the story and get us out of here!* Translating again, the man continued. "Before we do anything, Captain Ngo want to know what you are doing out here." "Look. He told you. We were following the dolphins when we got caught in the net. You pulled us too hard and we crashed. If you can just help us fix the transport, we can get out of your hair." "No. You misunderstand. He wants to know what you are doing *out here*." "You mean in these waters." "Yes." "Well, we, um... we've got some friends living out on the Fiji Basin. We're out here visiting and decided to take a joyride." Ouch! That sounded weak to his own ears. "I guess we got a little carried away." Again the man translated, and the captain asked, them who their friends were. "Um... well... they don't exactly know we took their transport out for a ride. We'd just as soon get it fixed and get out of here." "Are your friends expecting you back anytime soon?" "Well, yeah, they are." The man carried a brief, but heated argument with Captain Ngo. Eventually, he turned back to Lucas and Dagwood. "Okay. Captain Ngo will do what he can to get your craft out of the water and fixed. He invites you to dine with him upstairs." "We'd just as soon look over the craft and get out of here." "No. No. We insist." Lucas looked at the door leading to the deck. The way was blocked by several men. If he could get to the transport, he could call for help. "Thank you, but we really have to go." "No. It's okay. We'll take care of you and your transport and you'll be out of here in no time." He indicated that they go upstairs. "We're not going to hurt you." Lucas realized that the lie had only put him deeper in trouble. He did not trust these men, primarily because their attitudes seemed threatening. But what choice did he have. If he waffled now, it might blow his and Dagwood's cover. He had to play along. "Okay, but we really are in a hurry to get out of here. Can we please hurry?" He reluctantly moved toward the stairs as indicated. "Good, we'll take care of everything for you. In the meantime you can enjoy some of out Vietnamese cuisine." Dagwood smiled. "Dagwood is hungry!" he said. * * * Piccolo and Fredericks were walking silently down the hallway together. Fredericks turned a corner and Piccolo continued straight for five steps before he realized that she was no longer next to him. He turned and stuck his head around the corner. "Hey, Lieutenant! Where you going? The launch bay's this way." Fredericks turned to him. "I know where the launch bay is. We're going to the computer room." She turned back and continued walking away from him. He chased after her. "Whoa! Hey! Now, wait a minute. Whaddaya mean? We ain't gonna be flying the Spectres yet?" "Yes and no. We'll be using the simulators." Piccolo's shoulders slumped. "Aw, geez! C'mon! We ain't gotta do that, do we? I can fly a regular transport; why can't we just go straight to the fighters? They ain't be that much different, now, are they?" He knew it was not true, but he felt he had to try. "Oh, yes, they are." She turned into the computer room and he hurried to follow. "C'mon, I ain't gotta do this simulator stuff. 'At's kid's stuff. I wanna get out in the real thing!" She simply stared at him. He pleaded to her with his eyes, but she did not even blink. He slumped, defeated. *God, she's a cold fish!* he thought. "Trust me," came a voice from behind him. "She won't budge." Piccolo turned to see Lieutenant Hausenbraugh standing at his shoulder. He was a big man, so Piccolo had to look up to look him in the eye. "Hey, Merrick. So I've noticed." He looked back to Fredericks, but she had already gone to the other side of the room and began preparing the equipment for the fighter simulation. Under his breath, Hausenbraugh said, "I don't know how much of that personality is her or the psych implant, but when she says jump..." "You say 'how high'." "Right. She's a lieutenant. I'm a j.g. Don't cross her, 'cause she can bite." He grinned. "But she's not too bad, otherwise." Deflated, Piccolo stated, "I'll keep that in mind." In a louder voice, Hausenbraugh continued, "Besides, driving a subfighter is *nothing* like driving an ordinary transport." "Thanks for the support, Merrick," he said sarcastically. "No problem." He patted Piccolo on the shoulder. "Have fun." He walked out of the room laughing. Piccolo walked over to Fredericks as she finished programming in the settings for the simulator. The machine was nothing more that a seat, a control board, a control stick, and a 3-D display where the window of a subfighter would normally be placed. She could monitor his performance from another computer beside the machine. "Have a seat." she commanded. He sat. * * * The transport hovered about 20 feet off the sandy bottom of the ocean floor. O'Neill leaned over to stare out the window and stated the obvious, "Here is where they *should* be." Bridger rubbed at his face, agitated. "They *should* be, but--" He squinted at outside the window, as if he thought that if he looked hard enough, he might be able to see the smaller transport with Lucas and Dagwood. Nothing but darkness surrounded them. "Scan again." he commanded. O'Neill complied, while Bridger looked even harder. *Why would they leave in the middle of Macronesian waters?* he asked himself. "Nothing, sir," stated O'Neill. "Damn!" He reached out and flipped a switch. "Darwin!" Silence. "Darwin, if you can hear this, return at once." They waited motionless, but after a minute of tense silence, Bridger switched off the microphone. They would leave the vocorder channel open, and if he got the message, he would return. "What do you think happened to them, sir?" He looked at O'Neill. "What are our options? They left because they felt they had to leave. They thought they might be detected, in which case, they should be somewhere near. They left because they were called away, maybe by the seaQuest, but that's not too likely in these waters. Or--" "They were taken away." Bridger looked at him with consternation. O'Neill's face was etched with worry. "Right..." * * * Dagwood sat hunched over the table. Holding a fork and spoon in each hand like a sword, he stuffed himself with rice, soft egg noodles, fish, shrimp, a strongly spiced dish they had identified as *ga xao gung*. Lucas and Dagwood were sitting around a fair sized table with Captain Ngo, the English speaking Asian man, and two other men. Lucas intentionally sat where he could see out the window and onto the deck below them. He ate very little and watched nervously as their tiny transport was hoisted onto the deck with the net still attached. Dusk was fast approaching and it was getting more difficult to see outside. Looking closely, he winced at the sight of the protruding arms that were tangled in the net as they came into view. *How can they not know.* "You're not eating. Do you not like the food?" Lucas turned. The man sat smiling back at him. "Oh, no. The food's great." He scooped up a fork full of rice to prove his point. "Good. This is the captain's good stuff and the regular crew doesn't get to eat this well... unless the captain invites them." He lifted his own fork to his mouth in appreciation. "It's an honor to be invited to eat with the captain," he said through the mouthful. Captain Ngo was silently watching them while eating sparsely himself. He did not look pleased to have the unexpected guests, but maybe that was his natural appearance. He said a quick word to the English speaking man who put down his fork in surprise. "I'm sorry, I have been incredibly rude. This is captain Ngo, and my name is Phuong. Phuong Kwi Chen, but you can just call me Phuong." "Um... glad to meet you." was all he said. Phuong and the captain waited patiently for a response. When it became obvious that Lucas had nothing more forthcoming, Phuong said, "And you are?" *Lord, get me out of here!* Lucas shouted to himself. Unable to think clearly, he simply said, "I'm Lucas. This is Dagwood." He indicated the dagger. Dagwood looked up from his plate upon hearing his name. He looked around the table at all the faces staring at him and said "Mmf" through a mouthful of ga xao gung. Phuong laughed nervously. Spotting an ornamental bowl of fruit in the center of the table, Dagwood reached out and removed a pineapple. Everyone was staring expectantly at him when he took a huge bite out of it, rind and all. Chewing vigorously, he set it beside himself and continued with the food on his plate. "Dagwood! You've got a helluva appetite!" laughed Phuong. Dagwood just nodded. Phuong looked back to Lucas who was again looking out the window. "Lucas, I notice you keep looking outside at your craft. You do *not* need to worry. It's going to be okay. We're going to take care of you, you'll see. Now eat and enjoy yourself." He looked back again at Phuong, then down at his plate. "I'm sorry. I'm just not very hungry." "No wonder you're so skinny. Go ahead. Eat." In a lackluster manner, Lucas lifted the fork to his mouth. Before it actually reached his mouth, he dropped the fork in frustration. "Look, we really do have to go. We can't stay here!" He stood, as if intending to leave. Captain Ngo shouted at him and forcefully indicated that he sit. Lucas put his fists on the table and leaned in toward the man. In simpleton English, he said, "We can't stay! We must go!" The captain shouted back and the room erupted with noise as everyone, except Dagwood, shouted exclamations. Above the noise, Phuong boomed "Please! Everyone calm down!" He also shouted it out in his native language for the benefit of the others. They all sat, but Lucas, Phuong, and Captain Ngo remained standing. "Lucas, please. You're not being polite. Now, sit down." "We have to go." he restated. He folded his arms and moved to stand beside the window, trying to see what was happening. As night was falling, it was getting more difficult to see what was happening outside. He leaned into the window to try and see better. For the first time since the food was presented, Dagwood spoke. "I'm ready to go, Lucas." "Oh, no! Not you too, Dagwood!" said Phuong. Lucas turned to him. He had wiped out most of the food on his plate and the pineapple was totally gone. He now sat heavily in the chair with his massive fists resting on the table's edge. He looked poised to go. Phuong continued, "But I thought you liked the food." "I did. Thank you very much," Dagwood said to Phuong. Lucas turned back to the window. "But we have to go." "But your friend, Lucas, hasn't eaten much of anything. Look at his plate. It's still full." "Maybe he wasn't that hungry." Dagwood looked from Lucas' plate to his own nearly empty one. "Dagwood was very hungry." "Yes, I can--" "Hey, what are they doing!?" shouted Lucas. He was looking through cupped hands outside the window. "It looks like-- Damn!" He turned to Dagwood. "Come on, Dagwood. Let's go." He headed for the exit. "What is it, Lucas? What are they doing?" Several voices started shouting at once, some in English, some not. Lucas turned and leaned in close to Dagwood to be heard, even as someone was pulling at him. "They're dumping the transport overboard! They're not gonna let us go!" Lucas was pulled away and back toward his seat. "We have to get out of here, now!" he shouted. Dagwood growled. He moved forward and easily plucked the man's hand from Lucas' arm. Startled, the man jabbered at him in alarm while Lucas again headed for the door leading out. Phuong and the other man stood blocking the door. "No! This is all a misunderstanding! You don't have--" Dagwood pushed them away as easily as children and jerked open the door. Lucas shot out with Dagwood close behind, dragging one of the men from his shoulders. On their way to the deck, Dagwood eventually shook the man off himself, and he had went tumbling on the stairs when he lost his grip. Once outside, they ran toward the transport that had only just settled back into the water, free of the net. Several men were blocking their way and it was difficult to see in the darkness. Lucas stopped and watched, dumbfounded as several men tried to beat on the craft with long wooden poles and one man determinedly kicked at the bubble window, causing a long crack across its surface. "Dagwood!" he shouted. "It looks like their trying to sink it!" At this point, things began happening so fast, Lucas could not follow it all. Dagwood fought the men as they tried to beat him back with the wooden poles. Some of them he caught and used against his attackers, but they were getting the better of him. Phuong had arrived and was shouting something about the transport being beyond repair. Lucas was fighting to free himself from several hands that continued to try to hold him back from the transport. Already, the transport, while still floating, was drifting farther away, when Lucas heard the distinct sound of gunfire. Lucas dropped his weight and kicked at the legs of a man near him. The man fell and brought another down with him in an effort to stop his fall. Lucas rolled over and was suddenly free of their grasps. Quickly standing, he charged toward Dagwood. Helplessly, he watched as someone whipped around a large metal chain that knocked Dagwood off his feet and across the deck. Rolling across the deck, Dagwood suddenly disappeared over the edge of the boat. "No!" shouted Lucas. He heard the splash of Dagwood hitting the water as he ran to the edge of the deck. Looking over, he could see nothing. Looking out toward the transport, it was quickly becoming lost in the darkness. "Dagwood! Hang on!" Hands grabbed again at him and he struggled. "No! Help him!" To his right, he saw Captain Ngo approach the edge of the deck. He quietly looked over the edge for the fallen GELF. Lucas noticed the pistol in his hand. "You've got to help him!" he shouted. Ngo simply looked at him with distaste. Pointing the gun, he fired into the water. "No!" He struggled even more, but it was in vain. "You can't do this!" They began dragging him back toward the cabin. Desperate, Lucas called out. "Dagwood! Stay alive! Dagwood!" End Part 6 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 22:48:03 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 7 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 7 "No!" Lucas screamed at them and struggled vehemently as was pulled back across the deck toward the cabin. "You can't *do* this!" He desperately searched out into the darkness in hopes that he might see Dagwood. "No!" He heard more gunfire from Ngo's gun. Phuong came running into his field of view. He argued loudly with the men who were holding his arms and they argued back. His drag toward the cabin momentarily ceased as they yelled at each other. "Tell them to let me go! Tell them to help Dagwood!" He shouted by carefully enunciating each word. Phuong looked at him, anger and fear filled his eyes. "I'm trying! But these damn idiots won't listen!" Lucas squirmed in their grasp. "Tell them they have to save Dagwood!" "Right now, I'm trying to save *you*!" "But Dagwood will *die* out there!" "Captain Ngo doesn't want Dagwood! He doesn't care about him. He only wants *you*!" The men holding him were deftly escaping his awkwardly kicking legs when what Phuong's words sank into his enraged mind. He calmed. "What do you mean he only wants me? Wants me for *what*?" "Lucas." Phuong put his hand up, palm out, in a stopping motion. "I'll tell you later. Right now, just calm down and go quietly with them. I'll do what I can to help you and I'll talk to Ngo about getting Dagwood." "No! You've got to save him!" The men holding him began talking loudly again and pulled at Lucas. "Bring him back on board! Help him!" He struggled and they had to drag him the rest of the way. Phuong ran toward Ngo and began yelling at him. As they reached the cabin door, the men holding him had difficulty trying to open the door and keep him from getting out of their grasps at the same time. As one of the men held onto him with one hand, he used his other hand to pull open the door. Lucas kicked at his knee and that loosened his grip just enough. Lucas pulled free and spun around, still held fast by the other man. Swinging his fist, Lucas landed a solid blow to his neck. The blow momentarily stunned the man and his hold loosened. Lucas pulled away from him and was free. However the momentary freedom was short, for as Lucas began to sprint away, the man that he had kicked, had stood and ran from the door toward him. He tackled Lucas, and they went sprawling onto the deck. Both men roughly picked him up and the man he had hit, slapped Lucas twice in the face, hard, in retaliation. They yelled at him and shook him in an effort to make him comply, and while their language still eluded him, their intentions did not. By now, a third man had approached and was holding the door open for them. Dragging Lucas by the arms, they threw him into the room of the cabin and followed him in. The lights were out in the room and the only way to see was the feeble light entering from the stairways and the still open door leading to the deck. The door closed with and echoing bang and the room was plunged into darkness. * * * Dagwood struggled underwater. He had plunged so fast that he had no time to prepare himself by taking a breath. Luckily his engineered genes allowed him to use less oxygen than a human and he was able to maintain consciousness with what little breath he had, while surrounded by water. Struggling to reach the surface, he was not sure which way was up. He tasted the bitter flavor of salt water in his mouth, and panicked. He swam in the direction that he thought was upward, but he got nowhere. The salt water burned as it hit the back of throat and he could not help but cough, expelling whatever oxygen he had remaining in his lungs. Instinctively, he wanted to inhale, but he knew he could not. He calmed himself and relaxed, letting the gentle sea current take him in its flow. His lungs burned for oxygen, his heart stabbed at him within his massive chest, and he felt his ears begin ringing. He knew he had little time remaining. He felt his body settle into an upright position, yet it continued to sink further. At that point, he knew which way was up. In a thunderous struggle, he swam upward. He felt the blood vessels in his head begin pulsating, starving for oxygen. He needed the air. He needed oxygen. With a resounding splash he hit the surface. As soon as his head touched the night air, he took a huge breath of it. Immediately he heard the sound of gunfire and numerous voices, including that of Lucas, over his own splashing. He considered what to do. The crack of the gun and the swish of bullets entering the water caused him to realize that someone was shooting at *him*. Diving back under the water, he swam toward the boat to escape the bullets. He remembered Lucas' screams. *Lucas is in trouble!* he thought. *I've got to get to Lucas.* With an unexpected crash, he hit the metal hull and rough barnacles on the boat. Using the side of the ship as a guide, he resurfaced. His hands holding him steady against the hull, he looked upward. The curved hull rose above him, the deck jutting outward toward the sea appearing as though the cliff of a great mountain. Several more bullets streamed into the water behind him, but safely at a distance. He realized that if they were going to see him, they would need to be out at sea, or leaning far over the edge of the deck. He was safe for the moment, but looking about the boat, he could see no way up. Pushing himself, he moved toward the front of the boat. The gunfire had stopped and he could no longer hear Lucas calling out to him. Several other excited voices could still be heard, and he could clearly hear a quiet conversation between Phuong and Captain Ngo, but he could not understand the words. *What happened to Lucas?* he wondered. Ignoring the voices, he pushed forward in the water. Toward the bow of the boat the voices were quieter. Looking up, he could only see the sheer wall of the hull and a massive chain and anchor protruding from a hole in the hull. The anchor was about fifteen feet above him. If he could reach the chain, he could get out of the water. But he had no way to grip the hull for which to reach it. He wiped the salty water from his face and floated there a moment, while staring up at the chain. *I don't know what to do. Lucas needs me. If the captain was here, he would know what to do. Dagwood needs to help Lucas.* He looked contemplatively out into the sea. *I can't reach him from here. What do I do? I need to get up on the boat to help Lucas.* Looking up again, he noticed he had drifted slightly away from the boat. He desperately, but quietly waded back to it. Grabbing at the sides to steady himself, he jammed his finger on the barnacles attached to the hull. He checked his finger; it was undamaged. Looking closely at the barnacles, they were difficult to see as the water continually rose and settled over them. Looking closer, he noticed the horizontal seams of the boat's panelling and the rough welds that held them together. The boat was old. The seams were old and in poor condition. Poking at a seam in front of him, it was solid. He poked, prodded, and punched at the seam until it cracked. Working his thick fingers into the crack, he pulled at the metal. It was not easy, but he pried it open enough to examine it. The sheet of metal that comprised the hull was about half an inch thick. While it was solid, he could open it and he felt confident that it would hold his weight. It gave him an idea. Reaching along the hull of the boat, he felt for another seam. He found one. Reaching painfully above his head, he grappled at the seam with his fingertips. He would not pound on it. That could draw attention to himself and the gun would quickly put him out. He could only inexorably massage and poke the seam with his fingers, creating a crack in the weld. When, at last, he had opened enough of a hole in which to put his fingertips, he pulled himself up by them and precariously dangled there. His genetically engineered strength held his weight on the tips of his fingers, while his free arm searched out another seam higher up. Finding one, he put his mind into automatic mode, attempting to climb to the cliff of the mountain that was the boat's deck far above him. * * * Lucas was dragged down into the innards of the boat by the men. "Stop! Damn it!" But they ignored him and carried him forward and deeper into the boat. Flashing by him, he saw the huge vats, conveyor belts, and other great machines used to process fish. They were not moving now and he desperately searched the huge rooms for any means of escape. There were no windows and it appeared that the only way out was through the doorways. He was taken into a smaller room that contained only a heavy door and a storage cabinet. Two men held him while another opened the cabinet and removed a thick parka. He then moved to open the heavy door. As he opened it, Lucas was hit by the blast of cold air. *No!* he thought. *They're gonna put me in the freezer!* The man threw the parka into the freezer. Lucas squirmed and fought against the men holding him, but they were already propelling him into the freezer. "No!" he yelled at them. He slid across the ice on the floor, finally coming to rest against a large locker of fish. "No! Don't do this!" He scrambled to his feet and ran unsteadily toward the door as it closed. "No! You can't do this!" He heard a chain lock the door shut. "Let me out! You can't do this!" He beat his fists on the door. "No!" But it was apparently now useless. Angry, he turned around and looked around the room for something to help him. Several racks lined the room, and on each were stacked lockers designed to store frozen fish for mass transport. The parka lay bunched on the floor beside one of the lockers. There was nothing else. To release his frustration, he swung his fist at one of the lockers. The hardness and coldness hurt his hand more than it hurt the locker. He cradled his hand and stared pensively at the locker. *Phuong said that Ngo wanted me specifically. What does he want me for?* He was quickly getting cold. He picked up the parka with his uninjured hand. A ripping sound cracked the air as the parka had already begun freezing to the metal floor. * * * Dagwood was about a body length from the anchor, when a splashing sound below him broke the silence that had eventually settled over the night. Looking downward, he saw a bright torpedo shape just below the surface, which stood out in contrast to the darkness of the sea. "Darwin?" he said in his loudest whisper. The dolphin put his head above water and pealed at him. "Darwin!" He looked above himself to see if Darwin's squeal had attracted the attention of anyone on deck. Discerning nothing, he dangled by the fingertips of one hand and used his other to put his index finger to his lips in a shushing motion. Darwin squealed again, not understanding. "Darwin! You must be quiet! Darwin must not attract the bad men!" Darwin simply watched him. The night wind caught Dagwood, and swayed him out into the air where he nearly lost his grip. Swaying back toward the hull, he outstretched his free hand to catch himself. The bang of his hand on the metal, broke the silence of the night. Dagwood froze, fearing the sound would draw the unwanted attention. After a few moments of tense silence, it seemed that the noise had not brought anybody. Looking downward, Dagwood saw that Darwin was still in the water below him. For what it was worth, he spoke to the dolphin. "Darwin. Go find Captain Bridger. Bring Captain Bridger here." Darwin did not move. "Go on. Get the captain. Go." He used his legs to kick at the dolphin in hopes that it would drive him away. "Go, Darwin. Go." It must have worked, because the next time he looked down, Darwin was gone. He looked out into the darkness of the sea, dreaming that he could see the shape of his dolphin friend racing to Bridger, but he could see only blackness. He felt cold. The night was getting colder, his fingers were raw , and his arms were tiring. Holding himself by the one hand of fingertips, he reached up for the next seam on the hull. * * * O'Neill removed his glasses and rubbed at his tiring eyes. They had already been looking for over four hours, but could find nothing. How could they expect to find the tiny transport in several *thousand* square feet of water. They had scanned with both instruments and their eyes over two square miles of ocean floor out from where they had left Lucas and Dagwood. They had also checked the surrounding waters, but they still had not looked on the surface. They could find nothing that could indicate where they had gone. O'Neill looked up at Bridger and he was tirelessly looking alternately into a scanner and out into the dark water. "Maybe we should go up to the surface, sir." "Hmm?" Bridger had barely heard him. O'Neill put the glasses back onto his face. "Maybe we should go up top. We might be able to put out a signal." This drew Bridger's attention. He turned to O'Neill. "What do you mean? We can't do that. That'll immediately draw the Macronesian military down on us." O'Neill sighed, exasperated. "Not that kind of signal. I mean a scanner signal. So we can check for them on the surface. We can get a much better range up there." Bridger blinked at him, confused. "What would they be doing up there?" He was getting agitated now. "I don't know. But that's one of the places we haven't looked." Ignoring the suggestion, Bridger put out his hand and flipped on the broadcaster for the dolphin vo-corder. "Darwin!" Silence answered him. "Darwin, this is Bridger." Nothing. He slammed the channel off in anger. "Damn! Has Darwin disappeared too?" he asked rhetorically. "Where the hell is he?" "I don't know, sir." stuttered O'Neill. Bridger looked at him and grimaced. After a moment, he sighed heavily and put his hand on O'Neill's shoulder. "I know. I'm sorry, Tim. I'm just a little uptight. I'm worried about Lucas." O'Neill grinned weakly in agreement and understanding. "It's not like him to do this. Something *must* be wrong." Again, O'Neill made his suggestion, "Why don't we go look on the surface?" "Okay." O'Neill began reaching for the controls. "But..." O'Neill stopped and looked at him. "But what, sir." "We need to get some sleep." "Are we going to stop looking for them?" "Of course not. One of us can keep searching while the other one sleeps." "I don't know if I can sleep. Not with--" "I know. But you've got to try. If Lucas and Dagwood need us, we can't be helping them while fighting fatigue too." O'Neill sighed. He *was* tired. "Okay. But who sleeps first?" "You go ahead." Bridger stepped back to allow room for O'Neill to move away from the controls. "I'll go ahead and keep looking." O'Neill stood and Bridger took his place at the transport controls. Unsteadily, O'Neill walked to the back as Bridger took the craft to the surface. * * * Lucas had tried to sit still and think, but the cold gnawed at him and numbed his feet. Instead, he paced back and forth along the rows of shelving, considering his predicament. He had no escape. Dagwood was probably lost or dead. The situation seemed hopeless. And he was quickly freezing to death. His muscles ached from the cold. His nose was running and the constant wiping at it caused it to be red and raw. He no longer felt the pain, for all feeling was gone. He stopped and stamped his feet, trying to return the pain that told him they were still there. Unexpectedly he heard the door opening on the other side of the lockers where he was standing. "Lucas?" someone called. He walked around the shelving to see who was at the doorway. Phuong stood there with Ngo and three others, expectantly watching him. "Lucas. Come on. We're gonna get you out of here." Defiantly Lucas walked to the doorway. "Did you get Dagwood?" "No. Captain Ngo says he can't keep feeding him with that appetite, but I'm trying to see what I can do after we take care of you." "What are you going to do with me?" "We're gonna get you into some warmer quarters. Come on." Phuong stood back to allow room for Lucas to exit the freezer. He exited, but noticed the three men standing to block an escape from the outer room. "Do you want to give me your jacket?" He turned to look at Ngo, then Phuong. Phuong was holding his arms out, ready to take the parka. "I'm cold." was all he said. "Okay." Phuong shut the freezer door. "We can take care of that later. Come on. Let's get you downstairs." They led him through several corridors as Phuong explained that Ngo had never intended for him to be put in the freezer. The men had simply put him where they knew he could not cause trouble. Ngo agreed, at Phuong's insistence, to put Lucas into more comfortable quarters. While they traveled through the boat, Lucas scanned for an escape route, but the maze of the ship only led to confusion by the time they reached their eventual destination. At least he was getting the feeling back in his feet and hands. He sniffed as his nose continued to run. They had stopped in a dark corridor at a small wooden door. Captain Ngo opened the door and it squeaked as he swung it wide. Phuong gestured for him to enter. "Come on, Lucas. Let's get inside." Upon entering the room, Phuong and Ngo followed him inside. The room was small and dark. Ngo pulled a chain from the ceiling which turned on a weak, yellowish light bulb in the center of the ceiling. It was a sparsely decorated room with a metal bunk bed holding two thin matresses, a tiny desk and chair, a small storage trunk, and no window. The walls were dirty. Ngo said something forcefully to Phuong and left, closing the door behind him. "Where's he going?" asked Lucas. "The Captain can't return to port without a good catch. We all lose money that way. He's going to start the boat and go searching for more..." the last word was unintelligible. "Searching for *what*?" "Fish." "Tuna?" "Yes, that's the word. I'm sorry. I'm a little rusty on my English. I don't use it much anymore." "Oh, really." Lucas remove the parka and sat on the bottom bed, placing the parka beside himself. "Where did you use it?" "My grandfather was American and therefore, my father was half American. We grew up speaking both languages in the home. That's also where I get the curly hair from. A little of my Irish heritage showing through." He smiled and sat down on the little chair in front of the desk and faced Lucas. "Hmm." was all Lucas could say. He stared pensively at the floor. Phuong reached out and touched him on the knee. "Lucas, you're going to be alright. Ngo does *not* want to hurt you." "Why do I get the feeling that that's not exactly true?" "Look, let me tell you something that may make this all easier to understand. I'm Buddhist." Lucas looked at him, perplexed. "I was raised with the Buddha-sasana belief. I'm not real fanatical about it, but I do know a bit of the history." Lucas stared intently at him, curious what this could have to do with anything. "Are you familiar with the story of Gotama and how he became the Buddha?" "No." he said. "Well, the texts tell of the early life of Gotama and how he discovered the *sasana*, or Awakening. For years, he had wondered how man could suffer a futile life of pain, disease, and eventually death. Life seemed so pointless to him. Troubled by this, Gotama decided to meditate beneath a bo-tree on the Ganges river, determined to stay until he reached the enlightenment as to the meaning of life. During this meditation, he was assaulted three times by Mara, the Evil One. But Mara's attempts to keep him from the truth were useless because after a week, Gotama had reached nirvana. He had found the meaning of life for man. In doing so, he became the Buddha." Phuong rubbed at his face momentarily and continued. "Now he could have *stayed* in the bliss of nirvana, but he chose to dedicate the rest of his life to teach this Dhamma to man, even while Mara continued to tempt him to return and stay in his nirvana. He chose to sacrifice his own nirvana for the rest of humankind. And do you know why?" Lucas was truly confused as to why Phuong was telling him this. "No, why?" "Because he thought it was his *obligation* to do so. For man, for all those lost people, who had no hope of a meaningful life, he *must* proclaim the Dhamma to others, he *must* establish the order of monks, and only then could he depart his mortal life." Lucas sat quietly watching him. After a few moments of contemplative silence, he sat back in the bed, leaning against the wall. "Why are you telling me this?" Looking down at his feet, Phuong rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head. Speaking to the floor, he said, "The lesson is that sometimes a man must give up something he needs or wants, for the greater good. Sometimes... people are obligated to... sacrifice themselves...so that others can have a better life." He looked up at Lucas. "Do you understand?" But Lucas' attention was far away and he did not answer. He was caught up in contemplation of what this meant. Was Phuong doing something he really did not want to do? What were they going to do with him? What about... Dagwood! Suddenly he jumped forward on the bed and pinned Phuong with his eyes. "You said you'd try and help Dagwood. Help him, now. He may still be out there in the water." He pointed to the wall. "He may still be okay. Help him before we leave this area!" Phuong sighed and stood. "Okay. I'll do what I can." "Do more than that. You've got to save his life. If I can't do it, you *must* do it. It's your... obligation!" "Okay." He moved toward the door and put his hand on the latch. "I hear you. He'll be okay. If at all possible, he'll be okay. Good night, Lucas." With that, he left. Lucas heard the door shut. He knew the door would be guarded, to prevent him leaving the room. Sighing heavily, he laid down and curled into a ball on the thin mattress, using the leftover parka as a pillow. His mind raced through the questions in his mind. Was Dagwood okay? Was he alive? And what did Ngo want with him? * * * Dagwood had reached the anchor and pulled himself up to the heavy chain. He was cold, tired and his fingers were raw from his ascent. He hung heavily on the chain, trying to catch his breath. Unexpected movement jarred him as the boat started forward, and he held on tighter, causing the muscles of his arms to cramp. As the boat picked up speed, sea water reared up in the bow's wake and pelted him. The battering pulled at him and forced him to hold on still tighter. If he tried to move now, he could easily fall. If he fell, he would be lost in the water and he could not help Lucas. Therefore, he simply bit down hard and held on to the chain with everything he had, refusing to let go. It would be a long night. * * * The next day, Ford walked out into the main room of the ship's mess while carrying his breakfast. He scanned the room, searching for someone with whom to share breakfast. He spotted Captain Hudson, and moved to sit next to him. "Can I talk to you, Captain?" he asked. Hudson looked up from a paper he had laid out before him. "Sure." He folded the paper and set it aside. His breakfast was nearly gone. "Have a seat." As Ford set down his tray and pulled out the chair to sit, Hudson continued. "What can I do for you, Commander?" Ford sat. "Well, sir, I was wondering if you'd heard from Bridger or the others." Angrily, Hudson looked down at his plate and jabbed at the food. Taking a hefty bite of soy sausage, he talked around it as he chewed. "No, I haven't." Ford sighed. "Look, Bridger told me where he was going." He looked around the room to see if anyone else could possibly hear him. Determining that no one could, he continued. "I know he's off to save his son. How could you let them go off like that, alone?" Hudson continued his chewing and swallowed. He picked up another fork full and held it poised in front of his mouth. "I trust Bridger. It's what he wanted." He put the sausage in his mouth and chewed vigorously. "I know, but they have no backup, no support. They've been gone for three days now, without a word." "Don't you think I know that? Didn't Bridger tell you he might be gone as long as two weeks?" Ford appeared stunned. "No, he didn't. He just said he was going to send Ensign Wolenczak back early." Hudson picked up his napkin and wiped at his mouth. Angrily he threw it down onto his plate. "Damn!" "What is it?" "You're right. The more I think about it, the more I think I've made a mistake. I'm getting damn uncomfortable with this whole situation." "You *let* them go. What can we do to help them *now*?" "Nothing. There's nothing we can do until either Lucas comes back to us, or they call us." * * * The boat slowed and Dagwood gingerly opened his eyes. They were crusty from being held tightly closed against the onslaught of water all night. It now was morning and the sunlight burned at his eyes, but warmed his cold body. He tried to shift his weight during the momentary freedom from the water, but his muscles screamed at him. They had been locked in a constant hold on the chain too long. His body chafed where the wet clothing had rubbed at his skin all night. His mouth was dry and sticky from lack of water. He was cold and miserable. Painfully he shifted his body and squinted up toward the deck. The pain shooting down his back caused him to lose his grip for a moment. Falling, he desperately reached out. He grabbed at the chain and his regained grip jarred his stiff joints. Slowly he pulled himself back up to a secure position atop the anchor. The spasms along his back and shoulders was almost unbearable. He could not help the guttural growl that escaped his lips. He heard the boats motors power up again. Again, the boat sped forward and again, the water beat at him. He could do nothing, but hold on for his life... and for Lucas'. * * * The sudden shift of the transport caused Bridger to slide forward on the tiny bunk. He gently bumped his head and it woke him up. He looked about bleary eyed and caught the sight of the two pressure suits hanging in a dark corner. He started, for a split second thinking that someone was standing there. "Captain! Captain, come here!" It was O'Neill calling him, and he remembered that he was here for something important, but his tired mind still could not focus. He scrambled out of bed, knowing that he must hurry. The transport was heading upward, toward the surface again, and he had to practically crawl to get up front, fighting the tilt caused by the transport's ascent. His mind cleared, and he remembered. Lucas and Dagwood were missing. "What? What is it?" O'Neill kept his eyes intently facing out the window. "It's the transport, sir." "Where?" "On the surface." "Is--" "I don't know if they're there, sir. It doesn't look like it." O'Neill brought the transport above the water and they both looked out the window at the smaller transport, desperate for a sign of their friends. Slowly, they pulled along side the smaller transport. "What happened?" asked Bridger. "It looks like it's been trashed." "Probably stripped. No telling where Lucas and Dagwood are now." He shivered at the sight of the long crack in the window. "Damn! Looks like Macronesia doesn't bother trying to stop piracy. Get closer. We have to get over there and get a look." O'Neill complied while Bridger again flipped the switch to contact Darwin. They had tried several times during the night, and he doubted this time would be any different. "Darwin. Darwin, this is Bridger." He was startled by the response. "Darwin needs Bridger. Dagwood in trouble. Lucas gone." End Part 7 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 22:49:39 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 8 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 8 Bridger's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Darwin's "voice" coming through the vo-corder. "Darwin! Where are you?" "Darwin come to Bridger." the vo-corder responded. "Darwin not far." "How long will it take you to get here?" The vo-corder was silent for a moment before it responded, "Darwin come soon." *Damn!* thought Bridger. Darwin's sense of time had always been difficult. Or, at least, different from the way humans perceived it. Bridger leaned in toward the microphone. "We'll be waiting for you." He looked out the window at the smaller craft. O'Neill had brought the two transports side by side. Turning to O'Neill, he commanded, "Get over there and see what's left, see if you can find any clues as to what happened to Lucas and Dagwood, and see what kind of damage she's taken." O'Neill stood. "Aye, sir." He moved to open the smaller hatch near the top of their transport. Bridger busied himself transferring vocorder control from the ship to the little yellow portable device. When he was done, he noticed that O'Neill had opened the hatch, but was searching for something to boost himself toward it the hatch above his head. "Here, Tim." Bridger aided O'Neill in exiting the craft's hatch and he quickly followed as O'Neill climbed over the transport. Once he was outside, Bridger sat on top of the transport with his legs dangling inside the hatch and watched as O'Neill safely reached the smaller transport. A grim expression covered Bridger's face as O'Neill entered the other craft. He realized that the hatch had been left open, which meant that Lucas and Dagwood had left it in a hurry. Disturbed, but feeling momentarily helpless, he visually scanned the horizon, in hopes that he would soon see the familiar shape of Darwin in the water. He checked the vo-corder to be sure that he had activated it. His attentions alternated between watching the horizon and watching the smaller transport. *What the hell could be going on? Oh, God, let Lucas and Dagwood be okay. I've already lost my son. I don't want to lose them in the process of getting Robert back. It's not worth it. Not at that price.* His thoughts wandered to Robert and the mysterious reasons for his "death". He did not want to retread those feelings right now, so he forced himself to consider that *when* they recovered Lucas and Dagwood, how were they going to attempt Robert's rescue from the Tasman Penitentiary. Should they cancel the mission? But there was no guarantee that Robert would still be alive if he tried another time, and he had no idea how long it would take to track him down again. His thoughts were gratefully interrupted by Darwin's familiar squeal. "Darwin here," translated the little vo-corder. "Darwin! Thank God!" He looked about the transport until he found the familiar shape of his aquatic friend in the water. "Bridger help Lucas and Dagwood?" "Yes, Darwin, we will. Tell me, why did they leave the transport? What happened to them?" "Boat hurt dolphin. Lucas and Dagwood help. Now, Lucas gone. Dagwood on boat." Bridger was familiar enough with Darwin to be able to tell that the dolphin was tired. He looked bedraggled and listless. But Darwin had information that he needed and fast. "Lucas is gone? Gone where?" "Don't know." Bridger noted that O'Neill had put his head and shoulders outside the smaller craft, listening. "Did they take him somewhere else? When did you last see him?" "On boat. Lucas and Dagwood struggle. Not see Lucas go." "So he could still be on the boat, you just don't see him there anymore?" "Yes. Lucas gone." "Is Dagwood okay?" "Dagwood in water. Dagwood now on boat." What did *that* mean? "Dagwood's on the boat? Is he okay?" "No. Dagwood not okay." Bridger looked worriedly at O'Neill. "Darwin, are the people hurting him somehow?" There was a noticeable delay before Darwin's response. "No. Dagwood on boat. Dagwood in trouble." In exasperation, Bridger shrugged and spread his hands to O'Neill. For all the breakthroughs they had made in communicating with the dolphin, the thought processes were still so different that sometimes they encountered concepts that could not be understood by either of them. "What do you make of that, Tim?" "I don't know. Dagwood's on the boat and they're not hurting him, but he's in trouble. It could mean almost anything, sir." "Or maybe they're threatening to hurt him? And Lucas..." Bridger silently contemplated the meaning of this, but he could come up with nothing. He noticed O'Neill's anxious stare when his mind changed gears. "How's the transport look?" "Well, sir, it's not as bad as it looks. The window's cracked, some wiring's been ripped out of the electrical system, there's a hole in the main coolant pipe, and several of the controls were smashed. But very little was removed from the supplies. It appears like they took Lucas and Dagwood and dumped the craft. They didn't take the time to cause any real damage or go through any of the supplies to take anything. They just wanted to get rid of it as fast as possible from the looks of it." "Hmm." Bridger put his hand to his chin in contemplation. "Can you repair it?" "Sure." He looked around the craft as if it were obvious. "I'll need some parts and tools but it shouldn't be too much trouble. Probably take most of a day." He waited for a response, but Bridger was deep in thought. "Sir?" Bridger looked pensively up at O'Neill and he could tell that his mind was still elsewhere. Quietly he asked, "What about Dagwood and Lucas? Shouldn't we worry about them first?" Bridger held out his hand to indicate for O'Neill to hold his thought. He looked down into the water. Darwin was gone. He lifted the vocorder to his mouth. "Darwin?" He heard a splash and the squeak of the dolphin from behind him. "Darwin hungry." He turned toward the squeak. "Darwin need fish." He laughed gently. It helped to relieve some of the tension he had not realized he was holding. He knew Darwin had come a long way to get him and he must be quite tired. But he still needed more information. "In a minute, Darwin. First-- how far away is this boat?" "Not far." Again, the communication barrier caused the concept of measured distances to be obscured. "Was it moving when you last saw it?" "No." Bridger sighed. That did not mean that it was not moving now. "Okay, Darwin. Go get some fish." He shooed at the dolphin and he instantly disappeared beneath the surface. Turning to O'Neill, Bridger told him of his plan, what little there was of it. While transferring supplies, including tools and parts to repair the smaller transport as well as some food, water, and basic supplies, Bridger told him that he wanted him to stay and repair the craft. He did not like leaving O'Neill alone in Macronesian territory, but he needed the craft if he was to have any success of saving Robert and getting Lucas back alive. Meanwhile, Bridger would go with Darwin to find Lucas and Dagwood. If O'Neill didn't hear back from Bridger within three days, he was to return to seaQuest and see if they could do anything from there. He hoped it would not come to that. When the transfer of supplies was complete, Bridger called to Darwin who led them away, toward the boat with Dagwood and, hopefully, Lucas. O'Neill simply watched the larger transport until it dived. Looking around from horizon to horizon, he suddenly felt very alone. He made the sign of the cross across his chest and set to work on the repairs. * * * Lucas woke in darkness. Obviously someone had come into the room during the night and turned off the light, because he knew he had not done it. Sitting up in the bed, he could see with the faint light entering from around the doorway. He rubbed at his face and scratched at his hair. Because there were no windows, he had no idea what time it was. It could still be the middle of the night for all he knew. He had had a hard time getting to sleep, not that he really wanted to sleep. Throughout the night, his mind kept wondering back to-- Dagwood! A sinking feeling hit his stomach. He did not know what had happened to Dagwood. Surely if Phuong had saved him, he would have told Lucas. But Phuong had not come. He stood in the darkness, stretching and listening for any sounds that would tell him what was happening. He heard only a deep rumble. Reaching out he put his hand on the wall and felt the thrum of the boat's engines. They were moving. That meant Dagwood was probably left in the water. Defeated, he fell back onto the bed and put his hands to his face. *Oh, God, Dagwood! If you're not alright...* He did not want to think about it, but he could not help himself. *Did I do this? Did my decision to save those dolphins cause Dagwood's death? Are the dolphin lives worth Dagwood's?* He pressed at his temples and struggled with the questions and doubts running through his mind. *I've got to do something! I don't have all the facts! I can't keep thinking like this! Dagwood may still be okay and I've got to help him! Every second could make a difference!* Decisively he stood and pulled the chain that turned on the little light in the ceiling. He faced the door and steeled himself. First thing he had to do was to get out of this "prison". He experimentally pulled the door handle. As he expected, it was locked. He pounded his fist on the door and shouted, demanding a response. When, at last, the door was opened, it almost knocked him over. The man at the door had shoulder length black hair and a thick black mustache. His build was medium and Lucas considered if he could take down the man in a fight. The three foot metal pipe in the man's hand caused him to reconsider. He asked a guttural question of Lucas which he took to be "what do you want." "I've got to go to the bathroom." He got only a confused look in response. Lucas pantomimed the motions to indicate that he had a need to urinate, which he did need to do. The man stepped out into the hall and used the pipe to indicate for Lucas to come out. As Lucas stepped out of the room, he was grabbed by his upper arm and guided down the hallway. As they moved, Lucas continually scanned around himself for a way out. He could not see sunlight or an outside window anywhere. If he saw that, he knew he could make a move. He hoped he would not come to the his destination too soon. But he did. The man halted him in front of another doorway and again used the pipe to indicate that Lucas open the door. Pushing it open, the smell of the room told him they had arrived. It stank of urine and uncleanliness. Entering and turning around, he saw that the man had followed him in and took a stern stance, blocking the door. As Lucas took care of his needs, the man sternly watched. *There're no windows on the way here. No indication of a way out. Damn! Now what do I do? I've got to act.* His mind raced, trying to fathom what chances he had. Every second he delayed, was one less second for Dagwood. That was, of course, if Dagwood was even still alive. His chances alone in the water were slim. Finishing, he moved toward the sink to wash, but the man grabbed at his arm and pulled him back out into the hallway. He pushed him forward, back toward the room, but this time he did not bother holding onto Lucas. Intentionally walking slowly, Lucas continued to search for a way out. Glancing to his left, an intersecting hallway showed a stairway leading upward. For the briefest moment, he thought he saw the glint of sunlight. It was time to act. Quickly turning, Lucas swung at the man's head with his right fist while simultaneously grabbing at the end of the pipe with his left. The man was startled by the sudden movement and the crush against his cheekbone, but he kept his hold on the pipe. Using both hands, the man grabbed at the pipe and tried to wrench it from Lucas' hands. In a tugging match, they both pulled at the pipe, vying for control of it. The man howled and twisted the pipe in Lucas' hands. As if in slow motion, Lucas watched as the pipe slipped from his grasp. He dashed for the open hallway, but was knocked down by the pipe crashing across his shoulder. Struggling to stand, the man hit at him again. Raising his arms to protect his head, Lucas curled on the ground in a foetal position. Things started happening fast and he was not sure what was really happening. He heard many shouting voices, felt the pipe across his back, shoulders, and hip, and felt hands grabbing at him and trying to pull him away. Eventually, he found himself awkwardly lifted to his feet but his left hip had difficulty holding his weight and the hands that held him literally had to hold him up for a moment. His shoulder screamed at him where someone was holding him. He was being held facing the infuriated man whom he had struck. The man shouted incoherently to him. Lucas simply turned away. Guided by the hands holding his arms, he obligingly limped back toward his "prison". They gingerly set him down on the bed and silently left the room, locking the door behind them. He heard shouts and vehement arguments from the other side of the door, but he could not follow what was being said. He ignored them and tested the extent of his injuries. There seemed to be no bleeding. Standing, his left leg had difficulty holding his weight, but if he put most of his weight on his right leg, he could hobble somewhat. His left shoulder sent unbearable pain shooting up his neck when he experimentally moved it, so he let it hang uselessly. Worst of all, there were two particular spots on his side and back where it felt as if a knife were within his flesh. He feared broken or cracked ribs. The areas were hot from the welling blood beneath the skin. He was lucky that none of the blows were to his head. He sat again on the bed, but he could not get into a position that alleviated the pain. He simply sat, trying to keep his back straight. The door burst open and Phuong came charging in. "Lucas! What did you think you were doing?!" His eyes were wide. Anger and empathy showed on his face. "Trying to escape." He sounded indignant. "Where were you gonna go? There's nothing but water out there!" He pointed to the wall opposite the door. "I've got to do something. I can't--" Ngo burst in the door, shoved Phuong aside, and slammed his fist against Lucas' head. Lucas crumbled onto the bed, landing on his injured shoulder. The mass of pain caused him to fall onto the floor as Ngo shouted at him. Rolling over and propping himself up on the good arm, he looked up at them. Through the ringing in his ears and the dizziness, he saw Phuong holding back an enraged Ngo. Luckily, Ngo turned his anger on Phuong. They shouted at each other and made threatening arm gestures. The shouting escalated as each tried to out shout the other. Ngo won. The room was eerily silent as the two stopped and faced each other. Unexpectedly, Ngo turned to Lucas again and pointed threateningly to him. Phuong started, but held back when he saw that Ngo did not intend to strike Lucas again. Ngo said something which Lucas took to be a warning and turned away. Using his good arm and good leg, Lucas awkwardly stood. Phuong stepped toward him while Ngo watched over his shoulder. "Don't ever do that again, Lucas! That will--" He cut himself off and bit back his words. He had almost said something he did not want to say. Lucas stared angrily back at Phuong. "Will what? Get me killed?" Through tight lips Phuong responded. "Maybe." "Well, I don't understand. If Captain Ngo killed Dagwood and saved me, what does he want *me* for? What does he intend to do with me and why... beat me up if he wants to save me for some reason?" Phuong sighed and turned to Ngo. They exchanged a few terse words and he turned back to Lucas. "Why don't you sit down?" "No! I'll stand! Just tell me what he wants!" Phuong scratched at his scalp. "You're not gonna like it." "Just tell me." "Lucas, I'm trying to save you. You must understand that. I've been doing what I can to help you when we get to port. I don't want this to happen." "What is it!?" Lucas shouted. He was tired of the game and his temper was short. Clearly, Phuong was uncomfortable. "You're a young, healthy man. There's a... market for people like you in certain parts of the world. Especially... a white man." Lucas' eyes grew wide and he hugged his injured arm to himself. "You intend to sell me? As a slave?" He grunted. "I don't. But Captain Ngo does. Or for... your organs." Lucas was disgusted. He had no idea the archaic practice of selling body parts to wealthy people still existed. "You can't do that! My God, the UEO won't put up with that!" "This *isn't* the UEO! You're in Macronesian waters now! The same rules don't apply here! Now, if you--" "My God, Phuong, people will come looking for me. Do you know who I am!?" Intrigued, Phuong paused and looked sideways at Lucas. "I thought you said you and Dagwood were visiting some friends in New Hawaii. Is there something you're not telling me?" Lucas, realizing his gaffe, squirmed under the gaze. "No, I've just got some very influential friends." "Lucas, whatever it is, tell me. It might help me save you. I need your help." Lucas seriously considered if he should tell Phuong the whole story. Dagwood was probably dead by now, and he had little hope of getting back to Bridger or seaQuest. He had no idea where they were taking him, and the illegal activities they were undertaking guaranteed that his abduction would be kept secret. He had so little hope. But the more information he had, the better off he would be. "Where are you taking me?" "Damn it, Lucas! Help me! Help me help you! What is it you're not telling me!" "I'd rather not say right now. Just tell me where you're taking me?" Phuong glanced nervously back at Ngo. "Ngo plans to make port at Ho Chi Minh. After that, he wants to meet with some friends, um... in the business to try to make a deal. Lucas, that's when I want to try to get you away, during the transition. But you've got to help me. The more information I have, the more I can do. What is it you're hiding?" But Lucas simply turned away. Frustrated, Phuong stepped up to him and gripped him by the elbow, which only caused more pain and he held himself tighter. "Help me. You've got to tell me. You've got to trust me!" Lucas looked him in the eye. "Right now, I'm not sure who I can trust." Frustrated, Phuong let him go. "If you--" Ngo barked an order at Phuong to which he responded by stepping away. Reluctantly he moved toward the door. "Lucas, I have to go now. The captain wants to get a doctor in here to look over your injuries. Think about what I've said. If you decide to tell me anything, do it soon. If I'm gonna help you, I need your help. Remember that." Lucas faced away from them and waited silently until he heard the door close and lock behind them. Turning toward the door, he considered. There was so much at stake. Should he trust this man? * * * Against the onslaught of water pounding at him, Dagwood held on tight with one arm and painstakingly released the other. Fighting the water, he outstretched his arm and painfully flexed the muscles, working out the knots. He soon just let the arm hang uselessly at his side. Ironically, the beating of the water worked to massage the tired muscles. He let the arm rest there for a few minutes, then methodically did the same for the other limbs. When done, he repeated it several times. The movement refreshed him. He looked out along the horizon. A glint in the water near him caught his eye. Looking downward, he noticed the shape of a dolphin following the boat very near his position. *Darwin!* he thought. He smiled and hoped that this meant help had arrived. Then he noticed another dolphin beside Darwin, darting through the water. Watching closer, he saw more of them moving about. His heart sank as he realized this was not Darwin. He turned away and rested his forehead on the edge of the chain. The help he needed had not arrived. His mouth was starved for water. With it all around him, he felt frustrated knowing that he could not drink any. Several times he took a mouthful of the salty water and spit it out in an effort to alleviate the dryness in his throat. The salt only made the need worse. This could not go on. He must get on the deck. Slowly shifting his position, he tried to lift his foot higher on the chain. Spasms rocked along his buttocks and spine as he put weight on the strained muscles. His legs slipped off the chain and he hugged the chain to stop from falling. The pounding water nearly ripped him from the chain as he swayed in its torrent. His only grasp was his already over stressed arms. The spasms in his back and neck caused dizziness and his head began to throb. His mind began to slip away with the pain. Somewhere a small part of his mind told him to simply hang on. He hung on until eventually his swinging brought him around and his knee bumped the chain. Without thinking, he kicked outward and wrapped his leg around the chain again. He could do nothing until the boat stopped. He just hung on. * * * Bridger scanned the surface for the boat. He could find nothing. "Boat was here." Darwin spoke to him from the water. "Well," Bridger double checked the sensors, "it's not here, now." Thinking about his options for a moment, he scratched at his beard. Finally, he leaned into the vo-corder microphone. "Darwin. I'm going to go to the surface and have a look. You can rest for a moment." "Darwin need food. Darwin go fish." Hearing that last statement, Bridger thought of the card game, "fish", he had not played since Robert was a small child and the thought warmed him. For the briefest of moments he considered a retort, but he knew it would only confuse the dolphin and they would lose precious time in the explanation. Instead, he went to the surface. When he arrived, he was surprised by how little time had passed. It was still morning, but the trip here had seemed an eternity. He set to work on scanning the surface for the mysterious pirate boat that had taken Lucas and Dagwood. Slowly and methodically he gathered a 180 degree electromagnetic view of the ocean surface for 2 miles outward. Discerning nothing, he widened the scan by 2 more miles. He continued until, at a radius of 40 miles, he got several hits. The problem was, at this distance, any one of them could be the boat for which he was searching. They could also easily be ghosts or debris. He sighed heavily and sat back to consider his options. Remembering, he reached into his pocket and removed a small electronic device. It was the homing signal device that Captain Hudson had given him back on the seaQuest just before they had left. He turned it slowly in his hands, examining it. But his mind was elsewhere. *If I'd given this to Lucas, I wouldn't have this problem. But I've let my own stubbornness get in the way. I didn't want seaQuest's help. Too risky. Too many people involved. Now, I wish I'd had a little more confidence in them. Now...* He placed his thumb on the little switch that would activate the device, but he did not press it. *Just a push of a button, and I get the help that I need to get Lucas back, but I risk losing Robert all over again. I know the odds. I know what Robert is up against. If I don't act now, I may never see Robert again.* He was suddenly reminded of a similar situation. On Hyperion, he had agonized over the push of a button that could mean life or death for himself and many of the people he loved. Was it worth the sacrifice? The weight of the world was awful heavy sometimes. Today, more than most. "Darwin find boat!" Bridger was so startled by the vo-corder "voice" that interrupted his thoughts that he nearly dropped the homing device. "Bridger follow!" "Darwin! How did you find it?" "Dolphins tell. They see Dagwood." Bridger put the homing device back into his pocket and prepared to dive again. "Lead the way, my friend." * * * The first thing O'Neill repaired was the wiring. He needed to get it done while he still had plenty of daylight. Also, there was little he could do without full power to the sensors and gauges. Having completed that, the next thing he needed to work on was the crack in the window. It would not do to have water leaking inside the craft. He crawled out and sat on top of the little transport, precariously leaning over toward the window. He needed to see how extensive the damage was from outside and determine how best to pour the metallic resin over the crack. His awkward position caused him to slip and he began to slide toward the water. He hugged the craft to steady himself. O'Neill did not like the water. At least not when he was all alone in the middle of nowhere. He suddenly pictured himself surrounded by water, struggling for air, and a shark menacing. That was the worst. He would not mind a peaceful death like drowning, but a shark attack gave him the shivers. He did not want a violent or painful death. He remembered a nightmare he had had as a child where he was swimming in a great lake. His family was on the shore waiting for him to swim over and have a picnic. In his efforts to get to them, he was inexplicably surrounded by giant sea turtles and he remembered how slow and graceful they swam. He could still see the gleam of sunlight in the water as he watched the turtle swimming above him. They seemed so peaceful, but somehow he knew they had evil intentions. No matter what he did to get away from them, they blocked his path. Eventually they herded him deeper and deeper into the lake until he came to an underwater cave where the king sea turtle waited to eat him. He struggled to get away, but he kept bumping into the turtles and the only way he could go was forward. He watched in terror as the king turtle's great jaws opened and he slipped inside. It was a curious feeling having his torso vigorously chewed on. It did not hurt, but seemed peaceful in a strange way. He knew he was going to die, and he felt at peace, analyzing the feel of his chest being crushed. That dream had bothered him for years and it seemed strange that it would come to him now. Sometimes he wondered why he had decided to join the UEO with fears like that. He wasn't afraid of water. He was just afraid of being alone in the ocean with all manner of sea creatures around him. Suddenly he realized how silly his thinking was. He wiped the thoughts from his mind and set to examining the crack. He determined what he needed to know and slowly crawled back toward the hatch. Once inside, he felt safe. He began mixing the metallic resins to pour over the crack and seal it against the deep sea pressures. It would not look pretty, but it would get the job done. And it would keep away the monsters. * * * "Boat here." "I see it, Darwin." Bridger had just confirmed the presence of the boat on the surface. He slowly, but desperately brought the transport to the surface about 500 feet from the stern of the fishing boat. He followed it as it continued moving through the water, keeping a constant distance. *Is this it?* he asked himself. Doubt nagged at him. His eyes scanned the deck of the boat for Dagwood, but he could see nothing. He noticed several of the crew turning around and watching him. Darwin leaped from the water several feet to his left. "Dagwood on boat!" said the vo-corder. But Bridger could see no sign of him. He sped the transport nearer Darwin's position. He was now moving through the water beside the boat, but he was still keeping a distance from it. He still could not see any sign of Dagwood. Looking closer, he finally saw him hanging desperately to the anchor chain on the bow of the boat. "My God!" escaped his lips. He fumbled to turn on the radio to contact the ship. There was already an angry signal of foreign voices calling for him. Angrily he held the microphone close to his mouth and virtually shouted. "Fishing vessel. This is the underwater craft off your port. I demand that you stop your boat, now!" End Part 8 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 22:50:39 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 9 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 9 The speaker squawked at Bridger unintelligibly. "Stop the boat!" he screamed into the microphone. "You have a man overboard! Stop the boat, now!" They simply yelled back at him; neither could understand the other. Frustrated, Bridger dropped the microphone and pulled hard on the transport's controls so that he was moving very near the boat. Looking out the window, he spied the boat's bridge where agitated faces peered back at him through its wide row of windows. One man in particular was waving his arms, angrily indicating for him to get away from the boat. Bridger put his hands forward in a stopping motion. He had to make them understand. Finally, a voice spoke English to him from the tiny radio speaker. "Move away from the boat." Frantic, Bridger picked up the microphone again and lifted it to his mouth. "You've got to stop that boat, right now!" His voice was edged with anger. Emphatically the voice repeated, "Move away from the boat." "Stop the boat, or someone is going to die!" "Are you threatening us?" "No, dammit! You've--" "That's hardly a reason for us to stop." "Dammit, you've got someone--" How was he to explain it? "Someone is attached to your boat. He's in danger if you don't stop, now!" He got silence in return. He tried to look for Dagwood on the bow of the boat, but from their positions, he could not see him. Suddenly, the boat sped forward, trying to get away. "Dammit! STOP!!" Bridger poured power into the transport and sped forward, trying to keep up with the boat, but it was quickly out distancing him. Its speed on the surface was better that Bridger's transport and he was forced to quickly dive to keep up. * * * Random thoughts flitted through Dagwood's mind as he mindlessly held on to the chain. Flashes of his past moved in front of his eyes. He saw his brother and him as children, growing up under the watchful eye of the scientists at Gen-U-Flect Labs. He saw Jim Brody smile warmly at him as he worked at scrubbing clean the bridge of seaQuest. He saw Tony Piccolo in the mess, gyrating wildly to that unusual music that he liked so much. He saw Miguel Ortiz patiently trying to teach him how to tie his shoelace. He saw Darwin excitedly swimming circles in the moonpool. For a moment he thought he could see the dolphin below him again. He looked down into the water, but his view was obscured by the spew of froth created by the boat as it sliced through the ocean. It was impossible to see below himself. If Darwin was there, he would not know it. He felt his mind quietly drifting away in a haze of weakness and despair. His ears seemed to be ringing; he had a peculiar, insistent buzz in them. He shook his head, agitated. The buzz persisted and his mind unexpectedly clicked into awareness. The sound was not just in his head. Searching the horizon for its source, he immediately spotted Bridger's transport speeding alongside the boat. *Captain!* he thought. Were they here to help him save Lucas? He dangerously outstretched his arm, trying to attract Bridger's attention. Unexpectedly the boat's speed increased and he abruptly lost sight of the transport. The water's pounding at him increased and he brought his arm back to the chain as the crashing water threatened to pull him away. He fought even harder to hang on. When he regained a firmer grip, he again looked outward for the transport. For the briefest of moments, he thought he saw it before it dived below the surface. Tenuously, he reached out again and tried to call for his friends. His throat was dry. He could only release a quiet grunt. * * * "Lucas!" The door to his room burst open and Phuong rapidly entered. Slowly and tenderly, as for minimal pain, Lucas sat up from the bed. "What?" he asked, irritated. He had been gently flexing his right shoulder in an attempt to increase the circulation. Earlier, someone had come and silently administered to his injuries and this person had wrapped his left shoulder and upper torso in thick cloths. The tightness of the wrappings restricted his movements while reducing the blood getting to the injuries. Looking up at Phuong, he noticed the worry and excitement in his face. Phuong blurted, "Someone's here looking for you!" Phuong had Lucas' immediate and rapt attention. "Who is it?" "I don't know." He balled his fists at his sides and shifted back and forth on his feet, clearly agitated. "I tried to get the captain to stop, but he refused." "Well what happened?" "An undersea vessel came out of nowhere and demanded that we stop. Ngo wouldn't have anything to do with it and he's trying to get us away." Lucas awkwardly tried to stand, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and hip, but grunting nonetheless. "Let me go up there. Maybe I can figure it out." "No, Lucas." Phuong put his hand on Lucas' chest, preventing him from moving toward the door. "Ngo isn't going to let you go on deck. He doesn't want you seen. But if you know who might be out here searching for you, maybe I can help." "What do you mean?" Lucas gave him a perplexed look. Something did not sound right. "You've got to let me go now. This may be my best chance to get away." "I know, Lucas. But just hold tight and stay here. If you think you know who's out there, tell me now. I'll be back to get you as soon as I get things worked out." "I..." Something really sounded wrong. Why did he so desperately need to know who was searching for him? What was going on? He licked his lips before finally answering. "I don't know." The hand that Phuong held against Lucas' chest slowly balled into a fist. Silent anger boiled to the surface of his face. "Damn!" he swore. He dropped the hand, turned, and without a word, exited the room. * * * Just below the surface, Bridger shot through the water. Above and slightly in front of him, he could see the bottom of the boat; darting between him and the boat was Darwin. With difficulty, he used one hand to hold the transport on a steady course while grabbing at the microphone with the other. He held the mike in front of his mouth and began to speak, but something made him pause. What was he going to say to them? What he had already said, had proved to by ineffective. Quickly he weighed his options. Could he use force? But what would he use to stop them? The transport was no match for the much larger boat. It had no weapons. All he had was a hand-held UEO type laser pistol, and he knew it could not be used to stop the large boat. Could he rationally convince them to stop? There was little chance of that, especially if they were up to illegal activities like... murder. From the looks of it, they were either torturing Dagwood or were unaware he was attached to their boat. And where was Lucas? He hoped they had just taken him, for reasons as yet unknown. It was easier to believe that, than to consider that he might be dead. What other recourse did he have? Could he deceive them into stopping? After all, they had no idea who he was. Maybe... He lifted the microphone to his mouth again. His mouth was dry and he licked at his lips before pressing the button to call to them. "Fishing vessel! This is General Luther Watson of the Macronesian Alliance. I am ordering you to stand down immediately. To not do so is in violation of Alliance order MA-2340 and could result in the destruction of your vessel." He bit his lip in anticipation. The lie, of course, could not be backed up, but it should at least make them stop. It would give Dagwood a chance. And hopefully Lucas too. For emphasis, he repeated the order again. * * * Phuong had returned to the bridge to, if needed, aid in translation again. Upon hearing Bridger's words, the sweat began forming on his forehead. Turning to his captain, he again translated. "He says he's a general of the Alliance. If we don't stop, they'll destroy us." The silence of the bridge was palpable as all eyes watched and waited for a response from Ngo. His eyes burned with fury at the words. He stood fuming for a moment until several of the men turned away in discomfort. Breaking the silence, he barked at his first mate in sharp Vietnamese words. "Use the sonar to see what they have below us." The man quickly jumped to the controls and activated them. After a few moments of staring into the amber screens, he turned back to Ngo. "It's hard to tell at this speed, but it appears there's only one small craft below us." Taking the news in silence, Ngo slowly walked over to the window and stared out onto the ocean's horizon. Bridger's voice called out from the intercom again and Phuong again translated, "He says stop now or we'll suffer the consequences." The room again waited for Ngo's decision in silence. Eventually, Ngo turned and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. He walked silently to a locked storage cabinet, and unlocked it. Swinging the door open, he reached inside and forcefully removed his pistol. "Full stop." he ordered. Phuong was astonished. Surprise and anger washed across his face. "Sir, that man we have locked up means alot of money to us! I'm *not* going to surrender him!" Others in the room also shouted their protests. "No!" Ngo outshouted them all. He brandished the gun as if to make his point. "The young, white man stays. If this is Alliance military, we know nothing about him. If it's not..." He pointed the gun and imitated firing the gun to indicate his intentions. * * * Through the dullness in his mind, Dagwood felt their speed diminish and all movement finally stopped. He blinked at the vertigo; his body had become a little too accustomed to the constant movement. He shook his head to remove the groggy fog that had settled over his mind; it took him a moment to determined what had changed. The boat had stopped. Now was his chance and he knew he may not get another one soon. Slowly and under extreme pain he let go with one hand and reached higher on the chain. Spasms rocked along his shoulder and back. Several muscles in his arm tried to lock up and he growled through gritted teeth at the pain. He breathed heavily, and steeled himself. Using his dagger strength, he used the one painful and spasming arm to hoist his full body weight a couple of feet up the chain. He wanted to howl through his clenched teeth, but he could only let out a muffled growl. Somewhere his mind remembered seeing Bridger's other transport, but he could not be sure if it was real or imagined. He knew that regardless if they had come to rescue him and Lucas, he had to reach the deck and save Lucas before the boat moved again. He reached again and pulled himself higher. * * * Bridger felt the chill run down his spine at the prospect of what he was about to do. While the boat had slowed down he had retrieved the laser pistol. He now held it tight in one hand while bringing the craft, again, to the surface. He intentionally surfaced near the bow of the boat to check on Dagwood. Panic momentarily struck him when he could not find him on the chain, but the sight of his spotted and bald head above the edge of the deck line reassured him that Dagwood had gotten to reasonable safety. Slowly he brought the craft around the boat and approached from the stern. Several of the ship's crew had gathered there and watched him curiously as he approached. They made no move to assist him in his approach yet they also made no move to resist him either. Bridger brought the craft gently closer to the boat's edge until it bumped against the stern. Double checking the charge on the laser pistol, he moved to open the hatch. * * * Ngo stepped down the last set of stairs with Phuong and several others close at his heels. Hitting the doorway leading to the deck, the blast of hot, humid air made his eyes water. He placed the back of his hand to his forehead, trying to stave off the heat, and the cool metal of the gun in his hand brushed against his forehead. Purposefully he walked forth and pointed the gun at the transport as it rested against the back of his boat. The others followed, but stayed several feet behind him. They watched from over his shoulders like little children. With a loud pop and clang, the sound of the hatch opening and falling backward cracked the silence in the air. Bridger slowly emerged with the laser pistol in his hand. He held the gun aimed at Ngo. Without flinching he said, "I have reason to believe you have some friends of mine aboard." Ngo silently motioned for Phuong to come forward. He obediently moved to stand next to Ngo. He translated Bridger's words and Ngo gave a terse response. "He says he doesn't know what you are talking about. Only the regular crew is on board." "Okay, let me rephrase that. I *know* you have some friends of mine on board. Send them out now, nobody gets hurt, and we can go our separate ways." Bridger noted Dagwood's quiet and otherwise unnoticed arrival from the other side of the main cabin. Phuong looked sideways at him and translated again. At the translation, Ngo burst into a tirade at Bridger while keeping the gun steadily aimed at him. Phuong calmly spoke again, but this time a slight quirk was upon his face. "Mister, we can't help you with your missing friends. You must have the wrong boat, because we haven't seen nobody. The captain doesn't take threats lightly from roustabouts or pirates, like yourself." He raised his hand in exasperation. "What are you gonna do? You're all alone out here." "Despite my appearance, I really don't want to hurt anybody. I just want my friends back, safely." His eyes never wavered from Ngo. "Mister, I really don't know what--" "Dagwood!" Bridger screamed. The men were startled and watched Bridger with readiness. "Go!" Dagwood bodily lifted the man nearest him and used him as a battering ram on several others. Surprised, Ngo turned and tried to get a clear shot at the intruder, but too many of his own men were in the way. He fired a couple of warning shots above their heads and most dove for the deck to avoid any errant bullets. Dagwood continued to fight, unafraid. A melee ensued as several men tried to get to him, but most of them scattered in the confusion. Ngo heard an unmistakable sound behind him and he turned. Bridger had boarded the boat in the confusion. He stood about ten feet from Ngo and again held the laser piston aimed at Ngo. Startled, Ngo immediately brought the gun around to bear on Bridger again. The sweat began to roll across Ngo's face. Bridger shouted, "Dagwood!" The dagger stopped throwing people about and stood poised. He held one of the men he had grabbed by the shirt and he simply dangled, not trying to move or provoke the big man. "Captain?" he croaked. Bridger inwardly winced at the title, but he never wavered his eyes from Ngo. "Stop for a moment. You okay?" His brow wrinkled in thought. He momentarily glanced at the man in his grasp then down at his own raw and water soaked body before giving a response. "Mmm, No." his voice cracked. "Where's Lucas?" "Dagwood's not sure." "Is he on the boat?" "Dagwood thinks so. Unless they threw him into the water like they did to Dagwood." Bridger's mind whirled at the thought. Short on breath, to Ngo he said, "I could have shot you just now, and taken you out." Phuong translated. "But I didn't. I don't want to hurt you or anybody else. I just want my people back." Ngo squinted at him, unsure what to do. Neither of them moved. Finally Phuong volunteered. "What are you gonna do? Go ahead. Take the dagger. The other one's dead already." "You've already lied to me. Somehow I don't believe you." And he did not want to believe. "What did you do to them?" "Their transport was damaged when it was tangled one of our fishing nets. We tried to help them, but the other one got belligerent. He accused us of destroying the transport on purpose. I tried to calm them down, but he insisted that we were out to get them or something. When we tried to get them aboard and out of the damaged transport, they went nuts and--" "That's not true!" Dagwood tried to shout. "They were killing the dolphins!" "Calm down, Dagwood!" Bridger commanded. To Phuong, he asked, "Is this true? Were you killing the dolphin to get your fish?" "Mister, really, you don't--" One of the men behind him pointed at Bridger and shouted excitedly. Phuong turned and listened. Phuong's eyes grew wide and he looked again at Bridger. "You're no Alliance general. You're from the UEO's seaQuest. You're Nathan Bridger." Bridger's heart sank. End Part 9 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 22:52:09 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 10 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 10 Bridger visibly flinched at the sound of his own name. The last thing he needed was to be recognized by anyone in Macronesian waters. His worst fears were quickly coming to fruition. Ngo began shouting incomprehensibly at him. He took a step forward while holding the gun pointed maniacally at Bridger, but Bridger held fast with his laser pistol aimed at Ngo. He felt the wetness of sweat forming in his armpits. He knew how close he was to being shot. Nervously backing away from Ngo, Phuong was alarmed at this reaction. He had not expected such radical behavior from his captain. "Mister Bridger! He wants to know what you're doing here!" Fear of Ngo showed in his eyes. "Tell him I'm not with seaQuest anymore. Oliver Hudson is her captain now. I'm here on... personal business." Phuong noticed the hesitation. He translated. This only brought more ranting from Ngo. He inched forward, threatening Bridger. "Captain?" Dagwood cried from the midst of the crowd. He still held the transfixed man in one hand. "What should I do?" Upon hearing Dagwood, Ngo slowly shifted sideways so that he would not be standing between the two men from seaQuest. He kept his gun trained on Bridger. "Dagwood!" Bridger called. "Just stay calm." Without wavering his eyes from Ngo or his gun, Bridger continued. "Tell him I'm no longer with the UEO. I'm not here on UEO business. I'm here for personal reasons. I don't want to hurt anybody. I just want my people back, safely, and we'll be out of here." Hearing the translation, Ngo's gun dropped imperceptibly. He spoke only five syllables to Phuong in response. Phuong turned and called into the crowd. "Dagwood! Come here! Captain Ngo will let you go with Bridger!" Dagwood gingerly set down the man he had been holding and wound his way through the crowd toward Bridger. "Where's Luc--" The dryness of his throat caused the question to be choked off. "Yes, where is he?" asked Bridger. "I need him back too. I need to know what you've done with him." "He didn't make it." stated Phuong. "He went overboard... after Dagwood." Dagwood paused. "Lucas? You killed Lucas!?" "No!" Phuong held his hands forward as if to ward off any confrontation. "No, he... He jumped in after you Dagwood. He was lost in the water." "No!" cried Dagwood. "You hurt Lucas! Lucas did not go in the water. Dagwood was in the water. Dagwood did not see Lucas. You took him away!" He physically lifted another terrified man by the shirt who was standing beside him. "Where's Lucas!" he demanded. "Give me Lucas!" "Dagwood!" Bridger shouted to him. Ngo had shifted to the side of the crowd and Bridger was having difficulty watching him and trying to monitor the big GELF. Luckily it appeared that Ngo was having the same trouble. His attention seemed torn between Bridger and Dagwood. From the side, several men rushed at Dagwood and tried to simultaneously tackle him. This only worked to anger him further. He remained standing steadfast against their combined shoving. Several men kicked at his legs and the man in his hands wriggled about. Someone jumped onto his back and put a choke hold on him. This caused unexpected pain as it exacerbated the muscles injured from hanging onto the boat. His shoulders spasmed and he nearly toppled from the pain. Bridger heard the unmistakable sound of Ngo's gun firing as he shot into the crowd at Dagwood. "Stop it!" he shouted. He aimed the laser pistol squarely at Ngo and stepped closer. "You're gonna kill your own men! Now stop!" Ngo whipped his gun back around and aimed it at Bridger again in a standoff as the struggle continued beside them. Neither would waver their eyes from the other. Struggling against the combined weight, Dagwood twisted in circles trying to shake the man on his back while lessening the target for the men kicking and pushing at him. The hapless man in his grasp swung outward and knocked down several of the men. Dagwood let him go and he went sliding across the deck. Now he had only the man on his back, who still had a choke hold on him, with which to contend. The combination of his cracked throat and the arm pressed against it caused his consciousness to waver. Though the muscles in his lower back, buttocks, and thighs threatened to give out on him, he bent sharply at the waist. The man on his back was forced to sail smoothly over Dagwood's head. As he appeared in front of him, Dagwood got a firm grip on his upper arms. The man tried vainly to beat on his arms, but with a great heave, Dagwood tossed him across the deck. The man slid past the crowd and slipped off the side of the boat. He hit the water with a scream and a resounding splash. Dagwood's body screamed at him in pain, but he stood defiantly and waited for someone else to confront him. No one moved. "Give me Lucas!" he roared through a cracked throat. "Lucas isn't here!" responded Phuong with a terrified scream. Dagwood grabbed at an unsuspecting member of the crew and held him firmly by the wrist. The breaking bones were audible. The man writhed and cried out in pain as he fell to his knees. Bridger was torn. If Dagwood and him did not leave now, while they had a chance, he could not be sure they would ever leave. He was acutely aware of the gun pointed at him by Ngo. On the other hand, if there was a chance that Lucas was alive and on the boat, now was the time to get him back. There may not be another chance. He had to think fast. His felt his arms growing tired from holding the laser pistol so steady. No doubt that Ngo's arms were tired too. The last thing they needed was the firing of either weapon. "You've already lied to me once. What assurances do I have that you're telling the truth now?" "Mister Bridger! What else can I tell you? He's not here. If he survived, he's back there in the water." Phuong pointed out to the ocean's horizon. "What do you mean? You didn't try to retrieve them? You just left Lucas and Dagwood to die?" "Well, they didn't--" A cry from the water startled them all. Everyone's attention turned to the sound. One man hurriedly stepped over to the side of the boat, where the man thrown by Dagwood had fallen overboard. He peered over its edge at his shipmate and began shouting excitedly. A bemused expression crossed Phuong's face. "He says it's a shark?" Excitedly, Phuong ran to the side of the boat. He peered over its edge as the fallen man struggled to swim toward the boat. A long grey shape moved just below the surface and rammed the back of the man. He cried out in fear and splashed about in a panic. Ngo glanced toward them in apprehension. Phuong laughed nervously. Keeping his eyes on the water, he stated his comments in Vietnamese, then English for Bridger. "It's a fish. One of those dolphins." The shape continued assaulting the man who screamed in fear for his life. Phuong calmly turned back to Bridger. "It's probably taking a little revenge for--" He started as he realized that Bridger had taken advantage of the momentary distraction to creep up on Ngo. Phuong cried out to warn Ngo, but too late. Bridger kicked outward at Ngo's gun hand and in his amazement, the gun slipped from his control. It skittered across the deck. Bridger, Ngo, and Phuong raced and dove after it, but in one fluid roll, Bridger grabbed the loose gun, rolled over, and flung it out into the water. Ngo toppled onto Bridger and they struggled for power. Phuong stopped, stood, and backed away, unsure what to do in this surprising new situation. Dagwood took a step forward which caused the man in his grasp to cry out in pain as he was dragged. While Bridger and Ngo wrestled, the laser pistol fired errantly and the almost imperceptible sound caused Ngo to recoil away from him. From his prone position lying on the deck, Bridger glanced at the pistol in astonishment. He stood and faced a now disarmed Ngo who appeared angry and frightened. *Oh, great!