Author's Note:some elements have been changed from canonical tradition. For example, Lucas Wolenczak graduated from Stanford with an M.S. in Artificial Intelligence, as well as a subject concentration in physics/mathematics. Some dates may appear suspiciously outside canon.
This is a "pre-seaQuest" story. The first part of this story may echo another seaQuest story that was published via the internet several years ago; however, I don't recall the exact title or author of the work. No infringement is intended, though ("The sincerest form of flattery . . .").
Rating:PG-13, rated as such because of some adult themes and language.
Copyright 1999 by SheriAnn
Away from Monsters
Part One
A drearily dark room in San Francisco. August 10, 2019.
Surrounded by darkness, the lights completely shut off, heavy drapes pulled over the long French windows, Lucas Wolenczak chewed at his lower lip, his blue eyes gazing angrily at the dark ceiling. He glanced at the Parisian clock-its creamy white porcelain face covered with golden letters and silver flourishes, with dancing, vibrantly clad ladies and gentlemen that glared even in the darkness of his room-then wished he hadn't. Not much time left. Pretty soon, he'd be stuck on the seaQuest Deep Submergence Vessel, stuck in a tin can where just about anything imaginable-and, most assuredly, anything not imaginable-could happen.
Miserably, he considered the possibilities of life on the seaQuest; as he saw it, there were two distinct possibilities. On one side, a multitude of fascinating material might swim his way. He could learn all kinds of interesting things about aquatic life. He could study algae. He could follow dolphin pods across the oceans. Or, on the other side, he could be blown to smithereens by some unknown enemy ship out in the middle of nowhere for no identifiable reason. To his mind, as he stared at the shadows stretching across his ceiling, this seemed the more likely of the two possibilities. What on earth could he truly do on a submarine-except perhaps get himself killed?
But there was one plus side to joining the seaQuest, and that was anything but negligible: he'd finally be out of his father's reach.
There was a God.
"Lucas? You ready to go?"
Sliding his anxious gaze towards the sound of the voice, Lucas silently cursed at who he saw: Robert, the family's limousine driver . . . and Lucas's one-way ticket to seaQuest. Cringing inwardly, he stared at the driver. He felt trapped, like an animal with its paw stuck in steel. Lucas snorted lightly as the thought struck him: soon, he would be trapped in steel. About 32,000 tons of it. It wasn't the most comforting of thoughts by any stretch of the imagination.
Lucas cleared his throat, sitting up and swinging his legs over the bed in one fluid motion. He glared across at Robert. "Yeah, I'm ready. About as ready as I'll ever get, at least." He glanced at the hall looming behind Robert's back, but it was empty. His eyes snapped back accusingly towards Robert. "Where's mom and dad?"
There was a brief pause in which Robert looked at anything but him, and then, finally, Robert replied, "They got tied up at work. I'll be taking you without them."
Oh, that was real cool. Lucas growled inwardly, wanting to hit something, anything-anything to make him feel better. His own parents couldn't even bother to bring him to the submarine they were shipping him off to. Not for the first time, Lucas wondered exactly what he'd done to deserve this behavior; had he existed as Hitler in a previous life?
Robert sighed as he saw the anger storming across Lucas's face. He thought frantically of a way to cheer Lucas up; the question was, how on earth did you cheer someone up when that person was a fifteen year-old about to be shipped off on a submarine by parents who couldn't even bother to say good-bye? Though his mind searched for possibilities, he drew a complete blank. So . . . well, engaging in the prerogative of the adult, he simply formulated a quick, well-intentioned lie: "I'm sure they have good reasons, Lucas. They love you very much. Anyway, the seaQuest will probably be a blast. You'll be loving the place before you even miss home."
"Yeah, sure." Brow furrowed, Lucas considered the likelihood that this submarine would, indeed, "be a blast"-but not exactly in the way Robert had meant. Submarines were dangerous places to live. They sure weren't meant for teenagers. He knew for a fact that the seaQuest, though equipped with research archives and test tubes and the latest in microscopic technology, was also equipped with nuclear weapons and war missiles and torpedoes and depth charges. This wasn't Jacques Cousteau's submarine he was being hauled to; no, not at all. This was a place where his entire life could be blasted apart in one millisecond.
Lucas followed Robert outside, his legs feeling heavy, weighted with lead.
