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Subject: Third Time's A Charm (Part 4)
Date: Sat, 31 Aug 1996 22:50:21 -0500
Message-ID: <19960901034940441.AAC129@denp1-26.iglobal.net>

THIRD TIME'S A CHARM
by Deb Parizek and Rhonda Hallstrom

*****

Caine, lying on his pallet, let himself doze as he relaxed. He knew that
Peter was in good hands somehow. He wished he could be with Peter himself,
but, try as he might, he was no good for Peter in this state. It had been a
long time since he had exhausted himself so thoroughly. Fortunately, his
condition was curable as long as he obtained peace, serenity, quiet....He
had almost drifted into a peaceful when suddenly-

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Caine felt a slight, sudden throbbing in his head in reaction to the noise,
despite the medicinal herbs he had taken. Why didn't Lo Si answer the door?

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Caine sighed, opened his eyes, and got up carefully. Looking around, he
couldn't see the Ancient; he must have gone on an errand. His headache
wasn't TOO bad if he moved deliberately. He walked to the door and opened it.

Mary Margaret Skalany stood there. "Hi," she said, a bit hesitantly but with
a teasing tone in her voice. "Are you busy? I thought I'd drop by to ask
when our next date is."

Caine blinked and rubbed his eyes again. SOMETHING was wrong with his
vision; the strong-willed detective was...blurry or indistinct, somehow. He
strained to see her clearly and could not restrain a small gasp as a sharp
pain stabbed at him somewhere behind his eyes.

"Oh, my God," Skalany/Alia exclaimed, "you're sick! Of all the stupid--I am
so sorry!" She came forward and took his arm supportively. "You need to go
right back to bed. Come on; I'll help you."

He let her take him back to his pallet and sat down with relief. Somehow, he
felt better if he kept his sensory input at a minimum. He kept his eyes
lowered to the floor so he would not be as affected with visual stimuli.
"Thank you," he said to her. "I will be fine once I rest." He was now at a
loss; he did not know how else he could politely ask her to leave. Now was
not a time to enjoy flirting.

She made him lie back down on the pallet and covered him with the nearby
blanket. He thought he mumbled a "thank you" but he wasn't definitely sure.
He closed his eyes again. Then, she was gone for so long, he thought she had
finally left.

Suddenly, he felt soft, tender lips...on HIS lips! He struggled to rise or
to protest and hands prevented him.

"Sssshhhh...." a gentle voice urged. "Just sleep...."

Something cool was being applied to his forehead. He wasn't feverish, but it
felt good anyway. Fingers were brushing his hair softly away from his face.

"You need someone to take care of you," the voice murmured softly. "You'll
be fine...just rest...."

Caine relaxed once more. It had been a long time since a woman had taken
care of him...a long time....

Alia watched as Caine's features smoothed out as he relaxed. He actually
trusted her and fell asleep! To Alia, this was incredible - no one ever
trusted her, except Sam...and she'd let him down....

She didn't mean to kiss Caine - it happened so naturally. She didn't
typically merge or cross neurons with her host as much as Sam did so she
knew she wasn't responding to Skalany's wishes - or was she? She simply went
to get him a cold cloth, and when she'd returned, he looked so...so....

"What a precious tableau!" sneered a familiar voice.

Alia jumped, then looked to Caine to see if he was disturbed by her
movement. He didn't stir so she turned her attention to her holographic partner.

"You're not falling for another one, are you, Darling?" Zoey asked
sarcastically.

Alia glared at her as she carefully got up from the pallet and walked across
the room, where hopefully she would not wake Caine. Zoey, smirking,
repositioned herself instantaneously as well. Alia hoped that Zoey did not
see her kiss Caine. Sometimes Zoey would manifest the door where Alia could
not hear it and sneak up on her to make sure she was 'behaving'.

Once Zoey was near, Alia hissed, "What am I here to do??"

Zoey smiled. "It's very simple, my dear," she said. "That man - " she
pointed to Caine, " - is a thorn is Lothos' side. Kill him."

Alia looked at the sleeping, vulnerable Caine. She wished things could be
different for her.

*****

Strenlich, Peter, and Sam trudged back to the squadroom.

"Keep me posted!" Strenlich ordered as he kept going through the squadroom
and out the door.

Peter dropped heavily into his chair. Sam noticed the black mood and
stopped. "You okay, kid?" Sam asked. Somehow, addressing Peter as 'kid' felt
right. Kermit must do it a lot, out of affection.

"Yeah....I just can't seem to shake the depression...."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"It might help...you...and us. We could use an insight on this case," Sam
coaxed, appealing to Peter's detective self.

"...maybe...."

"Come on," Sam said. "Look...one office, no waiting...."

"Would you get a printout of that message and delete it for me?"

"Sure."

Peter stood off to the side while Sam put the offensive message on the
diskette then deleted it. Getting up himself, he wrapped a brotherly arm
playfully around Peter's neck. "Come on!" he said, escorting him in the office.

Once inside, Peter squirmed out of Sam's grasp and strode to the opposite
side of the room. *Like a boxer in a ring,* Sam thought briefly, then winced
at the brief memory of when HE leaped into a boxer. He would rather be here
to help Peter.

Sam shut the door, sat at the desk, loaded the document onto his computer
and triggered a printout. Meanwhile, Peter finally slouched in the guest
chair, staring toward the desk.

Printout complete, Sam folded it and placed it and the diskette in his
jacket pocket. To fill time - having the feeling Peter would talk when he
was ready, Sam accessed the Internet so he could begin to trace the origins
of the I'Ching messages.

"Uh...thanks for saving my worthless ass again," Peter said flatly.

"You're welcome," Sam replied, looking up from the computer screen.

The silence was heavy in the room. Sam settled back in his chair and
observed Peter, who had resumed his staredown with the desk. *He definitely
seems more affected by the messages this time,* Sam thought.

"You were just doing your job, right?" Peter accused, looking up from the
desk. "Just another body to save...."

"You could say that, Peter," Sam told him, "but I DO get emotionally
involved, especially since I share some of the host's feelings and
knowledge. I get involved, too. I have feelings of my own. I am very glad
that I was here to help." *I hope I will be here tomorrow at 3 p.m., too!*
he thought fervently.

"Yeah, right," Peter scoffed.

"Why is that so hard to believe? Is it that you think no one wants you
around???"

"I'm a huge pain in the ass everyone would be better off without," Peter
replied, shifting his gaze to the floor.

Sam frowned. *Was this the residue of the message?* he thought. "Why do you
think that?" he asked Peter.

"Are you a shrink or something?" Peter asked, irritated.

"No...at least, I don't think so," Sam said. Peter looked up at that.
"Remember about the swiss-cheese effect I talked about?" Sam said. "Well, I
know I have six doctorates - or is it seven - I can never remember."

Peter shook his head. This was just too weird.

"Anyway, I'm primarily a quantum physicist, but right now, I'm trying to be
a good cop. Humor me; we need to get to the bottom of this before other
innocent people die," Sam said, hoping to push a couple of Peter's buttons.

"I feel completely, totally worthless," Peter said, unable to make eye
contact with Sam. "I'm just...just...everything I touch get screwed up and I
never do anything right anyway! I'm useless!"

Sam felt relief and compassion. He'd pushed the right button but empathized
with this kid who was oblivious to his own worth. "Why?" he asked.

"...Not sure...." Peter replied with a slight shake of the head.

"You've felt this way before?"

"Yeah. As long as I can remember," Peter said. "Pop is, you know...well, you
met him. There is NOTHING he can't do. Well, I feel like he took the wrong
baby home from the hospital!" He tried to grin at the old joke and failed
miserably. "He's so capable, everyone turns to him, and me....I'm nothing
next to him! I disappoint him at every turn. He doesn't say it, but I know I
do."

"Tell me about your mother."

"Annie? She's the best! Why?"

Remembering Ann Blaisdell was Peter's foster mother, Sam said, "No, Caine's
wife."

"She died when I was a baby. I don't remember anything about her."

"Then your father raised you?" Sam asked, pretending ignorance.

"He raised me until I was 12...." Peter responded. "Where are you going with
this?"

"I don't know your history like Kermit does," Sam said evasively. "What
happened then?"

"The temple where we lived was destroyed."

"How? By whom?"

"My father kicked out an evil priest and he returned with troops. He tried
to wipe out everyone - even the children."

"What happened to you that night?"

"I don't remember," Peter insisted, standing quickly and pacing away from
Sam. He stood for a second with his back to Sam then turned and headed for
the office door. "I'd better go and check out those medical records."

Sam stood and stepped in front of the door. "You need to remember this,
Peter - for your sake and for others adversely affected by those messages.
We need the connection between you and them."

"Why don't you just delete them from the list?"

"They can be reposted. We can't watch that list forever," Sam replied.
"Besides, there might be something else in the messages that we haven't seen
yet."

Peter stared at Sam for a number of heartbeats, then dropped his gaze to the
floor and turned away.

"C'mon, Peter, I'm the safest guy in the world to confide in if you have
secrets," Sam pointed out.

"...he left me...."

Sam had to strain to hear Peter. He approached the young man cautiously.
"Your father?" he asked.

"Yes," Peter said, walking to the back of the office.

"Tell me what happened."

"Why?" Peter asked, sighing, looking to the ceiling as if searching for
strength.

"I can't help if you don't talk to me. Don't put up a roadblock now."

"I don't want to remember. It's the same every time he leaves...."

"What is the same?" Sam asked, leaning on the desk, hoping he could quit
pushing soon. He hated to see the young man suffer so much.

"I saw him through a break in the temple wall. I called to him to help me
because I was injured and couldn't get to him. He...turned and walked away,"
Peter said, turning a face full of pain to Sam. "The next thing I knew, he
was dead....I should have died with him...instead of him...or been there to
help him...or avenged his death."

*But he DIDN'T die,* Sam thought, confused. *Maybe I'd better get Caine's
version of this.*

Peter dropped into the guest chair as if exhausted. He leaned forward and
put his head in his hands. "Now, Paul's gone, too. He promised he'd never
leave me."

Sam sympathized. *PTSD, Survivor's guilt, with a few abandonment issues
thrown in for good measure....It's a miracle this kid hasn't blown his head
off before now!* He walked over and placed a supportive hand on Peter's
shoulder.

"What's wrong with me, Sam? Why can't I just let them go?"

"Because it's the last thing you want them to do with you," Sam replied
instantly. "Peter, there is nothing wrong with you. These perceptions you
made as a child are buried deep, especially if associated with traumatic
events, and I know they are difficult to get rid of. You need to release the
pain associated with these feelings, then you will be able to see things
more clearly."

"You sound like my father...!" Peter said, grinning wryly.

"Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment," Sam said, clapping Peter on the
back. "Now, tell me about Paul Blaisdell...."

*****

Al whistled an off-key tune as he headed toward the waiting room, tray in
hand. Oh, he was going to give this nozzle both barrels and enjoy every
minute of it!

He opened the door. Their visitor who looked like Sam was standing over on
one side of the room, leaning against the wall, looking nonchalant.

"More hoops to jump through?" he asked. "More pretty pictures to look at?"

Al would NEVER get used to hearing such various personalities using his best
friend's voice. "Nope," he said lightly. "Chow time." He set the tray on the
floor in the middle of the room.

"You don't honestly think I'd eat anything you gave me, do you?"

Al shrugged. "That's up to you, pal," he told him. "You can either feed your
face or we get to shove it in a vein. Your choice."

The visitor tried not to wince at that thought. He cautiously came over to
the tray of food.

"Whatsa matter?" Al demanded. Then, with a sardonic grin, he said with
delicious glee, "It's not MISS PIGGY!"

He was careful not to react - outwardly. Inwardly was another matter.
*HUH???* he thought puzzedly. *What the hell does THAT mean????*

He lifted the silver cover off of the plate. He was right - it wasn't pork.
It looked like roast beef, gravy, mashed potatoes, the works. His mouth
began to water despite itself and his stomach growled. It smelled wonderful-

Al grinned at the visitor's reaction. "Enjoy!" he responded cheerily as he
turned to leave.

-unfortunately, this may be the only opportunity he would have in a long
while, soooo....

