Message-Id: <9712152005.AA08989@arctos.bowdoin.edu>
Subject: Reverse Reflection 4/7
Date: Mon, 15 Dec 1997 15:05:23 -0500 (EST)
From: "Emilie R. Karr" <ekarr@Bowdoin.EDU>

Title: Reverse Reflection, pt 4/7
Author: Emilie Renee Karr (ekarr@bowdoin.edu)


Upon exiting the Imaging Chamber Al made a bee-line for Ziggy.
"Is it possible to make a permanent connection?"

"I am attempting to do so," Ziggy answered. "Difficult as it may
be, I must ask for patience."

"We're working on it, Al," Verbena murmured, putting her hand on
his shoulder.

He shrugged it off.  "I know.  I know.  But I have to be there, I
want to be there, if he's going to--" Couldn't complete that
sentence.

"How'd he look?" she inquired quietly.

"Hard to tell.  He wasn't--there were two people helping him, the
bastards are allowing that much.  Apparently there isn't a doctor
on the plane but they're doing their utmost...Ziggy?" He turned
to the computer again. "What are Sam's odds?"

"Inconsequential.  Dr. Beckett will beat them; therefore there is
no logic in my calculating them." At least *she* was utterly
confident in Sam.

Before Al could protest this she added, "We may be close to a
solution with the connection difficulties."

Gooshie seconded this. "I think we may have it--but I don't
understand how.  Or why--"

"Why?"

"Why we can, like, /get/ him all of a sudden," Tina explained.
"We tried all this a zillion times before, only now it's
/working/."

"But we can 'get' him now?"

"We're not sure," Gooshie admitted. "Maybe.  Hold on a second."

Al returned to grilling Ziggy. "Have you learned why Sam is there
yet?"

"I have an hypothesis."

After waiting a short period Al demanded, "What is it?  Stopping
the terrorists, right?"

"No, Admiral.  In the original history the terrorists were
stopped.  I have calculated a 61.1013 percent chance that Dr.
Beckett in fact is there to stop others from stopping the
terrorists."

"What?"

"I have calc--" Ziggy began, then interrupted herself. "Dr.
Beckett's brainwaves are becoming clearer--you may be able to
contact him again."

"What happened?" Gooshie asked, looking puzzled.

"This instance is relatively easy to explain," the computer said.
"I believe Dr. Beckett is regaining consciousness."

"I'm there," Al snapped, and then he was in the Imaging Chamber.

In the last three hours or so he had been in the Chamber more
than he had in the past year.  Not that he was complaining.  The
visual tornados weren't even capable of making him ill anymore,
not with his mind occupied with so much larger matters.

He appeared in the same place he had departed, standing almost
inside the man with the first-aid training.  No sooner had the
holograms stabilized when he heard a low moan.

The man and the woman were almost as attentive as he was. "Sounds
alive and waking," whispered the man.

"Not sure that's a good thing," muttered the EMT back. "We don't
have any painkillers.  He's going to be in agony."

"Sam?" Al asked. "Can you hear me?" He leaned close to his
friend.

Sam groaned, a long aching sound that ended with a hiss, "yes..."

Al mentally thanked every force that possibly could be guiding
the Leaping. "The connection's working, Sam, I'm here, I'm right
by you.  We found you, remember?"

He was turning his head, back and forth against the floor.
"No..."

"Shh, easy there, don't move," the woman soothed.

"...hurt..."

"I know, Sam, god it must.  You've got to hang in there, though,
don't think about it, concentrate on something else, listen to my
voice--or hers, maybe, if it sounds better to you--"

"What happened?" Very soft, but clear.

"They shot you--" the woman began to explain, but Al overrode
her, talking through her words as he had done on other Leaps, so
long past.

"There're terrorists on the plane, and they shot you, when I
came--God, I'm sorry, Sam.  It's my fault, if I hadn't...you're
pretty badly injured but they're, these two are taking care of
you, they're doing a good job, if you could stay awake you could
tell them how to do better--"

Sam's eyes suddenly opened, staring up at him.  "Al--" he gasped.

"Yes?" Al was disconcerted to hear the woman speak the same word
at the same time he did.

