Date: Wed, 13 Apr 94 22:00:18 -0400 From: ac961@dayton.wright.edu (Cheryl A. Bellucci) Message-Id: <9404140200.AA13306@dayton.wright.edu> Subject: Roundtable A story for April - part 1 Sam found himself sitting before a council of men, with a microphone in front of him and wearing a dark suit. A large crowd was behind him. "Answer the question, please," said the man in the center of the council. "Could you repeat it, please?" Sam asked, cautiously. "Are you trying to make a mockery of this committee?" "No, of course not," Sam said, "Never." "Very well, then, sir. Are you, or have you ever been a member of the Communist party?" "Oh boy." Guilty Until Proven Innocent February 16, 1955 Cheryl A. Bellucci Part 1 Dr. Sam Beckett sighed. God/Time/Fate sure had a strange sense of timing, "dropping" him in at some of the oddest moments with absolutely no information to go on until his contact with Sam's present, Admiral Al Calavicci, managed to make his own appearance in holographic form. "Excuse me, Mr. Bradshaw?" asked the man who Sam took to be the head of this council. "I, uh, er." Sam thought quickly, glancing nervously around the room once more, seeing the crowd of people waiting for him to answer. Was that a camera? He cleared his throat then tried to answer the best way he knew how without damaging his host's reputation. "I wish to invoke the power of the Fifth -- " "No, Sam!" came Al's voice directly behind him. "Whatever you do, don't take the Fifth. They'll crucify you for sure." Sam relaxed a little now that he knew the Observer was there to help. He gave the committee a weak smile. "Could you repeat the question?" "Mr. Committee" sighed impatiently. "Mr. Bradshaw, are you trying to make a mockery of this board?" The members of the board whispered among them, and Al took the opportunity to fill Sam in on his Leap, walking into Sam's view at the side of the table where the Time Traveler was sitting. "Okay, Sam, here's the story," the hologram began, quickly pressing buttons and reading the display of the handlink between chirps and slaps. "Your name is Walter Bradshaw, but your friends call you Clay. It's February 16, 1955. You're in Fort Wayne, Indiana." Al looked up and inspected the group of men at the table in front of them. "These 'gentlemen', and I do use the term lightly, are members of a 'Loyalty Review Board', and they want to know if you are a Communist." "Mr. Bradshaw, will you answer the question?" asked "Mr. Committee", interrupting Al's explanation. "Geez, Sam, we gotta think of something to put these nozzles off. I really need to talk to you about this before they tear into you." Al paced nervously in a circle beside Sam, reading the handlink and rubbing his forehead, cigar in hand. Sam glanced over at Al, then looked ahead at the assembly before him. "Excuse me..." His voice trailed off as he realized he didn't know any of the names of these people. "Oh," Al interjected as he noticed his friend's plight. "The head guy is a lawyer, a Mr. Michael Stanton. I'll fill you in on the other guys later." Once again Sam smiled weakly. "Mr. Stanton, it is my wish to cooperate fully with the board. However, I wonder if it is possible for us to take a break? I, uh..." Sam paused slightly. "I need to use the facilities." A few of the board members chuckled, but Mr. Stanton just grumbled then looked at his watch. "I suppose, Mr. Bradshaw, if you wish to make light of these proceedings, we shall allow you one indulgence, but mostly because we did not get started when we planned, and it is quite late in the day." Mr. Stanton gave Sam an icy stare. "However, your reticence in answering questions has been duly noted by this review board." He lifted the gavel next to his right hand. "This Loyalty Review Board shall reconvene tomorrow morning at precisely nine o'clock." Sam jumped as Mr. Stanton slammed the gavel down on the table. The men sitting behind the table stood up. Sam was barely out of his own seat before the reporters in the crowd behind him rushed forward, spouting accusations and daring Sam to deny them. He managed to mumble a few "no comments" as he looked for Al's image, but another man nosed his way through the throng and grabbed Sam's right elbow, pushing him toward the nearest door. "Clay, that was an, uh, interesting move on your part," the man was saying as he propelled Sam along. "But, seriously, what _are_ you going to tell the board? They've already roasted union members all over the country, and more are resigning in protest even before they answer one question." "What is this all about?" Sam asked both men as Al reappeared at his left elbow. "A Loyalty Review Board? Communist? I don't understand?" Sam's unknown escort stopped and looked up at him. "Don't tell me you're going to use insanity as a defense, Clay. I don't think that will work." "In the forties and fifties," Al explained quickly, "there was a lot of concern that the Soviet Union and Red China had spies over here. There were a lot of meetings and hearings. Employees everywhere were asked to sign loyalty oaths. In the timeframe you've Leaped into," Al gestured swirls in the air, "there were these Loyalty Review Boards. They were used a lot, particularly with government employees, universities, and companies that did work for the government. Real witch-hunters, these guys were. This one is going to be a toughie, Sam." Sam sighed. All the Leaps were "toughies" as far as he was concerned. He glanced at both the man on his right and the hologram on his left. "Am I a Communist?" Them an in Sam's current timeframe shot a nervous glance behind him. "Clay, if you're going to spout off stupid sentences like that, let's get you home. All we need is to have someone overhear you half-admitting to being a Red." He tightened his grip on Sam's arm and pulled him out of the room, walking briskly, and he didn't slow their pace until they reached a dark green sedan outside the office building plaza. Sam's companion immediately opened the driver's side door, so Sam hurriedly made his way to the passenger's side. The man was already starting the car, and as soon as Sam closed the door, the auto was pulling away from the curb. "Damn, Clay, this is serious." He kept his eyes on the road, but it was easy to hear the concern in his voice. "Figures Magnavox would pull something like this with the NLRB elections coming up." Sam still wasn't sure what the situation was, and he certainly didn't know what NLRB meant. "Why do those men think I'm a Communist?" The driver glanced from the road to Sam and gave a nervous chuckle. "And, just where have you been for the last fifteen years? Uncle Sam has been looking for the Red Devil behind every curtain since the end of World War II, and, contrary to our criminal court systems, you are guilty until proven innocent. Oh, and that goes double for a union member working to improve conditions in the workplace." "He's right, Sam." Al's image appeared in the back seat. "These LRB's caused a lot of problems, especially with the university and government contracting crowd. They even used the Commie plot to break unions all over the country. We've got Ziggy working on it, pulling up lots of info. I'll fill you in when this guy gets you home." "So, what am I supposed to do?" Sam asked, looking at Al, but the driver spoke first, shaking his head. "I don't know, Clay. They're a hard bunch to fight. And if the publicity gets too bad, Magnavox may just ask for your resignation to stay out of the heat. Which would mean that all our work, both past and future, goes straight into the toilet." "Magnavox?" Sam wondered outloud, associating that name with a television somewhere, somewhen. Al answered. "That's who you, or rather, Clay, works for." "Of course, Magnavox. You know, I really thought you were going to commit employee suicide when you almost used the Fifth Amendment as an answer. Did you forget, Clay?" questioned the driver. "Forget?" Maybe it was leftover effects from the Leap-in, but Sam still wasn't sure what was going on. "Upper management sent that memo around. 'New company policy: Any employee answering LRB questions by invoking the Fifth Amendment is dismissed on the spot.' Do not pass go," Sam's companion added. "Do not collect $200. At least you realized what you were saying before the words got out of your mouth." "I suppose." Sam sat back against the seat. He remembered something about committees and boards and the "threat from the Red Devil" from his childhood, but either the memories weren't very strong or the Swiss-cheese effect had struck again. "Aha," Al remarked, reading the display of the handlink then glancing forward to the driver. "This guy must be Leonard Smith. He's an engineer, just like you. Oh, says here everyone calls him Lenny." Al