* thought Bridger. *Fear and anger. A dangerous combination. Too many men act irrationally under its influence. Without the gun, Ngo is now much more dangerous.* He would need to tread carefully. He could now afford the luxury of scanning the faces of the deck. Dagwood stood bedraggled, but still firmly holding the arm of the attacker that he had captured. The man was wincing under the pain, but Dagwood did not seem to notice as he watched what was happening. Most of the other faces appeared frightened or set for action. He also noticed that several of the crew had disappeared from the crowd. That worried him. Phuong still stood at the edge of the deck and a strange combination of defiance and dejection showed on his face. The ball was in Bridger's court. He considered carefully before taking action. The man in the water still cried out. Using the laser pistol, Bridger indicated toward him. "Get him out of there." Phuong shouted for someone to help the man and a couple of the crew scrambled for a ladder. To Phuong he said, "I want Lucas back. If you don't have him, take me to where Lucas is." He carefully placed the laser pistol onto his belt and raised his hands to show the palms. "I'm willing to put the weapon away to prove my intentions. I don't want to hurt anybody. I just want Lucas back safely." * * * Laying carefully on his side, Lucas was having difficulty getting into a comfortable position. Ever since Phuong had come to him and told him that someone was here looking for him, he had fretted with agitation. Locked in this "prison", there was little or nothing he could do. He had to get on the other side of the locked door before he could do anything. The last time his actions had proved disastrous with him receiving a beating. He sighed and swore to himself that he *would* escape. He refused to believe that Dagwood was dead and he refused to give in to his fate. The sound of someone unlocking and opening the door reached his ears. He glanced upward at it and waited to see who would enter. After a moment, he realized that no one was entering. *That's peculiar,* he thought. *Could it be--* Carefully he sat up and curiously stared at the door. Nothing. No one entered and he heard no one on the other side. Slowly standing, he walked toward the door. Experimentally he pulled at it. It easily swung open. He glanced out into the hallway, but no one was there. For a moment he thought he saw retreating feet as someone exited to an intersecting hallway. * * * Phuong licked at his lips. "We don't have him." Bridger grimaced. "You've said that. You said he went overboard. Take me to where you lost him." He did not believe Phuong, but he had to keep his attentions and gain a modicum of trust. "Mister Bridger, do you honestly think he's still out there?" "If he's alive, I want him back." Frustrated and a little frightened, Phuong walked toward Ngo and spoke to him. Bridger patiently waited for them to discuss it. Ngo's reaction was quiet and calculated. Phuong turned to Bridger. "He's not willing to go back, but he'll give you coordinates for where we lost him." "No." Bridger shook his head. "That's not good enough. We're not going anywhere until I get some satisfactory answers." Phuong sighed heavily. "How can I make you understand. We didn't hurt him. Their craft was damaged and we tried to help. *He* jumped overboard." "No!" Dagwood roared. "Captain, he is not telling the truth!" He pointed threateningly at Phuong. "I don't believe them either, Dagwood. I think they have Lucas and are trying to just get us to leave. But we're not leaving until we know for sure, one way or the other." Bridger caught movement out of the corner of his vision. Someone had lifted a long pole and was swinging it toward Dagwood. Dagwood reacted by tossing aside the man he was holding and bracing for the pole's impact. It crashed into his gut and he was sent reeling across the deck. Incredibly, when he eventually settled, he had a grip onto the end of it. Precariously he stood and jerked hard on the end of the long pole. This caused the other end to swing into the air. In desperation, the man on its other end let go and fell hard onto the deck. Dagwood now had a weapon and he brandished it defiantly. Most of the men scattered to outside the poles reach, but a couple cowered flat on the deck and covered their heads, afraid to move. Bridger was angry. "Why do you keep attacking us, if there's nothing to hide?" Phuong consulted with Ngo again, then turned to translate. He sounded exasperated and dejected. "Mister Bridger, they're just scared. You come up here and threaten us--" "As I recall, you threatened me. You refused to stop when I told you that you had a man overboard. Isn't that a serious enough reason to want to stop? You're hiding what happened to Lucas and you're hiding the truth." "Don't forget, Mister Bridger. You lied to us too. You said you were a Macronesian general." Bridger sighed in frustration. "It worked, didn't it? It saved Dagwood's life when your actions proved too ignorant to do so. Now when else have I lied to you?" Anger boiled in Phuong's face and he simply stared at Bridger for several moments. His frustrations exploded to the surface in helplessness. "All right! All right! We'll take you back to where we lost Lucas. After that, we *must* leave. Every moment that we're not fishing, we're losing time and money. And our families are suffering." "Damn it! Someone's life is at stake. What about--" "Captain!?" a familiar voice called out. Everyone turned at the unexpected sound. Lucas stood limply in the doorway of the cabin, leaning on its edge. *Thank God!* thought Bridger. It was the sweetest sight he could have seen. He immediately removed the laser pistol from his belt and held it at the ready. It was not aimed at anybody in particular, but he would be prepared for anything. "Lucas!" he commanded. Dagwood dropped the pole with a loud clang. "Lucas!" He staggered over to him in the doorway. "Lucas is alive!" He reached out to grasp Lucas' shoulder affectionately. Lucas flinched and pulled away. "Ow! Dagwood, my shoulder's been hurt." "Did *they* hurt Lucas?" Tenderness showed in his eyes. "Yeah, but I'm okay." He flexed his shoulder as a test. "I think." "What happened?" "I don't know. They just let me go." Bridger called out to them. "Dagwood! Lucas! Come over here!" Dagwood gingerly put his hand on Lucas' back and guided him across the deck. He gave threatening stares to anyone who would meet his gaze. Bridger noted the limp with which he moved. He turned back to Ngo and Phuong. While Ngo fumed, Phuong had an almost pained expression on his face. "So you didn't have him, eh? What were you going to do with him?" Phuong simply shrugged. "And this happened because you'd been killing dolphin!" "They're only fish. Why do you people get so worked up about it? It cuts into our profits to use those nets. *They*--" he pointed accusingly at Lucas and Dagwood, "--made us lose our catch!" A look of astonishment came over Bridger's face. "Cuts into your profits? You'd better get an education if you're going to work on the sea. First of all, a dolphin is not a fish. It's a mammal, like you and me. Second, they're far more intelligent and compassionate that any man I've ever met. We're living in their world now. We've got to respect it, and them. Their lives are not for profit." Phuong's face wrinkled in confusion. Bridger realized that his statements were falling on deaf ears. "Just try educating yourself. It's in your own best interest to save them." Lucas and Dagwood arrived and stood next to Bridger. He looked affectionately at them. They appeared ragged and tired. Lucas stared accusingly at Phuong, who he noticed, seemed to have difficulty returning the gaze. "Why did you do this?" Phuong glanced at the ocean's horizon before locking his eyes on the deck in front of him. He was clearly uncomfortable. "Sometimes... there are things you just have to do... no matter how much you don't want to." Lucas stared silently at him for a full fifteen seconds before finally answering. "There're always choices." Phuong laughed sharply. He looked Lucas in the eye. "Not always." Bridger stood aside and indicated the transport in which he had arrived. "You two get in." They moved to awkwardly climb off the boat and onto the transport. They were unopposed by the crew of the boat. Their efforts to move clearly caused them physical pain, but Bridger did not want to leave the boat until they were safely aboard the transport. Once they had disappeared into the hatch, Bridger, trying to keep an eye on the boat's crew, moved to follow. No one on the boat tried to stop him. When he had his feet inside the hatch, he called down. "Take us out of here." He was clearly disgusted with the actions of the Phuong and Ngo, but grateful to have Lucas and Dagwood back in fairly good condition. As the boat began moving through the water, he closed and sealed the hatch. * * * Moments later, the transport had vanished beneath the surface. Ngo and his first officer left to determine how Lucas had escaped. Phuong returned to the bridge to make a call on the transmitter. "I don't care who you get," he shouted into the microphone after being shifted around amongst several different people on the other end, "but I need someone in authority!" The call was causing frustration for Phuong as he was constantly shifted from person to person within the Macronesian military. He could not seem to contact anyone who could do anything with the information he had to give. The current wait was so long that he began to wonder if he'd been disconnected again. Finally a voice squawked at him so strongly that he almost dropped the microphone. "Lieutenant Marsteck, here. What's so important?" Phuong smirked. He had hoped for someone higher than a Lieutenant, but he figured this would have to do. "Mister Marsteck. My name is Phuong Kwi Chen. I'm a Vietnamese national. I've got some news that you and Macronesia could probably use." "What *is* this? Is this a joke?" "No sir, it's not. We just had some visitors from the UEO..." * * * "Hard to starboard! Pull hard!" "I'm trying! I'm trying!" Piccolo yanked the joystick to his right, but the simulation failed to respond as he expected. "Crewman! You've got--" The screen flashed bright on Piccolo's face and he let go of the stick in frustration. Fredericks had been working hard to get him to perform the delicate maneuver, but he could not seem to get it. He let his arms flop uselessly at his sides. "I don't know, Lieutenant. I don't think it can be done." Fredericks leaned into the little simulator cubicle and put her face very close to his. Her frustration with him burned in her eyes. "Yes, crewman. It *can* be done. I do it all the time. It's saved my life many times. Either you get it down, or you don't take out a Spectre. You're just not taking this seriously and you're not trying hard enough." "Wha--" She denied him a chance to respond by pulling away and vanishing into the bank of computers that monitored the simulator. *Damn!* he thought. *Tony, you're such a screw up! Nothing you ever do seems to go right. seaQuest was your chance to pick yourself up, but you're screwing it up! You're never gonna get it right! And I hate it when she calls me 'crewman'!* He stared at his hand. It was the hand that would not let him make the maneuver. He *was* trying. He wanted to take a Spectre out so bad he had dreamed about it all night last night. He watched his hand as it balled into a tight fist. He was depressed and regretting ever taking on the opportunity. It only reminded him of his failings. Lights flashed on the screen in front of him as the simulation began again. *Oh, God! Not again!* He was startled as Fredericks backed into the cubicle with him. She sat squarely on his lap with her back against his chest. "Grab my hands." she commanded. "Well, I... uh..." This was totally unexpected. The smell of her hair permeated his nostrils as her head rested near his face. "I... uh..." "Put your hands over mine and I'll show you what to do. You'll get a feel for how your body is supposed to react." She held up her arms for him to reach. "Now, put your hands on mine!" *Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! This can't be happening!* The softness of her body formed into him and his body reacted naturally to her femininity. Her warmth washed over him and he felt his body send tingling chills down his legs. His heart fluttered in his chest. Slowly, as if he were watching someone else, his hands moved to cover hers. The feel of her arms forming to his and fluidly moving to the controls sent chills throughout his body. He could not help but to drink in the smallness and softness of her hands. *Oh, God!* His cheek rested against her ear and he inhaled the smell of her. She smelled so sweet. In a daze he watched the simulation unfold before him. Trying to pay attention to what was happening on the screen was too difficult. His mind and body kept drifting back to *her*. He closed his eyes and held his breath in an effort to ignore what his body was telling him. He tried to concentrate on something-- anything-- to distract himself. "Okay, here's the set up." she said. He opened his eyes and watched the screen as it displayed a scene of them diving into a valley of the sea floor. She rattled her hands in his. "You feel that?" "Yeah. Yeah, I got it." he said distractedly. He could not help but noticing the subtle movements of her face against his as she spoke. The view on the screen showed them rapidly approaching a cliff wall. "Here it comes." She leaned forward in anticipation. He instinctively leaned forward to stay with her. Abruptly she pulled to her right as the view on the screen spun crazily. Her body shifted hard to the left and he shifted with her. The movement of her body against his only heightened his reactions to her and he tried to toss everything out of his mind in an effort to concentrate on movements of her hands. He had to get these maneuvers down. The scene eventually settled. It displayed an image of them cruising along the cliff wall at incredible speeds. Simulated debris shot past them but Fredericks held their simulated course steady. "Okay, Piccolo. Hang on. Here-- it-- goes!" With precisely timed movements, she took them down the cliff wall and across the sea floor. She pulled back hard on the joystick, her body pressing against his, and they spiraled straight up toward the surface. Flashes of light hit them as they emerged from the simulated ocean valley. Piccolo yelped with delight. Fredericks smiled, impressed with her own skills. The simulation had been completed successfully. She let go of the joystick and he quickly removed his hands from hers. She twisted and looked at him over her shoulder. "Did you get that?" Piccolo was enthusiastic. "Yeah! Yeah, I got it! That was great!" But she did not respond. She sat motionless for several seconds staring at him. He became abruptly aware of how close her face was to his. His gaze sank deep into her eyes and he became momentarily lost in their depth. Growing uncomfortable, she shifted her eyes away from his. He glimpsed the psyche implant in her neck and reality came crashing down on him again. *How much of her is really there?* he wondered. Shifting her body about, she wrangled out of the tiny simulator cubicle. Tony sat there a moment, realizing that he was sweating profusely. *Oh, God! Don't let--* His thoughts were interrupted by her softly spoken question. "You want to try it again? On your own?" He rubbed distractedly at his chest, feeling the warmth of where she had just lain. "Yeah, sure. Let's do it again." He tried not to look at her. * * * Precariously balanced on the transport's rear plane, O'Neill tried to examine the damaged thrust pod housing. Earlier, when he thought he had everything repaired, he started the engines, but a loud rattling had told him that something was still wrong. An examination proved that the housing had been shattered. He had come outside to overlook the damage. A loud splash cracked the silence of the sea as something quickly surfaced behind him. Startled, he slipped, lost his balance, and fell backward into the water. As he hit the water, his first reaction was to hold his hand to his face to protect his glasses. In a momentary panic, he grabbed for the transport's plane. Turning around, he saw Darwin in the water beside him. He was angry and flabbergasted at the dolphin. "Darwin! You frightened me!" The dolphin squeaked at him in what, to O'Neill, sounded like a laugh. Instantly forgiving him, O'Neill reached out to rub affectionately on Darwin's lower jaw. "Did you find Dagwood and Lucas?" He, of course, could not answer. *I certainly hope so.* he thought. "Where's Captain Bridger?" Darwin simply lolled in the water, gladly accepting the affection that O'Neill was willing to give. The sea swelled around him as something rose from the water. In a crash of waves, the larger transport emerged from the sea beside them. O'Neill was glad to see it. He used both arms in a struggle to hang on to the plane against the crash of waves. Darwin gently nudged at him to continue the rubbing, but he ignored it. He was more interested in the transport. O'Neill watched in anticipation as the larger transport floated silently in the water. *Please let them be okay.* He tried to peer into the window of the craft, but the angle made it impossible to see. He held his breath in anticipation. After what seemed like a inordinate amount of time, the hatch opened. Bridger poked his head and shoulders out the hole and gave him a puzzled expression. "What are you doing down there?" Embarrassed, he reached out to rub on Darwin again. "It's a long story, sir." Wanting other information, he changed gears. "What about Lucas and Dagwood?" Bridger smiled a satisfied smile. "They're here, Tim. They've been knocked around a bit, but they're okay." O'Neill smiled. * * * As he walked down the long corridor, the saying about 'killing the messenger' kept coming to the forefront of his mind. He knew it was an irrational thought. Alexander Bourne may be ruthless, but he was not prone to madness. Why, he wondered, had he been chosen to deliver the message? He was simply a page for the Macronesian Defense Minister. The defense minister could have phoned President Bourne. He could have sent one of the brass overloaded generals. Better yet, he could have had one of the generals phone the president. Instead, the defense minister chose to send him, his lowly page. Was there some ulterior motive in making such a move? The corridor seemed incredibly long. He could hear muted music that sounded somewhat like Stravinsky wafting down the hallway and intermingling with the sharp sounds of his heels on the tiled floor. He wondered if it was President Bourne's music of choice, then thought it most obviously must be his music. Who else would be playing the music so loudly in this part of the presidential complex? He had never actually met President Bourne. That seemed somewhat strange to him considering that he had been working for the defense minister for a little over a year. He had caught a glimpse of the president once. During a closed door meeting, just before the takeover of the Philippines, the defense minister had stepped out of the meeting to give him some instructions. For a brief moment, he had strained to see inside the door and catch a glimpse of the man. The great Alexander Bourne. He had such power. He seemed larger than life. He reached the door. It was the only door in the corridor so it had to be the right one. The music blasted from the other side and he wondered if the president would hear him knock. He had to try. Twice he rapped at the door with his knuckles. Surprisingly, the music almost immediately turned down to a quiet whisper and he heard a voice tell him to enter. Opening the door, he saw President Bourne. He sat lounging in a satiny robe at a computer terminal. Papers were scattered all about him and he wore delicate eyeglasses. It struck him as odd. He had built the man up in his mind to be a giant of a man. Seeing him now, he seemed so... human. Peering over the rim of the glasses, Bourne looked at him quizzically. "Yes?" "Defense Minister Krajefska instructed me to come here and inform you that he is calling an emergency meeting of the staff." He tried to put his best and most forceful sounding voice into it. "Oh?" It was obviously a question. He wanted to know what it was all about. "He says that we have a report that Nathan Bridger and possibly some others from seaQuest are inside Macronesian borders." President Bourne removed his eyeglasses and set them atop the stack of papers on his desk. "That *is* interesting news." he said carefully. He switched off the computer terminal and regally stood. Now that he was standing, he seemed much more like the giant of a man that he had imagined. Bourne continued, "This whole situation with Robert Bridger is getting sweeter and sweeter. Tell the defense minister to give me a few minutes to get dressed. I'll be up in a just a moment." End Part 10 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 22:53:35 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 11 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 11 Time was important. The longer that Bridger and the others stayed on the surface, the greater the chances that they would be discovered. It was imperative that they hide themselves as soon as possible. With Bridger's help, O'Neill tested the newly repaired smaller transport. Thankfully, it checked out fine. With some tricky maneuvering, they reattached it to the top of the larger transport and dove, settling on the ocean floor. Bridger shut off the engines and turned to look at the group before him. Dagwood had shown so much kindness and caring for Lucas. Only now that they were reasonably safe, did it sink in. After climbing on board and safely escaping the Vietnamese fishermen, the first thing Dagwood had done was drink a full jug of water. He removed his wet clothing and only in his shorts, he checked to be sure that Lucas was okay. He had proceeded to lay down and sleep in a wadded pile of cloth at the back of the transport and had not moved since. The gently rise and fall of his massive chest was the only indication that he was even alive. Lucas, on the other hand, had sat brooding in the back of the transport. He only briefly answered Bridger's questions, but otherwise remained bothered and distracted. A much drier O'Neill was now digging through the supplies for food. He and Bridger had worked fast and furious to get the transports linked again and he was clearly tired. As he chose his pre-packaged meal from the pile, he carried it over to the microwave to heat. Bridger was hungry too. He stood and walked over to the pile and removed three packages. Looking over, his eyes met Lucas'. He pointed the packages at Lucas to ask if he wanted anything. Lucas weakly nodded his head. He grabbed at the wall and tried to stand. "No, Lucas." commanded Bridger. "You go ahead and rest. I'll get it." He nodded agreement and fell back onto the bunk. Gently prodding Dagwood's shoulder, Bridger tried to wake him. "Dagwood. Hey, Dag. C'mon. Wake up." The dagger's eyes opened and struggled to focus. Bridger held up the package for him and his eyes locked onto it, confused. "You need to get something to eat." "Okay." he croaked. He started to reach for the package, but his arms reminded him of the torture they had endured. They flopped down onto his belly. "Dagwood is tired." "Don't worry, Dagwood." Bridger gently patted his arm. "I'll take care of it for you." As Bridger moved away, Dagwood struggled to sit up. He grunted at the pain. While he was sore all over, the pain was nothing like he had endured on the boat. It hurt to move, but he already felt improvements. Something in his GELF design gave him an amazing recuperative power. Without his clothes, he felt cold. He reached out for the warm cloth he had just been using for a pillow and held it close to his stomach. Putting the heel of his hand to his eyes, he rubbed the sleep out of them. He was thirsty. He looked up and saw Lucas sitting across from him. "You okay, Lucas?" Lucas responded by shifting the leg with the injured hip. He also tried to roll his shoulders as a test. He winced. "Yeah, I'll be all right. It'll just take some time." He tried to gingerly touch the areas where the pipe had struck him. They were still very tender, but the swelling had reduced. Taking the news in comfort, Dagwood slowly stood. Locking his knees, he spread his arms wide and stretched. His cracking joints rattled the silence of the craft. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out in a loud whoosh. His body ached. He beat his fists on his chest in a show of strength. "Dagwood is strong." he stated. About then, Bridger and O'Neill arrived with steaming plates of food. "Yes, Dagwood, you are," said Bridger. Dagwood took the proffered plate and eagerly began eating. Handing a plate to Lucas, Bridger asked, "You want to tell us what happened back there?" Lucas took the plate and quietly explained his and Dagwood's ordeal. They all sat in the back of the transport to listen. Dagwood momentarily excused himself to get another meal and another jug of water. As Lucas explained the disconcerting behavior of Phuong and Ngo, Bridger commented that it sounded like "good cop, bad cop" behavior. Dagwood downed the last of the water in the jug and asked, "What is 'good cop, bad cop'?" The water dribbled down his still bare chest. O'Neill set down his plate and offered an explanation of the term. "It's an interrogation technique that police use. One cop will threaten you with jail and other bad things. He tries to scare you into thinking that you're in a whole lot of trouble. That's the bad cop, which sounds like captain Ngo. The other cop, like Phuong, is nice. He's your friend and he wants to help you. He says he'll help you and make things not so bad for you if you'll be cooperative and tell them what they want to know. When faced with those alternatives, most people get scared and will tell the good cop what he wants to know. It's very effective." "No." Dagwood demanded. "Mmm... Dagwood wants to know... what is a 'cop'?" A slight smirk crossed Bridger's face. Sometimes Dagwood's innocence astounded him. "A cop is a policeman." "Oh." He stood and reached for another packaged meal. "Thank you." The others laughed and Lucas continued telling his ordeal. He explained how he found the door to the cabin open, as if they intentionally just let him go. "What happened, Captain? Why would they do that?" Contemplatively Bridger answered. "Well, I think they knew we weren't going to leave without you. I had the pistol. Dagwood was decimating most of their crew. And Captain Ngo was losing control. They were scared." Lucas' gaze was intent. "Someone's fear of the situation outweighed their greed." Lucas brushed back a lock of hair from his face. "Would you have shot them?" The 'to save me' was left unsaid. Sighing heavily, Bridger stood. "Let's hope we never have to find out." He gathered the plates from them and took them to the back to be recycled. O'Neill also stood. "What are we going to do now, Captain?" Calling from the back, Bridger responded. "I'm not sure." All eyes turned to the back in surprise. "Our cover's been blown. It might not be such a good idea to go on." "Captain!" Lucas stood with difficulty. "You *can't* be serious!" Bridger, wiping his hands dry with a towel, returned to face the group. "Why not?" "If you're thinking about giving up because of me and Dagwood..." "I'm not. I'm thinking of all of us. And Robert." O'Neill stepped forward. "But Captain, the risk is minimal." A look of daring came over Bridger's face. "Oh? How did you come to that conclusion?" He now seemed flustered. "Well, from what you've said, the Macronesian government has no idea why we're here. They don't know where we are. They don't know where we're going. They may not even *know* we're here." "But they might." Dagwood added his comments. "And if they do know, mmm... they might think we're here with the seaQuest." Bridger turned. He gave Dagwood a long look. He felt like they were ganging up on him. "That may be true, but if they know Robert's my son, it might not be too hard to determine why we're here... and where we're going." "But Captain, we don't know that," Lucas pleaded. "Can we take that chance." "I say we do." Bridger turned to Lucas. The eyes that watched him implored for him to listen. He wanted to listen. He wanted to save Robert. But at what cost? "Maybe," he said. "It's *my* decision to make." Lucas grabbed him by the arm. "Captain, if I can get into their communications network, I might be able to find out what they *do* know." He grinned slightly at Lucas. "We'll see. I haven't really made up my mind yet." "Dagwood wants to go." Bridger turned to the GELF. Dagwood's face had that same pleading look. "Dagwood wants to help Captain Bridger." "Thank you, Dagwood." He looked at the faces of the others. They all watched him intently. "Thanks to all of you." He gently placed his hand on Lucas' shoulder. "I'll let you know what we're gonna do in the morning. For now, let's get some sleep." O'Neill and Dagwood prepared for bed while Bridger turned to Lucas. "But first, let me look at your injuries, Lucas." He tenderly helped Lucas to remove the bandages. * * * Piccolo carried his uniform bundled under his arm while walking purposefully towards his and Lucas' cabin. He had just gotten out of the shower and was now wearing only deck shoes, shorts, and a loose shirt. It felt good to get away from the simulator and enjoy a little free time. He was hungry, but his mind had been focused elsewhere since he had left the simulator room. Without thinking he entered the cabin and closed the door behind himself. The uniform was dropped in a heap on the floor. That usually agitated Lucas, but he wasn't here to stop him. He could put his "smelly old clothes" anywhere he pleased. Straddling a chair, he flicked on the computer terminal and waited impatiently for the hardware to warm up. He closed his eyes and imagined the smell of her again. It bothered him that he could not remember. The computer beeped at him. He broke his reverie and immediately began one finger typing on the keyboard. He brought up the information database and scanned the screen for where he should enter the subject he wanted. Finding it, he carefully typed in the letters "SIKE IMPLANT". After only a split second, the screen flashed "NO DATA FOUND" at him. He blinked in confusion at the screen. How could it not be there? It gave a list of similar terms in hopes that it might help the user find that for which they were searching. He scanned the list. It read: Sikh, Si Kiang, Sikkim, Sikorsky, Silage, Silas, Silastic, Sild, Silence, Silent... Did he misspell it? He chose the most likely candidate: Sikh. The screen cleared and refreshed. It showed a picture of a faded and crude painting on one side and the other listed some text. He carefully read it. Sikh n. A Hindu discipline. A member of a Hindu religious sect founded in northern India about 1500 AD. Based on a belief in one God and on rejection of the caste system and of idolatry. It meant nothing to him. It most definitely was not what he was searching for. He backed up the screens until he was at the beginning again. Putting the palm of his hand to his forehead, he strained his brain for the correct spelling. *Think, Tony! Think! What is it?* He had not expected this barrier. His mind had remained focused throughout the shower and the trip to his cabin. He had run over and over in his mind what he needed to do. Now he had an unexpected barrier. He could call Henderson, but he had no desire to let in on why he wanted the information. She was too nosy as it was. She might say something to Commander Ford, and the commander might say something to Lieutenant Fredericks... *What do I know about the sike implant? It's a device that controls the brain. It's put there by sike-ologists. Sike-ologists study the brain and how it works. Sike. Sike-ologists.* He rolled the two words over in his mind when something clicked. Dr. Smith was a psychic. He recalled getting a formal letter from her once about his psyche evaluation. It had a strange title that he could not quite read. It was spelled funny and he had tricked Lucas into telling him what it said. The strange words had said: "Confidential: Psyche Evaluation Results". It was a funny word. Not at all pronounced like it was spelled. It had a 'P' at the beginning. Piccolo tried again at the computer. This time he typed "PSIKE IMPLANT". Again, he got the "NO DATA FOUND" response. *Damn it! Tony! You spell like an eggplant!* Then he noticed the other words there: Psi, Psilocin, Psilocybin, Psilomelane, Psitacosis, Pskov, Psoas,... The list went on. He was on the right track. Near the bottom of the list, he found the word he needed: Psyche Implant. He hit the key to choose the word. This time, the screen showed him a picture of someone's neck and a bulky, metal box attached. He tried to read the text. Psyche Implant n. An experimental medical device for reading and writing psychological activity and some brain functions. Usually placed near the medulla oblongata, the psyche implant reads minute electrical impulses from the brain and records them on a CD-DRWD within the implant. The CD-DRWD is removed and data is externally analyzed to determine patient condition. Instructions can also be written on the CD-DRWD to send electrical impulses to the brain. This allows control of some motor skills and psychological behavior. Found to be a breakthrough in Alzheimer's therapy... *Jeez!* he thought. *So many big words! This stuff's givin' me a headache!* He scanned through the remaining text, but it was too confusing for him. All he could do was look at the pictures. And there were too few of those. None of it made sense. In frustration, he cleared the screen, stood, and stalked across the tiny room. He flopped down on his bunk and ran his hand through his still damp hair. *What are you doing, Tony? She's an officer. You're a simple crewman. What could she see in someone like you?* He closed his eyes and immediately he saw her lips, so close to his. His heart ached. Was this love or lust? Just this morning, he didn't even like her. Now... * * * Fredericks sat in the mess and ate her fruit salad alone. She usually sat alone. So many people on this boat did not understand her or her psyche implant. They were frightened by her. But that was okay by her. She preferred to be alone. People were difficult to deal with on a personal level, anyway. That was why she liked the structured life of the military. People had a hard time understanding her cool and aloof manner. She had a hard time understanding their overly emotional behavior. She tried to understand, but too many times, she had been hurt. It made her angry that she was this way, but it seemed to be her fate. She had gotten close to someone once. Very close. Too close. That was one of the reasons she ended up with the implant. It was a constant reminder of her failures. It was supposed to protect her from those memories. Often it only reminded her. She did not want to be in that situation again. Agitated, she delicately pushed a chunk of cantaloupe around her plate before finally stabbing it with the fork and eating it. Her mind drifted to her day of working with Tony Piccolo. The thoughts caused her brow to unconsciously wrinkle. He was so damn brash and cocky. She was growing tired on the need to "baby" him through the lessons. But, despite it all, he was getting the hang of it. It was fun watching him slowly "figure it out". The thoughts of the next day's lessons began rolling through her mind. Oddly, she found herself looking forward to it. * * * At the computer again, Piccolo was trying a different tactic. This one, however, was a bit more risky. He was attempting to peek into UEO's personnel files. In the list before him, nestled between Fredenburg and Fredericksen, he found her name, "Jessica Janice FREDERICKS". Choosing her name, the screen again cleared and a young picture of her popped up on the screen with some accompanying text. Rather than read the text, he sat and simply stared at her face. Now was his chance to gaze at her without being accused of staring. *Look at those lips!* he thought. *They're so... sexy!* His eyes scanned the curve of her lower lip, followed her nose, to eventually rest on the dark eyes. He found himself wondering what she was thinking as this particular picture had been taken. The picture had her looking slightly upward into the camera lens and it made her appear to be peering at him through slightly hooded eyes. His body shivered at the thought. *What're you doin' Tony? You're bein' a total idiot!* But he smiled anyway. He didn't care. Looking at the text, it listed the usual stuff. Her name, rank, current station, etc. He was amazed at the awards she had received. *She's not that old! She's too young to have accomplished so much. Tony, you could only hope to achieve half as much as she has.* There was also a brief mention that she had the psyche implant. At the bottom of the screen was a message telling the reader to choose an item and receive more detailed information. He chose the psyche implant. Immediately the screen popped up a red and yellow flag reading "AUTHORIZATION DENIED". Frustrated he cleared the flag and chose her service record. Again, he got "AUTHORIZATION DENIED". He cleared the flag and stared angrily at the computer. Was this a good idea, trying to take a peek at these files? Probably not. He was acting like a fool and he knew it. He tried to choose something innocuous like service awards. Again, the flag blocked him. Angry at the computer for blocking him, angry at Fredericks for making him feel like this, and especially angry at himself for acting like a fool, he shut off the computer. He stood, nearly knocking over his chair, and slapped himself on the forehead. "Tony, you're just a no good, soft hearted idiot," he said aloud. * * * "Here you go, Nathan." Carol set the plate before him at the table. It was a simple meal of a grilled steak, accompanied by diced potatoes and steamed broccoli. It had been so long since he had tasted beef, but for some reason he did not know why. "Thank you, Carol," he said. Then his mind whorled. *Carol!?* It had also been a long time since he had seen his wife. He desperately reached out and grabbed her wrist. "What is it?" she asked. He looked at her. Her face seemed fuzzy and indistinct. No matter how hard he tried, the lines of her face would not form into a coherent picture. It bothered him. She tugged her wrist, trying to get away, but he would not let her go. "Nathan, what is it?" "I..." Why was he doing this? "I love you, Carol." It was all he could get out. Her voice sounded confused. "I love you too, sweetheart. Now let me go. I'm sure Robert's hungry too." Bridger's head snapped around to look across the table. Lucas was sitting there waiting for his plate to be served. It was a younger Lucas, from about three or four years ago. But for some reason, Bridger knew it was really supposed to be Robert, not Lucas. Yet he was Lucas. "Hi dad," he said. Bridger was askance. "Robert! Where have you been?" "I was downstairs." "Downstairs? Doing what?" Robert/Lucas squirmed. It was clear that he was uncomfortable answering the question. He distractedly scratched at the railing of the porch. "Just some stuff I had to do." Momentarily disoriented, Bridger realized they were now on the back porch of his home in Oregon. The ocean breeze coming in off the water about a hundred yards from the porch whipped madly at his face. He needed to hold the railing to stand still. "Stuff? What kind of stuff?" "Well, it's real important, but... I can't really say." "Can't say? Come on, Robert. I'm your father." He reached out to grab at his shoulder. "You can tell me. I want to help." But Robert/Lucas danced away from his grasp. "I can't. I gotta go, dad." He turned to leave. "No! Don't go!" But he had already vanished. Perplexed by the sudden disappearance, Bridger searched beyond the edge of the deck railing. His eyes scanned amongst the grass and rocky outcroppings below him. He scanned the beach. Nothing. Robert was gone. Suddenly frightened, his eyes settled on Shark's Head Peak. It was a jutting rock near his home that rose almost fifty feet into the air before descending straight down to the water's edge. It was named "Shark's Head Peak" because if someone looked at it from the right direction, it looked like a giant shark's head was coming out of the earth and preparing to dive into the ocean. Also, it was a dangerous place. The wind came in off the water and whipped about furiously at the peak, making it difficult to stand. But it presented a spectacular view of the ocean and he and Robert had taken the chance on occasion. "Captain?" His gaze shifted to the new person. It was Manilow Crocker. His hand was indicating the lighted map on the table before him. Bridger had almost forgotten the mission. The small room in which they stood was cramped with two other faceless men. The only illumination was the map on the table. It was a clear overlay that rested upon a lighted table. The light coming up from the table gave Crocker's face a spooky appearance. "What are your recommendations?" he asked. "Well, I, um..." He looked intently at the map. It showed the northern Atlantic with several red circles drawn about the Bermuda Islands. Beside the islands, someone had drawn a cutesy little picture of a yellow flower. It bothered him that someone would be so cavalier; this was a serious mission. "Who drew this?" Bridger demanded. "I did." was Crocker's matter-of-fact response. "Why?" "Well, sir, I thought it was appropriate." "For... the mission." Their mission was to plant flowers on the Bermuda Islands. He was not sure why, but it was supposed to be very important. "Yes, of course. You're right, Mr. Crocker." "Thank you, Cap'n." Crocker began a litany of explanation concerning the various teams they would require to transport the flowers safely to the islands and get them planted. But his words fell on deaf ears. Bridger's mind was trying to fathom the meaning of it all. Interrupting Crocker's speech, he asked, "Why are we doing this? Why's it so important?" "Don't you remember?" It was one of the faceless men. He recognized the voice, but he could not place it. "No, I... I'm not sure." Robert stepped into the light so that he could see his face. It was an older face. The face he remembered from when he first entered Westpoint. "We've got to make them grow. They *must* grow." "Yes, but why?" "Dad," he said. Now they were standing on Shark's Head Peak. The wind was whipping at them, and Bridger had to spread his stance in order to maintain his balance. "Everything has to grow." Robert continued. "Robert!" Bridger feared that the wind would blow them over. He reached out and grabbed Robert by the wrist to hold him steady. "I'm okay, dad." Robert smiled reassuringly and hugged his dad. Confused, Bridger hugged back. It felt good to hold his son. He missed him more than he remembered. "I love you, son." The tears began welling up in his eyes. "I only want the best for you." "I know, dad." Robert whispered in his ear. "I know. I love you too." They held on to each other in silence for a few moments and they both gently cried. Robert finally broke the hug. "But I've got to go." Bridger fought the tears. "Why? Go where?" "Out there." Robert pointed out toward the ocean. Desperate, Bridger held on to Robert's arm. "You don't have to go, son. Why do you have to go?" Robert patiently removed his father's hand from his arm and gave it back to him. "Everything has to grow, dad." "What do you mean?" "I've gotta go dad. I love you." With that, he dashed away and dove off the precipice toward the ocean. "Robert! No!" Horrified, Bridger ran after him. Without a moment's pause, he too dove off the cliff. * * * Bridger sat straight up. He was on the transport, sleeping on the floor. His sudden movement disturbed O'Neill, who rolled over in his sleep. The loud rattling of Dagwood's snore was the only sound. The room was black except for the soft glow of the instrument panels at the front of the craft. His heart was racing. Slowly he stood. He could not shake the thought of Robert falling off the cliff from his mind. The echo of the dream haunted him. He remembered, as the ocean rushed toward him, he could not see Robert. It bothered him. He looked at the silently sleeping form of Lucas and the dream began playing again through his mind. *Lucas was there. Lucas was... Robert. What does it mean?* The thought of Lucas' recent injuries and the fear that he had almost been lost, wrenched at him. His heart would not slow down its pounding. He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to shake the feeling. But he kept seeing Robert falling over the edge of the cliff on the back of his eyelids. He recalled that final hug. *God, Robert! What does it all mean?* Opening his eyes, he hugged himself in remembrance. The dreamy tears tried to force their way from his eyes. He could not shake the feeling. Moving to the front of the craft, he sat in a chair, rested his forehead in the palm of his hand, and cried. * * * O'Neill woke to the change. It was still dark and for a moment, he thought Dagwood's steady snore had woken him. But there was something else amiss. Quietly standing, he realized that Captain Bridger was no longer lying on the floor beside him. Without his glasses, he could make out the blurry figure of his captain now sitting at the transport controls. He appeared to be leaning forward, as if looking at something. *Is something wrong with the transport?* he thought. He stepped forward. "Captain Bridger?" he asked softly. Bridger looked up at him. "Is there a problem?" After a brief pause, Bridger responded. "No, Tim." He ran his fingers through his hair. "It's all right. Go back to bed." It appeared to O'Neill that the captain did not want the company. "Oh," was all he said. He turned and headed back to sleep. "Tim," Bridger called out. O'Neill turned back and paused, waiting for Bridger to continue. "We're going to keep going. I need to get Robert out of there." "Okay. Good." O'Neill crawled back under the covers. He would let his captain have his privacy. "Good night, sir." * * * The light swam across his closed lids and tickled at his mind. Things were not as they should be. Phuong remembered a presence in his cabin. It had been a long day on the boat. It *always* was a long day on that boat. He was tired and had little patience for his bunkmate to go creeping around in the room. He had yelled into the darkened room to quiet down. But things were not as they had seemed. It was wrong. Someone else was there. That was the last thing he remembered. After that, everything was hazy in his memory, but he knew with certainty that something had happened to him. But he could not remember what. Now the lights... With startling realization, Phuong's eyes popped open. Now, he found himself sitting in a chair of a dimly lighted room and two dark skinned men silently watched him. The ground was stable. The usual rocking of the boat was gone and he knew he was no longer there. He started in surprise and alarm. The ropes that bound him to the chair restrained him and he nearly pulled his arm out of its socket. "What's going on!?" he asked. His voice was suddenly shrill with fear. The men standing before him kept their faces stony. "Phuong Chi Kwen. Welcome. If you cooperate, this shouldn't take long." "Cooperate!? Who are you? Where am I and what do you want?" "You recently contacted the Macronesian government concerning some unexpected passengers you received?" A cold chill ran down his back. He had not wanted to do what he did to Lucas, but Ngo insisted and Phuong's need was too great. Now... "Yeah, what about it?" "We need to know what you told them." "I..." Should he talk? Who were these people? UEO? Had he gotten in over his head? "Why? Why do you want to know?" he finally asked. He tried to sound indignant. They said nothing. They just stood and watched him. He squirmed under their gaze. The torture was not knowing who they were or what they would do to him. People who had the means to kidnap him off the boat and bring him here were more powerful and frightening than he cared to imagine. He thought he knew what they wanted. They wanted information on what he had told Macronesia. But he had basically nothing to tell them. What did it matter as long as he was paid by Macronesia? Were these people Macronesian? But why would they be asking *him* these questions. He had nothing to lose, except possibly the money if he talked. Not talking could cost him his life. So he gave in. "I only told them that I'd had a run-in with Nathan Bridger from the UEO. He was with a dagger and a boy. A young man. His name was Lucas. Lucas, something or other. I forget his full name." One of the men sighed with distaste and folded his arms across his chest. He waited for more. Phuong was now quite flustered. He was not sure if he had anymore information to give. "That's it." His words came out in a stutter. "Tha-tha-that's all I said. I didn't know *why* they were there, so I couldn't tell them." The man with the folded arms stepped closer. "Okay, then tell me, what were you going to do with Lucas?" *Oh, Gotama! Don't ask me that!* Phuong rummaged through his mind for a feasible reason to give. He knew he could not tell the truth. It was too damaging and... distasteful. "We, uh... that is Captain Ngo wanted to, uh... we were going to take him to port. He said he was from New Hawaii, but uh... we tried to contact somebody and let them know we had picked him up. His craft was badly damaged--" The man whipped his arm outward and Phuong flinched. Whatever was hidden in his hand made a loud bang. "Don't bother lying!" he shouted. "We know the truth!" Phuong almost laughed with both mirth and nervousness. "Well, then, what are you asking me for?" The man stepped closer and leaned inward, his face very near. With very deliberate words, he said, "Don't mess with me. We know you wanted to sell him as a slave. Just answer the questions. Tell me *why* you tried to kill the GELF and take Wolenczak away." *They know! Who are these people? How could they know?* He carefully licked his lips. "You want to know why?" The man gritted his teeth. "Yes!" He again snapped his arm outward and the ensuing bang shook Phuong. "We uh... You must understand. Being a fisherman doesn't pay all that well. And it's hard work. I've got... I've got a wife and two little girls. They uh... My wife, she works. As a seamstress, but it barely keeps us fed. We needed the money. We work hard and so much of our money goes to pay Macronesian taxes. There's barely enough left over. We just... I didn't *want* to do it. We just needed... the money." The man leaned back and folded his arms again. "For the money," he stated quietly. "What is a man's life worth to you?" "Well, I uh... I don't know exactly. It's not... Captain Ngo said that we could all take of portion of... the sale if we'd cooperate and get the boy to port. I would get a little extra because I was the only one who could speak English and I was to try and keep him calm. Ngo would take care of the sale and um... we'd all get a portion. It... I wanted to use the money to pay some debts, for my wife and I. When Lucas got away from us, I thought I might just give some information to the Macronesian Alliance and they might give something in return. Th-th-they gave me a reward..." Was he making any sense to them? He thought he was babbling. "You must understand, I did *not* want to do that to Lucas. But I had to, to survive!" For the first time, the other man spoke. "Hold on," he commanded while using a hand to indicate that Phuong should stop talking. With a nod of the head, he motioned to the man with the folded arms and they stepped out of the room. End Part 11 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 22:58:56 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 12 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 12 It was morning on seaQuest and the mess, as usual, was busy. Most of the crew, preparing for the day's shift, were carrying food trays back and forth, talking boisterously, and generally causing a chaos in the large room. Piccolo lifted his own tray of eggs and imitation bacon and headed out towards a table. Pausing momentarily, a massive yawn overtook him. He shook his head, attempting to shake the grogginess. He had been up most of the night, both wondering and not trying to wonder, about *her*. He felt obsessed. He needed to shake it. Scanning the room, he spotted Commander Ford and Lieutenant Henderson sitting at an isolated table, sharing a quiet conversation over breakfast. Piccolo walked directly toward them. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked when he arrived. Ford looked over his shoulder. "Of course not. Sit down." Henderson smiled warmly at him as he took a seat beside Ford. "Boy, Tony. You look worn out." A short laugh escaped Ford's crooked smile. "Is our Lieutenant Freddie wearing you out?" Piccolo kept his eyes riveted to the food on his tray. "Naw, it ain't that. I was just up real late last night." "Doing what?" asked Henderson. "You know. I was..." His words faded and he simply stared at her. After a long pause, Henderson tried to finish his words for him. "Reading?" She had a hopeful look in her eye. "Well, I, uh... yeah, I guess you could say that. Yeah." Henderson's eyebrows shot upward. He obviously did not want to share the information. "Oh, okay." She let it go. There was an uncomfortable silence that Ford decided to break. He clasped his hands and asked, "So, how *is* your training coming along?" "Fine. Fine. It's a little different than runnin' a regular ol' transport, but I'm getting the hang of it. It's just taking a little time to get... some of the fancy moves down, you know." It was not what he really wanted to talk about. He casually noticed that Ford and Henderson had already finished their breakfasts. It was the opportunity he needed. "Commander, that's kinda what I wanted to talk to you about." "Oh, what's up?" "Well..." He glanced at Henderson. "It's kinda personal." With wide and questioning eyes, Ford glanced at Henderson. She returned an equally wide eyed expression. A slight smile crossed her face and she looked to Piccolo. "It's okay, Tony. I was just about ready to leave." She stood and began gathering the leftover mess from her breakfast. "I've got to go work on the communications board anyway. See you later, Jonathan?" "Sure. Yeah." Ford's eyes tried to follow her as she came around the table to stand at his shoulder. "I'll be on the bridge in a little while." "Okay." She touched his shoulder affectionately before walking away. "See you then. Bye, Tony." "See ya," he called back. Seeing that she was out of range, Ford turned his attention to Piccolo. "Okay, Tony. What's up?" Leaving his breakfast untouched, he bodily turned to the commander. "Well... I... it's about Fredericks. What do you know about her?" "Hmm... what do you mean?" He was not sure what he really wanted to know, he just wanted *any* information. "Like... what's that psyche implant all about?" Ford pushed his empty food tray away from himself and leaned on the table's edge. "Well, let's see. It's a medical device. It's supposed to help her with some problems she's had--" "What kinda problems?" Ford sighed. "That's not for me to say. If you really want to know, you should ask *her*." "Yeah, well, she ain't exactly a walking box o' Christmas cards. She's so..." He stared dumbfounded at Ford. "Cold?" he offered. "That's an understatement. It's like she doesn't have any feelings or nothin'." "Well, I think that has more to do with her personality than the psyche implant. Why do you want to know? Why are you asking me all this?" Piccolo laughed nervously. "Commander. She ain't exactly the--" He looked up as he realized the topic of conversation had just entered the mess. He continued in a whisper. "She ain't exactly the easiest person to work for. She's a brick wall just waitin' to happen." Ford's gaze followed Piccolo's and he noted why he began whispering. "Cheer up. You couldn't ask for anyone better to train under. She's one of the best." Expelling a short, nervous laugh, Piccolo said, "Yeah, I know." Ford gave him an odd look. "Thanks, Commander." He wanted to just drop the entire conversation. It felt a little too personal. He began eating. Ford grabbed him by the forearm. "You okay, Tony?" Looking blankly at his commander, Piccolo responded, "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." He put a mouthful of eggs in his mouth to prevent his need to say anything further and chewed as he gazed straight forward. Ford let his arm go and he ate in silence. * * * Pulling the razor through the foam on his chin, Hudson's face almost appeared as if a miniature lawnmower had cut a miniature trail across it. He laboriously continued the task of removing the excess facial hair while leaning over the bathroom sink in his personal quarters. He could have used the electrical shavers, but he had always preferred this old fashioned method. Even though it was a bit messier than the electric shaver, he always felt a closer shave when using the blade. It did have its disadvantages though. "Call for you, sir. It's Secretary McGath." Like that one. He tossed the razor into the sink and proceeded to wash the residue from his hands. "Put it through," he commanded the disembodied voice. Drying his hands, he threw the wet towel over his bare shoulders, using it to remove the excess foam from his face. He stepped into the main room of his cabin and confronted the wall-sized screen projecting the image of McGath. "Well," the image said. "Captain Hudson, I hope I'm not disturbing you." "No problem, sir." He wiped at an irritating bit of foam still remaining on his upper lip. "What can I do for you?" "Captain, I attended a gathering at Harvard last night for the M.C.T.T.C. awards. I ran into Tom Sherril there and he told me about their multi-segmented B.L.A.S.T. technology symposium they're having next week. Seems that one of the speakers has been called out of town on a family emergency and they now have a hole in their schedule." "Okay." "I volunteered Ensign Wolenczak to come out and take his place. I knew of his recent work with the B.L.A.S.T. processors and I thought he would do very well there. You know, he could meet others in the field, share some ideas... It would be beneficial for them *and* Wolenczak." Hudson was deadpan. "I'm afraid Ensign Wolenczak won't be able to attend." "Oh?" An expression came over McGath's face that said 'what are you up to now, Hudson'. "Is there a problem?" "No problem. Ensign Wolenczak is not going to be available for a while." "Not available? Why not?" "It's in the report sir." "Report?" Agitation edged his voice. "Captain Hudson, *where* is Ensign Wolenczak?" "Sir, we can't be sure this transmission is completely secure. I'd much rather you read the report. It'll explain everything." McGath sighed. "Why do I get the impression I'm not going to like it?" A smirk crossed Hudson's face. "Because you're probably *not* going to like it, sir." Shaking his head in frustration, McGath continued. "Captain, rest assured that I'll find that report. If it's not..." He paused in his search for words. "Not what, sir?" "Never mind! I'll find that report and I'll let you know what I think then!" He cut the transmission. Hudson spoke to the now black screen. "Thank you, sir. I'll look forward to it." *Damn bureaucrat!* he thought. But the truth is, he was not looking forward to it. McGath would be more concerned with the politics involved and keeping good relations with the Macronesian government. Hudson was of the opinion that he was a fool with too much power. Sending members of his crew into hostile enemy territory was a captain's prerogative, but it was still a dangerous thing to do. It was also true that the decision to send the report physically, rather than electronically, was to protect against interception. But that was not the only reason. He also wanted to delay the knowledge reaching the "higher-ups" as long as possible. *But what do I do if they're captured... or worse?* Hudson suddenly felt an uneasy knot forming in his gut. He headed back to the bathroom to finish scraping his face. * * * Over several hours, Phuong told them everything. He told them about Lucas, Bridger, Dagwood, Ngo, his wife, his kids, his financial situation, his father, his mother, and even what he had for dinner last night. He was befuddled as to why they wanted that last bit of information. The most disconcerting thing was that the one dark-skinned man had kept silent ever since returning to the room. He had simply motioned to his partner on occasion, to make his wishes known. It became clear that while the silent man remained silent, he was the one in control. His silence only exacerbated the intimidation Phuong felt from them. Yet again, they had stepped out of the room and he was left alone again with his thoughts. *Who are these people?* His wrists itched where they were bound to the back of the chair with course fibers. He tried twisting his hands to relieve the aches. *And what are they going to do to me now? I told them everything I could, but it's not any information I see how they can use? They must be after Lucas and Bridger. But why? What are... or were Lucas and Bridger doing in the mid-Pacific, that could get these people so worked up? And why did they ask me all the personal questions about my family? What can they do with that information? Unless they want to be sure I am who I say I am. But they kidnapped me.* And then a realization washed over him and he felt the blood drain from his face. *What're they going to do with me now? Kill me? I cooperated! I helped them, but now I'm useless to them. I told them too much!* In desperation, he pulled at his constraints. He had to get free and get out of here. The door opened and in walked the two men. The silent one stood in front of Phuong while the other walked behind him and out of his range of vision. *They're going to kill me!* he thought. He strained to turn around and see what was happening, but his bonds would not permit him to turn far enough to see clearly. What he could hear was some definite rustling and the click of metal on metal. He panicked. "What're you doing!" "Mister Chi Kwen" Phuong turned at the sound of his own name from the silent man. "Yes?" His heart pounded hard in his chest. "My name is Hector Sancress. We have a proposal for you." The man behind him cut the bonds on his hands and he was suddenly free. * * * Unfolding the map of Tasman Prime Penitentiary that Jared had given him, Bridger laid it out on the floor of the transport and everyone squatted or sat on the floor to view it. Lucas immediately concentrated on the map and began analyzing the layout. Unable to understand its representation, a still shirtless Dagwood simply stared curiously. "What is it?" he asked. His eyes remained riveted to the lines and circles. "It's a map, Dagwood. This represents the prison where Robert is." Dagwood reached out and lightly touched the map. "Mmm, Dagwood doesn't see a prison." "Here. Let me show you." Bridger proceeded to explain the rectangles, circles, and spidery arms that represented the prison. "This rectangle in the center is where the prisoners are kept. The top floor is security and beneath it, extending ten stories under the sea floor, are the actual prison cells. Robert is supposed to be somewhere in there. These arms," he indicated the spidery arms that extended from the rectangle in the middle, "are access tubes that connect to here." His finger moved to one of the circular blobs at the end of one of the arms. "These areas are where the maintenance, prisoner processing, etc. is done." Dagwood leaned in close to look at the map and studied it intently for a moment. He extended his finger toward the rectangle. "And thi--" The muscles of his neck and shoulder spasmed causing him to wince and withdraw his finger. "This is where we are going?" He leaned back and rested his tortured body. "Yes," stated Bridger. "What about defense systems?" asked Lucas. "From what I'm told--" He paused when Dagwood stood and stepped away from the group. "You okay Dagwood?" Dagwood returned a slightly confused look. "Dagwood is okay." He then began contorting his body in stretching exercises. "Dagwood can hear the captain from here." Affirming that Dagwood was only trying to relieve the stress in his body, Bridger turned back to Lucas and O'Neill. "From what I'm told, there are motion detectors throughout the prison and automatic laser cannons are posted around the perimeter. Luckily, they trust those laser cannons too much, because once inside the perimeter, there are only occasional patrols around the actual prison. When we get inside the perimeter, all we will need to worry about is keeping hidden and getting inside the complex." "And how are we supposed to do this, sir?" asked O'Neill. "The laser cannons are designed to sense power output. It ignores marine life. I plan to send Darwin in to find the weakest spot, we'll cut power, and coast inside the perimeter. Once inside the perimeter, we can't use sensors, so I'll have Darwin find a suitable place to hide the transports." "Then what?" asked O'Neill. "We still don't know anything about the interior. Once we get inside, how will we know our way around? How will we know where to find Robert? What are all its defenses and how're we supposed to get around them?" Bridger looked at Lucas. "That's where *you* come in. Before we go in, I need you to get into their computer system and find out as much information as you can. First, find the layout of the interior if possible and find exactly where Robert is being kept. Second, find out what kind of defenses they have and disable them or find a way around them." Lucas' brow furrowed at the thought. "And how am I supposed to do that? I'm sure the security system is independent of the communications network and I'd have to be at a terminal to get to it. I thought you didn't want me actually going in?" "I don't." Bridger pointed to the cryptic letters that Jared had written on the corner of the map. "See this?" "Yeah?" Lucas leaned inward to analyze it. "That's the access node that Jared gave us. He said it's for the inmate records and other non-security related information. He also said it would take a real expert to get into the security system, but it *is* possible." Lucas looked sharply at Bridger. A familial understanding passed between their eyes and Lucas broke into a smile. "I think I can do that." Bridger's laugh was short and sharp. "Good. That's why I brought you." *That's why I need you.* he thought. "So when do we start?" asked O'Neill. Bridger leaned backwards and wrapped his arms around his knees. "Well, I think it'd be best to give ourselves a few more days rest. Let ourselves recover a bit and think about how we want to go about this. Say... three days from now?" "Sir, two days may be too late. Right now, we know where Robert is. We don't know what could happen to him in three days. If some of the stories I've heard are true, his life is in real danger. I say we need to get there sooner." Bridger looked from O'Neill to Dagwood. Dagwood was now moving about in isometric exercises. Although his body had taken an incredible pounding, he had already recovered incredibly and was working to tone it again. His amazingly large pectorals were knotting up to the size of cantaloupes. Bridger's gaze shifted to Lucas. Last night's dream flashed in his mind and the feelings washed over him again as he saw Lucas/Robert calmly sitting at the table and waiting for dinner. He had been "downstairs" he said. Could that have something to do with Robert being below the ocean's floor? Lucas looked concerned at Bridger. "I'll be all right, sir. You said yourself that I won't even be leaving the transport." Grimacing, Bridger said, "You two keep contradicting me. It's like you want to fly into the face of this." A sour look crossed O'Neill's face. "It's not that, sir. I just want to get it over with." "Besides," added Lucas. "You yourself said that they could move him at a moment's notice." Bridger sighed. They were right. The sooner the better. "Yeah... You're right." Bridger stood and stooped to pick up the map from the floor. O'Neill and Lucas stood also. "If all goes well, we'll leave tomorrow morning." He half folded the map and handed it to O'Neill. "In the meantime, let me look at you, Lucas." O'Neill left to tack the map on the wall, Dagwood continued quietly with his exercises, and Bridger helped Lucas remove his shirt. Bridger looked him over. "How's the leg feel?" He carefully began unwinding the bandages. "It's okay, as long as I don't put too much weight on it." "And the shoulder?" Lucas experimentally lifted his arm and brought it backwards. He winced. "It seems to be okay as long as I don't do that." "Then don't *do* that." "It's my back that really hurts." By then, Bridger had exposed the dark purple welts on his back and shoulder. "Ooh, those *do* look painful." He lightly ran his hands over the exposed skin, feeling for excess heat. Lucas pulled away. "Did that hurt?" "No, it tickled." "Well, I can't much help that. Hold on." He pressed the flesh about an inch from the whelp on his back. "How's that?" Lucas sucked in his breath and grunted. "It hurts." "Hmm." Bridger scanned the rest of his back and pulled his arm, causing him to turn so that he could look at his front also. "You'll be all right." he declared. He handed Lucas his shirt back. "It looks like the swelling has gone down. We'll leave the bandages off for now. I'll get you some anti-inflammatories." Lucas carefully put his shirt back on as Bridger left to get the needed medication. Carefully moving to the front of the transport, Lucas sat in the copilot's seat and began turning on the computers. Bridger returned with a cup of water and some pills. "What're you doing?" he asked. Lucas accepted the items. "I'm gonna check and see if I can monitor the Macronesian communications. I want to find out what they know." "Mmm." Bridger sat heavily in the pilot's seat and watched quietly as Lucas swallowed the pills, followed by the water. He then went back to concentrating on the computer, his attention so focused that he lost all sense of where he was. *Look at him.* thought Bridger. *When I first brought him on seaQuest, he was still a child. Now, he's a man. He grew up so fast. He's got so much life ahead of him. So much to experience. And lots of mistakes from which to learn. And he'll make the same mistakes as everyone does when they're young. Robert did. And Lucas will. I just hope he gets all the guidance he needs.* He leaned forward in the chair. *It's not easy learning how the world works. Life is confusing enough as it is. I hope I didn't make a mistake by leaving.* "Lucas?" "Hmm?" He was still absorbed in the computer. "Lucas, are you happy on seaQuest?" This caused Lucas to pause. He turned to Bridger to give him his full attention. "Yeah. Of course. Most of my friends are there. Why?" Bridger sighed and rested his hands on his knees. "I just wanted to make sure you're satisfied with how things are going. You've officially joined the UEO and become an ensign. It's all a big step. Lots of changes." "Yeah, I'm satisfied." "How's Captain Hudson treating you?" "Real good. He's a little rough at times, but I'm learning a lot." He noticed the haggardness of Bridger's own face. "Captain, how are you? Is everything okay with you?" "Oh, yeah." He was taken aback by the turn around. "I'm fine. It's been a little rough, searching for Robert, but I'm okay. I'm more concerned with *you* right now." "I'm fine. But I'm concerned about *you*." Bridger laughed at the irony. "I miss working with you, sir" "Yeah, I miss you too." His face turned pensive for a moment and a silence settled between them. His eyes stared off at nothing as he quietly continued. "But I had to move on. Seems my destiny sent me after Robert and it's separated us." "Do you ever wonder if you made a mistake by leaving seaQuest?" asked Lucas. Bridger wondered if Lucas was psychic. "Sometimes. I often feel like I belonged there. After all, she's my boat. I designed her. And I worry about Darwin. I don't think Hudson really understands him." "Captain, no one can blame you for leaving. We all know how important Robert was... or *is* to you. He's your family." Bridger gave Lucas a crooked smile. "And Darwin's doing okay. He's still got lots of friends on seaQuest. We look after him." "Yes, I know. But I just want to be sure he's doing all right." *And you too.* he thought. "Captain," Lucas rested his hand on Bridger's arm. "You've trained us well. We'll do alright. Things change, and we're just growing with those changes." Robert's words from last night's dream echoed through Bridger's mind: *Everything has to grow*. He was momentarily startled by the coincidence of what Lucas had said. Looking Lucas in the eyes, he wondered if he knew of the dream. Bridger had not told him. *Of course he doesn't know. How could he? And he's right. Everything has to grow. There comes a time when you have to let it go. Let nature take its course.