And suddenly, Lucas's face brightened. Standing next to the door was his good friend and sole consoler during hard times, Dr. Ken Rae Wystin. A world-renown physicist, computer scientist, genius, and mathematician, Dr. Wystin was also his best friend. Even during the chaos of academic conferences and technical difficulties with his research projects, Ken was always able to set aside time for Lucas-something his parents had never been able to manage. And, not too surprisingly, Ken was here when his parents weren't.
"Dr. Wystin! You made it!" Lucas grinned, then hugged the fifty-three year old university professor. He could never thank the Lord above enough that he'd taken that first physics course with Ken. On the first day of the course, he'd walked into the small lecture hall, gazing hesitantly at the students surrounding him, at the tall, prestigious-looking man standing with hands behind his back at the front of the classroom. He'd been terrified: his first graduate level physics course, and with no other professor but the great Wystin himself. And Wystin had stared at him in amazement, obviously thinking that this was some hoax, some practical joke-this boy waltzing into his physics classroom looked hardly old enough to be in high school. After the initial astonishment, though, they'd become the best of friends. Ken assigned him math homework and physics experiments, and then invited him home for dinner after the day was done, helping him with his physics problems and asking insightful, profound questions Lucas had never even dreamed of. Ken treated him not simply as a protégé, but also as a peer-a friend.
Ken quickly returned the grin, gently ruffling Lucas's golden hair. Though he looked for the youth's parents, he wasn't surprised to find them missing. Nothing unusual for the Wolenczaks. Inwardly, Ken snorted. He hated Lucas's "parents," if such monsters deserved the name. The only explanation Ken could imagine, could even ponder for these strange parents, was that Lucas had been born into the wrong family; it had to be a mistake. Someone had misplaced a baby the day Lucas was born. That had to be it. Though there could be no doubt that the child was, like his father, a true genius-he possessed a mind brilliant and startling with its creativity and depth-he was, nevertheless, kind and loving . . . something his father could never be. Unlike the many geniuses Ken had encountered over the years at Stanford, Lucas had the gentlest nature. Somehow, despite his miserable situation at home, Lucas had maintained a gentle, loving spirit that almost moved Ken to tears. Ken loved the boy. To Ken, it seemed obvious that he should've been Lucas's father, not-that man, that beast, Doctor Wolenczak.
"So, how are you, my boy?" He asked cheerfully, seeing the furrowed brow. He knew that expression. He'd seen it as Lucas pondered an advanced physics or computer problem, his young mind grappling with numbers and theories most thinkers were unable to handle until they were well past thirty. He'd seen it as Lucas worked on his vocorder project, tinkering with this, slightly adjusting that-and still not getting quite the result he wanted. He'd also seen it in other circumstances, though, circumstances he didn't wish to recall. When Lucas's father had hurt the boy, and, confused, Lucas had turned to him . . .
He stopped himself, feeling the anger build. That bastard, sending a child on a submarine. Ken had half an inclination to throw the monster on a sinking ship. Then, perhaps, Wolenczak might get an idea of how his son felt being dumped on the seaQuest.
Lucas shrugged, not meeting Ken's hazel eyes. Instead, he looked at the ground, seeming to study it quite intently. "I'm okay," he lied, shifting his feet. "I wish I were going to school instead, but . . ."
Lucas's voice drifted off, and he glanced over at Robert. He swallowed hard, knowing he had to leave. And it hurt. Ken was his only real friend; he was his only friend who knew of the problems with his father. In fact, he was the only person who'd tried to do anything about it. Since Lucas had known Ken, the professor had revealed a completely new world to him: physics, mathematics, the power and beauty of nature. Ken had taught him so much. But he'd also taught him that not all adults tried to hurt others. He'd taught him that there was something other than misery existing in the world. And now he was being forced to leave his only friend.
But after Ken had talked to his father about-his father's problem-decisions beyond their power to change had been made. Lucas's choices had been limited. After much arguing back and forth, his father had finally offered him two choices: either Lucas was to live in foster care, or he was to join the seaQuest. A frightened Lucas had asked if he could stay with Dr. Wystin, but his father had given a resolute "no" to this proposal; Dr. Wolenczak hated Wystin. Foster care . . . the very thought sent chills through Lucas. Children were often abused in foster care-something he didn't need more of. So to the seaQuest it'd been.
