Title: Flesh and Bone
Author: Whimsicle-1
Disclaimer: The vast majority of the characters, props, and setting belong to Amblin Entertainment, but I lay claim to the actual arrangement of words found herein as well as any original characters. I make no profit.
Summary: The past comes back to haunt those Nathan Bridger cares for.
Author's Notes: This was originally published many years ago in a zine. Truthfully, it was written really fast and isn't one of my faves, but I like the sequel, so here ya go. I've at least cleaned up some of the god-awful punctuation errors (dear lord, I can get comma and ellipse happy some days).
Feedback: always welcome at whimsicle.dreams@gmail.com

Note: To view larger illustrations, simply click on the icons in the story. To close the resulting window, simply click the illustration.



Bryan Hollister stared down into dead eyes. After a second, he let go of his hold on the argumentative mercenary’s throat and watched his body hit the floor with a flat thud. He could feel the others staring at him. He looked up then, eyes meeting Donalson’s.

The Australian’s gaze was shuttered.

“I don’t like whiners,” Hollister sneered and stepped over the dead man.

“I was never too fond of them myself,” Donalson said coolly.

“You’re bloody-fucking-nuts,” another of the mercenaries growled, backing away from Hollister.

If he’d stayed quiet, Bryan would never have noticed him, but the comment drew his attention. The look in his eyes was flat and deadly as he stared at the speaker.

The mercenary swallowed hard. He’d been in several nasty brush wars, dealt with human beings who barely qualified for the term, but nothing had prepared him for what he saw in Hollister’s eyes. He scrambled for the Glock 9 holstered at the small of his back, but fear and adrenaline made his hands shaky and altered a normally smooth response time.

Hollister’s movements were perfectly controlled, nearly mechanical in their precision, and fast almost beyond belief. The Walther holstered under his armpit was out before the other man had even touched his own weapon.

Hollister fired once.

The single nine millimeter shell drilled a neat hole through the mercenary’s skull and he dropped to the floor like a rag doll.

Inhumanly calm, Bryan looked over at Donalson as if expecting some sort of response. The other man only stared back, his expression carefully neutral.

The other mercenaries stared, but none of them moved for a weapon or offered further comment. They’d been uneasy enough on seeing Hollister shoot the young mercenary on the science base, but that had at least had some basis in leadership to their way of looking at things. This, however, was out of the range of behavior even among the most brutal terrorist organizations. Several of them were suddenly wishing they’d just passed up the offer of big money from the German who had first contacted them.

“You’d better see to getting this mess cleaned up,” Hollister said at last, then exited the room.

Donalson stared at the dead men for a long moment before snapping at the waiting men, “Get this cleaned up.” He hurried out, without looking to see that they were following orders.


Lucas Wolenczek sat with his chin resting on his upthrust knees, arms wrapped tightly around his folded legs. The cot was only marginally more comfortable with a mattress, but frightened as he was, sleep wasn't really an option anyway.

Kristin had somehow managed to find some manner of rest, or at least collapse, on the other bunk. Curled in a tight ball beneath the thin blanket, she occasionally twitched and he could see her eyes flickering beneath closed lids. Lucas suspected that the nightmares chasing her were far from pleasant, but was hesitant to wake her from what little rest she was capable of getting. Besides, the nightmares couldn’t be that much worse than reality.

He pressed his face into his knees as he struggled not to cry and found himself wishing that he’d never even heard of the seaQuest.

A suddenly flurry of rustling blankets brought the youth’s head back up.

Westphalen was sitting bolt upright on her bunk, eyes wide in the limited light. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision in the thin illumination cast by the recessed lights in one wall. “Lucas,” she muttered at last, and rubbed the back of her neck. “Damn,” she sighed softly, “I rather hoped it had all been a nightmare.”

“No such luck,” he muttered.

“You okay?” she asked gently.

Lucas shrugged. “I don’t know what’s worse, the fear he’s going to kill us or the fear that...” his throat tightened and he couldn’t go on for a moment. Finally, he whispered, “I can’t fight him...he can do any damn thing he wants.”

Kristin slid off her bunk and onto his. She brushed a lock of hair off the boy’s forehead. “Nobody’s asking you to fight him, Lucas,” she whispered as she caught his hands in her own.

“But—” The boy started to argue, but she cut him off in a voice that brooked no disagreement.

“No buts. You do whatever he tells you...whatever you need to to survive.”

“I know what he’s threatening to do to you.” The stress and fear in the boy’s eyes were painful to see.

Westphalen’s hands tightened on his, and her own fear showed briefly. She swallowed, then exhaled to let off stress before answering. “I don’t believe in fates worse than death. If it comes down to it, I’ll do whatever's necessary to survive...and so will you.”


Hollister stood slowly as he watched the life support systems start pumping out carbon monoxide rather than the proper air mix. The alteration would take an hour or so to flow throughout the ship, but when it did...

He dusted his hands off and turned away from the complex machinery. Only one or two more things to take care of in the time left.


Westphalen’s head snapped around as the rattling thud of the bolts being thrown echoed through the small cabin. Her heart was suddenly beating tripletime and she hoped for Lucas’ sake that she had the strength to do what she’d told him she intended. She had to, she reminded herself. She had no doubt their captor was capable of making the boy suffer to bring her into line.

But when the door was thrown wide, it wasn’t Hollister standing there. It was Donalson.

“If you want out, come on,” he snapped, and she noted that he was far more heavily armed than she’d seen him since their arrival on the sub. He had an evil looking machine pistol out and ready to use.

She realized in a flash that he was mutinying against Hollister.

“Move,” the doctor ordered Lucas and dragged him behind in her wake.

Donalson caught her arm, pulling them both through the hatch before slamming it again and spinning the lock. “There are two sea crabs on the cargo deck. We’re going to use one to get the hell out of here,” he explained as he hurried down the companionway.

“Hollister’s mad as a hatter, you know,” Westphalen panted as she jogged to keep up with the swiftly moving mercenary.

“Yeah,” the Australian agreed. He stepped aside and urged Lucas and Westphalen through another hatch.

The cargo bay was dim and quiet when they reached it, the clumsy looking sea crabs dark silhouettes against the far wall.

“I’ve disabled the torps so we should have time enough to get out of range before he can do anything,” Donalson told Westphalen as they hurried toward the first crab in line to launch. Having decided to take the woman back to her people in an attempt to save his own skin, he was suddenly treating her much better.

Kristin reached out to give Lucas’ hand a reassuring squeeze. God willing, they’d be on their way home in only a few more minutes.

Donalson was moving around the small sea crab, making certain it was solidly in the launch harness when a hand lashed out from the darkness. Steel cabled fingers wrapped around his throat as he was lifted from the deck. He tried to bring the machine pistol to bear, but Hollister stripped it from his hand, leaving broken fingers behind. Bryan flung the weapon aside, careless of where it landed.

Lucas gasped as the blonde giant stepped from the shadows, his face and bare arms painted camouflage to match his shirt, his muscles seemingly bloated to superhuman proportion. The eyes behind the paint were no longer human.

Westphalen also stared in disbelief as Bryan tossed the still weakly struggling Donalson into the sea crab, then calmly started the launch sequence. He turned to meet her stare as the crab moved into the launch bay and the airlock doors started to slide closed.

“I don’t like traitors,” Hollister murmured, then calmly drew his sidearm and fired three shots into the sea crab before it disappeared behind the air lock doors.

“Why did you let him go, then?” Lucas whispered in confusion.

Hollister’s head canted to one side as if he didn’t quite understand the question. “But, I didn’t,” he said softly, his voice low and not at all threatening. He smiled. “I knew what he was going to do so I disabled the engines. He’ll sink like a rock while his air slowly drains out of three tiny little holes. I guess it’s just a bad day for mercenaries and breathing.”

For a moment Kristin thought Hollister was going to laugh, and she was truly afraid that if he did, she was going to be sick.

Suddenly, the madman straightened and pointed the weapon in his hand at the two of them. “Now get in the other sea crab. It’s time for us to be going.

The doctor stared at him for a long moment, seriously debating ignoring her own advice to Lucas and making a stand right then and there. A quick death seemed preferable to her to the way he had just sent the mercenary off to die. She made her decision quite suddenly. “Lucas,” she whispered as she turned to meet his worried look.

The boy saw the intent in her eyes. “No,” he whispered tightly.

“The moment that gun’s turned away, you run like hell.” She had to believe Lucas had a better chance of making deals with the other mercenaries than with Hollister.

“He’ll kill you.”

“Just do it,” Westphalen hissed and started toward Hollister. She wasn’t running, but her stride was fast.

Lucas pulled up short, heart pounding as he saw her say something to Hollister, saw Hollister’s eyes touch on him, the weapon falling aside.

Westphalen chose that moment to lunge, slamming a knee into their captor’s groin and the heel of her hand into his throat, using what little she knew about his likely condition to guess at the only remaining weaknesses he might have.

Hollister stumbled and hit one knee as she screamed. “RUN!”

Lucas knew there was a good chance the woman had just thrown away her own life for a chance at saving his, knew too that there was nothing he could do to help her except take the chance she had given him. He backpedaled hard, twisted and ran as if the hounds of hell were on his heels.

Kristin slammed a fist into Hollister’s throat again as he tried to bring his weapon up.

Despite her best efforts, he got off several shots, all wild. Lucas escaped through the main hatch as she tried to hit Hollister again in the throat.

He caught her fist on the downswing, squeezing so hard she fully expected her hand to break.

“That hurts!” Hollister gagged, and spat blood. He hurled the gun aside and used that hand to yank Westphalen down to her knees in front of him. “You just killed that kid, do you hear me? You killed him, not me!” he raged.

“What do you mean?” Kristin yelled, still fighting him.

Hollister stuck his face into hers. “This place’ll be nothing but carbon monoxide fumes in a couple of hours. Little boy blue’s gonna strangle on the air.”

“DAMN YOU!!” Westphalen screamed. She tried to break free to go after Lucas, but Hollister kept a hard hold on her as he clambered to his feet. He slung her into the second sea crab, careless of the bruises inflicted by her landing. When he followed close behind, Westphalen tried to lunge and fight him, but he only shoved her back to the deck.

“Just remember,” Bryan snarled as he locked the hatchway behind himself. “You killed him, not me.”

Wiping at her bloody mouth with bloody knuckles, Kristin pressed back against the wall behind her, coiling tightly to press her face into her arms as she gave way to outright sobs for the first time since the whole nightmare had begun. Lost in her own agony, she never heard the sounds of the airlock doors moving, or the docking collar releasing the small craft.


The message came in suddenly and replayed three times, which gave the crew of the Nemesis more than enough time to record it.

“I’m going,” Bridger said flatly after Kinney had assembled the seaQuest crewmembers to play the recording for them.

 “Sir,” Ford said, gesturing to the now blank vid-screen. “The man is clearly insane. You can’t just hand yourself over to him.”

Bridger ignored his first officer in favor of pinning a hard stare on the Nemesis' captain. She was the only one whose opinion mattered to him because she was the only one with the power to stop him. “I’m going,” he repeated.

The woman considered him for a long moment before nodding. “I’ll have a launch prepared with what you need. I recommend that you let the ship’s doctor take a look at you. He can do a few things to keep you going. It may help...” She didn’t sound like she held out much hope.

“Dammit,” Ford exploded as he thrust himself pugnaciously forward, invading her space angrily. “You can’t let him go! We don’t even know if Lucas and Dr. Westphalen are still alive!”

“They’re his responsibility and it’s his choice,” Kinney said simply.

“His choice to die!” Ford exploded.

“She’s right,” Ben Krieg inserted.

 Ford twisted to glare at the other man.

“I mean it,” Krieg said softly. “If you’d been married or had a family, you’d understand.”

“Right,” Ford shot back sarcastically, “Ben Krieg, defender of the family.”

“We don’t have time for this fight,” Bridger snapped before either man could continue.

“No,” Kinney agreed and her eyes met Bridger's. “The choice isn’t yours to make, Commander.” she said quietly. “It’s mine...” she jerked her chin toward Nathan, “...and his. If he wants to go, it’s his right.”

Ford’s jaw muscles worked, but finally he nodded. “I'll be lodging a formal protest.”

“You do that,” she agreed mildly, then nodded to Enderly who stood waiting off to one side. “Jake, why don’t you have Lieutenant Furling show Captain Bridger to the Med-bay so they can fix him up, then see to the launch.”

Enderly nodded as he transferred his gaze to Bridger. “If you’ll follow me, sir.”