* He leaned back in the pilot's seat again. "I know that. Are you sure *you* know that?" "Of course. I just said it." "Good." He stood a little too quickly and put his hand in his pocket. "You go ahead and get back to work. I'll help O'Neill." Lucas gave him a long look before finally responding, "Sure." Bridger walked toward the back of the transport, sidestepping the still exercising Dagwood and decidedly not looking Lucas' way. When he reached O'Neill's side, he glanced back at Lucas. He had already reabsorbed himself in the computers again. * * * Hausenbraugh stuck his head inside the simulator cubicle. "Hey Tony!" Piccolo yelped in surprise and banged his knee against the side of the simulator. By the time he recovered his senses, the view on the simulator screen showed him careening into an embankment. He slapped at the joystick in frustration. "Aww! Jeez! Merrick! What'ja go an' have to do 'dat for?" A bright explosion showed on the screen, representing the simulated crash. "Man, you messed me up!" "Sorry, Tony. I didn't realize you were so intent." The smile on his face said that he knew very well how Tony was concentrating. "Hausenbraugh!" Fredericks shouted from the simulator computers. "Oops!" he said to Piccolo. "Gotta go!" He backed out and walked toward her; a wide, sarcastic grin was plastered across his face. Fredericks did *not* look amused. Angry, Piccolo slammed his fist against the wall of the simulator, while shouting "Damn!" for each of the four blows. Once the frustration was slightly vented on the wall, he put his hand on his knee to check if it was okay. It was. He scrambled out of the simulator and confronted the stony faced Fredericks and grinning Hausenbraugh. "I ain't gotta start over, do I?" Fredericks did not move her eyes from her work at the simulator computer. "What did I say?" "Aww, c'mon, Lieutenant! That one doesn't count!" "Whaddaya mean?" asked a now confused Hausenbraugh. Piccolo turned to him, angry. "She says I gotta get that corkscrew thingy down ten times before I can go on a Spectre!" Hausenbraugh shrugged, still confused. "In a row!" His smile disappeared and his eyes widened. "Oh." "That's right! I already had it down seven times! And you messed me up!" "Sorry, Tony. If I'd known--" The smile returned. Piccolo stamped his foot in anger. His eyes scanned the room for something to throw at Hausenbraugh. He stopped when Fredericks came to his aid. She turned on Hausenbraugh and pushed his chest, forcing him to back towards the exit. "Out! Get out! I'll call you if I need you!" "A'right! A'right! I'm leavin'! Don't have a bovine!" He turned and voluntarily walked out. They could hear him shouting down the hallway. "Sorry, Tony!" Piccolo slammed his fist against a table. Turning to Fredericks, he asked, "Do I really gotta start all over?" She looked at him coolly. "Yes, Tony." "Why? I didn't do it! *He* messed me up!" "Because *I* make the rules." Frustrated, he kicked the table again. * * * "Mister President, reports say that while seaQuest is *not* within Macronesian borders, she *has* been loitering in the north Pacific for over a week." Defense Minister Krajefska pounded his fist on the table for emphasis. "Defense Minister," began President Bourne. "Your own reports say that seaQuest is running supplies and dignitaries between Japan and New Hawaii for the UEO trade talks. There is no indication that they are even aware we have Robert Bridger." He huffed loudly. His staff had gathered in the large conference room over two hours ago to work on plans for the recolonization of Nexxus colony. Krajefska had took it upon himself to bring up the issue of Robert Bridger and the resulting arguments only ate into the schedule. "We have increased patrols around Tasman Prime and informed the staff to be alert just in case they *are* making a move. If we move Bridger too soon, and the UEO is trying to liberate him, that will inform them that we know Nathan Bridger is here. We could lose our chance to capture him as well." Krajefska was blood red with anger. Through tight teeth he continued to argue his point. "Sir, I understand your desire to snub the UEO and get your hands on Nathan Bridger, but Robert Bridger is just too valuable a prisoner to chance losing. We *can't* take that risk!" "Do you honestly think you might lose him? Should I doubt your abilities as a military commander?" The others in the room glanced expectantly at Krajefska, waiting to see his reaction. The door opened as someone silently entered the room. Krajefska's eye twitched at the insult. He calmly laid his hands on the table and responded. "No, Mister President. You should not." "Good. Then Robert Bridger stays at Tasman Prime. End of discussion." The soldier that had entered handed a folder to Krajefska and whispered into his ear. He wordlessly accepted it and opened the folder. His attention was absorbed as he flipped through the papers. Bourne continued, ignoring the intrusion. "Well, thank you everyone for coming. This meeting has already put me behind schedule." He glanced meaningfully at Krajefska, but he remained absorbed in the folder's contents. "So if you'll excuse me, I've got other business to attend to." He stood from his chair. "Mister President, you'd better see this." It was Krajefska. He set the papers down on the table and slid them toward Bourne. Bourne slowly lifted them and immediately noticed the photographs. "What is it?" someone asked. Krajefska volunteered the answer. "It's confirmation that the other man and the GELF with Nathan Bridger were Ensign Lucas Wolenczak and Seaman Dagwood of the seaQuest. Mister President, maybe you'd better reconsider." Bourne seated himself again. * * * The quick, hard knock on Henderson's cabin door startled her from her reverie. It had been a long day working on the communications board. She had not expected any visitors tonight and had hoped to spend the evening alone. Quiet time was a luxury for her. She opened the door. Piccolo stood there with a wide grin on his face. "Tony! What're you doing here?" she asked. Piccolo began dancing and singing a conga beat as he entered her cabin. "I'm gonna fly a Spectre. I'm gonna fly a Spectre." He broke out in laughter. Henderson's face lit up with excitement. "You did it! Oh, that's just fantastic!" Still smiling, Piccolo responded. "Aw shucks, it ain't nuthin'." "Yes it is!" She reached out to hug him and he enthusiastically hugged her back, nearly lifting her off the floor. When he put her back onto the floor, she held him at arms length and asked, "So tell me what happened." "Oh, well, Lieutenant Fredericks said I had to do this fancy maneuver like ten times in a row before I could go out." Piccolo inflated his chest in his best proud hero pose. "But Tony Piccolo is da *best* and he got it done." "Oh, Tony. That's great!" The smile vanished from her face and she held up her finger to forestall anymore comments from him. "Hold on. I've got something for you." She walked away from him and toward her desk. Piccolo watched curiously as she opened a drawer and removed a small package wrapped in brightly colored paper. The tiny red bow told him that it was probably a gift and he wondered what she was up to. Returning, her smile was from ear to ear as she handed him the package. "What's this?" he asked innocently. "Open it," she commanded. A bit embarrassed by the attention, he carefully removed the bow. His enthusiasm overtook him and he ripped off the paper in one full movement. Opening the box, he dug amongst the tissue paper and pulled out the gift. It was a soft leather piece with some sort of fine nylon mesh interwoven into it. "It's a subfighter helmet," offered Henderson. "Well, I know *that*. Why're you giving me one?" He dropped the box and gently turned it over in his hands, examining it. "Legend has it that the regular subfighter helmets are... cursed." Piccolo carefully put it on his head, liking the feel of it. "I just want to be sure you come back to us." "Yeah, I heard that one," he responded. "What makes this one special?" Her expression turned serious. "Jim Brody's death hit us all pretty hard. I don't want you to get hurt out there." Piccolo laughed. "Oh, don't worry. I ain't plannin' on doin' nothin' like that." Visions of darting through the water began floating through his head. Henderson watched him, a worried expression crossing her face. End Part 12 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:01:34 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 13 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 13 For almost four hours, the two attached transports had been guided in a slow crawl just above the ocean floor. Everyone was unusually silent as O'Neill piloted the transport; Lucas, lost in his own world, worked at infiltrating Macronesian communications, and Bridger and Dagwood stood by helplessly, occasionally glancing out the window at the dark ocean around them. To avoid detection, Bridger had reduced the power output of the sensors to the bare minimum. He checked them occasionally but the signal was so weak as to be almost useless. As a test, he tweaked the power up only slightly and was surprised by the blip that confronted him. He turned the power back down so that the blip was but a faint whisper. "Stop right here," he commanded. O'Neill throttled back on the transport's engines so that they hovered slightly over the sea floor. In the momentary respite from driving, he reached up underneath his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "Are we there yet?" asked Dagwood. "Yes, we're..." Bridger fiddled with the power a bit more, analyzing what he saw. "...about two thousand feet from the perimeter." Cutting off the chance for more questions, he looked over O'Neill's head and spoke to Lucas. "This okay, Lucas?" Lucas did not answer him. The question was left hanging thick in the air. He continued to tap insistently at the keyboard, his attentions focused on his work. Attempting yet another break-in to the Macronesian network, he tapped the 'send' key and waited for a response by folding his arms, leaning back in the chair, and staring intently at the screen. "Lucas?" Startled, Lucas leaned forward in the chair and turned around. "Yeah?" He looked confused. "Is this okay?" Lucas still seemed confused. "Is *what* okay?" "We're about two thousand feet from the Tasman Prime perimeter, will this be close enough for you to find out anything?" Realization dawned on Lucas' face. "Oh, yeah, well, I guess it's as good as any--" His computer beeped at him and information began scrolling across its screen. He turned back around and began tapping at the keyboard again. All eyes were on Lucas. "What is it?" asked Bridger. "I might have something." was all Lucas said. The others waited impatiently for more information. This close to the prison, the air began crackling with excitement and trepidation as the realization hit them that the heart of the mission was about to begin. When it became clear that Lucas was not offering more information, Bridger stepped around O'Neill to stand at Lucas' shoulder. "Well?" he prodded. Lucas glanced up momentarily, then put his attentions back into the computer. "This is still gonna take some time, Captain. I'll let you know as soon as I find something." Bridger turned to O'Neill. "Put her down. We'll wait." Slowly and gently, O'Neill settled the transport on the ocean bottom. But he could not help the dirt that kicked up and slowly plumed around the transport, obscuring the view from the window. Bridger sat heavily in the empty seat beside O'Neill and, lost in thought, watched the dust outside. Lost in his own thoughts, O'Neill silently watched with Bridger. As the view returned, he turned to Bridger. "Captain? Wh--" Bridger cut him off. "Stop calling me 'captain'. I'm not really your captain anymore, I'm your... friend." Dagwood spoke up from over his shoulder. "Mmm... If we don't call you 'captain', then what do we call you?" And almost as an afterthought, he added "Captain?" Bridger turned so that he was facing them both. "Look! We're going in there," he pointed toward the general direction of Tasman Prime. "And we can't be sure what we'll find. We might be able to sneak our way in, but I'm sure we'll have to fight our way in too, at least part of the way. And we may have to fight our way out. I prefer to make as little noise as possible. But in the meantime, we don't need them finding out who we are. And we certainly don't need them finding out we're from the UEO or the seaQuest. So *don't* call me 'captain'. Call me Nathan or Bridger... or Luke. I just don't care. Just not 'captain'. Understood?" O'Neill silently nodded. Dagwood, in a hurt voice, said, "Okay... Nathan." His brow furrowed at the name and his lips moved as he worded it to himself several more times, trying to get comfortable with saying it. Bridger, feeling angry, turned back to watch the view outside. The dirt had nearly subsided around them and the dark murkiness had returned. He turned to O'Neill, who was silently fidgeting with the transport controls. "Speaking of captains, how is it on seaQuest these days?" Startled, O'Neill looked up. "Oh, it's... okay. It's really different since you left." "Oh? Captain Hudson, I assume?" "Yeah, he's a bit more militaristic, if you know what I mean." "How so?" Disgusted, O'Neill finally looked Bridger in the eye. "He threw me out of my chair!" Bridger's eyebrows shot upward. "Really? Why would he do that?" "He says I didn't react fast enough, but the truth is--" "I'm in!" shouted Lucas. Immediately the others moved to stand at Lucas' shoulder and watch the screen as information scrolled endlessly across it and he tapped furiously at the keyboard. "What did you find?" asked Bridger. "Well... I've gotten into the communications network... and I've found a message sent by Phuong, back on... the boat." He tapped the keyboard one last time and leaned inward, waiting for something to happen. His lack of information caused impatience in the others. "Well?" asked Bridger. "Well, he apparently sent a coded binary file." "Can you decode it?" "Probably, but right now I'm trying to find out *where* he sent the file. I want to find out who he's been communicating with first. *This* may be nothing." They all waited impatiently for the computer to divulge the information, but currently it was only spewing forth a stream of useless characters representing the coded binary file. Surprising them all, the borders of the screen began flashing a bright red and the computer began beeping incessantly. "No!" Lucas jumped and started tapping furiously at the keyboard again. "No! No! No!" He beat his fist on the edge of the console. "Damn!" He physically lifted the keyboard as if searching for something. "What?" asked Bridger, worried at Lucas' sudden alarm. "What is it?" Lucas put the keyboard back down and beat on the keys. "They've put a tracer on our signal. It's designed to lock up the computer so that the computer they're tracing can't disconnect. I can't--" He slammed his fist onto the keyboard in frustration. Bridger's eyes were now wide. "Can't you do anything?" Lucas removed the keyboard from the console and tossed it to the floor. He searched frantically for a way to disconnect. "Only if the power is cut. Even then I can't guarantee it'll work. Not if they're feeding power to *our* computer." Turning to O'Neill, Bridger commanded, "O'Neill! Cut power." "Uh, yes sir." He moved to comply. Lucas crawled underneath the console and desperately searched for the correct wires to cut power to the computer. He was desperate. He was becoming confused as to which wire he needed. Realizing Lucas' problem, Bridger squatted and put his hand on Lucas' shoulder. "Lucas!" He pulled on the shoulder, nearly throwing him across the room. Once the view was clear, Bridger reached inside and simply yanked at a handful of wiring. Glancing upward, he saw the flashing of the computer screen continue. He pulled more wires amidst a shower of sparks and was finally satisfied with the blackness that showed on the computer screen. "Tim!" "I got it, sir! Just a second!" Lucas, from the other side of the room, shakily tried to stand. He placed his hand on the injured shoulder as they were plunged into total darkness. Silence enveloped the room, except for their heavy breathing. As their breathing slowed, Bridger said into the darkness, "I think we got it in time. Go ahead and bring the lights back up." Slowly their vision was restored. Lucas and Bridger looked down at the mess of wires that Bridger had destroyed. "What happened?" Bridger angrily asked of Lucas. Lucas hugged himself. "They put the tracer on us. I couldn't break the connection." Bridger grunted. "Can you fix it?" "Yeah, I guess so. I--" "I don't want an 'I guess so'! I want it fixed! Now! We can't afford stupidity!" Lucas looked with concern at Bridger, but it was clear that he was too angry. "What went wrong?" Sheepishly, Lucas stared at the destroyed wiring. "I didn't think they'd notice me in the system--" "Obviously you got close to something. Something that was meant to be protected. Next time..." The rest was left hanging in the ensuing silence. Lucas still did not meet Bridger's angry gaze. "Next time, what?" Bridger sighed and tried to calm himself. "Next time be more careful. Take *all* the precautions you can. We can't have them discovering us before we even get in the door." "Yes sir." Lucas bent to examine the wires. Bridger wiped his hand across his face in frustration. He had gotten *angry* with Lucas. He had not felt that angry in a long while. He had almost let his emotions get out of control. * * * "YEEEEEEHAW!" The Spectre shot through the water at an amazing speed, scattering multiple schools of fish. "Man! This is great!" Hausenbraugh, travelling at a much slower pace, sighed and wrinkled his face. "Tony! Ix-nay on the eed-spay." Fredericks, knowing that the others could not see her face in her own Spectre, simply smiled. She knew what it felt like to be behind the incredible power of the subfighters. She couldn't blame Piccolo for his enthusiasm. Let him play for a while. All too soon, they would begin the rather mundane practice of maneuvers. Slowly she brought her Spectre alongside Hausenbraugh's so that they simply floated there over the former California Seamount. Removing his eyes from the scanners where he had been following Piccolo's movements through the water, Hausenbraugh looked over at Fredericks. "So what's the word, Lieutenant?" * * * Carefully lifting the heavy, metal panel off the wall, Henderson swung it around and dropped it heavily against the adjoining wall. She sat on the floor and opened the toolbox at her feet. Carefully selecting the equipment she required, she attached each one to the belt at her waist. Satisfied with her selections, she leaned against the wall and removed a tiny headset from a pouch at her waist. Putting the set on her head, she adjusted the tiny microphones to fit comfortably in her ears. She removed the PAL from her breast pocket, attached the headset's trailing wire to it, and adjusted the PAL for the frequency she wanted. "...same thing when I first got in the hot seat." she heard Hausenbraugh say. "Yeah," came the voice of Fredericks. "But Piccolo's getting a little... extreme, don't ya think?" "Yeah, well that's Tony's way. He wears his heart on his sleeve." "I heard that," Piccolo said. Henderson smiled at hearing his voice. She heard Hausenbraugh laughing. Henderson heard silence for a while as they waited for something to happen. In the interim, she pulled an electron spanner from her belt, turned around, and began working on the faulty communications board. She was so proud of Piccolo. At the same time, she was afraid for him. He still had so much of his innocence. She would hate to lose him like she had lost the others in her life. The death of Brody still brought her nightmares. "With your shield or on it," he had said. She understood the sentiment, but still felt it was a stupid reason to die. "Okay, Piccolo," came Frederick's voice again. "Time to come home. We've got some work to get done." "Aw! C'mon! I'm just getting the hang of it." "Piccolo!" "All right. I'm comin'" He sounded disappointed. More silence. Henderson pulled her torso further into the hole, wiped at the sweat on her neck, and reached to adjust the area of the board that rested further back in the hole. "Standard training maneuvers, right?" Hausenbraugh asked. "No. We'll take it easy on him." Hausenbraugh laughed. "I'm glad for Tony. He's a good guy underneath. I don't remember-- Yow! Tony! Look out!" "Don't worry. I got it." "Tony you're--" A loud clang rattled Henderson's ears, nearly causing her to drop the spanner. Worried, she carefully put it down and listened. "Piccolo? You okay?" Silence. "Tony?" "Yeah. Yeah. I'm alright. That rock snuck up on me." Closing her eyes in relief, Henderson lay back on the floor. "Piccolo! Get back here *right now*!" Fredericks was clearly upset. "If Captain Hudson finds out you damaged a Spectre by horsing around..." Hausenbraugh's teasing voice chimed in. "If Captain Hudson finds out you let him horse around in a Spectre..." "Lieutenant, shut up! Now is *not* the time!" After a few more moments of silence, Piccolo's voice came through again. "The computer says nothin's damaged." "Well. Well. If the lost, little boy hasn't come home to play." "Shut up, Merrick." "What would you call it?" "I said shut up!" "Chill, Tony. Don't have a bovine." "Yeah, right." A few more moments of silence. "You can see the rear stabilizer fin from here. It look okay?" "Besides the missing paint, it looks fine." Henderson picked up the electron spanner and began working again. She was relieved to know that Piccolo was okay. "If you two are done, can we get started?" "You're the leader of this outfit. Go ahead." "Okay, we're going to play follow the leader. I'll lead. Piccolo, you'll follow me. Hausenbraugh, you'll follow Piccolo. Have your recorders running so we can analyze this later." * * * The transport was pitch black except for the dim light entering from the window and the computer screen where Lucas was furiously working on the newly repaired computer. "Can they see us?" whispered Dagwood. He put his face up to the window and watched the Macronesian vessel as it slowly passed in front of them. "I doubt it." Bridger peered outside with him. "If they could see us, I think we'd know it by now." O'Neill had nestled the attached transports in a rocky niche of the sea floor. Lucas continued trying to find information from the Macronesian communications network. Not completely unexpected, a Macronesian patrol vessel had entered the area and Bridger ordered all non-essential power cut. That left the oxygen regenerators and Lucas' computer running while they waited out the patrol vessel. "Lucas, be ready to lose power to the computer if we have to." Lucas glanced back at Bridger, then back at the screen. "Two. Three. Four. Three. Zero. Alpha. Alpha. Five. Seven. Delta. Phi. Okay. Remember that code if I need it. I've come this far. I'd hate to have to start all over again." "Two. Three. Four. Three. Zero. Alpha. Alpha. Five. Seven. Delta. Phi." said O'Neill. "Got it." Bridger turned to him. "You remember all that?" He sounded surprised. "Yeah, well, it's just a matter of mnemonics." "You never cease to amaze me." "Ca-- Bridger." Dagwood gently touched him on the shoulder. "The other boat is gone." Bridger glanced out the window, then down at O'Neill. O'Neill hurriedly brought back a minimal amount of power to the sensors and verified. "It's moved away, sir." "Okay, bring the power back up." He watched as Darwin casually passed in front of the window. "Do it just like we practiced on the simulator." Fredericks brought her Spectre to a vantage point where she could record Piccolo's moves through the water. Hausenbraugh was on the other side of the imaginary runway where Piccolo would attempt the crowning achievement of his first real practice maneuvers in a Spectre. "Piccolo, you ready?" His performance so far had been adequate at best. He had a tendency to be impulsive and over confident which caused him to screw up. He did not properly anticipate some of the obstacles in his path and the abilities of his machine. "Ready as I'll ever be." he responded nervously. "Just take your time. You can't be expected to get it right the first time." His task was simple, but difficult to accomplish in a Spectre. He was to push the Spectre at a 120 MPH clip parallel to the ocean floor and execute a near 90 degree turn straight up. The difficulty arose from the fight against the water that would resist the sudden change in direction. The danger of cavitation was high. The manuever was being practiced well above the sea floor to minimize any accidents. "You've got plenty of room for mistakes, buddy," said Hausenbraugh. "Thanks, guys." The whine of Piccolo's engines could be heard across their com systems. "Here goes." Fredericks followed Piccolo's build up of speed on the sensors. He was still too far off to actually see out the cockpit window. When he was in view, that was when he would make the turn. All was quiet except for the whine of Piccolo's engines. *He should be getting close now,* she thought. She strained to see out her cockpit. The dot in the distance grew incredibly fast as he approached. She followed him with her eyes as he brought the Spectre between her and Hausenbraugh. "Up, Piccolo! Pull up!" The moving Spectre slowly began to arch upward. The maneuver was being done beautifully. She had half expected him to fail on his first attempt, and was pleased to see him doing so well. He had the Spectre at about a 45 degree angle when something went wrong. It began radically spinning on its axis and shuddering violently. He went spinning out of control. A sickening rattle and a desperate "Aw! Geez!" came through the com link. Hausenbraugh shouted, "Tony! Don't fight it!" Piccolo screamed. The others powered up their Spectres and moved to follow to his position. He was still spinning radically, but the violence had subsided. They watched helplessly as his Spectre slowly spun through the water to eventually come to a gentle rest with the nose facing downward and the belly of the subfighter facing the direction from which he had come. He now gently drifted through the water. It had all happened in just a few short seconds. "Piccolo!" Fredericks shouted. "You okay!?" Silence. "Piccolo!" Still no response. "Hausenbraugh! See if you can grapple him and--" "I'm okay," came Piccolo's voice. "I'm alright." He sounded dejected and depressed. Hausenbraugh pulled his Spectre in front of him so that he could visually look into Piccolo's cockpit. "My God, Tony. You sure you're all right?" "Yeah." He pounded his fist against the wall of the Spectre. "Yeah, I'm just a little shaken up. That's all." He put power into his machine and slowly began to arch it to an upright position. "Let me try that again." "No," commanded Fredericks. "We'd better get back inside and check for damage." "Lieutenant. My instruments say everything's okay. Let me try it again and see if I can get it right." "No, Piccolo. You cavitated." "Yeah? So?" He sounded confused. "Cavitation puts holes in your hardware. You're lucky you didn't break apart." "Oh." They slowly and silently headed back to the seaQuest. Piccolo was so angry his head began to hurt. * * * O'Neill thumped distractedly on the edge of the console. After helping Lucas fix the damaged computer, he had spent the last two and a half hours doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. "Got it!" Lucas shouted. The sudden noise startled O'Neill out of his bored reverie. "Got what?" responded Bridger. Everyone moved to gather around Lucas and stare at the computer. "The schematics for Tasman Prime. In the interest of time, I bypassed searching for any communications and went straight for the big prize." "Can you locate Robert?" "Give me a few minutes. Let me download this first." Bridger looked at the schematic, trying to visualize the task ahead. He could not make complete sense of what he was seeing. It was moving by the screen too fast. *Hang on, Robert! We're almost there!* The computer gave a satisfied beep as it finished. "That's it!" shouted Lucas triumphantly. Bridger pointed at the screen. "Can we get a hardcopy of that?" "Sure." Lucas punched a series of keys and a printing device beside him began to spew out paper. Bridger watched as O'Neill began gathering it up. Lucas again hunched over the computer. "Let me see if I can find Robert." Nothing could be done to speed up the process, but Bridger eagerly watched the computer screen. *Hang on!* O'Neill gathered up the last of the print out and patiently began sorting it out and examining it. Dagwood watched in fascination over his shoulder. Lucas tapped in a coded series of numbers and hit the 'send' key. They waited in anticipation for only a few seconds when the name "Robert Bridger" and another series of numbers appeared on the screen. "Here." Lucas pointed at the numbers. "He's in cell A, seventh floor." O'Neill riffled through the print out. "That looks like an isolation area, sir. Special holding." Dagwood stepped out of the way as Bridger moved over to look at the print out with O'Neill. "What exactly does that mean?" "It's a maximum security area. They also have medical facilities there." *Medical facilities?* Bridger thought with alarm. *Is he hurt? What's going on?* He stood and turned on the vo-corder's microphone. "Darwin!" "Bridger?" came the response. The dolphin appeared directly outside the window and watched them inside. "There are several big machines around the prison. These are laser cannons designed to keep us away from the prison and they will fire at us if we get too near. I need you to find where they are farthest apart and tell us where this is. We want to enter between them. These machines are supposed to ignore normal marine life like yourself. As we enter, I want you to... distract the machines so that they don't see us entering. Go see what you can find and be ready on my command." "Darwin understand. Darwin go see machines." After the dolphin left, O'Neill grabbed at Bridger's frantic attention. "Nathan." He flinched at the oddity of calling his former captain by his given name. He was too used to calling him 'Captain'. He was unsure if he would ever be comfortable calling him anything else. He put his mind back to the reason he wanted Bridger's attention. "I think we can get in here." He pointed to some specific areas on the schematic. "If we can hide the transports, we can swim into any of these four maintenance or loading areas. They should have minimal traffic in those areas." "You're sure?" "I can't be sure of anything, but I think it's our best chance." "Okay, power up the transport. Darwin, let's go!" *And hang on, Robert! We're almost there!* End Part 13 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:02:30 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 14 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 14 Darwin's oddly synthesized "voice" reverberated through interior of the transport as he turned away from the window. "Darwin ready." "Go!" Bridger commanded. He turned to O'Neill, who sat patiently but nervously at the controls. "Be ready on my command." "Aye, sir." His eyes never diverted from the retreating form of Darwin. They were about to enter the Tasman Prime defense perimeter. Lucas had momentarily stepped away from the computer to watch the action. Dagwood stood by uselessly and simply watched while trying to stay out of the way. Bridger was now keeping track of Darwin's progress using the sensors. Darwin darted furtively around one of the automatic laser cannons. As expected, it ignored him. Diving back and forth in front of the cannon, it appeared as if he were teasing it and daring it to notice and confront him. Finally, as the cannon failed to react, he crashed into the rocks supporting the cannon and a satisfying plume of dirt kicked into the water around it. He continued to thrash about so that eventually the very sight of the cannon was obscured. He swam to the opposite laser cannon to attempt the same method of kicking up sediment. Bridger felt confident. "Okay, Tim! Let's go!" Lucas dug his hands into the edge of the control console and held on as the transport lifted. O'Neill brought the transport well above the sea floor and gave it a short burst of speed forward, toward the chosen area between the cannons. Almost immediately, he cut all power and the interior of the transport went dark. The transport slowly glided through the water. *Hang on, Robert!* Bridger thought. *We're almost there!* He remembered several years ago when someone had pointed out his slight psychic abilities. He was not sure how to project a thought, but nevertheless, he *thought* at Robert by the only way he knew how. Lucas watched as they passed by the cannon. Through the dust, he could see glimpses of its muzzle swinging wild. Eventually, it appeared to settle on their position. "Captain!" Everyone's gaze followed his. The cannon was aimed, but had not yet fired. "Tim!" Bridger commanded. "Be ready to get us out of here." His hands were already poised over the controls. "Aye." Lucas looked to the opposite cannon. It was completely engulfed in a plume of sediment. He could not tell if it was aimed at them, like the other. * * * An alarm broke the bored silence of the guard room. "What the--" The Tasman Prime security guard sat up from his reclining position and slapped the alarm off. He turned on the screens to determine what had set it off. The camera view swung around and focused on the position of one of the laser cannons, but he could not *see* the laser cannon. All he could make out was the thick plume of dirt surrounding the cannon and a dark shape darting about the cloud. "Hey, Sancress! Lookit this! Looks like another damn squid's trying to mate with the cannon or somethin'." Sancress walked over, leaned on the desk, and peered at the screen. The guard went on, "I seen those stupid animals get nuts like this before, but I ain't never seen 'em get *this* crazy. This critter's practically--" Something caught his eye. He adjusted the focus of the image and squinted at the screen. His voice went quiet. "Wait a minute." "What do you see?" "I ain't sure, but... that ain't no squid." He reached for the control again, but Sancress firmly grabbed his wrist and stayed his hand. Sancress' voice was as cold as frozen ice. "Don't worry about it." He turned off the screen. The guard looked at him like he had lost his mind. "What're you doing?" Sancress moved the guards hand away from the controls and let it go. "Forget about it. It's nothing." This angered the guard. "Like hell, I will! I wanna see this!" He reached to turn the screen back on. "I said leave it alone!" Sancress grabbed the man by the shoulder and shoved him away from the control. He spun a quarter turn in the chair and nearly toppled out of it. The man grabbed at the edge of his console to right himself and sat dumbstruck for a moment. He always knew Sancress was a strange duck, but he also frightened him. He sat silently staring at the now blank screen and tried to fathom what was happening. Should he confront the man? Should he report him? The guy was always on the edge and he could not be sure how he would react to direct confrontation. He suspected violently. Finally he gathered his wits and he stood up. He intentionally toppled the chair behind him as a show of force. "Goddamn it! What's gotten into you!?" Sancress sat down across the room and distractedly stared at some reports. He never met the guard's angry gaze. "Just leave it alone. You're too stupid to know what you're looking at anyway." *God!* he thought. *This man is frightening!* Rather than risk a confrontation, he stormed toward the exit. "Damn!" he angrily shouted as he slammed the door behind himself. * * * "Hang on everybody." O'Neill grabbed at the controls as everyone else braced themselves wherever they could. Bridger stared out the window and could not remove his eyes from the ghostly, ominous shape of the Tasman Prime Penitentiary in the distance. From here, it was simply a dark mountain on the sea floor. The powerless transport coasted beyond the laser cannons and came to a gentle crash on the sea floor. After a few seconds of awkward rocking, the transport stopped all motion and settled at a slight angle, causing them all to lean to the right to remain upright. O'Neill looked up at Bridger expectantly. "Sir?" Without removing his eyes, he responded quietly. "Just hold on a minute. Let's see if we caught their attention." O'Neill sighed with agitation. He folded his arms and stared out the window. He felt tingles traveling down his back as the nervousness began to eat at him. He did not want to just sit here, he wanted to do *something*. He could feel enemy eyes watching him and just waiting to blow them out of the water. After several minutes of waiting, Lucas sat down again, growing impatient with the wait. The sudden movement brought pain to the injuries of his back and shoulder. It also showed him how tense he had been by the sudden release of cramps in his shoulder and neck muscles. Dagwood spoke into the silent darkness "What are we waiting for?" Bridger finally broke his gaze and turned to Dagwood, but spoke to O'Neill. "Okay, power up and see if you can get us in a bit closer. We'll need to find a place to hide." The lights came back on and Lucas itched to get started working on the computer again. He still needed to find a way to overcome the security system and hopefully, a closer position would help give him the information they needed. O'Neill concentrated on carefully piloting the craft closer to the prison while Bridger manned the sensors and Dagwood stood by helplessly. * * * Minutes later, O'Neill had successfully planted the transport in a rocky outcropping directly beside one of the arms protruding from the center of the complex. From their new position, it would take a searching eye to see them. Any power signature they output would be damped by the power from the prison itself. They were relatively safe for the moment, nestled against the enemy's flank. He shut the engines down and got up to retrieve the previously captured schematics of the prison. Bridger, still staring at the sensors, stood and called to Dagwood. He dutifully came to stand at his side. "Yes?" He pointed to the sensor screen's cross sectional view of the environment around them. "See this?" "Dagwood sees it. It is very pretty." Ignoring the comment, Bridger went on. "It's our way of seeing what's around us. Right now, it's a static picture because nothing is moving. I want you to watch this. If you see any movement in the picture, call me right away." "Dagwood will call Bridger if he sees the picture move." Bridger stepped away and Dagwood sat in the chair. His attention was now riveted to the screen. Bridger walked toward the middle of the transport where O'Neill had began sorting through the papers, occasionally glancing at the hand drawn map that was given to them by Jared back on Kauruka island. "What've we got?" asked Bridger. Jostling the papers, O'Neill found the one he wanted and placed it on top of the stack. He pointed to an area beside a circular structure. "It looks like we're here." "And where's *here*?" "If I've got it straight, this is a maintenance area. There shouldn't be too much traffic around there and hopefully low security." "Can you find out, for sure, if this is a maintenance area?" O'Neill grimaced. "Uh, give me a little time." "And how do we get in?" "Well, there's no docks that I can find. The only thing I see are these airlocks here. This one's big. Big enough to allow equipment in and out of the complex. We might be able to bring the transport in there." He looked at Bridger, who continued to stare at the picture. "But it's not like we won't be noticed. I'd much rather find a better alternative." "Okay." Bridger put his hand on O'Neill's back. "Do your best." He left O'Neill to the task and walked to stand at Lucas' shoulder as he continued to work at the computer. "And what've you found?" "Well," Lucas turned around in the chair so that he faced Bridger. "I can look at the security system, but I don't think there's anything I can do to override it. The security system's all hardwired which means that the software doesn't control it; it's circuits are permanently built and can't be altered unless we get in there and physically do it. As it is, I'm having a hard time even determining how it's all set up because there's almost nothing to look at." "Would those schematics you captured help any?" Lucas thought for a moment. "Maybe, but I doubt it. The schematic we have isn't that kind. It's not exactly a good idea to put the entire security layout into computer memory where someone can get their hands on it... like us." Bridger put his hand to his face in thought and was startled by the layer of stubble that had grown on his chin. He scratched at it. "Can you determine what obstacles we'll need to look out for?" Lucas glanced at the computer screen. "Yeah, I should be able to do that." "What looks to be our greatest obstacle?" "Well, I'll have to do some more research, but right now it looks like the motion detectors are going to be the greatest difficulty. If we can't get around those, then I don't see how we can get in there and back out." Bridger's eyebrows shot upward. "We?" Embarrassed, Lucas smiled his crooked smile. "I mean you, Tim, and Dagwood." "Right." Bridger folded his arms with determination. "Well, then, about those motion detectors, I guess we'll just have to find a way around them." Lucas rolled his eyes and sighed. Bridger did not know he was asking the impossible. Or maybe he did, which spoke highly of his opinions concerning Lucas' talents. "I'll work on it." He turned back to the computer. "I'll let you know what I find." Bridger turned to Dagwood, who sat obediently staring at the screen. "Anything?" he asked. "Nothing has moved on the screen," he stated in his usual childlike manner. His eyes never moved. Bridger wondered if he had even blinked. Sighing, Bridger walked toward the back of the transport to get a drink of water. When he got there, he glanced back toward the front. Each of them were diligently working to help and solve their problems. The zero hour was upon them, and he suddenly felt useless. Useless at his own mission. He poured his cup of water, turned and leaned against the wall. Cradling the cup against his chest, he stared at the other three and tried to think of the mission. But he found concentration difficult. His mind flustered between fear for his friend's lives and anger at Robert for the actions that brought them here. *What could have brought Robert to this point? What made him do it?* He had asked himself those questions too many times and still failed to come up with answers. When he found himself back on Earth and found that Robert was still alive, he had pulled all the strings he could with the UEO to find information. He had also found that many of the strings he used to pull had changed in the past ten years. It was a different UEO. The lifting of the ban on colonial deregulation had caused incredible political changes in the world and the UEO's role had changed in the world. Macronesia, one of the strongest on the new colonial powers, began gobbling up the world's oceans and the enigmatic Chodai had chosen isolationism. The UEO could no longer police the oceans. Their power base had dwindled and it seemed that all that he had worked for before Robert died was falling apart. He had been forced to use many unconventional means to find Robert's whereabouts. The reasons for his faked death and what he had been doing since still remained an anomaly. Whatever he had done to hide himself, he had done a very good job at it. The trail he left behind was virtually non-existent. *What is the secret you're hiding?* He pulled the cup of water to his lips and realized his hand was shaking. The tenseness of the situation was getting to him. It was too personal. He was reacting emotionally and he realized it was a danger to the mission. Angrily, he put the cup down without drinking a drop. He put his hands to his face and rubbed at his eyes. *What was that old trick I used to use?* He remembered he used to use it to calm down when situations got tense many years ago. The key and lock. It created the strict military mind that let him rise in the UEO hierarchy and eventually become captain. The key and lock. He imagined placing a key into his mind. Each notch fit comfortably into a specific hole in his mind. Now he turned that key and as he did, he imagined each tumbler of the lock falling and releasing the lock on his mind that was preventing him from thinking rationally. Click. Click. Each barrier fell as he turned the key. Click. Click. Click. When the key was completely turned, all the barriers were gone. He opened the door and his mind was clear. And the mission was clear. Get in. Get the subject. Get out. With minimal losses. He drank the water, swished it in his mouth, and swallowed. Standing straight, he headed to O'Neill's side to help in the analysis. He no longer felt either good or bad about the situation. He no longer felt useless. He simply had a mission to accomplish. And that's what he was best at. * * * In as little as thirty minutes, a plan was devised. Lucas, with Bridger and O'Neill's help, found what he thought they needed to circumvent the motion detectors in Tasman Prime. The alarms and actions of the sensors were not controlled by computer, however, power to the sensors *was* supplied by them. They would selectively redirect power from them along a route taking them into the heart of the prison and back. By only doing this selectively, it would hopefully delay anybody noticing their entrance. Of course, once they were discovered, this redirecting of power from the motion detectors would do little good. Bridger had no doubts that they would eventually be noticed, but every little bit helped. The route was simple, but treacherous. Using their pressure suits, they would enter a small, man-sized airlock beside the maintenance bay. The alarms for the airlock had already been deactivated by Lucas, so using it would not draw unwanted attention. Once inside, the three would change to more suitable clothing and make their way down the tube connecting the maintenance area to the main prison building. Once at the main building, their greatest difficulties would begin. In the interest of security, the designers of the prison had not designed emergency stairs. The only way down underground and to the prison cells was through the elevators. Any guards in the area had to be dealt with and a way had to be found to safely, and if all went well, quietly enter the elevators. They then had to get down to the seventh floor, retrieve Robert, get back on the elevators, and back up to sea floor level. If this was all successful, they would then proceed back down the tube to the maintenance bay, retrieve the hidden transport, and escape. It was a tenuous idea at best, but they had little other choice. O'Neill was having doubts about the little transport getting away from the area safely, but Bridger assured him it had the means. Dagwood was removing the bulky pressure suits from the rear compartment that they would use while O'Neill checked their supplies. They only had three. Bridger had originally intended that only him and O'Neill make this journey, but he had thought to bring an extra just in case something went wrong. The suits were not highly maneuverable, but they did supply a lot of power for operating in the depths. "I've written a little program," Lucas explained, "that will redirect that power. Just run it right before you leave. It'll give you five minutes before it'll start switching power. That should give you plenty of time to get over there." Bridger stared at the computer screen. "How do we start it?" "I'll leave it set up and ready to go when I leave. Just type in the the command 'sickem', the password 'Darwin', and it'll start." Lucas folded his arms firmly. "And I wouldn't recommend leaving this terminal on after you start it." Bridger scratched at his beard stubble. "If they find the program running, they'll be able to trace it back to the transport." "That's correct." Satisfied that everything was taken care of, Lucas softened his tone. "So when are you leaving?" Bridger's mind was in military mode. His face was stony and emotionless. "What time is it here?" he asked. Lucas quickly checked a clock on the console. "It's about 9:00 in the evening." Bridger knew that at that time of the day, most of the staff would be off duty and relaxing. Some may already be asleep. A perfect time for what they wanted to do because most of the staff would be distracted by their own pleasurable pursuits. "We go now," he commanded. "O'Neill, prepare to open the hatch between these transports." He turned and headed toward the back of the transport. As O'Neill sat at the console to comply, Lucas followed Bridger. He grabbed him by the arm. "Are you sure you don't want me to hang around and make sure everything goes alright? I might be able to help if there's trouble." Bridger glanced sternly at Lucas' hand on his arm, then at his face. "No." His voice reflected his exacerbation. "You're going back to seaQuest." Lucas, surprised at the indifference from Bridger, let go of his arm. Bridger bent and removed something from a bag lying crumpled on the floor. He put the item in Lucas' hand. "What's this?" Lucas asked. "It's an ultrasonic/ultraviolet homing signaler. Captain Hudson gave it to me just before we left seaQuest. Take it with you. If you get into any trouble, just press this button. It'll signal the seaQuest and she'll send someone to help." Lucas was incredulous. "But... Well, *you'll* need this more than I will. Why give it to me?" Suddenly the caring seemed to come back to Bridger's eyes. "Because, on your return trip, you'll be alone out there in Macronesian waters. If anything happens, someone will know about it." Lucas simply laughed nervously and put it in his pocket. He knew that argument would be useless. "Thanks." "Sure." Bridger patted him affectionately on the uninjured shoulder. * * * Darwin watched the myriad of tiny squid darting around the rocks. He knew this type of squid. Tasted funny. But he enjoyed watching them squirt. Their movements were both awkward and fluid. He was hungry again. Time for fish. He felt out into the water for something to eat. There was not much life here. Waters were low on life. He felt again. This time: Dark/Bone fish. He had not tasted them for a long time. He did not get to these waters very often since returning from the world of different water. Bridger told him it was not his world where they had been, but Darwin did not understand. How could there be a world different from this world. There could not be. But Darwin had been there. He often pondered what it could mean. A world of different waters. Then he heard the peculiar vibrations. Bridger called. He swam to the Dark/Bone fish and deftly took a meal before heading for the transport. He called to Bridger that he was coming. * * * Taking care that the screen was not visible to his two roommates, Hector Sancress sat in his bunk and put the little computer in his lap. When he felt comfortable that prying eyes could not see, he carefully keyed in the sequence he had memorized. The ocean view showed nothing. He silently hit the keys to incrementally turn the camera view around toward Tasman Prime. When it finally rested on the invading sea craft, he was startled to notice it looked different. They had apparently done some moving about. He focused the picture as best he could. Details were difficult to make out on this tiny computer screen, but he could not risk using the larger ones. Carefully scrutinizing the picture on his screen, he finally realized what had changed. The little transport that had piggy backed on it was gone. *Now what are they up to?* he thought. Could the smaller transport be waiting somewhere else? Maybe one was for entering the prison and the other was hidden away as a "getaway" transport? Maybe one of them was to be used to ferry them into the bays and back? But escaping would take too long? *What are they doing?* He checked the other cameras, but he failed to find the other transport anywhere around the prison. End Part 14 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:04:05 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 15 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 15 Dagwood swiped at a squid that constantly teased at his head. He was amazed at how his movements were restricted in the pressure suit. Getting into the suit had been a difficult task because of his large size. But once inside, he found movement easy. Then they entered the water, and he realized why the suit was built with so much power. It was very difficult to move in these depths. His slow, shuffling walk tended to kick up clouds of sediment, causing him to walk carefully for fear of someone seeing it. As he was trying to get used to moving about in the suit, Bridger and O'Neill had gotten far ahead of him. He tried moving faster to catch up, but he could not get much speed. The box of clothes and weapons tied to his wrist only slowed him down. He tried jumping across the sea floor to increase his speed, but he only slowly drifted through the water and actually made very little distance. When he landed again, the heavy metal boot landed awkwardly on a buried rock and he lost his balance. He watched in slow motion as the sea floor began rushing toward his face. He struggled to right himself, but the suit limited him and his body would not react as fast as he expected it to react. Instinctively, he put his hands, within the large, metal-plated gloves, in front of himself to catch his fall. When he hit, he tumbled sideways. He was now lying on his back. He rolled on his side and struggled to push himself upward, but the suit was too confining and would not cooperate. He managed to get on his knees with his outstretched hands holding up his torso, but as he tried to get his foot underneath himself, he tumbled onto his back again. "Tim! Bridger!" Bridger had ordered the suit radios turned off, but he shouted out anyway. "Dagwood had fallen and can't get up!" He threw his force into it and tried to roll over on his stomach again, but his weight and momentum carried him too far and he was on his back again. He growled in frustration. "Tim!" He then saw the dark suited forms of Bridger and O'Neill standing over him. "Dagwood is stuck," he said to them. They bent to roll him onto his stomach again. The sound of their gloved hands striking the metal of his suit rattled the silence inside the suit. As he lifted himself to his knees, they grabbed at his arms to help him stand upright. Dagwood growled at the awkwardness of the move, but he finally stood straight again and faced them. "Thank you," he said. They let go of his arms and the eerie silence crept around him again. Now that he was aware of it, the isolation began to frighten him. They walked away and his careful steps caused him to struggle to keep up. Eventually, they reached the airlock. O'Neill silently studied the markings on the wall of the tiny metal box. No lights were provided and he had to use a small light built into the wrist of the suit to see. After a few moments, he gave the thumbs up and waved for Bridger and Dagwood to approach. Dagwood glanced at Bridger, who signaled for Dagwood to go ahead of him. O'Neill squeezed into the corner beside the airlock controls as much as possible as Dagwood stepped inside. Then Bridger entered. As much as he tried, it became obvious that all three of them could not fit into the airlock at the same time. Bridger stepped out and indicated that he wanted O'Neill to step out also. When Dagwood also moved to exit the airlock, Bridger held his hand up in a stopping motion, causing Dagwood to stay where he was. When O'Neill had cleared the way, Bridger stepped in front of him and used his hands to indicate that he would go inside with Dagwood. O'Neill would enter, alone but with their supplies, after they had entered the other side. O'Neill watched him squeeze into the box where he had been standing, and press a sequence of fat keys on the box wall. A door slid in from the rock wall and sealed them off. O'Neill was now standing alone on the Lord Howe Rise of the Tasman Sea. The very aloneness caused his heart rate to increase. He slowly turned to look across the nearly flat expanse on which he stood. What he saw was vast nothingness interrupted by rocky outcroppings and floating sea life. He felt very isolated. He scanned around himself. Nothing. Three very ugly fish came floating by him, directly above his head and he followed their movements. He tried to identify them, but could not. They looked like some sort of lantern fish, but the normal illuminating organs were not present. The jaws jutted outward in a gross underbite. He tried to ponder the purpose of such a jaw. They floated nearer the prison and he was suddenly overwhelmed by the size of the building. Standing on the sea floor gave him a different perspective. He had never realized how big the place was. It made him feel suddenly very small and insignificant. He wondered if he was a fool for agreeing to come on this mission for Bridger. But how could he refuse. Bridger had done so much for him in the past. He glanced at the airlock. Nothing. He wondered what would happen if they were captured. What if they exited from the other side of the airlock and were taken away before they could send it back? He would be trapped out here. His heart began to flutter radically and he caught himself breathing heavily. *Calm down!* he thought. *I'll be with them in a moment.* He concentrated on studying the prison. From what he could see, it appeared that Tasman Prime had been built upon an underwater stone mesa. It was the only major outcropping of rock in the area. Everything else was relatively flat. He wondered where Darwin was. Then he remembered that Darwin was supposed to be helping Lucas get away. He scanned the horizon for Lucas, full aware that he was probably long gone by now. Nervously, he glanced back at the airlock and was surprised to see it open and waiting. Thankful, he lifted their box of supplies into the waiting airlock and stepped inside. He hit the simple set of keys and was relieved when the door shut and sealed him into the totally dark box of water. * * * Moments later, they had arrived to an unmanned maintenance bay and exited their suits. The dome shaped room was large. It housed several oddly shaped pieces of equipment, including a couple of undersea worker drones and a large launch that appeared to be in disrepair. Several unmarked metal boxes of equipment cluttered the floor and lined the walls. The room stank of dust and neglect. And it was cold and humid, causing O'Neill's shoulders to ache. Currently, O'Neill was directing Dagwood on the concealment of the suits in an infrequently used corner beside the old launch. Bridger was busy analyzing their next obstacle. A huge doorway separated this room from the tube leading to the center building of the prison. "The program's probably already starting to shut down the motion sensors" he stated. His voice echoed eerily in the huge chamber. "How come we didn't anticipate this?" He pointed at the door. "I don't remember seeing it on the maps." O'Neill, satisfied that Dagwood was correctly and safely concealing the suits, walked to the center of the room where Dagwood had dumped their equipment. His steps made no sound as he was still wearing the warm socks he had worn within in the pressure suit. Irritated, he squatted beside the box and rummaged through the clothing and weapons inside. Bridger came to stand beside him. O'Neill found the prison schematics and angrily removed them, causing the ruffled sound of paper to echo through the room. "Let me know what you find," stated Bridger. He left to help Dagwood as O'Neill, engrossed in the schematics, ignored him and studied the problem. Dagwood was attempting to stack boxes in front of the suits when Bridger approached him. "Stop, Dagwood." Confused, Dagwood gave a hurt grunt and put down the metal box in his arms. "Dagwood wanted to hide the suits so no one would know we were here." "I know, Dagwood, but look down." Still confused, Dagwood looked at Bridger's feet, and then his own. He saw the impressions of their feet had disturbed the accumulated dirt and dust on the floor and his eyes grew wide as he began to understand. "They can see our feet and would know we were here. They would find our pressure suits." Bridger smiled. "Well, they can't see our feet, but they can see where our feet have been." "Oh!" Dagwood put a hand to the back of his head as he pondered the thought. O'Neill called. "Sir!" Dagwood carefully watched his feet as the two hurried over to O'Neill's side to stare at the door controls that he had located. Attached to the wall beside the door, the control was a small box with a simple lever, a numbered keypad, and a series of multi-colored lights. Three metal troughs, attached to the wall, ran from the top of the box. Two of the troughs lead up into the ceiling and the other ran along the wall to disappear into another box about 30 feet away. O'Neill easily popped off the cover of the box, revealing intricate wiring within. "I can't open the door without setting off an alarm, but..." He looked at Dagwood. Dagwood looked confused again. "But what?" "I think I can bypass the alarm, *if* I can get to the circuits *within* these troughs. I don't have the tools to open 'em up." Bridger understood. "And you want Dagwood to open them up." "Yes. But he'll have to be careful not to break any of the wires. That'd surely set off an alarm." By way of commanding him to open the metal troughs, Bridger simply said, "Dagwood." Without a word, Dagwood approached a trough and analyzed it. O'Neill pointed to one of the troughs running from the box into the ceiling. "This one, Dagwood." He pointed to the one running parallel to the floor. "And that one." "Okay." Dagwood gripped the edge of the trough covering and gave a hard yank to remove it from the wall. This caused a horrendously loud creak from the wall accompanied by a plume of old dust. "Hey, Dag." admonished Bridger. "Take it easy. We need to do this *quietly*." "Sorry." This time he did not put so much force into it. He twisted the cover back and forth until it finally gave way. When he pulled it away, four thick wires were exposed. He carefully placed the cover he had removed on the ground and started on the next one. "Tim." O'Neill blinked back the dust that had fallen on him and looked at Bridger. He was standing by the box of supplies they had brought and was pointing at it. As O'Neill moved toward him, Bridger pulled out O'Neill's shoes and set them on the ground. "While he's working on the wall, let's get ready." Bridger began laying out the laser pistols and other weapons. O'Neill put the shoes on his feet. * * * When Dagwood had finished, O'Neill rewired the door control. Several wires now connecting across the two exposed masses gave it a spidery look. But it was not the look they had been worried about. It was 35 minutes since they had left the transport. Bridger worried that they were taking too much time. He knew that the more time they spent here, the better their chances of getting caught. The program should already be shutting down most of the motion detectors. But the door had been an unexpected obstacle and he was sure there would be more along the way. *Nothing ever goes as planned, so plan for the unexpected.* he thought. That was why he was glad he had this particular group with him. Dagwood was the strength, O'Neill the intelligence, himself the knowledge. They all stood ready with O'Neill by the switch. "Will this thing make a lot of noise?" Bridger asked. O'Neill seemed timid. "I don't know." Bridger glanced through the door's tiny window and down the hallway. It was clear. He sighed and stepped back. "All right. Go ahead." O'Neill pulled the switch. He could not help to look at the wiring he had arranged as he did so, as if it might indicate if there was a problem. But the door was amazingly silent. It's ascent toward the roof was also painstakingly slow. Bridger stepped forward and peeked under the door as it rose. The tube was clear. Without a word, he signaled for the others to follow and walked away. Dagwood and O'Neill followed, but O'Neill winced as the door thunked loudly and the sound shattered down the tube. He froze, but saw that Bridger had ignored it and was already far down the hall. He scrambled to catch up. The tube was long and brightly lit. As Dagwood moved in a brisk walk behind Bridger, he reflected on his disappointment. He had been in this type of structure before and it usually had see-through walls, so that a person could see a beautiful ocean view and all the life within it. But this one was encased in white metal. He could not see anything but endless seams connecting sections of wall and lights. The view was boring. * * * Darwin swam in front of the window and peered inside. "Lucas not go?" "We will, Darwin. In a minute." "Bridger said Lucas must go." Lucas was now irritated with the dolphin. "We will. Just give me a few more minutes." He knew he should leave. He had already stayed too long. He had left in the smaller transport as he was told, but against Bridger's orders, he had only pulled a short distance away and settled amongst another group of rocks. He did not mean to defy orders, he only intended to stay for a few minutes to see that everything was okay. From where he now sat, he could barely make out the larger transport hidden in the rocks. It had not moved for 45 minutes. Again, Lucas reached to power up the transport and leave, and again he hesitated. He had done it four times already. But this time he thought he saw something. Something, the shape was vague, was moving near the larger transport. He leaned forward hoping to make out his returning friends. Darwin darted across his field of view. "Lucas!" At first he was irritated, but he noticed a strange urgency in the synthesized voice. After all, he had programmed the vo-corder and was familiar with the various nuances. "Darwin? What is it?" But Lucas did not hear the response. He watched in horror as the large transport vanished in a colorful explosion. "Oh my God." He put his hand to his mouth in pain. His mind raced. Were Bridger and the others on that transport? Were they trapped inside the prison? Were they captured? Were they alive? There was nothing he could do now. He had to get help. Instinctively, he powered up the transport and prepared to leave. "C'mon Darwin! We're getting out of here!" His heart was riveted to the sight of the explosion. He could not shake the image from his mind. The concussion waves hit the transport and the world rattled around him. * * * The earth moved. O'Neill was shaken by the nearby explosion so badly, he fell backward. Dagwood, his feet planted like roots to the floor, caught him before he hit and quickly righted him. They looked at each other with wide eyes. "What was that?" O'Neill asked. His voice was laced with fear. Bridger put his hand and ear to the tube's wall. "It sounds like an explosion." O'Neill grimaced. "Felt like one too." He checked to see if he had dropped anything. Bridger listened intently, trying to identify the sounds. Dagwood's voice broke his concentration. "Um, Captain Bridger?!" Bridger was annoyed at hearing the title. But before he could remind the dagger not to use it, he looked up and saw the reason for the comment. "Oh no." What looked like ten Macronesian soldiers were marching down the tube toward them. Their weapons were drawn. In a split second, he grabbed O'Neill and Dagwood by the shoulders and shoved them back the way they had come. "Back! Go!" The telltale flash of a laser pulse flashed near his face and a tiny spot on the floor in front of them burst into flame. The side of his face still felt the warmth. They were being fired upon. They ran. They occasionally turned and fired shots into the oncoming crowd. And occasionally they connected. A soldier would spin in his tracks and fall, but the others kept coming. It was now a race to see who would get to the end first. Bridger was amazed that they had not been hit yet. The tube environment was far too confining to miss. *These guys are lousy shots! Could they be worried about breaching the walls? Or could they be trying to take us alive?* A cold chill ran down his spine at the prospect. *If they want us alive, that means... they probably know who we are. And they knew we were coming. And why.* The thought sickened him. He had led them into a trap. They hit the doorway at the maintenance area. "Shut the door!" he shouted. O'Neill was already on it. Bridger and Dagwood shot random shots into the tube, slowing down the advancing soldier, but only slightly. O'Neill watched the slowly closing door and tried to will it to go faster. He glanced into the hallway. "We're not gonna make it," he stated. Bridger paused and gave him an wry smile. "Nonsense." He removed a small, round device from his pocket and tossed it into the tube. "Heads down!" he shouted. They crouched, ready for an explosion. The soldiers stopped and scattered as the device rolled their way, each of them climbing over the other to get away. And nothing happened. O'Neill looked up. The door was nearly down. He looked at Bridger who was panting heavily. "A dud?" Bridger smiled. "No. It just was a timer that I didn't need. It fooled them, didn't it?" O'Neill laughed with relief and glanced at the closing door. He was shocked by the man that came sliding underneath it, his guns firing. They bolted away as the door slammed shut. The man shot randomly into the darkened room. He was unaware that Dagwood had hidden behind him. In a split second, the soldier was unarmed and held up above the ground by the shirt. Bridger stepped into the open. "Put him down. Dagwood." Dagwood did so. To the man he asked, "Are you gonna give us any trouble?" He looked for a brief moment at Dagwood, who growled and held his gun at the man's neck. The soldier shook his head silently. "Good." Bridger swung his fist and connected in a calculated spot on the jaw, knocking him unconscious. The man fell limp in Dagwood's arms. Bridger took the soldier from Dagwood's arms. "You two get into the pressure suits while I take care of him." * * * "Lucas go!" Lucas checked that the engines were okay from the blast. They were. "We *are* going, Darwin! We're..." He paused as a dark shadow was cast over his entire field of view. Looking up, his heart dropped. A huge sea vessel was now above him and most of Tasman Prime. Frightened and quiet, he said, "Oh no. Oh no. This *can't* be happening." He poured power into the transport engines and headed away. "Darwin!" He was frighteningly near the ocean floor and it whizzed by him at an alarming rate. He tried to rise higher above the floor. With a heavy thud, something crashed into his transport. He was tossed from his seat and everything that was loose inside went flying around him. *My God! What happened!* He scrambled to get back into the seat. He was traveling almost directly into a boulder protruding 20 feet from the floor. Still standing, he pulled hard on the controls to avoid the rock. He missed the rock, but his direction was still quite unexpected. He sat down again. He maxed the engines, but something was wrong. He was not moving as expected. The engine noise was now at a high whine. Desperate, he scanned the controls for the problem and noticed that the engines were quickly overheating. Then he noticed it. He was moving slowly *backward.* The large ship had grappled him and was drawing him toward it. "No! No! No!" He beat on the console. With the engines at maximum, he turned the transport about and tried to whip himself free. It did him no good. All too soon, the engines gave a loud clunk and gave out. Helpless, he soon saw the walls of a ship's bay surrounding him. The familiar sounds of closing doors rattled his nerves. He was quickly developing a wicked headache. He flopped back in the seat, defeated. He was helpless. Then he remembered. The signaler that Bridger had given him. He stood and moved to retrieve it from the edge of the console. But it was gone. The toss had knocked it from the console. The sounds of someone opening the hatch reached his ears. He looked desperately toward the hatch. They were coming. He scanned for the signaler amongst the junk now lying scattered on the transport floor. "Oh God! Where are you!?" He tossed everything out of the way in his search, but he could not find it. He gritted his teeth. "Where are you!?" Then he saw it. The signaler had rolled into a crevice between the floor and the transport wall. He crawled toward it and his hand was only inches from it when he heard the voice call out. "Freeze!" He froze. "Don't move a muscle!" Lucas turned. Two Macronesian soldiers had laser weapons pointed at his head. A deadly chill ran down his spine. Defeated, he collapsed on the floor. The men approached him their weapons still pointed at his head. "Get up!" Slowly, Lucas began to sit up. Glancing forward, he noticed that the signaler was still inches from his fingertips. He glanced up at the soldiers. *I'm dead. What chance do I have. Bridger wanted seaQuest to know if anything went wrong. I only have this one chance.* "Get up, now!" they shouted at him. He noticed yet another soldier was crawling through the hatch. He glanced back at the signaler. *One chance.* He lunged forward and wrapped his hand around it. Before he could activate it, a boot smashed down on his wrist and his hand reflexively opened. Lucas cried out and it dropped again to the floor. The man with his boot on his wrist, bent over and picked up the fallen device. "What is it?" he asked his partner. His only response was a shrug. The man tossed the signaler back onto the floor and shattered it with a shot from the laser weapon. Utterly defeated, Lucas again collapsed. The boot was lifted off his tortured wrist. "Okay, now get up! You're under arrest by the Macronesian Alliance." * * * "But Captain--" "Don't worry, Tim. Only two can fit in this airlock at a time. If I'm not with you in five minutes, go back to seaQuest and tell Captain Hudson what's happened." He hated the feeling that had come over him: dread. They knew. How did they know? Jared? Could Jared have been part of an elaborate trap? Was Robert even here? Or was it Phuong and the Vietnamese fisherman? Bridger slapped closed O'Neill's faceplate and locked it into place before he could protest again. O'Neill struggled to open it again, but Bridger shoved him backward and closed the airlock door. He quickly activated it. He was satisfied by the hiss of air he heard. He hurried to pull on the rest of his own pressure suit. The unconscious Macronesian soldier now lay tied in a corner. Dagwood had ripped out the doors wiring, thus cutting its power and slowing the soldier's entrance. Sparks were now flying as they tried cutting into the room through the door. Bridger slipped his hands into the pressure suit gloves and adjusted the headpiece. He locked everything into place. He was ready. He could now only wait impatiently for the airlock to return. *They knew we were coming. What does it mean? Was Robert even here? And when did it all go wrong? Was it Jared?* But that did not make sense. If they were going to be captured, it would have been much sooner, and safer, than this. Then another thought struck him. *Did Lucas get away?* The door burst open as it was cut away. The loud clatter startled him. He prepared the best he could within the confines of the suit. Macronesian soldiers poured into the room and seven weapons pointed his way. He had no escape. End Part 15 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:05:05 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 16 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 16 Before the airlock door was completely open, O'Neill squeezed his body out and into the open water of Lord Howe Rise. Dagwood followed closely behind him. O'Neill turned, slapped the buttons to return the airlock to the other side where Bridger was waiting, and stepped away from the door. A small sense of relief washed over him as the door shut. He turned away to search for the hidden transport. Something was wrong. The waters seemed darker and more ominous than when they had entered. Dirt and debris floating about where the transport was supposed to be. *What now?* he thought. Dagwood floated into his field of view. Irritated, O'Neill glanced back to the airlock. *Where is Bridger?* He knew it was too soon for the airlock to return with his former captain. Sidestepping Dagwood, he headed out for the transport. Dagwood grabbed him by the arm to stop him. O'Neill forcefully jerked away from the grasp. He was agitated and wanted to get to the safety of the transport. Again, Dagwood grabbed at him. This time he got a firm grip on his shoulder. He used his free hand to knock on O'Neill's headpiece. The startling sound rattled the quiet interior of his pressure suit. Nervously, O'Neill glanced back at the airlock again. No Bridger. He looked toward the transport. Finally he was forced to admit what he did not want to believe. The transport was not there. The debris floating about them was most likely the shattered remains of the transport and the rock area where it had been hidden. His stomach churned with fear. He now knew what the explosion had been. He looked at Dagwood. Dagwood gestured toward the surface and O'Neill looked upwards. A massive submarine hovered serenely over them and nearly all of Tasman Prime. His knees began to give out. Dagwood pushed him toward the rock wall of the prison. His legs became useless and he found he could not resist Dagwood's prodding. Then the world was set afire. The very earth beneath O'Neill's feet vanished. Hot, shattered rock flew around him and bright flashes temporarily blinded him. He lost Dagwood somewhere in the confusion. He caught a brief glimpse of the bloodied and mangled body of an octopus floating in front of him. The sounds of rocky particles striking his suit made his ears ring. He reached his arms out to grab ahold of *anything* stable. There was nothing. Quite unexpectedly, he crashed hard into the sea floor. Pain shot through his right ankle as it twisted awkwardly on the ground. Dust blotted out almost all sight around him. He sat up as best he could. The raging currents still threatened to sweep him away. Where was Dagwood? He tried in vain to see what was going on as the settling mud pelted him. Slowly, his vision began to return, but he began to wish it had not. In the distance, he saw the familiar crescent shape of a Macronesian fighter angle upward and curve directly toward him. Bright flashes of hot light blinded him and the world exploded. His body went floating uncontrollably amongst the hot debris. Strange and distant memories came floating into his mind. He could suddenly smell the odor of freshly baked bread. It was the bread his mother used to make when he was young. Through a child's eyes, he was looking up at the edge of the counter top where mom had the bread. He was too small to reach it. It teased him because he could only see the tip where it poked out from the edge of the counter. Then he noticed his mother. Looking up, he saw the long sight of her flower-patterned dress as she stood in front of the counter. Her arms vanished as she worked there on something he could not see. What was she doing? More bread? He wanted the bread. But he could not reach it. All at once, he began to cry. "Timothy? What is it?" He looked up. His mother looked down at him, her long hair drifted over her face. He tried to articulate what he wanted, but it would not come out through the tears. He just pointed at the bread. "Oh, Tim!" Mom quickly dried her hands on a hidden towel and bent to pick him up. Her hands were warm as she lifted him. He put his arms around her neck and held on. The smell of her was a familiar comfort. Her hair tickled at his face, but he could not help to cry into it. He rested his head in the nape of her neck and felt the warmth of her hand as she stroked his back. He was safe. His crying began to subside. Momma was warm, comforting, and secure. He forgot about the bread and held onto her. She would protect him from the cruelties of the world. She began to sing. The last sight he saw before losing consciousness, was a blanket of mud, rock, and debris surrounding him. He fell into the maw of the giant sea turtle from his childhood nightmares and gladly welcomed the darkness. * * * The handcuffs chafed at his wrists, but Lucas stood defiantly with the two Macronesian soldiers at his back. They had marched him throughout the giant submarine, to stand wordless and unmoving in a hallway. They faced nothing but the opposite wall and the occasional passing soldiers. The passing men hurried by with only a brief glance his way, but said nothing. They rarely met his eyes in an obvious avoidance. The minutes of nothingness began to eat at him. He realized how fast and desperate his breathing had become, but his heart felt like it was in his throat and he could not slow it down. He knew he was in deep trouble. Glancing up and down the short hallway, he could see nothing but busy uniforms walking briskly about their tasks. Then he caught the sight that sent fear into his heart. A door opened and without a moment's glance his way, Alexander Bourne, President of the Macronesian Alliance and leader of the Macronesian military, stepped out of that door and walked intently into another across the hall. Lucas' eyes remained locked on that door. Whatever his fate may be, it most likely lay on the other side. He could not help but think of the others. Was Bridger on that transport? Were they still alive? The horrible thought gnawed at the pit of his stomach. He was alone. This time, there was no chance for hope. The others were most likely dead or captured. And seaQuest would have no idea what happened to them. The door opened and a heavy set man exited and headed directly toward them. It was not Bourne, but apparently a very important man by the looks of the extra accouterments of his uniform. Lucas caught his eye and noticed how ugly the man was. The heavy jowls shook as he walked. His lips were fat. The lower lip protruded in a gross exaggeration. In contrast, the nose was large and hooked slightly downward giving him the appearance of a witch from his childhood visions of Halloween. He could not be sure if the anger in the man's eyes was a statement of his current mood or a natural look. The heavy clap of heels sounded behind Lucas as the man came to stand before him and his guards. The man's eyes remained locked with his and an ever so slight smile formed on his lips. He stood staring at Lucas for a long while and not a word was said. It was like he was examining a prize animal. Lucas could not stand the not knowing. He tried his best to put a steel edge on his words, but they came out sounding desperate. "Where are the others?" A look of astonishment crept into the man's face. He stepped closer. "There are others?" He sounded genuinely surprised. A wave of nausea washed over Lucas and he felt like he was going to throw up. Had he given away the others? He had assumed they knew... They killed them. *Of course, they knew about the others. They blew up the transport.* Maybe not all of them, but they knew there had to be someone else besides himself. He closed his eyes tightly. He began to sway as the nausea washed over him again. When he opened his eyes, the man had put his face just inches away from Lucas'. A wicked smile was on his face as he knew what he had just done to Lucas with his words. The smile vanished and his face turned stone cold. "You will not ask questions!" he stated firmly. His breath stank from his recent meal. "You will stand here and answer questions!" Lucas groaned, closed his eyes, and waited for the bile to rise. When he opened his eyes again, the man stood at attention beside him. Apparently he had nothing more to say. They waited again in silence for *something* to happen. * * * The world swirled around him, and the rocks beat at him, but Dagwood knew to hold on the great boulder at any cost. It was his only salvation from the erupting storm of fire and earth. It only lasted a moment, but it seemed like hours. And eventually, it calmed. As the waters stopped pulling at him, he let go and gently drifted down to the sea floor again. This time, he made the extra effort and landed on his feet. Like looking at a negative of a dark, rainy night, pebbles and dirt continued to rain down on him. He struggled to get out of the mess, but the waters continually pulled at him from multiple directions and tried to topple him. It was like a living mass, pulling at his arms and legs, daring him to stay upright. As he stepped into the clear, it became easier to see. His first objective was to find O'Neill. The last he saw of him, he was with him in the blast area. He looked, but a cloud of mud still blanketed most of the area. The fighter! He looked up, but the sleek Macronesian fighter was gone. The massive submarine that hovered over them still obscured most of the sky as it hung quietly over them like a giant fist. It squeezed the life and hope out of him. He looked to where the transport had been. Gone. Maybe Bridger could tell him what to do. He looked toward the airlock. It was covered over by rocks. He looked outward for any sign of hope. Nothing. His heart ached. "Dagwood is alone," he said to himself. Then he saw it. The tiny, sleek form of Darwin sped toward him. The dolphin was his only hope. * * * After what seemed like forever, the door opened and Alexander Bourne finally stepped out. He smiled triumphantly and head straight for Lucas and the others. "Ah, Defense Minister Krajefska," he said to the heavy set man. "I see we have our prize intact." "Indeed, Mister President. He's been a noisy little boy." Bourne turned to Lucas with a look in his eye that said he had been a naughty child. "Ensign Wolenczak. It was so nice of you to drop in like this." An evil smile crossed his face. Lucas could not stand it. "Where are the others?" he demanded. Bourne gave him a look of mild surprise. "If you mean Mister Bridger, we have him in safe keeping. He's in good condition for the moment. As for your GELF friend and the other... well, they didn't cooperate and we had to dispose of them." A look of mock sadness came across his face. "It's a pity, really. And I had such big plans for them." But Lucas refused to believe it. "No! That can't be! They can't be dead!" Dagwood and O'Neill had been through too much with him to be lost like this. "Oh, my boy, it's *already* too late. Their remains have already been swept out to sea. In fact, right now... their probably feeding the sharks." Lucas squeezed his eyes shut as if he could make it all go away. "It's all an ongoing part of the food chain, you see. The predator feeds on the dead and decaying flesh of its victims." He paused for dramatic effect. "You see... I *knew* you were coming." Lucas opened his eyes and the room spun with vertigo. "A certain Vietnamese fisherman spotted you within our borders and I was able to piece the whole plan together. I had simply to lay in wait... like the predator stalking its prey." Whether it was because he could not hear him, or his mind chose not to hear him, Bourne's inane words no longer struck his ears. He grasped at straws, the only anchor he knew. "You can't do this. The UEO won't let you keep us like this." "Oh, but you are in no position to argue. You see... I know what the UEO doesn't know. This mission to recover Robert Bridger was not authorized by them. If they knew, they would never approve. And if they did not authorize it, they're not about to risk their standing with the government of Macronesia on a washed up old captain and a boy who is AWOL from his ship. At this point, you are... expendable. "Remember what happened with your Lieutenant Henderson? Captain Hudson got the better of me because it was a *public* trial. Well this time, there'll be no public trial. As far as I'm concerned, you and Nathan Bridger are guilty as charged. There'll be no hearing. No trial. No appeals. No one can prove you are even here, so I will deny your very existence. Your life is over." Lucas groaned and fell forward in pain. * * * The man in the metal case. He was his friend. Darwin swam closer to determine who it was. By feeling the suit alone, he could not tell. Closer. The man reached a metal hand to touch him. The hand was cold. The touch set shivering reactions along his back. The man touched his sensitive dorsal fin. He made a sound inside the box. Darwin listened/touched the sound. He recognized it. It was difficult to hear/feel through the confines of the metal, but his sensitivity to sound made it possible. He moved close to look inside the face window to confirm. It was Dagwood. He clicked recognition to Dagwood and swam in two short circles. But something was wrong. Dagwood moved in a pattern of distress. Darwin could usually hear/feel the minute sounds telling him when humans were agitated. The metal case would not let him feel it. Instead he heard only the sounds of the metal case. It overwhelmed the human noises. Darwin clicked at Dagwood. "Lucas gone. Help Lucas." Doing so at this depth was difficult. The water was thicker. And Dagwood could not reply. Darwin needed the electric/thin-metal box. The electric/thin- metal box let him talk to humans. Darwin needed his friends. He needed to talk to Dagwood. Where was Bridger? Did Bridger have the electric/thin-metal box? When Darwin needed Bridger, he would just think hard. Sometimes he could find Bridger. Darwin thought of Bridger. But Bridger was not there. He could not find him. *Lucas taken away. Bridger gone. Dagwood underwater. Where is Tim?