Date: Sun, 12 Sep 93 12:10:28 EDT
From: Jason_Dzembo@MTS.RPI.EDU
Message-Id: <3802778@MTS.RPI.EDU>
Subject: The Last Minute, Part 4

        There was a seemingly endless wave of people that passed by
Sam and Al throughout the evening, giving Sam their familiar
greetings.  The hot topic of conversation was, of course,
VanOrder's anticipated transfer of funds.  Fortunately, though,
business talk was kept to a minimum as the party goers ate and
drank heavily in anticipation of ringing in the new century.
        For the people involved with Sam's mission, though, the
momentous occasion was overshadowed by the knowledge that somewhere
in their midst a killer lurked.  As Sam and Al mingled, a voice
spoke loudly behind them.  "Mr. VanOrder, a moment please!"  Sam
and Al whirled to face the man who was hurrying towards them.  Al
took a step forward, placing himself between Sam and the
approaching man.  A security guard materialized out of the crowd to
stand beside him.  The man stopped short and held up his hands
defensively.  "It's okay, guys," he insisted, "I'm unarmed."  He
held out his hand and said, "Peter Doring.  I spoke to you during
this morning's press conference."
        Sam recognized the man as the reporter who had been
hounding him that morning.  He sighed heavily and said, "It's okay. 
He's just a reporter.  He doesn't need a weapon to hurt me;  he's
got a pen." 
        "Do you have an invitation?" the security guard demanded
gruffly.
        The reporter patted his pants pockets and shrugged.  "Guess
not."  The security guard stepped forward and took the Peter's arm. 
Nonplussed, the reporter looked at Sam and asked, "If he drags me
out of here, I'll have to think up my own explanation for Dr.
Beckett's presence at your party for tomorrow's paper."
        Sam and Al exchanged startled glances while the security
guard hesitated for Sam's decision. 
        Sam sighed and asked, "What are you talking about?"
        With a nod towards Donna and VanOrder, Doring explained, "I
pulled his picture from a story we did on him ten years ago, while
he was working on the Starbright Project.  He looks a little
older, naturally.  But then, I guess traveling through time has
that effect on a person.  What I want to know is, if Dr. Beckett is
supposedly trapped in the past, what's he doing here?"
        "I don't know," Sam murmured truthfully.
        "Does he have an invitation?" Peter snorted.
        Coldly, Sam replied, "Administrators of Project Quantum
Leap were given an open invitation to tonight's party, so that they
would be allowed to meet my guests and put their minds at ease
about the transfer of my fortune.  I don't know if that is even Dr.
Beckett.  For all we know, it could be another leaper temporarily
inhabiting his aura."
        "Or maybe he never left in the first place," Doring said
accusingly, "Maybe Project Quantum Leap really is a fraud."
        "Why, you nozzle..." Al muttered.
        Peter shifted his gaze to Al and murmured, "Admiral
Calavicci?  What are you doing here?  Shouldn't you be back in the
desert, observing Dr. Beckett?"  He formed a look of surprise and
added, "Oh, but since Dr. Beckett is actually here, I guess you
need to be, too, don't you?"
        "Just doing my job," Al growled.
        Peter grinned and glanced around the room before focusing
his attention on Sam again.  "Let me try another tactic, Mr.
VanOrder.  I see your daughter is spending quite a good deal of
time with your chief of security.  Quite a little headline for the
scandal sheets, isn't it?" 
        "He's been assigned to keep watch over her tonight," Sam
replied through clenched teeth.
        "And he seems to be doing that remarkably well," Peter
responded, glancing past Sam significantly.  Sam refused to be
baited and stood his ground.  Al, who under normal circumstances
could act as his eyes and ears, was similarly restricted.  The
reporter looked back at Sam and asked curiously, "What's he
supposed to be protecting her from?"  He sneered.  "No, don't tell
me!  Let me guess!  Someone's not very happy about you giving away
all your money and has threatened your life and that of your
daughter.  Am I right?"
        "Look," Sam demanded softly, "what do you want from me?"
        A man in a butler's uniform coughed quietly at Sam's right
side and said, "Excuse me, sir.  You have a phone call.  The caller
did not deem to give his name."
        "How convenient," Peter Doring remarked as Sam excused
himself.  "Take your time, Mr. VanOrder.  I'll wait here for you."
        "Don't worry about this nozzle," Al replied, glancing at
the man coldly, "I'll handle him."
