From: aa811@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Terri M. Librande)
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
Subject: As It Fell Upon A Day Part 6
Date: 23 Jan 1993 14:08:15 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
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Message-ID: <1jrjgfINNkif@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
NNTP-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu


As it Fell Upon A Day"

Terri Librande
Part 6

"It's, uh, Sam."  

"Okay, it's Sam."  She waited patiently.  "I'm listening."

"This can't leave this room, Verbena." Al felt as if Beeks was the only
one here, besides Gooshie, that he could trust to keep secrets.  "He wasnt
to uh, modify history.  Kent State history.  If the committee finds out, 
they'll have his head on a platter."

"God."  Verbena bent her head, face pensive.  "He's so sensitive and it's
really no wonder."  Her chin came up.  "If I were in his position, I'd
attempt the same thing.  Apparently, from the data Ziggy is giving us, it
won't work.  Gooshie seems to think he has something to do with protecting
the students but not changing the occurence of the murders."

"This is going to sound a little personal," Al said, his voice low, worried
about her reaction.  "Did you see people die?"

There was the breifest of hesitations.  The light left her eyes.  "Yes.
Sandy Scheuer.  She was in an elective art class with me, Monday mornings."
Her emotions charged as she recalled the day, the moment, the times.  She
shut her eyes tight against the memories.  "I really don't want to talk 
about it, Al."

Al felt a little distanced from the doctor and usually didn't engage in
touching her in any way.  Most of the time she was coolly distracted by the
'host' in the Waiting Room, or whatever was going on at the time.  With all
the gentle grace that he was capable of, Al squeezed her shoulder.  her 
face lifted, and she smiled.

"I understand, and it's okay," he said.

"She was so bright."  Unbidden, the words came to her lips.  "She was telling
me about this dog she had at the house she lived in.  Her name was 'Heavy'
because she was pregnant.  I think she was trying to pawn puppies. I was
living off campus, a fairly nice house, and told her I'd like one, if it was
okay with my landlord.  Everyone was so psyched about the rally at noon and
... well."  She sighed.  "It wasn't much of a class that morning.  We spent
most of the hour talking instead of the usual lectures.'

"How is Dr. Barry taking all of this?"

"Confused.  Sleeping now."  Her voice took on a professional tone.  "You're
worried about Sam, of course."

"Naw."  Al grimaced at the look she gave him.  Verbena could see through
every word he said.  "Okay, okay, I
I'm plenty worried about him."  He lifted his
eyebrows.  "Satisfied?"

"There's nothing you can do, but watch and support him through this."  She
smoothed the wrinkles out of her skirt, picking at the material.  "He's very
sensitive to other's pain.  When he sees what happens, if he remains there
that long, he'll need you."

"I wish we could retreive him--now."  There was no hope in his voice.
Wishing for the impossible was definetly out.  "He seems hell-bent on
saving lives, Verbena."

She rose from her seat and turned, smiling on Al.  "Maybe he can change
things, Admiral.  Stranger things have happened.  Maybe he'll find out what
happens to Dr. Barry." Pouring a cup of coffee she wrinkled her nose at
the look Al was giving her.  "Oh, he disappeared all right, according to
your data."

"What happened to him, Verbena?"

"No one knew."  She sipped her coffee.  "I'm having quite a time keeping
my name from him.  He's already said I look like someone he knows."  An
impish grin crossed her face.  "Now I know what Sam must go through."

It was night when Al returned to 1970.  The Imaging Chamber door opened
upon a scene out of an armed encampment.  Blanket Hill, usually a sort of
passion pit, was now covered with men in uniform.  They were at parade rest,
alert to any change in orders, bayonets fixed to the ends of their rifles.
Sam was in the middle of the Guardsmen, speaking to a man with 'military'
written all over him, though he was wearing no uniform, rank, or indication
that he was the man in charge.

Sam felt Al's eyes watching and gave him an encouraging grin.  General Del
Soro was not in a mood to hear what he had to say, but it had to be said.
"Why are your men carrying live rounds in their weapons?  These are just
students, not soldiers."

"You're supposed to teach them, not instigate trouble."  The man's voice
was gruff and no-nonsense.  "And this," he said, indicating the crowd of
students milling around the foot of the hill, "Dr. Barry, is trouble.  Tell
them to get their butts off this campus and go to their homes."

"That isn't answering my question, Sir."  Sam kept his voice businesslike,
trying to ignore the look in Al's gaze.  "What if someone is killed?"

"Then they'll deserve it."  The General turned on his heel and retreated,
dismissing Sam with his back.

"Damn it."

"I could've told you that wouldn't work."  Al's voice was calm, non-
chastising.  "Del Soro was a hardliner who defended his men's actions even
during the investigation.  He was later quoted as saying the same thing he
just told you.  He's a real nozzle, Sam."

"I have a few more choice words for him," Sam growled.  It was obviously
pointless to follow the military man, and the Guards were making it
apparent that he could proceed no further.  "It's nearly eight p.m.  The
curfew.  Where have you been?"