* Darwin knew that Dagwood could not survive long in water. *Dagwood need airworld.* He watched Dagwood. Dagwood walked toward the broken, dirty rocks. Darwin followed. He was highly agitated. His skin felt like oil was on it. Not good. Dagwood needed airworld. Dagwood had to help save the Lucas. Then a sound hit him with full force. Highly pitched sounds. Sounds of a metal case, but not Dagwood's metal case. Darwin searched for its source. *Bridger?* He listened/felt for the source of the sounds. With so many busy sounds around him, it was difficult to focus. Several times, he followed the flowing, echoing trail, only to find something not a metal case. But finally, he found it. It was under rocks. It reverberated off the rocks up at him, the sounds seeping through and around the rocks. Darwin swam to get Dagwood. * * * The area was desolate. And O'Neill was gone. Dagwood could think of no other place that O'Neill could be, except beneath the small mound of dirt and rock now lying beside the rock of the prison wall. When the fighter had fired on them, either O'Neill was killed by the blast or he was buried underneath. Slowly, one rock at a time, he began to dig. Methodically, he lifted the rocks and heaved them over his shoulder. Again and again. Mindlessly. And then Darwin came. The dolphin floated before his field of vision and simply floated there. For a moment, they made eye contact through the thick faceplate of his suit and he paused. "Darwin?" he asked. But the dolphin could not answer; he just floated there and watched Dagwood. So Dagwood continued digging. Then, Darwin did something unexpected. Using his tail, he hit Dagwood on the suit's headpiece with a powerful blow, causing him to stagger and pause. "Darwin!" He stood straight to ponder the behavior of the animal. But Darwin swam away. And he realized what Darwin was trying to tell him. Darwin vanished behind another rocky mound, so Dagwood, slowed by the water, hurried with all he had to get there. When he finally came over the slight rise of the fallen rock, Darwin was waiting for him. He began lightly beating on the rocks with his tail. Dagwood gently walked over and began lifting rocks where Darwin indicated. When he caught the faint yellow and gray of O'Neill's pressure suit, he knew he was on the right track. Despite the demands his body made on him to rest, he continued relentlessly. He saw a boot. Then an entire leg. He began picking away the dirt and rocks where he thought the head should be. On and on. He caught the lighted interior of the faceplate. He cleared away the accumulated dirt and peered inside. O'Neill's face glowed ghostly and pale in the meager suit light. His eyes were closed and he was unsure if O'Neill was even alive. Eventually, he cleared the remaining debris and pulled O'Neill's body free. Unsure what to do now, he tried to hold the body upright. He held it that way for several long minutes. Darwin simply watched them curiously. Dagwood did not know what to do. Especially if O'Neill were dead. He needed O'Neill to tell him what to do. He needed help. * * * Flanked by eight guards, a proud, angry man in handcuffs, was forcefully marched through the halls of Tasman Prime Penitentiary. His capture was complete. * * * After talking to Krajefska and Bourne, Lucas was marched off to an unknown part of the ship. His mind remained dulled during the march. The harsh grating of metal on metal brought Lucas' attention to an instant awareness of how the environment around him had changed. Looking up from his position between the two Macronesian soldiers, he saw the foreboding metal bars of a prison cell awaiting him. He started when he saw them and the guards jostled him for the trouble. His hands remained cuffed behind his back, so it twisted his already injured shoulder, causing him to yelp and flinch at the pain. This, in turn, caused the guard holding the arm of his injured shoulder to jerk it forward, thus causing more pain. He crashed onto the floor of the prison cell as they finally threw him down. The cool, hard flooring was a relief to the clammy sweat that had soaked into his shirt, but crushed his cheekbone as the soldier put a boot into his upper back. He was prevented from moving while they unlocked the cuffs. With the sudden release of tension, Lucas' arms sprang forward and he rested his hands on the floor. His arms tingled as the blood returned. He dared not otherwise move for fear of retribution. He just waited. When he heard the clang of the metal door close behind him, he rolled over onto his back and sat up. The cell was simple. It was clean and well lit. A simple cot, supported by a metal framework, served as a bed. A tiny, metal sink jutted from the wall. And simple metal bucket was placed in the corner. He presumed this was to serve as the toilet. He hugged himself to counter the pain and kinks that had beset his arms and shoulders during the trip from the hallway and Bourne to here. The soldiers had gone. The cell faced out into another room with a simple, white door and in front of it, a guard, wearing the red and black Macronesian uniform. The guard passively watching him. Painfully, he stood. There was little he could do now, but wait. *Wait for what?* He took a deep breath and held it, stretching his lungs and diaphragm. With a whoosh, he released it and sat down on the cot. He brought his knees up to his chin and clasped his hands around his legs. *What have I gotten into? What am I going to do?* His heart ached at the failure of the mission and the possibility that his friends were dead. * * * "Tim?" O'Neill did not respond. Dagwood had moved his unconscious body nearer the rock wall of the prison. For several minutes he fretted, trying to determine his friend were alive, but the minute breathing he could see through the suits faceplate told him O'Neill was at least still alive, although not conscious. In an attempt to revive him, Dagwood had switched on his and O'Neill's suit radios. "Tim? Tim, are you okay?" No response. "Please tell Dagwood that Tim is okay?" He began to worry about any injuries that O'Neill may have received while in the suit. There was no medical help out here. He saw O'Neill's face twitch. "Tim! Wake up!" O'Neill's eyes opened with surprise. "Dagwood!" Elated, Dagwood smiled. "Tim is okay!" His face turned serious. "Dagwood was worried." O'Neill's eyes focused on Dagwood, then darted around himself. He realized once again that he was in the pressure suit. The scenes of the Macronesian fighter coming toward him and the subsequent explosion replayed in his head. It took a few moments for him to remember why he was here, but when he did... "Dagwood! What're you doing!?" "Tim was hurt. Darwin--" "Dagwood! They think we're *dead*! Turn the radio off! If they hear us, they'll find us!" He reached toward Dagwood's suit. A look of surprise came over Dagwood's face. "Oh! Dagwood only wanted to--" The rest was cut off when O'Neill switched off the radio. O'Neill switched off his own radio and pushed Dagwood away from him. He tried to stand straight, but his body would not cooperate. He fell sideways and Dagwood caught him. Awkwardly and carefully he tried to stand under his own power. His whole body ached. When he felt reasonably comfortable that he could stand, he waved Dagwood off. He looked to see the airlock from which Bridger was supposed to return. It was hidden by a pile of rubble created by the fighter's blast. He looked up. The huge submarine still hung over them. A transport could be seen leaving Tasman Prime and entering a bay on the ship. "Oh my God." He awkwardly tried to make the sign of the cross across his suited chest. Stunned, he looked to Dagwood who stood waiting for O'Neill to save the day. He had no idea what to do. * * * Darwin noticed that O'Neill was now conscious. He swam toward him. O'Neill, in the metal case, gestured his arms wildly at Dagwood. Dagwood did not respond. *They need airworld* Darwin thought. He knew they would die without it. They tried to hurt O'Neill and Dagwood. They would not help O'Neill and Dagwood now. They would die out here unless they had help. O'Neill was now slowly walking toward Darwin. He waved his arms back and forth at Darwin. He could not feel O'Neill properly inside the metal case. It confused him. Darwin swam toward him and darted circles around his head. And O'Neill struck him. Darwin was startled by the contact. The metal hand that touched him felt funny. Strange. Not O'Neill. He watched him again from a distance. He was still waving at Darwin. *They will die.* he thought. *They will die without surface/non- water.* How could he get them to surface/non-water? The big metal box above would not help. They took Lucas when Lucas did not want to go. Lucas was supposed to leave. Return to... seaQuest. Excited, Darwin clicked to O'Neill and Dagwood. He knew they would not understand him, but he had to try. He told them that he would go back to seaQuest. He would get help. They would not die. He would not let them die. Darwin turned and headed away as fast as he could. * * * When Lucas heard the cell door open, his head shot upward to see what was now happening. Bridger stood in the doorway of the cell. His face was stony, hard, and there was something Lucas had never really seen in his face before. Defeat. His hands were clasped behind his back, telling Lucas that he had been captured and subsequently handcuffed. They must have captured him inside the prison complex and brought him to the ship and this cell for unknown transportation. Nothing was said as the guard worked to unlock the cuffs, but the messages that passed between their eyes did not require words. They had failed. All that Bridger had hoped and dreamed to be reunited with his son was now destroyed. And Lucas, the son that was not his son, was destroyed too. Destroyed because of his foolishness. He knew no way out of this one. End Part 16 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:06:18 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 17 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 17 Bridger, his hands released from the restraining cuffs, stepped away from the guards and into the cell. Almost immediately, he turned around to face the captors that had brought him. It was only then that Lucas realized that Bourne and Krajefska, had followed Bridger into the room and now stood facing them from outside the cell. The boom of the closing cell door brought the finality of their situation to the forefront of his mind. "Now what?" Bridger asked. His voice was laced with venom. Bourne's eyes never left Bridger. "Defense Minister Krajefska, tell the guards to step outside a moment." Without a word, Krajefska escorted the men out of the room and returned to stand at Bourne's side. "They're gone," he reported. "Good. Now, Mister Bridger. First off, I know why you came here to Tasman Prime." He waited for a response, but Bridger offered none. "You came here looking for your son." Bridger saw no reason to deny it. Information was power. "Why are you holding him?" He tried his best not to spit the words, but failed. "What has he done?" "Ah, Mister Bridger. Remember who is the one behind bars. *You* have broken several Macronesian laws. *You* are not in a position to bargain. *You* are the one who will suffer the consequences for your actions." Bridger's eyes burned into the Bourne, daring him to a confrontation. Bourne simply smiled. "However... I am willing to let you, Mister Wolenczak, and your son go free, *if*..." He paused for dramatic effect. It worked. Bridger's interest was piqued. He was listening. "*If* you tell me what I need to know... about Firebird." Lucas, confused by the comment, leaned forward as if it would help him to understand. He had never heard of anything called *Firebird*. Neither had Bridger. "Firebird? What is it? I can't say I've ever heard of it." "Oh, come on, Mister Bridger. There's no need to be coy. We already know all about it. We need *information* about--" Krajefska cut him off with a curt comment in a language that sounded decidedly Russian. Bourne looked at him with annoyance, but seemed to accept what he had to say. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the floor for a moment, deep in thought. Bridger stood impatiently near the cell bars. He licked at the dryness of his lips before speaking. "I don't know anything about Firebird. Perhaps if you could tell me what it is?" Anger shot across Bourne's face as he looked back up at Bridger. "We know that Robert Bridger was involved with Firebird. He has information that I need. But there's one problem. He's just won't tell us what we need to know." He gave Bridger a sharp look. "He's been trained *very* well." Bridger angrily shook the bars for emphasis. "What have you done to him!?" "He's alive." Their eyes locked and for a long moment; it was a test of wills to see who could project more fear into the other. In disgust, Bridger knew that this was getting him nowhere. He was, after all, the one behind bars. He shoved hard on the bars, rattling them, and stepped back. He put his hand to his forehead and roughly ran his fingers through his hair to calm himself. "Look!" He faced Bourne again and gave him a exasperated look. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't know what you mean by Firebird. Could you please explain?" "Mister Bridger," Bourne continued. "Do you expect me to believe that you, a decorated UEO officer, have no idea what your son has been up to these past five years?" "Yes!" shouted Bridger. "I've been out of touch for *ten* years!" "I am not a fool! Think about what I've offered you. If you won't help me, I will use him," Bourne indicated Lucas, "to persuade you. Or better yet, your son." Anger burned in his eyes. "I don't know what the hell Firebird is! Tell me and maybe I *can* help you!" "Or, I could use *you*, to persuade Robert Bridger." "How can--" Bridger cut himself off, realizing he was not getting through to the man. He was quite frustrated. It was like talking to a rock wall. Bourne watched him for a moment and was satisfied that the outbursts had stopped. "Good. Think about what I'm offering you. Just tell me what I need to know, and all of you can go free. Think about it." He turned and walked away with Krajefska close behind. Lucas could have sworn he saw a smirk on Krajefska's face as he turned away, but it was too quick. "Bourne!" shouted Bridger to his retreating back. "I can't help you! I don't know what you want!" Without a further word, they exited the room, and the ever present guard returned to stand inside the doorway to watch them. Bridger, quite angry and frustrated, gave a long, hard look to Lucas, but his mind was elsewhere. * * * The inactivity was causing the cold waters to creep through to O'Neill's body. He reached to the front of his pressure suit and turned up the heater. Immediately the lining of the suit warmed him. He looked beside himself, but Dagwood stood motionless in the water. He had contemplated several times going out into the open and exploring their surroundings. They could not stay out in the water for too much longer. They had to find a way to get to fresh oxygen. Dagwood could survive much longer because his genetic design required less oxygen, but O'Neill knew he could not. Their only means for his long term survival was to reenter the prison. Something he did not want to do, but at the moment, they had no other choice. The submarine continuing to hang over them like a vulture waiting for its prey to die. If they wandered out into the open with their brightly colored pressure suits, they might attract unwanted attention and the fighters would return and finish what they thought they had already done: kill them. Instead, O'Neill chose to remain close to the rock wall, motionless, and wait. * * * Near the surface, swimming was easier. Darwin headed there almost immediately after leaving O'Neill and Dagwood. He was now putting all his efforts into swimming for where he thought the seaQuest was supposed to be. He hoped it was still there. Too long he had been below his normal depth. His body felt oily. The rebreather was chafing at him. But despite his discomfort, he put every muscle possible into swimming as fast as he could. He knew that O'Neill and Dagwood had little time. And Lucas and Bridger were missing. He had to get to seaQuest as fast as possible. Darwin had to save his friends. He was their only hope. * * * While on seaQuest, Piccolo was helping Fredericks refit one of the Spectres. Carefully, he lifted the big sensor board from behind the pilot seat and struggled to get it over the edge of the cockpit. Fredericks had left to retrieve the replacement so he awkwardly stepped down the ladder to drop the sensor board onto the seadeck. It clanged loudly in the confined area of the launch bay. A muscle in his upper arm suddenly began to cramp and he used his opposite arm to gently massage it. The sound of approaching footsteps could be heard across the bay. He looked up. Fredericks walked toward him with a smaller, slimmer sensor board for him to install. *Strange.* he thought. *This don't seem like no normal refit. It's like we're rearranging the whole fighter.* When she got within easy earshot, he asked, "Hey, uh, Lieutenant, why're we doing this, anyway?" She stopped dead in her tracks and looked at him quizzically. "Why are we doing *what*?" His question was not exactly clear. He approached her. "What're supposed to be doing by movin' all this equipment out and puttin' all this other equipment in? I mean... why?" He took the new sensor board from her hands and carried it toward the ladder of the waiting Spectre. Now she understood what he was asking. She had been intentionally silent to him about the subject. But she had to tell him sometime. She watched him as he cradled the new board under his arm and awkwardly climbed up to the cockpit. "We're making more room inside for--" He did not let her finish. "More room? Room for what?" He had placed the board inside the cockpit and climbed inside. He now stood waiting for her response. An exasperated look came over her face and she glanced off into the distance before looking back up at him. "For two people." "Two people? You mean like..." Realization finally dawned on him. "Like the simulator," she finished for him. A slight smile crossed his lips. He pointed into the pilot's seat. "You mean me and you are gonna be in here," he pointed to the wall, "while out there?" He was not sure whether to laugh, cry, or throw up. "Yes," she confirmed. His eyebrows shot upward. "Oh, swell. That oughtta be interesting. More fun than a monkey full o' barrels." He quickly knelt down to the task of putting the new sensor board into place. He did not want to give her a chance to respond or see the expression on his face. He just knew he had a stupid grin plastered across his face. * * * For several long minutes, Bridger silently stood and contemplated their situation. Lucas, in deference to Bridger, remained silent. But eventually Bridger sighed and sat beside Lucas on the thin mattress. He looked forlornly at Lucas. "You okay?" When Lucas responded, his voice was almost a whisper. "Yeah, I'm fine." Concern was written all over his face. "Where're the others?" "I don't know." Bridger shook his head. "Last I saw of them, they were headed out to the transport." "It's gone. They blew it up." Bridger gave him a sidelong look. "How do you know that?" Lucas' gaze drifted downward and away from Bridger's. "I saw it happen," he mumbled. "You *saw* it? How? What did they do to you?" "I, um... Me and Darwin stayed behind for a while to make sure you were okay." This made Bridger angry. "Lucas! My God!" He had trusted Lucas and believed he would follow orders. His original reservations about bringing him on the mission were proving to be true. "I can't believe you did this!?" Uncomfortable with the disapproval, Lucas squirmed. He roughly ran his fingers through his hair and scratched at his scalp. "I didn't... I just wanted to be sure you were going to be all right." "And look what it's done. It's gotten you involved in something you shouldn't have to be in." He was angry. Very angry at Lucas. He had very foolishly put his life in danger. "Did you use the signaler to let seaQuest know what happened?" "No." Lucas stood, folded his arms to hug himself, and faced outside the cell. "It fell on the floor and got lost in the explosion's shock wave. By the time I found it, it was too late." Bridger's ensuing silence ate into his heart. Bridger was dumbfounded. He had at least expected a grain of hope. Now there was none. O'Neill and Dagwood were likely dead. "Lucas!" he demanded. But he didn't turn around. "Lucas! Look at me!" After a few tense moments, he turned and faced Bridger. Hurt and defiance were written all over Lucas' face, but he refused to say anything. What could he say? It would not change anything. "Lucas," Bridger continued. "You're the one that wanted to grow up. You're now an ensign with the United Earth Organization. You can't act like a child anymore." That stung. "I never expected you--" "Let me finish. When you first put on that uniform, you took on the responsibility of an adult and an officer." "But, sir, this was personal. You're not my captain anymore." "Don't give me that crap! You endangered your life! You're a soldier now. 24 hours a day, not just while you're on duty. Not when it's convenient. Your responsibilities extend into your personal life too. You have to live up to that responsibility and your actions today..." He tried to think of a tactful way to put it. "They're reprehensible!" His anger was boiling up inside him. "Not to mention foolish! Your actions are deserving of a court marshal." "Captain, I only meant to--" "Oh, I know what you meant to do. But it was wrong. What we set out to do was borderline illegal, by UEO standards. Outright illegal by Macronesian law. You had no right to do this! You may very well have thrown your life away! If we get out of here and Bourne doesn't kill us, you may be facing that court marshal back at the UEO. Is *that* what you meant to do?" Disgusted with himself, Lucas turned away. "No." He did not know what else to say. He wanted Bridger's approval, but he had let him down. Bridger huffed and tried to calm down. Berating Lucas now was accomplishing nothing. *Let it be, for now. Just let it be. Your first priority is to get us out of this. Lucas is a smart kid.* He almost laughed at the ironic thought. Lucas had been a fool. But that was more a sign of his maturity, not his intelligence. Lucas had helped him get them out of tough spots before. "You realize what you did wrong?" he asked. "I disobeyed orders." Lucas said it to the wall. "That's right. And now we may have to pay the price." Lucas remained silent. Bridger scratched at his beard stubble and after a few moments of silence, decided to change the topic. Lucas knew he had made a mistake and talking to him about it now would not help their situation. If Lucas felt distraught, it could very well cause him to think irrationally, therefore jeopardizing their chances to get away. Bridger went on to another subject. "Do you have any idea what this Firebird thing is Bourne is asking about?" Lucas was relieved with the changed subject. "I've never heard of it." He continued to face the wall. "There used to be a car called a Firebird." Bridger almost wanted to laugh. He had almost forgotten about that. "I have a cousin that used to own one back in the nineties, but no, I don't think that's what he's after." "A weapon?" Lucas suggested. He tentatively turned around, inspired by Bridger's change in attitude. "Perhaps." Bridger became introspective. "I don't know. I've never heard of it." "It could be something the UEO has developed. Bourne seems to think that you and Robert should know something about it." "I know of several things under development, but you and Bourne forget, I'm not so well connected with the UEO anymore. It's been ten years and I didn't exactly jump back into my old position when we returned. Today, it's a different UEO than I knew." He quietly stared through the bars when another thought struck him. "Maybe it is something I know, but I know it by a different name." "Maybe. Firebird may be a code name." Lucas folded his arms and leaned against the wall to stare at Bridger. "We need more information if we're going to find out what he's talking about." "And if it turns out I do know what he wants, there's no guarantee that I'll be willing to give it to him. Robert didn't seem to want to give him the information." That fact struck Lucas cold in the stomach. They may have the information, but be unable to use it. He hugged himself tighter. Bridger went on, "It might not be a weapon at all. If it was, I don't think we could give him any useful information here. Maybe it's something else. Some sort of top secret espionage group within the UEO." "That has access to weapons," Lucas added. "To be used against Macronesia. Maybe." "The fact is, we just don't have any information. You've got to convince him of that." Bridger cocked his brow and looked sideways again at Lucas. "I know that. But I don't think Bourne is going to believe me no matter what I tell him. You saw how he reacted just now. The man's convinced I have information." "So what do we do?" An iron look beset Bridger's face. "We convince him otherwise." * * * O'Neill was bored. For all the danger they were in, with limited air supply, Bridger missing, hiding from the enemy beside their own prison, and a massive enemy submarine hanging over his head, he was bored. He could do nothing, but wait for something to happen to change the situation. So unwittingly, he began to drift off to sleep. He was forced to wait for either the submarine overhead to leave or Darwin and Lucas to reach seaQuest and send help. If Darwin could get to the boat in time, Captain Hudson would send help. He began dreaming of who would come to his rescue... And saw Hudson. He jolted awake at the thought. *Would Hudson send help?* he thought. *Would Hudson risk more lives on this mission?* He felt little tiny creatures crawling up the back of his neck at the thought. He yearned to itch at it, but could not reach it through the suit. *What if Hudson doesn't send anybody? Me and Dagwood'll be stuck out here!* The movement of Dagwood beside him disturbed his already disturbing thoughts. In his panicked mind, he had almost failed to notice the subtle change in the darkness. Looking upward, the submarine slowly pulled away from Tasman Prime, leaving them and the prison behind. End Part 17 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:07:58 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 18 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 18 Darwin felt his body weakening. He needed food and rest. He had traveled for almost a full day now. He was tired. Although Darwin knew he could afford little time to delay, he had to eat something to go on. His body needed frequent nourishment and he had highly taxed it over the past day without replenishment. The school of blue/grey jaw fish he was approaching would provide ample feeding with minimal time lost. The fish scattered as he approached. But the very quantity of them swimming in such a large group proved fatal to the fish and beneficial to Darwin. He was able to snap up several fish with little effort. Doggedly he chased one particularly evasive fish that remained elusive by breaking away from the large school and swimming at erratic angles. But Darwin eventually caught the elusive fish in his jaws and swallowed. The fish were no match. He ate his fill and drifted to the surface to rest a moment before continuing on. He longed to have the rebreather removed and breath the fresh air. He could not remove it without human hands. But the sea air felt good to his skin and helped dissipate the oily feeling it had developed. A full stomach and the placidness of the sea air calmed him. Quite unwittingly, a restful sleep overcame him and he drifted slowly below the surface. The innate reaction of swimming back to the surface to breath again awoke him from the very brief nap and he begrudgingly began to swim to seaQuest again. About the time he reached top speed, the peculiar sound of a surface boat alerted him. In an attempt to strengthen his tired mind and body, he squealed into the air. Diving, he clicked a search for the boat. From what he could hear/feel, it was traveling in the same general direction he needed to go. That was good. Swimming near the surface beside the big moving boats made swift swimming easier. Darwin needed the help. He put out an extra bit of effort to reach the boat. * * * Hausenbraugh strained to see the other Spectre outside his own Spectre's window, but was too far away to see anything meaningful, much less the occupants. "Freddie?" he asked. "You sure this is a good idea?" Fredericks and Piccolo had rearranged a Spectre's innards so that both of them could ride in the pilot's seat. Hausenbraugh was a bit skeptical. It seemed a little... unorthodox. But orders was orders so he tagged along like he was told. The three of them now floated in two Spectres just off the seaQuest's starboard. "Relax, Hausenbraugh," Fredericks called over the comm system. "I had this same kind of training at New Capequest." Looking about his own seat, Hausenbraugh tried to imagine cramming two people into this tiny space. "I dunno. Sounds a little strange to me." Fredericks sighed. She was in no mood for jokes and she had seemed exceptionally touchy as of late. "Can we get on with it?" Without waiting for a response, she poured power into her machine and her and Piccolo smoothly glided away. "Okay. Okay." Hausenbraugh put power into his own machine and moved to follow. "Just don't have a bovine." He addressed Piccolo directly as he fell in behind the other Spectre. "Hey, Tony. You doing okay in there?" "Yeah." Piccolo's voice cracked. "I got it." He sounded more frightened than confident. Hausenbraugh just shook his head. * * * He thought he would be more prepared, but Piccolo was still nervous. Her body pressed hard against his as momentum pushed them back into the seat. He tried not to think about it. His hands covered hers and he felt her minute movements as she guided the craft through acrobatic movements through the ocean. "You comfortable?" she asked. *Is she a mind reader?* he asked himself. He was both uncomfortable and comfortable in his current position. Aloud, he said, "Yeah. I'm gettin' a little squashed, but I'm a'right." Not that he minded too terribly being squashed by her. "Are you getting the feel for the way I'm moving?" *Am I ever!* He concentrated on putting his mind to the task and paying attention to what she was trying to teach him. "Yeah." It was not easy. She undulated the Spectre in an up and down motion causing Piccolo's stomach to flip. He immediately regretted the second helping of scrambled imitation eggs he had for breakfast. "You see how my movements," she asked, "are effecting the Spectre?" He rolled his eyes against the wave of nausea, but his gut finally began to accept what was happening and calm down. "Yeah, I think I'm getting the..." She banked hard and cut the Spectre upward and slightly to their starboard causing his gut to complain again. "...hang of it." he finished. He hoped the eggs would not choose this moment to evacuate his stomach. *What does she think she's doing anyway!? She's really trying to make me sick!* "Hang on." From where he sat, he could see the slight raising of her cheekbones as she smiled. "It gets a little bumpier." *Oh, boy.* Her smile caused the thin leather helmet covering her head to move ever so slightly. Piccolo thought of his own helmet that Henderson had given him. *The regular subfighter helmets were cursed,* she had said. He examined the leather of her helmet. He hoped hers was not one of those. Especially right now. Innocently, he asked, "Hey, where'd you get that helmet from?" * * * It was so quiet and dark. After the submarine had left, O'Neill and Dagwood had tentatively wandered out into the open sea to take in their surroundings. It was murky enough that their brightly colored pressure suits would (hopefully) not draw attention. But regardless of the darkness, they were forced to drop and attempt to conceal themselves on two different occasions as Macronesian patrols hovered overhead. O'Neill looked down at the chest plate on his suit He tried to make out the status of his suits environment. As expected, the viable oxygen levels were getting dangerously low. The suit's rebreather was not designed for such long term use. Frankly he was not sure how much longer he had. He knew they had to do *something* and soon. They could not stay out here indefinitely. His time was quickly running out. Beside him, Dagwood stood motionless like a great stone monolith. O'Neill nudged him, causing him to stumble and slowly turn around to face him. Ignoring Dagwood's questioning look coming through the faceplate, O'Neill checked Dagwood's oxygen level. It was as expected. His genetically engineered body only required that he use eight percent of the oxygen of a human. He could survive over ten times longer in the suit. It was small solace to O'Neill that if he died out here, Dagwood would likely live to tell about it. A small part of his mind almost wished that Dagwood had left him buried under the avalanche of rock the Macronesian fighter had dumped on him. Now he faced the slow, painful death of suffocation. But he was determined not to go out without a fight. He activated their suit radios. "Dagwood?" They had existed in silence for so long that the sound of his own voice startled him. Dagwood's eyes lit up. "Tim?" "Dagwood. We'll have to keep this brief. We can't keep the radios on for too long. Someone in the prison might hear us." "Mmm. Okay." Dagwood's words were slow and careful. "Dagwood will try to talk fast." "We *have* to get inside." O'Neill pointed at Tasman Prime. "I'm about to lose breathable oxygen, and if I do..." Somehow, his tongue would not let him say it. He refused to face that fate. Dagwood continued, allowing O'Neill to drop the rest of the sentence. "How do we get inside?" Taking a moment to glance at Tasman Prime, O'Neill said, "The only way I see to do it is through the airlocks." "Which one?" "I don't know. We'll have to walk around and look. See if we can find one that's not so busy. Like the last one." "Okay." There was more he had to add. Although he did not want to face the fact, he knew it had to be said. "Dagwood, if we have to, we may have to give ourselves up." This seemed to surprise the GELF. "Oh." The transformation on his face from astonishment to anger showed that he obviously did not like the idea. The sickening realization struck O'Neill about Dagwood's genetic makeup. "Well, maybe you don't have to. You can survive out here much longer than I can. Maybe I can just turn myself in." "No!" the dagger protested. "Dagwood wants to stay with Tim!" "Dagwood. C'mon we don't have much time. Now listen to me. As I get less oxygen, I may start behaving... strange. I'll be delirious from lack of oxygen and I may not act like myself." Dagwood was now quite alarmed. "If that happens, I'll need you to take care of me and get me to fresh air." "Dagwood will help." He wanted to clasp his hands together in agitation, but was having difficulty within the confines of the suit. "Dagwood. I won't be acting rationally. If I say anything strange, don't pay attention. Just get me to fresh oxygen *even if* that means surrendering. Otherwise, I die. Okay?" Dagwood nodded his head. "Also I may pass out altogether. I may not be able to stay conscious and I may look like I'm dead, but I won't be. Not if I get inside in time. Do you understand?" Again, Dagwood nodded his head. "I'll still be alive; I'll just be unconscious so I *have* to get inside if that happens." He paused and waited for a response. After a long, tense minute, Dagwood agreed. "Mmm, okay." *What's going through his mind?* O'Neill asked himself. "Okay, I'm going to turn the radios off now. Hopefully they haven't heard us. Let's go look for a way to get in there. If you find anything, just wave at me. I'll come over and look." "Okay, Dagwood will be quiet." "Good, let's go get 'em, Dagwood." "Who are we going to--" His radio was cut off and the rest of the question was lost. * * * "Sir?" The ensign readjusted his equipment to try and confirm what he saw. Captain Hudson had certainly taught him about clarity, but Hudson was not on the bridge at the moment. Commander Ford was in charge. "Sir? I think it's Darwin?" Ford's ears perked up. Finally they had returned. "Can you confirm?" he asked. "Yessir. It certainly looks like him. It's definitely a bottlenose dolphin and I think I'm detecting his rebreather too." A sense of relief washed over Ford. The wait was finally over. Bridger and the others were finally coming home. "He's heading straight for us." the ensign added. Smiling, Ford punched a button on his communications panel. "Captain Hudson, to the bridge." To the ensign, he asked, "Do you detect another vessel in the water with him?" Concern written on his face, the ensign tried to scan for something more. He adjusted controls as necessary, but could find nothing. By the time he looked up, Ford was standing at his shoulder. "No sir. I detect only Darwin." *Uh, oh.* thought Ford. *That's not good news. Maybe Darwin's just too far ahead of them.* But the knot forming in his gut told him otherwise. "What is it, Commander?" came the voice of Hudson through the intercom. Ford hurried down to the communications panel again and punched another button. "It's Darwin, sir. He's returned. And it looks like he's alone." * * * Moments later, Hudson walked up the ramp and into the tense atmosphere of the bridge. All but Ford knew nothing about what the return of the dolphin meant, but Ford's attitude was effecting the entire bridge crew. "Status, Commander!" he shouted to announce his presence. Ford looked up and walked the rest of the way to meet him. "I've told the crew at the moonpool to inform us as soon as Darwin's on board. We've tried to communicate with Darwin, but he's not responding. Lucas and the others haven't returned." Hudson nodded. "Very good." "Commander?" the comm system squawked. It was the remaining science crew at the main moonpool. Ford again, walked over and punched a button. "What is it?" "Darwin's just arrived." "Okay. Send him up to the bridge." "That's just it, Commander. No sooner did we get the rebreather off and he took off through the swim tubes." "What do you mean? Did he say anything?" "No sir. He just... left." Hudson looked over the high control panels and commanded a crewman. "See if you can locate it." The person down at the moonpool went on. "And sir?" "Yes?" "He didn't look good. He had several blisters where he'd obviously had the rebreather on him too long. We'd like to take a look at him when you locate him." "We'll let you know." Ford removed his finger from the comm button again. He exchanged a worried glance with Hudson, but Hudson's face was stony and hard. Ford moved to open the cover of the bridge moonpool. "Sir," a crewman called to Hudson. "Darwin's heading this way. It looks like he means to come to the bridge." Upon hearing the news, Hudson moved to stand beside Ford at the moonpool. "Thank you, crewman." In a matter of seconds, the familiar gray shape of Darwin entered the moonpool. Ford squatted down as he slowed and approached. He immediately spotted the yellow and pinkish sores along his sides and near his blowhole. Carefully avoiding the injured areas, Ford stroked his head. "What is it, Darwin? Where're the others?" Darwin simply floated silently. His breathing was heavy and somewhat violent, indicating he had overtaxed his body. He rested his chin on the rim of the moonpool, but refused to say a word. Ford continued to stroke him and tried to coax him to tell where Bridger and the others were. Hudson folded his arms and stood by impatiently. He did *not* like the dolphin being considered a member of his crew and he especially did not like having to depend on it for information. Now, when it had the information they needed to enact a plan of action, it was silent. He did not like it. He preferred a normal, rational, thinking human. He knew how that kind of mind worked. Ford stood to call the medics to examine Darwin's wounds and ordered a bridge crew member to fetch some fish. This gave Hudson the opportunity to confront the dolphin himself. He put his hands on his knees, put on his best smile, and bent down toward the moonpool. "Darwin." His voice was soft and sugary sweet. "We need your help. Can you tell us where Nathan Bridger and the others are?" He hated doing this. He felt extremely stupid talking to the creature. Hudson patiently waited for a response, but Darwin continued to rest his weary chin on the edge of the moonpool and remained silent. Frustrated, Hudson sighed and stood straight, again crossing his arms. Stepping up to Hudson's elbow, Ford asked, "Anything?" Hudson gave Darwin a disgusted look. "He's not saying anything to *me*." "He looks worn out," Ford offered. "And sick. He's done this before when he wasn't feeling well." Hudson turned and noticed the severe look of concern in Ford's eyes. He was not sure if it was for the missing crew or the dolphin. He leaned in close to Ford's ear and spoke under his breath. "I don't *like* having to depend on an *animal* for my information, Commander." Ford stood back. Astonishment and anger played across his face. "But, sir, Darwin is an actual ensign on--" "Air!" squawked the vo-corder. Immediately all attention turned to Darwin. Hudson's arms sprung loose from their defensive posture and hung loose at his sides. Ford again squatted by the moonpool. "Darwin, what is it?" "Tim. Dagwood. Air." Hudson wanted to shake it out of the animal, but he knew better. His crew knew how to handle the animal and he would let them at least do that. He had confidence in Ford, and knew he knew how to get the information they needed. "C'mon," Ford went on. "Darwin, talk to us. Tell us about the others. Where are Tim and Dagwood." Darwin was silent for several tense seconds before going on. "Bridger. Gone. Lucas in metal... whale. Tim. Dagwood. Need air." "Okay." Ford was getting excited. "Tim and Dagwood need air. Where are they?" "Water. Metal." "Water and metal?" He glanced at Hudson, but his face remained stony. He had folded his arms again. "What does it mean Darwin? I don't understand." "Tim. Dagwood. In metal. In water. Need air." "Are they trapped underwater?" "Yes." "In the transport?" "No." "In what? How are they trapped underwater?" "In metal. Skin." Ford was getting somewhere, but not quite enough. He again looked at Hudson. "I'm not sure what it means, sir, but it doesn't sound good." He turned back to Darwin. "Where? Where are they trapped underwater?" But Darwin was silent. Ford searched Darwin's eyes for answers. He could tell that the oceanic ensign was tired and thinking hard to speak. He looked as if he had not eaten enough for quite a while. Dolphins needed to feed a voracious appetite to remain constantly swimming. The entire bridge was silent, waiting for an answer. Finally, Darwin gave a loud, heavy squeal and the vo-corder translated. "Tasman." Ford's heart raced. "Okay, what about Lucas and Bridger? Where're they?" "Bridger." He was silent for several seconds. "Don't know. Lucas. In large metal whale." Hmm. "Where're their transports?" "Fire." "Fire? What do you mean? What happened?" "Destroyed." The idea took a few seconds to sink in to Ford's mind. Not because he did not understand, but rather he did not *want* to believe. "The transports were destroyed?" he finally asked. "Yes." Numb, Ford leaned heavily against the moonpool railing. "Who was on the transports?" Again, Darwin's delayed response hung thick in the air. "None," he finally said. *Thank God!* Ford thought. Inspired, he went on. "So O'Neill and Dagwood are trapped underwater. You don't know where Bridger is. And Lucas is where?" "Large metal. Like seaQuest. Not seaQuest." "Another submarine? Lucas is on a submarine?" "Yes." Ford's mind raced. *What does it all mean? Something's gone horribly wrong! If something's happened to Bridger...* He looked about the bridge at the faces that knew and worked with him in the past. What would they think if Bridger were missing? Sometime during his broken conversation with Darwin, Henderson had come onto the bridge as well. He could see it in her eyes that she wanted to comfort him, but now was certainly not the time. The medical crew had arrived and now approached from the bridge ramp. They headed straight for the moonpool. Ford turned to Darwin, who had slipped his full body back into the water and now floated with only the top of his head above the water. "Thank you, Darwin. These people are going to look after you now." He stood and faced Hudson as the medics took over. Puffing up his chest, he put on his best, valiant appearance. "Captain Hudson, I request permission to go after them." Hudson's face remained stony. "Where are you going to go, Commander? We still don't even know where they were going." Without hesitation, Ford turned to Henderson. "Lieutenant Henderson. Search the database for a Macronesian prison in or near the Tasman Sea." Her eyes were wide with shock, but she moved to comply. She wondered what a Macronesian prison have to do with this? She knew what their prisons were like through personal experience. The information popped onto her computer screen. "Commander, I show a Tasman Prime Penitentiary on the south edge of the Lord Howe Rise. Longitude 155. Latitude 42." Satisfied, Ford again turned to Hudson. "Captain, I request permission to visit Tasman Prime Penitentiary to attempt a possible rescue." Hudson, pursed his lips in thought. It had been his own decision to let Bridger take Wolenczak and the other out there. It was his responsibility if they were into trouble. And it looked like they were in trouble. *Just wait till McGath hears this one.* he thought. He almost smiled at the thought. "No, Commander. That won't be necessary." "But, sir. It sounds like O'Neill and Dagwood are in *serious* trouble! We can't just sit here. We've got to do something." "And we will, Commander." He turned and walked toward the ramp leaving the bridge. He called over his shoulder. "Have Lieutenant Fredericks meet me in the launch bay. Commander Ford, you have the boat." "Sir?" Ford was incredulous. Hudson paused and turned around. "*I'm* going after them, Commander!" He turned again and walked away. End Part 18 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:09:19 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 19 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 19 "Sir!" The ensign cupped a hand over the earpiece to muffle the other noises on the bridge. "Lieutenant Fredericks already has a Spectre in the water." Ford looked up. "Who's she with?" After a moment of listening on his headphones, the ensign reported. "Lieutenant Merrick Hausenbraugh and Crewman Tony Piccolo, sir." Punching a button on the command console, Ford called down to the launch bay. "Captain Hudson." "Commander?" came Hudson's immediate response. "Sir, Fredericks is already in the water. She, Piccolo, and Hausenbraugh are training in the Spectres. Should I recall them?" Hudson ignored the question. "Commander, put me through to them. I'm strapping into a Spectre right now." "Yes sir." Ford nodded his head to the ensign, indicating to him to make the necessary connections. * * * The sound of Hudson's voice squawked in Fredericks' ear. "Lieutenant Fredericks?" Her and Piccolo were still stuffed into the crowded confines of the Spectre's cockpit, but she easily managed to switch open communications. "Sir?" "Where are you currently located?" "We're about 100 kilometers off seaQuest's starboard, sir." "Stay where you are. Send Piccolo back to seaQuest immediately. I have a job for you and Hausenbraugh. I'm in a Spectre and I'll be joining you shortly." Piccolo, from his position behind Fredericks, snorted and began laughing. Irritated and angry at him for it, Fredericks grimaced in annoyance. "Sir, we have a problem. We can't do that." She bit her lip at the ensuing silence. Eventually, Hudson returned. "Lieutenant?" He sounded astonished. "Sir--" At this, Piccolo began laughing even harder. Fredericks jabbed a hard elbow into his ribs to make him shut up. "Sir, we're training crewman Piccolo. He's..." She glanced behind herself at the still giggling Piccolo. Best just to say it. "We're in the same Spectre, sir." She felt a bit embarrassed at being caught like this. All Hudson could say was "Oh." followed by a momentary silence. Fredericks tried to turn to her giggling partner. "Piccolo, would you shut up!" At this, he broke out in an even louder fit of laughter. She again rammed her elbow into his ribs. "Shut up!" Piccolo tried to speak through his giggles. "I'm sorry, it's just..." He tried, but that was all he could get out without breaking into more laughter. "Lieutenant?" came Hudson's voice again. "Are you and Hausenbraugh battle ready?" *My God! He can't be serious!* She checked her gauges. "Yes, sir. Other than the addition of Crewman Piccolo. If you'll give me about thirty minutes, I can get him back on board seaQuest and we can go." She would never be caught unprepared, but this was an unusual, minor exception. "No. We don't have the time. We've got to get across the border right away for a rescue mission. Time is too valuable. It looks like Mister Piccolo will get to go for a little ride. Stay--" *Yowza! He is serious!* She knew what "across the border" meant. Macronesia. Piccolo had suddenly stopped laughing. "Sir, I highly recommend against that!" "Duly noted, Fredericks. But it's my decision to make. That's why I'm captain of this boat." Fredericks let out a long sigh. "Yes, sir. We'll be waiting for you." Frustrated, she leaned back hard into Piccolo. But for him, the warm feel of her body on his was lost in the numbness of what he was about to face. * * * O'Neill and Dagwood had methodically and surreptitiously wandered about the sea floor surrounding Tasman Prime, while examining the available airlocks into the prison. *This is nuts!* O'Neill thought. *Why do I want to break into the prison? We should be getting as far away from here as possible!* But he already knew the answer to that. They had nowhere else to go. They had circled the entire prison once already and discovered three large airlocks and a dozen small ones. There was simply no way to tell whether a particular airlock was frequented or not. That is, except for the one large airlock which the patrols used to exit and enter the prison. They purposefully steered clear of that one. Now, having circumscribed the complex, O'Neill found his breathing beginning to grow difficult. He had not realized it until he stopped, but his breath was coming in big gulps. Now, he had to concentrate to breath, each time filling his lungs to capacity. To steady himself, he put a hand on a large rocky formation jutting from the sea floor. Slowed by the thick water, Dagwood approached from yet another examination of the building for airlocks. The vision swam dizzily before O'Neill's eyes. He closed them to try and shut out the oncoming vertigo. *Not much time left. I guess... there's no choice left.* When he opened his eyes, Dagwood seemed no nearer than he had been. *Surrender...* He squeezed his eyes shut again. *...or die.* He had not realized how little time he had left. He ran through his mind what he would do. First, he would have Dagwood help get him to an airlock. But which one? A busy one, where they could attract attention. There was the large one, obviously used for large transports and shipments. But it did not hold much promise. The most obvious would be the one the regular patrols used. But once there, how would they attract attention? They could wait for a patrol to come along. But if it did not come as expected, then what? Bang on the door? There was so little time left and he was already taking his air in big, laborious gulps. It was quickly becoming more and more difficult. He felt the strange sensation of falling slowly backwards. Opening his eyes, he flailed his arms, trying to right himself. Through his now hazy vision, he realized it was Dagwood trying to steady him. Frantically, he wanted to reach over and turn on Dagwood's suit radio, but his hand would not cooperate through the vertigo. Dagwood gingerly pushed his hand aside and did it himself. He then activated O'Neill's radio. "Tim, are you okay?" he asked. "No." The sound of his heavy breathing roared to both of them. "We've got to get inside... now. There's... there's not much time... time left." He could barely get the words out through the gulps of air. *Tim, you've waited too long!* he thought. *There's not much time left!* "What do you want me to do?" "Get... get me... get me..." O'Neill shook his head vigorously to shake the cloudiness away. It did little good. "Get me to the airlock." "Which one?" "The one... where the airlocks... the patrols... come and go. Make 'em... make 'em... make 'em notice us." "Okay." Dagwood grabbed him by the arm and began pulling him along. O'Neill went blindly. His consciousness wanted to waver. "And... leave the... leave... radios turned on. They might... hear us. That'd... be good." Dagwood considered if this was the strange talking that O'Neill had warned him about, but it really made sense. If the patrols did not see them, at least they might hear them. "Okay." He tugged on O'Neill's arm to encourage him along. "Help!" he shouted at the radio in hopes that the noise would help attract attention. Stumbling, O'Neill slowly fell through the water. Dagwood pulled hard on his arm to keep him upright. He feared that he would need to carry him. It would not be good if he lost consciousness. "Tim? Do you want me to carry you?" "No. Just... just get me some air. Open this... head... thing." He awkwardly pawed at the seals of his headpiece. "I've gotta... get some air." "No, Tim. Dagwood can't do that." He pulled O'Neill's hands away from the seal. "C'mon, Dagwood. Get me... some air." "No." Dagwood noticed O'Neill's head lolling and his eyes rolling. "Dagwood will save you." "Air, Dagw... Need... to... breath." Dagwood grabbed the waist of O'Neill's suit and pulled it up over his shoulder. Due to the buoyancy provided by the water, he was surprisingly light. "Help! Help us!" he shouted. * * * Hudson and the others had just left safe communications range when the call came in. Ford was anxious and extremely worried for his friends. It did not help that he was left behind and felt useless to help them. The last thing he wanted now was a confrontation with Secretary McGath. He faced the large image of the man on the bridge's main viewscreen. "What can I do for you, sir?" McGath was angry. Ford was unsure if he had ever seen the man ever get this mad. "Where's Hudson!" McGath demanded. Ford considered carefully before speaking. "Sir, Captain Hudson is... unavailable." "Unavailable!?" McGath exploded. "Commander Ford, I must speak to him, *right now*. This is a matter of extreme UEO security. I don't care what he's doing, get him here *now*!" "Sir, um..." Ford looked around the bridge at all the worried faces. If this was about UEO security, this was not the place to discuss it. "Sir, might I suggest we talk in private?" "I agree. And get Hudson." "Let's... talk in private." Ford turned and headed toward the conference room where privacy could be ensured. * * * The bustle surrounding Darwin at the main moonpool caused Henderson to hold back. She had so many questions. Where had he been? Was he all right? What was Bridger doing at a Macronesian prison? What happened to them out there? But so many people were moving about, tending to his injuries, monitoring his life signs, and trying to get him to eat, all at the same time, that she feared that if she approached, she would only get in the way. Their faces looked worried and tense, causing Henderson to fear the worst. *Darwin!* she thought. *You've come so far! Don't leave us now!* Until this moment, she never realized just how much she cared for him. Having done everything she could do at the moment, Doctor Hollis stepped away from the crowd and pensively watched them do their jobs. Henderson saw it as her opportunity to get some information. She approached the doctor. "Doctor Hollis?" Hollis looked up, a bit startled by the interruption of her reverie. "Yes?" She did not know this woman, but a quick glance at her insignia told her she was military. "Lieutenant?" Henderson began wringing her hands in nervousness. "Darwin. How is he?" "Oh, don't worry. He should be fine." Henderson smiled with relief. "He has abused his body by going too long without food or sleep. Right now we're trying to get something in his stomach and get him to just rest. The wounds you see are fairly superficial and certainly not life threatening as long as an infection doesn't set in." "Can I talk to him?" Hollis looked at her with displeasure. "I would prefer you not do that. It's important that he rest right now." *Darn!* Henderson thought. *I really want to find out what's going on. Jonathan's not saying anything.* She smiled sweetly. "That's okay, doctor. Thank you. Let him get his rest and take care of him. Maybe I'll come back later." "We'll do our best. You should be able to see him tomorrow." The doctor dismissed her as she walked away. * * * Walking into the conference room, Ford saw that McGath had already been put through to the large screen. He carefully closed the door and double checked its seal. Their conversations should and would remain private. Before he could even turn to the screen, McGath demanded, "Commander, where is Hudson?" Ford sighed and faced the screen alone. "He's not here, sir." "And where is he?" Ford considered carefully before speaking. "Sir, he's off on a rescue mission. Are you familiar with a recent visit we had from Captain Bridger about--" "I know about Bridger's mission. That's why I need to speak to Captain Hudson. I only just now got his report." Then McGath's face formed into an inquisitive expression. "What do you know about Bridger's visit?" "I know that Bridger found his son in a Macronesian prison. He took Tim O'Neill, Lucas Wolenczak, Darwin, and Dagwood with him to get his son back." McGath considered that for a moment before finally asking, "Do you have any idea what Robert Bridger is doing in a Macronesian jail?" "No sir, I don't." This seemed to satisfy McGath somewhat, but he was still deep in thought. Ford wanted to speak what he knew had to be said. "Sir, Ensign Darwin just returned from that mission... alone. Apparently something went wrong. Nathan Bridger is now missing. Lucas has been taken away by someone unknown, and O'Neill and Dagwood are somehow trapped underwater. Captain Hudson is--" McGath exploded. "Tell Captain Hudson not to go anywhere near there. seaQuest is to remain *outside* Macronesian territory, Commander. Is that understood?" *Oh, boy! McGath is not going to like this.* "Sir, Captain Hudson and a team of Spectres is on its way right now to evaluate the situation and attempt a rescue." "What!?" McGath slammed a fist against his desk. Fury raged in his face and he remained silent for several seconds. Finally, he blurted, "Damn that man! Commander, contact Captain Hudson *right now* and tell him to return! He is *not* to go into Macronesian waters without an express command from me. And he is, especially, not to have anything more to do with this Robert Bridger business. He is to forget all about it!" Ford thought long before replying and when he did, he chose his words carefully. "Sir, contacting him now could jeopardize their lives. I don't think that's wise." "Right *now*, commander. I don't care about the safety of their lives! Hudson is getting in *way* over his head, and he is to get out of there now!" "Yes, sir." Ford sighed. "Understood." The situation was going from bad to worse. * * * Dagwood shouted until his throat was raw and his ears felt like they were bleeding. "Help!" But no one seemed to hear. He remembered Ortiz once explaining to him something about radios having different frequencies, but he was unsure what that meant or how to control it. He now wished he knew. About halfway to the chosen airlock, O'Neill's body had gone completely limp. Dagwood's fear for his friends safety clouded his mind so much that he was unaware of the patrol vessel approaching from behind him until it was almost on top of him. It's shadow darkening the already dark seas had alerted him. It was only about fifteen feet away and a good five feet above his head. Turning, he shifted O'Neill's weight on his shoulder and waved as vigorously as possible against the drag of the water. "Help Dagwood and Tim!" he pleaded to it. As if mocking him, the vessel slowly passed overhead without slowing down. "Stop! Can't you see Dagwood?" He could not help but think of the irony of all the times they had tried to avoid the patrols. Now it would not notice him. But it did stop. Dagwood strained to see it directly above his head where it now floated. He reached out a hand, but it was too far away to touch. * * * "What is it?" The Macronesian security guard turned off the alarm and computer control of the unmanned patrol vessel. "I don't know yet." He slipped his hands into the sophisticated control gloves and took manual control. "It looks like she's encountered something..." He tried to gain his bearings while watching the vessel's camera view and reading the information on the screen. "...metallic and... a faint power output." His partner looked at the screen with him. He cupped his chin in his palm and distractedly scratched at his cheek. "Well, those readings don't look like an ocean vessel. Could it be a malfunction? They don't look like anything--" The camera's viewing angle quite suddenly tilted and swayed crazily. "Ah, no!" The guard wearing the gloves pulled hard. "That can't be!" "Whaddaya mean? What happened?" "The bloody thing's snagged on somethin'!" He struggled to set the view straight, but he could only get the swaying to stop; it remained tilted about twenty degrees to the left. "Dammit!" "Can you get it loose?" "Ah, maybe." Try as he might, he could not get the vessel to straighten up. But his actions did produce something else peculiar. "Wait a sec. It's not caught. She's flyin' smooth. She's just... crooked." "Crooked?" "Yeah. Bloody stabilizer's probably out. These damn A-15's. If the stabilizer's blown, it's libel to've blown the 'ole thing. 'At could account for the anomalous readings." The other man sighed. "Better bring it in then." "Aye. That I'm doin'. When I get 'er inside, I'll go down and have a look see." * * * The bottom of the patrol vessel was little more that an arms length away from Dagwood's head. In one arm he held the prone body of O'Neill. The other he held tightly wrapped around the long landing strut of the patrol vessel. Only seconds before, Dagwood had leaped toward the vessel in an attempt to attract its attention. By reflex, he held on, and for several seconds, he was taken on a wild ride, higher and higher above the sea floor. His unconscious partner, O'Neill, had ridden along, barely remaining in Dagwood's grasp. Now, thankfully, the vessel had slowed and moved closer to the floor. Taking special effort, Dagwood wrapped O'Neill tighter in his arm and looked down. The added substantial weight caused the vessel to tilt awkwardly to the left. Maybe *that* would get their attention. He longed to bang on the bottom of the craft, but he had no free hands. *What should I do?* he asked himself. *I can't let go of Tim. He would fall and get hurt. I can't let go of the boat, because then I would fall and hurt myself. And Tim.* He looked down. It was still too far away. *Dagwood will wait until the ground is closer.* he told himself. Unexpectedly, the craft shot forward. Surprised, Dagwood instinctively held his arms tighter. It was difficult. The friction of the water threatened to tear him off the landing leg and O'Neill from his arm. He was reminded of his time on the Vietnamese boat, when he had waited all night to save Lucas. "Not again!" he shouted. "STOP!" As if it had heard him, the craft slowed and stopped. Looking down, Dagwood gauged that it was safe to let go, but something else caught his attention. The great maw of an airlock was opening to take them inside. End Part 19 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:10:20 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 20 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 20 "Tim?" O'Neill thought he heard his name echoing through a long, narrow tunnel. He wanted to answer it, but his body refused to cooperate. He felt himself being pulled into an uncomfortable position and large, strong hands touching his face. "Tim?" the voice said. Try as he might, his body could not move. Reflexively and quite unexpectedly, his lungs took a short breath. His blood flushed with the needed oxygen as it reached his cells. An unfortunate side effect was the nausea that gorged in his throat. He tried to hold his breath to stave it off, but it could not be held back. Taking a lung full of air, he coughed hard. He rolled from his back to his stomach as the dry heaves attacked him. He was unsure what had happened to put him in this state, but right now he could not care. He only wanted to stop the pain. His arms and legs were numb. It was difficult to take a breath, cough, and try to regurgitate at the same time. But right now, it was his whole world. When the coughing finally subsided, he noticed that something was pressing hard on his chest and preventing him from lying flat. He pushed himself onto his back again and looked up at his savior. Dagwood shouted. "Tim!" It was obviously not heaven. "Ugh!" O'Neill coughed. "Dagwood, we gotta stop doing this." "Are you okay?" Where *were* they? The last thing O'Neill remembered was searching for an airlock at Tasman Prime. Feeling along his chest, he knew he still wore the bulky pressure suit. The headpiece had been removed. He felt the need to sit up and get his bearings. Tumbling his body away from Dagwood, he tried to sit up. His head slammed against an unusually low ceiling with a resounding bang. He had no room to sit up. "Tim!" Falling onto his back again, O'Neill put a hand to the growing knot on his forehead. His body was tired from the lack of oxygen and was still trying to recuperate. "Ow! Where *are* we, Dagwood?" The GELF had crawled over to kneel beside him. "Inside the prison." he stated flatly. The prison? Tasman Prime? Were they in a cell? If so, this was the strangest cell he had ever known. "Inside where?" "I don't know." Uncertainty covered Dagwood's face. Tentatively, he touched the smooth metal above their heads. "This brought us in." That did not explain much to O'Neill. He looked around himself. The light was coming in from outside their low ceiling which was supported by long metal poles. It looked like they were under a long, low table. How could *that* bring them inside Tasman Prime? "What is it?" he asked. "It's the prison guard boat." *The patrol vessel?* "Okay, well, why're we *under* it?" Dagwood almost blushed. "We... uh... Dagwood--" "Never mind. I don't think I wanna know." Ignoring Dagwood's hurt expression and his own screaming muscles, O'Neill rolled to his hands and knees and looked out into the room beyond the bottom of the vessel. Unlike the last time they were inside the prison walls, this room was quite brightly lit. It was also empty of any prison personnel. "Where're the guards?" "I don't know." "Well, do they even know we're here." His voice was laced with agitation at Dagwood's lack of information. At this, Dagwood pouted and looked awkwardly at his hands. "Mmm, Dagwood doesn't know." O'Neill sighed in frustration. "Thanks, Dagwood." He crawled out from underneath the patrol vessel. Standing straight, he painfully removed the pressure suit which he had worn far too long. His appendages were still tingly, but he knew he had other concerns at the moment. Concerns like getting away from here. He scanned their surroundings. The room they were now in was quite large. O'Neill assumed it was one of the bulbous rooms jutting out from the main prison building. The 50 foot by 30 foot wide airlock door and the line of various unmanned patrol vessels and transports told him that this was the airlock from where the patrols exited and entered the prison. *Wait a minute!* he thought. *Transports?* He quickly stripped the rest of his pressure suit and almost ran toward one of the transports. "Dagwood!" he shouted excitedly. "We can get out of here!" He leaned in and peered through the front window of the nearest transport. Dagwood's voice floated in from behind him. "What about Captain Bridger?" Turning back, he saw that Dagwood also was stripping himself of the pressure suit. "We don't know where he is, Dagwood. We don't know if he's here or even still alive." "I know." Dagwood still had the hurt expression on his face. "But if Captain Bridger is here, shouldn't we help him?" *How can Dagwood not understand?* He stepped down from the front of the transport and walked toward him. "What good are we gonna do? Dagwood, right now, if he's still alive, we need help. We can't do it alone. We don't have enough information." Dagwood clearly was not giving up. "Mmm, where do we get the in-for-ma-tion?" He pronounced the last word as if it were difficult to get out of his mouth. Looking around the large room, O'Neill could see nothing that could help them but a computer terminal. While they could use the terminal, he did not trust his skills well enough to access it here in the middle of the prison. It was too easy to get caught. "Not here. I say we get back to Kauruka island and talk to Jared or go back to seaQuest and get some help." Dagwood seemed to accept this. "Okay." But then his face contorted with confusion again. "What about Captain Bridger's son?" "What about him?" "Shouldn't we get him first?" O'Neill sighed. Of course, Dagwood was right. He knew they could not leave without still attempting what may be their only window of opportunity. What would Bridger say if he knew they left without even trying to get his son. But it still seemed like a shaky idea to him. Nevertheless... "You're right," O'Neill admitted. "We'll see if we can rescue Bridger's son." Dagwood smiled triumphantly. So O'Neill put his mind into action. "Okay, let's make a plan. Robert's in cell A on the seventh floor. First, we need to figure out how to get past the motion sensors. Second, we--" The hiss of pneumatics paused him. The door connecting them to the main building was slowly opening. He started forward in alarm and glanced about for a place to hide. Dagwood was already gone. Before he could move, a Macronesian guard stuck his head under the still opening door and walked inside. He looked surprised at seeing O'Neill, but quickly smiled and waved his hand in greeting. "Oh! G'day, mate. I just come to take a look at one of the A-15's. She's--" He then caught sight of Dagwood to his left and he realized that things were not as innocent as they at first seemed. "Oh, bloody hell." The color drained from his face. Grabbing up the first thing he could get his hands on, O'Neill picked up Dagwood's discarded pressure suit headpiece and threw it at the man. It struck hard against the man's head and he stumbled backwards. "Ow!" He put his hand to his injured head. "Dammit! Whaddja go and do 'at for? 'At hurt!" Dagwood crept closer from the man's right side. "We can't let anyone know we're here," answered O'Neill. The guard, holding his free hand up toward Dagwood as if it would stop his approach, said, "Well, ya got 'at right. And I ain't one to go tellin' anybody if you're gonna go throwin' things at me head." Dagwood grabbed at the outstretched arm and twisted it behind the guard's back. "Ow! Watch it, mate! You're 'urtin' me!" "But you're the bad guy." "Oh, bloody hell, I'm the bad guy!" he screamed sarcastically. "I ain't no soldier. I'm a tech. You know, I work on the machines. Keep 'em runnin'. I ain't gonna do nothin' stupid and get meself 'urt. Ow!" The technician struggled to look up at Dagwood behind him. "I sure as 'ell know who you are and I ain't about to cause *any* trouble." O'Neill had now approached and watched the man warily. "What do you know about us?" Dagwood squeezed the guard's arm menacingly. "Ooow! No, ain't like 'at. You got it all wrong. I know you're the fellas 'at tried to get in 'ere yesterday. Was told you were dead. But don't worry. There ain't but one reason for you fellas to come in here again. You're lookin' to break someone out." Dagwood squeezed him tighter and he winced. "And I ain't lookin' to be in the line o' fire, if you know what I mean." This seemed to catch Dagwood off guard. It was not what he expected. He looked at O'Neill for advice. "Can we trust him?" Dagwood asked. "Bloody hell, you can trust me!" the man shouted. "I don't wanna be dead. I wanna be as far away as possible from whatever you fellas is plannin'. Just tie me up or somethin'. I won't squawk. I promise." The man seemed intimidated enough. O'Neill did not want to hurt or kill anyone if he could avoid it. It was not in his nature, so he agreed. "Okay." He searched around the room for something with which to tie the man up. No rope was available, but eventually, he found some suitable thin cabling. They removed his uniform top and worked to tie the man to one of the room's many railings with it. While doing so, O'Neill tried to get some information from him. He certainly seemed cooperative enough. "Do you know how to get past the motion sensors?" "Oh, yeah." The man watched nonchalantly as his wrists were fastened to the rail. "See that thing on me chest?" He nodded his chin toward it. O'Neill looked and noticed a small, triangular pin attached to the technician's shirt. O'Neill put his finger on it. "This?" "Yeah. 'At's a chip. It'll tell those sensors you belong 'ere. It'll think you're me." Removing it, O'Neill asked, "Will it work for both of us?" "Yeah. Oh, yeah. It should. Just don't go movin' too fast and alarmin' things. Take it slow and everything will seem on the up and up." O'Neill slipped it into his pocket and continued tying the man to the pole. "Anything else we should know?" he asked. "Ah, well, I don't know. Depends on where ya wanna go and what ya wanna do. Whaddaya wanna know?" Pausing, O'Neill considered the question. He ran through his mind the list of questions he would need to consider. How were they supposed to enter the elevators undetected? What were the security measures taken at the elevators? Robert was in the medical facilities. What type of security measures could he expect there? How could he get around them? But instead, he asked the question that was foremost on his mind. "We were here with someone else. We're not sure where he's at. Do you know?" "'At other fella?" "Yes." "The fella 'at came in here with you yesterday? Word is, he was caught. President Bourne 'imself showed up and took 'im outta 'ere." "Where did they take him?" "I don't rightly know. I'm not privy enough to 'at kinda information, you know." O'Neill expected as much, but he had hoped that Bridger was here, in Tasman Prime, not taken away to somewhere unknown. "We're here to get a prisoner. Robert Bridger. Do you know if he's still here?" "Oh, I don't know. I'm just a tech, I told ya. I ain't gonna do ya any good." * * * His head hurting, Ford rubbed at his eyes. They had made several attempts to contact Hudson and the others, but they were not responding. And he hated this waiting. Looking up, he spoke to the ensign who was working to establish communications. "Anything?" "No, sir. Nothing yet." *Damn!* he thought. *Why aren't they responding? It's been over an hour!* But he already suspected the answer. Hudson could not respond without putting his own life in danger. But if he was receiving, he should at least turn around and come back. Or send *someone* in their party back. *It's just a well. If Tim and Dagwood are as bad off as Darwin makes them out to be, they may need all the help they can get. I only wish I was going out there myself.* Leaning heavily against a railing, he gazed off at nothing and let his mind wander. *And what's with McGath? He talks like he knows something about Bridger's son. And he wants to keep Hudson and seaQuest out of it. What could he know and why would he want to hide it? Why? Was Captain Bridger getting involved in something much deeper than anyone expected? Nathan Bridger is UEO. How come he doesn't even know what's going on with his own son and McGath does? Or, at least, McGath seems to know.* He realized his thoughts were pointless. He was only speculating with little or no information. He liked real, hard, logical facts. Only then could he draw a concrete conclusion. And right now, a concrete conclusion was that Hudson was not responding to their calls. He stood up. "Ensign," he ordered. "Contact McGath and put it through to the conference room. He began walking off the bridge without waiting for an answer. He was not looking forward to what he had to tell McGath. * * * Captain Hudson glanced again at the little light signaling an incoming message. He had heard them too many times in the last hour and he again chose to ignore them. The lives of O'Neill, Dagwood, and possibly Bridger and Wolenczak were at stake. Time was critical. And the responsibility for their lives rested on his shoulders. * * * True to his word, the chip the technician had given O'Neill had gotten them past the motion sensors without alarm as they proceeded to the center building. It gave him confidence that he could trust the other information the man had provided. Now, at the end of the hallway, they faced what he knew would be their toughest challenge: getting into the elevators. O'Neill, with his pilfered uniform top, might be able to pass undetected, but Dagwood, with his large build and mottled skin, would draw instant attention. O'Neill gave Dagwood his laser pistol and pushed him away from the door so that hopefully no one could see him from the main room. "Stay here," he commanded. He glanced up at the small, tiny motion sensor mounted in the wall and down at Dagwood's laser rifle. "And don't move." He darted through the door and into the main building. The room he entered was huge. It was less of a room, and more like a large chamber lined with doors leading to areas unknown. In the center of the room was the target: a shaft containing a row of three elevators. Trying to appear nonchalant, O'Neill walked toward them while attempting to ignore the four personnel that moved about their business. *Just act like you know what you're doing.* he told himself. He resisted the temptation to glance backward. He had not given Dagwood much notice that he was leaving and now he began to regret it. He had acted too fast. What if Dagwood followed him out here? As he approached, he scrutinized the elevator control. It had the standard security keypad, up and down buttons, and the obligatory lighted panel showing the floors where the elevator car was currently located. He was afraid to be caught staring too long so he tried to appear idly ruminating as he studied it. "You okay?" The voice behind O'Neill's shoulder startled him. He glanced back at the person and put on his best confused and lost-in-thought face while distractedly digging through a pocket. "Yeah, I'm okay." He intentionally did not turn to face the man. "I think I forgot something." The man shrugged and proceeded to punch a code into the elevator keypad. O'Neill tried to watch, but the man's body blocked everything beyond the first three digits. Instead, O'Neill walked away and back to Dagwood. * * * Opening his eyes, Lucas saw the light grey metal of the ceiling above him. He had fallen asleep on the cell's single cot and had experienced a restless sleep. For the fact that he had basically nothing to do but wait, he felt extremely tired. Lifting himself to his elbows, he looked across the cell at Bridger. Bridger sat quietly resting his back against the wall with his knees pulled up close to his chest and his arms wrapped around to lock them in place. His gaze was on the floor, but it was obvious that his thoughts were far away. Lucas watched him for a moment and was struck by the realization of just how human the man looked. *I never realized,* he thought. *He's human just like the rest of us. He has many of the same fears and insecurities that everyone else has. He just knows better how to deal with them.* The thought sent chills traveling along his spine. Somewhere, in the deep corners of his mind, he knew that Captain Nathan Bridger, the myth and the hero, would make everything okay. He was the righter of the wrongs. He could fail at nothing. Now seeing the man within the myth, he was chilled to the bone. Trying to distract himself, Lucas looked out of the cell and at the guard silently standing before the outer door. His red and grey uniform and lock-kneed stance gave him an imposing air, but Lucas tried to look beyond that mask and see the person underneath. He noticed the stray lock of hair that brushed across his forehead, the small mole on his cheek, and the slight stain on the pants. Suddenly he could see this person as a human too. It comforted him somehow to know that the bad guys were just as human as the good guys. But that brought up a whole other set of questions. What made this guard the bad guy, and him and Bridger the good guys? Lucas stood and walked to stand before the cell bars. "Why do you do it?" he shouted to the guard. "Lucas!" Bridger's reverie had been broken and he stood to grab at Lucas' arm. The guard remained unwaveringly still. Looking at Bridger, Lucas saw the hero figure he had imagined had returned. "Captain. I just don't understand. Why do they do it? Why, when they know it's wrong and people suffer by their actions, do they join the Macronesian military? Why not make something better?" "Lucas." Bridger pulled at his arm. "Come here. Sit down." He pushed his chest to make him sit down on the cot's edge. "Put yourself in their position. You're hungry. You suffer. Your family suffers. Life is hard because you have to worry about basic needs like food and shelter. Then someone comes along who promises you all that and they make good on it." "Yes, but--" "He's right." They turned to face the guard as he calmly was approached the cell bars. "My father died on Ritts Colony because he couldn't get the medicines he needed in time. My mother had to work almost eighteen hours a day to keep me and my sisters fed and clothed and sometimes it still wasn't enough." The pain and hatred glistened in his eyes. "When I was fifteen, she died too in a shuttle accident. It wouldn't have happened if the UEO trade ban had let the New Zealanders have the equipment they needed for power production." Lucas tried to recall what he had heard about the trade ban. "But if I remember correctly, New Zealand was accused of several human rights violations pertaining to the Korean refugees. They wouldn't--" "That's right." the guard interrupted. "And as a result, the UEO caused those same human rights violations to occur on Ritts Colony by default. Their trade ban caused many of the new and struggling colonies, like Ritts, to suffer also. And we hadn't done anything wrong." Lucas looked to Bridger for help, but he gave a sympathetic gaze in return. "There are no easy answers, Lucas." This seemed to make Lucas angry and he stood to face the guard. "So you join the Macronesian army and perform those same human rights violations. That's circular logic or worse, vindictive. They did it to you so you're going to do it to them. Don't you see that's wrong?" "No." he responded. "I'm going to do it to them, *before* they do it to me. I can eat now, without worrying about where my next meal will come from. My sisters no longer suffer because they have a comfortable home and food to eat." "But that doesn't make it right. Instead of trying to get back at those who hurt you, why can't you try to change--" The sound of the opening outer door echoed through the rooms as Defense Secretary Krajefska entered the room. The guard appeared alarmed at being caught away from his post and hurried to return there. Krajefska gave him a curious look as their paths crossed, but he declined to comment on the guard's actions. "So, Mister Bridger?" he asked as he approached the cell bars. "Have you given any more consideration to President Bourne's request?" Bridger's face took on a slightly arrogant air. "Yes, I have. But I'm afraid I can't help you. I still don't know what you need." "Firebird, Captain!" Despite his vehemence, Krajefska's face remained impassive. "Firebird! We need the information." "But I still don't know what Firebird is. I can't help you if I don't know what it is, therefore I don't know what you hope to accomplish by holding us here." Krajefska contemplated a moment before speaking. "Firebird, Captain, is a very dangerous UEO organization. They pose a threat to the safety of Macronesia." He paused for dramatic effect. "A very real threat that could endanger the lives of many of our people. We need to know what they know and what they plan on doing." For the first time, the pieces began to fall into place. "UEO? A UEO organization?" *And how is Robert involved?* Best to keep quiet for now, both for the UEO's sake and Robert's. "I'm afraid I still can't help you. I've never heard of anything called Firebird." Now, Krajefska's anger began to show as he exploded in frustration. "Don't *lie* to me captain. I don't like it. If you can't help me, I know your son can. It's only a matter of finding the right button to push to make him talk!" *Robert!* The mention of his son wrenched at Bridger's heart. *These boneheads! Don't they see what they are doing?!* His shoulders began to cramp with the frustration. There was nothing he could say to convince them otherwise and he suspected that when the Macronesians found him and Lucas useless, they would try to use *them* against Robert. Bridger sighed and threw his hands in the air. Trying to convince them otherwise was useless. Time to change tactics. "Where are you taking us?" At this, Krajefska smiled. He seemed to enjoy the pain he was causing. "We have a *very* secret research base on the Kerguelen Plateau in the southern Indian Ocean. We are confident that *no one* will find us there and we can do what we need to do and remain undisturbed." * * * *Six.* O'Neill was concentrating to keep track of which floor they were passing. Although is was only moments ago, it seemed like hours since they had conspicuously crept Dagwood across the room of the main building. Dagwood used his herculean strength while O'Neill tagged the sensor telling the elevator which floor it was on, to force open the elevator doors while the car was below. They climbed inside and clung to the walls until the elevator car returned and they sat on top of it. They would ride it, undetected in the darkness of the shaft, until they reached the floor they needed. *Five.* It was necessary for the elevator to stop at the eighth floor so that they could exit on the seventh, but the elevator refused to stop there. In sarcasm, O'Neill whispered to Dagwood beside him. "Don't these people ever go to the eighth floor?" The darkness of the shaft obscured Dagwood's features and he could only be seen as a dark, lumpy mass. "Dagwood doesn't know." he responded. O'Neill almost laughed at the fact that he answered. *Four.* Sometimes Dagwood's innocence simply astounded him. Life would be much more unbearable without his presence. The thought sobered him. He had been so worked up at first about getting away from Tasman Prime, and later, breaking *into* Tasman Prime, that he realized what Dagwood had done for him only a few hours ago. *Five.* They were going down again. Dagwood had saved his life. And even more frightening, O'Neill realized that he had never said a word of thanks to him. He felt bad, as if he had taken advantage of his friend. But he had been slightly distracted ever since, so maybe Dagwood understood. By way of consolation, O'Neill reached out into the darkness and touched his friend on the knee. "Thanks, Dagwood." *Six.* "Mmm... for what?" "For saving my life back there. When we were in the pressure suits." "Dagwood *had* to save you. You asked me to. Besides... Tim is Dagwood's friend... and Dagwood didn't want to see you die." The last word was drawn out, sounding horribly sad. "I know, Dagwood. And Dagwood is Tim's friend too." Although he could not see Dagwood's face, he knew that he had a broad smile on his face. *Seven.* Dagwood was so easy to please. Maybe that was what made him such a good friend to have. Even though he hated the analogy, Dagwood was like a good dog. He was loyal to his friends and he could forgive almost any transgression. No matter what you did to not like the guy, you could not help but like him. He remembered the jokes that Jim Brody used to pull on Dagwood. Although Dagwood never got the joke, he still played along. O'Neill used to think those jokes were horrible, but only now did he realize that Dagwood liked it. He wanted it. He wanted to be involved and that was Brody's way of letting him be involved. Yes, Dagwood was the best kind of friend to have. *Eight!* The elevator car stopped. O'Neill held his laser pistol ready. "Okay, Dagwood. Let's go." * * * Exiting the elevator shaft was another time when they were at their most vulnerable. O'Neill stuck his head and shoulder out into the hallway as Dagwood forced the doors open. As luck would have it, the hall was empty. He climbed out with Dagwood right behind him. His immediate thought was to get close to the wall and be inconspicuous, but he quickly realized that would be impossible. The hall was colored a light grey, almost white, and they would surely stand out against it. Along the walls were doors, shaded a slightly darker grey, with tiny placards denoting the room functions. "Now what do we do?" asked Dagwood. O'Neill raised a hand to silence him. He was trying to concentrate, gain his bearings, and determine which way to go to cell A, Robert's supposed cell. Looking at the nearest door, its placard read: "PHARMACEUTICAL STORAGE - CLASS BLUE ACCESS". *Robert's in the medical section.* he thought. *What kind of condition are we going to find him in? What if he's been moved? It's been two days since--* Dagwood grabbed his arms and spun him around. He nearly lost his balance at the unexpected shift. "Dag? Wha--" The clap of shoes coming down the hall alerted him. Looking up, he saw a woman in dark pants and a light blue blouse approaching. She was concentrating on a small stack of papers in her hand and as yet had failed to notice the intruders. From her lack of attention to her surroundings and her attire, O'Neill surmised that she was part of the medical staff. On one hand she was a potential threat, but on the other, she was information that they needed. O'Neill tried to step forward, and Dagwood protectively moved to block him. O'Neill turned to him and whispered, "Okay, Dagwood. Take her out, but don't hurt her." Without a word, Dagwood ran forward and grabbed her. She barely had time to put out a tiny yelp before his beefy hand covered her mouth. The papers in her hand dropped and scattered as she struggled to get free. Dagwood held on and looked to O'Neill for further guidance. He found O'Neill standing in a doorway and motioning him inside. Almost carrying the struggling woman, he stepped into the darkened room, while O'Neill busily tried to gather up the papers and get back into the room. Dagwood tried to look at the woman's face, but it was too dark to see. She jabbed a hard elbow into his gut in an attempt to get free, but his solid abdomen muscles easily took the blows. He worried that her actions were hurting her, more than they was hurting him. He did not like treating women rough. O'Neill switched on the lights and dumped the load of papers onto a nearby table. He scanned the room. It appeared to be some sort of research area with several rows of computers, notebooks, and filing cabinets. The far wall held another unmarked door. He walked over and tried the door. Inside was a closet area containing old equipment and several stacks of data disks. "In here, Dagwood." he called. Dagwood dragged the woman to the doorway of the closet. She had since stopped struggling. O'Neill looked into her face and saw that her eyes were maniacal with fear. He found her quite attractive and it turned his stomach to do this to an innocent person. Especially a woman. He tried to be gentle. "Okay, we don't want to hurt anybody." he told her. "I'm going to have him let you go, but you have to promise not to scream. Okay? Promise?" She gave no reaction at all. "Promise me you won't scream, okay?" This time she nodded her head as much as she could within Dagwood's grasp. "Okay, Dag. Let her go." Gingerly, he removed his hand from her mouth, but remained prepared to clamp his hand back over her mouth if necessary. She gave a deep intake of breath, but otherwise remained silent. O'Neill held up his hand in an attempt to calm her. "Okay, we don't want to hurt you. We need to know which direction to go to get to room 7A. Do you know where that is?" She nodded her head. "Where?" He pointed to the far doorway. "When we go out that door, tell us which way to go." She turned to look at the door across the room. Her voice was soft and feeble. "Go right. It'll be down the hall a ways, on your right. The door is marked." "Is it locked?" She shook her head. "No. There's no need to lock it?" *No need to lock it?* O'Neill thought. *What does that mean? Why not?* "Is the prisoner okay?" "He's in stable condition." The words did not comfort him. O'Neill wrinkled his brow at the thought of what they might confront when they found him. Would they even be able to move him without endangering his life? He wished Bridger were still here. *Oh, well. Might as well get it done.* He checked the door and was grateful to see a lock. "Okay, Dagwood. Put her in here." To the woman, he said, "Sorry about this, but we... we gotta lock you up." She nodded and did not resist as Dagwood thrust her inside. O'Neill shut and locked the door. Within seconds, he was across the room and at the hallway door. He checked his laser pistol to make sure it was ready. It was. Poking his head out the door, he scanned for anyone else in the hall. Nothing. He pulled his head back inside. "Okay, Dagwood. We're gonna run." Dagwood held his own laser rifle at the ready. "Okay." he responded. But O'Neill was already out the door. * * * The room placards whizzed by as O'Neill ran. 7-M. 7-K. 7-I. 7-G. He could hear the heavy footfalls of Dagwood behind him. It caused him to worry that someone would hear and come to investigate. *What am I doing here!?* played through his mind. *How could I ever hope to succeed in the heart of an enemy prison with a stupid laser pistol and Dagwood?* 7-C. 7-A. He skidded to a stop and stared at the door in disbelief. They had made it. Robert Bridger was supposed to be on the other side of that door. A quick glance down the hallway told him that it was still clear. They were halfway there. O'Neill put his hand on the door and paused. He did not know what he was going to do if Robert was not in this room. He realized he had not even thought to ask the woman who was in here. What would they do? How would they get back out to the transports? A sickening knot formed in his stomach at the thought. *Oh, hell!* a voice in his head told him. *Just do it!* He opened the door. The room looked like an office. There was a small desk with a computer monitor and various charts stuck to the walls. A Macronesian guard sat in front of the desk with his feet propped on it. He was giving them a most bemused look. He quickly removed his feet from the desk. "Can I help you?" he asked. Then his eyes grew wide as he noticed both the laser weapons and the GELF. In a flurry, a hot beam of energy buzzed past O'Neill's forearm and a tiny section of the wall exploded. In a panic, O'Neill fired blindly into the room. When things had calmed, the guard lay crumpled on the floor. O'Neill nervously checked for life signs. There were none. "He's not here!" O'Neill exclaimed. He felt bitterly angry at the loss of Robert and the death of the guard. "Damn!" But the sound of another opening door alerted him. Swinging the muzzle of his laser pistol around, he saw that Dagwood had entered into an adjoining room. O'Neill stood and walked inside. There, on the far wall, lay a sleeping body. Almost as if afraid to wake him, they shuffled across to the sleeping person's bed and looked into his face. "Is it him?" Dagwood asked. Almost instantly, O'Neill recognized the face. The hair was darker and the curve of the jaw was a bit more rounded, but he could see the face of Nathan Bridger within this face. "Yes, it's him. It's Robert Bridger." O'Neill gently grasped his shoulders and shook. "Wake up. Hey! C'mon, wake up!" He glanced at Robert's body; there was no apparent damage. He wondered what caused him to be in the medical facilities. Robert's eyes fluttered and barely opened, but they remained unfocused. He closed them again. "Now what?" he slurred. "We're here to rescue you." O'Neill was growing excited. "Your father sent us here to get you back." He began pulling Robert into an upright position. "Are you okay? C'mon, we don't have much time!" But Robert flopped back onto the bed as soon as he let go. "Rescue?" he asked in a daze. "Yes! We've got to go! The guards may be here any minute!" He turned to Dagwood. "C'mon Dagwood. Help me get him up." * * * Finally, the doctor managed to open the locked closet. She threw the door open. As her ears had told her, the outer room was empty. She dropped the thin slat she had used to open the door on a nearby table, causing a loud clatter. But she ignored it and activated the first computer she could reach. "C'mon! C'mon!" she told it, as if her attitude would make it operate faster. When the appropriate screen came up, she logged in and activated the alarm. * * * With the younger Bridger staggering between them, O'Neill and Dagwood succeeded in getting him out the door. As they hit the hallway, a klaxon sounded. Their stealth game was up. End Part 20 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:12:48 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 21 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 21 "Damn!" O'Neill shifted the dead load of Robert onto Dagwood. "Hold him for a second." he commanded. He did not remove his eyes from the hallway leading to the elevators and the way out of Tasman Prime, as he pulled the laser pistol from his hip pocket and verified its operation. The warning klaxon continued to blare incessantly. "Tim?" Dagwood's voice was edged with worry. Holding Robert with one arm, he too readied his weapon. O'Neill glanced at him, but ignored his question and shouted above the noise of the alarm. "We're going to have to run for it, Dagwood." At that, he trotted down the still empty hallway. Dagwood lifted Robert's weight up and over his shoulder in a fireman's hold. His head smacked hard against Dagwood's spine, causing him to yelp in disoriented pain. "Ugh! What're you doin' to me?" He tried to push away from Dagwood, but his strength was lacking. I can... stand up." he slurred. But Dagwood was already running after O'Neill. * * * "You are authorized to stand down." the speaker squeaked. "This is considered an aggressive action against the Macronesian government and as such, is an act of war." Angry at the lack of reasonable response, Hudson sighed and punched the communications button on his console. "Dammit! I have reason to believe one of my people is in danger! I need someone in authority!" The response was silence. They were just now approaching Tasman Prime. Hudson had ordered both Fredericks and Hausenbraugh to search for signs of people in the water while he tried to contact Tasman Prime authorities. But so far, all requests had been rebuffed with political and legalese speak. It seems he could get nowhere with them. "What do we do, sir?" asked Fredericks. "Do you see any sign of them?" "No, sir. My guess is either they're not here, they're inside the prison, or they're dead." *Damn!* thought Hudson. *All this and they're not even here. I can't--* His fighter rocked violently as something passed by at lightning speeds causing a massive wake in the water. Hudson banked away from it. "Take cover!" he warned. Hausenbraugh's voice cut through the rattling of the Spectre as Hudson fought to keep control. "Sir! They've got laser cannons around the perimeter! Should we take 'em out?" "By all means, Lieutenant." The meek voice of Piccolo could be heard in the distance. "Do we *have* to do this?" * * * A flash of red and grey caused O'Neill to pause. His first instinct was to run away, but he resisted. The flash of laser fire convinced him. Turning, he nearly toppled into Dagwood and Robert. Dagwood had one arm firmly holding the limp body of Bridger's son against his shoulder and the other rapidly firing a laser rifle into the oncoming crowd of red and grey uniforms. O'Neill scanned for some place to retreat. Directly beside them was a door marked "7-G". He pushed the door open with the muzzle of his pistol. The room was dark. He glanced back at Dagwood just quick enough to see him take a searing blow to the thigh. Dagwood stumbled but held his ground. In fact, the shot to the thigh seemed to increase his rage, causing him to fire more rapidly at the crowd. The hallway grew acrid with smoke. O'Neill knew he had to get Robert out of the line of fire. "C'mon, Dagwood!" He motioned for him to step inside the room. Firing still faster, Dagwood cleared the hallway to cover himself before stepping into the room. O'Neill watched and fired a couple of times into the smoke for good measure. In an instant, Dagwood dumped Robert off of his shoulder before joining O'Neill in defending the door from anyone's approach. * * * Digging his fingernails into the metal of the console, Piccolo closed his eyes and let out a long breath. He and Fredericks had performed several rolls to avoid the incoming laser cannon fire, causing his stomach to twist into a knot. "Do we *have* to do that?" he asked sarcastically. "Shut up and pay attention!" Fredericks barked. Piccolo nodded his head. "Yes sir." Fredericks brought their Spectre low to the ground. So low that the cannon could not hit them at this proximity. Although it tried. Piccolo began to fear they would slam into the rock wall when, at the last second, she brought them straight up. She fired several rounds into it before they shot past. The resulting explosion rocked them. "Yahoo!" Piccolo shouted. "That'll teach 'em, Lieutenant!" She banked the Spectre around and back toward the next laser cannon. "Can it, crewman!" she commanded. "We haven't seen nothing yet. Just wait 'til they start throwing Macronesian fighters at us." He had not thought of that. Their recent victory suddenly seemed quite minuscule. "Oh, boy. Can't wait." But he trusted her. He intentionally rubbed his cheek against her hair and inhaled her scent. * * * For all their rapid firing into the hallway, O'Neill suddenly realized that they were no longer getting return fire. It gave him a moment to check his pistol. Its energy was near depleted. "Hold your fire, Dagwood!" Dagwood immediately stopped; the ensuing silence, cut only by the blaring alarm, threatened to engulf them. O'Neill strained to see anything in the hall, but the smoke obscured everything. "Can we go now?" asked Dagwood. His answer was a loud clatter as something dark and heavy was thrown from amidst the smoke to land in front of them. Dagwood instantly blasted it before they realized what is was. It was a Macronesian style laser rifle. "Don't shoot!" a voice cried from the end of the hall. "I'm coming out!" Dagwood and O'Neill knowingly glanced at each other before training their weapons toward the smoke. A man in the red and grey Macronesian uniform, his arms raised above his head, stepped out of the settling smoke. O'Neill squinted in recognition. "I'm here to help," the man said. In a flash, Dagwood darted out into the hallway and slammed the man against the wall. He lifted the man by the neck in a vice-like grip. The man choked his words and clawed at Dagwood's wrists in a effort to get free. One arm periodically swung outward toward O'Neill for help. O'Neill studied the purpling lips a moment before realizing from where he knew the man. "Let him go!" he shouted. He ran forward and tugged at Dagwood's elbow. "Let him go, Dagwood!" The man's face was turning a bright red and it was clear that air was not passing through his windpipe. Dagwood casually turned to O'Neill. "But he's a bad man." "No he's not, Dagwood! He's a friend!" "But he's got on a bad man's clothes." "I know. But he's on our side. This is Jared from Kauruka Island. He's the one who told us where to find Robert." This caused Dagwood to pause and look closely into the man's face. Momentarily, he let go and the man, Jared, dropped to the floor in a coughing fit. He struggled to take air into his damaged throat. Innocently, Dagwood asked, "What is he doing here?" O'Neill grabbed the struggling Jared by the arm and began pulling on him. "I don't know, but let's get him inside before anyone else shows up." They both managed to pull Jared into the room and waited impatiently for him to catch his breath again. As his coughing slowed, he ignored O'Neill and Dagwood and crawled to the prone body of Robert Bridger. "Bri--" He coughed a few more times. "Bridger? Robert!" He pulled Robert's head towards him, forced his eyes open, and looked into them. "Robert, can you hear me? "It's Jared Deuveaux. We're here to help." Robert looked at him, confused for a moment, before smiling stupidly and saying, "Jared. Glad to see you." His eyes closed again and his head rolled back. Jared's concern for Robert was evident by the extreme care with which he treated him. O'Neill saw this, but his confusion at merely seeing Jared here in Tasman Prime caused him to step forward, grab Jared by the shoulder, and spin him around hard. "What's going on here!?" With a stunned and hurt look, Jared gently laid Robert back on the floor and sat back on his haunches. He started to explain, but paused and indicated the door. "You better keep your eyes open out there." With a nod of his head, O'Neill indicated for Dagwood to watch it. He returned his angry attentions back to Jared. Jared sighed and rubbed at his injured neck. "We-- I got myself reassigned here to Tasman Prime. I thought you'd been killed out there on the ocean floor, but by the time I realized you were alive and what you were doing, it was too late to stop you." "Why would you want to stop us?" "It's not that I wanted to stop you. I wanted to help you; show you a better way. That's what I'm here for. But everything happened so fast, I thought you and Captain Bridger had failed, but next thing I know, you're up here with Robert Bridger." O'Neill was feeling a little defensive. "Well, we seem to be doing fine on our own. We've come this far." "Hmpf!" Jared looked down at Robert, then around their darkened room. "You did fine getting in, but how do you plan to get out?" Now, O'Neill seemed hurt. "The same way we got in, I guess." Jared stood slowly, as if it caused him pain. "They're on to us. If we're gonna get out of here alive, we gotta come up with a better plan than that." It was about then that O'Neill's mind turned elsewhere. "You said *we* a while ago. Is there someone else here who can help us?" Jared froze. Behind his eyes, O'Neill could see his mind considering how to answer. The mere consideration already told him his answer. But instead of answering, Jared stooped to lift Robert. "We have to get out of here, *now*! We don't have much time." "Wait a minute!" O'Neill shouted. "You can't--" This time Jared turned on him, angry. "Lieutenant Timothy O'Neill! We have the same goals! We *must* get Robert Bridger *out* of this prison alive! I have no intentions of letting anyone harm him, me, or you! We can argue later, but right now, we must leave!" He turned and dragged Robert's body past Dagwood and out into the hall. "What do we do?" asked Dagwood. O'Neill sighed. "We follow him, Dagwood. I just hope he knows what he's doing." In the hallway, O'Neill noticed that the smoke had settled as they headed for the elevators. They were forced to climb over the bodies of the limp Macronesian security that had fallen there. It turned O'Neill's stomach. *Did me and Dagwood do this? Or did Jared?* He could not help but look at the prone form of Robert Bridger in Jared's arms. *If Captain Bridger knew it would come to this, would he allow it? Is one man's life worth this much?* * * * "That's five of 'em, sir! Those cannons are no match for a subfighter!" Hudson banked his Spectre hard to starboard to avoid the incoming laser blast. He grunted at the resulting stresses on his body before responding. "Don't get cocky, Hausenbraugh. Just stay on 'em." "Yes, sir! I'm workin' on it." "Good boy. Watch--" The alarm on Hudson's board lit up and wailed at him. He shut off the noise and checked its cause. What looked like four Macronesian fighters were closing on them, quick. "Sir!" came the voice of Fredericks. "Four Macro Marauders are about to be on top of us!" "Damn! I see 'em." Hudson shouted as he slapped the wall of the cockpit in frustration. "Okay boys. Time to pull back and reconnoiter." He turned his craft away from the target and toward UEO waters. "Copy that, sir." Fredericks responded. In a last ditch effort, Hudson again opened a channel to Tasman Prime. "Tasman Prime, this is the leader of the UEO squadron. We again, request to speak to someone of authority. We have reason to believe that--" His speaker squawked and he got his "official" response. "This is Tasman Prime. You are ordered to exit this area immediately and stand down. This action is a direct violation of the Clipperton Peace Accords and as such is an act of war. If you do not--" The rest was strangled off by a heavy thud. A new and different voice came on the line. "Captain Hudson!" The sound of his own name caused Hudson to sit up. Not once did he announce his identity. "Who is this? Where are you broadcasting from?" "Captain Hudson, your people are inside. They have achieved the target and are right now attempting to exit. We ask that you give support." *What the hell is going on!?* "What is this? Who are you!?" "Please, Captain. They need your assistance." "Why? What's going on?" He only got silence in return. Whoever was on the other end of the line had stopped communicating. *What does it mean?* he asked himself. *Lucas and the others are alive?* He checked to be sure the channel was open with the other Spectres. "Lieutenant? Did you copy that?" "Yes, sir." answered Fredericks and Hausenbraugh almost simultaneously. "What do you make of it?" There was silence for several seconds before Fredericks responded almost haltingly. "I don't know, sir. I take it someone is alive and trying to get out." *Someone, but who? And what kind of support do they need? If it was a trap... No, it couldn't be. The sound in the voice on the other end was too convincing.* "Oh, to hell with it!" he muttered to himself. He pulled on the Spectre controls causing the machine to roll over and head back toward Tasman Prime and the incoming fighters. "Sir?" Fredericks sounded confused. "Turn 'em around, boys! We're goin' in!" * * * The sub carrying Bridger and Lucas had arrived at Kerguelen Plateau. An armed escort once again marched them in handcuffs through the bowels of the boat. For the entire journey from the cell, they did not seen a familiar face, including that of Bourne or Krajefska. After several confusing turns, they arrived at a small docking ring to exit the sub. Water still dripped from the seals and Bridger sidestepped to avoid it. As they arrived on the other side, they paused for the rest of their entourage to stop through. The hall they arrived in was dark and damp. It smelled of mildew and rust. Bridger glanced both ways down the seemingly endless hallway, but could make out nothing. "Who cleans this place?" Lucas asked sarcastically. "It stinks." A reproving glare from Bridger silenced him. The remaining guards entered the room. One of them grabbed Lucas by the arm and guided him away. Bridger moved to follow, but a hand on his elbow stopped him. He was turned around and guided in the opposite direction. "Hey!" He jerked his arm out of the grasp of the guard. The spiteful guard slapped him across the temple causing him to fall back against a wall. Defiantly, Bridger straightened and faced the guard. "You're not going to separate us," he stated. "Captain?!" Lucas called. The guard gave Bridger a smug expression and leaned in close to his face. "Orders. You go this way. He goes that way." "Where are you taking us?" But the guard acted as if an answer was beneath his dignity. Instead, he again grasped Bridger's elbow and pushed him away from Lucas. "Captain!" Lucas shouted. "Lucas! Hang on! We'll be back together in a while!" He hoped. * * * "Do we *really* have to do this?" Piccolo whined. "Shut up, Piccolo!" Fredericks grunted. She veered hard to her port to avoid incoming fire from the Macronesian Marauders. "I don't need... the distraction!" Piccolo decided it was best to just keep quiet. His life was in her hands and he had only just began to enjoy it enough to risk it. "Just let me know if there's anything..." Her body leaned heavily into his as she pulled them straight up. As they leveled off again, he continued. "...I can do." "I'll let you know." * * * It had been a long time since Hudson had seen this type of combat. Too long. His body was no longer used to the gut wrenching twists and acrobatic maneuvers that were necessary to keep alive. However, he had not forgotten how to handle the crafts controls. The feel was still there and he could still find the necessary buttons with his eyes closed. But he was quite unprepared for the two Marauders that came screaming at him. They approached side by side and split off in a "Y"-like formation. This forced him to either plunge dangerously close to the ocean floor or up between the two fighters, thereby opening himself up as an easy target. *I'll be damned if I'm gonna let them destroy me.* he told himself. He nosed the Spectre toward the sea floor. The enemy craft fired repeatedly after him, but the speed he put into his dive was near insane. The floor rushed up at him. At the last second, he pulled himself straight up again. With a quick glance, he noted that the two fighters were now behind him. He leveled off his ascent and prepared to arch around again, when blasts shot across his bow. "What the..." Was there more than four? He checked his sensors again. It was difficult to make out with all the action going on, but four enemy craft was all he was registering. Another blast shook him, nearly jerking the control stick from his hands. It was coming from two opposite directions. A quick glance at his board told him that the two Marauders were still to his port. *Then what the hell is coming from starboard!?* He arched low again and turned toward the mysterious incoming fire. As he quickly approached, he realized several of the laser cannons were still operational and were firing on them. *Damn!* He fired several rounds at the nearest cannon, causing it to plume with a satisfying explosion. He escaped the chasing Marauders through the debris. "Hausenbraugh! Fredericks! Destroy those laser cannons! And try to draw those fighters away from Tasman Prime!" He saw no need to endanger the lives of innocents in the prison, even if they were supposed criminals. Fredericks failed to respond, but Hausenbraugh's voice rang through the disturbance. "I'd like to, sir. But right now... I'm caught up in a..." A deafening noise shook the communications channel, but his voice returned. "...in a canine conflict at the moment! Damn!" "Do what you have to do, Lieutenant." "I'm working on..." The remainder was lost in static. Blinding fire exploded on Hudson's port. Startled, he looked over. An incoming Marauder was almost on top of him. The pilot must have been almost as startled as Hudson, as he fired a few more blasts and turned his craft belly up to escape. It was a fatal mistake. Hudson seized the opportunity and turned his guns upon the exposed belly. The enemy craft exploded, the momentum carried it toward the surface. "One down," he told himself. "Three to go." * * * "Youch!" Hausenbraugh had been lucky. A Marauder had tailed him for far too long. "Give it a rest, will ya." he sarcastically told the enemy. The incoming blasts from the laser cannons did not make it any easier. "Take it away from the prison, he says. How can I, when this guy keeps pushing me... back toward it!" WHAM! A sickening thud rocked him. A quick check of systems told him that he had come through shaken, but not hurt. The laser cannon had clipped one of the Spectre's fins. "That does it!" he shouted. "I'm about to have a major bovine on your butts!" He pulled hard to starboard, the laser cannon fire followed and the Marauder turned after him as well. "That's it, baby! Follow me like a Pavlovian dog looking for dinner! Woohoo!" Turning again, he arched toward the laser cannon. He began slowly turning a huge spiral around the cannon. The Marauder followed, just as he had hoped it would. Laser fire from the Marauder made it difficult to maintain his course, but the laser cannon on the ground had difficulty targeting him as his spiral course got tighter and tighter. The tighter the spiral, the further behind the blasts. A glance behind, the Marauder was getting dangerously close. Rather than speed away, Hausenbraugh slowed and the Marauder nearly rammed him. As expected, the laser cannon shot the Marauder. "Woohoo! Score one up for friendly fire!" The Marauder, while not destroyed, had lost control. Trailing debris, it dropped toward the ocean floor like so much dead weight. Whoever was at the laser cannon controls, must have been stunned because it stopped firing on him. Hausenbraugh took advantage of the momentary inattention. He arched his Spectre around and fired several rounds at the cannon. It was destroyed in several concussive explosions. "Woohoo! Yeah!" he shouted. * * * A heavy explosion rocked the elevator and they momentarily lost power. For a split second, O'Neill was afraid they would be trapped inside the elevator car, but power returned and they resumed traveling slowly upward. They had entered the elevator from the seventh floor without any resistance. Dagwood stood in the back of the car holding the limp body of Robert Bridger in his arms. He had been commanded to guard the man at all costs. The blood streaming from the wound in his thigh smeared onto Robert, but Dagwood seemed totally unaffected by the pain. *Oh, to have the strength of a GELF at a time like this.* O'Neill thought. He and Jared stood guard over the door; ready for what might confront them when it opened. It seemed foolish to O'Neill to be using the elevators at a time like this. He expressed his concerns to Jared. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. This prison was designed so that this is the only way in or out to the lower floors. If the power goes out, there're backup circuits." "But what if the backup circuits fail?" "Then we worry." "Oh, great!" Jared's flippancy angered him. "Besides, during a situation like this, wouldn't they immediately lock up the elevators so that no one could get in or out?" "Not likely." "Why not!? How do you know so much? What are they doing up there that's causing these power fluctuations? What can we expect?" Jared gave him a warning look that told O'Neill not to press too much. "Hopefully that's our rescue party up there. You better wish 'em luck, because it may be harder to get out of here without them." "But who is it!? What the hell is going on!?" "If my sources are correct, that's your Captain Hudson up there." O'Neill was stunned. "seaQuest? She's here?" "No, not seaQuest. Captain Hudson. In a subfighter." The news stunned and confused him even more. What were they doing here? Darwin must have gotten to seaQuest. He was glad and flattered that they had a rescue party coming for them, but Hudson? In a subfighter? What was going on? He looked at Jared, but his face remained stone cold. His smugness was growing increasingly irritating. "What's going on!? How do you know so much!?" Jared refused to answer. "Do you know what's happened to Captain Bridger? Do you know where he is?" "He's... He and the boy, Wolenczak, were captured. Bourne has them now." "Do you know where? Are they here, in Tasman Prime?" Jared's face turned cold, as if it hurt him to speak the words. "No. Again, if sources are correct, they're right now being taken to an installation on the Kerguelen Plateau." O'Neill felt a deadly chill run down his spine. *Gone.* He glanced again at Robert Bridger. *One man's life. Is it worth all this?* His heart ached for Lucas and his former captain. Yet another explosion outside rocked the elevator car. * * * Fredericks suddenly found herself and Piccolo alone in the water. Most of the battle had been drawn away from the prison, as Hudson had commanded. For the moment, it seemed that the laser cannons had lost her and were unaware that she was still in their midst. Their muzzles were aimed out into the open water and they occasionally fired into the murky darkness. It was her opportunity. She beared down on the nearest cannon and fired. The result was a satisfying explosion. Coming through the exploding debris, she found them almost on top on the next cannon. She fired again. The water boiled at the double explosion of two destroyed cannons. Not wishing to press her luck, she angled the Spectre away from the prison. In the distance, she could make out the telltale flashes of laser fire and an ensuing dogfight. She throttled the Spectre engine to catch up. Her body squashed into Piccolo and she could feel the sweat that drenched his body. She recognized it. It was the cold sweat of fear. She could not blame him for his fear. The only thing that held back her fear was the small, electronic implant in her neck. Most of the time, it was a hindrance to her relations with others, but at the moment, she was very grateful for it. As Fredericks pulled close to the melee, she spotted Hudson being doggedly tailed by a Marauder. He twisted his machine in rather daring maneuvers, but he could not seem to shake the enemy shadow. She pulled her own craft in line behind the pursuing enemy, making herself the shadow of the shadow. They twisted and turned through the ocean at near impossible speeds. *What is Hudson doing?* she asked herself. *His machine can't handle those stresses without cavitation!* But still she followed. She heard her own machine complain at the strain and Piccolo groaned behind her. She knew she could handle the machine, but she worried about Hudson because he was surely not used to these types of maneuvers. His skill in a Spectre was not near hers. Horribly, she watched as Hudson's Spectre began shaking and it appeared that control was lost. A lance of fire arched from the pursuing Marauder's guns and crash into his shaking craft. He tumbled downward in a fiery mass. The Marauder closed in for the kill. Fredericks dived hard toward it and fired. She poured all her energies into firing her guns and destroying the target. It became her primary purpose: to destroy that fighter. KABLOOM! Her Spectre was splattered with metallic debris as they passed through the exploding cloud. On the other side, she could not see any sign of Hudson. "Captain!" she shouted. "Captain Hudson! Are you all right!?" All she could here was silence. Piccolo squirmed behind her. "You think..." he started. The cockpit became shrouded with silence. Fredericks felt pushed to the limit. She felt the fear creeping in that was not supposed to get through. Her fists clenched in anger. "Captain Hudson! Answer me!" The ever dreaded fear tickled at her brain. Then they heard something that was both startling and a relief. The voice of Captain Oliver Hudson returned to the communications channel with the most ear splitting expletives they knew. Piccolo broke out in guffaws that nearly cut off his breath. Fredericks merely smiled, but could not help but also laugh her relief. "Captain! Good to hear your voice. Are you all right?" Hudson sighed. "Yes, Lieutenant. I'll be all right." They saw his injured craft slowly and wobbly rise before them. "But I think I'm out of commission for the rest of this battle. My stabilizer fin's been shattered and I seem to have lost starboard propulsion. I can barely limp around." Fredericks sighed. She was relieved to know he was at least alive, but now wondered what they were going to do. Hudson's Spectre surely could not return to seaQuest in its condition. "What are your orders, sir?" "Right now, just kill the rest of those fighters! My scanners show you got the third one, so that should leave one remaining! Just clear the path because I ain't going anywhere but inside that prison." "Yes, sir." She checked her scanners and veered away toward where she saw Hausenbraugh battling the last of the Marauders. * * * "Dagwood," Jared commanded. "Bring Bridger over here behind me." Dagwood looked to O'Neill for confirmation, who nodded his head by way of agreement. As Dagwood squeezed in behind Jared, taking care to protect Robert, the elevator reached the top floor. They prepared themselves for the doors to open. O'Neill, a laser rifle now in his hands, ran through his mind what to expect from behind the door. An armed team of soldiers, their weapons trained on them? It seemed most likely. After all, they probably suspected that their break-in had precipitated the entire chain of events, which, in a sense, it had. Coincidence brought the attack from outside and the break-in from inside together at this moment. What happened was *not* what he expected. The doors opened and several people desperately tried to enter the elevator car, some Macronesian security, some in plain clothes. They had merely been waiting for the car to arrive. Quick thinking from Jared saved them as he thrust out his leg and tripped the first few people to enter. This precipitated a chain of events as people tumbled over each other to get inside. In the confusion, Jared caught O'Neill's eye and indicated for them to exit. They clambered out over the pile of bodies clogging the door. Dagwood once again had Robert in a fireman's hold over his shoulder. "Hey!" someone shouted from amongst the crowd still waiting to enter. A hard blow from Dagwood silenced him. O'Neill turned and blasted the elevator controls, causing them to shatter in fiery sparks. In the confusion and mass of bodies, a random shot was fired from amongst the crowd. "C'mon! Let's go!" Jared shouted. They ran. By now, several in the crowd had realized what had happened. A mass of red and grey uniforms, lancing laser fire, was headed their way. O'Neill headed straight for the door leading to the transports when he suddenly realized he was alone. Looking over, he saw that Dagwood and Jared were heading for the wrong door. "No!" O'Neill shouted. He was torn by indecision as he watched them enter and wondered for a moment if *he* was heading for the wrong door. But he knew better. "Nooooooo!" Fire ripped through his shoulder. In slow motion, he saw the room spin around him as his body was lifted off the ground and twisted through the air. The laser rifle, his arm no longer able to hold it for lack of sensation, went flying away from him. He landed hard on the floor. "Tim!" Dagwood shouted. "No! Tim!!" Leaving Robert with Jared, Dagwood ran into the open room to confront the oncoming mass of people. He fired several successive rounds of laser fire into the crowd causing them to pause and scatter. In one fluid motion, he scooped up the prone body of O'Neill and carried him back to the door where Jared and Robert were waiting. End Part 21 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:15:07 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 22 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 22 He was down, but he wasn't out. Haltingly, Hudson's Spectre crawled closer to Tasman Prime. The damage was more extensive than his original estimation. The craft was now sputtering and threatening to fall apart as he prodded it forward. "C'mon, baby," he urged under his breath. With a crunching sound, he scraped against the sea floor and was jolted against the restraints. "Just a little bit more, baby. That's all I ask." Looking forward, he saw a slight rise in the sea floor between him and Tasman Prime. Normally he would hardly consider such a bump in the earth, but with his Spectre in its current condition, that rise appeared as if a rocky mountain. He checked power levels. The power was there, but there seemed to be a growing ratio between how much power he gave the engines and how much they responded. More power was producing increasingly less thrust. Angling the Spectre's nose upward, he punched the power controls to maximum. Normally, inertia would have plastered him to his seat with such a maneuver, but instead, he only gently glided forward. It was not much progress, but it just might have been enough to get over that rise. Quickly losing momentum against the drag of the water, he fell toward the rise. He struggled to raise the nose of the craft and carry himself up and over, but it was not enough. Instead, he crashed into the rise, kicking up a cloud of dirt. "Damn it!" he shouted at both the craft and the rise. Stamping his foot, he heard the slush of water and felt the cold splash against his ankle. Looking at his feet, he saw the growing pool that gathered there. He sighed his frustrations and his eyes rolled surfaceward. Hudson had been so caught up in moving the Spectre, he had failed to note the craft had developed a slow air leak. He ran his fingers along the cockpit seams, but could not find the leak. And he could see nothing through the cloud of murky dust outside. Fearful of his vulnerability, he checked the sensors and noted an approaching craft. He tensed as he grabbed at the mike near his mouth. "Fredericks?" "Captain Hudson?" came Fredericks' response. Hudson relaxed his shoulders at the sound of her voice. "You okay sir?" she asked. Her voice was laced with concern. "No, I'm not." The mud streaked across his window, but the view of Tasman Prime began to return. He was less than a kilometer away from it. "I can't get anywhere. Power's good, but the engines are turning to mush and won't respond." Fredericks was quiet for a moment before responding. "Merrick got that last Marauder." "Good." He again poured power into the engine, but the Spectre barely swelled. He again splashed at the water at his feet. It felt deeper this time. "But I think I'm in trouble. I'm taking on water. "Hang on, sir. I'll grapple you out." "But then what? How'm I gonna get into the prison? With this water leak, the pressure'd kill me if we went to the surface." He cocked his jaw to release the pressure from his ears. "As it is, I can already feel the effects." "Sir, maybe I can--" She stopped in mid-sentence. Hudson checked the sensor, but saw nothing. "Lieutenant?" "Hang on sir." He looked into the water and at the prison. He could make out some movement, but it was too obscure to determine what was going on. The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle at him. The thought of being stuck on the sea floor with a disabled vehicle and Macronesian fighter craft about bothered him. Fredericks and Hausenbraugh would have to defend him. He did not like this feeling. He did not like having his fate in the hands of others. "Lieutenant! What is it?" "They're launching something, sir. It looks like--" She stopped and Hudson could imagine her straining to make out the launch. He adjusted his sensor to try and see the launches, but he could not get an accurate reading. "What is it? What're they launching?" Something entered his screen as it quickly approached from starboard. "Patrols, sir," stated Hausenbraugh as he came into the vicinity and put his Spectre protectively near Hudson's. "They don't appear to be armed," stated Fredericks. "I don't think it's a defensive weapon. They wouldn't dare take on our Spectre's with those things." Hudson felt the water now engulfing his feet. "Hausenbraugh, keep those patrol vessels out of our way. Fredericks, where are they launching from?" "An airlock, sir. And it looks large enough to fit your Spectre." "Then get me the hell outta here!" "Will do," she responded. Hausenbraugh shot away to scatter the patrols, without saying a word. Momentarily, Hudson heard a loud clang against his hull and the resulting jolt caused his Spectre to rock perilously. He saw the cable pull taut as Fredericks brought her machine in front of him and prepared to pull him forward. "Ready, sir?" she asked. Hudson locked his hands onto the controls. "Ready as I'll ever be." "Here we go!" She pulled her Spectre forward and gently tugged at him. He wouldn't budge. He nudged power into the engines and slowly increased it. Between Frederick's pulling and his pushing, he should have moved, but instead he lurched sideways and tilted to an almost 45 degree angle. The growing air leak and jostling caused the water to splash against his calves. He squelched the panic that tickled at him. "Something's wrong. It feels like I'm stuck." He again maxed out his engines. "Give it all you got, Lieutenant!" The whine of his engines drowned out her response. He could feel the strain in the very metal of the craft as Fredericks increased her power. It groaned in protest. The power levels were now going to the danger zone as the engines were not meant to take such constant abuse. Their whine blotted out all other sounds. "C'mon, baby!" shouted Hudson through gritted teeth. The craft jolted. "C'mon! C'mon!" He could hear Fredericks shouting at him through the noise of the engines, but he was not able to discern the words. "C'mon!" he shouted as if it would will the craft to respond. Suddenly water began spewing at him from behind, soaking his shoulder. Somewhere a seam was weakening or ruptured. "Son! Of! A! Bitch!" He enunciated each word with short, sharp shouts then shouted at the top of his lungs to punctuate it. The injured Spectre must have heard him. With a crash it shot forward. Debris scattered around them, but Fredericks quickly carried them forward and out of the muddy entropy. "We did it!" came the excited voice of Piccolo. Hudson smiled at the words. In the excitement, he had forgotten that Piccolo was with Fredericks. He suddenly felt a mixture of relief and excitement for the young crewman. He had wanted him to learn some combat skills, but this was not quite what he had had in mind. Nevertheless, he was glad that Piccolo and Fredericks were still with him. "Yes, Mister Piccolo, we did." However, he continued to be sprayed by the geyser behind his shoulder. The water was quickly soaking his entire body and the changes in pressure began to sting at his ears. "But I've gotta get outta here, fast. Hausenbraugh?" "Yes sir?" he responded. "What's the word on those patrol vessels?" "Nothing, sir. As Fredericks said, they have no defensive capabilities. They appear to just be watching us. That's all." Hudson's first thought was to destroy them and blind the enemy, but as this was not a war, he wanted minimal loss of life on either side. He could not be sure if the patrols were manned, but he felt it was better to play it safe. "Just keep them out of the way. Scatter 'em if you can. I want you to stay out here and keep an eye out for more Macronesian Marauders. Fredericks, once I get inside that airlock, I want you and Piccolo to follow me in." "Thank you, sir," stated Piccolo. "It's about time I get outta this tin can and see some real action." "It *is* a bit crowded, sir," complained Fredericks. "Hey! It's not that I don't like the company." Hudson, had to cut through their chatter. "Hausenbraugh. If we're not back in thirty minutes, send a message to seaQuest and let them know what's happened. Then high tail it outta here." * * * For Dagwood, everything else was pointless. He forgot the enigmatic Jared, Robert Bridger, and even the Macronesian soldiers firing laser shots at them. O'Neill was hurt and that was his entire world now. "Tim?" he asked as he laid his friend on the floor beside the prone body of Robert. The blood was welling up from the tear in his shoulder and Dagwood placed his hand over the wound as if to stop the bleeding. "Ugh!" O'Neill tried to sit up, but his shoulder collapsed and he crashed down again. "Have I been shot?" His eyes moved frantically from Dagwood to Jared, who was watching outside the doorway. "Don't move," admonished Dagwood. "You're bleeding." O'Neill began breathing in short, sharp breaths as the pain overtook him. His hand floundered toward his shoulder to test the reality of what he was feeling. "It hurts," he gasped. Dagwood wanted to help, but he was not sure how. "Dagwood!" Jared shouted. But Dagwood did not respond. His attention was rapt on his injured friend. "Dagwood! Come here!" Still he could not get through. "Dagwood! You damned genetic dagger! Come here! I need you! *We* need you!" At last, his attention was torn from O'Neill as the shouts got through to his brain. He felt a mix of emotions: fear and sadness for his friend, joy at the fact that he was still alive, and anger at both the Macronesian soldiers who had caused the injury and Jared for reasons he did not understand. He glanced once more at O'Neill before standing and moving to stand beside Jared. "Tim is hurt," Dagwood stated. The pain was evident in his voice. "Dagwood needs to get him to a doctor." He glanced outside into the larger room and noticed the Macronesian guards had been greatly reduced by his actions and were now trying to carefully stay out of the line of fire. Jared shot into the openness to quiet the guards while he spoke. "I know that! We need to get *both* of these men to a doctor! We need to get *all* of us out of here!" He ducked more incoming laser fire before going on. "But we can't do it from here!" "Where do we have to be to get Tim to a doctor?" Dagwood asked, oblivious to the laser shots whizzing dangerously close to him. "*This* isn't where we need to be. We need to be in the next shaft down." Jared pointed with his laser pistol toward the next doorway in the larger room. "Oh." Dagwood's mind began formulating a way to safely move them to the door when he turned to look at O'Neill. He was surprised to see the injured man standing beside him. Dagwood reached out and steadied him as he wobbled, but O'Neill's angry attention was on Jared. "You went to the wrong door!" he exclaimed angrily. "Why?" The last was spit out through clenched teeth. Jared looked at him with astonishment, but quickly turned his attention back to the prison guards. He noted that they were slowly creeping closer to their position. They were getting bold. "Because that one, the one you came in from, had guards in it." O'Neill blanched, but held his stance. "What makes you say that?" "Because I saw them. When we came out of the elevator, at least two men were in that shaft. There's no way we could defend ourselves from two fronts, so..." "But why here?" He turned and glanced down the shaft they were in. "Why this shaft?" Jared shrugged. "It was the closest one. I needed to buy us time and we needed the cover." Wincing, O'Neill cradled his injured shoulder. He felt light headed and wondered if it was a result of blood loss. He knew standing upright did not help. He leaned into Dagwood for support and again looked down the beckoning hallway. Was it their only hope? "What's down here?" he finally asked. "Nothing." Jared stated without moving his eyes from the larger room. "It's just used for storage." The hairs on O'Neill's neck prickled at him. Who was this man? What was his agenda? Could he be trusted? But already he had risked his own life and killed to save Robert Bridger. What were his loyalties? O'Neill hated the fact that his fate was in the hands of this man. But where else could he turn? "Well, how are we--" A wave of pain shot through his shoulder, up his neck, and enwrapped the base of his skull. The rest of his question came out in a whimper. "--supposed to get to where we need to be?" Jared smiled as he scored yet another hit on one of the guards, but that only seemed to increase their rage. Angry, he shot several successive rounds. "Through these bastards! That's what I need Dagwood for!" "You mean--" The ground moved beneath their feet and an all too familiar sound reached their ears. The weapons fire had finally breached the prison walls and a dreaded gush of water poured into the room. O'Neill lost his feet and Dagwood gently settled him on the floor. "Uh oh." Jared's head drooped in despair. "Things have just gotten *much* worse." O'Neill wondered at the futility of their situation. Himself shot in the shoulder. Dagwood shot in the leg (although not exhibiting any deleterious effects). Robert Bridger basically unconscious. And the enigmatic Jared, whose loyalties were unknown, was their only hope. He wished Nathan Bridger were here now. He would even accept Oliver Hudson right now. * * * As the grapple was reeled back into the Spectre, Fredericks and Piccolo watched Hudson's wounded Spectre vanish in the maw of the massive airlock. "Good luck, sir," Fredericks muttered under her breath. She waited expectantly for some smart remark from her partner, but he remained surprisingly quiet. They sat pensively watching the airlock for several moments before he finally spoke up. "You know, I didn't mean anything by what I said back there." She picked up on the fact that his voice sounded hurt and a little vulnerable. It caused her to respond a little less acerbically than usual. "What do you mean?" "About being in here with you. It's not so bad." Now she was confused. "I don't get it? What did you say that makes you think I was upset?" She felt Piccolo's muscles tense up behind her. He took a long pause before responding. "Well, I... uh... made some remarks about wanting out of here." Still she was confused. They *both* wanted him out of the Spectre. What was the problem? "And?" she prompted. "And it's just that I kinda..." His voice trailed off and she felt him fidgeting. "Kinda what?" He took a deep breath and let it out. "Well, I kinda like you." "Oh." *Man, Tony!* he admonished himself. *Did you screw up! Should I take it back? Should I downplay it?* His mind raced at the thoughts, and various ways to extricate himself from what he had told her. But eventually he decided it was best just to keep his mouth shut and not say anything. If there was a hole he could crawl into, he would have. He wondered what she was thinking now. What she was thinking was not what he anticipated. She was flattered. Her past experiences and relationships had left her with no expectations of a romance. Was that what he had meant? Was she misinterpreting his words? But this was Tony Piccolo! A crewman! And an annoying one at that! How could she even consider romantic feelings for him. But regardless, the feeling of his chest against her shoulder blades began to take on a new meaning. She noticed them. His gentle brush against her elbow sent fires through her that she had not known for a long time. And the thought of his thighs wrapped around her-- *Stop it!* she commanded herself. She felt the cold clamp of the psych implant lock down her emotions. She became the automaton, but a tiny kernel of need still gnawed at her. She needed this. She needed a romance. She needed the warm comfort of a man. But could she allow it? *Boy, those psych doctors are gonna have a field day with these thoughts!* she thought. As a way of distracting herself, she opened the communications channel. "Lieutenant Hausenbraugh. Anything going on out there we should know about?" * * * The lights of the Spectre could not break the darkness of the airlock interior as Hudson waited for the water to cycle out and the air to cycle inside. He was tense. The water in the cockpit had reached his waist, and the changes in pressure was stabbing at his head. And he knew that at this moment, he was at his most vulnerable. He was startled when the pocket of air above him reached the top of the cockpit bubble. Mildly amused, he watched it inch down around him. When it had finally reached the bottom of the window, he unstrapped himself and searched within a small emergency satchel behind the pilot's seat for a laser pistol. *I only hope it's not waterlogged." he told himself. When he located it, he checked the charge. It was properly and fully charged. And it had escaped the worst of the water. Settling back in the seat, he impatiently waited for the water to recede. *How did I ever let this happen? Lucas? In a Macronesian prison?* Frustrated, he removed his helmet and discarded it at his feet. *You should have never let him go. He's too young and far from experienced for something like this.* Distractedly, he rubbed at his now bare balding head. *And I trusted Bridger! Or at least I thought I could! Now it's up to me to save--* A crack of light told him the airlock was opening toward the prison interior. Bearing himself for the crush of pressure, Hudson reached forward and popped the cockpit bubble open. With a whoosh of air, it opened, but the pressure difference was not as bad as he had expected. Hurriedly he crawled out to stand on the still wet deck. His priorities were to secure the area, move his Spectre out of the way, and reopen the airlock so that Fredericks and Piccolo could enter. Of course, whatever or whoever waited for him on the other side of the opening door would direct his next course of action. When it was open enough for him to crawl inside, he did. The light in the room was blindingly bright after the darkness of the airlock, but it also appeared immediately empty. Slowly, he surveyed the room. The control panels were empty. Nothing moved. He began to relax as the room appeared to be empty, but-- "Oh, bloody 'ell! It's about time somebody got 'ere!" Hudson whipped around at the sound of the voice, but movement in the corner of his vision brought his attention to the large doorway leading to the prison interior. Two Macronesian guards had just entered the room and looked almost as startled as he was. In a split second, two weapons were pointed directly at him. Instantly, Hudson ran behind the nearest barrier, a docked patrol vessel. Hot laser fire pattered the wall behind him as the soldiers fired. Frantically, Hudson looked about himself to take in his predicament and try to determine a way out. To one side was an exposed opening. To the other were more docked patrol vessels and the a desk-like control panel. Were those the controls he needed to reopen the airlock? If he had Fredericks and Piccolo here now, his odds would be greatly improved. However, they were not here, so he had to make the best with what he had. Watching the laser fire, he noted from the angle of the blasts against the wall that the men were approaching from the side. The heat of passing laser fire burned past his thigh. Too close. Firing repeatedly toward the source of the incoming fire, he ran to the computer panel. The small desk would not afford much cover and he certainly did not want to risk destroying what could be his only chance to reopen the airlock. Vaulting past the computer desk, he dove toward several large storage containers stacked atop one another. As he righted himself, he noted that the containers were large batteries for the patrol vessels. He grimaced. This was not the best place to be as the batteries held potential explosive capabilities and could tear him to pieces if ignited by the laser fire. However, it could do the same to the guards. Would they risk it? Several blasts rocked the batteries, but it soon stopped. Silence for several moments. Then someone shouted at him, "We have you outnumbered! Step out into the open and you won't be harmed!" He was cornered. It was time to take a gamble. Thinking quickly, Hudson stuffed the small laser pistol into the back of his pants and hurriedly removed his belt. While stripping off the buckle from the belt, he gauged his position. He could not see the guards, but he could plainly see the computer desk and a portion of the patrol vessels. With the buckle now removed, he gently laid the belt on the ground. "I'm coming out!" he shouted. *I only wish I'd practiced baseball more than violin all those years. I could use it now.* "Throw your weapon to the ground and come out with your hands where we can see them!" they shouted back. Taking careful aim, he tossed the buckle at the desk. It skidded into a small cubby hole in the unit and remained hidden. *It worked! Now--* With his open hands raised to about shoulder height, Hudson stepped from behind the wall of batteries and into the open on a gamble. Two laser pistols were again aimed at him. Quick enough to stall a retrieval of his discarded weapon, but not so quick as to alarm them, Hudson stepped forward. "That's far enough." stated the nearest man when he had gotten about ten feet away. He halted as commanded. With a nod of his head, the nearer man indicated for his partner to check him for other concealed weapons. Hudson flexed his back to ensure the feel and position of the small laser pistol tucked in his pants behind him. The guard, holding his own weapon tentatively aimed at his adversary, stepped forth to grab his shoulder. In a split second, Hudson grabbed the man by the shirt, removed the hidden pistol from his back, spun the guard in his hand around into a choke hold, and fired a close range shot at his still free partner. The man crumpled to the ground from the blast. Hudson hesitated to aim the pistol at the struggling man under his arm. Instead, he swiped at the man's weapon arm. "Drop it!" he commanded. Seeing that his advantage had quickly turned to a dangerous disadvantage, the guard outstretched his weapon arm and loudly dropped his gun. His struggling had turned to a tense calmness as he awaited his fate. Hudson looked disgustedly at the man he had just shot. He was sickened by the pool of blood that grew around the crumpled body. *The last thing I wanted was death!* Since the proliferation of Macronesian territories began with their deadly methods of colony acquisition, he had killed many times. And it was always from a distance. *But this is different,* he thought. *This is immediate.* The bloody image burned into his mind and he knew it would be with him for a long time. It sickened him. He turned his attention to the guard under his arm. "You wanna end up like him?" he asked. The guard grunted that he did not. "Good. Now I'm gonna let you go and I don't want any trouble. Understand?" Again, the guard grunted his cooperation. Hudson cautiously released his hold. It proved to be a mistake. As soon as the guard had his head free of Hudson's arm, he turned and grabbed at his weapon arm. He twisted Hudson's wrist so that the pistol was facing away from himself and dropped his weight. This brought Hudson crashing to the floor. They tumbled across the floor of the room and by the time they butted against one of the patrol vessel's support structures, the laser pistol had been lost. Hudson slammed a knee into the guard's gut and rolled away. Quickly standing, he cautiously watched as his opponent struggled to stand. Not giving him a full chance to catch his feet, Hudson attacked with several blows to the gut. He tried to locate his errant laser pistol, when the guard retaliated. They traded blows for several moments before the guard spun and kicked at Hudson's thighs. Hudson absorbed the blow, but not before moving across the room. When he again looked up, he realized that the guard had located and was going for his discarded pistol. He dove to stop him. They crashed hard on the floor just inches from the weapon. The guard desperately reached out and brushed it with his fingers, but Hudson beat him to it. Hudson, with weapon in hand, kicked away from the man and stood up. Now, he was angry. Very angry. He pointed the pistol at the man. "Why you slimy bastard! Get up!" The tone of his voice made it clear that he would put up with no more. As the guard slowly stood, Hudson grabbed him by the fabric of his uniform shoulder and shook him hard. He held the pistol hard against the man's neck. "You will *not* get the better of me!" He noted the thin trail of blood leaking from the man's nose and it brought home the apparent young age of the man. "I've been at this far longer than you. Ask yourself, is it really worth it?" Now the fear showed in his eyes. "Well, I..." His voice trailed off as he was apparently too afraid to answer honestly. Keeping the pistol trained on him, Hudson released his shoulder and stepped back. *Now what? I could shoot him and be done with it, but...* He glanced down at the broken body of his dead companion. *Damn!* Then he heard something. The peculiar sound of weapons fire could be barely heard in the distance. Somewhere near, someone was under heavy weapons fire. And it could be coming his way. He needed Fredericks and Piccolo. He switched the pistol to his other hand and swung his fist at the startled young guard. The blow connected as he intended and in an instant he was unconscious. Hudson grunted at the pain his body felt from the struggle. "I'm getting too old for this." But privately he smiled. Sure that the guard was out, he turned his attention to opening the airlock to receive Fredericks and Piccolo's Spectre. * * * "Dammit, Dagwood! Go!" Jared was growing increasingly irritated with the GELF. They were a sorry sight and he knew it. Robert was still semiconscious. Macronesian guards were getting increasingly close to their position. O'Neill was in such pain as to be useless. The water leak had soaked them, but luckily someone, somewhere had somehow stopped it. And Dagwood was being too bull-headed to be of any help. "Tim says we have to go the way we came in," answered Dagwood. "I know!" Jared was near the breaking point and shouting deliriously. "But we can't get over there!" He pointed down the long hallway. "And we might find something we can use down there! Go down and tell me what you find!" Dagwood was confused. He did not want to leave O'Neill, but he also knew that they were in trouble. Should he leave to find what Jared wanted? But part of him did not trust Jared. The more time he spent with the man, the less he trusted him. "No. Dagwood will not leave Tim." "Dagwood! I'll watch after him! Just go!" "No!" "DAGWOOD!" "No! You go! Dagwood will stay and keep the bad men away!" "Dagwood! I can't! I can't leave Robert!" "Dagwood can't leave Tim!" Jared flustered and a delirious smile touched his lips. "Then take him with you! Just go! Now!" The thought took Dagwood by surprise. He looked down at O'Neill who was grunting in pain and ignoring their heated exchange. He had just saved his life and he refused to let him go now. O'Neill was hurt. He needed Dagwood. The indecisiveness was irritating him and he started to develop a headache. Moving away from Jared, Dagwood knelt beside O'Neill. He whispered to his friend as if speaking in normal tones would exacerbate his pain. "Jared wants Dagwood to go down the hall and look for a way out." O'Neill focused his eyes on Dagwood. When the realization of his words got through, he glanced at Jared, then down the long hall. He knew his chances. "Go, Dagwood. Go see what you can find." "No." he whined. It was not the answer he wanted to hear. He had expected O'Neill to have the answer to his confusion. "Dagwood will not leave Tim." "Go, Dagwood. It's either that or--" O'Neill grimaced in pain. "Or what?" O'Neill breathed heavy to catch his breath. "Or we die!" Again, it was not the answer Dagwood wanted to hear. He had to decide. He could not stand to see his friend in pain any longer. "No! Tim will not die! Dagwood will protect Tim!" With that, he scooped O'Neill into his arms and lifted him. O'Neill cried out in protest and pain, but Dagwood was determined. It was up to him. He looked at Jared. "Dagwood will go." Just then, a heavy burst of laser fire could be heard. The outer room sounded like it had gone berserk. The noise alarmed Dagwood and he turned to go. "Dagwood!" Jared shouted at him. "Wait!" Dagwood was angry at the way he was being ordered around. Everyone kept telling him to go. As soon as Dagwood had made up his own mind to do it, Jared told him to wait. He turned and carried O'Neill back toward Jared. "Why does Jared do this? Jared tells Dagwood to go! Dagwood goes! Now Jared tells Dagwood to wait! Dagwood is a dagger, but he is not--" Jared was ignoring him and staring out into the outer room. "My God. He did it." His mouth had fallen agape. Standing from his crouched position, he walked clear of the door he had been so steadfastly guarding and stood in the open. Curious, Dagwood poked his head outside the door. He saw a Macronesian guard standing defiantly amongst several broken bodies of other Macronesian guards. The guard looked up, caught sight of Jared standing openly, and smiled wickedly. Jared appeared stunned and his mind was working furiously when the man finally spoke. "Sorry it took me so long to get here. I had, uh, *other* business to take care of." He cocked his head quizzically and approached. "You look well. I take it you got Bridger?" His face turning neutral, Jared looked down at the bodies lying about the room. Their dead corpses now floated amongst the sea water that had leaked into the room and their blood all too quickly oozed out to mix with the water. "Yeah, I got 'im." He looked back toward the door, but failed to meet Dagwood's agitated gaze. "Well, come on!" the man bellowed. "Let's go!" Moving back toward the door, Jared still had a sickened expression on his face. "Sancress?" "Yeah?" the man responded. Jared paused and used his pistol to indicate the bodies. "Did you have to do this?" At this, Hector Sancress burst into a short, hard laugh. The laugh sent chills up Dagwood's spine and he took an instant dislike to the man. "Well, of course!" he said when his laughter subsided. "Can you think of an easier way? They had you pinned down, man! And we got somethin' to fight for! Their lives are expendable!" This angered Jared. "What the hell are you talking about!?" He turned and walked near Sancress, nearly bumping chests with him. "This kind of death was *never* in our agenda. In fact, that's what we're fighting against! We're supposed to stop this type of behavior!" Sancress angrily shoved Jared away. "I don't take orders from you! Robert Bridger is too damn important to let these idiot Macros get their hands on him! I *had* to do this to save him! They just didn't know what they were getting involved with!" "Damn it! Just shut up and listen! There is *no reason* you had to do this! You could have gassed them, screwed with their communications, or a dozen other things! You didn't have to kill them!" He paused, the anger burning on his face. It was clear that he was trying to keep himself under control. Sancress was angry too, but for different reasons. Turning, Jared tried to calm himself, but he just as quickly turned back. "I almost think you enjoyed this!" That seemed to bite. Sancress bit back his words before carefully responding. "You know, I think I did. These nasty little Macros got what they--" Jared launched himself at Sancress and swung his fist wildly. Sancress easily sidestepped the fist and punched hard in the gut. As Jared fell, he splashed in the water and doubled over in pain. Standing over him, his "associate" went on. "They got what they deserved. Don't do this to me, Jared. My orders were to get Bridger out of here, alive if possible, by any means necessary." He felt vindicated by his small victory, but a long shadow soon crossed him. Turning in surprise, he confronted Dagwood supporting the drooping body of O'Neill. "Dagwood is going to go now," he stated and turned to lead his friend away. As he headed for their intended exit, the door burst open and Hudson, Piccolo, and Fredericks spilled into the room. Their weapons aimed momentarily at Dagwood before they realized who he was. Hudson and Fredericks weapons immediately retrained on the red and grey uniformed Hector Sancress. A mixed look of pain, relief, and disbelief washed over Piccolo's face. "Dag," was all he said. "Tony!" shouted Dagwood happily. Piccolo lowered his weapon and moved to help Dagwood with O'Neill. He was careful not to look at the bodies around them. Hudson kept his laser pistol trained on a startled Sancress while Fredericks slowly lowered her weapon and stared dumbfounded at the bodies scattered about the room. "My God, what happened?" she asked. * * * It was Lucas' second prison cell in the past week. Three if he counted the room into which the Vietnamese fishermen had locked him. And again he was alone as he had not seen Bridger since they had been separated at the entrance to the Kerguelen base. It all seemed so insane. Their mission to recover Bridger's son was expected to be dangerous and risky, but right from the start, things had gone wrong. Dagwood had stowed away on their transport. Lucas had been captured by Captain Ngo and Phuong Kwi Chen. Ironically, Dagwood's stowing away had been a blessing in disguise as he had helped Bridger extricate him from the fishermen. But at what cost? He knew that he could only blame himself as a major cause of the mission failure. If he had not gone to rescue that pod of dolphin, all the tragic things that had befallen them might not have happened. Their anonymity would have remained. He felt sure that the destruction of their transport at Tasman Prime was a direct cause of Bourne knowing that Bridger was coming and why. All because Lucas felt the need to be heroic and save the dolphin. And again, his foolishness had caused the death of two of his dearest friends, Timothy O'Neill and Dagwood as well as his own capture and that of his former captain and mentor. His gut wrenched at the thought. He felt deserving of whatever fate had in store for him. He leaned forward in the tired metal chair and awaited his fate. Since being separated upon their entrance to the Kerguelen installation, Lucas was led to this new prison cell. It was dark and musty. Apparently the installation had been abandoned or just ill cared for in quite a while as a layer of dust was caked onto everything. The room was cavernous, but oddly shaped as it had none of the streamlined straight walls or electrical fixtures of a proper room. It was as if a hole had been haphazardly blasted out of the rock and metal bars erected to create a prison cell. A small, dirty sink occupied the wall's edge and the room was sparsely furnished with a thin mattress and the metal chair on which he now sat. His meals had arrived by Krajefska himself, which indicated that the installation was also sparsely populated. But each time, Krajefska refused to say anything about what had happened to Bridger and what was planned for them. His words were only short commands to eat the food or stay quiet. Not knowing was a frustrating aspect of his captivity. But right now, he was feeling so despondent that he just did not care. He folded arms across his lap and stared at the floor. The sound of movement outside the cell alerted him. He guessed that is was Krajefska returning for yet another meal and gloating session. He was determined not to give him the satisfaction. So he simply continued to stare at the ground and did not look up when the shadow crossed his field of vision. "Hi, Lucas," spoke a soft, familiar voice. Startled, Lucas looked up and dropped his jaw. The last person he had expected to see was Phuong Kwi Chen, a major catalyst of why he was here. End Part 22 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:16:30 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 23 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 23 Hudson felt two intermingled emotions. He felt anger at the sight of the scattered bodies that lay around them, and confusion at the meaning of his crew in the midst of it. Dagwood and Piccolo held the sagging body of Lieutenant O'Neill between them as they approached. Despite the blood on his shoulder, he appeared alert enough to know what was happening around him as his eyes focused intently on the captain. "O'Neill," Hudson said through clenched teeth, "what the hell is going on here?" O'Neill blinked, taking a full four seconds to get the words out. "We found Robert Bridger, sir," he finally answered. The words came out in a slur. Unexpectedly his eyes lost their focus and his head drooped down to cradle his injured shoulder. "Piccolo," Hudson ordered. "Get him out of here and see if you can help him." "Yes sir," he responded. Removing his jacket, Piccolo gingerly wrapped it over O'Neill's shoulder. He and Dagwood guided O'Neill toward the exit, but Hudson tugged at Dagwood's arm to stop him. Dagwood paused and let Piccolo carry his injured friend away. "Captain Hudson. Tim is hurt. Dagwood needs to get him to a doctor." "I know that Dagwood, but where are Lucas and Bridger?" A man wearing a wet Macronesian uniform stepped forward and interjected before Dagwood could comment. "Captain Hudson. I think I can explain. But right now, can we just get out of here? We don't have much time." His eyes looked tired and pleaded for urgency. Hudson noted the Macronesian uniform and raised his pistol slightly. "Who the hell are you?." "My name's Jared Deaveaux. I've been helping O'Neill and Dagwood get out of here. I'm a friend of Bridger's." "Nathan or Robert?" "Robert. We work together." A startled look crossed Hudson's face. "Robert Bridger is a member of the Macronesian Alliance army?" At this, Jared's face cracked a wan smile and he gently laughed. "No. Not exactly." "Well, then, who do you work for?" "I--" he stopped himself and searched for an appropriate answer. "We-- You'll just have to accept the fact that--" A voice in the distance interrupted him. "Shut up! Let's get the hell outta here! Now!" Another Macronesian uniformed soldier, his arms heavy with an injured man, approached from across the room. A powerful determination burned in his eyes. Too many conflicting facts were coming at Hudson at once. He needed answers and he needed them fast. A bitter anger began boiling up in him. "What the hell is going on here!? Where are Lucas Wolenczak and Nathan Bridger!?" "Captain." Jared grabbed at Hudson's elbow and tried to guide him toward the exit, but Hudson angrily jerked away in defiance. "Wolenczak and Bridger aren't here. They've been captured by President Bourne. I'll be glad to explain, but we need to get out of here, now. We have Bridger's son," Jared indicated the unconscious man in the arms of his companion, "and right now, we probably have the entire Macronesian army about to be on top of us." Hudson had to concede. These two men in Macronesian uniforms appeared to be his allies. At least, for the moment. With a nod of his head, Hudson indicated for Dagwood and Fredericks to follow Piccolo and O'Neill. The man holding Robert Bridger turned and walked silently after them. Keeping his weapon ready, but not quite pointed at Jared, Hudson and Jared took up the rear as they followed the shaft to the exit. "All right," he commanded. "Explain." As they moved in a fast walk down the hallway, Jared explained that Lucas and Bridger had been captured and taken to the Kerguelen Plateau installation. They were no longer at Tasman Prime. But he seemed to take particular pains to explain their rescue of Robert Bridger and that it was important to get him to a safe place with medical attention. "What happened to him?" Hudson asked. "He's been drugged." "Why?" "That's... rather hard to explain." This agitated Hudson, but he let it go. "What happened back there?" Again, Jared seemed pained. "It wasn't supposed to be like--" "Cut the excuses!" He was growing angry at the evasive answers. "Just tell me what the hell happened! Who's responsible for that... *murder* back there!?" "It... We were pinned down. Me, Robert, O'Neill, and the GELF. Then my... partner, Hector Sancress," Jared indicated the man as he carried Robert Bridger in front of them. "...he... cleared the room." Hudson raised an eyebrow. "*He* did that?" "Yes. He can be a little overzealous." "Then you're not personally responsible for any of those bodies back there?" "Well, I... may have been responsible for some of them, but I did what I had to do for self defense. I *didn't* kill *all* of them! Sancress was *never* instructed to do anything like that!" He paused and it became clear to Hudson that the killings bothered Jared on some level. "Believe me, Captain, if there was any other way..." Hudson could see Jared's agitation. It was the best time to get the needed information. "So what's your stake in all this? Who are you and your friend?" Jared sighed in exasperation, but he answered clearly. "We work for a group whose goal is to end this madness. We want to make Earth's oceans a good, productive society and a place where mankind can grow, not stagnate in death and war and in the process, destroy the very environment he is trying to colonize!" Hudson rolled his eyes. Jared's words sounded... idealistic... and dangerous. He sounded like a zealot. "And Robert Bridger's mixed up in this?" "Yes." "Who's side are you on?" "We're on your side, captain. Me and Sancress are, or rather *were*, working undercover in the Macronesian army." "What I'm asking is what government do you work for... if any at all?" Jared did not answer. Hudson noted the struggle in his face as he tried to determine how best to answer. Now was the time to strike. Hudson grabbed the lapel of Jared's uniform and swung him around, causing him to slam hard against the tunnel wall. "Don't give me this crap!" he shouted. "I need to know who you work for! I need to know what we are up against!" His grip loosened slightly. "Now tell me, *who* do you work for?" Jared momentarily blanched, before his face turned hard and he chopped at Hudson's wrist to break the grip. Letting go, Hudson stepped back and again asked, "Who do you work for?" Jared straightened his uniform top and licked his lips before carefully and quietly answering. "UEO." He paused and waited for a response. He was expecting some explosive behavior. But Hudson took the news in stride and continued his fast walk toward the exit. "Keep talking." Hurriedly, Jared caught up. "We're a part of a highly trained group of officers. We work in various espionage projects for the UEO, mostly undercover. We've got operatives throughout Macronesia and even a few in Chodia territory." "And what's your mission here?" "To recover Robert Bridger." "Why?" "He's one of us." "But he was supposed to be dead." "That's a long story. One that I don't have time to tell you now." They passed through the doorway and into the open airlock room where they had entered. "Agreed. Getting out of here is our first priority. But thank you for you honesty." Hudson immediately noted that Dagwood and Piccolo were tending to the injured O'Neill. The others were nowhere to be seen. "Fredericks!" he probed. Her torso jutted from the open doorway of a transport. "Sir?" "What have we got?" She stepped out and down to stand before him. "Several working transports, although they're not large and I doubt we all could fit in them comfortably. We'll have to split up." Hudson stared at his broken Spectre and his eyes traced to Fredericks' Spectre still sitting in the airlock as he considered. They only had two working Spectres to protect them. And there was still Wolenczak and Bridger on the Kerguelen Plateau... "I think I know what you're thinking," said Fredericks as she interrupted his train of thought. "But we're in luck. There's a Macro Marauder over there!" He followed her pointed finger and noted the dark shape hidden in a corner. *Good,* he thought. *But who's gonna pilot it?