        Sam made his way through the crowd, towards the main hall
where an extension of the phone was located.  Having delivered his
message, the butler had merged with the crowd, leaving Sam to find
his own way.  Without Al's protection, Sam began feeling vulnerable
in spite of the crowd around him.  He was relieved when he saw
Sidney break off his conversation with Elizabeth and weave his way
towards Sam when the guard realized Sam was alone.  Donna and
Marcus VanOrder had also noticed Sam's abrupt separation from Al
and were heading towards him as well.  He was in good hands, he
knew.
        He reached the hall the same time Sidney did and he greeted
the man curtly.  Sidney nodded without a word and followed Sam into
the great marble hall.
        Sam picked up the phone and said, "This is Marcus
VanOrder."  A dial tone greeted him.
        Behind him there was an ominous click, followed by a
woman's voice screaming, "Sam!"
        Sam dodged to the left without turning and a bullet
ricocheted off the marble wall in front of him.  He hit the ground
and rolled, whirling to face his attacker.
        Donna, younger and in better shape than the aging VanOrder
reached Sidney first, grabbing at the man's gun hand.  Sidney tried
to pull away to get a better shot at Sam, but Donna clung to his
arm, bringing herself into him to give herself more leverage.
        The memory of a wedding ripped through Sam's memory even as
another shot rang out.  "Donna!" he screamed, watching horrified as
his wife crumpled in a pool of blood at Sidney's feet. 
        As Sidney glanced down at Donna, startled at what he'd
done, Sam sprung forward at the man in blind anger.  His attack was
brought up short as a man masked in Sam's aura tore the gun from
Sidney's grasp during the gunman's moment of distraction and
pointed it at its previous possessor. 
        "I never would have imagined it," VanOrder breathed,
"Sidney, you miserable son of a bitch.  What could you possibly
been thinking of?"
        Sidney glanced from VanOrder to Sam vaguely, realizing
something wasn't quite right.  He pointed at Sam and said, "You're
not -"
        "I asked you a question, Sidney," VanOrder interrupted
sternly, "Why did you do it?"
        "I think I can answer that," Elizabeth said, approaching
from the ballroom.  The gunshots had been heard over the noise of
the party and Al and Gooshie were keeping the party goers at bay
with the help of the estates' security forces.
        Elizabeth knelt beside Sam, who was kneeling beside Donna,
oblivious to the others in the room.  He glanced up tearfully at
Elizabeth's approach.  The young woman seemed startled by her
father's emotions but said, "I never told him about the stipend
you set aside for me.  I wanted to believe he loved me for who I
was, and not for my money."  She turned a cold eye on Sidney and
added, "I guess I was wrong."
        Al and Gooshie arrived with a pair of police officers in
tow.  The officers handcuffed Sidney and led him away without
preamble, while the scientists joined Sam.  "Oh, God," Al breathed
as he saw Donna's motionless body.  He glanced sharply at Sam.
        Meeting his gaze, Sam nodded once.  "I remember now, Al,"
he said hoarsely.  He sniffled sharply and said, "She's still
alive, but not by much.  We've got to get her to a hospital as soon
as possible."
        "We'll take her to the Project," Al said, decisively, "It's
closer and Verbeena's got more advanced technology to treat her." 
He gestured for Gooshie to help him and bent over to take Donna's
feet.
                ____________________________________________
        "Ziggy?" Sam asked wearily, looking up from his desk.  Al
had suggested he take his mind off of his wife's surgery by working
on the retrieval program.  Somehow, though, the program seemed
unimportant beside the returning memory of his wife, a wife who
might not live through the night.  He'd been staring blankly at the
code for over an hour but hadn't seen a letter of it.
        "Dr. Eleesi is still in recovery, Dr. Beckett," Ziggy
responded, "As I informed you five point four minutes ago, I don't
expect her to regain consciousness for another half an hour.  I
will inform you when she does."
        "What are her chances of survival?" Sam asked reluctantly.
        There was a pause, too long, and Sam felt a chill even
before Ziggy replied, "Forty-three percent."  Another pause.  "I'm
sorry, Doctor."
        Sam smiled fleetingly.  "Thank you, Ziggy."
        There was a knock at the door and Sam grunted a response. 
The door opened and Marcus VanOrder entered.  "Dr. Beckett, I just
wanted to express my apologies again for your wife's condition. 