"Talking to Verbena.  She's taking this pretty hard.  Where is she, uh, now?"

"I sent her home."  Sam shoved his hands in his pockets.  "It's going to get
pretty messy around here fairly soon."

"That's where you should go, Sam.  Home.  Ziggy is saying the same thing.
But since that seems impossible because of the crowd, and you can't talk
the students out of being stubborn or the Guard out of being pig-headed,
we ought to figure out what you can do."

"What does Ziggy say, besides brilliant things like I ought to go home?"

The sarcasm in Sam's voice was not lost on Al.  "You are to help one of teh
students.  Which one..."  Al smacked the link.  His face wore the pinched,
annoyed expression he got when the hybrid computer wasn't performing to his
satisfaction.  "He doesn't know.  To do what...?"  Smack.

"He doesn't know, Al.  Try the name Artie HALL."  Sam glanced down at the
crowd below them.  The students were stirring as though something was about
to happen.  "I spent the afternoon with him and Verbena.  He's bright, just
misdirected."

"I'm feeding that name to Ziggy."  Moments later, as he and Sam walked away
from the troops, a cheshire smile spoke volumes.  "Bingo!  Artie Hall--
junior here--no major.  He goes on to three other colleges after the massacre--
ends up running his parent's pizza business in Akron.  That wouldn't be
so bad, except Artie lacks the intiative or enthusiasm to keep the place
going.  We're talking bankruptcy, the works.  After that, he moves,
drifts around aimlessly.  Maybe if he gets steered in another direction
here, and with the right encouragement, who knows?"

"Great."  They had moved far enough from the troops to have a better 
view of what was occuring.  Leaning against a nearby tree, Sam watched as the
Guards took their positions across from them.  A crowd of students were 
gathering again, to protest the curfew and to make their demands.  So far
there had been no negotiations.  Obviously, those in command wanted 
nothing to do with concessions.

The crowd was chanting, fists upraised, screaming obscenities at the Guard
and throwing anything at them they could find.  It was a mob scene of the
worst kind and Sam could have predicted what happened next without his
holographic oracle.

"Those are tear gas cannisters."  Al felt his throat constrict, watching
the Guards loading their weapons.  He wouldn't feel the effects if they
fired those things, but Sam would.  "I think we should vamoose.  Nasty
stuff like that and we could..."

Before Al could say another word, the air was filled with the sound of weapons
being fired and the chemical odor of gas.  He watched helplessly as 
Sam fell to his knees, overcome by the choking fumes.

It was difficult breathing without throwing up.  Sensing Al's nearness
made it easier, but not by much.

"Hang in there, buddy."  Al hovered anxiously, watching and hoping Sam would
be okay.  Damn holography anyway!  "We gotta get out of here."

The crowd around him was retreating quickly.  Sam somehow made it to his
feet and ran away from the gas and the advancing soldiers.  Al was constantly
at his side, showing him where to run, where it was safe.  Finally, far
enough away, Sam fell on the lawn, letting himself recover from the dose
he'd received.

"You okay?"

Al sounded strange and Sam managed to open his eyes to see his face.  Al
looked as if he were about to be sick, his familiar features ashen.  Waht
kind of toll was this putting on him?  The sounds of the campus were fading
around him as people ran for cover and home.  He sat up against the stump
next to his friend and asked, "Are you all right?"

"Me?  Fit as a fiddle."  Al crounched down by Sam.  "You look like hell."

"Al, I'm sorry."

"It's nothing, kid."  He was brushed off as the older man lit a cigar.  "If
you weren't givng me grief here, you'd be doing it back at the Project."

"When did we first meet?"  Sam wanted to think of something else besides
this, anything but this.

"June 13, 1972, at three p.m. exactly."  (author note:  I wrote this
way before Playball, and I still like to think the two of them knew each
other before StarBright.  I don't go strictly by Don B's universe.  Sue me.)
Al bit the words out, ignoring the bleeps coming from the link.  "So there,"
he snapped, directing his words at the protesting Ziggy.

"I..."  Sam frowned, remembering.  "I was just coming out of class, and
you were taking some extension courses to get a..."

"A degree in quantum physics." Al growled around his cigar.  "Which I 
now regret getting since the beginning of this leap."

"You don't mean that?"

"Aw, of course not."

Sam was beginning to remember more than just the friendship he had for Al
now, and what he owed him.  The date and time had registered a memory, a
hole that was rapidly filling with information.  "You were like getting 
Tom back, Al.  God wanted me to try to get over his death or something--
had to be.  We were...are...so close."

"Mush."  Al made a face around the cigar.  "Hope and Crosby."  Doing a
little jig, Al began to sing.  "We're off on the Road to Morocco.."

"...this taxi is rough on the spine," Sam gasped, remembering the lines of
the old song.  Hope and Crosby, he thought,  grinning.

More to come!

Terri Librande
-- 
"Unscrupulous--but effective!"  Al in "Starcrossed"
Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu  Assistant Sysop
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI