==========================================================================
                               THE MINISTREL BOY
                                Silvia Casale
==========================================================================
   Timeline: After "SeaQuest 2032" (after 3rd season)
   Author's E-Mail: silvia.casale@ukonline.co.uk
==========================================================================

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Disclaimer and Notes

First of all, I'm just borrowing the characters that are from the series.
They are the property of Universal Television, and the sci-fi channel, as is
SeaQuest. 

This story and all subsequent parts are copyright to E.Casale, 1997.

All comments/suggestions/ criticisms/ advice/ etc. are welcome, but please
send all requests for missed parts and technical questions to me personally
at silvia.casale@ukonline.co.uk so that they don't have to go on the list
and bore everyone. Leigh says that comments should go on the list but I'm
happy to get them either way. I love getting mail and it really helps me
write- the more mail I get the faster I work. Please note that I'm dyslexic
and I have particular problems with names. I didn't have the time or the
patience to really research all of this properly- sorry, if I'm completely
inaccurate!

This story is set directly after the events in 'The Evil men do', my first
story, which is set post season 3. If anyone would like to read this, if
they haven't already, please mail me privately and I would be happy to send
it to you. It is also on the archives. Hopefully, if people like this, I
will get on with the next book- the story seems to stretch out into forever,
but I think it's either three or four books and then that's it, but as you
know, I tend to write a lot! There is a point to the miserable bits, but
you'll have to wait until the third book, to get it- I just figured out how
to write it, sort of.

Book three is now written and complete for sending not long after book 2 and
can be read independantly of book 2, but both book 2 and book 3 require book
one.

OK. This story is VERY depressing. Well, I find it depressing, and also
violent. I wrote it directly from Chris' message ( see below ), trying to
get in all the ideas in the poem and the extra ones in the message, which
was very difficult at times. It was important to me to write it like this,
though, as I find that in books and on TV people tend to make light of the
issues in the story ( I don't want to give it away ) and are very flippant
about what people go through. Personally the whole idea of what this is
about terrified me beyond measure and I just want to be sick thinking about
it- I stop thinking about it as soon as it comes up. This is something which
is one of my greatest fears in life and it horrifies me that it could, has
and does occur anywhere. Partly I'm writing it becuase it scares me so much
and so this is a catharsis for my emotions. You wouldn't believe how
nauseous and depressed I got when I had to make myself think about it to
write this! But I thought I'd better write it out because this stuff upset
me so much that, until recently, I couldn't watch the news, and I still
can't read the raffles tickets, from Amnesty, when I go around selling them!
Anyway, one of my greatest fears is pain, and not only that, but not being
able to cope with it. The aim was to write a character coping with it to
make me feel better about myself.

Anyway, I hope you feel that it says something and enjoy the happier parts,
though a lot of it you can't really 'enjoy' as such because of the subject
matter. I did the best job I could on this and I hope I did, both the
subject and Chris' message, justice as it's something I feel strongly about.

There's probably something that I've missed but I can't think of anything. I
hope you all like it. If anyone doesn't get a part just mail me privately
and I'll send it ASAP. Sorry if it's a load of trash, but at least I had a
go, right?

Lx (Alexi)

Chapter one will hopefully be released on Wednesday, this week, or Thursday
at the latest. It should be Wednesday.


Dedication

For Chris, who quoted poetry at me when I was despairing of being the only
person to know or like it, or finding someone else who did, and Kathy, for
all her support, understanding and patience when I whine and whinge about
getting depressed when I'm trying to write.



The Message that this Grew from ( Mon, 28 Jul 1997 09:40:40 -0400 (EDT) )


>I was just looking some of the stories on the archive and on the very few
>other places on the net where I have found Lucas fiction, and a strange
>realisation hit me. Through several different stories, we have seen the way
>the crew of seaQuest dealt with the death of Jim Brody, but we have never
>seen the way they would handle the death of Lucas.
>
>I don't want to get morbid here, but I had a brainstorm. There is an old song
>from pre-Civil War days called "The Minstrel Boy".
>
>The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
>In the ranks of death you'll find him;
>His father's sword he hath girded on,
>And his wild harp slung behind him;
>
>"Land  of  Song!"  cried the warrior bard,
>"Tho' all the world betrays thee,
>One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
>One faithful harp shall praise thee!"
>
>The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's steel
>Could not bring that proud soul under;
>The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
>For he tore its chords asunder;   
>
>And said "No chains shall sully thee,   
>Thou soul of love and brav'ry!   
>Thy songs were made for the pure and free   
>They shall never sound in slavery!
>
>The Minstrel Boy shall return again
>When we here the news we shall cheer it
>The Minstrel Boy shall return again
>Torn perhaps in body not in spirit
>
>What if someone were to use this song as the basis of a story. Think of the
>'harp' as his tech gear-- the stuff the Macros would love to get their hands
>on, as well as Lucas.
>
>I talked to another friend of mine who watches 2032 on tape, and she said
>that Lucas would commit suicide before he let the Macros use him against
>seaQuest. Does anyone else see a way to write a story??? I would, but
>sometimes I don't have the will to work on it for a long while.
>
>What do you think?
>
>Chris



Dedication and Thank You's


First of all I want to say a huge, massive, tremendous thank you to Kristena
for all her help (I definitly would not be sending it without your help and
encouragement), and her wonderful editing.

I want to thank Chris too for her help and letting me use her message which
was so inspiring.

I also want to thank Kate and Chris for their advice and help when I was
starting this book. Thanks also go to everyone who helped with my mountain
of questions and continued support. Thanks guys. I hope you enjoy it.

Alexi

Sorry to clutter the list with lots of messages but I wanted this part to be
stressed.



=============


OK, I'm sending out the first part tonight. I will not send more until I
have COMMENTS. I don't mind crit, so long as it isn't flames. Firstly, I
don't know how much time you all have at the moment and my parts are long.
Secondly, I need encouragement.

Thanks for all your patience. Sorry I couldn't put it with the other mail
but it was too long.

Alexi ( enjoy, I hope ! )


===========================  PART 1  =====================================


Copyright E.Casale 1997


The Minstrel Boy- Part 1/ The Evil men do Part 16


The trial was set for three weeks hence, though even this looked doubtful.
As the crew was needed to supervise Howard's security, the boat remained
docked in the New Cape Quest harbour. Crew members could ask for shore leave
on their off duty hours but, as no one quite knew what disaster would spring
up that would require the immediate action of the boat, shore leave was on
rotation and approved for only a few people, for a few hours at a time.

Security was also very tight; everyone had to carry a tracer that was
permanently on and call in once an hour, on the hour, or risk loss of
privileges.

The whole of UEO was waiting to see what form the retaliation would take,
but no one was sure where it would be or what else could go wrong. Fear of
the loss of public support and riots gradually diminished as the
arrangements for the new laws and the trials proceeded. The initial horror
and shock slowly died down, though this took rather longer in the military
than the general public, as people took stock of what they were fighting for.

No one was pleased about the extra security, and loss of privacy that it
resulted in, but shore leave on any terms was better than none at all and
they could all see the reasons behind it were valid. People tried to help as
the UEO struggled to purge the effects and presence of section seven and all
that it stood for. Generally, they knuckled under and accepted the temporary
difficulties in all sections: extra paper work and even the new appointments
to senior posts. 

Lucas was glad to return to the boat, though annoyed at not being allowed
shore leave, as McGath and Hudson considered it too dangerous for him.
Though he had come to terms with most of what had happened, he was glad to
be able to work, to keep his mind off what Howard was planning next. At
least this kept his mind off what Howard might be planning next. He would
have to give evidence in the trial and he was nervous about this prospect,
knowing how much depended on a conviction and their being able to keep
Howard in prison both before and after the verdict, but he had had an idea
for the design of a new fighter. Tying in some ideas of his own and the new
technology from the Chaodi ship, he was able to keep his thoughts off what
might or might not happen, and on his work.

Although people had accepted the UEO's actions so far, they were still very
wary and watching closely. A lot depended on the trial and their ability to
stop any counter offensives or retaliation of Howard's. The reprieve and the
temporary acceptance of the facts would only develop into confidence in the
'new UEO' if the trail was a success. Without this trust, the UEO would be
lost completely and then... He wasn't sure what that would mean, didn't want
to think about it. One thing that he was grateful for, was that his parents
hadn't suddenly decided they wanted to know him and then expected him to
follow them around and be shown off to various people. If he was going to
call or if they decided to, slim though the chance of this was, he wanted it
to be because they cared about him, not something he'd done: not the
publicity or prestige.


When he arrived at the boat he went to the labs and started drawing up plans
of the ideas which he had been developing. After a few hours Dr. Perry came
in and told him off for working too hard against her orders and sent him off
to relax. For a while he didn't know what to do, wandering slowly through
the corridors towards his quarters. He would have liked to go into the town,
or just out somewhere, but that was impossible. He needed some company and
something to do. Then he smiled, remembering something he had been missing
since he had left for the section seven base, and turned back towards the
moonpool. 

As he turned off the main corridor and started to round the corner, he heard
a voice. He stopped and stood waiting, leaning against the corner out of
sight of the room, and listened. He didn't know why he stopped to listen,
rather than carrying on or leaving. Maybe it was something about the voice:
its quiet monologue with no replies, its underlying sadness and fast
currents of emotions. He had to listen hard to make out the words.

Usually he would have felt embarrassed intruding on someone else's privacy
and listening in, but the person was alone and somehow he felt drawn to the
voice, but it was the emotions contained in it that had stopped him, as he
put his foot on the first step.

"What am I doing here? I thought I knew, thought I had a reason to be here.
It would have been enough if it was just one person I knew, let alone one I
cared about, but... I managed to make a complete mess of that. In terms of
O'Neil I'd be better of leaving. Sometimes an enemy that you know is better
than no one you know, but not an enemy like this, nothing so personal. Why
do I stay here when really I'm only putting myself in a position to get hurt
again and again? I'm not saying I don't deserve it, but... at least I had my
reasons and they were good reasons. I had to get away and he was my only
option. It wasn't all lies, no matter what anyone thinks, and it's not just
that I want to believe that. I did something for a lot more people than just
me, selfishly or not, and I would have got on the ship if he hadn't stopped
me, not that I regret that he did; I'm pretty used to the fact that
survival, at whatever cost, is better than death. But I guess I can't expect
anyone who's never lived like that to understand. If there had been any
other option... but I couldn't think of one then and I thought that this way
fewer people would get hurt. I did my best about that. It was a trade off; I
get out however I can and to pay back the price, I help the UEO to stop the
Chaodi. At least I tried to pick the side that would make the best use of
the knowledge that I could give them.

"And why am I saying all this? Why am I sitting here talking to myself? I
guess... I guess even if it's my own voice at least it's a voice. Do you
know that in the four weeks I've been here no one has spoken to me except to
give me orders? I can rely on myself and I never needed anyone enough that I
couldn't survive without them. What I can't manage is no one talking to me
at all, even a stranger. The only thing I do is bring or receive a cold
draft when I enter a room. Maybe it's me, maybe is I just didn't act... but
it's them as well. If they are going to freeze when I come in, whisper,
smile... laugh. It's when they laugh and I don't know why. It's probably not
me, but I just have this feeling that it must be... How can I not act
arrogant, cold, whatever? You do what you have to do to survive and that
includes not letting anything get to you and the best way to do that is to
seem like it can't. Hopefully you'll convince them and possibly you'll
convince yourself...

I can't blame Tim for being angry. I can't blame any of them for being
angry. Two bases and a whole boat is too much... and one of their crew.
Pretty stupid to apply for that post, huh? Pretty damn stupid to stay here
at all. I just wish that people could at least accept me. It's strange:
before, I got along with people, whose opinions I cared about. Now I can't
get on with anyone, even professionally, and for once these are people whose
opinion I care about. Proper people with feelings... not just some killing
machine, a soldier, an officer. If just one person could say something like
'Hi', I probably wouldn't be standing here like a complete idiot, but it's
the only place on the boat that's quiet and where I can be alone for a while.

Why am I here talking to myself just to hear a voice? Maybe I couldn't
change it, but... I just wish I knew what it is about me that's so wrong?
What's so amusing, what makes people drop their conversations or just leave? 

What is so wrong with me that means I'm always alone?

For a few moments it was very quiet and then there was a soft sigh. "I'm
talking to a dolphin. Well, at least it's another live creature. You know I
could never say this to anyone else and I'd better shut up before someone
hears this. I'd probably have to kill them," she laughed lightly, but the
undercurrent was bitter. "Our secret then?" The water lapped gently against
the sides of the tank.



"I thought that you had returned to earth now that you've brought down a
whole section of the government. Hey, wake up!" Tony waved his hand
impatiently in front of his friend's face, as they sat in the mess.

"Huh? Tony, quit it. I was just thinking about something... you should try
it some time," Lucas teased, smiling and bringing himself back to the mess
and his lunch, pulling away from lingering thoughts and questions. "And I
mean on more than one subject."

"Talking of one subject, I met this absolute stunner when I was out
yesterday. One good thing about this mess you've made is that we finally get
some leave! Anyway, I was walking around, you know, just wandering and I saw
this club- looked OK, music nice and loud, and I went in and she was just
there..." Tony rambled on as he usually did, breaking his narration with
small anecdotes and confusing little facts, garbling the story so much that
Lucas wouldn't have understood even had he been listening.


He had stopped listening after the first few sentences, not because he had
heard it all a dozen times before, though this was true, but because someone
had just entered the room. It had gone very quiet, conversations breaking
off like a wave travelling through the room, that only Tony seemed oblivious
to, and the temperature seemed to drop. Voices started again after a few
moments, but much softer, as people leaned in over the tables to converse
and faces took on guarded expressions or looks of open dislike. The woman
who had entered walked gracefully across the room, helped herself to a salad
and roll and then sat down at the empty end of a table, looking as anxious
to avoid contact with anyone there, as they were with her. Her face was
passive: the eyes brilliant and arrogant, hard, determined and self reliant,
seeming to say 'there's no one near me because that's just what I want'.

The night before, he had been so startled by what he had overheard that he
had spent the time wondering if it had really been Kimura or if he had
imagined it. He hadn't actually stopped to think about the words themselves.
Today however, he saw it as if through her eyes: the coldness, the
distancing, the polite but firm denial of acceptance. She ate in silence and
departed in silence. He wondered how it felt to have no one to talk to. He
had always found a way to have someone, anyone to listen to, just for the
sound of another voice, the physical company of another person. 

He almost shook himself, snapping out of it angrily, thinking of what she
had done to Tim, to him... the effects that it had had, Fredricks' death...
and then he remembered her bravery in surrendering when she knew she would
be killed, her desire to impart and contribute any information she could to
counter a Chaodi attack. She was trying to pay a debt... a debt. Maybe there
wasn't any debt to be paid. There was a price for what she had done, but it
had helped them and like she said... how else could she have got out? How
could she have stayed?

He hadn't wanted to before now, but today he thought of what it must be
like to live in that type of society, to have seen and suffered what she
had. She had wanted her rights and that is all she had done really- escape
to somewhere where that was possible, where she could live in more than the
most basic sense of the word. She had done what she had to, or what she
thought she had to, and she'd done the best to minimise the damage or at
least make some sort of compensation for what she had taken. Would he have
done the same? He didn't know- didn't think he'd have survived a day in her
life.

What is so wrong about me?

He had almost not heard that part, had pushed it aside, but it echoed
through his mind now. He knew exactly how that felt. He understood that type
of doubt and loneliness, how quiet it can be, how easy it is to escape into
making everyone think you're immune to what they do. How many times had he
asked himself the same question? Cried about the answer or rather the lack
of any answer except the one 
"Smart doesn't make it. Who you are inside does and you're not good enough,
don't deserve love, that's why you're alone."

He knew how it felt to be isolated and completely alone in a world of
strangers that took an instant dislike to you. But the people here had
accepted him and given him security and love of a kind that he hadn't had
before. No one should have to feel like that. 

He watched as she left the room, apparently impervious to the treatment of
those around her.


"... I mean, what was that for. I didn't do nothing! And then she just up
and leaves. I just don't get it. What did I do wrong? Jesus, I just can't
get women... one minute this and then the next... I mean, is it me?" Tony
looked over at him waiting for a reassuring 'no'.

"Tony, have you ever thought that some women might not take to a two minute
pick up and then a 'take me home?'" Lucas replied unexpectedly, though not
unkindly.

Tony blinked at him. "So that's why, o wise one in the ways of women," he
returned somewhat unpleasantly, with a mock air of realisation.

"You know half of the human race is female, Tony. They are people too.
Think about how you'd feel if the situation were reversed. You don't have
to know everything about women to figure out that much," Lucas said,
unperturbed by the insult. "Think about it. I've got to go and do some more
on the technology we got from the Chaodi ship. I'll see you later," he told
him calmly.

Tony stared after him, astonished that he hadn't seemed to notice the
sarcasm. He shook his head. "I guess it's just more than women that I
don't get."


When Lucas arrived on the bridge, later, for his shift, he was glad to see
that Hudson wasn't there, so it would be a relaxed few hours, unless he
turned up. As they were still docked, there were only a few people on the
bridge at this point, younger and less high ranking crew members getting
experience when there was little chance of any danger. There was also a
quiet but furious argument going on, which he could just about hear, as he
slipped into his seat and focused on the two by the communications station.

"Captain Hudson told me to ask you to teach me how to work the station. He
said that if I was going to be part of the crew I would have to know!"
Kimura said quietly and perfectly reasonably.

"I don't care what Hudson said you should do. Ask someone else. Someone
who can trust you with the knowledge of how to work things around here.
Personally, I don't want to be responsible if suddenly none of our systems
are any good in an attack because we've shown you how to use them so that
you can report it back to... to whoever," O'Neil answered furiously, but
equally quietly; turning, he walked off the bridge in an attitude as close
to 'storming' as he was capable of.

Kimura stared into the main screen for few seconds and then left quietly. As
soon as she had gone the conversations that had been muted to barely murmurs
picked up and some one laughed cheerfully at a joke.


After his shift, he went back to the lab where they had set up the equipment
for the research on the Chaodi technology. Kimura was sitting at a computer
looking through the data that they had collected and the 3D computer models
of her ship and its engines, almost wistfully. At the other end of the room,
a group of techs were discussing the programming of the systems, pointedly
ignoring her. He joined them and listened to their arguments for a moment.

"Commander, could you help us with some of the details here?" he called
across to her, already knowing most of the answers to their questions.

For a moment she didn't move, and when she came across to them, it was with
the same expression as always. The others parted, moving back, much further
than they needed, to let her see the monitor where they had the system
displayed. 

"This part," Lucas explained, pointing.

She studied it briefly and then explained it to them slowly and carefully,
answering all their questions with ease. The others drifted off after a few
minutes to a different task, but Lucas stayed to question her further,
asking her about how he hoped to improve the system and how theirs should be
modified.

"I came up with these plans," he said at length, bringing up a new file.
"Of course, I haven't really had time to get down anything more than a very
basic idea of what I thought. I haven't run through any of the calculations
yet." He shrugged. "I wanted to have a better idea of whether I would be
wasting my time." He turned to her, waiting for her response.

"What sort of angle were you planning on for this?"

"Less than on one of our spectres and more than on the Chaodi design.
Exactly... I won't know until I've done some calculations on that. Do you
think it's worth it?"

"Yes," she replied, occupied with studying the diagram intently.

"OK, I'll get a start on it. I just wanted a second opinion before I got on
with it. Anything you really don't agree with there?"

She looked across at him, surprise flickering across her face for a moment,
at being consulted, at her opinion being thought of value. Was he being
sarcastic? She didn't think so: he genuinely seemed interested in what she
had to say. And it was another person talking to her out of choice, even if
it was only professionally, it wasn't the frozen professionalism of everyone
else on board. For the first time someone was really giving her a chance to
use the information she had to make them more prepared. Well, if he didn't
listen there would be nothing lost. She shrugged mentally and started to
discuss the differences between the Chaodi design, the UEO designs and
the one in front of them.


He had been surprised that she was so knowledgeable about the design and
programming of the ship. Most pilots simply knew how to work their craft,
and if you were lucky, how to fix it. Her points were valid and even
insightful. Her demeanour also changed as they worked, the facade of
coldness and arrogant contempt slowly relaxing into interest and
concentration.


She had been equally surprised when he had asked her over to consult her and
he had listened to her points. She had also been surprised by the designs;
even in their first stage, they showed a great ability and understanding,
far beyond her own. He was also remarkably pleasant throughout; not exactly
friendly, but accepting and respectful of her knowledge. When she had first
worked with him, his coldness had been equal to her own, not that she could
blame him after knocking him out to get away. At least he had a good reason
not to like her and to be unpleasant. It was strange that he should be the
one who was the first to treat her like another person, apart from Tim. His
youth had also raised her normal level of contempt, but his position did
seem to be earned by his merits and clear talents. Maybe she had just been
impatient. Acceptance wasn't something that could be rushed, but waiting
sure was hell.


They worked together developing the new design, which grew with speed,
precision and great promise. After a few days, the other members of the
team assigned to study the new technology, joined them and gradually the
mood lightened. It wasn't friendly or easy, but it was the wary start of
acceptance, at least on a work level. A few of the staff still remained very
cold and unpleasant, but Lucas was careful to try and keep them working at
something else and to keep this effort as inconspicuous as possible. The
few times when the situation seemed to be looking difficult, he managed to
smooth things over without great disruption, hoping that Kimura wouldn't
notice the glances of dislike. Twice he had to frown angrily at someone and
even pull one aside at the end, still trying to be discreet, as he knew
that she did not want protection or help, but to fight to earn respect
and acceptance for herself. She did notice, and was grateful, though she
wouldn't have been had he been less discreet about it. Mostly, after the
initial difficulties, they learned on their own that acceptance was
possible, and desirable, on both sides. After a week the design was nearly
finished and all had agreed that they would need to build a prototype before
they could make any further progress. That meant asking for materials, which
meant taking it to Hudson and whoever else he needed to ask for permission.

"I know it's good- that it'll work, but I still need a strong coffee before
I ask the Captain about this. We could go to the mess and finish discussing
it there while we get some," he suggested, pushing his chair back from the
computer.

Kimura nodded. "There's nothing else we can do here and I need to know what
to say. I have no idea how this works."

Lucas nodded to the other techs and then they left, still talking about how
they would handle the request, as they walked. Having poured themselves
coffee, they found a quiet table.

Eventually they agreed on a strategy and, taking a deep breath, collected
the plans and designs to take to the presentation. Hudson looked over their
designs and agreed to provide the materials they needed after only five
minutes and two questions. They left somewhat amazed at the ease of it, but
delighted at the success.

"Did I just imagine that meeting?" Lucas asked as they left.

"No-though the coffee certainly could have hallucinatory side effects."

Lucas let out a depth breath that he'd been holding for the entire meeting,
and laughed nervously in relief. "We'd just better make this good."


When he finally got back to his quarters, after checking through the
ordering of the materials, he dropped tiredly into a chair, closing his eyes
for a moment and then pushing his hair off his face and looking over at Tony.

"Hudson accepted the designs. We're getting the materials in a few days,"
Lucas told him, stretching and then sitting straight. "You want to go get
some food?"

Tony continued to flip through his magazine. "No."

Lucas watched him curiously, trying to get an idea of what was wrong.
"Everything all right?" he asked at length, concerned. Tony ignored the
question, pretending to read an article, which Lucas knew he wasn't focusing
on. "Is something wrong?" he repeated patiently.

"Yeah, something's wrong," Tony spat at him, throwing aside the magazine
and glaring at him furiously.

Lucas returned his gaze blankly. "Something I've done?" he hazarded
innocently. "What?" he asked, genuinely curious and bewildered.

Tony snapped angrily, "You- talking to that... to that cold blooded bitch,
like the best of friends, over coffee. That's what."

"You're angry because I was talking to Kimura about the designs or that I
wasn't acting like she was an inanimate object?" He was starting to get
angry. "Because I was treating her like a person, like someone who might
actually have feelings?"

"Have feelings... How about Tim's feelings? How about Fredricks. How can
you be nice to her after what she did, or don't you care, so long as it
hasn't happened to you!"

Lucas started at his friend for a moment; then he stopped and left without
replying. He walked quickly down the corridors to the moonpool. This time he
stopped on the top step because of what he saw, rather than heard.

Kimura was standing in the open space beside the pool, going through her
kata, eyes focused on imaginary opponents. The whole thing lasted only a
minute, before she paused and stood in the 'yame' position and then bowed.
He had never imagined that fighting could be so beautiful, almost like
ballet, so graceful, yet powerful. The Kata finished, she focused again on
her surroundings and saw him watching her. Her discomfort was clear in the
awkward tenseness and embarrassment that filled the air.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt you. I just came to see Darwin," he
explained. "That was... I never knew karate was so beautiful."

His honesty and unintrusive manner calmed her anger at finding herself being
watched. "Who's Darwin?" she warily, checking out his reason for being
there to be sure that he wasn't just spying on her.

"Oh, you've already met," he said smiling, crossing over to the pool and
activating the vocorder.
"Darwin," he called, and a few moments later was rewarded with the approach
of a grey shape, through the water. Kimura had joined him by the tank now,
completely confused.

"Is this some sort of a joke," she asked, angrily defensive.

"No."

The dolphin surfaced. "Play?" the digitalized voice asked pleadingly.

"Darwin, I want you to meet Lieutenant Commander Kimura: Commander Kimura
this is Darwin," he introduced, watching with interest.

"Hello," Darwin greeted her cheerfully in friendly tones. Kimura blinked at
the two of them and Lucas held the vocorder out to her.

"Hello, Darwin," she said nervously.

"Play?" the dolphin insisted.

Kimura looked across at Lucas, who shrugged back. "Up to you. I'm sure I
can find a wet suit for you if you'd like, but you don't have to," he
offered.

"I think I'd like to get used to the idea first," she said blankly. "I
can't... I didn't know this was possible. How....?" she trailed off, too
shocked to hide her amazement.

Lucas grinned. It had been a while since he'd watched someone talk to Darwin
for the first time and the thrill was still there. Besides, right now he
needed something that would make him feel good and explaining his program
had never lost that ability.


They spent several hours talking about the system and after that it was late
so he returned, uneasily, to his quarters to sleep. Luckily Tony wasn't
there and didn't return until he was already asleep because of his shift,
so Lucas was up and gone before him. When he wandered into the mess he was
surprised by several angry glares from his friends and so he abandoned the
idea of staying, taking a roll and coffee down to the moonpool rather than
face an argument.


The last few weeks hadn't been easy. Severally people hadn't known how to
react to the whole Section Seven thing. He had acted to prove himself to
them. One thing he was angry about was that, although they admired his
actions, were almost jealous that he could do what they couldn't, they
continued to think of him as they always had. They thought no more of his
strength. They simply viewed it as a one off- an incredible one off, a
shock, almost a mistake that it had been him. Most were just surprised and
said that they had admired what he'd done, but there were quite a few who
weren't happy with his promotion, who had never been happy with his rank in
the first place. Tony hadn't said anything, but he had been more touchy
about things and it didn't take a genius IQ to figure out why. Although most
people were pleased for him and respected what he had done, they didn't
think that he was up to the new position. Many felt that he didn't know
enough, didn't have the training, couldn't handle the responsibility... and
was too young. And since the crew was now mainly military, this was a lot of
people. They respected one action of his, but did not perceive him as a full
crew member and definitely not as an officer. There was also the usual
amount of resentment and jealousy, the hints that strings had been pulled,
but that died down after only a few days. He was angry at their attitudes,
not because he agreed that he didn't know enough, but because it really
boiled down to his age and his lack of training, neither of which he could
do much about by himself. Ford and Brody were meant to be training him, but
somehow....

It wasn't that the situation was entirely new, but this just made it worse.
Like enlisting, he hadn't wanted or asked for the promotion, but he hadn't
seemed to have a lot of choice in the matter. The problem was that they all
still thought of him as a child and thought that he needed protecting. The
problem was that without training he didn't know how to fight, so in combat
situations he did need protecting and this just re-inforced the habit in the
others. But it wasn't something that he could learn off the computer and
there was no one he could ask without, again stressing his inadequacies in
this field. In combat situations he couldn't pull his weight and did need
protecting. How could he ever expect to be able to command anyone if that
was the case, but how could he change it? One of the most hurtful parts was
that he couldn't get them to respect him, as an equal member of the crew,
if they thought that they had to look after him. Sure, they respected his
abilities, but not his right to take responsibility for things or even for
himself. It meant that he spent a lot of time trying to proving himself to
them and to himself.

He sighed. He didn't feel up to dealing with people getting angry about
Kimura. "If they don't like it, they can go to hell!" he said aloud.
Someone coughed discreetly behind him. He looked around at Kimura, watching
him from the top step, her eyes curious, not sure whether to stay or go. He
gave her a half hearted grin and she continued down the steps then, and came
across to lean against the pool beside him.

"It isn't anything to do with the project?" she asked worriedly.

He shook his head. "No. Everything's fine on that score. The materials
should be here in three days." He sighed again and then a strange, idiotic
idea occurred to him, and he'd spoken it before he'd had time to even
consider it. "I don't have any military training. I don't know how to
fight, to defend myself and... will you teach me some of the karate you
were doing. Well, not that, just the basics, but..." he stopped embarrassed,
seeing how stupid an idea it was. Why was he asking her? But then, who else
could he ask? "Sorry," he mumbled at the water.

"No... I'd like to. It isn't much fun to do it alone; that way I'll have
someone to practise with. I might not make a very good teacher, but I can
try," she offered, smiling for the first time since he'd met her.

He looked across at her for a few moments and then smiled back. "Thank you."


After finishing his shift on the bridge, he headed down to the mess,
forgetting the problems that he would have to face there. He was sharply
reminded by the cold looks of his friends, as he looked for somewhere to
sit. He sighed and took a deep breath. He couldn't avoid this forever.
Besides, it wasn't his problem, it was theirs. So he walked across and sat
down with Brody, Loni and Ford. Ignoring the tense atmosphere.

"So how's the design coming along?" Loni asked neutrally.

He smiled at her gratefully and they talked about the plans and the building
for a while until the mood lightened and the other two joined the
conversation.


"Yame. Bow. And that's it: Kihon, first kata. I think that's enough for
today," Kimura said reaching for  a bottle of cold water and drinking
deeply.

Lucas nodded, following suit. "Thanks. I really appreciate it."

Kimura just nodded. "You're a fast learner."

"Well, I'm trying at least. It's strange; now I know how little I know, but
even knowing anything I feel more confidant. Like I'd at least have some
idea what to do."

"There's a huge amount to be learned and no one ever learns it all, or does
it perfectly, but even doing a few moves properly is enough."

"I thought that fighting had to be aggressive, that's partly why I didn't
want to learn before, but this... well, you can just be calm and still be
able to defend yourself." Lucas smiled to himself. " It really does help
about staying calm. God, I thought I'd murder Tony this week!"

"Piccolo?" Kimura asked, stretching and then sitting.

"My room mate." He sighed and picked up his watch. "The materials should
be arriving in ten minutes. Meet you there?" he asked, as they hurried out
to change before going down to the docking port.

They checked through the materials, and found that everything was correct,
but before they could make a start on the project they had to report to the
bridge for a training simulation. They ran to get there on time, arriving
slightly out of breath as they entered the bridge. Lucas slid into his
station while Kimura waited for her orders.

Eventually Hudson turned to her, from a final check with Ford. "Commander,
I'd like you to take communications; O'Neil is on shore leave."

He started to turn away again, to talk to Ford, but she interrupted. "I'm
sorry, Sir. I don't know how that station works," she explained.

"I thought I told you to get O'Neil to teach you about that station," he
looked down at her, annoyed.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I... was busy with the project," she lied. Not only was
she not gong to do anything more against Tim, even though this was his
fault, it would have made her situation with the rest of the crew
impossible.

Hudson sighed. "Evans, take communications," he ordered another crew
member. "Lieutenant Commander, in future would you please address your
attention to matters that are compulsory before any other 'projects' that
you develop."

"Yes, Sir."

"For today you can just observe, but get O'Neil to teach you how to run the
station," he added casually, preoccupied. Several people looked up at the
slip and then down at their stations again.

She nodded and withdrew to the back, to be out of their way. The exercise
went smoothly and after that Hudson dismissed them to their usual duties.
Kimura had left as soon as she could, but Lucas managed to catch up with her
as she headed back to the labs. He knew that she had tried to learn, but
that O'Neil had refused. He also recognised that she was protecting him by
not telling Hudson this and that she wasn't going to be able to remedy the
problem; at least not with O'Neil.

She made no acknowledgement of his presence as he fell into step beside her.
"I guess I can get even with you now." She stopped, looking at him confused
and worried as to what he meant. "The bridge'll be pretty quiet later,
maybe that would be a good time for a lesson," he continued, waiting to see
her response. "It's a fair deal: you teach me, I teach you. We both get to
learn things that we need to and can't get anyone else to help us with."

Put this way she could accept it, not as a favour, but as a trade. She
nodded briskly and they carried on towards the lab.


"I think that's pretty much it. We've gone through all the frequencies...
any questions?" he asked, grinning.

She frowned for a moment thinking over what she had learnt and then shook
her head. "Thank you," she said formally. "When do you want your next
lesson?"

Lucas stopped grinning, insulted by the implication of her statement that he
was only doing this because he felt he should and she was only reciprocating
out of duty.

"And I'm offering because I want to," she added shrewdly. He looked at her
surprised, but she had already got up to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow to
start work on the prototype," she called back to him.

He left the bridge, after stopping to chat with another crew member, and
went down to the mess, glad that the unpleasantness had been resolved. He
picked up a tray and some food and then dropped into a seat beside Loni.
Brody, Ford and Piccolo were sitting morosely on the other side of the
table. He looked around at their faces. What now?

"So?" he asked. "OK, just say it, whatever it is that's bothering you all."

"You helping her, chatting with her. We thought you cared about Tim. We
thought you cared about everything she did!" Brody said angrily. "You were
just sitting there showing her everything. You really think we can trust
her with that?"

Lucas sighed and gave up the thought of eating. "She's a member of our
crew, therefore we have to try to trust her. Since she came over to the UEO
she's done nothing to make us doubt that we can trust her to be loyal to
it."

Brody sighed in a how-can-you-say-that way. "How about Tim?"

"I think that's between the two of them. I'm angry that my friend was hurt
but I'm not going to treat Kimura like dirt because of something that I
have no right to interfere with or judge. As far as I'm concerned, I can
understand why she did what she did. I don't condone or respect it, but I
can understand it. I can understand her doing whatever she had to or thought
she had to get out- to escape- to get somewhere where she could actually
have a life with some sort of rights. And she's tried to pay us back for
what she did wrong- the information... I may not like things that she did
but I'm not going to condemn her forever for them. I also respect her
wanting to bring over the information to stop the Chaodi attacking people
with no possibility of defence. I admire the way that she was willing to
surrender to them when she knew she would die. Whatever she did, she still
deserves to be treated like a person, to have some sort of basic respect as
a human being with feelings. And I don't want to be the type of person who
would treat anyone, no matter what they did with such utter contempt and
cruelty. I wouldn't like what that had to say about me. If you have a
problem with my acting like I don't think she's the devil incarnate, that's
your problem, not mine. If that's how you think you can treat people, then
it's much more than a problem about her. At least if I want to act like a
decent person, you could leave me alone. But I don't happen to agree with
persecution. No one deserves to be treated like that. You can say you're
angry about Tim, if you like, but that's his problem, to judge how he should
be angry, not yours. Acting like you have a right to punish her for it is
just self righteous egotism. If you want to punish someone, make sure you're
doing it for your own personal reasons and not using someone else's. And
make sure that they're good reasons, while you're at it. Loni, we're
starting work on the prototype tomorrow at nine." And he left. As he walked
back to his quarters he was stunned at how much he had said and how calmly.


Brody and Ford both blinked for a moment. "Maybe he had a point," Loni said
finally. "I think he had a point," she added more firmly, watching to see
their reactions. "We don't have to like her... but we haven't exactly been
acting... even professionally..."

"I'm not going to be friendly," Brody put in persistently. "But he did
have a point."


"OK, good. Hips 45 degrees to block. When you make a fist, make sure that
you curl in your little finger first and keep that muscle tense. OK, front
stance, back leg forward, front knee over your foot, hips ninety degrees.
Step in without rising, breathing arm out, fist open. Step out, block and
tense as you rotate the arm. Remember the block doesn't push away someone
else's punch, it changes the direction of it. Less effort and then they're
off balance so you can move in and strike. It's over at that point. Attack,"
she ordered and demonstrated, holding her fist in front of his face as she
blocked and return punched.

"Got it." Lucas grinned, eyeing the fist slightly nervously.

"OK. Slowly then. I'll attack. You block age uke, stepping back and then
punch gyaku tsuki- chudan. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," he replied uncertainly.

"OK, slowly. Step back right leg and block left arm, now punch. Good. OK.
That's enough. I have to be on the bridge in twenty."

"OK. Thanks for the lesson," he called after her as she hurried out. He sat
down, pleasantly tired, on the side of the moonpool, then looked up sharply,
realising that he wasn't alone. Tim was watching him with an unreadable
expression on his face. Lucas took a deep breath and then smiled at his
friend. "Hi, Tim. I was wondering when you'd get back from shore leave."

O'Neil regarded him steadily for a few more moments and then came further
into the room. "You can get along with her even after she attacked you?"
Tim asked curiosity the only clear emotion in his tone.

Lucas shrugged. "She was doing what she thought she had to do to survive.
And she didn't kill me, didn't try- from what I know of Chaodi diplomacy,
that's not how it works usually. I have no idea what it was like to live in
that way but I can see how she would do anything to escape from that," he
replied carefully watching his friend. "What she did to you... it's not
that I don't care, but it isn't my place to judge her or punish her for it.
However angry I am for you, it doesn't give me the right to treat her as
anything less than a fellow crew member and person." He took another breath
and asked the question that he been dreading for a week, but he knew he
would have to ask eventually. "Are you angry- hurt that I see it like
that?" He waited nervously for Tim's response.

"No. I just wish I could." Tim smiled at him sadly.

"What she did wasn't about hurting you- she didn't believe she had a
choice. Maybe she didn't, once she decided that she wanted to defect.
Understanding doesn't make it less painful, but at least you can look at
what happened more clearly and know that it doesn't say anything about you
that's bad, that it's their problem and you just got in the way. At least
if you can see their pain, you can sympathise and for me, it makes it a
lot easier. Maybe if you can see it as her needing to escape from... death,
living like a slave... it might make it easier to understand."

Tim nodded slowly and they were silent for a while. "You've changed a lot
since you left for that base," Tim said finally.

"I guess I had to think about some things that were important to me- sort
things out that I didn't want to. Also, I feel better about me because of
it, about who I am. I needed to feel... that I wasn't the type of person
who would just ignore what I knew. I also resolved some problems about
relationships that are important to me. I guess getting the evidence was a
catharsis for the way I've been feeling. And it got me thinking about other
people's points of view," he explained.