 After his captain had exited, Jonathan Ford fixed a hard gaze on the captain of the Nemesis. “If he gets himself killed because of you, I’ll see you drummed out of the navy,” he threatened before turning to leave.

“Mr. Ford,” Kinney’s voice brought his head back around. “If that happens,” she said grimly. “You won’t be the first one in line."

Jonathan Ford nodded once, then hurried out, leaving Kathy Kinney staring thoughtfully after him.

It was Katherine Hitchcock who broke into the other woman’s musings. “You do have some kind of a plan, don’t you?” she asked, unwilling to accept the surface events as Ford had.

Kinney blinked once, then looked over as if just remembering the other two officers in the room. “Do I?”she asked quietly.

“You must,” Krieg murmured. She'd accepted Bridger's plan too easily. In his experience, that didn't fit the profile of line officers at all. They just didn't let fellow officers throw their lives away if it could be prevented.

Kinney shrugged without answering directly. “I think you and your wife should take this opportunity to get some rest, Lieutenant Krieg,” she advised without answering the question.

“Ex-wife,” Hitchcock corrected.

 Kinney frowned slightly, taking in the way Krieg’s arm was slung across Hitchcock’s shoulder and the way Hitchcock was leaning against Krieg. Recognizing the woman’s scrutiny, Hitchcock tried to straighten away from her ex-husband, though Krieg didn’t remove his arm. Kinney’s eyebrows rose slightly and her mouth quirked in a slight grin. “Y’know, I used to have an ex-husband like that. Then I grew up enough one day to remarry him.” She slipped out while Hitchcock was still sputtering.

Krieg chuckled softly. “I don’t care what Ford thinks, I like her.”

"You would." Hitchcock flashed him a glare that could have frozen the Sahara and twitched her shoulders out from under his arm.


Nathan didn’t watch as the ship’s physician slipped a needle into his upper arm and slowly depressed the plunger. A moment later the man handed him a paper cup of pills. He peered at them curiously. “What are these for?”

“Time release,” the doctor answered smoothly. “They should give you an additional energy boost just about the time the shot is wearing out.”

Assuming I live that long, Bridger thought darkly as he tossed the pills to the back of his throat and swallowed them.

 He sensed as much as he heard Ford enter. “Don’t bother,” he said quietly before the younger officer could say a word.

“Sir—” Jonathan began, but Nathan cut him off.

 “I’m going,” he said, not unkindly. His eyes met Ford’s. “I know you’re just trying to do what you think is right, but this isn’t about military procedure.” His eyes slid closed for a moment and when he opened them again, some of the pain he had seen in his life was visible there. “I can’t lose them too.”

 Ford stared at his captain for a long moment and finally nodded. “I understand, sir.” He didn’t like it at all, but faced with the determination in the older man’s eyes, he couldn’t argue.


Lucas Wolenczek had fully expected to have the entire shipload of mercenaries after him when he ran from Hollister, but it hadn’t happened. In fact, as far as he could tell, no one was even aware of his escape. Which didn't make any sense at all. As he hurried along, he mentally reviewed what had happened to Donalson as well as everything that Hollister had said in the aftermath, hunting for a clue.

 Finally, he found a deserted equipment room and slipped inside, locking the door behind himself to make certain he wouldn't be bothered. The mercenaries still on the sub showed no sign of being aware that anything was wrong. In fact, they seemed totally unaware that Hollister was no longer on the ship.

Lucas knew suddenly and with obscene confidence, that Hollister had set up to destroy the ship somehow. He didn’t know how, but he knew the small submarine was doomed as certainly as he knew his own mind.

The boy fought the urge to panic as he tried to find a way out of the situation.

I guess it’s just a bad day for mercenaries and breathing, the line crept back into the teen’s brain.

Lucas muttered an obscenity as the truth slapped him in the face. Life support, Hollister had done something to life support. Forcing the panic down, he took a deep breath as he noted the nearby computer station. Time to find out if he was right, and what he could do about it if he was. Play it smart and maybe he still had a chance of getting out alive.


 “It’ll be awhile before we get there,” the low voice cut into Kristin’s stunned shock.

She looked up through sweat damp bangs as Hollister turned to face her. She'd tried to attack him several times since breaking away from the sub. At first he'd just shoved her back, but frustration had finally driven him to deliver a sharp slap, and realizing he was close to doing more damage than he wanted—he still needed her alive—he'd bound her to one of the seats for her efforts.

The look in her eyes was dead-cold rage made human.

Hollister eyed the bruises on her wrists. “You shouldn’t have fought me,” he said grimly as though her reasons for struggling against him were completely forgotten.

“I’m going to kill you,” Kristin husked, her voice little more than a ragged whisper.

Hollister twitched slightly, then managed a forced laugh. “I hardly think you could manage the trick.”

Kristin smiled. “Have you ever heard of Dr. Reuben Zellar?” she asked almost pleasantly. Lucas' probable death had changed the rules, leaving her with nothing to lose. It was a chess game now and she was more than capable of playing a ruthless war of nerves.

“Sure,” Hollister sneered. “Who hasn’t?”

 Westphalen’s smile broadened, then flickered away. “He murdered my brother...he also begged me for his life,” she whispered.

Hollister started to laugh, but the sound died in his throat. “You couldn’t...” he exhaled hoarsely

Kristin’s lips twitched again, briefly showing a mad smile. “I’ll kill you,” she repeated.

Hollister’s hands fisted at his sides as he unsuccessfully fought the trembling. He resisted the impulse to back away from the woman and the mad glaze in her eyes. She couldn’t hurt him, nothing could hurt him, he reminded himself. She was only human, only flesh and blood. He stared down at his hand as he tightened it into a fist again. He felt so much better as he watched the ridges of cable move beneath the thin covering of skin that hid his true nature from sight. He looked back up at the woman and smiled. She was only human...while he was so very much more...


 “Are you absolutely sure about this?” Kinney repeated the question to Nathan Bridger as she watched two crew members load scuba gear aboard the mini-sub they were prepping for his use.

Nathan looked up as he finished zipping up his wetsuit. “You know the answer to that,” he said quietly

Kinney nodded. “I guess I do,” she admitted. “Be careful...we’ll go on tracking the sub, but I don’t know how long we can keep the launch on our charts. Plan on being on your own.”

He nodded in understanding.

“And if anything suspicious happens, I’ll have to hit first and ask questions later," she reminded him. "We can’t afford to take a chance of having another scene like Whale’s Point.”

“Understood,” he agreed.

 Kinney reached out, her handshake firm. “Good luck, then.”

The woman stepped back a half pace and fell silent as Jonathan Ford entered and drew near. “I guess there’s no way I can talk you out of this,” he said without preamble.

“No, there isn’t,” Nathan confirmed as he leaned into the sub, checking that he knew where everything was and that it was where he wanted it.

Jonathan nodded his acceptance. then looked down at the deck, composing himself before speaking. “In which case, sir, I want you to know what an honor it has been to serve with you.”

Stepping back out of the launch, Nathan smiled a little wryly, seeming almost like his old self for a moment. “Careful, Mister Ford. I’m not dead just yet.”

 “No, sir, of course not.” Ford responded uneasily. He wasn’t especially good at this sort of thing. He'd always felt things deeply, but often floundered and felt unable to adequately express himself. He suddenly found himself wishing he were more like Ben Krieg.

As if in response to the wayward thought, the lieutenant’s voice floated across the launch bay. “Sir!” Krieg jogged up. “Glad I caught you in time,” he panted. “Katie’s helping out with an engineering problem, but I wanted to wish you luck from both of us.”

“Thanks...you...” Bridger paused momentarily as if considering his words. “You take care of her, Lieutenant.”

Krieg smiled slightly. “Yes, sir. That’s recently become my plan,” he admitted.

“Glad to hear it,” Bridger approved.

“Everything’s ready,” an officer from the Nemesis informed them.

“I guess that means me,” Bridger murmured.

Kinney nodded while Ford stood silent, not trusting himself to speak. It was Krieg who said simply, “Bring them back, sir.”

“I plan on it.”

It took no more than a couple of minutes to get the captain of the seaQuest secured in the launch and lock it up behind him. Within five, the air lock doors had closed behind the small craft.

 Within moments, Kinney’s wrist-comm beeped for attention. The captain of the Nemesis brought her wrist up level with her mouth as she punched the appropriate button.

“The launch is away,” Enderly’s voice came out of the small speaker, sounding tinny and too high pitched, but recognizable.

“Are we tracking?” Kathy asked.

“Clean and clear, Captain.”

Kinney let out a sigh, then grinned. “Have a crew prep the Shrike. We’ll give him a forty-five minute lead before we launch her.”

“Understood, Captain.” The comm beeped offline.

Kinney looked over at Ford who was staring at her in stark disbelief. “You’ve got a tracer on the launch,” he exhaled as he realized the truth.

She shook her head. “Naah, Bryan had him take tanks. That means he may be leaving the mini-sub. We put the tracer on the old man himself.”

“The doctor,” Krieg said with sudden insight. His lips curved in an appreciative grin.

Kinney nodded. “One of the pills he took,” she confirmed. She flashed a look at Ford. “The Shrike‘s a one-man craft designed to avoid both radar and sonar. She's fast, but it's one helluva a wild ride. I’m presuming you want to be the one to pursue them.”

 Ford nodded. “Just try and stop me.”


It was the air, Lucas realized with a rush as he stared at the computer readouts. The faint light-headedness he had been feeling in the last few minutes wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. He adjusted several controls, but the numbers showed no signs of changing. Whatever Hollister had done, the system was completely locked up. He turned away from the computer and began systematically searching the storage lockers. The last one yielded two twenty-gallon air tanks. The teen lifted heavy tanks out and studied the gauges. Between the two tanks, there was enough air for a couple of hours.

He leaned his forehead against the cool metal lockers for a moment before setting to work. He had a lot to do and not much time in which to do it.


Jonathan Ford stared at the small craft that Kinney intended for him to use to pursue Bridger. “What the hell is it?” he asked at last.

Kinney grinned as she finished tying down a couple of scuba tanks, then backed away from the vehicle. “It’s a prototype...code name, Shrike, don’t ask me why. I didn’t name the damn thing. She fires from a torp tube, breaks the surface of the water...” she gestured to delicate looking metal legs that folded seamlessly into slots on the side of the craft. “The legs fold out and she skims on the surface...sorta like a water bug...It’s a wild ride, but since she’s out of the water, sonar won’t pick her up and she’s radar blind.”

“So hopefully, Hollister won’t know I’m coming.”

“Hopefully,” Kinney said with a shrug.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Ford questioned.

“You don’t strike me as a man who lets a friend walk into a dangerous situation alone. I suspect Captain Bridger knows that as well.”

“You figured he’d know if I gave in too easily,” Ford supplied with sudden insight.

Kinney nodded in agreement, then glanced at her watch. “Thirty more minutes.”

Ford looked back at the small craft. “So, just how wild a ride is this going to be?”

Kinney only grinned in response.


“Here we are,” Bryan said entirely too cheerfully as the small sub bumped and shook. He swivelled the pilot’s chair around to peer at his prisoner.

Kristin’s head snapped up, but she said nothing.

“What,” Bryan said with false sympathy, “Not feeling very cheerful, are we?”

Westphalen’s eyes narrowed. “Go to hell,” she said clearly.

He rose easily from his seat. “Not for a long time yet,” he murmured, his mock cheerful mood falling away.

Kristin didn’t bother to fight as he untied her wrists and hauled her to her feet. Let him think he’d won for the moment. “Where are we?” she asked without looking up at her captor.

Hollister’s gaze narrowed, distrusting her sudden cooperative behavior. “An old German undersea base...it was used to develop chemical weapons.”

“Might have known that would be the sort of place where you’d hold up,” Westphalen sneered.

“I hate to disappoint you, but it’s not mine,” Hollister cut her off brusquely as he pushed her toward the hatch. “It belongs to an old friend.”


Wearing only black shorts and a T-shirt, Jonathan Ford stood perfectly still as a member of the Nemesis‘ medical staff taped small plastic vials over the top of one thigh and one bicep.

“Just slap these hard enough to break the skin with the needle and depress the drug into your system.” The medic informed him as he finished taping down the one on Ford’s arm.

Ford nodded his understanding and glanced over to where Kinney was leaning against the wall, watching silently.

“The one on your thigh has a coagulant in it. If you’re bleeding hard, hit it and the drug should slow the bleeding. Use the one on your arms if you have any reason to fear chemical gasses or biological weapons.”

Ford nodded again.

Kinney’s wrist-comm beeped for attention. She activated it as she brought it up to her mouth. “ Kinney here, what have you got for me?”

“Enderly here.” Well aware of the time constraints, her first officer was all business. “Owens just finished triangulating the signal that went into the romeo...it came out of Germany.”

“Where?”

“Looks to be somewhere near Rostock on the Baltic Sea.”

“That’s very...expensive country.”

“Very,” Enderly agreed grimly.

Kinney absorbed that, turning it over in her mind. Nothing seemed to be making any sense. Finally, she quietly ordered. “Put McAlister on research. Have him try to hunt down any relationship between Nathan Bridger and every German who lives within twenty miles of where you pinpointed that signal. And keep trying to decrypt the damn thing.”

“You think Hollister’s not the only one behind this, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Kinney admitted. “One thing keeps bothering me. They stole the sub, but where the hell could Bryan have gotten the money to hire a bunch of mercenaries? He’s been in and out of psych hospitals since the military released him from service.”

There was a brief pause before Enderly’s voice came back over the comm. “We’ll keep hunting."

“I’ll be in the launch bay if you need me."

“Aye-aye.”

The comm beeped again as it went offline. Kathy crossed to stand near Ford as the doctor finished his work. The commander stepped into a wetsuit and quickly zipped it up.

“You’ll be on your own out there, Commander, so be careful.”

“You’ll continue pursuit of the romeo?” Ford questioned.

Kinney nodded. “It has to be my first priority.”

Jonathan nodded his understanding.

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence before Kinney whispered. “If I hadn’t done what I did, Commander, he would have found a way to go after Hollister, and we wouldn’t have had the tracer on him.” She was struggling to keep the defensiveness out of her voice and not succeeding very well.

Ford’s eyes met hers and he nodded. “You’re right,” he agreed quietly, giving her what peace of mind he could.

“Everything’s ready, Captain,” an ensign informed Kinney and Ford. The captain of the Nemesis nodded in recognition.

Ford grunted an agreement.

Jonathan accepted a steadying hand into the tiny craft. The moment he settled into the seat, a crewmember reached in, buckling him in, then tightened all of the straps until he could barely move his upper body.

Kinney knelt down beside the hatch. “We’ll be guiding you on V.R. for approximately the first five miles, then control will switch to local, so be sure to use the time to get used to the feel of the controls.”

Ford nodded.

“Once the V.R. connection breaks maintain radio silence...then send the shrike on after you debark.”

Ford nodded. He remembered everything from the first time she had briefed him, but knew she needed to say it again.

Finally, she reached up and caught the plexiglass hood. “Good luck, Commander. We’ll follow as soon as we’re able.” She slammed the hood down, locking it into place, then rose and stepped back.

The small craft slid into the torpedo tube and Joanthan Ford’s world went dark.

He could feel his pulse rate accelerating as the torpedo tube was locked behind them. He pressed back in the seat, bracing himself for what was to come.

It didn’t help much.

Jonathan had to fight not to scream in sheer primal terror as the shrike surged forward in an explosion of fire. G-Forces slammed him back into his seat as the water foamed around the small ship.

In only seconds, the small craft broke the surface of the water and was airborne.

Then Jonathan Ford did scream...the loudest foulest profanity that came to mind.

Jonathan felt the battle between forward thrust and gravity just before the shrike hit the top of its arc, and started its downward path. At that moment, he realized he was even more afraid of coming down than going up.

Jonathan felt his stomach hit his throat as he plummeted back toward the surface of the ocean. He suddenly wondered at his own sanity going on a mission like this. He wasn’t some kind of SEAL, or special forces operative. He should have just sent somebody else...anybody else. He dimly sensed the skimmer legs locking into the place, and the increased shudder as the engine cut in.

The shrike hit the surface of the water hard, and with all of the grace of a test car slamming into a brick wall.

Ford suddenly understood the reason for all the strapping. Without it, he’d have had one hell of a case of whiplash. In fact, might well have one despite all the buckles and restraints.

“Commander,” A male voice demanded through the headset covering his left ear. “Are you all right?”

“Been better, but I’ll live,” he gasped.

A soft chuckle came back over his headset. “I know the feeling,” the anonymous V.R. pilot admitted before becoming all business. “Ready for a flying lesson?”

“Ready as I’m likely to get,” the commander exhaled.

“All right,” I’ve activated the tracer beacon. The screen is on the lower right hand side."

A bright red point of light appeared superimposed over a screen similar to a radar map.

“Just keep it on top of the readout and you’re chasing him.”

“Understood.”

“Okay, put your hands on the controls. I’m going to bring you about now, and I want you to feel the reaction speed of the stick.”

Ford got his shaking hands on controls even as the craft started a slow turn, easing around to lock on the bright red signal.


Bryan finished locking Westphalen’s wrists to a staple on the wall above her head, then curved his hand to fit her jaw. “I’ll be gone a couple of hours...will you miss me?” he taunted.

“I hope they blow you out of the water,” she snarled and tried to kick him.

Hollister deflected the blow easily, laughing as he chastised her. “We’re really going to have to discuss your manners when I get back.” Then he shoved her against the wall hard enough that her skull cracked against the cold steel.

Kristin’s knees buckled and she would have collapsed were it not for the wall at her back and the drag of her cuffed hands.

Hollister slipped his hand back against her neck, using his thumb to tilt her chin up until their eyes met. “Try being a little nicer and you might just get out of this.”

“Why do I doubt that, somehow?”

Bryan shrugged. “Once Bridger’s dead, it doesn’t matter one way or the other to me.” He leaned in close to her ear, his voice becoming conspiratorial. “I’m going to rip his head off and you can watch.” His hand dropped from her body as he turned and hurried away.

Kristin screamed every obscenity she could think of at his retreating back. When he was gone and the door locked behind him, she fell back against the wall, breathing hard from exertion. The moment of calm was a brief one. Seconds later, she twisted and jerked at the metal cuffs like a wild animal on the end of a leash. It was a useless, frantic gesture that sapped the last of her remaining energy. Finally, she sagged against the wall, braced on her forearms as she gave way to ragged tears. “I’ll kill him,” she panted over and over. “I’ll kill the mad bastard.”


“Well,?” Jake Enderly questioned. “What do we do now?”

“Is Ford still in radio contact?”

Enderly shook his head. “I already checked. According to Reed, he broke five minutes ago.

“Damn,” Kinney exhaled as she ran one hand through her hair in a gesture of frustration. Too late, the information came too damn late. “Inform Secretary Noyce of what you’ve discovered. Hopefully Interpol can work with the police in Rostock to pick up Stark and Werner.”

“Aye-aye.” Enderly said quietly. He turned and slipped away, moving back toward his station.

Kinney watched him go silently, and was about to turn back to her own duties when Owens called out. “Captain, I think you’d better take a look at this.”

“What?” Kinney demanded as he hurried over.

Owens pointed to one of the screens at his station. “There’s a signal coming out of the romeo.”

“Encrypted?”

Owens stripped off his headset so that his captain could hear the signal. “Not exactly.”

Kinney frowned. “Sounds like morse code.”

“It is...it’s running a repeating pattern. S-O-S-O-S-O.”

“Anything else?”

Owens shook his head. “Just that.”

Kinney muttered a curse under her breath. Every attempt to hail the romeo had failed, which meant ... which meant what? She shook her head. “Notify the launch crew to ready a mini-sub, then notify Lieutenants Hitchcock and Krieg to meet me here.”


Almost there, Nathan Bridger thought as he angled the launch toward the surface. He found himself wondering if Hollister would simply fire a torpedo from a distance and end it all. No, that was too simple. Bryan hadn’t cooked up this little scheme to end things that easily.

The launch broke the surface of the water. Bridger activated the flotation pontoons and shut down the engines He pushed open the main hatch, then sat back to wait. Instinct told him it wouldn’t take long.

His instincts were right.

Within fifteen minutes, he felt the craft wobble on the pontoons as a heavy body upset the balance.

Bridger stayed where he was, hands in view and waited.

It didn’t take long.

Clad in a sleeveless black wetsuit and tanks, his mask pushed up on his forehead, Bryan Hollister had to duck to avoid hitting his head as he stepped through the hatch. In one hand he carried a spear gun. It was aimed straight for his former captain's heart.

The captain of the seaQuest felt his jaw drop as he got his first close up look at Bryan Hollister. The man Nathan Bridger remembered had been more or less his own height, and while more heavily muscled, bore little resemblance to the man-mountain grinning down at him. Even though Nathan had seen him on a video screen, knew what he was and that he was bulked up, it hadn't prepared him for this.

“Impressive isn’t it?” Hollister sneered as he tipped the spear-gun up. Impossibly massive muscles flexed and rippled beneath heavy ridges of scar tissue that criss-crossed his bare arms. “What modern technology can do?”

Bridger just shook his head, expression raw with disbelief. “My God, what...” he whispered.

“God?” Hollister repeated. “I don’t think so.”

Nathan suddenly regained control of himself and rose to his feet. “You wanted me here, I’m here. Now, what?”

Bryan smiled slightly. His hand flashed out and Nathan caught a glimpse of silver, then there was a flash of pain in his arm. He looked down just as Bryan pulled the small vaccination gun away. The former captain of the seaQuest fell back a half step as the drug hit his system almost instantly. “Damn you,” he groaned as his knees buckled. He could feel himself going down, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was going to die, unconscious and vulnerable at this maniac’s hands. No! Nathan lunged forward. One last try to kill the bastard before he could be killed.

And fell unconscious to the deck at Bryan’s feet.

The augment laughed softly as he crouched down and lifted Bridger’s head off the floor by the hair. He stared at the older man’s features, slack in drugged stupor. Just kill him, a part of his brain screamed. He let go of Bridger’s hair and lurched backwards away from the man, shaking his head as if he could throw off the madness that ate at his mind. Fear glinted in his pale eyes and when he looked down at his hands, they were trembling hard. Bryan concentrated on controlling the response and only succeeded in making it worse. Finally, he spun away from Bridger, closing his eyes tightly as he did deep breathing exercises to release and control stress.

Long minutes later, Hollister turned back, his expression preternaturally calm. His hands were perfectly steady, his mouth turned up in a slight smile.


Part Five

Katherine Hitchcock glanced back as she finished placing a circle of primercord around the edge of the main hatch seal on the romeo the terrorists had used to attack Whale’s Point. Ben and the rest of the attack force from the Nemesis were waiting, guns drawn, just outside of the actual docking ring. “Back off,” she instructed quickly, then set the timer and hopped out of the ring to join the others a safe distance away.

She saw and heard the soft hiss and flare of the primercord as it burned through the metal decking. After a moment, two members of the assault team hurried forward. Working together, they lifted the hatch out of the way, then stepped back, making way for the rest of the team as they moved forward, weapons held at the ready.

Before any of them went down the ladder, one leaned down, holding up a small meter with a clear test tube at one end. After a moment, he straightened up and looked back toward the others. “Air’s bad---CO2 levels are dangerously high. We’ll need oxygen.”

Ben and Katie traded worried gazes as they reached for oxygen tanks and masks.

With a member of the assault team covering him from the open hatch, Ben Krieg descended the ladder first. Once on his feet, he checked a short way down the hallway in each direction, then spoke softly into the small microphone attached to the oxygen mask covering the lower half of his face. “There’s nothing moving.” He glanced back to find that his ex-wife had followed him down and was waiting at the base of the ladder, her weapon up, guarding his back. His eyes met and held hers and he smiled slightly.

Hitchcock looked back with a slightly disapproving expression before quickly taking control. As the senior officer she had been put in charge of the mission. “Everybody down. Break into your preset teams and move out.” she reached up and adjusted the oxygen mask covering the lower half of her face.

The rest of the assault team quickly broke into two man teams and started in the directions they had been assigned while still aboard the Nemesis.

“I think you just want to be alone with me,” Krieg teased her, a few minutes later, as they moved cautiously down one of the narrow corridors.

“Shh,” his ex-wife hissed impatiently. She considered pairing with someone else, but she knew and trusted Ben—even if his sense of humor was annoying as hell. She was about to tell him off when she glanced over and saw that despite his teasing, his expression was serious and more than a little worried. He was just trying to distract her from her own set of fears.

Suddenly Krieg pulled up short and held up one hand for silence when Katie was about to speak. He tapped one ear, then pointed at the hallway ahead.

Hitchcock tucked her hair behind one ear, listening carefully until she heard what he had, a soft rasping sound somewhere ahead of them. Only a few feet more and the corridor made a sharp right angle turn. After a couple of quick hand signals, the two officers snuck forward, rounding the corner on a three count from Hitchcock, with Ben aimed high and Katie, low.

Nothing.