slapped the communications device which emanated a loud squeal in return. "Uh oh, Sam. Ziggy says that in the original history, Clay broke under the pressure of the board and implicated Lenny; who, in turn, couldn't defend himself, resigned, and eventually found work at a construction company where he was killed in an accident in 1962." The car pulled into the driveway of a modest-looking house in a nice neighborhood. Sam glanced up at the house, then over to Lenny. "This is your house, Sam. You live alone," Al answered Sam's silent questions. "Think very carefully about what you are going to say tomorrow," Lenny told Sam as he opened the car door. "Think _very_ carefully." Sam got out, then bent down to look back into the car. "What are you going to do tonight, Lenny?" he asked the man behind the wheel. "Pray," the other man replied. "And that might not be a bad suggestion for you to do, either." He put the car into reverse, and Sam shut the door, watching as the car drove down the street and turned at the next corner. * Cheryl A. Bellucci * "I'd rather laugh with the sinners * * bellucci@fsp.fsp.com * than cry with the saints * * ac961@dayton.wright.edu * the sinners are much more fun..." * Date: Sat, 16 Apr 1994 18:04:34 -0400 From: "Cheryl A. Bellucci" Subject: Roundtable A story for April - part 2 Message-Id: <9404162204.AA23955@dayton.wright.edu> Guilty Until Proven Innocent Cheryl A. Bellucci Part 2 Sam stood at the doorway of Clay's house and fished for keys in the pockets of his suit. There was a blue sedan which looked much like the car Lenny brought him home in sitting in the driveway, and Sam briefly wondered if he was expected to drive in the morning and pick up Lenny or not. Well, that was a trivial matter until Sam found out and understood more about this Leap. Finding the right keys, Sam entered the house. The rooms were conservatively decorated he noticed as he made his way to the kitchen where Al was waiting for him. Sam opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of iced tea. "Al, what is going on?" Sam asked as he searched for a glass. "I thought I heard you come in," came a voice from just outside the kitchen, causing Sam to jump. Didn't Al say Clay lived alone? Sam turned as an older woman walked through the doorway, smiling at him. "Oh, I see you've already found the tea. I made it earlier, it should be nice and cold." She frowned at Sam's confused look. "Things didn't go well today, did they, Mr. Bradshaw?" She wrung her hands worriedly. "Oh, dear." Sam shot a quick look at Al. After a few button pushes, the answer to this person's identity flashed up on the display. "Mrs. Symmes," Al explained. "She's Clay's housekeeper." That explained why the housee was so clean. Sam managed a smile. "Well, Mrs. Symmes, no, it didn't. But tomorrow is another day." Her smile returned. "Yes, it is, Mr. Bradshaw." She reached out and patted Sam's arm. "I need to catch the next bus. It's a long trip across town." She turned and left the room, coming back seconds later with her purse. "You take care now, Mr. Bradshaw. I'll be back on Friday." "Thank you, Mrs. Symmes. You take care, too." She smiled again and gave Sam a little wave before she left through the same door he had just come in. Sam took his suit jacket off and tossed it over one of the kitchen chairs. "Okay, Al," he said as he poured out a glass of the tea, "what is going on?" He sat down at one of the other chairs. "Okay, Sam, Ziggy's got it figured out, we think." Al circled the table to stand in front of Sam. "You work for Magnavox as an engineer." "You told me that already." "Don't get so impatient, Sam. It doesn't become you." Al squinted and Sam wasn't sure if it was from the smoke coming out of the cigar Al always held or if the hologram was doing it for effect. "Well, tell me something new. What's an NLRB?" he asked, recalling the term Lenny had used to explain things on the trip home. "NLRB..." Al used the handlink to get the answer. "Oh, National Labor Review Board... Okay, good question, Sam. The NLRB had the power to come in and hold elections at a plant if there was a rival union wanting more power. One such election is about to happen where you work." The Observer studied the handlink. "Interesting. Says here that the union you belong to is a non-company union." "What does that mean?" "Means it stands up for its members. Doesn't roll over