Robert cleared his throat, patting Lucas lightly on the shoulder. He glanced at Wystin. "I'm sorry, Dr. Wystin, but we need to leave. Lucas is supposed to be on the ship in an hour. If he's not there, I'll never hear the end of it."
Suddenly, Lucas felt tears stinging his eyes; why had his father taken everything from him? Did his father hate him so terribly that he took even his best friend? He loved his father-God alone knew why, after all that'd happened-but this very love hurt. If his father had any love for him, would he rob him of Dr. Wystin's company? Would he throw him onto a submarine?
Slowly, Lucas hugged Ken, wishing he knew what to say. So much had happened in the past three months. And now this. He felt Ken squeeze him around the shoulders, but he felt instead that his heart was being squeezed. He was going to the military, the land of rules and regulations and protocols. There'd be no Dr. Wystins there.
"I'll call," Ken told him, trying to encourage the child, trying to ease the fear he saw in the boy's eyes. "And you'll probably like it there, Lucas. At least there'll be a lot of strange things to work with. It should be a veritable smorgasbord of specimens." Ken sighed even as he tried to encourage the boy; he hated having to be falsely optimistic. Truthfully, he thought Lucas would be miserable on the ship. But that was the last thing Lucas needed to hear, considering he really had no choice. A foster home would be even worse than the seaQuest.
"Yeah, should be exciting," Lucas said softly, again refusing to meet Ken's eyes. He swallowed hard, not knowing exactly how to say what he wanted to say, what he felt he needed to say. So, carefully, Lucas stuttered, "Thank-thank you for everything, Ken. I mean it. I-" His voice broke momentarily. "I never would've made it-without you." He inhaled deeply, then continued, "If-if I don't make it back, thank you. For it all. For being there. For-for everything."
A child! Ken fumed helplessly. Forced into this by his own father! Ken grabbed Lucas and hugged him hard, wishing he could change things, wishing he could take Lucas home with him rather than watch uselessly as the boy was dragged to a submarine. A submarine! He tried to forget that a submarine had just been sunk by the Non-Allied Powers, the renegade alliance in international politics, but pictures of the sinking refused to vacate his mind. The seaQuest was the United Earth/Oceans Organization's best ship, but even then . . .
Voice thick, Ken answered gently, softly, "You don't need to thank me, child. I just wish I could change this mess. I just wish . . . well, I just wish a lot of things." He paused, then snapped, "But don't you talk about not coming back, Lucas. You will. You've got to. You're my friend . . . and I need my young genius home safe."
Lucas nodded slightly, not trusting his voice to respond. After a second, he allowed Robert to lead him towards the car. He cast a last look back, seeing Ken watching him forlornly. Slowly, Lucas waved good-bye-then turned away to face his new life, his new life aboard the seaQuest.
*****
Cruelly dumped on the seaQuest-much like garbage, he imagined-Lucas glared around himself. Several people stared at him, but, seeing his angry blue eyes staring right back at them, left in a hurry. He snorted. Military courage, indeed . . .
The halls of the seaQuest spiraled around him in a labyrinth of twists and turns and crazy staircases. As he turned around a corner marked with B-578, Lucas groaned inwardly; hadn't he just passed this very same corner? According to his orders, his quarters were located somewhere on Deck C. Hmmm . . . perhaps that fun ride on the MagLev hadn't been such a great idea after all. He had to admit, though, that it'd been a pretty wild ride. He didn't remember ever riding in anything that fast.
As he pondered his next step, Lucas's feet came to an abrupt stop: what on earth? Before him, its blue light flickering against the gray sides of the hall, was what looked like a seawater tunnel. He blinked.
The blink became a widened stare as he suddenly remembered reading-in some scientific journal, perhaps Ocean Research-something about aquatubes built into the seaQuest exclusively for its dolphin crew's use.
An unexpected smile lit his face. Cool! This must mean that there truly were dolphins aboard!
Plastering his nose up against the aquatubes, Lucas excitedly peered into the seawater. He waited. Nothing yet: no sign of fin or tail. He shuffled his feet for a moment, then again stared into the water.
He didn't hear anyone walking up behind him until a throat noisily cleared. He whirled around, eyebrows raising quickly in curiosity. The frown that met his eyes made him blanch. He swallowed hard, waiting for his new "companion" to address him.
