==========================================================================
                               LOUDER THAN WORDS
                        Rachel Brody & Melissa Beattie
==========================================================================
   Timeline: SeaQuest 2032
   Author's E-Mail: bi185@freenet.buffalo.edu
==========================================================================

ARCHIVIST'S NOTES: As you may notoce some part after are writen by author
  Jennifer Bradley. This is just pseudonym for Rachel Brody and Melissa
  Beattie (at least Melissa told me so). It was their first work and they
  didn't know how will be accepted, but we sure know end of it, right?
  --Andy


=========================  PART 0 - TEASER ===============================

                             Louder Than Words
                                  Prologue
                       Melissa Beattie & Rachel Brody

    Nathan Bridger was tired. Exhausted, actually, but after
the whole Barrabas Island mission, who could blame him?
    He'd be leaving soon. Leaving the one place that had ever
_truly_ been his. His baby. His pride and joy. His _life_.
    His _seaQuest_.
    Bridger was finished with most of the minor details of his
departure. In fact, he had but one loose end to tie. The most
important one.
    He reached the door that he was looking for, and knocked.
    "Come in," a voice said from within.
    Bridger opened the door, and stepped into the perpetual mess
that was Lucas' quarters. The lights were dimmed, and all
Bridger could see was Lucas' silhouette sitting on the bed.
   "Lucas?"
    "Here," Lucas answered softly.
    Bridger felt the slightest bit uncomfortable. "Uh, Lucas, I
just came to say good-bye."
    In the dimness, Bridger saw Lucas shrug. "So long, " Lucas
said flatly.
    Bridger blinked in confusion. "Lucas," he said, befuddled,
"Is something wrong?"
    "Wrong?" Lucas echoed with a disbelieving chuckle. "What
could _possibly_ be wrong?"  He chuckled again, and this time
Bridger heard the hard edge in the boy's voice.
    "You're acting..." Bridger shrugged. "Odd."
    "Really."
    "Yes, really." Bridger was starting to feel like he was
talking to a wall. "Are you okay?" he asked, moving closer.
    "No," Lucas said after a moment of silence. "No, Captain,
I'm _not_ okay. In fact," he continued, "I'm pretty damned
_terrible_, thanks for asking!"
    Bridger felt somewhat stunned at the boy's outburst. Lucas
almost _never_ spoke to him like that. "Lucas, please," Bridger
nearly pleaded, "Tell me what's wrong."  At Lucas' silence,
Bridger continued. "Maybe I can help."
    Lucas actually laughed aloud at that. There was no humor in
the sound. "You've done enough all ready," he said bitterly.
    Bridger felt his heart skip a beat. He moved next to Lucas,
and sat down next to him on the bed. "What could I possibly have
done to you?"  *I'd never do anything to him intentionally! He
_must_ know that!*
    Lucas promptly sprang to his feet, and faced Bridger. "Oh,
gee, I don't know!"  Lucas made a show of trying to think of
something. "Maybe..."  He snapped his fingers. "Maybe the fact
that you _lied_ to me for all these years?!?"
    Bridger was stunned. He couldn't force himself to speak.
    After a few seconds, Lucas continued. "Not _once_ in all of
the time I've known you, did you ever even _hint_ at the fact
that you used to work for Section Seven!  You also failed to
mention," he continued, now practically shouting, "The fact that
_you knew_ about the experiments being performed on Barrabas,
and, the fact that _you_ covered it up!"  Lucas fell silent,
breathless from his tirade.
    "Lucas, I..." Bridger trailed off, uncertain of what to say.
"I'm sorry," was the best that he could do.
    "Sorry?!?"  Lucas' sky-blue eyes were wide with incredulity.
"You're sorry?!?  Why are you apologizing to me? What about all
of the GELFs that were _slaughtered_?!?  Are you going to
apologize to them, too?!?"
    "I--" Bridger began, but Lucas cut him off.
    "I can forgive Commander Ford," he was saying. "The end
result would've been the same, except that he would've been dead
too. But _you_..."  Lucas looked away for a moment, then
straight into Bridger's eyes. "I thought I knew you, Captain. I
told you _everything_-- good _and_ bad-- about me, and I thought
that you'd done the same. Boy," Lucas said, shaking his head.
"Was I _wrong_."
    A hot knife had wedged itself into Bridger's heart, slashing
it into pieces. He stood and headed toward the door, unable to
meet Lucas' accusatory gaze. But as he reached it, Bridger
realized that he couldn't leave things like this. "Lucas," he
said, reaching out his hand to the boy,  "Come with me. Let me
take you with me, and I'll explain everything."  *The Navy will
only get you killed, Lucas,* he pleaded silently. *You almost
died at Barrabas!  If you come with me, I can protect you!*
    Lucas looked at him long and hard. His eyes might as well
have been made of chunks of cobalt. "You told me on Hyberion not
to let `them' take away what I believed."  Bridger saw Lucas take
a deep breath. "But now, I'm not going to let _you_ take me away
from what I believe. And I believe that Captain Hudson and the
Navy needs me."  Lucas looked at the floor. "And," he said in a
low voice, "I believe that what you did back then was wrong, and
by covering it up, you're making it _worse_."
    Bridger opened the door and left Lucas' quarters, not
trusting himself to say another word. Intellectually, he
realized that his fears for Lucas' safety were groundless. But
as he walked to his shuttle, one nagging thought kept popping up
in his mind.
    *Hudson's converted Lucas to his way of thinking.*
    As far as Bridger was concerned, that was no good thing.
Hudson liked "good soldiers," and after what they'd just been
through, Bridger was terrified that Lucas might become just that.
    He'd be damned if that happened.
    As he boarded the shuttle and departed his ship, Bridger
looked to where he knew Lucas' quarters were. *Lucas,* he
silently vowed, *I swear I'll keep you safe-- somehow.*
    No matter what it took.
    A few weeks later, Bridger was watching the feed from the
World News Net on his new boat. It had been purchased with a
mere fraction of his accumulated wealth. He'd bought the large
craft under a false name, so that he could be as reclusive as he
wanted. But he was hardly out of touch with the world.
    "And now," the anchorman, something-or-the-other Kent, "To
repeat our top story, the Osiris base, held hostage by escaped
prisoners from Tantalus Colony, has been freed by the crew of the
UEO's _seaQuest_.
    Bridger's attention level jumped about three notches at the
mention of his ship. He turned the volume up.
    "According to reports, Captain Oliver Hudson of the
_seaQuest_  " Bridger felt a stab of anger at Kent's calling
Hudson the captain of the _seaQuest_-- "was negotiating in order
to buy time for his strike team to enter the base, while also
trying to convince the leader, one Mason Freeman, to spare the
lives of two of his officers, sent over there to negotiate the
scientists' release."
    Bridger felt a surge of pride swell within him at hearing of
his crew's valiance and bravery. But he also felt a stab of fear
when he let himself wonder who the "negotiation team" had been
composed of. Bridger knew that Hudson wouldn't dare send--
    His thought was cut short as Kent's words reached him. "And
now," the anchorman said, "Footage of the actual rescue, led by
Commander Jonathan Ford."
    The first thing Bridger saw was an image of Lucas, with a
gun pressed to his neck.
    "_Lucas_!"  Bridger yelled as he vaulted up from his chair.
His shock and horror blotted most of the actual words out, but he
dimly heard Hudson volunteer to give into Freeman's demands, but
the criminal said that he didn't care, he just wanted to kill
Lucas, and to make the others watch. Almost in slow motion,
Bridger saw Freeman flick the safety off on his gun, and saw his
finger tighten on the trigger...
    ...And, to his immense relief, Bridger saw Ford, Piccolo,
and several others rush in and subdue the escapees. Lucas was
safe, and had, in fact, managed to knock Freeman unconscious.
Bridger started to breathe again.
    But then, he realized something.
    There was no way in Hell that Lucas should've been there in
the first place.
    Bridger knew that Lucas should never have been sent along on
the mission. _No one_ should have been. It was so obvious that
it was a trick, that even someone like Hudson should've been able
to figure out that the team would've been taken hostage.
    Unless, Hudson _had_ known.
    In which case, there was only one reason why he'd been
willing to send a team over there.
    Hudson didn't give a damn about his crew's lives. He just
put them into life-threatening situations in the blink of an eye,
without even _thinking_ about it. Had Ford attacked a half-
second later, Lucas would've _died_. And who knew how many more
would've followed?
    The crew, _his_ crew, had to be saved.
    _Lucas_ had to be saved.
    Bridger began to plan.
    It had hurt for so long. He had never known why until he
had seen her again. Seen her, seen her crew, and seen her
_Captain_-- he sneered the title in his mind. Hudson had never
really _deserved_ _seaQuest_. He hadn't worked for her, and he
hadn't rebuilt her from scratch, and he hadn't grown with her.
He was an outsider. And as far as Nathan Bridger was concerned,
Hudson had no business on that ship.
    From his point of view,  Hudson was no better than a common
thief. Just because Bridger had left _seaQuest_ didn't give
anyone else the right to take her.
    But the gnawing thought in the back of his head reminded him
that _seaQuest_ wasn't the only thing that Hudson had stolen.
He--and the Navy he stood for-- had been the ones who had cost
him everything that made his life worthwhile. Robert, Carol,
Darwin, Wendy...
    And Lucas. The teenager had been an important part of his
life without his ever realizing it, for years. Even now, after
so long, he couldn't entirely make himself believe that he had
only known the boy for two and a half years, subjective time,
twelve and a half, objectively. Although he had never really
admitted it to anyone else before, he had let Lucas take over
Robert's place. And in return, he had filled in the empty gap
that was the place where Lucas' father should have been.
    They had understood each other so perfectly. But then, just
six short months ago, his world had been turned upside down.
Learning that Lucas had joined the Navy had been the final straw.
Lucas would have followed him to Hell and back. In fact, he
practically had.
    Knowing that his "adopted" son was vulnerable to the same
senseless circumstances that had cost him Robert-- vulnerable to
a Captain without the guts to back down from a fight-- it had
ripped him apart. And then, to find out that the Captain who had
seaQuest was Hudson, just the type of ultra-military jerk who
would provoke such a fight in the first place...
    That was why he was here. "Here," of course, being the
small outpost that was slightly north of the Neilson Reef, or
eight thousand, three hundred thirty-eight kilometers off the
coast of Chile.
    He had to protect Lucas-- and the rest of the world-- from
the likes of both the UEO Navy and Captain Oliver Hudson. And
the fact that he would receive personal enjoyment out of his
self-appointed holy crusade-- that was only the icing on the
cake.
    He had been waiting for months to be able to make his move.
There were only a few more things that had to be done, and the
someone who was going to aid him with that would be here shortly.
    Elaine Morse wouldn't know why she had been sought out. She
wouldn't know why Bridger had been so careful. She wouldn't know
that he had pulled strings, called in favors, and exercised his
considerable influence to put her in her current position. She
wouldn't know about the "accident" that he'd arranged should she
refuse his request. She would only know that she didn't have
much of a chance if she didn't accept his offer.
    So Bridger waited patiently, as he had done for so many
months.


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


                        Louder Than Words
                            Chapter 1
                   Melissa Beattie & Rachel Brody

    "Hold it, Parker. What the hell are you doing on board my
ship?"
    Twenty-nine year old Matt Parker didn't want to "hold"
anything. He had put up with this woman's constant annoyances
for what seemed like ages, and he'd had enough of it.
    "Miss Morse, your cargo has been impounded."
    Elaine Morse's jaw dropped. "What?!?"
    Parker held up a warrant, silently telling himself that his
mother's insistence that he be chivalrous towards women didn't
apply to the witch who had been on his nerves since she had
docked. Even though it was never fun to have to do this to
another shipper, he had to admit that he had been almost glad
earlier that morning, when the communique had arrived from the
UEO. The _Dionysus_ was carrying stolen goods.
    "Look, you've got some heavy charges coming down on you.
Resisting the security procedures is only going to make it worse
for you."
    Although the look on her face registered as one of pure
shock, Parker had enough experience with her type than to take
her reaction at face value. She had probably rehearsed it for
weeks.
    "Charges?  Security procedures?  What kind of crap is that?"
    Parker wasn't required to answer her questions, but every so
often, even a pain-in-the-ass like Morse deserved some kind of
explanation.
    "I received a communique from the UEO this morning, and
they've confirmed the whereabouts of a stolen shipment of nitro-
oxygenic medical supplies. Your ship."
    Morse stared in shock. She glanced out into the docking
area, unsure of exactly what Parker expected her to say. She
knew that he had never liked her, but to falsify dataforms and
lie about where she had gotten her cargo in order to put her out
of business was so unethical that she couldn't fathom... "My
ship?"  She coughed, half laughing, at the absurdity of it all.
"Matt, you know that I've been here for almost two weeks. That
tanker was pirated the day before yesterday, and the _Dionysus_
hasn't left dock!"
    "Then how do you explain the supplies you loaded this
morning?"
    She thought back to the night before. "I met with some of
those Spindrifters who left around 1200. They hired me to
transport them to Manihiki. I agreed."
    "Wouldn't it have been easier-- and cheaper-- for them to
bring the supplies themselves?"
    Morse flashed an impatient smile. "I don't question my
customers," she told the scruffy owner\policeman\pain-in-the-
neck. "Most of them like it that way."  Not to mention that she
was so desperate for business that she couldn't afford to turn
anyone away.
    "Maybe you should have."  Parker fished a set of handcuffs
out of his back pocket, not sure if he wanted to use them or not.
"As it is, both the supplies are going to confiscated."  She was
lucky that he wasn't going to arrest her.
    "You do that, and I'll--"
    "Elaine, you don't have any way out of this."  Parker was
astonished to find that he actually felt _sorry_ for her. "I'd
recommend that you turn over the cargo. If you can get ahold of
those `Spindrifters', I'll try to help you out. If the story you
just gave me is true, you couldn't be found guilty of anything
other than exercising bad judgement."
    Morse was startled by Parker's sudden burst of humanity. As
far as she knew, he had always regarded her as a small-minded
mercenary who was just out for her cut. And he was right, except
for the small-minded part. "I'll get to keep the _Dionysus_?"
    "I think so."
    She made a show of glaring and pushing past him, out onto
the cargo deck, then wandered out of the bay, not knowing where
she was headed. Without that shipment, she would never be able
to make her next payment on the _Dionysus_. The agency would
foreclose on her loan, and she'd be right back where she started
from-- but this time, she'd be dead broke.
    Without quite knowing how, she found herself in one of the
small cantinas on the Neilson Outpost that reminded her so much
of the plaza-like area of her own old station. She plunked down
in a booth, let her head roll back, and stared at the ceiling.
    Talk about bad luck. As of late, she had been going through
her worst stretch of the stuff in years. The mercenary business
was as busy as ever, just not for her "type". They all wanted
big ships, lots of weapons, low-caliber, stupid crews. And she
had refused to lower her standards.
    *That was dumb, Elaine. Just dumb.*  She should have given
in to the pressure, and built up the _Dionysus_' defensive and
offensive capabilities. Or if she wasn't prepared to do that to
her pride and joy, she could have sold her and lived off the
profits for a while.
    But that was really beside the point, which was that she was
dead in the water. Without money, without friends-- except maybe
for _him_.
    "Is this seat taken?"
    She looked up and faked a smile at the man who had asked her
the question. She shook her head as she tried to get rid of the
sudden feeling of apprehension that had filled it. "No. Go
ahead."
    He sat, glass of water in hand, and seemed to notice that
she wasn't in the best of moods. "Is something troubling you,
young lady?"
    She put her head in her hands and vigorously rubbed her
temples. Maybe that would relieve the pressure of the world that
she had become so used to. It was crushing in on her, and she
wasn't sure how much longer she could take it. "You wouldn't
understand.
    He shrugged in a carefree manner that Elaine found herself
jealous of. "I might not," he acceded, "But then again, I
might."
    She wasn't sure of how to respond to that, so she didn't.
    "By the time one gets to be my age...there's not much that
one doesn't understand."
    This time, the smile that graced her lips was genuine,
brought on by the amount of calm and confidence that he radiated.
*Well, she told herself, If he's looking for a good sob story...*
"Okay...but don't say that I didn't warn you."
    He downed the remainder of the water. "I doubt very much
that I need a warning from whatever you're going to tell me."
    His manner was so much like that of a grandfather that Morse
couldn't hold herself back. She had only met him a few minutes
ago, but already she felt like they had some sort of bond. So
she didn't bother to keep anything back. She told him
everything, from her short-lived career as a UEO Constable, to
her two almost-marriages to Oliver, to her current situation.
What's more, he listened. And when she had finished, she was
amazed at how much lighter the weight on her chest had become.
    He was silent for a few moments, as though reflecting on her
story. Then, he leaned forward. "So, you're having financial
difficulties?"
    She shrugged. "You could say that."  *Although, I don't
know how that's possible without any finances to have
difficulties with.*  She laughed, and was surprised at how good
it felt. "I guess this is the part where you reveal yourself as
my fairy godfather, huh..."
    "Not exactly."  The man held out his hand. "My name is
Nathan Bridger. I trust you've heard of me?"
    He said it with such conviction that she forced herself not
to dismiss his question with a wave of her hand. Instead, she
racked her brain for any reference to a Nathan Bridger, and was
surprised with what she came up with. "Oliver might have said
something about you once or twice. You built his ship, didn't
you?"
    His reaction to her comment was more violent than she would
have thought he was capable of. "_My_ ship."  His fist hit the
table top, emphasizing his point. She jerked back. He noticed
this, and his demeanor immediately changed back to its original
form. "I'm sorry," he said, "I shouldn't have reacted like that.
But, to get back to what you were telling me, Ms. Morse, I think
I may have a solution to your problem..."
    If Elaine Morse had known what he was about to get her into,
she would have stood up and hurried back to her ship as fast as
she could carry herself, and she wouldn't have looked back.


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


Chapter 2:
    As Oliver Hudson sat in the command chair of his ship, he
ouldn't keep his mind off of the new violin holo he'd received
that morning.
    But the worst part was that he couldn't keep himself from
expressing that impatience. He had checked his watch every
fifteen minutes, almost to the dot, and all it was doing was
making the time until shifts changed that much harder to stand.
    "Captain, are you paying attention?"
    Hudson nodded absentmindedly, even though both he and
Commander Ford knew that he was doing nothing of the sort. "Yes,
Commander, go on."
    "I don't think so."
    "Commander, that wasn't a request. We've got to get those
crew evaluations done sooner or later, and a boring patrol is as
good a time as any, if you ask me."
    "Of course, sir."
    When Ford promptly continued, Hudson promptly drifted back
to the world of Hayden and Handel.

    "But Jan!"  Ensign Mark Holdin took a backwards step towards
the wall. "I never said--"
    "The hell you didn't!"
    Lieutenant J.J. Fredricks had heard the rumors that her
"boyfriend" had been spreading. They appalled her-- as much as
she was capable of being appalled.
    As much as she was capable of feeling _anything_.
    That the psych-chip had gotten rid of her phobias was
usually a blessing, but it could also be a curse. It
successfully blocked out most of her other strong emotions, too.
Especially on occasions like this, when she wanted to be able to
go through the roof at someone, she found herself wishing that it 
wasn't so damned effective.
    "Look, hon, I don't know what you've heard, but I swear,
they didn't come from me."  Holdin held his hands up in obviously
feigned innocence. "If I knew who was spreading those lies, you
know I'd stop 'em."  He widened his gray-brown eyes, trying to
get her to feel sorry for him. It failed miserably.
    "Mark, I've had it. Paula McCarthy told me she heard it
_directly_ from you."
    He squirmed, caught in a lie and knowing it. "Okay. _Okay_!
So maybe I--"
    The partial confession was plenty. "Shut up. I've heard
enough out of you."  She moved closer, right in his face. "We
are through."
    "_What_?!?"  He sounded shocked.
    "I _said_:  We are _through_."
    His expression turned angry. "Fine then, Jan, but remember
this: no one breaks up with Marcus Andrew Holdin. _No one_."
    Ignoring him, she walked towards the door, barely hearing
his final words.
    "You're gonna regret this."

    "Lucas late."
    "Yeah, Darwin. I know."  *Now even the _dolphin_ is giving
me a guilt trip.*  "I'll be on time next time."
    Lucas knew that Darwin looked forward to "play time", as he
still called it. It had started out as an informal thing when
they had first met, and it had really just been a time when Lucas
could work on his programming. From there, it had moved on to
being his escape from the world of adults, to a time when he
could let himself go.
    Once he had been promoted to Ensign, he had carefully
explained to Darwin that it just wasn't going to work out for him
to come every day. But the dolphin had bugged him so much,
always trailing along behind him it the aquatubes, that he had
felt bad. And now that he was ten minutes late, he wasn't going
to be allowed to forget it.
    He pulled out a portable computer, and began working. He
hadn't gotten more than a couple of lines of programming done,
however, before he was subjected to a flood of luke-warm water.
"Darwin!"  He was sorry, for a few minutes, that he hadn't worn a
swim suit. He could remember some of the romps that he and
Darwin had enjoyed back when...
    When what? What had changed? He answered his own unvoiced
question. Everything. From the Captain to the mission to the
entire world, nothing was the same any more. *But whose fault is
that?*
    It wasn't his, that much he knew. He stood, and walked
towards the old tub of stuff that he and Darwin used to play
with. He pulled out a bright, multi-colored ball, and tossed it
to the mammal.
    Darwin was ecstatic. His chirping became so loud that Lucas
was forced to put his hands over his ears and block it out, at
which point he was overwhelmed by guilt. He had been ignoring
the dolphin, just like everybody used to ignore him. He knew
that is wasn't fair, and it wasn't not the right way to treat a
friend.
    He was unprepared for the return toss, and the ball went
rolling across the deck. He left the computer where it was-- it
was waterproof, anyway. He chased after the ball, feeling like a
kid again. He caught up to it after a few seconds, and instead
of tossing it back, walked it up to the edge of the moonpool.
    "C'mere, you," he said, and Darwin splashed happily at the
attention.

    "Sir, I'm picking up a distress call."
    Hudson watched with pride as his crew, only seconds ago
acting disinterested, talking, and generally goofing off, snapped
to action. Everything worked like clockwork on his ship,
especially when he needed for it to.
    "Put it through."  O'Neill, working at communications,
didn't hesitate. The audio\visual transmission, garbled as it
was, filled the screen in less than a second.
    The visual transmission...
    "Elaine."
    He said it under his breath, because everyone on the bridge
already knew about his past with Elaine Morse, but he knew from
the look on Ford's face that he hadn't been quiet enough.
    Just saying her name was barely enough to keep the memories
from flooding back.
    "This is hauler 9914 requesting immediate aid. I repeat:
this is the hauler _Dionysus_ to any vessel within receiving
distance..."
    The rest of her transmission was drowned out by static--
both that on the screen and that in Hudson's mind. It wasn't
until Piccolo, only a few inches away, whispered the name of the
ship aloud that Hudson could think again.
    "The Greek god of wine."  Piccolo still seemed confused.
But Hudson knew that it wasn't the noncom's fault. *He just
never learned the stuff.*
    "It was our joke. She was drunk when we met. That's why
she said yes."
    "Yes sir."  Which, Hudson knew, was really Piccolo's way of
trying to dismiss the conversation.
    *What conversation?  I don't have _time_ for a damned
conversation!*  As much as Hudson hated to admit it, his mind was
right. He didn't have time to stand here and "enlighten" Tony
Piccolo while Elaine Morse was out there, and in trouble. "I'll
lend you the book when I get back."
    "When _you_ get back?"
    Hudson took a moment to curse the deities that had given him
such an overprotective first officer. Although Ford was
terrific, and he never would have exchanged him in a million
years, he couldn't help but feel a brief pang of annoyance at the
comment.
    "Well, we can't take _seaQuest_ off course, can we?"
    Ford's reaction told the captain rather clearly that Ford
thought that taking _seaQuest_ off course was preferable to
risking Hudson's safety. But where Elaine was concerned, Hudson
wasn't going to let some yuppie kid tell him what to do.
    "Sir, I--"
    "Save it. We'll be fine."  On the way off the Bridge, he
remembered to turn back and issue one more order. "Oh, and have
Lieutenant Henderson and Ensign Wolenczak report to the shuttle
bay. They'll be joining me."

    Lucas was sopping wet, as was the rest of the deck
surrounding the moonpool. He had been in and out of it several
times, both to get the ball back from Darwin as well as a result
of the dolphin getting overexcited. But he had to admit that he
hadn't had this much fun in ages.
    Darwin spouted again, blowing another shower of warmed water
over Lucas' face. The teen brushed it off as he took a few steps
back, breathing heavily.
    "Lucas have fun?"
    He grinned. "You bet."  He hadn't felt like this in years.
Not since he'd joined the Navy, at least. "We're going to have
to do this more often, buddy."
    At this promise of more fun, Darwin slapped his tailfin a
few times, sprinkling Lucas again. "When?"
    The eager, little-kiddish tone in Darwin's voice was hard to
miss...of course, it was also always there.
    "Soon, I promise. But I've got to go now. I'm on duty
in..." He trailed off as he checked his chrono. "...just over an
hour, and I've gotta get cleaned--"
    In midsentance, Lucas was interrupted by the sound of his
PAL He whipped it out and activated it. "Yeah?"
    It was Commander Ford. _"Ensign, the Captain wants you to
report to the shuttle bay immediately for a rescue mission."_
    Lucas looked at himself in shock. He was covered in water.
"You're kidding."
    _"You've got five minutes."_
    Lucas turned back to Darwin, still not sure of exactly how
he was going to get changed in five minutes. "Gotta go. Bye."
He took off, running. If he was lucky, he would be able to make
it to the--
    He wasn't lucky. He almost bumped into Hudson as he ran out
of the room, and he knew that his soaked appearance wasn't going
to get him any Boy Scout points.
    "Captain!"
    Hudson took a step back, avoiding the water. "Ensign, get a
towel."
    Lucas brushed the wet hair out of his view. "Yes sir.
Right away, sir."  He ducked back into the moonpool room, and
grabbed the first towel he saw.
    Hudson was waiting impatiently when he came out. "Don't you
have better ways to spend your time than to _play_ with _that
animal_?"
    Hudson had never tried to keep his disdain for Darwin a
secret. But Lucas didn't think it was necessary for him to be so
open with it. Of course, he wasn't going to tell Hudson that he
_preferred_ staying with the dolphin. If he did, Lucas knew that
he'd be the next one to be reading some ancient novel. "No sir.
I mean, yes sir."
    He felt himself flush as Hudson glared at him, turned on his
heel, and walked down the corridor. Apparently, he had better
things than how Lucas spent his free time to think about.

    Ford was all but running down the corridor. He had to get
to the launch bay before the shuttle left.
    "Lonnie!" he called as he saw her walking into the bay.
    She turned and moved towards him. "Jonathan!  I was hoping
you'd come to say good-bye!"
    "I just wanted to give you something."  He held out the
gold-wrapped box and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
    She accepted the box, held it to her ear, and shook it
gently. "To big for a ring..."
    He'd thought about getting her one, but had decided that it
would be inappropriate. But now...
    She gasped in delight as she opened the box, revealing the
pendant and key that he'd bought.
    "I hope I'm not being too forward," he said hesitantly.
    "It's beautiful."
    *So are you,* he thought. "Not nearly as beautiful as you
are."  This time, there was no hesitation.
    She dismissed his compliment with a wave of her hand.
"What's the key to?" she asked, holding it up.
    He'd been hoping she'd ask. "To give to someone you love."
    "Well, I'll be sure to think about who to give it to."
    She was such a tease...but that was why he loved her.
    She started to move back to the bay, but he touched her arm
and she turned back to him, an expectant look in her eyes.
    They kissed passionately.
    It was the right thing to do.

    Lucas was still a bit damp, but Hudson was hurrying him, and
he didn't want to get on the Captain's bad side this early in the
morning. There were a few things that he just didn't get. Why
he was on the recovery team was one of them.
    "We received the distress signal about fifteen minutes ago."
Lucas could tell that Hudson was both apprehensive and annoyed.
    "But sir, if this is just a standard emergency recovery, I
don't see why I'm coming."
    Hudson stopped short, and Lucas realized just how much his
CO was holding in. "This isn't a standard rescue operation,
Ensign. Her computers have crashed, and she's running out of
oxygen."
    Lucas had no idea of who Hudson was referring to.
Sometimes, the lack of communication that resulted from this kind
of rushing was almost too exasperating for him to stand.
    "That doesn't--"
    The doors to the shuttle bay opened, and Lucas stopped
immediately. From the looks of things, Henderson and Ford hadn't
been expecting company just yet.
    He took a sideways glance at Hudson, and the captain's curt
nod told him what he was expected to do. Namely, let Henderson
and Ford continue until they realized who was watching.
    At last, even Hudson got sick of watching Henderson and Ford
do...whatever it was that they were doing. "Speaking of running
out of oxygen..."
    Lucas almost laughed out loud as the two rocketed apart like
repulsing magnets. Henderson turned bright red while Ford tried
to come up with some kind of excuse.
    Finally, she seemed to get sick of waiting, and offered an
explanation of her own. Or at least, she tried to.
    "I...I...I...I..."
    "She had an asthma attack!"
    That was the best Ford could do? Even Lucas could have come
up with something more convincing. Then again, Ford wasn't the
type who had to deal with situations like this on a regular
basis.
    *Not that _I_ am,* Lucas told himself. But it was fun to
see a commanding officer flounder like this. "And you were
giving her mouth-to-mouth?"
    The two exchanged glances, and Henderson shrugged. "Mm-hm."
    "She looks alive to me, Commander. I think it's safe to
stop."  Hudson's expression, although serious, held a hint of
faint amusement.
    Ford looked at the floor, and Lucas caught something that
sounded suspiciously like: "I don't."
    Hudson caught it too. "Excuse me, Commander?"
    Ford gave him a mock salute. "Yes sir."  He and Henderson
grinned at each other as he backed out of the room and the doors
shut in front of him.
    Henderson was still blushing.
    "Well, now that you've said good-bye to your boyfriend,
Lieutenant, shall we be on our way?"  Hudson didn't sound
especially pleased with Henderson and Ford's "fraternization."
    Lucas ignored them both and climbed down the shaft, into the
shuttle. He stashed his computer in one of the side pockets, and
sat in the copilot's seat. Henderson had far more experience
than he did, and in a situation like this, Hudson would want 
speed and accuracy more than he would want a stumbling 
novice...not that Lucas thought of himself as a stumbling novice.
    Henderson dropped down the shaft, behind him, followed
closely by Hudson, who seemed to have kicked himself into
overdrive. He stared at Henderson impatiently. "Start the
launch sequence. And hurry!"
    Henderson shrugged indignantly as she sat and started
working. "I'm hurrying, but if I cut corners, we won't make it
ten meters before this thing pops like an overfilled balloon.
    Lucas made a mental note to thank Henderson for bringing
that altogether pleasant image to his mind.
    They all felt the shuttle as it pulled away from _seaQuest_,
even though it was only a tiny shudder.
    Hudson began to pace. *Come on, come on, come _on_
already!* He couldn't help it. She was in danger. And one thing
Oliver Hudson had never been able to resist was a damsel in
distress. Especially this damsel.
    Okay, he admitted it. He had unresolved feeling concerning
Elaine Morse. Lots of them. Still, he told himself, even if
he'd never met the pilot of the _Dionysus_, he'd be just as
impatient.
    Somehow, that didn't seem exactly true.
    "Leaving _seaQuest_'s sensor range...now. I'm scanning for
the _Dionysus_, but I don't see anything."  Henderson was running
the search patterns as fast as she could, but Hudson still had
the urge to run them himself. As though he could do it any
faster than she could.
    If Morse was running out of oxygen, she could be suffocating
as he waited for the shuttle to find her ship. The image that
brought to mind was an unpleasant one, and Hudson pushed it as
far away as he could. No, he told himself, trying to make
himself believe it. If she died, she'd have to stop being the
thorn in his side-- and she liked that too much.
    "There it is."
    Hudson stood up so quickly that he almost hit his head on
the ceiling. He stopped himself in time, and stared closely at
the screen.
    "Open a channel."  He needed to hear for himself that she
was alive and well.
    "Channel open, sir."  This from Wolenczak, who was handling
communications while Henderson docked.
    "This is Captain Oliver Hudson."  The formal introduction
was unnecessary. Morse would recognize his voice anywhere.
"Elaine, we're almost there--"
    "We are there, sir."  Henderson's  voice was quiet enough
not to be picked up by the com system. It was egotistical, but
he appreciated the gesture.
    "In fact, we've just arrived," he corrected himself for
Morse's benefit. He waited for a response, and when none came,
looked to Wolenczak and Henderson. They weren't paying attention
like he was. Even though they were careful tending their
instruments, they weren't on edge. Of course, neither of them
had ever been involved with Elaine. Hudson supposed that was a
good thing.
    "Her com system may be down, sir," said Wolenczak, sounding
hesitant when he realized how absorbed Hudson was in his
thoughts. As the two ships docked with each other, Hudson
felt his thoughts jar along with the rest of the shuttle.
    "Shut down the systems while I go look around. I'll report
in as soon as I find her."  He left without explaining further.
    As soon as he stepped out of the shuttle, he felt a chill.
A dozen possible causes sprang to mind: environmental systems
failures, a minor hull breach, or even an open door. The door at
the end of the bay was open, after all.
    As he turned towards it, he saw a silhouette standing on one
side of it. A woman's silhouette, and a holstered gun on her
hip.
    Elaine.
    He'd know her anywhere, in any light. "You'd be late to
your own funeral."  He couldn't resist the barb. No sooner were
the words out of his mouth than he realized how unnaturally tense
she was.
    What also happened, even before he finished talking, was
that a second figure stepped into view, from the shadows. "Well,
we'll make certain that you're on time for yours."  The voice was
familiar, deep, inspiring, and ultra-calm. Too calm to be sane,
at least. And the figure was holding a gun.
    Hudson heard Henderson exiting the shuttle and coming
towards him. He wanted to turn and tell her to get back.
Something was wrong, he could feel it, and he didn't want his
people endangered.
    But it was too late. She gasped as she saw who held the
gun. And Hudson was certain that the figure would never let
someone who had seen him leave.
    At least not alive.
    "Lucas!  Get back in the shuttle!"  Henderson tried to stop
him, but the ensign came anyway.
    Why couldn't these kids ever listen to their orders?
    "Lucas?!?"  The figure sounded shocked, even horrified.
    "Captain?  Is that--"  Wolenczak stopped, seemingly stunned.
He didn't so much as look at Hudson when he spoke.
    He was speaking to the gunman in the doorway.
    Nathan Bridger, designer and former captain of the
_seaQuest_, stepped out of the shadows and gestured towards the
doors with the gun.
    Hudson couldn't believe that Bridger actually thought he'd
let his people obey the unspoken order. "Both of you, back in
the--"  A searing pain in his chest cut him off. As he fell,
he saw Morse aim and fire at both Henderson and Wolenczak.
    *Elaine?*
    His last memory before the darkness of oblivion took him was
the darkness he felt in his heart.


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


Chapter 3:

    Bridger looked down at the unconscious body and boiled over
with rage. "How could you _do_ that?!?"
    Morse blinked, seemingly confused. "Do what?"
    "Only _he_ was supposed to be shot!" he said, gesturing
wildly to Hudson. "The others weren't supposed to get hurt!"
*How am I supposed to convince them that I'm trying to help them
if they're unconscious?* he asked himself.
    "But they'd never have gone willingly!"
    "Of course they would have!"  He was sick of having to
explain these things to her. "They're still loyal to _me_!"  It
was so obvious. Even a _blind_ man could have seen that.
    "If you insist," she acceded with a shrug. She didn't sound
convinced. She bent over to pick up Lucas' unconscious form.
    "Don't you _dare_!"
    Morse looked up, startled. "What?"
    Bridger felt a wave of fury slam into him. "_I'll_ carry
him. You take Hudson. Henderson will have to wait until later."
    Morse backed away from the boy. She walked over the Hudson,
and after struggling with his inert body for several seconds,
slung his arm behind her neck and dragged him up. Bridger barely
noticed.
    Lucas needed him.
    Bridger reached out and gently stroked the boy's golden
hair. Lucas looked so innocent that Bridger was able to reassure
himself that Hudson hadn't completely taken him with barely a
glance. He picked Lucas up and carefully held him, his gaze
lingering for several seconds.
    When he turned, Bridger saw Morse staring at him oddly.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
    "How..."  She trailed off uncertainly. "How can you do
that?"
    It was Bridger's turn to be confused. "Do what?"
    "Be so gentle with him. With what you've planned for..."
    She trailed off, and Bridger saw her shudder. "I'm only
doing what's needed to Henderson. I wish to God I didn't have
to... But she'll understood. As for _him_," Bridger glared in
renewed fury at Hudson. "He's getting what he deserves."
    Morse said nothing, just walked out the door.
    Once he was alone, Bridger felt like he was finally able to
talk to Lucas. *Hell,* he thought, *People can hear their loved
ones talking to them when they're in a coma. Why not when
they're stunned?*  "Lucas," he whispered, "I _know_ you can hear
me. I just wanted to tell you..."  Bridger trailed off, making
sure that he was alone. "_I_ didn't shoot you. It was _her_. I
told her not to-- I _swear_!  But she did it anyway!"  He sighed.
"I suppose I'll have to take care of her eventually."
    Although he waited, Lucas didn't respond.
    Bridger smiled. "Don't worry. We'll have a long talk
later."
    And with that, he carried Lucas into the corridor and to a
nearby stateroom-- specially converted for it's new purpose.

    The three officers had been brought aboard, and put into a
"cell", actually a converted stateroom near the medbay. The
_converted_ medbay.
    *Oh, come on,* Morse taunted herself, *can't even _think_
it, can you?*
    "Fine," she said aloud. "It's a _torture_ room, okay?"
Fortunately, she was alone in a corridor. "God," she said,
shaking her head in disbelief. "This has gotten me so crazed
that I'm actually _talking_ to myself!"  She chuckled, and
continued walking.
    Bridger had asked to see her in his quarters, for a "mission
briefing", as he'd called it. It surprised her that he'd still
call it that, even after all this time.
    But she was rapidly learning not to be surprised at
_anything_ Bridger did.
    By the time she'd reached his quarters, she'd managed to get
control of herself.
    "Come in," Bridger called through the door at her knock.
    Morse entered, and saw Bridger sitting at the desk,
motionless. He barely seemed to breathe as she entered, only
lifting one finger to gesture her to the chair opposite him. She
sat, and waited.
    After an eternity, Bridger spoke. "Are they still
unconscious?"
    Morse nodded. "Last time I checked, at least."
    He nodded slightly. "Good," he said, and again fell silent.
    *Some "briefing",* Morse thought. Bridger had hardly said a
word.
    "It'll be your job."
    Morse blinked. Had she missed something?  "What will?"
    "To take Lieutenant Henderson into the medbay."
    "Me?!?" Morse couldn't believe it. She barely knew the
lieutenant.
    Bridger nodded. "I can't make _myself_ do it. So..." he
shrugged and let the sentence trail off. He really didn't need
to finish.
    *So _I_ have to.*  She nodded, trying not to dwell on her
"assignment". "What about the boy?"  Morse was almost afraid to
ask about him. She didn't _want_ to ask about Hudson-- yet.
    Bridger stood so quickly that his chair toppled over. "Now,
you listen to me," he growled, grabbing Morse painfully by the
forearm and pulling her up out of her chair to face him. Morse
tried to tug away, but his grip was too strong. He shook her,
harder than she'd expected. "Lucas doesn't go anywhere _near_
that medbay!"
    "Of course--"
    "_Nothing_ happens to him!"
    "But--"
    "Is that _understood_?!?"  He glared at her, insanity burned
bright in his coffee-dark eyes. It scared the hell out of her.
    "Yes!" she agreed, her voice tight with a failed attempt to
keep it even. "Please-- you're _hurting_ me!"
    His burning gaze didn't even flicker, he was so enraged.
His grip was so strong, she could barely feel her hand any
longer.
    "Nathan, _let me go!_"
    Abruptly, he released her. She had been pulling so hard
that she fell backwards, her hand barely catching the arm of the
chair she had been sitting in.
    "Sorry," he said calmly. He righted his chair and sat back
down. After a moment, she sat down as well.
    Once she recovered, she asked the question that had been
bothering her ever since she'd gotten involved with this whole
thing. "What about Oliver?"  Morse knew that she could never
hurt Hudson, no matter what he'd done to her in the past.
    Bridger's grin was cruel, almost sadistic. "Leave Hudson to
_me_."
    Morse didn't envy Hudson. Not in the slightest.
    Bridger glanced at his watch. "They're probably just waking
up now. You should start as soon as possible."
    She nodded, and got up to leave. But she turned back.
"Nathan..."  Morse trailed off, trying to find a way to phrase
her thoughts in such a way as to _not_ set Bridger off again.
"Nathan, why hurt her at all? What did _she_ do?"  She'd already
heard, at length, about what Hudson had supposedly done. But
still, she questioned the validity of most of Bridger's
accusations.
    "She's never done anything to me. In fact, I care about her
very much."
    *Then how can you make me do this to her?*
    "It hurts me," he continued, "but hurting her will hurt
him."
    "I see," Morse said. She walked out into the corridor.
    She realized that, in a twisted, demented sort of way, what
Bridger had said made perfect, logical sense.
    It didn't make what she had to do any easier, though.

    Hudson was no stranger to pain. He was immediately able to
identify the throbbing in his body. A post-stun headache. He
rolled over, sat up, and groaned. Then, as he looked down, he
realized that he was handcuffed. As he looked around, he saw
that Henderson and Lucas were waking up.
    "What happened?  Where are we?"
    Henderson seemed unable to remember. The same was true for
Hudson. "Good question. Ensign?"
    Lucas had been the last one stunned. "I think that Captain
Bridger shot you. I guess he shot us too."  Lucas sounded as
though he was still in shock. Hudson could sympathize.
    "I can't believe she'd do this."  What had Elaine been
thinking?
    "I can't believe _he'd_ do this."  Lucas didn't seem able to
get past the fact that Bridger had shot them.
    "Dammit, where's my necklace?"  Henderson searched for a
moment before finding it on the bench. The clasp had torn and
broken, and she slipped it in her pocket.
    "How can you think of a necklace at a time like this?"
Hudson heard the frustration in his voice, and immediately
regretted it. Making light of a bad situation was how Henderson
coped. He already knew that. If she wanted to concentrate on a
necklace instead of Bridger's motives, and if that helped her
retain a sense of normalcy, well, good for her. Hudson only
hoped he'd be able to do the same.
    "It was from Jonathan."
    Lucas sighed. "That would explain it."  Hudson heard a note
of jealousy in his voice-- one that Henderson missed. She threw
a dirty look in Lucas' direction, and he seemed cowed. "Sorry,"
he said, holding up his hands in surrender.
    *Holding up his _hands_...?*  "Anybody have a key?"  It
couldn't hurt to ask.
    "What?"  Henderson sounded confused. Apparently, she wasn't
cuffed either.
    "A _key_," Hudson stressed. "The kind you unlock handcuffs
with."
    Lucas glanced towards Hudson, apparently seeing the cuffs
for the first time. "You're cuffed?"
    *I thought scientists were supposed to be observant. How
could he not notice it?*  Still, it was understandable. Lucas
had just been forcibly abducted by a man he'd thought he'd known.
Hudson had thought he'd known Bridger too.
    "Well, either that or my cufflinks are stuck together." It
was a poor attempt at humor, and it wasn't funny. No one
laughed.
    Just as Henderson approached to try and help, Lucas held up
a hand-- this time to stop her. "Wait. I hear something."
    "I don't suppose it's a rescue party," Henderson said
sarcastically.
    "Don't bet your life on it," Lucas replied, keeping up the
falsely jovial spirit.
    Just then, the door opened, and _she_ walked in, holding a
gun.
    The sight of her made Hudson's temper flare. "What the hell
do _you_ want?" he snapped.
    "I'm here for Lieutenant Henderson."  Morse's voice was
cold, controlled, and betrayed nothing.
    "What are you going to do?"  Lucas asked, going for the
direct approach.
    "That's none of your business," Morse informed him, shifting
her aim slightly.
    "Well, I think it _is_ my business."  The forceful nature of
the boy's voice could be easily explained away as concern for a
fellow crewmember. Hudson wondered if that was all there was to
Lucas' objections.
    "Lucas, stop. I'll go."  Henderson seemed also to care for
the boy, though not in the way that Hudson suspected was true in
reverse.
    Still, he wasn't about to let a member of _his_ crew go
voluntarily to an unknown fate. "You'll do nothing of the sort."
    "Get it through your thick head, _Captain_: she doesn't have
a choice."  The usage of the title was enough to let him know
that Morse wasn't about to be friendly. She had always called
him by his rank-- especially when they'd fought.
    His reflexes kicked in, and he responded the same way that
he would have when they were together. "Elaine, shame on you!
Verbal foreplay in front of the kids?"  His reward was the slight
reddening of her cheeks.
    "Well, Oliver," she said, her voice low and breathy, "You
know how you make me feel: like I touched a dead rat."  It looked
as though Morse was putting up her customary line of defenses,
too.
    "Oh, I didn't know you had a new boyfriend!  Where should I
send the sympathy card?"  It was infantile, the whole thing. But
Hudson didn't care.
    "When I'm through with her, Lieutenant Henderson will
probably appreciate it."  And with that, Morse grabbed Henderson
by the arm and pulled her out of the room.

    Lonnie Henderson had been kidnapped before. She'd even been
manhandled and beaten. But she'd never been subjected to
anything like this.
    She was shackled to a bed in the converted medical
facilities of Bridger's ship, and there was a tray of syringes
next to her. Syringes with _very_ large needles. She watched as
Morse reached for one.
    "What's that?"  Her voice shook. She hated when that
happened.
    "It's an endorphin inhibitor. It prevents the brain from
producing them. Maximum pain, minimum damage."  Morse's voice
sounded dead, as though she had shut off her emotions. It had to
be some sort of natural defense-- so that Morse wouldn't have to
face what she was doing.
    "You don't want to do this, do you?"  Part of her wanted
Morse to say yes. Then Henderson could find a target for her
outrage. If Morse said no...Captain Bridger would be
responsible.
    "It's my job."
    The meaning was clear to Henderson. Morse was being
coerced. Captain Bridger _was_ the one who was to blame. And
after all the times he'd saved her life-- and everyone else's--
she couldn't find it in her heart to hate him.
    Morse grabbed her arm again, and injected her with the
fluid. "It's nothing personal, Lieutenant. Just a case of being
the wrong place at the wrong time."
    *Tell me about it,* she thought, as she tried to brace
herself.
    As the second needle broke through her skin, she felt like
she'd been stabbed like a white-hot poker.
    *Jonathan,* she thought, *I'm sorry I didn't give you the
key when I had the chance.*  Then agony washed all thought away.

    Hudson had been in worse scrapes than this one before, but
when it involved his crew, that was something else.
    He glanced over at Lucas, who had been holding up as well as
could be expected under the circumstances. Next, his gaze turned
to Bridger. The retired Captain was sitting between them and the
door, gun held at the ready. He seemed to be listening for
something. Hudson wondered what.
    Then a high-pitched sound penetrated the room. He tried to
identify it. When he did, it made his blood run cold.
    *Henderson. Elaine is _torturing_ her.*  The thought
infuriated him.
    Lucas seemed to feel the same way. "Captain, that's Lonnie!
How can you let this happen?!?"  He was practically yelling at
Bridger.
    "_I'm_ not letting anything happen."
    Hudson could almost hear an unvoiced "to you" in Bridger's
voice. "Like hell you're not!"  He wouldn't have spoken out,
except that even if Lucas was fine for the moment, Henderson was
obviously in extreme pain.
    Bridger turned to Hudson, glaring. "Don't pretend like you
give a damn!  _You_, of all people!  You don't know how."  He
trailed off for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was low
and filled with emotion. "You don't know how to care."
    Before Hudson could respond, Lucas stood up. "How would you
know? You left!"
    Bridger looked shocked at Lucas' outburst. Hudson felt the
same way. "Didn't _you_ care enough to stay?"  Hudson could hear
all of the anger and hurt that Lucas had kept bottled up rushing
out. If only it could have been at a different time.
    Bridger looked dazed at Lucas' verbal attack.
    "You know I do..."
    Lucas obviously didn't believe him. "Then where the hell
were you in Macronesia?!?  You've got a damned _fleet_!  Why
didn't you try to save her?!?"
    Hudson had often wondered the same thing. If one of _his_
former officers had been taken prisoner by the enemy, _nothing_
would have stopped him from saving them.
    "I..."  Bridger didn't seem to have an answer either.
    "Oh, yeah,"  Lucas sounded more resentful than Hudson had
thought him capable of. "I forgot. You're torturing her in the
next room. I guess it's pretty obvious why you didn't try to
save her then."
    Bridger looked almost as though he was going to break down.
When he spoke, the hurt and shock in his voice were tangible.
"Ten years ago, you never would have said that."
    "Ten years ago, you never would have done what you're
doing." Lucas sounded as though he could use a good cry as well.
    Bridger looked uncomfortable. There were a few seconds of
silence, with the exception of the horrific screams from the
other room. After several moments, Hudson felt Bridger's eyes
boring into him like twin brown beams. As he turned slightly to
meet Bridger's gaze, Hudson saw that the ex-captain's mood had
swung yet again.
    Bridger turned back to Lucas. "How can you follow him?"
His voice was full of disgust and bewilderment.
    Lucas narrowed his eyes in apparent confusion at Bridger's
sudden mood shift. "He's my captain," Lucas said simply, as
though that explained everything.
    "_I'm_ your captain."  The possessive tone in Bridger's
voice gave Hudson at least a vague idea of what this was about.
"If I hadn't ordered you off the ship on Hyberion, you would have
_died_."
    Bridger had ordered Lucas off the _seaQuest_?  That wasn't
in the briefing Hudson had read. It seemed that more had
happened on Hyberion than they'd bothered with in the official
report.
    "So now I'm supposed to thank you for playing favorites?"
Lucas glanced at Hudson. "At least Captain Hudson gives me the
chance to prove myself."
    "_What_?!?"  Bridger sounded more angry than surprised.
"Haven't enough people died under his command yet?"
    Hudson winced inwardly at Bridger's thinly-veiled
accusation. He still felt terrible about Brody's death, and any
mention of it sent a jolt of remorse through him. *The burden of
command,* he thought. *Every time someone dies, a part of you
dies with them.*
    Lucas took a deep breath, and his blue eyes seemed lit from
within as he forced himself to lock eyes with Bridger. "I would
be _honored_ to die for him."
    Hudson knew that it was difficult for Lucas to say that to
Bridger. Whether it was the truth or not, Hudson admired him for
it.
    Bridger's eyes filled with rage at Lucas' statement. His
hand rested on the handle of his pistol. "Let's see if he's as
willing to die for you."
    Before either Hudson or Lucas could react, Bridger had drawn
and fired. As he did, Hudson managed to jerk aside. Even if he
hadn't, the shot still would have missed him. It was then that
Hudson realized that Bridger was too good of a shot to miss by
accident. Bridger wasn't just going to shoot him in the head.
That would be too easy.
    Bridger wanted Hudson to suffer.
    Hudson looked towards Lucas, after he'd recovered. Lucas
looked as though he was about to go into physical shock. "You--"
He was whispering, barely audibly. "How--  Did you just--  Oh my
God--"  Lucas was almost incoherent.
    Hudson tried to draw Bridger's attention away, to give Lucas
time to recover. "The Nathan Bridger _I_ knew never would have--"
    He was cut off by Bridger. "The Nathan Bridger _you_ knew?
You _never_ knew me."
    *Not as well as I'd thought.*
    "Not that it stopped you from taking my ship--"
    "Take your ship?  The Navy _gave_ me _seaQuest_!"  What was
going on here?
    "You stole my ship, and you stole my _son_--"
    *What?*  "What are you talking about?  I never even _met_
Robert!"
    Bridger glanced at Lucas quickly, but Hudson caught it. he
was more confused than ever.
    "My crew. You stole my crew."  Bridger looked off-balance
for a second, then turned and left without another word.
    Lucas turned to Hudson. "His son?  What was he talking
about?"  Lucas looked as though he'd been hit by a Mack truck.
    All of a sudden, everything fell into place. Lucas' father
had all but abandoned him, Bridger's son was in hiding... "His
son... The two of you were close..."  That had to be it.
    "No way. That-- that's impossible. Insane..."  Lucas
wasn't sounding so together himself.
    "So's he."  In retrospect, perhaps that was _not_ the best
thing to say.
    "Yeah."  Lucas sank down on one of the benches, looking as
though he'd just lost his best friend.
    *Or his father.*  Hudson had never felt so helpless.



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


(Poster's note: Sorry this took so long...RL and forgetfulness got in the
way. All comments/questions/death threats can be sent to Jennifer through me
[UEO Krieg@aol.com])


Chapter 4:

    As though the embarrassment of last night hadn't been
enough, Mark Holdin was now going to have to rejoin society. He
had never been dumped before. Not even in high school. _He'd_
always been the one to leave.
    "Hey, Mark!  Over here."  Holdin responded to the call, by
strutting over to the table where his friends were sitting.
    "Hi guys, what's up?"  It made little difference to him.
Mark Holdin was _not_ the most caring of people.
    "We were just talking...about what you told everybody last
night at dinner."  Jack Finer was the biggest gossip on the ship.
If someone told him something, it would be heard everywhere from
bow to stern before the person closed their mouth.
    That was exactly what Holdin wanted.
    "Well, that's nothing compared to what she did last night!"
Holdin laughed raucously. "I swear, that chick is _wild_!"  As
the others moved in close, Holdin spun the story he'd come up
with that afternoon.
    After he was done, silence reigned supreme for a moment.
    "Lemme get this straight."  said Bill Allen after several
seconds. To Holdin's dismay, he sounded skeptical. Since the
Seaman was incredibly gullible, then the fact that his story
hadn't been whole heartedly believed told him that perhaps he
should have restrained himself a bit. "She did _what_ with a
pencil?!?"
    "I don't believe him. It's impossible to be that limber!"
Ensign Kate Williams announced to the others. She was Finer's
girlfriend. Holdin knew that the others would take Kate at her
word. If it was possible, she'd have done it.
    *Looks like I'm in trouble!*
    "Yeah, Holdin, what's the deal?"  Even Jack, his `best
friend', sounded suspicious.
    "Look, guys, it's all true, I swear!"  Even to Holdin's
ears, the defense sounded weak. "Jan and I--"
    "Right, loverboy."  Williams cut him off. "I'll bet she
never did anything with you."  She narrowed her eyes as a thought
seemed to occur to her. "I'd be willing to bet you two aren't
even seeing each other!"
    *Damned female intuition!*  "What makes you say that,
Katie?" Holdin knew that she hated that name, and used it to try
and distract her.
    Unfortunately, Finer answered. "It's okay, Sugar."  Finer
trained arrogant gray eyes on Holdin's face. "Roz Seefeldt told
me that she saw Lieutenant Fredricks in the fighter bay last
night doing some systems checks at 2250. _Last night_."  All
three of them wore smug expressions on their faces. "Right when
you said all of this happened."
    *Oh, _damn_!!!*
    "Got an explanation?"  Allen sounded dangerous, like he
usually did when somebody lied to him. He hated being lied to.
    It was probably best if he came clean now, before Allen,
Finer, and Williams dragged the _real_ story out of him by
inches. "Okay, so maybe I...exaggerated"  Their smirks told him
that they knew that he'd done more than exaggerate.
    He tried again. "We had a lover's quarrel."  He tried to
shrug it off and could tell he failed. "She'll come crawling
back anytime now."  *She'd better, or I'm sunk!*
    "Really?"  Allen pointed to a table across the room. "I'd
recommend that you direct your attention over that-a-way."
    Jan was just sitting down at the table Allen indicated. As
she sat, Holdin caught a glimpse of one of the table's two
occupants. "_Piccolo_?!?"
    Allen laughed. "Looks like she's developed a taste for
fish. Tough luck, Mark."  He and Finer both grinned.
    "No way!"  It was ridiculous.
    "You know, I don't think it's Piccolo, after all."  Williams
sounded almost thoughtful-- if she was capable of thinking, which
Holdin knew was ridiculous.
    "What?  Who's the other guy?"  Holdin ran the list of people
who he could see her with, and found that none of them matched up
with the other figure at the table.
    "Look closer."  Williams laughed. "S'pose she's interested
in _intellectuals_ now?"
    As Holdin looked he noticed that there was a fine wire curl
around the ear of the other man. *Glasses,* his mind informed
him. And since only one person wore glasses on a regular basis--
"O'Neill?!?"  It was impossible. Inconceivable.
    "I guess she's moved on," Finer said, feigning sadness.
"But Lieutenant O'Neill?  I never would have thought it possible:
the great Mark Holdin loses his girl to the wimp who runs the
radio."
    "I wouldn't too sure of that," Kate said tauntingly as she
sipped her diet soda. "He _is_ sorta cute."
    That was enough to get Finer going. "So, Mark. What
exactly are you going to do?  Let O'Neill have 'er?"  Holdin knew
that Finer was the exceedingly jealous type. In fact, thanks to
Williams' unexpected praise, he'd probably have to fight with his
"friend" over who got the first chance to rip O'Neill to shreds.
    "Shut up, Jack," Holdin said through gritted teeth. "There's
no chance that she'd pick _O'Neill_ over _me_."  He laughed, and
knew that his uncertainty was showing through the facade.
"She'll come back."  _I hope._  "And being the great guy I am,"
Holdin could see the others roll their eyes, and decided to
ignore them. "I'll let her kiss and make up."  He hoped he'd get
the chance to let her. To lose her to someone like _O'Neill_...
he refused to even consider the possibility.
    "Really?"  There was a dare embedded in Allen's voice,
Holdin could hear it. "Then why not now?"
    Williams picked up on Holdin's discomfort. "You know, I
think, being the _great guy_ you are, that you should go over
there right now, and give her the chance."  Williams was going to
exploit his distress for all she was worth.
    _Not much,_ Holdin thought sourly.
    "Yeah, Holdin," Finer started in on him too. "What's the
problem?"
    They were all staring at him, waiting for him to go over to
her table and for her to plead for forgiveness. Finally, he
couldn't take the pressure. "Fine," he gave in. "You'll see.
She's gonna fall down at my feet and _beg_ me to take her back."
He sounded confident. In reality, he was terrified. He knew
that Fredricks would just as soon shoot him out a torpedo tube as
look at him, and if he didn't alter that fact soon-- something
that would be difficult to do, considering that rumors were
already flying-- he's look like an idiot.
    *If I lose her to O'Neill, I'll never be able live it down.*

                             * * * * *

    Lucas was staring at the floor, still trying to come to
terms with what Bridger had said. He kept telling himself that
it didn't make any sense.
    Sitting, listening to Lonnie, trying to understand how a man
he'd always considered a father figure could possibly think of
him as his son, it was all too much.
    But he'd heard it, hadn't he?  And straight from Bridger's
own lips.
    He wondered if he might have misheard what had been said.
There _had_ to be other words, things that sounded like "son".
    He just couldn't think of any of them at the moment.
    He looked up at Hudson, who had been steadily pacing since
Lonnie had been taken. He cleared his throat, hoping to catch
the captain's attention without having to speak. He wasn't sure
of what he wanted to say.
    "Ensign?"
    The thought that Hudson was still one of the only people who
didn't call him Lucas was something that he didn't feel like
dealing with.
    "Sir?"
    "Did you have something to say?"
    Lucas shook his head. He had several _million_ things to
say, but none of them seemed exactly right. He wished,
momentarily, that Hudson would just _talk_ to him. Reassure him
that everything was going to be fine. But that was before he
remembered that Captains and Ensigns didn't usually just "talk".
He and Bridger had, of course, but they hadn't been "Captain" and
"Ensign". They'd been...well..._closer_. He had never had the
same subconscious "click" with Hudson. They tolerated each
other, of course, but there was nothing deeper. Nothing like
what he'd had with Bridger. Then again, he doubted that he'd
ever have a relationship that ran _quite_ that deep with another
CO.
    For some reason, Hudson didn't seem quite as "official" as
he sat across the room, still handcuffed. "Sir?"
    Hudson looked up. "What?" he sounded annoyed.
    "What do you think is going on?"  He didn't realize how
scared he sounded until the words were out of his mouth.
    He half-expected Hudson to answer his question with a
sarcastic crack. Like how he'd acted when they'd first woken.
But the captain seemed to understand how serious he was. "In
regard to what?"
    "Lieutenant Henderson."  He didn't know why he didn't just
call her Lonnie. Even if they were officially on duty, he
shouldn't pretend to distance himself from one of his closest
friends for the benefit of protocol.
    Hudson shut his eyes, and Lucas wondered if it was as
painful for his captain to listen to the screams as it was for
him to do the same. "I really don't know."
    Lucas nodded. At least Hudson was going to be honest with
him.
    He wondered how hard he would need to try in order to block
out Lonnie's screams.
    Then Bridger walked in.
    Lucas' heart resumed it's frantic pounding.
    "Lucas," Bridger said, without emotion, "I'd like for you to
come with me, please."
    Lucas had no idea of what he should do. He was torn between
going meekly with his former captain, and staying put. Ingrained
trust, versus observed actions.
    In other words, he no longer knew if Bridger would help him,
or hurt him, or worse.
    Hudson stepped in while Lucas tried to decide. "Ensign,"
he ordered, his voice gruff, "_Sit down_."
    At Hudson's voice, Bridger bristled. "Don't you _dare_
order him around!" he yelled. He turned to Lucas, and his
expression turned warm. "You _want_ to come with me," he said
softly. "Don't you?"
    "Yes," Lucas said, before he realized it. Hudson stared at
him in shock. Well, dammit, Lucas _did_ want to talk to Bridger
alone. Maybe he'd be able to talk some sense into the older man.
    Bridger smiled triumphantly at Hudson, an "I-told-you-so"
air in his manner that didn't quite fit with the way Lucas
remembered him. Not that much did. "Good."  Bridger went to the
door and opened it for Lucas-- all the while holding the gun on
Hudson. Lucas' last sight of the captain was his concerned
expression.
    The short walk seemed to stretch for an eternity. Bridger
maintained a silence that Lucas didn't feel comfortable breaking.
He spent the time marshalling his resources for the argument of
all arguments; the one that would hopefully convince Bridger that
what he was doing was insane.
    They reached the door, and Bridger gestured for Lucas to
precede him. Once Bridger followed him in, Lucas turned. He was
ready for anything-- or so he thought.
    Bridger embraced him.
    Lucas felt his stomach turn and his muscles stiffen. But
that was only for a few seconds. "Get your damned hands off me!"
he shrieked, pushing away. The force of his shove propelled him
back. He was shocked. Not just by Bridger's unexpected display
of-- of _affection?_-- but by his own words.
    He felt his heart skip a beat as it jumped into his throat.
He couldn't believe what he'd just said, and said to a man who
had been his friend and mentor for over four years. He backed
into the far wall of the room, barely conscious of the expression
Bridger was wearing. An expression of mild anger. Lucas knew
that what must have set him off before was his praise of Hudson.
Everything should be fine, then, because Lucas sure as hell
wasn't going to get Bridger angry again. The _last_ thing he
wanted was for Bridger to fly into a homicidal rage. It took him
several seconds to realize why that thought seemed such a strange
one. He had never thought to connect the words "homicidal" and
"rage" with his former captain.
    "What?"
    In the eyeblink it had taken for Lucas to think all those
things, Bridger had taken a step closer.
    His proximity made Lucas nervous. Hell, the teen realized,
everything _about_ the older man made him want to jump out of his
skin and run screaming for the hills.
    He would have backed away, but he was already pressed
tightly against the wall. "Stay away from me," he said, voice
shaking, as Bridger moved closer, ignoring his terrified plea.
    "Lucas," Bridger implored, "calm down."
    After what he'd done, Bridger wanted him to _calm down_?!?
    As Bridger reached out towards him, Lucas jerked to one
side, his shoulder ramming into a wall-mounted shelf. His hand
searched wildly for something to steady himself with. Instead,
it closed around a cold piece of steel.
    The handle of a gun.
    He grasped it tightly and brought it in front of him, the
barrel aimed at Bridger's chest.
    The shape of the gun felt strange in his hands, but he
discounted the feeling as one due to stress. He knew that he'd
_never_ be able to use it. Not on Bridger.
    Bridger knew it too. He held out his hand for the gun.
"What are you going to do with that?" he asked, half amused.
Lucas' hands were shaking so hard that he couldn't be certain
that a shot from the gun would go anywhere _near_ his former
captain-- not that he _wanted_ it to, of course.
    "I don't know," he said, "but don't make me find out."  He
didn't sound at all threatening, he knew.
    "You can't shoot me."  Bridger's words were true, but not
for the reasons Lucas suspected.
    "Maybe not," Lucas admitted, knowing that there was no
"maybe" about it. He shifted the positioning of the gun, jamming
it against his chin. "But I _can_ shoot myself."  He forced a
glimmer of hard resolve into his expression, hoping that it would
be enough to convince Bridger of the lie. "I'll do it," he
warned, surprised at the unveiled fury in his voice.
    "No, you won't."  Bridger shook his head, a faint smile
playing across his lips.
    Lucas took a deep breath, and knew that this was the moment
of truth. Bridger wasn't going to let them go.
    He flicked his finger, raising the level on the gun to kill,
and shot Bridger a final glare. *Come on, Captain,* he pleaded
silently, *Give _in_ already!*
    What Bridger did next was something Lucas never would have
expected. He pulled the chair out from the desk, sat down, and
chuckled sadly. "Lucas, just give me the gun."
    A spark of confusion came to life in Lucas' chest. Didn't
Bridger see that he was serious?  That if he didn't stop him,
he'd have to pull the trigger?
    Finally, Bridger sighed. He stood and walked towards Lucas,
who froze in an instant. Bridger plucked the gun from his hands,
aimed it at the wall, and fired.
    Nothing happened.
    Lucas stared in shock.
    Bridger placed the gun on the desk. "It's an old `toy' of
mine. I've begun something of a weapons collection."  He
gestured to the shadowed wall, where Lucas noticed, for the first
time, several dozen hanging guns. Bridger shook his head
slightly. "None of them are loaded."  He walked towards the wall
and took down a current, military-issue plasma pistol. "Except
for this one."  He shook his head slowly. "But still," he
scolded, "you really shouldn't have done that."  He peered into
Lucas' eyes. "What got into you, anyway?"
    "What if it had been loaded?"  Bridger's inaction still
stunned him. "Would you have let me do it?"  Even though he was
almost disgusted with Bridger at the moment, the thought that his
friend would have let him carry out his threat was something he
wouldn't let himself believe.
    Bridger looked at him patronizingly. "Of course not," he
said slowly, as though the very idea was ridiculous. "If it had
been loaded, it wouldn't have been lying there."
    "Where some stupid kid like me could come along and hurt
himself, right?"  Lucas rolled his eyes. "Thanks for your
concern, but I can take care of myself."
    "Of course you can."  Bridger's tone of voice brought Lucas'
temper to a boil. He got enough condescension from people who
didn't take him seriously. Particularly, Bridger was someone he
didn't need it from. "You just need someone to guide you."
    "Guide me?  I'm doing a pretty damn good job of guiding
myself."
    Bridger looked exasperated. "Lucas, count to ten."  He
gently pushed Lucas into the chair. "You don't want to say
something you'll regret."
    "Say something I'll regret?" Lucas laughed-- as coldly as
he could, considering who he was talking to. "Like what? Like
you're suffocating me? Like get the hell out of my life? Like I
_hate_ you?"
    "You're exhausted."  Bridger sounded like he was making
excuses for Lucas' statement.
    The tone of his voice told Lucas that Bridger was so lost in
his own dementia that none of his words, no matter how
unintentional, had penetrated.
    "And whose fault is that?" Lucas shot back. "How the hell
am I supposed to get any sleep with Lonnie screaming in the
background?"
    "Elaine's doing that," Bridger snapped. Lucas could tell he
had touched a nerve.
    "And when I'm in there, and you can hear me from anywhere on
the ship-- will Morse be doing _that_, too?"  He could tell that
his words were finally forcing their way through, and now he
didn't even care. He stood up, directly facing Bridger down for
the first time. "Why aren't _you_ in there?  Can't you do your
own dirty work?  Do you feel safer, here in your quarters, where
you can lock the door and pretend everything's okay?"  He paused
to suck in a breath of air, but Bridger was too horrified to
break the brief silence. "Well, _Captain_," he began
sarcastically, "I've got news for you. You can't sit next to me
and hold my hand while _Elaine_ send a thousand volts through my
body-- or whatever it is she's doing to her."
    Bridger's hands darted out and grabbed Lucas by his upper
arms, giving him a brief but violent shake. "What has he done to
you?" he asked.
    Lucas brought his wrists up and broke Bridger's hold.
"Didn't I tell you," he shouted, his voice dangerously close to
the edge, "to _stay_ the _hell_ away from me and get _out_ of my
_life_."  He took a step towards the door, intent on leaving 
Bridger behind. He wasn't going to stay here any longer, Captain
or no Captain. Before he knew what had happened, Bridger grabbed
him by the wrist and twisted his arm behind his back, forcing him
to his knees. "So," Lucas said tightly, through his unshed tears,
"Is _this_ why Robert went into hiding?"  Robert's purposeful
disappearance was a topic on which Bridger felt strongly, and
that his bringing it up at a time like this probably wasn't the
best of ideas.
    Bridger's reaction made him want to kick himself. Why
couldn't he learn to keep his mouth shut?  "How _dare_ you take
that tone with me?"
    "You're not my captain anymore, and I'll talk to you any way
I damn well want."
    The torque on Lucas' arm increased dramatically, and he felt
the barrel of Bridger's gun in his side.
    The only thing he was aware of was the intense pain in his
arm. The angle that Bridger was holding it at was an unnatural
one, and the shooting fire that streaked through it told Lucas
the he sure as hell wasn't going to be allowed to forget that.
    In the situation, there were probably half a dozen things he
could have said. But through the tearing, searing, burning
agony, only one thought was racing through his mind at breakneck
speed. "Get the hell off me!"
    Bridger wasn't going to let him go. As he twisted harder,
Lucas was _painfully_ aware of the tension in his arm. A
millimeter more, and he was sure that it would snap. "I asked
you a _question_," Bridger growled as he held Lucas' other arm
pinned at his side.
    A gasp of pain escaped Lucas' lips. He briefly entertained
thoughts of ripping away, then realized that Bridger's iron-like
grip would cause his arm to break like a brittle twig if he so
much as twitched.
    "_Listen to me_," Bridger insisted. "You _never_ listen to
me."
    At that moment, Lucas wasn't in much of a position _not_ to
listen to him. But he didn't care. "Go to Hell," he hissed
through his teeth.
    "You will _not_ speak to me in that tone of voice. Is that
understood?"
    It was the last thing that Lucas had been expecting. He was
barely able to nod. "Yes," he gasped, finally willing to say
anything, if only Bridger would release him.
    But the older man still wasn't satisfied. "Yes, _what_?"
    It was only out of reflex that Lucas knew what he was
expected to say. He shut his eyes, trying to prevent the hot,
salty tears of agony from overflowing them. "Yes, _sir_."
    When Bridger's grip relaxed, the relief that flooded over
Lucas' nerve-wracked body was immediate. He sat there, on the
floor, on his knees, staring at the deck as Bridger walked around
in front of him.
    He was madly attempting to collect his scattered thoughts as
they rushed through his mind at near-light speed. Bridger had
almost broken his arm. Bridger was responsible for the ungodly
screams that were echoing from down the corridor. Bridger was
going to try to kill Captain Hudson.
    He looked up towards Bridger and to his shock saw the barrel
of a plasma pistol, held by Bridger, staring back at him.
"Captain?"  The pitch of his voice was almost an octave higher
than normal, making his disbelief evident.
    Bridger's expression was one of regret, but also resolution.
"You're still too worked up."  He shrugged apologetically. "I
think we should finish this conversation later."
    Lucas still wanted to know what the gun was for. As usual,
Bridger seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.
    "I don't want you to walk back to your room on your own.
    His room. What an odd term for the cell that Bridger had
been keeping them all locked up in,
    "I'll stun you and have Elaine carry you back."
    Again, Lucas was caught off-guard. Bridger was going to
shoot him? No, he told himself. It couldn't be. That was
impossible. But as his gaze drifted to the gun, set to heavy
stun, he began to wonder.
    "Maybe we can talk again later?"  Bridger sounded almost
hopeful. "After you have time to calm down."
    Lucas didn't even have time to scramble to his feet before
the dull shock of his world crashing in around him coupled with
the sound of Bridger's gun discharging forced him into
unconsciousness.
    He crashed to the floor, unaware of the figure that sank to
his side.
    Bridger's hand lightly caressed Lucas' cheek, and he gently
brushed a stray lock of hair away from the boy's face. He shook
his head. "I'm sorry," he told the motionless form, "But you
know I couldn't let you hurt yourself like that."
    He hoped that Lucas would be able to talk later. He had
already forgiven him for what he'd said earlier. The poor boy
was out-of-sorts, and a teenager besides-- he was supposed to be
argumentative. Bridger sighed inwardly. Robert had always
argued with his when he was younger. He knew better than to take
Lucas' words at face value.
    The benefit of the doubt was something that he would never
hold back from the boy. He ran his fingers through Lucas' ever-
so-slightly mussed hair, once, before standing.
    He left.


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


Chapter 5:

    Ensign Amy Shanahan sat down at the table with a moan. It
had _not_ been a good day.
    "What's wrong, Amy?" her friend Ray Stilwell asked from
across the table. He put his arm around fellow CPO and
girlfriend, Erin Wilson. "We were just discussing how boring
it's been around here with the captain gone on that rescue
mission, or whatever it is."
    Shanahan shrugged. "Yeah, but you guys work in Damage
Control. _I_ work on the bridge at Tactical and sensors."
Shanahan looked up at her friends, gray-green eyes blazing. "I
swear, if I _ever_ have to do another battle simulation..."
    Wilson and Stilwell both laughed. "Amy," Wilson said, still
chuckling, "Relax!  You _know_ that when things are quiet, we
_all_ have to put up with simulations. Like, today, Ray and I
had to put up with two hull breaches, three fires, one explosion,
and four collapsed bulkheads."
    "I guess," Shanahan conceded.
    "It's no use, Erin," Stilwell said. "Amy just didn't like
it because she couldn't stare at Commander Ford all shift."
    "_Ray_!" Shanahan hissed. She could feel her cheeks turning
bright red.
    "Ray, Amy, come on, peace, okay?"  Wilson hated seeing
people fight. "Uh, Amy," Wilson said to her, "I hate to break it
to you, but, well, J.D.'s kind of a one-woman man."  That was
Wilson's nickname for Commander Ford. Shanahan knew that their
families had been friends for years, and that Erin knew Ford from
before even the second _seaQuest_. As near as she could figure,
Ford was like an older brother to her, a substitute for the one
that she'd lost.
    "I know," Shanahan sighed, responding to Wilson's
information.
    "But a girl can dream, can't she?"
    "Not during battle simulations," Stilwell quipped. All
three of them laughed at that.
    Shanahan sat back and looked around the mess hall. She did
a double take as something odd caught her eye. "Hey, guys," she
said, "Look at that."  She pointed to a table nearby. "Isn't
that Lieutenant Fredricks?"
    Stilwell and Wilson both looked. "Yeah," Stilwell said. "It
is. And, it looks like she's sitting with..." He strained his
eyes, for a few moments. "...I see Dagwood, Piccolo, and
O'Neill, sitting there."
    That confused Shanahan. "I thought Fredricks was going out
with some ensign from Engineering."
    Stilwell nodded. "Yeah, and you should hear some of the
things he's been saying."  He chuckled. "They're outrageous."
    Wilson punched Stilwell in the arm. "They are not!"  She
turned to Shanahan. "They're disgusting, Amy. And totally
ridiculous!"
    "Mmm,"  Shanahan wasn't paying much attention. "Why do you
suppose she's over there?"  *I wonder if she's seeing one of them
at that table now?*
    "I wonder if maybe she's seeing one of them now?"
    Shanahan blinked. "Ray, I swear, sometimes I think you're
reading my mind."  She sighed. "Still, I don't know. None of
them seem like her type."  Shanahan shrugged. "I mean, she
doesn't really have anything in common with any of them."
    "True," Wilson said. "But, then again, they say opposites
attract."
    "I guess," Shanahan replied.
    "Hey, wait a sec," Stilwell said. "I think something's
happening."
    They all turned, and fell silent as the incident unfolded in
front of them.

                             * * * * *

    Mess hall food had never tasted worse.
    And the problem wasn't with the food. It was with the
conversation. O'Neill had never heard rumors like this flying on
_seaQuest_. It made him ill just to think about them. He knew
that he wasn't doing a good job of covering it up, either.
    "Look, Tim...I'm tellin' you:  Holdin's _nuts_ if he thinks
people are buyin' this."
    O'Neill glared at him. "It's offensive. You've heard the
rumors, and you know she's not like that."
    "You don't hafta get so ticked."  O'Neill had never seen
Piccolo eat like this. "It's not like you're datin' her."
    "But what if I wanted to?"
    Piccolo made a weird kind of choking sound. But then again,
at the rate he was shoveling food into his mouth, that could have
had more to do with his eating habits than with O'Neill's offhand
comment.
    "Huh?  Lemme get this straight. You," he said, emphasizing
every word, "Wanna have a..._ree-lay-shun-ship_...with
_Fredricks_?"
    O'Neill shook his head. If Piccolo found out about
something like that, the rumors that were flying would have some
serious contention with the ones Tony would start. Not that Tony
would intentionally try to embarrass him...around Piccolo,
however, those things just seemed to happen.
    "It was a hypothetical question."
    Piccolo rolled his eyes, and O'Neill knew that he wasn't
fooling anyone. Except maybe Dagwood. And he didn't really
count. "Yeah, right."
    "What's `hypothetical'?"
    "That's not the point, Dagwood. It's just not fair to her."
But really, who was he kidding. Of _course_ that was the point.
If this had been anyone else...he would have thought the same, 
but what would have been the likelihood that he would feel 
obliged to do something about it?  Of _course_ this was about 
Janet. "I mean, Holdin's such a jerk..."  He trailed off as
Piccolo began indicating something behind him. What the hell...?
    "Tony, are you okay?"
    Slowly and deliberately, Piccolo nodded.
"Hello..._Lieutenant Fredricks_."
    O'Neill felt his chest tighten, and his breath quicken. Had
she heard?  *Please, God, don't let her have heard that...*
    "Mind if I sit here?"  She indicated the seat beside O'Neill
with her tray. She looked a little upset. *And with what he's
saying about her, she has every right to be.*  He had to find his
voice. He had to answer her. He was grasping at straws, knowing
that this was a perfect chance to get her attention. He had to
say something smooth, debonair, "cool".
    "I...Uh...I...Uh...Well...I...Um..."  That wasn't it. He
aimed a glance at Piccolo. Tony would know what to say. More
importantly, he would be able to get it out without sounding like
a damned fool.
    "Yeah, sure."
    It wasn't fair. Those two incredibly simple words got
Piccolo a genuine smile. Why couldn't O'Neill ever act that laid
back with women?  But at least he still felt a rush of elation as
Fredricks slid into the seat next to him. She placed her tray on
the tabletop, and as she reached out for her napkin to put it in
her lap, her hand brushed against O'Neill's.
    The shock he felt was both instant and electric. Out of
pure automatic reflex, he pulled his hand back. If he'd had a
choice, he would have wanted to hold her hand
forever...unfortunately, he didn't have a choice.
    She looked hurt by his sudden recoil.
    *Oops.*  The expression on her face told him just how she
had misinterpreted the gesture. He supposed that it was only a
natural assumption, considering how Holdin was talking about her.
He hadn't meant it, and he wanted to tell her that. But she
didn't give him the chance.
    "I guess you heard."
    Dagwood nodded. "Heard what?"  The question was directed
towards O'Neill, which Fredricks immediately noticed. She gave
him a glare that would have melted ice.
    "It's not true."  The statement was also directed at
O'Neill.
    "I know-- I mean, we know."  *Yeah, that's it. Stun her
with your fantastic oratory skills.*
    The awkward silence that followed this was unsettling
enough, without the added injury of Piccolo's trying desperately
not to burst out laughing. He wasn't doing a very good job of
it, that O'Neill knew for sure. He was momentarily glad that
Lucas wasn't there. The two of them would have had a field day
with this.
    He was so intent on keeping his face from turning cherry-red
that he didn't notice the shadow that fell across the table.
Not, that is, until the person casting the shadow spoke.
    "Hi Jan. Miss me?"
    O'Neill recognized the voice. So did Piccolo. And from the
indignant, furious expression on Fredrick's face, so did she. In
fact, Dagwood was the only one who wasn't getting it-- and that
wasn't unusual.
    Still, O'Neill could see how hard she was trying to avoid a
confrontation. She picked up a potato chip and bit it in half.
She took a few extra seconds to chew it and swallow it-- all very
deliberately, as though she were counting to ten inside her head,
trying to keep down the fury that she must have been feeling.
She failed.
    "Go to hell..._Ensign_."
    O'Neill's blood came to a boil as Holdin bent down, speaking
into Fredrick's ear. "C'mon baby...let's kiss and make up."
    He knew that he should step in and do something-- but what?
Holdin wasn't the type that you provoked a fight with.
    Fredricks continued to go about her meal as though Holdin
wasn't there. When he didn't leave, she responded. "Forget it,
jerk."
    As O'Neill watched what happened next, his fury intensified.
"I _said_, let's kiss and make up."  At the same time as he said
this, Holdin grabbed Fredricks by the arm and pulled her out of 
her seat. One of the glasses on the table-- O'Neill's-- was
upset by the sudden shake that resulted, and it toppled, the 
liquid inside quickly spreading and trickling out over the edge 
of the table.
    That was all he could take. O'Neill just wasn't going to
stand by and allow this kind of this to happen, especially not to
someone like Fredricks.
    "_She_ said forget it."  He stood as he said it, pounding
his fist against the table and almost upsetting Piccolo's glass
in the process.
    Holdin relaxed his grip on Fredricks' arm, at which point
she managed to pull loose. She walked around the table and stood
behind Piccolo and Dagwood as Holdin focused in on O'Neill. A
grin spread across his face while he realized that he had just
found a new target.
    "What're you gonna do?  Hit me?"  He crossed his arms over
his chest, and O'Neill felt a lump form in the back of his
throat. He hadn't thought of how to deal with the consequences
of his "gallant" behavior.
    Piccolo stood, perhaps thinking that O'Neill looked like he
could use some more help. "He could if he wanted to."
    *Tony, you _idiot_!  What do you think you're doing?*
    "And what's that s'posed to mean?"
    "Only that Tim could beat the hell out of you with one hand
tied behind his back."
    Holdin seemed amused by the idea of O'Neill "beating the
hell" out of anyone. "Oh really?"
    O'Neill wanted to step in. He wanted to tell Holdin that
there had been some sort of misunderstanding. He wanted to a lot
of things, and he might have, had he not caught Fredricks' eye at
that moment. Who cared what happened to him if she looked at him
like that?  He could always back out later, if Tony talking him
into something too ludicrous.
    "Meet us in the gym at 1900 tomorrow, and he'll prove it."
    Okay, that was ludicrous. He had to stop this. Now. But
there just wasn't time before Holdin broke in.
    "I'll be there at 1900, and if O'Neill shows, the Dagger'll
be mopping the floor by 1905."
    O'Neill saw Dagwood flinch at the derogatory term. Great.
Now, he was not only fighting for Fredricks, but for Dagwood too.
And he didn't want to _fight_ for _anybody_!  He opened his mouth
to protest, but Holdin had already left the room with his
"entourage". He was stuck.
    Fredricks walked back to his side. "Tim...that was so
sweet." An expression of faint annoyance took over her face.
"But you really didn't need to."
    "`Course he did."
    *Tony. Shut up. I _really_ don't need this...*
    "I hope you know what you're doing," she continued, "because
he was the Academy Champion for four years."
    O'Neill could only gulp. He was too scared to do anything
else. Luckily-- or unluckily-- Piccolo didn't seem to be having
the same problem.
    "Tim was Champ for five years runnin'...he know's what he's
doin'."
    Fredricks gave him a quick pat on the shoulder before she
walked out of the mess hall. It was all O'Neill could do to stay
standing on his shaking legs until she was gone. Then, he
immediately sank into the seat.
    And Piccolo had the gall to say, "Well Tim, that's gotta be
one of the stupidest things you've ever gotten yourself into."
    *I got _myself_ into?!?*  "Five...years..._running_?!?"  He
didn't know why he was telling this to Piccolo, because at the
moment, the only thing he really wanted to do to Tony was rip him
in half. "I failed gym-- _twice_!"
    Piccolo shrugged in a carefree manner.
    *Of course it's _carefree_, idiot. _He's_ not the one with
less than forty hours to live...*
    "Then it really was stupid, wasn't it."
    O'Neill still hadn't gotten over the fact that he was the
five-year-Academy-"Champ". "Tony, the Academy only lasts _four
years_."
    "An' I care because?"  Piccolo turned and walked away.
    O'Neill let his head drop into his hands. He felt a
reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Tim. I'll get a
mop."
    O'Neill looked up at Dagwood's innocently sincere
expression. If it had been _anyone else_... "Gee, thanks."  He
rose from his seat and followed Piccolo out into the corridor.
    Piccolo was a short distance down the hall, almost to the
maglev. "Tony, what the _hell_ was that for?!?"  Piccolo
stopped, turned, and looked as though he didn't have any idea as
to what O'Neill was talking about. "What did I ever do to
you?!?"
    "Huh?"
    "_You_ got _me_ in a _fight_ with _Mark Holdin_!"
    "So?"
    *Knock, knock!  Is _anybody_ in there at _all_?*  "Tony,
listen carefully."  He grabbed him by the shoulders and turned
him back. "Mark Holdin is almost two meters tall, and over a
hundred kilos!  He's going to _pound me into the deck_!"
    Piccolo shrugged. "What are you?  Blind, deaf, _and_
stupid?"
    *Look who's talking.*  "What are you talking about?"
    Piccolo rolled his eyes. "Puh-_lease_."  He batted his
eyelashes a few times and adopted a falsetto voice. "That's
_soooo_ sweet."  He cleared his throat and glanced cock-eyed at
O'Neill. "Sweet?  Pitiful is more like it. _I_ had to do all
the talking!"
    *And for _that_, I will be eternally _un_grateful.*  "Gee,
thanks."
    "I'm giving you the chance to impress her!  She's obviously
_crazy_ about you."
    She was crazy about him?  The thought brought a grin to
O'Neill's face-- a grin he quickly wiped away. "What good is
impressing her going to do when I'm dead?"
    Piccolo grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him to a stop.
"Look, Tim, you've just gotta loosen up."
    *Loosen up?  I think not.*  "He's gonna `loosen' my _head_
from my _shoulders_!"

                             * * * * *

    *How dare he?*  The thought came to Bridger over and over,
like  waves in a choppy sea. *How _dare_ Hudson turn Lucas
against me?!?*
    Bridger was just beginning to realize that Lucas'
accusations stung more than he cared to admit. *But it wasn't my
fault,* Bridger thought as he roamed the corridors of the ship.
*My fleet was lucky that _seaQuest_ didn't destroy it after I had
to sabotage them. We'd never have had a chance against the
entire Macronesian navy.*
    At least, that was what he told himself every time his mind
brought up the subject.
    In any case, Bridger knew that there was only one way to
prove to Lucas that Bridger wasn't at fault. If Henderson told
Lucas the truth, that there was no way that Bridger's fleet could
have possibly made a difference, then, it would help to break
Hudson's control over the boy.
    Bridger headed to the converted medbay, confident of his new
strategy.


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





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


Louder Than Words
Chapter 6
Jennifer Bradley  (Sent by UEOKrieg@aol.com)


    When she'd entered the Navy's medical program three years
ago, Meridith Burke had never thought she'd get a chance to serve
on _seaQuest_. After all, it had disappeared before she'd even
had the idea to go into the service. Still, when her assignment
had come, after her graduation last year, she'd been more than
happy. After all, an assignment to the UEO's flagship didn't come
along every day.
    Unfortunately, ever since arriving aboard and meeting Dr.
Perry, her commanding officer, Burke had been at odds with
herself. On one hand, she didn't want to resign. That would be
about the equivilent of telling her superiors that she couldn't
handle the pressure. On the other hand, having to work with
Perry every day had made her life almost unbearable.
    Perry hadn't made any attempts to hide her disdain for the
recent graduate. The assignments Burke had been given could have
been taken care of by a competent tech.
    _This wasn't why I joined up..._ Burke thought miserably as
she left the Medbay, her shift having ended several minutes ago.
_Not so that witch could have me as her personal gopher._
    Paperwork wasn't something that Burke enjoyed under the best
of circumstances. But after a straight shift of it, she was
ready to collapse. Her eyes hurt, her hands hurt, her feet hurt,
and her mind hurt.
    She navigated the interior corridors of _seaQuest_ expertly,
even though she'd only been aboard a week and a half. It was the
result of sitting down and practicaly memorizing the blueprints
of the ship the night she's gotten her orders.
    Within moments, she was back at the sparse quarters that
were her own. She had never been one for large amounts of
personal effects, and it was obvious. In all, she had six books,
a photograph, and some off-duty clothes that she kept boxed up
under her bunk.
    She picked one of the books up off her desk and lay down on
her bunk, ready to get some well-earned rest.

                             * * * * *

    The pain was like a living thing. It consumed Henderson
like a ravenous beast. Yet never completely full, it continued
unceasingly, until...
    ...it stopped.
    The sudden absence of pain made Henderson feel faint.
However, she was afraid that if she lost consciousness, she'd
never regain it. Not in this life, anyway.
    "Elaine, give us some privacy."  Henderson hadn't even
noticed Bridger enter, she was so disoriented.
    "What are you going to do to her?"  Despite the fact that it
was a whisper, Henderson could still make out the words.
    "I'm going to have a talk with her. What did you think?"
Bridger smiled gently, kindly, the way he had always used to.
"Now go on."
    Morse hesitated for a moment, then nodded and left, a
troubled look on her face.
    Bridger sat down next to the bed Henderson was shackled to.
He looked so normal, that she had to fight the idea that the
whole event had never really happened.
    "Lieutenant, I wanted to apologize."
    Henderson knew that she couldn't have heard him right. It
made no sense. But, then again, Bridger hadn't been making much
sense about anything lately.
    "Excuse me?"
    Bridger looked down, seeming almost sheepish. "I should've
been there for you, but, well, you've seen my fleet. They're in
such bad shape that the Macronesian border patrols would have
destroyed every last one of them. It wasn't that I didn't care,"
he hastened to add. "Because I do."  Bridger looked up at her.
"You understand, don't you?"
    "Let me get this straight..."  She had to be missing
something. "You're apologizing for not rescuing me from
_Macronesia_?!?"
    Bridger nodded, seemingly oblivious to her shock.
    "But--"  She was so incredulous that, for a moment, her
voice caught in her throat. "What about all of this?!?"
    "All of what?"  Bridger's eyes had narrowed in apparent
confusion.
    "All of _this_!"  She gestured, as best she could, to the
various restraints, drugs, and other items that she couldn't
begin to guess at. "The kidnapping, the torture... Captain," she
shook her head uncomprehendingly, not caring how dizzy the motion
made her. "Why?"
    "Oh, that."  He shrugged. "It's necessary."
    *Necessary?!?*  "Necessary for what?!?"
    "Hudson stole my ship, my crew, my--"  Bridger cut himself
off before Henderson had a chance to hear what else Hudson had
`stolen'.
    "Sir, I..."  She didn't know what to say, but she felt the
undeniable urge to try and comfort her former CO. "Please, don't
do this. No matter how badly you injure Captain Hudson, _you're_
the one who will wind up hurt in the end."
    As she watched Bridger, she saw his eyes fill with emotion,
one that Henderson had never seen flare so brightly in them
before: rage.
    "You're loyal to him now, aren't you?"  Bridger all but
shook with fury. His voice was low when he spoke again. "Let me
show you the price of betrayal."
    Henderson's heart skipped a beat as Bridger turned to one of
the trays of instruments. When he turned back, the light gleamed
oddly in his eyes. A gleam matched by the one of the scalpel he
held.
    He pressed the blade's edge to her throat, and slowly
started to increase the pressure. "So, _I'm_ the one who will be
hurt in the end, am I?"  Henderson could feel her heart racing.
A sadistic chuckle escaped his lips. "Funny. _I'm_ not feeling
anything." Bridger's eyes burned brightly as he pressed the blade
still harder against her throat.
    Though she tried to avoid it, Henderson still felt Bridger's
gaze lock with her own. For a long moment, she couldn't look at
anything except at those dark orbs, boring into her, straight
through her...
    Bridger blinked and turned pale. His expression turned to
one of horror.
    "My God, I--I'm sorry!"  Henderson could hear the scalpel
clatter to the floor. "I don't know what came over me..."  His
eyes were haunted. "What was I thinking..."  He took a deep
breath, seemingly trying to recover his equilibrium. He was so
affected by what he'd nearly done, that Henderson felt a spark of
hope, that perhaps it had shocked him back to normal.
    "Well, in any event, I think you've learned your lesson."
    *Damn.*  So much for _that_ idea.
    "You see what Hudson's gotten you? Imprisonment and dead
friends? If _I_ had been in command, none of that would have
_ever_ happened."  He grinned kindly down at her. "I'll tell
Elaine to take you back after she's done."  Bridger turned and
walked out.
    And with that, Henderson was left alone. She was worried
about what Bridger had in store for Hudson. *He just said he
cared about _me_, and look at what he did.*  She was afraid to
guess at what Bridger would do to someone he _didn't_ like.

                             * * * * *

    The relief Morse felt as she left the Medbay, Henderson's
screams no longer filling her ears with every breath, was
incredible. She didn't know why, because she knew that Bridger
was far from harmless. But at least, she told herself, she
wouldn't have to watch what was going on any longer. She could
at least try to ignore it.
    She walked into Bridger's quarters, not quite knowing what
to expect. Why Bridger would want her to--
    The she saw the boy. The _ensign_, she corrected herself.
He was lying, sprawled on the floor. She sucked in a shocked
gasp, unsure of how to bring him back to the room-- the cell.
There was no need to mince words.
    Well, at least he wasn't conscious, she realized, guilty at
the relief that knowledge brought to her.
    She picked him up, momentarily thrown by his lack of weight,
and carried him down the hall.
    She didn't understand how Bridger could tell her so
emphatically that the child wouldn't be harmed, threaten her with
bodily harm or worse should she even think of trying to do
anything to him, and then shoot him.
    It was a struggle for her to hold him up with one hand as
she unlocked the door with the other.
    Oliver was waiting for her. He watched her angrily as she
entered the room.
    "You _sadistic_--"
    "Oliver," she began, not caring that by using his name she
was opening herself to attack, "Listen to me! I didn't do
anything!"
    "And I'm supposed to believe you?"  He gestured to Lucas.
"Elaine, you've been lying to me ever since _seaQuest_ received
that distress signal! It'll be a cold day in Hell before I make
the mistake of believing you again!"
    "It couldn't be colder there than you were in bed," she shot
back. His words were meant to express his frustration. Hers
were meant to hurt him.
    He glared at her. "Sticks and Stones, Elaine. At least _I_
haven't betrayed everything and everyone I ever cared about."
    She looked up. Was he saying that he still cared for her?
Was the glimmer of hope that his words had brought to life in her
heart-- the desire that he would be able to forgive her-- showing
through in her expression? She turned away from him, willing to
take a few seconds to gather herself.
    Unfortunately, he wasn't about to give her those seconds.
Almost before she knew what was happening, he had jumped. She
felt him wrench the gun out of her hands, and out of instinct
drove her elbow into his midsection. He stumbled back, half
doubled over, but didn't release his grip on the pistol.
    She immediately reached for her boot, yanking out the small
knife that she kept there. It still amazed her, after her stint
in the Navy, how handy a concealed weapon could come in. It had
certainly helped her sooth her fears as she lay in bed at night,
knowing that her employer was quite possibly insane, and sleeping
just a few rooms away.
    Wolenczak was still unconscious, and she was closer to him
than Oliver was.
    She grabbed him, pulling his limp body up against her own,
and encircled his neck with her arm. She pressed the knife
against his pale skin. Hudson raised the gun, and they stared at
each other, each knowing that they had reached an impasse, for
several seconds.
    "Elaine," he said, "I'd hate to have to shoot you. You know
that."
    She knew it, but she wasn't about to admit it-- especially
not to herself. "Well, I'd love to say that the feeling was
mutual," she said, knowing in her heart that it was. "But I
don't think that Nathan would appreciate it if I deprived him of
the honor." If Hudson forced her to hurt Lucas, she knew that
Bridger's "disappreciation" would be even greater. "So I think
you should put that pistol down and slide it over here."
    His expression softened. "For God's sake, Elaine, this is
ridiculous. We shouldn't be fighting."
    She gritted her teeth and changed the angle of her wrist.
"One swipe," she said, "And he'll be dead within minutes.
Oliver, send it over."
    She watched as he considered her threat. They'd had fights
like this before, violent ones, but never involving a third
party.
    She realized smugly that she'd usually won those fights.
    He apparently remembered that as well as she did. He
nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Fine. Put him down first."
    She shook her head. "What kind of an idiot do you take me
for?" she asked. "If he dies, it's because I was acting in self-
defense."  She didn't see until it was out just how nonsensical
the statement was.
    "Self-defense after kidnapping? I'm sure that'll go over
well with a grand jury."
    She felt a stab of fear in her gut. He didn't believe her.
She was going to have to prove herself to him. That was
something she had been hoping to avoid, but wasn't about to do at
the cost of her own safety or life. She didn't fell any guilt
for what she was about to do, because if their situations had
been reversed, Hudson would have valued his own safety over hers
any day.
    She flipped her wrist, and felt almost no resistance as the
knife bit into the boy's flesh. "I'll do it," she warned Hudson
as he took a step closer. "Oliver, that cut won't kill him. The
next one won't be a flesh wound."
    He nodded, looking defeated, which she knew was when he was
the most dangerous of all, especially to her. The expression he
shot her would melt the resolve that she had to have if she was
going to get her gun back.
    "Fine."
    "Put it on the floor. Slowly. Keep your hands in sight,:
Surprisingly enough, he obeyed her. Both of his eyes were locked
on her, and vice versa. "Kick it over here."
    He missed her by over three feet. She knew that his aim
wasn't that poor. He was trying to divide her attention. She
shook her head. "Oliver, you've forgotten who you're dealing
with."
    He grinned. "But you know you can't leave that gun there,
and you can't get it without breaking contact with Ensign
Wolenczak and myself."
    His opinion of her skills wasn't even high enough to make
him attempt to keep anything a secret. She was furious.
"Oliver, I swear I'm going to kill you."  The instant she said
it, she realized how ridiculous it sounded. She might as well
have threatened to cut his violin strings. After all, she wasn't
the one calling the shots.
    "You're going to kill me," Hudson said, only a trace of
amusement in his voice. He gestured to Lucas. "And you're going
to slit his throat."  His deep brown eyes were melting her heart
against her will. "Where is it going to stop?"
    "That's not up to me to decide."  At his blank expression,
she felt a wave of fury coming to a boil inside her. "How can
you be so blind?" she asked him. Her voice, not quite at the
level of a shout, was louder than it had been moments ago. "I'm
just as much of a prisoner here as you are. Dammit, do you think
I'm _enjoying_ this?"
    He seemed as stunned by her open admission of helplessness
as she was. "Elaine, I--"
    "Shut up! You _never_ shut up! That was always the
problem, Oliver! You could never force yourself to admit that
there are things in this world that your uniform can't protect
you from--that sometimes, there are people who you _just don't
cross_!"  She knew that her sentences were no longer coherent,
and she knew that sooner or later she'd say something she'd
regret. But she was beyond caring. "For your sake _and_ mine,
Oliver, don't make me do something we'll _both_ regret."
    She could feel the tears beginning to prick at the corners
of her eyes, promising to provide her with some sort of relief
from the emotions she had been forced to bottle up ever since
Bridger had approached her all those weeks ago. Her voice was
faltering with every syllable now, not just here and there. "If
I kill him or not-- either way, I'm dead! Don't you understand
that? _I don't have any choice in this_! You've got your Navy,
your ship, _everything_ to fall back on! I've got _nothing,
Oliver! _Nothing_! Once this is over, do you really think that
Bridger will let me walk away?"  She chuckled bitterly. "If this
ever is over. Bridger doesn't trust me any more than he does the
UEO. None of us-- not you, not me, not her, and not _him_--" she
began, indicating Lucas, "is _ever_ going to get off this ship
alive! And it's safer for _me_ to be on _his_ side."  She shook
her head. "I'm sorry, Oliver, because I hoped it would never come
to this. But a line's been drawn, and we're on opposite sides of
it. I can't afford to let anyone know how much I wish that
wasn't the case."
    He nodded, half resigned, and took a few steps away. The
longing in his eyes was clear, and she knew that it was reflected
in her own. She couldn't stay here much longer. Any minute,
Bridger could show up.
    As they watched each other across the room, however, she
knew that she couldn't just walk away, either.
    She had to tell him _something_. "If I could make you
understand how much I wish the situation was different..." she
said, feeling the first tear slip down her face, "There is no one
in the universe who it would hurt me more to see this happen to
than you. But we're leading separate lives now, and that means
we can't always be there for each other."
    He seemed to be weighing her words, and she wished she had
the courage to say more.
    Another tear fell, and she felt her lower lip tremble. "And
I hope, someday, you'll be able to forgive me."
    He shook his head. "I could forgive almost anything from
you. But when you come to the assistance of a madman, and drag my
crew into something that never should have involved anyone other
than Bridger and myself, you've gone too far."  In his voice was
something that she hadn't heard since he'd begged her to take him
back after their first wedding. Desperation. "All you've got to
do is give me the keys and the gun. I'll let you come with us.
We'll think of something."
    She shook her head, struggling through her tears. "You just
don't get it, do you?"
    "No!"  He sighed and shook his head. "Elaine, how am I
supposed to understand anything you're doing? You're keeping me
at arms' length!"
    She was doing it on purpose.
    "God, Elaine, just let me help!"
    Morse laughed bitterly as she reaffirmed her grip on the
unconscious ensign.  "_No one_ can help, Oliver. I thought I'd
made that clear. This situation is _impossible_!"
    Hudson moved closer. "Nothing is impossible, Elaine."
    Before she'd met Bridger, Morse would have laughed his
remark off with a shrug.
    "Please," Hudson said, his voice warm, "Put him down,
Elaine."
    Morse felt her defenses weakening. Her grip loosened. "I--"
    "Elaine,"  Hudson sounded so sure of himself that Morse
didn't stand a chance. "Put him down."
    Almost in a trance, Morse eased the blade away from the
boy's throat. Before she knew it, and against her will, she'd
laid him down on one of the benches.
    By the time she'd realized what she'd done, Hudson was
almost beside her.
    She stabbed the air in front of him with the knife. "Don't
come any closer, Oliver," she said. She stepped past him and
scooped up the gun. Despite her best efforts, her hand shook as
she held it.
    Hudson, ignoring her, came closer.
    "Oliver, I'm warning you--"
    "Elaine," Hudson said, not ceasing his advance. "Let me
help you."
    She did nothing as he moved up to her. She couldn't.
    He grasped her wrist in his cuffed hands.
    "Oliver, I can't..."  She trailed off, affected more than
she'd though possible by his touch, and by memories of what it
used to mean to her.
    What it still meant.
    "You can."
    All of a sudden, without thinking, she took out the ring of
keys and unlocked his handcuffs, freeing his wrists.
    The handcuffs clattered to the floor.
    She smiled up at him. "There."
    He grinned back. "Thanks," he said warmly. They stared
into each other's eyes for a moment.
    Then, she threw her arms around him.
    He held her.
    For the first time in a long time, she felt safe.
    That feeling didn't last for long.
    "What the _hell_?!?"
    Bridger's voice boomed across the room from the doorway.
    Morse reacted immediately. She pulled herself out of
Hudson's arms and jerked her gun up, aimed directly at him. She
glanced to Bridger, knowing that any wrong word could be her
last. "Thank God you got here in time!"
    She forced herself to glare at him, as coldly as she could.
    "He tried--"
    "Elaine," Bridger said, cutting her off without glancing in
her direction, "We'll talk about it later."  He looked closely at
Hudson.
    At his wrists.
    The ones she had just freed from the handcuffs.
    "I see you've managed to free yourself-- _Captain_."
    Every time Bridger called Hudson by his title, the scathing
tone his voice took on sent shivers up Morse's spine. Bridger
pulled another set of handcuffs out of his pocket. "How
fortunate I happen to have a few extra pairs."
    Bridger grabbed Hudson and shoved him against the wall as
the gun trembled in Morse's grasp. She watched as Bridger pinned
Hudson against the bulkhead and handcuffed him-- behind his back
this time-- effectively destroying any chance of his jumping
either of them again.
    *Or of touching me again.*
    It was probably a good thing, she tried to convince herself.
She'd nearly let her personal feelings get in the way of her job.
Morse knew that if it happened again, she was as good as dead.
    But she knew she was dead no matter what.
    Bridger released Hudson, shoving him towards one of the
benches. He barely managed to catch himself before he fell.
    Bridger turned to Morse. "Elaine," he said, "I'd like to
discuss this with you-- in my quarters."
    Morse nodded and followed Bridger out, unable to make
herself look at Hudson.
    *Elaine,* she asked herself, *What have you _done_, you weak
minded _idiot_?!?
    She was afraid of the answer.
    The short journey to Bridger's quarters was made in silence.
Morse was grateful for the lack of conversation on their walk.
It gave her the opportunity to think of what to say.
    "Nathan," she began once they'd arrived, "I--"
    "Are you all right?"  Bridger asked, cutting her off. "Did
he hurt you?"
    "I'm fine," she said somewhat confused. She'd expected
Bridger to be angry with her.
    "What happened?"
    "He jumped me when I brought the boy into the room. He
grabbed my gun so I--"  Morse cut herself off, realizing that she
was treading on thin ice. _Very_ thin ice. "So," she resumed
her story, "I pretended to side with him, trying to get him to
trust me. He embraced me, and that's what you saw when you came
in."
    "I see," Bridger said thoughtfully. "It was a good plan,
Elaine."
    Morse forced a smile. "Thanks."
    "Lieutenant Henderson's still in the medbay," Bridger said,
going back to his usual topic. "I think she's probably asleep by
now. Check her in a few hours, then take her back to the room."
    Morse nodded, and got up to leave. As she walked away, she
heard something clatter to the deck.
    "Elaine," Bridger said, bending down and scooping up the
object, "You dropped your--"  Bridger cut himself off as he held
the pointed object up to where he could see it.
    *My knife?*  Morse could tell that it was. She realized
that she hadn't fastened it securely earlier, and now it had
slipped out. *Of all the lousy luck...*
    "Elaine," Bridger said slowly, "What is this?"
    She reached out her hand for it. "It's a...souvenir.
From..."
    Her mind was blank.
    "You're lying," Bridger accused her.
    "I'm not," she objected weakly-- after waiting too long.
    He held the knife up to the dim light. Morse held her
breath, praying that he wouldn't see the--
    "What's this stain?" he asked, stepping closer.
    *Damn,* she thought. Her silent pleas had gone unanswered.
    "It's blood, isn't it."
    She took a step back.
    His arm lashed out and pinned her to the bulkhead. "Who's
blood?" he demanded, holding the knife only inches from her face,
forcing her to stare at the thin line of blood that traced it's
edge. "Who's blood, Elaine?!?"
    She couldn't tell him the truth. He'd kill her.
    "It's Hudson's, isn't it!" he said, answering himself. "You
tried to kill him yourself! You tried to deprive me of my chance
for justice!"
    Morse blinked. Bridger had taken the facts in entirely the
wrong direction. "No!" she objected. "I was trying to--"  She
paused, tried to come up with something, and it all rushed out.
"To make him see that he can't manipulate me like he does
everyone else he meets."
    "Why?" Bridger asked dangerously. "What gives you the
right?"
    She didn't have an answer.
    "Or is that really why?"  A glint of real fury-- a thousand
times stronger than anything he'd shown her before-- entered his
eyes. "Maybe there's another reason."
    He released her suddenly, and she felt her heart stop
pounding for almost a full second as he whirled away and began
pacing, his arms folded across his chest.
    "You wouldn't kill him to spite me..."  He shook his head.
"I'm sure that's not your style. And I don't think it was a slip
of the knife...too convenient."
    "Nathan," she said, pleading, "It's the truth--  I'm not so
weak that he can wrap me around his little--"
    "That's it!"  He spun around to face her. "You think I'm
too _weak_, don't you."  He shook his head as he walked back to
her. She couldn't move. She was frozen against the bulkhead.
    He smiled sadly, but his shot out and smacked against the
cold metal next to her head. "Well, Elaine," he said, almost
chuckling, "I'm stronger than you think."
    He turned away, and she let out a breath. She hadn't
thought he'd let her walk away unscathed.
    He didn't.
    The fist that hit her jaw felt like solid rock. Had she not
still been pinned to the wall, she would have fallen.
    He grinned. "Did that feel weak to you?"
    Her mind was too dazed to allow her to reply.
    "For some reason," Bridger snarled, sounding as though he
were a great distance away, "I don't think you're telling me
everything. I'd like to have the whole story. Now."
    She could barely connect her thoughts, and he wanted a
_story_?
    "First," he said, apparently willing to guide her through
her explanation, "I want to hear you tell me _who you slashed_!"
    "I..."
    He grabbed her by the arms and shook her. It only furthered
her disorientation. "_Whose blood is it_?"
    "Not-- not Oliver's!"
    She was so bewildered that she didn't realize that there had
only been one other person in the room, other than Hudson, whose
blood could have stained the knife.
    "_Lucas!?!_"
    Like the first time she'd come home drunk from a party, her
brain caught up with her mouth.
    Bridger's eyes were a mixture of horror and rage. "You were
going to _kill_ him, weren't you! To get back at me!"  Morse
felt Bridger's hand move from her shoulder closer to her throat.
    "No, of course not! Oliver jumped me! Nathan, he grabbed
my gun! What was I supposed to do?"
    Bridger grabbed her by the arm and flung her to the deck.
Before she could get up, he was on top of her, pinning her to the
floor. "I _told_ you," he said, "That Lucas was _not_ to be
hurt!"
    "But--"  She cut herself off before she pointed out that
_he_ had been the one to stun the boy in the first place.
    "No excuses."  He moved one of his hands to her throat. At
first, his touch was cool, soft-- almost a caress.
    She felt the pool of terror in her soul growing even deeper.
Her fear was overwhelming. It was the fear of something that, to
her, would be worse than death.
    Then he latched onto her throat like a vise, cutting off her
air supply. "Nathan," she choked, "What are you--"
    He increased the pressure, and her words were cut off.
Blackness swept in from the corners of her eyes.
    Then there was nothing...

                             * * * * *

    ...And then, something.
    Morse returned to consciousness in a rush of adrenaline.
She leapt from the deck and immediately fell into a fighting
stance, ready to defend herself.
    "Oh, good," came a voice from behind. "You're up."
    Morse whirled to see an unarmed Nathan Bridger looking
calmly back at her. "Don't you come _near_ me," she warned.
    Bridger shrugged. "Okay. But now that you're awake, I'd
like you to move Henderson back to the stateroom."
    Morse felt like she'd stepped through the proverbial
looking-glass, a feeling that she'd been accustomed to since
entering Bridger's employ. "Uh, sure," she said carefully, not
wanting to set him off again.
    He smiled at her. "Good. I think she's still asleep."
    *Unconscious, you mean.*  Morse nodded and walked to the
door. But before she could leave, Bridger's voice stopped her.
    "Elaine," he said slowly.
    Morse froze, her hand almost to the door. She turned
slightly. "Yes?"
    "That was your last warning."
    She nodded and fled to the Medbay-- glad to be anywhere but
alone with Bridger.



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

As always, any comments can be directed to UEO Krieg@aol.com
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Louder Than Words
Chapter 7
Jennifer Bradley


    "Oh my God," Burke said, jumping up from the bed, "I forgot
to change Kimbal's IV!"  Kimbal had been admitted earlier in the
day for appendicitis. While Burke had merely assisted in the
surgery, Perry had put her in charge of the man's recovery.
    She ran the whole way to the medbay, barely avoiding a
collision several times.
    Once Burke had sprinted into the room, she collided almost
instantly. With Perry.
    "Burke?" Perry seemed mildly annoyed. "Where's the fire?"
    "Uh," Burke gasped, "I think I forgot to change Kimbal's IV,
sir."
    Perry just stared in shock. Then she gestured to Kimbal's
bed. Where he was resting comfortably. With a new IV bag.
    *What the Hell?!?*
    "In my office," Perry ordered. "Now."
    Burke meekly followed her, standing at attention.
    "Doctor," Burke began, "I'm _so_--"
    "Don't," Perry interrupted. "Do you know what could've
happened, if that bag hadn't been changed? Seaman Kimbal
could've become dehydrated!"
    Burke resisted the temptation to flinch. She remained
silent.
    "And," Perry continued, "Are you aware that, if that
had been a transfusion, and you'd neglected to change the blood
bag, that man could be _dead_ by now!"
    *But it wasn't. It was a sugar solution, and Kimbal could
stand to lose a few pounds!*
    Burke immediately berated herself for such thoughts. They
were beneath her.
    "_...And_," Perry was saying, "You're lucky that he can't
sue you for malpractice! Your licence would be revoked, no
question!" She moved even closer. "For the saludatorian of your
class, Burke, you seem pretty damned incompetent."
    That stung. In fact, that really stung. Burke felt as
though she were being eaten alive by the acidic glare Perry was
giving her.
    "Well?" Perry demanded, "What have you got to say for
yourself?"
    "Nothing, sir."
    "Nothing?!?" Perry repeated. "You don't have anything to
say? Even after you nearly killed a man?!?"
    "I have no excuse, sir."
    *Except that my mind had been dulled by the meaningless
tedium of the busywork you've given me!*
    "Damned right!"  Perry shook her head. "I just don't know
about you, Burke."  She sighed. "I just don't know."
    Burke couldn't force herself to answer.
    "Dismissed," Perry said.
    Burke left the office, feeling smaller than she had in a
long time.
    "Psst."
    Burke looked over at her colleague, Dr. Fox, beckoning her
over.
    "Meredith," Fox said, eyes darting around the ward. "You
forgot to change--"
    Burke sighed. Was her negligence going to attract
everyone's notice? "Yeah," she said, cutting him off, "I forgot
to change Kimbal's IV. I know."
    "Don't worry. I switched it before the boss noticed."
    Well, that certainly explained that. "Thanks, Dan," she
said wryly. "But I all ready pointed it out to her.
Accidently."
    Fox grimaced. "Man, am I sorry! I was trying to help."  He
shook his head. "She's all ready in such a bad mood, normally,
with this, she's gonna be hell to work with."
    Burke shrugged. "Good luck, Dan."
    He nodded. "Thanks, I--"
    "Dr. Fox!"
    Fox turned at Perry's call. "Yes, Doctor?"
    "Get to work."
    Fox licked his lips. "Yes, sir."
    Burke escaped before Perry had a chance to say anything else
to her.

                             * * * * *

    Hatred was such a powerful emotion. Bridger had never felt
himself fueled by so much of it.
    It was a roaring beast, every moment making him wonder if it
would consume him or not. Every second, he felt it lap against
the coasts of his soul.
    He enjoyed it.
    It gave him a sense of purpose, the hatred.
    Only one person would be on the receiving end of his fury.
He knew that Hudson was the one who had cost him everything.
Hudson was the one who had taken Lucas from him. Taken him, and
turned him against his former commanding officer. Taken him and
told him that he didn't need to retain a sense of loyalty-- a
sense of _love_ - because Hudson was in command of the _seaQuest_
now, and Hudson would be there for him.
    Hudson had no right to be anywhere for Lucas. That was
Bridger's right, and Bridger's alone. He may have failed others-
-Carol, Robert, Wendy-- but Lucas was one person who he would
never make himself let go of.
    No one could _ever_ make him let go of Lucas.
    He loved the boy so much that it hurt him. If he couldn't
convince Lucas that he was right, and that Hudson would only
become a means to the boy's destruction, he would have failed.
    He would _not_ fail the one person he had left.
    He would _not_ fail Lucas.
    The love was consuming every part of him, every part that
the hatred hadn't already laid claim to. He wanted so much for
Lucas to understand, and yet, there was a voice in the back of
his head that told him that too much had happened between them
for anything of meaning to be able to occur again.
    He only had one picture of Lucas. One picture of the two of
them, standing on a beach. His beach. Carol's beach. The
picture was his link to the past-- a past where he and Lucas had
been as close as father and son.
    Although in front of Hudson, Bridger had denied his feelings
towards the boy emphatically, he now admitted them to himself.
The child was more of a son to him than Robert had ever been.
More than he could ever have hoped.
    He could remember the first time he had realized how much he
felt towards Lucas. It had been his first trip back to the
_seaQuest_ after leaving it.
    He hadn't left it, he quickly amended. Leaving implied some
sort of abandonment, and he would never abandon something he
cared about so much.
    To hear the person who he considered closer than a blood
relative saying the things that Lucas had said, was more than he
could take.
    It had been difficult for him to keep his fury back when he
had heard what Lucas had said. What _both_ of them-- Lucas and
Henderson-- had said.
    He had tried to hurt Henderson. He was trying to deny it,
but he could still feel the pencil-thin handle of the scalpel,
almost still feel the rage that had bubbles and boiled to the
surface under the onslaught of her accusations. And he knew
that, if he hadn't looked away when he had, if the fear in her
eyes hadn't finally pierced his skull, he would have killed her.
Then what would Lucas have thought?
    *Lucas would have thought whatever Hudson wanted him to.*
Hudson had brainwashed Bridger's final hope that something about
his life would be worth something.
    He sat now, in his quarters, waiting for her. She was often
quiet these days, not like she had been at first.
    At first, Bridger hadn't even realized that she was talking
to him. He would feel a hunch, or a cold shiver, and then it
would pass and he would go about his daily business, never
knowing that she had tried to make him hear.
    It was only when he had tried to find her that she had
responded. The first night...it had been half a month after he
and Lucas and Jonathan and Dagwood had returned from Macronesia.
After he had seen how deeply Lucas'-- and everyone else's
loyalties ran to Hudson.
    She had offered to help him, and he had agreed to listen.
She had promised to help him. He had agreed to accept her aid.
She had wanted to listen, so he had talked.
    And when it was over, he had known what he had to do.
    She had told him not to, she always did. But then again,
she had always been a worrier. But she'd never rejected him.
    Learning that his own flesh-and-blood son had rejected him
was almost as difficult for Bridger as it had been to listen to
Lucas' accusations. He was determined not to give Lucas any
excuses to leave. Not like what he'd given Robert. A youth
filled with a father that was barely old enough to be on his own,
a mother that had always regretted abandoning a promising career,
it had been a bad way for Robert to grow up. Bridger knew that
Lucas' youth, although not as exceptional, had been almost as
rocky.
    At least he had never rejected Robert. Not like Robert had
rejected him. Not like Lucas' father had rejected his son.
    Bridger would never reject Lucas.
    But how did he make the boy see that? It wasn't the type of
thing you could come out and say, and the problem was that he had
already said it. There wasn't much else he could do but to try
to make Lucas understand.
    But he wouldn't give up. He would never give up on Lucas,
just like he was sure that Lucas would never give up on him. No
matter what the boy said, Bridger knew that Lucas would never
give up on him.
    He didn't know how to show Lucas how concerned he was for
his safety. He had never been particularly articulate about
voicing his feelings. That was what Robert had accused him of.
Never being in touch with anyone's feelings. It wasn't Bridger's
fault. It really wasn't. He'd been forced to put up barriers to
protect himself, and the side effect had been that he could never
really understand other people without taking down the walls.
    He had taken them down for Carol, and he had tried to for
Robert, and he had done it for Wendy. Lucas still wouldn't let
him get close enough. He had to show Lucas how he felt, or the
boy would never understand.
    And although he knew that it wasn't necessary that Lucas
understand, just that he accept what Bridger was telling him, he
knew that it wouldn't be that simple. He had to show Lucas in a
way that Lucas wouldn't forget.
    He just had no idea of how to do it.