"Now that's something really unheard of!" Tim teased and they both laughed,
lightening the mood. "I think you might just have something there," Tim
added seriously after a while. "I'll give it a go."


Five days later the trial started. He was glad that they'd been so busy
building the new fighter that he had hardly noticed it creeping up on them.
Neal was the first person to give evidence and then it would be him. He
pushed the thought away, concentrating on the project.

Copyright E.Casale 1997



===========================  PART 2  =====================================



From: Silvia Casale <silvia.casale@ukonline.co.uk>
Subject: (sQ-ff) The Minstrel Boy - Part 2


No comments, no more! *grin* Hope you like. Alexi.


Copyright by E.Casale 1997


Chapter 2


"You're late, Patricks." Brody got up stiffly, glaring at the abashed
officer.

"Sorry, Sir. There was... traffic," he told the ground, uncomfortably.

Brody sighed, still not used to this phenomenon of the over-sea world. "OK,
OK. Just leave more time, next time. I've had more than enough of this place
and I don't want to have to be stuck here when I could be somewhere else.
You know the drill. Don't let it slip. Be as careful as the first few days.
We aren't out of this yet." He nodded to Graham and then signalled for his
shift to move out, which they did eagerly, though wearily, stretching in the
last of the day's light as they exited the prison base. Brody got in the
front seat of the long car, which was waiting to take them back to the boat,
to make reports and change before some much needed shore leave- until the
next day and the next shift. Brody sighed again, turning to the seaman who
was driving. "So what happened at the trial today?" he asked, tiredly.

"Neal gave his testimony today. The prosecution pulled it to shreds, but it
looks even worse for Howard than if he had done OK. From what I heard, it's
going to be a short trial and the verdict's already been taken." Brody
nodded and relaxed back against the seat. "Sir... What's he like? Howard, I
mean," the young crewman looked across at him curiously, a little unsure
about how Brody would respond to the questioning.

"He's like any other military high ranker to look at and like a lot, he
believes he should and does have the power of God to decide who lives and
who dies and in what way. He's absolutely certain of his belief, but even
more than that, of his power," Brody said slowly, thinking it out as he
spoke. "Even when he's locked up, you feel like he is somehow one step
ahead of you. He has this intelligence that... he knows how to get in
control when he's not and he lets you feel how superior he is at that. Apart
from that, he's just a reserved, rather cold but perfectly polite older guy.
If you hadn't seen the videos or read about the experiments you wouldn't
have a clue that he was any different from... anyone else." They were silent
after this. Brody frowned as they drove along. What he had said was correct,
but it was lacking something. He shook himself as they pulled up next to the
docking port and thanked the crewman as he got out.

Then he crossed down the linkway and into the ship. He signed in with a
guard, longing for the shower that was now only a few minutes away.

"The Captain asked you to report straight to him on the bridge, Sir," the
guard told him, taking back the clip board.

"Damn!" he muttered under his breath as he made his way through the
corridors, setting his face as he walked onto the bridge.

"Lieutenant," Hudson nodded to him and then turned back for a last glance
at the main view screen, before exiting with Brody following him. Hudson let
them into the wardroom and they both sat, tired and stressed. "Any
problems? Anything different at all?"

Brody shook his head. "Nothing. It's still quiet. If something's going to
happen, no one's showing any sign of it. The others seemed tense with the
trial starting- Neal was a wreck, but Howard is as calm as ever. I don't
think he even blinked when we took Neal out for his testimony. No problems
getting him to or from the trial, either. Has anyone seen Andrews yet, heard
anything about her?"

It was Hudson's turn to shake his head wearily. "They seem to have
disappeared. Well, the craft her team took were our best in terms of stealth
technology. But there have been no reports of anyone recruiting or hiring
mercenaries, no extra purchases of arms. Nothing. That's what worries me. I
know that Howard won't let us just send him to prison; he'll try and escape
and he'll try and get revenge. We just won't have a clue what to expect." He
sighed, frustrated. "I want you to stay at the prison for the trial from
now on, though I know it's not exactly a pleasant assignment. Lieutenant
Wolenczak is testifying tomorrow and Ford will take care of that. I just
want to know what she's waiting for! Does she want the verdict in first?" He
sighed again.

"Just stay alert and watch Howard. I know he's about as easy to read as
Egyptian hieroglyphics but see if you can pick up anything, any change in
his mood- if he starts to get riled, worried, insulting... Though I don't
expect him to develop emotions now. I want you back at the prison, with your
team, to stay, in twelve hours. Keep reporting in once an hour when you're
there. I am sorry to ask you to do something so unpleasant, but... this is
too important to hand over to someone who will make a mistake. Dismissed."

"Yes, Sir."


Lucas made his way down to the docking bay, trying to stop the rising nausea
of nervousness about his testimony at the trial, later that day. He'd
already been through it at least four times with the UEO lawyers, but still,
a lot was depending on the trial and besides, he was nervous about sitting
up, and being questioned, in front of half the top military lawyers and
highly paid defence lawyers. He just hoped he wouldn't make a fool of
himself or say something that he shouldn't. It was also the first time that
he'd been off the ship for three weeks- the first time he would be a target
again. Don't think about it, just get on with it. And make sure it's not
bloody written across you're face that you're terrified! He took a deep
breath and tried to look confidant as he walked in, perfectly on time; he
hadn't wanted to give himself time to wait and worry.

Ford was running over, for the tenth time, with the team the route and the
procedures that he would be taking to get Lucas to the trial. Ford looked up
and smiled encouragingly, beckoning him over. "OK?"

Lucas nodded firmly, secretly wishing that his stomach would settle. 

"Good. I know we've been over this, but... When we arrive you stay in the
vehicle till we tell you, then you walk between us into the building.
Mathews and Smith will check ahead and then we follow when it's clear, until
we get to the waiting room. Once we're there, Matthew and Smith will stand
guard outside until you're called and then you walk between us into the
court room. Once in there, you're safe and you just follow the bailiff's
instructions. Got it?" They all nodded, fed-up. "Now just don't forget it
and don't get lazy. Just because you know the drill, it doesn't mean things
will go exactly according to plan. If they don't, you," he turned to Lucas,
"do exactly what we say, no matter how little you like it: you don't
hesitate, you don't think, you just do. Right?" he asked pointedly.

"Right," Lucas repeated.

"OK. Any questions?" No one volunteered any. Ford looked down at his watch
and then up as Hudson came in.

"All set, Commander?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Ready for this, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Sir." As I'll ever be.

"Then have a safe journey and don't be shy of reporting anything strange or
out of place, no matter how trivial. I don't want a mistake because someone
was afraid of getting it wrong. If it's wrong, no harm done. If you don't
report it and something happens, then we have a problem. Don't forget what
and who this trial is about." He paused for them to acknowledge his words.
"Good luck. Go and get us a conviction."

They saluted and then left, walking up the linkway and on to the jetty.
Lucas waited obediently until he was beckoned to cross to the car and got
in the open door. He tried to concentrate on the breathing exercises that
Kimura had taught him for clearing his mind to concentrate better. When he
opened his eyes, after a few minutes, he was able to look out of the window
and focus somewhat on the town as they drove into the centre and over to the
courthouse. The town looked as it had, all those days before, when Lawrence
had driven him in and left him at the park. On the outside nothing had
changed.

They pulled into the underground car park, and circled through the aisles,
to pull up close to the correct exit to the main building. Lucas waited
patiently in the car and then followed the others through and into the
building. Ford flicked on his PAL.

"Commander Ford, we've arrived at the courthouse." He waited for a reply.

"This is Commander Ford. We have reached the courthouse." He waited
impatiently again and then turned to the others. "Is anyone else having
problems with their PAL?" he asked worriedly.

The others tried them. "Yes, Sir," was the unanimous reply.

"Damn!" Ford swore angrily and then took a calming breath to think what to
do. "We have to report this. Smith, Matthews go in a little further and
wait with Lucas. Check the corridor ahead where you stop. Drover and I will
go out and see if we can get in contact. It might just be interference from
the structure. Stay alert," he warned and then left with Drover.

Matthews and Smith continued down the corridor, with Lucas for a little way.

"OK. Here's good," Smith said, stopping. Matthews nodded agreement; they
had stopped opposite a side corridor and he quickly checked it, but it was a
dead end with no rooms off it, just a water fountain.

"Can I get a drink?" Lucas asked, trying to take his mind of what might
have happened to the PALs, what might go wrong, what Howard wanted to do
to him.

"Sure. Smith you stay here and watch him. I'll go and check up ahead. Oh,
and check this door," he said indicating one just after the side corridor.
Smith obeyed as Matthews walked up the corridor, checking the other rooms.

Part of the corridor was a waiting area with comfortable padded chairs.
Around a further corner was a small alcove, tucked away from sight of the
corridor, where there was a fountain and a can dispenser. The water was icy
cold, refreshing and calming and he let it run for a few moments even after
he had finished drinking, listening to the sound of the water. Then he
straightened his uniform and took another deep breath, determined that no
one would known that he was scared, then he walked back out into the main
part of the little corridor. He stopped. 

Smith was sprawled across the floor. Around his head the carpet was slowly
growing red, the uneven circle spreading out like a crimson halo. Lucas
found himself leaning hard against the wall, and breathing fast as he felt
his stomach seeming to reverse it self slowly and sickeningly. Matthews! He
couldn't call out a warning. He would be drawing attention to Matthews and
himself, by doing that. He closed his eyes and forced himself to walk
quickly and quietly up to the main corridor. Smith's arm was laying out at
right angles to his body and into the small corridor, the weapon in his hand
lying a few feet away. Luckily his face was turned away to the far wall.
Pick up the gun! He obeyed the silent voice in his head, horrified that he
was so calm, so rational. He crouched down and picked it up. Whoever it was,
they were here for him and they would keep looking until they found him. Get
out of the dead end corridor. Go! He stood up again and raised the gun as he
looked round the corner and into the main corridor.

Matthews was another sprawled heap on the floor further up the corridor. A
slender figure was bending over the body, trying to prise his PAL out of his
clenched fist. Her hair had fallen over her face slightly as she bent and
pulled the PAL loose from his fingers. She looked up and started to stand.
It had only been a second before she had the PAL free and, in his shock, he
hadn't recognised her. Now he saw the aristocratic sneer and the finely
drawn features. His mind went blank. Andrews. The expression of annoyance at
the dead man's grasp changed quickly into a preditory look of triumph and
she raised her gun.

He pressed down hard on the trigger, the blast threw her back to slump
partly over the body of the man she had killed and whose plunder had been
her one mistake. There wasn't time for her face to register shock or
surprise. It had never registered fear. She had seen him and the gun, but
she had never believed that it would end any other way than how she wanted
it to. Captain Andrews was not a woman to be killed by any 'paltry little
traitor'. Maybe she thought he was too stunned to shoot.

She didn't move and the corridor was silent: the three dead and the one live
figure equally still.

He was aware of the running footsteps approaching, softened by the carpet
underfoot, but only as something almost outside of his consciousness, like a
subliminal message flickering across the retina too fast for the eye to be
aware of.

"Dear God!" someone gasped in tones of distraught horror behind him, the
footsteps ceasing abruptly. He let the arm holding the gun drop, his tense
muscles going limp. He felt a hand on his arm and Ford pulled him round to
face him, looking him over, fear written across his face. "Are you all
right?" he asked, shaking him gently. Lucas looked at Ford, then down at the
bodies on the floor, the puddle of blood from Smith's head spreading close
to his feet now. Drover stood a few metres back, his expression aghast and
slowly growing to fear.

"Drover, check their pulses," Ford ordered so firmly that Drover obeyed
instantly, snapping out of his daze.

"They're dead, Sir. Beyond help. So's... the woman," he added, no surprise
evident in his voice.

"Andrews," Lucas whispered to no one in particular.

Ford gently took the gun out of his hand. "Drover, get the car. I want it
against the door. Go!" The he pulled Lucas back along the corridor. When
they reached the door back into the parking lot, Drover was already waiting
with the car in position. Ford pushed Lucas in and slammed the door shut.
"Go! Back to the boat!" he ordered and the car pulled away swerving wildly
at the corners and then they were out and flying through the city, other
drivers slamming on their horns as they sped through red lights, across
pedestrians crossings, away from the slaughter behind them.

Lucas leaned back against the window. Nothing's happened. Don't think about
it. You don't remember... don't remember. Don't think about it... don't...
He bit down hard on his lip, blinking. Ford was shouting into his PAL, but
there was only static on the other end. He gave a furious sigh and threw in
onto the empty front seat and looked across at Lucas. He pulled the boy
round to face him.

"Are you OK? Are you hurt?" he repeated, worried that he'd missed something
in their scramble to escape. Lucas didn't want to say anything. Afraid of
what he would say or do if he spoke. He seemed to be frozen, doing his best
to cut off all thoughts, all ability to act. "Lucas!" Ford shook him harder.

Lucas blinked at him silently for a moment, looking very young. Slowly he
took a deep shuddering breath. "No," he whispered so quietly that Ford had
to strain to hear. "I just killed someone. I just got two people killed."
He looked down at the floor, struggling with hearing himself say it aloud.

Ford brought his chin up so that they were staring each other in the eyes.
"You did what you had to. Smith and Matthews did what they had to. It was
their mistake, not yours. They should have been more careful. It was my
mistake for not being more careful. We should have stuck together. This
isn't your fault or your responsibility," he said firmly, sincerely.

"Yes it is," came the reply and Lucas looked back out of the window as they
pulled up at the docking port.

Ford sighed. The first thing was to get him safe back on board and then talk
to him. He opened his door, looking around quickly, telling Drover and the
guard at the port to cover them and then ran around to Lucas' side, opening
the door, and pulling him out and down the linkway into the boat. As they
crossed the docking bay, Ford shouted to a crew member there to get Hudson
to the ward room. They hurried through the corridors and eventually Ford
opened the door to the ward room and steered Lucas to a seat, turning, as
Hudson came in.

"What the hell is going on, Commander?" he asked sounding angry in his
worry. He glanced down at Lucas staring white faced at the floor. "Why
aren't you at the trial?"

"We got jumped. Smith and Matthews are dead. So is Andrews," he explained
quickly, getting up and gesturing towards the door where they could talk
quietly. "Our PALs went dead just as we arrived. I took Drover back out
into the parking lot in case there was some sort of interference from the
building. We were only gone two minutes. When we caught up with the others
Smith, Matthews and Andrews were lying on the ground dead. I didn't know
what to expect next, how many people there were, so I just pulled Lucas out
of there."

Hudson nodded sadly, furious. "Bringing him back was the only option at
that point. At least he's safe here. I'll get someone over to the building
and inform the judge. Should I send a medteam in case?" he asked.

"It won't do any good," Ford confirmed his thought.

"So we don't need to worry about Andrews any more. Do you have any idea of
what went wrong?"

Ford shook his head, looking back at Lucas. "No. She must have been waiting
in the building though. I think she was alone. When we got back Lucas was
just standing there with the gun- he was the one who... he killed Andrews,"
he explained, looking over at him worriedly.

"Are you sure?" Hudson asked quickly, surprised.

"Yes."

Hudson nodded and walking over to Lucas, sat down on the next chair.
"Lieutenant?" Lucas looked up, his face white, still in shock. "I need you
to explain what happened."

Lucas nodded, staring at the wall, his voice detached and distant when he
spoke. "When Commander Ford went back, we walked along the corridor about a
hundred metres, then we stopped. There was this small side corridor;
Matthews checked it out. There was a fountain at the end- sort of off to the
side, so that you couldn't see it from the main corridor. I asked if I could
get a drink while we waited. Matthews went up the corridor a bit, to check
it out. When I came back into the side corridor... Smith was lying there. It
was clear he was dead. I picked up his gun and looked into the main
corridor. I didn't want to shout, because whoever it was might not know
about Matthews and I might be putting him in danger rather than warning him.
Matthews was dead a little further up and she was standing over him, trying
to take his PAL out of his hand. I didn't recognise her for a moment, until
she looked up. She wasn't even scared and she raised her gun, so I..." he
took a breath, "so I pulled the trigger," he said trying to avoid saying
what he really meant. He closed his eyes. He had to say it. "I killed her."
He stared at the table for a minute. "Was there anything else I could have
done?" he asked innocently, looking up at Hudson for reassurance. "Could I
have helped them?"

"No. there wasn't anything you could have done for them. Andrews- that was
a choice between her life or yours. You made the only logical decision," he
insisted.

Lucas nodded. "But I still killed someone. I still got two other people
killed."

"You shot someone who would have shot you. The other two were doing their
job- not very well." He sighed wearily. "This is Howard. It's about him,
not you. You and the others were just in the way. That's about his disregard
of life. You didn't do anything that you should regret," he ended
decisively. Hudson stood up again and rejoined Ford by the door. "I'd
better go and talk to the people at the court house. He's still in shock. So
much for no stress," he added bitterly. "Can you get Dr. Perry to come and
check him over?"

Ford nodded. "I'm... I'm sorry, Sir. Whatever you decide about... it was my
responsibility," he said standing to attention.

"This wasn't your fault, Commander. You may be made a bad judgement call,
but so did they. If two of my men can't cope against one of Howard's the
situation is hopeless. They should have been more wary. It's impossible to
know. Andrews is... was a very clever woman. She got away before," he
reminded Ford. "You got Lucas back safely and that was the whole point of
the security team," he summed up, not noticing the slip and turned, opening
the door to leave.

"Thank you, Sir." Ford looked round at him, earnestly. "And I'm sorry."

Hudson nodded and closed the door. Ford crossed over and flicked on the PAL
system. "Dr. Perry, could you please come to the wardroom?" he asked and
then closed it down, pacing as he waited.

They only had a few minutes to wait before she came in, annoyed at being
disturbed without an explanation. "What is..." Then she took in the two
inhabitants of the room. She crossed over to Lucas and sat next to him,
picking up his wrist to check the pulse. She glared at Ford. "What
happened," she asked Lucas angrily, keeping her eyes on her watch.

"I killed someone." She stared at him for a few moments but the expression
on the pale face was sincere. "Honest." He smiled faintly, quickly biting
his lip and watching the floor. "Sorry," he whispered.

She patted his hand. "So much for no stress." She glared pointedly at Ford
again. "Can you be useful and get two cups of coffee, extra strong and lots
of sugar?" she asked unpleasantly. He nodded and left silently.

"I don't feel like... like I'm all here."

"You're in shock," she told him gently, rubbing his hands to get the
circulation going.

"Smith and Matthews were killed." She waited patiently for him to continue
as he wished. "I want to go to sleep."

"It'll be there when you wake up," she reminded him gently. "What happened?"

He took a deep breath and he explained it again, report fashion, very clear
and completely lacking in emotion. At the end she nodded. "Well, I'm glad
about the choice you made," she said smiling sympathetically at him. "I
think everyone is. Besides, it was the right choice. I'm a doctor. Taking
life is abhorrent to me, but in that situation I would have done what you
did. And I wouldn't have waited for her to look up first," she added
shrewdly. "The other two could have been killed anyway taking another
witness, or trying to capture Andrews. Just don't regret that you survived
and don't feel that you're any different because of what you did today. I
don't mean that it doesn't affect you, but it doesn't change who you are
for better or worse. Got it?"

He looked at her seriously. "Maybe later."

Ford came back then and she took one of the coffee cups and handed it to
Lucas. "Drink and don't argue," she ordered. "Slowly. When you've had
that, I want to you to try and get some rest. Have a meal first if you
feel up to it." She turned to Ford. "I want someone to stay with him."

"I'll get Piccolo relieved of duty," he agreed.

"Good. I don't want him back on duty for another day. If he wants to look
in on the project that he's been doing, fine, but nothing else." She waited
for Ford to acknowledge her orders. Then she turned back to Lucas. "If you
can sleep now, great. Otherwise just have a rest- and I mean rest- in your
quarters. After that make sure you eat something, however much you don't
want to. If you need to talk, make sure you come. Agreed?"

"Yes," Lucas replied reluctantly. He didn't think he could face eating
anything for at least a week; not with the picture of Smith lying in the
corridor with the blood seeping through the thick pile of the carpet... He
shook his head, trying to dispel the image as the door opened again and
Hudson came in.

Ford motioned to get up and leave with him, but Hudson gestured for him to
stay. "I think you both need to hear this," he said, his voice tired and
dispirited. "Three of the jury members have been found dead in their safe
house." Ford gasped, but Lucas gave no sign that he had heard. "I'm sorry
to have to tell you this right now, but it's important that you know,"
Hudson told him. "The trial has been suspended for the present. McGath and
the other Chiefs of Staff are consulting with the Justice Department about
how to proceed. The one positive thing is it seems that both these attacks
were either lead by Andrews or perpetrated by her alone, which is something
we no longer have to worry about. Without her the others don't amount to
much. They won't be planning anything new without a leader."

Dr. Perry threw up her hands, irate. "What part of no stress don't you
understand, Captain?" she asked angrily.

"I'm sorry, Doctor, Lieutenant. But I thought you'd want to know that you
won't have to worry about your testimony for at least another few days. I
also thought it would help for you to know what she had done," he added
sympathetically.

Lucas looked up at him. "Will the trial continue?" he asked levelly.

"Yes. That, at least, is certain." He sighed. "This is going to be hell to
get through, but we still have the prisoners and we have at least dealt with
Andrews. I think we can manage to weather this. I'll keep you both up to
date," he added, leaving to discuss the security and the consequences of
Andrews' work with McGath.

"Would it be OK if I went and looked at the project? I won't work, I'll
take it easy. I just need something else to be busy with. I'll get some rest
after that, when I've had time to get used to all this a bit," Lucas
compromised.

"OK. But make sure you get the rest. If you're having problems sleeping,
which I can well understand," she glared at Ford and the door, "come and see
me and I'll give you something."

Lucas nodded. "Thanks." He got up slowly, very tired. "Commander," Ford
looked up quickly,
"Thank you for getting me out of there." Ford stared at him dumbly, so
Lucas simply smiled slightly and left.

He walked slowly down the corridors, still feeling light headed from the
shock. Kimura looked up at him as he entered the room where they were
starting to assemble the prototype.

"We weren't expecting you for hours," she said, wiping her hands on a dirty
rag and coming over to him. "Is everything all right?"

"The trial has been suspended. Several of the jury were killed. Two people
who were taking me to the trial were killed. I killed someone," he summed up
bleakly, sitting down and watching the team working. "I know I had to do
what I did today and about section seven before, I just can't help feeling
that this is all my fault, that I'm responsible for choosing to do that."

Kimura stared fixedly at the floor. "I didn't tell you how much I admired
what you did," she told the iron gridwork. "It was one of the reasons why I
wanted people here to accept me. It showed me what your people would do for
things that are right. To be respected by people like that means something.
It made me want to stay and fight for what you believed in." She gave the
floor one last uncomfortable look. "The engine is going well, some of the
switches are a little stiff but we're working on it." She glanced up at him
and he smiled very briefly at her.

"How's the angle of the wings looking? Were we right on that or should it
have been lower?"

He spent the next few hours discussing the work and the progress. After that
he was too tired to stand up any longer as he started to feel the after
effects of the shock wearing off, so he stumbled back to his quarters and
fell onto his bunk and slept.


Copyright by E.Casale 1997


===========================  PART 3  =====================================


Surpised so far? More comments needed! advice, crit (not flames)- I do
love all input so long as it is put positively. Little surprise again. I
don't think anyone will have thought of THIS one. I hope you all enjoy it.
Thanks for all the support and comments so far, it's really wonderful. Have
a lovely weekend!

Alexi



Copyright E.Casale 1997


Chapter 3


"And you will get that conversation for me, won't you?" the girl pouted
prettily, buttoning her blouse and gently swinging herself off the desk.

Briggs grinned lewdly at her as she kissed him, letting his hands roam as
she slipped the recorder into his pocket. "Of course I will," he replied,
patting it and smiling at her conniving, but then again he had got what he
wanted and she wasn't asking so much. Besides, when he allowed himself these
little indiscretions he had to be careful to leave the situation happy for
the other involved party. After all, he had his career to think of and a
messy divorce trial would not do it any good.

She pulled away finally, giggling and waved at him as she slipped out the
door. "I'll see you next week then, for some more... advice on my will,"
she called, winking at him and finally closing the door. She strutted past
the secretary, swinging her hips, and out into the corridor. From there she
went into the ladies and smiled at herself in the mirror.

"Good work, even if I say so myself." She grimaced at the lips stick,
wiping it off and rinsing her mouth, quickly changing jumper from the tiny,
tight mini skirt, too tight jacket and see through shirt into slacks and a
loose dark. She flung the six inch stilettos disgustedly into her shoulder
bag and smiled once more at her now restored reflection and slipped away
down the staff stairs. Mission accomplished. Well, he was looking for a bit
of fire in his life and he was just about to get what he deserved for it.
She would never have let him live, after what she had had to do, anyway.
"Dirty old bastard," she swore looking back up at the office somewhere
above her, on the penthouse floor.


Briggs straightened his tie in the mirror and reordered his suit, quickly
smoothing his thinning grey hair and tightening his belt again over the
belly he was forever fighting a losing battle with. He smiled to himself
as he picked up his briefcase. A trial of world interest, a new mistress,
publicity, fame, money... it had really been his month.

"I'm going to talk with General Howard about the trial. After that, I think
I'll call it a week. You can take the rest of the day off. Start the weekend
early. Go and see your children," he added, generous in his good mood.

"Thank you, Sir," the secretary said politely to his back, as he walked
through the outer office and out into the corridor. "And I hope you get
caught out in a riot!" she cursed, when the door had remained shut for a
few moments.

Briggs hailed a taxi. As the taxi weaved through the afternoon traffic
towards the prison, he sat back, thinking about how good life was at
present. He paid the fare with a large tip, ignoring the driver's grateful
thanks and let the guards check him through and into the building. He
swaggered confidently down the halls to the cells, where he was checked a
second time. A young officer pulled out the tape recorder, raising an eye
brow.

"What does it look like? I need to make a copy of a conversation with my
client, so that I can write up a report for his testimony," he explained as
if to a very small child.

The officer handed it back to him ungraciously, his eyes angry as he opened
the doors for Briggs to pass. Brody looked up as he saw the doors open and
started down the corridor, from the staff area at the end, where they had a
game of poker going to alleviate the boredom.

The far end of the corridor exploded into flame, raining bricks and smoke.
Then the sound and the shock wave of the explosion hit, as he was thrown
back on to the ground. The noise was deafening and then there were screams
and shouts. Gradually the bricks stopped flying, as smoke clouded the air
and a red rain fell on the dust and debris scattered all around.


"Where is she?" Lakes asked, for the fifth time in so many minutes.

Bailey looked across at him and then down at his watch. "It doesn't matter.
Everything is set up, we go ahead as planned, like she said. Unless you
particularly want to be around when she gets back and finds that we haven't
done what she ordered. Besides, I'm in charge and we're doing it. It's too
late to back out, not after Alice delivered the package for us. We won't get
a second chance."

"Where is she, though? If they caught her she might have told them..."

"Are you completely stupid? Andrews? Tell them anything?" Andrew's second
laughed loudly at the thought. "Now, that's exactly why you're not in
charge here and you're not giving the orders." He grinned darkly. "What I
wouldn't give to be able to see the expression on that dirty old man's face.
Never did like lawyers, but at least they're a sure bet- anything for a bit
on the side. Said that he didn't even notice a thing, too busy concentrating
on other... distractions. Relax, Lakes. If everything goes as well as this,
we'll have no worries. It was really genius about the tape recorder though,
they won't be able to tell that it isn't on the checks, whatever they do.
Man, can those educated types be dumb!" He shook his head, still laughing,
then he looked around at his team and down at his watch, one last time. "
OK. Let's get moving. We should be seeing sparks fly in a few minutes. As
soon as we get the main gate, the rest of you follow and hold our passage
back out. Good. Move out." The driver flicked the switch and pulled the
vehicle away from the curb, the sirens wailing and the lights on as they
raced out of the garage and through the streets, until they came to the high
prison walls.

The guards on duty halted them as they approached.

"We're here about the fire alarm," Lakes announced briskly, looking around
as if for smoke.

"Must have the wrong address." One of the guards came up to the window and
looked in. "No fire here. We would have heard about it. None of our alarms
have gone off."

"This is hardly an address we could mistake!" Bailey objected. "Look, we
were told that there was a fire here and we're not leaving until we know for
sure that that is wrong. You'd better go check it. You're alarms might be
down or something."

The guard turned and conversed quickly with the others and one turned back
towards their booth, flipping on the radio, watching them as he spoke. After
a few moments he came back out. Bailey and a few of the others had got down,
resting their suits and equipment against the wall, sweating in the heat.

"There's no report of a fire anywhere in the building. I'm sorry, there
must have been some mistake at your end. No one reported any fire, here."

Bailey glanced down at his watch and gestured his men back on the truck.
Five.... four.... three...

"I guess we were a little early."

The explosion rocked the ground, throwing the guards on to the concrete, as
smoke and flames shot upwards out of one end of the building: bricks and
parts of the wall breaking off and thrown, fifty metres, across the
compound. Bailey ran behind the truck just as the second blast from the
explosives in their stolen equipment, tore a twenty metre hole through the
five foot thick wall. The bricks hurtled harmlessly into the reinforced side
of the tall truck, as smoke clouded the view. Bailey gave a shout to his
team and they picked up their weapons. As they ran through the smoke, over
the half buried bodies of the guards, into the prison building, hearing the
other teams' vehicle screeching to a stop at the curb.

The corridors were smoke filled, the UEO personnel coughing and stumbling
about, confused from the blasts in both directions. Bailey hurried through
the corridors, knowing the route, firing through the smoke at the bewildered
soldiers, who didn't know if they should fire back and if so at whom and
where. The back up team swarmed in, taking up positions to keep the corridor
clear and to fight off any remaining personnel, as the first team
slaughtered their way through those in their path.

As the smoke and dust from the plaster started to settle, their progress
slowed slightly, with minor skirmishes with the UEO guards not detaining
them for very long. For a few hundred metres, the corridors, in the centre
of the building, was free of smoke, but then they entered the smoke from the
second explosion as they came to the second main security block, before the
prison cells. Just before the cells, the gates, walls and iron bar doors lay
strewn across the floor or hanging sagging on their hinges, ripped across
the centre, some parts melted from the heat of the explosion.

Bailey stepped into the smoke and across the last iron mesh door, into the
corridor by the first of the cells.

"General Howard?"


Brody watched, motionless, until the last missiles had fallen to the ground
or ricocheted of the walls. The screaming continued from the cells. He sat
up slowly, finding that nothing had been broken when he'd been thrown back
by the blast, though he'd certainly have some impressive bruises in a few
days. Stiff and sore, he pulled himself up by the bars of the cell next to
him. The woman inside was cowering back against the far wall, her hands over
her head, sobbing. He looked around to assess the situation.

"Graham?" he called anxiously, through the smoke.

"Over here, Sir," a disembodied voice replied. Brody followed its
direction, stumbling as objects appeared in his path, out of the smoke. A
large, bulky figure appeared in his way.

"Where are the others. How many are down?" he asked, fiddling with the keys
on his belt.

"At this end, we're mostly OK. Everyone can walk. The other end- probably
dead; we just don't know." Brody nodded, cursing, as he fumbled with the
keys. The rest of the team slowly came up around them, out of the grey air.
Brody finally pulled the keys loose and handed one to Graham, one to
Patricks and several to the others. Each was labelled with the name and
number of one of the prisoners.

"We're going to the emergency plan. These are the people we need to take
with us. The rest aren't important. Unlock the cells quickly and bring them
down this end. And watch them! Everyone got their weapons charged?" They all
nodded. "Go!" he ordered. He turned to the man next to him. "Get the cover
off the passage way and take two men down to guard the way and send another
two to get the vehicles." The dust covered soldier nodded at him grimly and
set off to obey his orders. Brody glanced down at his watch. It had only
been thee minutes since the blast. He'd checked the time to write down the
lawyer's arrival. That meant they had two more to get out. "Two minutes!
Let's go!" he shouted and ran back down the corridor and slipped the key
into the lock. There was a cry at the other end of the corridor and the
sound of running footsteps retreating, but there wasn't time to investigate.
His team, along with their assigned prisoners, were running back down
towards the far end and hurrying their charges down the steps to the
underground complex. Brody pulled the door open and trained his gun on the
man sitting, unperturbed, in the cell.

"Let's move, General!" Howard gazed at him calmly for a moment and then got
up, dusting himself down. Brody reached out and dragged him roughly out of
the cell and down to the end of the corridor. The officer in charge of the
way down called to him, as he saw him pushing his prisoner through the murky
smoke.

"All accounted for?" Brody asked, halting for a moment.

"Jones hasn't come back."

Brody cursed. He looked at his watch. Time was up. As if on cue, he heard a
large pack of men running and gun fire from the other end of the corridor.
"Go! " he shouted, pushing Howard forward and running down the steps after
them, as Jones followed, securing their exit.

He had no idea which prisoner he had sent Jones for, he didn't have time to
stop and figure it out. The first thing was to get the team and number one
prisoner, Howard, out. They ran full tilt along the narrow corridors,
following the pipes that ran along the walls and served as their guide to
the escape route. Between them, he and Jones pushed and dragged their
unwilling prisoner along. They rounded a final bend and were out into a
larger room, a small car park, off the side of the main one. Brody let
Jones push Howard, with the help of the rest of the team, into the waiting
vehicle as he ran round to the driver's side.

"All in!" one of the men shouted, from the rear, and Brody nodded to the
driver.

They pulled away, swerving round the corner and into the main carpark,
racing across the open space, through the barrier and out into the town.
Brody flicked on the siren and the ambulance raced through the streets,
cars moving out of the way to let them pass.

"Are we being followed?" he called to the men in the back.

"No, Sir."

Brody slumped back in the front seat and sighed, reaching over for the PAL
system. "Which prisoner are we missing?" he asked, pausing before flicking
it on. No one replied. "Just keep watching them- put on the handcuffs!" he
ordered and addressed himself to the PAL.


Bailey ran into the cell block and stopped. "General Howard?" he called,
anxiously. A figure appeared out of the smoke, begrimed, with hands raised.
Bailey raised his gun at him.

"This is Captain Reggs, Westlake Point," the figure announced
authoritatively. "Where's Andrews?"

"Not here, Sir, but we're here on her orders. She's taking care of some
other matter for the General."

Reggs nodded, lowering his hands. "The general is gone, so are Neal and the
other leaders- they left from the other end of this corridor. Go check it
out," he ordered another of Bailey's team. "There are still some people
here, who will be very useful, but we need to get the doors open and clear
out. The UEO will have back up here in a few minutes."

"Yes, Sir!" Bailey replied, glad to have another commander to rely on.
Andrews would be furious about the General he realised, cringing at the
thought, but they had done their best. Reggs could testify to that.

The men hurried down the corridor, shooting off the locks and herding the
prisoners back the way they came.

"That's everyone, Sir," said a young soldier, stopping before Reggs and
Bailey. "I don't know how they got out- must be a passage way, but I can't
see it."

"They'll be long gone," Reggs sighed. "Move out!"

They ran back through the prison, a few falling to UEO fire from other
corridors. When Reggs burst out into the sunshine, free for the first time
in over three weeks, one vehicle was already pulling away laden with the
prisoners they had freed, and another was waiting for them with the doors
open. Reggs and Bailey piled into the front and they pulled away from the
ruined wall and the deserted fire truck, dented on one side from the
explosion.

"Where's our escape route?" he asked quickly, looking around at the men as
he did so, summing them up.

"We've got boats waiting at one end of the harbour and our submersible
craft are waiting a mile out from there for us to dock with them, then we
leave the boats. The subs are top quality UEO tech- they won't be able to
find us." Bailey glanced back as he said this, but there was no sign of
pursuit.
"Andrews has her own fighter waiting. She'll find us," he added.

Reggs nodded, looking out at the city and freedom as they drew up at the
harbour. They pulled off, down the wharves, into the poorer area of town,
then down into the derelict dockland area. The first vehicle was waiting by
the edge of the dock, the doors open, empty. Before they had stopped, Bailey
and Reggs jumped down, hurrying over to the boat, as the others flung open
the back doors and unloaded the prisoners onto the boat. Within minutes they
pulled away from the shore and sped across the open water, heading for the
ocean. They started to slow down and ahead Reggs could see a docking shaft
rising up out of the waves. The first boat pulled away just as they
approached, gliding in. The last man from the other boat secured its gas and
direction and sent it off speeding across the bay. Then he dived into the
water and swam back. The soldiers helping them dock pulled him dripping from
the water and he disappeared, with the rest, down the shaft.

Reggs stared around him at the open sea, breathing in the fresh salty air,
watching the birds, enjoying his liberty. He looked back at the jetty where
two small specks, were ploughing a huge wake through the water towards them.

"We're going to have company," he told Bailey, pointing. Bailey nodded
unworriedly as the last prisoners were off loaded down the shaft and the
boat pulled away to a second one, a hundred metres away, where the remaining
officers dismounted. Reggs lowered himself down the metal ladder and stood
surveying the craft as he stepped down. The dripping pilot, from his boat,
came down a minute later and the hatch was sealed. He felt only a slight
jolt as they jettisoned the shaft and dived, accelerating into the depths
and away.

He shook his head in admiration. "Andrews sure knows how to organise an
escape." He smiled to himself as he wandered around, looking down at the
consoles.

He turned back to Bailey who was facing away talking in quick whispers to
another soldier. He coughed and Bailey dismissed the other man, turning back
to him. His face was strained and torn between fear and relief. 

"Captain Andrews is dead," he announced. "She was killed at the courthouse
earlier today. Her final objective was not accomplished.

The crew stirred uneasily. Reggs turned away angrily, thinking hard. "What
was her last objective? Who is responsible?"

"The young officer who started this whole mess. Earlier, she got to three
of the jury members; reports are in that they are dead. She wanted to get
him for betraying the UEO and for doing it at her base. She had something
special planned. Then she was going to join us for the prison. She gave us
orders to go ahead in case she got delayed or something went wrong."

Reggs nodded and walked to the centre of the bridge. "I'm Captain Reggs of
the Westlake Point Base. I will be taking over command from here. Andrews
was a loyal, dedicated and talented officer, and we will continue the way
she started. If anyone doubts my abilities to command in her place, you'll
soon recognise that, though she was a very valuable commander, there are
other just as capable," he added pointedly, glaring at them challengingly,
seeing the fear and doubt on their faces. "Like her, I demand complete
loyalty and your full commitment. I think that the damage to the UEO far out
weighs her loss. Set course for the Macronesian border and keep us hidden.
Speed is not important."



The bridge was quiet, as it had been for three weeks, shifts only necessary
on a small off-chance. Kimura walked on for her shift, annoyed at having her
work on the project disturbed. Hudson turned from contemplating the crew;
most were younger crew members being trained in this time-out period.

"Lieutenant Commander, please take over at comms," he ordered, looking
around at her quickly.

O'Neil got up awkwardly and vacated his seat for her. She sat down
gracefully, trying to keep her face neutral and slipped on the head set.

"I'm glad that you found time to train since our last discussion," Hudson
noted.

"Sir, I'm picking up a security alarm from the prison," a young crew member
looked up worriedly from his station. Hudson crossed quickly to confirm it.
"Get me a link to the prison!" he ordered Kimura.

"Sir, there's no response. Their systems might be down." She typed some
more on her console.
"Incoming message from General McGath, Sir."

"On screen."

"I've got alarms going off at the prison. What the hell is going on,
Captain?" he demanded as the image appeared on the centre view screen.

"We're still trying to confirm that, Sir, but communications seem to be
down."

"Do I need to remind you, Captain, that this has not been a good day for
UEO security. The only saving grace is that we still have the prisoners. The
UEO cannot afford for Howard to escape!"

"Yes, Sir. I'm aware of that fact, but until we have some confirmation of
what has happened..."

Suddenly an emergency transmission came through, the comms station alarms
beeping.

"Emergency message coming through from Lieutenant Brody."

"General, I'll have that information for you shortly. Hudson out." He
turned to Kimura. "On screen."

"It's voice only," she told him, flicking switches and the bridge was
filled with static.

"This is Brody. The prison has been hit badly, but we got out on the escape
route. We're on our way to you now. We have Howard and Neal. ETA five
minutes. And get a med team back to the prison," he added urgently.

"The other prisoners?" Hudson asked quickly.

"Only one of the main ones is missing. We're not sure who yet."

"Men down?"

"Yes, I don't know how many. We have all but four of the cell guards." The
static increased. "... explosion just after the lawyer arrived. We're nearly
at the docking bay."

"Get the prisoners on board. I'll meet you in there."

"Yes, Sir. Brody out," and he cut the link.

"Get commander Ford and a double security team to the docking bay. And
someone get a medteam and back up from HQ to the prison!" he ordered,
running off the bridge.


Brody hurried down the link into the boat, ahead of the prisoners, as Ford
and Hudson arrived in the docking bay.

Hudson motioned over the security team. "Take the prisoners down to the
brig- carefully. Don't take any chances. How many people are we talking
about here?" Hudson asked, turning to Brody.

"Ten."

Hudson turned back to the guard. "Make sure you have people watching them
at all times. Double the usual number of guards and make sure they have
their weapons fully charged at all times and at hand. Get them to report
in, once an hour, to the bridge, on any changes. Howard, I want held
separately," Hudson gestured to the General, who was just being brought down
the link and into the main bay. "I don't need to remind you how important
and dangerous these prisoners are." Hudson waited for the security team
leader to acknowledge. "Good. Make sure there's no further trouble. I'll
have a med team come down to deal with any injuries," he added looking at
the prisoners, dirty and some clearly in shock. "Dismissed."

The guard beckoned his team in and they escorted the prisoners out of the
bay and down to the brig. Hudson turned back to Brody. "Send any of your
team who need medical assistance down to med bay. We'll debrief later.
McGath will be expecting a report now. We'll regroup in the wardroom in
an hour when we know more about what has happened and what we need to do
next." Brody nodded tiredly.
"That was good work, Lieutenant," he added sincerely, as he turned to leave.


The main bridge crew assembled in the wardroom hour later, all worried and
tense. Once they were seated Hudson turned back to them.

"Of the forty prisoners being held in that section of the base: ten are on
board- the most important ones- 25 have escaped and another five are dead,
killed in the blast or trying to escape. Ten guards were killed at the base:
three by the front entrance, four by the cell entrance and another three as
the section seven team went through the base to get the prisoners. Another
15 have been injured but are expected to recover fully. The front entrance
and the cell block have been severely damaged; returning the prisoners there
would have been impossible, in any case. From what we have been able to
piece together there were two simultaneous bombing; one by a 'fire crew,'
at the front entrance and one suicide bomb, brought in by Howard's lawyer.
Briggs was not a supporter of Howard and we believe he had no knowledge of
the bomb. He was also killed in the explosion. His secretary has identified
a 'new client and mistress' as one of Andrews' team. Despite all this, and
the events earlier, we must remember that Andrews was the one who organised
all three attacks and the only one where she was not present was
unsuccessful in its main objective. The most important thing is that we
still have the ten top section seven people in custody." He sighed.

"This does not diminish the loss of life of our fellow crew members, but
had Howard escaped it would have been catastrophic for the UEO. As it is,
with Andrews dead and Howard still in custody, we can put this through as a
success, rather than a failure. The trial will continue at a new location
and will be completely secured this time. All shore leave is cancelled, as
we will be leaving to take the prisoners to the new location. Secretary
McGath has also offered terms of surrender for those supporters of Andrews
who are still at large, though five were killed at the prison. We don't
believe that they are a threat without their leader, however. We will hold a
small service for the men killed today, but the funerals will take place on
shore, for the relatives to be present. Unfortunately, none of the crew will
be able to attend, for security purposes. We're leaving in two hours. Our
destination is the UEO HQ for the evacuation of the government and military
heads, in case of war. The location is, of course, secured and there will be
no personal use of communications equipment, until further notice. After
this, we will be patrolling the nearby border, where we can quickly reach
the base, if need should arise. The trial is being rescheduled, but among
the other red tape a new jury has to be selected and Howard has to find new
counsel." He stopped letting the reason for this sink in. 

"Security will be at battle stations, all times, until further notice. Any
questions?" They shook their heads dumbly. "Dismissed," he ordered and they
filed out in silence.


Ford and Brody picked at their food morosely in the mess. "Three times in
one day." Brody shook his head, disgusted. "And all three... Hudson calls
it a success," he added, sarcastically.

"They only achieved what they set out to with the jury members, though." He
shrugged, trying to be positive.

"That doesn't help the people who were killed!"

"No, it doesn't," Ford snapped back, "But we still have Howard and Andrews
is dead. The trial is going ahead. We all knew that we wouldn't get rid of
this problem without loss, without bloodshed. Considering that we've taken
down some of the most important people in our government, and a major and
powerful section of it, the cost has been a lot less than you'd expect and
it's a cost that was necessary."

"Ten people dead because my security wasn't good enough, is not necessary,"
Brody replied bitterly.

"It wasn't your mistake, Jim, just like it wasn't mine. Andrews was just
ahead of the game, this time."

"You really think we're going to get through to the end of this trial? You
think the UEO can keep hanging on to to public support, if this keeps
happening?"

"I want to." Ford sighed. "I know that if I had to do it again, I'd do the
same things, but I still feel responsible and I hate feeling that she got
the better of me."

"That was one smart woman," Brody agreed. "And however unpleasant it
sounds, I'm very glad she's dead."

Ford nodded in reluctant agreement, still fuming. Both had suffered severe
blows not only to their professional status and pride, but to their
confidence in themselves and the abilities of those on their side.


Nearly the entire crew attended the small service which had to suffice for
them, instead of the funerals of their friends and ship mates. The mood was
a mixture of sadness and anger, but far from losing confidence in the UEO
being able to beat Howard, their resolve to keep the trial going, and make
sure that they purged their government, grew and they worked hard, in mutual
support, towards these aims. Their mood had grown to one of faith in
themselves and each other, as they finally left the harbour, taking their
cargo to the unknown location ahead. They were soon up to high speeds,
sensors keeping a close watch on all activities around them. Hudson nodded
to Ford as they cleared the harbour and accelerated into the ocean.

"McGath will want another report," he sighed. "Commander, you have the com."

In the wardroom he flicked on the PAL and asked for a connection to McGath.
The screen opened a few moments later.

"We've cleared the harbour and are en route to the base," Hudson reported.

McGath nodded. "We still have no news of Andrews' team or the escaped
prisoners. I have a team working to find out all they can about her, the
people she gathered and the other prisoners. I'll have them send through
the information, when they're done."

Hudson nodded. "The trial?"

"The jury have been selected and are being escorted to the base with the
judge and Howard's new lawyer." Hudson looked up. "You look surprised,
Captain."

"Is this trial really going to go ahead? How many more times can we afford
for these things to happen, without losing all confidence?" he asked
angrily. He was furious that Andrews had outwitted them again and at the
loss of life, despite the fact that they could have suffered much more
serious losses.

"The public have surprised us again, with more support than condemnation.
We kept hold of Howard and Andrews has been killed. No one thought we'd get
out of this without bloodshed. So far, our losses have been less than
expected... any loss of life is too much, but with such a disaster and
thescandal of section seven, such a huge upheaval, no one expected this to
go smoothly. So long as the trial continues, support will grow. In fact,
these things just show that we can keep going, that the new UEO is not going
to bow down to these people. I'm sorry about your crew members, but this is
as good a cause as any to die for. Report back to me in four hours. McGath
out." He severed the link and the screen went dead.


"Knife hand block 90 degrees to the left, 45 degrees to left, 90 degrees
right and 45 right. Hold stance. Hand over the solar plexus, palm up. Thumb
in, on the blocking hand. Back stance. Good. Yame." Lucas turned and bowed
to her.

"I can't believe there's so much to remember- about every little part of a
move: hips, stance, tension/ relaxing, angles..."

"But you're learning it."

"Yeah, in about two years I might have a vague idea how to do front
stance," he grinned, rolling his eyes despairingly.

"Most of the great teachers say that if you can learn to do one move well
in ten years, that is success. Perfection is impossible."

"Don't I believe it." He sighed, growing serious again. "So many people
are dying because of something I started. Each time, they seem to be ahead
of us. We're never going to get through this trial and if we don't... I
don't see how the UEO could survive the loss of trust that would mean, not
only in the public, but the military. I don't know what to believe any
more. When I did it, I wanted to make the UEO something I could feel proud
to fight for, to serve. Now it is struggling to become that, but the
obstacles... if something this right is going to fail..." he sighed. "Where
is it going to stop? 12 of the crew dead in one day. How can we possibly
win?" He sat down heavily, running his hand through the water and then
through his hair, to push it back and cool himself.

There was another thing that he hadn't told anyone about; he was desperately
afraid of what would happen next. While there was still one of Andrews'
people out there he couldn't feel safe, unless he stayed on the boat
forever. He was also afraid about how many more of his friends would die
before it ended, if it ended. 

Andrews was dead; he had killed her in self defence. He couldn't see that he
could have known or changed things to help Smith or Matthews; they had been
surprised by her attack just as much as he had. He just had to accept it; to
survive and live with it was the only option. But it didn't stop him from
feeling dirty, as if he were physically coated with her blood, their blood,
when he thought about it.


He just wished that he could be sure that he hadn't gone into this for
selfish reasons. He knew that he had done something right and important, but
why he had done it, he still couldn't separate the major and minor reasons.
Partly, he had done it because he did not want to be someone who could
ignore that it was happening and not act. But that brought up another
question, about Bridger and Ford: how did he feel about their actions? His
answer to that was a compromise, he knew, but he had to make it. He needed
to be able to continue to care for, believe in and trust them, too much. He
admired and respected them and it was going to take more than one thing, a
long time in their past, to change that. They had done too much since then.
It was a terrible mistake, and he was disappointed, very disappointed, and
shocked to find out about it, but it was not his place to judge them for it.
They did not suddenly become different people because he knew something bad
about them. It just made them more human. He had no right to expect them to
be perfect because he wanted to see that. People weren't like that.

He could understand that they had both been in very difficult positions and
if it had happened now, they would have acted differently. He did not see
Banaba as another instance of their betraying their duties, just trying to
hide their mistakes. He could never have not acted, but that was him, not
them and a lot of his actions were simply that he would not have been able
to live with himself, if he had done nothing. He did not like himself enough
to allow himself to do something like that. But one of the main reasons he
had done it, was so that he would be able to forgive them- almost be able to
think of it as him correcting their mistakes, and this would give him the
right to ignore what they had done and to let himself continue to think of
them as he wanted to.


"How long before we finish her?" he asked of the new craft which they had
now begun building.

"A few more days." Kimura shrugged. "Sooner, if we get back to it now."

"I'll meet you there in a few minutes."


"So once you'd freed Howard," Reggs said, sitting back in the comfortable
chair, staring across the table at Bailey, "the plan was that he would meet
with someone important. He hadn't sent this information through to Andrews
because he wasn't sure that she would quite appreciate his understanding of
the situation and what is required. In a way, she would have been a burden
from now on, in any case. Unfortunately, I will have to attend the meeting
without the General; that is where we are heading now. In the circumstances,
the only way to proceed is to come to certain terms with the Macronesians."
He smiled with pleasure at the look of shock on Bailey's face. "The UEO is
no longer a viable government. It is weak and unwilling to take action. In
fact, certain of our policies have much more in common with Macronesia than
this 'new UEO'. This will shock the men, as it has shocked you, but really,
the UEO has simply painted a false picture of Macronesia. The General
believes that section seven policies and principles will be able to flourish
with the help of Macronesia and that, eventually, we will be able to replace
this tottering UEO. Once we have done that, we will be in control again, but
this time we will not have to hide behind useless weaklings and cowards. Our
actions will be public and decisive, our government strong, and there will
be peace with Macronesia. Together we will be the largest and strongest
powers in the world and the war will be over."

Reggs paused as Bailey nodded slowly, willing to believe whatever he was
told. So long as it was enough sop to his conscience and beliefs he could
ignore the truth of the situation. Besides, he was a soldier, not a
philosopher or thinker, that he left up to his commanders.

"I will shortly explain this to the men. If there are any difficulties, I
will deal with them, promptly. You needn't fear divisions. Now, I want you
to go and set course for Cooper Colony. We will leave the others a few miles
out, behind the ridges there, while you and a few others will accompany me
to the meeting. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir." Bailey saluted and left to give the orders, while Reggs sat
back planning what he would say. It would be much harder without the
general; he would need to be freed, but that would be much easier with
Macronesian help. There might be the need of a gift or a demonstration of
their worth, if they were to get the terms that Howard wanted, though. Well,
he had a good team and he trusted his abilities; they would find something
effective.



Bailey opened the hatch and the team stepped out into the hot night and
walked up the steps on to the jetty. Reggs led the way through the streets,
which resounded with loud with music and laughter. Cooper Colony was one of
the last strongholds of organised crime. Despite the UEO and local police's
efforts it thrived in the sultry climate: drugs trade, illegal arms,
mercenaries. On the surface, it was always respectable; wealthy business men
discussing legal transactions with undercurrents of corruption that could
never be proven. It was the closest Colony to the Macronesian border; often
its neighbours suffered raids and fear underlay its busy comings and goings.

The night club was new, polished and expensive. He handed the bouncer the
token that Howard's lawyer had agreed with the Macronesians as a signal and
they were quickly led through to a private table, off to one side.

A tall, refined looking woman rose to greet them, clearly the head person
among the others, all men, at the table. Reggs could see how they wouldn't
mind, though. The dim lighting softened the small lines that gave a small
hint as to her age, but her face was regal, carefully chiselled features of
marble and golden hair that could be those of a woman anywhere between
thirty five and fifty. As Reggs smiled and took her hand, feeling the grasp
firm and determined, he found himself unnerved by her steady gaze. The
shrewdness of those eyes reminded him irresistibly of Howard, dark and
knowing beyond what others would see, calculating and capable.

She motioned for them to seat themselves and they ordered drinks, which the
waitress brought promptly.

"I was expecting Andrews and Howard," she stated and waited calmly for him
to explain. The others shifted uneasily under her gaze.

"Unfortunately, Andrews was killed yesterday and General Howard is still a
guest of the UEO," Reggs replied neutrally. "I'm Captain Reggs, commanding
officer of section seven."

She regarded him a while longer and he stared back at her, not letting
himself be discomforted by her manner. "Andrews was an intelligent
effective woman," she said at length. "I trusted her and her abilities."

Reggs nodded. "She was a very effective officer, but I think that you will
find that I have an equal ability in getting what I want and accomplishing
any mission I undertake."

"Without the general... our terms would have to be different."

Reggs acknowledged her point. "This is an unfortunate setback, but I think
that I can prove myself, and my team, capable enough to merit the terms you
agreed with the General. I am willing to offer you a demonstration of this
or to offer you an exchange; I will get you something you want and in return
you will help me free the General, and then we can proceed, as planned, with
the terms intact," he argued, determinedly.

The woman considered for a while, the men on either side of her whispering
their thoughts to her, though she remained silent, unmoved, considering.

Reggs sat back confidently. She could accept or refuse, but they both knew
that, with the guarantee of a trade, it would be worth her while to agree on
the basis of accepting if the 'gift' was delivered successfully. She had
nothing to lose and perhaps a lot to be gained from joining her government
with one which knew the UEO's secrets and would be a powerful opposition to
failing UEO rule.

"Agreed. You will deliver a 'gift' to us and if you are successful, we will
arrange for the General to be brought to Macronesia, where we will pursue
further projects of co-operation." She took a sip of the martini in front of
her as Reggs waited patiently. She seemed pleased with his attitude. "We
have heard that the UEO has obtained and is experimenting with some new
technology from a Chaodi ship that they were in possession of. Further
sources have informed us that there is a craft being manufactured at present
based on this new technology which is beyond all our and the UEO's present
fighters. We would like you to obtain this technology and the designer. I
believe that this will not be an unpleasant task, but rather one that you
would enjoy the excuse to pursue. The craft is currently being assembled
abroad the seaQuest. The officer in charge of designing it is the same
officer who brought your section's activities to the attention of the UEO. I
also believe that he was the target that Andrews was aiming at, when she was
killed."

Reggs sat back, a slow smile spreading across his face. So she had known
what had happened already. It would be a challenge that he was very willing
to take up. It would please the general, be as effective a demonstration as
could be asked for, and he had a personal investment in this. This woman was
very clever.

"This is certainly a task that I would be willing to attempt, in any case.
It will be beneficial to us both and I will certainly enjoy its execution."

"I will provide you with details of the tests, including location; that
will be the time for you to obtain the craft and I believe that it is likely
that the officer in question will be aboard for the tests." Reggs nodded.
The woman stood gracefully, the men hurrying to hold her chair for her and
then get out of her way.

"I will contact you on this secured channel, with the details." She handed
him a slip of paper. "I do not expect to hear from you until you have
accomplished your part of the agreement. When that is so, you can contact us
and I will give you a location for you to deliver the 'gift' and where we
can then go on to discuss your General. I wish you every success," she added
charmingly and turned to leave.

"When we have your 'gift', whom shall I ask for?" Reggs asked quickly.

The woman turned back to him, a secret smile playing across her lips.
"General Stark."



Copyright E.Casale 1997


===========================  PART 4  =====================================


Copyright E.Casale, 1997

OK, it's all finished, but the rate I send it out is up to you. No more 'til
I get lots of comments- thanks to those who've told me what they think
already. Anything I need to work on improve?.....



Chapter 4


Fourteen hours later, seaQuest docked at the undersea base somewhere in the
Atlantic.

"Docking ports are cycled, Sir."

"Commander Ford, Lieutenant Brody, with me to the docking bay. Alert the
brig that we've arrived and will be unloading the prisoners soon. Lieutenant
Henderson, you have the com." Hudson and the others left, walking briskly as
the hatched cycled open and they walked through into the base. Hudson
saluted Jenter, as she stepped forward to greet them. She returned the
salute, smiling.

"The prisoners?"

"Ready to be unloaded, when you are," Hudson replied.

Jenter nodded, beckoning to an officer waiting behind her. "Captain Hudson,
Captain Antrobus will escort them to their new holding cells." The two
saluted each other.

"Lieutenant Brody, tell Baker to bring the prisoners out to the docking
bay, now," Hudson ordered and Brody turned away to talk into his PAL. A few
minutes later, the security officer stepped through into the base, followed
by the prisoners and further guards.

Antrobus motioned for his men to take over guarding of the prisoners and
escorting them to the cells. Jenter glared disgustedly and disappointedly at
Howard as he walked past, calm as ever.

"It taints all of us," she sighed sadly then put on a brisk professionalism
again. "But the trial will continue and we will be rid of him and his
corruption. Have there been any sightings of the escaped prisoners?"

Hudson shook his head. "The whole of the UEO is looking, but they have
craft that are the top range of our technology."

Jenter frowned again. "Howard knew how to pick his people. You have your
next orders?" she asked, bringing herself back to the present.

"We will be patrolling on the Macronesian border. That way we will be close
enough to assist, if there should be any problems, but not close enough to
risk revealing this location. We were ordered to disembark, as soon as we
had unloaded the prisoners, for security."

Jenter nodded briskly and they exchanged salutes. "Good luck, Captain," she
added before leaving.

Ford and Brody followed Hudson back inside and then up to the bridge. "Set
course for the Macronesian border and plot a patrol along it. Commander, you
have the com."


The border had been quiet for months and there was no additional action as
they started their patrolling, knowing that they would probably be there for
several weeks at least. After the stress of the disrupted trial, everyone
was glad at the calm and lack of action, relaxing as the days passed.
Nothing more was heard of Andrews team.


The team stood back, smiling broadly, looking at their finished work. The
new paintwork was shined and polished, the design elegant, sophisticated and
clearly far advanced above any other UEO fighter. They had built it in one
of the docking bays, to be able to launch it easily, when ready for testing.
Lucas reached down, into the pilots seat, and flicked on the displays,
watching them check themselves as the fighter's computer booted up. He
looked over the at lights and the data on the screen and smiled across at
Kimura.

"I can't wait to try her." He looked back at the craft he had designed,
eager and excited. "It's been quiet here and the terrain is fine for
testing. I'm going to ask Hudson if we can start tomorrow. There's nothing
else going on, so we should be able to use the main ship's sensors to see
how she performs," he said, jumping down from the steps beside the craft,
that he'd been standing on to look in. "You're sure you don't mind me
taking the first ride?" he asked, turning back.

"No. You designed her. I just helped."

"Thanks," he grinned and set off down the corridors to the wardroom and
knocked on the door, trying to compose himself before Hudson called him in.

The Captain looked up from the paperwork on his desk. "Lieutenant?"

"The fighter's ready, Sir. I wanted your permission to start tests
tomorrow. It's been quiet all the time we've been here, the terrain is good
and as it's quiet, I thought we could use the ship's sensors to see how well
she performs," he said, too quickly, desperate that Hudson agree. "I also
need to discuss the tests with the UEO design group- see what tests they
need us to run, before they can look at the project seriously. Can I have a
link to them, again?"

The Captain smiled to himself at his eagerness and excitement and sat up to
consider the request while Lucas waited tensely.

"I'll have to clear it with HQ, but that shouldn't be a problem. Have your
team come down here at 0900 and we'll discuss the exact tests and what
observations and sensors you need."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Dismissed."

He restrained himself from leaping and shouting with joy as he closed the
door and hurried back to give the team the good news and go over the tests
that they would have to perform the next day, so that he would be able to
brief the others accurately and easily.


"Apart from speed and manoeuvrability tests, we need to test the stealth
capabilities. Weapons and safety, we'll check after we know if she's any
good. We'll need sensors off for a few minutes, so that I can change
position, and then we play hide a seek for a while. I've set up a weapons
simulation program, for you to fire at me and vice versa. If anything comes
up, while we're still testing, it's got an emergency exit, so that you can
restore normal systems immediately." He paused, unsure what else they hadn't
covered.

"Very good, Mr Wolenczak. So long as you keep to the area we've assigned,
there should be no problems. Questions?" Hudson looked around the room. "
Good. We'll set up the simulation and sensors for the first tests while you
get her ready. Dismissed." The room cleared quickly. Lucas and Kimura
hurryied down to the docking bay. She would be taking out one of the
spectres to watch the tests up close and at different angles and then to
test against the new fighter in a dog fight simulation.

"Good luck," several of the team called as he settled himself in the new
craft and checked the displays again. Finally they closed the hatch.

"Ready, Lieutenant?" Hudson asked over the comms link.

"Yes, Sir," he replied happily, impatient to be off.

"You're cleared for launch."

Lucas took a last breath and started the launch sequenced. The fighter moved
out smoothly, away from the ship. "OK, here's goes," he gently pushed the
throttle forward and the craft started to increase speed away from the ship.
45 kilometres per hour... 60...80...100 "How does it look?" he asked finally.

"Good, any shimmies?"

"Nothing, she's perfectly steady. Handling is very easy. Let's see how she
turns." He swung the controls and the craft veered sharply to the left at
nearly a ninety degree bearing change. "So far so good. I lost some speed,
I'll try a 135."

"Don't push it, Lucas. This is only the first test," Ford reminded him.

They watched as the craft swung round again almost doubling back. This time
it lost no speed as it cornered. "Still completely in control!" It was
going better than he'd ever thought possible. He knew the design was good,
but this was incredible. He pushed the speed up again and did a one eighty
inverting for the apex of the turn. The bridge watched in surprised awe as
the craft righted itself, speeding through the water with perfect ease. "
OK, let's see how fast she can go."

Ford smiled, hearing the excitement in the disembodied voice, but then who
wouldn't be? He deserved some fun anyway.

120...140...160...

"It think that's enough for the first day," Hudson interrupted, watching
the craft, smiling but still cautious.

"Just a bit more. She's no heavier to turn or anything, and all the
readings are fine," Lucas pleaded, demonstrating another turn.

"Another day," Hudson insisted. "We still have to test the stealth
capabilities and get you into a dog fight," he reminded him consolingly.

"OK," Lucas gave in slowly, reluctantly. "Coming round to re-position."
The fighter glided to a smooth halt in front of the boat.

Hudson looked over to Brody, who nodded that the simulation was ready.
"Well, drop sensors for five minutes, in sixty seconds, so that you can
disappear. Happy hunting."

"Yes, Sir. Closing comms link, now." Lucas sat back watching his chrono
eagerly, nervous, though he had full confidence in the craft.

Five... four... three... He powered up again, eager to be off and then the
craft raced off diving down to hug the contours of the sea floor and then
down again into a long trench. He flicked on the stealth capabilities and
slowed his speed to a 50 kilometre cruise along the trench away from the
ship and down a return branch. Kimura would be waiting over the next ridge
to watch the 'game'. The walls of the canyon slipped back behind the
fighter, gently correcting to left and right for jagged jutting cliff faces.
Suddenly he was irresistibly reminded of the first trial of the Stinger. He
quickly pushed the thought away. This wasn't some 'prototype of a prototype'
and there was no competition for the contract. There was no one out here at
all. With his sensors set for the simulation only and not programmed with
the automatic override that operational craft had, in case of an attack
during training, he had no warning at all.

Suddenly the craft seemed to buck, jerking him back on the seat and causing
it to veer over to the right-hand wall. The shock of the impact and the daze
of the jolt dulled his instincts and, as he pulled frantically on the
controls, he knew that even this craft couldn't corner that fast, as the
cliff wall filled the view screen, it couldn't corner that much in the one
second between the blast hit and the crash. The right wing tore into the
wall, propelling the craft down and back across the narrow trench into a
rise in the trench bottom, on the left. There was no time for pain, or
awareness of what was happening, only two second of panic between the
initial shock and the sudden end of consciousness.


"Where are you?" Kimura asked herself, drumming her fingers on her console
and looking at her watch again. Two minutes gone, he should have passed by
now- definitely. They'd discussed the exact speeds, directions... "Damn!"
She lifted the spectre up from the ridge and positioned it higher to look
down into the network of trenches below.

The spectre dived down suddenly and slowed to a halt as it rounded the fork
in the trench. "Shit!" she flicked on her comms link. The exercise was
over. "seaQuest this is Lieutenant Kimura..." she cursed again, flicking
switches when she realised that all there was at the other end was static.
The static increased. "No!" She brought the spectre up out of the trench
and tried again. The link was completely dead. She flicked another switch.
"Lucas, are you there?" she called frantically. "Lucas!"


He was looking at a rock face. Why he was looking at one and what had
happened before were all blanks. He moved his head to look around, closing
his eyes quickly as a wave of nausea and dizziness swept over him. He opened
his eyes again, a few seconds later, taking in his situation. The fighter
was lying at an alarmingly titled angle on the bed of the trench, the right
wing missing, it's end, the part left, ragged and torn. There was no water
around him that he could see, so at least that must mean integrity had held.

"Lucas, are you there?!" the comms link crackled badly with static, the
voice coming across disembodied. He reached forward to pull himself, up to
the console, and gasped in pain, lying back limply. He looked around,
realising that he couldn't sit, as part of the console had trapped him back
against the wall of the fighter. Gradually the pain in his shoulder died
back into a dull insistent ache. He just wished his head would clear.
"Lucas!"

"Yeah," he grunted, still dazed. "What... happened?" he asked blankly.

"Lucas! Are you all right?" Kimura voice came across stronger and
incredibly relieved, as she lowered the spectre back down into the trench.

"I don't remember..." What had happened? He thought about what had
happened, finding the effort to concentrate very hard. Something had hit
him; it wasn't a wall. He looked out again at the damaged wing. Someone had
fired on him.

"Lucas!"

"Yeah. I'm still here." And I'm not going anywhere fast. "Someone fired on
me."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure." He lay back, trying to think.

"My comms link is down. I can't reach the seaQuest. If you eject the escape
pod I'll tow you back," she suggested, sitting back and breathing hard,
relieved at hearing his voice. Trying to process the information. "If
someone fired at you, we have to get out of here."

"I can't. I can't reach the console properly. I'm kinda stuck against the
wall." Think! "The fighter's too heavy for you to tow the whole thing..."
and without communications... "What the hell is that?" The sensors were
going crazy. " I've got a medium sized craft coming in from the west and
three subfighters, very fast." He glanced down at the chrono beside the
sensors display. seaQuest sensors would be down for another two minutes.
"What's their weapons status?" he asked panicking.

"They're armed and ready to fire. The subfighters have target locked on
seaQuest." He reached hard for his commlink, his finger still inches away
and there was no way that he would be able to shift the console by himself.

"Warn them!" he shouted.

"I can't my link is down!" She looked around frantically at the craft
closing on her screen. "Shit!"

"You have to get back to the boat! They are in-between us and seaQuest and
they're jamming our links. seaQuest sensors won't be up in time. You have to
get back in front of them, so that you can warn them!"

"I can't do that! I can't leave you here without weapons."

"There's nothing you can do against three subfighters and a ship that size.
If you stay we'll all get killed. The only thing that makes any sense, for
any of us is for you to go now! There's nothing you can do to help me." For
a few seconds there was no response. "For God's sake go. Stop protecting
me, and respect my decision!" he ordered her, sighing in relief when the dot
on his screen, that was her spectre, turned off down the tunnel leading back
towards the boat.

She increased her speed as fast as she could, swerving wildly through the
trenches, to stay hidden. A minute before they turned on the sensors again.
She knew that he was right, that she had no choice. Don't think about it,
she told herself sharply, clearing her head. There wasn't time for emotions
or worries now, only to get back and not crash into one of the walls first.
Slowly the static started to clear on her link.

"seaQuest, this is Commander Kimura. You are about to be under attack!
Re-engage sensors and launch counter measures!"


A burst of static crackled across the speakers and then an urgent voice was
heard above the diminishing crackled. "Re-Engage sensors. You are about to
be fired on!"

"Brody, sensors up, power up weapons ready to launch counter measures!"
Hudson ordered, before the voice had finished.

The bridge swung into action.

"Three subfighters closing to the West, ready to fire, Sir. Another medium
ship slightly off to their right. All their weapons are charged and torpedo
tubes are open, Sir."

"Piccolo, weapons status!"

"Weapons charged, counter measure ready," Tony replied, typing quickly.

"Flood all torpedo tubes, ready to fire. Piccolo, Brody, take the spectres
and get out there."

The comms link had burst into the static again while they spoke, but it
started to clear again. "seaQuest, this is..."

"Sir, one of the subfighters just engaged with Commander Kimura's spectre,"
Henderson reported, looking up worriedly from her console.

"Fire on that target."

Henderson pushed the buttons and the spectre swerved off it's original
target to avoid the blast. "Tony and Brody have just launched, Sir."

"Commander Kimura, Piccolo and Brody will be joining you shortly. Thank you
for the warning." There wasn't time for further explanations as she pulled
up behind the subfighter, following him as he tried to avoid her, dipping
down the sea floor.  Her weapons locked and she fired, pulling up as the
spectre in front of her exploded into flames.

"Good work, Commander."

"Sir, the second fighter is heading straight at us!"

"He's mine," Tony called, pulling into position behind it and Brody engaged
with the third. Tony locked on target and the spectre in front pulled
sharply to the right, away from the boat, to avoid being hit. He followed it
up to the surface where it tried to double back on him, but he managed to
stay behind it, though it was changing direction too rapidly for a lock.

"Where the hell did those subfighters come from?" Hudson demanded.

"I don't know. Sensors were off, but... Sir, they're UEO, spectre class,"
Henderson looked up bewildered.

"They're UEO?" Tony gasped, sticking to his quarry, doggedly. "Then why
are they shooting at us?"

"They can't possibly think we're Macronesian," Ford said, coming up to
study the displays more closely.

"Hail them, Mr O'Neil, and their main ship."

"Yes, Sir..... No response."

"Keep trying." Hudson turned away, frowning.

"Sir, the remaining sub fighters are pulling away. The other ship is
heading for the border," Brody's voice echoed across the bridge. "Shall we
follow them?"

"No. Let them go." Hudson turned back to the main screen and his puzzled
crew. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Captain?" Kimura's voice came across the comms system, worriedly.

"Henderson, where's the fighter. The new fighter?" Hudson asked quickly,
gripping the back of his chair hard, without noticing.

She typed on her station, the bridge waiting tensely.

"Captain?" Kimura's voice came across the speaker again insistently.

"Where's the fighter?" Hudson asked her tightly.

"About a mile and a half to the east on the bottom of the trenc. It's
damaged pretty badly, but Lucas is all right. They jammed our comms links to
you because they were between us and you, but I was able to talk to him
before I came back to warn you."

"Sir," Henderson looked up at him, speaking quietly but firmly. "It isn't
there. There's minor debris, but no fighter."

"Check again!" Ford ordered, trying to keep from shouting.

"There's nothing there, or for a ten mile radius. It's low, but bottom
conditions are very clear because of the rocks."

Hudson closed his eyes briefly. "Move us into position over the last known
location. Bring the subfighters back in, have Commander Kimura report to the
wardroom and keep looking. Lieutenant, you have the com. Keep a look out for
any further attack. Commander, with me." He turned before they could
acknowledge his orders and left, not sure whether to hurry or slow down.
Ford followed him silently. In the wardroom Hudson paced slowly as Ford sat
bewildered.

The door opened after a few minutes and Kimura came in, looking between them
worriedly.

"The fighter wasn't there," Hudson told her quietly.

"But it was too badly damaged to... could the trench have hidden it?" she
asked hopelessly, sitting heavily, exhausted.

"No. We found the debris, not enough for the full craft, but nothing else.
What happened out there?"

"I waited for the fighter to pass the position we had agreed. He was very
late, so I lifted up, off the ridge where I was waiting, to get a better
view. The fighter was down in the canyon, on the bottom, damaged but not
destroyed. I switched on the comms link immediately, but all I got was
static, so I went down into the trench. Lucas said that someone had fired on
him. Then we saw the subfighters closing on our sensors. We knew that you
wouldn't have your sensors back up in time and we couldn't warn you, without
getting in front of them to stop their jamming our link. He told me to come
back and I did. It was the only thing to do," she explained firmly.

"To leave a damaged craft without weapons?" Ford demanded furiously,
getting up and turning to the wall, trying to get control.

"He couldn't reach the eject for the escape pod and the spectre isn't
strong enough to tow the whole fighter. There wasn't another option. There
was nothing I could do to help you or him against three subfighters and
another ship. The only thing to do was to try and warn you and get help.
Lucas understood that. He told me to come back."

"He's too young to understand that!" Ford shouted turning back to her, no
longer attempting to stay calm.

"No, he's not. He's an officer and he understood what it meant. He made a
choice and I respected him and his right to choose, though you obviously
don't. If it had been anyone else, you wouldn't have questioned what I did.
You should respect him enough to let him make those choices," she glared at
him angrily, her voice icy, but level. She turned to Hudson. "Who were the
subfighters? Were they Macronesian?"

Hudson shook his head at the wall, staring into space. "They were UEO
craft," he said quietly, frowning in thought. Suddenly realisation crossed
his face in a wave of enlightenment and then of shock at what it meant.
"Andrews took three spectre subfighters when she escaped from section seven
HQ and another medium sized craft of Howard's was found missing." Ford and
Hudson looked at each other weighing the facts and coming to the same
conclusion. "Find out where those spectres went!" Hudson ordered and Ford
ran out to obey him. The room was silent for a while, then the PAL chirped.
"Yes?" Hudson asked eagerly.

"Nothing, Sir. All we know is that they were heading towards the
Macronesian border to begin with, but that could have just been to stop us
following."

"Set up a search of the area where the fighter went down. Take out the
launches, whatever it takes, and make it thorough. If you don't find
anything, spread out wider." He shut down the link.

"If it wasn't in the trench, it's not there," Kimura told him firmly.
"You're wasting time looking there."

" The only other thing to do is to look around and over the Macronesian
border. All we know is that they started off that way. I can't cross a
border and risk starting a war on the slight chance that they continued
along that bearing. The only way we could have done that was to follow
immediately. Damn!" He hit his hand on the desk, then straightened up
professionally. "Report back to the bridge, Lieutenant, and see if you can
help them look. Could the stealth systems still be on and that's why we
can't find her?"

" No. They were off when I got down into the trench, though they did engage
briefly, when the exercise started."

Hudson nodded. "Dismissed."

As she left, he wondered whether she had forgotten to salute or whether
it was intentional. Despite what he knew about the Chaodi, he was still
astonished about how calm she was and how certain of her actions. He
cursed again and slammed the door, heading for the bridge.


"We searched the area in a ten mile radius. We found minor debris where
Lieutenant Kimura said it would be, but the fighter itself is gone."

"And you're sure that the subfighters were UEO?"

"Spectre class. It all fits with Andrews. Well, at least her team." He
couldn't believe that they had miscalculated the strength of the opposition
again, how useless they were proving against them.
"Their last known heading was to the Macronesian border. We could follow
that path and...."

"And start a war, Captain? They're long gone." McGath sighed. "I want you
to keep looking, follow any leads about stray subfighters or the team
itself. We haven't just lost an officer, but an important part of the trial
and the new technology; it is vital that it doesn't fall into the wrong
hands. But don't cross the border. It seems we're having enough problems
dealing with a small number of our own people, let alone a whole country at
war with us. No one knows about this, Captain, let's keep it that way- no
one."

"How did they know about the fighter? How did they know about the trials?"
Hudson asked suddenly. "They waited until our sensors were down. They knew
exactly when to strike."

McGath sat forward. "Who knew?"

"I doubt that the main crew would have known the exact details of the
tests- the bridge crew and the crew working on developing and designing
it.... and the second in charge was Lieutenant Kimura."

"The Chaodi defector?" Hudson nodded. "I know you don't trust her, but do
you think she would betray the UEO so soon? This is her technology it's
based on, what's the point? She could just take her information elsewhere,
if that's what she wanted."