But Krieg could see an open cabin door, and the sound seemed to be coming from that direction. Indicating that he intended to check it out, he crept forward, then spun into the room with his weapon hiked against his shoulder, his finger on the trigger. After a second, he tipped the rifle up and waved Hitchcock forward.

“Looks like he had a bad day,” Krieg muttered as he gestured to the corpse that had been dumped on one bunk. Whoever had left the body had been in a hurry and the dead man’s arm hung over the edge, the ring on one finger brushing the deck as his arm swung ever so slightly with the pulse of the ship’s engines. A second body had been dumped on the opposite bunk.

Krieg stepped into the small cabin and took the time to move each body enough to find the bullet holes. “Really bad,” he muttered as he stared at the wounds. He looked back up at his ex who still stood guarding the door. Their eyes met. “They haven’t been dead very long. A few hours at most.”

Hitchcock lost all color. “They’re killing each other,” she whispered disbelievingly. The two officers fell silent, both unwilling to voice the fears that suddenly plagued them. If the mercenaries were turning on each other, what chance would their two unarmed prisoners have?

“I hope to hell they’re not here,” Krieg muttered as he rose to his feet. “This place is a death ship.”

Hitchcock didn’t argue, just reached up and switched her headset from local to shipwide communications. “Team leaders, this is AT1. We have found two bodies, both shot to death, dead only a few hours.”

The responses from the other four teams came back almost instantly.

“AT1, this is AT2. We’ve also found bodies, but it looks like they were asphyxiated by the bad air."

“This is AT3. We’ve got four dead, no apparent injuries.”

Teams four and five also reported in, but they had seen nothing.

Hitchcock considered her options for a long moment before ordering. “Continue checking the ship. We’re going to head straight for life-support and see what we can find.”

Agreement came back from the other teams, then Hitchcock switched her headset back to local. “Let’s go,” she muttered and started in the direction their plans had shown life support.

The distance the two officers had to travel was a short one, but it rapidly became gruesome as they entered the areas used more heavily by the crew. As he knelt and checked for a pulse on each body they found, Ben Krieg found himself wondering if he would ever sleep undisturbed by nightmares again. He glanced up at his ex-wife, noting that her expression had frozen. He knew Katie well enough to realize that she had shut down to deal with the worry and horror of the situation. For once, he rather envied her that skill.

Hitchcock checked the electronic map of the ship, then gestured in front of herself. “According to this, it’s only about another one hundred yards.”

“Yeah,” Krieg exhaled as he pushed back to his feet. He stepped across the body as he continued down the companionway. Hitchcock followed suit, sticking close as she guarded their backs.

“This must be it,” Krieg said as he pulled up short in front of the only hatch in the area marked on their map. He tried to door, then shook his head. “It’s locked from the inside.”

“If there are any answers left on this boat, I have a funny feeling they’re hiding in there,” Hitchcock said thoughtfully. After a moment’s consideration, she slipped her weapon off her shoulder and passed it to Krieg before digging a thin roll of lighter weight primercord out of her equipment belt. “I think this should burn hot enough to melt through this grade of steel,” she told Krieg as she ran one hand down the joint between the door and the wall.

Krieg shouldered one weapon, but kept the other in hand as he watched his wife place the incendiary around the edges of the door.

Hitchcock worked fast and efficiently as she placed the cord, then wired it to the detonator. “I’m setting it for ten seconds,” she told Krieg as she waved him back. “Now,” she snapped, then hurried back to join him.

The primercord wasn’t particularly dangerous on its own since it burned rather than exploding, but if there were any flammable gasses in the cabin, it could easily ignite them.

It lit with a sharp hiss, and Krieg carefully tracked its path as the sharp flare of superhot flame traced its way around the edge of the hatch. Finally, it reached the end of its route and winked out.

“Cover me?” he whispered to his ex-wife as they approached the door.

Hitchcock accepted the rifles from him, looping one over her shoulder and holding the other at the ready. She almost made an acid remark only to discard it in favor of the more honest response. “You know I will.”

Krieg grinned as he stepped up to the door, bracing himself as he prepared to push it out of the way.

“One more thing, Ben,” Hitchcock said softly. He looked back at her, his expression curious. “I’ve changed my mind, I would remarry you if you were the last man on earth.”

Krieg’s grin broadened at the gentle attempt at teasing. “Guess I’m making headway then.” A heartbeat later, he turned back to the door, took a deep breath, and pushed.

The door was heavier than it looked, and it took all of his strength to maintain his grip and not just send it crashing. He shifted the heavy plate steel far enough for Hitchcock to peer in through a narrow slot between the door and the wall.

“It’s clear,” she told him quickly, “You can let it drop.”

Breathing hard from the effort, Krieg nodded. “On two.”

Hitchcock nodded and rocked the rifle to her shoulder. “Let go and get out of the way as fast as you can.”

He counted softly, “One...two...” then opened his fingers, letting the heavy steel fall away and dove sideways, out of Hitchcock’s probable line of fire if there were anyone moving inside the cabin.

“Oh, God,” the lieutenant commander muttered almost instantly. Kreig heard rather than saw her swing her weapon up as she stepped forward.

He twisted and lunged after his wife. “Lucas,” he exhaled as he got his first look at what she had seen.

The boy was sprawled in a chair, a jerry-rigged air mask over the lower half of his face. Kreig’s gaze followed the clear plastic hose that connected the mask to the two air tanks. It was patched and attached with heavy layers of duct tape. “C’mon kid,” he whispered as he and Hitchcock both reached Lucas at the same instant, each reaching to hunt for a pulse, Krieg at the throat, Katie at the wrist. After a moment, their eyes met.

“Thank God,” Hitchcock whispered.

Ben nodded in agreement while grabbing for the tiny tank of emergency oxygen strapped to the center back of his equipment belt. He stripped off the jerry-rigged oxygen mask to replace it with the emergency mask. A moment later, fresh air was flowing across the boy's face. “C’mon kid,” he whispered again.

Hitchcock reached out, running a gentle hand across Lucas’s forehead, brushing sweat damp hair away from his face. “Hold on, Lucas, we’ll get you out of here.” The she reached up to activate the headset to inform the other teams. “This is AT1, in life support. We’ve found Doctor Wolenczeck. He’s alive. We don’t know anything about Doctor Westphalen.”

Lucas’ eyes fluttered open and he shook his head weakly as he struggled against Krieg’s gently restraining hand to straighten in the chair.

“She’s not here,” the boy croaked almost inaudibly. “Hollister took her with him. He’s the one who...sabotaged...life-support.”

Katie knelt down beside Lucas. “Is there anyone else left alive?”

Lucas shook his head. “They didn’t know he booby-trapped the sub. They must have just gone to sleep.”

“You sent the SOS, then?" Krieg questioned.

Lucas nodded, “I remembered one was three short and one was three long, but I couldn’t remember which was S and which was O,” he babbled.

“That’s okay,” Krieg soothed. “We figured out what it meant.” He caught one of Lucas’s hands and wrapped the boy’s fingers around the emergency air tank. “I need you to hold this, so I can carry you.”

“I can walk,” Lucas argued, but there was no strength to his words.

“Right,” Krieg said wryly and glanced over at Katie.

She nodded to his unasked question. “All AT teams, this is AT1, report back to the mini-sub. We’re getting out of here.”


A palpable wave of relief moved through the bridge of the Nemesis as the news came back that Lucas had been found alive, and no casualties had been suffered.

Kinney leaned over Ian McAlister’s shoulder. “Activate the tracer on Ford.”

“It could give away his position,” McAlister pointed out.

Kinney shook her head. “Not likely, but it’s worth the risk. With luck, we’ll get there not too long after he does.”

“Understood.”

“Forward the coordinates to the helm when you have them.”

McAlister nodded.

Kinney backed away from the young lieutenant, eyes shifting around the bridge as she considered what likely lay ahead. There was a strong chance that Hollister would hear them coming, but after learning what he had done aboard the romeo, she firmly believed that he had to be destroyed. She could only pray that it wouldn’t cost any more lives than it already had.


Nathan regained consciousness with a low groan. He opened his eyes slowly, gradually becoming aware of the aches and bruises all over his body. Lying face down on a cold steel floor. He was still wearing his wetsuit, but no other scuba gear. He pushed up on his hands. His legs were shaking and it took considerable effort to reach his feet. The room was dimly lit, but he could make out enough details to recognize an old fashioned airlock entry port.. Which meant that the air lock itself should be right.... His eyes moved around the room until he found what he was looking for... there. He staggered over to the airlock portal.

Welded shut.

Nathan leaned his forehead against the cold steel. Hollister was making damn certain no one could come or go that way without his approval.

Cat and mouse, Bridger realized in a rush. The bastard’s playing a sick game of cat and mouse. .

And Kristin and Lucas’ lives undoubtedly relied on his playing along.

Bridger pushed away from the wall, then started out the hatch. If Hollister wanted to play, then Nathan Bridger would do his damnedest to give him the game of his life.


Sitting on one of the skimmer feet, Jonathan Ford adjusted the straps on his air tank, resettling it on his back. After a moment, he reached back inside the shrike for his equipment. He felt the craft list as he hefted the bag over the side and slung it over one shoulder. He punched the button to reactivate the small craft, then slammed the cockpit hood, tugged his mask down over his face and let his body fall backwards. He hit the water and started to sink even as the launch continued on its own.

Ford relaxed, letting the weight of the bag drag him downward. He glanced down at the tiny version of the tracer telemetry strapped to his wrist. He had a long way to go yet. Thankfully, his tanks contained a high oxygen mix. It would mean skating the edge, but by the look of things he should be okay to go that deep without risking oxygen narcosis.

He floated down into the darkness, sinking at a steady rate. Jonathan went so deep, that he didn’t see the base in the underwater gloom until he was nearly on top of it.

Ford landed lightly, then used his hands to make his body pivot in the water, trying to see whatever he could in the darkness. By the look of things the base was of the no-frills, utilitarian variety. He knelt down and noted that the outer paneling design was consistent with the work done by a German-based company named Krammering.

Which meant the airlocks and launch bays would be along the underside. Ford stripped off his weight belt and let it fall over the side. The equipment bag was heavy enough to keep him from floating, and he didn’t want to have to swim hard to keep from sinking

It took longer than he would have liked to find the airlock entry, leaving him with barely enough air to ascend should he need to. Ford reached to spin the door lock.

It didn’t move.

He braced himself and put his full strength behind the effort.

Still nothing.

He wanted to scream with frustration. He was so close and still so damn far.

He swam on, hunting the darkness for a way in.

He almost shouted for sheer joy when he saw her.

The launch from the Nemesis was parked neatly in one of the two small slips attached to the base.

He swam closer, and let out a sigh of relief as he saw that the docking ring was still attached. Kinney had given him the override codes just in case.

Which meant he could get aboard the launch and from there, into the base.


“Kristin?” Nathan Bridger’s voice came out as a rusty croak as he got a look at the woman handcuffed to the wall in the latest storeroom he’d stumbled into.

Her head came up, arched brows drawing into a confused frown as she peered through the gloom. “Nathan?” she exhaled, not quite believing that he was really there.

He crossed the room in several long strides, arms going around her as he sought to reassure himself that she was still alive. Warm and solid, she nosed into his shoulder, sobbing softly as he petted her hair soothingly. "It'll be all right," he whispered over and over, his heart in his throat over the thought of everything that might have happened to her.

Suddenly Kristin jerked back. “Lucas,” she choked roughly and couldn’t go on.

Nathan cupped her face in his hands, his eyes full of dread as he whispered. “Kristin?”

“Hollister left him behind on the submarine...” Tears rimmed her dark eyes and her chin trembled. She could barely get the words out. “It was sabotaged...life support..."

Nathan's eyes slid closed as he absorbed what she was telling him. Agony coursed through his veins and his knees threatened to buckle, but he knew he couldn't give way to the pain. Not now. Not while Kristin was still alive and he had a chance to at least save her life. Finally, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes as he slowly exhaled it. “I’ve got to find a way to get you out of those cuffs,” he whispered raggedly, purposely focusing on the problem at hand rather than things he couldn’t do anything about.

Kristin tugged on them and they clanked against the staple in the wall. “I’ve been trying, but...” she shook her head as her voice trailed off.

“I’ll see if I can find something to pry it,” Nathan murmured as he started to pull away.

“That’s not necessary, Captain,” Bryan Hollister cut in silkily.

Nathan spun, automatically shielding his lover.