and play dead when the company wants to change something that's not in favor of the employees. Okay, okay," he continued, musing at the findings in the display. "Classic scenario, Sam. Non-company union fights the company over some clause or change in the contract; company petitions the NLRB to hold elections against a company union; allows the company union free reign for their campaign while the leaders of the non-company union are brought up against the Loyalty Review Board to answer charges of Communism. Non-company union member radicals are forced to quit or are dismissed, and the company union takes over. Simple." "Thanks for the history lesson, Al," Sam replied after draining the contents of the glass. "So, what do I do?" "Uh, we're not sure about that part yet." "Why does that not surprise me?" Sam mumbled. "Well, let us work on it a little while, Sam. Have we let you down yet?" Al caught the daggered-look Sam threw at him. "Don't answer that, Sam. I'll be back when I've got some solutions." The hologram called up the Imaging Chamber door and passed through, disappearing when the door slammed shut. "Oh, boy." * Cheryl A. Bellucci * "I'd rather laugh with the sinners * * bellucci@fsp.fsp.com * than cry with the saints * * ac961@dayton.wright.edu * the sinners are much more fun..." * * cheryl492@aol.com * Billy Joel - "Only The Good Die Young" * Date: Mon, 18 Apr 1994 23:24:24 -0400 From: "Cheryl A. Bellucci" Subject: Roundtable A story for April - part 3 Message-Id: <9404190324.AA27729@dayton.wright.edu> Guilty Until Proven Innocent Cheryl A. Bellucci Part 3 It was much later in the evening before Al made another appearance. Sam had already made himself some dinner and washed the dishes from it before Al came back. The Time Traveler was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper whene he heard the Imaging Chamber door open behind him. "Solutions?" Sam asked. "You do have a solution for me, right?" "Uh, no," Al answered guiltily. "But we do have options, Sam. Lots of options." Sam refolded the paper on the table. "Okay, shoot." "Well, that's one option." "What are you talking about, Al?" "Some of these guys committed suicide over appearing before these LRBs. We're talking really nasty stuff here." "If that was supposed to be a joke, Al, it wasn't funny." "No, I suppose not." The Observer cleared his throat. "One thing you can do is turn yellow and start naming names of your fellow workers who you think are Communist." "Which is what Clay did in the original history." "Right, but it didn't work. A lot of other people lost their jobs along with Clay. And, as I said before, Lenny gets hurt real bad by what Clay does." "Easy enough decision: I don't do that. Next?" "You can just resign, quit, before you even say a word before the committee." "And then what happens?" "Well, Clay would have to find another job, which after being branded a Communist is next to impossible, especially in his engineering field. But not so many other people would get hurt with that decision." Sam rubbed his forehead. "Hmm, okay, that's an option. What else is there?" Al took a deep breath. "You can fight them." When Sam looked like he was seriously contemplating that course of events, Al added quickly, "But that won't be easy, almost as impossible as Clay finding another job. See, Sam, according to Ziggy's research, the most successful way to fight these charges was to identify your accuser and discredit them." Sam looked up at him. "So, what's the problem? This is a hearing, Ziggy can access the recordings and find out who Clay's accuser was, er, is, and we mount a counter-attack against this person. As you said before, Al, simple." Al shook his head. "No so simple, Sam. These are hearings, yes, but there are no recordings from these hearings. The accused didn't have the right to face his accuser. And even if he did, and the accuser flat-out lied, chances are the LRB would take the accuser's side anyway. It took years for some of the cases to get settled. And most of the time even when the accused was later vindicated, no back pay or excuse was issued. The person was still ruined financially." Sam stood up, outraged. "This is the United States, Al. You're telling me that I'm stuck in a system with no due process and no constitutional rights?" "This is the Fifties," Al countered. "And that's exactly what I'm telling you. You're guilty