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Subject: Connected (Part 3)
Date: Mon, 3 Mar 1997 02:19:40 -0600
Message-ID: <19970303081907343.AAC174@denp1-29.iglobal.net>

CONNECTED (Sequel to Third Time's a Charm) - Part 3
by Deb Parizek and Rhonda Hallstrom

Sam nearly stomped out of the decrepit building in his own pique. He was
screwing up right and left and every which way from Sunday! A chilling
thought occurred to him; what if Paul Blaisdell's death was because of Sam's
incompetence as a mercenary?

"Hey ya, Sam, what's with the gloomy gus look?"

Sam raised a hopeless look at his friend and partner. "Al, you've GOT to do
something to help me out here. I've got to leap so that Rykker can take
over. I don't think I'm here to help Blaisdell."

Al chewed on his cigar thoughtfully. "Well, Sam, I know why you're here but
you're not gonna believe it." At Sam's waiting look, he continued. "Peter
'asked' you to."

"Al...."

"SWEAR!" Al waved his hand. "I don't believe him, either, but he said that
he had a vision that Blaisdell was in danger and asked you to go help him."

Sam frowned, trying to remember the few seconds before he'd just leaped in.
It was difficult with a swiss-cheese memory playing tug-of-war with a
photographic memory but he did seem to remember a sense of....Sam shook his
head. There was a...feeling just before he leaped into Rykker. A sense that
he was needed for something specific. But he'd always had that feeling.
That's why he was leaping around to help others. But this feeling was more
intense, more urgent. Was that Peter?

"Sam, don't tell me you believe this malarky??"

"I...I'm not sure what I believe. Peter learned to see me, remember, Al? His
father coached him. Maybe he's learned a few more things...."

"NOBODY has been able to control your leaps, Sam! Nobody!" Al peered into
his friend's tired eyes. "Well, except for-"

"Well, whatever. How I got here doesn't matter," Sam said, trying to force
his mixed emotions behind him. "The important thing is Blaisdell's life.
Give me some-"

Sam and Al both spun around, hearing a noise from the bushes. Sam drew
Rykker's gun as he scanned the area while Al got busy on the handlink. Al
finally shrugged his frustration. "Sam," he said, "you're lucky that Ziggy's
provided the information she has so far. The only records kept here are on
stone tablets!"

Sam silently waved at Al, indicating to help him try to explore the area. Al
used the handlink to reposition himself a few yards away, hoping for a
better vantage point of the area.

It was a surprise to both of them when Sam felt the muzzle of a gun being
pressed to the back of his head. "Cisco Kid?" the Spanish-accented man asked.

"Pancho Villa," Sam replied, crossing his fingers mentally.

The man circled him warily, still holding the gun on him. "I think you are
Presidente Vasquez."

"I happen to be Vasco de Gama."

Both men breathed relief as they lowered their weapons.

"That's the stupidest code I ever heard," Al grumped, annoyed about being so
terrified that Sam was in danger and there was nothing that he could do.

"Senor Rykker, I presume." The man shook his head. "I am Tomas Martinez. El
rana sends his regards. I have supplies in the jeep."

Al, ever helpful, consulted the handlink. "El rana is 'the frog' in Spanish,
Sam. I guess he means Kermit."

Sam smiled at the man. "Food?" he asked hopefully.

"Si. Food, water, medical supplies-"

"Medical supplies?! Let me see!" Sam felt a surge of hope.

"My men will bring it to the hut, senor. Lead the way."

Al opened his mouth to protest but Sam, slapping the man on the shoulder in
relief, had already grabbed Tomas' arm and led him to Blaisdell, hoping that
the supplies contained everything he might need to save Paul's life.

Sam rushed into the shack that had been their refuge. "Paul! It's all
right-" His statement was cut off as he felt something hard hit him over the
head. He fell forward into darkness.

*****

Sam came to with a groan, his head aching.

"Greetings," the pudgy Mexican greeted him, pumping his hand up and down
furiously. "El rana sent me to you."

Sam frowned as a sense of deja vu overtook him. Looking around, he could see
one team of Mexican bandidos overtaking another team of Mexican bandidos.
Try as he might, Sam could not figure out who was on what side. They seemed
to know, though. Sam refocused his attention back to the Mexican in front of
him, grinning at him like he hadn't a care in the world.

"I am Jorge."

"Jorge what?"

"Senor," Jorge laughed, his belly shaking, "don't make me make a name up."

"Tomas gave me his last name."

Jorge turned to look at the unconscious man being dragged out and laughed
out loud again. "Tomas?" he asked. "His name is Frederico Nunoz."

"Okay, okay, no last names," Sam conceded, getting the point. "Do you have
any supplies?"

"Si, food, water-"

"-and medical supplies." Sam sighed, wondering if they would ever get out of
here with the double-crossing going on.

He took the bag that Jorge handed him and pawed through it. He looked at the
bottles and felt his heart jump - with excitement. Pencillin! PLENTY of
penicillin! And morphine! There were also other drugs that Sam would not
have chosen but would certainly do in a pinch, which this was. He wasted no
time in crawling to Paul's side to clean and redress the wound, this time
being able to do it properly. His practiced hands were moving at lightning
speed and the bandidos faded into the background as he delighted in working
with the proper tools. He even decided to remove the makeshift stitches he'd
put in before to apply new ones.

In the corner of his eye, Sam could see Al pacing, waiting for the outcome
of the operation.

Finally Sam sighed and leaned back. Paul still had a fever but the
antibiotics should help with that. He had found and cleaned out the growing
infection and restitched the wound. He wasn't thrilled about operating with
unsterile hands but he'd washed them and poured alcohol over them and that
would have to do. Paul seemed none the worse for wear. In fact, except for
the fever as a remnant of the battle his body was in, he was looking pretty
good. Good, that is, in comparison to what he looked like before.

Sam covered the sleeping form of Paul Blaisdell.

"You are a surgeon?"

The question out of nowhere surprised Sam, who looked up to see Jorge,
holding out a canteen to him.

"No," Sam answered, remembering he was supposed to be Rykker. "Let's just
say I'm a talented amateur." He put the canteen to his lips and then slowly
brought it away to look at it. "How do I know this is good?"

Jorge laughed his belly-laugh, grabbed the canteen and took a swig. He then
handed it back to Sam, who tentatively took a drink. He found himself
gulping more of it. The water was fresh and cold. He had forgotten his own
depleted condition in worrying about Paul.

Jorge brought a metal container, sifted and mixed the contents with a
plastic fork, took a bite and then handed the tin to Sam. Sam sniffed it. It
was some kind of chili casserole and, after his first tenative bite, he
realized how hungry he was. It was cold and greasy but Sam ate every bite.

He sat back, feeling the strength flood back into his limbs. "Thank you, Jorge."

Jorge waved off the thanks. "I am well paid. Besides, if I double-cross
you," he said, reading Sam's mind, "one of my men will shoot me!"

"Whaaat?"

"Senor Rana is not to be crossed," Jorge said with a grin. "He is
blackmailing one of my men to shoot me if I double-cross you! Of course, I
do not know which one it is! That makes it more exciting, eh?!" Jorge
laughed a huge belly laugh again as Sam looked at him in astonishment. "Oh,
come on!" Jorge laughed, "it's done all the time!"

Sam shook his head. More and more, he was very glad that none of Kermit's
associates visited him while he, Sam, was there, inhabiting Kermit's life!
He couldn't handle mercenary life for very long. He was suddenly distracted
by Paul stirring to consciousness.

Paul moaned and opened his eyes. Even though he had the benefit of better
medication, Sam knew Paul would still have a great deal of pain. "Go back to
sleep, Paul," he comforted.

Paul looked up at him, wincing with the motion, and his eyes widened. "Who
are you?"

Surprised by this question, Sam frowned in confusion. "Paul, you know who I
am," Sam replied, recovering. "Relax. We're safe."

"Where's Rykker?"

Sam touched Paul's forehead; he still had a fever. He endeavored to use that
fact to convince his charge to stop asking questions. "Paul, you have a high
fever and are a bit delirious. Rest. I'm Rykker and everything is okay."

Paul shook his head. "No. Rykker looks like Robert Vaughn. You don't."

*Damn. He can see me,* Sam decided. This is a new one. Now, people in
intense pain could see him. "The fever's playing tricks on you, my friend."

"No." Paul, despite his weakened condition, remained unconvinced. "Who are
you? Where is Rykker? He was here a minut-" It was obvious by Paul's pale
face that he was hurting. He bit his lower lip to keep from crying out.

Sam felt a twinge of guilt for trying to deceive this injured man. When the
pain subsided, Sam wiped a cloth over Paul's brow and once again encouraged
his patient to rest as Jorge left with his men to secure the aircraft.

"Not until you tell me who you are..." was Paul's reply. "Did they get
Rykker? We're not safe..." Paul endeavored to sit up, preparing to defend
himself.

Sam broke. "Alright... Alright... Calm down. My name is Sam Beckett-"

"Never heard of you..." Paul said, as Sam helped him ease back onto the
pillow. "Friend of Kermit's?"

"No. I am a friend of Peter's though."

Paul became very agitated and tried to sit up again. "My SON? What's he got
to do with this? Is he okay? My wife and daughters okay?"

Sam gently pressed Peter's foster father back to the pillow. "They are all
fine. Peter asked me to come and help you..."

"How? He doesn't know where I am...what I'm doing."

"No, not specifically..."

Paul bit his lip again as a wave of pain flowed through his abdomen. Despite
the discomfort, he forced out, "Tell me straight....What's going on?"

