From: lalibr@operators.its.rpi.edu (Vivs Laliberte (Scott)) Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: "Starlight, Star Bright" Part01/01 Date: 8 Oct 1994 02:54:10 GMT Organization: Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Troy NY, USA Message-Id: <3751ki$mo2@usenet.rpi.edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: operators.its.rpi.edu Summary: Sam N Al at StarBright Theorizing that one could time travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett led an elite group of scientists into the desert to develop a top secret project known as Quantum Leap. Pressured to prove his theories or lose funding, Dr. Beckett prematurely stepped into the project accelerator, and vanished.... He awoke to find himself in the past, suffering from partial amnesia, and facing a mirror image that was not his own. Fortunately, contact with his own time was maintained through brainwave transmissions with Al - the project observer - who appeared in the form of a hologram that only Dr. Beckett can see and hear. Trapped in the past; Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, putting things right that once went wrong, and hoping each time, that his next leap will be the leap Home. Quantum Leaping always left Sam a bit queasy. Sometimes a bit more so than others. This was definitely one of those times. As his vision cleared of the leap effect, Sam glanced around. He appeared to be in a small room made of metal. To his relief and surprise, he saw a familiar form, just out in the hall. "Al, get down from there!" he called, in a muffled shout, to the form of his best friend, who was a bit out of place - floating 6 feet off the ground. As Al turned, Sam groaned inwardly, noticing the glazed look in Al's eyes, and the redness of his nose and cheeks. "Eh, What's up Doc?" Al responded, feigning a nibble on his ever present cigar. He attempted rather uncoordinatedly, to waggle his eyebrows in a seductive manner, and then fell into a fit of giggles, though just what he was laughing at was not clear. Sam was not laughing at all. "Just get down here Al, this is no time to be messing around." With a heavy sigh, and a mumbled comment about eggheads having no sense of humor, Al inhaled deeply upon his cigar, and blew hard at the ceiling above him. Flapping his 'wings' in feigned flight, he floated gracefully to a gentle two point landing next to Sam. And promptly fell flat on his face. "Al, Get up! I thought we had that drinking problem licked! What happened?" Al literally peeled himself off the floor, and dragged himself to his feet. Just then the sounds of someone coming along the corridor behind him warned Sam to clam up. Holding a hand out in an 'after you' gesture, Sam followed Al down the hall. "Where to?" Al queried. "Someplace quiet, where we won't be disturbed," Sam whispered hoarsely, glancing over his shoulder to see if they were in danger of getting caught. A wicked gleam came to Al's eye. Raising one brow, a bit more successfully this time, he puffed on his cigar. "Your place or mine, doll face?" "Funny Al! You're a barrel of laughs. Mine!" "Sure doc, whatever you say," Al called over his shoulder, a surprised, though somehow impish look upon his face. His pace quickened. After several turns, Al stopped by a door, which slid open to allow them entry. Glancing at the name plate by the door, Sam read "Dr. A. Paskus, PhD." A slight medicinal scent, covered with Jasmine, permeated the room. Spotting a mirror above a rack of instruments, Sam headed over to get a look at his latest host. "What am I here to do, Al?" "Well, if I have my way, to play a little doctor!" Just about to come back with a snide retort to his best friend's drunken slur, Sam's voice caught in his throat. He had seen his reflection in the mirror. "Oh no!! I'm a woman!" "It all works out better that way. Really, trust me on this one." "Al, would you get your mind out of the gutter! And get Ziggy to tell you who I am, and what I'm doing here?!" "Sure doc, it's your ball game. Uhh, who's Ziggy?" "You haven't had that much to drink, have you? Ziggy is the project computer!" "Oh, right! Of course, I knew that! I just wanted to see if you remembered." With newfound enthusiasm Al plopped down in front of a terminal in the corner. Catching Al's reflection in the mirror, Sam got a bit frustrated. Spinning on one heel he turned to chastise Al. Then, turning back, and then back again, he looked at Al from the two prospectives. "Al! I can see your reflection in the mirror! And, you're typing at the keyboard. And come to think of it, I've had to smell your cigar all this time. What the hell is going on here Al?" "OK, I'm embarrassed to admit it, but you've lost me again. What's the deal? I'm Dracula and you're Von Helsing? No, what does a cigar have to do with that? But who else wouldn't show up in a mirror? Give me a few more hints, honey; I'll figure it out! There ain't a game to be played, that Calavicci can't handle." "Wait a minute Al, just who do you think I am?" "Ana, errr, Mistress Ahhhhhhhhnastaaaaaahhh-zzeeeah." Al droned, his lustful gaze getting a bit scarier. "How about a little moonlight?" He asked as he sauntered toward the wall, seductively unzipping his jacket. He pressed his hand to the wall and a panel slid up, revealing a starry sky. "Darn, the moon has already set for the night." he whined, obviously upset. "But maybe..." He walked across the room. Sam's mind was reeling. What had happened? For a moment he though that Al might have been the one who leaped. He kicked the desk. OUCH! That was solid enough. He was not in the imaging chamber. So what was going on with Al? Pressing a plate on the opposing wall, Al opened another window. An odd sort of light flowed over him. "You know, doc, this is one of this best things about this place." He stepped back and revealed the view. A starry field again, but this time the crescent moon was.... No , not the moon.... "Funny how the best view from Starbright is the one of the Earth. It's kinda romantic, don't ya think?" Al asked, crossing the room with a lustful gleam in his eye. There was only one thing that Sam could say to that... "Oh Boy!!" [[raster - no textual representation.]] "Starlight, Starbright" August 1, 1984 Al was approaching with a lustful look on his face. Sam's mind raced. This was not the Al that he knew. In fact he wasn't sure if they had even met yet. This Al was from this time, not the future. Sam would have to be very careful how he handled everything that went on during this leap. This Al would eventually be an integral part of Project Quantum Leap, and the slightest upset of events here in the past could have catastrophic effects for the project in the future. The sorts of paradoxes that could be created made even Sam's mind dizzy. But for now he had to deal with something more pressing. The fact that Al was rapidly approaching like a bull charging its mate. What would the good doctor do in a situation like this? He didn't know, he didn't know anything about her yet. What would any liberated woman do in a situation like this? *SLAP!* Al spun around like a top winding down, and fell backward in a heap. He lifted his head slightly, and with a sly look got out a short, lust-filled, "What a woman!" before his head hit the floor with a dull, painful sounding thunk. "Sorry about that Al," Sam said to the unconscious form, as he quickly bent down to check that Al was not hurt. As he reached down to support Al's head, Sam felt the floor reach up and grab his arm. "What the....?" Realization dawned over Sam's features. "Of course! Magnetic thread sewn into the clothing, and an electromagnetic charge in the floor. Simulated gravity. That explains Al floating, and then falling, and that tumbling sensation in my stomach. We're in free fall!" Peeling Al off the floor, and carrying him to the examining table, Sam double checked that he was all right. "Just sleeping off some of that alcohol," he sighed thankfully. "C'mon Al, where are you?" he called softly to the air. Moving to the computer console in the corner, Sam sat down. He snuffed out Al's cigar in a glass on the desk, and examined the display. Luckily Al had not logged off. By the time Al awoke, Sam should have some idea of where he was and who he was, if not why he was there. Hopefully Al - his Al - would be able to get here by then and fill in the missing pieces. ~-~-~-~-~-~-~ "My name," Sam thought to himself, "is Anastasia Maria Paskus. I'm the project physician on Starbright. I'm twenty-nine, short, and have proportions that drive Al wild, but then what woman doesn't? We are aboard Link - the project orbiter - somewhere between Earth and Luna. It's August 1, 1984, and as near as I can tell there are no major problems with the mission, or any of the crew." "So what am I doing here?" he finished aloud, slamming his palms against the keyboard in frustration as he stood. He began pacing the room, looking at this and that, biding his time until he could find out something more. All this was strangely familiar. Al had told Sam many times about how they had met at Starbright, and Sam remembered some things too. He could almost believe that he had been in this very room before, but that could just be an overactive sense of deja vu. He stopped to look at his "patient". Al had not changed much in the past fifteen years, a bit less grey, and probably less a few wives, but still the same Al. And yet not the same. A familiar grating sound, and a ghostly light, brought relief and a smile to Sam's face. For about three seconds. "Al, you look terrible!" he called to his friend The doctor in him took a step forward, wanting to lay the man down and take care of him. Unfortunately, treating a hologram was relatively impossible. "Ohhhhhhhhhh!" moaned the pair of Al's in unison. Sam looked from his best friend, to his best friend to be, and back again. "That's one hell of a coincidence. What's wrong Al?" "I dunno, I just suddenly got this pounding headache, right down to my toes. Beaks gave me the once over, and gave me some pills, and then a shot, and now tells me its gotta be psychosue, psychopsu, oh, you know." "Psychosomatic. The drugs didn't have any effect?" "Other than making me feel even more woozy than I already did, no. She has been trying to keep me in bed, but I had to come." "Maybe you should get some sleep, I can manage for a while. Does Ziggy know anything about what I'm here to do?" "He doesn't know anything; Starbright was kept totally under wraps. Next to no records were kept in the usual places. It's gonna take him time to get access. Right now all he has access to is a lot of low level, unrestricted clap trap." Pausing just long enough for a helpless look to cross Sam's face, Al continued. "But I have a pretty good idea. On August 3rd, two members of the crew are lost on a spacewalk. Pekowsky and Madden. I don't remember a lot of the details. I wasn't what you would call exactly sober at the time. Just that Pekowsky was sent after Madden, and neither made it back, alive anyway. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhck!" Again his moan was echoed by his twin. "Twice is a bit more than a coincidence, Al. Have Ziggy find out exactly what's going on, and get some sleep! Come back when you can." More than a little spooked, Al was all too happy to comply. "Right, Sam. I'm out of here." With a few punches of the handlink, Al opened the Imaging Chamber door, and stumbled toward it. As it slammed shut, Sam heard the other Al stir. "Do you have to be so loud?" Al groaned, clutching his head. "It sounds like you're mortaring the place." "Sorry, I was just talking to myself. I do that now and then." Sam responded almost by reflex. "And do you always answer yourself back in a male voice? And slam things around? Ohh my head. Hey doc, you got anything for a hangover?" "I'll get you something," Sam responded walking toward a dispenser on one wall. "You must have been dreaming; I was alone." Walking back toward Al with a small pouch and a few tablets, Sam queried nonchalantly, "What did you think you heard?" "Something about Madden being lost on a spacewalk. You must be right, cuz there are no walks scheduled this tour, but I coulda sworn..." "This leap is too weird!" Sam thought to himself. A chill ran up his spine as he remembered the last time weird things happened with Al on a leap. "Here, take these, and drink all of the water. That should help some, though the best thing would be for you to lay off the alcohol all together." "You sound like this wacko I met, just before I left; he gave me the whole disease shabang, and made me promise that I would stop." "Well, what happened?" "I just figured I would have a little nip. It gets cold in space, ya know. And well, I guess I got a bit carried away. Ohh" he cried, putting a hand to his forehead. Looking up at Sam, "alright, a lot carried away. It happens!" "I'm not going to preach at you Al, but we both know that it shouldn't happen. Just lie back and give the water a chance to work." "Don't you mean the uhh, headache pills?" "No, they were salt, to help you hold onto the water. Dehydration is what causes a headache like you've got, and as soon as you get back in balance, you'll be fine. I didn't give you any drugs because I want you to remember this, the next time you reach for a bottle." "Whatever happened to the Hippocratic Oath?" "You'll be fine. Now be quiet, and get some sleep." As Al grumblingly did as he was told, Sam went back to the terminal. Now that he had something to work with, he could get something on these people. Calling up the medical records on the project staff, he began looking through them. He pulled up Madden and Pekowsky from the menu. Then, on a whim, he pulled up Calavicci. As the screen cleared to pull up Al's record Sam did a double take. Closing the record, he went back to the menu, and pulled up another record. "Donna," the name caught it Sam's throat. He quickly printed out the record, and went searching the other databases. At last he found her service record. "Donna Elesee, Sam had first met Donna on the Starbright project. He remembered that much, at least. But all of the details were hazy. This should have been about the right time, give or take six months. He had later (or was it earlier?) met Donna again - a dozen years or so before the time he was presently in. He had leapt into her English teacher, in college, and was able to help work out, he hoped, some of the problems their relationship later had. Surely Donna was not why he was here, but he did have at least 36 hours, didn't he? And besides, if he got out and mingled, he might just pick up something on Madden and Pekowsky. He really didn't need all that much convincing, but the overgrown boy scout in him needed to justify his actions. Now if he could just find some way to get in touch with the projects base back on Earth. After a quick study of a map of the space station he found being used as a book mark, Sam headed out into the halls. By the time he got to the Communications Center he realized just what the map had reminded him of. A rat maze. While he had had no problem getting through, he couldn't understand how anyone new to the station managed to get to the cafeteria often enough to prevent starvation, let alone to do their work. There were, of course, many possible reasons for the design; to hold up under stress, to allow areas to be sealed off in case of an air leak, to prevent competitors from getting around should they gain access to the station, and certainly many others. However the much more likely one was that this station had been designed by bureaucrats. Emerging into the light of the Communications Center, Sam began looking around. Much of the equipment looked oddly familiar, but most of it seemed either beyond state of the art, or archaic to the point of being useless. For that matter, most of the equipment here seemed not to be being used. No doubt redundant systems in case of failure. "May I help you, doctor?" came a lithe female voice from behind Sam. He spun around, a bit startled. "Uhm, yes, actually, I was wondering if it would be possible to 'place a call' to Dr. Elesee down on the main base, uhhh," Sam paused, his eyes darting down to the name tag on her chest. "Allison," he finished. "Certainly doctor, I'll get you the paperwork." "Paperwork?" "Yes doctor, I know its a pain, but we are working for the government and you know how they are about paperwork." "Do I ever!" Sam replied, remembering going over mounds of government paperwork back at the project. "Well, Allison, do you think we might be able to dispense with a little of that for the moment?" Sam asked, in a subdued voice. Putting on his best smile, and only then remembering that he was a woman, Sam's face flushed slightly, but somehow it managed to come out sincere. Or so he thought. "I'm sorry doctor, but rules are rules." "Yes, I guess they are," Sam replied, a bit dejected. He picked up a sheaf of papers, and heading off back the way he had come. "Oh, and doctor..." "Yes?" Sam replied, turning back to the technician. "That little line might just have worked, if you had tried using my first name." With an elfin grin, she turned back to her work Looking down at his own uniform, Sam saw that -sure enough- the name on it was the doctor's last name - Paskus. "Live and learn" he muttered to himself. With a smile, Sam - for once - found himself glad that he was not back home, as he imagined the amount of red-tape involved in keeping the project going all this time, and weighed that against the sheaf in his hand. Picking through the forms, Sam began looking them over, as he followed the meandering passageways back to Dr. Paskus' office. He had no idea how to answer most of the questions on these forms, but perhaps the computer would. Two hours later saw the papers nearly complete. Sam stood up and stretched the small of his back. With a bit of a yawn, he went over to check on Al. "Still sleeping like a baby. I don't think I've ever seen him quite so at peace. 'Course it's probably the first decent night's sleep he's gotten in 10 years. The curse of the hyperactive libido!" With a smile down at his best friend, Sam went back and picked up the ream of papers, and headed back off toward Communications. Maybe he could slip the last few entries past the red-tape police. "Here you go, Ms. Allison," he said, handing the document over to the clerk. "Wow, I don't think I've ever seen anyone actually manage to get all this done in the same week, let alone the same day! Must be important, I'll get right on processing this." "I remember the good old days, when all you had to do was drop a nickel in a phone," Sam quipped. With a smirk from the technician, he went back to looking around the room. Then a thought struck him. "Uhh, how long do you think it will take to get all this sorted out?" "Oh, about half an hour or so." "Glad I asked. I'll be back in a while; I've got to find something to eat, and I want to check on a patient." A nod from the clerk sent Sam strolling down the endless twists and turns toward the cafeteria, humming the tune to Imagine to help pass the time. Walking around in zero gravity had been handled in a so-so manner by the magnetic costumage, but no one seemed to have come up with a decent way to prepare or, for that matter, eat a meal. By dessert Sam had the process down, but only after a lap full of soup, mashed potatoes up his nose, and Tang to wash himself down with. Luckily the food services people had been pretty good about making a simulated blueberry pie, complete with whipped cream. It was so good, that Sam could almost forget that he was eating it through a straw. By the time Sam made his way back to the office, Al had left. Or had he? Having no idea where Al might be right now, Sam checked behind all the major obstacles in the room, just to be sure Al wasn't looking for a cheap thrill. Sam changed out of his lunch soaked outfit into a clean one. ~-~-~-~-~-~-~ The link to earth had just been established as the grind of the Imaging Chamber door signaled the reappearance of the holographic Al. Sam didn't even notice. He was totally intent on the display before him. Any second now he would be able to see Donna. To talk to her again. To see for a change, the fruits of his efforts of some four (or twelve depending on how you counted them) years ago. "Uhh, Sam, we need to talk.," the hologram called to him. "Not now Al!" Sam replied, not without some odd looks from the members of the communications staff. "Yes now Sam, you don't understand, there's gonna..." The resolving image on the viewer stopped Al in his tracks. "Oh boy!" Realizing his best friend had no idea what he could foul up by talking with his future wife, possibly before they had even met, Al's voice took on that whiney, motherly tone that he was so good at. "Sam! What are you doing?" And then more firmly! "You really shouldn't mess with this!" "Shut up, Al!" Sam blurted, half over his shoulder. He looked at the viewer. There she was. The one woman he had ever truly loved. His knees began to feel like the mush he had eaten for lunch. His stomach was full of flocks of butterflies, all trying desperately to get out. The woman was more beautiful than he had remembered. Her hair, though tied up in an officious looking bun, was so shiny as to be captivating. He could have stood there all day and stared at her. He had lost her once, left standing at the alter. But he had found out why, and he daydreamed of the life they might have together, if only he could gain her trust. It was so real to him, almost as if it had actually happened... Al knew that it had happened. One of Sam's previous leaps had effected Donna deeply. Even now she awaited his return to the project, and to her. But now Sam might undo the events that had brought them together. And Al was forbidden, by the rules that he hand Sam had set up for leaping, and by promise to Donna herself, from ever telling Sam of his marriage to her. Constant noise from Al brought him to his senses. "Enough, Al," he whispered, and then louder to the viewer "Hello, Dr. Elesee. I trust you're doing well?" "Yes, doctor. I'm doing very well in fact. Forgive me if I sound rude but, have we met? I don't seem to recall..." "Actually, no, we have never met. But we do have a friend in common." "Oh? Who might that be?" "Dr. ..." "Sam, DON'T! " Al broke in, "You don't realize ..." "Dr. Bryant, from Lesley," Sam continued, trying to ignore Al. "I just got a letter from him, and he mentioned you. I recalled seeing your name on one of the staff lists, and I thought I would give you a call and see how you were doing,... er, for him." As he spoke, Sam pulled a piece of twine from his lab coat pocket, and pulled the ends taught. He then tied one end of the string to the other, forming a loop, and again pulled it taught. "Sam, you really shouldn't be doing this! Really, Sam! Trust me," Al interrupted again. But this time, something in his voice struck a cord in Sam. He turned and looked at his best friend. Only then did he realize what an effort it was for Al to be here. Al looked like death - warmed over, frozen, microwaved, frozen again, and left out in the rain! "My god Al, what happened." "Ah, not now Sam, you have an audience," Al cautioned, gesturing around the room with his unlit cigar. "Just finish up the call and then... and then we need to talk. O-oK?" Al stammered. Sam nodded and turned back to the viewer. Donna was saying something about her English professor, and how nice it was to hear about him. Sam wanted, more than anything, to spend more time talking with her. If only he could convince her that she could trust him. That they were right together. Then, and only then, he might make his life complete. But Al needed him now. And Donna, well, Donna would be there. If not now, then sometime. Of this - in his heart - he was sure. "I'll tell you what, as soon as I get back we'll all get together," Sam said hurriedly, as he balled the string, proffered it quickly at the viewer, and stuffed it back into his pocket. "Give him a call, his name is in the book. I'll talk with you later. Maybe we can all double date, I know this guy who has been dying to meet you. Got to run, you know how these long distance bills run up. Bye now!" Something about the whole business with the string struck her with a sense of deja-vu, but Donna could not quite put her finger on it. "Uhh," she replied, dumbfounded, "Sounds nice. Thanks for calling." A sudden look of recollection came over Donna and she looked up. Their eyes met for a brief second, and a shudder passed through them both. In that instant something in her, some unconscious part, knew just who he was. And he knew that she knew. Starcrossed lovers, he had called them once - bound together by more than the normal bonds of a relationship, or even of love. A single tear ran down Donna's cheek. "Someday!" Sam whispered, and they both smiled at one another. With that Sam broke the connection and ran from the room, down the hall, and into a storage closet. Totally ignoring the looks of the other staff members. "Al? Al?" he called to the dark shelves, trying to clear his throat of the hundred frogs that seemed to have leaped in during that last brief second with Donna. After a short wait Al finally appeared. "Al, I thought you were going to get some rest. You look terrible!" "Thanks for the vote of encouragement." Each word fell laboriously from Al's lips. He seemed to be gasping for breath. "Beaks couldn't find anything. Ziggy says there's a 62% chance that it has to do with the fact that I'm here, I mean, there with you, I mean, there are two of me there. Well, one and a half, err you know the old, err, younger, me and the me, me." "Ziggy says that there could be some brainwave feedback going on, and that could be what's making me feel like a cat in a washing machine." He paused, and then added "'Course Beaks says it might just be the flu." "Tell Ziggy to try the retrieval program. He almost got it right once before, maybe at least I can leap to another