until proven innocent." The younger man threw up his hands. "Great. I think I need a lawyer, Al, a real good lawyer." Al glanced at the handlink. "That'll get you fired even quicker, Sam. See, the LRB figured if you showed up with a lawyer, then you really must have been guilty. You probably wouldn't be able to talk to him in front of the committee anyway." "Okay, okay," Sam mumbled as he paced the kitchen floor, trying to calm himself. "Well, do we know for sure Clay isn't a Communist?" "He swears he isn't," Al replied. "Then I don't want to resign. That wouldn't be fair to him." "But, Sam -- " the hologram protested. "No, Al. Just because this _can_ happeen doesn't make it _right_. I want to fight these people." A loud chirp resounded from the handlink. "Uh, Sam, Ziggy says to let you know that the odds are 73.6% _against_ you being successful." "Which means there is a 26.4% chance I _will_ be successful." Sam stopped pacing and faced Al. "Look, I ran for student government when I was in high school, and one thing I learned from that experience was that you have to know your opposition. Find out everything you can on Clay's bosses and the upper management. And hurry, Al, we only have until nine o'clock in the morning." "Sure thing, Sam," Al responded as he once again opened the Imaging Chamber door. He didn't bother to ask if Sam had won the election. * Cheryl A. Bellucci * "I'd rather laugh with the sinners * * bellucci@fsp.fsp.com * than cry with the saints * * ac961@dayton.wright.edu * the sinners are much more fun..." * * cheryl492@aol.com * Billy Joel - "Only The Good Die Young" * Date: Sun, 24 Apr 1994 21:33:31 -0400 From: "Cheryl A. Bellucci" Subject: Roundtable A story for April - part 4 To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Message-Id: <9404250133.AA17194@dayton.wright.edu> Guilty Until Proven Innocent Cheryl A. Bellucci Part 4 The night was spent in exasperation. Al did come back with information, but nothing in particular they could use. Ziggy hadn't been able to find any recordings of the original hearings, so tracking down an accuser was next to impossible. "If there is an accuser at all," Al remarked as he and Sam went over Ziggy's findings. "Some of the time it was just a 'feeling' someone had about some else." "How can I defend myself against ghosts and shadows, Al?" Sam asked. He had resumed pacing the kitchen floor again. "I don't know, Sam. Let me check on some of Clay's friends and neighbors. Maybe that will turn something up." Al paused as the Imaging Chamber door lit into view. "Get some sleep, Sam. It's only a few hours until the hearing." "Sure, Al." Sam didn't think he'd manage any sleep at all, but as soon as his head hit the pillow, he fell into a deep sleep until Clay's alarm awakened him the next morning. A quick shower and shave, a glass of juice and muffin for breakfast. 'Did Mrs. Symmes make these?' Sam wondered briefly as he bit into the apple spice baked treat. 'Whoever made it, it sure tastes good.' Grabbing his keys, Sam went outside to get into Clay's car. As his hand reached for the handle on the door, Lenny's green sedan pulled up in the driveway. "Clay, don't tell me you forgot," Lenny called after rolling down the window. "Uh, no," Sam answered as he walked over to the other car. "I thought I left something in my car. My mistake." He got in beside Lenny. "So, how are you today?" "Question is, how are _you_?" Lenny returned, worry apparent in his voice. "Are you ready for this?" "No," Sam replied honestly. "No, I'm not." He glanced over at Clay's coworker who was now concentrating on the road. "I want you to know something, Lenny. No matter what happens in front of that board or committee or what that farce is calling itself, I won't betray anyone else. I won't name any names, I promise." Lenny shot Sam a thankful glance, then turned his eyes back to the road. "Of course not, Clay. I didn't think you would." Lenny's voice betrayed his words, apparently Lenny had something to hide that Clay knew about. "Besides, what can a man do about his brother? I told Vinnie that joining the Communist Party was a bad idea. I certainly don't believe in their views. I didn't join, he did. I just hope that the LRB believes that if I have to testify." So that was it. Well, Sam's first decision about this Leap was that he wasn't going to name names. It hadn't worked for Clay the first