And his eyes closed as he began to shake his head again, "No, no,
you shouldn't be here, no--"

"No, I'm helping you, I should be here," the woman said, and the
man began to say, "So your name is--"

Al tuned them out to focus on Sam.  "I'm supposed to be here, I
was supposed to be here for the last year, what are you talking
about? I'm sorry about that, Sam, I'm sorry I wasn't here, we
tried and tried but this is the first chance--" The images
started to grow hazy.

"Sam!" Al shouted. "You gotta stay awake! If you go out then so
does the connection and I can't be here!"

"Trying," Sam mumbled, and the scene stabilized.

"Good.  I'm sorry you're hurt so bad, I know how much you want
to--but I..."

"Need you here," his friend whispered, between labored breaths.

"Hoped you wanted me." In the pause he heard the two other
people, oblivious to Al at least, talking.

"--if your mother had to name you after a Canadian place, it
could've been worse--you could've been Vancouver, for instance.
I know what I'm talking about."

"Oh, really?"

"My folks gifted me with the handle of Sidney."

"As in Australia?"

"Exactly," confirmed the man. "Not even Sid--the whole thing."

"My nick's even worse, but it's what everyone calls me," admitted
the woman.  At the man's, Sidney's, questioning glance she
shrugged. "Berry."

"/Berry/?" Sidney smiled. "You don't look like a 'Berry'."

"That's what Mom says, but Dad persisted in using it and it
stuck.  Dammit," and Berry sighed, "I wish they were here now.
Mom at least."

"Any reason why?"

"Mom's a doctor." The woman's brooding look dropped onto Sam.
"She could--she's a surgeon, she'd know exactly what to do--"
Berry shook her hair out of her eyes. "I've been debating
pursuing medicine, not sure I wanted to follow in her footsteps.
I took pre-med in college but in grad-school I've been thinking
of pursuing the sciences--but right now, I wish to God that I
already had my MD."

"Berry." Sidney squeezed her hand. "You're doin' great, and he's
going to make it.  I got a hunch."

"And I have a computer that agrees with you," Al added, waving
the handlink in their direction. "Hear that, Sam? Ziggy's
convinced you're gonna be fine.  And so am I.  You have all these
expectations, live up to them!"

"Do my best," Sam groaned.  "But--"

Berry and Sidney heard that phrase and immediately concentrated
on him again. "You're doing great," the EMT said, and brushed his
forehead. "You're barely bleeding, all you have to do is be calm.
Rest.  If you sleep it won't hurt."

"But..."

Al closed his eyes. "Listen to her.  Go to sleep.  I'll be back
the second you wake up.  I promise."

Sam exhaled once, a long rattling rush of air, and then not so
much fell asleep but fell out of consciousness.

But the images didn't fade.  Ziggy must've stabilized the
connection, Al guessed, and decided not to look a gift horse in
the mouth by actually asking if that were true.  Instead he knelt
down beside him, an imperceivable, ineffectual, yet alert guard.

Not that one was truly needed.  Al saw only one real guard from
the true enemies, standing near the cockpit door.  He only then
noticed that the airplane was empty except for that terrorist,
Sam, and Sam's two trying healers.

Much as he would have preferred to stay by Sam's side, this was a
Leap, he was the Observer, and his purpose was to help Sam in any
way possible.  And that had always meant knowing what was going
on.

A quick smack brought the handlink to life.  Al punched in his
queries, then zeroed in on the coordinates.

The passengers--the hostages, he supposed they were properly
termed, were all crammed into the small third class section.  Two
more guards stood outside and prevented anyone from departing
prematurely.

Inside the section the people were huddled together, their
expressions varying from terror to bemusement to anger.  There
was some crying and some snarling, and a few quiet conversations
in various corners; but none of the words Al heard sounded
especially meaningful or useful.

He again manipulated the handlink and moved himself to the
cockpit.

Pilot and co-pilot, identifiable as the airplane's own by their
uniforms, still were at the controls, but their course was being
directed by one of the terrorists, navigating with clear
knowledge.  Judging by the quick, nervous darting of the pilots'
eyes from the terrorists' weaponry to the controls and back, they
weren't planning on disobeying the instructions.

"Cowards," Al said without meaning it.  In the same situation
he'd probably do the same, with that navigator watching them and
the instruments like a hawk, ready to call alarm if their course
altered by so much as half a degree.

The terrorists, though, drew most of his attention.  There were
three of them, discounting their navigator--so only seven total
with the guards--and they were in urgent discussion.