"I trust my crew. She's the only one who isn't... she never really 'joined
the team'."

"And how much was that because of your reactions, Captain?" McGath asked
with insight.

"Who else could it be? I talked to you when it came to permission for the
tests," Hudson continued, ignoring the implication.

"I trust everyone in my immediate staff implicitly and I told no one else.
I suggest you get a full list of the crew who knew about the project and
start looking at the records and the activities of those people over the
last few days. If I get anything, I will pass it on to you immediately. Keep
looking, Captain. Out."

The link went dead.



Copyright E.Casale, 1997


===========================  PART 5  =====================================


OK, you want more, send comments! This is not the last part, but that's not
saying anything about the situation.......

Alexi



Copyright E.Casale, 1997

Chapter 5


"We've searched the area. We couldn't have missed anything if we'd tried.
No one has seen the subfighters or the crew. There's nothing for us to go
on." Hudson paced wearily, waiting for McGath's reply.

"Then one of two things has happened. In the case of the first, we just
have to wait and see if they contact us for a trade. In the second, we wait
some more and then... we assume what we have to. If they don't contact us,
they don't want him for a trade, in which case... they have what they
wanted: revenge, and the only thing we can do is continue with the trial and
make sure that Howard spends the rest of his life in a maximum security
prison. First, we wait. Go back to the patrol pattern. I'll contact you in a
few days, unless they get in contact or we get something new." He sighed and
shut off the link.

"You think they want to trade?" Ford asked miserably from the corner, where
he was leaning against the wall.

"We have to hope so, though they should have done it already, if they were
going to... Like he said, we just have to wait."

"Why does this situation seem so familiar?" Ford tried to joke, to lighten
the mood and their spirits, but it just came out as cynical.

"Have you found anything that might tell us who told them about the tests?"

Ford looked up at him pointedly; he already knew who had done it, they all
did, but they couldn't prove it. "No, but... you know what I think and what
the rest of the crew thinks."

Although he felt the same, there was nothing to point them that way, apart
from their own inclinations and coincidence. "'Think' is not enough,
Commander..." he told him. He felt more helpless than he had when they'd been
waiting for news from section seven. Here they had enough facts to tell them
what the options were and none of them were good. Instead of working extra
hard, trying to avoid thinking about it, he found that he was too dispirited
to have the energy. How could they fail so many times? How could these
people continue to beat them? They had something in the making that would be
worth believing in, and fighting for, he was sure of that now. What he
wasn't sure of, was if it would survive the birth, for this to be possible. 

And it had happened under his command. He could have said that they
shouldn't test, could have made sure the security was tighter... a million
things that would have meant that they weren't now patrolling endlessly and
waiting with their hands tied, for any news. He didn't think it would come,
not after three days and that meant... that he had to hope that his officer
was dead. 'His officer'. For once he couldn't stand to think of him in such
a cold blooded way, though that was what his training and his instincts told
him to do.

"Sir?" Ford was talking to him and he pulled himself away from his thoughts.

"We continue as we have been, Commander."

"Yes, Sir," Ford replied, his voice acid. He saluted. The door shut with a
sound just short of a slam.


This was not happening. Not only was there nothing he could do, but they
were in this position because of their own mistakes. At least last time
there was nothing they could have done differently. He went back over all
the security files he had gathered, for another fruitless hour. He was going
to make sure that she paid. He was not going to let people keep on beating
him. He focused on his anger, throwing the files furiously at a wall.

A gentle hand on his arm surprised him and he looked round to see Loni
standing behind him. She sat down, carefully putting her arms around him for
a moment, and then turning back to the files. "Let's start again. If she
did it, there's something here to prove it." She smiled at him,
comfortingly, and they set to work again, sitting close for mutual support.
"It'll be OK," she said certainly. "Think about how worried we were last
time and that worked out fine. Besides, I'm a believer; it's about time we
all had some good luck."

He wondered how she could be either so naive or so good at self deception,
but so long as it worked... They searched through the files, the reports,
the security camera footage, but found nothing new.


She had worked late, talking to the other techs in the lab, going over
everything that could have gone wrong, trying to figure out who else knew
anything. Not that she could do this very easily, as she was still learning
who the people were, still got lost in the ship's corridors sometimes, but
activity was better than nothing. After that she went down to the moonpool
and sat watching the water, breathing slowly, closing her eyes and listening
to it, clearing her mind.

She had thought it through and she knew she had made the right decision, but
it didn't change the results. The last three days had been hell. Everyone
thought that she was the traitor. People would whisper insults to her as she
passed in the corridors and whole rooms would become completely silent when
she entered. The crew regarded her with fury, hatred or pure ice in their
eyes. It was worse, if possible, than when she had first come aboard. She
returned their treatment with her silent, confident certainty and ignored
it, as much as she was able. At least some of the techs had grown to trust
her enough to know better, so there were at least a few people who gave her
glances of sympathy, but only when there was no one else looking.

She was confused by her feelings. She had never felt fear like this before,
but she was fairly sure that that was what it was. It disconcerted her and
there was no one she could ask about it. She sighed and opened her eyes
looking down at her chrono. Time for her shift on the bridge. She left the
peaceful room reluctantly.

Someone grabbed her arm, threw her against the wall hard, a gloved hand over
her mouth, pinning her arms above her head. The man's face was covered by
something; as was that of the second, watching down the corridor, but close
enough to help, if she proved any trouble.

"We don't accept traitors on this boat," the man holding her whispered,
pressing his face close to hers. As she was grabbed, she had felt a wave of
fear and surprise, but as soon as she could assess the situation, she was
icy calm again. "We don't take kindly to people betraying one of our own."

She smiled confidently at him and brought her knee up into his groin,
hooking her leg around his, and swinging to the right. He groaned and
staggered, off balance from their joint momentum, and she quickly brought
her hands down, twisting her wrists to break his grasp and then pulling his
head down, on to her knee, and kicking him in the stomach, stepping back
from the heap he made on the floor into a deep stance, as the other man
approached, punching to her head. She blocked easily, sending his hand
glancing off past her ear and then catching hold of his wrist and pulling
him down, on to her other elbow, so that she struck him hard, on the throat,
at his windpipe. Still holding his wrist, she placed her other hand on his
upper arm and twisted her arm about his head so that, off balance, he rolled
across her back and fell heavily to the floor, gasping for air.

She stood watching them in stance, for a few moments and then stood,
brushing her hair back and taking out her PAL. "Med team to C deck, outside
the moonpool," she ordered, feeling the adrenaline rush die down. She
straightened her uniform as the med team came running and stood back for
them to lift the two men on to stretchers.

Dr. Perry looked round at her as she checked the second man's neck. She was
about to ask what had happened and then she saw the 'masks'. "Are you all
right?" she asked, straightening up and coming towards her. Kimura blinked
with surprise at this reaction and the concern in the doctor's face. "Why
didn't you call security?"

Kimura shrugged, "It would only make things worse." If they could possibly
be, she thought bitterly. "They'll say I was lying or that I attacked them."

"I'll have a word with the captain," Perry said firmly. "I am not going to
be a party to assault and persecution. Don't worry," she added
sympathetically, "I'll make sure that I'm discreet and that he understands
that I'm seeing him because I want to, not because you asked me to." She
smiled at Kimura. "If anything else happens or you need someone to talk to,
my door is open," she added as she started to walk away towards medbay.

"Thank you," Kimura replied dazedly and hurried down the corridor. She was
going to be late.

"Commander, you're late," Hudson reminded her as she slid into her station.

"I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen again," she replied evenly.

"No it won't. Report to my quarters at fourteen hundred hours and we will
discuss it." He grunted and turned back to contemplating the main screen.
Later that day he called her to the wardroom. The door opened as she came up
and Dr.Perry came out. She smiled encouragingly at Kimura, as she steeled
herself and entered.

"Sit down, Commander," Hudson ordered, passing a hand across his face
tiredly. "Dr. Perry told me about the men who attacked you today. Why
didn't you call security or explain this to me on the bridge?"

"Sir, I have enough problem already without increasing them by 'ratting' on
another member."

Hudson sighed. She was right. "I can see your position, but I do not find
attacks on my officers acceptable. I expect you to come to me immediately if
anything like this occurs again, or if you are threatened or, in any other
way, made to feel in danger. Is that understood?" he realised that he should
be treating her with more sympathy, but he still thought, though there was
no evidence and it was clearly unfair, that she had betrayed the information
to Andrews' team. He was not acting as a captain should towards his crew. He
should not have allowed this persecution to reach such levels. He shouldn't
act like he thought she was guilty, unless he had hard proof. He just didn't
want to believe it was someone else in his crew, that he couldn't trust the
crew, and that whoever it was was still out there, and the rest of them
didn't have a clue to his identity.

"Yes, Sir," she answered, staring at the wall. "Sir, I am a defector from
the Chaodi, but since then, I have done nothing to endanger the UEO, this
boat or its crew," she told him gravely, looking up, challenging him.

He looked across the desk at her for a while, holding her gaze. He saw a
woman who was proud and who had pride in what she believed in, which
included loyalty high on the list. He nodded. "I will make sure that this
stops, that the men in question are punished and that there will be no
reprisals against you," he told her. "Dismissed."

She nodded. "Thank you, Sir," she said politely and left.

He stared at the table for a long time, after she had gone, and then picked
up the list of people who had known about the tests. He sat for a long time,
holding the list, staring into space. He needed faith in his crew right now,
but that didn't seem possible. It was something that he could rely on, even
when he had lost faith in the government he was serving. Now it was the
reverse. He got up and shut off the lights, going back to talk to Ford about
who else they should be looking at.


She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The door opened and Tim
stood staring at her, about to close the door.

"What do you want?" he asked impatiently, as she moved closer, so that he
couldn't simply close it on her again.

"I need your help." A look of disbelief, then mockery, passed over his
face. "I need to look at the logs of messages. If someone on the boat told
Andrews' team about the tests, it has be in there. I know Commander Ford
has checked, but he wasn't looking at other people, so he might have missed
it."

He folded his arms, regarding her cynically. His expression saying, You did
it, but you're just trying to make it look like you didn't.

"Tim, I need to find out who it was. No one is going to believe that it
wasn't me, until I do," she pleaded.

"Why should I believe you?" he asked bitterly.

"Because you know that, whatever else you think I am, I'm not stupid. Why
would I do something to get the only person who treated me with any kind of
respect when I was in trouble? The only person who helped me over things?
Why would I want to betray information about tests involving a technology
that I supplied? Come on Tim, think! What would be the point? Why do it on a
project where I'm the second officer? Why would I put my position here in
jeopardy for something that I could just tell people myself? It doesn't make
sense."

He frowned at her and then at the floor, thinking. Eventually he sighed.
"OK," he surrendered. "If it wasn't you I want to know who it was." He
reached inside the door and shut off the light. They walked in silence for a
while. "I heard about...today...I guess we were all wrong." He looked
across at her, still not fully trusting her, though thinking clearly it
didn't make any sense. Try thinking about it from her point of view; try to
understand. "I'm sorry," he added, surprised at himself, not thinking that
he'd said it aloud.

She looked across at him, surprised in her turn. "Thank you." she gave him
a grateful look. "So am I."

For a moment he was confused, thinking that she meant about this situation.
He didn't reply, but he was glad to hear it again in this calm, quiet way.
Somehow, it was easier to believe she meant it.


"What's that one?" she asked, pointing suddenly, as they looked through the
transmission logs.

He frowned and pulled up the information. "It's a UEO section for design
and manufacture of marine craft. Lucas placed this call the night before the
trials."

Kimura nodded. "He wanted to check that our trials covered what they needed
to know, about the craft."

"There are eleven other transmissions to the same place over the last month
and a bit."

She nodded again. "We had to check with them that they would provide the
materials for the building, after Hudson gave permission. They still had
to confirm if the project was worth it." She sat back, shaking her head.
"There's nothing from the rest of the crew going out the night before or
the day of the tests?"

"Nothing. Hudson cancelled all personal call for security."

"It had to be then. We didn't have the exact details of the sensors
before... it has to be them- this person, Grogan, that he spoke to to
confirm we could continue with the fighter. But why?"

Tim shrugged. "I don't know, but we'd better tell Hudson. We can't find out
from this end."


"That's the only out-going message before the tests, between when we
finalised the arrangements and when the test started." They stood back,
waiting for Hudson's response. He drew the monitor round and studied the
records again. Slowly, he smiled slightly. "I'll get McGath to find out
about this person, but I agree that it's the only thing that makes sense,
so far. Good work. Dismissed."

As they left, Kimura turned back to Tim. "Thank you. I didn't think I'd get
through another week of everyone thinking it was me." She turned and walked
away before he'd had time to reply. He wandered thoughtfully back to his
quarters.


"Your people were right. We checked through Grogan's work and home vidlink
records. We were able to trace seven calls to Macronesia over the last three
weeks. He's in custody now. It seems that he provided Howard with some craft
and weapons, without permission, and which weren't UEO permitted designs. He
was afraid that someone would find out, so he was gathering enough money to
quietly disappear."

"The messages were to Macronesia?"

"Yes, but we don't know if they were to the government. Andrews' team might
well be lying low in Macro waters, trying to decide what to do. It seems
that they've decided not simply to disappear, despite her loss. We can't get
an exact location for the messages and the area is too large to search,
besides the fact that your presence that far into their water would
certainly start another war." He paused. "I'm sorry. We've had no
communication from them. It's been a week. I don't think it's coming. I'm
sorry."

"So we still have nothing further to go on?"

McGath shook his head and then returned to business. "The trial is set to
start again in a week and a half, and this time there will be no
interruption."

"Right now, that isn't going to help us find Wolenczak or do anything for
the morale of my crew," Hudson threw back at him, angrily.

"If nothing happens by the time the trial starts, we have to assume..."
Hudson looked up at him and nodded, cutting off the statement.

"We're still patrolling and we're still looking," he reported businesslike.

"Good. I'll talk to you closer to the trial."


"I'm so fed up of feeling like this," Brody exclaimed angrily, giving up
trying to eat. He wasn't hungry. He hadn't been hungry for days. "We're
back to where we were with section seven!"

"But we know enough to know that none of the endings are happy," Tony
stared morosely at his plate. "How can this keep happening? If we're the
best of the UEO... And you know, I'm not even really worried. I just can't
believe it any more. It's like some damn repeating record. Jesus, how can
we keep on screwing up so much?" He stood up quickly and left, angrily.

Brody looked back at Tim, sitting quietly watching them. "I don't believe
that God would allow something to happen to him, after what he did. If I
thought that, I don't think I could believe any more in a merciful God, but
I do. Somehow, an impossible situation worked out fine, last time. Somehow,
it will work out again, we just can't see how."

"God works in mysterious ways crap? It'll all be all right? Do a good deed
and you shall receive? Grow up, Tim!" Brody pushed his chair back and
stormed out as well, feeling guilty for what he'd said. They were meant to
be helping each other, not taking it out on each other. The whole crew were
dispirited by another victory for Andrews' team. It was just too much, too
soon and they were loosing faith. They were stuck, helpless, uselessly
patrolling backwards and forwards along a quiet border, with nothing to do
but brood.


Hudson looked around at the strained faces of his senior officers. "As
there has been no communication from Andrew's team and it's been two and
a half weeks... we have to assume that... the only conclusion is that
Lieutenant Wolenczak has been killed. They could only want to do this for
revenge or as a trade. Unfortunately, they decided to put revenge in front
of trying to trade." Unfortunately?

"The trial is starting today," he added, digressing. "However much we want
to believe anything else, there is no room to hope that he is still alive.
There is no purpose in simply holding him and they aren't interested in his
value to us, therefore... I have discussed the decision with Secretary
McGath. With morale so low, this decision will make doing our job very
difficult. There are no certainties in life, but this is beyond any
reasonable doubt. We have decided that, rather than leave this open ended,
that we have a minute's silence later today: fifteen hundred hours. We need
to have some sort of closure so that we can continue with what needs to be
done now." He paused. He needed to be sounding forceful, certain,
professional but he knew he just sounded as defeated as they all felt.

"Dismissed," he said, too tired to bother to try to remedy the situation.
The crew left in silence, without argument.


"You think that holding a silence, assuming he's dead..." Brody trailed off.

"It's the only thing to do. I don't want to believe it, I'd give anything
not to, but it doesn't make any sense any other way." It sounded so cold, so
technical. "If we sit around trying to fool ourselves with this, we'll
never be able to get them for this. We have to 'move on'," Loni laughed,
stopping suddenly, blinking hard, biting her lip. The others looked up,
shocked at her apparent light-heartedness, but then they caught the note of
hysteria threaded through the laughter. "Excuse me," she mumbled quietly,
running out. Ford followed her quickly and they walked back to her quarters,
where he sat her down. She looked at him for moment, then wrapped her arms
around his neck tightly and cried into his collar.

"I'm sorry I'm... I'm not helping you and..." she pulled away for a moment,
looking at him worriedly. She reached up and stroked his cheek lightly.

"I haven't cried for anyone for..." Ford sighed, looking away. "It's just
that, the only people I really know, any more, are on this boat. So many of
my friends, my family have died... so much has changed. There's hardly
anyone, now, that I've known for that long. I watched him grow up and it's
so strange, you know, you can't help feeling protective. Jesus, he's so
young. And everything... everything, the UEO, this crew...it's all just...
I can't believe in it any more. I can't believe in myself. I can't even
trust that I'll wake up and it'll be tomorrow, rather than ten years in the
future. I can't do anything, and I just want to kill them all- slowly. I
want to watch them die and I want to be able to stand there and..." She was
looking at him in horror. She had never seen him so angry and upset; had
never seen him out of control or cruel in his anger. She sniffed, wiping her
nose on the back of her hand, not caring and held him again. This time they
cried together quietly for a while. Eventually she pulled back and they both
breathed in sobbing breaths, then she leaned forward and kissed him lightly,
then more passionately, pulling away again quickly. Was it wrong to do this
now? She stared at him. It couldn't be wrong, when they both needed someone
so badly. It couldn't be wrong to comfort each other any way that worked and
she kissed him again.


Kimura watched the water patterns on the wall, sitting back against the
cold, hard metal, in the midst of all this, enjoying the beauty she could
still appreciate, around her. One of the things that could always give her
strength, could keep her company and could comfort her, was the beauty in
nature that was always there, even in the Chaodi bases, in the small
courtyards with rock gardens and fountains for the high ranking officers,
that she would watch, through the glass windows, standing in the corridors
as the other soldiers and pilots passed her by.

She had picked up on the attitude towards the dolphin, but, like everyone
else who was part of the crew, he deserved to know. She sighed, about to get
up and do what she had been avoiding, when a sudden movement, at the corner
of her vision, stopped her.

Tim looked down at her from the top of the stairs, for a moment glancing
back, as if to leave again. She felt her face go hard, ready for him to go
and ignore her. Then he sighed and continued down the stairs and stood next
to her, by the pool.

"I thought someone should tell Darwin," he said tiredly. For some reason he
had taken it on himself to tell the two people that everyone else would
forget about.


He had knocked on the door and waited, nearly running away down the corridor
again to escape before it opened. Dagwood looked out curiously. "Um..., Hi,
Tim." Tim stared at him for a while. "Is something wrong?" Tim nodded
silently. "Can Dagwood help?"

Tim shook his head, finding his voice. "No. I need to tell you something.
Can I come in?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, come in," Dagwood said anxiously, opening the door wide and then
closing it behind him and sitting down. "What is it you want to tell me?"
he asked innocently, waiting patiently while Tim paced. How did you tell
someone something like that when they were really close... had been. He took
a deep breath, but then let it out again without managing to say it. Somehow
saying it would make it real. So far it wasn't real. He would just go and
bury himself in books for every moment he wasn't sleeping or on duty and
when he woke up it would be over, no one would be dead. Hyperion would never
have happened. "Tim?" Dagwood asked finally, worried by his pacing.

Tim looked across at his friend. "Lucas is dead." He hadn't even realised
he had said it. It had just come out, no gentle preparation, nothing. Just
the truth. He sat down, shocked by hearing it put so bluntly. He couldn't
look at Dagwood, fearing reproach and pain in his eyes.

"I don't understand," Dagwood said frowning.

"He's not coming back, ever. He's dead."

"But he can't be," Dagwood argued, getting up and pacing, wringing his
hands worriedly. "I don't believe it. Why?"

"I don't know. They say God has a plan in everything, but I can't see it in
this." Tim sighed, pushing up his glasses which were slipping, forcing away
the thought of tears. He got up and put a hand on his friend's arm. "I'm
sorry," he insisted. "I thought you should know." He turned to go.

"Thank you," Dagwood said quietly behind him, a single tear rolling down
his cheek. He turned back, smiling through his own, as he closed the door
and hurried along the corridor staring at the ground sniffing away the
tears. The 'thank you' so innocently said had thrown him and for some reason
it was only now that he started to feel it for real. He didn't want to do
that. The only way not to was to keep busy and look after other people. He
could be stronger if he had to, he wouldn't cry when someone else needed his
support. He would wait until he was alone.


Dagwood stared at the wall in silence, making comforting noises, hugging his
arms around himself and then pacing about the room, hitting his hand against
the wall, making a large dent in it, and then sitting down again. He didn't
want to believe it was true, but he knew Tim wouldn't lie to him, especially
about this. He didn't care how or where, that didn't matter now. There was
no comfort. The one person he would have gone to for comfort or support
wasn't there and wasn't coming back. He had never felt such an intense
personal grief. He had felt grief and felt it close to him when he had seen
the dead Dagger at Banaba, but that was not a friend, not like this. Bridger
had left and so had some of the others, but he hadn't been really close to
them, and they could come back. Death was so final, such a long time, nearly
incomprehensible except as something that made people very sad. He just knew
he wanted his friend there but he wasn't going to get that again, ever. He
didn't understand ever, he didn't want to.

There was no one he could ask about how to deal with what he was feeling, he
only had only the lonely confines of his room and a ship where none of the
others really understood him. Lucas had understood what it felt like to be
an outsider and he had always accepted him without questions and trusted
him, even when no one else had. The grief seemed to be a live thing clawing
at him from inside, but he knew there was nothing he could do to pluck it
out. There was only one thing he knew how to do and that comforted him by
its continuity and it's simplicity: work. He wished he needed sleep as much
as other people, that he could just not be aware for hours and hours, but he
couldn't. He wiped his hand across his eyes and went out slowly into the
hall to fetch his cleaning things and started working. The security of
something familiar did help ease his pain and he worked on, eventually
growing tired, but not caring. It was easier to be tired than to feel such
pain, so he worked on, and on.


Tim stared into the pool thinking about the conversation with Dagwood. Now
he was going to have to repeat it with Darwin. He didn't want to do that,
but he didn't really have a choice. He could have let Kimura do it, but
somehow that felt as if he were giving up on something he should be doing
and it did take his mind off his own pain.

"I didn't think anyone else would remember," she replied, her voice very
soft. "I've never minded when someone died before- not since my parents. I
was so young then. I'm afraid that it's only selfish sadness, though.
There's no one else on this boat I can talk to. It was so nice to be treated
like a person. You know, I thought that I wouldn't mind people treating me
like this. I thought it would be fine if it was just me doing my job and
them getting on with theirs, but in the end I wanted more. For the first
time I'm around people I admire. I found myself wanting, really wanting
people to like me. I felt that it would say something about me if they
could." She looked across at him quickly. In those six months they had
confided a lot and it was still so easy to just slip back into the habit
of telling him her thoughts. This time she wasn't anonymous though, there
wasn't the vidscreen and her real identity to hide behind.

Tim turned on the vocoder. "Darwin?" he called and sat back waiting trying
to figure out how to phrase it. The problem was that, unless sentences were
short, anyway, he wouldn't get them. The grey shape appeared under the wall
and swam towards him, surfacing and chirping happily.

"Darwin fish! Many fish here. Taste good." Tim smiled sadly. "Tim sad?" He
was always surprised at how the dolphin could sense his moods.

"Yes," he replied quietly. "Very sad."

"Why?"

He took a deep breath. "Darwin do you know what death is?"

"Darkness, no light."

Tim nodded. That was as far as they had ever got with that definition.
"When you die you don't come back again, you can't swim or eat or fish or
anything. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Darwin understand. Darwin seen."

Tim sighed. In every world there was death. He looked across at Kimura and
she nodded at him encouragingly. "You want me to say it?" she whispered
helpfully.

Tim shook his head and took another breath. "Lucas is dead." The second
time he'd said that in an hour. This time it didn't hurt as much. He
wondered if it was just because he was numb or... he didn't want to think
he was getting used to it. This wasn't something he should get used to.

"Dark place, yes," Darwin replied bobbing his head. "But light."

"No, we just talked about death, remember. No light," Tim repeated
impatiently. Kimura put a calming hand on his arm. "I'm sorry," he said
softly. "He's not coming back, ever."

The dolphin rolled on his side, looking at him dubiously. "Pain in dark
place."

Tim frowned and punched a few buttons on the vocorder, sighing frustrated.
"It isn't working and none of us know how to fix it!"

"May be he means that when someone dies it makes you sad," Kimura
suggested. Tim nodded slowly and reached his hand into the water stroking
the smooth skin.

"It'll be all right, Darwin. We'll play with you, and so will Tony and
Dagwood. We'll make sure you get out to fish and everything." The grey shape
submerged and swam off dispiritedly.

Tim was staring into the water, his breath sighing, his face tear streaked.
He had taken off his glasses, too tired to care, beyond the point where he
gave a damn about feeling vulnerable, exposed. Occasionally he swiped
angrily at the tears. She looked back into the water and they stood staring
at it for a long time. Eventually Tim sighed more firmly and wiped his face
for the last time.

"I knew few enough people even before Hyperion. Lucas was one of the few
people I've known for any real amount of time, but you already knew that. He
was a friend and I cared about him. I respected him. I admired him. I've
seen him change: he was really only a child when we first met and now... But
I don't know whether I feel grief for him or for me. I don't know how I can
believe in a God who punishes people who do what is right, by killing them
and I need to believe that there's a reason, that there's some meaning in
this, that there's a point or a purpose or anything. I can't just believe
that it happened. That's it, that's the way it is, just an accident. I need
to feel that when something terrible happens, that some time, somewhere,
there will be some compensation for it, otherwise..."

"Otherwise why do we live to suffer more when there's no end and no reason
to it? Because the pain, however hard, however much, is never as bad as the
moments of pleasure are wonderful. For one moment, one second of happiness,
I could live a life time of pain. You survive in-between and wait, and look
for your chances to be happy and when you find them you savour them,
treasure them and store them up. Some people never feel pain like this, but
it means that they never feel happiness or joy in the same way." She knew
that he would never accept an apology, would never say he forgave her.
Probably he never would, but he was trusting her again, talking to her like
they had before, maybe only because he needed to so much that he could
overlook the fact that it was her. But maybe they could just move on. It
wouldn't be the same but it might be replaced by something, if not as good,
still wonderful after so much loneliness.

He looked over at her in surprise and then returned her smile, cautiously
through his sadness.


He'd tried the gym, he'd tried swimming endlessly, as fast as he could,
through the aqua tunnels. He was sitting, exhausted but unable to sleep,
desperate to take his mind away from what he was feeling. Now he was sitting
at the table in their... his quarters trying to study. He'd been trying to
read the same line for over an hour. He took of his glasses, rubbing his
eyes and pushed the book off the table, putting his head down on to his arms.

They had been back for months now, but he had never got up the nerve to
contact his family. Now, when there were no personal calls and he needed to
talk to them, really needed to, he couldn't. The one person he might have
talked to wasn't there either. He would have talked to Wendy, but... He had
never been good at staying in touch with his friends. He had never really
had this type of a friendship before either, with someone he could actually
trust, someone who knew him. There was no one else on board who really knew
him, and he couldn't contact anyone, so he was alone. He'd never been good
at dealing with things, and never dealing with them alone. His usual
solution was to get angry, yell, get drunk and then do something really
stupid. Here he'd learnt that there were people he could go to for help
instead, to find other ways of coping with his problems. This was the first
real friendship where he didn't feel that he owed the other person for
anything other than affection, where the friendship was positive for him,
unlike with the people he'd met in prison.

He'd lost too many people he cared about and really needed, people who made
him feel that at least some things were still the same. He'd got used to not
having to be alone. It wasn't fair. Lucas didn't deserve to die like that.
He was younger than I am. With all the useless idiots around, it was always
the people who were special who seemed to die, always the ones who didn't
deserve to, who had really given something back to life.

And he felt guilty, terribly guilty that he had never apologised for what he
had said. It was weeks back, but he hadn't said anything. They had simply
ignored that the conversation had occurred, acting polite, but reserved,
avoiding each other, when they could, in such a small space. He'd never been
one to bear grudges, was always the type to shout about it and then forget
about it. But there was something cold about his friend's manner that had
stopped him just carrying on like he would have done, joking and then
apologising quickly in-between comments. He wasn't sure that he believed in
God or an after life and if there wasn't one he didn't like the idea that
that was the way the relationship had ended. Another relationship that he
had screwed up. He just wanted someone to say it was OK. He wanted someone
to be there and right now he didn't care who. He stared at the wall,
sniffing and wiping the tears away with the back of his hand, closing his
eyes against the pain. He'd never felt such acute loss, almost devastation.
Even in prison the silence had never been so complete and he'd never felt so
alone. He looked around for something to comfort himself, but there was
nothing. The room was empty and he hugged himself, crying harder, trying to
smother the sobs. He didn't know what to do now. The pain continued, with no
end in sight, overwhelming him.



The bridge fell silent, even before it was time, everyone watching the
clock. The bridge was conspicuously lacking in senior officer. Brody was in
charge, sitting silently and staring at his hands. He didn't know when the
minute really started or ended, but all action and noise seemed to cease for
a very long time. Finally, people looked around and, with a general
agreement, continued with their duties.

Why the hell did I volunteer to be here? He continued to stare at the
ceiling, fixedly, until it blurred and then he stood up and walked around,
checking displays, in a constant circuit until the shift was up. He didn't
know how to feel about this; sadness and loss were mixed with an over
whelming anger. He pushed aside his sadness in a few sniff and blinks. They
would find who ever did this! He didn't care that he was avoiding his
feelings and that if he would still have to deal with his emotions. Later
was fine, much later, when he'd worked through his helplessness in anger,
the frustration of the last 18 days. Sometime when his world was back on its
feet, not right after the military; that was such a huge part of who he was
and what he spent his life doing. Not when he was still trying to work out
who he was, if he had to be someone independent of it. What I wouldn't do
for a drink right now!


Perhaps the music wasn't the best choice; Beethoven minor sonatas are not
known for cheering people up. Strangely, it was always the slow, middle
movement in a major key, that he found the most moving. He had never, since
he was a child allowed himself to need anyone or anything so that he could
not survive or continue without it, that it probably why he had never married.

He poured himself another drink and sat back, turning the volume louder.
He'd asked not to be disturbed. He was disgusted with himself for such poor
handling of the situation, drinking himself into oblivion as fast as he
could. He should have been on the bridge. He should be there now. He should
be writing one of those set-form letters to the parents. He should be
putting it behind him with military determination. He wasn't able to do that
and not only was he frightened by his complete inability to even attempt
this, but he found he really didn't care enough to try.

Sitting feeling sorry for himself was not something that Oliver Hudson
permitted himself or others, but here he was, too drunk even to hear the
music properly. He reached over and picked up his violin and the C minor
first movement drew to a crashing close. Silence. The first few notes came
across sweet and soft, gently, like a calm sea, washing over everything,
covering it and comforting it, safe beneath. He touched the bow slowly to
the string and joined the melody line, pure and simple. There was something
so true about certain melodies like that in their simplicity: something that
spoke of the hidden truth in the most basic of all human emotions, and
particularly of the bridge that beauty can build between exquisite joy and
pain, terrifyingly bitter and sweet. 

He ignored the blurring of the instrument, closing his eyes and joining with
the music. Silence. He put down the bow and sat back in his chair and the
fast last movement started, not so loud as the first and lacking the power
of the second, but beautiful and full of life. He kept his eyes closed, his
clouded brain, slipping numbly into sleep.



He was still waiting with the vidlink ready to connect, but he found
himself, again, unable to press the button. It had been three days and he
had a duty to tell them. It was his duty and no one else's and yet he had
waited, or rather he had been unable to force his resolution to do it. He
wasn't ready to cope with their blaming him. The crew hadn't blamed him, but
maybe he deserved it. Maybe he should have to listen to them curse him. He
didn't care that he should have done this sooner or that he was afraid to.
He didn't have enough energy to be ashamed of his own weakness. It had taken
several hours to find the numbers in the first place. Why was that so hard?
He would have thought that the file would have been updated by now, that
they would have made contact. He pressed the button with a lurch of dread in
his stomach. "Line occupied, please try again or leave message." He
blinked, desperately relieved, but then realising that he would have to get
through eventually. Then he typed a brief note to say that he needed to
speak to her urgently about her son. He sighed and typed in the next number.
A young woman appeared on the screen.

"Yes?" she asked politely and efficiently.

"I'd like to speak to Dr Wolenczak."

"I'm afraid that he's in a meeting..."

"It's urgent. It's about his son," he explained.

"I'm sorry. I will have to give him your message and get him to call you
back." She cut the link before he could protest.

One more call. This would be the hardest. This would be the person who would
be most able to blame him and that he'd most let down. This was the person
to whom he'd promised something, that he hadn't kept. There was no one
there. He sat back. Well, he had waited three days. These were working
people who couldn't just snap to when he got up the guts to call.

He tried again every day, leaving messages and waiting, but there was no
reply. He hadn't realised that it was such a problem, but then maybe it
was just easier to let someone be dead after ten years of wondering and
believing it. One thing he was glad about was at least the boy wouldn't
know about this. They couldn't afford to go through that again, he could
understand that. But Bridger should have called. Maybe he was on a mission
and he didn't know. He couldn't believe he wouldn't call if he did. He
dreaded having the task of telling him, hanging over him. He wanted to get
it over with while he had worked up the energy. Most of all he was just sad
that there was no one there to tell, that no one else seemed to care when
they had all been shocked by it. These should have been the people who would
suffer the most grief, but they hadn't even taken the time to find out what
was wrong. Eventually he wrote them each a letter and sent it. He waited
again, afraid, but there was still no reply. 



Copyright E.Casale, 1997



===========================  PART 6  =====================================



This part is very grim and depressing, with a lot of violence, don't read it
if it will upset or insult you as this is NOT my intention. I hope you find
it (it's not enjoyable) effective and up to the issues. I did my best.

I need comments badly on this part as I'm very nervous about upsetting
people. Be honest, but no flames please.

Thanks you. I hope this is all right. You know what I mean.

Alexi


Particular thanks on this part to Sherry and Karel.... and someone else who
knows who they are, as well as everyone else who commented. I really
appreciate it.


Copyright E.Casale 1997

Chapter 6


He saw her ship lift up and turn down the tunnel, back toward the boat, with
a mixture of relief and terror. There was nothing he could do but wait. He
didn't even know what was happening, her signal had died as she moved away
from him, into the path of the jamming from the other ships. He tried to
stay calm, relaxing his muscles as she had taught him and breathing slowly.
A grating sound jarred his eyes open again in fear and he looked around. The
trench floor was moving very, very slowly, but still moving past the screen,
in front. The fighter groaned as it stopped again, caught, swaying with the
slight momentum, gradually more and more, and then the craft plunged forward.

He watched in terror as the ground rushed up again and the craft struck,
tilting up and falling on to its other side. The impact threw the console
back from where it was wedged trapping him so he rolled free. He reached out
quickly and grabbed hold of the base of the seat with his right hand as the
craft settled again, still tilted. Slowly he let go and lay still on the
floor of the fighter, waiting to see if it was steady, then he reached up
and pulled himself into a sitting position, gasping. He carefully felt his
shoulder, confirming that it was dislocated. He leant his right side against
the consoles and pushed himself up so that he could look at the sensors. The
larger craft had stopped directly above him. The ship jerked again and he
looked up through the main screen. They had fired a grappnel, the cord
slowly being wound in again and growing taut.

For a moment, he watched the slack being taken in frozen with fear. Think!
They were near the Macronesian border...

"Come on," he cursed, pulling himself up, so that he was sitting in a
secure position and would not be thrown about when the fighter lifted. He
shook his head, pushing away the dizziness. Not yet! The main power systems
were dead, the emergency power too little for there to be any thrust, so
that he could not try to break away, no weapons. The fighter's computer,
that controlled all its functions, was still on and he started typing
frantically as the craft lifted slightly, and then fully, off the sea floor.
He had left a back door straight into the centre of the system so that,
should any programming problem arise, he could change it or write in another
part, quickly. He looked up wildly at the craft's rate of ascent towards the
ship looming above him, typing as fast as he could with only one hand.

"Encryption complete." The screen flashed at him and he relaxed limply in
relief. The fighter would be useless to them without the computer, the
technology inaccessible without the codes. He swallowed carefully, sitting
back, suddenly dizzy from the panic and frantic activity. He was tired from
the pain as well and he sat quietly. Unfortunately, there was none of the
numbness that people described as feeling, when they knew they should be
afraid. He was terrified, trying not to think about what would happen next.
He had been scared for weeks, but had always thought that the danger would
come from another direction. He blinked away tears of exhaustion, pain and
fright that came despite his efforts to keep them back. He didn't want to
watch as the other craft drew closer, thinking nauseously of fish and hook
similes. The dizziness built again and this time he let it; there was
nothing more he could do, the technology was safe, and the darkness closed
in mercifully.


"... we lost one fighter, Adams. The rest have regrouped with us. seaQuest
spectres have broken off pursuit. What heading shall we set, Captain?"

"Continue as we are, into Macronesian waters. I will give you a new heading
soon."

"Yes, Sir."

He was aware of the voices peripherally, not fully grasping the meaning of
the words, still hovering below full consciousness. He heard someone groan
near by, realising that it was himself, and then slowly opened his eyes. It
took a while to focus, but when he did, he found himself sitting, propped
against a console in a large docking bay type area. He could tell
immediately that he wasn't on the seaQuest. He looked around at the people
standing by the fighter, talking in low voices. They were dressed in a
mixture of uniforms, but all were UEO. He frowned, trying to remember what
had happened before this.

The voice, from the conversation he had first become aware of, broke off in
its current orders and he turned to see who the voice belonged to. A tall,
well built officer, clearly a Captain came towards him. He was somewhere in
his forties by the look of him, brown hair, indiscriminate eyes and a
confident walk. He did not like the expression on the man's face as he stood
looking down at him. Then he squatted next to him, putting a hand on the
console, just above Lucas' right shoulder so that he was trapped back
against the metal. He swallowed hard, still too confused to know who this
was. The UEO uniforms had reassured him so he was not yet afraid, too
bewildered to know whether or not he should be. He had a strange feeling
that maybe he should be. The man leant in closer to him, looking down at
him with contempt.