part of the project - one further away from you." "He's been trying that. Nothing. Whatever God or Time or Fate or whoever wants you to do, it must be here." "But I can't sacrifice your health, Al. There has to be a way out of here," Sam cried in exasperation. Then, realizing that hysterics would get them nowhere, he asked: "Any new information on why I'm here." "Oh, yeah, I almost forgot, thats why I dragged myself out of bed in the first place. I must be worse off than I thought. We've found out exactly what caused the space walk. I dunno how I could have forgotten something like this, maybe my brain is getting magnafoozled by this feedback. Anyway, its a meteor Sam. About the size of a baseball. It's too small to be spotted by radar, but big enough to do some major damage. Madden gets sent out tomorrow to fix the damage. If you can find some way to..." "Condition: Alert! Condition: Alert!" The sounds of claxtons and the mechanical intonations of the automated alarm system cut Al off. He whacked the handlink a few more times to bring him up to date information, while the alarm went on. "Hull breached. Explosive decompression in Bio-Delta-9. Emergency medical team to Delta-9" "So much for that plan," Al shouted over the repeating message. "You'd better get down there Sam." "Down where? I only memorized part of this place," Sam retorted stepping from the closet. Al, too weak to walk, let alone run, shouted, "Gushie, keep me centered on Sam!" A few seconds later Al began to float eerily along behind Sam. Punching up a diagram of the base on the handlink, he studied it for a second and said "You're going the wrong way, Sam. The Bio section is back on the other side of the Com Center." "Great!" Screeching to a halt, Sam ran back the way they had come, pulling Al along like some demented rag doll on a string. "Which way now, Al?" Sam asked as he came to an intersection. "Uhh, lef...." was all Al got out as he fell to the ground. Sam spun around and saw Al on the floor. Al slipped into unconsciousness, and without his conscious brain waves to support the hologram, his form faded from view, leaving only the handlink the mark the spot where he had been. Knowing there was nothing he could do for Al at the moment, Sam decided the best thing he could do was to help the people here. Luckily the handlink was an integral part of Project Quantum Leap. It was at the hub of the Imaging Chamber's holographic system, and it image was not dependent upon Al's higher brain functions, as was Al's own. Sam stepped forward to look at the directions Al had called up on the handlink. But as he approached, it moved away, it's image centered on Sam. "Perfect, just perfect." For a moment Al's form faded back in, and then out again. "Al?" Sam queried, and the form once again faded in and out. "Al! You're dreaming! And you must be incorporating whatever you hear into the dream. Al! Al, it's Sam. I need your help, a lot of people need your help. You have a box in your right hand. We need that box. Al, through the box toward my voice. Come on Al, just flick it over here." Other than the unsteady flickering of Al's image to his voice, there was no response to Sam's pleas. Frustrated he slumped down on the floor to think. Just then the handlink went skittering right through his legs. Sam jumped, startled by the sudden movement. Smiling back at the empty corridor. "I might have known you'd find some way to scare me; you don't give up your fun, even when you're asleep!" The handlink had come to a rest just 6 inches in front of Sam's feet. Travel was difficult. Sam had to frequently stop and peer down at the handlink at an awkward angle, but he found his way to the Bio section. From there it was easy to find the right lab. Delta-9 was a flurry of activity. There were people down everywhere, and nowhere near enough people around to help them. Trying to push Donna and Al from his mind, Sam set to work on the people here. The people he could help. But somewhere, at the back of his mind, it nagged at him that the two people closest to him were somewhere nearby. One who needed him, the other Sam himself needed. Not for the first time Sam wondered why it was that he was so often powerless to change the things that he wanted to change. But for now, at least, there was something he could do. These people needed medical attention. And since (thanks - in a way - to him) their doctor was in the waiting room, Sam had a double responsibility for these people. He worked laboriously. There were a lot of problems, abrasions from objects which suddenly took flight, frost bite, damaged ear drums, and several burst blood vessels. Those were to be expected from a sudden decompression. There were also several more serious cases of the bends, broken limbs, a collapsed lung, and several concussions. But no one had died, and though some were much the worse for the incident, none of them should die either. ~-~-~-~-~-~-~ It was several hours before Sam could once again stop and think. Dragging himself back to Dr. Paskus' office, he through himself down on the examining table. At some point over the past hours he had heard the Imaging Chamber door open, and glanced up to see Gushie and Tina flash into existence, as they lifted Al from the floor. Slightly startled at first, he was relieved to know that his friend was being attended to. Now, however, he was at a loss. He had no way of telling what was going on. Al was in jeopardy, and he was trapped here with nothing to do but wait. ~-~-~-~-~-~-~ Sam awoke some hours later. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but the strain of the past day must have eventually overcome his worries about Al. Unfortunately being draped over an examining table was not the most orthopedic way to sleep, and Sam's neck and back screamed warnings never to do so again. There was a familiar whine-whine-squawk from behind him, and then an all too painful snap, as his neck protested his head's sudden movement. Grabbing at his sore neck, Sam searched for Al, but he was nowhere to be seen. After a second or two, Sam noticed the handlink floating in the air, seemingly of its own accord. Someone else was in the Imaging Chamber. That could only confirm Sam's worst fears. Al was still out, at best, possibly much worse. The handlink made its whine-whine-squawk a few more times, while bobbing and weaving through the air. The sequence kept repeating. As if someone were trying to tell him something. Realization dawned over Sam. "Wait a minute," he cried, to no one in particular. "That's a G! And the tones, of course, morse code! And G for Gushie!" The pattern repeated itself over and over, since neither of them could see the other. Eventually, however, the handlink stopped wavering around, and the tones it was emitting took on a new pattern. Sam: Al's situation is critical. He refuses to allow us to disconnect the transmission equipment at at the project for fear of loosing contract with you, forever. Ziggy suggests that two way contact may still be maintained. If you can create time indexed files on the Starbright computer. In them you can leave information for Ziggy to access. We can contact you as we are doing now. Ziggy has shown us how to rig up an area where we can shield Al, to some extent. That will increase the amount of time you have, but it still only gives him about eight hours. Unfortunately Mr. Madden will be taking his space walk in just over six hours. I know that doesn't leave you a lot of time, but it's the best we can do. I am going back now to check on Al. Leave word if I can be of any help. Gushie "At least Al is ok," Sam sighed. "Al is better than OK, Al is doing Fiiiiiiiiine!" came an all too familiar voice from behind Sam. Grimacing he turned to find Al swaggering along toward him. "How long have you been standing there?" "Long enough to know a spy when I see her." "A spy? What are you talking about Al?" "Do doctors normally receive coded messages in their offices?" Al paused to take a squeeze from the plastic container he was carrying. "Just who are you working for anyway?" "I work for the same people you work for Al." One eyebrow on Al's face shot up at that remark, but he quickly recomposed himself. "I don't know just what you're up to, lady. But I'm sure as heck gonna find out." With a last draw from his drinking tube, Al stumbled from the room, pushing the spent tube into a disposal slot in the wall. Sam shook his head, and his worry for Al showed clearly on his face. But he only had hours left in which to save Madden and Pekowski, and he had not even managed to meet them yet. First he needed more information. Sam sat down at the terminal in the corner, and thought for a minute. Any files that he left for Ziggy would have to be time indexed, so that there would not be any confusion which order to deal with them in. But also they had to be encrypted and hidden away in such a manner that noone would run across them accidentally, and get knowledge of the future. Luckily Sam had the advantage of time on his side. He chose an encryption method that he had learned while on the Porche Project. While to Sam, that project was in the past, to the people around here, the genius of Drs. Chris Welty and John Valois - the geniuses that would make Porche a reality in the mid-nineties - were still doing undergraduate work in some dreary technical school in upstate N.Y. The Porche Project had set the computing world on it's ear, with its ground braking ingenuity. Welty and Valois, and their team of programmers, had developed amongst other things, the worlds first machine truly capable of independent thought. Two years later, when Sam had leaped, no one had yet found a way to defeat the security Valois had designed, and Welty's Synaptic Coding scheme alone would keep any curious minds guessing for years. If Sam could be sure of anything, it was that no one in the eighties was going to get access to these files. Ziggy, however, incorporated a subset of the same techniques in his own neural nets and would likely have no trouble with the files. Of course if he did, he would never admit it. While a direct request for information from Ziggy could conceivably be more efficient, the cold hard tones of the handlink left a lot to be desired, especially when compared to the presence of your best friend. That thought echoed over and over in Sam's mind durring the course of the Morse code to English translation that went on an hour