Perhaps if I had taken your warning more seriously, recognized that
there was danger there...."  He trailed off with the uncomfortable
look of a man who isn't used to apologizing for his errors.
        "It wasn't your fault," Sam assured the man.
        "No, perhaps not," VanOrder said, sounding unconvinced,
"But I do feel I ought to pay you back somehow.  Perhaps I can
lower Elizabeth's stipend to increase my donation."
        "Actually, Mr. VanOrder," Sam replied, "I was thinking just
the opposite.  Perhaps you should decrease your donation to the
Project and provide stipends for those who might have been
short changed by the deal.  If anything, you should have realized
tonight that an attack on your life is a very realistic
possibility."
        VanOrder nodded grimly and said, "There is that."
        "And don't be too hard on your daughter," Sam suggested,
"Her part in this was minimal.  She didn't know Sidney was a killer
anymore than you did.  I know you didn't approve of her dating
Sidney, but it is her life and you can't control who she loves if
you want to keep a portion of that love for yourself."
        VanOrder regarded Sam with interest and said, "For someone
with a memory like Swiss cheese, you sound like a very wise man."
        "Lots of experience over the last five years," Sam replied
grimly.
        "Apparently," VanOrder agreed, "Thank you, Dr. Beckett. 
For everything."
        "Dr. Beckett," Ziggy interrupted, "Dr. Eleesi has regained
consciousness."
        "Thank you, Ziggy," Sam said, standing.
        He turned to VanOrder who held out his hand, nodding, "Of
course, Doctor.  She's your wife.  Go to her.  I've been told I
have to return to the Waiting Room anyway."  They shook hands
briefly and went their separate ways.
        In the infirmary, Sam hesitated inside the door.  His
initial memory of Donna had triggered a floodgate of memories and
seeing his wife lying in the bed, pale and weak, tore at his heart,
almost as much as the unerring certainty that, when he leaped
again, her memory would fall back into a black hole in his mind.
        Verbeena Beaks was standing beside the bed as Sam entered,
checking Donna's blood pressure with a grim expression.  She caught
sight of Sam, nodded silently, and left the room.  Sam took her
place at his wife's bedside.
        Donna's eyes fluttered open and widened as she caught sight
of Sam.  "Sam...?" she whispered.
        "Don't talk," Sam said hurriedly, "Please, just save your
energy.  God, Donna, there's so much I want to tell you.  So many
things that need to be said.  I don't know how I could have
forgotten you!  I love you, love you more than anything in the
world."  Tears welled from his eyes and ran down his face, dripping
unnoticed from his chin.  "I don't know when this is ever going to
end, or even if it ever will.  But there's no reason you should be
made to suffer, too."  He took a deep breath and said, "Donna, if
the strain ever becomes too much for you, if you feel you need to
free yourself from me..." He stopped as a hand touched his arm.  He
stared into his wife's eyes. 
        Gently Donna shook her head.  She smiled a grim, weak smile
and whispered, "I can see _you_, Sam."
        Sam stared at her, startled and he had a fleeting memory of
Maggie Dawson, a photojournalist who had seen Al just before she
died in Vietnam.  He shuddered, trying to free himself of the
implications of the memory.  Before he could respond, the door slid
open and Al walked in carrying a bottle of champagne and three
glasses.
        "Not exactly how I wanted to ring in the new year," he
remarked, but his flippant attitude was a blatant attempt to keep
Sam and Donna cheered under the circumstances.  Quickly he poured
three glasses of champagne and asked, "Ziggy, could we have an
audio countdown in the infirmary as well?"
        "...thirty seconds," Ziggy's voice came from the intercom
in the wall, "Twenty-nine...."
        Sam took two glasses from Al and placed it gently in
Donna's grasp.  He was slightly relieved to see her capable enough
to hold the glass steadily.
        "...three...two...one."  The speakers began playing Auld
Lang Syne and there were distant sounds of horns and cheering.
        In the sterile quietness of the infirmary, Sam clinked
glasses with Donna and with Al before sipping the chill,
intoxicating champagne.  "Happy New Year, Al." he said, shaking the
man's hand again.
        "Happy New Year, kid.  Welcome to the next century."
        Sam knelt beside Donna's bed and took her glass from her as
she lowered it from her lips.  He took her hand in his, disturbed
how cold it felt, and smiled encouragingly.  "Happy New Year,
sweetheart." 
        As a tear rolled down his cheek and splashed beside Donna's
ear, Sam pressed his lips to hers and leaped.