Probably to prevent the pilots from hearing anything of
importance, they spoke Italian--but Al Calavicci hadn't a single
problem following /that/.

"If he dies, we're in deep trouble."

"As if we aren't already."  Both voices were heavily accented;
Italian was not their native tongue, apparently.  Al didn't have
to wonder why they were speaking it when the third man opened his
mouth.

"Shut up, both of you.  You knew this would not be easy when you
joined our cause.  You know our purpose and you knew that death
might be involved." His speech was flawless; and he certainly
looked Italian.

"But, Antonio," well, /that/ confirmed it, "they aren't going to
go easy on us if we do go fail--Otto shot the man in cold blood!"

"He would not obey me," argued the other--that must be Otto
Stein, Al realized, the one who had killed the three hostages in
the original history. "We had to make our position clear.  And
now the rest won't be as anxious to revolt."

"He's not dead yet," Antonio remarked. "That man and that woman
are still with him, right?"

"Yes, they're trying they're best--"

"Let them work.  If he lives, then all is well. If he dies--"

"Then you'll pay for it at my hands," Al hissed, speaking Italian
himself and adding a few descriptive names that probably only
Antonio could've understood, had he heard them.

Of course he didn't.  "--then we'll continue as planned, and see
that we don't fail.  Am I clear?"

"Like glass, boss," Otto Stein agreed, grinning.

"Yes," said the other, looking decidedly less pleased.

Since the conversation seemed to have died for the moment, Al
returned to the side of the man in question.

Sidney and Berry were not chatting amiably as they had been when
he had left.  As he entered Berry removed her hand from Sam's
forehead, expression dark.  "What's wrong?" Sidney asked, taking
the words right out of Al's mouth.

"I was afraid of this.  He's developing a fever, as if the rest
of it weren't enough.  If he goes delirious--"

Right on cue Sam's eyes popped open, unnaturally bright and
focused directly on Al.  The moment he saw him he shook his head
back and forth, "No! You aren't supposed to--I changed that!"

"Shh," Berry tried to sooth him.

Sam wasn't paying attention. "I tried, I tried, I didn't want to,
you have to believe me--Al, I tried to change it, I gave her to
you, I did it and then I took it away--not my fault..."

"What's he talking about?"

"How should I know?" Berry barked. "He's talking to someone in
his head."

Of course she couldn't see the person in question.  Who was
having trouble understanding himself. "Sam, what are you talking
about?"

"I could've gone on alone, he made me, I didn't want to change
it, I wanted to do it originally and then I did it and I kept you
together as it was supposed to happen--" Sam gasped out.

"Calm down, easy there," Al said, his words overlapping Berry's.
"It's okay, whatever it is. It's okay, Sam, just go back to sleep
you have to rest this isn't helping you.  Talk to me later.
Sam?"

"I'm sorry I'm sorry," he was sobbing. "I'm sorry..."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here all along," Al told him.

"You weren't supposed to..."

"I'm sure it's alright now, sir," Berry said, adding low-voiced,
"whatever it is.  Now, listen to your doctor, you have to sleep."

As though a switch had been thrown he collapsed, arched back
falling to the floor again.  Three people breathed simultaneous
sighs of relief.

Al had time to hear Sidney ask, "How can you be his doctor
without an MD?" and then the world faded around him, returning
him to the future.

Taking a deep breath he left the Chamber, entered the control
room and announced, "I'm going to my room to catch up on sleep,
as soon as we can reach him again I'll be here," and before they
could ask questions or do more than stare at him confusedly he
was out the door and in the elevator.

Once he reached his quarters he locked the door against even
Tina's intrusion and seated himself at the small desk. "Ziggy?"

"I thought you were going to rest, Admiral."

"I lied.  Ziggy, tell me what happened in there."

"What do you mean?" the computer asked innocently.

"You've been monitoring what's been going on.  Sam was raving
about more than a fever.  What was he talking about?"

"I don't--"

"You know why we haven't been able to reach him this last year,
and why we just are able to now at least a little bit, and you
are going to tell me because I am the temporary head of this
project and I can and may pull your plug at any time now."

"Yes, Admiral," the computer acquiesced, and began to explain.

End Part 4
I promise you part 5 will be written, probably when I'm trying to
avoid writing one of my papers or studying for a test--and I'm
not adverse to comments, encouragement, death threats, etc...
ERK
ekarr@bowdoin.edu