later. Ziggy had not managed to gain access to the Starbright computer, but he had come across some classified documentation on the events in question. Later today two astronauts would go out to fix the damage. Pekowski is lost on the mission. Madden dies sometime later, but there is not much more information. Except the name of the man who headed the rescue mission. Captain Albert Calavicci. "Now isn't that a kick in the pants!" Sam found himself saying, despite the fact that it had always irritated him when Al used the phrase. The pitch of the handlink seemed to change somehow - to grow a bit more frantic. The message continued that Ziggy had also learned what was causing the trouble with Al. In the original history Al had simply headed the failed mission. With history as it stood now, however Al was to be lost on the rescue mission as well. ~-~-~-~-~-~-~ Al was in a fitful sleep, when he heard the sound.. Being a trained naval officer, he was awake instantly. Being stone drunk he was not as awake as he should have been. He wasn't quite sure what had awakened him. He was shaking his head trying to come to his senses. "Ooooooooooooo," he heard, coming from everywhere, and sending fiery daggers into his alcohol soaked brain. He held his ears, trying to shut out the sound. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the noise stopped. Al slowly uncovered his ears, and looked around. "What the hell was that?" he asked of noone in particular. As if in response, a deep, grating sound came from behind him. He spun around, raising his hands toward his ears again, but they stopped dead in their tracks when his eyes fell upon an unearthly light. The light was coming from the middle of the room. It cast an eerie glow in the otherwise dark cabin. As Al began to approach it, something came toward him, out of the light, and he jumped behind the bed for cover. "I haven't had to hide under the bed since I was 30," he griped to himself, trying to calm down. Looking like that of a small child, Al's head peered cautiously over the top of the bed. It appeared to be a hospital gurney that had rolled into his room. Standing up a bit farther, Al could see that a sheet totally covered the body on the gurney. He ducked back down. "Dead! Why did it have to be dead?" he moaned to himself. Sighing a bit, he dropped one shoulder and rolled out into the open. There did not appear to be anything around, except the light and the gurney. Deciding he didn't want to deal with the light just yet, Al approached the gurney with caution. As he reached a hand toward it, a corner of the sheet moved of its own accord, exposing the patient's feet. There was a toe tag, and with a gulp Al drew close enough to look at it. It was illuminated by a strange blue light. The tag read "Madden, Warren, cause of death asphyxiation.' The lighting changed slightly, casting a red glare upon the tag. The wording changed too, 'Pekowski, Larne, cause of death asphyxiation.' The light changed a second time, producing a third name on the tag... "Calavicci, Albert!' The cause of death was left blank. Al jumped back and stood up, scared out of his wits. He was still trying to recover when, from out of nowhere, two figures leaped into being around the gurney. It appeared to be a doctor and a nurse. At the very least, they were both covered in surgical scrubs, masks, and gloves. The woman pointed to something, and the man picked up something from the floor beside him. As it moved into the light, the woman shook her head and looked down at the corpse, and pulled back the sheet. Al stared as his own face exposed below the sheet. He looked terrible - pale, drawn, old. He stared at the body for a while, and then looked to the people again. The woman was still shaking her head, and appeared to be crying. Then Al looked to see what was in the man's hand. It was a half spent bottle of whiskey. Al shook his head and sunk down to the bed. "Done in by Jack Daniels!" he joked in an ineffectual attempt to raise his spirits. Suddenly he felt very sleepy. He lay back on the bed, and was soon curled into a fetal position, shaking with nervous spasms. Eventually he fell asleep. ~-~-~-~-~-~-~ Sam re-entered the doctor's office, and put down the small canister of gas, and the wireless mike he had been carrying. He sat at the computer and typed out a simple message. "Tina, Gushie; Thanks!" He encrypted it, and hid it away for Ziggy to interpret in the future. For a moment Sam felt sorry for having played such a cruel trick on his partner. But then he remembered Al's glee at having scared the pants off of one Christmas. He was sure that in the end, AL would understand. He hoped. Ziggy had predicted that there was a 68% probability that what had changed since Sam intervened was Al's blood-alcohol level. Somehow Sam had driven him deeper into his already drunken stupor, to the point that he would not be fully coherent on the mission tomorrow. Hopefully that scare would help sober him up, as well as give him an incentive to stay off the stuff for a while. When Sam and Al had first met, Al was almost always drunk. Sam had helped him to change that. He gave Al a break when everyone else was dismissing him as a drunken foul-up.