The stocky man looked him over, then crossed his arms across his chest. Standing a good foot above Lucas, the man glared down at him. "And just who are you, young man?"
Matching the man glare-for-glare, Lucas snapped, "The Duke of Normandy, of course. And you?"
The man shifted, his gaze sharpening and the furrow in his brow deepening. He chose to ignore the question. "Where are your parents, kid?"
With an irritated snort, Lucas eyed the patch on the bulky man's chest: CROCKER. Crocker, Crocker . . . the name teased his memory for a moment, but then he finally remembered; if the source he'd hacked into last night was correct, Crocker was the seaQuest's Security Chief. Grand. Of all the people he could have ran into and insulted in less than one minute, it just had to be the Security Chief. A Security Chief could make life brutally hellish-at least if any of the movies he'd watched even had the idea fifty percent accurate.
"I haven't the foggiest," Lucas retorted, smiling gleefully. If he was going to insult the Chief, he might as well go for broke. "Not that it matters. They're as far from here as humanly possible."
"Now listen here, kid-you can't just walk around the halls by yourself. Your parents have to be here somewhere. No one just leaves a kid on a submarine . . ."
Lucas winced at this. Yeah-no one but his parents. "Oh?" Lucas rudely snapped, facetiously glancing around himself. "Do you see them with me? I sure don't."
Crocker shot him an annoyed glance. "Look, kid, this is a military vessel . . ."
Lucas snorted, eyes gleaming vindictively. Leaning in towards the commander and winking, Lucas said in a soft, conspiratorial voice, "I believe if you check your records, you'll find your tin can here is actually a research boat. And I'm a member of that research crew."
"'Tin can'?" Crocker repeated, shaking his head as if Lucas had just slapped him. "And how can you be a member of the research crew? You're a kid."
Lucas sighed in annoyance; if this guy told him he was a kid one more time, he swore he'd start foaming at the mouth. "I may be a 'kid,' as you so delightfully put it, but I am a member of this crew. Check your books. I'm part of mammal engineering. The name is Lucas Wolenczak."
Crocker stared at him for a long moment, then pulled out a small phone-like instrument. He flipped it on, then murmured into it for several seconds. He waited for a moment, apparently waiting for information, then quietly thanked the unseen voice on the other side of the line. He then looked at Lucas, his face thoughtful. "Well. That was interesting."
Lucas waited.
With a deep inhale, Crocker shook his head, apparently resigned to the inevitable. "It seems you are who you say you are. It beats me what a kid is doing with a master's in artificial intelligence, but . . . okay." He sighed, then narrowed his eyes at the scientist standing in front of him. "That still doesn't answer one thing, though."
Lucas stared back, then shrugged. "What?"
Again, the stare; then, "What are you doing all the way over here? This is near weapons. You don't belong here."
Lucas groaned. "I'm sure I don't, Crocker," he smiled smugly at the man stared at him in surprise, then pointed at his badge. Crocker nodded, apparently appeased. "But my problem is I can't find where I'm supposed to be. No one has had the bright idea to give me a map of this tin can."
Crocker glared at him for his repeated "tin can" joke, then sighed. "Here, follow me. I'll show you where your quarters are." As the boy trudged after him, his eyes gazing surreptitiously at everything they passed, Crocker shook his head. What on earth were they doing with a boy on board? And what on earth were they supposed to do with a kid genius with an attitude?
Crocker groaned inwardly. He had a feeling this was going to be a nightmarish tour.
*****
Shuffling through her roster of names, Kristin Westphalen sighed. Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. It never ended. Here, for example, was a list of 144 civilian and scientific personnel she was responsible for managing. With the exception of a few names, all of these 144 people were complete mysteries to her. She had heard the names of a majority of them, but she didn't know them. And soon she would be in charge of each and every one of them. She continued glancing through the names.
Abner, Joseph . . . thirty-four, specialized in chemical engineering; Delnor, Karen . . . twenty-nine, specialized in paleontology; London, Michael . . . fifty-one, field medic; Perrin, John . . . forty-two, specialized in biochemistry; Tullee, Maria . . . thirty, field medic; Wolenczak, Lucas . . . fifteen, specialized in . . . specialized in . . .She stopped, blinking quickly. Humph. That was quite a typing error.
She opened a channel to the bridge, shaking her head in annoyance. The voice that answered didn't improve her mood. "Commander Ford, I have a problem here . . ."