* Out loud, he continued, "Where're the others?" Her brow wrinkled and Hudson noted it as a strong sign of distaste in the normally stoic Fredericks. "They're in one of the transports." She turned and lead him to it. Stepping up the short ramp, Hudson thrust his head into the open doorway of the transport. There, he saw Sancress tending to Robert Bridger. Instinct, Fredericks' reaction, and the fact that they had killed so many to get free, told him not to trust these strange men. And while time was short, he had to gain an understanding of what was happening before he let them work with his people or take Robert Bridger away. He coughed loudly to get the man's attention. Sancress turned and held Hudson's eyes before turning back to tending Robert again. Hudson did not like being ignored. "Step out here for a second, soldier boy!" Again, he turned to meet his eyes. Hudson noted the anger and fire that burned in them. Slowly standing, Sancress appeared to be stepping out to meet him for a moment when he dove for the transport controls. As Hudson was closer, he easily caught him by the fabric of the uniform's shoulder and pulled him outside the transport. They struggled for a moment on the short ramp before falling heavily to the floor. "Captain!" Fredericks shouted. In a moment, a flurry of bodies struggled on the floor as Fredericks and Jared jumped into the fray. "Hey!" shouted Piccolo. He approached, but was sure to keep a respectful distance from the brawl. He was startled when the raggedy body of Jared came flying from the fracas, followed by a steel eyed Fredericks. She did not attack him, but kept him at arms length while the noise continued behind her. Piccolo ran back to protect O'Neill. A shout of pain cracked the air. Piccolo turned again to see that Dagwood had entered the fray. In seconds, Dagwood was holding Sancress' body such that it was slightly off the ground, causing him to stand on his toes. His arm was twisted behind his back by the GELF so that moving caused him pain. "Captain!" Sancress shouted. The words came out with such vehemence that he spit when he spoke. "We don't have the time! We've got to go, NOW!" His face wrenched as he struggled to free himself, but Dagwood held him with the strength of steel. Hudson stood and paused to catch his breath before responding. "You don't call the shots here. I do." "I don't take orders from you!" Sancress spit. "I--" "I don't give a damn who gives your orders! These are my people and I am responsible for them! *I*," he pounded his chest to drive the point home, "am the one whose giving the orders!" Sancress struggled briefly before Dagwood again yanked on his arm and caused him to wince. Jared called from over Fredericks' shoulder. "Just listen to him, Sancress. He can get us out of here as well as we can." This caused Sancress to give up the fight and his body lost its tension. At a nod from Hudson, Dagwood slowly placed him back on his feet and let him go. Hudson walked near his face and almost gloated. "You're welcome to give advice, but I don't have to take it." Sancress shrugged off the words and walked away. Dagwood again reached out to stop him, but Sancress swiped at his outstretched hand. Unsure what to do, Dagwood let him go as he walked to the computer control monitor for the airlocks. He began busily punching in keys. Agitated, Hudson approached and faced him on the opposite side of the controls. "Now what are you doing?" he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Something I should have done several minutes ago. Saving our asses!" "What do you m--" Sancress pressed one final key, and the ground moved beneath them. The walls rumbled and Hudson instantly know the feeling of a nearby explosion. * * * Lucas was astonished at seeing Phuong. A nauseous wave of anger washed over him at the thought of being further tormented by the man. But that thought vanished as an irrational thought floated through his mind. If Phuong and Ngo were here to take him from Macronesian hands and sell him for slavery, then he might stand a chance of escape. He just needed a way out of this cell, and maybe he could find a way to contact his friends on seaQuest. But no sooner did the thought occur to him, then it too vanished as his rational mind kicked in and he knew that was not the case. He was left feeling empty and resigned. He had no idea what Phuong was doing here, but somehow he could not make himself care. Instead, he only felt numb. He sighed and again stared at the floor. "Lucas?" Phuong asked to his silence. "I know you're angry with me. I would be too." He paused a moment when he got no reaction. "But I'm here to help you now." This piqued Lucas' interest, but he locked down fast on his emotions. Last time he had trusted this man, he had been betrayed. Phuong had said similar words to him before, and his instincts told him to block out the words. He could not take the mind games. His mind screamed at him to run, but he had nowhere to go. Instead, he steeled himself. He continued to stare downward. "Lucas, I know you may find this hard to believe, but I am here to help. On the boat, I was acting in my own self interest. But you don't understand. It was a matter of self preservation. There are forces at work in my life that compel me to make it better. I used you. I used you to try and make it better for me and my family. And that meant hurting you. I wasn't happy to do it, but it was either me... or you. Who would you choose?" Phuong's words were falling on deaf ears. He did not want to hear it. His bitterness ate at him and he could not get the vision of a bloodied and dead Tim O'Neill out of his mind. He heard Phuong leaning closer into the cell bars and it caused him to push his mind deeper into a hidden corner. Despite Lucas' cringing, Phuong desperately went on. "But I found a better way! My family is safe. I'm in a position to make it better... the right way. I *want* to do the right thing and make up for all the harm I've caused you. I'm here to get you and Nathan Bridger get out of here!" And despite Lucas' efforts not to hear, those last words bit hard at him. He thrashed out at the cell's bars, startling Phuong enough to step away. "NO!" He was pleased at the reaction. It was a modicum of power. He stood and angrily faced Phuong. "I will *not* play your games!" "Lucas, I--" "NO! I refuse to listen to you!" He picked up the chair he had been sitting on and heaved it at the bars. It bounced harmlessly off to the side, but provided a satisfying loud clatter. "Get out of here! I'm not listening to you." Phuong backed away and held up his hands protectively. "Okay, Lucas." Lucas stared at the ceiling as if searching for a listening device. "I know nothing about Firebird! I can't tell you anything because I don't know anything! You hear me!? I don't know anything! Nathan Bridger doesn't know anything! You're wasting your time with us! We've been gone for ten years! Ten years and we don't know anything!" He again picked up the chair and heaved it across the cell. "We don't know anything about Firebird!" he shouted through gritted teeth. When he again looked toward Phuong, he was gone. He shouted into the hall. "I won't help you, Phuong! I can't! Let me and Bridger go! We don't know anything and can't tell you anything!" But the silence told him that Phuong had already gone. * * * When Hudson regained his feet, he looked at the others to verify that no one was hurt. Everyone appeared stunned, but otherwise okay. He turned his angry attentions to Sancress, who was still standing behind the computer control panel. "What the hell did you do!?" he shouted. Sancress looked up smugly. "I just saved our lives, Captain." He moved around the console and paused in front of Hudson. "By ensuring us a safe passage out of here. No one will be after us anytime soon." Hudson did not like evasive answers. "What did you do?" he again asked. "I just cashed in a little insurance I invested. I detonated a bomb that has taken out their sensors and communications. Tasman Prime, Captain, is now blind and mute." He began moving toward the transport containing Robert, but Hudson grabbed at his elbow and stopped him. "A bomb?" "Yes, Captain. A bomb." He tried unsuccessfully to pull his arm away. "And I suggest that you take advantage of it and get out of here while you can." Although he hated to admit it, Hudson knew that the man had done them a favor. With sensors out, they could get away without anyone tracking them. But something in his gut still told him not to trust this man. His loyalties were still in question. But this unexpected advantage caused an idea to begin formulation in his mind. Despite Sancress' struggles to free himself from Hudson's grip, Hudson turned to Jared who was standing silently beside Fredericks. "You know where Bridger and Wolenczak were taken?" "Yes. The Kerguelen Plateau." "And you can fly that Macro Marauder?" "Yes." "Are you willing to help us get them back?" Jared hesitated a moment, glancing from Fredericks to Dagwood to Sancress. "Yes," he sighed. "As long as we can get Robert Bridger to safety." "Good." Hudson swung around so that Sancress stumbled into a startled Dagwood. "Hey!" shouted Sancress. "What do you--" "Fredericks!" Hudson interrupted. "I'm taking your Spectre. Lieutenant Hausenbraugh and myself, along with our new friend here in a Marauder, will attempt a rescue of Bridger and Wolenczak. The rest of you will return to seaQuest. I want Fredericks, Piccolo, and Robert Bridger in one transport. Dagwood, O'Neill, and Sancress will take another." "Now wait a minute, Captain!" Sancress shouted. "Wait just a--" "You have your orders, Mister Sancress!" Hudson shouted back. "You're not my captain!" "I know! And if I were I'd knock you down with insubord--" "You don't give me orders! I stay with Robert Bridger!" "No you don't! I don't know who you are, Mister Sancress! My concern right now--" "You don't know what you're getting yourself into! *We* are the greatest threat to--" "--is to get out people out alive! I'm stretching it enough as it is by allowing your friend here to come on this rescue mission, but I'm--" "I'm not leaving Bridger's side!" "But I'm not going to let you get too close! *You*, in a transport other than Robert Bridger, ensures your cooperation!" They stood silently staring each other down for a moment before Hudson lowered his voice. "Frankly, Mister Sancress, I don't trust you. You've done nothing but act callously toward human life since I've met you. I want you back on seaQuest, back on *my* territory. Then we can sort out what to do with Robert Bridger and yourself." "I'm not leaving him, Captain!" At this, Jared stepped between them. "Hector. Just do as he says. We can sort it out when we're safe. We don't have time for this. We just need to go." The words of Jared, someone he considered a tenuous ally, seemed to crush Sancress. His shoulders turned away angry, sighed in frustration. Jared turned to Hudson. "It'll be alright, Captain. Let's just get out of here." Hudson seemed to accept this as the final word. He turned to where Piccolo was tending to the injured O'Neill. "Piccolo. You and Dagwood load Mister O'Neill into the other transport. Fredericks. Clear the airlock for the first transport. I want you and Piccolo to get Bridger out of here as fast as possible." He turned triumphantly to Sancress. "Mister Sancress, Dagwood, and O'Neill will be right behind you." Fredericks stepped up to the airlock controls and paused. "What about the damaged Spectre, sir?" "What about it, Lieutenant?" "Do you want to destroy it, sir? It might be--" "In the interest of time, just leave it here. They already know it's us. I can deal with McGath when we get back to seaQuest." "Yes sir." Hudson watched with satisfaction as everyone moved to his orders. Sancress' loyalties seemed closely tied to keeping Robert Bridger safe. This way, he would act to keep the other transport safe. And Dagwood on his transport would be a rather large deterrent to bad behavior. Dagwood had already shown Sancress his physical superiority. Only-- Movement in the corner of Hudson's vision alerted him and he turned sharply. On the far side of the room, a thin, shirtless man stood from behind a pile of equipment and waved his arm meekly. In a split second, the man had at least four weapons aimed at him. "Don't shoot!" the man called. "I ain't got no weapon!" "Raise your hands in front of you where I can see them!" Hudson commanded. "I, uh... I can't. I'm, uh... Your friend tied me to the bloody pole and took me shirt. I ain't gonna 'urt nobody. I just want outta here, same as you." Hudson glanced back at O'Neill just as he vanished into a transport hatch. It finally dawned on him where O'Neill had gotten his clothes. He had thought it had been supplied by Bridger, but he now realized it belonged to *this* man. Suppressing a smirk, Hudson walked around the equipment to face the topless man. He was indeed, tied to a metal railing. "Have you been here the whole time?" "Oh, yeah! I jus' been stayin' quiet an' all. See, I'm not a soldier. I'm jus' a tech. I don' wanna get mixed up in any bloody killin' or anythin' so I jus' stayed quiet like the 'ole time." Hudson turned to Jared who was now standing beside him. Jared looked more amused than startled. He turned back to the man. "So why now? Why do you make yourself known to us now, when we're about to leave. We could have left and never knew you were here." At this, the man nervously laughed. "Whaddaya think? Sounds like you fellas done tore this place up. I kinda don't wanna be around when the stuff hits the fan, if ya know what I mean. 'Specially 'cause o' the little part I played in it wi' me givin' yer friend me shirt and all. I jus' as soon not have ta 'splain it, ya know." He smiled nervously as if they were old friends. "So what do you want us to do?" "Cut me loose! I wanna jus' get outta here same as you. 'At's all, I swear!" All at once, Hudson felt sad for the man. He was an innocent in all of this. There had been too many innocents that had been caught up in Alexander Bourne's web of power. And too many innocent lives had been lost. It pained him to think of the lives that had been lost here today. "All right," he agreed. "I'll set you free." The man smiled in relief. "Oh, thank you!" "But," Hudson continued, "only *after* my people are out the door." "'At's a' right, sir. I'll take anythin' I can get." * * * It had been nearly a full day since Bridger was deposited alone in the room. And it did not offer much to look at. It was small and smelled both musty and antiseptic. A simple medical examination table was mounted to the floor in the middle of the room and a drawerless desk occupied one wall. A simple door was the only thing that broke the monotony of the walls, but there was no need to check it. He knew it was locked. To keep his sanity, he had checked it several times over the past several hours anyway. He had slept sporadically on the medical table, but at the moment was sitting on the desk with his legs dangling over its edge and his back propped against the wall. Whatever his fate, he could not do anything about it until that door opened. And his heart skipped a beat when it did. In walked Bourne, Krajefska, and another man wearing down Macronesian military clothes. "Ah, Mister Bridger," started Bourne. "I apologize for the long delay, but I had some other matters that required my attention. I do hope you slept comfortably last night, despite the accommodations?" "I slept," was all Bridger replied. He strained to see out the doorway before it closed. Bourne stood holding the door open, as if to give him a lingering look. "Are you hungry? I suppose you haven't had anything to eat, have you?" Bridger brought his eyes into focus with Bourne's. "That'd be nice. Where's Lucas?" "We have him in a holding cell below us, Captain. Don't worry. He's been fed and properly taken care of. He hasn't been harmed." Sighing, Bridger's eyes dropped down toward the medical table. "What do you want from me?" he asked. "Simple, Captain. I want Firebird." "Look. I told you--" "Spare me, Captain. I already know you're going to say you don't know anything." He paused and Bridger's eyes again locked with his. "And I'm half inclined to believe you. After all, you did *disappear* for ten years. But your son..." He paused again, as if the words would draw something out of Bridger. But Bridger remained silent. "We *know* your son is deeply involved with Firebird. We've tried quite unsuccessfully to get information from Robert Bridger using chemicals, but his training is very, *very* good. With you in the picture, I want to... experiment with psychological means of getting the information." The mention of torture to his son, made Bridger's blood boil cold. He jumped off the table and stood. "What are you going to do to him!" He took a threatening step forward. Krajefska stepped forward as if to intervene if Bridger got physically violent, but they both stopped and held their ground. Bourne raised a wagging finger at Bridger. "Uh uh, Captain. That would be breaking the rules of the game. All you need to know it that, for now, I'm going to verify the validity of your story." He outstretched his arm to indicate the examination table. "Please lie down. This shouldn't take long." Numbly, Bridger moved to comply. "What do you need?" he asked. At this, the unknown man stepped forward to answer him. "We need to obtain some spinal fluid from you." He gently pushed Bridger's shoulder onto the table and nudged him to indicate that he should lie on his side. "I'm going to perform a spinal tap to obtain it. You're going to feel a sharp prick in your lower spine and maybe a burning sensation as I withdraw the fluid, but--" Bridger fought to sit up. "What is this? What do you need my spinal fluid for?" The unknown man pushed hard on his shoulder to try and force him back down. "Calm down! This won't harm you as long as you cooperate!" Krajefska stepped forward and answered his question. "Your spinal fluid contains some of your own body's chemicals. Your DNA, if you will. We will culture it with some other... chemicals to design a truth serum specifically designed for your body and mind. Trust me, Mister Bridger. It's quite impossible to resist." *Impossible?* Bridger thought as he let his body lay back onto the table. The unknown man pulled his shirt from his back and pushed it up near his shoulders. *What about Robert? Surely they tried this on Robert? They're lying. It can't be impossible to resist. What else are they lying about?* He left his thoughts unvoiced. He felt some smug satisfaction that *his* son had resisted their "impossible to resist" techniques. *What does it matter anyway? They can't get anything about Firebird from me anyway, because I don't know anything. And when they find out I don't know anything, maybe they won't put Lucas through this.* He felt the prick as the needle broke the skin of his back. "Hold still," he was commanded. At first, the pain was not as bad as he had imagined. But suddenly, his entire spine and the base of his skull washed him with a dull, numbing ache. His face wrenched for the full five seconds it took to extract the liquid. As suddenly as it started, it ended. He was left with a dull fire where the needle had punctured his skin. His skin felt oddly wet, and he imagined his blood and spinal fluid pouring out of him. The man held his hand to Bridger's shoulder to keep him steady as he applied gauze to his puncture. "That should do it. Just lie on your side for a while and don't move. You'll be okay." The door opened and he could hear Bourne's voice behind him. "We'll be back in an hour or so, Captain. In the meantime, would you still like something to eat?" Bridger winced and tried to keep the pain from his voice. "Yes." "Good. I'll have my Defense Minister bring you some dinner. Goodbye, Captain." The door closed and locked behind him. * * * Over the years, water had slowly leaked into the tiny air pocket on the ocean floor. It was inevitable that the water pressures would take their toll on man-made places under the sea. They required constant maintenance to keep up. But some areas that were necessary for construction were neglected after final construction. These tiny pockets of air were sealed off and forgotten. The flashlight was Phuong's only source of light down here and he used it to carefully avoid the stagnant pools of water that had collected over the years. Stumbling over long discarded construction materials, he reached a dark corner. The beam of light barely lit the little niche in the rock he had found. He touched the rock to make sure it was dry. His hand came away with a layer of dust. Nervously he wiped it on his pants and looked upward. Despite the fact that there was nothing to see him in this little pocket of air between bottom floor of the Kerguelen installation and the rock on which it was built, he still felt the nervousness of eyes watching him. Shaking the feeling away, Phuong set to work. He cleared the dust and grime from the rock with his fist and removed a hand-sized electronic device from his breast pocket. He paused to try and calm his nerves, but the stillness only caused the uneasy feeling to creep up on him again. Taking a deep breath, he popped the device open. Like a Christmas tree, multicolored LEDs lit up on its complicated interior. Eager to put it down, he set it on the somewhat clean surface of the rock. Scrunching on his haunches, he flicked off the flashlight to reduce the light. He could still see with the light of the LEDs in the device. With one finger, he tapped out a message on the tiny keyboard. It took him longer than he had expected, but he knew the importance of what he was doing. His life depended on it. Everyone's lives depended on it. When he was done, he read back over the message to be sure it was right. It was. Taking another deep breath, he gently touched the TRANSMIT key. * * * Once again, Hudson waited in a darkened Spectre for the airlock to cycle through. Fredericks and the others had exited before him and he was the last of his group to leave Tasman Prime. He hated the idea of sending Fredericks and the others back through Macronesian waters without fighter protection. He toyed with the idea of sending Hausenbraugh back with them, but hesitated at the idea. Wolenczak... The airlock opened and he powered up the Spectre. In a matter of seconds, it was clear of the airlock. He was a bit stunned to see the two transports, the Macronesian Marauder, and Hausenbraugh's Spectre floating there, as if waiting for him. He clicked on his microphone. "Fredericks? What are you still doing here?" Thankfully, there were no other watercraft in sight or on sensors. "Piccolo's getting Bridger strapped down, sir. We don't want him to get injured if the ride gets bumpy." "Good idea. Sancress, what about Lieutenant O'Neill?" Hudson could hear his muffled voice as he turned away from the microphone and asked Dagwood if O'Neill had been strapped in. It bothered Hudson that he did not even know and had to ask. It showed his lack of concern for O'Neill's safety. "Your dagger is doing that now, Hudson," he finally responded. "All right." Hudson sighed and hoped he was doing the right thing. "Let's go. Myself, Hausenbraugh, and our new friend, Jared will follow you out for about five miles. Then we'll turn back and head for Kerguelen Plateau. After that, you're on your own so stay low." As a group, they powered up and sped away. End Part 23 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:17:17 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 24 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 24 Nausea flooded over him. But Bridger's body was not convulsing as he would have expected. It was slow to react, as if the messages from his brain were taking a full five seconds to reach his muscles. And even then, the muscles barely cooperated with what his mind told them to do. *Something...* He fought to catch the fleeting thought that touched his mind. He could not remember it, but he knew it was important somehow. *Something I'm supposed to-- to remember.* It nagged at him. He could feel it in the periphery of his thoughts. He could almost... hear it. *That's it! A sound!* Familiar sounds were tickling at his ears. He tried to focus on them. But the harder he concentrated, the less they meant to him. "--normal?" a voice said. "Yes. It's hard to know the exact dose on the first try." "How long will he be like this?" "It's hard to say. From my previous experiences with this type of medication, it could be an hour, or it could be the rest of the day." "What's your best guess?" The sounds faded and were replaced by a cacophony of disjointed thoughts and sensory perceptions. He tried to focus in on anything solid around him. A sound, a sight, a touch. But nothing would stay. His mind could not concentrate as all sensory input washed together. Abruptly, he could discern a shape. A person. As he focused on the image, it coalesced into a small, dark haired boy. The boy smiled warmly at him. *I know him.* he thought. *But...* He couldn't find a name. Panic struck him. He knew it was very important that he identify this child. Instinctively he reached out his hand. "Daddy!" the boy shouted. Running forward, the boy jumped up into his arms and wrapped his tiny arms around his neck. He felt the bitter sting of tears touch his eyes. *Robert!* He squeezed the child close to him. The boy playfully planted a kiss on his cheek. A spot of moist saliva was left behind. *Robert.* He smiled broadly as a feeling of parental pride and giddiness washed over him. *It's good to see you.* The world immediately felt so right knowing that Robert was his son. He would protect him. It was his duty to protect him. And mold him into a good, healthy person. He felt an awesome sense of responsibility. And it was so right. "Where are you going, Daddy?" Oddly, it became as if he were two people, each seeing through the same eyes. One was tied down, knowing the thoughts and actions of the other, but unable to prevent what the other was doing. The other one was beyond his control, acting and thinking, unaware that the other could see his mind. The one with the power of action put the child back on the ground. The child protested with sadness and fear. *No!* He knew what the other was doing and why. *No! You can't do this!* The child screamed, "Daddy! No! Don't go!" The tears began streaking down his face and he reached out his arms to be picked up again. *Pick him up!* he shouted. *Don't leave him like this! He needs you!* *I'm sorry son. I have to go.* *No! He doesn't understand! You're not gone for a day! You're gone for months!* *Go on to your mom. She'll take care of you.* *Don't you see it? Don't you understand? The military is taking you away from your family! They need you! You think you're helping your family by working! But you're hurting your family! And you're going to lose them!* *I love you, Robert.* *No! You're going to lose your son! He's going to turn out just like you! And he's going to die!* That last word and the child's screaming protests echoed in his mind and the illusion shattered. It was replaced by fire. He could feel the heat burning through his veins. It seemed to crawl up his body. Over his thighs. Past his groin. Through his gut. Inside his chest. His shoulders. His neck. His face. And into his mind. He struggled against the pain that beat at him. He wanted to put his hands to his head, but he was held immobile. The pain! Unable to help himself, he let out a massive scream. Silence. With that, his energy was spent. The pain subsided and he slumped down against the invisible restraints. He could still feel the heat. His mind registered the crackling of a fire. The smell of burning flesh. Opening his eyes, he saw it. Before him a massive fire burned. And something was struggling within it. He wanted to help, but he knew it was too late. He strained to see what it was that was caught within the flame. It thrashed about wildly, but its own restraints held it locked within the fire. Then he recognized it for what it was. *A bird.* The blackened, charred avian cried out in pain and subsided. He watched as it gave up the fight for life and settled its melting body into the ashes. He wanted to reach out to it. He wanted to take away its pain and bring it back to a full, glorious life. But he couldn't. As if on cue, the flames subsided. And the dead bird transformed before him. It was huge. And beautiful. The white plumage was streaked with red and yellow. It's powerful clawed feet uprighted the body and the wings spread out into a gorgeous display. The eyes focused on him. They were intense, powerful eyes. A message of understanding, pain, and compassion communicated through those eyes. All the years of successes and failures were in those eyes. In an instant, he knew and understood everything through those eyes. *The Phoenix!* He understood. He finally understood. With that gift, the bird leapt into the air and flew away. And he was left in darkness. Alone. *Alone.* he thought. His thoughts were drawn to those early years when Robert was still a child. He had been so bull headed. Carol and Robert loved him so much. They meant so much to him and he thought that everything he was doing was for them. But in hindsight he realized he was missing out on the most important thing. His family. And when he lost them, he could never go back and make up for what he had failed to do. His body wracked as he remembered the pain all over again. It shuddered through him and he gently cried. Through the haze of the pain, it took him several minutes before he realized he felt the warm touch of a hand on his skin. He turned and there stood another small child. *Robert?* Was this some sort of redemption? The child looked like Robert, but it wasn't Robert. He was confused. The child spoke. "Everything changes, dad." And with those words, Bridger identified the child. *Michael! My grandson!* Like his father before him, the child jumped into his arms and hugged him fiercely. It was going to be okay. Robert was alive, somewhere. And Bridger was going to save him. And he was not going to make the same mistakes with Michael that he had made with Robert. They would be a family. He would do it right this time. "Things change, Grandpa. Everything has to grow." He fought to reemerge from the darkness. * * * Bourne leaned in close to Bridger's face. "He seems somewhat conscious of what's going on around him." "He's coming down, now, sir." stated the doctor. "He'll be incoherent and confused for a while, but you should be able to get some useful interrogation from him in about thirty minutes." Krajefska walked around to stand opposite Bourne on Bridger's other side. He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers beside Bridger's ear, testing his reflexes. Very slowly, Bridger's faced turned. His eyes struggled to focus on Krajefska's fingers, but he abruptly gave up and instead focused on his face. Krajefska was surprised by the clarity he saw in those eyes. The intensity disconcerted him. He was grateful for the knock on the door. The doctor who had administered the drugs jumped, startled by the sound. A wild look of fear crossed his face as he looked toward Bourne. "I'm sorry, sir" he apologized. "I told them not to disturb us." Bourne appeared compassionate. "Oh, that's perfectly all right. Mister Bridger doesn't appear quite ready to talk to us anyway." Grateful for the forgiveness, the doctor moved to open the door. Krajefska watched as the doctor whispered to someone outside the door. He noted that the doctor held his body as to block the view of whoever had disturbed them. It left him curious. He looked back toward Bridger. The eyes were still locked on him. On one hand, Bridger's mind and body seemed to be far away. But on the other, he could not help the feeling of being pinned by those eyes. He did not feel a hatred coming from them, but rather a sense that Bridger would be his undoing. Bridger was making it personal. "Defense Minister?" He turned toward the doctor, grateful for the distraction. "Yes?" "Someone to speak to you." Krajefska coughed. "Thank you." He looked to Bourne. "If you'll excuse me, sir?" Bourne waved his hand as a dismissal, allowing him to leave the room. * * * Bridger lost sight of Krajefska as he left the room. He turned his eyes and attention to Bourne on his other side. Bourne was watching him with intensity. But despite the direction of his eyes, Bridger could tell that his mind was working its machinations elsewhere. *You have my son!* he thought. The image of Bourne's face burned into his mind. * * * Moments later, Krajefska returned. "Mister President?" Bourne turned. "Yes?" "I think you'll want to hear this." With a final, lingering glance, Bourne turned and stepped out through the door. In the hall, Krajefska indicated a uniformed officer that awaited them. Without a word, Bourne folded his arms and cocked his head to inquire as to what the officer had to say. The officer inhaled deeply, expanding his chest before speaking. "Mister President. We just received reports of an attack on Tasman Prime." This got Bourne's attention. "Oh?" He unraveled his folded arms. "Yes sir. We didn't get much before we lost communications. But sir... it's UEO. Captain Hudson of seaQuest." "seaQuest is here?" "We're not sure, sir. But it's Hudson, for sure." Not giving him a chance to think, Krajefska grabbed Bourne by the arm and spoke fast. "Sir. I can take squadrons 14, 15, and the Elite Army Division out to meet him. We--" "No." interrupted Bourne. "*You* will stay here and interrogate Bridger. *I* will see to Hudson. When this unpleasant business is completed, I'll return with Robert Bridger and we can continue." Krajefska was momentarily taken aback at having his power usurped, but he quickly collected himself. "Yes sir." "Good." Bourne turned to the officer. "Prepare for departure." * * * Silently, Piccolo watched the sleeping form of Robert Bridger. *It's amazing how much he looks like his dad,* he thought. *But he doesn't in a way.* For the umpteenth time, he checked the restraints. Ever since they had left Tasman Prime, very few words had been exchanged between Piccolo and Fredericks. She quietly guided the craft through the waters while he became more and more restless. He had taken to continually and fruitlessly using his limited medical skills to tend to the injured man. Not that he appeared all that injured. There were no visible breaks in the skin. Instead, he appeared drugged. *And probably psychologically tortured,* he thought. It hurt him to see the man suffer like this. It was like Captain Bridger himself was suffering. He was startled when Robert let out a long, soft groan. "Hey." Piccolo started in a gentle whisper. "Hey. You're going to be okay now." He futilely tried to fluff the pillows around his head. Robert's head turned and his confused eyes attempted to focus on Piccolo. After a few seconds, his brow wrinkled in consternation. "Who're you?" he finally asked. "I'm Crewman Tony Piccolo. From seaQuest. We just rescued you." The concerned look remained on his face. "seaQuest?" "Yeah, your dad showed up--" "My dad?" "Yeah. Captain Bridger came to the seaQuest-- Hey, did you know your dad was back?" But Robert ignored the question. Instead his expression turned to pain. "Oh, no. Dad wasn't supposed..." The remainder of his words went left unsaid. Piccolo was alarmed. "Hey. Your dad stuck his neck out to save you. You should be glad you have a dad that's willing to do that. He risked his life for you. We all did." Again, Robert ignored his words. "Where're you taking me?" "Back to seaQuest." Robert sighed as if frustrated, but resigned. "Okay." He closed his eyes and turned his face away. A long sigh escaped him. "Let me rest." Confused by the reactions he was getting, Piccolo agreed. "Sure." He took his hand away from the blanket supporting Robert's head and slowly stood up. "You just rest and get to feelin' better." Robert didn't respond. Piccolo watched him silently for a moment. *What's got him so worked up? He should be glad. I wish my family'd stick out their neck for me like that. I'd be glad to have a dad like Captain Bridger.* But the answers were not forthcoming. It only threw him into a tailspin of confusion and pain concerning his own family and the way they had treated him over the years. Not wanting to face those thoughts, he headed toward the front of the craft and sat in the co-pilot's seat beside Fredericks. She glanced briefly at him, but didn't say a word. He looked out the window at the view as the ocean zoomed past them and brooded. His thoughts had turned to his own family and he could not shake the funk in which it put him. He still could'nt get over the fact that he had not heard from them since seaQuest's return from Hyperion. *Why did they ever have me if they don't want me?* he asked himself. *My family is so screwed up. What a bunch of lowlifes I got in my closet. They'd just as soon stab their own kin in the back if it would get 'em ahead.* But that was not necessarily true and he knew it. It was just the way he saw them. They just did not actively participate in his life because they were too caught up in their own wheels and deals. *He* was just as guilty for not contacting *them* since seaQuest returned from Hyperion. Did that make him the same kind of lowlife as them? "You okay?" Fredericks question broke his reverie. It was the first word out of her mouth in over an hour. He contemplated telling her his thoughts, but he was having difficulty facing them. It was a very deep and personal pain of his. He was starting to develop some personal feelings for the woman and the last thing he wanted to do was show her what a cretin he was. "No, I'm a'right," he finally responded. Her eyes lingered on him for several seconds before she gently nodded her head and turned her eyes and turned back to the window. Before he could stop himself, the words came out. "That guy," he pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Robert Bridger, "doesn't seem very happy that his dad came lookin' for 'im. He seemed upset by it." Fredericks pivoted in her seat to look at Bridger. She took him in with little interest. "Really?" "Yeah, I'd be tickled pink if my dad did something like that for me." "You don't think he would?" Oops! He had said more than he meant to say. "Naw. I'm not sayin' that. It's just that if he did, I'd be kinda happy about it." His mind churned as he tried to change the subject. His eyes landed on the complex panel before him. "Hey, you think we should send a message ahead and let Commander Ford know we're comin'?" Considering for a moment, Fredericks finally said, "Sure. Just encode it and don't say anything about Captain Hudson and Hausenbraugh in case it's intercepted." "Yeah," said Piccolo. Although his mind was whirring, he busied himself with the task. "I'll be careful." * * * O'Neill was feeling stiff... and bored. After all the excitement over the past few days, the silence of the craft taking them back to seaQuest was engulfing. He had lain down in the back of the craft, strapped down by the restraints that Dagwood had fastened around him, for several hours now. The pain in his shoulder had subsided to a dull ache and only an occasional knife like stabbing pain. His mind whirled over what they had done. He, Timothy O'Neill, had saved Robert Bridger. Well, not all by himself. There was lots of people who had helped along the way. And the truth is, he could not have done it without them. But he felt an incredible pride in the fact that *they* could not have done it without *him*. But at a price. Captain Bridger and Lucas had been almost killed and then captured. O'Neill felt guilty that he was not there to rescue them too. Then again, the pain in his shoulder told him that he had done enough rescuing for a while. "Dagwood!" he croaked. In an instant, Dagwood was at his side. "Tim?" "Let me loose. I want to sit up for a while." "Mmm, okay." In a few seconds, O'Neill was unstrapped. Very gently, Dagwood helped him to a sitting position. He winced causing Dagwood to flail his arms in worry. "Is Tim okay?" "Yes, Dagwood, I'll be all right." O'Neill screwed his face up and shouted. "Now stop mothering me!" The comment was lost on Dagwood. "Okay!" he shouted back innocently. Chuckling softly, O'Neill shook his head. Dagwood's innocence was both a blessing and a curse. He put the hand of his uninjured arm into Dagwood's beefy hand. "Help me up, Dagwood." Together, they got O'Neill to his feet. O'Neill directed Dagwood to help him to the co-pilot's seat beside Sancress. The entire journey, Sancress had been stoically silent. As O'Neill sat and Dagwood took up a stance behind them, he still said nothing and kept his eyes facing forward. O'Neill watched him for several minutes, but he refused to avert his eyes for the outside view or even acknowledge their presence. "I'm doing much better now, thank you," stated O'Neill sarcastically. Sancress finally turned and just stared at him. For several seconds they simply stared back and forth, before Sancress, without a word, turned his attention back toward the window. O'Neill harumphed in annoyance and stared out the window too. His eyes locked on the other transport ahead of them carrying Robert Bridger. * * * Despite Phuong's several attempts to mollify Lucas that he was here to help him, he refused to listen. The man had proven that he was not trustworthy. And there was a certain satisfaction in denying him the approval he seemed to want. When he again heard the footsteps approaching from down the hallway of his cell, he steeled himself for another confrontation with Phuong. But this time, it was Krajefska with another of his faceless soldiers. "Ah, Mister Lucas Wolenczak," said Krajefka, "it seems that you are finally going to get your wish." The words sparked a glimmer of hope. "You're letting us go?" He cursed himself for sounding too eager. "Oh, nothing so dreary. This is another wish." He directed the soldier to open the cell. "You're going to be reunited with Nathan Bridger." Lucas stepped back and waited for the door to open. "Is he okay? Have you hurt him?" "Oh, don't worry. He's in fine shape. He's... resting now." The tone of voice suggested otherwise. It caused the hair on the back of Lucas' neck to stand on end. He cautiously exited the cell and tried to stand defiantly before Krajefska. "If you hurt him, I swear to God--" A crashing blow to his head stunned him. After a split second of disorientation, he found himself bearing down under the pain as Krajefska had balled up a handful of hair on the back of his head and yanked his head forward. He was powerless in this position. Krajefska brought his face up close to Lucas'. "Mister Wolenczak. You *will* obey me! You *will* cooperate!" He yanked hard on the hair to make his point. "And you *will not* threaten me!" He yanked again. "Understood?" He waited for an answer. Lucas did not want to give him the satisfaction. Instead, he stood silently with his head held forcefully at an awkward angle. "C'mon!" Krajefska spoke in a sing song voice as he forced Lucas to nod is head. "Say: 'Yes, Mister Krajefska. I understand and I will cooperate. I won't give you *any* trouble.'" But still Lucas remained silent. Angry, Krajefska pulled hard on Lucas' head, forcing him to his knees. "Now Mister Wolenczak, are we going to have to go *all* the way upstairs like this?" He yanked again. "Hmm?" It was not so much the pain that bothered Lucas, but rather the indignity. And he realized that now was not the time or place to fight. There would come another, better time. "Yes!" he finally relented. "Good!" He let go of Lucas' hair and wiped the hand on his thigh. "That was not a pleasant experience for either of us." Shakily, Lucas stood. *Maybe it's time I cut my hair* he thought. * * * "Commander Ford?" His heart told him not to answer the page, but his reflexes still reacted to it. What did it matter anyway? As much as he had tried, he had not been able to sleep. For the past 36 hours, he had not slept at all. The insomnia that had overtaken him had caused his performance to diminish and his judgement to become impaired. He had to get some rest. That's why he found himself lying in his bed during his normal duty hours. "Yes?" he said almost as soon as his finger hit the button. "Lieutenant Henderson, sir." He sighed at the sound of her voice. She had remained a rock throughout this whole ordeal. His rock, although most discreetly. She fully understood the need to keep their working relationship on a professional level. Although the UEO had relaxed its stance on shipboard romances, they still frowned upon "conduct unbecoming" behavior amongst its officers and still loosely followed the old US navy rules in regards to it. But during their private moments... "What is it?" He picked up the discarded undershirt from the table and tossed it across his bare shoulder. He had a feeling he would be putting it back on in a moment. "seaQuest just received a message from Tony Piccolo." That piqued his interest. "What does it say?" "It... It's kind of strange, sir." *A coded message?* "Is it readable text?" "Yes sir, but..." "Henderson, Just read it to me." He was growing tired of her stammering. "It says: *Target located. They had bovines. Coming home with steaks.*" *What!?* "Is that *it* Henderson?" "Yes sir." His mind raced. Steaks? Was that supposed to mean they were successful? "Uh, sir?" "Yes, Henderson?" "Bovines?" Ford almost laughed at the image of the confusion it must have caused her. "It's a cow. Like a horse is an equine, a cow is a bovine." "I know that, but what does it mean *they had bovines*?" "It's just an old saying. *Don't have a cow.* It means don't get worked up. It's what Hausenbraugh always says. And it must mean that they had a confrontation." "And the *coming home with steaks* part?" "Let's hope it means they succeeded and everyone's coming back." * * * Time dragged by. For several monotonous hours O'Neill had sat in the co-pilot's seat and simply stared out the window. No one was in much of a talkative mood. He just locked his eyes on the leading transport and let his mind wander. His reverie was momentarily broken when the transport in front of them dipped below a rise in the ocean floor. Sancress arced them over the same rise, and O'Neill sought out the other transport when they crested. But he could not find it. Suddenly alarmed, he leaned forward and searched for it. He was shocked when he realized they were practically on top of it. "You're getting a little close, aren't you?" he stated. The sound of his own voice was the first sound in a long time and it sounded strange to him. Sancress did not deign to answer. He also did not back off from their proximity to the other craft. "Hey," O'Neill urged. "You want to back off a little?" What happened next startled him. Sancress rammed the other craft. O'Neill jolted, his shoulder shooting him severe pain. A wrenching crunch filled the cabin as the transports crashed again. "Hey!" shouted O'Neill. "Are you crazy!?" They rammed again and it became clear to him that what Sancress was doing was quite deliberate. He was trying to kill Robert Bridger. End Part 24 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:18:03 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 25 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 25 The crash brought Piccolo quickly awake, nearly jolting him out of the co-pilot's seat. It took him a second to realize where he was and what he was doing, but the sight of Fredericks beside him fighting to keep control of the craft brought it all back to him. "What the heck was that!?" he shouted at her. "I don't know." Her tone was cool. Her knuckles turned white as she fought to get them back under control and she was too busy to answer him. *BLAM!* They were hit again. Fredericks looked up, then over at Piccolo. Her eyes were wide with astonishment. "That feels like they hit us!" Scrambling, Piccolo stabbed at the comm unit beside himself and opened communications. "What the heck's goin' on over there!?" He got nothing but static in reply. * * * O'Neill tried to stand, but it was increasingly difficult to keep his balance. Sancress swerved the craft around again to slam into the others. O'Neill opened his mouth to shout, "Dagw--" They hit again, causing O'Neill to fall. He stuck out his good arm to break the fall and prevent himself from landing on the bad shoulder. The arm crumpled underneath his weight and he rolled away from the wounded shoulder to slam into the side of the craft. The pain wrenched at him. It felt like someone had just tried to rip his arm out its socket. "Dagwood!" he croaked. "Stop him!" O'Neill gathered his wits the best he could. Rolling back over, he sat up. What he saw shocked him. A cord was fastened to the side of the craft interior. The other end was tight around Dagwood's neck. It was a wire noose of some sort. O'Neill could see the growing indentations where it bit into Dagwood's skin. The GELF clawed at his neck, struggling to break the cord, but his beefy fingers would not let him get a grip. And Sancress was still at the transport controls. * * * They crashed again. That one nearly knocked Piccolo's teeth out. In a panic, he looked out the window, trying to see what they were doing. The waters were swirling past them at crazy angles. *Definitely not right,* he thought. He looked over at Fredericks... She was gone. Diving for the controls, he fought to bring them back under control. The crumpled form of Fredericks lay slumped against the wall beside him, where she had been thrown from her seat. * * * The groan and heavy ping of stressed metal reached O'Neill's ears. "Dagwood! No!" The GELF was attempting to pull the cord from its attachment to the wall, in an effort to free himself. His massive strength threatened to rip the craft's wall apart. "You'll breach the hull!" Dagwood stopped and looked around helplessly. The noose prevented him from speaking or even breathing. O'Neill looked around for something-- anything to be used as a weapon to stop Sancress. He put his good hand on what looked like a medical kit and crouched. Taking a split second to gauge the distance, he launched himself forward and swung the kit at Sancress' head. In a move that was quicker than he thought humanly possible, Sancress turned and slammed his fist into O'Neill's chest. The force of the blow propelled him toward the back of the craft where he slammed into the wall. The medical kit flew off wildly, never hitting its intended target. * * * Piccolo's hands went numb, he was gripping the controls so hard. They were hit again and the craft skewed sideways and threatened to do a mid-water tumble. But momentum carried them forward. And down. The ocean floored loomed large as it rushed up to meet them. He pulled hard on the controls to bring their nose up, but they had quit responding. "YEEEEOW!" he screamed as they zoomed closer and closer. The view as they hit the ground etched a permanent place in his memory. With a bone jarring crunch, the craft halted in the sea floor, but inertia carried his body forward into the control board. * * * The pain made him want to pass out. But O'Neill knew he was their only hope. He gathered himself and sat up again. "What're you doing!" he croaked. "This is suicide!" From the controls, Sancress answered him. "Maybe. Maybe not." It didn't make sense. Again, O'Neill grabbed the nearest heavy object and stood warily. "I can't let you do this." This time he approached more cautiously, alert for Sancress' movements. He had the added advantage that Sancress' attention would be divided between himself and piloting the craft to ram the others. But again, Sancress was lightning quick. He spun around and grabbed at O'Neill's injured shoulder, causing him to crumple. "You will not stop me from my mission, Mister Timothy O'Neill. You are the enemy and the enemy *must be destroyed*." For added emphasis, he pushed his thumb into the hole of O'Neill's wound. "Agh!" he grunted. The pain was more than he could bare. It took all his waning strength to stay conscious. He wanted to strike out with his good arm, but the energy just was not there. His vision began tunneling and his face curled up in pain. Sancress pushed harder. O'Neill gathered what little strength he had remaining and put it into his good arm. Shakily, he brought up a balled fist. Sancress easily moved to block the coming blow. And O'Neill kicked his leg upward with all his might. The blow startled him more than it hurt him. They toppled and both came crashing down in a heap. Grabbing blindly, O'Neill grasped the first blunt object that came into his hand and swung it around himself. It clunked on Sancress's arm. He kept swinging, over and over. And over. * * * All movement stopped. Piccolo's first action was to touch himself, to assure himself that he was still alive. The little aches and pains of bruised muscles and wrenched joints told him he had survived. When he opened his eyes, he found himself wedged in the tiny open space between the control panel and the front window. It was a miracle that he had not smashed through the window. Blood was oozing from a gash in his hand, but he was otherwise all right as far as he could tell. He pushed himself out of the small niche and fell heavily to the floor. It was eerily quiet after the adrenaline pumped mania of just a minute ago. He rose shakily to his feet and noted there was no other movement in the craft. It was up to him to check on Fredericks and Bridger. And he still had no clue as to what had happened. * * * Thanks to Dagwood's genetic makeup, the cord that had cut off his windpipe had not killed him. O'Neill fumbled with the strange device that had latched him to the hull, but eventually got it unfastened. It was a deviously deceptive device. The more a person pulled at it, the tighter it became. While the now free Dagwood grasped for air, O'Neill asked, "You okay, Dagwood?" Dagwood merely shook his head affirmatively. "Good. Hold him," O'Neill indicated the unmoving Sancress, "while I try and level us out and contact Tony and the others. It's a wonder we didn't crash. Let's just hope they're okay." * * * "Fredericks?" the speaker called. "Tony? You there?" Piccolo stood up from the injured Fredericks and scrambled for the microphone. He fumbled with it as the blood poured down to his elbow and made it slippery. "Yeah! What the heck happened over there!?" he shouted when he had pushed the proper button. "Oh, thank God!" O'Neill said with a sigh. "It's Hector Sancress! The guy went crazy and started ramming your shuttle. And he nearly killed Dagwood." "You guys a'right?" "We stopped him. Dagwood's got him and he's not going to do anything like that again anytime soon." Pause. "Is anyone hurt over there?" Piccolo looked down at Fredericks. "Yeah. Freddie's got a nasty bump on the head, but she's awake. Bridger's kid was strapped in, so he looks okay too." He looked at the blood gushing down his arm and for the first time the pain set in. "And I got a nasty cut on the hand, but I'll live, I guess." "Good." There was nothing but silence after that and Piccolo's hair stood on end. "And you guys doing a'right?" "For the moment." Pause. "What kind of shape is your shuttle in?" Piccolo looked back. Fredericks was sitting up and rubbing at the back of her head. Her hand came away with blood. She looked up at Piccolo. "I'll have to give the engines a look." she told him. He turned back to the microphone. "Freddie's checkin' that out right now. What about you?" "Give me a few minutes, I'll find out." * * * Looking down at his gauge, Hudson noted that he was getting dangerously low on fuel. There was plenty to get them to Kerguelen Plateau, but not enough to get them back to UEO waters. He really had not expected to take them out this far. It was too late to turn back now. They were less than an hour from their destination. And lives were on the line. * * * Lucas hated seeing Bridger like this. He looked so frail and human. Not at all the strong, valiant man he had grown to respect over these past years. He folded his arms against his chest and leaned his back against the cell bars. He leaned carefully because his back was still sore from the incident on the Vietnamese boat. Staring at his feet, he reflected on the events that had just transpired. Krajefska took him into the room where they had been holding Bridger for the last several days. It was good to see him again, but it was a bittersweet reunion. They had had him drugged and he was quite delirious and intoxicated. He seemed only peripherally aware of Lucas. When Lucas demanded to know what they had done to him, it earned him a slap across the face. He quickly learned to just stay silent. Thankfully, there was no physical torture. Rather, the torture was psychological. They tried to convince Bridger, using manipulation of his thoughts and threats to Lucas, to tell them something about Robert Bridger or Firebird. This went on for hours, but Bridger's incessant confusion about their questions seemed to wear down Krajefska more than it wore down Bridger. In the end, Lucas almost thought Krajefska was convinced they knew nothing. Eventually it ended and they were both led back to the underground cell. Bridger, still under the effect of the drug, slept. This left Lucas to merely stand and brood. He longed for Bridger to wake up so he could have someone with whom he could interact and help process his experiences of the last few days. What day was it? He didn't know. The torture of not knowing what was happening or going to happen was maddening. And now that Bridger was reunited with him, alone but for the unseen spying devices, it was an opportunity to try and put his head back on straight. He wanted to tell him about Phuong. He needed to talk. But instead he let him sleep. It was probably the best thing for him right now. It was with relief that he heard a stirring. He turned and a bleary eyed Bridger was looking up at him from where he lay on the cell's only mattress. "Lucas?" he asked. "You okay?" His voice shook with a tired sound. Immediately Lucas walked over and squatted beside him. "Yes, I'm fine. How're *you*, Captain?" Before answering he took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds. He winced as he let it out. "Sore," he finally stated, his voice tired and ragged. He reached up and rubbed his hand at his face and eyes. For all his desire to talk to him, Lucas found himself unable to speak. Instead, he remained silent as Bridger's mind wandered over thoughts unknown. They were silent and unmoving for several minutes as they each stayed lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Bridger brought himself back to reality. He tried, shakily, to sit up. Lucas grabbed his arm and together, they got him to a sitting position. When he was comfortably sitting, he flexed and twisted his arms to work out the kinks. His joints cracked loudly in the cavernous room. "You're sure you're not hurt?" he finally asked. "Yeah, I'm fine." Lucas responded softly. "They didn't hurt me at all." "What do you remember?" "Everything. They didn't use drugs on me. I think I was just there to coerce you in to telling them what they want to know. What do you remember?" "Not much. I remember bits and pieces, but it is all so... jumbled up." Again there was a pained silence. Bridger's brow furrowed as he tried to remember, but it was clear it was not coming to him. Finally he let out a long breath. "Did I tell them anything useful?" Lucas looked horrified at him a moment before noting the faint smirk that danced across his face. It was a sign that he was okay and it made him smile back. "No. Nothing about Firebird. You talked about Robert, but mostly about when he was little. A little bit about how you've been looking for him. seaQuest. Doctor Westphalen. Your grandson, Michael. And..." He paused at the thought of telling him what he had heard. He stared at the floor. *Should I tell him some of the things I heard?* he asked himself. When he looked back up, Bridger was staring at him. "And?" he prompted. "Well..." Lucas started. How could he say this? The words could not seem to come to him. He felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "What is it, Lucas?" Bridger prodded. "Well, Captain, it's about... It's Hyperion, sir. You told them-- and me-- about Hyperion." The news clearly stunned Bridger. He froze for a moment before stiffly pulling his hand away from Lucas' shoulder and leaning back to rest his back against the wall. Lucas rushed to reassure him. "You didn't really say much. Just how you-- or rather we-- rebuilt seaQuest. And the war. And your efforts to convince them to bring us home. A lot of it didn't even make sense." He paused and bit his lip, wondering if he had said too much. Bridger sat and stared at Lucas for a moment, his mind working. Finally he squinted one eye and asked, "What else? Did I say anything specific?" "Nothing that made any sense. But..." Again his voice trailed off. "But what?" Lucas licked his lips before asking, "What exactly did they do to Brody and Commander Ford? You said they were dead and the aliens... did something to... bring them back to life. Apparently a lot of us..." Bridger sighed, clearly agitated at the news. "That's right. They did some pretty amazing things. But I can't tell you, Lucas." He looked upward, as if looking for listening devices. "I made a promise not to say anything." The hope of finding out *something* of what happened to the seaQuest crew on that alien world began to fade. "You can't say anything. I understand. I can respect and... accept that." He knew better than to expect Bridger to tell him. "But you can't blame me for asking," he added, a touch of a smile on his lips. Bridger smiled. "No. No, I guess I can't." He shifted his weight for better comfort and continued. "Now tell me everything I told them. It's important for me to know." With that, Lucas told him of every meaningless scrap of information he had heard over the past several hours. * * * Piccolo leaned in, trying to see inside the hole that was swallowing Fredericks' head and shoulders as she examined the engines. "Howzit look?" he asked. Fredericks' muffled reply was not discernable. He crawled to his hands and knees to hear her, but she was already pulling herself out. When she had completely backed out, she turned and sat on her haunches. Her breath was deep and her skin glistened with sweat. The sweat mingled with the drying blood from the gash in her head. "You okay?" Piccolo asked. She nodded and wiped her sleeve across her forehead. "Yeah." After another gulp of air, she continued. "Go up front and watch the power gauge for a minute. I need to know if it fluctuates any. I'm going to crawl back in there and try rerouting some connections." "Okay." Piccolo stood and moved toward the front of the craft. When he got there, he looked over the mass of buttons, dials, and switches with which he was presented. They meant very little to him. And in particular, he did not know which was the power gauge. He turned back. "Hey! Which one's the power gauge?" She turned from where she had been about to crawl back into the hole, and sighed in frustration. Taking a second to build her strength, she stood and walked up front. Her expression was not happy. Feeling helpless, Piccolo flustered. "I'm sorry, I--" "Here!" she snapped. She reached out and flipped the switch several times to make it clear. "I'm sorry. I know the UEO stuff like the back o' my hand. But this Macro stuff, I only know like the back o' my ass. I don't see it that often, so..." Her expression turned soft and she grabbed his arm to stop him. "That's all right. I apologize for snapping at you like that. I'm not angry at you, I'm just frustrated at...", she spread her hand to indicate the craft's interior, "...the situation we're in." Piccolo smiled, glad that he had not offended her. "Good. I'm glad." He quickly realized that she could have mistaken what he meant by that. "I mean, I'm glad that you're not angry at me. I'm not glad about, you know, this mess we're in. You know what I mean?" Her face turned flat. "I mean... well..." He coughed and turned his attention to the switch. "Show me how to operate this. What am I s'posed to do?" For a lingering second she watched his discomfort with amusement, but soon turned her attention to the switch. "You hold this down." She held the switch down to show him. "And watch this indicator. See that line right there? If you see that line go above..." Her voice trailed off as her eye caught something. "What is it?" Piccolo asked. "Hold on a second." She watched the indicator with concern as she flipped the switch back and forth several times. Piccolo stepped back to stay out of her way. She moved into the spot that he had vacated and soon, she was punching buttons and flipping switches all over the control panel as she tried to isolate what she thought she was seeing. Eventually she stopped, flopped down in the pilot's seat, and sighed in frustration. "What!?" Piccolo implored. "We're in trouble." "Whaddaya mean? What is it?" "We're on backup power. It looks like the main power supply is gone." "What does that mean?" "It means even if we could get the engines started, we're not going anywhere. And it also means we have limited life support left." "Oh." The color drained from Piccolo's face as he assimilated the news. "What do we do?" Fredericks put her hand to her mouth and thought about it for a second. "I'll shut down everything we don't need." She leaned forward to begin. "You contact Lieutenant O'Neill and let him know our situation." "Okay." Piccolo moved over and sat at the co-pilot's seat to contact O'Neill. He punched in the necessary codes and lifted the microphone to his lips. "Tim? Tim, you there?" * * * O'Neill punched the autopilot to make the craft smoothly circle over the downed craft of his injured friends. "Tim?" He punched the communications button. "Yeah, Tony. I'm here. What's up?" "Freddie... Fredericks says we're in trouble. We ain't got main power and we're runnin' on emergency backup." "Shut everything down you don't need, Tony. It'll--" "She's doin' that right now." "Good." O'Neill's mind whirred as he tried to figure a way out for them. They were still in Macronesian waters, but only a little less than an hour away from the border with the UEO and freedom. If he could figure out a way-- His thoughts were interrupted by Piccolo on the speaker. "You think you can transfer us over to your ship or pick up our ship and carry it the rest of the way?" "I was just thinking of that, Tony." He looked behind himself at Dagwood. The GELF still held the erratic Hector Sancress and was preventing him from causing any more trouble. His eyes drifted toward the bent metal of the craft's hull where Dagwood had tried to free himself from the noose device. "But I don't think that'll work." he told Piccolo. "Why not?" "For one thing, these machines weren't made to dock like that. And on the other, we've got some damage ourselves. I'm afraid if we tried to lift you, one of us might crack open. I really don't want to risk it." "Oh." Pause. "So what do we do?" "I think it'd be best if Dagwood and I keep going. We'll contact seaQuest and send someone out for you. The pause on the other end was telling. "Tim," said Piccolo, his voice subdued, "I don't know if I like that. I mean, I'd just as soon get out of Macro territory, if you know what I mean." "I know what you mean, Tony. But I don't see any better choice." Piccolo sighed in resignation. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right." "Just hang on tight. We'll send someone out for you in about an hour." "Okay." Piccolo's voice sounded dejected. "Good luck, Tim. You too, Dagwood." "Good luck, Tony!" both O'Neill and Dagwood replied simultaneously. "Yeah," was the last thing they heard. O'Neill broke the communications channel and took his craft off autopilot. It was difficult to navigate with one good arm, but he managed to aim the craft toward the Macronesian/UEO border, seaQuest, and home. With hope in their hearts, O'Neill and Dagwood sped away from their fallen friends. End Part 25 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:19:27 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 26 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 26 Once again, Bridger and Lucas were in the interrogation room. While being led there, Bridger had taken extra care to mentally trace their route. He estimated they were two floors up and at least 400 lateral feet from their cell below. Although, because of the several turns they had taken on the trip there, it was difficult to be sure of the numbers. If needed, he felt reasonably comfortable to retrace their steps on his own. At the moment, however, they were back in the interrogation room and his wrists and ankles were once again being secured to the table by Krajefska's medical people. At present, there had been no drugs administered. Lucas was also placed in the same chair as the day before: an old office chair with rollers. Except this time, they had added the extra precaution of handcuffing his right hand to the chair's armrest and chaining the chair to the table. The last of the wrist restraints was set in place as Bridger watched. He marveled at the simple latch and how easy it would be to unhook, if only he had a free hand to do so. The irony was biting. He looked up at Krajefska, who was leaning against the table and watching. "Where's Bourne?" Bridger asked. Standing straight, Krajefska folded his arms across his chest and spoke. "President Bourne is not here at the moment, but he'll be back soon enough. He's gone back to Tasman Prime to retrieve your son." Bridger took that with unconcern. They had been threatened so many times in the last few days that the threats did not effect him anymore. "So what's the purpose of this?" He nodded his head toward his wrist where it was locked to the side of the table. "What are you after this time?" Laughing lightly, Krajefska unfolded his arms and reached out to stroke the metal bar that held the wrist captive. "We want your secrets, Captain Bridger." Bridger watched interestedly as Krajefska almost lovingly stroked the metal. He caught a sinister agitation in Krajefska's tone. Something that told him that this had nothing to do with secrets, and more to do with power. He was *enjoying* the power that he had over Lucas and Bridger. So what was the purpose of this interrogation? What did he hope to gain? Lucas spoke up. "I can't believe this." He knew he was risking more indignant slaps across the head, but he felt the need to say *something* to stop this madness. "After yesterday, how can you not believe that we know nothing about Firebird?" Krajefska must have been feeling magnanimous. Instead of striking out as he had done in the past, he turned an inquisitive face toward Lucas. A faint smile crept onto his face, revealing his amusement. "Oh, but on the contrary, Mister Wolenczak. I *do* believe that you and Captain Bridger know absolutely nothing about Firebird. Our little exercise yesterday, I think, proves that. Unless one of you is very, *very* good at hiding your thoughts." His smirk turned into a full, toothy smile. "But I have serious doubts about *that*." "So what are we doing here?" called out Bridger. He was attempting to draw Krajefska's attention away from Lucas again. "What do you hope to gain this time?" He pleaded to the medical staff still in the room. "How can you stand by and listen to this? He's insane!" They could only look uncomfortably away. Krajefska turned back to Bridger and the smile faded to a thin line. He folded his arms again and stared pensively at Bridger for several uncomfortable seconds. Eventually he looked up at the medical staff. "Leave us." he commanded. They jumped to comply. After they exited the room, Krajefska finally turned back to Bridger and answered in a voice that sounded like he was admonishing a small child. "I already told you." Viciously and unexpectedly, he swung his arm outward behind himself and struck Lucas across the face. The move was unexpected, but the meaning was clear as he turned again to Bridger and whispered, "Your secrets." Wincing from the blow, Lucas spat the welling blood in his mouth onto the floor. Krajefska looked at the spot where the bloody spittle landed. In a show of power, he put his booted toe into the mixture of blood and saliva and smeared it across the floor. "I've got to break you physically, before I can break you mentally," he told them. * * * "...and next thing we knew," Fredericks said, through a wide smile, "she lifted up the skirt. Sure enough, she was a man!" She giggled with delight at the memory. "Hot damn!" exclaimed Piccolo. "You mean the whole time, *she* was a *he*!?" Frederick's fought to catch her breath between the laughing fits, but all she could get out was a stifled "Yeah!" before breaking up again. "Man! Who woulda thought!" With that, Piccolo broke out in equally raucous laughter. Their laughter was a welcome change after the dark mood that had settled over them during the last few hours. Not long after O'Neill had left them alone on the ocean floor, a foreboding silence descended upon them. Piccolo looked after the now unconscious Robert Bridger, although there was little he could do but try to keep him as warm as possible in the increasing cold. Fredericks tinkered with the Macronesian equipment, but with so little power remaining, she could not properly test the circuitry. They had settled down to telling stories of her early years in the service. In the darkened transport, they could barely see each other, and although Piccolo could not make out her face, he could easily pick up the bright white of her smile as she laughed. It pleased him to see her smile. After a while, their laughter subsided enough for Piccolo to add, "I'll bet you were embarrassed when you found *that* out!" "Not--" started Fredericks. She let out yet another unsubdued giggle before continuing, "not as bad as Ensign Stewart! He was *terrified*!" The non-repressible laughter started up again. Eventually it calmed again and Piccolo wiped the tears from his eyes. "I can't say as I ever heard of that." he said through the tears. "A cross-dressing GELF!" "Yeah, and he made a pretty good looking woman, too." Piccolo tried so hard to not laugh that he almost snorted. "But I don't get it," he said after his giggles were back under control again. "I thought GELF's were s'posed to be, like, genetically superior and all 'at. How can a guy GELF be a genetic super*man*, if he looks like a chick?" She suppressed another oncoming giggle. "I don't know. I guess you had to see it. I mean, we've all got two legs, two arms, and a head. In the right situation, a man and a woman can look quite similar--" "Yeah, but what about--" "--especially with the right prosthetics!" They both broke out in another fit of giggles. Being nearly laughed out, it subsided quicker than before. Piccolo stared hard into the darkness and could just barely make out the lines of the face around her smile. He was hit with the sudden urge to kiss her, but admonished himself for the ridiculous thought. He suspected she would not appreciate the gesture. His wandering thoughts caused a few moments of awkward silence. In an attempt to break it, Fredericks asked, "What about you, Piccolo? Do you have any juicy stories from when you joined your first sub crew?" Suddenly embarrassed by the unexpected question, Piccolo looked downward and fidgeted. "Naw. You musta not heard the stories about how I come to be on seaQuest." Noticing his sudden discomfort, Fredericks turned serious. "No, I haven't." "You never wondered why I'm a non-comm?" She didn't mean to make him uncomfortable, but had to admit she was curious. "No-- well, yeah, I guess so." "It was kinda a mercy postin'. It was either the seaQuest or the brig. So... I chose seaQuest." "Really?" The conversation turned momentarily quiet again. "Look. I don't mean to bring up old wounds." And it was getting a bit too personal for her tastes. "If you don't want to talk about it..." "Naw, that's a'right. If we get back to seaQuest, you could look it up anyways, so's I might as well tell ya. I can't escape what I done anyways, ya know. It's a matter of public record." She was not sure she wanted to hear this. He seemed suddenly willing to expose the skeletons in his past, but there was a seed of titillating curiosity in her as well. She decided to let him lead her wherever he wanted to go. "Okay," she agreed non-commitingly. "I was court marshaled for decking a superior." Suddenly his attentions turned to the cleanliness of his fingernails. "The guy had it coming to 'im, though." "Well, I don't understand. If you were court marshaled, how..." The rest of her words were left unsaid. "I was... well... they gave me a choice. I could stay in the brig for the next five years or I could volunteer myself for experimental surgery." Piccolo looked up from his fingers and searched the darkness for her eyes. "I couldn't take the brig. It don't agree wit me, if ya know what I mean." His eyes darted back down to his fingers again. She was stunned by the news. *Experimental surgery!* she thought. *He certainly looks normal enough to me.* Her thoughts wandered to the chip in her own neck and the mixed feelings she had about it. Unexpectedly, her heart poured out to him with empathy. "What kind of surgery?" she asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer. Piccolo shifted his weight and unzipped his shirt. As he pulled the shirt off his shoulders, Fredericks shouted, somewhat in jest but with a hint of seriousness, "Oh, God! Don't tell me you used to be a woman!" Laughing lightly, Piccolo dropped his shirt to the floor and turned his side toward her. "Naw! It ain't that! They give me gills. See?" "Gills!? Like a fish?" She felt numbed by the news. It did not sound believable. "Like you can breathe underwater?" "Not exactly like a fish, but yeah." "I've never heard of such a thing. How is that possible?" "I don't know the scientific mumbo jumbo of it all. I just know it works. You probably never heard of it 'cause it's s'posed to be classified information." She strained to see his gills in the darkness. "Well, I'll be..." Piccolo moved closer to give her a better look. She flinched away from him. "Go ahead an' touch 'em," he prodded. "They don't bite or nothin'." On one hand, she was disgusted and did *not* want to touch them. But on the other, she was curious. And his willingness to show her this part of him betrayed a trust and vulnerability. She reached out and gingerly touched the slotted flesh near his kidneys. It felt normal, but for the hardness along each gill's edge. Without warning the flesh quivered and she instinctively jerked her hand away. Suddenly embarrassed at her own timidity, she apologized. "That's a'right." he told her. "It freaks a lot o' people out. I don't blame 'em, I guess. It *is* kinda weird." "No it's not--" "Sure it is. Just call me fishboy." He puckered his lips in a fish imitation. Although his tone was joking, she recognized the subtle signs of shame, hidden beneath the humor. "I'm sorry, I..." Uncomfortable with the situation and confused with her own feelings, she was at a loss for words. Instead of trying to apologize for his hurt feelings, she plowed forward. "So how did you end up on seaQuest?" "After the surgery, they wanted to do all sorts of tests on me. They poked all over, trying to see what made me tick and how the gills was workin' out. It was worse than sittin' in the brig, so I was..." he grinned fiendishly, "...uncooperative. Eventually it came down to goin' back to the brig or on special assignment with me new gills." The smile faded. "Truth is, I think they just wanted to get rid o' me. That's when they shipped me off to seaQuest." "That's how you came to serve under Nathan Bridger?" "Yeah." Fredericks tried to lighten the mood. "And you didn't deck anybody after that, I suppose." Piccolo laughed. "Naw." He lifted the discarded shirt off the floor and began putting it on again. "Bridger's a good guy and he had a good crew. 