Hollister was leaning in the open doorway, arms folded loosely across his chest. Every inch of bare flesh was painted in varying shades of green, black, and brown to match his dark camouflage pants and tank top. The contrast in colors made the white of his eyes and teeth glow that much brighter, enhancing the look of madness that vibrated around him. Grinning triumphantly, he held out a hand. “All you need is the key,” he sneered as he turned and opened his fingers to reveal old-fashioned hand-cuff key resting on his broad palm. He lobbed it and it landed in the middle if the room. “And all you have to do is pick it up."

Bridger stiffened, eyeing Hollister, then the key, and then Hollister again.

“Nathan,” Kristin hissed warningly.

“Or you can just walk out and leave," Bryan offered, his tone conversational. "I won’t stop you. Personally, I’d just as soon see you spend the rest of your life in hell wondering how your lady friend spent her last hours."

Bridger shook his head slowly, refusing to be baited. “Kathy Kinney told me what happened, Bryan. I know now what they did to you, but I swear I didn’t know then." The two officers had been good friends once. He hoped maybe her name would break through Hollister's insanity to the man he'd once been.

“Kathy,” Hollister sneered. “How is the traitorous little bitch?"

“I think she’s afraid she’s going to have to kill you before this is over with," Nathan answered honestly, still holding out some small hope that he could reach some remaining well of humanity in his former junior officer.

"Like she could,” Bryan snorted disdainfully.

“She’ll blow the base if she has to,” Bridger told him.

"Maybe, but she has business to take care of first." He chuckled softly,  then dropped his voice conspiratorially as he told Bridger, “Our old crewmate is chasing a ship that’s about as lively as the ancient mariner...” he laughed, madness showing in his eyes. “And she’ll chase it into hell...and by the time she gets back here...well....” He ran his gaze over Kristin where she was pulling unsuccessfully at the cuffs and his mouth curved into a knowing smile. "I think we'll be finished here by then."

Swallowing hard, Nathan forced the panic down and kept trying to reach the other man. “Let it go, Bryan, please,” he coaxed. "Too many people have been hurt already."

Hollister shook his head very slowly. “Not until you’re dead,” he ground out.

“Fine, kill me,” Nathan bargained desperately. “Just let Doctor Westphalen go.” He heard Kristin gasp his name, but ignored her. If he could trade his life for hers, he'd do it happily. “She hasn’t done anything to you. She doesn't deserve this.”

“But she’s loyal to you...and hurting her hurts you,” Hollister hissed. “Now, pick up the key!” As he glared at Nathan, his eyes glinting with barely restrained madness, danger poured off the man like sweat, dripping from his very pores.

Nathan stared at Kristin’s and Lucas’ kidnapper, taking in the breadth and bulk of enhanced muscles. He didn't have a chance. Hollister would go through him the way Sherman had gone through Georgia once upon a time. He also knew he didn’t have much choice but to try.

“Nathan,” Kristin breathed, his name a plea on her lips.

He looked back at her, naked emotion showing in his eyes as they met hers. “I love you,” he mouthed the words, unwilling to give Hollister any more ammunition than he already had.

Kristin nodded, but didn’t trust herself to speak. There was nothing she could say to dissuade him from what he intended.

“I said, Pick up the key,” Hollister repeated, his voice rising in pitch. He didn't like being ignored.

No time left for any more delays. Nathan pivoted sharply on one foot and dove at his tormentor.


Part Six

Jonathan Ford studied the tracer readout on his wrist for a long moment as he considered the three branches that led away from the companionway in which he found himself.        

Once he’d found the launch, it had just been a matter of using the built-in airlock, then entering the base through the main hatch. The lower decks of the base formed a dark, grimy, interconnected maze of nearly identical tunnels and corridors and he’d nearly gotten lost several times in his search for his former captain and crewmates. Encountering no signs of life, he made his way to the upper decks where the hallways broadened and quickly became less confusing, if no more lively. If it weren't for the moving signal broadcast by the locator on Bridger, he would have been certain that Hollister had somehow tricked him.

Upon arriving Jonathan had shed his wetsuit in favor of a form-fitting black jumpsuit that left his upper arms bare, and allowed for greater mobility than the stiff neoprene wetsuit. A .45 automatic was dogged in the holster under his left armpit, while a pistol-gripped 20 gauge was strapped across his back, and a Heckler and Koch MP-8 assault rifle was slung over one shoulder.

As he moved along, alert to his surroundings and ready for a fight with every step, he could only pray he wouldn’t need to use the other weapon he carried—two small canisters at the small of his back. The high impact explosives would undoubtedly take Hollister out, but would probably destroy the integrity of the base at the same time. They were the weapon of last resort. Hopefully, he wouldn't need them.

He stared back down at the tracer signal, then up at the tunnels and found himself wishing it were more accurate, but in the confines of the metal base and this close to Bridger, it had become a crapshoot.

He was still trying to make up his mind when a piercing scream answered the question for him.

“NATHAN!”

“Doctor Westphalen,” Ford gasped as he broke into a run in the direction of the scream.


His lover's scream echoing in his ears, Nathan Bridger hit the far wall hard and tumbled to the deck with a pained grunt. Knees shaky, he fought to struggle back to his feet even though he knew it was pointless. Hollister was only playing with him, letting him get just so close to the key before delivering a blow just hard enough to make his head spin, but not hard enough to knock him out, or kick that sent him flying, or sometimes just grabbing and slinging him aside.

Not that Nathan had been totally ineffectual. During the course of the fight, he'd actually managed to deliver several blows of his own, each one hard enough they likely would have taken down any other man. Unfortunately, Bryan had shown little sign that he even felt them.

One hand braced across his ribs in a useless quest to lessen the pain pulsing there, Nathan braced his other hand against the wall when his knees threatened to buckle.

Standing only a few feet away, Hollister grinned. “Having fun?” he taunted.

Bridger licked his lips to moisten them and tasted blood. “Sorry,” he panted. “Not really my cup of tea."

“But it’s mine, and that’s all that really matters.” Bryan reached down, curving heavy fingers into the front of Bridger’s wetsuit and lifted.

As he was hauled off his feet, Nathan grabbed at Hollister's forearms, desperate to take some of the weight off his windpipe. It barely helped. He didn't have much time. Finally offered an opportunity at the other man's one vulnerable spot, he slammed a fist into Hollister’s unprotected throat.

Bryan’s head jerked back and his muscles spasmed. He lost grip on Bridger’s wetsuit and seemed to stagger.

As he dropped to his feet, Nathan realized he couldn't back off if he wanted to live. Pursuing the  fight, he hit Bryan again, putting every available ounce of strength into the blow.

Hollister gagged, visibly fighting to breathe as he stumbled away from the smaller man.

Bridger followed aiming another blow at his tormentor’s throat.

Hollister blocked him this time, catching his fist in one meaty hand. He squeezed, twisted and shoved all at once.

Nathan hit one knee, nearly screaming as several bones in his right hand gave way at once. Despite the agony, he somehow found the strength to swing with his other hand, aiming once again for his attacker's throat. The meat of solid flesh and steel cable bruised his knuckles and the blow lacked any real strength, but Hollister gagged and a moment later the pressure was miraculously gone. Struggling to drag air into artificial lungs, Bryan stumbled away with a curse.

He coughed and spat blood. “That hurt, old man, and you are gonna pay,” he ground out through tightly clenched teeth.

Struggling wildly against the chains binding her to the wall, Kristin didn’t realize there was a newcomer to the game until a single shot rocked the room.

“Back off, Hollister!" Jonathan Ford’s furious voice followed it in fast succession. Afraid to fire at Hollister for fear of hitting his captain, he’d put the first round into the ceiling, but he snapped his aim onto the bulky form of the one-time lieutenant.

Bryan spun and stood glaring at Ford, his eyes focused on the assault rifle trained on his chest.

Half kneeling, his back against the wall, it took Nathan a second to process and recognize his first officer’s voice.

“Ford?” he groaned as he looked up and slowly brought the younger man into focus.

“Captain, are you all right?”

“There’s a handcuff key on the floor in the middle of the room. Get Kristin the hell out of here!”

Ford’s eyes flicked sideways, but the weapon in his hands didn’t waver. He had no intention of letting the gun drop, even for a second. “You’ll have to do it, sir.”

Leaning heavily against the wall, Bridger struggled to his feet. Ford was perfectly right, he realized. No way could they afford to take the gun off Hollister for even the space of a heartbeat. Careful to stay as far away from the madman as possible, he sidled around the man.

Hollister glanced over, watching him and Ford tensed, ready to respond. “Try it,” the commander warned, “and I will shoot to kill.”

Hollister laughed, the sound oddly pitched. “You can’t kill plastic,” he taunted.

Nathan retrieved the handcuff key and staggered over to Kristin. He tried to unlock the cuffs, but his left hand was clumsy and he finally had to slip the key into Kristin’s fingers and allow her to free herself.

Dizzy from the beating he’d taken, Nathan leaned against the wall as the floor tilted dangerously beneath his feet.

Once he knew the doctor was free, Ford relaxed a notch. “Now turn around and put your hands against the wall!” he ordered Hollister.

The other man thought about it for a second, then shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said softly.

“I mean it,” Ford bit out.

“Then go ahead and shoot me,” Hollister taunted. He laughed when Ford didn’t fire. “You’re a choir boy, aren’t you, Commander? Can’t quite bring yourself to shoot an unarmed, unresisting man, even when you know you should.”

“Hands against the wall!” Ford repeated in a hard voice.

Bryan shook his head and folded his arms across his chest.

Ford felt as much as heard Westphalen draw close to his back, felt the canvas on his back shift as she drew the 20 gauge, then heard the smooth slide of the pump action as she chambered a cartridge.

“He might not,” she threatened grimly, “but I will.”

“Kristin,” Bridger panted as he pushed away from the wall.

“What,” Hollister leered. “Does this mean the wedding’s off?”

The angry blast of the shotgun seemed to startle everyone but the woman who wielded the weapon.

Crimson spread across Hollister’s chest, but he didn’t go down, just laughed even as he staggered ever so slightly. "Oh baby, do that to me one more time," he taunted, then dropped his voice low, his tone a mockery of a lover's caress, "And then I'll kill the choir boys and you and I can have some real fun." As he spoke, his expression turned deadly serious, his gaze only for her, the threat implicit in every gesture and word.

"Like hell." The slide was smooth. Kristin barely felt it as she dropped a fresh cartridge into the chamber and fired a second time.

Hollister's body jerked with the impact, and he wavered on his feet, but showed little sign of collapse. Mouth twisted in a sneer, the words as obscene as the sentiments, he told Kristin just how he intended for all of them to die.

He was still talking when she fired a third time. Finally, his knees buckled, but his mouth kept running.

The fourth blast finally silenced the ugly torrent of words. For a moment, Bryan just stared at them all, and then abruptly collapsed forward to the deck.

Kristin let the weapon fall to her side, then let it slide from suddenly nerveless fingers.

It hit the floor with a dissonant clatter.

It couldn't be real, she thought distantly. She couldn't have just shot a man to death.

Still paralyzed by shock, Jonathan slowly turned his head, staring at the woman standing only a short distance away in amazement. What, he couldn't help but wonder, had Hollister done to her?

Nathan didn't pause to think about his fears, just slid his good hand across her shoulder and tugged Kristin close as he breathed her name. Whimpering softly, she turned into his body, hiding her face against his chest and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. Knowing what the choice to kill Bryan would cost her, Nathan petted her hair gently and whispered soothing nonsense phrases as she clung to him.

He looked over at Jonathan, meeting the younger man’s worried gaze.

“Lucas?” Ford mouthed the boy’s name.

Nathan closed his eyes against the awful wave of pain that washed over him, and shook his head.

Ford's exhaled obscenity was short and to the point.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Bridger murmured at last.

Ford shook his head, and started toward the sprawled body lying on the opposite end of the room. “I want to make sure he’s dead,” he said grimly.

He dropped the assault rifle from his shoulder as he drew near Hollister’s bloodied torso. Finger tight on the trigger, Jonathan rested the barrel of the weapon against Hollister’s broad back and prodded his arm with one foot.

Nothing.

Ford frowned, trying to see if there was any sign that Hollister was still breathing. He heard the double ratchet of a round being chambered in the shotgun and glanced back to find the Bridger had retrieved the weapon and managed a one-handed pump with his left hand.

Ford turned his gaze back to Hollister’s unmoving form and nudged him again.

Still nothing.

Slinging the heavy rifle over his shoulder, he drew the .45 as he knelt down and thumbed the safety off before he pressed the barrel against Hollister’s temple and reached under the body with his other hand, feeling for a pulse.

He couldn’t find one.

Jonathan Ford exhaled a heavy sigh of relief and pushed to his feet. “He’s gone,” he assured Bridger and Westphalen where they were still waiting.

Ford was just stepping away from the body when a hard hand lashed out, fingers wrapping around his ankle. He barely had time to yelp as his leg was yanked out from under him. He hit the deck on his hands, nearly losing his grip on the .45 as the rest of his body hit in rapid succession. Ignoring the pain radiating outward from his ankle, Jonathan twisted, bringing his right hand up even as his finger tightened on the trigger.

He just had time to make out the massive form of Bryan Hollister surging up and toward him before he fired. Finger spasming on, he fired as fast as humanly possible, pumping round after round into his attacker's chest.

Driven back by the sheer force of the bullet impacts, Bryan stumbled, but didn't go down as Ford heard the click of the .45 going empty. Realizing he'd just become a liability, he scrambled to clear out of his captain's line of fire.

Strong hands caught his arms, tugging him forward and he looked up to find Kristin helping him. “GO!” he shouted and pushed her toward the open hatchway. He was still turning toward Bridger when the harsh sound of a shotgun blast rolled through the room.

He saw Bridger’s face twist with pain, and he jerked his injured hand away from the grip as he again did a one handed pump with his left. The shot had gone so wild as to be more of a noisemaker than actual threat to Bryan.

On the other end of the room, Hollister had somehow found the strength to push to his knees.

Ford holstered the .45 with one hand as he snatched the shotgun from Bridger’s grasp with the other. He shoved his captain toward the door. “GO!” he shouted as he spun and fired.

Bryan’s torso was already so drenched in blood that it was hard to tell whether or not the shot hit. He flinched, but beyond that, barely slowed his struggle to reach his feet.

Jonathan Ford’s jaw dropped as Hollister managed to stand. He’d heard tales of what some augments were capable of, but nothing had prepared him for this. He pumped the weapon again, but the breach was empty. Realizing it would take too much time to reload from the spares on his belt, Ford tipped it up, turned tail and ran.

He caught up with Bridger and Westphalen several yards down the hallway. “Your launch is tied up to an airlock in the lower decks,” he panted to Bridger. “Captain Kinney gave me all of the release codes, so we can get it out of here.”

Bridger nodded his agreement.


Jake Enderly tapped the point he’d marked on map laid out on the conference table in the Nemesis‘ wardroom. “It took a lot of hunting, but McAlister and I found that there is a base in the area where we last picked up Commander Ford’s signal. It’s not very deep, maybe 200-250 feet. It was built by Krammering fifteen years ago as a chemical weapons lab. They abandoned it five years ago when the United Nations found out what they were up to. Bahn Ltd was given legal possession by the U.N. last year in return for cleaning up any toxins left. Bahn is owned by one Maximilian Werner, CEO.”

Krieg, and Hitchcock, as well as Kinney and several other officers from the Nemesis were seated around the table listening carefully.

“And Stark?” Kinney prompted.

“Interpol thinks Werner was in on her attempt to hijack the seaQuest last year.”

“Bingo,” Ben Krieg murmured in a sing-song voice.

Kinney nodded. “Have a launch prepped, then pull your seven best security people.” She looked over at Krieg and Hitchcock. “I am assuming you two want to go.”

Both officers nodded quickly.

“And the final member of the team?” Enderly queried, his expression suspicious.

Kinney laughed grimly. “I am,” she said quickly, confirming her Ex-O’s worst fears.

“Captain—” Enderly started to argue, but Kinney held up a hand, halting his words before they really began.

“I’m going,” she said firmly, then felt the need to explain, "Bryan and I were friends once...maybe I can..." She didn't finish, every possible response seeming relatively silly in light of the crimes he'd already committed. "I have to do this," she said at last.

Enderly sighed, shoulders sagging as he gave in. He knew his captain well enough to know she’d made up her mind and wasn’t likely to change it anytime soon.


Jonathan spun, slowly, in the most recent darkened corridor, trying to regain his sense of direction.

Bridger and Westphalen were both leaning against a nearby wall, using what little chance they had to take a brief rest.

“Jonathan?” Bridger panted questioningly.

Ford shook his head uneasily. “I think it’s that way," he said, gesturing down one corridor. ”But I’m not completely sure."

“Wonderful,” Westphalen groaned. Several days worth of battering was catching up with her and she was finding it harder and harder to keep going.


Bryan Hollister stared at the ice-blonde image of Marilyn Stark that glowed on the vid-screen. He was rocking slightly, his eyes glazed, but the artificial organs installed by his government had held up despite the punishment thrown at them. Drugs killed what little pain coursed through whatever unscarred nerve endings he still possessed. When he brushed at the blood soaking his chest, he barely felt it the way his hand disturbed already torn flesh.

“Dammit, you were supposed to kill them,” Stark swore, rage glittering in her pale eyes.

Hollister shrugged and focused on her with visible effort. “They won’t get off this base alive,” he said dully. The wounds in his chest were starting to ache. He reached down and depressed the small plunger taped to his waist, releasing more drugs into his system. There, that was better.

“Look, you incompetent screwup—” Marilyn began, but Bryan cut her off.

“I’m not the one who has to get someone else to my killing for me,” he snorted disdainfully. He really was getting tired of her ranting. She'd been a lousy officer back in the day, and didn't appear to be much better now.

“But you haven’t killed them—" she began, but he cut her off.

“In my own good time,” he murmured surprisingly calmly, considering he would have snapped her neck had she not been several thousand miles away. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have more important things to do," he dismissed as he snapped the channel off, muttering to himself, “She never did have good timing.”


Marilyn Stark stared at the blank screen, her expression twisted into one of feral rage. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to deal with our little puppet,” she snarled.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Max Werner questioned, his near perfect English only slightly colored by a soft German accent.

Stark whirled. “I want Nathan Bridger dead!” she growled.

“As do I,” Werner said surprisingly calmly, “but not at the cost of my own life or freedom.” Revenge for his son's death was one thing. Risking his own life quite another.

“Don’t worry,” Stark sneered. “I don’t plan on spending any more time in their prisons.” She spun on her heel and started toward the hatch.

“Marilyn?” Werner’s voice caught her at the door.

Stark spun back. “The bridge, Max, I’m going to the bridge...where I’m going to turn this tub around and blow the hell out of that psycho bastard.”

“No, you’re not,” he said with grim determination.

“I’m the captain of this ship,” Stark swore bitterly.

“Only as far as I allow you to be,” Werner reminded her. “This ship, this crew, even your psycho bastard were all bought with my money. For today, if Nathan Bridger survives, he survives.... There will be another day...”


A small launch bearing the image of an American flag and the call letters of a U.S. naval craft swept around the supposedly discarded base, hunting for signs of life.

“There,” Katherine Hitchcock said suddenly as the mobile spotlight on the side of the launch brushed across the unmoving form of a matching craft.

The ship’s pilot made an adjustment, trailing the light along the dark silhouette.

“It’s the launch Bridger took,” Kinney said quickly as she made out the call numbers stenciled along one side.

“There doesn’t seem to be a free bay, Captain,” the pilot informed her after several minutes of circling..

“Link up with the air lock on our launch. We’ll piggy back it and go in that way.” She tapped the pilot’s shoulder and gestured to a young woman sitting off to one side. “Reed, you and Harriman will stay with the launch.” Spinning to face the rest of the crew, she grabbed an overhead bar to steady herself when the launch dropped sharply in order to line up with the other craft. “The rest of you will be moving into the ship. I want weapons and lights drawn and ready. I don’t know what we may be facing going in there, so everybody be on your toes.”

The ship rattled and shook as it bumped and banged into the other small craft.

“Marcus, Freer, handle the lock,” Kinney ordered quickly as she moved toward the hatchway in question.

The two officer’s did as ordered, quickly locking the two small craft together.

From his position at the main console, Reed entered the codes to unlatch the other side.

Two security officers were the first ones through, followed by Kinney, then Krieg, Hitchcock and the rest of the crewmembers from the Nemesis.

“Captain,” a crewmember called and pointed his flashlight at the pile of equipment Ford had discarded.

Kinney knelt briefly beside them, making fast note of the I.D. tag on the tank. “It’s Commander Ford’s all right,” she said as she rose to her feet. Her eyes met Krieg and Hitchcock’s in turn. “At least we know we’re on the right track.”


A dead end.

The corridor was a dead end.

Jonathan Ford punched his fist against the heavy metal wall blocking their way, then spun to face Bridger and Westphalen. “I must have taken a wrong turn,” he groaned in a voice dripping with disgust. “We’ll have to backtrack.”

Bridger wiped at the sweat pouring down his face and nodded. He glanced at Kristin who was leaning against the wall, her eyes tightly closed as she fought to catch her breath. Nathan touched her arm lightly and her eyes snapped open.

“I’ll be all right,” she assured him as she pushed away from the wall.


So close I can almost smell them, Bryan Hollister thought to himself as he moved through the darkened corridors. It had been so easy to discover which they had headed. Now all he had to do was get there first.

So easy, so fast, so stupid. The words ran through his mind in disjointed links, repeating, backtracking, then randomly associating.

Pain laced through every part of his body, the tide no longer stemmed by the steady flow of drugs into his system, but he ignored it. Ignoring pain was part of his training. Nothing could hurt his body anymore. The bleeding had stopped, slowed, then was completely halted by the coagulants in his bloodstream that thickened it to the consistency of thin jelly. Despite the strain, the mechanical heart in his chest continued its slow, steady, throbbing beat.

He stumbled and fell to one knee. The hand he braced on the wall in order to push upright was trembling hard. He stared at it for a long moment.

“Bridger’s fault,” Bryan groaned and fisted the hand tightly, leaning his forehead against the cold metal wall. Nothing was happening the way it was supposed to. Tears surged, unbidden, to his eyes.

“NO!” Bryan screamed and scrambled to his feet.


“Captain?” an ensign whispered questioningly as the tormented howl echoed through the decks.

Kinney stared down the cramped dark corridor, squinting against the gloom. The way appeared to narrow sharply as the walkway became jammed with piping and wiring.

Krieg started to step past her, but she held out her hand, blocking his passage. “It could be a trap,” she hissed in warning. As she shined her flashlight on the way ahead, the shadows seemed to dance and shift like live things. The rifles would be precious little protection in such close quarters, and if more than one person went forward and something happened, they would be as likely to shoot one another as an attacker, especially since her crew was young and unused to this kind of work. Having them panic in tight quarters would be a death sentence. Her decision made, she passed the M-19 back to one of her people and drew the Colt Service Automatic .45 strapped to her thigh. “Cover my back,” the captain of the Nemesis ordered as she moved forward.

Her attention already focused on the task at hand, she never saw the nervous glances traded by the younger crewmen at her back. Loyalty aside, none of them relished the idea of having to go back and explain to Enderly if something happened to the captain.

She lay the flashlight alongside the barrel of the .45, pointing the way and making sure her target would be well illuminated should she need to fire.

Piping and heavy tubing ran along the sides of the walkway, gaining in numbers with every step. She shined her flashlight down a smaller offshoot tunnel, which was even more inundated in piping. As a one time chemical weapons facility, it had originally possessed a network of complex purification systems. Now the pipes were leaking and the insulation hung in moldy tatters.

Glancing back, she instantly spotted the reassuring lights carried by her crew.

The corridor narrowed still further, until she was forced to turn sideways, and step carefully, to keep moving. Slimy water dripped from everywhere and her jacket was running wet before she had gone more than a few feet.


He saw the clean moving beam of the flashlight and froze, bracing himself. The gun in his hand trembled fractionally and sweat ran down muscular shoulders.

Boots scuffed the metal grating-deck, and a broad shouldered human silhouette moved through the near darkness.

He lunged, strong fingers wrapping around the gun barrel glinting dully in the faint light, forcing it into the air even as he hurtled into the body behind it.

Kinney lost her hold on the comforting presence of the flashlight and it flew away, winking out as it hit the deck with a noisy clatter. She was too busy to notice. Her head hit the wall with a solid thwack and her jaw was forced up by a shotgun barrel.

Jonathan Ford knew he’d made a mistake almost the moment he realized that the illusion of size had been created by a bulky leather jacket and not oversize muscles. He was already so programmed to respond that he didn’t instantly let go.

“Captain Kinney!” he heard the shout, recognized Krieg’s voice and relaxed slightly. It didn’t occur to him that Kinney still didn’t know who he was. Faster than he could track, the shotgun was knocked aside, a fist slammed into his midsection and another whipped across his jaw. The final blow was hard enough to send Ford spinning into the opposite wall. A gloved hand scrabbled across his head, reaching for a grip on his hair, then suddenly stopped.