She heard the groan from the other side. Narrowing her eyes, Kristin interrupted the Commander's loud groan. "Look, Commander, I would very much appreciate it if your crew could at least provide me with the correct information on my staff . . ."
She listened to him, then snapped, "What do you mean, 'what do I mean'? I'm referring to the preposterous error made on my science team roster!"
Again a pause, then Kristin tried saying in her nicest, most professional voice, "I would very much appreciate a review of the science team roster. It currently lists one Lucas Wolenczak, specialized in artificial intelligence, as only fifteen years old. This is obviously an error . . ."
Listening to the reply, Kristin swallowed heavily. She then managed, "Oh. Very well. Thank you, Commander."
With that, Kristin cut the communication line. She stared blankly at the list still clenched tightly in her fist, then shook her head.
This was insane.
Ludicrous!
What in all of creation was a child doing on board the seaQuest? A fifteen year-old was part of her staff-her research team! How could this be possible?
Well, by all means, she was going to find out who had made this transgression, this blunder of momentous proportions.
*****
With a cup of coffee in front of her and a large bagel in her hand, Kristin settled comfortably into the large, over-stuffed chair in her now terribly disorganized office. If there was anything she hated, it was moving. The equipment to be carefully catalogued, the books to be hauled from one group of shelves to another (always with the possibility that there wouldn't be enough shelves), and the sheer volume of files to be transported from one archaic filing system to yet another was enough to create a nightmare. Thinking of files, Kristin pulled her recent personnel files towards her. Her newest science team additions should be in this stack-with luck, at least.
Wolenczak, Lucas . . . yes, that was the file she wanted.
Curiously, she opened the file, rummaging through its contents as she bit into her bagel. Stanford graduate, top GPA in the school's history. Impressive, even for the scientists she was accustomed to working with. Master's project and thesis on artificial intelligence and linguistics . . . she assumed his vocorder project, or at least the rudiments of it. Calculus, differential equations, physics, quantum mechanics, computer courses of every sort. Robotics. Biology, microbiology, chemistry, mammal biology, marine biology, biochemistry. A little of everything. Even-her eyebrows rose-advanced English grammar, linguistics, and semiotics, probably for programming in artificial intelligence. Philosophy and aesthetics . . . hmm. Very interesting, to say the least.
She paused, startled at one entry. Hospitalizations-attached. She looked for an attachment, but found none. This was rather unusual. Routine hospitalizations, such as appendectomies or the like, were never even included in a personnel file. They were only included in the detailed medical files-which, of course, happened to be packed in one of any number of boxes littering her office. What on earth could this be about?
Absently, Kristin continued looking through the file, but her curiosity was up. With a sigh, she knew what she had to do.
She had to go on a scavenger hunt through her own boxes.
Two hours and fifteen minutes later, with her hair flopping into her face and dust spotting her clothes, Kristin triumphantly held a collection of four tiny silver discs in her hand. She had found the detailed medical files; they just needed to be installed on her computer. After another moment of loading and decompressing files, Kristin began scrolling through the information.
But she was no longer smiling. What she saw . . . it was inexplicable.
No, that wasn't true. It was explicable-uncomfortably explicable.
May 25, 2019. Patient admitted for severe fracture of collarbone. Severe strain placed on windpipe; obvious abrasion around the throat, almost indicative of hand pressure. Tracheotomy performed. Patient sedated for severe anxiety and pain. - January 22, 2019. Patient admitted for fractured arm, concussion, and broken ribs. Avoid pain medication due to complications from concussion. - November 15, 2018. Patient admitted with broken ribs, inexplicable burn marks on back of left palm. Concussion, ten stitches in left temple. - October 3, 2018. Patient treated for badly bleeding cut in scalp. - June 6, 2018. Patient admitted with fractured mandible bone; jaw wired shut to contain injury. Recommend IV sedation for patient extreme anxiety.Quickly, almost hopefully, Kristin examined his medical charts for any signs of protein deficiency in his bones: none. No calcium disease, no inherited bone defects, nothing. Just as she expected. One didn't get an "obvious abrasion around the throat" in the shape of a hand because of nutritional or health problems. With a sigh, Kristin pushed her bagel and coffee away, no longer hungry.
Abused. The poor child had been repeatedly abused by one of the greatest scientists of their time.
And no one had lifted a finger to stop it.
