An Angel Sent Me | By : AuroraMagician Category: S through Z > SeaQuest Views: 1362 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own SeaQuest, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
DISCLAIMER:
SeaQuest and her chars are not mine, but the new gal is. Please ask me before using her
Some kind of
Angel....
She awoke with a splitting headache. The sunlight seeping through the slits of the
blinds was too bright; she curled up and pulled the covers over her head. Or rather, she tried, but her arm hurt too
much; her ribs ached, and her foot was on fire.
Wrenching her eyes open at last, she groaned loudly, and managed to push
herself up on her good arm.
The sheets were covered in blood—her
blood. Her left arm dangled uselessly at
her side; her left foot still had glass and a nice red-black hole in it. Thankfully, her ribs seemed to only be
bruised. Her head must be okay;
otherwise she wouldn’t have woken up at all.
At least I made to the bed before
I passed out this time, she thought dazedly. Her body ached all over, but she was used to
pain. Pain was her life now, with this
path she had chosen for herself.
Gingerly, she turned and maneuvered her broken arm into an opening in
the headboard, and braced herself. One, two, three, she took a deep breath,
held it, and wrenched it hard. Her face
distorted with pain and a squeak escaped her, but at least she’d fixed it.
Shower,
she thought fuzzily, and dig the glass
out of my feet. And take care of where
Alexander drove that damn screwdriver into my foot. Ack—I should be grateful it wasn’t my HEAD. And with that, she slowly made her way to the
bathroom adjacent to her bedroom.
“Hey, Lucas! You wanna fix this or not? We need navigation, or we can’t get nowhere!” Ford was
yelling in his controlled panic. Lucas
sighed and shook his head as the SeaQuest took another hit. “I’m trying, sir,” he yelled back. What did they think he was anyway, a
wizard? He was only capable of moving
and fixing things so fast!
“That’s not good enough, Mr.
Wolenczeck! We need that NOW!” Another hit shook the sub. Several alarms joined the clamber that had
started with the first wave of firepower.
The shockwave jerked him so hard that he hit his head on the panel in
front of him. Blood spilled out of small
cut on his forehead. He ignored it.
“Mr. Wolenczak!” Captain Nathan Bridger dashed onto the
bridge. Another hit set off the alarms
that had as yet not gone off. Water
sprung in sudden leaks all over the place.
“Levels three and six are flooding,
sir!” Lucas didn’t know or care who had
said that. He was almost there… just a
few more adjustments…
“Any day now, Lucas!” Nathan called
out. “Okay,” he yelled, “Hang on—I just
need to cross a few wires and it’ll be fixed!”
He shoved his chair aside, and tore off the panel underneath his work
station. Thank God I never remembered to replace those stripped screws,
Lucas thought absently. He slid under
the sector, and scrutinized the wires.
In a moment, he found the correct ones.
Wriggling uncomfortably, he
extracted his pocketknife (a birthday gift from Nathan) out of his belt. Carefully, he cut the wires and scraped their
ends. He tore off a bit of his shirt,
and connected the ends of the wires, holding them with the cloth.
“Well done, Lucas!” he heard someone
shout. Ford, I think.
“I have to stay under here!” he
yelled, “Gotta keep the wires connected, so get us outta here fast!”
“Moving right along!” yelled Ford
happily.
“All ahead full, Mr. O’Neil,” called
Bridger, “Fire when ready!”
“Aye-aye, sir!” The SeaQuest lurched against another
explosion. Lucas felt the wires getting
hotter-- but if he let go, they’d lose Navigation. He had to hold on. “Move it faster, guys!” he hollered. The wires were burning his skin! He bit his lip to keep from distracting
everyone; no one needed to worry about anything other than getting out of here
at the moment. “Hurry!” he urged
frantically.
“Direct hit! They’re breaking off pursuit!”
“THEN GET US THE HELL OUT OF
HERE!” Lucas could feel his flesh on
fire. He didn’t dare let go…
Nathan and Ford looked over in
Lucas’s direction. What was up with him?
“All ahead full… we’re clear!”
“Slow her up ten percent!” called
Nathan, hurrying over to Lucas, “Lucas—“
It was too much for him; the wires
were too hot. Lucas screamed, let them
go; he felt his flesh rip away from the burning metal. He curled into a fetal position, cradling his
hands. Nathan and Ford were at his side
in a heartbeat, dragging him out from underneath the panel.
“Sir—we’ve just lost Navi- “
“Deal with it!” Nathan snapped. He and Ford heaved Lucas to his feet, “Let’s
get him to Sickbay,” he said. Each man
took an arm, draped it over their shoulders.
“I’m okay,” said Lucas, his head
clearing a little, “I can walk by myself.
It’s just my hands—I burned them.”
He held them out in front of himself gingerly—they were laced with red
and black, horribly burned; his skin was still bubbling angrily. He was crying, but he didn’t realize it. Nathan looked at him with a mixed expression,
“I’m going with you,” he said firmly, “Commander Ford, you have the Bridge.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” he answered
reluctantly. Nathan and Lucas left.
The hot water was heaven to her
tired muscles. She soaked in the tub,
digging glass out of her feet; dropping the red pieces into the wastebasket she
had for just this reason. The worst of
it was over; she had most of it out.
Her water was tinted pink with
blood. She submerged her feet, pouring
peroxide over them in case of infection.
She sat up and pulled the plug.
Pink water surged down the drain, erasing the memory of red. She lay there as it drained, thinking of
nothing. She pulled the band out of her
luxurious red hair; it spilled down into the water, over her shoulders,
covering her torso completely. If she
stood up, it would reach past her waist.
The water finished draining, and she
did stand up… slowly. Tentatively, she
placed weight on each foot. Satisfied,
she flicked on the shower, turning the spray to gentle. She soaked her hair; let the water run down
her body and massage her bruised face.
Only then did she grab soap and gently cleanse herself. The smell of anti-bacterial and Green Tea
filled the air; her muscles welcomed the massage. She was careful with her face, and managed to
wash her hair with both arms. Dirt and
grime were swept away; some of the traces of her work disappeared down the
pipes. Gratefully, she stood under the
spray and let it cascade over her until it ran cold. Then she stepped tenderly out of the tub.
Drying off thoroughly proved too
much trouble; she gave herself a cursory tousling, and then survived wrapping
the towel around her head. She decided
that bra and panties were worth it, but real cloths were too much of a bother,
so a housecoat would do. She gave
herself a once-over in the mirror, and couldn’t abide more than that. *Gods,
I’m a sight!*
She sat down on her bed, and covered
her still-bleeding feet in gauze and tape.
At least it’ll keep infection from
settling in… and make it a bit easier to walk. I’ll clean up the floor later. Standing up experimentally, she stripped her
bloody sheets and stuffed them in the washing machine. The towel joined them—it was black, so the
blood wouldn’t show up if the color got absorbed at all. I love
black, she thought acidly.
Breakfast consisted of sticky rice
she’d made earlier, knowing she’d be too tired to do anything but microwave and
stuff her face. I practically live on finger-food… anything else requires too much time
and effort… that is, if I eat at all.
Applesauce was another good choice; milk soothed her parched
throat. After that: several glasses of
water in secession. Then more sticky
rice and some pre-cut cheese. There—now
if her jaw could manage some carrots or lettuce at lunch, she’d have most of
her food groups. At least, she’d cover
the most important ones. Peanut butter
would also come in handy… and toast. Sometimes I really miss having the time and
energy to actually cook something.
Okay,
enough R and R. Time
to get down to business… again.
She sighed, and leaned her head back in the chair. I need
to plan, and well. My next case is gonna
be… She never did get to finish that
thought. She had just enough time to
sense that something was wrong before all Hell broke loose:
Gunshots came through the windows,
sending glass everywhere. She dove under
the table, scraping her knees on the fragments.
More of it bit into her feet (dammit,
again) and back; the table splintered
above her. She scrambled out of the
kitchen into the hallway. Walls were
turned to Swiss cheese around her; somebody kicked down her front door. She headed for the back door, but backpedaled
when it exploded in flames in front of her.
Flying embers scorched her face and hands, but she bolted towards the
bathroom. She had one more trick up her
sleeve, kept in top shape just for this occasion. Those scum were in
for a surprise.
One of them jumped her as she
scuttled inside. She had enough time to
think Smart bastards!... and she fell to the floor on
her bad arm. Then it was elbow-to-jaw,
knee in the stomach, punch-‘em-in-the-nose and he was out like a light. Still, it had taken too much time. She grabbed his gun and ammo and kicked the door
shut. The button was… ah, underneath the
sink. So were the knife, pistol, and
bullets. There was a satchel in the
hamper… she grabbed it, stuffed everything in, and scarfed a shirt and pants
before they started pounding on the locked door. She lifted the rug, and opened the trapdoor
it revealed. She shimmied down, shut it,
and set off as fast as she could through a tunnel in front of her. The sound of gunfire turning her bathroom
into Swiss cheese reached her.
She managed to make it out of range
before the shield generator kicked in. A
few seconds later, and she would’ve been caught in it as well. She crawled on, getting dirty all over again. Feeling returned; pain interrupted her
progress at irregular intervals. It
would be nightfall before she would surface in the boathouse on the West side
of the island; she had “lived” on the North end. And
when I get out of here, there will be HELL to pay… for BOTH sides!
Nathan and Lucas passed several
soaked, weary, and scraped people on their way to sickbay. Lucas’s hands were shaking, and kept feeling
cold and tired. Shock, he thought with a strange calm, I must be in shock. Yeah,
“shock” alright. Vaguely detached at
his own caustic humor, he allowed himself a small smile. Nathan supported him, but they still hustled.
Bridger got all the doors for him,
and held on to his waist when they had to use ladders. Lucas looked pale to him—too pale; paler than
usual. Sweat dotted the young man’s forehead,
but not a lot. They were almost to
sickbay when Lucas stumbled. Nathan
caught him, but not before the burned flesh made contact with the floor. Lucas damn near screamed, but his breath was
gone. Something between a yelp and a
gasp escaped him, and tears stung his eyes.
Quick as he could, Nathan dragged him into sickbay.
Dr. Westphalen met them almost at
once. She grasped his other arm, and
helped him to a bed. Bandages,
antiseptics, and other medical tools lay neatly on a tray nearby. She grabbed a clear bottle and some gauze,
and poured the liquid over the burned area.
Lucas sucked in air so fast he coughed; Nathan held him upright, holding
him firmly by the shoulders and rubbing his back. Lucas leaned into him, trying not to
cry. Westphalen had seen burns before,
but it sickened her to see them scarring Lucas’s beautiful hands. She reached for the instruments she needed to
scrub the wounds, but decided to give him a local anesthetic first.
“This will help with the pain,
Lucas,” she said gently, forcing him to look at her. He met her gaze solemnly, and nodded. He was trying so hard not to cry that he
didn’t realize he was; she injected him with the medicine—first in the right
hand, then in the left. He winced, but
made no sound. Nathan covered him in a
blanket when he started shivering again.
Kristen frowned, knowing he was in shock, but the burns were more
important. She caught Nathan’s eye—‘talk to him,’ she mouthed. He nodded.
“Lucas,” he said persuasively, “Do
you remember the time I first heard Darwin talk?” The young man smiled and gave a small laugh:
“Yeah,” his voice sounded wheezy,
“You damn near wet your pants; you were so surprised.”
“I did not!”
“Of course you did,” Lucas insisted,
grateful for the distraction; it was unnerving to watch the doctor work. Ah, well—At
least I can’t feel anything. He changed subjects rapidly, mostly because he was feeling
very sick.
“How about the time I had that
meeting with the UN senators, and couldn’t figure out the translation device?”
“And you hid your gum under the
podium!” Nathan had to laugh at that
one.
“Just where the hell else was I
supposed to put it? Anyway, it turned
out to be life-saving, didn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Nathan chuckled, nodding,
“You got a point there. And I’ll never
forget Darwin’s ‘Lucas-Music’!
Hell, nobody can stand your
music!”
“Hey! I take offense to that!” Nausea swept over him more strongly this
time. He was decidedly going to be sick. “Uh… guys?
I’m gonna be sick.” Dr.
Westphalen didn’t lift her gaze for an instant.
“Nathan? There’s a wastebasket
right behind you on the left.” It was
retrieved, and not a moment too soon.
Nathan managed to find a tissue, and wiped Lucas’s mouth for him. arwlass of water, and Lucas bent his head
over the wastebasket again.
He had dry heaves before Dr.
Westphalen was done with him. “What in
the hell were you thinking, Lucas?” she yelled, now that she had attention to
spare, “Holding onto the wires like that!
It was stupid!”
“Well,” his voice was almost a
whisper now, “We would’ve been dead or boarded by now if I hadn’t… the former
more likely than the latter. It was up
to me to fix it, so I did. The only way
I knew how,” he paused to swallow another fit of dry heaves, “Was to hotwire
the damn thing.” Kristen shook her
head. “Next time, find another way to do
it. Use your shirt to protect yourself,
or something, but don’t use your bare hands!”
“I didn’t—the wires burned right
through the cloth I had wrapped around ‘em!”
The doctor and the captain exchanged glances. Lucas didn’t care; his hands were starting to
hurt again, and all he wanted right now was some sleep. He shook himself out of his thoughts when he
realized that the doctor was talking to him.
“Lucas!”
“What? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”
“I said I want you in bed the
the
next twenty-four hours, then you can go back to work for awhile, but only if you feel up to it. As soon as you get tired, I want you to go
right back to bed. Got it?” He nodded in submission. Hell, I
don’t care. I wanted some sleep
anyway. And at least she isn’t keeping
me in Sickbay the entire time. Tony would help him out if he needed anything, and he could
still punch the buttons on a personal computer.
She’d been crawling for hours. She’d pulled her long red hair back into a
ponytail a long time ago, but there were pieces of it falling into her
eyes. It was so dirty, it looked more
like a chocolate brown than red-gold, and it matted to her head. Her skin was streaked with mud, sweat, and
blood.
Her knees stung where dirt got
rubbed into the cuts and scrapes; she had dug out the glass already, and used
most of her housecoat as bandages. Her
shoulder hurt where the one asshole had jumped her, wrenching her left arm out
of her socket. Nathan was quiet a moment while he
pondered that. “How soon can the repairs
be made?” he asked.
“All total, I’d say about two days,
give or take.”
“Good,” he made his decision, “Take
a scouting party to the island in the morning.
Meanwhile, keep watch around the clock; I want to be notified the moment
anything changes. And BE CAREFUL.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” Ford replied with a
sharp nod and salute. Then he jogged off
towards the bridge. Nathan continued on
down the hallway to his own quarters adjacent to his office, deep in thought.
The sharpest pain he’d ever felt in
his life awakened Lucas out of a feverish dream; he had rolled over on one of
his bandaged hands. Squeezing back
tears, he gently extricated the offending appendage. For the first time, he realized that he was
in his room, and the lights were off. No wonder its so dark in here, he
thought dazedly, duh. He stretched for the pain killers that Dr.
Westphalen had given him, but he couldn’t reach them; he had no strength. Damn
being tired unto death!
Tony and Ford each agreed, sounding off mumbled affirmations and
support—none of them looked entirely convinced.
But all of them were desperate.
Westphalen sighed.
“I’ll find out what I can about
Xyocine,” she said, pretending renewed vigor, “You three go back to your
posts. If you have any strings that
might help us out, pull ‘em. Anybody—a
doctor, a nurse, the Biology teacher you had in seventh grade—anybody you can
think of that might help us out. We’ve
got to do what we can... while there’s still a chance.”
Nathan turned to two of his best
officers. “I want you to spread the
word—whoever you can get hold of, tell them.
Most of ‘em will be wanting to know about Lucas anyway, so best to get
the word fastfast. Move it guys—we don’t
know how much time we’re actually playing with here. And for God’s sake, Piccolo, put some cloths
on.” Both Ford and Tony gave the
smartest salute in the history of the SeaQuest, and departed at fair nigh a
run.
Now
when the hell did this happen? She thought frustrated, viewing the cave-in
before her, So much for a quick
get-away. I’ll have to dig my way
through. Ack, hell! Rocks, timber—REAL wood, and old too—and a LOT of dirt blocked her way to the
boathouse. Dammit! And I suppose that all of my supplies are gone and the Penny is
destroyed beyond repair. Huh, stupid
question.... look it where you are girl!
This is not exactly Fantasy Island! She put her hands on her hips.