"I can see why Andrews described you as a 'paltry little traitor,'" the man
said, an unpleasant smile crossing his face. Lucas knew that the man could
see the panic and fear in his face, his muscles going tense, his breathing
quickening. "You have made our lives very difficult lately," the man
continued, conversationally. "You probably shot her in the back; but you
really shouldn't have killed her," he admonished. "It's just a pity that I
need to keep you intact for my client. We'd better see if there is a medic
around, I don't want to hand over damaged goods." He sighed, looking away.
Lucas let out his breath, relaxing again too quickly, as the man turned
back, dropping the hand on to his right shoulder and pushing him back
against the console. He didn't see the blow coming, only felt a shooting
agony, as the man's fist contacted with his left shoulder. He crumpled onto
the floor, the last thing he knew, his cry of pain ringing loudly through
the launch bay.


Reggs looked down, satisfied, at the unconscious figure on the floor. Stark
would not want him to hurt him, but this way he got to cause the pain for a
'legitimate' reason; he felt better already.

"I think you missed something in that first aid course," one of his officer
smiled nastily over at him.

"It seems so," he agreed, standing and dusting himself off. "Take him down
to the room and have a guard watch him. I shouldn't think he'll be any
trouble, for a while. I'll be in the planning room getting the co-ordinates
of our destination." He walked down the corridor to the room, shutting the
door and activating the vidlink, typing in the number that Stark had given
him. The mission had been an unqualified success. seaQuest had not followed
them and they had lost only one subfighter- Stark would be able to provide
them with as many more as they wanted, now that they had proved themselves
so fully. Revenge was indeed sweet: for the humiliation of his imprisonment,
the end of section seven's power, for Andrews, for Howard, for the UEO
becoming a weak politician's toy. Reggs was a man who was seldom out-smarted
and he had been longing to pay those responsible back, several fold, for the
slight to his ego. The UEO would smart from this day's work and his future
with Macronesia, the future of those things that he believed in, was secure.

The screen opened on to the General herself, as cool and collected as the
last time he had met her. She smiled briefly at him, waiting patiently for
his news. "I take it, since you have contacted me, that you have my
'gift'," she stated evenly.

"We have the officer and the craft. We were not followed," he confirmed,
proudly.

She nodded. "I am sending you the co-ordinates of my location, where we
will discuss further steps in our agreement. I will expect you tomorrow,
then. I will clear your craft for free passage through our waters and into
the base- I am sending the docking code, now. I look forward to meeting with
you again, Captain. Stark out." She cut the link.

He was momentarily put out, by what he saw as a lack of adequate praise and
admiration; but he shrugged it off, too pleased with himself and his success
to be bothered by it for long. He walked back to the bridge and gave the
orders for the new course, giving the codes to his XO, for their arrival,
then he sat back to watch their progress at leisure, checking over his team,
please with what he observed.


When Lucas woke again, he found it hard to open his eyes against the harsh
light. He was in a bare room, lying on the floor. A guard was sitting on a
chair by the door, looking bored, tapping his fingers impatiently on the
long barrel of his gun. At least the Captain wasn't there. He felt his
shoulder cautiously, realising that the pain was now considerably less and
that it was no longer dislocated. He pushed himself up into a sitting
position, against the wall, with his right hand, and sat back, clearing his
head to think. This was Andrews' team- who must be Reggs, the Captain who
had escaped during the prison raid. He thought back over what Reggs had told
him- something about a client. He stopped short. He had assumed that Reggs
simply wanted him for revenge. But who was the 'client'? Then he remembered
the conversation he had heard, while he'd been waking- ' Macronesian
waters'. He closed his eyes, trying to fight his panic. Whatever happens,
you can't let them know you're afraid. Come on, stop acting like such a
coward! He took a deep breath to calm himself. The 'client' was probably
Macronesia then and they would be after the fighter's technology. He
breathed out a relived sigh, remembering the encryption then realised what
that meant. Whatever happens, giving them the codes is not an option... not
an option. If you think of it as one, it will become one. Decide it now
while you can be rational. Then he sat back and closed his eyes, feeling the
tears gathering again, allowing himself to drift off into sleep. Besides, he
would need the energy to get through whatever happened next. Don't think
about it. Take it as it happens, but telling them anything in not an option.


He woke to the guard prodding him with the butt of his gun. "Get up," he
snarled impatiently as Lucas opened his eyes, pulling him roughly to his
feet, luckily by the right arm. The pain in his left had subsided now into a
dull ache, but it was hardly comparable to the fire that had burned there
before. He didn't struggle as the man pushed him down the corridor. There
was no point and it could only make things harder.

When they arrived back in the launch bay, the hatches were open and it was
clear that they had docked somewhere. A Lieutenant came up and motioned them
through the hatchway. As he stepped through, he looked about, quickly trying
to figure out where he was and what to expect. He felt sick from fear, numb
and light headed, but he refused to let it show. He stopped as the man
pulled him up short.

They were clearly in the docking bay of a large complex or base. The people
talking to the section seven men were all in Macronesian uniforms. He
swallowed hard, trying to ignore the surge of terror this confirmation
engendered. Think! Don't stand there, figure out what to do! Reggs was
standing a few metres to his right, talking to a group of Macronesian
officers. He glanced back at him once, sneering proprietorily. The officers
looked at him with surprise, quickly turning back to Reggs with more
questions. The facility seemed to be well kept up and there were two UEO
spectres docked at one end. Further along, the fighter was sitting on the
dry floor. The wings had been damaged, as had the underside. The Macronesian
pilots were looking at it with a mixture of confusion and reluctant respect,
conversing in low whispers. Guess they haven't looked inside yet. The other
soldiers had noticed him now, stopping in their activities for a moment,
with surprise, some regarding him with astonishment, others with derision
and laughter. A few looked away uncomfortably.

Suddenly the bay went quiet, he turned to where Reggs was now looking, as he
went to greet a party of senior officers who were just entering the bay. At
the front of the party were two Captains, both weathered looking men in
their fifties. After them came a tall woman. Lucas frowned. He knew her,
but somehow he could not connect her face with his current situation. He
blinked, tensing and almost gasping as he realised who she was. Twelve years
on and she had changed very little from the pictures he had seen, when he
had searched for information, on her at Bridger's orders. Marilyn Stark. The
woman who had nearly destroyed the seaQuest when she had lost command of it,
rather than let anyone else command her. She had nearly started a war back
then and she was certainly one to bear a grudge. Would she know about his
part in defeating her back then?

She returned Reggs' salute and glanced over at him, turning back to Reggs
with a slight smile. Then she looked over to the fighter and the smile froze
off her face.

"I did not want you to damage the craft," she said, slightly annoyed.

"It turned on its stealth capacities just as we fired. We had already fired
when we realised we couldn't see it and so our aim was slightly off. The
damage doesn't seem to be too severe though, there was no water inside it
and all the systems seemed to be on." He shrugged. "It was unavoidable and
what damage there is doesn't effect its usefulness."

"I hope not." She turned to the security team who had followed her in.
"Take the prisoner down to the holding cells. The officers there will relieve
you." They saluted and crossed over to him, as she turned back to Reggs.
"It seems that we can, after all, offer you the terms we had first agreed.
And I thank you for the gift. Now, I will show you our establishment here,
explain how we operate." She turned as he fell into step beside her, the
Captains following discreetly.

The security team crossed over to Lucas and led him out, through cold grey
metal corridors. Eventually they turned off and cleared themselves through
a security gate. An officer came towards them as they entered what was
clearly the prison area of the base.

"This the one from Stark?" he asked, his glance flickering over Lucas,
quickly wiping the surprise from his face, but not all of the distaste.

"Yes. She said we should hand him over to you."

The officer nodded and the security team left as two guards came up on the
officer's call. "The general wants this one separate. Take him down to the
end and have two guards watch him at all times," he ordered.

Lucas followed the guards silently, unresisting as they led him past rows
of empty cells. Only a few were filled and they seemed to be Macronesian
soldiers rather than civilians or UEO. At the end the officer stopped and
unlocked a white, steel door. Inside, the room was sectioned into a cell and
an area with a table and chairs for the guards. He unlocked the cell and
motioned Lucas inside, locking it carefully behind him and crossing to where
the second guard had seated himself at the table.

The cell was completely bare, more like a cage, presumably so that no one
came up with a bomb from a mattress or brained the guards with the bed base.
He sat, leaning back against the bars and staring at the ceiling and the dim
lights. There were no windows. At least he wasn't tied up or handcuffed, but
there was hardly any need. He folded his hands about his knees, desperately
wishing that the guards were positioned outside, so that he could break down
as he suddenly realised that no one knew where he was and he wasn't going to
get out, either by escape or rescue. Stark might want to try to trade him
for some of the section seven personnel. He hated the idea, but realised
that he wouldn't be able to do anything about it and it was the best he
could hope for, the only way he was going to get out of here alive. They
might want information, almost certainly they would want the codes to the
fighter's computer... that didn't bear thinking about. Then there was the
possibility that she just wanted him for revenge, once his usefulness was
over they would kill him. Either way, the best thing he could hope for was
that they killed him immediately. He was going to die and there was
absolutely nothing he could do about it. Somehow the fact that he couldn't
change it made the acceptance easier, though he was no less terrifying as he
sat, fighting the urge to cry, for a long time, before he put the certainty
out of his mind. The thing that he was now overwhelmed with terror for, was
what would happen before they killed him. Telling them isn't an option.
You're going to die here anyway! But he knew that some things were worse
than that and he was more afraid of this, than death itself. But he knew
that if he betrayed seaQuest or his friends he wouldn't want to survive,
there would be no point. If he was going to die anyway, how could he betray
them?

He didn't believe in God, though he envied those who did. It was a horrible
feeling to think that when you died that was it, nothing, no heaven, no
reincarnation, nothing. It was cold and empty as his ultimate future. He
wasn't overwhelmed with regrets for things he hadn't done, rather the loss
of the possibility for anything more. And he didn't want to die here alone
and probably in pain. Don't think about it, think about something else,
anything else! Anything! But he couldn't and he was starting to panic.

"What time is it?" he found himself asking, his voice level and politely
curious. The guards looked over at him in astonishment and then quickly at
each other, completely thrown. Why did he care what time it was. The second
guard shrugged at the first.

"Ten hundred hours," he replied uncertainly.

"What day?"

The guard blinked at him. "Tuesday- the second."

"Where are we?" They would certainly have moved through several times
boundaries and he wanted to try and figure out how long it had been since he
had crashed. The guards frowned, unsure if he was trying to trick them into
something. "I know we're somewhere in Macronesian territory, so there's
bound to be a time difference," he explained. "I just want to figure out
how long I've been here. I fell asleep, so I don't know."

"We're at about 110 degrees east," the first guard answered him. The second
scowled deeply at him. "What's it going to hurt to tell him?" the first
whispered back.

So it had been about fifteen hours now. He couldn't tell if that sounded
right or not, he'd slept too deeply to have any idea how long he'd slept
for. What surprised him, was that he had spoken to them and they had
answered, rather like someone lost at a train station, it was so bizarre a
situation. And even stranger, he didn't feel anger towards them, didn't
blame them for holding him here, or for whatever happened next. He didn't
feel that they were monsters, though he knew the reputation of Macronesian
prisons. In fact, he found himself simply curious.


"And our communications centre. Captain Reggs, Captain Grenshaw.
Captain..." A discreet cough, behind her, interrupted her and Stark turned,
annoyed. The officer came closer and gave her the message in an undertone.
Stark nodded and turned back to Reggs, her expression annoyed. "It seems
that there is a problem with the UEO fighter. It seems that the computer
system was encrypted and it is inaccessible without the correct codes." She
held up her hands as he began to speak. "And no there is apparently no way
around the codes. Without them, the technology is useless. What we can learn
is the same as we could learn looking at the craft, from a distance. It is
very inconvenient, but it is not your fault and will be remedied easily
enough. We will simply have to start by asking for the codes, before we get
onto other things." She sighed. "Well, I think we can wrap up the tour for
today. Tomorrow we will get the information we need and then we will discuss
your problems and what actions we will pursue together, for our mutual
advancement. I will send someone to your quarters at 0900, tomorrow. We can
have breakfast while we discuss the list of questions. I trust you will be
comfortable, my staff will give you any assistance you need. Until tomorrow,
Captain." She turned briskly and walked away.


He was still very tired and so he slept or dozed throughout the day. At
least he wasn't afraid when he was asleep. The guards didn't speak to him
again, simply ignored him until their replacements came and took over. The
new guards stopped short in surprise as they looked down at their prisoner
and then sat, playing poker. When he next woke, the original guards were
sitting at the other end of the room. He stretched, remembering where he
was, after the original confusion. After what seemed like a life time there
was a knock at the door. The guards looked out, through the window, and then
unlocked it. The officer, who had been in charge the day before, came over
to the cell and unlocked the door.

Lucas could see two guards waiting in the corridor. "Up," the officer
ordered and then he was led out of the room and down a further corridor. The
officer opened a door eventually and the guards pushed him inside, where he
stopped short, seeing Stark and Reggs. The guards pushed him towards a seat
and then backed off to the wall. There were two other men, one mid
thirties, the other older. He didn't recognise either. He turned back to
Stark.

"I demand that you release me or afford me the rights of a prisoner of war,
under the Geneva convention of human rights, to speak to someone from the
UEO diplomatic core." He glared at them challengingly, his voice determined,
knowing that it was pointless.

Stark sighed. "Enough of the formalities. Now that that is over, we can
proceed. Besides, you are in no position to demand anything. I would suggest
that you co-operate and you might be in the position to request certain
rights. Now, we all have other pressing matters to attend to, so if you
could just assist us with a few things, we can all get on with our separate
activities and you might be released." She folded her hands, interlocking
the fingers gracefully, on her crossed knees. "Oh, and before we start we'd
just like to clear up the little problem of the codes to the fighter." He
blinked once at her. He didn't think he could trust himself to speak. The
room was silent for a full minute. Stark sighed. "I suppose this is where I
do the 'make this easy on yourself' routine," she said sweetly. "But I
really do advise you to help us. It will take so much less time, and effort,
on everyone's behalf and if you annoy me, I'm afraid that I won't be as
inclined to get to the paper work, for handing you back, as soon as I
might." Paperwork? She thought he would belive that, that he would care
about 'paperwork' if he did?

Another minute passed. Stark nodded her head slightly. The two guards came
forward then, holding him back into the chair. For a moment he struggled
futilely and then sat still. The younger of the two men got up, lifting a
small case onto the table and taking out a syringe. He blinked hard at it,
his breathing tightening with fear, hearing his heart pumping loudly in his
ears. The man came towards him slowly and swabbed his arm after rolling up
his sleeve. You're swabbing with alcohol first? Then he pushed the needle
carefully into the vein, injecting the clear fluid quickly and gently. Then
he stood again, replaced the case on the floor beside his seat and sat,
watching him with a scientist's curiosity. He wasn't going to let them have
the pleasure of him asking what was happening. The two guards released him
and stepped back then. Stark watched him curiously, a playful smile about
her lips. Nothing happened, no pain, nothing. After a while her expression
changed slightly, clearly put off by his silence. She looked down at her
watch and sat back, he gaze now curious as that of the man beside her.
Reggs shifted impatiently.

After a while he felt himself relaxing, nothing was going to happen it
seemed. The minutes dragged by and he found himself simply bored and
impatient. He was tired again, from the fear, and he wanted to be taken
back to the cell where he could sleep. He was getting very fed up and
had a headache, still, from the crash. He was too tired to think clearly
enough to be afraid anymore, to care.

"I really would like to have those codes." He looked up sharply as Stark's
voice cut through the silence. It took a while for him to realise what she
was saying. When the words did get through he ignored them, folding his arms
bad temperedly. Stark looked across at the man next to her and they waited
some more. Waited for what?

"I really don't have any more time for this sitting around," she said
finally, her voiced edged with annoyance. He looked away at the wall. He
just wanted to sleep. "I want you to tell me those codes," she repeated
very slowly as if he were a very small, very stupid child. He sighed and
shifted, impatiently. Boy, was she slow. Why didn't she just give up so they
could get out of here and he could sleep? Stark frowned darkly at the man
next to her who shrugged again, his curious expression now one of slight
confusion. "What are the codes to the fighter?" she repeated, her voice
determined and starting to grow angry with impatience. 

Her voice droned on incessantly, stopping him from sleeping. He was
irritated by it, like an insect flying around when you're trying to sleep;
but he was too tired to tell her to be quiet, as he felt like doing. Her
tone became progressively more impatient. It was hot in the small room and
that added to his sleepiness. After a while he found himself suddenly on the
point of getting out a reply, simply to shut her up. That jerked his
awareness back away from the edge of sleep, but soon the heat and the dull
ache in his head sent him drifting away from full awareness again. Again he
jerked himself back. This time he had opened his mouth to reply and it
shocked him into fighting back against the tiredness, struggling now. The
shock of what he'd nearly done, forcing the realisation on him that that was
the plan and it was more than just wanting to fall asleep. He sat back and
focused on making up a picture in his mind to stay awake, building in the
details, trying to keep it clear. At some point the man gave him a second
injection. He didn't fight it.


Stark turned to the man next to her furiously. "What's wrong? Why isn't
this working?" she hissed.

"Some people can fight it better than others," he replied. "I wouldn't
have expected it from someone so young," he admitted.

"Well, then give him some more."

"It won't make any difference and might do serious damage. Either way you
won't get any answers. We'll have to wait two days as it is." Reggs was
smirking in the back ground. Stark had insisted that they do it 'her way'.
She said she had further uses for him and couldn't have him damaged. Not
until after they had the answers to their questions, after that... She had
said that there were ways of getting the information without that. So much
for the other ways.

"We could..." He stopped short as Stark glared at him.

"There are other ways. This is just the least difficult," she told him
forcefully. "We'll try again when the drugs have worn off." She motioned to
the guards.

The guards, pulling him to his feet, brought him back to the present, and he
allowed them to lead him, stumbling, down the corridors. He didn't remember
walking back to the cell, sliding down the wall asleep, as soon as they
released him.


The prison block guard stared after the two main building guards as they
left. He looked over at his superior, who was watching them retreat with a
look of disgust on his face. The officer shook his head and started back
down the corridor. He turned and went back into the cell room locking the
door and sitting down, trying not to look at the figure in the cell. He
turned back to the other guard, their expressions matching one another.

"Who the hell is he and what are they... he's a child," the first guard
said sadly. "Why all this extra security for a child? What can he know
that's so important? He looks too young to even be out of the academy."

"I don't know. I don't want to. And I wouldn't let any of the others hear
you talking like that," the second guard, his closest friend replied. "We
just watch them. You weren't bothered by any of the others."

"I'm not stupid," the first said. "And none of the others were children.
I'm a soldier, not a terrorist. No, I don't like it, I don't like it one
bit. In fact it makes me sick, but I'm not going to do anything about it-
don't worry. I haven't spent all this time getting here, to blow it over
some UEO soldier, or anyone else. If I was going to do something stupid,
because of my emotions, I would have done it when... when Ricky died. If I
could control myself over family, I'm not going to loose it over a stranger."

His friends smiled at him. "Good. Just checking. I wouldn't want to have to
shoot you," he grinned and then grew serious. "Between the two of us, I
feel the same."


When he woke he was still too sleepy to open his eyes for a long time.
Eventually, the cold bars of the cell impacted on his hazy mind and he
opened his eyes quickly, sitting up and looking around. The action made him
feel dizzy and he sat back waiting for his head to clear. Gradually he felt
better and stood, stretching stiffly. He didn't know how long he'd slept,
couldn't remember getting back here. For a moment he panicked that he might
have forgotten he'd told them something, then relaxed, his mind clearing. He
waited expectantly, pacing back and forth. He'd woken a few times, but then
drifted off again quickly. Eventually he saw that no one was coming so he
sat again. The next day they gave him some food. He ate reluctantly, knowing
that he had to, if he was to be able to fight them and then dozed, in
between listening to the aimless talk of the guards.


He turned sharply, as the door to the room opened and the guards from before
came in and unlocked the cell again, taking his arms to lead him out and
down the corridor. The door to the room was open and he pulled his arm out
of their grasp, seating himself and turning his gaze to meet Stark's
definitely.

"You broke quite a number of conventions and international laws two days
ago," he informed her impatiently.

"And you wasted my time." She motioned for the guards to hold him again and
he didn't struggle as the younger man came up and started setting up
something unpleasant. He turned his eyes away focusing on her, meeting her
gaze unwaveringly. She smiled slowly. It was always more pleasant to have
something to break than to just get what she wanted, so easily, all the time.

"I don't have as much patience today," smiling, her voice conversational.
"So I'd like you to give me the codes now so that we can get onto some of my
other questions."

"Wolenczak, Lucas, Lieutenant, junior grade, UEO navy. Serial number
LTJG-3255-23-ZZ2." He'd forgotten what he was supposed to say the other day.
Somehow it sounded so funny that he almost laughed, then he realised that he
was starting to get hysterical. Don't let them see you're afraid.

The man nodded to Stark behind him and she gave a small motion with her
hand. He gasped as a sudden pain surprised him, shooting through his fear.
"Well, it seems to be working," she said. "I really would like to get this
done today and we have a lot of questions."

Think about something. Think about who you're doing this for, the people you
care about. Think about making them proud. Think about protecting them.

For the first few minutes he bit his lip and tensed his muscles as far as he
could. The pain washed over everything, stopping for her to comment on the
time or repeat what she wanted to know. He didn't listen, didn't hear her
words and thought about his friends. All he could do was wait till it was
over, despairing that it would ever end. Telling her is not an option. After
a while he gave up the effort to stay quiet, there were more important
things to spend his energy on. Stark smiled as his cries of pain interrupted
the silence. That hadn't taken so very long. A few more minutes and she
frowned again, darkening, as the minutes passed fruitlessly. The man looked
up at her questioningly several times, but she motioned for him to continue,
furious. She'd never had such trouble from anyone, she hadn't ended up
killing, without getting anything- and there hadn't been many who had held
out. She would not let a mere child beat her, she was not going to suffer
such a slight to her pride. This was no longer a challenge that she could
enjoy with the certainty of winning eventually. No, she was angry now and
she had a sinking fear that she would not be able to hand Bourne the
technology, as she had hoped. She had been looking forward to that and she
was not going to like being disappointed; neither would he and he would
never believe that this child could be the only thing in her way and render
her unable to resolve the situation.

"You said you wanted him alive," the man said finally. "This is only
effective as non-damaging in short periods. It's usually very effective.
We'll have to wait before anything else." He frowned, checking the
equipment. This was not supposed to happen. The problem would need a
solution- more work that he didn't have time for. Besides, it was an
affront to all logic that this should happen.

Stark gave him an impatient gesture, rose swiftly and left the room. The man
motioned for the guards to released Lucas and he collapsed gasping on to the
floor, lying still. He didn't care what happened next. Slowly the cold of
the floor broke through and he realised that Stark and Reggs had left.

"Take him back to the cell," the man said from the door, as he left.

Lucas let the guards pull him to his feet, half dragging him back, letting
them take his weight simply concentrating on moving his feet. They dropped
him on to the floor in the cell and he heard them locking it and then
closing the door to the room, as he lay where he had fallen, curling
slightly, focusing on breathing. It was over. He didn't let himself think
about what next. Just get through the moment.

The door opened again for the new shift of guards. He heard someone draw in
a sharp breath.

"Jesus," a low voice whispered, in horror, as the door shut again. The room
was still and then the sound of chairs, scraping across the floor, as the
guards sat. After a few moments, they started awkwardly discussing the
relationship between two of the officers, to avoid the silence.

The pain dissipated slowly, leaving him wretchedly tired. I'm never going to
get through this. I can't... Please, God let me die now. I don't care. But
he was still alive and he knew that he would just lie there despairing if he
didn't do something. He couldn't afford to do that. He took a slow breath,
pushing aside the hopelessness that he felt. A few more moments and he
cautiously sat up, brushing his hair out of his face and pushing himself
across the floor to the bars where he could lean back with some dignity.
Then he looked across at the guards. Don't they feel anything? Don't they
care? If he was going to die anyway, he could at least have the answers to
some of the questions.

"How many people do you get through here?" he asked, his voice clear.
There was only one guard in the room now, the other outside talking to the
officer. The remaining guard turned to him shocked. "I want to know. I'm
going to die here, the least I can do is get some answers first. I'm not
going to get to tell anyone. I just want to know," he explained reasonably.
"What harm can it do?"

There was a pause and then the guard spoke, slowly. "Three UEO for
questioning, in the past six months. Two were executed. The third was traded
back after a few days. We've only been assigned here for that long. We're-
me and Hawkins," he nodded towards the door, "getting transfered soon," the
guard replied carefully. "Mostly it's our own people, in the brig for minor
infractions. Unless they want information UEO aren't brought here. They're
taken somewhere closer to the capital for discussions and deals."

"Does it bother you? I mean I'd be bothered by people being tortured, or do
you get used to it- ignore it...?"

"We're not monsters, whatever you think!" The guard snapped back.

Lucas shook his head carefully. "I didn't say that. I just want to
understand," he insisted. "I'm not being sarcastic. I really want to know."
The guard stared at him cynically and then with disbelief when he saw that
he was telling the truth. "When I saw something I didn't like in the UEO, I
couldn't believe in it, or be part of it until I did something." He wasn't
boasting, just explaining what he meant.

"In the UEO they don't shoot you for disagreeing with policy," the guard
replied laughing bitterly.

"No, they don't," Lucas agreed. "Do they really shoot people for
disagreeing here?"

"Yes," was the guard's short answer. "If ignoring things mean that you
stay alive, you do. If it means that your family gets food, somewhere to
live, medicine, education, you don't make a fuss about what they ask you to
fight for, or about. You don't have to like it, you just have to do it. I
don't like what I've seen here, but I've had to fight to get promoted and
I'm not going to risk my future and my family's, no matter how horrible the
thing are that you have to see, and do nothing about. When you're that
helpless and you have to watch people you know shot, you're not going to
fight for a stranger. We're still human. We care, we care as much as any of
your precious UEO people, but we don't have a choice. That's the difference.
You swallow your pride, what you believe in, whatever you have to. That
answer your question?"

"The UEO always says that the reports about shootings are exaggerated, that
when people say they have to join, it's not true. Probably the same UEO
people who didn't..." he trailed off for a moment, then realised that
everyone knew about Section Seven, "Who didn't admit the UEO was
experimenting on GELFs. The UEO isn't free of horrible human rights
violations either, but at least it's not policy." He sighed and looked up
at the guard's angry face, who was embarrassed at letting himself show his
feeling to a UEO officer. "Thank you for answering my question," he said
sincerely, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, exhausted, to sleep.

The guard blinked, snapping his gaze back up as the door opened and the
second guard came back in. "The papers for our transfer will come through
by next week," he said relieved. "Is something wrong?" he asked suddenly,
noticing the strange expression on his friend's face.

"No, not wrong," the first guard replied, looking away, still lost in
thought.


When he woke, he wasn't confused by where he was any more. He looked over to
see which shift of guards was on. It was the day shift: the first two guards.

"What time is it?" his voice was hoarse and it came out more as a whisper,
making him cough. He didn't think asking for a drink was a good idea.

"Nine thirty," the first guard replied. "AM," he added. "We're the day
shift."

Lucas nodded. "I got that bit," he replied smiling slightly. "Long shifts.
Is it always this much, or just when you have someone for questioning?"

"Only when it's a special case."

"I should feel flattered?" Lucas found himself grinning. It was crazy, but
it helped, it kept him sane, it kept him from complete despair, so who
cared. There was nothing to be had from sitting being terrified. You got
used to relaxing whenever you could. He was glad that the guard had answered
his question otherwise he would have found himself hating them and
impossibly disillusioned that people could be so cruel. It didn't make it
OK, it couldn't possibly, but at least he could understand their point of
view. The only way he was going to survive this was by thinking only,
reason, and trying not to feel.

He sat thinking, for a long time, there was nothing else to do. The day
passed without any questions, and then a second. He sat and listened to the
guards' conversations to keep his mind occupied and then he slept, when the
shift changed. He didn't wake until morning and the day shift was on.

His heart leapt into his throat as the door opened. He closed his eyes,
wishing he could believe in a God to mutter a prayer to, as he stood and
waited by the door, pulling away from Stark's guard and walking out and down
the corridor by himself.


He pressed his forehead down on to the cold floor, the coolness a delicious
relief, amidst the aching in his limbs. Just wait. It'll be better soon.
It's over. For now. This time he let himself lie miserably on the floor,
despair making the pain and tiredness impossible. There was nothing to cling
to, no end that he could see. He let himself cry silent tears into the
floor, hidden from the guards' sight. Think about the people you care about:
Bridger, Tony, Darwin... all his friends. Then he slept. That time, they
left him in peace for two days, and the time after for four, listening to
the guards talking when he wasn't sleeping. When they returned him to the
cell that time, he was still unconscious and he woke shivering with shock,
feverish. He slept through most of the first day and they left him alone.
The second day, they brought him a meal again, but he was too tired to get
up. An hour after this, there was a knock at the door and the second guard
left. He heard the door to the cell opening shortly after.

God, no, please. But instead of pulling him to his feet, to take him out of
the room, the hand on his arm simply, propped him against the bars and
someone forced him to drink. The liquid burnt his throat and he coughed,
looking through the fall of his hair at the face of the first guard. The
guard obliged him to drink again, silently.

"You'd better eat," he said, pushing the tray over, before the other guard
could return. He locked the cell and went back to the table and sat staring
at the far wall. Lucas obeyed with difficulty. After a while he sat back to
rest. He looked across at the guard, confused. The guard felt his gaze and
looked back at him. "Don't get any ideas about me helping you. I'm not
going to put myself at risk. Don't get your hopes up about that. I'm just
not a complete animal, and Stark wants you alive. I'm not going to do
anything that's going to get me into trouble."

"Thank you, anyway," Lucas looked at him seriously. "Why..." He sighed. He
was too tired to finish the question.

"You remind me of someone." The guard laughed bitterly. "Now isn't that a
cliche and a half. You're the same age as my brother was when he got
killed." His flickered his eyes over to Lucas. "And before you ask, the
Macronesians killed him for 'disagreeing' with them. He didn't use his real
name though, so the rest of the family were safe. I didn't do anything when
they killed him. I didn't try and get revenge. I just got on with keeping
the rest of my family alive. Good sob story right? Well, I was lucky, I only
lost one person in my family."

"I'm sorry." The man looked at him, his eyes hard. He shouldn't have said
or done anything, but six months here was getting to him and he had never
had to kill a child before or watch anything so horrible. All the people
before him had been older men, soldiers for at least twenty years,
intelligence agents. They knew what they were getting into and had their
lives behind them. And they had looked at him with hatred and contempt in
their eyes, arrogant assumptions. The boy's questions, the way he was
willing to disbelieve his government in the face of propaganda, were just
like Ricky. And he knew that his brother had not had so pleasant a death,
either. That morning he had seen defeat, for the first time, in the boy's
face. He was going to die there, they both knew it, but he didn't have to be
completely alone. He wasn't going to sit and hold his hand, but a moment's
kindness he could afford. He was so surprised by his whole attitude, the
boy's manner towards the guards. He hadn't seen that type of belief or lack
of ingrained hatred in a long time and he was going to be damned if he
watched something he found himself admiring and respecting, be destroyed.

The guard hadn't felt so trapped for a long time, so helpless and so dirty.
That's how it felt, sordid, to sit here and ignore what he felt. How could
you not be cynical and bitter when you had to ignore all your better
instincts, to survive? He no longer believed in himself, knew he had
betrayed everything he had once believed in, for his life and his family's.
Seeing them had made it worth it, but when he had time to think, as in this
assignment, he realised how fully his situation had ingrained not only hate
of the UEO, Macronesia, but of himself and what he had become. But realising
that didn't change the way things worked. It's didn't change a thing, it
just made it easier to understand why he had done that, taken even the
slightest risk. He could have used the excuse of 'keeping the boy alive' if
anything had gone wrong, like someone coming in. And he envied the boy's
refusal to give in. Somehow that one action had redeemed a tiny piece of
belief in himself. Like one moment of kindness, one piece of belief was
enough.


When they came again, two days later, Lucas found that he was able to face
them with a front of calmness.


Copyright E.Casale 1997


===========================  PART 7  =====================================


Want more- send more comments- privately or publically, I don't mind which.
Thank to those who sent them... can't remember names today- it's a dyselxic
day- strnage how it's worse sometimes.... anyway... here you go.


Copyright E.Casale 1997

Chapter 7


"Come," she called impatiently, at the knock on her door. Her temper was
frayed to shreds. She looked up angrily, from her paperwork, at Reggs. She
sighed, knowing what he wanted. "Very well, you can try, but nothing
permanent. If we get nothing today, we won't get anything and you can do
what you want with him. He's no use to us alive, in that case. Happy,
Captain?" She didn't think he would do any better, but it was worth it,
if there was the possibility that she might still be able to hand over
the technology to Bourne. There was nothing to be lost now.

"Thank you, General. But I'm sure I can get some results. Either way," he
shrugged.

She raised her eyes brows at him, pushing back her hair which, for once,
was not perfect, a few strands out of place. "Then I will see you later,
Captain," she dismissed him rudely. He turned and left, not bothered by her
attitude. He could understand how she felt about losing to a child, someone
who was barely even an officer. He had watched impatiently as they tried,
uselessly, to get the information that he was sure he would have no problems
getting and quickly. It was such a waste of time. He had had to fight to
restrain himself, to wait until she was ready for him to try. Well, it would
only be another proof of his worth. He'd spent the rest of the time learning
about the workings of the Macronesian government and military. The next
thing he had to do, was to work on how to free Howard.


The room was very quiet and, for the first time in days, Tony slept quickly
after going to bed. He was exhausted from grieving that he hadn't expected
to be so hard. That night, though, he had slipped into a deep sleep, not a
light, anxious doze.

It was very dark all around and then slowly the darkness filled with blue
light, rippling like the effect on the walls by the moonpool, strands of
different blues merging, dark and light mingling, then parting again. For a
long time there was only silence and the water in the darkness and then
the water disappeared and there was only the darkness, then the peace was
broken, horribly, by screaming, incessant and sourceless. He couldn't
shut it out and he couldn't get away from it. It filled the blackness,
overwhelming everything, wordless and inhuman. Then suddenly it stopped and
there was silence for a long time. Then a last shrill cry cut through the
darkness, calling his name and he gasped sitting up in his bunk, breathing
hard, hugging himself in terror. For a while, he sat in the darkness too
horrified and scared to move and then he stumbled over to the chair, where
he had left his clothes, pulling then on with shaking fingers and hurrying
out into the light of the corridor. He walked quickly down the corridor to
the moonpool, stopping short on the top step. Kimura turned from playing
with Darwin and regarded him calmly. He backed up, and hurried on to the
mess, desperate for human company. Ford and Brody looked up with tired
eyes, bloodshot from grief, worry or lack of sleep, he couldn't tell which.

He grabbed a cup of coffee and practically ran over, setting the cup down,
flicking his hand when he spilt it with shaking hands.

"Tony, you OK?" Brody asked, looking at him worriedly.

He shook his head and drank deeply for the warmth, holding the cup with
both hands. "I had this dream..." He put the cup down again. "I've had the
beginning of it every few days for two weeks or so, but tonight..." he
shivered. "Tonight..." He followed the direction of Ford's gaze, as he
looked away suddenly. Tim was coming across the room, very pale. He sat down
next to Tony, glancing quickly at the reflection of the look on his own face.

"I need a drink," he said blankly. "You OK, Tony?" he asked, looking over
at him.

"I had this dream," Tony repeated, shaking his head. "It just really
freaked me out."

"Well, I was having a really good dream and then all of a sudden, I just
woke up with this feeling that something terrible happened and that
someone's well, almost... And it's been happening a lot lately." He sighed.
"I need to sleep. Once it happens, I can never get back to sleep and I feel
like I'm about to nose dive into my console when I'm on duty. I'm going to
get some pills." He got up and wandered out, vaguely.

Tony got up. "That makes two of us. You guys want any?" He tried grinning,
but couldn't, not having the energy to turn it into a joke, so it came out
completely seriously. The other two grunted and went back to silently
staring at the table, bleakly, thinking that the idea did actually have
merit, but that Dr. Perry would think she had an epidemic on her hands if
they joined them. It was two in the morning and there were only two other
people sitting at the other end of the room. The sound of their laughter and
chatter seemed completely alien to their ears, disrespectfully out of place
anywhere near their own sadness. The other two must have felt the officers
glaring at them, as they left rather rapidly, and then the room was empty
and still and, for once, that only felt natural.


Tony turned to Tim as they walked to the med bay. "How's Darwin?"

Tim sighed tiredly. "He still isn't eating properly and he doesn't want to
play. He always wants to play!"

"He's just missing him. They were very close," Tony replied sadly.

"Yeah. Well, Lucas was the one who built the vocorder so he could talk, and
they spent a lot of time- right from the first tour. He's been very quiet.
He won't talk much, but when he does, he keeps on saying these strange
things about 'dark', 'pain', 'lonely'."

"I think he's just trying to express how he feels."

"It's just so hard to tell and without... We're not going to be getting any
further on the program."

"Have you noticed how clean it is around here lately," Tony said obliquely
after a while. "At least Dagwood found something to do to keep his mind off
it. I wish I could."

"So do I," Tim replied and they turned into the med bay.


There was a gentle knock at the door. "Come," he called.

Piccolo opened the door and hovered for a moment there, uncertainly. He
looked like he hadn't had any rest in days and his whole manner was taut.
"Yes?" he asked patiently, wearily putting down his pen.

"I, er..."

"Mr Piccolo, if you have something to ask me, would you please come into
the room and sit down to do so?" Hudson said, sitting back and waiting. Tony
looked back out into the corridor and then at the floor and gradually shut
the door to come in. He sat on the edge of the seat, frowning for a moment.
Hudson waited with his eye brows slightly raised.

"I'd like permission to call my family, Sir" Tony said finally, with
difficulty, looking up quickly. "I know all personal communications are
banned for a good reason, but I just thought that..." He trailed off. He
hadn't wanted to come. He hadn't wanted to show that he wasn't managing with
this, asking for special treatment. Acting like this was not going to get
him promoted, but he didn't care any more. He just needed to talk to
someone, to feel like there were people there who cared about him. And if
he didn't do it now, he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to work up the
nerve to do it again. He felt guilty about that, about not doing it sooner,
but he hadn't found the time, or rather hadn't wanted to find the time. He
wanted Hudson's respect and he was half afraid about getting a lecture that
he shouldn't ask for special treatment. He didn't think he could handle even
that, at the moment. He'd come because he was desperate and he really didn't
have any choice. This was the only thing he could think of to do.

"I'll tell O'Neil to set up a link for you in your room, but it can only be
one call," Hudson added firmly. Under normal circumstances he would never
have allowed it, but these weren't normal circumstances and if Piccolo had
someone who could help... well, though he envied the fact, he wouldn't
begrudge him it.