'Though I gotta admit, at first, I didn't make it easy on 'em." "What do you mean by that?" she asked, although she suspected she already knew. "Oh, I just gave 'em a bunch o' trouble. At the time, I thought I was just bein' shipped off to someone else who was s'posed to keep me outta trouble and in line, ya know. But Bridger was different. He was tough. It's like... I always knew where I stood with him. If I screwed up, he let me screw up. No judging me like I was a bad person or anything. He just let me learn from my own mistakes. Didn't want anything more from me than for me to... grow up, I guess. And he *always* seemed to know when I was schemin'. I never could figure 'at one out." "Sounds like he *respected* you, rather than judged you." The thought hit Piccolo like a brick. He'd never quite put it into those words before. "Yeah, you're right." He felt warmed by the thought and felt a familial pang for Bridger. He missed him. And he hurt for him. "And you didn't get that before?" Fredericks asked. "Naw-- Well, I didn't exactly come from a rosy family, you know. More like a fungus." In the darkness, he could just make out the inquisitive tilt of her head. "My parents, they get into places they don't belong, ya know. They use people. They get by with doin' as little as possible. And *they're* always getting into some sort o' trouble. That's the way I was learn-- taught. Their only interest is in taking care o' themselves first." The thoughts of his family agitated him. He was still disappointed that they had not bothered to contact him since his return from Hyperion. He was hurt by their lack of concern, but he also was not surprised. "I don't know. I mean, I had to learn to take care o' myself. I didn't always know how to do it. I was always gettin' in trouble-- hustlin' somebody. I was just doin' the best I knew how. That's why I signed up for the UEO. I was lookin' for some sort o' structure, ya know. But then I screwed that up when I decked Captain Strayer fer--" "You hit a *captain*!" "Naw, well, he wasn't a captain at the time." Frederick's interruption allowed him a moment to realize that he was revealing a little more than he had intended by running at the mouth. A sudden feeling of inadequacy made him afraid to say more. He stared pensively at his knee for several seconds while the hurt and disjointed thoughts whirled through his mind. Finally, in an attempt to remove his sordid background from the topic of conversation, he asked, "What about you? Any skeletons you got hangin' in your closet? What's your family like?" Fredericks sighed and took the bait. "Well, there's not much to tell, really. I grew up in California. I've two older brothers and a younger sister. My family was always a very loving family, although my parents *really* inspired a *very* strong sense of competitiveness amongst us. Because of that, we were always active in sports. And it was hard for me because my brothers were always older and bigger and stronger, and they didn't let up just because I was the little sister. But I guess it just made me try that much harder all the time. It made me tougher. And I was a bit of a tomboy." "Yeah? What kinda sports you play?" "Well, I don't play anymore, but in high school I was strong in track and field and soccer." Fredericks smiled in pride. "In fact, soccer got me a scholarship at UNLV." "Wow! Really? You any good?" "Yeah, I guess so. I mean, they did give me a scholarship because of my skills after all. I knew soccer wasn't really going to carry me for the rest of my life, so I continued to play on the team to pay the bills while I really studied mechanical engineering. I had a tendency to enjoy all the heavy machinery kinda stuff, so after graduation, I joined up with the UEO. It was an easy way for me to get my hands on all the machines that I loved *and* it fed my competitive urges." Piccolo found himself fascinated by the information. When he had looked up her personnel files back on seaQuest, he had already read much of what she was telling him. However, this was much more intimate information and explained her motivations for the career path she had taken. He was more curious about her family life though. "After joining the UEO, you stay pretty close to your family?" "Oh, yeah, well-- We don't get together like we used to. My parents are still in California, but the rest of us have scattered all over the planet. And me, my home is on seaQuest, so I don't have a steady place to call home anymore. My parent's place in California, I guess, is about as close to a home as I've got, but we--" She paused as a quiet pensiveness overtook her. "We don't talk like we used to. My pride got the better of me and I kinda pushed my family away after the accident. I guess that's the skeleton in my closet." *Accident!?* Piccolo thought. "If you don't mind me askin', does this accident have anything to do with--" Piccolo reached up and tapped the side of his neck to indicate the chip, but realized she probably could not see him in the dark. "--the chip?" he finished. He hoped he had not overstepped his bounds. "Yeah, it's kind of a morbid story. You sure you want to hear it?" "Well... if you're okay about it," he answered timidly. Her pause made him think that she was considering whether to answer. But eventually she plowed ahead with the story. "Well, it was about a year and a half ago. Me and my unit from the Subfighter Academy were out doing training maneuvers in Spectres; we were running the gauntlet near Cape Cortez. A friend, Noonan, was running flank with me, and at the time, he held the record for running Cortez in 39 seconds. I was cocky and was determined to break that record. I did, too, by eight seconds. But just afterwards, I got so excited about breaking the record and rubbing Noonan's nose in it, that I didn't pay attention to what I was doing and I crashed into a ridge. The crash sheared off the Spectre's tail and by the time I finished tumbling across the sea floor, I settled upside-down with the water filling up my cockpit. I was so scared. I just knew that was it. I just knew that I was about to die. They kept saying to hang on and that they were gonna save me, but my mind just refused to calm down. I was *so* panicked." She paused her narrative when she recognized those old feelings of fear within herself. Like a gentle tickle in her brain, she felt the chip registering those feelings and locking them down. It would not let her feel that fear. "They tried to pick me up," she continued, "but they didn't have a good enough grip and they dropped me. I fell into a gorge, crashing against the cliff on the way down. I just knew I was dead and eventually I blacked out. Next thing I knew, I woke up all battered and bruised at Saint Theresa's hospital in Nueva Esperanza. I was told I was lucky and I was going to be okay. I had only broken eight bones. A month later, I got out of the hospital. I wanted to get back out and fly Spectres *so* bad, but I just couldn't seem to function anymore. Every time I got near the controls, I was getting these stupid panic attacks. And if I couldn't fly, I didn't know what I was going do. Eventually they gave me the option of the chip to help control my fear... and I took it without question." Piccolo felt a chill crawl down his back. He had never realized how close to death she had come. He had new found respect for her and understood why she had chosen the chip, despite the stigmatism that went with it. But he was surprised by how *pragmatic* she was in telling the story. "Does the chip make you not *feel* anything?" he asked bluntly. "Oh, no. I feel, certainly. It's just the stronger emotions, primarily fear, which are suppressed, because they effect my job performance. I feel anger, hurt, joy, sadness-- whatever." "Oh, it's just that, well... you don't always..." Piccolo's voice faded. He wished he could take the question back for fear of insulting her. "What?" she prodded, when he failed to continue. "I don't show my emotions?" He was glad she could not see him in the dark. He was afraid he was blushing. "Yeah." "Well, it does suppress all my emotions to a very small degree. Fear is the emotion that is mainly effected. For the most part, what you see is me. I used to be much more gregarious, it just that... well, ever since I got the chip, I haven't been quite the same." "Whaddaya mean?" "Well, I can tell it's not the chip. It's me." She felt suddenly embarrassed at telling him this. She wondered if she should continue, but decided since he had bared his soul a bit, maybe she could do the same. Besides, it felt good to tell somebody. She sighed heavily and continued. "I lost a lot when they put this thing in me. The UEO wanted to take me off the field for a while; give me a desk job. I had to fight to get my flight status re-instated. In the process, I lost my best friend--" Her heart fluttered with that old, familiar pain. "--and my fiancee." She paused to fight back the pain that was welling up in her. She took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds. When she finally let it out, she felt the tickle of the chip working at her brain. Continuing again, her voice was much calmer. "It really changed my life forever and-- I don't know, I guess I feel defective. He said I wasn't the same. I was a different person, somehow. People always look at me like I'm some sort of freak because of the chip. And sometimes I feel like it too." Piccolo was a bit stunned by the news. He really had not expected to get this kind of information. He felt uncomfortable with the negative emotions and tried to lighten things up. "Hey, I guess that's somethin' we got in common. Eh? I got the gills and you got the chip! I guess we belong on the island of misfit toys 'cause we're *both* freaks!" But Fredericks did not respond. There was a long silence. He could not see her clearly in the darkness, but he recognized the sound of stifled tears. He was alarmed. He did not know how to handle this. Was it what he said? "Hey, I didn't mean anything by that! I was just tryin' to, you know, lighten things up." But she still did not answer. "What? You never heard of the island of misfit toys? Didn't you see that old show as a kid? You know, Santa and Rudolph and that dentist elf? They went to this island of full of toys where they was all defective..." His voice trailed off as she still failed to respond. He could still hear her sniffing and fighting back the tears and he was panicked. He longed to reach out and hold her, but he feared that it would be unwelcome and inappropriate. Instead he gently touched her arm... With unexpected fury, she grabbed his wrist and forcefully threw his hand away from her. "Crewman!" she shouted. "I'm still your superior officer!" Alarmed and hurt, Piccolo's emotional defensive walls slammed up again. He quickly stood up and back away. "A'right! I'm sorry! I didn't do nothin'! It's just that..." He found himself afraid to say the words. They were more alike than he had ever imagined. But she had thrown up her walls and he instinctively threw up his own. Hastily, she stood and turned back to the control panel. She popped open its cover and busied herself with the wiring as a way of shutting him out. Piccolo was hurt by her rejection. He was hurt and afraid of his own emotions. "Ah, forget it!" he told her disgustedly. "I'm gonna check on Bridger." He stormed away from her and toward the back side of the craft. * * * From her raised perch on seaQuest's bridge, Henderson let her mind wonder from her work for a moment. Her eyes caught Commander Ford sitting at his computer terminal, furiously entered his reports. She was bothered by his increasingly agitated behavior. He refused to open up to her and it irritated her that he would not, or maybe could not, use her for his emotional support. It was a hazard of dating someone higher than yourself in the chain of command. They *had* to respect the chain of command first, and if the business with Bridger coming back to seaQuest was classified, she understood Ford's reluctance to talk to her about it. But instead of relaxing his tensions, he was working *more*, possibly as a way to distract himself. Maybe that was for the best... The communications board chirped an incoming signal. Her fingers moved by instinct to open the channel, but paused when she noticed the source. The signal's curve on her display was definitely Macronesian in origin. "Commander!" she called out. Slipping the headpiece from around her neck and placing it on her ears, she flipped the switch. "--calling seaQuest!" said the desperate voice in her ears. "seaQuest, do you read? This is Lieutenant Timothy O'Neill calling from--" Her heart skipped a beat. She looked up to see Ford looking up at her. "Commander! It's Lieutenant O'Neill!" For the first time in several days, the tension eased from Ford's face. "Put it through," he commanded. "It's on audio only. And sir, it's a Macronesian source." A flash of astonishment crossed his face. "Say again." "The source is definitely Macronesian in origin." His professional stoicism abruptly masked any surprise. He nodded his head curtly. "Understood. Localize the source." She opened the channel so that they could hear it on the bridge speakers. "--anyone there, Tim?" they heard Dagwood say. A hint of a smile touched Ford's face. "Dagwood! O'Neill! This is Commander Ford. It's good to hear your voices again. Where are you located?" "Oh, thank God!" came O'Neill's beleaguered response. "It great to hear your voice, Commander. We're just coming into UEO territory now. About twenty minutes away. Latitude-- Hold on. I'm having trouble reading this--" The triangulated coordinates popped up on Henderson's board. "Got it, Commander!" she shouted. "41 degrees south, 123 west, 2100 fathoms." "Belay that, O'Neill. Henderson has you located. Is everyone accounted for?" There was a noticeable delay in his reply. "No sir." His voice sounded dejected. "The Macronesian Alliance has captured Bridger and Lucas. Hudson and Hausenbraugh has gone off to rescue them, but sent the rest of us back. Piccolo and Fredericks are about an hour behind us, on the other side of the border. Their craft was damaged and they couldn't make it the rest of the way. Me and Dagwood are coming in with... a prisoner." Henderson's heart sank. Whatever had happened, it did not sound good. In fact, it sounded disastrous. "And sir?" O'Neill added. "Yes?" Ford asked guardedly. "Tony and Fredericks have Bridger's son with them." For a brief moment, all motion on the seaQuest bridge stopped. Ford slowly smiled a bittersweet smile. Henderson was floored by the news. *So that's what this was all about!* she thought. Her mind whirled with the load of information she had just heard and what it meant. *Lucas and Bridger--* "Henderson!" Ford barked, breaking the stunned silence. "Send O'Neill's coordinates to helm. Mister Pritchard, take us there. Best speed." "Uh, Commander?" O'Neill's voice cut in. "Yes, Tim?" "Fredericks' craft sustained some rather heavy damage. When we left them, they were losing power. They may not have much time left. I'd suggest you send someone out there right away." *In Macronesian waters!?* Ford thought. O'Neill's return was not quite the blessing he thought it was going to be. He was reluctant to cross the border, but with Bridger's son so close, he had to try. "Where are they?" he asked. "Commander, are you sure you want the coordinates on an open channel like this? Who knows who else might be listening in." "Got it, Tim. We'll pick you up on the way. Then--" The bridge's speaker squealed harshly, causing several people to reach for their ears. Henderson jumped to clear the signal problem. She quickly found the problem. "Sir!" she called out. "We're being jammed!" "By who?" Henderson searched the jamming signal, localizing the coordinates and source. "Sir," she reported. "It's UEO." As she watched, the jamming stopped. They sent their own signal, overpowering O'Neill's attempts to get through again. "And I'm getting a signal from Secretary McGath on board the UEO Diefenbaker." Frustrated, she tried to isolate both signals. Ford was *not* happy. He nodded his head toward the front screen to indicate that she should open the channel. "This better be good," he mumbled to no one in particular. The connect tone chirped and the image of Secretary McGath on the bridge of the Diefenbaker filled the seaQuest's main vidscreen. His expression was stern. He spoke before they could exchange any sort of greetings or pleasantries. "Commander Ford, you will stand down!" he commanded harshly. It was not a command Ford had expected. "Mister Secretary?" "Your orders are to retrieve Lieutenant O'Neill and the GELF, then withdraw from the Macronesian Alliance border. But you will *not*, I repeat, *not* cross the Macronesian border for the others." "Sir, be aware that their lives may be in danger. seaQuest is the only UEO vessel in the area--" "They are not your concern, Commander. The Diefenbaker will rescue them." The *Diefenbaker*? Ford thought they were relatively alone in the water. Diefenbaker could not be so close and seaQuest not even *know* about it. "Understood, sir." he conceded. "But if I may ask, sir... where *is* the Diefenbaker? We were not aware you were in the vicinity." "We'll be there in just over two hours, Commander. Just be sure you do *not* cross that border." O'Neill's voice came back on the speakers. "Secretary McGath. With all due respect, they don't have that much time. If seaQuest is closer--" Again the signal cut off. Ford looked to Henderson with an expression that asked "what happened?". She could not hide the disgust on her face. "Jammed again, Commander. By the Diefenbaker." A bitter anger boiled up in Ford. Lives were on the line and McGath was jeopardizing them for a power struggle. "McGath!" he demanded, "What's happening here!?" But McGath's expression had turned deathly grim. "Under absolutely no circumstances, Commander, are you to go after that craft. Those are your orders." With that, he cut the transmission. * * * As a way of ignoring Piccolo, Fredericks had taken to tinkering with the Macronesian hardware. She was bent over the open control panel and buried up to her shoulders in its circuitry. Since her verbal outburst, they had not said two words to each other. She distracted herself in the circuitry, while he simply sat in the co-pilot's seat and stared out the window. Again, he let out a sharp, nasal grunt that exemplified his agitation. She cringed at the sound. His sulking was grating on her nerves, but she resisted the temptation to scream at him. The last thing she wanted to do was to let him know that his passive aggressive behavior was being effective. *Go ahead!* she mentally told him. *Sulk like a baby! It won't bother me!* Although admittedly she knew her own behavior was not much better. And she was having trouble concentrating on the task at hand. For the third time in a row, she traced the same circuit. And again he grunted. She stood straight, slammed the panel closed, and shouted, "Dammit!" Turning to yell at him, she took in a sharp breath and paused. She was so agitated, she did not know what she wanted to say. She was not really sure why she was angry. She thought it was his sulking, but-- He simply stared back at her with a dejected, hurt expression. Mixed and disjointed emotions raced through her mind: anger, fear, melancholy, and hurt. In a blinding, empathetic flash, she recognized the emotions on his face. They were her own. Her heart melted. She realized he was not the only one being sulky and childish. She was as well. And she felt guilt for rejecting him when he had been showing compassion as well as a vulnerable side of himself. "Look," she started, her tone soft and reassuring. "I want to apologize." Piccolo smiled weakly. "Aw, That's a'right." "No, it's not." She realized that she was shaking with nervousness and folded her arms to hide it. *What is this? I'm not supposed to feel fear!* But she knew this was an entirely different kind of fear. "I, uh, reacted badly and, um..." She felt the sting of tears in her eyes and her mind screamed at her, *What's so hard about this!? What's wrong with me!?* Piccolo stood. She took a protective, almost instinctive step away from him. "Whoa!" He held his hands up, showing his palms. "I ain't gonna hurt ya." Pain and fear danced across her face despite her best efforts to hide it. "I know that. I know. It's..." Her voice slipped and a horribly embarrassing knot developed in her throat. "It's just that..." The fear and anguish enveloped her and she could no longer control her emotions. She buried her face in her hand and fought the tears and gushing feelings. *I'm not supposed to feel this!* she shouted at herself. *The chip isn't supposed to let this happen!* But it had. These feelings had not touched her in a long, long time and they now burned in their fury. Firm, gentle hands touched her shoulders and pulled her forward. Piccolo enveloped her with his arms. She gladly sunk into his comforting, musky masculinity. Burying her face in his shoulder, she felt the pressure on her neck where the chip pressed against him. She was repulsed by it. She wanted to pull away, but the fear held her immobile. As the fear and shame burned through her, she could only cry it out and attempt to hang on to her remaining sanity. Several minutes, seeming like an eternity, passed before Fredericks finally began to regain some control. Reality settled over her again. She pushed slightly away from him, but not so much that he would let her go. She sniffed hard. "I guess you were right," she told him through the remaining tears. "Ah!" he answered. "I finally get somethin' right and I don't know what it is. What'm I s'posed to be right about?" "We *are* a lot alike. We're both--" She fought back the tears that threatened to overtake her again. "--misfits!" He looked down at her face. "Oh!" he admonished her. "I didn't mean it like that! It was a joke... ya know... to lighten the mood." She kept her face averted from his. "But it's true, isn't it?" "Well, I--" His voice halted as he struggled to say the words. He wanted to give her words of comfort. He wanted to say something that would take away the pain. But he could not deny the truth. That was the way the world saw them: freaks. And even worse, they were frightened, insecure freaks. He sighed in frustration. He could not say it. He did not want to hurt her anymore than she was already hurting herself. His lack of answering her made her look questioningly up at him. On impulse, he did what felt natural. He kissed her. They held the kiss for a long, wet, fiery moment, both of them surprised by the passion they encountered. Finally they let go. Fredericks leaned back and gazed into his face. She marveled at her feelings and how it seemed as if that one brief kiss had washed away so much of the pain from her heart. She knew the pain was still there. But it had been subdued. It had been reigned and was under control. It was bearable. It was masked by the sexual and emotional lust that raged through her body. And she could see it in his face too, by the slight smile that touched his sweet tasting lips. A feeling of comfort and contentment poured over her. For the first time in a long time, she felt comfortable with herself. She was no longer alone. She melted herself into his protective, masculine arms. Unexpectedly, although not unwelcome, she developed a heightened sensitivity to the feel of his muscular torso. The very feel of him torched the fires within her that she had long suppressed and forgotten. She reached out a hand to touch his face. And this time, *she* kissed *him*. * * * "Open number three port hatch," Ford commanded as seaQuest pulled up stationary beside O'Neill's tiny Macronesian transport. "Have security and medical meet them there. And I want O'Neill up on the bridge as soon as he's on board." His bridge crew jumped to comply. Ford hated being tied to the bridge at a time like this. But being as near as they were to the Macronesian border, his place was on the bridge. He watched the view from the external camera as the transport was slowly swallowed up by seaQuest. After a few quiet and tense moments, someone reported, "They're on board, sir." The bridge let out a collective sigh of relief, but Ford still could not shake an uneasy feeling. He was still agitated by McGath's order to *not* rescue Piccolo and the others. Especially when seaQuest was clearly the closer and better equipped vessel to take care of it. It just did not make sense. His intercom chirped for his attention. He turned the vidscreen towards himself and stabbed at the button to open communications. The familiar face of Doctor Perry, calling from below, popped onto his screen. "What is it, Doctor?" "Commander, I'm not sure I can release Lieutenant O'Neill." There was only a moments pause before she continued. "He needs to go into surgery right away." "Surgery!? Doctor, what's wrong with him?" "He's been shot." O'Neill had failed to tell him that. "There's massive tissue damage--" "Forget it, Doctor. I'll meet you in medbay. But I *need* to speak to him. Don't put him under until I get there and we've had a chance to talk." "Got it, sir." Although she did not appear pleased about it. Ford broke the connection and turned to walk away, when a voice from security called on the intercom again. "Commander Ford?" Frustrated, Ford turned back and opened the connection again. "Yes!" "We have the prisoner in custody. Dagwood is asking if you want to speak to him." "Yes. Have him meet me in medbay." As he again broke the connection, he spun around and nearly ran over Henderson as she stood in his path. "Henderson, wh--" She placed a PAL in his hand. For everything that was going wrong, it was nice to know that *someone* was still looking out for his needs. He smiled and checked the PAL. She had already programmed it for his use. "Thank you," he told her as he slipped it into his breast pocket. "Watch the bridge for me?" She smiled and nodded her head. "Of course." He discretely, but affectionately touched her elbow before leaving the bridge with a wink. * * * Ford had envisioned a flurry of activity, but things were surprisingly calm when he reached medbay. He met Dagwood just inside the doorway. He looked tired, which was quite unusual for the GELF. "Welcome back, Dagwood." He noted Dagwood's clothes. They were blood and sweat stained and he reeked of several days old body odor. "Thank you, sir," the GELF said almost shyly. "Dagwood is glad to be back home." Dagwood stood waiting, as if he wanted to carry a conversation, but Ford knew he had little time left to speak to O'Neill. "I want to talk to you, Dagwood, but in a minute. I need to talk to O'Neill first before he goes into surgery." "Okay," Dagwood replied, but Ford had already walked away. "Dagwood will wait." Approaching the gurney, Ford noticed that O'Neill's shirt had been removed. He saw the blood and gore that was his shoulder. "My God, Tim, what happened!?" O'Neill looked over at him with bleary eyes. "I was--" Doctor Perry approached and snatched the glasses from his face, startling him. "Hey!" O'Neill started in surprise. "What're you--" "Don't worry, Lieutenant," she interrupted. "I'll make sure they're by your bed during recovery, but I don't think you'll need them while you're *in* surgery." She slipped his glasses into a hip pocket. Numbly accepting that, O'Neill turned back to Ford. "I was shot, sir." "I can see that." Ford smiled. "It's good to see you made it back alive." "I agree." They both stared awkwardly at each other for several seconds, an unspoken feeling passing between them. Ford finally broke it by speaking, "But I need to know about the others. Where are they and what is their current situation?" O'Neill obediently explained all that had happened to them in the little time they had remaining before surgery. He explained how they came to know Jared Deuveaux and Hector Sancress, how Hudson, Hausenbraugh, and Jared had gone after Bridger and Lucas at Kerguelen Plateau, and how Sancress had betrayed them by nearly killing them just before they made it home. "But sir?" O'Neill concluded. "What are we going to do about Bridger's son and the others? They don't have much time." Ford grimaced with dissatisfaction. "I know. But there's nothing I can do. My orders are to not cross the border. McGath is going to rescue them." Despite the pain, O'Neill squirmed in agitation. "I don't understand. seaQuest is just a few minutes away. We're clearly much closer than they are. Why would they not want you to go after them?" "I don't know, Tim. I agree, it doesn't make much sense." O'Neill sighed and scrunched his face. "We've paid such a high price to rescue Robert Bridger. Don't let us lose him now, just because McGath won't let us move a few miles across the border." Despite his missing eyeglasses, his eyes focused very clearly on Ford. "If there's *any* way, sir, *any* way that you can help them, please do it." Sighing hard, Ford closed his eyes. Images of Nathan Bridger and the others floated through his mind. They had haunted him ever since they had left seaQuest. Could he forgive himself if they sacrificed so much, only to lose Robert Bridger because he would not act? He had sacrificed his own integrity in the past in order to be a "good soldier". Could he still live with himself if he let it happen again? He opened his eyes again. "I promise, Tim. If there's any way I can help, I'll do it." Thoughts and technicalities were already beginning to formulate in his mind. O'Neill smiled. "Thank you, Commander." "Commander?" interrupted Doctor Perry, "if you're about finished..." Ford caught her eye, but his mind was already busy elsewhere. "Yeah," he told her distractedly. "Yeah, go ahead." Before he turned away, he gently touched O'Neill's hand. "God Speed, Lieutenant." "Thank you, sir." he answered. "If I don't survive this, would you--" "Lieutenant!" started Perry, smiling at his jest. "I don't think you give me enough credit!" She did not give him a chance to respond before she placed a sedating mask over his face. Ford smiled. He thought it was odd that O'Neill make light of such a grave situation. "I'll see you in a few hours, Lieutenant." But by then he was already unconscious. * * * Dagwood was confused. But then he had grown accustomed to confusing behavior amongst his friends and had learned to live with it. Right now, he was confused because Commander Ford had said he wanted to talk to Dagwood after talking to O'Neill. Dagwood had waited. But now, as they walked together from medbay to seaQuest's bridge, Ford did not talk to him. Instead, he stayed lost in thought. "Is Tim going to be okay?" Dagwood finally asked when Ford did not offer anything. "Let's hope so," Ford responded dryly. When Ford failed say anything more, Dagwood continued. "Does Commander Ford want to talk to Dagwood and ask questions about what happened at Mak-ro-nee-zee-uh?" Ford looked up at him in confusion. "Huh?" Ford realized that he had been ignoring Dagwood and softened his expression. "Yes, we'll talk. Just give me a few minutes to think, Dagwood." He returned to his pensiveness. The rest of the way to the bridge he remained in silent thought, while Dagwood followed obediently. When they finally reached the bridge, Ford's distraction ended. But instead of giving Dagwood his attention, he authoritatively commanded the bridge crew, "Prepare to launch WSKRS." Ford had a look in his eye that told Dagwood he was not going to talk to him anytime soon. He tried his best to stay out of the way by standing beside the moonpool. He was pleasantly surprised by his aquatic friend who silently greeted him there. "Henderson!" Ford barked. "Think you can rig a remote for the DS-Cargo carrier?" For the first time, Dagwood noticed Henderson. He smiled and waved to her. It felt good to be home. But she was busy talking to Ford. "Yeah, I can do that. But sir?" Her face turned serious. "Are you thinking of doing what I think you're thinking of doing?" That confused Dagwood. Shaking his head in the affirmative, Ford answered. "Yes, I am." "Commander, isn't that... against orders?" Henderson looked worried. Ford's face burned with fury at the question. "No, Henderson, it is not. My orders were not to cross the UEO/Macronesian Alliance border. And seaQuest, nor a member of her present crew will do so, as per orders." His eye twitched mischievously. "But there's nothing stopping us from sending in remotes and bringing them across the border where we can assist them." Henderson's voice grew quiet as she leaned forward. "I understand, but isn't that not quite what McGath meant? Did he mean to not cross the border because he didn't want you going after them?" Very slowly, Ford's face cracked a smirk. He gave her a sideways look. "Are you interpreting orders, Lieutenant?" Her expression transformed from concern to dismay to anger. It finally settled on joy as she realized they were going to save their fallen friends. Soon, her face held a similar smirk to Ford's. "No sir!" she shouted curtly. "Good." Ford told her. "Then hop to it, Lieutenant! I need that cargo carrier in the water A.S.A.P.!" End Part 26 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:20:35 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 27 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 27 As they drew closer to the Kerguelen Plateau, Hudson could not help but wonder at what they were doing. Risking their lives, he had taken the word of someone they barely knew and had just met. He had never heard of any sort of covert UEO operation behind enemy lines. Why should he trust Jared or believe his story? But the thought of Lucas, captured by the Macronesian Alliance, disturbed him more than he cared to admit. And Lucas got where he was now, because Hudson had allowed him to go with Bridger. He felt partially to blame and because of that, he was inspired to take any method he could to save them. And right now, Jared's statement that Lucas and Bridger were being kept here at Kerguelen Plateau was the best and only lead he had. The small, dark structure of the Kerguelen Plateau installation was almost lost in the darkness, but for a circle of tiny lights marking a docking ring and a see-through bulb at the top of the structure. Hudson flipped a switch for communications. "I don't see any hostiles on the scope. Are we just going to walk right in?" There was a long pause before Hudson heard the communication line kick open and Jared's voice from the "borrowed" Macronesian fighter came through. "This place is supposed to be a bit of a secret. There's not a strong presence of fighter craft, because it'd draw too much attention. On the other hand, I doubt *walking in* is going to be that easy. However..." His voice trailed off. Hudson waited for several seconds to hear the rest, but Jared was not forthcoming. "Do you want to finish your statement?" he asked rhetorically. After another rather long pause, Jared finally returned. "Sorry, Captain. *However*... there's a larger, much deeper docking bay entrance hidden on the far western side of the compound. And we might be able to enter more quietly from there." "By all means, take us in," Hudson commanded. "Uh, sir?" It was Hausenbraugh. "I've been in this tin can just a little too long now. It's getting kinda ripe and my butt's getting kinda sore..." Hudson smiled, although Hausenbraugh could not see that. "Yes, Lieutenant, we'll let you out of there for a little while." "Thank you, sir." For a few silent seconds, they followed behind Jared in the Macronesian fighter. Suddenly, he dipped below a ledge and they lost sight of him. "Here it is," he called over the intercom. "Now we need-- Ah, crap!" Before Hudson could ask what was wrong, Jared's fighter shot back above the ledge and away from them. A split second later, four Macronesian fighters followed in pursuit. With a sigh, Hudson called to Hausenbraugh, "You know what to do, Lieutenant." "Aye, sir. That I do." He let out a long, whooping battlecry as he shot away in pursuit. Hudson laughed at his joviality and fearlessness of the situation and followed. * * * The Spectre's interior *was* getting quite rank from body odor, but Hausenbraugh was easily able to ignore it now. His body's reflexes knew what to do, as his mind intently focused on the battle. While screaming ever closer to the four Maurauders that were pursuing Jared, he considered that he would need to be careful to note which was the enemy Maurauder and which was Jared's Maurauder. He tagged his sensor to flag Jared's as a friendly craft. The enemy had obviously not realized *they* were now being pursued. He targeted the one that was furthest from himself, yet closest to Jared and prepared to fire. As his fingers closed down on the triggers, two of the Maurauders peeled away from the group. He lost sight of them amongst the resulting explosion of the targeted craft as it disintegrated. For a moment, he lost his sense of direction when he plowed through the exploding debris that pelted his Spectre. Gradually, he felt his Spectre sliding sideways and begin shaking with cavitation. "Damn!" The full force of the cavitation started and the water beat hard against the port side, wanting to shake the teeth from his jaw. Slowly he curved into the direction the craft was turning. Another explosion shook him. For a moment he feared he had crashed into something, before he realized-- They were firing at him! And that shot had gotten dangerously close! There was nothing he could do. He knew that to resist the turn of his craft could tear it apart. The best he could hope for would be to come out of the maneuver without being blown to bits. Slowly, very slowly, the Spectre came back under his control. Several shots blinded him with their nearness and it rocked the water enough to nearly send him back out of control. It was a few seconds too soon, but he needed to get out of this heat. He poured power into his engines and shot forward blindly. Glancing out the window to orient himself, he broke hard to starboard to avoid a collision with an enemy Maurauder. "Damn it!" he shouted. "Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" He was blinded and dangerously out of control of the situation. He had to get away and regain his bearings and wits. An explosion rocked behind him. "Dammit! Gimme some room to move!" Desperately, he pulled straight up. Checking his sensors, he was clear. They were not in pursuit and for a moment, he was blissfully alone. In relief, he let out a long sigh. But it was short lived. He knew he would be back into the action as soon as possible. There was no way he could sit this one out. Arcing the Spectre into an upside down loop, he dove back into the line of fire and immediately targeted the nearest Maurauder. He fired. The Maurauder pulled away and the shot missed. He drew their positions tighter and fired again. It was badly shaken, but got away by breaking to starboard. Hausenbraugh laughed evilly, "Ha! How does if feel to be--" "Break off, Hausenbraugh!" his communications speaker screamed. "It's me, Jared! You're firing at me!" Hausenbraugh's heart sank. He checked his sensors to verify. "Damn!" He pulled away-- Directly into the path of the enemy-- The incoming fire instantaneously blinded him. It was so fast that he never realized what happened as his Spectre broke apart around him and exploded in a momentary flash of underwater flames. * * * Unable to watch the bloody horror before him, Lucas had squeezed his eyes shut and closed down his mind. But the external explosion that rocked the entire installation's foundation jarred his numbed mind. He looked up. * * * Hudson watched in horror as Hausenbraugh's Spectre was destroyed in a ball of water compressed flame. And it angered him. Slowly, a fire torched up in his gut. He swore to himself that he would make that Maurauder *pay* for Hausenbraugh's life. * * * Gently and quietly, Phuong closed the door behind himself and dimmed the lights to a dull glow. It would complicate things to be noticed in this restricted area. His heart was beating so hard, he could feel it against his ribs. He was not accustomed to this. Something was happening. The entire Kerguelen installation was rumbling from an external sea battle. After a massive concussion shook the building, the rumbling's intensity gradually increased. Phuong was not quite used to this type of action. True, he had been involved in several morally questionable situations over the years, but his current situation was beyond his realm of experience. He was frightened and unsure of himself. Instinct told him to run away, but the rewards kept him rooted to his position and the task. After his recent use of a plethora of high-tech equipment, he now resorted to the old style method for a listening device. He gingerly placed his ear against the wall and listened to the voices in the next room. * * * "To where did a quarter of your crew disappear when the seaQuest returned?" Krajefska asked menacingly. *Oh, God, how my head hurts!* Bridger thought. The stabbing headache pains had crept in behind his eyes and were, it felt like, trying to push them out of their sockets. He had not experienced a headache like this in a long time; he had almost forgotten how debilitating it could be. ZZZAP! The electric jolt to the back of his neck painfully reminded him that Krajefska was waiting for an answer. "Some didn't survive. Some were never found." he answered. Already his arms were growing numb from the shocks. And his joints ached painfully. ZZZZAP! The buzz was audible. "Wrong answer!" Krajefska shouted. Bridger grunted at the pain and pulled violently at the constraints that held his hands at his sides. He could not hope to pull free, but it helped bring sensation back to his fingertips. "Look, Mister Krajefska! I don't understand what you want! Do you want me to just tell you what you want to hear, whether it's true or not?" His head hurt so bad, the very act of shouting made him feel like the front of his skull was going to pop off his head at any minute. "I don't have your answers!" he shouted painfully. And again, Krajefska smiled wickedly. "Captain," he answered calmly. "It doesn't matter whether you give the answers I want to hear or not. All that matters... is that you answer." "What!?" shouted Lucas. It was the first time he had spoken a word since he had first been chained to the chair and desk. "That doesn't make any sense! What if--" "Shut up, Lucas!" Bridger warned. "--he gives you the wrong answers!? Would that satisfy you!?" "Lucas! Stop it!" "A wrong answer is better than no answer at all!? What are you trying to do here!?" "Lucas!" "Why are you doing this to him!?" "Lucas! Shut up!" His skull throbbed in agony and he noticed his vision wavering. But Lucas calmed down as instructed, a fury still burning in his eyes. He turned his attention to Bridger and spoke more calmly, his voice pleading. "But Captain, what he's doing here serves no purpose..." "I know." The pain made it difficult, but he had to stop Lucas from talking. "I know. Right now, it's important that you--" ZZZAP! The shock stopped him cold and his body arced against the restraints. Krajefska set down the hand held device he used to administer the shocks and did the very thing Bridger had been trying to prevent. He turned his attention to Lucas. He moved to stand beside Lucas and stared down at him. "Ensign Wolenczak. Let's consider that for a moment. Why would I say that it doesn't matter whether the answer was right or wrong, as long as I got an answer?" "I don't know." Lucas' tone was meek and untrusting. "It would seem rather counter-productive, wouldn't it?" "Yeah." "Well then, what value would I gain from simply extracting an answer, whether it was a right one or not?" Bridger finally spoke up. "Don't even try and answer that." His voice was tired and pained. Krajefska did not turn away from Lucas. "Captain, please! Let him answer the question!" But Lucas had locked eyes with Bridger and understood the command that Bridger was trying to get him to hear. Just don't answer. Lucas longed to understand the purpose of all this pain and suffering, but he also realized that Krajefska was toying with him. He refused to play that game. Instead he folded his arms defiantly across his chest and looked downward. The ensuing silence weighted heavy on him. Eventually Krajefska spoke. Although Lucas could not see his face, he could hear the pretentious amusement in his voice. "That's all right, Ensign. You don't have to answer. I just want you to think about that for a while. And I mean, *really* think about it." All three of them were startled by the knock on the door. After a slight hesitation, Krajefska commanded, "Come in!" The door popped open and a husky, curly-haired Asian timidly stepped into the room. "Uh, sir?" Bridger recognized the man, but he was not sure from where. "I was told to report for clean up." *The voice...* Bridger thought. *The accent... They seem out of place here...* "If there's been a mistake--" the newcomer continued. *The Vietnamese boat! That's Phuong!* Lucas had mentioned Phuong being in the Kerguelen complex. He was still unsure of his connection to everything that had happened to them. Originally he thought their encounter had been a separate incident... *So what's he doing here now?* Krajefska seemed confused by the intrusion. "Clean up? Now? There's been a mistake. Who told you to report here?" Suddenly Phuong looked frightened. "Uh... My supervisor?" Clearly displeased, Krajefska stepped forward and pushed him out of the room. "Guard! Who let this--" What happened next, happened in a flurry. A scuffle ensued between Krajefska and Phuong in the doorway. With the unexpected distraction, Lucas stood and, straining against the restraints that kept him attached to the chair and the chair to the desk, leaned towards Bridger. With his free hand, he worked loose the metal bar that held down Bridger's right hand. Once his hand was free, Bridger quickly removed the restraint from his other hand. With great pleasure, he ripped loose the small electrodes from the back of his neck. As he stooped to free his ankles, a shout of pain and a loud clatter came from the direction of the struggle in the doorway. Bridger looked up. Krajefska had subdued Phuong and was now looking at Bridger in dumbfounded shock. His expression quickly turned to anger. "Damn you!" he shouted. He snatched up the shock administrator from the desk's edge and squeezed. Bridger just smiled. Somehow his headache didn't seem so bad now. He continued working on the ankle constraint. Realizing Bridger was on the verge of freedom, Krajefska advanced to stop him. Lucas shoved hard on the desk to which his chair was bound and it scraped across the floor to block his way. Without breaking stride, Krajefska turned his attention to Lucas. He sidestepped the desk and grabbed a hefty handful of Lucas' hair. In a fit of rage, he flung Lucas' head violently toward the floor. Lucas' own restraints cause him to fall on his chest against the floor. Krajefska placed a heavy boot on his back to keep him in place while he turned his attention back to Bridger-- He was gone! Krajefska turned to look behind himself. His eyes registered a swift movement but before his mind could register what it was, there was an intense, sharp pain on his temple and consciousness escaped him. * * * "Thanks." stated Lucas as Bridger finally opened the handcuff that had kept him chained to the chair for the last several hours. "Don't thank me yet," Bridger responded. "Thank me when we get out of here in one piece." "Okay," Lucas smiled. "You'll have to remind me when we get back to seaQuest." Bridger smiled back and noted he had said "when" and not "if". It felt good to have things going their way for once and he was pleased with Lucas' positive thinking. He hoped what sounded like a battle outside would be enough of a distraction for them to make an escape. The door opened and Phuong reentered the room. Blood streamed from a gash in his arm and a darkening welt grew on his cheek. He looked surprised, but pleased to see that they were now free. "C'mon!" he commanded. "I can show you a way out!" He turned away without waiting for a response. They both stood where they were. Lucas rubbed distractedly at the marks on his wrist where the handcuff had been and stared after the door. "Don't trust him, Captain." he said flatly. "Don't worry about that. I have no intention of putting our well being in his hands. Despite whatever's going on here, I have little trust of that man." Bending, he searched the unconscious Krajefska for anything they could use in their escape. The door opened again, and Phuong returned. His expression displayed his fear and agitation. "C'mom! We don't have much time! Somebody's gonna come for him," he pointed toward Krajefska, "at any second!" Lucas noted that he used a Macronesian laser pistol as a pointer. "No, Phuong," he stated in his most forceful voice. "We can't trust you. We won't follow you." A pained expression crossed Phuong's face. "I know the way out. I know how to avoid detection. I'm here to help you." He gesticulated wildly as if that would help make his case. "Who got rid of the guards and distracted Krajefska long enough for you to free yourselves? What else can I do to make you believe me?" Bridger stood and stepped close enough to Phuong to know that he was violating his invisible wall of personal space. It was a way of showing power and dominance. "If you know the way out, then show us. Otherwise, we will not put our trust in you." Phuong's face contorted as he tried to find the words, but Bridger continued before he could say anything. "You want us to trust you? Hand over the weapon." He extended his hand for it. Startled, Phuong stammered, "Mister Bridger, I..." He looked at the Macronesian weapon in his hand. Lifting his eyes, he momentarily locked eyes with Lucas before turning to Bridger again. The expression on his face turned from fear and confusion to regret and defeat. Silently, he shoved the weapon into Bridger's hand. Inwardly, Bridger was smiling, but he dared not show it on his face for fear of provoking an already agitated Phuong. In the past, he had seen how this man reacted under the stresses of fear. He was not sure what game was up this time, but he was determined to keep the upper hand. Maybe he was telling the truth, but he dared not trust him. Hefting the Macronesian weapon in his hand, he noted that he'd never held a weapon of such design before. It was heavy, with a large, black battery giving it a balance unlike any weapon he had ever handled. He hoped he would not have the need to use it. "Good," he said flatly. "Let's go." They spilled out of the room and into the empty hallway. The room's guards were nowhere to be seen. Phuong led then to the left, which was the direction that Bridger sensed was right. He had tried to keep a mental map of the Kerguelen layout, but the many turns and the drugs from yesterday had distorted his spatial awareness. He could not fully trust his intuition for their direction and was dependant on Phuong. They turned left again and hit a dead end. "I thought you said you knew the way out of here." stated Bridger with concealed sarcasm. "I do!" answered Phuong. He turned and looked back the way they had come. "I just got a little confused, that's all." He appeared momentarily confused before his face lit up. "Ah! This way." He led them away again in another direction. At another juncture, Bridger paused while Phuong continued straight ahead. Sensing that they were no longer following him, Phuong turned, "Mister Bridger! This way!" He waved his hand to indicate they should follow. "Are you sure? I seem to remember the docks being this way." Bridger pointed down the hallway juncture. "They are. But right now, those docks are full of Macronesian soldiers." "So where are we headed?" "There's another, smaller airlock above us. It has a small, emergency transport we can use to get away." Bridger hesitated, indecision on his face. Lucas sensed his indecision. "Remember, Captain," Lucas told him, "Don't trust him! Remember the boat." Looking at him, Bridger recalled the suffering at the hands of Phuong. It helped make up his mind. "You're right." He turned to Phuong and called out, "I'm sorry, but we're going to take our chances down below. If I'm right, most of their forces are outside trying to defend this place. They're not going to suspect an attack from us, from within." Phuong grunted in frustration, but acquiesced. "If we find that they have too many forces, will you agree to go up top?" "I'll take it under considera--" A loud, rumbling clamor interrupted him. They looked up to see a division of Macronesian soldiers tear around the corner ahead of them: the direction that Bridger was about to take them. Both groups paused, startled to see each other. "Mister Bridger," Phuong said, "I recommend we go back the way I suggested now." "I agree," Bridger said. Turning the other way, they sprinted away from the soldiers and the direction Phuong had urged them. End Part 27 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:21:25 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 28 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 28 Despite the beatings and drugs from the last few days, Bridger and Lucas were able to sprint away from the oncoming Macronesian soldiers with a surprising burst of speed. For a moment Phuong was able to keep up, but not being in as good physical condition, he started to fall behind after a few tense seconds. Around a 45 degree bend in the hallway, they hit the end of the corridor where they were presented with three doors. "Which one!?" Bridger shouted to Phuong. "Straight ahead." Catching up, Phuong pushed them through the doorway just as Bridger opened the water tight, hatch-like handle. On the other side of the door was a set of criss-crossing stairs within a concrete column, leading to unknown places above them. Lucas and Phuong scrambled up the stairs, but Bridger grabbed at Phuong's arm and held him back. "Can we lock this door behind us?" he asked. "No. Not from this side of the door." With a quick glance up through the six inch gap between flights of alternating stairs, Bridger spotted Lucas already well ahead of them. He hurried up the stairs with Phuong. "I'm afraid," Phuong grunted while he moved upwards, "that this area was designed to keep people on the outside from getting in." "So where ever we're going, there's no turning back?" "Have confidence, Mister Bridger. Your people have gone to great lengths to ensure that I know my way around this place." "*My* people?" The clatter of the Macronesian soldiers entering the stairwell and shouts for them to stop, echoed up from below. "Well, the people who have sent me here," Phuong answered. "Besides, I feel I need to redeem myself in your eyes. I have done terrible things to Lucas and yourself--" A tiny piece of the wall near Bridger's hip exploded as one of the soldiers below them fired wildly into the tiny gap between the criss-crossed stairs. It was not clear that they were no longer attempting to preserve their lives for questioning. They were now expendable. Adjusting the power settings on the Macronesian weapon to what he thought was a medium setting, Bridger extended the muzzle into the gap between the stairs and fired randomly in return. He grimaced at the sound of a pained shout as his weapon's beam met flesh. For a moment, all was quiet. Lucas was already well out of sight and Phuong was only five steps ahead of him, unmoving and listening intently to the silence with him. They found the sudden silence to be curious and slightly disconcerting in the echo prone area of the stairwell. Cautiously, Phuong glanced into the gap between the stairs. An unexpected beam of laser fire erupted from below and caught Phuong full in the face. He shouted in pain, clutched at his bloody jaw, and reeled back against the wall. "Bloody Buddah!" he shouted through gritted teeth. Again, a shower of laser fire shot up from below. With no time to consider his injuries, Bridger unceremoniously pushed Phuong up the stairs. "C'mon," he commanded. Biting back the pain, Phuong jogged up the stairs, still clutching his face and leaving a trail of blood behind them. At the top of the stairs was a tiny platform and another hatched doorway. Lucas was just opening the heavy door as they arrived. Pushing through, they spilled into the room beyond where Phuong collapsed against the wall, his eyes rolling back in his head and gurgling grunts escaping his throat. It was quickly becoming clear that his injury was quite severe. They found themselves in a long, dimly lit room. Beside them was a row of windows looking into a similar room with what looked like computers and heavy equipment scattered about. Above them was a clear, dome-like ceiling that looked out into the ocean waters, an indication that they were at a topmost level in the compound. At the far end of the room were two tiny docking rings, but it was too dark to tell if any sort of transport and means of escape was there. Bridger turned to Phuong and pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the door they had just entered. "Can we lock this door?", he asked. Phuong shook his head and whispered, "not from this side." Bridger knew they had just seconds to escape, not enough time to board whatever was on the other side of the docking rings, if anything, and escape before the soldiers arrived. "Lucas," he commanded, "get down there and see what we can use to get out of here. I'm going to--" Lucas' eyes opened wide. "Captain!" he shouted. With unexpected and surprising force, Phuong struck Bridger in the elbow and wrenched the Macronesian weapon from his hand. Bridger swung a fist, hitting him full in the chest and causing him to stagger back to the wall. He hesitated using more force as Phuong brought the weapon up to Bridger's chest. *So he's betraying us after all.* he thought. *All this must have been some sort of plot to get us to this room. For what?* "Please, don't stop me, Mister Bridger," Phuong sputtered through his now ugly, bloody jaw. The words sounded distorted as the muscles of his mouth refused to cooperate. "Stop you from what?" Bridger asked. "What do you intend to do with us?" Phuong moved toward the still open door that lead back to the stairway. "Just take care of my family... please." He stepped through the door and onto the tiny platform beyond. A wet cough momentarily gagged him and it spattered blood and spittle onto the floor. "Don't let... all this... here mean nothing. It's got to mean something!" Tears of pain and regret began streaming down Phuong's face, mingling with the blood. The reality of what he intended to do now dawned on Bridger. "Make this sacrifice... worthwhile. My family-- Elsa... my wife. Make sure-- Goodbye, Mister Bridger." Phuong pushed the heavy door closed and Bridger heard the lock slip into place. For a stunned moment, Bridger just stood there. *The door only locks from the other side,* he heard Phuong's voice in his head say. *It's meant to keep people on the outside from getting in.* He turned to Lucas, who stood equally shocked at the events that just happened. Echoing through the walls, they could hear shouts and weapons fire from the other side of the door. Phuong shouted a long, painful cry followed by a prolonged silence. Bridger and Lucas stood transfixed, waiting for something to happen. Suddenly another volley of weapons fire was heard, followed by a hard, steady thudding that shook the floor and walls. With a crash, they heard an explosion and the unmistakable sound of depressurization and water rushing into an enclosed space. Looking up through the clear, domed ceiling, they could see a mass of air and debris exploding into the water as it rushed toward the surface. For the briefest of moments, Bridger thought he saw a human body amongst the debris-- a human body that might be Phuong's. "I guess he really meant it," Lucas whispered, "when he said he wanted to redeem himself." Bridger sighed. "I think you're right," he answered, but silently he asked himself if the sacrifice was worth it. Moving to the docking rings, he checked and verified his fears. There were no transports present. Phuong's sacrifice had trapped them in the rooms with no way out. * * * The grit and cold of concrete upon Krajefska's face brought him back to consciousness. He opened his eyes and was immediately rewarded with a blast of pain from him skull where Bridger had struck him. His body tensed and it took his brain a moment to register the events that had led him to be lying prone on the floor. With the realization, anger boiled inside him and he slowly got to his feet. As expected, the interrogation room was empty. He stepped outside the room, but the hallway was empty as well. He thought he heard the sound of explosions rolling outside the compound, but had no way to determine what was happening. He needed information. In the next room, he located a terminal comm and called to Central Control, but there was no response. No one was in Central Control! Angry at how quickly the situation had gotten out of control, Krajefska headed toward Central Control to find the problem and fix it. * * * By maneuvering around two man-sized hunks of metal and brushing aside dusty stacks of books, data disks and electronic equipment, Lucas was able to locate a working terminal in the adjoining room. He pulled over a battered, old SGI box and used it as a seat as he sat in front of the terminal and powered up the screen. "Is it working?" Bridger asked anxiously. He felt exposed in this room with no escape and folded his arms tightly across his chest as if to hide himself a little more. On the other hand, he could not be sure if their oxygen supply had been cut off and they would slowly suffocate, in which case, maybe it *would* be desirable to be found-- even if they were recaptured by the enemy. "It's working." Lucas tapped frantically at the keyboard, then paused and scrunched his face. "But it's going to take me a few minutes to get past the password protection." He reached behind the terminal and switched it off, then back on. "I've re-written the start up sequence to go around the system's safeguards and give me full access upon re-boot. It was a common flaw in these old IVG-2008 series terminals, however--" he tapped furiously at the interrupt key as the start up sequence scrolled up the screen, "--the trick is to stop the sequence at just the right moment so that the whole system is wide open." Bridger marvelled at Lucas' skills. He knew enough about coding to do a good analysis and get it to do simple tasks, but he knew of no one who knew how to make a computer get down on its knees and sing like Lucas could. He did not claim to fully understand what Lucas was trying to do, but he trusted him. "Okay," he answered. "Do what you have to do. We need to tap into their communications net, so make that your first priority. And find out where we are." He did not want to mention their precarious oxygen situation at the moment. There was no need to give Lucas the additional distraction. The terminal beeped and Lucas smiled. "Gotcha! I'm in!" He tapped furiously at the keyboard for a few minutes when the smile faded from his face. "That's odd." "What?" "There's no communications traffic at all in the main control center. There's only normal system monitoring. It's like no one's minding the store." "We haven't seen but about ten or fifteen different people since we've been here. Could this place run by itself?" "Possibly. But you'd think that with two escaped prisoners on the loose, they'd have someone at the control center to coordinate the search and/or watch the monitors." "Not necessarily. Not if they could accomplish that elsewhere. Check and see if there's any heavy communication going on somewhere else." Lucas tapped at the keyboard for a few seconds, paused while the data processed and came up on the screen, then drew in his breath sharply and answered, "No. It looks like nothing's going on at the moment. At least for the past ten minutes it hasn't." "Hmph. When was the last time the system was used?" "Wait a second." His tone indicated he had found something. "It looks like someone is online and they're using the monitoring and sensor system." "Right now?" "Yup." "Where are they?" "I'm working on it." After a few seconds, he found that for which he had been searching. "Someone's way down in what looks like the... um... the personal quarters area." *Ah!* thought Bridger. If someone was down there looking at monitors and sensors, then they were probably hiding and trying to see what was happening. So where was everyone else? "Can we tap into the sensors as well?" he asked. "Um... Let's see." Again, he tapped that the keyboard, searching for the a way to access the information. Finally, he slapped the ENTER key and the screen lit up with rows of pictures from the internal monitoring cameras. They could see movement in only one of them. Lucas quickly maximized the image. Bridger sucked in a startled breath. The images was of Captain Hudson and Jared Deuveaux walking briskly down a hallway and carrying an animated conversation that they could not hear. "Contact them!" Bridger almost shouted. "Captain, I don't think I can. There's no audio on this thing." Looking around himself excitedly, Bridger shoved aside equipment, data disks and anything else that got in his way as he searched for *something* they could use to contact Captain Hudson. * * * The door to Central Control creaked heavily as Krajefska pushed it open and entered the room. He had hoped to find someone there, but as expected, the room was empty. The many banks of computers and electronic boards buzzed and whirred and were the only sound in the room. Krajefska needed to access the situation. With a heavy, frustrated sigh, he sat at a terminal and began scanning for information. After a few moments, he wondered if the equipment were malfunctioning. He could find no traces of the Marauders patrolling outside. Had they succeeded in stopping the invaders or-- He checked the docking bay. There he found three transports, his personal carrier, a Macronesian Marauder and-- a UEO Spectre. *My God!* he thought, *they're inside the installation!* Quickly he scanned for activity inside the installation, hoping to catch the intruders. He located several people down in the personal quarters area, probably the medical and maintenance staff hiding during the attack. There was no sign of the operational or army staff. *Where is everybody!?* He checked the camera installations and saw, moving across the screen, the face of the enemy. A UEO captain and another man were skulking near the interrogation room where he had been just moments before. There was no sign of Captain Bridger or Ensign Wolenczak. The bitterness of the situation and having it get out of his control boiled up inside him and he slammed his fist on the table, causing the equipment to rattle violently. The noise must have alerted someone, as they began pounding desperately on the adjoining door of the room, Central Control's small lavatory and washroom. From the sound of the multiple voices, it looked like Krajefska had found to where Central Control's staff had vanished. *This situation has gone far too out of control,* he told himself. *Maybe it's time to cut out losses and get out of here.* Ignoring the shouts for help from the other room, he moved to another terminal and tapped a series of commands into the keyboard. He entered into a little used, but highly sensitive part of the Kerguelen installation's software. There, he entered the necessary codes and started the process he wanted, causing the screen to erase itself and begin scrolling what looked like random data across the screen. Now he moved to free the staff from the adjoining room. The door jam had been melted shut with an energy weapon, but an energy weapon just as easily unmelted it and the door swung open. Three men and one woman, all in Macronesian gray and red, spilled out. "Thank you, sir," the first man said. "What happened?" Krajefska demanded. "We were ambushed, sir," the man stammered excitedly. "They looked like UEO. They had guns and forced us into the head and--" "How many were there?" "Two, sir. One had a UEO captain's uniform." "Did they say anything?" "They asked about Bridger, sir, but we didn't say anything." "Is that all?" "Y-yessir." Krajefska sighed. "All right. We're getting out of here." He turned and headed for the door. The man hesitated. "Sir? I'm not sure I understand. By *we* do you mean--" "He means us, Lindsay," the woman interrupted. She turned away from a computer terminal she had been examining. "He's set core to overheat in fifteen minutes. If we want to live, we have to leave *now*." "Wh-wh-what about the others? There's people down below!" The others and the women headed for the door after Krajefska. "Call them if you want. Or go down and get them. Either way, there's no way they'll be able to get out in time." "Wh-wh-wh--" the man stammered. He suddenly found himself standing alone in the room. He looked at the terminal and considered calling the staff down in the personal quarters, but-- "Oh, hell!" He turned and followed after the others. * * * Hudson's frustration boiled inside him and ate at his gut. They had come so far and sacrificed so much, only to get here and not be able to locate Lucas and Bridger. Stepping out of the interrogation room, Jared met him with an equally frustrated expression. "Nothing," he said. "There's nothing to indicate what happened to them. Sighing heavily, Hudson asked, "Now what?" "Down to the prison area." "I was afraid you were going to say that." At this point, Hudson was considering to cut their losses and get out of empty handed. As it was, he had already gone way beyond what McGath would find acceptable with nothing to show for it and he knew there would be hell to pay when he got back. He was facing some serious consequences for the loss of Hausenbraugh. He did not want to make it worse with the loss of Lucas and Bridger as well. Although they knew the prison area would be difficult to access and likely guarded, it was their last resort. "Let's go," he commanded and the walked away together. And what *was* he going to do if they lost Lucas and Bridger. The loss of Hausenbraugh hurt bad enough. Bridger was a respected officer and scientist. He had designed the seaQuest and oversaw her construction. Hudson had him to thank for even getting such a fine vessel. The loss of Bridger was a great loss of knowledge and experience to the UEO-- and the world. On a more personal level, the loss of Lucas Wolenczak hurt even more. Not only was he smart, but he was young, malleable and with so much promise ahead of him. He had had a difficult childhood because of his "genius" status amongst his peers and the way his parents never really knew what to do with him. Under Bridger's tutelage, he had learned to focus his energies and had gotten the attention and stability he needed. Lucas looked to Bridger like a father. But Bridger was sometimes too soft and kept Lucas shielded from some of life's harsher realities. Hudson tried to harden Lucas, to teach him that sometimes the world could be a cold, harsh, unfair place to live. For that Hudson felt that he took over the fathering role from Bridger when he took over seaQuest. They did not always see eye to eye, but over time, developed a mutual respect. Movement caught his eye and interrupted his thoughts. He paused when he noticed a computer terminal flashing just inside an office where the door was left ajar. Something told him he should look closer... "What is it?" Jared asked. He had paused as well, curious what Hudson had seen. "I'm not sure." Hudson held his laser pistol at the ready as he nudged the door all the way open. A quick scan told them the room was empty. He turned his attention to the terminal. It simply showed a large "OH" filling the screen and flashing incessantly at them. "Oh?" Jared said. "What the heck does that mean?" Hudson's brow furrowed. "I think I know what it means. Someone knows we're here. 'O-H'. Oliver Hudson. It's my initials." "Oh," Jared responded, somewhat in jest. "Let's see if your secret admirer wants to talk." He reached over and tapped a key on the keyboard. The screen immediately changed to a split view; the top was a fish eye lens view of Captain Nathan Bridger waving tentatively back at them and the bottom was a repeating line of text reading: *Hello My Old Friend. Press F1 to continue.* Hudson exchanged an incredulous look with Jared, then did as the screen asked. The scrolling message stopped and the image of Bridger turned momentarily around. In the distance, they could make out Lucas, with whom he silently exchanged a few words. Then Bridger turned to face them again and started waving frantically. Lucas' typed words started appearing on the bottom of the screen: *Hello Captain Hudson. This is Ensign Lucas Wolenczak.* Excitedly, Hudson grabbed at the computer keyboard and pulled it toward himself. *Where are you?* he typed. *We escaped,* came the reply, *but now we're trapped, alone. Up at top of structure. It appears to be a small docking area, maybe for emergency use. No transports here. There's a large clear dome above us.* "I know what he's talking about." Jared said. "I saw it when we were outside. It's a small, docking port used for individuals who don't want to come through the main dock." Hudson typed this into the computer. *Come get us?* Lucas typed back. *ASAP. Don't go anywhere.* *Thanks. We're eager to get out of here.* But Hudson and Jared never saw the response. They were already gone and heading back to the docking area. * * * The others from Central Control had taken a transport and were ordered to head to the St. Paul Indian Seas base. Krajefska had launched his own personal transport and headed in another direction, toward Tasman. President Bourne was on that ship. Krajefska was not looking forward to explaining the failure of the mission and the destruction of the Kerguelen Plateau installation, but he took some consolation out of the fact that it was an old, outdated building anyway. And he might be able to find redemption in the fact that he was able to destroy a particular thorn in the side of Macronesia and President Bourne: a thorn named Captain Oliver Hudson. Hudson's death could be the one thing that saved him from a bad situation gone awry. * * * Bridger watched expectantly outside the domed ceiling for signs of Hudson and their rescue. The openness to the sea made him feel exposed, but his anxiousness to get out of there overroad any desire to hide in the shadows. Lucas, on the other hand, had stayed at the computer. Bridger stepped back into the darkened, equipment cluttered room and watched him type furiously at the keyboard. His curiosity was piqued as to what Lucas was working on so intently. "What're you doing, Lucas?" "Something's not right, here." "Not right?" Lucas spared a momentary glance at Bridger before turning back to stare at the screen. "I went back in to erase our conversation from the database, but the system's gotten sluggish. Something's dragging the system down, but I can't locate any runaway processes that are eating up the CPU time. And files that used to be there-- that're supposed to be there-- are coming back as invalid or are vanishing altogether." "What does that mean?" "It means that the system is falling apart and I don't know why." "Does it matter?" "Not if we get out of here before the system stops functioning." Bridger considered that, and figured it did not hurt to let Lucas continue working and keep his mind off the precarious situation they were in. After all, they both were feeling restless waiting for the others and this gave Lucas something to keep his mind occupied. He stepped back out to watch the waters for Hudson and Jared. Less than a minute later, Lucas called him back into the room. "Captain, I found the problem. This place has a nuclear generator as its main power supply. Somehow the cooling system has stopped functioning and the whole system is heating up. The heat is causing the computer core to quite literally melt down." Bridger knew his nuclear physics and knew the danger they faced. "And if it gets hot enough," Bridger deduced, "nuclear containment could malfunction and we'd have radiation spilling out all over this place." Lucas continued the worst case scenario, "Not to mention if water gets inside to the catalyst materials, it'd be a violent chemical reaction and *kaboom*." He pantomimed an exploding fireball to illustrate his point. "Which would be fine for us," Bridger continued, "because we're getting out of here. But you said there were people down below, right?" Tapping at the keyboard, Lucas brought up the information. "As far as I can tell, yes. There's *some* activity, but I can't tell how many people are there. Obviously someone's still here, though." Just then, the heavy clank of metal against metal signalled that someone was docking outside. Bridger's heart raced. Time was precious and the situation precarious. Their rescue had finally arrived and they needed to make their escape fast. Yet, they could not ignore the danger that faced those down below. They had a few minutes for Lucas to find and fix the problem, if possible, before they had to leave. "Keep working," he commanded and turned to meet Hudson at the airlock. Standing anxiously before the airlock, he could barely make out the dark shape of the transport in the water through the edge of the domed ceiling. Several more metal clangs reverberated around him as he stepped through the docking procedures in his mind. It suddenly hit him that this might not be Hudson and could possibly be the Macronesians coming to recapture them. He fought the urge to run and hide, but tensed his body nonetheless. The dock irised open with a tiny splash of water. There stood Captain Oliver Hudson with a tired, but relieved smile on his face. "Hello Nathan," he said simply. Bridger let out his breath and the tension eased from his shoulders. A relieved smile spread across his face as he said, "Hello Oliver." He stepped forward and the two captains shook hands. "It's certainly good to see a friendly face for a change." Hudson nodded in agreement. "Where's Lucas?" he asked. Turning his head, but not quite turning around, Bridger called over his shoulder, "Lucas?" There was no answer, so they walked over to the room and stepped inside, navigating the scattered equipment. Gently, Bridger urged, "Lucas, we have to go." "Just a minute." Lucas didn't even look up. Agitated over Lucas' insolence, Hudson crossed his arms across his chest and huffed, "Ensign, we're running out of time." Holding up a hand to forestall further confrontation, Bridger explained the situation of the nuclear containment failure. "And he can stop it from here?" Hudson asked. "Good question," Bridger responded. He turned expectantly to Lucas for an answer. Lucas tapped a few more keys and waited for the information to scroll across the screen. When it stopped, his face went slack. "Oh my god! This thing's on a countdown to failure. This was done on purpose!" "Can you stop it?" Bridger asked. "I certainly hope so." He once again reached behind the machine to turn it off and back on to re-boot. After a few seconds of boot up, he rapidly hit the interrupt key to restart the break-in sequence. "Hey!" Jared had exited their escape craft and stuck his head inside the room. "What're you doing? Let's go!" Hudson turned. "There's a problem." "Problem? What kind of problem?" Hudson started to explain, but was interrupted by Lucas' outcry. "No! No! No!" He pounded the table in frustration, then turned, with a bit of embarrassment to the others concerned expressions. "It didn't take. I need to start over." He again reached behind the machine to flip the switch and restart the machine. Clearly Jared was not happy with the situation. "We have to go *now*!" he commanded. "Lucas!" Bridger and Hudson shouted simultaneously. They all were growing impatient. "I know, I know. I can do this." "Why are we doing this?" Jared asked sarcastically. "Because we can't let those people die if we can help it," Bridger responded with a little more terseness than he had intended. Jared seemed particularly insensitive to the danger those below them faced. Hudson simply gave him a sharp look. The answer did not please Jared, who stormed back to the transport in anger. Gentler than before, but still with an edge of exasperation in his voice, Bridger asked, "Lucas, are you sure you can do this?" Lucas was afraid to look up and instead tapped frantically at the interrupt key again, hoping to stop the sequence where he wanted. "Yes, Captain, I am... I think... I hope." Agitation at Lucas' uncertainty etched itself into Bridger's face and he gently sighed. They had come so far and sacrificed so much and he hated the idea of throwing it all away just as they were about to escape. They had so little time. The term "casualties of war" crept across his mind as he considered leaving without letting Lucas finish. But despite it all, he could not let those people die needlessly, innocent or not. He had seen too much death and destruction many years ago-- factors that had lead to the loss of Robert-- to ever let it happen again if he could help it. If they had a chance... To help ease the tension, he looked sidelong at Hudson and with an edge of sarcasm, asked, "How've you been Oliver?" Hudson gave him a harsh look, before a slight smile touched his lips. "I've been better," he responded. They both knew the seriousness of the situation and the need for speed. "Ah!" Lucas cried. "I'm in!" Now he began the difficult task of navigating through the screen's text and graphics. "I just need to plant a few sleeper viruses to generate some process interrupts and..." he trailed off as he concentrated on the task. After a few tense moments of simply staring at the screen, he cried out, "Ha! I'm in the kernel! Now I need to replace a few commands that will give me access to the user database and the password files..." Bridger was always amazed at Lucas' ingenuity and knowledge about how to get around in computer memory. It was part of his strength that he had a different way of thinking than most people. It allowed him to see things in ways that no one had ever imagined and gave him the ability to sneak in the backdoor of the computer memory like this. Lucas continued talking out loud. "And there they are... and now I log in as the system owner... and locate the countdown program... and... uh, oh. That's not good." "What is it, Ensign?" Hudson asked. "Time is almost run out. We've got just over a minute to go before things go boom." He typed commands into the keyboard and watched as intently as information scrolled across the screen. Hudson sucked in his breath. "It's now or never, Ensign. Do it or we leave *now*." "I've got it! I've got it!" exclaimed Lucas excitedly. He paused the screen's scrolling and picked out the information he needed. "All I need is this process ID and I can kill the process. With that," he typed the necessary command on the keyboard, "I can stop the deliberate failure," he hit the ENTER key, "and we can get out of..." he hit the ENTER key again, "we can...", now he hit the ENTER key several times repeatedly. He growled in rage. "The damn system's froze up! It must be the meltdown that won't let it accept any more commands!" Bridger made up his mind. "C'mon, Lucas. Let's go." "No!" he cried in frustration. "Lucas! We have less than a minute! We *have* to go!" "No! I can stop this!" He gripped the keyboard edges until his knuckles were white. "Just a little more!" "There *is* no time!" Hudson shouted. He violently shoved aside a large box of unknown equipment to step toward Lucas. Grabbing him by the collar, he pulled hard, but Lucas resisted. "Captain! Just give--" Hudson pulled hard on Lucas' shirt, wrenching his grip from the keyboard and causing it to clatter to the floor. In a final, violent thrust, Lucas broke free from Hudson, grabbed at the keyboard, and pounded on the ENTER key. He was reward with a simple warning beep and a *I/O STREAM INTERRUPT: PROGRAM ABORTED* message. The program had finally accepted his command and halted the reaction. Hudson and Bridger both grabbed a shoulder and dragged him away. This time he did not resist. Mere seconds later, the four men were in the Macronesian transport and launched away from the Kerguelen Plateau installation. They were finally headed toward UEO waters and safety. * * * "Commander?" Henderson called. She would not remove her eyes from the scanner's screen. "They've got approximately two miles to the border. They're almost home." For Commander Ford, those words only increased the vice-like pressure on his chest. He had felt great less than an hour ago when he had had Henderson rig one of the DS-Cargo vessels with a remote control and sent out to retrieve Piccolo, Fredericks and Robert Bridger. Docking with their damaged craft was out of the question, so they decided to delicately and by remote control, use the DS-Cargo carrier to pick up the craft and carry it back to seaQuest. As soon as the vessels started the slow trip toward the border, the tension began to build again. Added to that, all attempts at communication with their crew resulted in failure. All they could do was wait and hope that they were okay. And it did not help Ford's mood to know that he was using a very thin technicality to defy a direct order from UEO Secretary McGath. He heard the slight chirp of an incoming shipboard call. "Commander Ford?" It was Vasquez from Sciences calling from his station beside Henderson. "What is it?" he asked tersely. "It's Doctor Perry. O'Neill's out of surgery." *Finally!