time, and Sam wasn't even thinking about trying it this time. The members of the LRB, Clay and Lenny's bosses, and assorted members of the press were already gathered when Sam and Lenny walked into the room. Lenny tried hiding himself in the crowd as Sam made his was over to the seat he occupied the day before, trying to look more confident than he felt. As soon as he sat down, Stanton slammed the gavel against the table. "This hearing of the Loyalty Review Board is now in session. I'm pleased to see you're punctual, Mr. Bradshaw. Are you prepared to answer our questions today?" Sam glanced around the room as he did before. Where was Al? Al promised he'd find the answer. Al wouldn't let him down, not on purpose. "Uh, yes, sir, Mr. Stanton. I have nothing to hide." Sam had nothing to hide, but he had suddenly realized that with all the research Ziggy had done on the members of the LRB and Magnavox's management, Sam didn't know that much about Clay. Just that he was an engineer, he lived in a nice house, and he had a housekeeper who made good apple muffins. 'Great move, Beckett,' Sam whined to himself. 'Know your opposition, eh? Well, I don't know _me_.' "Very good, Mr. Bradshaw." Stanton looked down at the papers in front of him. "Since you were reticent in answering a direct question about your participation with Communism, we shall change directions a little and discuss your involvement with other groups and associations." "Such as my membership in the non-company union?" Sam ventured. Maybe Sam didn't know much about Clay, but he knew he didn't like this lawyer or his committee or what they stood for. And Al had said Clay insisted he was not a Communist, not that it mattered much to Sam anyway. "Yes, let's begin with that." Stanton smiled; it made him look like the cat about to swallow a canary. Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Do you realize that the president of your union has been linked with the Communist Party?" "Of course, you have definite proof of that, I assume?" Sam was answering questions with questions, but at least it was stalling time until Al showed up. "Of course, Mr. Bradshaw." Now it was Stanton's turn to shift uncomfortably. "Do you feel it is possible that your union president is disseminating Communist propaganda throughout the rank and file, and possibly even recruiting for the Party itself?" Sam leaned forward. "Do you think that as long as my president is defending the welfare of his union members in a fair and equitable way against the inequities of this company, do you think I even care if he is a member of the Communist Party, the Democratic Party, the Republican Party, or the Mickey Mouse Club?" Some of the board members frowned and whispered among themselves. A member of the press took Sam's picture as the crowd murmured behind him. "Please, everyone." Stanton clammored the gavel against growing din, and the room fell silent. "Mr. Bradshaw, just what is the Mickey Mouse Club?" 'Oops,' Sam thought to himself. "Sorry, Mr. Stanton, just a childhood reference. Perhaps a mention of the 'Womanhaters' Club' is more appropriate." Some of the audience chuckled. Once again Stanton's gavel fell. "Mr. Bradshaw," the head of the board began, his voice bellowing, "to compare the atrocity of the Communist Party to the Three Stooges is just, well..." He paused, not realizing how to finish his sentence without looking foolish. "No matter, it is entirely irrevelant, except to note your arrogant attitude. Let us continue. Now, Mr. Bradshaw --" "Mr. Stanton, members of the LRB," Sam interrupted, remembering another cliche from his high school days -- 'the best defense is a good offense.' "I would like to point out that I know what is going on here. You and this Loyalty Review Board are using a technique quite similar to one used by Adolf Hitler to create a scare -- " Stanton pounded his gavel sharply against the table. "Mr. Bradshaw, I am outraged -- " "In order to create a false atmosphere to conduct this hearing," Sam continued over the noise of Stanton's gavel. "So you might smear my union's name and reputation along with the names and reputations of my good co-workers while you and members of your committeee wrap yourselves in the flag of the United States and offer us as sacrificial lambs before the press." "Mr. Bradshaw, that outburst is entirely enough from you!" Stanton was still banging