Tony looked at him in surprise, and then deep gratitude. "Thank you, Sir,"
he replied in a low voice and left. He'd never expected Hudson to agree and
now that he had he almost regretted it. What would he say to them? What
would they say? Would they be glad or simply not care? He was afraid of
talking to them after all this time, seeing what he'd missed, and how they'd
moved on from him. He was afraid that they simply wouldn't want to know or
just not be the same. Right now any emotional disturbance would just be too
much. But what he was feeling was too much already.

He stopped, breathed out slowly, before going back into his room and typing
in the address. He rubbed his hands across his face, as it connected,
suddenly feeling a wave of fear. The screen opened and the plump, balding
man in front of it looked out impatiently. Then he saw who it was and his
face went completely blank with shock, for a moment.

"And why did it take you so long to call?" he asked with his usual tone of
annoyance and whining.
"Marie," he shouted back into the room. His hair was all grey now, but
apart from that, the years hadn't changed him much.

"What?" a voice called as his mother came in and then stopped, staring at
the screen. "Tony!" she cried running up to her husband and sitting down
beside him. They glanced quickly between them and then turned back to him.
She looked well and she looked her age- well not fully, but then, she had
never done so.

"You look good, Ma," he smiled back, relief flooding over him. "It's good
to see you."

"It's about time," his father argued and then sighed for a moment. "We
missed you," he said quietly looking away. "We thought you were dead... and
then we hear you're alive but no call, no nothing!" It was just his way of
saying he cared and Tony smiled back.

"Well, I'm calling now aren't I," he replied with mock annoyance. Nothing
had changed so very much. "How's... everyone?"

His mother leaned forward with all her old habit just before she started a
prattle of news and gossip that could go on for hours. He sat back and
listened happily. A lot had changed and it made him sad to have missed it,
but if he could get things to work with his parents again- well, as much as
it could be said to work then he could do it with the rest of the family.
Somehow that almost made him sadder, because it was such a bitter-sweet
mixture of happiness, but it was a low aching sadness and one that he could
deal with. And he no longer felt so alone, though they hadn't talked about
what had happened, he hadn't told them. He didn't need to. They wouldn't
understand. What he'd needed was just to talk to someone who cared. Why
didn't I do this sooner? I wasted even more time, but these last few months
I didn't have to. Well, he couldn't go back but, as soon as the restrictions
were off, he could change that. It was a strange feeling of remembrance that
permeated the conversation and the joy and discovery of finding something
lost for a long time, though treasured and badly missed.

His PAL chirped; it was O'Neil. "Tony, you've been talking for an hour. I
really can't give you any more time, without other people noticing, and then
there'll be problems."

"OK. I'll just say good bye." He turned off the PAL and back to his
mother's babble. He was ready to turn it off at last. He'd been able to talk
and listen and feel loved, but he couldn't stay on the line for ever, though
he longed to, clinging to the comfort it had given him.

"Is everything all right?" his mother asked, hearing the noise on the PAL.

"Yeah, but I have to go," he told them reluctantly.

"And don't forget to call this time!" his father ordered.

"I will, but it might be a week or so. We're not meant to be having calls
at all at the moment, because of security. I had to get permission to call
you now. But I will call, I promise, as soon as it's OK," he insisted.

"OK. Take care." His mother smiled at him. "We missed you," she repeated
her eyes flooding and she sniffed for a moment, smiling through her tears.
"Just don't fall out of touch when we don't have to. People don't usually
get second chances and they don't get third ones."

"I won't need a third one," he assured her, determinedly. "And I missed
you too. Give my love to everyone," he added as he cut the link and stared
at the floor. He was angry and shocked to find himself happy. How could he
be happy right then? And he remembered that Lucas had never got around to
contacting his parents either, though they had discussed it a lot of times.
He thought sadly that there probably might not have been so happy an ending,
to that attempt. He felt that he was betraying Lucas by feeling anything
less than destroyed, but he couldn't live like that. Lucas would understand.
That thought made him sad again because it was true and he would miss being
able to talk to him, ask him things, being able to trust his judgement.
Being reminded when he was acting like a jerk. But he had to start being
happy again, at some point, and at least now he felt that he could get
through this and everything wasn't completely bleak ahead.



Reggs stormed into the room, longing to slam the door. Stark looked up at
him, taking in his furious appearance and deducing the facts from it. She
regarded him with an air of triumph and then motioned for him to sit. Today,
she was her usual, icily calm self. She'd spent the day cheering herself up
with the planning of something that she had been longing to do for a very
long time, but hadn't had the chance to do, until recently.

"I hate things to go to waste, but I think I might have found a use for my
gift after all, one that will, again benefit us both. I get something I want
and you get your General."

Reggs looked up with surprise and then interest. "How?"

"We have tried talking with all of our sources, but we have been unable to
determine where Howard is being held. There is a slight chance that we might
be able to use Wolenczak to get that information. When we have the
information, then we can plan how best to effect a rescue. I have an old
score to settle and I believe that the person I need to settle it with would
be able to tell us Howard's location, with the inducement  of getting the
boy. We won't have to actually do it. After that, you can deal finally with
him how you want, as I promised. If I thought the UEO would agree, we could
trade him back officially for Howard, but the general is unfortunately the
key to the new UEO's survival. I cannot promise that this other plan will be
successful, but I am willing to try. If not, then we will think of something
new. It would be useful to have your help over this matter, though." she
waited for his answer.

"Agreed. What help would you require?"

"I need you to obtain another 'gift' for me. I believe that this one will
be slightly easier to retrieve, however." She reached across her desk for
the plans, information and maps which her assistants had assembled on her
orders. "There should be no problem with this mission."



Bridger sighed as he walked up the path, from where he'd parked the car,
towards the old house. He'd been astonished to find that no one had
repossessed or stolen it, with him gone and presumed dead for ten years. It
had stood empty all that time. No one had come there, even before, and
probably no one had even noticed it was empty. After all, he hadn't been
there all the years he'd spent on the island after Robert's 'death'. He
stood looking at it as the sun set, away to his right over the ocean, which
was lying calm, shining red with the light from the sky reflecting off the
gentle waves. The plants had grown wild, the rhododendrons spilling their
branches on to the porch and crowding the steps. The paintwork was peeling
badly, exposing the grain of the wood beneath. He pulled open the screen
from the front door and it came away from the hinges in his hand. He laid it
on the deck and pushed open the door. This at least was still intact. Many
of the shutters on the windows were hanging loose or fallen down and the
floor inside was littered with old, dried leaves. At least there seemed to
be no rot in the floor boards, though the rugs and carpets had been eaten
away by mould. He pulled the dust sheets off some of the furniture and then
went out on the back porch, leaning on the rail and watching the sunset as
he used to with Carol. Back inside, her photo was still sitting on the
table, under the sheets, smiling, even in the abandoned house. Eventually,
he turned away from the cool breeze. The sun had long since gone down past
the horizon and the waters were dark, washing softly against the beach.

He turned back inside and then went to the car to bring in his bags of
clothes, the food he had bought from the local shop and his computer. Then
he sat for a long time on the dark porch, unwilling to continue with the
ordinary things, thinking about the last few days. 

He had got a lead, the first in months, about Robert's where-abouts and he
had put aside McGath's requests for his help. The new UEO could survive
without him for a few days. He had run out of leads so quickly, putting all
his time and effort into it and finally there was something that seemed to
offer a real chance of success. He had set off immediately, putting aside
everything else, but it had come to nothing. The small island had been hard
to reach, three plane rides and then a long journey in a broken-down van
over uneven roads to a tiny harbour on the far side of the island. Maybe it
had been a long shot after all, and certainly Robert hadn't been there, but
it was beautiful and he found himself staying for several days, climbing
about the valleys, swimming in the cold waters beneath the many high
waterfalls, walking up the hills and staring down into the green valleys,
listening to the wild life. He'd been searching since they returned and now
it was time to consider that maybe he wouldn't find him and that it was time
to continue with his life, whatever he chose to do with it now, after all
these years. If something new came up he could pursue it, but he could no
longer live his life for a search that had, so far, proved so fruitless. So
tonight and the days that he was planning to stay here afterwards, were to
be a further goodbye, a time for him to remember Robert and Carol and the
joy they had had and then to decide what he wanted to do with the rest of
his life. At some point he would find out what was happening about the
trial, but not now, not yet. He sat back and looked out to sea again.


It was very, very cold. That was the first thing he was aware of, then the
breeze and the smell of the sea. He opened his eyes on to the waves, washing
up foam onto the rocky beach. He had slept all night on the porch and he
rose stiff from the hard wood of the chair and the cold of the morning, his
clothes damp with the dew. It wasn't fully light yet, the strange pre-dawn
glow highlighting the tops of the waves. He stretched and then sauntered
down onto the beach. As he walked along, he saw the long tarpaulined shape
of his rowing boat by the jetty. He pulled the cover back, finding the boat
still strong. He dragged it down to the water and it floated, still water
tight. He moored it to the jetty, that was slowly sinking down into the
water, and went back to the house for the oars and his fishing gear. After
that, he pushed the boat out into the shallows and rowed out to the point,
sitting with the line drifting. There were still large fish out at the point
and he wondered if any of the locals came down here occasionally, to fish.
When he had enough fish for breakfast and lunch he rowed slowly back to the
house, cooking them on a stick over a fire of the dry leaves on the beach.

The rest of the day he spent sweeping in the house the leaves off the floor
and gathering the shutters that had fallen or were dangling precariously
from their hinges. After that he went back to the town for some paint, and
various other essentials like new nails and bolts, some extra planks, to
replace the rotten ones in the porch floor and to re-frame the net screen,
for the front door. As the day ended, he sat again, tired from a hard days
work in the fresh air, watching the sunset, feeling the peace and
tranquillity ease the thoughts that flooded his mind. He sat back in the
chair and closed his eyes. Just for a moment...

He knew that he had been woken by a sudden noise, but he couldn't think what
it was, though certainly not the sounds of the house or the sea. He looked
up at the sky but the stars were clear- no clouds, so it couldn't be a
storm. He thought for a moment of simply sitting back and sleeping some
more, but somehow he knew that the noise was not something to be ignored. He
opened his eyes again and stood up, walking slowly to the corner. Then he
turned quickly, now certain of the footfalls on the cracking planks of the
porch.

"Who's there?" he called into the darkness.

"Captain Bridger?" a man's voice asked, curiously.

"Who wants to know?" he shouted back, peering into the darkness and
discerning a figure by the steps, in front of him. A floor board snapped
behind him and he swung round just in time to see the small burst of light
from the weapon as it discharged with an eerie glow in the darkness.


He opened his eyes and looked around, trying to sit up, but found he
couldn't as his hands were cuffed behind him. He looked around at the room
he was in, or rather craft, as he soon saw that he had been lying at the
back of a launch. He looked around at the design, realising, with confusion,
that it was a UEO vessel. Then he turned his attention to the two men
piloting the craft and the third, clearly the commanding officer, who was
leaning over their shoulders to check the displays. He nodded and turned
back, coming down the craft and sitting opposite Bridger, when he saw that
he was awake.

"Who are you?" he demanded angrily. The officer regarded him with
amusement. "Kidnapping a UEO officer is not something to laugh about. Who
are you and what the hell do you think you're doing?"

The officer gave him a slow look. "I see you really have been out of
things, Captain," he said slowly.

"Who are you?" he repeated. This man knew who he was and this was a UEO
launch. What was going on?

The officer sighed in mock disappointment. "I really had hoped you'd have
realised. I thought that I'd made rather a name for myself. Or didn't you
hear about the break out from the New Cape Quest prison?"

"Reggs, section seven," Bridger said slowly, frowning in confusion. What
could section seven rebels in hiding want with him? "What do you want?" he
asked levelly. Until he knew what was going on, it was pointless to be
afraid.

"Unfortunately, it's not what I want that you're here for and I rather
think that it would disappoint the person in question not to be able to
explain that to you in person. I'd sit back and relax, Captain. We still
have a day's travelling ahead of us.

"Where are we going?"

The officer thought for a moment. "Macronesia," he answered finally,
disappointed when he got no reaction from his captive and left to go back
up the other end of the transport.

He sat thinking through every possible reason for his being there, but he
couldn't make any sense out of it. Sure he was important within the UEO, but
he had had nothing to do with the section seven arrests or trial. He wasn't
even that involved any more and he couldn't understand why Reggs would want
him, as opposed to nearly any other higher ranking UEO officer. After a
while he gave up trying to work it out. He was too bewildered to be
terrified, but it would have been a stupid person who was not afraid at all,
in the circumstances. The day dragged past slowly. Reggs and the other two
pilots ignored his questions and demands. He still had a sharp headache from
being stunned, so eventually he fell asleep in the back of the launch,
knowing that he need not stay awake for fear of them harming him while he
slept. If they meant to harm him they would have done that before.

"Wake up, Captain." Reggs spoke loudly, leaning close to him. Bridger
glared at him as he pulled him to his feet. "We have arrived," he
announced, smiling with a look that said he knew something unpleasant was
going to happen, but he wasn't allowed to share the information in advance.
The pilots opened the hatches and Reggs motioned him to exit. He stepped
down from the launch looking around at the docking bay they were in. The
Macronesian uniforms confirmed what Reggs had said, but the sight caused a
rising panic, which he clamped down hard on. He saw people pause in their
activities to salute, as a group entered at the far end of the bay. He
squinted towards the door, trying to make out the faces, through the people
who stood in the way. Two male Captains came towards them, stepping
discreetly to one side, to let their superior stand in front of him. 

Despite his resolution to remain calm, he couldn't stop the gasp that
escaped as he felt his heart stop for fully several seconds. "Stark," he
said blankly. "Marilyn Stark." He blinked several times, too shocked to
think straight. Of everything that he had expected, this was like some
bizarre twist at the end of a book that made no sense whatsoever.

"That's General Stark," she corrected, her voice still the same icy calm,
with an undertone of triumph. "I have been waiting twelve years, Captain,
and you know it isn't polite to keep a lady waiting." She smiled, flashing
her perfect teeth. "I was about to come after you, the first time, when you
disappeared. I had it all planned out. I'd worked myself up to have the
resources I needed to make my revenge effective, and then there was no one
to use it against. I didn't think I'd get the chance after that and now
after twelve years..." She shrugged. "Life certainly has unexpected twists
in it."

"It doesn't seem that you'd done too badly over the last twelve years. I
should have expected that with Macronesia around you'd be here somewhere. As
to the rank, well, shit floats." It wasn't the wisest thing to say in the
situation, but then it wouldn't make any difference. She wanted revenge and
there was nothing he could do to stop anything she was going to do to him.
No one knew he was here even. No one was going to go to the house or notice
he was gone, not for a while, anyway. Who had known he would be there at
all? He sighed, everyone in McGath's office knew; he hadn't told anyone to
keep it a secret, simply that he would not be able to help them and that, in
any case, he was going on a trip for a week and then would be taking a break
at his house, near the capital. Anyone could have asked for the information
and been told it without question. People had been coming to him asking for
help, offering him jobs, since he'd come back from Hyperion and resigned his
command of the seaQuest. He returned her gaze defiantly.

Her expression clouded. "Still know how to bluff, Captain. But I'm afraid
that I've rather taken to not having to." She turned as if to leave and then
back again, as if with a sudden afterthought. "I had your accommodation
arranged so that you would have... a surprise waiting. I trust that you
enjoy the company. Take him to the cell block," she ordered a guard,
standing a few paces back. Then she did leave.

The guards took his arms and marched him through the corridors until they
arrived at a door where they checked through the security. A officer came
over to meet them, followed by two other guards, in the small hall before
the cells started.

"Stark wants this one in with..." the guards made a gesture to the far end
of the corridor.

"Yes, yes, I know," the officer replied impatiently and they left. The
officer closed the door behind them and then preceded Bridger, and the two
guards, down the corridor and knocked on a door at the far end. A guard
looked out and then opened the door.

The officer nodded to the guards, clearly having been given Stark's orders
earlier. He looked at Bridger, with a strange expression on his face. He
could only have been in his forties, but he looked very old and somehow
worn, in the harsh lighting. The other guards left as the new one pulled him
into the room, uncuffing him. A second guard was unlocking a cell in the
corner, as he realised that the room was divided into an area for guards and
a cell. The guards pushed him forward and he walked into the cell turning
back to watch the guard relocking the door, avoiding Bridger's eyes. The
guards gave each other a strange look, rather like the one the prison
officer had given him, and then retreated to the table at the far side of
the room. He looked around their side of the room for cameras, but saw none.
Obviously they thought two guards, in the same room, was enough. Then he
remembered what Stark had said about company; that explained the look that
the other two had given him. For a moment he froze, as thoughts of a wild
animal behind him crossed his mind. The cell certainly was cage-like, but
the room was very silent. He took a deep breath and turned around. For a
moment he was almost relieved when he saw only a small figure, propped
against the far wall. For a moment his confusion deepened as he realised it
was somehow very familiar. It took him a moment for full realisation to
come; he was having trouble making the connection between the prison cell,
the crumpled, dishevelled figure in the corner and...

"Lucas!"

For a moment he stared in growing horror at what he saw before him, taking
in the torn uniform, the hair hanging limply down obscuring the face, but he
could tell that the skin was a strange grey beneath. He leaned back against
the bars for support, as a sharp pain of shock twisted through his chest,
taking his breath away. Then he dropped down beside the limp figure.

"Lucas?" he called quietly, afraid to feel for a pulse. He reached out a
hand, seeing it shake as he did so and brushed the hair off the boy's face.
He was so pale, his eyes seeming sunk almost, with dark marks, like bruises,
around them. He didn't move or respond to hearing his name called or to
Bridger's presence. Fearfully, he pressed his fore and index finger against
the side of his neck, feeling for a pulse, sighing with incredible relief as
he felt it slow and fairly weak, but there underneath his fingers. He looked
the figure over but could see no large amounts of blood, only a few small
smears on his face and the ripped uniform. 

"What the hell did you do to him?" he shouted at the guards, striding back
over to the cell door.
"What type of bastards would..." He couldn't say it out loud, though he
knew exactly what had happened, or close enough, closer than he wanted to.
"What type of people would do this to a child?" he asked them furiously, his
voice ringing with hatred. He cursed at them and then rested his head for a
moment against the bars. The shock and anger faded into an aching fear as he
turned back and sat down beside the still figure. He tried calling his name
a few more times and then leant back staring at the ceiling. There was
nothing he could do for him, but wait.

Eventually he slept again, after long hours of fruitless waiting and
watching. The sound of the door opening woke him and he looked up to see a
new pair of guards locking the door after the shift they had just relieved.
The guards looked over at him, silently, as they sat.

"I want to speak to Stark," Bridger demanded, as authoritatively as he could.

"I'm sorry, but the general gave orders that you see or speak to no one,
until she comes herself or sends for you."

Bridger was surprised to hear a note of sincere sympathy and regret in the
man's tone. "So I guess that lets out a medic." He sighed, helplessly.
"Can you at least give us some water?"

The man shook his head. "Orders," he explained.

Bridger nodded, turning away, confused again. Why was this man offering him
explanations? "How long... how long has he been unconscious?" he asked
finally, his voice low and quiet.

"Two days." Bridger looked up with shock.

"How long's he been here?"

"Today makes 3 weeks."

Bridger choked and turned away form the guards. He would have turned back to
hurl insults and curses at them, in place of  Stark, but somehow he could
feel his helplessness mirrored in their closed faces and the silent sympathy
that underran the man's careful answers to his questions.

He tried at intervals to rouse the unconscious figure beside him, to no
avail. In between, he waited and watched him, feeling his chest grow tight
with pain and fear for him. He had lost Robert. He couldn't afford to lose a
second child so soon or ever, and especially not like this. He was no longer
afraid for himself. He spent the hours thinking through useless plans for
escape and plotting what he would do to Stark, if he got the chance.

The shift changed again, after a few hours, and he slept. When he woke, the
guards he had talked to the day before were back on duty. He got up and
stretched, stiff from sitting against the bars. The men avoided his gaze,
staring down at a sheaf of papers they had spread on the table before them,
discussing details in low undertones.

"Captain Bridger?" the voice behind him was barely a whisper, confused and
weak, but he turned back to find himself looking into a pair intense blue
eyes, huge in the pale, drawn face.

He crossed back over and knelt beside the boy, quickly. "Lucas," he gasped
in relief. "Are you..." he trailed off; he clearly wasn't all right.

Lucas frowned across at him, shutting his eyes briefly, then regarding him
carefully, his eyes wary.
"What was the first question you asked Darwin on the vocorder?" he asked
finally, speaking slowly.

Bridger was completely non plussed by the question, then he realised that
the boy thought that it might be some sort of a trick. He smile
reassuringly. "I asked him how we met," he replied gently.

"After that," Lucas insisted, staring at him as fearfully as he could
through his exhaustion.

"I asked him what colour my bathing suit was." Lucas closed his eyes with
relief, torn between wanting to smile and to cry, too tired to do either.
"It's all right," he comforted softly, pushing the hair gently off the
boy's face again.

Lucas opened his eyes at him, a look of disbelief, and yet a longing to
believe, passing over his face, then he swallowed sharply and leant back to
sleep again. Bridger sat back down beside him, limp with relief. He glanced
up and caught the end of an equal stare of relief from the first guard,
before the man looked quickly away.


"Captain?" Lucas had half thought he'd imagined that Bridger was there.
Bridger turned to him eagerly. "Have you seen Stark?" he asked quietly,
waiting to see the other man's reaction. Bridger nodded. He closed his eyes
again briefly. He was so tired. He wondered what would have happened if
Bridger hadn't been there. He wasn't sure if he'd have been able to cope,
just as he had been on the point of giving up, when the guard helped him.
Having someone there meant that, for the moment, he could let Bridger do the
fighting, could lean on him for the responsibility, for comfort, support and
strength. Simply not being alone any more, when he was about to give up,
would give him strength enough to be able to fight again, when he had to.
"When did you get here?"

"The day before yesterday. You were unconscious for three days."

Lucas nodded. He knew that it had been a long time. He could see that
Bridger wanted to ask what had happened but was afraid to know. He wasn't
ready to talk about it, yet. He forced a weak smile at Bridger and then
settled back to sleep while he could.

Bridger watched him as he slept, thinking about the last two months again.
He had felt so guilty about the whole episode, so ashamed that he had been
involved in it. Partly, his attitude had been so cold when they were at
Banaba, because he was terrified of losing the respect of people who meant a
great deal to him. How could they admire him, when they knew about that?
But, even more than the fear of that, was the fear of his actions being
revealed, completely. He had only let them see as much as they had, in his
attempts to hide what he had done. He did not want to think about it now. He
had always just ignored it, pushing it out of his mind. He did not want to
admitt that he would do nothing about something like that, but equally, he
had not been  willing to put himself in a difficult position, with the UEO
over it. He hated the fact, but it was true. He wanted to excuse it, by
saying that he did not know how bad it was, and that was true. He never
thought that they were being. Now that he thought about it, he might just
have believed that simply because it was convenient and appeased his
conscience, but he had believed that the experiments weren't anything
horrible: IQ tests, nothing more invasive or painful than a routine medical.
He should have known better. Maybe he had. He could not remember what he had
thought at the time, he just knew he did not want to believe that he had
realised nothing and done nothing.

What sort of person would do nothing? He had always thought of himself as a
defender of people's right, with the courage to face his superiors over
difficult issues. Maybe he wasn't as pure in that way as he had thought. He
felt terribly guilty. He could have stopped the tests and he had not. He
hadn't even tried. He had had a responsibility and duty, not just because it
was his job, but because he was a human being, they were human and he knew.
He didn't want to think about how disgusted with himself he felt. He just
wished he could forget it or wipe the slate clean, certainly he had never
repeated that mistake. He had learnt from it, but that did not help the
people who had suffered and died.

It came back to him poignantly now, thinking about where he was, knowing
what had happened there, over the past few weeks. It was not fair that it
should have happened to someone who done so much to prevent such atrocities.
He looked over at the guards with hatred. Then he realised that they were
not so different in what they were doing, than he was. That thought brought
him up short. Just as they were sitting, ignoring the unconscious figure in
the corner, pretending they didn't see, not wanting to, he had not looked at
what was really happening at Banaba. How was he so different? Here it was in
plain sight, that was all. He felt sick at the thought. What did that make
him? He wished he could go back. Of everything that could have happened, had
he tried to do something, nothing could be as bad as having to live with it
and not being able to do anything to change it, for the rest of his life. He
sighed deeply. He simply had to move on now, like everyone else.

He closed his eyes, trying to push away the overwhelming guilt that flooded
over him as he thought about it, really thought about it, for the first
time, not just grazing the surface. Now he was really looking at what he had
done and its implications, for himself and for the other people involved. It
washed over him in waves of heat, making his head hurt and leaving him
exhausted. It felt sordid and shameful, like a dirtiness he couldn't purge.
How could he go on living with knowing that he had let something so terrible
happen? How did he go on from there with any confidence left in himself?

The one thing that had made him able to forgive himself and move on was the
fact that Lucas had forgiven him, after all he had done. He had thought no
worse of him. Bridger was amazed at that, but then he had been amazed by the
whole episode. He had never got used to the fact that Lucas was growing up,
that he was not a child. Of all people, he had never thought that it would
be Lucas to do this. He did not know why that was. He respected him, he
cared about him and was proud of him, incredibly proud, lately, feeling that
maybe he had contributed to who Lucas was. In some ways, he could not
believe that the section seven episode had happened. The only thing that
made it real was the fear he had felt when Lucas had been missing. He had
always thought of the boy as someone whom everyone else would protect. And
yet he had gone and exposed section seven, single-handed. He had always
known that Lucas had guts, but maybe he just was not able to picture him
in any type of danger, because of the fear it brought him.

He had been so afraid that Lucas would not respect him any more, trust him
or be able to care about him, because of disgust over what he had done. He
was also ashamed to face him, with his own failure in such sharp contrast.
In a way it almost made him angry to think that the boy could do something
he could not. He had cared about him and admired his skills, but now, he was
beginning to think that maybe the respect and admiration he had always
received from him should have been the other way around.

Somehow they had been able to move on from what had happened, putting it
behind them and carrying on. There had seemingly been no change in the way
Lucas reacted to him, once it was over, but Bridger felt different. He was
not sure how to act or how to feel, not sure whether he deserved such free
forgiveness. Even if Lucas could out aside his part in events, how could he
forget what Lucas had had to do to counteract that. Part of the guilt, was
that Lucas had gone through all that, because he had not been strong enough
to stop it sooner. He could have done something, so much more easily, and
the fact that Lucas had done it, despite how impossible it seemed, made it
worse. He wanted to be the one who was strong and brave and in control, the
one whose moral convictions were so strong, the one whom everyone admired.
He was not used to feeling overshadowed, especially not by one of the people
who had always looked up to him most. Some role model! It was such a
reversal of situations, that he did not know how to react, he felt almost
competitive about it, knowing, at the same time, that it was ridiculous and
childish.

He took a deep breath and tried to weigh it up sensibly. He was not just
going to get swallowed by the earth, so he had to deal with it. He would
never, should never, forget it, but he had to be able to put it behind him.
He had learnt from it. He had commanded well and he had been fair to those
he had beaten. And it was past. There was nothing he could do now. Partly,
that made him feel helpless, unable to remedy it, but it also meant that he
had no choice but to accept it. He had achieved a lot and change a lot. It
was one mistake, a horrible mistake, but it was only one time, a long time
ago. It was too far in his past to be able to affect who he had become now.
He was too sensible to let guilt for something he could not change or
destroy him.

Had he acted the same when he had gone back with Lucas, Ford and Dagwood?
Had he repeated his mistakes? Another wave of fear and guilt passed over
him. No, he had just tried to bury what he had done in the past, terrified
about how others would react if they knew, afraid to face the truth, if it
ever came out. He wanted it ended, so that he did not have to think about it
and so no one would know. It was over and it would not help to dig it up, he
had thought. But maybe people had deserved to know. Maybe people needed to
know about the past.

He looked at the pale figure, watching him breathing slowly and gently,
feeling himself in pain at what he must have gone through. One thing Bridger
knew, was that Lucas would not have said anything, no matter what. That much
was clear. He'd always known that one of the boy's greatest qualities was
his loyalty. And he was not going to let him down this time. He was going to
prove that he deserved the second chance, as well as his admiration.


"We finished repairing the damage to the colonies and work has continued in
the mines normally," the young Lieutenant reported, standing straight to
attention in front of Stark's desk. He had been sent to break up a dispute
between two neighbouring mining towns. Luckily, no one had been killed and
the damage to the shafts hadn't been serious. But the mines were a very
important part of the Macronesian supply of metals and so the assignment had
been of great importance and an honour to be trusted with.

Stark flicked through his report and nodded. "Well done, Lieutenant. You
handled the situation with speed and assertiveness." She thought for a
moment, finally coming to a decision. "There will be a very important
mission coming up which I would like you to be an important part of. The
details I will give you later, but the mission will be to free General
Howard, formerly head of the UEO's section seven. As you will soon learn,
the members of section seven, who were not arrested and would not give them
selves up, have joined us on certain terms. We have an agreement with these
men that we will assist them with the retrieval of the general, for services
they have rendered." She had been watching this officer carefully, giving
him the previous mission, as a final test. After the next one, she would
promote him. For now, she would demonstrate he faith in him with further
confidences, grooming him to be one of her new favourites. "Of course, this
is all strictly confidential information and must not leave this room."

"Yes, Sir," he replied firmly.

She smiled, interlocking her fingers on the desk in front of her. "I will
want you to work closely with Captain Reggs, currently the commanding
officer of the section seven team, who will also be involved in the mission
for the general. He has already proven his worth, twice, firstly, by
capturing a test craft of advanced technology from the UEO and the officer
in charge of the project. Unfortunately, we have been unsuccessful in our
attempts to access the technology." She frowned, while the officer waited
politely, showing no sign of having noticed her sudden ill-humour, "and
secondly, by capturing Captain Nathan Hale Bridger, formerly of the
seaQuest, who I believe will be able to tell us the General's location."
She didn't add that this was not the real reason why she had had him
abducted. "Reggs is a strong commander, shrewd, decisive in action. He
knows his men and he has trained them very well. I would like you to meet
him and discuss our plans for the General, but I first wanted you to
understand that he has come to us, not as a suppliant, but for our mutual
benefit and you must treat him as such. The Captain and I have some
unfinished business that will be dealt with by tomorrow. After that, he
will set about organising the mission. Report to him for orders the day
after tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir," he repeated with just the right mixture of respect and
deference.

"Good. Dismissed." He turned sharply and left. Yes, he would make a very
good senior officer. She made herself a note about the promotion.


One of the perks of being a Lieutenant was that he had his own room and that
meant privacy. He pulled his collar buttons open and sat down, quickly
booting up his computer and preparing a link that he scrambled, re-routing
it through several satellites and typing quickly. He couldn't risk a vidlink
message, so he wrote accurately everything he had heard, cursing the mission
for his absence. He looked around fearfully, hitting the send key and then
unplugged the machine to make sure that no one would see the message by
accident or find it, if they looked. He hadn't risen to the position of
Lieutenant here, while still maintaining his cover, by being anything less
than completely wary.


McGath sighed, tiredly, trying to sort through the mass of paperwork on his
desk. The trial had started several days ago, but with the amount of
evidence and the number of defendants and different lawyers, it would take a
long time for them to get anywhere, though the judge was hurrying things as
much as he could. He reached over, taking a swallow of stale coffee,
grimacing and reaching for the button to call in his aide with a fresh cup,
when his vidlink beeped a top security transmission. He read through the
message quickly, slamming his hand down on the call button.

"Get me a private link through to Hudson," he ordered sharply.


Copyright E.Casale 1997


===========================  PART 8  =====================================


Thanks to all the people who commented- the 'most' of this part is for them-
if you want the rest send more comments!!!!

Copyright by E.Casale 1997

Chapter 8


Hudson rolled over angrily. "What?" he snapped, sitting up, still half
asleep.

"There's a secured message coming for you from Secretary McGath, on your
private line. It sounds like it's important."

Hudson sighed and threw off the covers, reaching for his robe. "Very well,
Mr. O'Neil. Put it through."

"Hudson?" McGath called, looking around the darkened room. Hudson crossed
over and turned the vidlink towards him.

"What can I do for you, Mr Secretary?" he asked unhelpfully.

"A few minute ago I received a communication from one of our operatives
in Macronesia." Hudson waited impatiently for him to continue. "Captain
Bridger had been captured and is being held in the base where this man
works." Hudson blinked at him in surprise. "I need seaQuest to take a
team in for a rescue mission."

Hudson nodded quickly. "Right away, Sir." He reached over to turn off the
vidlink.

"There was something else." Hudson sat back down impatiently and McGath
eventually came to a decision. "There might be news of your missing
officer." Why did everyone always avoid his name and use some sort of
euphemism? Then he realised what the words meant.

"He's alive." He said it completely blankly.

"We don't know. The message wasn't clear, but Reggs had taken him over as
some sort of a 'gift' or demonstration for Macronesia. But our officer had
been away on a mission. He only just got the news... and it has been three
weeks. I doubt if he is alive after that length of time, but... there's a
possibility. I want your team to be prepared. If they're going to the prison
area anyway... they might as well look for two, as for one." McGath watched
Hudson carefully. He had wondered if he should send another boat, but it
seemed only appropriate to ask Hudson and he wanted to make sure that it was
a success. "The team will need to be told, but I wouldn't advise that you
raise the hopes of the rest, when we don't know anything for certain."
Hudson nodded reflexively. McGath coughed to get his attention and then
continued. "Our man in the base will arrange for you to dock at the port
closest to the prison area where he will meet you and take you down to the
cell block. We have confirmation and identity codes for your team. The team
will attempt a rescue and then return. seaQuest will be waiting at the
closest point on the border. As to the team, it has to be very small or he
will not be able to get them in, and through the base, without suspicion. As
the section seven team are currently working in alliance with Macronesia and
have passage about the base, he would suggest that your team wear suitable
uniforms to pass as section seven personel." He paused again. "I know that
you will want to be part of that team, but I'm afraid that there's no chance
of you passing for a junior section seven officer, and I need you to be in
control, to monitor the situation from the boat."  He put back on his
business voice. "The officer will be expecting you tomorrow at sixteen
hundred. I will send through the maps and codes shortly. I do hope that you
have success over this," he added. "Good. Then if you're agreed to the
plan, I will confirm it with our operative."

Hudson coughed and mumbled a quick, "Yes, Sir," as McGath cut the link. He
reached out and flicked on his PAL. "Mr. Ford to my quarters," he ordered
and then closed it. He sat back, rubbing his chin with an idle hand, trying
to orders his thoughts and emotions. They didn't have time to sit around
staring blankly into space, trying to comprehend the words and the
possibilities. The door opened and he motioned Ford to a chair, still
staring thoughtfully through the far wall. He had to focus on the mission
and what they knew. None of them could afford to believe in this intangible
hope, only to find that it was just that. But he couldn't push it completely
from his mind, where it seemed to glow, warmly, in the cold that the last
few days had left behind.

He turned to Ford, trying to shake himself awake and into action. "We're
sending a rescue team into Macronesia," he told him.

Ford looked up in surprise and blinked, but when he spoke his voice was calm
and military. "Who are we rescuing?"

"Bridger."

Ford gasped. "Captain Bridger?" he asked, not able to grasp the fact.
Hudson nodded. "How... What happened?" Ford asked, getting up and walking
around slowly, trying to regain his calm.

"I don't know. McGath didn't seem to either. All we know is that one of our
operatives in Macronesia has reported that Bridger is on the base. We're
sending in a small recovery team, that will work with this man to get him
out. Reggs and the section seven personnel are also on the base and the team
can use that as their cover, but will have to be careful that they aren't
recognised." He looked over to where the information and maps from McGath
were now waiting on the screen. "The team will arrive at the base at sixteen
hundred hours tomorrow. We have docking codes and IDs to get you in. After
that, hopefully, the team will be able to accomplish the mission without
discovery. seaQuest will wait on the border." He paused. "I would have
liked to take command of this, but, as McGath pointed out, I couldn't pass
for a junior member of section seven." Ford turned back to him. "I don't
want you to feel under any obligation to go, but I thought that you would
want to and you're the best person to do this."

"Thank you, Sir," Ford gave him a look of gratitude. "I do want to." This
was a man he had served under and respected greatly, both a a commanding
officer and as a friend. If he was in trouble, Ford wanted to make sure that
he did everything he could. Besides, he owe him that much, and it would be
nice to feel that he could repay some of it.

Hudson nodded. "There can't be more than four leaving the launch; it had
better be three if our operative is going to join you. A large group will
attract more notice and... and you might have more than one person to bring
back. Then you need someone to stay with the launch. Brody and Patricks to
join you on the team to go in. Graham to pilot." Ford nodded. "Good. Then
I'll call them in to brief them and you can start to prepare." He flicked on
the PAL. " Brody, Patricks and Graham to the wardroom in fifteen." He
ordered. "And change course, full speed to this location." He punched a few
keys on the vidlink, to send down McGath's information about the closest
point on the border to the base, where they would wait for the team to
return. Hudson turned back to Ford and then away again, trying to figure
out how to phrase the words.

"Sir? Was there something else?" Ford was watching him, puzzled by his
reluctance to give him more information.

"When you are in the prison area there's something else..." he broke off.
"The operative who told us about Bridger also mentioned another UEO officer
and from the things he said it sounds like it could be Lucas. Now, he didn't
say if he was alive," he continued quickly, "but there's a possibility-
only a possibility- that he is and if he is- I need you to look while you're
there. But this is only a possibility and I do not want anyone going in
there thinking that they will be bringing two people back. Only the rescue
team will know about this, but I need you to know of the chance." He sighed,
continuing with difficulty. "We also have to remember that it has been
three weeks now and the chances of his still being alive are... very slight.
The officer who gave us the report was on a mission and so his information
is old and incomplete, but you have to be aware of this. I know how much we
all want the last few days to have been some hideous mistake, but it's not a
mistake that we can afford to go through again. We mustn't either believe,
or hope, until we know for certain," he ended forcefully.

Ford nodded slowly. "If he's there, we will bring him back."

"If, Commander, if."


Ford pulled Brody aside as they were dismissed from the briefing.
"Remember- we don't go in expecting anything. Once we're there we look, but
that's it." Brody nodded impatiently. Hudson had stressed that at least
five times during the briefing. "Good. I'll meet you in the launch bay at
thirteen hundred." They would approach slowly and hold position until it was
time. As he signed out the weapons and equipment they would need, he found
himself light-headed, torn between wanting to believe badly enough to risk
the possible- probable let-down and knowing that, as Hudson had said, they
couldn't afford it. He wanted it to be true more than anything, desperately
hoping, wishing he was a religious man so that he could pray, but he
couldn't and he didn't believe that it would make a difference. At least
they didn't have long to wait now and the next few hours would be a time
for action.


In the launch bay, they looked at each other, all hoping the same thing and
all resolutely trying to banish it from their minds, unsuccessfully.

"Good luck," Hudson said, saluting and then they mounted into the launch,
waiting to be cleared to depart.