“Well,” she sighed, “Let’s have a’
it.”
She tightened the strap of her
satchel and started digging. The only
way out was through there, and so that meant losing precious time tunneling
into the instable roadblock. Ack, well, I’ve been through worse
before. Hell, if I can jump through fire
I can squirm into this mess. And it’s
not as if it’s quicksand, like when you facing off with that giant, mutated
alligator those UN idiots woke up! Or
how about rescuing Legs? Boy, now THAT
was a trip!
She grinned to herself, remembering
how astonished Legs had been to find her.
Legs had proven to be a wonderful pupil—and one of the few people she
could consider a friend. They were more
like sistersen ien if they didn’t contact each other too much anymore. Legs had a safer job now, and I don’t want to jeopardize that. They tended to stick to short, cryptic
messages heavily encoded and in a language they themselves had developed. < cla class=GramE>Two little girls with vengeance on the brain and rock ‘n roll in the
blood. Man, we could take ‘em out like nobody else
could...
Her muscles protested against the
work, but she kept going. She had
learned long ago how to ignore pain and make your body obey your mind. Legs had been the one to suggest it, and they
had both learned the control like the finger of God had suddenly descended and
cut off all feedback to their nerves.
She pushed muddy hair out of her eyes.
Yep, Legs was definitely a bright
point in her life. There were so very
precious few of them left... She shook
her head, wincing at the tight muscles. Hard
physical work always made her mind wander; it prevented her from concentrating
on how badly she was treating her body so she could push herself farther every
time. And pushing the limits of her body
was necessary for her job... you didn’t last long in that type thing if you
couldn’t take the physical and mental abuse.
Toni
dug through his dresser, yanking on the first pair of pants and shirt that he
came into contact with. He was dressed
in seconds, barely registering what he had on.
He tried not to look at the unmade bed to his left.
He sped out of his room, colliding with Lonnie
Henderson. They fell to the floor in
heap.
“Ouch! Hey, Tony,
watch it!”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Tony realized he was babbling, and
managed to pull Lonnie to her feet. “I
wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“Well, obviously!” Lonnie brushed off her unm, “m, “How’s
Lucas?”
“Lucas? Oh,
well... he... he’s in a bad way,” he took a deep breath, ran a hand over his
short h He needed to tell Ford nodded thoughtfully.
He studied the younger man, trying to discern what he was feeling right
now.
“If you know of anyone else who might help,” he said at
last, turning to walk away, “Notify them immediately. Don’t even bother telling me; just do
it. Oh—and O’Neil,” he said, looking
over his shoulder, “Spread the word?”
The subordinate officer saluted him, and took off at a dead run for his
quarters. He had calls to make.
Jonathan Ford surveyed the group of people that he was
supposed to take and scout the island with.
Suppressing a grimace, he noticed that most of them seemed
distracted. Damn, I hate giving speeches, he thought, sighing almost inaudibly.
“Look, folks,” he began, “I know that we’re all thinking
of Lucas right now. But you know the
kiddo—he would insist that we carry on without him. Doc Westphalen assured me that he was
stable,” he said, mentally beating himself up over the fib, “And that we’re
doing everything we can to help him.” He
paused, making sure that everyone was listening.
“So we’re going to go ashore that island, and do the damn
finest job of scouting we’ve ever done.
We wouldn’t want to disappoint Lucas when he wakes up, now would
we? And who knows,” he said, trying to
bolster his own rapidly sinking spirits, “We might even find something to help
him while we’re there. So suit up, and let’s
go.”
To
his surprise, all of his group seemed to straighten up and looked much
better. Lonnie Henderson and Toni
Piccolo met his eyes directly, nodding firmly in response. Toni afforded him the slightest quirk of his
lips, as though he was amused that his superior officer had just fed these
people a lie. A small
one, yes—barely a fib—but a lie nonetheless. Ortiz met his gaze solemnly, and nodded as
well, while Tim O’Neil gave him an encouraging thumbs-up. The two others—a biologist named Sherry and
man called Sam that Ford had never seen before—saluted him smartly.
“All ready?” Ford asked, receiving nods. “Then let’s go,” he said, picking up his own
black duffel bag and turning into the docking bay, checking to make sure his
pistol was safely in it’s holster.
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