* Hopefully it was good news. "Put it on the main screen." he commanded. The warm, motherly features of Doctor Perry filled the main screen. In the background behind her could be seen several of the surgical staff busily cleaning up. "What's the word, Doctor?" Ford asked. "The word is," she answered, "that O'Neill will be fine. He suffered some cracked ribs, severe tissue damage and loss of blood, but otherwise he'll be fine." Ford was glad to hear it, but somehow it did little to ease his tension. "Good. Good. What... um... how soon until he's back to normal?" "Oh, he's got a few days bedrest and several weeks recovery with physical therapy, but the prognosis looks excellent. He had some damage to the clavicle, but that was only cosmetic and most of the real damage was kept to the muscle alone. I was able to repair that and expect him to get back to full mobility." "Great. Thank you Doctor. We may have more patients for you shortly." Ford was not sure, but he thought she had rolled her eyes in agitation before responding with a warm smile and a hint of sarcasm, "I'll be waiting." He cut the transmission and the inky blackness of the ocean, framed by a constant update on ship's status, filled the main screen. He turned his attention to Henderson and inquired about the crippled craft they were bringing back across the border. She looked up from her monitor and the huge smile plastered across her face already told him the good news. "They're across, sir. They're in UEO waters." At the news, a round of boisterous cheers broke out across the bridge. * * * Feeling much recovered, Darwin away from seaQuest to greet his friends. He chirped at them, but they did not and could not respond. That was okay. He knew a way to find them. He raced around the metal craft until he found the window into the machine. Pacing the craft's speed, he peeked inside their world-- a distorted world to his dolphin eyes. A person inside saw and waved at him. He moved closer. He recognized Piccolo. Another person came into view. It was the cold one they called Fredericks. Suddenly two WSKRS from seaQuest swarmed around the metal craft and momentarily chased Darwin away. As they settled into position and peered into the craft, Darwin edged back into position where he could see inside again. Piccolo was gesticulating at the WSKRS and using his amazing opposable thumb, pointed in an upright position, to indicate their condition to the WSKRS, and thus seaQuest. From the edge of the window appeared a third figure. He was gaunt and sickly in appearance, but Darwin found him vaguely familiar. The new person smiled and waved at him. * * * Ford had the view on the main screen split between the view of both WSKRS and the seaQuest docking bay. The entire bridge staff watched with eager anticipation as the damaged transport containing their crew was deposited into the seaQuest's interior and finally reached a point of safety. As the transport vanished inside the ship, Ford could hardly contain himself. He had not felt this good in nearly a week! Henderson too, shared the joy, but her face fell when she heard the something on her headphones. She flipped a switch and called out, "Jonath..." She caught herself. "Commander. I hate to spoil your good mood, but I have a call from Secretary McGath on the link." Raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, but unable to shake the good mood, he commanded, "Put him on screen." McGath appeared and it was immediately apparent that he was livid. "Commander Ford, we have a problem," he said without introduction. Sucking in a deep breath, Ford let it all out in one big whoosh and mentally prepared himself for the coming confrontation. "And what's that, sir?" "You violated my orders! You crossed the border and retrieved that craft after I told you not to do so!" "Well... not exactly sir." "Commander Ford!" McGath warned. "Sir, I could not let those people die! I had the ability to save them and I did! I also respected your order to not cross the Macronesian border and instead sent a remote control craft to assist them the rest of the way to safety!" McGath sighed heavily and paused before beginning his response. "Commander," he started. The anger overtook him and he stopped his response. Instead he touched his fingers to his forehead as if he had developed a sudden migraine and subtly massaged his temples. His clenched teeth belied restraint from a violent, vocal response. Ford feared that he may have gone too far. He had a lot to learn from Captain Hudson about how to properly handle commanding officers and still get his way. Yet, he had no regrets about saving his friends and would gladly do so again if the situation were repeated. "Commander," McGath finally said. "You've pushed the envelope of acceptable behavior." It was clear from his tone that he was speaking with restrained anger and trying to speak calmly. "I cannot and will not accept any further strays from my orders or the intent of my orders. Is that clear, Commander?" Puffing up his chest, Ford answered succinctly, "Yes sir." "Good." McGath's controlled anger subsided. "You are to give Robert Bridger all the medical attention he requires, but he is not to have contact, with anyone-- and I mean *anyone*-- that is not of a medical nature." "Yes sir." "The other two crewmembers, if they do not require medical attention, are to be confined to quarters without contact with each other or anyone else until I say otherwise. Understood?" Seeing that he may have gotten away with "bending" the rules in retrieving his crewmembers, Ford was more than willing to be agreeable to these orders. "Yes sir. Your orders are perfectly understood, sir." "Good, good," McGath responded. The tension seemed to ease from him a bit. "The *Diefenbaker* will be there shortly and I'll be coming aboard. I'll see you then with further instructions." "Yes sir." McGath cut the link without a response. Under his breath Ford added, "I'll be looking forward to it." End Part 28 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:22:17 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 29 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 29 Lucas could hardly believe it. They had done it. They had escaped capture and were heading back to seaQuest. It was finally over. Upon speeding away from the Macronesian structure on the Kerguelen Plateau, their enigmatic comrade, Jared Deuveaux, remained at the controls of the transport. Lucas, exhausted from the ordeal, sat alone in the rear and settled in for a short nap to revive his energy. It was not as simple as it seemed because his mind continually raced with thoughts of all that had just occurred to them. Despite the mental agonizing, though, his exhaustion and the steady rumble of the transport's engines lulled him into a light sleep. Scanning for signs of pursuit, Hudson sat at the controls beside Jared. After a while of scanning with no results, he gave up and turned away from the controls and engaged Bridger, who had been sitting behind him in quiet contemplation, in a quiet conversation. "So did you two come out of there unhurt?" Reaching up to touch the back of his neck, Bridger gingerly touched the burned and rippled flesh. "Yeah," he conceded. "I'll be fine." "What happened in there?" Bridger paused a moment and gave Hudson a pensive stare. "Do you mind if I ask you a question first?" he asked. "Your son?" "Yes." "We found him and he's alive." Gooseflesh poured over Bridger at the news and his shoulders slumped as much of the tension he had kept inside was released. Hudson continued, "He's alive, but I can't tell you how well. Last time we saw him, he was heavily drugged. He did look a little beat up, but no broken bones or signs of visible damage. I had the others take him out of Tasman Prime and back to seaQuest." "Thanks." Bridger's smile was bittersweet. "Let's hope they made it back okay. I *do* appreciate the efforts you've gone to on my account." "My crew is still very loyal to you. I respect that. I hope to engender such loyalty myself some day." Bridger nodded in agreement and understanding. "And I should let you know," Hudson continued, "that Lieutenant O'Neill took a bullet in the process. He and Dagwood were the ones who actually went *into* the prison to break your son out. And Merrick Hausenbraugh was killed outside Kerguelen." *Oh, no!* Bridger thought. He had never intended for so many things to go wrong, much less that someone get hurt. "Is O'Neill okay?" Hudson was frank and told him that he did not know. He continued by relating the story of Darwin's return to seaQuest, Hudson's journey to Tasman Prime and the discovery of the slaughter of Macronesian soldiers there, all while casting an agitated glance at Jared, who ignored all of this as if he was not hearing it. Hudson ended by telling Bridger about the discovery of Robert Bridger and his return to seaQuest. "Do you have any idea why he was being kept prisoner there?" asked Bridger. Hudson again looked sidelong at Jared's back. "Yeah, I have an idea." Bridger followed his gaze and stared at Jared's back. Mixed emotions played across his face as he considered Jared's involvement in all this and what it had to do with his son. The last time he had seen Jared, was back on Kauruka island. They had met the Macronesian officer at his mother's home where he had secretly provided them with a map of the Tasman Prime prison and information on Robert's location. He had also helped them quietly escape from the Macronesian army occupying the island. There still remained a question of Jared's involvement in all this. What did he know about Robert? And why was he helping them? The big question remained: What was his motive and could he be trusted? As if reading his mind, Hudson answered his question. "He's UEO. He told me he's part of an undercover UEO espionage group and his mission was to rescue Robert Bridger." *UEO espionage group?* Bridger thought. He was privy to many of the UEO's hidden, nasty secrets and was aware of certain operative groups, but an organization that had planted operatives in the Macronesian army was something he did not know. *And they had a mission to the rescue of Robert? What the hell's going on here? That implies that the UEO knew about Robert and his whereabouts, but didn't tell me, his father, that he was even alive!* The thoughts angered him. "The sons of bitches!" he said out loud. Standing, he moved to confront Jared. "UEO knew about Robert this whole time and they didn't tell me!? I went through all this bullshit and men have lost their lives because they didn't have the courtesy to tell me what they knew about *my* son!?" Jared tensed and did not look up. After a moment of careful contemplation, he answered, "Mister Bridger, it's a little more complicated than that." "More complicated? Explain." With obvious reluctance, Jared went on. "Robert is a part of our group. That's why we couldn't say anything to you. To tell you that he was alive and what he was involved with would be to compromise his security. It would have compromised *everybody's* security." *Finally, some answers,* Bridger thought. "Okay, so what's my involvement in all this? Why did you provide me with a map of Tasman Prime and let me go off on my own if you knew the bigger picture?" "You're involvement *was* part of the rescue. We knew you could get inside and attempt a rescue, but your ignorance of the organization was something that worked to our advantage. We exploited that. The encounter with the Vietnamese boat unfortunately compromised our secrecy and threw our plans askew." Suddenly it made sense. "This organization, it's what the Macronesian Alliance is after, isn't it. This organization they call 'Firebird'". At the name, Jared tensed. "Yes," he confirmed. "They were trying to get information from Robert about Firebird, but he wasn't talking. You were afraid that if anyone from Firebird attempted rescue and was caught, then they *might* talk. So you sent me in there, totally ignorant, so that if and when I was caught, I couldn't tell them anything." Jared nodded his head. It was insidious and something Bridger may have done himself in a similar situation many years ago and in another lifetime... before Robert's supposed death. The last part was the real irony. Robert's supposed death had been a catalyst for so much change in his life, yet here he was, twenty years later finding out his son was alive, part of UEO and performing many of the same military missions that he had left behind because of that death. Still, the question remained: What was Robert's involvement in all this? Bridger asked the question of Jared. Jared looked him in the eye but did not immediately answer. The expression on his face told Bridger that he felt compassion and a touch of regret. His body expressed discomfort with the question and he turned away, unable to look him in the face any longer. "Your son is a friend of mine. He always spoke highly of you and expressed regret for the pain that you went through all those years ago." After a few moment of nothing more, Bridger said, "That still doesn't answer the question. What was my son's involvement in all this? Why would he vanish from me for twenty years?" Jared sighed. "It's a complicated answer. I think it's best that he answer that question for you." Bridger did not like the answer and considered pushing the issue. Did Jared even have the answers he was seeking? He seemed to have more information that he was letting on. Bridger did not think he was getting the whole picture, but maybe it would be best that he talk it out with Robert when he got back to seaQuest. His thoughts were broken by a loud, buzzing alarm coming from the control panel. Jared's hands searched the panel for an answer to the cause for the alarm. "We have company," Hudson said. He stood and nudged by Bridger to get back into the co-pilot's seat. He flicked a switch and the alarm immediately shut off. Bridger stood between them and stared out the transport's window and into the black waters, as if he could see something. "Who is it?" he asked. "Give me a moment, Captain," said Hudson as he scanned his control panel. "I'm not used to using this Macronesian technology..." He continued to scan. Lucas was suddenly at Bridger's shoulder. "What's going on?" he asked. "Sit down," Bridger commanded. "Captain, I--" "Sit down!" Without another word, Lucas stepped away and complied. "And use your restraints!" Bridger turned back to Hudson, who was working at the controls, still trying to determine who or what had triggered the alarm. "Whatever it is," Hudson told him, "it's coming up on us fast." "Slow down," Bridger commanded Jared. "We're not going to get away and we don't want to appear unfriendly. Captain Hudson, see if they're trying to communicate--" A flash of brightness exploded near them and lit up the murky waters. Jared, who had been slowing them down, suddenly sped back up again. "They're firing on us," he stated. Hudson nodded. "And I *think* that means they're not exactly trying to be friendly." He checked his board again. "Whatever they want, they haven't tried to call us yet, but are matching our speed and course." Straining to see into the darkness outside, the trio saw the unknown craft's lights shining into the water below them as it crept forward. The nose of the craft, squatty and flat, could be seen first. "It certainly looks Macronesian," Hudson stated. Moving forward further, they could see the craft's flat cockpit window and a lone figure inside. The person turned to look at them-- It was Defense Minister Krajefska! As soon as he made eye contact, he lingered for a second, smiled, then veered his craft away. "What the hell's this all about?" Hudson asked nobody in particular. "That's Defense Minister Krajefska," answered Bridger. "He was the one who imprisoned and questioned us back on Kerguelen Plateau." Jared nodded in understanding. "And I think he wanted us to know that it was him in that craft." "Why?" Hudson asked. "He wants us to know who it is that's going to destroy us." Just when they thought the nightmare was finally over, it came back. Bridger's mind whorled, trying to focus and find a way out of this new predicament. "What type of weapons does our craft have?" he asked. "None," answered Jared. "It's not a fighter craft." So they had no weapons. Maybe they could make some. "Where exactly are we?" Checking his navigation data, Jared answered, "We're just past Broken Ridge, longitude--" "How close to the Ninetyeast Ridge?" he interrupted, an idea forming in his head. "It's northwest from here, less than five minutes." "And realistically, how deep can this craft go?" Confusion danced across Jared's face. "I'm not sure. My best guess is 3500 fathoms or so. Not enough to take us all the way down at these depths." "That's okay, we won't have to go all the way down. Take us to Ninetyeast Ridge." Jared paused, unsure of what to do. Another blast of laser fire in the water near them, jolted him to action and he silently complied. Hudson turned in his seat to face Bridger, concern on his face. "Captain, you *were* missing for ten years. You may not be aware that volcanic activity started up at Ninetyeast a few years ago. It's not quite as peaceful as you remember it." Bridger smiled slightly. "I'm aware of that, Captain. In fact, I'm counting on it." * * * It galled Krajefska to think they would get away. He could not let it happen and was willing to do anything to stop it. They had caused so much destruction. In the end, they had caused the failure of Krajefska's mission and he did not look forward to having to explain that failure. If he could stop them-- if he could destroy them, it would be a vindication against the penalties he was going to face for his defeat at Kerguelen Plateau. He knew their craft had no defensive weapons, so he had pulled up close enough for them to confirm who they were facing. He needed them to know that it was him, Defense Minister Krajefska, who would stop them. As soon as he saw recognition in their faces, he veered off and banked slowly around to come up behind them. After a few seconds of following, he fired a shot off their starboard. They turned to port and sped off toward the north. *Good,* he thought, *they're going to put up a fight. This ought to to make it a little more interesting at least.* * * * Moments later and after Jared managed to escape more taunting laser fire, Bridger could tell they had arrived at Ninetyeast Ridge. The water around them rippled with warmth and the particulate matter in their path told of upheaval on the sea floor. "Take us closer," he instructed. As they dove closer to the source of the magmatic activity, a massive white shape loomed before them. For a brief moment, the thing pulsed with bio-luminescence, then shot away from their path, trailing a long mass of tentacles behind itself before vanishing into the darkness. Startled, Jared jerked the transport sideways, causing Bridger to nearly lose his balance if not for his grip on the back of Hudson's chair. An alarm started buzzing at them. Exasperated, Jared fairly screamed above the rising din, "Hull pressure is at maximum! We can't take much more of this!" "Level off!" Bridger shouted back. "We're deep enough!" He could feel the pressure on his ears. As the craft's trajectory leveled, Bridger asked to have Hudson's seat. They switched positions. Hudson, perplexed, asked what he was planning. "The water around these vents is hot and volatile, right? Well this transport doesn't have any weapons-- nothing to defend ourselves from that madman behind us. Therefore, *that*--," Bridger pointed out into the black water just as a tall dark column went by them and Jared quickly turned them away from it, "*that* has to be our weapon." "What is *that*?" Hudson asked, looking out into the water searching for the unseen and unknown. "The water. The *hot* water. There're vents scattered all over the Ninetyeast Ridge. In particular, the black smokers are our best bet. They're chimneys of basalt and debris that build up when a vent pours water out the same area for an extended time. Essentially, its an underwater geyser supported by a fragile column of rocklike debris. Just below the surface is magma flow that feeds the vents. If we can break open one of these smokers at just the right moment, the results can be explosive and we might have a chance to get away." Jared turned to him with a look of incredulity. "And how do you plan on breaking open a black smoker?" "With the only thing we have-- the tow line." "That's insane!" "Do you have a better idea?" They were jolted in their seats as a blast from Krajefska connected with their transport and momentarily skewed their course. With a look of reluctant acceptance, Jared answered, "I guess not." With Hudson standing behind them and holding their seatbacks for support, Jared sat in the pilot's seat and controlled the transport's path over the vents and around several black smokers while Bridger worked the tow line loose from the back of the craft and let it trail behind them. The smokers were historically very fragile, so getting one broken shouldn't be a problem. In fact, Bridger remembered a time when they had used the seaQuest to try and bring one to the surface and it was a problem to *not* break it. The problem was getting it to break the way he needed it to break so that they got the reaction he wanted. Added to that, they had to continually evade the pursuing Krajefska. Using the sensors, Bridger found a stubby, thick smoker that he thought would work. He directed Jared toward it. As they approached, they could just make it out in the murky waters: a giant, steamy, dark column jutting up toward the surface. Like a two headed leviathan, one side of the smoker had a knobby bulb where the water flow had escaped the column's usual path and attempted to start a new one. "Bring us around it," Bridger commanded, "keeping it about 20 meters away from us at all times." Jared did as he asked. The craft's seams groaned under the water pressure and the sharp turn they were taking. Bridger ignored the sound and used the sensors to watch the tow line and how it dragged behind them. Unfortunately, the tow line swung wide and missed the column altogether. Krajefska fired at them again, narrowly missing the smoker as they passed by it. "Do it again," Bridger told Jared, "only a little slower this time." "Slower?" Jared questioned. "Yes, the tow line is swinging too wide." "You *do* realize I'm also trying to evade somebody who's trying to kill us?" Bridger looked at him with a haggard, determined expression. "Yes, I know." After a few more twists and turns and dives a little too close for comfort to the volcanic seabed, Jared evaded the pursuing Krajefska and brought them back around the same smoker. As Bridger requested, he moved a little slower this time. Watching the sensors, Bridger had difficulties picking out the tow line from the surrounding debris and heat signals. At best, he could only watch the black smoker and for signs that it was being disturbed. The tow line hit the column, causing the fragile material to crumble. Still, it refused to fall. Before Bridger could check the sensors for their pursuer, Krajefska unexpectedly fired at them as he came at them from the starboard side. They were extremely vulnerable from this position and at this speed. "Hang on!" Jared shouted as he poured a burst of speed into the craft, propelling them forward and away from the danger. The sudden jolt did exactly what Bridger had hoped. The black smoker crumpled in on itself. As they sped away, he tried to keep an eye on the smoker and Krajefska, simultaneously, hoping that their desperate ploy would work. When the smoker simply fell apart and Krajefska jetted away unharmed, Hudson asked, "I thought you said that thing would be explosive when we broke it open." "It should. With the particles clogging the water outlet and the extreme heat, pressure should build up and cause the whole works to explode... in theory." "In theory!?" "There's no guarantee when it will happen, if at all, or that it will happen in a predictable time frame." Jared fought to gain control of the craft from the sudden changes in water temperature and pressure as they moved away. "So what you're saying is we're really grasping at straws here." "What choice do we have?" Bridger deadpanned. Just then, the area beneath the column burst with heat and debris. Unfortunately, Krajefska was no where near it and it was hardly an explosion worth causing the havoc they needed. Between the heat, debris and their speed, Bridger was having difficulty following the readings he was getting via the sensors and keeping track of Krajefska. At the moment, he could not locate him in the waters. Wary of where their attacker was located or that he would show up unexpectedly, he directed Jared to another smoker for another attempt at breaking it with the tow line. As they neared, Krajefska pulled in behind them in pursuit. It was just was they needed. "Go!" Bridger shouted. "Now! He's right behind us!" Evading Krajefska's laser fire, Jared brought them around another black smoker, taller and thinner than the last one. It loomed in their field of vision as they neared it. Just as it was beside them, they swung sharply around it. Bridger watched the environment around them and the tow line. It was too far out this time and instead of hitting the edge of the column, it snagged on something near the ocean floor. This caused them to snag, and disturbed the fragile environment enough that a wave of heat came boiling up at them. It buffeted them about the craft, straining the already pressure stressed hull and causing Jared to fight to keep them steady. With a metal groaning squeal, they bolted away from the bubbling mass and Krajefska. Again, Bridger searched for him amongst the sensor noise. He would also have to bring the tow line in closer-- "Damn!" he exclaimed. "We lost the tow line. It must have broken or melted off." They had nothing left to fight with and a madman in pursuit. "Now what?" Hudson asked, with a touch of bitterness in his voice. Bridger tried to think fast. "What else do we have?" he asked Jared. But Jared was not paying attention. He was scanning something on his board. "Uh, oh," he said flatly. "The situation has just gotten *much* worse." Searching his own sensor board, Bridger found the source of the problem. Something massive had just come to hover over them. It was not biological. It was metal and plastic and... "President Bourne," Hudson said out loud. The realization that this could all be over struck at them. There was no way they could escape with both Krajefska and the firepower of Bourne and the warship he commanded. Hudson voiced his concerns. "If he launches fighters..." He left the rest unsaid. In their moment of distraction, a barrage of laser fire blasted at them and shook the craft, threatening to breach the hull. They tumbled sideways, the surprise causing Jared to be thrown up against the side of the craft and the mass of sharp and blunt equipment that rested there. He came away with a bleeding wound from his temple, but ignored it in the struggle to get them away from the weapons. When they had momentarily escaped, Hudson asked, "You okay?" Putting his hand to his temple, Jared pulled his hand away and looked at the blood in a daze. "Yeah," he answered. "I think so." He was obviously stunned by the event. Suddenly, the craft shook with more laser fire and they nearly keeled in the water, falling toward the hot ocean floor and greater pressure than they could take. Jared fought to correct their trajectory and barely did so before the heat and speed destroyed them. Making a critical decision, Hudson grabbed Jared by the scruff of his shirt and yanked him out of the seat. Literally throwing him into a seat beside Lucas, Hudson did not bother checking to see that he was strapped in before taking his place at the transport's controls. "What are you doing?" Bridger asked with concern. "I'm ending this, one way or the other." Hudson brought the transport around and back toward the giant black smokers. "Has Bourne launched fighters yet?" he asked. Bridger checked is sensor board. "Not yet. He *is* bearing down on us though, with his warship. He can take the heat and pressure better than we can." Hudson smiled. "Where is Defense Minister Krajefska?" As if in answer, the water beside them flashed and boiled with laser fire. "He's right behind us," Bridger answered with a hint of sarcasm. "All right!" Hudson shouted. "Everybody hold on!" Pouring power into the Macronesian transports engines, they thrust forward to the boiling waters and towering black smokers. Debris and strange sealife flashed by them at dizzying speeds. For only an instant, they saw the muddy, distorted surface of a large black smoker in front of them. Hudson veered away just fast enough that they slammed into the side of it. With a bone crunching sound, the craft impacted, causing everyone inside to tense up and attempt to keep themselves from being thrown about. The injured craft tumbled away, trailing black smoker debris. Behind them, the point of impact cracked the rocky column. For an instant, it stood as if nothing had happened. Then the point of impact crumpled and the column above it fell in upon itself, before finally lurching sideways and falling. Krajefska had only a split second to react to the massive column that fell toward him. He veered to the side, but still the smoker clipped his craft, sending him out of control. He fought the current of heat and debris that rained down upon him, but could not regain his sense of direction. When the heat, debris and bits of magma exploded from the damaged smoker, Krajefska never had time to know what had hit him and caused the rupture in the craft's hull. The incredible water pressure created the near instantaneous implosion that killed him and destroyed the craft. On board the Macronesian warship, President Bourne watched helplessly as his defense minister vanished in the exploding debris. All around him, the ship's crew fought to keep control of the massive craft and make sense of the multiple sensor images they were receiving. Silently and with a sense of resignation, he found a seat and tried to stay out of the way as the ship's captain attempted to reign in the confusion. He had just lost his defense minister-- a man and a friend who had served him well since way back in the early days of the Macronesian rebellion and his rise to power. He knew that if it were not for the head strong Krajefska, he would not have the power he now wielded. But Krajefska's dogged sadistic side, which had always served him, had now failed him. It had been his downfall. The ocean floor below them exploded again, larger this time, sending the giant warship reeling. Watching the boiling mass on the ship's screen, Bourne thought he spotted a twisted hunk of metal that used to be Krajefska's transport come flying up amongst the volcanic material of Ninetyeast Ridge. The stunned crew fought to get them out of the way of danger. Through it all, the tiny Macronesian craft containing Bridger, Hudson, Lucas and Jared escaped unnoticed. * * * Over seven hours later and just on the other side of the Macronesian/ UEO border, the four men finally relaxed their guard. Locating the seaQuest, they sped north towards her and began hailing. When the calls were answered, connections were made and the image of the seaQuest bridge filled the transport's small viewscreen. In the middle of the screen stood Secretary McGath and Commander Ford. "Uh, oh," Hudson intoned under his breath. "Captain Hudson," McGath said. "It's good to see you've come back in one piece." His expression was sour and his voice had a hint of sarcasm. "Mister Secretary, it'll be good to be back on board." There was an unspoken sense of a power struggle between the men and it came out disguised beneath the pleasantries of their exchange. No matter McGath's displeasure with their actions, he knew that they must all look tired and bedraggled after several days without a shower or a shave. "A captain needs to be present to command his ship," McGath answered, the ominous nature of the statement very clear. "I trust Commander Ford, Mister Secretary, to take good care of my ship." To Bridger, the exchange seemed ludicrous and smacked of politicking. He could not shake the knowledge that his son, whom he had just fought to get back after twenty years, was probably on seaQuest as they spoke and he was being kept from knowing his fate by Hudson and McGath's posturing. Without preamble, Bridger interrupted. "Commander Ford, did my son..." The rest was left unspoken. Ford looked to McGath, as if seeking approval. McGath returned a sour face that said he did not approve of the question and possibly it's answer. Looking back at the screen, Ford gave him a sympathetic expression and answered, "He's here. And for the moment, he in good condition and safe." A wash of relief poured through Bridger. Finally, the moment in time to which he had held for twenty years was unfolding. He was going to see his Robert again. He sighed and the unbidden emotions bubbled to the surface of his face. He fought them down long enough to say thanks to Ford, then stepped away from the group to stand alone at the back of the craft. The others left him in his solace. Ignoring the emotional event, McGath commanded, "I'll need to see all of you immediately upon return to seaQuest. Until then, there will be no further communications." He cut the transmission without further explanation. End Part 29 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:23:03 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 30 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 30 Locating seaQuest and the recently arrived Diefenbaker in UEO waters, the four returning men docked their Macronesian transport on seaQuest. They were finally home. The atmosphere surrounding the men was sharp with anticipation, both good and bad. Each of them remained silent and pensive as they exited the craft and stepped up to the pressure doors, awaiting for pressure equalization and the opening of the doors leading to seaQuest's interior. Bridger's mind flitted, unable to concentrate on the multitude of conflicting thoughts. What would be the consequences for crossing into the Macronesian territory? What would happen to those seaQuest crew who followed him there? What role would Jared Deuveaux and his involvement with Firebird play in getting all this sorted out? Was O'Neill okay? Was Darwin okay? Foremost on his mind was his son. He had played out their meeting so many times in his mind. Would there be a cold distance between them, because they didn't know each other anymore? Or would there be a tearful reunion, filled with laughter and tenderness? Or would those old, familiar father/son pains and stresses to their relationship return? He knew the reunions he had imagined weren't always based in reality, but they remained a source of comfort for him, even if they weren't always ideal reunions. Now that the moment was upon him, he felt jittery. He wanted to go to him immediately, but another part of his mind said he wanted to take a shower and shave so that he looked his best-- The door cracked and hydraulics squealed as it slowly opened to seaQuest's interior. They were greeted by Commander Ford and four burly security men-- curiously, security men from the Diefenbaker and *not* seaQuest. Ford smiled, but it was a strained smile. Bridger knew him well enough to know this implied that he was glad to see them, but not all was well. The Diefenbaker security were probably part of the problem. "Captain Hudson," said Ford tonelessly. "Lucas. Welcome back." "Thank you, Commander," Hudson replied stoically. Lucas silently nodded. Stepping forward, Ford jutted out his hand toward Bridger. "It's good to see you back safely, sir." The smile on his face was warm and genuine. Bridger took the hand and shook firmly. "Thanks." Letting go, he glanced questioningly at Hudson, then nodded toward one of the security men and directed a question at Ford. "What's with them?" The smile faded from Ford's lips. "That's..." he started. "McGath has them here to detain your friend." Just then, two of the security men stepped forward, nudged Lucas to the side, and roughly grabbed at Jared. "Hey!" he exclaimed, his tired voice coming out in a rasp. The men twisted his arms behind his back and slipped his hands into a set of restraints. "Commander!" said Hudson in alarm. "What's this about?" He didn't like the Diefenbaker crew performing duties on seaQuest, much less the unceremonious seizure of a man who was just involved in saving their lives. "McGath says he'll explain," answered Ford. "Like hell!" Hudson exclaimed. "This is *my* ship!" He turned and stepped up to the two men holding Jared. "I order you to let him go, right now!" One of the two remaining Diefenbaker security men placed himself between Hudson and the other men. "Sir, I'm sorry, we've been ordered directly by Secretary McGath to take this man into custody." "What the hell for?" Hudson challenged. "I don't know, sir," the man responded apologetically, but with an air that said he wasn't going to back down from the order. Hudson glared at him for a second, then looked around him to Jared. Jared sighed an exasperated sigh, then nodded his head. "It's okay," he said. "Don't worry, we'll get all this sorted out." Hudson turned to Ford, clearly not pleased with the situation. They exchanged expressions that said that neither of them were pleased, but the also realized there was nothing they could do until they spoke with McGath. Turning back to the Diefenbaker security man, Hudson asked, "Where are you taking him?" "He'll be detained in the seaQuest brig, with the other prisoner." "Other prisoner?" "There was another person," Ford interjected, "who returned with Lieutenant O'Neill and Dagwood. He *attacked* them." "Attacked them? I think I need to hear this *whole* story." "You will, sir. Secretary McGath had me come down here to accompany you and Captain Bridger to the conference room for a debriefing. The Diefenbaker security men," Ford indicated the two remaining men who were not holding Jared, "are to ensure that we get there." "What about me, Commander?" asked Lucas, speaking up for the first time. "Go to medbay," Ford told him, "and get yourself checked out. Then go to your quarters and don't talk to *anybody* about your experiences until I or Captain Hudson tell you otherwise." Lucas seemed irritated by that, but nodded in silent agreement. He said goodbye and walked away as instructed, followed shortly by the two men holding Jared. The rest turned a different path, but Bridger put a restraining hand on Ford's arm to hold him back. "Commander," he said, "I'd like to have a few moments to speak with Robert first." Ford looked at him sympathetically, then back at the security men who were waiting for them. "McGath was emphatic about speaking to you right away. That's why he sent security to make sure we get there." He paused and spoke the rest in quiet tones. "Besides, they have your son under tight security with no one allowed to speak with him except the medical staff." Bridger took that in, unperturbed. "Where is he? In medbay?" "Yes." "I'm sorry Commander," he continued, "but I'm not going to be able to sit through this debriefing, while knowing that my son, whom I haven't spoken to in twenty years, is just a few feet away, recovering from unknown injuries. I *have* to go see him... just to make sure he's okay." The Diefenbaker security man who had spoken earlier spoke up. "I'm sorry, sir, but Secretary McGath instructed me to--" "McGath can wait!" Hudson interrupted and stepped between the two men. "Bridger and I have gone through too much to have McGath tell us he can't see his own son!" The man hesitated. He was clearly unsure of being confronted with conflicting orders from two captains and a commander. "Thank you, Oliver," Bridger responded, quite sure of himself and with a touch of smugness. He tipped his head politely at Ford. "Commander." With that, Bridger turned away and headed toward medbay and the son for whom he had been searching and sacrificed so much for so long. The security man looked after him, torn between conflicting orders. "Don't worry," Hudson told him. "I'll take full responsibility for this." That seemed to satisfy the man. He conceded and they headed away to meet McGath. * * * At the doorway leading into medbay, Bridger expected to see guards posted, but there were none. He pushed open the door and stepped inside. He was immediately struck by the disheveled state of the room. Equipment, beds, data discs, personal effects, etc. were scattered about. Other than the patients, there were very few people around. The room was silent except for hushed voices in another room and the gentle bleeps and blurs of various electronic equipment. Glancing sideways, Bridger spotted the guards he had expected to see outside. They were trying to remain discreet and out of the way of the medical personnel that occasionally darted across the room on one errand or other. Bridger caught their eyes and wondered if they recognized him or knew his purpose for being here. Would they try to prevent him from speaking to his son? Choosing not to bother with the confrontation, he turned away and scanned the faces in the beds around the room, searching for the face that had filled his mind for so long... "Can I help you?" a voice asked. Bridger turned to the dark-skinned woman suddenly at his side. "Is Robert Bridger here?" he asked. Doctor Perry cast an inquisitive glance back at the guards, then turned back to him and smiled warmly. "Captain Bridger," she said in recognition, "he's right over here." She pulled at his elbow and led him to a bed in an out of the way, darkened corner. As they approached, Bridger saw that the person in the bed was sitting up and facing away from them, reading something in his lap. His hair, cut short, was dark, but lightly peppered with gray-- his son. It seemed strange to see him with graying hair and it struck Bridger how long it had been. As they stepped into his light, Robert Bridger looked up inquisitively and locked eyes with his father. For a few seconds that seemed to stretch out forever, they simply stared at each other, recognition dancing across their faces. Finally a huge smile cracked Robert's face. "Dad!" he croaked, his voice ragged. "Hello, Robert." They continued to stare and smile at each other, the awkwardness not allowing either of them to speak. Doctor Perry, recognizing their difficulties, pulled up a tall chair for Bridger and directed him to sit where he could easily face his son. She took the book from Robert's limp grasp and set it on a bedside table. "You two catch up," she directed them, "and I'll see to it that you're not disturbed." Simultaneously, they both said "Thank you" to her retreating back. Facing his son, Bridger asked, "So how've you been?" Robert shrugged. "I've been better." After another awkward pause, he continued. "I understand that you led the team to rescue me from the Macronesian prison." "Well," Bridger's face contorted in mock pain. "We did have a few bumps along the way." "So I've heard." He laughed lightly-- nervously. Bridger's face turned serious. He reached out to touch his son's arm. "The important thing is that you're back and you're safe." "Yes, thank you, Dad." Affectionately, he put his other hand on his father's. "It's really good to see you again." "Same here." Again, the awkwardness overtook them. After so long, Bridger had imagined what this reunion would be like. Now that it was upon him, neither of them knew what to say. Despite all that, it was comforting to know that they were both genuinely glad to see each other. Bridger sighed heavily. There were so many questions and no place to start. *Start from the beginning,* Bridger told himself. Out loud, he launched the thoughts that had occupied his mind for so long. "Son, I... I need to know what happened. Why did you disappear? What happened between your disappearance and me finding my grandson on an island in the Pacific and you, in a Macronesian prison?" Robert laughed and shook his head. "Oh, Dad, it's a long, complicated story. I'm not sure you'd even believe it." "Try me," he demanded. Robert read the seriousness in his father's face. After a moment's hesitation, he acquiesced. "Okay." He straightened to a more comfortable sitting position and after a few awkward attempts at starting, he simply launched into his explanation. "Well, as you should know, I was with the US navy out of San Diego back in 2010. I had an opportunity to get involved in covert operations in the Bay of Bengal during the war. Burma was under a military dictatorial rule, with General Suu Kyi in power and the country was caught in a power struggle between Communist China and the Malay Confederation. General Suu Kyi was trying to build up a nuclear capability for Burma while simultaneously playing the two countries against each other. I went undercover as a small time boat for hire, ferrying cargo between Burma, Sri Lanka, and the Malay Confederation islands with the purposes of keeping an eye on what was going on. I was to build up a reputation as someone who didn't ask questions so that I could get involved with some of the illegal smuggling that was going on, especially of nuclear weapons material." Robert paused for a moment and stared off into the distance. "In order to make my disguise believable, the navy decided to... destroy my past. They made it look like I was killed in combat." Although he had already expected as much, Bridger still sucked in his breath at the news. "How come I didn't know about this?" he asked. Robert shook his head and shrugged. "I can't answer that. I don't know. I would assume it was to keep the mission covert." He was bothered by the lack of an answer, but Bridger seemed to accept that. "Go on." Taking a deep breath, Robert continued. "I went deep, Dad. Very deep. So much so that I didn't learn about mom's death until a year and a half after the fact. I was really upset by it, but I was too deep to get out any time soon. I learned about your resignation from some connections as well. Somehow..." a pained expression crossed his face, "...I felt partly responsible. You gave up your career in the navy because of me. Then Mom gave up on life because she had lost her only child-- myself. That was a double blow for you Dad-- and it was my fault." Biting back the tears of pain, Bridger squeezed his son's hand to comfort him. "You give yourself too much credit," he said half joking. He didn't necessarily agree with his Robert's assessment, but he needed to hear the rest of what he had to say. Ignoring the comment, Robert went on. "Anyway, I decided that as soon as I finished up my assignment in Sri Lanka, I wanted out of the undercover business. However, between the Burmese civil war, the uncertainty of the new government and the formation of the UEO, I didn't finish my assignment until 2023, a whole year after the seaQuest-- and you-- had vanished. It broke my heart, but it was also so ironic. After everything you'd been through, by the time I was able to return to you, you'd gone away. "Needless to say, I was quite devastated. So I quit. I quit the service and just wanted to live a normal life. The navy and UEO weren't too happy about it. They wanted me for another undercover assignment, but I refused and I let them know why. They tried to strong arm me, but they had nothing to use against me. I'd lost my whole family; all my friends were people I'd left behind in Sri Lanka. I had no one. UEO tried to use *that* against me, saying they were my family, but I was just tired of it all. I wanted normalcy. I wanted a family back. "Finally, I went back to San Diego island, got a job in the marine wildlife refuge, and met my wife, Marta. We got married, had a son, Christian... and I had the normal life I wanted. I can't say we did anything remarkable, but we had a safe, happy, secure home. It was something I'd searched for all my life. It felt good... and normal." Robert paused his narrative and stared at nothing for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. Bridger said nothing and soaked in the words he was hearing. Unexpectedly, Robert scrunched his face in pain. "Then I lost it..." he grunted. Fighting the pain, he composed himself and went on. "Marta was murdered. I was at work while her and Christian were at the beach. They were browsing in some of the beach shops there when they got mixed up in a robbery. In the process, Marta was fatally shot. ...and that was it. It was like I was losing my family all over again. It hurt, Dad. It really hurt." Taking a painful, struggling moment to gather his resolve, he continued. "I was determined to keep Christian safe because he was the only thing I had left. I needed desperately for him to be okay... to not have the kind of life I'd had. And where can you be safe but out in the middle of nowhere. So I quit the job on San Diego and bought a home on an isolated island in the Pacific. I hired a local woman as a nanny to help watch Christian. I had a sizable pension from the navy, so I bought a boat and did odd jobs here and there to keep myself occupied. Well, to make a long story short, I found out through some of my old contacts that Marta's murder was no accident-- it was done on purpose-- to get to me." Bridger's eyes grow wide at hearing the treachery. "Did somebody have a grudge against you?" he asked, his voice sounding dry and scratchy. "Well, I started doing some investigating. Whoever had contracted for her murder tried to make it look like some enemies from my time back at in Burma were getting back at me. But something didn't set right with me about that. It took a little digging, but I finally figured out who the real culprits were..." Robert fell silent and simply stared at his father with a deadpan expression. Bridger prompted him with a nod of his head and a look of his eyes to go on and tell him what he'd found. "Think about it, Dad. Who wants me back? Who wants me to ditch my new family and go back to my old 'family'? Who wants to retain my services again? UEO. That's who." Bridger's eyes grew wide with disbelief at the accusation. "Those bastards murdered Marta in an attempt to get me working undercover for them again. And they would have gone for Christian too, but for dumb luck and the fact that I isolated him on the island after his mother's murder." Bridger's mind raced. He found the news hard to believe. It just didn't make sense. It was a dangerous and possibly life threatening accusation to make. Robert had to be horribly wrong! Then again, Bridger knew many of the deeper, dark secrets of the UEO and knew that they weren't always as moral as they should or could be. He had known of some morally ambiguous actions by the UEO in his time, but would they actually use violence against their own to achieve their means? He didn't want to believe it, but in his gut he knew it to be true. Who did he trust more? UEO or his own son? Catching Robert's eyes again, signalling his acceptance of what he had been told, Bridger asked him to continue. Robert rearranged himself in the bed and his voice fell to a quiet conspiratorial whisper as he continued. "The whole thing just didn't set right with me, Dad. The UEO, an organization that's supposed to protect and keep peace, instead had fallen into political games and power struggles that put the ordinary citizen in danger. The system had broken down. There was a flaw in the system and it was corrupt. They were willing to compromise their integrity to achieve power and control. It just sickened me to know that the world for which I had sacrificed my last moments with my parents, was not really worth fighting for anymore. So..." Robert's voice faded and he looked away. He showed clear signs of discomfort at continuing. Swallowing the knot in his throat and unable to meet his father's eyes, he continued. "So I decided to change it. I wanted to stop them before they did more harm... or got to Christian. That's when I found out about, and got involved with Firebird." Bridger sucked in his breath and started at the sound of the word. It had haunted him since back at Tasman Prime and Krajefska's insistence that he explain what it was to them. "What exactly is Firebird?" he demanded. Robert laughed nervously and looked into his father's face, his expression a mixture of pride and guilt. "Think about it, Dad. The UEO is corrupt. We want to stop it, change it, whatever we have to do to make it a good again. And if that means destroying the UEO and rebuilding it, then that's what we'll do. The Firebird is the Phoenix. She'll go down in flames and be reborn to greater purpose." Even more shocked at this than the previous news, Bridger whispered at him in sharp tones. "You mean to overthrow the UEO?" "If need be, yes." It all started making sense. He understood why Macronesia wanted him so badly and why they resorted to torture to get to him. Robert knew UEO's weak spots. The whole Firebird organization knew the UEO intimately and that knowledge was a weapon that Macronesia wanted... and that the UEO wanted to protect. That's why security around his son was so tight on seaQuest. Suddenly, Bridger was frightened for his son more than ever before. "Do you realize what you've gotten involved with?" he asked, his voice laced with anger and worry. "Yes, I do, Dad." Robert seemed to accept his father's attitude with no emotion, as if he'd been prepared for this reaction. "I didn't enter into this lightly. It wasn't an easy decision to turn against an organization that I'd served long and loyally. But I've watched it change with a cruel evolution. Now... I'm hot property. And it's too late for me to turn back. I'm too involved and I've come too far. I've started something that I'll need to see through to the end." "Do you realize you've put your son, Christian, in danger as well?" Bridger retorted. A pained, guilty expression crossed Robert's face. "Yes, that wasn't supposed to happen. The more I got involved in Firebird, the more it couldn't be helped. When I heard you and the seaQuest had reappeared, that you had tried to find me, but found Christian instead... I knew he would be okay with you. That's when..." His voice trailed off. "That's when what?" "That's when I got a little too bold and captured by Macronesia." A capture that had led them to here and now and their eventual reunion under such fragile circumstances. Bridger sighed. He still had a hard time grasping the concept that the UEO would murder his son's wife, only as a political move to coerce him in the direction they wanted him to go. Then again, he knew that governing bodies throughout history, no matter how honorable, had done despicable acts in the name of security and progress. The democratic Unites States assisted communist Russia during World War II. Ronald Reagan traded arms for hostages in the Middle East. The UEO would be no different. And if they had fallen so far, that fast, maybe it *was* time for a change. But at what cost? His family had sacrificed so much-- Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. In an effort to regain his self control, he squeezed hard on Robert's arm and bit back at the welling emotions inside of himself. Tenderly, Robert reached up to touch his father's shoulder. In him, the tears surprisingly gushed forward. Awash in love and relief and anger and fear and guilt, he sat up as best he could and hugged his father. Despite all that had happened to the both of them, after so many long years, they each had their family back. They had each other. * * * It had to be some crazy, morphine-induced dream. O'Neill could not focus without his glasses. Then again, maybe it didn't matter because simply blinking his eyes hurt. But he was sure it was real. Lying motionless in medbay, he'd heard the unbelievable story of Robert Bridger, told from his own lips, and the tearful reunion of father and son. It just didn't *seem* real. He strained to look over his shoulder at the men, but the effort of moving his head and the drugs inside him blasted him with dizziness and nausea. Instead, he relaxed and tried to not to be too voyeuristic and listen in on their low, mumbling tones as they caught each other up on their respective lives... * * * As McGath closed the door behind himself on his way out of the meeting room, Hudson leaned back and tried to assimilate what he had just heard. Ford, sitting beside him, was equally silent. McGath had explained about Firebird. It was a secret organization whose goal was to usurp and destroy the UEO. And Robert Bridger, a former UEO operative, was deeply involved in the group. Of course, he had conveniently left out the part concerning Robert Bridger's murdered wife. "I just find it so hard to believe," Ford finally said after a few moments of reflection. "I agree," Hudson answered him. "How could all this be going on and we'd never heard of it?" "And why hide it from Bridger?" Hudson cast a look of anger, disgust, frustration and mistrust at the door that McGath had just exited. Although he might not agree with Firebird or Robert Bridger's goals or methods, he surely understood their contempt for the UEO. * * * Many hours later and well into the night shift, Bridger wandered the corridors of seaQuest alone. Although he occasionally caught a familiar face amongst the crew, for the most part the place was in wind down mode and few people were actually wandering the ship. For those that did recognize him, he gave a smile or acknowledgement, but his brooding body language clearly showed his desire to not engage in conversation and he was respectfully left alone. By rights he should go to his assigned quarters and avoid the intrusion into his thoughts, but sitting alone in his room didn't seem very appealing right now. He had to avoid the empty feeling that awaited him there. Somehow just wandering seaQuest, a ship that he had designed, comforted him. Each control, plate, wall, handle, and very curve of the ship was a part of him. It was part of his legacy. He needed it and wanted to be able to immerse himself in it at the moment. It wasn't something he consciously knew or understood, but a gut need that he had to pursue. The walls spoke to him. He put his hand to it and could feel the faint rush of water and vibrations beyond. The distinct curve of the very wall brought a non-distinct, familiar memory of days past when the boat was still in design. He tried to pinpoint the moment in time when he had conceived that curve. It was 2007 or 2008... The specific memory escaped him, but still the general thoughts, feelings and emotions of that time easily welled up inside him. Life was good then. They were a family. Carol was so young and vibrant. Robert was just starting college and preparing to become an officer. He was becoming his own person, but still enjoyed coming home to just be with mom and dad. The apron strings had not yet been completely severed... It was all gone now. Those days of innocence were behind him. He was now left with a dead wife, a distant grandson, and a son, whom he loved so dearly, that was leading a troubled life along a dangerous and destructive path. He felt empty and unfulfilled. The phrase "everything changes" floated across his mind and it left him with a heavy heart. Stepping away from the wall and his reflections upon the emptiness, Bridger headed down to the moonpool and Darwin. The innocence and purity of the bottlenose dolphin drew him, possibly as a cure for the malaise that had overtaken him. Once there, he looked into the water, but his aquatic friend was missing, most likely in another part of the ship or out to sea. Bridger located a vocorder and sat beside the pool. He tapped on the water's surface as a signal for Darwin, then activated the vocorder and spoke into it. "Darwin? Darwin, this is Bridger." The likelihood was that Darwin was not near enough to hear (or feel as the case may be) the signals from the communications device. Still, the direct communication gave him solace. He left the device turned on and set it on the pool's edge to receive Darwin's response, if any. He continued to slap the water's surface in hopes of drawing Darwin, while his mind wandered to places and faces from his past. Minutes later he got his response. The sleek gray shape shot forward and broke the surface beside Bridger. Darwin spouted air from his blowhole, spraying Bridger with a mist of water. "Bridger!" the vocorder shouted at him. "Hello, old friend," he said in a softened voice. Smiling faintly, he reached out to stroke Darwin's chin. "I'm glad to see you're not hurt." Darwin blinked at him in response and squeaked, but the vocorder only rendered it as a low, unintelligible, electronic moan. It was good to see Darwin again. The simplicity of Darwin's thoughts and emotions were what he needed right now. He didn't want the complications of Robert, Lucas, McGath, UEO, seaQuest and all the other things that could easily cause so much pain. Not that Darwin was a simple individual, but his gentle spirit was a source of comfort. It was something he needed right now. He needed the honest, simple emotions for a while. Darwin quickly ducked his head below the surface, before rising again and sending a spray of water. "Bridger sad," he said via the vocorder, a twinge of regret in his electronic voice. Bridger started at the words. "Am I that obvious?" he asked, only half sarcastically. "Darwin--" the vocorder faltered, unable to translate what he was saying. "Bridger also," it continued. "Darwin and Bridger, alike." At that, Darwin rolled over and presented his belly to Bridger, an action that Bridger had rarely seen him do. What did *that* mean? Bridger splashed water on Darwin and vigorously rubbed at his belly, a thought forming in his mind. "Darwin? I'll be leaving here soon. Would you like to come with me?" For a long time, Darwin didn't respond. Bridger was about to ask again when he rolled over and faced forward again. "seaQuest Darwin's home," Darwin stated, the vocorder giving the impression that the statement should be obvious to anyone. "Darwin can't leave." "Are you sure? You're free to leave any time you want." "seaQuest home. Darwin stay." Darwin's "voice" took on a sound of sadness. "New times... Bridger." *Nothing ever stays the same,* he thought in response. He had been moping about the past and all the things that might have been. His reunion with his son had taken him in unexpected directions. In his mind, he had convinced himself that he would recapture the son he used to know. Instead, things had changed. And it took the honesty and wisdom of a bottlenose dolphin to make him realize that. It was time he stop longing for something that was dead and gone. He had to look to the future and what he could make of the current situation and what he now had. "Thank you, my friend," he told Darwin. A sense of melancholic, bittersweet joy washed over him. Tomorrow would be a new day for him and his son. He would get to know him again and ride the wave of life that was now presented to them. First, there was McGath and the UEO. They would want Robert's time and attention. Maybe he could get involved in that and help straighten out the conspiratorial web that had surrounded them. First thing in the morning, he'd use whatever influences he had to talk to McGath and try to convince him to handle this in a reasonable manner. But for now, he enjoyed the company of Darwin. * * * It was late into the evening, and Tony Piccolo was starving. He had just been released from medical and security quarantine, so the first thing he did was head for the mess hall. All day he'd been stuck in his quarters, unable to speak with anyone except Doctor Perry and the medical staff. They didn't offer much entertainment, and he couldn't keep his mind off Fredericks. His mind kept wandering back to that dark, desperate moment on the Macronesian transport. He couldn't shake the sweet, musky smell of her as it clung to his nostrils. The hot, fullness of her lips as they touched his own... Despite several attempts at distraction, thoughts of her lingered in his mind and drove him to a frenzy. He felt caged. McGath's people had finally released him back to duty with explicit instructions that he wasn't supposed to discuss the events surrounding Robert Bridger with anyone, pending further interviews from McGath's security force. Piccolo contemplated going to see Fredericks, but figured it was now too late in the evening. He didn't want to appear desperate by going to see her at this hour. Besides, he was hungry. As he hit to door to the mess hall, he half expected the place to be empty. He was surprised to see a small group of seaQuest Spectre crew gathered around a far table, appearing to be engaged in a card game of some sort. For a split second he hesitated, unsure if he wanted the company right now because of the emotional turmoil that roiled inside himself. Then again, he needed the distraction to help take all the past few days events off his mind. He stepped inside and headed toward the group. A face he recognized looked up and smiled. "Piccolo!" the man shouted at him. At the sound, everyone turned and began giving warm greetings. They quipped and joked at each other for several minutes before someone took the comments in a direction he really didn't want to go. "I hear you got rather close and personal with Lieutenant Chippy Fredericks," Walker, a thin red-haired man, commented. "Something about the two of you sharing a Spectre cockpit?" The others added whooping noises to further torture Piccolo. Pushing down his embarrassment and hurt, Piccolo stuffed his hands in his pockets and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, the Chip-meister ain't exactly what you call a monkey full of barrels." Ouch! He kicked himself for resorting to insulting her to avoid his real feelings. "Oh, I don't know," Walker responded. "She may be a chippy, but she's got the bod, just right." He moved his hands in a figure eight shape. I wouldn't mind being up next to that for a while." He flicked his eyebrows to signal his meaning. "Yeah, well you try it for a while and see what you think." His voice cracked. On the surface, Piccolo was trying to play it cool, but inside he desperately wanted to change the subject. "Maybe I will," Walker retorted. "Maybe it's time I got some up close and personal Spectre training myself." The others laughed in agreement before someone added, "Careful, Walker, you might end up sharing a Spectre cockpit with Piccolo here!" Piccolo groaned loudly. "That ain't likely." Walker looked horrified at the suggestion and looked to Piccolo for help. He just gave him a disgusted look in return. "Oh, man!" Walker finally conceded. "I don't *even* want to consider *that*!" "Hey!" someone returned. "Don't have a bovine!" Everyone froze. That was the peculiar catch phrase that Hausenbraugh was so fond of using all the time and it's indiscriminant use here and now just drove home the point that he wasn't here with them anymore. He wouldn't ever be again. The person who had spoken it mumbled an apology. A sudden and unexpected somber mood spread across the group. Walker turned seriously to Piccolo. "What happened?" he asked. Piccolo finally sat down. "I don't know. We split up and... that was the last I ever saw of 'im. When Hudson and the rest came back, Hausenbraugh just wasn't with 'em." "Could he still be stuck across the lines?" someone asked. "I heard his Spectre was destroyed in a battle by a Macro," someone else responded. "The man is with his maker." After a few moments of awkward silence, Piccolo stood up. "Well, I say we should drink a brew in his honor, but since there ain't none on the boat, we'll just have to wait until the next shore leave." A slight grin touched his lips. Walker met his grin with an even bigger grin. He turned to the others and said, "Boys and girls, I'll let you in on a little secret. There's a legend on this boat about a man named Krieg..." They all returned the grin knowingly. Piccolo and Walker stalked off to the kitchen to find the hidden stash of beer to help celebrate their fallen comrade, Merrick Hausenbraugh. * * * The alarm blared. Bridger instantly awoke and sat up in bed. Many years of service had trained him to react to that sound, the sound of a general quarters alert. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and peered through the darkness at the tiny, lighted clock on his bedside. It was 4:42AM. He stood and fumbled through the darkness to his computer terminal. Punching the screen on, he signalled for the bridge. He was surprised when Hudson, apparently already on duty, answered the call from the bridge. Without preamble, Hudson said, "Nathan, you'd better get up here." Bridger's gut wrenched. Robert... "What is it?" he asked. "Robert Bridger and our two Firebird 'guests' aren't where they're supposed to be. We think they've snuck out and are no longer on board seaQuest." End Part 30 X-Sender: rporter@mail.ezol.com X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32) Date: Sat, 09 Dec 2000 23:23:51 -0500 To: rolp@juno.com From: "Robert L. Porter" Subject: Obligations - Part 31 seaQuest: Obligations by Robert L. Porter (rolp@juno.com) Obligations - Part 31 Bridger stepped into the seaQuest bridge, where McGath was shouting furiously at someone from Diefenbaker on the main screen, Hudson was standing behind him appearing cynical with his arms crossed, and Ford was huddled with a group of people behind the computer banks examining something unseen. Hudson caught his eye as he stepped up beside them. "Look again!" McGath stated purposefully to the screen. "They couldn't have gotten very far yet!" "Yessir," the person on the screen responded. McGath pushed angrily at the button that terminated the communications link. Turning, he confronted Bridger. "Your son has escaped," he said, as if accusing him of conspiring with the enemy, "along with the other two men from Firebird." "Are you sure they're still not on seaQuest?" he asked in return. Hudson answered him. "We've got a team searching right now. It appears that they stole a transport, but that *could* be a decoy to send us in the wrong direction." "Not likely," Bridger said. "Why would they go to all this trouble to escape, only to stay on board where they could easily get caught again?" "Unless," McGath butted in, "they're looking for something on seaQuest... or someone." Bridger bristled at McGath's veiled accusations. The attitude particularly bothered him, after the facts he'd learned less than a day ago about the UEO from his son. A nagging thought touched his mind. Did McGath know of Marta Bridger's murder? Did McGath *order* her murder? Their eyes locked and he looked deep into the man's eyes, as if he could find the answers if he looked hard enough. Breaking the unexpected tension, Hudson asked, "Then where does that leave the missing transport?" Bridger broke his gaze with McGath and looked to Hudson, considering what he had said. "Why don't we go down to the docking area and examine the area where the transport was stolen?" Bridger's response was curt. "Good idea." He abruptly turned and headed out of the seaQuest bridge, leaving McGath behind him. Hudson silently followed. * * * By the time the day shift arrived, hope of locating the missing men was fading. Although the ship remained on alert and the combined crews of seaQuest and Diefenbaker continued to search for them, things were not so edgy that Piccolo could not finally be released back to duty. As he walked down the hallway, the dry mouth and headache from the previous night's celebrations made him wish he had been kept off duty for at least one more day. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the alcohol withdrawal induced pain. Regardless, it stayed with him just the same. He did find some comfort in his return to duty, though. He was to continue his Spectre training and this morning would be his first reunion with Fredericks, after their encounter in the Macronesian transport. He approached the encounter with both titillation and fear. As he turned the final corner and saw the door leading to the Spectre bay, his mouth turned dry for an entirely different reason and his headache was nearly forgotten. He worked his jaw back and forth until the joint cracked. It was an old nervous habit that used to drive his cousins crazy. The loud snap propelled him forward and through the door. Stepping inside, his eyes sought out and found Lieutenant J.J. Fredericks. She was standing at a diagnostic computer, checking over some readings from the Spectre she had hooked up to it. Piccolo scanned the room and noted that they were currently alone. Smiling, he stepped up to her and sought her eyes. When she looked over at him, he smiled. "Hiya beautiful!" She didn't smile back like he had expected. In fact, she didn't say anything. Instead, she stared at him for several seconds, while keeping her face expressionless. *Omigod!* Piccolo thought. *Her chip's been overloaded and she's been re-programmed!* But he knew better than that. He remembered the things she'd told him on the Macronesian transport about how the chip functioned and how her emotions were handled. Nevertheless, her reaction told him that things weren't how he had expected or hoped them to be. "What?" he said aloud. "Something wrong?" "Crewman Piccolo, you will *not* address me in that manner!" she demanded of him, her tone crisp and sharp. "Huh? What's the matter?" A horrible feeling of rejection came over him and his voice turned soft as he stepped in close to her. "C'mon, what's the matter? It's not like the stuff that happened back on that sub-- all that stuff we talked about-- didn't happen." Her expression softened, but only slightly. "And please don't think that Tony Piccolo was just playin' you. I really like you and..." the words choked in his throat for a second before he could get them out "...and I'd like to pursue this. I'd like us to become... you know... a *thing*." Fredericks' shoulders subtly dropped in defeat and her face turned from hard stoned resolve to embarrassment and regret. She glanced around the room for a moment, as if to check to see if anyone else was there, then pulled at Piccolo to until they were out of view from the door and in a darkened, secluded area. Misinterpreting her intentions, Piccolo grabbed at her shoulders and moved to kiss her. She placed the flat of her hand on his chest and pushed him away. "No!" she whispered harshly. Now Piccolo was truly unsure of himself. "What's the matter?" For a brief moment, Frederick's face scrunched up in a tearful expression, then once again turned featureless and cold. She sighed heavily before explaining. "Crewman... Tony... Um... I've thought about this and... I'm sorry, but I'm just not ready for this. It's not a good time." "Whaddaya mean?" Piccolo pleaded. "We talked. On the Macro boat. Remember? I showed you my emotional scars and you showed me yours. We kissed and all. I thought we had a thing going here." "I know, I know. But... Listen, I've got to work some things out. I can't be in a relationship right now." "Well, what about all those things we talked about?" "Just forget they happened, okay. They *never* happened!" "Aw, you *can't* be serious!" Piccolo shouted. Fredericks' response was a harsh whisper, signalling him to be quiet. "Yes, I *am* serious! We'd both do well to just forget about what happened out there. It was a desperate situation and we both did something we shouldn't have." She stepped around him and returned to the Spectre diagnostics. "Wha--" Piccolo was stunned. He turned around, angry. "I want to pursue this! I think you want it to! If not now, when? When will you be ready?" She looked at him. For a fleeting moment, the pain played across her face, then the cold, emotionless mask returned. This time, to stay. She didn't answer him. They both turned at the sound of the door opening where Walker and Lanois were now entering the room. Walker had been at the Hausenbraugh celebration the night before and the rosiness of his cheeks belied the fact that the night's libations had not completely worn off. "Tony!" Walker shouted at him, a little too loudly. Piccolo gave them a wan smile. "Mornin', guys," was his simple response. The two men moved to a locker to pull out their equipment and begin the days work. Walker paused and caught Piccolo's eye. His eyes moved from the working Fredericks and back to Piccolo, indicating a connection. His eyebrows danced knowingly, teasing him about the comments he had made the night before about their Spectre encounter. The headache coming back in full force, Piccolo *really* wasn't in the mood for these games. His stomach churned with emotional turmoil and he looked away from Walker, finding something of interest and distraction on a nearby table. "We need to change the fluids in Spectres four, five, seven and eight," Fredericks said, after finishing her task at the diagnostics. "I need two of you to work on that and someone to help me with the diagnostics." "Me and Piccolo'll change the fluids," Walker volunteered. "Okay," Fredericks accepted. "Lanois, you're with me. One of you two can start opening them up while the other goes down to storage and gets the synthetic oils." "I'll get the oils," Walker again volunteered, already heading toward the door. Piccolo grabbed him be the shoulder and held him back. "If it's all the same, I'd rather go for the oils," he said. He glanced back at Fredericks. "I need to get out of here for a little bit." Walker caught the sense of urgency in his eyes and acquiesced. "Yeah, sure Tony. Whatever." He smiled at the man. "Thanks." He hit the door a split second later without looking back. On the other side, he paused to gather his emotional wits. He wanted to scream. He wanted to strike out and punch something. He wanted to take out all his anger and frustration at Fredericks unexpected rejection. But now was neither the time nor place. Instead, he silently clinched his teeth and balled his fists in internally vented rage. Relaxing and letting go of the tension, he headed toward storage to retrieve the needed synthetic oils. His mind, however, was on other matters. After all the soul baring he had done with Fredericks, he had truly expected there to be a relationship with her. Instead, she had rejected him. She had hurt him. He had shown her his heart, and she had thoughtlessly squashed it. He felt that tender, vulnerable part of himself closing up more than ever before. The wall of protection closed in around him. Although a temporary, imperfect fix to his pain and embarrassment, it made him feel better. He swore that he would never let Fredericks see that part of him again. He wouldn't let her hurt him like this again. If only... Maybe someday she would understand. But not today. * * * By the end of the day, the search for the three missing men was called off. They were officially declared as escaped prisoners. His friends expected him to be upset by the news, but Bridger felt an unusual calm. He had found the answers he had been seeking. They weren't the answers he had expected or the answers he wanted to hear, but the mystery of Robert Bridger's "death" and resurrection had been solved. Now, he at least took solace in knowing that his son was out there somewhere seeking his goals and not overtly hiding from him. The whole situation left Bridger oddly comforted and with a sour taste in his mouth regarding the UEO. He said as much to Hudson, Ford and Lucas as they sat together around a table in Hudson's spacious quarters-- quarters that used to belong to Bridger not too long ago. His time of being captain of seaQuest wasn't all that far back, but it now felt like another lifetime. "So what now?" Lucas asked. "Now?" Bridger answered him, "I'm going to try to find out a little more about this group that Robert is involved with. I want to find out what they're really all about." "You're not thinking of joining with them are you?" Ford asked, half joking and half serious. Bridger smiled. "No. Overthrow of the UEO isn't what I'm interested in getting into. I just want to find out what my son's doing with his life. Maybe we can get back in touch and we can talk again." He grinned devilishly. "And maybe I can set him straight." "What about your grandson?" Hudson asked. "I have him to look out for him as well." Bridger rubbed distractedly at a nick on the table. It was a nick that he remembered putting there a year ago when he'd dropped and broken his favorite coffee mug. "Maybe that would be my best course of action-- settling on an island and getting to know Christian. I don't want to see him growing up without family." "They grow up fast, don't they," Lucas said. The others in the room looked at him strangely, perplexed at such a statement from a young man who was still shaking the last vestiges of childhood himself. "What are you talking about, Lucas?" Ford demanded. The slight smirk on his face belied his anticipation at hearing Lucas' explanation. Lucas looked around the room at the others and was suddenly embarrassed. He felt awkward, inexperienced and... young. "Well, I... uh..." He suddenly found something interesting in his fingernails. "I don't know," he finally answered weakly. He *had* spoken without thinking, merely spouting some rhetoric he'd heard before that seemed somehow appropriate at the moment. Bridger was struck by the comment. Despite the impetuousness of youth, Lucas has truly come unto his own and had grown up. He was right. They *do* grow up fast. To this day, he still pictured Robert as the young, trusting child who looked up to his father as the one who knew everything and could do anything-- even though he was now getting gray hairs and involved in dangerous, adult situations. And Lucas: he still pictured Lucas as the precocious, annoying teenager who he had been thrust upon him several years ago-- even though now he was an ensign of the UEO and by all rights, an adult. "You're right, Lucas," Bridger said. "They *do* grow up fast. Which is why the right thing for me to do might be to spend more time with Christian. If I wait too long, I'll miss out." "It's a shame Robert won't be able to share that," Hudson stated. "Yeah," Bridger agreed. "It's a shame. But it's how things are." * * * It was late evening on seaQuest. McGath and the Diefenbaker had left the area and seaQuest was preparing to head north for a simple medical mission off the California coast. Bridger was to disembark before they left, but unfortunately his mode of transportation had been destroyed in Macronesia. Fortunately, he still had enough influence (and enough money) to requisition a transport from seaQuest's stock of UEO equipment. So after a quick visit and thanks to O'Neill in Medbay, he was down in the launching bay, preparing to leave seaQuest once again. He was pleasantly surprised by the turnout of his former crewmembers who gathered to say farewell. Lucas, Ford, Henderson, Dagwood and Piccolo were among them. "Dagwood will miss Captain Bridger," the big genetically engineered man said sadly. Bridger reached out to warmly shake his giant paw. "I'll miss you too, Dagwood." He looked at all of them. "I'll miss all of you." They all shook hands and smiled regretful smiles as they wished him well. Henderson even surprised him by first giving him a hug, then a gentle kiss on the cheek. In doing so, she slipped something discreetly into his hand. He looked down at what she had handed him. It was a small framed picture of the seaQuest, with the ship's name in stylized writing and a hammerhead shark in small letters in the corner. Written around the thick border between the picture and the frame, various seaQuest crew members had written brief warm messages to him. "What's this?" he asked. "It's so you don't forget us," Henderson told him sweetly. "Oh, don't worry. I'll never forget this crew. It's the finest I've ever known." He looked at the picture and back at their faces. "The finest." Without another word, he turned and left seaQuest. * * * Hundreds of miles away, the three seaQuest escapees were almost at the end of their long journey. Where they were going, neither Robert Bridger nor Jared Deuveaux knew. Their cohort, Hector Sancress, was taking them to a safe house where they could rest, lie low and await new instructions. It was Firebird's policy to not give too much information about where and who all their connections were. With all that had just happened with them, it was best that they stay out of site and see what their actions over the past week had wrought. They had spoken very little during the journey. Sancress was a naturally cantankerous person and rarely interacted with others unless necessary. Jared, on the other hand, saw the pain and conflict in Robert Bridger's face, so let him have his solace. That was fine with Robert. He used the time to reflect on what he had seen and learned the previous day. His father... It had been so long that to see his face again was a shock. The fine lines of age had marked his face, but instead of looking old, he appeared strong and regal. More so than he'd ever remembered him. In his gut, he still imagined his father as the man who knew everything and could do anything. His rational mind knew that wasn't true, but his "son-of-the- father" mind couldn't see him any other way. What about his own son, Christian? Did he owe it to him to make himself part of his life? Was all this sacrifice worth it? Robert huddled tighter into himself and tried to put the questions to which he had no answers out of his mind. THE END!