his gavel against the table. "I am apalled that you would compare a member of the Communist Party to a sacrificial lamb. Surely you don't think anyone would even consider a symbol as pure and innocent as that to be -- " Sam raised his voice to be heard over the gavel and the growing din from the crowd. "I was raised to believe in this country, its laws, and its Constitution. The Bill of Rights, as part of our Consitution, was established to prevent committees such as this one to invade the rights of Americans guaranteed by the Constitution. By not allowing me to invoke the Fifth Amendment, your committee and my company has violated -- " "Mr. Bradshaw!" Stanton gave up on the gavel and stood up to emphasize his power and try to regain control over the proceedings. "Mr. Bradshaw, that is quite enough out of you!" Once again the room fell silent as the committee members began to talk amongst themselves. "Good speech, Sam," came Al's voice over Sam's right shoulder. Sam glanced back quickly to see the hologram standing there. "How long have you been here?" he whispered frantically with his hand covering his mouth the best he could. "Long enough. The Three Stooges reference was a hoot, maybe a little cryptic, but it worked. By the way, the Mickey Mouse Club isn't formed until _September_ of 1955." "I don't care about the Mickey Mouse Club," Sam answered, nervously looking up at the board members to see if anyone was watching him talk to himself. "Sure about that, Sam? Ziggy says Disney received an application for membership from a Sam Beckett in Indiana in 1959." "Al!" Sam interjected as sharply as he could in a whisper. "That's not important right now. I hope to hell your casualness means you know how I'm going to get out of this mess." "Aw, naughty, naughty, Sam. Cursing could get you expelled from Mickey's group, and you know what big ears that mouse has. Why, he can hear you all the way in California." Sam shot another exasperated and rather angry look at the hologram. The committee was beginning to quiet in their impromptu conference, and Sam didn't know what he was going to do for an encore. If Al didn't have the answer, Sam and Clay were in big trouble. "Mr. Bradshaw, this Loyalty Review Board is rather disgusted with your emotional outbursts and refusals to answer our rather simple questions," Stanton began again, trying to resume the hearings as dignified as possible. "If you cannot continue in a civilized manner, I am afraid we will have to restrain you." "I am only stating facts interspersed with my own personal experiences, Mr. Stanton," Sam replied calmly. "I meant no disrespect." "This nozzle doesn't know what respect is," Al chortled. "Very well. Now, let us go back to one of our previous questions. Do you realize that the president..." "Mrs. Symmes," Al remarked over Stanton's repeat of the first question he had asked Sam. "What?" Sam whispered as he tried to appear receptive to the board. "Mrs. Symmes, she's your answer," Al said again. "Mrs. Symmes is a Communist?" Sam asked increduously, and perhaps a little too loudly. "Mr. Bradshaw," Stanton's patience was clearly at an end, "did you say something about someone being a Communist?" "No, no!" Al waved his hands in protest as if the members of the board could see him. "Not Mrs. Symmes, not anyone. We know who your accuser is, Sam. See, Mrs. Symmes does your house on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but she does these other people's house on Tuesday and Thursday. Well, the husband of the other people also works for Magnavox. Ziggy pulled company records, and it turns out this guy was passed up for a promotion that was awarded to Clay Bradshaw. On a hunch I popped into the other people's house before I showed up here. Mrs. Symmes was going on about all the problems you were having with your job and the LRB." Al tucked the handlink under his arm and wrung his hands just the way they both had seen her do it the day before at Clay's house. "She went on about how worried she was about you." Al now adjusted his hands to his hips, handlink back in his left hand. "But the guy's wife snorted back, 'Well, I just hope they get the Commie out of the neighborhood. And if Jeffrey has any say about it, they will.' " Mimicking the wife's high pitched voice was part of Al's vignette on Sam's behalf. The hologram read the display of the communications device. "Ziggy