The seaQuest and its characters belong to Steven Spielberg or someone like that, well, definitely not me anyway, and I'm not making any money from this story. So don't sue, or if you are going to, at least give me fair warning, mkay?
Right, guys, this is the story I wrote for the remix challenge. The idea is basically this: you get assigned another author who writes in the same fandom, you choose one of their stories, and you rewrite it in whatever way you see fit (keeping the basic plot). I got assigned Ahn-Li Steffraini, and this is a remix of her story Life In Detail. So have a read of the original, because it's great!
Life in Detail (Shades of Grey Remix)
The sky was a long way away, the white clouds moving fast, making him feel dizzy. Lucky he was lying down then; no distance to fall. But still, a long way away.
Genius. What a total genius you are, Wolenczak. I bet no-one else has ever noticed that the sky's far away before.
Yeah, ok, I take your point. But today it seems further for some reason. Colder.
Colder? You're in the Caribbean, for God's sake. It must be thirty-five degrees!
Oh, just leave me alone, would you?
He could hear the seagulls, and the pounding on the waves on the beach. He shifted slightly, closing his eyes against the glare as the sun came out from behind a cloud, and felt the gritty scrape as the grains of sand beneath his head accommodated his new position.
Your hair's going to be full of sand.
Who cares? That's what showers are for.
It had been – how many years now? Eight? Ten? He didn't really want to think about it, but his brain, ever the smart one, reminded him anyway. Eleven, then. Eleven years since the seaQuest had reappeared. Eleven years since Bridger had left. He had thought... he had thought he would have more time.
You had eleven years. Some people would say that's plenty of time.
Tell that to someone who didn't go to bed one day and wake up ten years later.
But all you had to do was pick up the phone.
He wondered vaguely about the memorial. He hadn't thought to ask about it, had been too busy absorbing the information, or not absorbing it, denying it, absorption hadn't really come yet. This was the first time he had stopped since Hudson had told him.
Hudson, damn it. Using his first name. Lucas wasn't sure he had ever heard him do that before. Somehow, it had made it worse, because it had reminded him of Bridger. Which was pretty funny, considering Hudson and Bridger were about as similar as Darwin and the late, non-lamented Alexander Bourne.
Everybody keeps dying. Why do they do that?
Well, the last one to go before this was Bourne. Can't say you were too choked up about that one.
This makes up for it, though.
Yeah. Yeah, it does.
And since then, since that moment in the Ward Room, he had just been desperate to get here, because of the legend, what had Henderson said? Something about an old sailor legend that says that the dead always go where their heart was for about twenty-four hours after their death. Twenty-four hours was not a long time, especially compared with eleven years. But he had made it, with four hours to spare, and now, here he was, waiting.
This is stupid. You're a scientist. You don't believe in ghosts.
Oh yeah? Who were those people on the George then? Special effects?
They stuck around for a reason. They had scores to settle.
And so do I.
But you're not dead.
It was true. Lucas was a little numb from lying in one position too long, but he was demonstrably not dead. Suddenly he began to wonder why he had thought this was a good idea at all. Had he been crazed by grief? He hadn't been feeling particularly crazed; in fact, he had felt pretty calm for the last eighteen hours. Well, he supposed he could call it calm. It was more like – absence. Yeah, that was it. He had been feeling absent. And he hadn't really thought it was a good idea, as such; it had just been what he knew he had to do. When he really thought about it, he couldn't think of a reason, at least not one that really made sense. He closed his eyes again, although the sun was gone now: the sky was suddenly too much for him, too high and too bright; too far away.
He woke with a start to find the sky had changed: the clouds were only visible now as darker shapes drifting in front of a million stars. He felt bitter disappointment in his stomach it was too late. He had fallen asleep, and he had missed his chance.
You didn't really think he would be here, did you? Don't be ridiculous, Wolenczak, he's dead
Shut up. Just shut up and leave me alone.
He sat up, and glanced back towards the ruins of Bridger's shack. Maybe this hadn't been the place to come, after all. Had Bridger ever been happy here? Was this really where his heart would be?
And then there it was. Not something he could quantify, not something he heard or saw, but no less real for it. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Bridger was standing behind him; and he knew with just as much certainty that if he turned, there would be nothing there. He closed his eyes, trying to stay absolutely still. Woven through the endless rushing of the waves was a sound like murmured words, gentle and soothing, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. He felt the brush of a hand or was it the wind against the back of his neck. And then
He was gone.
As easy as that. And for the first time, Lucas realised that he was truly gone, that there was no going back now, and he felt desperate grief well up inside him, and burning tears that hurt the wind-dried skin of his cheeks. He cried like he had not cried since before Hyperion, until he felt dizzy and sick with tears. And when he had finished crying, when his insides were dry and scraped raw, he lay back down, staring up at the cold stars that were so far, so very far away. And he smiled.