The launch was silent as they waited for the confirmation. As before every
mission, they considered the possibility of being killed, or captured and
fought against their own demons: what they would regret having done, not
doing and their basic instinctual fear, mixed with a rush of excitement and
adrenaline. But missions into Macronesia territory, on to a Macronesian
base, were different. Instead of even chances of success, they had no way
of knowing what to expect. At least the plan was based on the assumption
of their not being discovered, or at least not quickly, based on stealth,
rather than sheer force. For this mission, they had to rely completely on
each other for support and survival. One thing everyone who worked aboard
the ship had noticed was the strong feelings of team spirit and mutual
support, whenever it was needed. But you couldn't go into a situation
believing you would die, you wouldn't be able to function like that- so
they all pushed away their thoughts on this, pretending that they were
completely confident of success, not allowing the possibility of failure
as they focused on what they had to do.

"Launch MR-5, you are cleared for exit. Sealing all doors and flooding,"
the PAL chirped and then the launch lifted gently and they were off.

As they cut through the water, they were too wound up to chat aimlessly and
joke, as they usually did, to keep themselves calm and their spirits high.
They would know in a few hours now.


The bridge had been silent for the last few hours. They had cut
communications, so that the launch would not be at risk as it crossed over
the border. Hudson was pacing incessantly in the background and everyone
else waited tensely, watching the time pass, wishing that it was over. There
were words hanging unspoken in the air. Everyone knew where and what the
mission was about. Everyone knew that it could easily go wrong. Everyone
knew that losing any more members of the crew right then would be
irreparable. They had to return and return with Bridger. Most of the crew
had stayed on from Hyperion, so they knew him and had served under him. All
had respected him and most had liked him. But all they could do was wait
helplessly for the team to check in and eventually return. If it came to a
fight, there was nothing they could do to help them in a Macronesian base.
The mutual fear of everyone, increased the tension but was somehow
companionably supportive. But it was hard to just wait, without action, in
the most powerful sub in the world, It was ironic that they could do nothing
to help. When you were on a boat under water for months on end, you got to
be friends out of necessity, or you got to know people and there was a
certain protectiveness that they all felt towards any member of the crew, an
empathy when they were in danger or distress. For the senior officers the
people out there were friends whom they needed, more than ever at the
moment, people they loved. But they were all in complete agreement that the
mission had to go ahead, despite the risks that they could lose more people.
A few more hours and it would be over, but the shorter the time got, the
longer each minute seemed to take, to pass, grating on their nerves like a
shrill sound, completely oblivious to their cares.



"We're in position for approach to the base, Commander," Graham called from
the pilot's seat. Ford glanced down at his watch.

"OK. Move in and have the codes ready to transmit," he got up and stood
behind Graham's chair, watching and listening.

"Transmitting ID codes and docking clearance," Graham said into his headset
as a voice spoke on the other end. They all waited, breathing fast, for the
codes to be accepted or to find themselves under attack. "Starting docking
procedures," Graham said eventually and shut of the link. "They accepted
the codes, Sir. We're cleared to dock." The team sighed in relief as the
other three started to pick up their gear. They sat watching the doors open
to let them in and the water draining from the bay. For a few moments they
were trapped between the doors and then the inner doors opened and Brody
released the hatch.

"Good luck," he said to all and they nodded, as he stepped out and down
into the docking bay of the Macronesian base. He looked around quickly,
trying to look confident and at ease. The three men working in the bay
looked over at them briefly and then back to their work again and they
let themselves take the first breaths of partial relief. It was working
perfectly so far. Several of the other men saluted as a young lieutenant
entered the bay and crossed over them, to salute them sharply, his face
blank and his stance military. "The exercise was successful?" he questioned.

"Yes, Sir," Ford replied as the team stood to attention, saluting in return.

"Good." he turned crisply, with a motion for them to follow him. "We will
debrief and discuss the mission report and tapes."

They set off down the corridor walking briskly. The walls were all grey with
bands of colour, presumably coded for directions. They were walking too fast
to be able to read the signs on the door, but everything was neatly
labelled. Their footsteps echoed dully in the cold air. The soldiers passing
in their Macronesian uniforms, at first sent small waves of fear through
Ford, reminding him of the danger that they were in. But no one stopped to
question them, no one watched them as they walked on, though they passed
lots of different people from different sections. He restrained his impulse
to keep his hand on his weapon and forced himself to hold them at his sides
and face straight ahead as he followed the lieutenant.

Eventually they left the main corridor and then stopped in front of a door.
"Ready?" the Lieutenant asked quietly, checking to see if anyone had
noticed them entering. The hall and the corridor at the end were clear, so
he knocked and then stood back as the door opened and the prison officer
looked out. The expression on the man's face changed from the weary boredom
of a tedious and unpleasant job, to shock, as the lieutenant pushed him back
into the room and fired quickly into him, pulling up his weapon and shooting
the two guards, waiting in the area before the cells, before they had even
realised what was happening. Ford pushed the team forward, closing the door
quickly, as the lieutenant lowered the dead man onto the ground, motioning
with his weapon, for them to follow him, on one side of the room. Ford
looked up at the ceiling and saw the small security camera above them. This
lieutenant was very careful, using the officer as cover he had shot the
other two and then putting the officer down, all the time out of the
camera's view, as it could not see the door itself, only the main area that
people would walk through, to the cells, unless they knew exactly where to
go. If he continued to be this informed, then they would get out of here
alive and in one piece.

He tried not to think about the rooms they were passing and the stories that
he had heard, though if they were caught, this is where they would be held.
He shook himself, pushing away the thought. They were going to find Bridger
and get out safely. No doubts, no fear. If you think like that, then you'll
make a mistake and then it'll be true.

As they walked quietly, but quickly, down the corridor and then into a
branch corridor, they started to become aware of raised voices and shouting.
A shot rang out and then there was a sudden silence. They stopped. A few
seconds later a cry of anguish rang out echoing against the cold, smooth
walls. They looked at each, other breathing fast, their eyes widening with
fear and then they hurried on again.


"... and the next thing I knew, I woke up on the launch coming here,"
Bridger ended.

Lucas sighed and nodded. It was time that he explained what had happened- at
least the beginning part was not too hard. "You heard about the escape from
the prison?" he asked, unsure where to start.

Bridger nodded. "And I heard about Andrews; you did the right thing."

Lucas smiled slightly at him. "I know." He sighed again. "After that, we
continued working on building a new fighter, that I designed from the Chaodi
technology. We finished it after a few days and then we set up some trials,
basic stuff; speed, turns, some simulations. The first part went great," his
expression lit up for a moment. "She's really incredible, Captain. We went
up to 160 and she still handled as lightly as at forty and she could really
manoeuvre." He paused to continue with the main narrative. "Anyway, we
decided to move on to a simulation. seaQuest would turn off sensors for a
few minutes, while I repositioned and turned on the stealth functions. Well,
they cleared me to go and so I started up this trench. I'd just put on the
stealth function, when someone fired on me and the fighter crashed. Kimura
had been waiting over the ridge and she must have seen something, or
realised I was late to pass, where we'd agreed, but then she dropped her
spectre down into the trench. The craft was too badly damaged to get out. I
couldn't get to the eject for the escape pod and the fighter is too heavy
for a spectre to tow. Then we saw that there were subfighters approaching
and powering up weapons, heading for seaQuest. Our comms were down and
seaQuest wasn't due to put on sensors, again, for another few minutes, so I
told her to go and warn them. There wasn't anything she could do to help me
without going back for them," he explained quickly, dismissing his decision.
"I think that she got back in time to warn them about the subfighters, but
there was another craft, larger and it shot a grappnell onto the fighter and
pulled it in." He stopped for a moment, staring hard ahead. "But I managed
to encrypt the systems first and they haven't... won't be able to use the
technology." Bridger breathed out slowly at the hidden meaning in the words.
"And then we arrived here," he continued quickly.

They were both silent for a while. "I don't know..." Bridger began to speak
and then stopped again... looking at Lucas, trying to convey what he wanted,
and needed to say, without having to do so out loud.

Lucas nodded and smiled briefly at him. Then they sat again in silence.
After a while Bridger turned back to him, but he was asleep again. A few
hours later Bridger shook him awake, holding a cup in front of his face.
Lucas took it tiredly, but managed a quick grin. "I can feed myself,
Captain." He ate listlessly and reluctantly, knowing that he had to. It
couldn't be much longer before he would need the strength again. Bridger
watched him carefully, but discreetly. He'd slept most of the last three
days, but he did look better and his voice was stronger, the grey colour
gradually sinking into a less unpleasant, but still worrying, pallor. He
had remained somehow slightly detached over the last few days, but not so
that he was completely cut off in shock, just trying to distance himself,
to stay calm and ignore the reality of the situation.

They looked up as they heard the key grating and the door to the room
opened. Lucas closed his eyes, fear and despair wild in his face. He had
been expecting it, but even so, knowing what was going to happen... He took
a deep breath and opened his eyes, putting on an expression of determination
and calm detachment over the mess that lay underneath. If he couldn't
control himself, he would never be able to fight them. Bridger looked back
at him with surprise at the look on his face as he started to pull himself
up on the bars. Bridger helped him to his feet and Lucas flashed him a quick
smile of reassurance, despite the hopeless situation, and then he walked out
of the cell, unresisting, as the guards led them down the corridor. They
stopped at a different room this time and the very fact of that helped. It
wouldn't change what was going to happen, but at least he wouldn't have to
fight with the connections that room had developed.

Stark and Reggs were waiting for them as they entered and stood in front of
them. Bridger thought uncomfortably of defendants rising for the verdict. He
glanced at Lucas with pride, astonished to see him so determined after what
he knew could be about to happen. He hadn't expected him to be able to
manage to stay so calm. He reprimanded himself silently, for again thinking
of him as having to be protected, not believing him strong enough to be able
to face the situation. He should know better, especially after section
seven. His actions in the past had proved his strength and his faith. He had
no right to doubt him after that. He was just amazed that anyone could be so
calm and brave, in the face of what he was expecting to happen next. He
looked at him with a new respect and admiration. He had to stop thinking of
him as a child. But he was desperately afraid for him, not for himself- he
was afraid, but not with the same aching dread. She obviously knew that he
cared about the boy, but not how much. He hoped, desperately, that she
wouldn't realise.

Stark watched him for a long time, savouring the moment. He wondered briefly
what had happened to her to change her so much. She wanted him to wait, not
knowing what was going to happen, letting him wonder, fear...

"Captain, there is something that I would like you to help me with, that
would be of great assistance to us. Nothing very large, but I would
appreciate it greatly. Possibly enough to give you something in return." His
expression didn't change. "Now, we both know that I am not a woman to give
up a grudge. I wouldn't try and trick you by offering you freedom, but I
will offer to let the boy go if you co-operate with us. Of course, I
wouldn't just hand him back, I'd have to get something in return, but I'm
sure we can work out an agreement with the UEO about that. Unfortunately,
what I want in return the UEO wouldn't give me in a trade." She paused,
swing her hair off her face and walking up close to him. "You think I'm
lying!" She said, with amusement. "Well, is it a lie or a bluff, and can
you afford not to take the chance, whatever you believe?" She waited looking
straight at him, relaxed and curious as to what he would decide to do next.
One thing about this man was that at least he could surprise her. Eventually
she decided he'd had enough time to think.

She walked back to stand close to him again, and spoke very softly, so only
he could hear. "Quite simply I'm offering you a wonderful option. The
alternative is quite different. I know that you would never give me the
pleasure of telling me what I want on your own account, but you might on
someone else's and I think this person means more to you than most." She
shrugged, her tone practical now, instead of the honeyed coaxing. "I think
that would be worse to you than anything I could do to you. If you decide
not to help, I am sure that seeing your face as I kill him, slowly, will be
compensation enough." He turned to her, his face pinched with horror and
dread. She shrugged. "It's up to you. I've got as much time as it takes.
You have as long as you can stand it or as long as he survives, but I'm sure
we can draw that out, if we have to." She stared with delicious pleasure at
the look on his face and then turned and sat down to let him consider.

Bridger stared at the wall. He couldn't believe that this was happening and
for the first time in his life he was literally frozen with a fear that
clutched at his chest, as he felt his heart throbbing through his thoughts.
He knew she meant it. He never doubted that for a moment. He had never
believed that anything could be so absolutely, terrifyingly horrible.
Loyalty and steadfastness had been at the centre of his most sacred beliefs,
all his life. Who would he be and how could he live with it, if he perjured
those beliefs and betrayed everything he had fought for all these years?
But how would he be able to live with himself if he had to stand and watch
while... He could not lose two children in one week. He couldn't lose the
last person he cared deeply for. He would be betraying him as much as he
would be betraying the UEO. And he couldn't watch him die in pain and not do
anything.

"I can't!" he pleaded. "You can't...." But she could and would, without a
moment's hesitation.
"Look, if you want to kill me that's fine. Do what you want but keep it
between you and me, like it always was. For God's sake what happened to you?
The Marilyn Stark I knew and taught would never have allowed anything like
this to happen, let alone do it. This is against everything you used to
believe in!" he was begging her and he knew that he was probably only making
her more determined to continue, but he knew he couldn't bluff his way out
of this and he had to try anything and everything.

He felt Lucas' eyes flicker across to him, trying to work out what was
happening, horrified by his words, shocked at seeing him so desperate. He
needed Bridger to be in control, so that he could take his strength from his
certainty. Bridger found he couldn't look across at him.

"Then I guess you never knew Marilyn Stark. You only knew what you and
everyone else saw. It was so easy to read exactly what you all wanted and I
was well up to the challenge of filling that role. And you know nothing-
knew nothing- about what I believe in!" she spat back, fury and hatred in
her eyes, and something else he couldn't place or understand. He knew
nothing about the rage and pain she felt, everyday, that she couldn't get
rid of, that nothing could help to ease, that could not be contained. It
didn't fade with time, despite all that she had tried- forgetting, thinking
it through, trying to accept it. Yes, she enjoyed causing pain. Why
shouldn't she? Maybe it wasn't against the right people, but she needed
revenge, she was owed revenge. He didn't know the fury that filled her life
or the pain. Life had been cruel and she would be bitter. Maybe the other
people were innocent, but so had she been. No one could understand and they
should! They should! It wasn't fair. They wouldn't be able to stand a moment
of what she had lived with for years, and years, nearly every moment of her
life, since the time, that instant when she'd lost everything, including
herself, and all that she felt was good about her. It had all gone in one
moment, for no reason. She had done nothing wrong. Nothing. There was no
reason, but that wasn't good enough. They strutted around in their stupid
little lives doing nothing, they didn't have a clue what real pain felt
like, and then they judged her. How dare they! Suddenly her face changed as
her expression snapped back to complete equanimity and she smiled at him as
if she were asking a passerby for directions. "I want to know where General
Howard is. Simply the location. Now, is that so much? No codes, no calls to
get the UEO to let us in. Simply the location. You're not getting anyone
hurt or killed. If it's secure enough, you will know that the information is
no use to us." She shrugged lightly. "Now is that so hard?" Her voice was
innocently sweet, reasonable, but somewhere within it, he could hear a note
of something hard and cruel. For a moment he wondered if this was all part
of her revenge: making him chose. If so, she had thought of the worst thing
that she do to him. "Personally I don't see what you're waiting for. It's
an obvious choice, I would have thought." The room was silent for a minute
and then she shrugged. "Silence will be taken as a no vote," she warned,
yawning. He stared at her, for the first time understanding the phrase 'to
have your heart in your mouth.' If he could have, he would have killed her.
He couldn't move or speak. This was not happening, it could not happen, he
could not make this choice.

Lucas had been looking back and forth between them trying to stay calm, but
not being able to work out what was happening. Whatever she had told Bridger
that had shocked him so badly at least he was silent now, which meant that
it was OK. He wasn't going to give in, though for a moment Lucas had been
terrified that he would. What could she have said? It didn't matter. What
mattered now was focusing on not letting them win. The thing that frightened
him now, was the thought of having to watch while they questioned him. He
knew the information as well, and he didn't know if he could stand to watch
someone else go through one of their sessions. But he had survived and so
would Bridger, if it came to that. No matter what, telling them is not an
option.

Stark made a very slight motion with her hands, a bored sort of sweeping
gesture and he felt the guards holding him tightly, now. Then she turned to
Reggs and he got up, crossing the floor towards them. Beside him, Bridger
struggled wildly, but uselessly for a moment. 

"Don't do this," he begged. "Please..."

"It's completely up to you. I offered you two options, one of which makes
perfect sense for both of us, but it works either way for me. You simply
have to choose."

"I can't!"

She shrugged. "Then you have chosen already." She gave Reggs another glance.

Reggs smiled unpleasantly and raised his weapon, hitting Lucas hard across
the face. He gasped in surprise, caught unawares by the sudden attack. So he
knew what she had told Bridger now. Somehow, though, the knowledge that he
wouldn't have to watch it happen to his former Captain was a relief. The
blow had dazed him and he heard Bridger cursing and shouting. He looked up
at him and smiled briefly, a look of complete acceptance and reassurance on
his face, confirming that he had made the right choice, before Reggs hit him
again. He refused to shout out.

The room had disappeared and there was nothing now, but waiting until it was
over. Reggs looked at him furiously, pausing for them to stare at each other
and then he hit him very hard. That time, he gave a sharp cry of pain,
before he could stop himself. He went limp in the guards' grasp, gasping for
breath, waiting for the darkness to clear or come down completely. He was
dimly aware of a shout after his own cry and then the room was silent, apart
from his painful breaths.

"Well?" it was Stark speaking, perfectly calm, mildly curious.

He heard Bridger take a shuddering breath. "You will do what you said?"

"Yes," she answered simply. And there was a pause.

"All right."

Lucas brought his head up quickly. He couldn't believed what he was hearing.
He looked over at Bridger. He had turned away, silently, his face streaked
with tears, looking completely defeated.

"No!" he cried. " You can't!" Bridger looked down at the ground and said
nothing. "Captain!" Reggs raised his arm again but Stark motioned for him
to stay still, so he contented himself pointing the gun at the boy instead.

"I'm waiting, Captain," Stark reminded him.

Bridger looked up, about to speak. "Damn you," he said with silent fury
shaking in his voice.

"Later, Captain." Her voice was hard and unmerciful.

"He's being held in the UEO base that's the retreat point for the
government and military HQ in case of invasion. You haven't got a chance in
hell of getting him out of there alive and I don't think he'd appreciate
rescue in a wooden box," Bridger spat at her.

Lucas couldn't believe what he was hearing. He couldn't let this happen, but
what was there that he could do? Bridger wouldn't listen to him or even look
at him. But he was not going to let himself be used against the UEO. It
would be like being the instrument to destroy everything he believed in and
everyone he cared about. He drew in a sharp painful breath as the one thing
that he could do flashed into his mind with a screaming terror behind it. He
closed his eyes and pushed it far away from him, pushing the world back and
everything in it. He simply accepted the fact and opened his eyes and
quickly twisted his wrists towards the guards thumb as Kimura had taught
him, to break his grip.

"Captain!" Stark insisted patiently.

Bridger closed his eyes in pain. "The base is..."

From the corner he saw the sudden movement. For a moment he thought that
Lucas had fainted, but then he saw his hand reaching for the gun. He froze
even in his shock. What the hell was he thinking? He would never be able to
turn the gun in time. Then he realised that he wasn't reaching for the gun
but the trigger.

There wasn't time for him to shout or move before the shot rang out. The
momentum, from his leap forward, had propelled him into Reggs, as the gun
fired, so for a moment, a brief moment, it could have been either that had
been shot, the gun hidden between them. Then Lucas slowly crumpled to the
floor.


==========================================================================


The same people seem to be commenting all the time- is this just because no
one else likes it? People seemed to like TEMD1, is this book disappointing?
Sorry, but I'm insecure about my writing- that's why I keep asking for
responses- comemnts, anything, one line to three pages, I don't care! Thank
you very much for your time.


Alexi


This is for the wonderful people who keep on supporting me and commenting.


==========================================================================


Copyright by E.Casale 1997


The room had gone perfectly still, everyone in it shocked into silence.
Bridger heard himself cry out in pain and then he pulled himself from the
guards' grasp, as they relaxed their hold. Reggs stepped back from the body
and backed off. A strange look on his face.

"Oh, God,"  Bridger whispered, kneeling beside him and rolling him from his
side onto his back, seeing the blood on the floor where he'd been lying and
the stains spreading across his uniform. He looked down at him. The blue
eyes were open and blinking in shock, unfocussed. Bridger gave a small sob
of relief. He had nothing to use to stop the bleeding so he folded the
uniform over, double, and pushed down firmly. He settled down on to the
floor and gently stroked the boy's face. "It's OK, now. It's going to be
fine." How could it possibly be OK?

The others figures stood silently watching. Suddenly there was a knock on
the door. The others looked around and Stark pulled herself together,
motioning for the guard to open the door, crossing to talk to the person,
knowing it must be important as she had asked that they not be disturbed.
The figure in front of her stumbled backwards as he opened the door and she
looked up into the face of her 'new favourite Lieutenant' as he fired, first
at her, then Reggs. Brody leant around the other side of the door to take
out the second guard.

Bridger looked up at them and for a moment he couldn't believe it, but sat
staring as Ford ran across the room. Thank God! 

Ford dropped to the floor on the other side of the still figure, looking at
Bridger for some sort of answer, slowly taking in the blood seeping through
the cracks in Bridger's hands.

"Oh, God," he heard Brody whisper behind him, an echo of his thoughts.

The figure on the floor shifted slightly with a low groan. "OK, Lucas,"
Bridger turned quickly to him as the intense eyes started to focus. Lucas
frowned at Ford for a moment, confused.

"Commander?" his voice was very quiet.

"Yeah, we're here. Just take it easy. We're going to get you out of here."

Ford looked back across at Bridger, handing him his weapon, and then down
again. There would be time for questions later. He glanced up at Brody and
motioned for him to cover them when they left and then gently slid his arm
under the boy's shoulders and lifted him. Lucas gasped in pain and went limp
in his arms, for which Ford was almost thankful, as he carried him to the
door. Patricks and the Lieutenant covered them as they ran, as much as this
was possible, up the corridor. Brody spoke quickly into his PAL, to tell
Graham to have the launch ready.

"Stay here!" The lieutenant ordered, slipping out into the corridor as they
reached the door out of the prison area. The door opened again a few moments
later and he beckoned them out. The corridor was deserted this time and the
lieutenant grinned back at them. "I thought we might need a clear run for
it."

They ran into only three or four guards as they hurried back to the launch.
Lieutenant dealt with those from the front and Brody with the rest from the
rear. The three men who were still in the launch bay looked up as they ran
in before sprawling on the ground, hit by the fire from the Lieutenant's
weapon.

"Come on!" Brody called, turning back him as the rest of the team piled
into the launch.

The lieutenant shook his head and hurried back to the doorway and the
controls for the bay. "You don't have time to argue. Just go!" he ordered.
Brody looked at him for a moment and then slammed the hatch shut. The room
flooded as he sealed it and then the launch shot out from the base as the
first gap appeared in the outer doors.

"Get us back to the boat, quickly," he ordered, trying to keep his voice
steady. "As fast as we can."


Copyright by E.Casale 1997


===========================  PART 9  =====================================


I'm gong to send this out a little slower, smaller parts bu more often, Ok?

Alexi



Copyright E.Casale 1997

Chapter 9


Bridger reached for the med-kit as Ford gently laid his burden across the
seats at the back of the launch, staring down at the white face and closed
eyes. Bridger knelt on the deck beside him, opening a dressing and gently
placing it over the bloodstains applying pressure firmly. "Can you lift him
slightly," he asked opening another packet and placing it over the exit
wound, marked by the bloodstains.

Lucas' eyes flickered slightly and then he looked up at Bridger, confused.
"We're on the launch," Bridger told him softly. "It's going to be fine. Just
a little longer." Lucas nodded slightly and then paled again, closing his
eyes in pain. Bridger looked up at Ford, his face drawn and aged. "How far
from the boat are we?" he asked quietly.

Ford swallowed hard. "An hour at full speed. They're waiting on the border"

"That's too long," Bridger confirmed. He sighed. "You have to get them to
meet us," he said firmly. Ford stared at him for a moment and then nodded,
gently squeezing Brody's arm as he made his way to the front. They were not
going to let him die, when they had found him alive, after believing he had
been killed. They were not going to stop at anything they had to, that would
mean that he would survive this. Ford couldn't believe that they had been
just those few moments too late, after three weeks of waiting and then
grieving. It wasn't fair! They had been allowed to find him alive, but now
they might have to watch him die. That was not going to happen, he promised
himself and all of them.

"Get me a link through to seaQuest, now!" he ordered Patricks, who fumbled
instantly with the comms system.

He paused for a moment, trying to push aside his despair and helplessness
and then spoke into the link that Patricks had established. "This is
Commander Ford, launch MR-5. We need immediate assistance, repeat. We need
urgent assistance, please move in towards our current heading."

"What is your current situation? Are you under attack?" Hudson's voice came
across.

"No. So far there is no pursuit," Ford replied, checking the sensors.
"We're on course for your position now but..."

"Is the launch damaged?"

"No..."

"Do you have Captain Bridger?"

"Brody take over here!" he heard Bridger call from the rear and then his
footsteps, as he ran into the front of the launch and leant into the
speakers.

"I'm here," Bridger said interrupting quickly.

"I'm sending out subfighters to assist you."

"We don't need subfighters. We need you to meet us..."

"We can't cross into Macronesian water without starting a war, unless it is
to assist in an emergency situation," Hudson told him wearily.

"Lucas is going to die unless you meet us half way," Bridger told him with
quiet fury. "Is that enough of an emergency?" There was silence for a while
on the other end. "Oliver, we don't have an hour to reach your position!
You have to..."

"Lieutenant Henderson, set a new course to intercept with the launch, full
ahead," Hudson ordered.

"Thank you," Bridger sighed with relief.

"Just make sure that our journey isn't wasted!"


Brody had hardly known what to do as Bridger got up and hurried up the
launch, afraid to hurt him as he pressed down as Bridger removed his hands.
"I'll be right back," Bridger told Lucas as his eyes opened again and then
he turned to the front of the launch.

"Brody?" his voice was very weak, but his gaze as intense as ever, though
his was frowning slightly.

"Yeah. I'm here," he answered uncomfortably, trying to think of something
to say. In the end, he just sat in helpless silence, feeling his heart
contract as he watched him breathing carefully. Suddenly he heard the Lucas
gasp, his eyes opening widely with pain, biting his lip as his face twisted.
"OK, hold still!" he ordered, panicking as he felt the blood flow
increasing under his fingers. Lucas gasped again and then lay still,
breathing quickly. After a while he opened his eyes again and stared up at
Brody, pleadingly.

"Please, No more," he whispered. "Just finish it."

Brody stared down at him aghast. Quickly holding him again as he moved in
reflex, to another shoot of pain. When it had passed he looked up, but Brody
had turned away his face, stony. He shut his eyes again. "I'm sorry," he
whispered, panicking at the disgust that he thought he saw on Brody's face.
"Don't..." Another wave of pain cut him off.

"Captain!" Brody shouted. Lucas relaxed again, breathing heavily.

"Don't tell..."

"It's OK. I won't say anything. Just stay still!" he begged in turn. Lucas
nodded, biting his lip, then jerking again before lying back still and
closing his eyes. Bridger ran back, hearing him shout and slowly knelt
beside the unconscious form. The lieutenant stood up quietly and moved out
of the way, back up the launch and sat near the front, resting his arms of
his knees and his head in his hands, after making an angry swipe at his face
and then leant forward for his hair to hang over his tears. This couldn't be
happening. The desperate plea still ringing in his ears and then the shamed
apology- what the hell did he think he had to be ashamed of?

Bridger felt carefully for the slow pulse and then sat down beside him to
wait. A few moments later and Lucas' eyes opened and his gaze slowly
focused. He blinked slowly at Bridger for a few moments and then lay staring
at him. "Why?" Bridger asked softly, knowing the answer and not expecting
to hear a reply.

"I couldn't let them... use me against... what I believed in- not after,"
he swallowed painfully and closed his eyes again. He was too tired to
explain.

"Lucas, you have to stay awake," Bridger insisted, squeezing his hand gently.

The bruised eyes looked up at him dazedly for a moment and then cleared
again. "Talk to me... anything," he whispered, concentrating on the soft
voice as he waited. He wasn't sure what the words were, but it sounded like
Bridger was reciting something. Why was it taking so long? He just wanted to
sleep...

"Come on, stay awake," Bridger insisted again, interrupting his recital of
the only thing that had come to mind at the time.

"Want to sleep," Lucas objected softly, closing his eyes.

"Not yet. Not yet," he repeated more loudly. The blue eyes opened again
obediently, but glazed with shock and for a while longer Bridger resumed his
gentle words. Lucas was too tired to fight back and it hurt too much.
Somewhere far off he heard someone moan weakly.

"How long?" Bridger asked quietly, looking over at Ford, sitting haggard on
the opposite seat. He got up and stumbled into the front.

"How far are we?" he asked Graham desperately.

"Ten minutes." Ford glanced back. "We can't go any faster. If we do we'll
just burn out the engines and then we won't be going anywhere and seaQuest
is heading in at full speed. I'm sorry Sir," Graham added quietly. Ford
nodded defeated.

"Ten minutes," he told Bridger. "Is that..."

"I don't know," the other replied dully, gently feeling the slow pulse
beneath his fingers.



"We're at maximum power. Twenty minutes," Loni reported, breathing quickly
and frowning.

For a moment everything was still. "Sir...?" Tony asked uncertainly from
the entrance.

Hudson looked back at him for a moment completely blankly. "Get the
spectres ready, in case," he ordered finally.

"Yes, Sir!" and they hurried off the bridge.

Hudson sat heavily in his chair and stared out of the screen as they sped
through the water and they all waited, sickened with fear that their hopes
were to be raised and then smashed. The shock of finding that he was alive
after the pain of the last few days, the pointlessness of all that they had
gone through, and the possibility that they might have to again...

"Get Dr. Perry and a medteam down to the docking bay," he ordered after a
few minutes.

"Sir, I have two Macronesian subs approaching fast," Henderson said, typing
fast. "They're arming weapons."

"Sir, the Macronesian sub is hailing us," O'Neil looked up quickly.

"On screen."

"This is Captain Rowley, demanding that you leave Macronesian waters
immediately or we will consider your presence here an act of war."

"I assure you, Captain, that we will be out of your waters very shortly.
One of our subfighters was patrolling the border, when its navigation
equipment went wrong and the craft crashed. As soon as the rescue launch is
aboard we will leave."

"Captain, your presence here is an infraction of our border treaties with
the UEO. Can you seriously expect me to believe that a malfunctioning
subfighter could end up over a hundred miles off course, inside our
territory?"

"I'm only asking you to believe the truth and accept the UEO's deepest
apologies for the incursion into your territory."

Rowley's jaw tightened. He was not going to be made fun of. "Captain. We
will assist your subfighter. Stand down and leave our waters!"

"I'm afraid that we can't do that, until our people are safely on board."
He turned quickly to Henderson. "What's the ETA on the launch?"

"Ten minutes. They're at full power," she looked up at him nervously.

"Captain Rowley, we will be leaving your waters in ten minutes...."

Rowley turned away as another officer came up and spoke to him in a whisper,
glancing up at the screen angrily. "Captain Hudson, I am ordering you to
vacate our waters now. I have reports coming in that a team of UEO officers
have assassinated several of our officers at a base nearby and your presence
here looks highly suspicious. Unless you wish for us to consider you
responsible for these attacks, I suggest you leave immediately."

"They're flooding torpedo tubes," Henderson looked up fearfully. " The
second ship is arming weapons."

"Captain, seaQuest will leave the area when the rescue launch is aboard and
not until that time." He turned to weapons control. "Flood torpedoes tubes
one through three and seven through nine."

The junior officer typed quickly and then looked up. "Torpedo tubes flooded."

"Open outer doors," Hudson ordered turning back to Rowley, "and arm
lasers. Captain, there is no need for us to fight over a few extra minutes."

Rowley stared at him for a moment. "I know your tactics Captain, but
however powerful seaQuest might be there are two Macronesian subs, fully
armed and authorised to fire on you, for violating our borders. There have
been no reports of a subfighter in the area and I have a strong suspicion
that the launch you are so anxious to wait for is your team returning from
murdering our officers. Stand down and vacate the area or we will open
fire." Hudson sighed, crossing his arms. "Very well, Captain." The link cut
off.

"The Macronesian sub is moving into attack position."

"Hold course and current speed," Hudson replied calmly.

"Sir, Macronesian sub has fired torpedoes. They have lock."

"Fire intercepts."

"Intercepts away."

"Fire torpedoes one and two. Damage her, but don't destroy her."

"Torpedoes away. Incoming closing..." the main screen burst into light,
"intercepts successful. Sir, torpedo one has been intercepted....torpedo two
is a direct hit on their rear propulsion systems. She's down." The crew
sighed with relief. "The second sub is powering down weapons and moving out
of attack position to assist. Launch MR-5 is requesting permission to dock.

"Granted. As soon as they are on board set course back out of Macronesian
water, full speed. And tell Piccolo and Kimura to get back up here."

"Yes, Sir."

"Macronesia sub is hailing us."

"On screen."

"Captain Hudson, hold your fire." Rowley sighed, angry but helpless. "You
may collect your launch and leave, but be advised that the Macronesian
government will consider this matter an act of war."

"Thank you, Captain," Hudson replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I'm
so glad that we were able to reach an understanding over this matter."

"Captain, the launch is on board."

"We are leaving your waters now, Captain," Hudson informed him.
"Lieutenant, you have the com." He turned quickly and hurried off the bridge
down to the docking bay.

Brody, Patricks and Graham looked up wearily as he ran in.

"Commander Ford and Captain Bridger went down to medbay," Brody told him,
standing up tiredly, from where he had been leaning on a rail.

Hudson nodded. "We'll debrief later in the wardroom. For now you're
dismissed. Good work," he added as he hurried out.

"Captain?" Brody called after him, jogging to catch him up. "When they
know...anything..."

"I'll make sure you're told," Hudson assured him and Brody nodded
gratefully. Then he continued down the corridor.



Bridger and Ford were sitting, silently in the waiting area in the medbay.
Bridger was slumped back in the chair, staring straight ahead at the wall.
Ford was watching the ceiling.

"The people in the room- the Macronesian general- was she killed?" Bridger
asked slowly.

Ford nodded. "Patricks checked."

They didn't speak, defeated. Bridger looked down slowly at his hands and at
the blood dried on to them with quiet despair. He was relieved she was dead,
but the news did nothing to change things or make them better. He really
didn't care, he was too tired to. What else could he have done? Should he
have acted differently? He felt terribly guilty that he was so relieved not
to have had to say anything. Relieved, how could he be relieved? What he
was, was horrified and shocked beyond anything he had ever experienced, by
what had happened. It was his fault and his responsibility, but there was
nothing he could have done, was there? He didn't know. He just knew that he
had been so desperate that he had been willing to go against everything he
believed in. The fact that there was something that could make him do that,
terrified him. The fact that he had been completely helpless and completely
under her control left him feeling sick, his pride, self-respect in tatters.
His beliefs... he had been about to betray them, how could he claim to hold
them with the certainty that he had always credited himself with.

In all his years in the military and on Hyperion, he had never been faced
with such overwhelming horror as he had met today. How could he be the one
not to have the strength of his beliefs? How could anyone have... He had
never felt himself so inadequate or weak. Or so afraid.


Ford looked up as Hudson walked in, but didn't rise as he crossed the room
and sat opposite them, bringing up a chair.

"We're waiting," Ford told him unnecessarily.

Hudson nodded. "What happened?"

Ford glanced quickly at Bridger. "When we reached the base, our codes were
accepted and they let us dock. The operative who had sent us the information
met us and led us to the prison block. When we got there... we heard a shot.
We were almost there, just a few seconds away." He frowned hard at the
floor. "We shot the guards, but it was too late, so we just got back to the
launch as quickly as we could. The officer..." he broke off suddenly
remembering, "the one who helped us refused to leave. He opened the doors
for us. I don't know what happened," he ended, shaking his head and then
looking up at Hudson.

"McGath warned me he might refuse to leave. He's been there a long time to
get that high up. It was good work today, Commander. What went wrong was
outside your control." Hudson looked across at Bridger. "What exactly did
happen, Captain?"

Bridger looked at him hollowly. "Can't we discuss this later?" he asked
unpleasantly.

"No, because, not only do I want to know how my officer got shot, I need to
be able to tell my crew and the UEO what happened and why I risked starting
a war with Macronesia to meet your launch. I need to know if there's
anything we can use against the Macronesians, to embarrass them into back
down over this. I had to fire on a Macronesian sub and damage it badly.
People are going to want explanations. And I want to be able to tell my
medteam here what happened if they need to know," he replied angrily. "We
have to wait and we might as well spend the time doing something other than
sitting here, feeling sorry for ourselves. It isn't going to help." He
sighed and took a deep breath.
"Waiting is not going to change the facts."

He would have to tell people eventually, but he didn't know how. How did you
put things like that into words and facts?

"Captain, I think you owe all of us, including Lucas, the truth about this."

Bridger looked over at the man to whom he had handed his command. "What
part?" he asked.

Hudson looked over at the door to the operating room. "As long as it takes.
I think we have a while to wait, yet."

Bridger sighed and closed his eyes tiredly. Then he told them about Robert,
about the island, returning home and working on the house, about the noise
that had woken him, waking on the shuttle and then Stark. They didn't
interrupt him, no matter how much he digressed from the story. He told them
what he had seen when he had been taken to the cell, letting them realise
what had happened for themselves. He continued talking even when Hudson drew
in his breath sharply, closing his eyes as if in pain, at what he had only
alluded to about the three weeks before he had arrived. He described the
three days they had waited and then explained how the guards had come to
take them down to where Stark was waiting. He stopped there for a long time.
Then he told them about the two choices that she had offered him and which
he had taken. He looked up expecting to see looks of shock at his betrayal,
but all his saw was empathy, understanding and quiet horror that matched his
own.

"What else could I have done?" he asked. Neither of the other two replied.
They didn't know what they would have chosen in the situation and they
didn't want to have think about it. Bridger stopped. The other two waited,
but he didn't continue.

"How did he get shot? Why would they do that when you'd agreed?" Hudson
prompted eventually, no blame in his tone, simply not understanding why he
should break off now, when he was clearly at the end of what had happened.

"They didn't."

"But then...?"

"When I saw Lucas reaching for the gun I thought he had gone crazy, there
wasn't any way he could get it away from Reggs..." They still didn't get it.
"He wouldn't let them use him against... everything he believed in, after
everything he'd already been through to stop that happening." Jesus, how
could they not get it. He took a deep breath, speaking between his teeth.
"He wasn't reaching for the gun. He was reaching for the trigger."

"Dear God," Hudson whispered, getting up and walking to the other side of
the room.

Ford simply stared at him, his eyes flooding with tears of horror, then
dropped his gaze down to the floor.

"Captain?" Dr. Perry was standing in the doorway. They all look round
quickly and stood, waiting. She looked round at the fear and pain on each
face. "The bullet wound wasn't that serious in itself. It didn't hit any
organs or blood vessels. He lost quite a bit of blood and he was in shock.
That, by itself, wouldn't have been life threatening, once he was back here.
He's dehydrated, malnourished." She looked at the floor for a moment and
then faced them squarely. "And he's been tortured, in an incredible amount
of pain. He's exhausted. I've done what I can, but the problem is that he is
simply too weak at the moment for his body to be able to repair the damage.
I'm afraid I still can't tell you anything."

"What are his chances?"

"I honestly don't know, so I can't tell you. We just have to wait. There's
nothing else I can tell you unless you want a lie." She sighed. "As soon as
I know anything, I will tell you," she promised them.

"Can I wait with him?" Bridger asked finally.

"Yes. That's all that anyone can do right now. I can't promise that he'll
know, but people who've been in a coma have reported being aware of a lot
more than doctors thought possible. I've done everything I can," she assured
them and turned back into the room. Bridger got up slowly and followed her.

Ford looked across at Hudson when he'd left. "What do we tell the others?"

"The truth. But not yet."


Bridger was sitting beside the bed, his eyes empty and dry. He was too tired
to cry or shout, staring fixedly at the pale face. Ford drew up a second
seat and handed him a cup of coffee.

"There was nothing you could have done," he said staring into the other's
man's eyes, so that he could see the sincerity in them.

"I wish I knew that for certain. But thank you," he looked over at his
former XO. "I can't believe that he'd... I wish I could have that type of
faith and strength. I didn't realise until today how little I actually do
have. And I thought that he was the one who wouldn't be able to... Have you
ever noticed how it's always the people who have something special to give
who suffer and die and the rest of us survive and say 'it's not fair, what a
waste', when we read or hear about it. I've never been confronted by it,
like this, though. I've never been so shocked or horrified. I can't even
think about what must have happened to him, without feeling sick to my
stomach and completely terrified that it could happen ever, anywhere. I
don't know how someone can survive that."

They were silent after that and at some point he fell into an exhausted
sleep, though he had tried to force himself to stay awake. Ford gently took
the half full cup from his hand, as he saw him drifting off and watched
silently.


Ford blinked sleepily and found himself looking into the warm eyes of the
doctor. He sat up quickly, not realising that he had fallen asleep. Bridger
was blearily sitting up straight in the chair, rubbing his eyes.

"He's going to be all right," she told them smiling. "Captain Hudson wants
you in the wardroom," she told Ford and then left.

Bridger closed his eyes and gave a short sigh. "Thank god."

Ford rose quickly. "I have to go," he said and left, smiling dazedly. He
was amazed at how the corridor suddenly seemed friendly again, how the
lights seemed bright and not glaring, how he could see a future and not just
a bleak present, how the throbbing ache of fear and despair had gone.

Hudson had called the main bridge crew to the wardroom after he had quickly
debriefed the team from the base. He carefully told them what happened,
refusing to avoid anything. They deserved know what Lucas had done. He
didn't know how they would have handled it, if it hadn't been on the back of
the news that he was going to be all right. Their joy over that dimmed the
pain they felt for what they had all gone through and, more particularly,
what he must have gone through over the last few weeks. They had been
horrified, shocked, but the unexpected joy of finding him alive, quickly
reasserted itself, as they laughed in relief for the first time in weeks,
grinning stupidly at each other, then laughing again.

Over the next few days, as their initial joy dimmed, they thought about what
Hudson had told them with new awareness and new pain, as a new fear of how
he could cope with something like this sprang up in place of the old one.


copyright E.Casale 1997


===========================  PART 10  =====================================


sugar, very sugar- this is actually part 10 A and the other is B and C- I
didn't mean to send it all out but never mind.

Copyright E.Casale 1997

Chapter 10


When Lucas woke first, he was aware only that it was comfortable and warm
where he was. He opened his eyes slowly, still very tired, blinking up at
the ceiling. Then he saw a movement on his right and looked across to see
Bridger sitting by the bed, watching him with a strange expression of
uncertainty in his face. Lucas stared at him silently for a while and then
smiled softly and closed his eyes again, to sleep.


The second time he woke, Bridger was still sitting beside him, waiting for
him to wake up. Lucas looked over at him and shifted carefully. "How long
has it been?" he asked quietly, his voice sounding strange.

"Three days," Bridger told him gently, still with the same odd expression
on his face.

Lucas reached up his hand slowly and brushed his hair off his face. "Is
something wrong?" he asked confused.

Bridger stared down at him. "I'm so sorry," he whispered at last.

Lucas frowned at him with an effort to focus and then slowly smiled again.
"There was nothing you could have done. I was just glad that it happened the
way around that it did. I made a choice- me, not you. The rest of it was
them."

"I would have betrayed everything that we believed in."

"For me. I couldn't let you do that but... if it had been the other way
around, I don't know what I would have done. I just couldn't let that happen
because of me, for either of us. But it's not your fault and I don't blame
you. There's no reason to." He sighed. "Really." He closed his eyes again.
" I'm sorry, I need to sleep again," he muttered, already drifting. "Just
don't feel guilty about it." He looked up again briefly. " And try getting
some sleep yourself," he added, before he closed his eyes again.

Bridger watched him for a while after that, deeply moved by his trust and
understanding. He would make sure that from now on he paid this faith back
by his actions, would make sure he deserved it. So long as Lucas was alive
and could forgive him, he could move on and change things. But the thing
that most amazed him was, that in Lucas' eyes, there had been nothing to
forgive.


The next time Lucas woke the tiredness, that had been a haze, pushing him
back towards sleep, had lifted and he shifted his weight carefully onto his
other side, stiff from being in the same position for so long. This time it
was Hudson sitting beside the bed, watching him carefully. He had found
himself with the task of writing a second set of letters to the boy's
parents to contradict what the first set said. They had been difficult
letters to write. How should he explain that he'd been wrong when he'd said
their son was dead? It would have been a nearly impossible task, apart from
the fact that he still couldn't get through to them in person, and there had
never been any message back. There wouldn't be this time either, and he
doubted if they would even bother to contact him, to see if their son was
all right. He was glad that Lucas wouldn't realise about that. After all
this, it would have been devastating, it would have been devastating in any
case. How could they be so callous, so cruel? How could they, of all people,
not care, when everyone else who even knew him, did? He didn't claim to be
an expert in family psychology, but it made no sense. Lucas was someone it
was easy to care about, but the two people who should have cared the most,
didn't seem to care at all. He had been very saddened by it all and, though
he knew Lucas couldn't possibly know, he felt he should be with him so that
he wasn't alone.

"How are you feeling?" he asked uncomfortably.

"Still tired and a bit not-quite-there."

"That's because of the pain killers," Perry said, coming in and checking
his pulse. She nodded, pleased as she counted it off against her watch.
"Try and sleep again in a few minutes."

"I've been sleeping for days," he objected.

"Well, you can sleep for a few more," she said grinning. She looked across
at Hudson. "It's a good sign when they start an attitude attitude, but I
tend to find myself feeling like knocking them unconscious again. Make sure
he sleeps," she repeated as she left.

"Where are we now?" Lucas looked across at him.

"Back patrolling the border by the UEO base."

"The trial..." Lucas opened his eyes wide. "What happened?"

Hudson smiled. "Well, something like this takes longer than a few weeks,
but yes, it's going well. The Attorney General is certain that we will get a
conviction, but for it to really count, we have to let the trial take
however long it takes, and Howard's lawyers are dragging it out as much as
they can. Luckily, the judge doesn't have much patience and the jury need to
get back to their families and duties eventually, so they won't be able to
prolong it indefinitely."

"Do they still need me to testify?"

"No. The recorded statements were enough. Besides, I don't think Dr. Perry
is going to let you out of here for any reason for a few days at least." He
turned away for a moment. "You'd better get some sleep before Dr.Perry
comes back," he said abruptly and left.

Lucas sighed and turned over carefully. There was a quiet knock at the door.

"Dr.Perry said I could come in." Tony stood nervously in the doorway.

Lucas rolled over again. "Yeah. Just don't tell me to go back to sleep," he
grinned. Tony looked at him uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry about what I said about... when I got mad with you about Kimura
and Tim," he said finally, and then sighed relieved, still tense, waiting
for his friend's answer.

"I am so fed up of everyone apologising," Lucas said irritably and then
smiled. "Sorry. I'm still pretty tired."

"Should I..."

"No. I'm also fed up of sleeping." Tony crossed over and sat nervously on
the edge of the chair.
"Tony, will you just relax or something!" he asked, rolling his eyes. His
friend looked at him seriously.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted slowly. "I mean about what
happened and..." he coughed.
"Is there something I shouldn't say or..." He looked away awkwardly. "I'm
sorry, I'm not being exactly supportive here. I just don't know how to act.
I can't even think about... what Hudson told us without feeling sick." He
looked away quickly, "Shit! that came out wrong. I don't mean... I can't
even imagine surviving that and I just don't know how... I think what you
did was really incredible," he said at last. He looked at Lucas worriedly.
"I just wanted you to know that."

"Tony, did something happen... ? I mean..."

Tony looked at him silently and then swallowed, replying with difficult and
pain at the memory.

"They told us you were dead," he said finally. "I thought I was going
crazy. So did everyone else. I, um, I never had a friend I could really
trust before- you know, trust about advice and to not get me into trouble or
let me get into trouble. I never thought I'd miss someone bugging me to get
my stuff off the floor." He stared at the floor now, scuffing his boot along
it. "I didn't have anyone I could talk to. I ended up asking Hudson if I
could call my family." He smiled. "My parents are still fighting like they
always did. My sister, she looks great, and the kids are grown up. Angela's
married." He shook his head and finally sat back down. "I'm probably boring
you to death here, as usual." He grinned more easily this time.

"No, I'm really glad for you. Thanks for telling me," Lucas said, smiling
tiredly. "I'm sorry. Don't take this the wrong way, but I can't stay awake.
Perry's given me all these drugs and I can't seem to stay awake for more
than two minutes."

"You start sharing your heart with them and they go to sleep," Tony
grinned. "I'm cut to the quick," he said dramatically and got up. "Just
don't expect me to tuck you in! I guess I'd better let you sleep, then."

"Yeah," muttered Lucas, already closing his eyes.


Lucas spent the next few days sleeping, most of the time. When he woke,
though there was nearly always someone there. When Bridger could see that
Lucas was all right, he left to go back to his house, for the week or so of
thinking, that he had had interrupted.

It was about a week after Lucas had returned, when he work in the night, in
complete panic, not knowing whether he was, for a moment thinking he was
back on the base. For moment he lay there in terror, trying to calm himself.
He waited but the panic didn't subside. He pushed back the covers and sat up
slowly, then stood leaning hard on the foot of the bed and stumbled to the
doorway. The room beyond was empty. It was never empty. He started breathing
hard, making for the door and looking down the corridor. Where was everyone?
He started slowly down the corridor, but after a few metres the feverish
strength started to give out and he leant heavily back against the wall for
support, suddenly exhausted.

He heard someone coming down the corridor towards him and he looked up in
fear, relaxing limply and nearly collapsing with relief, when he saw Hudson
running towards him.

"What is going on?" Hudson asked worriedly, wrapping an arm around him and
supporting him as he lead him back to medbay. "What the hell are you doing
up and wandering about?" he asked angrily, as they reached medbay again and
he lowered him back onto the bed, calling for a doctor.

Lucas sat back against the wall at the head of the bed. "I thought... I
thought I was back in the prison and I was just imagining everything. I
wanted to check that I could walk out if I wanted to," he said tiredly.
He shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed, expecting to see Hudson looking
impatient, angry or even disdainful, not staring away with a look, almost
of pain, on his face.

"I should never have allowed those tests while the trial was still going
on!" he said vehemently. Lucas looked at his back in surprise.

"Why does everyone keep apologising for no reason?" Lucas asked confused,
sighing tiredly.

Hudson turned back to him. "I should have been more careful, I should have
known better," he cursed furiously. "If I hadn't let you go out there, none
of this would have happened."

"Why does everyone want me to be angry with them and blame them? If it
hadn't happened over the tests, Reggs would have waited for something else.
It's what we discussed before, when Howard was first arrested. I can't hide
for ever and that means that there are risks. I chose to go out there. I
designed the tests, I told you to turn off the sensors." He sighed. "I
don't blame you and I'm not angry. I'm only angry that you don't seem to
want to accept that it was my choice, just as much as anyone else's, and
that you think that you are the only one who could have done things
differently!" he snapped angrily, too tired to care.

Hudson stared at him in surprise, recognising that Lucas was right and that
he was only making things worse by his attitude.

Dr. Perry ran in at that point and bent over Lucas, worriedly. "What
happened," she asked quickly, checking his pulse and pushing his damp hair
off his forehead.

"I found him wandering about the corridors," Hudson replied.

"I had a dream and I was confused," Lucas sighed, briefly opening his eyes
again to give her a quick smile.

"Lie down," she ordered checking his bandages, sighing with relief. "You're
lucky you didn't rip any of the stitches. I'm going to give you some more
pain killers now and then I want you to rest, not that I think that'll
be a problem. I'll make sure that there's someone around, so that this
doesn't happen again. If you're confused, just call and someone will come
and explain things or fetch me. OK?"

"Uhuh," he murmured sleepily. He was asleep before she had even given him
the injection. She looked up at Hudson.

"He's all right. Things like this are only what you'd expect. He's doing
very well. He hasn't withdrawn, like I've seen people do. He's tired and
needs a lot of sleep, but that is partly the pain killers. I just want to
make sure he's comfortable. Don't worry about him sleeping more than he
should."

Hudson nodded. "If there's anything else... if he's confused or anything,
can you tell me?"

Perry nodded. "If he wants to talk, I won't be able to tell you what he
says, but I'll be able to tell you how he's doing. With things like this,
it's just as much the mental as the physical damage that you have to worry
about. But he seems to be coping well," she insisted. "We'll just have to
see."


Hudson looked up, as there was a knock at his door. "Come in!" he called,
putting down his paperwork, welcoming the interruption. He sat up in
surprise, when Lucas walked in carefully. Perry had let him get up that day
for the first time after another week of sleeping and resting and he was
glad at the reduction in the painkillers, meaning that he could actually
stay awake through a conversation.

"I can come back later, if you're busy," he suggested.

"No. It's fine. Sit down," Hudson said, clearing the papers into a pile.

"I've talked to Dr. Perry about it and I want to go back on duty as soon as
she says I can."

Hudson looked at him in astonishment. "Are you sure you don't want to take
some time...?"

"No," Lucas interrupted. "I need to get on with my life and getting back
on duty is one of the things I can do mostly easily. Everyone keeps treating
me like I'm about to fall apart into a million pieces. They stop in the
middle of conversations and get uneasy with me. It seems like it's everyone
else that's having the problem with what happened, not me. Captain, I didn't
survive all that time to give up and die afterwards. If I was going to do
that, I might as well have done it before and saved myself a lot of pain in
the process," he said bluntly. "I'll be damned if I let it beat me now,
when it's over, and I'm not going to let how it affects everyone else get in
my way. Of course it changed me, but not who I really am. Nothing that they
could do could change that, unless I let them or I gave in. I didn't do that
and I'm not going to now."


Hudson was amazed by his determination and courage, but he was right. If he
could survive those three weeks, this was the wrong time to quit.

"But I need your help. I'm not going to just be able to forget about it. I
wouldn't want to try. I'm going to have problems and I might not be able to
function as well as I might, for a while. If that's not good enough, I want
to know. I will do my best, but I can't promise what I don't know I'll be
able to do. If you don't want me on duty because you think that I'll put the
boat or the crew or anything that we're doing in danger, then I want you to
tell me, but at least give me the chance to try." He stopped and sat back
waiting for Hudson's response, almost challenging him.

Hudson nodded slowly. "When Dr. Perry says you're ready, and only then on
the agreement that you do what she says, if she tells you to rest or take
days off."

Lucas nodded eagerly. "Thank you." He got up to leave.

"You'll just have to be patient with the rest of us. We have to get used to
the idea that you're all right," Hudson said behind him. He turned around
and smiled before leaving.


He welcomed getting back on duty, though Perry wouldn't let him do full
shifts. Gradually his friends relaxed and started to stop treading on egg
shells around him, realising that he hadn't suddenly changed from the person
they knew. The trial was still going well and nothing more had been heard
from the section seven team.

The Macronesians never complained to the UEO about the incident with
Rowley's sub, as they had threatened. No action was taken over it at all,
as they knew that they would only be left with egg on their faces, when
the reason for the rescue mission came out. The UEO operative was quickly
promoted to assume a position as second in command under the new head of the
base. Reggs and Stark had been killed and their deaths weren't dwelt on, but
simply acknowledged by those involved, and this is what they both would have
minded the most.

Lucas didn't forget what had happened and it wasn't an easy time, but
everyone was patient with him, through the few times when it became obvious
that there was a problem. Several of the times, he was simply irritable from
tiredness and ended up having to take a day off. Once he nearly fell asleep
on the bridge. Most of time he coped.

Instead of nightmares, he found himself, waking up and thinking he was back
in the base. The memories were most vivid, when he was still fresh from
sleep. The first time it happened, he lay shivering with dread, staring into
the darkness. After a while, when he was still afraid, he called out softly.

"Tony?"

"Huh," Tony grunted sleepily and then rolled over, hearing a strange note
in his friend's voice. "You OK?" he called, getting up as Lucas stumbled
over to the light switch and blinked at the room in confusion, sinking down
on to the floor in relief, when he realised where he was.

"Sorry," he whispered shakily.

"It's OK." Tony sat down watching him. "You OK? Should I call Dr Perry or
something."

Lucas shook his head. "Just give me a minute," he said quietly as he slowly
pushed back the memories. "Sorry I woke you up," he said again, his voice
very tired.

"What happened?"

"I thought I was back at the base," he swallowed. "I'm OK. I was just
confused when I woke up." He stood up and climbed back up on to his bunk.

"Just make sure you get me up sooner next time," Tony said smiling. "I'll
leave the light on for a bit."

"Thanks," Lucas smiled at him gratefully and settled back to sleep.


The next day they started work rebuilding the fighter. Hudson had been
reluctant at first, but Lucas had insisted that it was something that he
needed to do, besides it being stupid to waste such a good design, when they
knew it worked. And it did mean that they could change a few things, which
they had realised, with hindsight, could have been better, including adding
weapons.

When they had finally finished the work, the team gradually left, tired
after the hard days of work. Lucas stayed behind when they had gone. Kimura
came up and sat down beside him.

"Are you sure you want to do this? No one's going to think twice about it
if you don't want to. No one will think less of you at all," she said
gravely. He blinked with surprise that she had realised what he was
thinking. He hadn't told anyone yet. He had been waiting to find out if he
was going to back out at the last minute.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm kind of hogging her all to
myself, but I do want to do this."

"Then I respect your decision," she replied.

He looked at her and smiled. "I know. Thank you. And thank you for
accepting my decision the other time. It meant a lot. It means a lot."

She smiled back at him and left. Then he turned to the computer, typing in
his passwords and then setting to work. It should have only taken a few
minutes, but somehow it took longer, as his fingers stumbled over the keys
and he found himself leaning forward on the monitor, breathing slowly to
counter the waves of fear and the memories that this was bringing back. But
if he could not do this, he would never be able to put himself in any
situation where there might be a risk. This would prove he could do it,
conclusively, and show that he would be all right. Still for several minutes
he paused, waiting to finish and then sat back crying silently, with his
arms wrapped round himself for comfort.

There were two things he could do: give up or carry on. He wasn't going to
give up now and let them win. So the only other thing he could do, was
somehow draw something good from it all. The one thing that he could find
from it was a new confidence and pride in himself. He had done something
wonderful and brave and it proved that he had worth, which he had had
trouble believing in, with any confidence, before. Partly what had got him
through it, was not letting them make him angry. If he had been angry, he
would have come out of it bitter and cynical. But in the middle of it all,
he had talked to someone and seen a glimpse of his life, been reassured
beyond measure, by a simple act of kindness, that not everyone was like
that. He could only focus on the fact if he gave in now, they would win. It
was over and he was alive. He just had to use it and make sure he grew
stronger from it. Learning from it was the only thing to do that could give
it some sort of meaning.

Finally he sat up and typed in the last codes. "Encryption completed." Then
he sighed, turned off the machine and left.


In the morning, he made his way down to the wardroom, where they were
meeting to discuss what tests they would repeat and how to run the
simulations safely. He still felt a low level fear in his stomach, but today
he was fresh and determined. The thing he had to worry about first, was what
everyone else would think.


"So the Saratoga has been cleared, to watch our backs, while we do this.
They would just be sitting around in any case, if they didn't." The sub in
question was the equivalent of  'Air Force' one, in the sea, and had just
delivered the joint Chiefs of Staff for the trial, as it drew to a close.
"We'll have the spectres out as well, just in case. Do you want to change
anything about the rest of the simulation?"

"No." This wasn't going to be easy. They were being very ancy about
anything that was similar or the same as the last tests. "That's fine. And
after that we can move on to the dogfight."

"Good. Any questions?" Hudson looked around, but everyone seemed satisfied
with the precautions, though still nervous about the whole idea. "Well,
then. Let's not waste time. How long before you can have her ready for
launch?"

Lucas swallowed; they still hadn't realised. "I should be ready in about
fifteen."

The room went very still and quiet. Kimura gave him a quick smile of
encouragement.

"You mean Commander Kimura or whoever from your team you picked," Ford said
carefully.

"No. I meant me."

"You can't be serious! How can you even think about doing this..." Ford
exploded.

"We've got lots of safety precautions, right? Or is it still not safe
enough, because if that's the case we should call it off," he replied
irritably in his tenseness.

"You're crazy to even think about doing this! We could never let you..."

"Commander, I'm in charge of this project and I designed the damn thing! I
think I have a right to test it, if I choose! I do not need you to protect
me! And besides I want to do this. I need to be able to prove to myself that
I can handle this. If I can't, then I can't hope to be able to stay here and
work effectively."

"There are other ways of proving that, Lieutenant. And maybe it's too soon.
In this case, the Commander is right," Hudson said meditatively.

"I'm going to have to do something that means that I'm at risk, sometime in
my life and I think that, actually, this is as safe as it's going to get.
And I think I can decide for myself when I'm ready to do something. Nothing
is going to happen and I'm going to be there and see that it doesn't and
then I'm going to know that I can get on with my life. If I'm heading up the
team, I'm the one who has to make this choice and I've made it. If you have
problems with it, that's your business not mine. I will not sit around and
halt my life because you seem to think I should. I need your support not
your protection, not your trying to hold me back because you can't cope with
it!" He had risen slightly, shouting, and he sat down again now, waiting,
angry at them. "I'm not a child and I don't want to be treated like one.
According to the UEO, I'm an officer and I want you to respect my decisions,
like you would with everyone else. What more do I have to do to prove myself
to you?" He took a deep breath. "I'm tired of having this conversation." He
couldn't care less that he had just had it in the wardroom, with all of
them, and that he was not being military or professional. It was about time
he said it and they accepted it. "Well, if no one is going to argue with me
any more, I'll go and get ready."

In any other circumstances Hudson would have killed him for an out burst
like that. "Good Luck, Lieutenant," he called, as Lucas left.


"You're cleared for launch," Ford's voice came across the PAL as he took
one last, deep breath before the fighter lifted up and out of the boat. For
a moment he panicked, but nothing happened and he swallowed hard.

"OK. I'm clear."

"Shutting off sensors in thirty seconds to start simulation." There was a
pause. "Good Luck," Ford said and then they both cut communication links.

He was astonished that his hands were not shaking. He felt as if he were
about to be sick, but somehow it was just nerves, rather than the fear as he
had expected. It did not seem real, almost as though he were watching
someone totally disconnected from himself. He looked down at his watch and
powered up the engines. Three....two... The exhilaration of the craft's
graceful movements soothed him as he picked up speed through the clear
water, engaging the stealth functions. Still nothing happened. He dipped the
fighter into a trench and then pulled round, past Kimura's spectre and off
into the dark water.


"Sensors on. Find that fighter," Hudson ordered, tensely.

"Yes, Sir." They all set to work looking, typing fast, repositioning the
WSKRS, doing different sweeps and scans for water disturbance, heat levels.

"Well?"

"We've got a pod of porpoises on our right," Tim looked over, grinning.
"No fighter."

"Find it," Hudson ordered. He knew he had taken precautions. The area could
not be safer, but he could feel the anxiety in all of them. Nothing could go
wrong this time. It must not! He knew he was being illogical, but the
memories were hard to get past and he knew he would not be able to relax and
enjoy the tests as a challenging game, until he knew where the fighter was.

"There's nothing out there, Sir," Henderson told him, searching the data on
her screen.

"Keep looking."

He dipped the fighter down into the trenches again, making a slow loop back
towards the boat, watching the signals, that were their searches and scans,
on his sensors and responding to them. The spectres were three little green
dots on the screen off to his left, as the walls flew past. He'd forgotten
how much he loved the feeling of speed, the skill of handling a craft at
that velocity. It was a challenge. He slowed and took the fighter down to
the sea bed, skimming across it, only a few metres above the surface. There
was little sand on the rocks, so he need not fear their sensors picking up a
rising cloud where he passed. He hit the key to change the colouring of the
craft: the paint was heat sensitive to the small warming devices under the
armouring. He held the fighter still on the top of a ridge, looking down
into the valley over which the boat was moving slowly. The three spectres
were on the opposite side. Slowly he edged the fighter off the cliff and let
it glide down steeply and then along the bottom, picking up speed and
setting his target. 150...170...190... They would see him in a few moments,
but by that time he would be too close for them to react in time. At the
last moment, he pulled the craft up off the bottom and fired, flipping it
over the top of the boat and then turning back, away from the spectres,
increasing speed and slowly rising until he was just below the surface and
then he checked to see what damage he had caused.



"Fighter dead ahead ... firing..." Henderson gasped in one breath. "Direct
hit to engineering decks, Sir," she grinned.

"Target weapons..."

"I can't, Sir. We lost it."

"What do you mean you lost it? It just fired on us. It must be there!" Ford
exclaimed, leaning over her shoulder to check the information for himself.

"Well?" Hudson asked with amusement in his voice. He could relax now- more
or less.

Ford shook his head. "It's gone. How did it get so close without us even
knowing?" he asked. "We never even got a chance to fire intercepts or move
out of the way!"

"I'm rather interested in that question myself, Commander. Now, let's see
if we can find it, before we're destroyed for the second time today by one
test subfighter. Get the spectres out on a patrol pattern."



He moved the fighter back towards the boat, only five metres below the
surface. He would have gone higher, but then he would have risked buffeting
by the troughs of the waves. "What to target this time?" he muttered to
himself, as he approached for the second pass and dived. He could have fired
from where he was, but that would have meant that they would have been aware
of him sooner, this way he was inside the response time and weapons
parameters, before they even knew.



They had the simulation data up on the main screen now, as the alarms
started signalling proximity and weapons fire. The clamour died down after
a few seconds, the warnings too late.

"Sir, rear propulsion is out. Hull breech in three decks. We're dead in the
water. And I can't find the fighter."

Hudson frowned, not sure whether to simply be impressed or terrified by
their inability to respond. He was certainly glad that this was their design.



The fighter was lying on the bottom, below them, its pilot laughing. Had
they had enough? One, more pass, he promised himself. Besides, he needed a
chance to take on the subfighter. He would make sure this one was
impressive. He adjusted the targeting, as it was pulling slightly to the
left, but only by a tiny margin. It was already set to take account of water
pressure, currents, temperature and movement of the target. Then he reset
the target, powered up the engines and lifted the fighter straight up, into
their path firing.

And then sweeping down behind the first spectre as his craft appeared on
their sensors. The spectre started forward wildly, breaking sharply to the
right, but he had already fired, quickly U- turning to move in behind the
second as it swerved in his path, to avoid him. For a while he chased it,
suddenly throwing the fighter up and over it, flipping the fighter over and
firing as he approached it head on and then diving, to pass just beneath it,
and then up over Kimura's spectre, as she came in on Brody's tail.



The alarms wailed for a moment, the crew scrambling frantically. "Fighter
bearing off to the right and engaging with spectre 1."

"Damage report."

"Direct hit to the bridge, Sir."

"Can we assist the spectres?"

"No, Sir. We wouldn't be able to guarantee not hitting our own. They're
moving too fast." The simulation beeped again loudly, new data flashing up
on the screen.

"Permission to return to the boat, Sir," Tony's voice came across. "I'm dead."

"Permission granted." Hudson shook his head. "Where are the other two
spectres?"

"Fighter is engaged with spectre two, Commander Kimura is moving into
position behind to assist..." she blinked at what she saw on her screen.
"Er... Spectre two is down, Sir."

"Had enough, Captain?" a cheerful voice came across the comms link, after a
quick crackle of static, as he reactivated the link.

"I think it's safe to say we surrender. We're dead anyway," he added,
sighing. "Come on back and tell us how the hell that thing works, because
unless it's as good as it seems, it means that the UEO's best just got
killed three times by one subfighter and I'm not too sure how pleased
Secretary McGath would be with that news."



"I owe you for that!" Brody said, as they met in the docking bay.

Lucas ran his hand through his hair, having taken off helmet for the
fighter, grinning as Kimura came towards them and stood before him with her
arms crossed.

"I'm not letting you take her out again before you give me a go," she said
and they laughed, delighted that their hard work had paid and also in
relief. It had been a success and an important test in more ways than one;
each time he proved to himself that he could cope, it gave him strength to
try harder and achieve more.



"So a single fighter- a prototype, single test fighter- had seaQuest either
badly damaged, dead in the water or completely down three times?"

"And he took out two spectres," Kimura added.

McGath blinked at them. "I just hope that this is a reflection of the
fighter's ability and not something else," he said pointedly. "I will have
my people analyse the data carefully, but I can assure you that if this
thing is as good as it seems, we will go into production as soon as we can
finish testing and get approval. This is highly impressive. Good work," he
added and cut the link.

"Well, I'd say that was an unqualified success," Hudson said, turning back
from the view screen.
"The stealth capabilities and the speed of that thing are incredible. I
can see how it might look like it was just our incompetence! Now, I think
it's time you went and celebrated. Tell the rest of the team the good news.
Dismissed." Kimura and Lucas got up, still alight with excitement and
success. "Congratulations," Hudson said, his tone conveying the deeper
meaning in the words. "That was a very impressive performance out there and
I think it just confirmed what we knew already."




Copyright E.Casale 1997


===========================  PART 11  =====================================


copyright E.Casale 1997

Chapter 11


As soon as the team at HQ had seen the data, they had sent out a team to run
through the trials and they were finished within a week. Three days after
that, they started production of a set of the new fighters. They were all
thrilled, but for the two main people involved it meant a lot more. To Lucas
it meant that he could see again, how vital it had been for him not to
disclose the codes. 

For Kimura, it was the thing that finally got her acceptance from the crew.
The fighter was their project and she had helped design it, so they, some
still grudgingly, had to admit respect for her and her ability to contribute
to their team. It meant that she was now a part of the crew. She had not
realised before how much she had minded about the looks and the laughter,
how far she had had to bury herself- she had lived like that with the
Chaodi, anyway. The idea of trying to drop her defences, was frightening,
something she had rarely admitted, but more than that, she was no longer
sure how to, they had become ingrained, a part of her; half the time she
couldn't even tell that she was projecting those feelings, that pushed
people away and made them uneasy with her, made them think her
unapproachable. She didn't know how to chat like they did, what to say. She
didn't understand their humour a lot of the time and she still hadn't
adjusted to the freedom they enjoyed without realising how precious it was.
She was not used to not feeling bitter the whole time and being surrounded
by other bitter people, but by people with hope, people who looked to change
what they did not like, to make themselves better.

The concept of the individual did not count where she had come from. You
were part of a unit, a group an attack force. You were part of your ship and
the whole of the military. It was one unit, with one purpose, that was the
Chaodi philosophy. Trying to think of who she was, was a terrifying concept.
She had no idea where to begin, or what to look for, afraid that she would
not find anything, or nothing that she wanted. She had heard people talking
about letting others in, but she did not want to. They wouldn't like what
they would see. It would scare them and shame her and they would hate her
for what she really was. Maybe it was better that she just was not close to
anyone, rather than letting someone get close enough to hate her, as they
certainly would.

"You should be happy," a voice behind her disturbed her thoughts. "Aren't
you glad that your design is such a success?" Tim crossed over to her and
leant against the side of the tank.

She looked at him, her face blank, as she tried to read his expression. They
had talked several times now, not really talked, like they used to. Maybe
she was just fooling herself, but it did seem, like it was slightly easier
each time, that they were both gradually becoming less stiff and less wary
with each other. She would not have blamed him for not forgiving her, he
still had not said anything about it, but he had forgiven her enough not to
ignore her any more or look at her with such glaring hurt and hatred in his
eyes. She wanted him to talk to her, to confide in her like he used to, to
come to her for comfort when Hudson shouted or something went wrong, but he
could not trust her. She had given him no reason to and every reason not to,
to be too afraid to. If she wanted his trust back, she would have to earn it
and the only way she could do that, was by putting herself in the same
position as he was, where she was completely vulnerable to him, if he chose
to hurt her.

She had never let herself be put in that position, out of choice. She had
never let anyone have control over her. What did she care about more: her
pride in her self reliance or that her wish to no longer be like that? Her
eyes flickered across to him. She was used to being cynical, but somehow she
knew he would not hurt her if she placed herself in that position. No matter
how angry he was, he was not cruel and she knew him better than to think
that he would do anything against her. He understood too clearly how it
felt. She wanted new things out of life, that she had always thought of with
contempt and disdain, probably because they weren't options open to her. It
was getting harder and harder being around people who did have those things
and just watching. She had to do something to change that and she had to
start some time. And this was the one person she knew she could trust. She
just wished that she could say the same in the reverse. Well, she could
change that too. What did she care about most?

"It's not what I want any more," she said quietly and took a deep breath.



Tony paused mid-sentence, his fork half way to his mouth.

"What?" Brody asked, craning round to see what he was staring at, stopping
himself as Tim and Kimura came in talking, smiling and then came over to
join them.

"You choke on something, Tony?" Tim asked, cheerfully.

"Uhuh. I'm mean, yeah. Uh, we were just talking about the fighter..."



Ford and Loni looked over at the group, laughing over the trials. "I think
he definitely had a point," Ford said, smiling, picking up the thread of an
old conversation. People would never cease to surprise you and prove you
wrong in all your assumptions.



Morale had risen sharply again as the first fighters were finished and
training on them started. They continued to patrol aimlessly along the quiet
border. In the last few weeks nothing had happened to require their help, so
they waited as the trial progressed.



"Lieutenant Wolenczak to the wardroom." The order came across the comms and
Lucas got up, handing his station over to another crew member. He frowned as
he hurried down the corridor. Why did Hudson want to see him? He couldn't
think of a reason, couldn't think of anything that could have happened to go
wrong. If it was something major he would have told the whole bridge. He
knocked quickly on the door and entered as Hudson called him in.

"Sit, down, Lieutenant. And don't look so worried."

"Er... you wanted to see me...." he asked nervously.

"It's good news. I thought you'd like to be the first to hear. Howard has
been convicted and sentenced to serve multiple life sentences. The verdict
was decided a few hours ago, but they held it over so that they could move
him first. No one will know where he is. The press is having a field day.
And I don't need to tell you how important this is to the UEO. It's our
first main challenge to show that we won't accept that sort of corruption.
Lieutenant?"

"Huh?" Lucas looked up quickly. "I'm just... really glad," he said,
sighing, not believing it fully, then he smiled.

"I was just surprised that the GELF nation didn't demand the death
penalty," Hudson commented.

Lucas shook his head. "They wouldn't. They don't see that his death will do
anything about their loss. It won't give anything back and it won't ease
what they feel. It would just be pointless to them. They'd look on that as
just as barbaric as what he did," he explained.

The PAL chirped and Hudson reached over to turn it on. "Yes?" he asked,
annoyed at the interruption.

"There's an urgent message from General McGath, Sir."

Hudson sighed. "Put it through."

"Shall I..." Lucas got up to leave, as McGath appeared on the screen.

"Howard's dead," he told them before Hudson could reply. "He hanged
himself in his cell an hour after they arrived at the prison." Hudson
glanced across at Lucas, who was staring at the wall.
"In a way, it's almost better. Now we don't have to worry about people
trying to get him out or his organising things and talking to the
Macronesians from the prison. I just thought I should tell you before it's
all over the news. I'll also have new orders for you tomorrow, so you can
get away from this patrolling," he added and cut the link.

"They didn't need to ask for the death penalty because they understand that
there are worse things than that, like spending the rest of your life in a
prison," Lucas said softly. Days stretching out without hopem only despair,
endless: boredom, silence, stillness, loneliness, trapped and cornered like
an animal. Disdain from those around, looks of hatred and disgust, a
criminal, a monster, no control over anything: can't walk somewhere else,
can't eat when you want, can't see the sunlight when you need to. Echoing
halls of nothing. No chance to talk to people, to love or be loved, to give
or do anything, except follow the routine and watch your life pass before
your eyes, day by day, all the same, all empty. A moment's resolution and a
minute's absolute fear, simply a natural reaction of any threatened animal,
completely subconscious, completely overwhelming. Even Howard, for all his
pride and determination, would have felt it, unavoidably. Trying to enjoy
every movement while you prepare, thinking, wondering with amazement at your
own actions. Five minutes of pain to prepare and then... if you could. But
without hope of anything, simply watching the years stretch out, knowing
that nothing you could do would ever get you out of there, no second
chances. Nothing. 

He could understand how Howard could kill himself. Several times he had
thought about it in the prison as he waited between his trips to see Stark,
but he hadn't had the chance. And he didn't think he could have, even if he
were going to die anyway, even if he were going to die in pain. He had
refused to give up and let them win without some hope he would never have
been able to say 'no', but equally he couldn't just finish it while he still
had that hope. He had tried to finally, but only because it had been the
only thing he could do and he couldn't let his friends be betrayed because
of him.

" Howard was too proud to ever let that happen. He must have realised that,
without Reggs or Andrews, he wasn't going to get out. For someone who's used
to complete control and power, to not have it, even over his own life..." He
was shocked that he was pleased, but he couldn't have felt safe with Howard
alive. Besides, Howard understood what he would have been facing and he
could well appreciate the choice. He just felt sad that anyone would be
faced with it, but Howard had committed unbelievable atrocities. How did
people get to be able to do that and live with themselves, be happy with
themselves, even proud? Maybe suicide was the best option, but what did that
say about the situation?

"Do you think that McGath knew that anyway?" he asked, tiredly.

" I don't know," Hudson replied truthfully.

Lucas nodded. It was over and there was nothing more to do or that could be
done.


THE END
=====================================================================


copyright E.Casale 1997