says there's a 93.2% chance that Jeffrey is your accuser. And if you can talk the committee into listening to him, there's a good chance Clay will be vindicated and you'll leap." "Mr. Bradshaw!" Stanton was going to come right over that table and grab Sam's throat in about two seconds if Sam didn't say anything. Sam glanced up at Al before he began. "Mr. Stanton, I humbly believe that this proceeding is a result of a false accusation. Since I know the LRB will not name my accuser, I would like to attempt to name him so that I may clear my good name, the name of my union, and the name of my company, and so that this board will waste no more time on this trivial matter." He managed to catch a glimpse of Lenny in the crowd, fidgeting nervously in his seat. Sam gave him a reassuring nod before he continued. "I believe, Mr. Stanton, that this has all come about as a result of me being named as a Communist by a fellow co-worker of mine, a Mr. Jeffrey..." Sam paused, looking up to Al for the last name. "Oh, sorry, Sam. Jeffrey Dalton." "Jeffrey Dalton. If the board would see fit to bring Mr. Dalton before it so he might answer why he chose to slander my name, I believe a lot of questions can be answered." Once more the board discussed amongst itself. Sam and Al waited for their decision. "Very well." Stanton banged his gavel one more time for emphasis, but its impact had lost its touch. "We shall subpoena Mr. Dalton for questioning this afternoon. And Mr. Bradshaw..." "Yes, sir?" Sam ventured apprehensively. "We will expect your attendance to answer his accusations in person. But only when and if I call on you. Until such time you shall be a member, a very quiet member I might add, of the audience. Do you hear me?" "Yes, sir, I do," Sam replied. "That's it, Sam!" Al exclaimed. "Jeffrey breaks under pressure, and Clay gets to keep his job. Oh, well, the non-company union gets ousted in the next election, but that will turn around eventually, too. In about ten years or so." "This hearing is in recess until one o'clock this afternoon," Stanton announced with a final slam of his gavel. "What about Lenny?" Sam asked as reporters rushed him as they did the day before. He searched through the crowd and saw Lenny trying to make his way over to him. "Lenny? Oh, hmm." Al read the display as reporters clamored through his image to get to Sam. "The company is so embarrassed by this fiasco that no other employees are brought before the board. He keeps his job, too, Sam." "Great, just great." But Al probably didn't hear him over the questioning of the reporters. Sam ignored the remarks and inquisitions of the mass around him and once more sought out Lenny from the crowd, managing to give him a smile and a wink just before the blue light enveloped him once more... ... then he Leaped... The blue "force" which carried him through Time and Space disippated around him in crinkles and snaps. At least, that's what usually happened, although Sam noticed the roar of Time rushing around him didn't fade as quickly as it usually did. Or was Time screaming this go-round? 'No', Sam realized, trying to shake the Leap-effect from his head, 'not Time screaming.' Girls. Lots of them. All around him. Crowding, pushing as hard as they were screaming. Looking for an answer to his current situation, Sam nudged the girl screaming next to him sharply. She turned to look at him, face all smiles. "C'mon, Cassie," she screamed at him, and he could barely hear her above the screams from the other girls. "They're about to get off the plane," nodding her head to indicate the jet on the other side of the fence. "Don't you want Paul to notice you? Put your sign up!" Then she resumed her screaming in chorus with the other girls. "Sign?" Sam asked much too softly for anyone to possibly hear. He bent over slightly to see the mentioned object sitting at his feet. "Beatles welcome," he read, although the wording was upside down to his orientation. The message didn't disturb him as much as his notice that he was dressed just as the other screaming girls. Which meant, he had leaped into one of _them_. He _was_ one of the screaming girls. "Oh, boy." * Cheryl A. Bellucci * "I'd rather laugh with the sinners * * bellucci@fsp.fsp.com * than cry with the saints * * ac961@dayton.wright.edu * the sinners are much more fun..." * * cheryl492@aol.com * Billy Joel - "Only The Good Die Young" *