“What the hell...” Kinney dropped to one knee, pulling at Ford’s shoulder, her pistol still up and ready in her other hand.

She heard the crashing sounds as somebody came through the narrow corridor, far less carefully than she had.

Twin beams cast by Krieg and Hitchcock’s flashlights touched on Ford’s features, and the captain of the Nemesis exhaled a heavy sigh of relief. “Commander,” she whispered and cradled his head gently. Blood ran freely from a cut over his eye, and she noted there was a match crimson smear on one of the pipe joints in the area where he'd hit. “Sorry about that.”

“’S’okay," he panted. ”I started it."

Kinney’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “What about the others?” she questioned as she helped him to stand.

Ford accepted a fast hug from Hitchcock as he answered, the words coming in disjointed syllables. “The captain and Doctor Westphalen are checking another corridor. We got lost and couldn’t find the launch...Hollister’s still alive...kept shooting him and he kept getting back up...”

Kinney’s soft curse was short and to the point.

“Lucas..." Ford whispered, the pain almost more than he could bear, "...he didn't make it...."

“Lucas is fine,” Hitchcock informed her shaken crewmate as she wrapped one arm supportively around his waist. “He’s aboard the Nemesis.” She grinned. "The kid figured out that Hollister had done something to life support and rigged himself a breather."

“Thank God,” Jonanthan exhaled and felt tears prick at his eyes.

“Murphy, Lonny,” Kathy called to two of her crewpeople. “Get him back to the launch and warn Reed that we may need to get out of here fast. The rest of you are with me.”

Ford stepped away from Hitchcock’s supportive hold. “I’ll be fine, Captain. I want to see this through.”

Kinney shook her head as she noted the bruises, blood, and limp. “You’ve done a hell of a job, Commander, but you’re in no condition. Now, get back to the launch.” She didn’t wait to see if her orders were obeyed, just pivoted neatly on one heel and slipped away down the passage, the remainder of the team close behind.


He heard them coming, their voices muted as they crept through the near darkness, and he tucked deeper into the shadows cast by the heavy piping that ran on all sides of the corridor. He felt for the knife on his belt, but changed his mind and didn’t draw it.

Then they were almost next to him.

The woman’s right hand was vertical and tucked in close to her shoulder. He could just make out the grim shadow of a large pistol cradled in her palm. She moved like someone unused to carrying that particular burden.

“Nathan,” the woman’s voice, low and rich, echoed slightly in the tight confines of the passageway. “We could hunt for a week down here and not find anything.”

So easy.

The lean shadow of Nathan Bridger turned away as he poked his head down another narrow corridor. “I know,” he sighed. “But we don’t have a lot of choices at this point.”

Kristin sighed softly, moving on down the corridor, unaware of the watching eyes only a few feet away.

She stepped closer to where he hid.

He reached, felt the sudden awareness of his intended victim, grabbed for the thick hair, yanked, and wrapped his arms around her body as he hauled her backwards.

Kristin lost her hold on Jonathan’s pistol and heard it clatter off into the distance. “Nathan,” she choked out as a solid forearm locked across her throat.

Bridger spun and froze as he caught sight of the massive shadow that now eclipsed the slender figure of his lover. Knowing his best shot lay in separating them before Hollister stabilized his hold on Westphalen, Bridger leapt, his long lean body flying haphazardly at their attacker.

Bryan saw the leap coming and struck out blindly, one meaty fist connecting with Nathan’s shoulder, but not before Bridger got in a solid blow of his own to Hollister’s throat. Hollister stumbled backwards, fumbling to hold on to the struggling woman in his arms as he fell to one knee.

Thrown clear, he tumbled, the decking rough enough tear at his arms and legs. Then a sharp gasp of agony was torn from Nathan’s chest as he automatically used his right hand to slow his skid. Tasting blood, he finally came to a halt lying on his stomach. Head still spinning, his jaw came up slowly. He could barely make out the broad form of his antagonist fighting with the woman struggling wildly in his arms. A cold, squared out lump was pressing against his ribs and he slid his left hand down, long fingers moving searchingly across the deck before they found the welcome weight of Ford’s .45. He slid his other hand down, wrapping his fingers around the butt in spite of the flare of agony that shot up his arm as he forced the broken bones to work. Nathan pushed to his knees with a low groan of pain, raising the weapon as he moved. “Hollister,” he growled.

The former lieutenant jerked his forearm against the throat of the woman in his arms hard enough to cut her air off, and reached for the knife sheathed at the small of his back with his other hand.


The search team from the Nemesis had been forced to break into teams as additional passageways led off from the main branch, their only contact the tenuous link provided by the small wireless communicators they carried. Unfortunately, the copper piping and steel decks and bulkheads played havoc with the signals, making communications intermittent at best.

Kathy Kinney was in the lead, a security officer only a few feet behind her, when the first scream echoed through the passageway. She instantly activated the comm, but received only static in response.

Another scream.

“Go get the others,” she ordered the younger officer.

“But, Captain—” the young man started to argue.

“MOVE!” Kinney bellowed as she spun and took off at a hard run.

“GODDAMN YOU, HOLLISTER, LET HER GO!”

Bridger’s voice.

Moving as fast as she was, Kinney’s flashlight was no assistance in making her way, and she stumbled and nearly fell more than once, then almost did a header down a short flight of stairs. By the time she reached the right corridor, she was shaky legged and gasping for air. She skidded to a halt as she flashed her hand torch across the dimly lit tableau.

Nathan Bridger was on his knees, one long arm outstretched. A Colt .45 automatic gleamed black and deadly in his hand.

The bright beam swept on, revealing her old crewmate struggling with a woman Kinney vaguely recognized from their earlier contact.

Caught by the light, all three players suddenly froze.

Kinney’s own weapon was up, following the line of focus of her flashlight. “Hi, Bry,” she whispered huskily as her light touched on the face of her old friend.

Squinting against the bright light, Hollister canted his head to one side. “Kath...” he exhaled almost inaudibly, then twitched the hand holding the knife to the doctor’s throat, purposely making it glint in the sharp flashlight beam.

“Easy, Bry,” Kinney soothed.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Bryan whispered, his once smooth voice raspy with pain and confusion.

“I had to, Bry. You knew that when you and Stark started all of this.” She slowly dropped to a crouch, laying her flashlight aside so that the beam aimed at one wall. The dull metal finish reflected the light through the narrow corridor, bathing them all in a dirty orange glow.
       
“Stark?” Bridger demanded without looking aside.

“Mm-hm” Kinney muttered in confirmation. “She set all this up. Her lover owns this base, the sub Bryan used, the mercenaries, everything...even you, Bry...your release from Bethesda was an expensive proposition.”

“SHUT UP!” Hollister bellowed and tightened his hold on the woman in his arms, almost burying his face in her hair. “Tell him,” he snarled at Kinney. “You tell him what it’s like.”

Kinney rose and stepped forward, careful to keep her movements slow and unthreatening. She glanced over at Bridger. His hand was visibly starting to droop and he was pale with pain and exhaustion. If he was forced to fire while Hollister still held the woman, he was far more likely to hit her than her captor. Kathy’s head swung back around, eyes finding Bryan’s broad silhouette. “It’s about pain,” she said softly, her voice low and almost hypnotic. It seemed as though all of this was a plea for understanding from a sick mind, so maybe he was reachable if he got what he wanted. “Every time you move, you can feel the wires threading through your muscles, scraping, pulling...it never stops. The drugs don’t make it go away, sleep doesn’t make it go away, nothing works...” Her voice trailed off. “Let it go, Bry—" she begged as she slipped forward another step.

“NO!” Hollister bellowed.

Kathy sighed softly. “Side effects of the drugs include psychosis, hallucinations, sterility, impotence, arrhythmia, kidney failure, liver damage—" she recited by rote, but he cut her off, unsatisfied with that response as well.

“I don’t want to hear a lecture, Goddamn you!” Hollister snarled. “I want you to tell him how it felt!...better yet, show him.”

“Bry—”

“Take off your jacket and your shirt. You show him what they did to us, then you try and save his life.” The knife in Hollister’s hand flickered and gleamed as he moved it threateningly against Westphalen’s throat to force his old friend's compliance.

“It wasn’t his fault, you know,” Kinney murmured, her voice measured and steady as she laid her weapon aside, then straightened to her feet. She unzipped her jacket and peeled out of it, letting it fall to the floor at her feet, then quickly unbuttoned the khaki uniform shirt beneath it. She shrugged her shoulders and let the soft fabric slide free.

Bridger spared a glance up at the woman. A black undershirt molded to her lean form, but left her arms, throat and upper chest bare. Even in the thin light, the scars that criss-crossed her pale flesh were painfully obvious. “Is this what you wanted to see, Bryan?” she demanded roughly

Hollister just stared at her, visibly taking in the perfectly normal width and breadth of her arms and shoulders. “Can’t be,” he whispered raggedly.

“They’re gone, Bry. The steel’s all gone.”

“No,” he choked and truly hid his face in Kristin’s hair for a moment.

Bridger started to move, but Kinney held out her hand, halting him as she eased forward.

Bryan heard the faint sound of her movement and his head snapped up, watching her warily. “How?” he demanded raggedly, and Bridger thought he could hear tears in the younger man’s voice.

“The doctors cut it out,” Kathy answered.

Hollister shook his head, the movement jerky, like he couldn’t quite make the muscles work right. “I don’t believe you,” he rasped.

Kathy flexed one slim arm, revealing a normal rise of muscle. “Believe it.”

“Come here,” Hollister ordered bitterly.

Kathy glanced back at Bridger and nodded almost imperceptibly.     

Nathan took a deep breath and let it out slowly to release tension as he watched the woman move forward. Whatever happened he would only have one chance.

Kinney knelt in front, and to the side of Hollister. Reaching out, he curved a meaty hand to her upper arm, thumb digging into her bicep as he felt for the cables that had once been intertwined with muscle, tendon, and ligament. She flinched at the rough probing, but didn’t pull away.

“Gone,” Bryan hissed. “All gone.” His eyes slid closed as he shook his head in stark disbelief. Blindly his hand dropped to her ribcage, then one thigh, still feeling nothing but human muscle moving beneath the covering of scarred flesh.

“I couldn’t live like that...” she told him gently as she sat still for the examination. As she knelt there, she reached out and carefully eased the hand with the knife away from Westphalen’s throat. “...in pain all the time.”

Lost in his own agony, Bryan didn’t notice as Kristin slid out of his hold. He lifted his hand from Kathy’s thigh to brush at the bloody mass of wounds torn across his chest. “My heart beat’s always the same no matter what I do," he whispered in a tortured voice.

Kristin pushed carefully to her feet and crept away from her former captor.

“Can’t make love to a woman anymore.” His eyes came up, touching on Kristin’s slender form as she tried to escape him. For the first time, there was no hostility in his gaze, only sadness. “Safer with me than she would have been with a priest...” he gasped weakly. He looked at his one-time friend. “I’m mad, aren’t I?’

There were tears in Kinney’s eyes as she nodded her head. “Yeah.”

He reached up again, trailing his hand down her arm. “Just flesh and bone,” he whispered. His fingers brushed across her gloved hand, and Kathy twined her fingers with his one last time.

“Stark used it to trick me, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

Bryan let go of her hand and dropped it to his chest, brushing at the torn flesh. “My heart beat’s changed...first time in so long...it’s slower...”

Kathy wiped at the tears spilling onto her cheeks as she pushed to her feet and backed away from her old friend.

Bryan’s head came up, and his eyes focused on her, the expression in them purposeful. “It has to end,” he growled as he grabbed her ankle and yanked.

Kinney hit flat on the deck with a dull scream as Hollister lunged to his feet.

With Kinney down, Bridger’s line of fire was clear.

Hollister took one stumbling step forward and his eyes held Bridger’s. Nathan saw the desperation, rage and pain glittering there. With nothing else to do, he pulled the trigger.

The first shot caught Bryan in the forehead, snapping his head and shoulders backwards. The second hit him on the underside of the chin, throwing him off his feet. Bryan hit the deck hard, his body bouncing before it came to halt and he lay perfectly still.

Jaw muscles clenching and unclenching against the pain throbbing through his hand, Nathan lowered the .45 until the barrel rested against the deck. Despite his intention to hold onto the weapon, it slipped from his trembling hand.

“Nathan?” Kristin whispered as she knelt down beside him.

“I’m fine,” he exhaled, then turned his face into her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him. He wrapped his good arm around her waist, holding tight as he reassured himself that she was all right.