                             * * * * *

    Kate Williams was lying on her bed when Burke returned from
the medbay. After her comfrontation with Perry, Burke was in no
mood for chit-chat.
    "Oh, hi, Meredith. Where've you been? Have you heard?"
Despite her reputation around the ship, Burke had found Williams
to be a nice enough person. Still, she was something of a
gossip.
    "No," Burke said wearily, wanting only to get some sleep.
"I haven't heard about anything."  *Other than how incompetent
Perry thinks I am.*
    "Well," Williams said, gray eyes sparkling, "Mark got
himself into a fight."
    Burke shrugged. "So? Holdin's _always_ getting himself
into fights. You know they never turn into anything."
    "You heard the rumors, right? The ones about him and
Fredricks?"
     Burke nodded.
    "Well, me and Jack figured out that Holdin was lying!"
    *So did I,* Burke thought. *The first time I heard them.*
    "So we and Bill called him on it. He said that Fredricks
would beg him to forgive her..."
    *Not likely.*
    "So, he went over there, where she was sitting, and tried to
talk to her, but _someone_, one of the _senior_ staff, challenged
him to a fight!"
    Given Holdin's not inconsiderable size, Burke wondered
exactly who would be stupid enough to get into a fight with him.
Since Kate was still looking expectantly at her, she decided,
tired as she was, to play along. "Who?"
    Williams grinned. "Lieutenant O'Neill!"  Williams burst out
laughing.
    "Why would he do something like _that_?" Burke asked in
shock. O'Neill was not exactly the largest of men, nor was he
reputed to be insane. Someone would have to be either or both to
have gotten themselves into a situation like this.
    Williams shrugged. "I dunno. I think the fish-- uh, I mean
Warrant Officer Piccolo had something to do with it..."
    Ah. Piccolo. Of course. Despite being new to the ship,
Burke had heard all about the exploits of Tony Piccolo.
    "But, anyway," Williams continued, "They're going to fight
tomorrow night in the gym. You comin'?"
    She shrugged again, to tired to really muster up any
enthusiasm. "I s'pose, if Perry doesn't find something
ridiculous for me to do."
    Williams looked at Burke sympathetically. "She still givin'
you a rough time?"
    Burke sighed. "Yeah. You could say that."  *You could also
say that she's putting me through Hell.*
    Williams patted Burke sympathetically on the wrist. "Don't
worry, Meredith. Everything'll be okay. You'll see. Perry
always gives her new trainees a rough time. Hell, when _I_ was
new, she put me through the wringer! An' _I'm_ just a nurse!"
    Burke nodded, skeptically. "I guess," she said,
unconvinced.
    "Hey, come on an' come to the fight tomorrow," Williams
cajoled. "Hell," she said laughing, "Mark might just need some
medical help!"
    Burke barely managed a chuckle before she fell asleep, too
exhausted to even get undressed.

                             * * * * *

    Piccolo was surprised that it hadn't occurred to Ford
earlier to have the specters go out and look for debris. He had,
of course, been one of the first to volunteer to go, but Ford
hadn't agreed. So when his shift had ended, he had gone to the
rec deck.
    He surveyed the large room, mentally mapping the area that
he would need to block off for the fight. At the very least, the
far right corner would do. He already knew of several dozen
people who would be coming, and wanted to prepare for as many as
would show up.
    "Hey, Piccolo."
    He turned around, the grin on his face quickly dissipating.
"Allen. Finer. Hey."  He unwittingly took a step back. "Did
you want something?"
    Allen took a few steps forward and slapped him on the back--
harder than Piccolo had expected. "Tony, Tony, Tony. I'm
insulted."  Allen was playing the so-called insult to its fullest
potential. "Can't a guy just want to have a man-to-man
conversation with a pal?"
    *You ain't no friend of mine,* Piccolo thought. Allen had
been up for the same tactical posting as Piccolo. Since he'd
gotten it, the seaman hadn't given him anything but dirty looks.
"Whaddya want?"
    Allen moved closer, his near-two-meter height forcing
Piccolo to look up at him. "We just wanted you to try and
convince O'Neill to pull out of the fight. I mean," he laughed,
"It's not like that wuss has any chance of winning."
    Even though Piccolo knew that Allen was probably right; that
O'Neill didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of winning, he
still desperately wanted to prove the arrogant jerk wrong.
"Wanna bet?"
    Finer and Allen looked at each other and shrugged. "Sure,
why not?"  Finer asked.
    Piccolo blinked, not having expected to be taken literally.
    "Well, _fishman_, we're willing, how 'bout you?"  Allen
asked.
    "Sure, what the Hell..." *...is wrong with me?!?*  Piccolo
asked himself. "But, how 'bout we get a pool going? I'll even
put in the first hundred."  He grinned, trying to look sure of
himself. "More money for me when Tim beats Holdin to a bloody
pulp."
    Both Allen and Finer laughed raucously. "_If_ he wins,"
Allen said, still laughing,  "Which he won't."
    "Wait a sec," Finer interjected. "Who's gonna hold the
pot?"
    Allen looked around the deserted gym. "Kate!" he called.
"C'mere for a minute, will ya?"
    Kate Williams sauntered over and wrapped her arm around
Finer's waist. "Hiya, cutie," she said to Finer. Turning to
Allen, she raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, Bill, what's up?"
    Allen briefly told Williams about the betting pool on the
fight. "So y'see, Kate, we need somebody else to hold the pot.
And, well I thought of you."
    Williams shrugged. "Sure, whatever."
    "Great," Finer replied. "Look, sugar, we gotta go on duty
real soon. I'll see you later."
    "See ya, " she said as the two men walked away. "Hey," she
said, touching Piccolo's arm to get his attention. "You know,
your buddy really doesn't have a chance."  She snuck an arm
around his waist, and pulled him close. "I'd really be
*grateful*,"  and the emphasis she put on "grateful", left no
doubt as to her meaning. "If you'd convince him to pull out."
She smiled at him.
    Piccolo disentangled himself as best he could. "No thanks,
I have a headache."  *And I expect it to last for a good, _long_
time.*
    "I've got plenty of aspirin in my quarters...maybe you could
stop by later?"
    Piccolo never thought that he would be one to turn down a
beautiful woman. But he shook his head violently as she took a
step closer. "No thanks. This fight means a hell of a lot-- to
Tim."  *And I would hate to spoil his fun...*
    She sighed and leaned closer-- something he found himself
wondering if it were possible to do. "Fine then, Tony. Have it
your way. But if you change your mind--"  She cut herself off as
she stepped away. "I'll be waiting."
    *I'll bet you will.*  Piccolo had heard rumors about
Williams that rivaled Holdin's fake ones about Fredricks, and
under other circumstances probably would have jumped at her
offer. But something about this was too unappealing for him.
*Hell, she's even _blonde_!*  Of course, there was always Finer
to worry about.

                             * * * * *

    She was gripping the field rations in her fist, so tightly
that it hurt-- but not, she knew, as much as she'd hurt the
people she cared about.
    She shoved the thought away. She needed the money.
    And yet, there had been a point in time during which no
amount of money would have been enough to make her injure
innocent people. She had never been a violent person. And now,
some lunatic's vendetta against Oliver had forced her into a
corner, with nowhere to turn. She had to continue down this
path. She was past the point of no return-- or at least, that
was what she knew she'd have to tell herself to be able to sleep
every night from now until she died. But in reality, she knew
that it wasn't true with every cell in her body. She could let
them all go, and leave with them. Oliver would protect her. He
had already promised to.
    She was running away from something. She had been running
ever since she had left Perseid. Maybe even from before that.
But she still hadn't figured out what she was running from.
    She pulled the ring of keys out of her pocket-- Bridger felt
that the old ways worked best, but she hadn't used a lock-and-key
for years-- and _never_ like this.
    The key slipped easily into the lock, and as she turned it,
she almost forgot to pull out her gun. No matter what they had
meant to each other, she didn't doubt that Oliver would place his
people's safety above her own. The worst part was, she wasn't so
sure that doing so would be the wrong decision.
    The door opened easily enough. He was sitting on one of the
benches, thankfully the one on the other side of the room.
    She walked across the room, carefully averting her gaze.
That proved to be a mistake. The only other place for her to
look was at the boy. He was sleeping, so peacefully. She felt
her heart wrench inside her chest.
    How she had been able to hold him hostage like that-- to
_Oliver_-- chilled her blood. She still couldn't believe how
close she'd come to committing cold-blooded murder.
    "Field rations?"
    She felt the blood draining from her face, and turned so
that he couldn't see it. After what she'd done-- breaking down
and then betraying his trust-- she didn't want to face him. She
left the rations on the table,  but couldn't force herself to
walk away without answering.
    "It's been ten hours. Even _you_ would have to be hungry."
    "Is that all?"
    She had known that this would have to happen. Oliver wasn't
the type to duck an issue.
    "I don't have anything else to say to you."  It was so hard
to say that, and keep her voice steady. She had to get out of
here before she broke down again.
    "Not even hi? How've you been? I've missed your bright,
cheerful face every morning when I wake up in my dark little hole
of an excuse for a sub?"
    *He was never a morning person-- and he could never let
sleeping dogs lie.*  His remark stung. But then again, he had
wanted it to. He had always been able to put her on edge.
    "Aw, Elaine...after all this time, you're still playing the
jilted lover?"
    She knew that to come in like this and not expect some sort
of retaliation for what she'd done before had been foolish. It
was all she could do to restrain herself from yelling back her
response. "Sorry, but I've moved on. I'm not the same girl that
sat in church, waiting for you all day, on two separate
occasions..."
    "No, now you abduct me at gunpoint...I had no idea that I
meant that much to you."
    He had no idea of how much he meant to her, period. "You're
gonna have to try harder than that."  She even managed a flippant
smile.
    "Excuse me?"
    Good. She had thrown him off balance. She ignored the tiny
voice in the back of her head as she elaborated. "Oliver, we
both know what you're trying to do. You're hoping that I'll give
you the keys and my gun, and you'll be able to get out of here."
Deep down, she was hoping the same thing.
    "I'd be lying if I denied it."  At least he wasn't going to
hide behind lies.
    *Not like you.*  She didn't want to hide behind then either.
"Well, it isn't going to happen, so forget it. I have work to
do."
    "What kind of work?"
    He knew what kind of work. She didn't have to tell him.
She didn't owe him _anything_.
    "None of your damn business."  That was all she could force
herself to say before something caught in her throat.
    "Just like it was none of my `damn business' that you were
torturing one of my officers?"
    He shouldn't have said that. She hadn't done that. It had
been her body, maybe, but she had been on autopilot. She hadn't
been in control.
    "What makes you say that?"  Why she was asking him, she
didn't know. He would only try to hurt her with his response.
    "The walls of this boat aren't that thick. Bridger was in
here harassing Lucas and myself..."
    "Like I told her, it's my job."  She couldn't let him get
under her.
    "Since you left three rations, and I doubt that either you
nor Bridger is planning on joining us for a meal, I'm going to
assume that she's still alive."
    *She's _barely_ alive.*
    "You'll have to wait and see."
    Hudson shrugged, as though she couldn't see how much this
was killing him.
    "In the meantime, however, how am I supposed to eat with my
hands behind my back like this?"
    He didn't really think that would work, did he? The
knowledge that he was trying to manipulate her brought her blood
to a boil.
    "As you seem _so_ fond of telling me, Oliver, you're the
captain of the most advanced piece of military technology that
the UEO has to offer I'm sure you'll figure something out."
    She couldn't break their ice-cold stare. Their eyes had
locked, and from the look on his face, she knew that he had seen
the inner struggle she was going through. And he was going to
exploit it, just like he had always done.
    "Elaine, how can you do this?"
    *Good question. Damn you, Oliver, why do you always ask the
good questions?*

    "Don't-- don't make this any harder than it already is."
    His expression softened, and for a moment, she thought he
might have cared. "I've never seen this side of you before."
    *You're not the only one.*
    "Remember when we were living together?"
    *Who could ever forget?*  The fights, the yelling, the
heartache... She would never forget those days, no matter how
hard she tried.
    "You wouldn't even let me kill a fly."
    *That's an exaggeration.* "People change."  It was the
weakest excuse she had ever heard, and she knew it. So did
Hudson.
    "But she never _did_ anything to you!"
    *I'm not the one calling the shots...*  "I didn't have a
choice. He offered me a small fortune, and I needed the money."
She knew that it was a weak excuse.
    Hudson just stared. "This is about money? Elaine, why
didn't you come to me? I--"
    He was doing it again. That concerned, condescending tone
of voice that was just too much for her to handle. All of her
fear, anger, and frustration shot out like a bullet, aimed
straight for Hudson's heart.
    "You what? You would have helped me out? Lent me some cash
till I got back on my feet?"  The scorn in her voice was grossly
obvious. She had put up with his arrogance for years, and to
know that he actually had the gall to feel _sorry_ for her was
infuriating. "Face it, Oliver. I don't need your charity or you
pity."
    She placed a hand on the doorknob, and jerked the door open.
She glared at him over her shoulder as she pulled the door shut
with a bang. She was staring at a blank wall. Her next words
were almost a whisper. "And I don't need you either."
    She was crying. Tears were falling down her face, no longer
under her control.
    *How can I cry over-- over _him_?*
    She couldn't. If Bridger saw her like this, he would know
what was going on. He would know that she was having second
thoughts. She couldn't let that happen.
    Even if it meant losing Oliver.


===========================  PART 8  =====================================

As usual, all comments to UEO Krieg@aol.com

Louder Than Words
Chapter 8
Jennifer Bradley


    For the second time in twenty-four hours, Fredricks wished
that she could reach up and rip the psych chip out of her head.
    She could have dealt with breaking up with Mark. That
wasn't what she was so upset about. Although their relationship
had been several weeks old, and this was the first instance of
trouble, she hadn't minded ending the relationship.
    No, she was worried about O'Neill. She knew firsthand how
deep Holdin's pride ran. Even though he didn't give a damn about
her, she knew that he would fight until he dropped to keep face.
    The problem was, she wasn't sure that O'Neill would last
that long. It wasn't that she thought he was a wimp, because she
didn't. However, seeing him next to Holdin, she knew that he
would have to be extremely lucky to hold his own-- let alone come
out on top.
    The other problem was that she couldn't get angry and haul
off at him for standing up for her, as she would have liked to.
That, again, was courtesy of the circuitry that was locked into
her skull.
    Men were always like this. Always thinking that they could
put themselves in between women and danger. Even now, after so
many years of women's lib, men like Holdin and O'Neill had to
prove their "masculinity" by fighting over the so-called "weaker
sex."
    Fredricks knew she'd show O'Neill. She'd told him that he
didn't need to fight, and, just like a man, he'd ignored her.
She couldn't wait. Maybe he _did_ deserve whatever Holdin would
manage to dish out.
    "Uh, Lieutenant?"
    She looked up in surprise at Piccolo, who was standing in
the doorway. "What?" she asked, not minding letting her
exasperation show through. At the moment, she was more than
annoyed with the entire male sex, and if Tony Piccolo was going
to make himself available for her to vent on, well, that was his
problem.
    "Can I come in?"  At her curt nod, he took another step
towards her, into the room. "I uh--"  His hand pushed uneasily
through his already somewhat mussed hair as Fredricks watched--
and enjoyed-- his obvious discomfort. "It's just that--  I--
Well--"
    She glared up at him. "Spit it out, Piccolo."
    "I heard that you were thinking of telling Commander Ford
about O'Neill and Holdin."  He flashed her a charming-- at least,
that's what it was supposed to be-- grin. "And, see, I uh, I
knew that you wouldn't do that, 'cause Tim's really just kinda--"
    With an annoyed sigh, Fredricks pushed herself out of her
seat. "I know _exactly_ what Lieutenant O'Neill is doing,
mister. And I must say that it disappoints me greatly to know
that you support--"
    "But sir, I don't! I mean, I _do_, but I didn't--"  He
broke off and took a deep breath. "I can't believe I'm telling
you this, and don't let O'Neill know that you heard it from me,
but, well, there's more to this fight than him wanting to shut
Holdin up."
    Fredricks had to stifle a laugh. The idea of Piccolo trying
to stutter out something that would have been obvious to a
_blind_ man struck her as hilarious. "I know that--"
    He grinned again, and relaxed immediately. "You do? Wow,
that's a load off _my_ chest--"
    "--I know that all three of you-- yourself, Lieutenant
O'Neill, and Ensign Holdin-- need to cut down on the
testosterone. Now, Mr. Piccolo, I'm not going to `rat' on your
trio of macho men. However, I suggest that you tell both O'Neill
_and_ Holdin to find a way of solving their problems without
resorting to some barbaric form of fighting."
    "But sir, it's not _barbaric_!"
    "And neither is bullfighting, seal clubbing, or football."
How stupid did Piccolo think she was?
    "Sir, I know it probably didn't come off the way Tim wanted
it to, but he's just tryin' to help you out."  Piccolo, for once,
seemed sincere.
    "Well, thank the Lieutenant for his concern, but I can take
care of myself."
    "With all due respect, sir, I don't think that's the case."
    Fredricks wondered how much further into his mouth Piccolo's
foot would fit. "Are you arguing with me, Warrant Officer?"
    He shook his head. "No sir, Lieutenant, sir. I'm just
saying that perhaps all of the facts are not apparent to the
Lieutenant, sir."
    Piccolo's nervousness, apparent in everything from the way
that he was talking to the way his eyes were wandering around the
room, was enough to make Fredricks want to laugh out loud, not
for the first time since this conversation had began. "Is that
all?"
    Piccolo relaxed momentarily, but brought himself back to
attention when her eyes narrowed. "Yes sir."
    "Dismissed."
    He grinned. "So you're not going to tell?"
    "I _said_, _dismissed_."
    He nodded and left.
    She sat, thinking for several moments, aware that her fury
had calmed somewhat. If what Piccolo was saying had more than
the grain of truth to it that she suspected, then maybe this
warranted further observation.
    She wouldn't go to Ford, though.
    At least, not yet.

                             * * * * *

    Bridger was still upset over Lucas' being there.
    Well, not that he was _there_, specifically, but that Hudson
had brought him. Brought him, once again, into danger. He
hadn't realized that something like that would happen. That was
why he hadn't tried to save Lucas immediately. He'd _thought_
that the boy would be all right on his own-- he had still
obviously been of his own mind when he'd come to save Bridger
while they were in the Antilles-- but, now...
    Bridger sighed. This was _not_ working out the way that
he'd imagined. The last time he'd tried to talk some sense into
the boy, Bridger had nearly had to break Lucas' arm.
    *I would've kept him safe, damn it! I _tried_ to keep him
safe...*  His effort had taken place while he'd been aboard ship,
right after the whole incident at Barrabas.
    _Before_ Lucas and he had talked.
    Even before that, though, Bridger had known that Lucas was
angry, even feeling somewhat betrayed, too, over what Bridger had
kept secret about his early career.
    *As though I would've just come by his quarters one day, and
said, "Hey, Lucas, guess what? I used to work for Section Seven!
So, how's that new program of yours coming?"*
    Bridger had known that Lucas' feelings would make him
vulnerable to Hudson's lies, so, he'd tried to help. He could
still remember the conversation...

                             * * * * *

    ... "Jonathan, could I talk to you?"
    Ford turned slightly as Bridger fell into step
beside him as he walked down the corridor to his
quarters. "Of course, sir," Ford answered. "What can
I do for you?"
    "Actually," Bridger answered looking around at the
moderately crowded corridor, "I'd prefer to wait until
we're someplace _private_, if you don't mind."  One
never knew where Hudson's spies might be.
    Ford shrugged. "No, sir. I don't mind."
    The walk to Ford's quarters was made in silence.
When they'd arrived, Bridger sat down at the desk, Ford
sitting opposite him on the bed.
    "So," Ford said, "What did you want to talk to me
about?"
    "Well, I..." Bridger trailed off. It was so hard
to explain... "I want you to look after Lucas for me."
    Ford's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Sir?"
    Bridger smiled. "I know. You look out for
everyone in the crew, but well..."  Bridger again
trailed off, this time because the topic was so
painful.
    "Go on, please, sir."
    Ford's encouragement was enough to make Bridger
able to say the name. "I had asked Brody to take care
of him before I... retired. But... he can't. Not
anymore."  It caused a dull ache to form in his heart
that Hudson had managed to get one of the finest
officers that Bridger had ever had the good fortune to
work with, killed.
    Judging by the pained expression on Ford's face,
he obviously felt the sting as well. "Yeah," Ford said
heavily, "I see your point."
    "So," Bridger pressed, after Ford fell silent,
"Will you do it?"
    Ford nodded. "Of course, sir."
    Bridger grinned. "Good!"  As he stood, Bridger
clapped Ford on the shoulder. "Now, at least, I'll
know he's safe."
    "Uh, sir?"  Ford asked, a vaguely troubled
expression on his face.
    "Yes?"
    "Why me?"
    Fortunately, the answer to that was a simple one.
    "Because I trust you."
    After a moment, Bridger grinned again. "Good-bye,
Jonathan," Bridger said, walking to the door.
    "Take care, sir," Ford replied.
    "You, too," Bridger said as he walked out the
door. As he walked down the corridor, he was certain
that Lucas was in good hands...

                             * * * * *

    *...Some "good hands",* Bridger thought, breaking his
reverie. While he was sure that Ford wanted to protect Lucas, he
obviously hadn't been trying very hard.
    *In fact, I wonder if he's been trying at all...*
    Slowly, an idea began to form in Bridger's mind. Not only
would it explain away the shuttle crew's disappearance, but it
would also get back at Ford a bit, for failing to protect Lucas.
    With a grin, Bridger started up the communications system.

                             * * * * *

    Ford was sitting in the command chair, worrying. He barely
noticed when O'Neill and Piccolo arrived and took their stations.
    "Commander, we're being hailed."  _That_ got Ford's
attention. "It's Captain Bridger.
    Ford smiled slightly, glad to hear from his old friend.
"Put him on."
    When Bridger appeared, he seemed concerned, and somewhat
haggard.
    *Uh-oh.*
    "Is Captain Hudson available?"
    *That's odd,* Ford thought, *for him to just come out and
ask like that. And weren't they on a _first_-name basis?*  "No,
he's not aboard at the moment, sir."
    Bridger closed his eyes, looking almost pained. What was
going on? "Is it urgent, sir?"  Ford felt the unpleasant tickle
of fear in his chest.
    "That is becoming a distinct possibility..."  It was out of
character for Bridger to be this cagey-- unless something was
wrong. _Very_ wrong.
    "Why?"  The sudden twist in his gut as Bridger inhaled
deeply, seemingly steeling him for unpleasant news, made him
wonder if he really wanted to know.
    Bridger seemed reluctant. "I've been researching currents
and tides in the area...I came across one of _seaQuest_'s
shuttles... it wasn't pretty..."
    The words hit Ford like a bullet. "What?!?"
    Relentlessly, Bridger continued. "The evacuation equipment,
from what I could determine, was still in place... I don't know
what to say... Jonathan... I'm so sorry..." Bridger's voice
trailed off.
    Ford blinked the tears from his eyes. He would _not_ cry on
the bridge. "What--" He cleared his throat, trying to restore
some semblance of normalcy. "What are the coordinates? We've
got to go and see if they're still alive."  *They've got to be.
_She's_ got to be! I can't lose her, not like _this,_ never
knowing for sure...*
    "I'm sending them to you now, but I doubt that they'll be
much use. There was a surface storm a few hours ago, and that
area of the ocean is somewhat prone to swift currents. I _did_,
however, manage to scrape together a projection of the course
any... debris... would take."
    "Thanks, sir,"  Bridger wasn't normally this pessimistic.
The wreck must have been even worse than Ford's imagination was
thinking.
    "Data received and logged, sir."  Ford looked over at
Piccolo, who was just completing the download. Although
Piccolo's eyes were hidden behind the tinted glasses he wore to
correct his dyslexia, Ford could see him blinking rapidly. *It's
probably almost as bad for Tony, he was close to all of them
too.*
    Ford turned back to Bridger. "I'll let you know who... I
mean what... we find, sir."
    Bridger nodded. "By the way, tell Darwin hello for me."
    *What? How can he be thinking of _Darwin_ at a time like
this?*  The non-sequitur threw Ford off-balance. "Uh... of
course, sir. Take care of yourself. _SeaQuest_ out."
    "Darwin?"  Piccolo sounded almost as confused as Ford felt.
"'Scuse me, Commander, but did he sound okay to you?"
    "I'm not sure," Ford replied. All that he was sure of was
that he had to get off of the bridge, fast. "Helm, set a new
course, following Captain Bridger's projections." He stood and
turned to Fredricks. "Lieutenant, you have the bridge while I go
and fill out a report."
    She nodded and was moved to the command chair as he left.
    He'd barely entered his quarters before the racking sobs
overcame him.

                             * * * * *

    Bridger terminated the contact with _seaQuest_ and sat back
in his chair. He felt somewhat guilty about what he'd had to
tell them.
    *Especially the look on poor Jonathan's face.*
    Bridger really didn't want to hurt _anyone_ from his crew.
He still cared about them all. That was why he couldn't bring
himself to hurt Henderson, why he'd had Morse do it. Still, the
very fact that he had ordered it...
    He would have to come up with some way to make it up to her.
But how?
    Then it struck him.
    Morse.
    He wasn't going to be able to keep her around for much
longer. She was already reluctant to participate in what they'd
be doing. Yet another person whose life had been affected for the
worse by Oliver Hudson. But unlike his crew, he didn't feel any
loyalty to her. And who would notice, much less care, if the
world was less one mercenary when this was all over? He'd let
Henderson take care of her. That would make her understand how
much he regretted having to do what he'd done to her. Then she'd
forgive him. The destruction of one's tormentors always made one
feel better. He knew that for a fact. He was about to
experience that variety of pleasure right now.
    Bridger got up and left his quarters, headed for a date with
destiny.

                             * * * * *

    Burke was lying on her bunk, after yet _another_ arguement
with Perry, this time over the defibrilators' charging
compartments. Perry didn't feel that it was necessary to charge
them all the way to maximum. Burke, on the other hand, did.
    Williams' coming in with her customary good cheer, did
nothing to improve her mood.
    "Meredith! Guess what?!?"
    Burke just groaned.
    "You know that fight I told you about? The one between
Holdin and O'Neill?"  Without waiting for an answer, which Burke
didn't feel like giving anyway, Williams continued. "Now,
there's a bettin' pool! And _I'm_ holdin' the pot!"
    "Great," Burke said without enthusiasm.
    "Isn't it?"  Williams fished a key out of a pocket, and
turned towards the locked drawer that she kept her valuables in.
She pulled a large wad of money out and placed it inside the
drawer. "The pot's all ready at a thousand, and it just got
started!"
    _That_ caught Burke's attention. "A _thousand_?!? Already?!?"
Growing up near Reno had made her somewhat familiar
with gambling. For a group as small as there was aboard the
_seaQuest_, a thousand was pretty good.
    "Yeah," Williams confirmed. "Whoever bets is gonna get a
sweet take. If who they pick wins, that is."
    Burke couldn't help it, her interest had been piqued.
"What's the minimum wager?"
    "A hundred," Williams informed her.
    "Who else is in?" Burke was curious as to who the big
gamblers aboard were. Hell, someday she might want to run a
pool.
    "Well, there's me, and Bill, and Jack, and Piccolo, and..."
Williams rattled off several other vaguely familiar names.
    "I see."  Burke grabbed her purse. "Before I bet anything,"
she said, opening the bag, "Tell me, who's the favorite?"
    "Who do you think," Williams laughed. "Holdin, of course."
    "Okay."  Burke grabbed one hundred and handed it to her.
"I'll put a hundred on O'Neill."
    Williams nodded. "Okay," she said absently, grabbing a pen
and making a note on a sheet of paper. "That's one hundred on
O'Neill..."  Williams trailed off, looking up sharply. "On
_O'Neill_?!?"
    Burke nodded.
    "Are you _nuts_?!? The only other person to bet on him was
Piccolo!"
    Burke shrugged. "So? This way, I'll only have to split the
take with one other person."  One of the first things Burke had
learned in her life, was that to make money gambling, you
sometimes had to be willing to take the risk.
    The other was that there was no such animal as a sure thing.
    "Meredith, look," Williams was looking at her oddly, almost
as though Burke had suddenly grown another head. "Have you ever
seen O'Neill? I mean, really _looked_ at him?"
    "We've never been formally introduced, if that's what you
mean."
    "But, well, he's _tiny_! Compared to Mark, at least. He's
tall, and skinny, and, well, I don't wanna sound mean, or
anything, but, he's got a reputation as a wimp!"
    "So?"  If O'Neill was fighting for the reasons that it
sounded like he was fighting for, then, no amount of difference
in height, weight, or strength, would be a deciding factor. "I'm
_still_ going to place my bet on O'Neill."
    Williams sighed. "Okay. A hundred on O'Neill. But, don't
say I didn't _try_ to stop you from throwin' your money away."
    Burke just smiled.

                             * * * * *

    The atmosphere on the bridge was tense enough, but Ford's
incessant demands for updates was only making things worse. At
least, in O'Neill's opinion.
    "Any sign of the shuttle wreck?" Ford asked Piccolo...
again.
    *Hmm, he kept quiet for a whole thirty seconds that time.*
    "No sir," Piccolo said, annoyance tingeing his voice.
    *I guess it's getting to Tony, too.*  That took effort.
O'Neill decided that he had to talk to Ford about it.
    "Uh, sir, can I talk to you for a moment?"
    Ford looked up, seemingly surprised. "Yeah... sure."  He
didn't move.
    *Does he expect me to yell across the _bridge_?*  "In
_private_, sir?"  It was extremely unusual that Ford would need
this type of prompting. His absent-mindedness was only worrying
O'Neill more.
    "Of course, in the wardroom."  He stood. "Fredricks, you
have the bridge."
    They walked to the wardroom in silence. As they sat down,
O'Neill realized that he had no idea what to say.
    "Look, O'Neill, spit it out. I've got to get back to the
bridge."  Ford sounded impatient.
    "I... I, uh, I'm not exactly sure of how to put this..."
*At least, how to put this so you don't throw me into the brig.*
    "Look, I don't have time for this. She's out there
somewhere, and I've got to find her!"  Ford started to get up,
and O'Neill knew that he wouldn't get another chance at this.
    "That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about,"
O'Neill said, as he grabbed Ford by the shoulders and shoved him
back into his chair.
    *Did I just do that?*
    "Oh God... you found something, didn't you."  Ford took a
deep breath. " Tim, what did you find?"  He put his head in his
hands for a moment, then raised his eyes to lock with O'Neill's.
"How bad was it? Did she suffer? Are the others there too?
What happened?"  Ford looked so devastated, that O'Neill
immediately softened.
    "I didn't find her. Or anyone else." It seemed to have the
opposite effect than O'Neill wanted. Ford looked more furious
than comforted.
    "You didn't find _anything_!"  How dense was Ford, anyway?
O'Neill felt very frustrated.
    "I've found a commanding officer who's so wrapped up in his
personal affairs that he's driving his crew to distraction!"  The
words were stronger than O'Neill had intended, but, for a wonder,
they seemed to work. Ford cooled down almost at once.
    "I'm being that hard to deal with?" Ford sounded calmer as
well.
    "Yeah." It was probably a rhetorical question, but O'Neill
answered it anyway.
    Ford collapsed against the back of the chair and took a deep
breath. The change was amazing. *He must really love her,*
O'Neill decided. He felt a sharp pang of jealousy as he realized
that he'd never felt that way about anyone. "You're pretty close,
aren't you."  It wasn't a question.
    Ford shrugged. "Well, you know how it is."
    O'Neill nodded, even though he had no idea "how it was".
"If you say so, sir."
    Ford looked surprised at O'Neill's sudden formality. "You
okay?"
    "I guess we should get back to the bridge." O'Neill hoped
that Ford would realize he didn't want to continue this line of
conversation.
    Ford seemed to catch O'Neill's meaning and shrugged. "Lead
the way."

                             * * * * *

    The pain going to go away-- at least for Bridger. Hudson's
torment was just about to begin. Justice was finally going to be
served, and Oliver Hudson was going to be on the receiving end.
    He had waited for this day for months, and it had finally
come. He stood outside the door for a heartbeat, savoring the
moment. But a heartbeat was too long. He pushed the door open.
    "It's about time you got here."
    He knew what he was going to say. He had thought it out,
planned it, made sure it would hit home. "I was busy...with
Elaine."  He had studied their relationship, and knew that the
insinuations beneath the surface of the remark would hurt Hudson
almost as much as Hudson had hurt him.
    But not enough. Not anywhere _near_ enough.
    "You realize, of course, that what you're doing is illegal?"
    What did Hudson know about illegality?
    "Since when is justice illegal? If a robber is in your
home, and you shoot him, that's justice." *Can't he see that?*
It was all so simple to Bridger. Everything fell into place,
like a puzzle with no missing pieces.
    "Not if he wasn't trying to kill you."
    "It's killing me to be away from _seaQuest_."  Bridger
hadn't meant to make himself so vulnerable, but the statement
came out without his control.
    "That's not my problem."
    That was all he could take. No more. He was going to shut
up Hudson if it was the last thing he did. He pulled his fist
back.  "You know, you're _really_ starting to get on my
nerves."  His fist connected with Hudson's jaw, and he was amazed
at how satisfying the other man's pain was. "I'm gonna _enjoy_
this!"

                             * * * * *

    Lucas wasn't enjoying this.
    Of course, who would? He afforded a glance at Henderson,
half-conscious, on one of the benches.
    *How could he do this? This isn't happening!*  "He's
insane." The thought escaped his lips, attracting what little was
left of Henderson's attention.
    "What?"
    She sounded so weak. So scared. He stood and walked to
her, and held her hand as he sat.
    "Captain Bridger...something's wrong..."  Couldn't she hear
them? The agonized screams coming from the next room? It had to
be Hudson. There was no other explanation. "He'll come for me
next."
    She smiled faintly. "No he won't. He'd never hurt you.
You're like family to him."
    *You know that you always looked up to him. The fact that
you didn't know that the feelings were mutual doesn't excuse
_anything_. And you know it.*  He shook his head to clear it.
It wasn't true. It _couldn't_ be true. *This can't be
happening.*
    "Are you okay?"
    "For the time being, yeah."  *Don't lie to her,* he told
himself. *She deserves to know that you're scared.*
    "What's that noise?"
    He listened. He hadn't wanted to hear it. He had blocked
it out of his mind. He wasn't going to do Hudson the disservice
of hearing him. He refused. He wouldn't let it get to him.
    He shut his eyes and rested his head against the wall.
"That's Captain Hudson...I think."
    It was hard to admit that a human being could scream like
that...

                             * * * * *

    His quarters seemed so empty.
    It wasn't that Lonnie's physical presence wasn't there,
because even when she was aboard she rarely came into Ford's
quarters unless that had prior arrangements.
    It was that he had felt something twist and shrivel deep
inside him when Bridger had announced his news to the bridge.
Something that had only began to blossom when he had met Lonnie.
    He had long since cried himself dry, and it was too
difficult now for him to continue. He had already missed one
duty shift. He had called up to the bridge and told them to
continue the search. It hadn't been a necessary order, since they
would have done it anyway. It was just reassuring for him to
know that he still had some nominal control over something in
this entire ordeal.
    Sometimes, he wondered if he had even that much.
    He looked up when there was a knock at the door. "Who is
it?"
    "It's Erin."
    "Come in."  He didn't feel like talking, but he and Wilson
had been friends for years.
    The door opened, and she walked in. She pulled the chair
away from the desk, turned it around, and straddled it. "So,
how're you holding up?"
    Ford shrugged. "Okay, I guess."
    She shook her head. "For God's sake, J.D., we're not on the
bridge. You can drop the act."
    "It's not an act," he objected half-heartedly, "I'm
exhausted."
    She nodded. "I know what you mean. I felt the same way
when Jonathan died."
    "She's not dead!"  Why did everyone keep insisting that she
was? First Bridger, now Wilson. "Not until I've seen the body."
    "If she's not dead, why aren't you on the bridge looking for
her?"
    Ford didn't have an answer to that. "I just felt like being
alone."
    Wilson didn't respond to his less-than-subtle comment.
"Sorry, J.D., but I've got to talk to you."
    "About what?" Ford asked, not really wanting to know. *What
_else_ could happen?*
    "Well," Wilson said sounding unsure, an unusual state for
her, "I've been hearing... rumors, one of which I've been able to
confirm."
    Wilson's unofficial job was to keep Ford informed of all of
the unofficial information that could endanger the crew's well-
being. So, whenever she had a "rumor" to tell him, it was always
something important, something current, and something bad.
    In other words, exactly what Ford _didn't_ need to hear.
    "Go on," he said with a sigh.
    "I know the timing is straight from Hell," she began
sympathetically,  "But, my sources say that at 1900
tonight,there's going to be a fight in the gym. Now, you know,
that if it was just a sparring match, or if neither was likely to
be injured, I'd keep it quiet. But,"  Wilson looked away,
embarrassment coloring her cheeks red. "Judging by the sizes of
the two combatants, one of them is likely to get himself killed."
    This took Ford by surprise. "Erin, who's fighting?"
    Wilson looked away. "Well, I don't want to be a
tattletale..."
    "Erin..."
    "I can't get specific, but..."
    Ford was starting to get irritated at his old friend. "Erin,
so help me, if you make me play charades again..."
    She laughed at the memory of that particular conversation.
"Actually, I was just going to describe them. I only know one of
their names, anyway."
    "Look," Ford said, holding up a hand in surrender, "Do
whatever you have to, but _just tell me_!"
    "One's a huge ensign from Engineering. I don't know his
name. But, the other is a multi-lingual--"
    That was all Ford needed to hear. "O'Neill!"  It seemed
impossible. While hardly weak or cowardly, O'Neill was most
definitely not the type to go around getting himself into fights.
"How did _that_ happen?"
    Wilson shrugged. "No idea, but I think Lieutenant Fredricks
and Warrant Officer Piccolo had something to do with it.
Lieutenant O'Neill seemed to be upset over whatever-his-name-is'
treatment of Fredricks. He stood up, then Piccolo stood, then
they started arguing. I can't tell you much of anything else."
    *Piccolo,* Ford thought. *I should've guessed.*  "Thanks,
Erin. I'll take care of it."
    "Uh, you're not going to do anything..._drastic_, are you?
I mean," she elaborated, "I don't want to get anybody into
trouble."
    "Don't worry, Erin."  Ford checked his watch. "I go on
shift at the same time as O'Neill, I'll talk to him then."  *I
owe him a shouting match.*
    Wilson smiled and stood. "Thanks, J.D. I'll see you later."
She walked over to him and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
"I'm sure she's fine."  She smiled down at him. "I'm sure
they're _all_ fine."
    "I hope you're right," Ford said as she walked out the door.
    But he still couldn't stop worrying.


===========================  PART 9  =====================================

Yep, it's part 9. Figure I might as well start posting before I forget about
it again. ;) A couple of you have asked how long this is, so I'll just tell
you there are 17 parts total - not including the epilogue or prologue.
As always, comments to UEO Krieg@aol.com.


Louder Than Words
Chapter 9
Jennifer Bradley

    "Oof!"
    Hudson had always thought that he had a high pain threshold.
But then again, he had never gone against Bridger before. And
for a fifty-year-old, he packed one hell of a punch.
    "You know, she didn't think you'd fall for it."  They were
Bridger's first words in what seemed like hours.
    At first, Hudson was unsure if he would be able to respond.
But, to his relief, his mouth was still functional...even if 
nothing else was. "Fall for what?"
    "The distress signal. She said that you'd be just as likely
to let her die as to come to her rescue."  His laugh sent shivers 
up Hudson's spine. "But I knew you'd go for it. You're the same
damned sentimental fool you always were."
    "She always said that was one of my only good qualities."
*Bad move, Captain.*  The remark only served to anger Bridger 
further.
    "She also said that she was looking for someone who could
make a commitment...someone who wouldn't leave her at the altar."
    Hudson couldn't believe that Morse would have told Bridger
something like that. "Like who? You?"  The line came off as
contemptuous, even though he hadn't meant to say it that way.
    Bridger just smiled, and the smile rocked him to his core.
Elaine? _Bridger_? "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
    "You didn't think that she was only in this for the money,
did you?"
    *She--  He--  That's impossible!*  "She'd never love a
lunatic."
    "Really? She loved you once, didn't she?"
    "Not that _I_ knew of."
    Apparently, that was enough chit-chat for Bridger, because
he drew back his fist, and got ready to swing. At the last
second, Hudson managed to dodge the blow that had been aimed at
his face--at least, sort of. The explosion of agony in his
collarbone, on the other hand, proved that Bridger hadn't missed
completely. That, and the loud snap that rang out over Hudson's
cry of pain.
    Bridger just laughed.

                             * * * * *

    As if Ford didn't have enough to worry about, now, to find
out that O'Neill was--  That he had--
    Ford forced himself to take a deep breath. He was already
upset about Lonnie. He wouldn't let himself be carried away by
that fact. He'd stay calm.
    Yeah, right. Who was he kidding? If he picked up his PAL
now and dialed O'Neill, he'd be just as likely to bite the 
Lieutenant's head off as find out what had happened quietly and 
calmly, which was what the situation called for. He pushed
himself back into his seat, and raised his hand to his forehead, 
shaking his head slowly. He had been in situations like this 
before. It seemed like, whenever he was beginning to get used to
the hierarchy of a new CO, something forced him into an uneasy-- 
and unwanted-- command position. In Stark's case, he knew that
it had been necessary. At least in that instance, he had been
the one calling the shots, and he had received a commendation.
But now, aside from being thrust into the situation unwillingly, 
he also had to worry about his crew-- _Hudson's_ crew-- getting 
into brawls.
    That was when he forced himself to stop thinking about
Hudson, because thinking about the Captain brought him to 
thoughts of the rescue team and the people on it. One in
particular. Henderson.
    He shook his head. There was no point in sitting here in
the Wardroom trying to get his temper under control.
    Dammit, he'd _kill_ O'Neill. There was no way that he had
any business whatsoever doing this to him! Not now, not after
O'Neill had told him to keep calm about Lonnie and Lucas and 
Hudson. Ford slammed his fist into the table as he stood. He
wasn't going to put up with this kind of thing going on aboard
_seaQuest_. In all his years as XO, he'd never had to stop a
fight. He sure as hell didn't want to start while the Captain
was away.

                             * * * * *

    O'Neill came on to the bridge for his shift, trying not to
think about what would happen that night at 1900. He was so
wrapped up in thoughts of his impending demise, that he didn't
notice the expression on Ford's face.
    "O'Neill, I'd like to speak with you in the wardroom."
    O'Neill _did_ notice, however, the thinly veiled anger in
Ford's voice.
    *Looks like Holdin may have to take a number.*
    "Sir?"  Perhaps Ford wanted to talk about something else.
    "The wardroom. _Now_." Ford clearly wasn't in the mood to
be questioned. 
    O'Neill meekly followed Ford out, pausing only to glare at
Piccolo. *If Ford _or_ Holdin kills me, I swear I'll...I'll
write Tony out of my will!*  Okay, so it wasn't the greatest 
threat. But O'Neill was so stressed at the moment, it was the
best he could do.
    Once in the corridor, O'Neill, tried to get an indication of
just how much trouble he was in. "Commander, is something wrong?"
    Ford said nothing, something O'Neill knew to be a very bad
sign.
    When they reached the wardroom, Ford waited a moment,
seemingly trying to cool down.
    *Oh, great. So he won't tear me limb from limb. He'll just
shoot me or something.*
    "Lieutenant," Ford began. "What would you do, if you were in
command, your captain and two of the senior staff were missing,
possibly--"  Ford broke off, and O'Neill's suspicion of what he
was going to say was proven correct as Ford took a deep breath 
and gathered himself,  "Possibly dead, and you discovered that 
two of your officers-- one of whom was a close friend-- were 
picking fights with each other?"  Ford sounded so angry, that 
O'Neill couldn't bear to look at him. Instead, he kept his gaze 
trained on the floor.
    "I'm sorry, sir."  And he was. *Mainly I'm sorry that I'm
going to be brutally killed, either now or at 1900.*
    "Lieutenant, that doesn't answer my question. What would
you do? What am _I_ supposed to do?"
    O'Neill didn't know what else to do, other than to tell Ford
_exactly_ what had happened. "Sir, you don't understand. He was
saying things that-- that should never even been thought of."  It
still sickened him to think of it.
    "Really? About whom? Who are you talking about?"  Ford
seemed baffled.
    *How many rumors like that _are_ there around here?*
"Ensign Holdin, sir. About Lieutenant Fredricks."  O'Neill
couldn't keep the hatred Holdin evoked in him totally out of his 
voice.
    "Ensign who?"  It was entirely possible that Ford had never
had the misfortune to encounter Holdin before. There were, after
all, over two hundred people on the _seaQuest_.
    "He's been seeing her."  O'Neill heard the note of jealousy
in his voice, and hoped Ford missed it.
    "Oh."  By the look on Ford's face, he hadn't. "You're
fighting over Fredricks?" 
    "Yes. No. Sort of."  Nothing like a friend discovering
one's innermost secret to send one's brain packing.
    "Which is it?" Ford's smile only made O'Neill even more
uncomfortable.
    "I'm assuming you heard the rumors."  At Ford's nod, O'Neill
continued. "They aren't true, and it's demeaning to her. I
didn't think it was right, and--"  *I stood up, and Tony got me
into a fight.*  Fortunately, O'Neill stopped before finishing his
statement.
    "So you stepped in on her side."  O'Neill nodded. Ford
sighed and continued. "Tim, that may not have been the best
thing to do. They were only rumors, after all. Everyone knew
that. It would've blown over soon enough."
    O'Neill felt shocked. Did Ford actually expect him to stand
by and do nothing, while Holdin trampled all over Fredricks?
"What if they were talking about Lonnie? Would you just let it
`blow over' then?"  O'Neill knew that Ford would do no such 
thing. If Holdin had been talking about Lonnie, there wouldn't be 
enough left of him to identify.
    "No, but that's..."  A grin spread across Ford's face as an
idea appeared to form. "Wait, are you saying-- You and
Fredricks-"
    *Damn.*  Ford had discovered O'Neill's crush. The blush
O'Neill could feel warming his face only confirmed it.
    "_That_, my friend, is another story. When did it happen?"
    Abruptly, O'Neill realized just what Ford thought. "No!"
The last thing that anyone needed to hear was that Fredricks and
O'Neill were an "item". "Not that it would be a _bad_ thing,
but..."
    "I was going to say..."  Ford trailed off, possibly
realizing that even the beginning of the sentence could be taken 
as an insult.
    "Is it _that_ impossible?"  O'Neill sounded defensive. He
felt defensive.
    "No, but I'd be surprised."
    It was a good thing Ford wasn't a suicide prevention
counselor, because O'Neill knew he wouldn't be very good at it.
He was way too honest. "Gee, thanks for your vote of
confidence."
    Ford stood up and smiled, apparently to let O'Neill know
that he was off the hook. "Well, in that case, I don't feel
comfortable ordering you not to do anything... I know I'd do the 
same if it were Lonnie. But, Lieutenant, as your superior
officer, I'm just going to remind you of the penalties for 
fighting."
    O'Neill felt somewhat disappointed that Ford didn't
wholeheartedly support him. However, he decided it was better
than Ford ordering him to do nothing.
    *I think.*
    O'Neill decided to try and escape while he was ahead. But,
before he could leave, Ford's voice stopped him.
    "And, Tim..."
    O'Neill wondered what else Ford could have to say. *Has he
decided to reprimand me after all?*  "Yes?"
    "As your friend..."  Ford grinned. "Pound him."
    O'Neill grinned back at Ford. *He _does_ support me, at
least unofficially.*  "I'll let you know how it turns out."
    "Don't. If I know, I'll have to arrest you... and then,
what'll happen to Lieutenant Fredricks?"  Ford wasn't ever going 
to let O'Neill's crush drop, he realized. 
     "By the way, Tim... is there something wrong with your
hand?" 
    O'Neill looked down. "Uh, I don't think so."
    "You haven't stopped rubbing it since you came onto the
bridge yesterday. Maybe you should have Dr. Perry look at it."
    At Ford's mention of yesterday, O'Neill immediately figured
out what had happened. Yesterday, when Fredricks' hand had
touched his... "It's beyond her field of expertise." O'Neill
forced his hands down to his sides. "If that's all, sir, I'm on
duty."
    "True. Dismissed."
    O'Neill quickly left the wardroom, and leaned against a
nearby bulkhead. *I dodged a bullet this time,* he thought.
*Now, if I can just survive tonight...*
    But he wouldn't have bet much on his chances.

                             * * * * *

    Piccolo felt like jumping out of his skin. He couldn't help
it. He was nervous. After Bridger had called, to tell them...
Piccolo shook his head. He refused to believe it.
    "Sir!" Shanahan called out. "WSKRS are picking something
up." She pushed a few buttons. Then, she closed her eyes. "It's
a shuttle. And, judging by these readings," she sighed, "It's in
bad condition."
    Piccolo looked around the bridge, and saw that his level of
horror was surpassed only by that in Ford's and O'Neill's eyes.
    He saw Ford take a deep breath, seemingly to calm himself.
"Can we send a spectre down?"
    Shanahan checked her readings. "Negative, sir," she
reported. "The current is too swift. Anything we sent out would
be swept away."
    Ford hit his hand against his chair. "Is there _any_ way we
could send someone down?"
    Shanahan scanned the area again, taking, in Piccolo's
opinion, far too long. He knew what to do all ready. It was
just a matter of comfirming it.
    "It seems to have skidded off-course," Shanahan reported.
"And then it slammed into an undersea ridge, which then collapsed 
on top of it. Even if we _could_ send a team out, they wouldn't
be able to get anywhere near it. The crevices are just too
small."     "Sir," O'Neill spoke up, "I'm getting weak telemetry
from the shuttle..."  Piccolo could see him swallow hard.
"...It's one of ours."  
    *Damn!*  Still, he couldn't abandon _all_ hope.
    "How big are they?"
    All eyes on the bridge turned towards Piccolo. Shanahan's
eyes narrowed. "They range between a half-meter to about a
meter, in size."
    *Good thing I didn't have dessert last night...*  "About big
enough for, say a person to swim through?" he asked.
    He saw Ford and O'Neill looking at him oddly. Shanahan
answered him though. "No," she said, "Not in an EV suit."
    "Oh, no you don't."  Ford had obviously caught on. "You are
not going out there!"
    "But--"
    "No buts!"  Ford had reached the breaking point. "You--"
    Fortunately, O'Neill intervened. "Commander, there wouldn't
be any problem if he rode--"
    "_You_," Ford said sharply to O'Neill, "Stay out of this!"
He turned back towards Piccolo. "As for _you_--"  Ford cut
himself off as he realized that everyone on the bridge was 
staring at them. He took another deep breath, and lowered his 
voice. "I want to talk to you," he told Piccolo, "In private."
    Piccolo nodded, relieved that he wouldn't be having it out
with the commander on the bridge.
    "The wardroom," Ford ordered. "Now."  And he walked off of
the bridge.
    Piccolo started to follow, but O'Neill stopped him. "Tony,
wait a second."
    "Yeah?" Piccolo asked.
    "You know what I was going to say, right? About riding the--"
    Piccolo nodded. "Yeah."
    O'Neill smiled. "Good luck."
    *I'm gonna _need_ it.*
    It was a short walk to the wardroom from the bridge.
Piccolo was torn between taking his time, and letting Ford cool 
off, or hurrying, trying to get this over and done with in case 
whoever it was down there was still alive, so that they could be 
saved, or at least, so that they could figure out what happened, 
or even just so they'd _know_...
    At once, Piccolo realized that he'd reached the wardroom
several moments ago, and was standing in front of the door. He
sighed and pushed open the door.
    Immediately, he saw that he hadn't given the commander
_nearly_ enough time.
    "What the _hell_ did you think you were doing?!?" Ford
yelled.
    Piccolo blinked. He'd expected Ford to have calmed at least
a little by now.
    "How do you expect me to gain the crew's confidence," Ford
asked angrily, "If you keep questioning my orders?!?"
    "But, all I said was--"
    "I am _not finished yet_, Warrant Officer," Ford
interrupted. "If I say that you are not going out to that 
shuttle, then _you are not going_! If I judge that a situation
is too dangerous to send someone out in, then it _is too 
dangerous_! Especially when there's no vital reason! Is that
_clear_?!?"
    Several things were made clear to Piccolo by Ford's tirade.
"Yes, sir. Very clear, sir."  He saluted, trying to get on
Ford's good side.
    Ford returned the salute grudgingly. "Dismissed."
    But, Piccolo wasn't quite ready to leave. "Sir?"
    "What?!?" Ford snapped.
    "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
    "Denied."
    At that, Piccolo dropped completely out of any sort of
military stance that he might've been in at the beginning of this 
meeting. "Yeah, well, that's too bad. `Cause you need to hear
what I'm sayin'!"
    "Piccolo," I'm warning you--"
    Piccolo was in no mood to be warned. "Look, we both know
that the only reason that you don't want me to go down there, is 
because you're _afraid_."  He knew that accusing Ford of any 
weakness was sure to get as rise out of him.
    Piccolo wasn't disappointed.
    "I am _not_ afraid," Ford said dangerously. "Of _anything_
that could be down there."
    "Really?"  Piccolo steeled himself. "Nothing? Not even of
me bringing the bodies back?"
    Ford looked stunned. "What?"
    "Don't deny it, Commander," Piccolo said, forcing himself to
sound callous. "You're scared to death, that I'm gonna bring
them back, their bodies mangled an' broken."
    "Stop."
    But Piccolo pressed on. "Scared of seeing Captain Hudson,
with almost every bone shattered."
    "Tony, stop."  Ford's voice was agonized.
    "Or, maybe," Piccolo persisted, "You're more scared of
seein' Lucas, who you've watched grow up, lyin' lifeless--"
    "Please, _stop_..."
    "Or, maybe you're afraid I'll bring Lon--"
    "Stop!"  Ford shouted. Before Piccolo realized just how far
over the line he'd gone, Ford pulled back his arm and belted him 
in the jaw.
    Piccolo reeled backward, too shocked to stop himself or put
up a defense. Not that he needed one. When he looked back, Ford
had collapsed, horrified, into his chair.
    Piccolo sunk into his own. His knees were like jelly. They
couldn't support him after the horrifying images that his words 
had evoked.
    Ford was still breathing erratically, in short gasps, but he
had recovered enough to speak. "Tony," he apologized, "I'm
sorry, but there had damn well better have been a good reason for 
that, or so help me..." he trailed apparently too furious to 
continue.
    *It was no picnic for me either, Commander,* Piccolo
thought. "I'm just tryin' to show you," he explained, "That 
you're not thinkin' clearly about everythin'."
    "You don't understand."  Ford got up and started to pace.
"If you go down there, you might be killed. We all ready may
have lost three of the senior staff."  He turned and faced 
Piccolo, looking stright at him. "We-- _I_-- can't afford to
lose anyone else."
    "Commander, I..."  Piccolo trailed off, not knowing what to
say. As near as he could tell, he'd just put his friend, not to
mention, himself, through sheer Hell, for absolutely _no reason_. 
"...I'm sorry. About what I said. I just--"
    Ford waved him off. "It's okay. I know you were trying to
help."  He sighed. "I just wish that you didn't use such sharp
methods."
    "Yeah."  Piccolo knew that this wasn't a good time to be
asking, but... "Sir, about my going out..."
    Ford shook his head. "No."  Before Piccolo had a chance to
protest, he held up a hand for silence. "Not _now_, at least.
Should the area calm down soon, I'll let you go out there. Until 
then, I want you to promise me, that you _won't_ jump ship and go 
exploring the wr-- wreck," Ford looked away for an instant, then 
his gaze latched back onto Piccolo's. "Will you?"
    Piccolo closed his eyes. As much as it hurt, he supposed
that he owed Ford _something_. "Yes, sir. I promise."
    "Good."  Ford mustered up a slight smile. "Now, get out of
here, before I decide to throw you in the brig."
    Piccolo escaped while he could.

                             * * * * *

    It was calling to him.
    Figuratively, of course.
    But even so, the wrecked shuttle was too much of a
temptation.
    So Piccolo answered the call.


===========================  PART 10  =====================================


I recently noticed there is a prologue which also isn't in the archives, so
anyone who wants a copy is free to e-mail me. :)
All comments to UEO Krieg@aol.com
-Krieg


Louder Than Words
Chapter 10
Jennifer Bradley

    Ford was in his quarters, after standing three full shifts
in a row on the bridge. He was exhausted.
    But he couldn't sleep.
    So he lay there, staring at the ceiling.
    Three hours later, Ford was tired of doing that. He decided
to go to the mess hall and grab some breakfast. Or lunch. Or
whatever meal he was supposed to be having. He'd lost track.
    "Commander Ford!"
    Ford's head jerked up at the sound of his name over the
intercom. "Ford, here. What is it, O'Neill?"
    "Sir, I think you should get up to the bridge right away."
    Ford sprinted all the way there.

                             * * * * *

    O'Neill regretted having to call Ford up to the bridge
during his rest period, but, he thought, given the situation...
    His thoughts were stilled as Ford ran onto the bridge,
nearly slamming into the back of his chair.
    "What...happened?"  Ford had obviously been going at full
throttle, O'Neill noticed.
    "Sir, we've gotten a report of..." O'Neill trailed off. He
knew that Ford would _not_ like the news. "He's in the tubes,
sir."
    "_What_?!?"
    O'Neill turned. In all truth, he'd rather be thrown to the
lions than answer Ford's question. "Uh...Tony."  He quickly
turned his gaze back to his console.
    Ford's eyes widened in anger. "I _ordered_ him to stay
aboard!" He began to pace. "Well?!?" he demanded. "Get a channel
open to him!"
    O'Neill took a deep breath. *He's gonna _kill_ me...*  "He
doesn't have his comm system with him. I've all ready tried to
contact him."
    Ford turned to Shanahan. "How far is he?"
    She checked her board. "Two-thirds through, sir," she
reported.
    "We'll see about _that_," Ford muttered. He turned to
O'Neill. "Lieutenant," he said in a louder voice, "I want a
channel into the tubes. I don't care if this is over shipwide
intercom, but _get me that channel_!"
    Although reluctant to doom Tony to Ford's "tender" mercies,
O'Neill got the XO the channel, knowing full well what he had in 
mind. But he made sure to take as much time as he could, so that
Piccolo would be able to make it. He wanted to know, either way,
as much as Piccolo seemed to.
    And as much as Ford seemed _not_ to.
    "You're on," he told Ford, praying that it had been long
enough.
    "Attention. To all those whom it may concern. We will be
_closing_ the aquatubes in thirty seconds."
    O'Neill knew that Piccolo would've heard the announcement.
He also knew that Ford would follow through, close the tubes, and 
probably toss Piccolo into the brig the instant he surfaced.
_If_ he surfaced.
    "I say again," Ford was repeating, "The tubes will be
closed. That is all."  He motioned to O'Neill, and he closed the 
channel.
    Then he sat down heavily in his chair. "He _promised_ me
that he wouldn't jump ship and go down there." He sighed. "And I
trusted him."
    "Sir," O'Neill was compelled to point out,  "Tony's just
doing what he thinks is right."
    "He's wrong," Ford said quickly. "He's getting himself
killed for no reason."
    O'Neill sighed. Ford was obviously going to be hard to
convince. "Sir, with all due respect--"
    "Why is it," Ford interrupted, "That when someone says `with
all due respect', it usually means that they're going to say 
something totally _dis_respectful?"
    *Don't scream. It'll be over soon.*  Or at least, that was
what O'Neill always told himself. "He's not in any danger, sir.
Or," he amended, "Not much, at least."
    "You heard Captain Bridger, and we scanned that area
ourselves," Ford reminded him. "The currents are too fast.
He'll get himself thrown into the ridge, right along with the 
shuttle!"
    "Only if he _fights_ the currents, Commander!"
    Ford stopped dead. "What?"
    "If Tony _rides_ the currents," O'Neill pointed out, "Then,
while it'll take a little longer, because he'll have to keep 
moving from place to place, getting the appropriate push, but he 
should make it without much problem."
    *Unless a storm pops up, and strengthens the wrong currents,
or Tony touches the wrong area of the mountain, and it collapses, 
or...*
    Well, _that_ certainly wasn't going to help.
    "_Should_, Lieutenant," Ford clarified. "Not _will_."  He
sighed. "And should has a bad habit of becoming _won't_ around
here lately."
    Tell me about it, O'Neill thought.
    "I guess we'll find out," Shanahan said. "He's out. Him
and the dolphin."
    "Darwin, too?" Ford asked incredulously. "What the Hell was
he thinking? Has he gone _totally_ insane?"
    No one answered. O'Neill didn't blame them.

                             * * * * *

    Piccolo hadn't been swimming with Darwin for over ten years.
Well, not exactly. Literally, yes, but--
    It was too confusing to think about when he had as much to
do as he did. He looked at the dolphin, his hands moving in
rapid gestures. Sign language, developed by the same man who'd
alerted _seaQuest_ regarding the condition of the shuttle 
Shanahan had discovered. Nathan Bridger.
    Darwin chittered some sort of response, one Tony couldn't
understand. But that didn't matter, as long as the dolphin
understood him and followed his directions. One-way
communications, as difficult as they could be, usually worked 
fine.
    The next batch of signs were the easy ones: shuttle, bodies,
the three special ones Piccolo had come up with for Lucas and 
Lonnie and Hudson, the quick spelling out of Morse, swift 
currents, and be careful. Again, he had no idea of Darwin's
exact response, but his non-human companion slapped the wall of 
the aquatube several times in what could only be interpreted as 
an affirmation.
    As they continued down the aquatube, Piccolo found his
thoughts drifting to what Ford would do to him when they got 
back.
    He grimaced at the unattractive thought before banishing it
to the furthest reaches of his mind.
    He broke the surface of the water briefly to get his
bearings. He was, of course, familiar with the network of tubes, 
but it was nice to feel the air on his skin again. He was
startled to hear Ford's muffled voice filtering through the glass
tubes, over the intercom. He was going to close Darwin's hatch.
    *Damn,* Piccolo thought. He urged Darwin on with another
gesture-- _hurry_-- before grabbing ahold of the Dolphin's dorsal 
fin and they kicked into high gear, the water beginning to rush 
over them faster and faster as they speeded towards the meter-
wide hatch that would let them into the open water.
    A high-pitched klaxon sounded, reverberating through
Piccolo's body. He could tell Darwin heard it too.
    Up ahead, he was almost sure he could see the hatch
beginning to close. But before he could be sure, they rushed out
of the tube and into the ocean like a cork out of a bottle of 
champagne. The sudden shift in pressure would have bothered
anyone else out here without protective gear, but Piccolo was 
used to it. Not that it was comfortable, by any means, but he'd
be able to stand it for as long as it would take to do what he 
had in mind.
    His gaze shifted back to _seaQuest_ for a moment, a dark
leviathan against the deep blue of the water. He was overwhelmed
by the sudden insignificance of himself, Darwin, and the shuttle 
they were looking for. The shuttle, and the bodies he would find
inside it.
    Thinking of the hideous results of drowning wasn't something
he wanted to be doing at the moment. Unfortunately, Piccolo had
trouble keeping control of his thoughts at the best of times.
This deep, alone except for a dolphin, it wasn't the best of
times. He couldn't keep his mind away from conjuring up images
of their twisted, mangled bodies, with their faces forever frozen
in expressions of terror from the last horrifying moments of
their lives...
    His thoughts were cut off as he caught sight of the
collapsed ridge. Riding the currents, he eventually found
himself close enough to the sight of the rockslide to see the
numerous openings. The numerous small openings. Like, the kind
that are so tiny, that very few things can get through.
    *Why me? Piccolo asked himself silently. *Why not?* he
answered himself.
    *Better be careful,* Piccolo thought, *I stay down here too
long, I could start talkin' to myself.*
    He continued to let the currents carry him as he searched
for an opening big enough. Shanahan had said that there were
openings that would be large enough, if something of a tight
squeeze, for him to get through.
    After over an hour, a time which seemed like an eternity,
Piccolo finally spotted an opening big enough for him to get
through.
    But he'd be fighting the current, every stroke of the way.
    *Great, Piccolo thought. *Exactly what Tim said _not_ to
do...*
    Of course, nobody ever listened to Tim anyway.
    He sighed, and started swimming.

                             * * * * *

    Shanahan was looking at her boards. In fact, it was all
that she'd been doing for the past hour and a half, while Piccolo 
was out there.
    After that amount of time, O'Neill got tired of watching her
do it.
    Therefore, he wasn't paying much attention to her. He was
focused instead on what type of wood he'd like for his casket, 
when she called out.
    "Commander!"
    Ford turened quickly. "Yes?"
    "Sir," Shanahan reported, "I've got a reading on him."  She
looked up in dismay. "He's fighting the curents to try to get to
an opening."
    "You see?" Ford asked of no one in particular, "_This_ is
why I didn't want him to go out there. He's just going to get
himself killed, when, in a few hours, he could've gone out, and 
it would've been perfectly safe."
    *As safe as anyone who goes out without a suit on...*  The
thought flashed unbidden into O'Neill's mind. *As safe as anyone
_anywhere_...*
    "Commander," O'Neill said, despite his own feelings,
"Shouldn't we wish him luck? "
    Ford sighed. "He'll need it."
    O'Neill found himself wondering for which Piccolo would need
more luck to survive; being in the water with it's dangerous 
currents, at the sight of a rockslide, or Ford's response when 
Piccolo got back.

                             * * * * *

    He could see the opening. He'd _just_ fit. As Piccolo came
up on it, he noticed something else about it.
    It was sharp.
    There were jagged edges everywhere. There was no way in Hell
that Piccolo would get through there without becoming at least 
sslightly injured.
    But, the alternative, of _not_ going in, of _never_ knowing
for sure...it was too high a price.
    Inhaling sharply, Piccolo startred worming his way through
the opening.
    The first ribbons of pain slashed through him after a scant
few moments. Fortunately, those were mere scratches. Not nearly
as bad as they could've been.
    Especially considering the serrated metal fragments that lay
about almost everywhere close to the wreck.
    That was a _bad_ sign.
    When Piccolo saw the shuttle, or, at least, what _used_ to
be the shuttle, he had to shut his eyes. The cockpit had slammed
into the side of the mountain at high speed. It had been buried
most of the way up, and was almost sticking straight out from the 
mountain. That seemed a bit odd to Piccolo, but, the urgency he 
felt, despite the fact that there could be no survivors, drove 
him onward.
    The stern of the shuttle was relatively intact, except for
where the ridge had collapsed on top of it.
    *No way in there,* Piccolo realized. In fact there seemed
only one accessable way in.
    Through the airlock.
    Which was right near the cockpit.
    Right where _they_ would be.
    Steeling himself against the worst, Piccolo jimmied the lock
open, and stepped inside. 
    For a moment, he saw bodies everywhere.
    Then he realized that it was all in his head.
    There was no one there.
    In fact, there was nothing to indicate that anyone had been
aboard when the shuttle slammed into the ridge.
    If there had been no one aboard, then how did it get there?
    Piccolo didn't know.
    And he was almost afraid to ask.
    Because he could only think of one answer, and he refused to
believe it.

                             * * * * *

    Piccolo was leaning against the side of the moonpool,
exhausted yet ecstatic. Part of him wanted to sprint up to the
bridge and tell them that no one was down in the shuttle.
    The rest of him, however, was too afraid to go there.
    Eventually, his joy got the better of him, and he decided to
go.
    But, before he could, the intercom whispered his name.
    "Yeah?" he asked into the `com.
    "Tony," O'Neill's voice said quietly, "He's on the warpath,
heading your way. Watch out."
    Before Piccolo could say a word, O'Neill cut the channel.
    Piccolo looked around frantically for a place to hide, _any_
place, but--
    "Piccolo!"
    Uh-oh.
    It was too late.
    Ford was blocking the doorway.
    *No escape,* Piccolo realized. *I'm dead.*
    "You want to tell me exactly what the _hell_ you thought you
were doing?" Ford asked dangerously,
    *Uh...*  Piccolo tried desperately to think of some reason,
any excuse, that would get him off the hook. But, since the best
ones had been heard, like his "I was kidnapped by aliens" story, 
he opted for the truth.
    "I'll tell you what you were doing," Ford answered himself
before Piccolo had a chance, "You were disobeying me."  He moved 
closer, totally preventing any hope of escape.
    "They aren't down there, sir," Piccolo blurted out. He
hadn't meant to, but the effect was incredible.
    For the first time since Bridger's call, a tiny spark of
hope flared up and lit up Ford's eyes. "They weren't there?" he
asked disbelievingly.
    Piccolo shook his head. "Actually, sir," Piccolo said,
almost reluctantly, "There's somethin' else, too. But, I don't
know if it's good or bad."
    Ford's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"
    "Well," Piccolo began, "There were no signs of anybody
having been inside when it crashed. I mean, there was no blood
anywhere, an' there weren't any bodies...or parts of--"
    Piccolo cut himself off as Ford dashed out of the area.
    Thinking that perhaps he'd injured Ford, _again_, Piccolo
followed. "Sir!" he called, catching up to the commander, "I'm
sorry if I--"
    Ford shook his head. "No, it's not that. It's just that,
if they're not _there_, they've got to be somewhere else."
    "Where?"
    Ford shrugged. "Somewhere nearby, I suppose."
    By this time, they'd managed to reach the bridge. "Ensign,"
Ford said to Shanahan, "I want you to design a search pattern, 
getting larger every sweep."  Ford turned to O'Neill. "Keep all
frequencies open. If you get so much as _static_ from anywhere
nearby--"
    O'Neill nodded. "I'll pinpoint them, aye sir."
    For the first time that Piccolo could remember since this
whole thing started, Ford actually smiled. "We'll find them," he
said, mostly to himself, Piccolo thought.
    He hoped that the commander was right. He decided to leave
and, at the very least, change clothes, since he was still rather 
damp.
    "Tony."
    Piccolo turned at Ford's hail. "Sir?"
    Ford leaned close to him. "I just wanted to inform you,"
Ford said in a low voice, "That, if you _ever_ blatantly violate 
an order like this again, you and I will have a nice long _talk_-
-from the brig."  Ford paused significantly. "Understood?"
    Piccolo swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."
    "Dismissed."
    Piccolo fled.

                             * * * * *

    They were coming. She knew that they were coming. His
crew. She had met them a couple of times, and besides, she knew 
first-hand just how well Oliver inspired loyalty.
    She finally arrived at Bridger's quarters. The trip took
too long, and yet somehow not long enough.
    She had to talk to him. She had to force him to see that
_seaQuest_ was coming, and when it arrived it would shoot first 
and ask questions later-- if ever.
    She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
    "Come in."
    At least he sounded reasonable. She pushed the door open
cautiously. After all, in the open doorway, she was a sitting
duck. And a sitting duck was one of the last things she wanted
to be.
    Bridger didn't take well to criticism. The way that he had
ended his relationship with his _last_ partner was enough to 
prove that.
    She resolved to just come out and say it, then let him take
it as he would.
    *After all,* she reasoned, *damned if I do, damned if I
don't.*  "We don't have a lot of time. _SeaQuest_ is going to
start wondering--"
    "I've taken care of that."
    She took another step into the darkened room, wishing for
the hundredth time that Bridger would just turn on the damned 
overhead lights. The shadows that resulted from the corridor
lights only added to her apprehension.
    Bridger was sitting in a corner, turning a smooth, gleaming
object over in his hands.
    A gun.
    He glanced up at her eagerly, and held the gun out. "Isn't
it amazing?" he asked her. "One flick of the finger, and that's
it. Poof!"  
    She looked at him, an expression somewhere between confusion
and fright masking her face. "Poof?"
    "Well," he acceded, "Not really a poof. More of a bang.
Not that it really matters. But why did you come?"
    His bizarre sermon on the sound of a gunshot didn't make her
feel any better about what she knew that she had to say. "It's
_seaQuest_. They're going to start wondering..."
    Before she could continue, he broke into a smile. He looked
like a kid in a candy shop, ready to pop if he didn't tell her 
what he was thinking.
    "We don't have to worry about that. I've taken care of it."
    "How?"
    "I informed them of a shuttle accident! I even falsified
debris projections to make it look authentic. They won't come
anywhere near us, and the distance between us is increasing every 
hour."
    "That won't be enough."  *Shut up! Don't provoke anything!*
No matter what she screamed at herself, her mouth kept moving,
and her vocal cords wouldn't stop. She couldn't stop talking.
"Oliver has a loyal crew."  Too late, she realized that this was 
the wrong thing to say.
    Bridger exploded. "You think I don't know that? They were
_my_ crew-- until _he_ took them away."
    She had to use this somehow, convince him of the magnitude
of the mistake he was making, and forcing her to make along with 
him.
    "Then you've got to realize that they won't let it go.
They'll keep searching until they find something, and that 
`something' is going to be _us_!"
    He looked her over, shadows falling over his face. She
unconsciously took a step back. He was scaring her. Badly.
"You want to let them go."
    Was she that easy to read? "No."  Her voice was trembling.
Not only did she sound completely unconvincing, but she took 
another step towards the door as she said it. *Way to convince
him, Elaine.*
    "Then why are you being so protective?"
    She couldn't answer that. She didn't know how to. After
everything that Oliver had done to her, she should be fighting 
with Bridger for the chance to break the first bone. But
unfortunately - or was it?-- somewhere in the darkest, deepest 
recesses of her heart...she still cared.
    "When you hired me, you never said that I--"  She couldn't
finish. She'd lose control of herself if she did. *Get ahold of
yourself, Elaine.*  "It's not easy for me to hurt him like 
this...or to watch you hurt him."  There. She had said it. *So
help me, Oliver: if he kills me, I'll haunt you for the rest of 
your life.*
    "So, you want to back out of our deal?"  He sounded
dangerous.
    *Hell,* she reminded herself, _he_ is _dangerous._ If she
backed out, where was she? No ship, no money, no anything.
    But if she stayed in...no Oliver.
    She had to tear herself away from the emotional ties that
she had built up with him. He was an egotistical bastard, and he
deserved anything and everything he got.
    *Are you sure?*
    She was sure.
    "No."  She tried to sound strong, but the tiny voice inside
her head had started to become louder. "We had a contract, and
I've never broken a contract before.
    *Nor have I ever so desperately wanted to.*
    "I don't want to start now."
    *Like hell I don't.*
    "Good."  Bridger sounded halfway convinced, and if that was
all he needed to keep from shooting her, that was fine. She only
wished that she could be as unemotional about this as he was.
    She turned to leave, wanting to be out of range when his
next explosion occurred. She was almost out the door when it
came.
    "By the way...bring Lucas into the--"  Bridger's voice came
from behind her, almost offhand, as though he was asking her to
shut the door on her way out. For a moment, she wasn't even sure
that she had heard him right.
    "But, I thought you said--"  No. He couldn't. In all
truth, _she_ couldn't. He couldn't make her. She wouldn't.
    Assassinations...kidnapping...those she could handle. But
torturing children was something she could never force herself to 
do. It had been hard enough to hurt the Lieutenant, but to
subject an innocent child to that kind of hell...
    "Do it. I'll be there shortly."
    It was a clear dismissal. She left the room, her mind a
tempest. He wasn't that insane. No one could be that insane.
An innocent child...?
    He couldn't be that insane, could he?
    As a shudder ran down her spine, Morse had the sudden
feeling that she shouldn't try to find the answer to that
question. She was sure that she wouldn't like it.

                             * * * * *

    Lucas was sitting on one of the benches, wide awake but in a
daze. He looked over at his fellow captives, trying to draw
strength from their sleeping forms. But as he stared, he was
forcibly reminded of what was happening to them all.
Henderson's every movement, however slight, caused her to moan 
softly, and Hudson's face was still a mass of bruises from the 
beating he'd received. 
    The beating _Bridger_ had given him.
    Lucas was still shuddering when the door opened. He
instantly froze.
    Morse entered the cell, and gestured with her gun. "Come
on."
    This was insane. "You're kidding."  She had to be. It was
hard enough for Lucas to believe that Bridger could do anything 
to Henderson and Hudson. Hadn't what he'd already done been
enough?
    "Do I look like I'm kidding?"  Lucas couldn't help it, he
looked at her, cerulean eyes searching desperately for any sign 
of humor. She didn't seem to be able to meet his gaze. "Let's
go." She pulled him out into the corridor. 
    *She doesn't want to do this.*  Lucas was sure. If she was
wholeheartedly into this, she wouldn't be so pale, or so grim. 
"You don't want to do this," Lucas said softly, trying to 
dissuade her from hurting anyone. 
    However, she didn't seem particularly interested in being
dissuaded from anything.
    "Why not?"  She sounded defensive, but Lucas thought that he
could detect a note of uncertainty in her voice. "I can see why
you and Oliver get along so well. Neither of you can accept that
the world won't always fall into your nice, neat, Navy mold."  
She shook her head in disgust. "Perfect little carbon copies,
both of you."
    Lucas just stared at her in shock. He and Hudson had barely
anything in common. How Morse could say that was unfathomable.
"But--"
    She cut him off. "Shut up!"  She had apparently heard
enough. "Just shut up!"
    Lucas reflected that perhaps he'd pushed her too far, as she
shackled his hands to a lone chair facing away from the room's
only door. As such he couldn't see Morse leave.
    The slamming door sounded to Lucas like a death knell, as he
was left alone with his increasingly disordered thoughts.



===========================  PART 11  =====================================

All comments to UEO Krieg@aol.com
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Louder Than Words
Chapter 11
Jennifer Bradley

    The mess hall was practically deserted at this hour. Most
sensible people were still in bed, if they weren't on duty.
    O'Neill hadn't slept very well.
    He sat alone at a table, picking at what he felt would
probably be his last breakfast.
    "Lieutenant?"
    O'Neill looked up to see Shanahan standing next to him, tray
in hand.
    "Mind if I sit down?" she asked.
    O'Neill shrugged. He knew Shanahan somewhat from their
shifts together on the bridge, but, other than that, they pretty
much traveled in different circles.
    "So," she said, breaking the silence, "I hear you're
fighting Mark Holdin tonight."
    He nodded, trying not to think about what Holdin would do to
him later that night. *And I thought _libraries_ gave me anxiety
attacks...*  "Yeah," was all he said.
    "Do you think you have a chance against him?"
    The question was asked innocently enough, and Shanahan's
gray-green eyes were curious, not derisive. However, O'Neill
still took offense at the question. "Why wouldn't I?" he asked
defensively. *Gee, Tim,* his mind answered him, *maybe because
he's _huge_?* "I'm not that helpless, you know," he said
answering himself, just as much as her.
    Shanahan blinked in surprise and confusion. "No! Oh,
Lieutenant, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it the way it sounded!"
She looked down, her dark blonde hair obscuring her face. "I
guess I kinda put my foot in my mouth again, huh?"
    O'Neill actually chuckled at that. By all reports, the only
person more likely to misspeak than Amy Shanahan, was Tony
Piccolo. And Shanahan was gaining on Piccolo rapidly. "It's
okay," O'Neill told her.
    She looked up at him and smiled. "Thanks."  She was silent
for a few moments more. "You know," she began, "Holdin's not
really _that_ big..."  Shanahan laid a hand on O'Neill's bicep.
"...And you're not that small. You could beat him."
    Had O'Neill not known that Shanahan was interested in
Commander Ford, he might've read something romantic into her
touch. *But when was the last time _that_ happened?*  He smiled
back at her. "Thanks."
    "No problem. But, a few words of advice, if I may?"
    O'Neill knew that Shanahan was an experienced fighter. He
supposed that her counsel could help. "Sure."
    "Relax," Shanahan said, getting to her feet. "It's _never_
as bad as you think."  O'Neill didn't respond. "And," she
continued, eyes sparkling,  "Always aim for the jaw."  She
grinned at him and walked away.
    O'Neill sat there, considering her advice. Aiming for the
jaw would be the easy part. As for relaxing... With three of
his crewmates, two of whom were friends of his, missing, possibly
even _dead_, though O'Neill refused to think it, plus, his own
impending doom, O'Neill didn't think the knots in his muscles
would _ever_ go away.

                             * * * * *

    *Ugh.*  It was the first thought that entered Henderson's
mind as she woke up. Hudson was still asleep. "Captain, wake
up," she said, while shaking him. *I wonder if he's a morning
person...*
    "Good Lord, but I've got one hell of a headache...along with
a broken collarbone."  Hudson half-grinned. "I guess that's why
you should never--"  He stopped suddenly and looked around the
room. "Where's Ensign Wolenczak?"  As his lips started to form
the words, she realized consciously what she'd only been
peripherally aware of beforehand.
    *Oh God, I never thought _Captain Bridger_ would...*  "I'm
not sure, but I would guess..."  She didn't finish. She couldn't
bring herself
    "My God... Lucas... I can't believe... Bridger never would
have..."  Hudson trailed off.
    *I never realized just how fond he was-- is-- of Lucas.*
Henderson hated to have to point out the reality of the
situation. "It's the most likely possibility, sir."  She tried to
lighten things up, and failed miserably. "I mean, I doubt he
would have invited Lucas out for milk and cookies."
    Hudson walked over to the door, and all of a sudden,
exploded in rage. He kicked the door several times. "Damn you,
Bridger!" Henderson had never heard Hudson yell like that before.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!?"
    *He's going to injure himself if he keeps this up.*  She
went over to try to calm him. "Sir, you won't accomplish
anything if you exhaust yourself."  He resisted her light tug on
his arm. "You need to rest."  The room started spinning
violently. "We both do."
    Hudson wrenched himself out of her grasp. "I don't need you
to make me `feel better', Lieutenant."
    Henderson felt like Hudson had physically shoved her away.
"But, Captain, you--"
    He cut her off. "Don't patronize me."
    She drew back from him, and heard the chill in her voice as
she replied. "I wasn't aware that trying to point out how
helpless we are was patronizing, sir."
    She saw Hudson's enraged expression soften slightly. "I'm
sorry."
    "No. You're worried, like I am. But I just... " she trailed
off as her throat tightened in grief. "...I just can't see how
Captain Bridger could do anything to hurt him."  *Lucas was like
a son to him.*  "Not that I would _ever_ have thought him capable
of hurting any of us, but..."
    *...I was wrong.*
    She slid to the deck, with thought alternating with
another in her mind.
    *What if he goes after _seaQuest_, too? What if he goes
after _Jonathan_?*
    It was more than she could take. She let Hudson pull her up
from the deck, and lead her to one of the benches.
    She immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.

                             * * * * *

    A dolphin's life was so uncomplicated. Just swim, play, get
fed, and sleep. No worries, no responsibilities...and nobody
intent on pounding you to a bloody pulp.
    At least, that was how it seemed to O'Neill at the moment.
As he watched Darwin swimming back and forth, he wondered what
the mammal _did_ think about.
    He checked his chrono, and was dismayed to see that he had
under half an hour.
    *Half an hour left to live.*
    Then, if he was lucky, he'd be lying dead on the floor of
the gymnasium with a snapped spine. If he was unlucky... He
shoved the gruesome image away, knowing that it wouldn't make him
want to get to the gym any faster.
    Darwin had, by this time, reached the other end of the
moonpool and doubled back. Within seconds, he was floating by
O'Neill's side.
    "What wrong?"
    Sometimes, O'Neill wondered just how much Darwin actually
understood. Well, he supposed that there wasn't any harm in
spilling his guts-- Holdin would take care of that in an hour
anyway.
    "Darwin, you ever fight over a woman?"
    "Darwin fight?"
    "Yeah."  At the dolphin's apparent incomprehension-- if he
was comprehending at all-- O'Neill continued. "Like for honor--
for friends?"
    "Tim Darwin friend."
    He put his head in his hands. "That's not what I meant. I
mean, yeah, we're friends. But I'm talking about fighting _for_
a friend."
    "Why?"
    O'Neill didn't know why he expected Darwin to understand.
Darwin was a loner. He'd never get himself involved in something
like this. *Of course,* O'Neill thought, *I didn't exactly get
_myself_ involved in this.*  "I don't know why I'm telling you
this. You couldn't possibly understand."
    "Darwin understand."
    O'Neill looked up, a sardonic grin on his face. "Sure."
    "Tim afraid."
    "Just what I need," O'Neill groaned. "A revelation from a
talking fish."
    "Darwin mammal."  The electronic voice sounded almost
offended. But O'Neill knew that he was reading into the
situation. The voice never changed. "What scare Tim?"
    O'Neill carefully considered what he should say. "Life is
crushing in on me."
    "Pressure bad."
    "No," O'Neill shook his head. He should have known that
Darwin would automatically equate what he had said with his own
personal experiences. "Not like water pressure."
    "Air pressure?"
    "No!"  He hadn't meant to yell, but he was so stressed out
as of late, thanks to Tony and Holdin, that it wasn't exactly his
fault. Not to mention Lucas and Lonnie's...and Hudson's
disappearances. "Sorry. I meant _stress_."
    "What wrong?"
    O'Neill raised an eyebrow. "Darwin, have you ever seen
sushi?"  Darwin stared blankly. "Ever get caught in a tuna net?"
    "Darwin no get caught. Darwin fast."
    "I wish I could be that lucky."  He sighed. "Tony got me
into a fight, and I'm going to get killed."
    "Darwin miss Tim."
    O'Neill felt like pounding his head against a wall. *I'm
sure Holdin will be more than happy to take care of _that_.*
    "Tim play?"
    He looked at the dolphin, and an expression of disbelief
crossed his face. "Play? Darwin, do I _look_ like I want to
play?"
    "Lucas play."  Darwin sounded sad.
    O'Neill nodded. "I know Lucas would play with you. But
he's missing. You know that."
    "Darwin sad."
    "That makes two of us."

                             * * * * *

    Piccolo was getting nervous. O'Neill hadn't shown up yet,
and people were almost finished trickling in. Holdin was already
warming up in the improvised ring.
    "I knew he wouldn't show!"  Holdin seemed to feel he'd won.
    "He'll be here. He's warming up."  *He'd better be. I've
got a lotta money ridin' on this.*
    "Why bother? He won't last five seconds!"
    Holdin sounded so smug that Piccolo had the urge to fight
the jerk himself. But then he'd lose his money. A _lot_ of
money. "You gave him five minutes before."  It wasn't the most
intelligent thing to say, but it was quick and snappy, and that
was Piccolo's stock in trade.
    As Holdin smirked, Piccolo turned to the wall clock. 1852.
*Tim's got eight minutes to get here. Or we're _both_ in
trouble.* Piccolo stared at the door, hoping that O'Neill would
appear out of thin air. *Fat chance. If he's got any brains,
he's holed up in his quarters, with the door locked.*

                             * * * * *

    O'Neill was running late. Here it was, 1855, and he was
just pulling on his bodysuit. No one had really been on time for
anything, though. Not since they'd heard about...
    *Don't,* he thought. *I've got to concentrate, or I may
wind up just as dead as they're supposed to be.*  In reality, it
had taken him more time than he'd thought it would with Darwin.
Still, it had been worth it. *I hope.*  He quietly entered the
doorway, just as Piccolo turned towards it. *Here we go...*
"Did I miss anything?"
    He tried to sound casual as he entered the ring. He was too
nervous to know if he'd succeeded.
    Holdin shook his head. "I'll give you credit, O'Neill. I
didn't think you'd show."  He grinned malevolently as he drew
back his fist. "But you're gonna wish you hadn't!"  He launched
a hard left.
    *Damn, he's fast,* O'Neill thought as he dodged.
    "What the hell?"  Apparently, Holdin was used to stunning
his opponent with the first punch. He also seemed to become
infuriated if and when it didn't work. "Okay, that's it.
Piccolo, call a Medteam. Your friend'll need it!"
    At that, Holdin started throwing furious punches, one after
another. O'Neill managed to block or evade them all. *Man, am I
lucky he can't control himself well enough to aim a decent
punch.*
    Holdin seemed even more enraged by the fact that none of his
blows had managed a solid connection. "Whatsa matter? 'Fraid
Ford's gonna find out?"
    *He already knows, you Neanderthal!*
    "You ain't in trouble till you throw a punch!"
    *I thought most people outgrew this kind of juvenile
taunting.*  His eyes strayed to see Piccolo, doing what looked
suspiciously like taking bets. *Speaking of juvenile...*  He'd
take care of Tony later.
    "I bet you're afraid of gettin' caught! In fact, I think
you're a _coward_! That's why Jan chose _me_--"
    *Instead of _me_.*  The unspoken insult rang loud and clear
through O'Neill's mind. But Holdin wasn't done. Not by a long
shot.
    "She likes a _real_ man. One who--"
    That was it. O'Neill wasn't going to take it anymore. He
threw a hard right at Holdin's face, and to his surprise, managed
to break the creep's nose. He followed with a quick left, and
Holdin's jaw shattered with a loud splintering noise.
    Holdin dropped like a rock.
    *Hmm...glass jaw.*  The punch hadn't been that hard.
    At that point, O'Neill became aware of the fact that the gym
had fallen silent. "Tony, now might be a good time to call that
Medteam he wanted."  *Perfect, Tim. And you thought _he_ was
acting juvenile?*
    It felt good to say it, though.
    Without another word, he left. But before he walked out, he
saw Piccolo flip Holdin onto his back. "That'll teach you to
mess with a five-time champ!"
    Apparently, O'Neill wasn't the only one who got satisfaction
out of juvenile comments.

                             * * * * *

    *This isn't happening.*  The thought wouldn't stop going
through his head. He was sitting, manacled to a chair, in the
middle of a dark room, with his back to the door. *This can't be
happening.*
    But it was. It wasn't a nightmare. He wasn't going to wake
up just as the something reached out from the shadows and grabbed
him. It was real, he was in danger. *This can't be happening!*
    But it _was_ happening. Denying it wouldn't help. What had
happened to the Captain and Lonnie was evidence of that.
    He couldn't understand it. He owed Bridger his life--
dozens of times over. *And now he's coming to collect.*  He
shoved the thought out of his mind. Lonnie had said that Bridger
wouldn't hurt him. And he trusted her. She wouldn't lie to him.
    *But you trusted Bridger, too.*
    Great. He was hearing voices. The situation wasn't bad
enough. *Shut up. Schizophrenia isn't going to help.*
    *But it's true. You know it. Bridger's got a point.*
    His conversation with himself was cut short when he heard
the turn of a key in a lock. The door, on rust-covered hinges,
swung open. *That's gonna need oil.*  He stopped in mid-thought.
His life was in danger, and he was worried about oiling a door?
    Someone was coming closer. They weren't making any noise,
but he could feel it just the same.
    A hand fell onto his shoulder. His muscles tensed. After
Hudson and Henderson, he thought he knew what to expect.
    As Bridger's fingers began putting tiny, alternating,
circling amounts of pressure on his knotted shoulder muscles,
Lucas had to fight the temptation to let them relax. He
desperately wanted to do so, but knew that letting his guard down
now could be a deadly mistake.
    "Why are you so edgy?"
    *Oh shit. It's him.*  Lonnie had been wrong. She had been
_so_ wrong. *This can't be happening!*
    Bridger's hand felt like an iron clamp as it held his
shoulder. He had to fight the urge to shrug it off. No telling
what that might result in. He didn't even know if Bridger was
armed.
    "I know you're upset about losing _seaQuest_, but this is
_really_ going too--"  He had said it out loud. He hadn't meant
to say it out loud. He abruptly shut his mouth.
    "What are you talking about?"  Bridger sounded almost like a
confused child.
    *What does he _think_ I'm talking about?*  Lucas found
himself wondering if Bridger had _any_ connection to reality
left. "You're scaring me."  *Way to state the obvious, genius.*
"You don't need to hurt any of us."
    Bridger's hand left his shoulder and moved across his neck.
    *He's going to kill me.*
    As Bridger moved in front of him, Lucas was surprised at the
relief that flooded over him, just from being able to see his
captor. No, he corrected himself. His cap_tain_.
    Their eyes met as Bridger crouched down, and behind the
insanity, Lucas could tell that he was confused, like a child who
had just been told that there wasn't a Santa Claus.
    "How can you think that? I'd never hurt _you_."
    That admission was too much for Lucas to face. He knew what
was coming next. It had been hard enough to hear in front of
Captain Hudson, but here, alone... He couldn't face Bridger. He
looked away.
    But Bridger wasn't going to let him avoid the issue.
Bridger had never let him avoid the issue. Not Before, not Now,
not Ever. Bridger took Lucas' chin in his hand and forced him to
meet his eyes, and said what Lucas had known he was going to say,
but had never allowed himself to admit.
    "You know I love you."
    Not even his father had ever told him that. And now, to
hear it from the lips of someone who had been even closer to him
than his own father, someone he had always taken for granted,
someone who practically adopted him...it was mind shattering.
    He couldn't take this kind of pressure. Bridger's eyes were
boring holes directly into his soul. He _had_ to change the
subject.
    "Then how can you hurt my friends?"
    "_I_ didn't hurt Lonnie."
    Bridger's tone of voice was so sincere that Lucas knew he
believed himself. And that was what scared him the most.
    "What about Captain Hudson? You hurt him."
    Bridger's hand flew off his shoulder-- resulting in
momentary relaxation on Lucas' part-- and he began pacing. After
a few seconds of this, he turned back to Lucas, shaking with
fury.
    Lucas felt his skin turn white. He hadn't meant to set
anything off, but it looked like he had.
    Bridger approached him until he was only a few inches away.
"That _person_-- and I use the term loosely-- is _not_ your
friend."
    Lucas snapped. The fear and anger consumed him as instinct
took over. Without considering the results, he concentrated his
emotions in his response, and aimed for the jugular.
    "At least he was there for me."  Lucas couldn't keep the
hatred and disgust from showing. "You didn't give a damn."  He
paused for breath, and Bridger seemed too shocked to stop him
from continuing. "I guess you _are_ a lot like my father.
Whenever something goes wrong, you just walk away and let someone
else pick up the pieces."
    "But you need me!"
    How could Bridger say that? He had always encouraged Lucas
to be independent-- to look to himself instead of others.
Sometimes, Lucas thought that his self-reliance was all that had
kept him from going over the edge after Bridger had retired.
    Bridger's presumption made him furious.
    "I _need_ you? For what? To be my guardian angel?"  All
the frustration, and pain, and anguish he'd felt was coming out 
in a rush, and Lucas couldn't stop himself. What he was saying
needed to be said. And he knew that if he slowed down, he'd
never be able to say it. "Didn't it ever occur to you that I can
live without you?"  *And that I've been doing just that ever
since you abandoned me?*  "That I don't mope around the ship,
pining away for you day after day?"  He knew he was about to
cross the line. He didn't care. "That maybe Captain Hudson is a
better commanding officer -a better _friend_-- than you _ever_
were?"
    No sooner were the words out of his mouth than out of the
corner of his eye, he saw something move. The side of his face
began to sting, and he tasted blood. He realized what had
happened. Bridger had slapped him.
    For a moment, the thought didn't register-- it was too hard
to believe, and his brain ignored it, searching for something
that actually _made sense_. When it came up empty-handed, he did
what, to him, was second nature.
    He turned towards Bridger.
    His eyes were silently pleading for an explanation from the
person who had all the answers.
    There wasn't an answer.
    Hell, he didn't even know the question.
    And Bridger didn't notice. He was too busy staring at the
tiny crimson stain on the back of his hand.
    Lucas' blood.
    "I'm so sorry...I didn't mean...I don't know what could
have..."  He sounded so horrified that Lucas almost felt sorry
for him.
    "I don't even know who you are anymore."  This time, the
remark wasn't meant to hurt. It was simply the truth.
    The cascade of emotions was too much. He shut his eyes,
trying to shut out the world, and a single hot tear slipped down
his cheek.
    He almost didn't hear the door lock again as Bridger left.


===========================  PART 12  =====================================

Happy fourth! All comments to Jennifer can, as usual, be sent through UEO
Krieg@aol.com.


Louder Than Words
Chapter 12
Jennifer Bradley


    "Damn him!"
    Morse flinched back from Bridger's rage. She didn't want to
chance asking him what had happened during his "talk" with
Wolenczak. The boy seemed a sensitive subject with her employer,
and she didn't want him to get any more upset than he already
was.
    She didn't need to ask who the "him" Bridger had just damned
was. He had been insulting and cursing Oliver for weeks.
Sometimes, she felt like telling him to shut up.
    Once, she had.
    His reaction had been so explosive that she hadn't even had
a _hope_ of being prepared. Her first realization had been that,
for someone who appeared so harmless, Bridger packed a hell of a 
punch. She had received a split lip, and it had hurt more than 
she had expected, but she hadn't let him see that.
    Now, she just tried to ignore his outbursts.
    Bridger picked up his gun, and she took a step back. He
hurled it forwards, and after hitting the wall it clattered to 
the floor. She sighed in relief, glad that he hadn't shot it
off. "What the _hell_ kind of right does he think he has to turn 
Lucas against me like that?!?"  He turned to Morse, his face 
contorted by fury. "I'll _kill_ him!"
    She jerked her head upwards. "_Kill_ him?"  She had thought
that Bridger only wanted to _scare_ Hudson-- or offer him an 
ultimatum-- not _murder_ him as though he was some sort of 
criminal. "Nathan, that's ridiculous! You can't just-- just
_kill_ someone on a _whim_!"
    Bridger shook his head. "It's not a whim. You don't know
how long I've been waiting for this."

                             * * * * *

    Kate Williams hated to be kept waiting.
    Yet that's what she was doing. Finer was fifteen minutes
late.
    At the twenty minute mark, she got tired of waiting. "Oh,
the hell with it!" she said in annoyance. If Finer wanted to see
her, he could just come looking for _her_.
    She decided to go down to the mess hall for dinner. It was
where she and Finer were supposed to go.
    But, when Williams got there, she saw exactly why Finer had
been late.
    He was sitting with Paula McCarthy, staring into her eyes,
and flirting like there was no tomorrow.
    Williams walked over there, to his table, sat down beside
him, and cleared her throat.
    "Uh, Kate, sugar... I wasn't expecting' you!"
    *Yeah, no kiddin'*  "Really, Jack? I was expecting _you_...
in my quarters, twenty minutes ago."  Williams smiled sweetly at 
him. "But, I see that you were busy. Oh," Williams said,
feigning surprise,  "Hi, Paula."
    McCarthy smiled sickly. "Hi."
    "Kate," Finer said quickly, "It's not what you think..."
    "Of course not, Jack, of course not. It _couldn't_ be what
I think, because I'm thinking that you've been cheating on me."
    McCarthy spoke up. "Okay, it _is_ what you think."
    "Look, Jack," Williams said, trying to remain calm, "If you
wanted to see other people, you coulda just asked."
    "Well, I didn't mean for it to happen! It just... kinda
did."
    "Yesterday,"  McCarthy said, glowingly, "At the fight. He
said that I was the most beautiful woman that he'd ever laid eyes 
on, and--"
    "_And_, he followed by saying that it would be an honor just
to look at you."  Williams nodded disdainfully. "I've heard it
all before. It's exactly what he said to me when we met in a
club on Tenerife."
    McCarthy looked in surprise at Finer. "Is that true, Jack?"
She looked hurt. "You said you'd never said it to anyone else."
    *Yeah, Jack, let's see you get outta _this_ one.*
    "Aw, honey, you're the only one I _meant_ it with."
    McCarthy actually blushed. "Oh, Jack," she cooed.
    "Oh, Paula," he simpered back.
    "Oh, please," Williams muttered as she got up. As far as
she was concerned, Jack and Paula could have each other. It was
no skin off Williams' nose.
    All of a sudden, someone slammed into her. However, when
she saw who it was, she was glad that the angry retort she'd 
planned had fallen by the wayside. "Oh, sorry," she said,
dazzled by the fantastic specimen in front of her. " You know,
everyone tells me I should pay more attention to where I'm 
going."  She smiled seductively. "I guess they're right."
    Piccolo smiled uneasily. "Uh, yeah. I, uh, guess so."  He
walked past her. "I've, uh, got to go, now."  With that, he ran
down the corridor.
    Williams smiled. "I _love_ it when they play hard to get,"
she said to herself.
    *If Jack asks,* she thought, *they can just tell him that
I've gone fishing.*

                             * * * * *

    Morse knew that she had to make this right. There wasn't
any way that she'd ever be able to live with herself, knowing 
what she had helped Bridger do to Hudson.
    _To Oliver._
    As she sat on her bed in her quarters, waiting and thinking,
she was trying to convince herself not to do it. And she was
fighting a losing battle.
    She slowly stood, and even as she walked towards the door,
she knew what she was going to do, and she shouted at herself to 
stop.
    But her mind wasn't in control of her body, and for once she
was glad.
    Every rational fiber of her being told her not to take the
keys off their hook, not to get her gun, not to start down the 
corridor. If Bridger found out, he'd kill her. Of that, there
was no doubt in her mind. And it would be a painful death--
something that he could use to further his cause.
    That she had her own gun was the only thing that kept her
moving. She was younger than Bridger, and she wasn't insane.
Those were two things that she had going for her. She would be
able to shoot before he could even draw.
    But would she? After all of the mental stress that she had
been through, would she actually be able to take a life?
    She only hoped that she wouldn't have to find out.

                             * * * * *

    After what he'd done to Lucas, Bridger sought refuge in his
quarters. But there was no peace to be found.
    Carol had come to him again.
    *Nathan, how could you hit him like that?*
    "I don't know," he said aloud. "I--  I got frustrated--  He
compared me to his _father_! Carol, his father _abandoned_ him!
Why doesn't he _understand_?"  Bridger was in agony.
    *Maybe he doesn't understand because he thinks differently
about things now.*
    "What do you mean?"  Then it hit him. "_Hudson_."  Wave
after wave of cold fury burned through him. "He's corrupted
Lucas. Just like his Navy corrupted Robert."
    That was the final straw. Bridger had flirted with the
idea. He'd even considered it briefly. But now, _now_, he was
resolved.
    "Hudson has to die."
    It was a hard concept, murder. Lucas had been right. Ten
years ago, he never would have considered it. But some people
deserved it. Especially people like Hudson.
    *Are you sure you'll be able to?*
    Why did Carol always question him? Lately, she'd done it
more often. "I've done it before," he reassured her.
    But she didn't want his reassurance. *In self-defense.
Nathan, this is _murder_.*
    "It's not that simple!" How could she accuse him of that?
"Hudson and his Navy took _everything_ from me! It's justice!"
    *Are you sure?*
    "What else could it be?"
    *Vengeance.*
    "I'm executing him for his crimes. It has _got_ to be done.
For the sake of the world!"  Why couldn't she see? He was right,
she was wrong. That happened more and more frequently, too.
    *The world?*
    "Yes! If people like _him_ continue to exist, the world
will be plunged into war! Millions of people could die!"  He was
almost pleading with her, begging her to understand why he had to
do this. "Carol, _innocent people_! People who I've spent my
life trying to protect!"
    *Theoretical millions saved by the _murder_ of one.*
    "He's a Captain in the Navy of the UEO."  The resolve that
had been his voice only moments ago now turned cold. "It's his
duty to protect the innocent. No matter what the price."
    *That's probably how Marilyn Stark saw it.*
    Stark would have destroyed _seaQuest_ rather than see it
slip into Bridger's grasp. Well, if that was what it took to
keep Lucas out of danger, it would be easier for the boy if it 
were done by someone who loved him.
    *Do you think you could go that far? He wouldn't
understand.*
    Was she siding with Hudson? Carol couldn't do anything to
stop him, could she? He had to do something before she had the
chance to try.
    He stood and lifted his plasma pistol off the bed.
    *Nathan, wait!*
    He ignored her. She would only distract him from his
purpose.
    *Please, Nathan, stop! Think about what you're going to
do!* Now Carol was the one who was pleading.
    For a moment, Bridger felt terrible for leaving her like
this, when she so clearly needed his comfort. Then he realized
that's exactly what she wanted him to feel. She was manipulating
him. _Everyone_ was manipulating him. Everyone was against him.
    "I know what you're trying to do."
    *Nathan, if you ever loved me, if you ever cared, _please_,
don't do this to them-- don't do it to _yourself_!
    As it echoed in his head, her voice was almost choked with
tears. It took all of his strength to walk out the door.
    But he walked out the door.

                             * * * * *

    "Damn her! How can she do this?"  It wasn't really a
question, and even if it had been, there was no one to answer it. 
Henderson was asleep, and Lucas was--
    Lucas was being held in the grip of a madman. There was no
longer any point in covering it up with "pleasant" euphemisms.
And Bridger's grip that was getting stronger every second.
    Being helpless only made the knowledge more difficult to
bear. Hudson knew that he was a man of action. He always had
been, and he always would be. There was no getting around it.
But being here, locked in a cell, when he knew that a member of 
his crew was in trouble... He had already tried kicking down the
door, and all that had gotten him was a sore foot.
    He took a few steps towards the door and put his hand on the
knob. He knew that it was a long shot, but maybe if he twisted
hard enough--
    The door opened.
    He stood in shock for an instant before he saw who it was on
the other side. "What. No weapon?"
    Morse shook her head and indicated the plasma pistol hanging
from her belt. He automatically took a step back. "And to what
do I owe the honor of _this_ visit?"
    "Turn around."
    He wasn't sure what made him do it. Maybe it was the
feeling in the pit of his stomach that maybe, for the first time 
since _seaQuest_ had picked up her fake distress signal, Elaine 
was telling him the truth. His belief in her was rewarded, at
least this time. She unlocked his handcuffs.
    "Thanks," he said as he rubbed the place on his wrist where
the cuffs had been cutting into his skin. "Would you mind?" he
asked, indicating his shoulders. "I'm a little sore."
    She shook her head as she raised a hand. It wasn't until
she touched his shoulder that he remembered what had happened to 
him. "Ow!"
    She pulled back, a troubled expression on her face. "What's
wrong?"
    "You're new boyfriend got overzealous."  He couldn't believe
he had just said that. He hadn't believed Bridger. Why was he
throwing this back in Elaine's face?
    "My new what?"  Luckily she seemed too preoccupied to
notice. 
    "Forget it."  He was glad that, for once, she hadn't filed
away what he'd said for further usage against him.
    Morse looked at the floor. "It's my fault you're in this
mess."
    *No shit, Sherlock.*  He wouldn't have said it aloud, but he
couldn't stop the thoughts from bubbling into his thoughts. "I
won't argue with that."
    Morse tossed the ring of keys at him. Without thinking, he
caught it. A second later, an amusing thought struck him. He
laughed out loud, for the first time in days. "Elaine, I'm
flattered."
    She looked at him for a moment, a puzzled expression on her
face. "Why?"
    "Last time," he answered, still chuckling. "I had to give
_you_ the ring."
    Morse smiled as the meaning of the statement penetrated the
veil of concern that seemed to surround her. "And this time,
_I'm_ leaving _you_ at the altar."  She rolled her coal-black 
eyes, the mood suddenly becoming a serious one. "Just wake the
lieutenant, and let's get going."
    Was she truly going to let them go? He didn't dare to hope.
"Where to?" 
    "I'm getting you and your people out of here."  `Your
people' seemed to indicate that more than he and Henderson had 
survived. But he couldn't be sure.
    "What about Lucas?" Hudson only realized after the fact
that he had, yet again, fallen into the same habit as everyone 
else; that of thinking of the boy by his first name. That
clinched it. Hudson had _never_ thought of a crew member by their 
first name in a professional situation. If that kid was dead,
Bridger would be right behind him-- if it were Bridger who had 
killed him. A sudden, horrifying thought hit him at the speed of
the _Omni Pacific_. What if _Elaine_ had been the one to do the
deed? Would he be able to deal with that? Did he even _want_
to? He looked towards Morse, demanding answers.
    She flushed. "He's--" Morse started to answer, but was cut
off as Henderson started to stir. As she opened up her eyes,
Henderson saw Morse, and froze. She turned to Hudson, eyes
questioning.
    Hudson held up his hands to forestall Henderson's protests.
"Don't worry, Lieutenant."
    Henderson seemed somewhat confused. "Wait a second. She's
on _our_ side now?"
    Hudson glanced over at Morse, unwilling to commit. He
shrugged. "I guess so."  Henderson glanced first at Hudson, then
Morse, then back to Hudson. He gave her what he hoped was an
encouraging nod. As Morse opened the door, Henderson slipped
past them both, and into the corridor. All three remained
silent.
    However, as he passed her, Morse put a hand on Hudson's arm
to stop him. She locked her huge, obsidian eyes with his, the
loving expression on her face hardening ever-so-slightly. "I
_still_ hate you."
    He half-grinned at her with the same devil-may-care attitude
that had melted her heart all those years ago. "The feeling is
mutual, _darling_."
    From the corridor, Henderson's voice rang out. "Come on!"
    As one, Hudson and Morse hurried down the corridor after
her.

                             * * * * *

    The key turned in the lock. The sound of metal grinding on
metal and Lucas' nerves grinding on each other filled his ears.
He couldn't take this. Bridger was coming back.
    *And this time, who know's what he'll do?*
    The door was flung open with a slam, and Lucas felt his
blood run cold.
    *Oh God--  This can't be happening!*
    "Are you okay?"  For a few seconds, he couldn't place the
voice. Then it hit him. Lonnie. How had she gotten here? Was
everything going to be okay? "Thank God we found you in time."
Her voice was so full of relief that Lucas wasn't sure that he 
wanted to know what had happened while he had been locked up in 
here.
    "I'm fine. But I don't know about the Captain."  She looked
at him in the oddest way while she unlocked the handcuffs.
    "The Captain is fine...what did Bridger do to you?"
    The way she said Bridger, he wondered why she had
differentiated between his name and his title. But then he
realized why. She had thought that he was talking about Hudson.
The realization stung, he pushed it aside along with all of the 
other emotions he had been fighting since this had begun. "I was
talking about Bridger. Is he okay? I was beginning to
wonder..." *Wonder what?* he asked himself. *I shouldn't care by
now! Not after what he's done!*  But the problem was, he _did_
care.
    "We don't have time for hellos, Ensign. Let's go."
    At least Hudson was still alive. Lucas hadn't been sure
that _anyone_ could survive that kind of beating that Hudson had
taken--that _Bridger_ had given to him.
    *Then again, looks can be deceiving.*  "But how did you--"
    His unfinished question was answered when he saw who was
supporting Hudson. Morse. *That explains that.*
    "Come on!"  Hudson obviously didn't want to wait much
longer. Then, as Lucas noticed just how much he was depending on 
Morse to remain upright, he realized that Hudson might be afraid 
of his strength running out before they made it to the shuttle.
If that happened, they would have to leave him behind. And that
was something that Lucas knew he couldn't do. He had already
lost Bridger. He refused to let himself lose anyone else.
    He relieved Morse of Hudson, and Henderson helped hold up
his other side. They ran-- after a fashion-- down the corridor.
Morse turned a corner, barely three feet ahead of the rest of 
them. She gasped and stopped and stood directly in front of
them, as though she were trying to block them from someone's 
sight. As Lucas regained the balance that the sudden stop had
made him lose, he saw who.
    "So, Elaine...you too."  The man who blocked their path was
so calm, so controlled.
    *The calm before the storm.*
    Bridger merely stood, assessing the situation. His stare
was almost contemplative. Almost like it used to be. Almost
sane.
    Morse took a step back, repelled by the forcefulness of his
statement. Lucas could understand that. In an ideal situation,
he would have turned tail and ran-- but he couldn't leave Hudson 
and Lonnie.
    "Nathan, this was a mistake. It was wrong from the very
beginning."  To Lucas, it sounded as though she were stalling for 
time.
    *Time for what?*
    Morse glanced towards them. "They never did anything to
me...and you know that they never really did anything to you,
either."
    *No!*  Telling Bridger that he was wrong was a mistake at
the best of times. Under these conditions... *He's going to
kill us. This _can't_ be happening!*  The thought ricocheted off
the inside of his skull.
    "You're wrong..."
    "You know I'm right. We've got to let them go."
    Bridger's withering stare made Lucas suddenly wonder just
how much of her past with the Captain was influencing her 
behavior.
    *Dammit, _no_. Her past with _Hudson_. _Bridger's_ the
Captain...but he's insane...*  He still wasn't sure who he had 
meant, just that he was even more confused than he had been 
before, and he was getting a headache.
    All of this ran through his mind in the blink of an eye.
Before he was finished, Morse tried to push past Bridger. But he
wasn't about to let someone who had lied to him escape unscathed. 
He never had. He never did. As Lucas and the others watched,
frozen in their positions, Bridger grabbed her by the arm and
flung her against the wall.
    Somehow, he managed to rip the gun out her hand-- but he
broke her wrist in the process. Lucas shuddered at the crack.
As she cried out in both shock and pain, Hudson seemed to have 
reached his limit. Lucas watched in horror and tried to stop him
from proceeding, but Hudson had received some sort of inhuman 
second wind.
    "Captain,--"  He broke off. He didn't know what to say.
Hell, he didn't even know which captain he was talking too.
    "Oliver, _don't_!"  At least someone did. Not that it
helped. Hudson was enraged. Morse's feeble cry didn't even slow
him down.
    *He must really love her.*
    Lucas looked on it terror, knowing that Hudson would going
to kill Bridger or Bridger would kill Hudson, unless someone 
stopped them. And there was only one someone close enough, both
in distance and emotion, to do it.
    He only had one chance, and he took it eagerly. Bridger had
aimed the gun at Hudson, intent on firing, and Lucas got in the 
way. He was directly in the line of fire, only a finger-twitch
away from death.
    *He won't kill me. He _can't_ kill me.*
    "Lucas, get out of the way. This is between Bridger and
myself."  Did Hudson really think that Lucas was going to just
stand by and watch while two people he cared about killed each
other? Why were they treating him like a child?
    "Lucas, that was a _direct order_."
    Lucas was old enough to know that sometimes, you didn't
follow direct orders. This was one of those times.
    "I don't care."  What else was there to say? Bridger
wouldn't hurt him. *He'd never actually _shoot_ me.*  But he
wasn't completely convinced.
    "I don't want to hurt you."
    *There. He said it. He won't hurt me.*  "Then put it down
and let us go."
    "I-- I can't."  Bridger's hand was shaking, even though the
gun was almost resting against Lucas' shoulder.
    "Yes, you can."  He tried to put as much force as possible
into his voice, and knew that all he sounded like was a scared 
kid. Bridger was so unstable that anything, no matter how slight, 
could set him off. Lucas had to avoid that. But he was getting
worse by the second.
    He had to get that gun. His hand moved a centimeter or two,
but Bridger only tightened his grip. *Old habits die hard.
Please God, don't let him kill me.*
    "_Dammit,_ Lucas..._move_!"  It sounded so hard for Bridger
to say. Lucas felt his own throat constricting in empathy. But
even if he had wanted to, he couldn't move. His knees had
locked.
    "I am _not_ going to let you kill him."  It wasn't original,
and it wasn't a threat, but it was the truth. He was finally
sure of that. What he wasn't so sure about was whether he didn't
want Bridger to kill Hudson for Bridger's sake, for Bridger's 
sake, or maybe even his own.
    "You don't understand."
    *What an understatement.*  "You're right. I _don't_
understand. I don't understand how someone I admired so much ten
years ago could have changed so drastically. I don't see how
_you_ could become such a monster..."  He couldn't finish. His
throat was clogged with tears. All he could remember were the
good old days... The time when he and Bridger had met...when
they'd had that picture taken on the beach...when he'd come to
the island after Hyberion, scared, confused, and alone, and
Bridger had just held him...he'd felt so safe...
    "Nathan, put the gun down."
    *Captain, _no_! I was so close! He would have backed
down!*
    Hudson's words only seemed to harden Bridger to his task.
He moved the gun off Lucas' shoulder. Right at Hudson's head.
    *He can't miss at this range...*  Lucas had to do something,
but there was nothing left. "Captain...please...no...don't..."
He was begging Bridger to stop, through his tears. But there was
no dissuading him. Not this time.
    As the muscles in Bridger's arm tightened, Lucas was taken
over by instinct. He shoved Bridger's arm, hard, and grabbed for
the gun. The sound of Bridger's pistol discharging a lethal
burst of energy rang out, filling his ears, and he could feel a 
warm, sticky fluid running over his chest. He didn't even really
feel the shot as it ripped through his skin, leaving behind a 
trail of blood and flesh. He collapsed into Hudson, sending them
both to the floor.
    *I'll be damned. He shot me.*


===========================  PART 13  =====================================


As usual, all comments for Jennifer to UEO Krieg@aol.com
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Louder Than Words
Chapter 13
Jennifer Bradley



    It had happened so quickly. First, they were just talking.
At his comment, they began grappling for the gun. But before he
could attempt to intervene, weak as he was, it was all over.
    Lucas had been shot.
    The momentum from the blast had propelled him into Hudson,
knocking them both to the deck. Now, Lucas lay in Hudson's arms,
bleeding profusely.
    "Lucas!" Henderson shouted in disbelief. She fell to her
knees next to him, and put herself directly between Bridger and
the boy.
    *Thanks for the gesture, Lieutenant, but he's just shot
someone closer to him than family. I doubt you'll make much
difference.*
    "Captain..."  Lucas was trying to speak. "...are you all
right?"  His voice was tight, probably from the pain.
    *You've been shot, and you're worried about me?*  That was
just the kind of person Lucas was. "Hang in there, kid."  Hudson
didn't realize how paternal he sounded. He was too busy trying
to hold the wounded boy still. As the blood started to seep
through Hudson's shirt, he was horrified at how close Lucas was
to bleeding to death.
    The weight of the boy in his arms, the feeble beating of a
dying heart--  Hudson knew now why losing the child had sent
Bridger over the edge. People who had loyalty like this didn't
come a dime a dozen. If Hudson lost Lucas too, he didn't doubt
that he'd grieve for a long time. Maybe longer than he'd prefer.
One thing was certain, however:  if Lucas _did_ die, Hudson
would make sure that Bridger was next.
    The force of his thought shook Hudson to his core. Had he
just threatened to kill someone out of vengeance? He instantly
quieted his thoughts. There shouldn't have been _anything_ that
could make him do that. He was calm, in control of himself-- not
like some other people he knew of.
    He glared up at Bridger. "How could you?!?" Hudson was
furious. "He _trusted_ you!" It was obvious. Lucas wouldn't
have dared to confront an armed person if he didn't.
    Henderson tore off a sleeve and began to wrap it around the
wound. "He's losing a lot of blood...I can't tell how bad it
is..."  Hudson could tell how concerned she was. Apparently, he
wasn't the only one in whom Lucas managed to evoke parental
protectiveness.
    "What have I done?"  Hudson looked up at Bridger's horror-
filled whisper. Bridger's eyes had fixed on Lucas...and the pool
of blood staining the deck.
    "You shot him!"  Hudson didn't see how Bridger could have
missed that fact. "You're so far gone that you've injured one of
the only people left who was willing to give you a second
chance!" It probably wasn't the smartest thing to say to an
unstable gunman. *Wait. Where's the gun?*  Then he saw it on the deck,
where Bridger had dropped it.
    "Sir..."  Henderson sounded bleak.
    *Oh no. He's dead.*
    "...I can't do anything for him without a medkit...we've got
to get him back to _seaQuest_, or at least the shuttle."
    Hudson looked down, and saw that the pool of blood had grown
even larger, despite Henderson's efforts. He turned to Bridger.
"Cold blooded son of a bitch!"  Bridger didn't seem to hear.
Hudson couldn't help it. He took a step towards Bridger, ready
to kill him, bare-handed if necessary.
    But Elaine stopped him. "Oliver, he's not well. He needs
help, and your ensign needs a doctor."
    She was right-- _this_ time. He picked up Lucas, and let
her pull him away. He could hear Henderson following. He took
one last glance at Bridger, sitting forlornly on the deck,
staring in horror at the blood.