Sam sighed and shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

Sam remembered that Paul probably knew Kwai Chang Caine as well. Perhaps his
tale wasn't so farfetched. Keeping his voice low, Sam told his tale. "My
name is Sam Beckett and I'm a research scientist. I invented a machine to
allow time travel." He studied his patient's face for a reaction but found
Paul taking the news seemingly in stride. "The experiment went awry. Now, I
'replace' people in certain situations to prevent tragedies."

"How did you meet Peter?"

"Some time ago, I'm not sure how long, I 'replaced' Kermit and assisted your
son in solving a crime." Sam made sure to leave out the detail that, if he
hadn't been there, Peter would be dead now.

"Where do they go?"

"Who?"

Paul coughed, then said, "Who you replace."

"They are safe. They are sent back to my time while I take their place in
their time."

"When's that?"

"Sorry, that's classified."

"Peter asked you to help me?"

"Yes," Sam confirmed. "When you get home, you might see some changes in your
son..."

"What changes?"

"I think he'd rather tell you himself," Sam said. "Now, will you rest? I'll
be here to watch your back."

Satisfied, Paul nodded, already half asleep.

*****

Sam watched with a physician's critical eye as they carefully loaded
Blaisdell aboard the aircraft. Jorge approached Sam with a grin. "The pilots
have been paid," he informed him, "so you should have no trouble."

"How can we trust them?" Sam had been dealt so many double-crosses, he was
seeing conspiracies everywhere. "Don't tell me; we can't trust them."

Jorge laughed. "You are learning, my friend! But, in this case, your caution
is not necessary. The pilot's payment will be stored along with the two of
you. The pilots try anything and they lose their payment!"

"How much were they paid?" Sam asked curiously.

Jorge laughed again, so uproariously that he couldn't stop for five minutes
and his eyes began to tear. Finally, his belly shaking, he clapped a hand on
Sam's shoulder. "Have a safe trip," he said, "and, for your own sake, do not
smoke!"

With that cryptic message, Jorge roared with laughter again as he sped away
in the jeep.

Shrugging, Sam climbed into the waiting plane and secured himself a place
beside his patient as the plane took off.

Now, they were safe. They had to be. Sam sat on a wooden crate and checked
his patient again. Thanks to the medical supplies sent to him by Kermit,
Paul Blaisdell would live. Paul could use some rest in a sterile hospital
but his life was no longer in danger. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He had
not let his friend, Peter, down.

"How can I thank you, Sam?"

Paul's quiet voice brought Sam back to reality. "Thank me by getting well,"
Sam said with a smile. "And by not tipping off the real Rykker when he comes
back. He probably won't remember any of his 'trip.'" Sam leaned back and
suddenly jumped as the crate began to break under his weight. He leaped off
and examined the damage. "I didn't know this was so fragile...what's that
smell?" The question was half-rhetorical. As a physician, he had a very good
idea what that smell was but didn't want to believe it. He examined the
crated box more thoroughly, confirming his suspicions. "That's cannab-!"

"Ssssssshhh!" Blaisdell cautioned. "You'd better hide that crate. The pilots
will think we've raided it on purpose."

"But...but...."

"What's wrong?" Paul asked, confusion apparent.

"This...is marijuana!" Sam hissed at a whisper. "It's illegal to ship this
into the U.S.!"

Paul sighed. Whatever this strange man was, scientist, doctor, whatever, it
was evident that he was no mercenary. But then, he'd proved that in the past
few days. "They're not shipping it. It's their payment. For helping us."

Sam just sat there, paralyzed in his shock. "You mean...KERMIT paid
them....I thought Kermit was a cop!"

"Well...kind of," Blaisdell said with a strange smile. "Sam...I thought you
knew where we were. Paraguay is one of the leading nations for obtaining
marijuana. That's the trade here. Different nation, different rules. You
have to give people what they want for them to help you. That's the way the
world works."

Sam set his jaw. "I don't believe that." After all, didn't HE help others
and got nothing in return?

Paul Blaisdell studied the scientist analytically. "Well, I guess you don't.
You're a lucky man, then. Kermit and I have to believe it or we'd have been
dead long ago."

Sam shook his head. "There's always a better way."

Paul yawned. "Well, I'm too tired to argue with you. But I hope, eventually,
that you're right."

The pull began. Sam knew it was time to leave. "I have to go. Take care of
yourself."

A blue-white light surrounded the man before him. Paul shaded his eyes,
muttering, "Thanks, Sam." A second later, the light faded. Paul opened his
eyes and saw his old comrade sitting near him. Just to be certain, he tried
refocusing his eyes, the method he'd adopted to see Sam, but he saw no
change in his friend this time.

"What are you staring at?" Rykker challenged.

Paul answered with a smile and drifted off to sleep.

*****

Sitting, meditating, in his favorite spot by the lake, Peter felt his spirit
quiet - a welcome event after several days of living in disharmony. He KNEW
Paul was safe now.

He sent his gratitude out into the Tao. *Thanks, Sam.*

A grin spread on his face when he received an answer. *You're welcome, Peter.*

*****
TO BE CONTINUED!