Kinney pushed to her feet, sparing a glance for the two people entwined with each other. Realizing they needed that moment of privacy, she turned away and moved to where Bryan lay sprawled.

His eyes were still open, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. There was less blood than she expected, and what little there was gleamed thick and dark in the faint light. She knelt and closed his eyes, then dreading what she might find there, pressed her fingertips against his throat, forcing them under the slight ridge of metal cabling designed to protect the carotid artery. A sluggish pulse-beat just barely thrummed under her touch. Even in death, he was a slave to the mechanical enhancements.

“Captain!” Jonathan Ford’s voice was close.

“Over here!” Kinney and Bridger both shouted at once.

Kinney moved to retrieve her dropped shirt and was just tucking it back in when Ford, a bandage over the cut to his forehead, but otherwise exactly as she had last seen him, appeared, followed by the rest of the rescue party. “I distinctly remember ordering you back to the launch,” she murmured as her eyes met Ford’s.

The commander shrugged. “U.E.O. officers aren’t required to take orders from U.S. naval officers,” he said without resentment. His flashlight beam touched on the sprawled figure of Bryan Hollister. “Hollister?" he murmured.

“He’s dead,” Bridger answered grimly.

Ford nodded, shouldering his rifle as he reached down to help Westphalen to her feet, drawing her up into a hard hug. Knowing what she would be feeling, he quickly told her, “Lucas is alive."

Kristin stared up at the younger man, hope warring with disbelief in her expression. “Really?” she breathed.

Ford nodded. “I spoke with him. He’s shaken, but he’s okay.”

Kristin’s eyes slid closed as she breathed, “Thank God.”

Bridger started to push to his feet and Ford reached down to help him up.

“Yeah, the kid was pretty bright. He rigged a breather,” Ben Krieg’s vaguely sarcastic voice joined the others as he shepherded his ex-wife past the crewmembers from the Nemesis.

Bridger stepped back as relieved hugs were traded all around. Despite his pleasure over their survival and the news about Lucas, there was a sick lump in the pit of his stomach. Bryan had wanted him to shoot, forced him to, but that didn’t make Nathan feel any better about it.

Kinney had turned away and was crouched beside the body of her one-time friend. Nathan curved his good hand to her shoulder as he stepped up behind her. “Do you want to take him back?” he asked quietly.

Kinney shook her head. “No.” She raked her fingers through the hair that had come loose from the braid at the nape of her neck and stood. “There’s no one left who cares for him. Let it end here.”


The trip back to the Nemesis was short and quiet. Kristin worried with Nathan's broken hand while the two med-techs in the group endeavored without much success, to worry about her. Krieg and Hitchcock filled Ford and Bridger in on what had happened aboard the Nemesis since they'd left her. Kinney sprawled in a seat, staring into the distance.


Despite the intention of the ship’s doctor to keep Lucas firmly in bed, he was there to meet the returning launch. The boy rushed straight into a hard hug with Westphalen. Kristin wrapped her arms tightly around the teen, tears in her eyes as held onto him. After a long moment, she felt Nathan’s arms as he enveloped both of them in a protective hug. He roughed Lucas’s hair with his unbandaged good hand

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he pleaded.

Jake Enderly smiled at the scene, then straightened and saluted sharply as his captain exited the launch. Kinney returned the gesture far less stiffly.

“Captain Kinney, there’s a message for Captain Bridger. It’s from Marilyn Stark.”

“Let me guess,” Kinney murmured disgustedly as she pinched the bridge of her nose in obvious exhaustion. “They didn’t get her.”

Enderly shook his head. “The Rostock position was just a relay point for the signal. This message came in from somewhere in the Atlantic. The transmission was too short to triangulate.”

Kinney sighed and started toward the bridge. As she drew near, she paused, eyes meeting Bridger’s questioningly.

Bridger broke away from Kristin and Lucas with the whispered comment. “I need to know what I’m going to be up against.”

“I know,” Kristin agreed as she moved to join him.


In the end, the entire contingent from the seaQuest wound up on the bridge of the Nemesis.

Stark’s message was short and to the point. She smiled into the camera. “Just remember while you’re gloating, Nathan, I’m still out here.” Then her image ghosted and turned to snow.

“And still as charming as ever,” Nathan sighed. He tightened his hold on the woman at his side and smiled at the teenager standing a short distance away.

“Mister Enderly,” Kinney clipped as the transmission blacked out. “Ready torpedo bays one through four. Target on the base.”

Enderly looked a little nervous as he reminded her. “The base is private property, Captain. Legally, we don’t have the right.”

Kinney's mouth twisted in a slightly feral grin. “Let Werner sue.” She looked over, meeting a matching expression in Nathan’s eyes.

Bridger nodded. “I think the U.E.O. would be willing to consider the base abandoned and therefore a possible hazard that really should be removed.”

“Understood,” Enderly said happily as he moved to do as ordered.

Several minutes later, with an image of the base barely visible in the dark water, Ian McAlister informed them. “Torpedoes are fully charged and targeted.

“Fire,” Kinney ordered simply.


Aboard the base, the mechanical heart in Bryan Hollister’s body finally gave up, freezing in mid-pump, no longer able to deal with the heavy congealed blood in the dead man’s veins.

The first of the torpedoes hit less than a heartbeat later.

Epilogue

Showered, his cuts and bruises dressed, his broken wrist set and wrapped in a tight brace, Nathan Bridger felt almost human as he stretched out on a narrow bunk, his back against the bulkhead. The first officer of the Nemesis had been kind enough to offer his quarters and Nathan was grateful for the favor, especially when Kristin, her hair hanging in damp tendrils, smelling of soap and shampoo, exited the tiny bathroom and climbed onto the narrow mattress to worm her way into his arms. He wrapped her in a protective embrace and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "You wanna talk about it?" he questioned gently.

Still buried in the safety of his arms, she didn't bother to look up, just shook her head.

She'd been quiet since their rescue, answering questions as needed—with one syllable responses where possible—but otherwise silent. It left him worried about the damage done, afraid for her mental state, thinking she might blame him, blaming himself more than a little, torn in a thousand different directions, and secretly terrified that perhaps there was something she wasn't telling him. He just wanted to help her and make it all right again, but he didn't know how.

And when she still hadn't spoken after some time, he did. Not about anything in particular. It felt much too overwhelming to contemplate opening up about just how terrified he'd been during the hours between realizing she was in trouble and getting to her, or the sick well of horror in the pit of his stomach when he feared he'd already lost her and wasn't sure he could do that hell again. Losing Robert and Carol had nearly driven him over the edge and he feared that losing Lucas and Kristin might just finish it.

No, he wasn't ready to blindly talk about that yet. It just hurt too much.

So instead he started talking quietly about an idea he had for improving the WSKRs, carefully laying out the theory behind the engineering, going through the schematic changes, and describing the increased sensor array. And while he talked, he lay there and held her, rubbing her back and upper arm gently as though she might be chilled and pressing occasional kisses to her hair. He was just describing his thoughts for shifting from a standard two-dimensional memory array to something in the way of a three-dimensional crystal array to increase the volume of data each WSKR could compile when she broke in during a pause in his rambling speech.

"It's not your fault," she murmured, her voice faintly muffled by the way she buried her face in his chest.

Nathan tensed but didn't fight the subject change. They needed to talk about it even if it felt like pulling teeth. "I know that," he said softly, though there was doubt in his voice.

Pushing up on her elbow, Kristin turned a faintly sad smile his way and reached out to stroke his cheek affectionately. Well aware that he'd been distracting himself as much as her, she ignored the temptation to let sleeping dogs lie, and pushed forward. "But you still feel responsible," she said with quiet certainty.

Nathan didn't bother to deny the charge. "Bryan served under me...and he hurt you and Lucas because I failed him as his superior...." His voice choked off, overwhelmed by the thick, cloying fear and guilt that maybe he didn't know everything and she was hurting more than he knew how to fix or maybe than ever could be fixed.

"No," Kristin disagreed quietly. "He did what he did because he made a set of very evil choices...likely because he was mentally ill...and because he was used in a way that no human being should be...pumped full of drugs and operated on like a bloody toy. But whoever has final culpability, it's not you. You didn't do any of that."

His hand was still curved to her shoulder and he had to fight the urge to pull her close and wrap her in his arms once again. "But you—"

"Nathan," Kristin said just sharply enough to cut him off before softening her voice. "I'm a little banged up...and my sense of security's a bit shaken," she added, her voice trembling ever so slightly in spite of her determination not to let it. "But, that's it," she added pointedly, her words coming slowly and carefully spaced, wanting him to understand and believe that she wasn't unalterably harmed, sensing that there were still underlying fears that hadn't yet been admitted to or dealt with. "I am still very much alive...not permanently damaged...and you are the reason for that." She stroked his cheek tenderly. "You came for us...Lucas and I." She shook her head thoughtfully. "It's probably the first time in Lucas' life that he could rely on someone...first time in mine since I was a child."

He closed his eyes, blocking her out as he struggled to express himself. "I just want to protect the two of you."

"I know," she exhaled, settling against him once again to nose her way back into his hold. "And you did." She stroked his cheek, exhaling a relieved sigh as she felt the comforting weight of his hand petting her hair. "And I want you to know that I never lost faith that you would." She heard his doubtful snort and drew a breath. "I'm not saying I wasn't afraid," she admitted. "Or that I was certain you could stop him or would get there fast enough...but I knew that you would do everything in your power...and that Lucas and I had the very best person possible on our side." Pushing up on one hand, she met his worried gaze, the sheer faith in her expression almost enough to bring him to tears.

Nathan swallowed hard, momentarily overcome by a rush of emotion.

Reaching out, she found his hand to twine her fingers with his, comforted by the weight and strength of bone and sinew. "And I promise you, I've told you everything," she assured him, instinctively sensing at least one of the underlying fears he was carrying on his shoulders. "I've kept nothing back...nothing," she repeated firmly, certain she was right in her suspicions when he exhaled a small sigh of relief.

"I was afraid," he admitted raggedly. "And you've been so quiet since...."

She nodded, acknowledging her own silence, abruptly aware that it had worsened his fears, but also aware that she'd needed a little time to process it all in her own head and regain a little equilibrium. "I know," she exhaled at last, "and I'm sorry if I made things more difficult for you. I just..." She paused for a moment as she hunted for the right words. "...just couldn't talk at first...still in shock, I guess." She took a deep breath, and offered a hint of a wry smile. "And you know me, I don't handle being out of control well...but that's all the silence was...." As she spoke, she clung tightly to his hand, encouraging him to continue, well aware that he was as much in need of comfort as she and Lucas.

As she trailed off, Nathan nodded, silently considering her response for a long moment before he spoke, his words soft and halting. "I guess maybe I was afraid you'd feel ashamed...or want to protect me...or...just couldn't...."

She nodded, silently absorbing his quiet confession. "No," she assured him. "And I wouldn't have held it back." She settled against him, her head on his chest, their hands still tangled. "I don't believe in fates worse than death...and I trust you...and even if that had happened," she pressed a small kiss to his knuckles, "you're the person I'd turn to..." She heaved her own heavy sigh, soothed by the warmth and safety he represented. "And I want you to know how very grateful I am that you're in my life."

Hugging her a little closer, he pressed a soft kiss to her hair. "Grateful doesn't begin," he exhaled heavily, then paused to take a breath. "You and Lucas gave me my life back." He couldn't describe it any better than that. It was the first time he'd felt whole in a long time. "I was afraid...." He couldn't finish, but he tightened his hold on her.

"And we're still here," she said very softly, then nosed into his shoulder. "And I for one, don't plan on going anywhere for a long time."

"Good," he whispered and pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

After that, they both fell silent, so exhausted that language was a struggle, but also comforted enough that they didn't need to say much. She relaxed against him, and they lay twined together.  They traded soft kisses now and then and occasionally, one or the other spoke, but for the most part, words weren't necessary. They couldn't offer the comfort and warmth of the press of flesh and muscle. The physical closeness offered a sense of reality that both needed, and nothing else could provide.

"I love you," he breathed a long time later, the phrase feeling almost like an afterthought statement of the hopelessly obvious, though it suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't sure he'd ever actually said the words.

"I know," she mumbled very softly, her voice ever so slightly muffled by the way she was pressed against his chest. "...love you too..." she added before her voice melded into the slow, steady breathing of deep sleep.

He smiled ever so slightly, pleased by the admission. Comforted by the warmth and solidity of her body pressed against his, confident they were safe at least for the moment, and finally reassured that the damage wasn't beyond repair, he too soon slept. Later, they would talk it all through in more depth, work through their pain and shock, but for now, it was enough.