                             * * * * *

    Hudson was out of breath by the time he and the others had
reached the shuttlebay.
    "Thank God," Morse said, slightly winded. "He didn't
destroy the _other_ shuttle."
    Although Hudson was curious as to exactly what she meant, he
knew that they really didn't have the time to discuss it.
"Great. Lieutenant, start the pre-launch. Elaine, help her."
Hudson looked down at the unconscious boy in his arms. "He's
lost a lot of blood," he told them softly. "We've got to get him
to the medbay on _seaQuest_."  Hudson knew that Lucas was going to
need surgery, at the very least.
    As he carried Lucas into the back of the small shuttle, Hudson
heard a weak moan. He looked down as he lay the boy onto the deck.
Lucas' eyes were open, if somewhat glazed. "It's okay, Lucas," Hudson
said quietly, not even bothering with rank.
"You're safe now. We're on a shuttle."
    Lucas licked his lips. "Every...body...okay?"
    Hudson couldn't help but grin. Loyal to the core, this one.
"We're all fine."
    "Where's... Captain... Bridger?" Lucas asked, almost
fearfully.
    "Don't worry," Hudson tried to reassure him. "He's not
here." Bridger had followed them everywhere else, or so it
seemed.
    Lucas feebly clutched at Hudson's arm. "Get Bridger--"
    Hudson shook his head, cutting the wounded boy off. "Lucas,
he's insane!"
    Hudson could see tears welling up in Lucas' crystal blue
eyes. "Needs...help!"  Lucas' grip on Hudson tightened as he
spoke.
    Hudson put his hand over Lucas', trying to free his arm.
"He'd kill us all."
    But Lucas' grip wouldn't be broken. "He'll _die_ if we
leave him," Lucas choked.
    "Lucas..."  Hudson looked away, feeling his heart explode
within him. "I _can't_."  Lucas must have been too disoriented
to realize the implications of what he was asking.
    "Captain..."  Hudson looked over at Lucas. "_Please_," he
begged Hudson, tears starting to flow down his cheeks, "Help
him."
    Hudson felt his resolve shatter. He nodded.
    Lucas smiled weakly. "I knew you'd... do the... right...
thing..."  And Lucas lapsed again into unconsciousness.
    Hudson stood, and walked toward the hatch. He knew that
he'd have to go now, or risk not going at all.
    "Where the Hell are you going, Oliver?" Morse asked as he
passed her.
    Tersely, he told her the truth. "To get Bridger."
    As he left, Hudson heard Morse sigh. "I hate it when he
does that."
    *Yeah,* Hudson thought, *So do I.*
    He continued walking to where they'd left Bridger. Hudson
wasn't sure exactly how to convince the insane ex-captain to
join them, but, he owed it to Lucas to try.
    In fact, he was sure that he owed Lucas a lot more than
that.

                             * * * * *

    He had shot Lucas.
    Bridger couldn't believe it. The only person he had left in
the world, the only person he loved; shot, maybe dead; and by his
hand.
    The scene kept rolling through his disorderly mind:  His
rage at Hudson for being able to inspire such loyalty in a member
of his crew, how determined Lucas had been to stop him, how he
had raised the gun and aimed it at Hudson, so sure that Lucas
wouldn't really try to do anything.
    But he had. Bridger could still see Lucas pulling his arm
down. He could still feel the coolness of the trigger against
his finger as he had pulled it tight. He could see the
expression of shock that had crossed Lucas' face, Hudson's
face...all of their faces. And Lucas had fallen back, into
Hudson's arms. Bridger had not only failed to be there when
Lucas had needed him, but he had been the cause of the need in
the first place.
    *Lucas, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-- I was trying to
_save_ you! I _love_ you...*
    But it was too late now. Lucas had been in critical
condition when they had left-- or at least, that's how it had
looked to Bridger. No one could leave behind that much blood
behind and survive. That much blood...
    The blood was still in a puddle on the floor...still seeping
into the cracks in the metal that made up the floor of the ship.
It would never come out. Bridger would never be able to get it
out. He didn't want to.
    Why had they left him here like this? To die? That was
fine with him. He didn't want to live, knowing that he could--
That he _did_--  His thoughts were cut short as footsteps began
to echo from down the corridor. Around the corner. He should
have known that it would be Hudson.
    *I'll be damned.*  And he didn't care, either. He didn't
deserve anything better. "Have you come to arrest me?"  The
thought made Bridger smile. Hudson would probably rather kill
him. In truth, Bridger wouldn't care.
    "Lucas made me come back for you."  Hudson said it so evenly
that for a moment it didn't register.
    "Lucas is alive?"  Bridger felt a spark of hope light up,
somewhere deep within him. *Maybe it's not too late.*
    "For the moment-- no thanks to you."
    "Thank God."  And he would have too, except that by now
Bridger was convinced that he'd never see heaven.
    "He worshipped the ground you walked on for years-- and
thanks to you it, it blew up in his face. You don't deserve
someone who loves you like he does."  He was angry, Bridger
could tell. Furious, even. But the words rang true. He didn't
deserve anyone like Lucas...especially after what he had done.
    "I know."  What else could he say? He had always counted
himself lucky to have someone like Lucas, someone who was loyal
to the core and willing to move mountains for a friend.
    His luck had turned bad in recent months.
    "Are you coming?"
    He couldn't. What it would do to Lucas... Scaring him
wouldn't even be the half of it... Never mind prison and insane
asylums, Bridger didn't give half a damn about that.
    All he cared about was Lucas, and he couldn't hurt him
again.
    "No."
    "Fine. I'm in no mood to try to convince you, and I don't
have the time."  Hudson paused and took in a deep breath. "I've
got to get him back to _seaQuest_. He's going to need a doctor,"
    Just the reminded of what he'd done was enough to send a
wave of despair through Bridger's soul.
    "You're letting him down-- again."  With that as his last
resentful remark, Hudson turned and walked away without a
backwards glance.
    *I can't blame him,* Bridger thought as he looked at the
deck. As he glanced at the blood, now soaking through the floor,
Hudson's last statement rang through his mind over and over,
until he couldn't take it any more.
    *Letting him down...letting him down...letting him down...*
    Then he saw the gun, lying there on the deck.
    *I'm tired,* he thought. *So very tired...*

                             * * * * *

    Hudson stared at Morse, knowing that he had to say
something. He had told her that he was going for Bridger, but
he had returned empty-handed.
    "Where is he?"
    He had known that the question would be the first that
escaped her lips. But he hadn't contemplated how he would
answer. He didn't want Lucas to know that Bridger was again
abandoning him--according to what he had seen over the past day
or so, it would be too much for the boy to handle.
    A decision had to be made. He knew that Elaine wouldn't
challenge whatever decision he made. She would accept it.
    Then, a second realization struck him. Nathan Bridger, no
matter what he had deteriorated into, had been a great man once.
There were literally thousands of people who looked up to him,
respected him, and who was he to challenge that?
    Hudson had to put his own antagonistic relationship with
Bridger behind him. He couldn't afford to make this kind of
decision in the heat of emotion. He calmly forced himself to
weigh the facts, and came to one decision.
    "He committed suicide."  It was completely believable, so
why did he have the feeling that Morse wasn't going to believe
him?
    She had to know that this wasn't the simple lie it appeared
to be on the surface. She had to see that he was staking his
career, his life on her ability to successfully carry out this
deception. She was the only uncertainty in the equation, because
both Henderson and Lucas would take what he said at face value.
Elaine was the only one who was close enough to him to see
through the lie that suddenly struck him as transparent.
    "So we're keeping this a secret?" Morse asked. Hudson
almost didn't catch the trace of shock in her voice.
    But when he did, he knew that he had to stop her
immediately. "Keeping what a secret?" he snapped. "I plan on
writing a full report..."  He paused at the questioning
expression on her face. "Detailing how the shuttle was destroyed
in a freak accident, and we were only barely able to get your
escape pod operational in time.
    She nodded and redirected her attention to the console in
front of her. Hudson was suddenly and oddly struck by how
nervous she seemed. Working with Bridger for as long as she
must have must have taken some sort of emotional toll on her.
She was biting her lower lip, something that she only did
when she was upset. Hudson wished that he had the courage to
ask her what.
    However, she saved him from having to do so. "What about
Bridger?"
    The bluntness of her question was the only reason that he
didn't have an immediate answer. "What about him?" Hudson asked,
even though he knew exactly what she meant. If Bridger wasn't
really dead, and they both knew that he wasn't, what would happen
when and if he resurfaced?
    "He was a great man who lost his grip on reality."  He glanced
towards the door that led to the room in the rear of the shuttle,
where Henderson was futilely attempting to bandage the gaping
wound in Lucas' torso. "There's no need to stain his memory."
As he said it, the sudden impression of the bloodstains that had
resulted from the gunshot pushed itself to the front of his mind.
His shoulder, Elaine's wrist, and Henderson's fatigue would be
simple to explain away. But how had Lucas gotten _shot_, if there
hadn't been any hostile forces? As Morse asked him her next question,
he wondered if his old joke that she could read his mind had more
depth than he had originally thought.
    She looked up from her console and took a deep breath, and
her gaze also flickered towards the rear of the shuttle.
"Oliver, if it was only the four of us, how were we injured?"
    "Flying shrapnel from exploding consoles. Falling
bulkheads." He shrugged off the feeling that he was doing
something wrong. "Anything I can make stick."
    She looked towards him, and for a second, he felt a spark of
electricity pass from his eyes to hers. But then it was gone,
leaving just the two of them, looking fondly at each other,
knowing that there was something there that could never be
changed.
    "I--"  Her voice broke off as she looked back at her
computer, suddenly all business. "I'm sorry, Oliver."
    "So am I, Elaine."  He shook his head sadly as he too
redirected his attention to his work. "So am I."
    The silence that filled the cabin was overwhelming. He
wondered for several seconds if he should say something, but
luckily, Henderson entered the room and the tension between
himself and Morse was broken.
    "Sir," Henderson said, with a fleeting glare towards Morse,
"Lucas is asking to speak to you-- and to Captain Bridger."
    Now, Hudson knew, was going to be the part of his lie that
would either make or break his charade. He wasn't worried about
Lucas questioning him, but rather, of him questioning himself.
He wasn't sure that he would be able to lie to such a trusting
child.
    He glanced towards Elaine, wondering suddenly if leaving her
with Henderson was such a good idea. However, Morse seemed as
though she was fine, and he had to discount the possibility of
"chickening out" for her benefit.
    As he stood, he felt her hand gently touch his arm. "I'll
tell her."
    He nodded, and as he entered the back room heard Henderson's
voice asking Morse, "Tell me what?"  She sounded impatient.

                             * * * * *

    "Sir?"  Holdin knocked on the door. From the tone of his
voice, Ford could tell that he wasn't the least bit worried about
the consequences of his actions. Well, it was always fun to
pound the repercussions of assault on a superior officer into a
jerk's head-- no pun intended, Ford told himself.
    He looked up slowly from the paperwork he had amassed for
effect. If he was going to pull this off, every detail had to be
perfect. "Do I need to _ask_ you to stand at attention, mister?"
    Holdin immediately picked up on the fact that Ford wasn't in
the best of moods. "No, sir."  He straightened out faster than
Ford would have thought possible.
    Now that he had a chance to look the ensign over, he found
himself surprised that O'Neill had been able to win the fight so
easily, according to what he'd heard. He felt a sudden pang of
envy for O'Neill and Piccolo, who could still afford to get
wrapped up in the inner politics of life aboard the _seaQuest_.
But, he told himself, he hadn't ever really let himself loosen up
enough to make friends until a few years ago. "What the hell
were you thinking?!?" he yelled, knowing that the first thing to
do was to throw Holdin off-balance.
    It worked. Holdin blinked, apparently surprised that Ford
was so explosive. "Sir?"
    Fine, then. If he wanted to play hardball, that was all
right with Ford. "Don't give me that blank stare, Ensign!
Answer the question!"
    He automatically allowed himself to slip back into the
ultra-military mode that had been drilled into his at the
Academy. Something about this guy just rubbed him the wrong way,
and he'd be damned if he let him get away with it. He had only
seen captains throw their weight around like this several times,
never directed towards him, and the last time had been a few
weeks into _seaQuest_'s ill-fated tour of duty under Marilyn
Stark.
    "Sir, I was just--"
    "_Just_?!? Are you minimizing your offense, mister?"
    "No sir!"
    At least Holdin finally managed to get a hold on the fact
that Ford didn't want anything out of him that wasn't asked of
him. "Then answer me!"
    "Sir, Lieutenant O'Neill and myself were having a difference
of opinion on the subject of--"
    "Who initiated this conflict?"  He already knew the answer,
but he found himself wondering exactly how much Holdin would be
willing to admit to.
    "Warrant Officer Piccolo, _sir_!"
    This was new. "Are you telling me," he shouted, "That the
_Warrant Officer_ began the conflict, and you had a _fistfight_
with the _Lieutenant_?"
    "Yes sir!"
    "Why?"
    Ford could almost read what was going through the ensign's
head. Namely, nothing. The sudden, unveiled, and completely
blunt question had thrown him off.
    Just what Ford had been trying to accomplish.
    Holdin flushed. "Piccolo challenged me on behalf of
O'Neill!"
    Ford had to keep from letting the devilish grin that
Holdin's error brought into his mind from expressing itself on
his face. *Never, never, _never_ refer to a superior officer like
that.* "Are you being disrespectful towards the Lieutenant?" he
demanded.
    Holdin looked blank for a few moments. "No sir!"
    "Well," Ford began in a sarcastic tone, "Isn't that nice.
You didn't _mean_ to be disrespectful. Just like I'm sure that
you didn't _mean_ to assault him on the rec deck."
    "Assault?"
    Obviously, Holdin was used to getting away with what he'd
done. Too bad for him. "I'm sure I could dredge up testimony
from several other officers who saw you take the first swing at
Lieutenant O'Neill."
    "_Assault_?!?"
    "Are you having trouble with my _english_?" Ford demanded.
"Should I call in a _translator_?!?"
    "No sir!"
    "`No sir' you're not having trouble or `no sir' you would
prefer that I not call in a translator?"
    "No sir, I am not having trouble and `no sir' I would prefer
that you not call in a translator!"
    "Are you giving me your _opinion_, Ensign? Because I sure
as hell didn't _ask_ for your opinion!"  Ford hadn't had this
much fun in his a long time.
    "No sir, I did not give you an opinion, sir!"
    "Damn right!
    Ford reached forwards and tapped the intercom key, making
sure that his eyes never left Holdin's face. "Lieutenant
O'Neill, report to the Wardroom."
    As he leaned back in his seat, he could see the telltale
signs that he was finally breaking through the front that Holdin
had been putting up. He was glad that the guy was finally
feeling some discomfort. After all, he was friends with
Fredricks, too. If the overall impression he'd received of
Holdin from his background files, as well as the simple gut
repulsion he had to him was anywhere near correct, what he was
about to do should be not only enough to teach him not to kiss-
and-tell, but it should also strike a blow to his overly arrogant
attitude.
    He could only hope that O'Neill would keep his mouth shut
until Ford had the chance to talk to him in private.
    The door opened, and O'Neill walked in. He didn't look
nervous-- until he saw Holdin.
    "Lieutenant, have a seat," Ford said, indicating one of the
empty ones that surrounded the table. Although O'Neill gave
Holdin a wary glance before sitting, he must have realized that
there was no way the ensign would attack him in the presence of
the commander.
    Holdin looked longingly at one of the other chairs, but a
glare from Ford snapped him back to attention. "Now," Ford said,
keeping his expression straight-- something easier said than
done. "I think you had something you wanted to say to the
Lieutenant."
    Holdin stared at him blankly. Ford wasn't that surprised.
If his earlier hunch that Holdin was used to getting away with
what he'd done was true, then maybe he didn't realize that, aside
from being a display of insubordination worthy of a court-
martial, trying to pound a superior officer into the floor was
also impolite. He leaned forwards, towards Holdin. "Apologize.
Now."
    Holdin's stare gained no amount of understanding. With a
sideways glance at O'Neill, who still looked like he didn't have
the slightest clue as to what was going on, Ford stood. "Ensign,
either apologize to Lieutenant O'Neill for your misconduct _now_,
or I'll haul you up in front of a review board on charges of
insubordination, extreme misconduct, failure to obey a direct
order, and anything else that'll get your sorry ass fried!"
    The ensign straightened in less than a second. "Sir," he
said, his voice reasonable, "I'd like to log an objection--"
    "Do I look like I give a damn about your `objection',
mister?!? Turn around and say you're sorry, or I'll give you
something to be sorry about!"
    Holdin turned to O'Neill, sufficiently scared by Ford's
outburst. He took a deep breath. "I'm-- _sorry_. Lieutenant,"
he said, every word a blow to his pride that Ford knew would
last longer than any of his threatened punishments.
    O'Neill nodded, and Ford thought he caught a glimmer of
understanding in his friend's eyes. "See that you don't do it
again, _Ensign_."
    "Now," Ford broke in, "Get the hell out."
    Holding quickly vacated the area he had been standing in.
    As the door shut, Ford turned to O'Neill. The facade of anger
that he had used against Holdin stayed a few seconds longer than he'd
have preferred, leading him to wonder if it had been as intentional and
controlled as he'd wanted it to be,
    He forced it away and grinned,  "And that," he said, "should
be the last we hear out of Mr. Holdin for the remainder of his
tour of duty."
    O'Neill smiled back. "Thanks," he said.
    Ford glanced back to the door. Now that he'd managed to
work out his fury at the situation on Holdin, he found himself
feeling empty. He shook his head, not quite knowing what else to
do.
    Only one question filled the void. ""Have we found anything
yet?"
    O'Neill shook his head, indulging Ford in his worries for
the moment. "No," he sighed. "I've got the WSKRS out on maximum,
and Darwin's been out twice. None of the spectres have found
anything worth mentioning."
    Ford sank back into his seat, the emptiness being quickly
filled by distress. "They've got to be--"
    His PAL chirped.
    He yanked it out of his pocket so fast that he was surprised
he didn't rip the fabric. "Ford here."
    "Sir," came someone's voice from the other end. He rushed
to place it, but gave up when the name didn't surface
immediately. "We found something."
    Ford didn't bother to contain his excitement-- fear?-- as he
vaulted over the conference table and ran out the door at top
speed. He could hear O'Neill close behind him. He screamed at
himself to slow down. Being out-of-breath on the bridge wouldn't
help anyone, and he didn't even know-- for _sure_-- that whatever
the bridge had found had anything to do with the recovery of the
rescue team.
    For some reason, though, those arguments didn't do much to
slow the pounding in his chest, or the sudden rebirth of
something he's been afraid he'd lost.
    He burst onto the bridge and approached the sensor console.
"Mr. Schiller, what did you find?"
    The junior lieutenant indicated his display monitor. "WSKRS
just picked up a blip on sonar. It looks like a type six escape
shuttle, frequently used in hauler-class ships to make emergency--"
    Ford cut him off. He whirled around, and O'Neill had
already resumed his post at helm. "Transmit the coordinates to
the helm," he ordered. "Top speed."
    O'Neill nodded. "Top speed, sir."
    Only then did Ford notice that O'Neill seemed a little less
than chipper. Within seconds, he realized why. "You're not
supposed to be on duty, O'Neill!"
    O'Neill looked up at him. "Sir?"
    "This is the Alpha shift! You were reassigned to Beta last
month!"
    "And?"
    And Ford didn't have the time to press the point. If Lonnie
and Lucas and Hudson were out there, presumably with Morse, he
had too much to worry about without wondering why O'Neill had a
sudden, unexplained urge to be on the bridge.


===========================  PART 14  =====================================


Well all, this weekend I'm heading out of town for a month and because I'd
like to return to a mailbox without any flames for not having posted all of
LTW, here's Chapter 14. Everything should be posted by the time I leave,
unless something awful happens. ;)
As usual, all comments to UEO Krieg@aol.com. For the record, Jennifer did
give me permission to post this, Universal/NBC are not aware of this story as
far as I know and I humbly bow down to them and point the finger to Jennifer
if they come looking for a victim to sue...
-Krieg


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Louder Than Words
Chapter 14
Jennifer Bradley


    As Oliver left them in the cockpit, Morse was intensely
aware of the strained silence that fell over the room. *Can you
blame her if she doesn't want to talk?* she asked herself. After
all, even if she had been operating under Bridger's orders,
Henderson was the one who had been on the receiving end of those 
syringes. 
    "I'm sorry."  She said it softly as she checked for
thermoclines.
    Henderson looked up from her console, somewhat ruefully.
She obviously hadn't expected for Morse to speak to her. "Oh."
    "I know it probably doesn't mean much to you, but Nath--
Bridger had me backed into a corner. I didn't have any choice."
*And I never wanted to hurt anyone.*
    As she glanced towards Henderson out of the corner of her
eye, she could see that the Lieutenant was having a difficult 
time keeping herself from blowing up. "I don't believe in
predetermination," Henderson told her, her tone only a few
degrees above freezing. "Everyone has their own free will."
    *Not always.*  Morse took a deep breath. She had
apologized, and if Henderson wasn't going to accept her apology, 
there was nothing else she could do. "Personal feelings aside,
Oliver has made a decision regarding Bridger."
    Henderson's outer composure flickered for a fraction of a
second, letting Morse know just how upset she really was. "What
would that be?"
    "His involvement isn't going to be reported."
    The sigh that escaped Henderson's lips was one that Morse
couldn't interpret. Was Henderson relieved that Bridger's name
was going to remain untarnished-- *for now--* or upset that he 
wasn't going to pay for his actions?
    That was when Morse realized the other result of Hudson's
decision.
    She wasn't going to be implicated either. He was going to
protect her. *Damn you, Oliver.*  Now she knew-- at least
partially - why Henderson seemed mildly upset. *Why do you
always do this?*
    She didn't want his protection anymore. She hadn't ever
wanted it in the first place.
    But he wasn't giving her much of a choice.

                             * * * * *

    "Ensign?"
    Lucas recognized the voice, even through his confusion.
Hudson. For a moment, his mood brightened. Hudson had promised
to bring back Bridger. Hudson wouldn't break his promise.
    "Captain? Is that you?"  He couldn't turn over, because of
his wound. Even though Lonnie had tried to patch it up with the
medkit, it still hurt like hell.
    *Bridger's the one who--*
    Thankfully, Hudson interrupted the unwelcome thought.
"Yes...it's me. Is something wrong?"
    If someone had asked Lucas later how he had known that
something was amiss, he wouldn't have been able to tell them.
But the tone of Hudson's voice set off alarm klaxons inside his
head. Something was horribly, terribly wrong.
    "Where's Captain Bridger?"  His voice was trembling, right
along with the rest of him. He knew that Hudson would be able to
read his emotional condition-- poor as it was-- like a book.
    At Hudson's hesitation, Lucas felt the knot in his stomach
twist tight, and his throat closed over.
    *Take a deep breath,* he told himself. _Nothing_ Hudson
could tell him would be worse than what he had already been 
through. Nothing _could_ be worse than losing Bridger.
    He didn't know how wrong he was.
    Hudson stood up a little straighter, held his hands clasped
behind his back, and looked straight ahead. Lucas couldn't
breathe. He had seen Hudson like this before: *when Lieutenant
Brody died...*
    He had to shut his eyes. *This just isn't my day.*
    "I can't think of any way to break this gently."
    *Oh God...it's bad news.*
    "I'm just going to come out and say it."
    *What could be worse than losing--*
    "By the time I got back to him--"
    *Stop! Don't tell me! It's not real until you tell me!*
    "He had killed himself."
    *No!*
    Lucas had known what Hudson was going to tell him. He had
to have known. But that still didn't mean that he had to accept
it.
    Bridger wasn't dead. Bridger _couldn't_ be dead. Bridger
was one of those people who had been around since the universe 
began. Lucas had always thought that he would be around until it 
ended.
    "He...he what?"  Maybe he had heard wrong. Hudson would
tell him that he had heard wrong. That was the only answer left
that made any sense.
    "He's dead."
    *He's not dead! He wouldn't kill himself!*  He shut his
eyes. "He wouldn't do that to me."  His voice was soft, barely a 
whisper, and he wasn't even sure that he had said it out loud.
    He felt a hand on his shoulder. Bridger? A faint spark of
hope began to burn, deep inside his chest. It went out. This
wasn't Bridger. It was Hudson. Trying to reassure his in the
same way that Bridger had done. Trying to reassure him against
lies. They had to be lies. Hudson was lying to him.
    "Don't touch me!"  Despite the dull ache in his shoulder and
the intense one in his heart, he still managed to bat Hudson's 
hand away. He didn't want to get close to anyone. Not ever
again. Not after what Bridger had done to him.
    *Never, ever again.*
    "I'm so sorry."
    Lucas could almost hear some sort of hidden meaning in
Hudson's voice, but he couldn't be sure. And he didn't want to
try and figure it out.
    "He was unstable, sure. But not like that..."  *But he was.
Or he could have been.*  Nothing was for certain anymore.
    "He thought you were dead. That he had killed you. It
pushed him over the edge."
    *This isn't happening. It _can't_ be happening. Not to
_me_. Not to _him_.*  There was only one answer, and Hudson was 
the only one to whom it could be directed.
    "You're lying!"  He could see by Hudson's expression that he
was hurting his feelings, but he didn't care. *Feelings don't
count much when your world is crashing to pieces.*  Hudson was 
lying to him. It was the only answer.
    *But what if he's telling the truth?*
    "You've gotta be--"
    *It _could_ be the truth.*
    No. It was an impossible lie. It couldn't be the truth.
    *Nothing's impossible.*
    He didn't care if Henderson and Morse could hear him. He
didn't care what Hudson thought. He lost control.
    "That's a lie! You're lying! You--"
    But that was all he could say before he burst into tears.
He didn't care anymore. So what if he fell apart? No one gave a
damn, anyway. He had thought that Bridger did, but if he had
killed himself, when he _knew_ that Lucas would make Hudson go 
back...make Hudson save his life...
    *Life's a bitch. Bridger knew that. He gave up on life.*
    He didn't want to face the truth. It _had_ to be the truth.
_No one_ would lie to him like that...
    He felt himself curling up on the bed, tucking his knees up
into his chest. He hugged them tightly, tears falling freely
down his face. He knew that he was crying, hard, and that Hudson
could see it.
    *Who cares?*
    He buried his face in his arms. Hudson put an arm around
him, and this time, Lucas didn't push it away.
    He cried for a long time before falling asleep.


===========================  PART 15  =====================================


This is the first part of four I'm sending out tonight. Sorry to clog the
list like this, but I'm not sure if I'll be on again before I leave and want
to make sure this has all been sent to the list.
As usual, all comments to UEO Krieg@aol.com.
-Krieg
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Louder Than Words
Chapter 15
Jennifer Bradley


    Burke was just finishing her meal when, to her surprise,
Warrant Officer Piccolo walked up next to her.
    "Hi, Doctor," he said without preamble. "Mind if I sit
down?"
    Burke shrugged noncommitally. "Sure."
    He sat down quickly. "So, I guess I'm the one you're
sharin' the pot with, huh?"
    "I guess so."  She had to hand it to him, this was the first
time she'd heard _that_ opening line.
    He stared silently at her for several seconds. It was very
disconcerting. "Is something wrong, Mr. Piccolo?"  Burke had
thought that she'd looked all right when she'd left her quarters, 
but...
    "No."  Piccolo continued to stare.
    "Then why are you staring?"  Burke thought that she might
have an answer to that, but she wanted to make sure. While she'd
been hit on before, it had never happened aboard the _seaQuest_.
At least not to her.
    "Well..." Piccolo finally looked away, doing a good
impression of being bashful,  "It's just that I'm not used to 
bein' so close to somebody like you."
    *Heard _that_ one before though._  "Really?" she asked,
mock-incredulously,  "That's not what _I've_ heard."
    "Well, uh--"
    "Actually," Burke continued, "From what I've heard, you seem
to be close to a lot of women."
    Piccolo's cheeks turned slightly red. "Look, I can--"
    "In fact," Burke persisted,  "I hear that you're quite the
ladies man around here."  She chuckled. "No one seems to be able
to compete with you."
    A shadow crossed Piccolo's face for a bare instant. "Yeah.
I... uh, learned from the best."  
    As Burke tried to figure out exactly what Piccolo meant by
that remark, he took a deep breath and seemed to break out of 
whatever mood he'd fallen into. "Anyway, I dunno about _that_,
Doctor, but, hey,"  He spread his arms wide with cheerful 
helplessness, "I can't help it if I'm irresistible!"
    Burke laughed lightly. Piccolo was a very attractive man,
in a boyish sort of way. As for certain other features, well,
she'd be lying if she said that she wasn't interested in some of 
his more..._unique_ talents. "Well," she said, mock-sorrowfully,
"Since so many women are lusting after you, Mr. Piccolo, I doubt 
you'll have time for anymore."  She shrugged. "Too bad."
    "Actually, Doctor, I _think_ I may be able to make some time
for you."  He grinned. "Say...maybe during our next leave?
We're s'posed to have some after we find everybody."
    Burke felt her emerald eyes narrow in confusion. "But, I
thought they were--"
    "They're _not dead_, " Piccolo said vehemently.
    "But," Burke tried again, "Didn't Captain Bridger say--"
    "He was wrong."
    She gave up. First off, they had strayed onto a depressing
topic. Also, she didn't want to do anything to hurt her chances
with Piccolo. "I hope you're right," she said warmly.
    "So'm I," he muttered.
    Burke was struck by the depth of emotion that Piccolo was
exhibiting. She'd never realized that he could care so much
about anything, or any_one_. While, she'd barely met the man,
she considered herself a good judge of character. She'd
originally thought him somewhat callous, even selfish, but now, 
she saw what a caring person he truly was.
    It interested her.
    "About our next leave..." she trailed off suggestively.
    "Yeah?"
    She smiled. "I'd love to."
    He grinned. "Great!"
    "It's in New Cape Quest, right?"
    He nodded. "I think so."
    "Good," she said, eyes sparkling. "'Cause I know about this
place..."  And she went on to describe, in intimate detail,
_exactly_ what there was to do at the facility.
    As she spoke, Piccolo's large, dark eyes became steadily
larger.
    "How does _that_ sound?" Burke asked as she finished.
    He shook his head. "I dunno. I haven't been to an
amusement park since I was a kid!"  He grinned. "Sounds like
fun, Doctor."
    "It'll be even more fun, if you dropped the title," she told
him. "Call me--"
    "Meredith. I know."  He shrugged at her surprised look. "I
checked. You can--"
    "I know, Tony," Burke replied, grinning. "I checked, too."
As she looked up at him, she caught a glance at the time. "And,
speaking of checking things, I've gotta go check on an
appendectomy patient."  She stood. "I'm looking forward to our
date. Thanks."
    "Yeah," he said, standing as well. "I'll talk to you later,
we can set everythin' up."
    She smiled seductively at him. "_Everything_."  She walked
by him while he blushed slightly, yet still looked pleased. "See
you later," she called over her shoulder.
    Walking down to the medbay, Burke grinned. It had been
awhile since her last date. A _long_ while.
    She felt that she could even deal with Perry in a mood as
good as the one she was in.

                             * * * * *

    Hudson headed forward to the cockpit area. Lucas was still
sleeping deeply.
    *After what I told him, it's probably a blessing.*
    "Elaine," he said as he entered. "Would you go and look after
him for a few minutes?"  Hudson wanted a chance to explain
exactly why he was doing what he was doing.
    "Sure," she said, as she got up and left. As usual, Elaine
seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. Hudson had almost
forgotten how annoying it could be.
    "Sir, did you want to speak with me?"  Henderson was polite,
as always, but there was a hard edge to her voice.
    "Lieutenant, I..." he trailed off uncertainly. Hudson had
never been very good at this sort of thing. "I want you to know
that I'm not doing this as a slight to you. Now, don't try to
deny it," he said as she started to protest. "I'd feel the same
way. It's just that I can't protect Bridger without protecting 
Elaine. She's perfectly willing to pay for what she did to us, 
but I can't bring her up on charges without naming her employer."  
Hudson took a deep breath. "Unless you'd rather I don't protect
him."
    Henderson looked down at the console. "Sir, normally I'd
say that you _shouldn't_ protect Captain Bridger-- if only so 
that he'd receive help."  She looked pointedly towards the stern 
of the ship. "But I don't want Lucas to have to have to face what 
would happen. He's been through too much as it is."
    As she turned her attention back to the controls, Hudson
stared out into the dark ocean. *Could I have held up as well as
Lucas did?*  Hudson truly didn't know. He'd have liked to think
that he'd have been able to take everything without so much as 
blinking.
    *Too bad it's not true.*
    Hudson got up and returned to the stern of the small ship,
trying to escape from his melancholy thoughts.

                             * * * * *

    As Ford all but sprinted down the corridors, he realized
that he was _not_ acting in the manner of a proper leader.
However, he realized a moment later, he didn't give a damn.
    Finally he arrived at the bay. An unfamiliar shuttle was
sitting there, it's hatches still closed. Dr. Perry and her team
rushed in, complete with a stretcher and most of the medbay's 
portable equipment. At first, Ford barely noticed them, then he
realized what must have happened; the bridge must have informed 
them of an injury. A _serious_ injury, by the look of things.
Ford didn't know who or what, though.
    "I don't know, sir," he was told. "All I was told was that
there was an injury, possibly serious."  Perry shrugged. "The
bridge said that the communication came from old broken-down 
equipment."
    Finally, Ford saw the shuttle's main hatch open. A single
figure came out. As Ford started toward them, he was finally able
to identify the person.
    Elaine Morse, he realized. *She doesn't look badly
injured.*
    She turned toward the medteam. "Well, get over here! We've
got an injury!"
    Ford let the medteam pass him, as he walked over near the
hatch. *Lonnie has a better chance if the professionals take
care of her-- if she's even the one who's wounded.*  He could see 
Hudson disembark from the shuttle, two medtechs helping him.
*There. See? You were worried for nothing. It's not even that
serious.* Ford had all but stopped worrying.
    Until the rest of the medteam came out, crowded around the
stretcher.
    *Oh no,* Ford thought as he moved closer to try to see just
how bad it was. Even though Henderson had said she wanted to
cool down their relationship, Ford knew that if she died, he'd 
likely follow. With his heart in his throat, Ford looked down at 
the prone body.
    His first reaction was that he felt incredibly relieved that
it wasn't her. 
    Then, when his brain came up to speed, a wave of horror ran
through him.
    Ford's reaction mirrored what Hudson felt. "Oh my God...
Lucas..."  Ford sounded like he was the one who'd been
shot.
    As they looked on in horror, an alarm rang. Perry looked
over at Burke and the rest of the medteam. "He's gone into
cardiac arrest! Ten c.c.s epinephrine, stat!"
    Though she rammed the hypo into Lucas' chest immediately,
there was no response. His EKG was flat.
    Lucas was dead.
    Hudson could feel tears prick the corners of his eyes, but
refused to let them fall. He barely succeeded. However,
Henderson's cheeks were streaked with tears, and Ford's eyes were
moist.
    "Not again," Hudson murmured. He saw Ford turn slightly but
didn't care. *I've let it happen again.*
    "Defibrilators, respirator stat!" Perry ordered. Burke
immediately handed them to her, and she put them in place. 
"Clear!"
    Lucas' body jerked violently as the electric shock ran
through him. "No pulse," Burke called. "No pressure."  She
replaced the respirator and put the defibrilators back into their
chargers. "Charged!" Burke said, after too long.
    "Clear," Perry ordered, placing the paddles over Lucas'
heart. She activated them, but the boy's pulse remained flat.
    Hudson looked around at the assembled officers. He saw the
fear and confusion on their faces, and in their eyes. Hudson
said a silent thanks that Bridger wasn't present. The insane man
probably would've killed himself right then and there, managing
to take several of the crew with him.
    "No response," Burke said, having just tried to shock his
heart a third time.
    "It's no use," Perry said to Burke. "He's gone."
    Hudson heard Henderson start crying in earnest, and saw the
tears that Ford had held in check start to flow.
    "Wait," Burke said. "What if we take the paddles up to
maximum?"
    Perry looked at her as though she'd gone crazy. "That would
kill him for sure!"
    "He's dead already!"
    "Dr. Perry, Dr. Burke," Hudson broke in. Both doctors
looked up at him. "Do what you think is best."
    Perry gestured to Burke. "Fine, Meridith, go ahead. It
won't make a difference."
    Burke nodded and turned to the medtech beside her. "Okay,
charge it up."
    The tech nodded. "Charged, ma'am."
    Burke took the paddles from the tech and laid them on Lucas'
chest. "Clear!"  She took a deep breath, and turned on the
machine.
    Hudson could see Henderson cross her fingers behind her
back, as Burke hit the switch. Lucas' body jumped again.
    "Nothing," Perry said, an I-told-you-so note in her voice.
    Hudson refused to believe that Lucas was dead. *He _can't_
die! Not like this, shot by the man who had been like his father
for years...*
    "Again," Burke ordered.
    *Come on, Lucas,* Hudson thought. *Fight!*
    "Charging," the tech said. A moment later, "Charged!"
    "Clear," Burke said. She pressed the paddles onto Lucas'
chest, and activated them. Another jolt ran through the boy's
body.
    *Beep...Beep...Beep...* "He's got a pulse!"  The tech
listened for a moment. "It's weak, but definitely there."
    Hudson breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't realized
that he'd been holding.
    "Respiration steady," the tech reported.
    Burke looked to Perry. "Can we move him to the medbay,
Doctor?"
    Perry nodded. "Get him prepped for surgery. And by the
way," Perry smiled slightly. "Nice work."
    Burke smiled back as the rest of the medteam carefully
picked Lucas up and started carrying him to the medbay.
    "I'll be along in a few minutes," Perry continued. She
looked directly at Hudson. "I need to talk to the captain."
    Hudson knew that he would _not_ enjoy the conversation. He
turned to Morse, thinking that this might be a good time to make
a hasty retreat. But Perry grabbed him by the sleeve and stopped
him, turning him around to face her. "I still have one question.
It looks like he's been shot."  Perry looked puzzled. "How did
_that_ happen?"
    Morse answered, although it had been addressed to Hudson.
"My computer had picked up a virus. It caused my anti-intruder
defense system to activate. One of them fired a shot at Oliver.
He would've been killed if Ensign Wolenczak hadn't jumped in 
front of it."
    Ford watched them leave, almost feeling guilty at the relief
he felt that Lonnie was okay. Or at least, she looked it. He
was walking towards her before he had made a conscious decision 
to do so. "Are you okay?"
    "Fine," Hudson answered, having overheard. "Thanks for
caring."
    *He knew damn well who I was talking to.*  Ford nodded in
greeting to Hudson. Morse walked up and put her hand lightly on
Hudson's shoulder. His _injured_ shoulder, Ford realized,
judging by the captain's slight gasp of pain.
    "I'm _so_ sorry. Did I hurt you?"  Were it not for the
mischievous glint in her eyes, Ford might have believed that 
Morse was sincere.
    "Yes," Hudson replied, through gritted teeth.
    "Sorry."
    "I'll bet you are."  It was said under his breath, but those
around him could hear Hudson's comment just fine.
    "Oliver, my hand hurts, and you know my sense of direction."
Morse was clearly trying to get Hudson to the medbay, probably to
have his shoulder treated. Ford seconded the motion, but knew
better than to get involved in one of the captain's famous
battles with his ex-fiance.
    "In a minute."  Hudson seemed to want to stay. *Probably to
see how Lonnie and I greet each other.*  Hudson had always been
interested in their relationship, and had been none too pleased
when they had decided to slow things down.
    "Now!"
    Ford expected an angry outburst from Hudson. _No one_
ordered Captain Oliver Hudson around.
    Therefore, Ford was extremely surprised when Hudson sighed
in exasperation. "Yes, dear."  Hudson and Morse walked out in
the direction of the medbay together. *They make a cute couple,*
he found himself thinking.
    A quietly cleared throat made Ford turn slightly. He found
himself gazing into the warm brown depths of Henderson's eyes.
    "Hi," she said shyly, as though uncertain as to how to
proceed. Ford was so full of emotion, that he couldn't even
speak. "What's wrong?"
    It had been so long, and he'd been so worried...he didn't
care how forward he was being. He let his actions speak for
him, and kissed her passionately. After a moment of shocked
stiffness, she responded.
    When they finally broke apart, they were slightly out of
breath. "What was that for?"
    *Because I've spent the past few days convinced that I'd
never see you again. Because I thought I'd never be able to
touch you again. Because I love you more than I ever thought
possible. Because I love you more than life itself.*  It all
remained unsaid.
    "Do I really need a reason?"
    She pulled the key to the locket he'd given her from her
pocket. "Not with this you don't."  She looked down slightly.
"I wish that I had given it to you earlier."  She looked up,
directly into his eyes. "If there's one thing that all of this
has taught me, it's that no one is ready for love. _Any_ kind of
love. But when it comes, you should reach out and grab it. Once
it's gone--" she shuddered. "It can be horrible. So, if you're
still willing...?"
    "Of course I'm still willing. You know how I feel. We'll
take it as slow as you want. I love you! If anything ever
happened to you, if anyone ever took you from me, I'd--"  He cut 
himself off as she collapsed into his arms. *What did I say that
could've upset her like this?*  "You're safe now, Lonnie. That's
all that matters."  Ford held her close, softly stroking her 
hair. *Something's very wrong here.*  "Is there something you're 
not telling me?"
    "Yeah."  She seemed to be considering what to say. "Shut up
and kiss me," she commanded.
    That was an order Ford was only too happy to follow.
Enthusiastically.



===========================  PART 16  =====================================

All comments to UEO Krieg@aol.com.
And remember the messenger (or poster in this case) is the innocent middle
man...;)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Louder Than Words
Chapter 16
Jennifer Bradley

    His shoulder hurt. Hudson knew that, of course, Lucas had
taken precedence, and he'd insisted that Morse be taken care of 
first, even though she'd argued. 
    But it still hurt.
    Eventually, Dr. Dan Fox, another new arrival to _seaQuest_'s
medical staff, came around from behind a partition, closely 
followed by Morse. Fox spoke to her in low tones, then nodded a
farewell. Morse glanced over at Hudson, as she passed near, and
he half-raised a hand to wave good-bye.
    Once she left, Hudson grimaced as the pain from that one,
simple motion caused agony to sear its way through his body.
    "I guess that'll teach you to annoy a ship with an attitude
problem, eh, Captain?"  
    Hudson glared at the young doctor. "Is Ela--" Hudson
managed to catch himself. "_Ms. Morse_, all right?"
    Fox shrugged. "She's okay, Captain. Just a busted wrist.
Nothing serious. _You_, on the other hand, seem a bit worse for
wear."  He performed a quick exam of Hudson's shoulder. "Looks
like you cracked your collarbone."
    Hudson nodded, knowing as much.
    "Hmm..." Fox's hazel-green eyes narrowed as he looked at
what some of his read-outs said. "Sir, this break looks like it
was caused by an impact of some sort. It's a stress fracture."
Fox looked up at Hudson. "How did _that_ happen?"
    *A lunatic hit me.*  The pain was still a fresh memory.
    Even fresher was the memory of Lucas' blood, soaking into
his shirt...
    "Did you fall or something?" Fox asked.
    "Not exactly," Hudson said. While as good at bluffing as
anyone, he'd never liked lying outright. Fortunately, Morse had
gotten the ball rolling for him. "Uh, when Ensign Wolenczak
intercepted that shot, he knocked me down, then fell on top of
me." Hudson glanced over at the door to the O.R. "How is he,
by the way?"
    Fox shrugged, but a worried look crossed his face for a bare
instant. "No way to tell, really," he said, continuing to work
on Hudson. "The charge penetrated his lung, and came very close
to hitting the heart. Also, he lost a great deal of blood.
Plus, he'd gone into shock."
    "But he _is_ still alive?" Hudson asked.
    Fox nodded. "Yes, and, he's young, and, well, he was
healthy, so, those are marks in his favor."
    Fox didn't sound too confidant, though.
    Hudson could sympathize. "What are his chances?" he asked
almost dreading the answer.
    "The same as always, Captain. The same as yours is."  Fox
shrugged. "The same as mine is."
    Hudson was starting to feel confused. "Excuse me?"
    Fox half-grinned. "Fifty-fifty, Captain. He'll either make
it, or he won't."
    Hudson looked the younger man right in the eyes. "Which do
you think will happen?"
    "I don't know."
    Hudson sighed and left.

                             * * * * *

    There was red everywhere.
    Burke _hated_ that color.
    Especially when it meant that she was close to losing a
patient.
    The boy's chest was open, its torn state a testament to what
he'd been through. His heart was visibly laboring, his exposed
veins a mess. It had been miraculous that he hadn't died
earlier, in the shuttle bay.
    Now, he needed another miracle to survive the surgery.
    The charge had managed to miss his heart, by centimeters,
but it had caught him in the lung, and nicked several veins.
Under normal circimstances, dangerous certainly. Under
_ab_normal ones, it was even worse.
    These were _not_ normal circumstances.
    The blood loss had weakened him, the shock nearly killed
him. Had they been closer...
    *Stop,* Burke ordered herself. *There was nothing to be
done, and you know it.*  One of the first lessons they taught in 
medical school was that you can't save everybody.
    It still hurt though.
    But a scarlet fountain spurting from Wolenczak's chest cut
off her thoughts. "Damn!" she cried. "He's sprung a bleeder!"
She turned to Perry. "Doctor, should I--"
    But Perry had other problems. Yet another crimson jet
spurted in Wolenczak's lungs. "Handle it, Burke, then get over
here and help me with this one!"
    Burke nodded. "Yes, Doctor. Kate," she said turning to
Williams, "Clamp!"
    Williams grabbed the device and placed it near where the
blood spurted. "Got it," she reported.
    Burke grabbed her laser and got to sealing the vein.
Fortunately, the hole, while it allowed blood to pour from it, 
was relatively small. Still, it might have been several seconds,
minutes, or even hours before she finished. "Kate," she
instructed, never taking her eyes off of the newly-repaired blood 
vessel, "Keep an eye on this vein. If so much as a drop escapes-
-"
    Williams nodded. "Got it. I think you should help Dr.
Perry now, don't you?"
    Burke looked over and saw that Perry was stil trying to tie
off the pulmonary lacerations. "Right," she said, flashing
Williams a tired smile. Burke moved over, and tried to control
her anxiety. She had never done anything involving the lungs
before. 
    At least, not on a _live_ patient.
    "Uh, Doctor..." Burke said, voice trembling slightly, "What
should I do?"
    Perry turned slightly. "Haven't you ever done this before?"
she asked in amazement.
    Burke shook her head. "Only in post-mortems," she admitted.
    "Great," Perry muttered. "Just..." Perry shrugged as best
as she could, considering that she was wrist deep in Wolenczak's 
chest. "Just follow my lead."
    Burke nodded.
    "And get Williams over here to help, damn it!"
    "But, she's watching the vein I just--"
    Perry cut her off. "If we don't get _this_ vein sealed,
that other one won't make a big deal. He'll be dead anyway! Now
get her over here!"
    "Yes, Doctor."  Burke signaled Williams to come over to help
them.
    Williams hurried over. "Yes, Doctors?"
    Burke suddenly realized that Williams' grammar and
pronunciation improved dramatically in the O.R. She wondered
why.
    "I want you to help Burke on that side," Perry said,
pointing to the less damaged side-- though, in truth, neither 
side was in good shape-- of the most damaged vein in the boy's 
chest. "I'll take this side."
    "Yes, Doctor," both Burke and Williams said at the same
time.
    "So, " Williams whispered,  "How are you holdin' up?"
    "Okay, I s'pose," Burke whispered back. "Can I ask you
something?" 
    "Sure," Williams answered, handing Burke the laser.
    "You ever done this before?"
    "Kinda. A few months ago I was working in the medbay. That
was the last time we had an emergency like this. It... didn't
turn out so well."  Williams looked down. "I'd rather not talk
about it, if you don't mind."
    Burke nodded, surprised at the odd tone in her friend's
voice. She couldn't quite place it... but, she really had more 
important things to keep track of.
    Like the fact that she was done.
    Burke couldn't believe it. Perry wasn't even two-thirds
done, yet, Burke was finished. And there were no bleeders.
_None_.
    "Burke!"
    She looked up at the sound of Perry calling her name.
"Yes?"
    "If you're through, close up. I'm just about done."  Even
as she spoke, Perry finished sealing the vein.
    Closing up Wolenczak's chest took only minutes. There
wouldn't even be much of a scar.
    As they stripped off their gear, Williams came up to Burke,
smiling. "Great job, Meredith."
    "Thanks, Kate. See you later?"  Williams had been off-shift
when the crisis had occurred, and still wasn't expected back in 
the medbay until the next day.
    Williams nodded and yawned. "Yeah, if I can _make_ it back
to our quarters."  She left with an acknowledging nod to Perry.
    There were a few moments of silence.
    Then Perry, without turning, added her own comment. "She's
right, Burke."
    Burke felt her eyes narrow in confusion. "What?"
    "That was good work in there. For someone who'd never
worked in the lungs before, at least. You may work out okay
after all." And with that, Perry walked away.
    Burke secretly grinned. She knew that the statement was the
closest Perry would come to apologizing for their earlier
arguement. For the moment, it was enough.
    Burke went to get some sleep of her own.

                             * * * * *

    Hudson drummed his fingers on the side of the command chair.
Lucas should've been out of surgery over twenty minutes ago, by
Perry's estimates.
    Hudson could see that the rest of the bridge crew was as
worried as he was. O'Neill seemed incapable of sitting still,
and quite frankly, it was starting to get on Hudson's all ready
frayed nerves. Piccolo, at least, was sitting quietly, though
Hudson could see him sneaking glances at the time, every two 
minutes or so. Which was exactly when Hudson was glancing at it.
    "Captain?" Perry's voice came over the intercom at last.
    "Yes, Doctor?"  Hudson hoped that it was good news. After
what they'd been through in the past few days, he didn't think 
that the crew could stand anymore bad news. Not to mention the
fact that he _still_ hadn't told anyone about...
    "Ensign Wolenczak should survive, sir. He's in post-op now,
still sedated," Perry reported.
    Hudson let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been
holding. Around him, he saw that the mood had lightened
substantially. Piccolo was grinning, collapsed against the back
of his chair in relief, the same as most of the rest of the 
bridge crew. However, Hudson distinctly heard O'Neill murmuring
a prayer under his breath.
    He admired O'Neill's faith. After what he'd seen happen of
late, Hudson had privately doubted...well, everything religious 
that he'd ever been taught.
    Not that he'd been an ardent follower in the first place.
    "Thank you, Doctor," Hudson said. "That's good to hear."
*Very good.*  Hudson never would've forgiven himself if Lucas had
died.
    "He should be awake in ten to twelve hours," Perry informed
him, "If you need to talk to him."
    Hudson nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "Someone
will be there, Doctor. Thank you."  Hudson closed the channel.
    "Sir," O'Neill said, "Shouldn't someone tell Commander Ford
and Lieutenant Henderson? They'd want to know."
    Hudson nodded, repressing his irritation. He'd been just
about to do that. "Commander Ford," he said, pressing the button
to the intercom.
    There was no response.
    Hudson looked over at O'Neill. "Is the signal going through
to his quarters?"  Ford was taking a few shifts off, to recover 
from the long nights he'd put in while _seaQuest_ had been 
searching for them.
    O'Neill nodded. "Yes, sir. The board says that it's going
through fine."
    "Then what's the problem?" Hudson asked, some of his
annoyance escaping it's bonds and leaking into his voice.
    "I don't know, sir," O'Neill admitted. "He might be
asleep."
    Hudson considered that. If so, he'd hate to wake the
exhausted man up. But if he wasn't told immediately, Ford would
never forgive him. "Commander Ford," Hudson tried again, "Please
respond."
    A breathless voice answered. "Ford...here...sir."
    Hudson's brow furrowed. Ford was supposed to have been
resting, not working out. "Commander, where are you?"
    "In my quarters, sir," Ford answered, having apparently
caught his breath. His tone was still somewhat odd, though.
    "I'm sorry to have interrupted your sleep--" Hudson started,
thinking that perhaps he'd caught Ford as he was waking up from a 
nightmare. That would explain the man's shakiness.
    "Uh... That's okay, sir," Ford broke in. "I was up."
    Hudson began to get some idea of _exactly_ what his XO had
been in the middle of. "In any case, I just wanted to tell you
that Dr. Perry just called. Ensign Wolenczak is out of surgery.
He is expected to make a full recovery."
    Hudson could practically see Ford grinning. "That's
_great_, sir. Thanks."
    "You're welcome, Commander."  Though he knew that it was
cruel, Hudson continued. "By the way," he said, twisting the
knife, "I was going to inform Lieutenant Henderson as well.
Would you happen to know where she is?"
    Everyone on the bridge grinned as Ford answered. "Uh,
actually, sir," he said quickly-- _too_ quickly, "I'll take care
of her."
    "Really, Commander, it's no problem for me to call her,"
Hudson said, a grin lighting up his face. "And I don't want you
to go to any trouble. After all, you're supposed to be
_resting_."
    "Yes, sir," Ford said. "In fact, if it's all right with you
sir, I'd like to get back to bed."
    "I'll bet," Hudson heard Piccolo mutter.
    "Of course, Commander. Good night."
    "Good night, sir."  The contact was quickly terminated.
    The bridge erupted into laughter soon afterward.


===========================  PART 17  =====================================

All comments: UEO Krieg@aol.com
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Louder Than Words
Chapter 17
Jennifer Bradley

    Emptiness. Cold, dark emptiness. It was all that Lucas had
felt since he'd woken up in the Medbay.
    Morse had been there, waiting. She had apologized so many
times, yet he hadn't been able to reply. Even though the
overwhelming numbness, he had still been angry. Angry at Morse,
angry at Hudson, angry at Bridger, and angry at himself.
    He should have seen something like this happening. Forget
the fact that he hadn't even spoken to Bridger for months. He
should have known better than to let his friend go berserk 
without noticing. There had to have been signs of it. Going
insane couldn't be like the break of a twig, one second fine and 
the next...well...not. It was a gradual process. It had to be.
Lucas should have seen it coming. Seen it coming, and stopped
it.
    And when he thought about the last words he'd said, calling
Bridger a monster... Sometimes the worst monsters were those
that you had to live with for the rest of your life. How his
words must have affected the captain, must have torn him apart as 
though Lucas had actually, physically harmed him...
    He had shrugged Morse off, like he had Hudson, and left
without waiting for Perry's approval.
    Later, when Henderson had come to his quarters, he'd tried
to make her understand why he couldn't explain. She hadn't. He
hadn't been able to force himself to tell her the truth. Even
thinking about what Hudson had told him made him feel ill. After
she'd gone, he had sat on his bed with the lights out. The eerie
glow from the aquatubes had cast a blue-green mist over the 
interior of his room. Darwin had swam by, hovering near his
head, and Lucas had left. Darwin was someone he couldn't bring
himself to face right now, and he wasn't even a person.
    He found himself wandering the ship, remembering with
bittersweet fondness the two years that he and Bridger had spent 
building it. The hours he'd stayed awake, into the early
morning, with Bridger hovering over his shoulder as he worked to 
perfect a last line of programming code of programming code or a 
final macro sequence. Now, those memories seemed far-away, like
he was looking at them through someone else's eyes. Someone who
hadn't been through what he had in the past couple of days. He
couldn't look at the memories like he'd used to. Not anymore.
Now, they were his only link to the past-- a past where he'd had 
someone to look up to-- someone whose footsteps he could follow 
in.
    Now, all he had were the memories.
    Back in his quarters, he knew he had things that would
distract him. His antique stereo, the old, palm-sized CDs, his
computers, all of it would take his mind off what he was 
thinking. Part of him would have given anything for that kind of 
release. But the other part of him must have been masochistic in 
nature, because even though it hurt like all hell to face up to 
his feelings, he didn't want to let go of them. Not yet. As far
as he knew, maybe not ever.

                             * * * * *

    Hudson still felt awful. He had lied to Lucas-- a white
lie, to be sure, and one that Lucas had needed to hear-- but a 
lie nonetheless.
    Lucas' belief in his lie had only made it worse. Knowing
that one person had been so close to a member of his crew, a 
level of trust that he would never-- _could_ never-- achieve...
    In truth, he hadn't expected Bridger to fire either. But
Bridger had been right. They had never known each other. Hudson
had simply waltzed onto _seaQuest_ and taken over, and assumed 
that the crew would follow him as they had their old leader.
    Of course, when push came to shove, Lucas had come through.
He hadn't been willing to reject the Navy for his old commanding 
officer, which was enough to make Hudson discard any ideas of 
questioning Lucas' loyalty, but there was still a thought nagging 
at the back of his mind-- a thought that he didn't want to 
acknowledge.
    But it wormed it's way into his consciousness anyway.
    *What made him do that?*
    Why had Lucas jumped in like that? Hudson knew that his
Ensign was the type who would give his life for someone he was 
close to, but they had never been close. Most of the time, there
was a sort of strained formality between them. Almost like Lucas
was only biding his time until he could move on.
    So what had made him take that shot?
    If not to save him, then perhaps to save Bridger? From
what? From being brought up on charges? From having Hudson's
death on his head?
    There were too many questions, and not enough answers.

                             * * * * *

    Piccolo sat at the small table in his quarters, counting his
winnings.
    *What a haul!*  Almost two thousand dollars sat in front of
him. He'd been sure that O'Neill would have found a way to win.
    "Tony!"  It was O'Neill. He sounded angry. Too angry for
this to be the explosion that Piccolo had half-expected for the 
past few days. "Open up!"
    Piccolo quickly shoved the money in a drawer as the door
opened. "Hey, Tim, great fight! I really loved seein' you beat
Holdin up!" *And I'm really gonna enjoy the profits.*
    "Right, Tony. I'm sure you felt a surge of satisfaction at
the rectification of a moral wrong."
    There was something about the way O'Neill said that, the way
he had that wry half-grin on his face, the way--
    *He knows.*
    Piccolo was sure, but decided to play innocent anyway. It
never hurt. "Exactly."  And it was practically the truth.
Piccolo had been just as disgusted by the rumors as O'Neill had 
been--well, almost as disgusted.
    "Sure you did," O'Neill said sarcastically, nodding. "After
all, it's not like you could have _profited_ either way. Right?"
    "That's right. I mean, if Holdin had pounded you, it
wouldn't have made any difference to me. Other than the fact
that he'd just injured a friend, of course."  Piccolo tried to 
look innocent, not an easy task. *Especially 'cause I ain't
innocent.*
    O'Neill sighed. "Tony," he said exasperated. "How much did
you bet, and how much did you win?"
    "Tim!"  Piccolo tried to feign shock, and failed. "You know
that gambling is against Navy regs which--"
    "Which you've never given a damn about."  O'Neill moved
closer to Piccolo. "Now that the Captain is back on board, I'm
sure he'd be interested in your games."
    "You wouldn't."  O'Neill couldn't, could he?
    A thoughtful expression crossed O'Neill's face as he stepped
closer to Piccolo. "What will you give me if I don't?"  O'Neill
looked pointedly at the desk.
    *Jig's up, Tony,* he told himself. He sighed in surrender.
"Ten percent."
    "Half."
    "What?!?"  Piccolo had done all of the important work,
taking bets, getting the fight organized... O'Neill had just 
actually _fought_. He made a show out of looking as though he
were considering O'Neill's proposal. "Twenty-five."
    "Sixty five."
    His jaw dropped. "Hey, uh, Tim, I hate to tell you this,
but that's not how it--"
    "Seventy."
    "Fifty."  *I can't believe this. _Tim's_ blackmailing
_me_!* 
    O'Neill considered it for a few seconds. "Fine. Fifty
percent. Oh, and, by the way, I know _exactly how much you
won_."
    *Damn.*  "Let's see, so fifty percent of fifteen hundred..."
O'Neill just looked at him. Piccolo sighed. "...Uh, of two
thousand, is, uh, a thousand, right?"  O'Neill nodded. Piccolo
opened the drawer, and counted out O'Neill's cut. "Happy now?"
    "Why wouldn't I be?" O'Neill asked as he pocketed the money.
He walked to the door. "Oh, and one more thing..."  O'Neill let
the sentence trail off.
    "Yeah?"
    "Ford already knew."
    Piccolo felt his jaw drop. Again.
    "Consider it payback for getting me in the mess in the first
place."  O'Neill smiled disarmingly as he opened the door. "See
you on the bridge," O'Neill tossed over his shoulder as he left.
    Piccolo stood staring after him for several seconds.
Piccolo had to admit it, O'Neill had gotten him good, this time.

                             * * * * *

    As he headed to the bridge, Lucas wondered if perhaps he
should have taken Hudson's offer of a few shifts off. In his
mind, he could picture the entrance to the bridge. It was just
around the corner.
    He turned the corner, and there it was. The open door. The
one that would lead him back to the real world, where he would--
    He was standing on the bridge. He saw Henderson glance up
at him, and give him a quick, warm smile. He had to concentrate
on every muscle to return it. But she wasn't the only one who
gave him an acknowledgment.
    "Lucas?"  Hudson's voice rang out as Lucas tried to get to
his station without attracting attention. Several heads turned.
Hudson _never_ called him Lucas.
    He froze like a cornered animal and slowly turned to face
his Cap-- to face _Hudson_. "Sir?"  *Please, please, _please_
don't make me talk in front of anyone.*  It was hard enough to
keep his voice from wavering on the one-syllable response. If he
had to say anything else, he'd burst into tears.
    Hudson's smile, although as well-intentioned as Henderson's
had the opposite effect. Lucas had to choke back the tears that
sprang into his throat. "Glad to see that you managed to get
here. Take your post."
    Lucas managed to nod, and then scrambled to his station in
the most dignified manner he could. He knew that he was only
attracting more attention. But he didn't really care. All he
wanted was to get to his console, bury himself in his equipment, 
and leave as soon as his relief showed up.
    He reached forwards, tapped a few keys, and within moments
felt almost normal.
    As O'Neill walked onto the bridge, he met eyes with Piccolo,
who nodded slightly.
    Then he realized why. Fredricks was walking towards him.
He hadn't expected something like this...well, maybe a little.
He wondered what she was going to say. She hadn't wanted him to
fight, at least that's what she had said, but--  "Hey O'Neill!
Got a minute?"
    He searched for his voice, finally finding it, cowering in
the corner of his brain. He forced it back to his throat, where
he could use it. "Uh...sure."
    "I wanted to do a couple of things."
    He opened his mouth to object. After all, he had bridge
duty...besides, Tony had told him that this would be the perfect 
time to ask her out. He opened his mouth, then closed it, aware
of the fact that he looked like both an idiot and a dying fish.
    But Janet didn't seem to care. She kissed him. Hard. And
when she stopped, he _definitely_ wasn't ready for it to end.
    Then he remembered where they were. Hudson was staring at
them. So was everyone else. This couldn't be good. He took a
deep breath.
    She cut him off. "That's for helping me out. Thanks."
    He started to reply, but Fredricks beat him to the punch.
Literally.
    She slapped him, and by the time he realized that fact, a
bright red, hand-shaped mark was forming on his cheek. He moved
his jaw up and down a few times, but this time, it was to try and 
restore some semblance of circulation to the overwhelmed skin.
    "And _that_, Timothy O'Neill, is for crossing the line. I
_told_ you that you didn't have to do anything."
    It hurt like hell, but he wouldn't have traded it for
anything.
    He stood, stunned, as she retreated to her station.
However, she did give him the slightest hint of a smile before 
she returned to her work. His hand rose to his cheek, where her
hand had touched his face. Where her hand had _hit_ his face.
Good Lord, but it hurt.
    Piccolo walked towards him, and grabbed him by the sleeve,
then yanked him to his station. As O'Neill let himself be shoved
into his seat, he heard Piccolo muttering. "Smooth move, Romeo."
    He didn't care. Janet had just proved to him what her true
feeling were. And he didn't mind knowing.
    Hudson watched the exchange with interest. He had never
thought that Fredricks and O'Neill would get together-- and he 
wasn't entirely sure that he approved of the developing 
relationship, but he supposed that he couldn't really monitor his 
crew like they were his children. Bridger had, of course...but
look how Bridger had turned out.
    He still couldn't completely accept that it had really been
Bridger that had done everything. The man had seemed insane--
truly and completely insane.
    Only at the end had he seemed truly aware of what he had
done.
    And Hudson had left him.
    Without so much as a glance back, he had walked away,
leaving Nathan Hale Bridger on a ship that he had no hope of 
piloting.
    *You don't know that.*  His mind was trying to rationalize
it away. *He was one of the Navy's finest. He can adapt.*
    "I was just thinking, sir..."
    Hudson looked up, startled, at Ford. His commander had been
shadowing him ever since their return, in an "I-told-you-so" type
of gesture that was more annoying than anything else.
    "Next time you see Captain Bridger, you should thank him."
    Hudson was shocked silent, which was a good thing. If he
had been able to talk, he most likely would have given away his
little "secret" concerning Bridger.
    Still, he wasn't able to completely cover his feelings.
"For what?"  He knew that he sounded incredulous, but what did he 
have to thank Bridger for, other than a broken collarbone and his 
wounded pride?
    "If it hadn't been for Captain Bridger, we never would have
known that you were in trouble, and we wouldn't have come looking 
until it was too late."
    Hudson couldn't think of an adequate response to this. How
had Bridger helped any of them? And furthermore, why the hell
would Bridger have given _seaQuest_ any type of alert that would 
make them look for the shuttle?
    "He saved your lives."  Hudson looked back up at Ford's
thoughtful face. His executive officer seemed thoroughly
convinced that what he was saying was right. "All of your
lives."
    No sooner were the words out of Ford's mouth than Hudson
caught a strangled choke, and a flurry of movement erupted in the 
corner of his eye. He jerked his head towards the source of the
disturbance, just in time to see Lucas walk briskly off the 
bridge. His station was in a state of disarray, the chair 
balancing precariously against the console, having pushed too far 
in. The lieutenant whose station was next to Lucas' reached out
and gingerly steadied it.
    Ford looked to Hudson. "Is something wrong?"
    Hudson knew _exactly_ what was wrong. But he couldn't tell
Ford what without letting the commander know that he had lied 
about what had really happened on the rescue mission. "I have no
idea," he lied, tingeing his voice with the same amount of 
annoyance that he would have shown had he been telling the truth.
"But I'm certainly going to find out."  After all, he couldn't 
let the boy roam the ship in this condition, could he? "You have
the con."
    He left as Ford nodded.

                             * * * * *

    Lucas didn't know why he'd let himself rush off the bridge.
No, actually, that was wrong. He hadn't _let_ himself do
anything. Hearing Ford talk about Bridger in present tense like 
that-- Hadn't the commander been told?
    Suddenly, he couldn't take the overwhelming grief any
longer. He barely managed to move into a side corridor before he 
broke down.
    How could Ford not know? How could the entire _crew_ not
know? How could Hudson not have--
    "Ensign," said a voice.
    It only took him a couple of seconds to place it. "Sir?"
    Hudson's stare seemed cold, somehow, even though Lucas knew
that he wasn't trying to make him uncomfortable. "How could
you?" His voice, whispering though it was, had an accusatory note 
to it. "Commander Ford, Dr. Perry-- you didn't even _tell_ them!"
    "Tell them what?"  Hudson folded his arms across his chest.
"Tell them that, after kidnapping and torturing the three of us,
Nathan Bridger completely lost whatever grip on reality he might 
have had in the first place, picked up a plasma pistol, and--"
    "Stop!" Lucas cried. He couldn't take hearing what had
happened.
    Hudson immediately fell silent. It was several moments
before he could speak. "I realize that this is difficult to
accept, but it's probably better that he _did_ kill himself."  
    Lucas was horrified. "He was right," he whispered.
    Hudson's forehead creased in confusion. "What?"
    "He was right! You _don't_ care! About anyone!"
    "Ensign," Hudson said, sounding exasperated, "Nathan Bridger
was a lunatic!"
    "Oh, I see. He was insane, because he cared about someone
so much that he was willing to do anything to help them!"
    "That's not what I meant and you know it," Hudson retorted.
"He--"
    "He _loved_ me."  Lucas cut him off. "Which is more than I
can say about anyone else around here."
    Hudson looked stunned. "He was _obsessed_ with you! With
everything about you! I know what that's like! I was obsessed
with the _seaQuest_ for years!"
    Lucas laughed bitterly. Hudson was comparing his obsession
with a _ship_ to Bridger's _love_? "You just wanted to command
her! You didn't give a damn about anyone aboard! You wouldn't
have cared if we were all _dead_, so long as you had your 
goddamned ship!"  Lucas could feel tears beginning to trickle 
down his cheeks. He angrily wiped them away. "You don't care
about _anyone_ aboard, do you?"
    Before Hudson could answer, Lucas pressed on.
    "I'm surprised that you didn't just cut and run when you had
the chance."
    Without warning, Hudson grabbed Lucas by the upper arm and
pulled him up to face him. "_Ensign_, you are _very_ close to
insubordination."
    Lucas felt the anger rise within him. He welcomed it. "Not
as close as I'm going to get," he muttered.
    And then he swung his fist as hard as he could, making
contact with Hudson's hand-- as it reached up and knocked his arm 
away. Hudson's hold on him intensified as he struggled. "Get
ahold of yourself. He's dragging you down with him!"
    "Let me go!" Lucas shouted.
    It only made Hudson's grip stronger.
    "I said: _let me go_!"
    Hudson's response was immediate. He shoved Lucas against
the wall, pinning him against the cold steel. "After what you
just pulled, your lucky I don't lock you up!"  He took a deep 
breath, set Lucas down, and took a step away.
    Lucas watched him sullenly, cautiously awaiting his next
move. "So," he said after a moment of strained silence, "What are 
you going to do to me?"
    Hudson blinked, as though he didn't understand the question.
The expression on his face turned incredulous as he realized what 
Lucas meant.
    "Ensign," Hudson began.
    "Whatever it is," Lucas cut him off angrily, "Get it over
with!"  Over the past few days, Lucas had gotten used to the fact 
that whenever he told someone the truth, he paid for it. Dearly.
He didn't care anymore. "Just get it over with," he repeated
wearily.
    He slumped to the deck, ready to receive whatever it was
that he was sure Hudson would give him. To his shock and
surprise, Hudson sat down next to him. "What is it that you
_want_ me to do?" he asked. It was the last question that Lucas
had expected. 
    "I don't know. Kill me. Or tell me off. Or tell
me that this is all a nightmare and it never really happened! Or
just..." Lucas' voice caught in his throat. "Just leave me
alone."  He couldn't say anymore. He couldn't force anything
past the lump in his throat.
    "Lucas," Hudson said gently, with the softest tone of voice
Lucas had ever heard him use, "I'm not going to do any of those 
things. I _can't_. But this is exactly why I couldn't tell the
others. Can you imagine _their_ reactions?"
    Lucas could. Ford and Piccolo would be...lost. They
wouldn't be able to understand how it had happened, and Lucas 
wouldn't have known how to explain it. Dagwood just plain
wouldn't get it. As for O'Neill...Lucas didn't even want to
_think_ about what the unshakably loyal lieutenant would do.
Lucas nodded miserably, understanding Hudson's motivations, if 
not approving of the results.
    Hudson stood up. "Ensign," he said, "I won't make this an
order, but I strongly suggest you take a few days leave."
    "But sir--"
    Hudson's expression softened. "Spend some time with the
dolphin."
    Lucas could tell that Hudson was making a half-hearted
attempt at humor, something he supposed he should appreciate.
And he tried to, he really did. But somehow, it just hit the
wrong chord. Bridger and Darwin had been friends before Lucas had 
ever known either of them. Somehow, it just didn't seem fair.
    "Yeah. Sure."  It was all he could say before he stood and
walked away, being careful to keep his back to Hudson. He had
already lost control in front of him twice. He didn't want
Hudson to see him lose it again.
    But as the tears started to fall again, he realized that it
didn't really matter anymore.
    Nothing mattered anymore.


==========================  EPILOGUE  ==================================


[In case this reaches the list before any of the other parts, a quick
warning: it comes after Chapter 17.]
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Louder Than Words
Epilogue
Jennifer Bradley

    "Hey, Darwin!"
    Lucas stepped towards the moonpool, careful not to get his
bandage wet. Unfortunately, he hadn't told Darwin about his
"adventure"...yet.
    "What happen to Lucas?"
    He couldn't shrug the question off. Besides, he owed Darwin
an explanation. "I got shot."
    Darwin calmed down immediately. He knew what it meant to
get shot, he had seen it happen before. He swam over to Lucas,
and Lucas was amazed at how careful he was not to splash. Not
even a drop of water spilled over the edge of the pool.
    "Who shoot Lucas?"
    The question was the one he had feared. He wanted so
desperately to lie. He could brush it off, and tell Darwin a
lie. But Hudson had told him the truth, and he had to give Darwin 
the same courtesy.
    But he wished that he could avoid it, somehow. Of course,
he wouldn't. Darwin deserved the truth.
    He took a deep breath. "Bridger."
    Darwin didn't react. He didn't splash, and he didn't accuse
Lucas of lying. Not like what Lucas had said to Hudson. He felt
horrible, knowing how difficult it must have been for Hudson to 
come out and give him the truth like that. Now, he knew what
Hudson had gone through. Hell.
     "I'm sorry..."  Damn it, he sounded like Hudson. He didn't
have anything to tell this dolphin, he didn't have anything to 
tell himself. He didn't have anything to tell anybody.
    *So just shut up.*
    He watched as Darwin swam around the moonpool in circles,
several times. The dolphin didn't seem to be too upset.
    *Then again,* Lucas thought, *maybe he doesn't understand as
much as I thought he did.*  Or maybe Darwin had the good sense to
just accept reality as it was.
    Lucas knew that it would be a while before he could do that.

                             * * * * *

    As they walked through the station, Hudson noticed that
Morse was becoming more and more tense. Her eyes kept darting
this way and that, watching everything, as though she was waiting
to be ambushed.
    "Elaine?"
    She jumped about a quarter of meter in the air. "What?"
    "Is something wrong?" he asked. "You seem..."  *Scared out
of your wits.*  He shrugged. "...Nervous."
     She smiled ruefully. "It's just that, well,"  She pointed
to a small cantina. "You see that place over there?"
    "Yes."  Hudson was somewhat puzzled over her discomfort.
"Are you hungry? I suppose we've got time to--"
    "_No_!"  She shook her head. "No," she said more calmly.
"It's just, that was the place that Bridger introduced himself to 
me. Where he told me he had an offer I couldn't refuse."  She
laughed bitterly. "I wish I _had_ said no."
    *Yeah, me too.*  "He would've just found someone else,
Elaine. Someone who wouldn't have given a damn about us, and 
wouldn't have helped us escape."  
    She didn't respond immediately. "I guess, that this whole
thing has taught me one thing," she said eventually.
    "What's that?" he asked, hearing the teasing note in his
voice.
    "To never go home with someone I meet in a bar."
    Hudson chuckled at that. "I'd have thought you learned that
after we met."
    Morse smiled sadly at him. "You'd think," she echoed.
"But, right now, all I can think about is leaving this damned 
station, and never coming anywhere near here again."
    "I understand," Hudson said.
    He put his arm around Morse's shoulder and gave her a quick
squeeze. "It's okay."  She leaned her head on his shoulder and
snaked her arm around him waist.
    "I wish I could say the same."  She looked up at him, and
for the first time, he realized that her eyes were shining with 
sorrowful tears. "But even if you've put what happened behind--"
    He stopped her, holding her by her upper arms, and stared
into her deep, strangely joyless eyes. "God, Elaine...don't say
that." He couldn't bring himself to say what he really wanted to 
say--that he still loved her, and no matter _what_ she did, he 
always would.
    But somehow, she seemed to know what he meant. She hugged
him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder. This time, there
was no cautiousness in her embrace. He let his own arms encircle
her, and they held each other close.
    "If it isn't Elaine Morse."
    The sudden speed with which Morse pulled away from him was
startling.
    He looked at the figure who was leaning, arms crossed over
his chest, in a nearby doorway. Hudson saw Morse tense, almost
immediately, her jaw setting as she greeted the new arrival with 
an attempt at emphasized neutrality. She backed into him, and he
once again put his arm around her shoulder. This time, however,
the gesture was more protective than provocative in nature.
    "So Elaine, is that where you've been? Getting hitched?"
    Morse glared at him. "Is that any of your business?"
    He shrugged, left the doorway and took several steps towards
them, stopping a foot or two away. "Probably not. But you
haven't introduced--"
    Hudson could see how uncomfortable Morse was with the new
situation. He glared at the scruffy-looking man right along with
her. "Captain Oliver Hudson, UEO Navy, _seaQuest_. And you
are?"
    "Matthew Parker."  Parker gave him a suspicious glare, as
though expecting Hudson to recognize him. "I'm the owner," he
continued, as though that would make it any easier for Hudson to 
place him.
    "You're a pain in the ass," piped up Morse's voice. "And I
don't recall anyone asking you to stick your nose into my 
business."
    Parker's glance slid off Hudson in an instant, shifting to
Morse. Hudson felt himself bristle. "Maybe not," he agreed,
"But even though Bridger got you off the hook last time, I just
want you to know that I'm keeping an eye on you."
    He turned on his heel and sauntered away before either
Hudson or Morse had a chance to respond.
    "Since when has he _not_ kept his eyes-- both of them-- on
me?" Hudson heard Morse mutter.

                             * * * * *

    "So, here we are," Morse said as they reached the airlock.
    "I guess so."
    It was an awkward moment. Hudson hadn't removed his arm
from her shoulders, and, quite honestly, she wasn't sure that she 
wanted him to. It reminded her of their first date, _after_
they'd met in the bar. Back then Hudson had made the first move.
    She figured that it was her turn.
    Morse turned slightly, reached up, and kissed him on the
cheek. "I'll see you around," she said, after she broke away.
    Hudson was still a bit startled, but managed a lopsided
grin. "We always seem to run into each other, don't we?"
    She smiled, but before she could answer, the airlock closed,
and she was left alone.
    With a sigh, she entered the ship, and went to the cockpit.
After a bit of a hassle, which ended when, to her amusement, a 
cowed and very respectful Matt Parker came on the radio to grant 
her clearance to leave.
    "Good riddance," she said under her breath as she departed.
She'd be damned if she ever went anywhere _remotely_ near Neilson 
Rift again.
    _Bang!_
    Morse turned at the loud sound from the back. She drew her
pistol, and aimed it at the cockpit's door. After a moment,
though, she realized what had made the sound.
    "A crate," she said with a disbelieving laugh. "A damned
_crate_ falling scared me!"
    It was common, Morse knew, for cargo to shift around in the
hold when a ship docked or undocked. It was ridiculous for her
to jump when it happened.
    But she had the feeling that she was going to be jumping at
_any_ little sound, for a long, _long_ time...


THE END
==========================================================================