He was already holding the silver cover. In one smooth motion, he chucked
the cover like a frisbie and connected solidly with the back of the man's
head. In two more seconds, he had vaulted over the safely railing and was on
top of the man, giving him a sharp blow to the kidney with one hand and
bashing his head against the floor with the other hand. The older man
grunted once, very softly, and was still.

Just as he had picked up the colorful cellular to try to figure it out, he
heard an ominous click. He looked around and couldn't see anyone.

"Nice try, Kermit Griffin," a sweet, feminine voice purred at him, "but
there are safety measures now after that Stiles incident."

A white, bilious gas filled the room quicker than he had thought was
possible. He remembered trying to get under the smoke but quickly succumbing
to the gas.

His last thought was, *KERMIT? My name is Kermit...???*

*****

Alia sat in the semi-darkness, looking down at the gentle man she was
supposed to kill. He still slept, undisturbed by Zoey's visit. All she would
have to do is pull out her gun and....

"Ah...another visitor."

Alia jumped and turned around. Behind her stood a short, skeletally-thin old
man with longish gray hair and a gray goatee. "Who...who are you?"

"You do not know? Mary Margaret would...." he replied, taking her arm and
guiding her gently away from the pallet and across the room so as to not
wake Caine.

Alia thought, trying to dredge up a memory from her host. Nothing. "No," she
said, "I don't know who you are."

"So, you do not receive as much information as your counterpart then, I see."

"Sam? Do you know Sam?" Alia asked, surprised.

"I have made his acquaintance...and now, may I have the honor of making yours?"

"Ah...Alia," she told him, extending her hand.

The old man took her hand and bowed slightly over it. "I am Lo Si."

The name rang a bell deep in her memory and the associated feelings seeped
into her awareness. She found herself liking the old man. "Oh, you are the
one known as the Ancient...."

"There is no one older in our community," he replied, flashing a devilish smile.

Alia smiled, despite herself and her predicament.

You must not do what it is they want you to do," he said seriously.

"What do you mean?" Alia asked, feigning ignorance.

"You must not harm Kwai Chang Caine. His light is needed in this
ever-darkening world."

"How did you-?"

"That is not important."

A tear slipped silently down Alia's cheek. "I don't WANT to kill him! If I
don't follow their orders, Lothos will punish me. I can't go through that
again. I can't! I can't!"

Lo Si stepped forward and placed his arms around her to offer comfort.
Within a few moments, her tears stopped and she looked to him for guidance.

"What can I do?"

"You will tell them that I returned before you could commit the deed."

"But...she would ask why I didn't kill you, too...."

You will tell them," Lo Si said, with a grin, "that I disarmed you."

He brought his hand up - he was holding her gun and she didn't even see him
move!

"You don't want it back, do you?" he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

"No...no," Alia said, looking incredulous.

"Now, you must leave...."

"Where will I go?" Alia asked, wishing she could stay here with him...and Caine.

"Go to Mary Margaret's apartment. It is not far," he suggested. "Rest well,
for tomorrow will be...interesting."

Alia stared at him for a moment, then looked briefly at Caine's sleeping
form. Finally, she started for the exit. After a few steps, she turned to
face the Ancient. "Will I EVER win my freedom?" she asked desperately.

"This I promise you," he replied solemnly.

A smile tugged at the corners of Alia's mouth. For the first time in a long
while, hope stirred within her. She bowed slightly to him and left.

*****

Alia found her host's apartment with ease. Inside, she dropped onto the sofa
and kicked off her shoes. Her pleasant - almost good - mood soured when she
heard the opening of the imaging chamber door.

Zoey appeared in front of her, frowning. "Darling, why the good mood? You
didn't complete your task! Kwai Chang Caine still lives!"

"I...uh, his friend - the Ancient - returned and stopped me," Alia
explained, trying to sound convincing.

"You wouldn't be lying to me, would you, darling? You know the punishment
for lying...."

"I wouldn't lie to you!" Alia replied, trying to believe it herself. "The
Ancient disarmed me after sneaking up on me."

Zoey paused. Alia tried to stay calm.

"Besides," Alia said, nonchalantly as an idea came to her, "I think killing
Caine is the wrong way to go." Before Zoey could respond, she quickly
continued. "The best way to hurt him is through his son. He dotes on his
son. Kill Peter Caine and you've destroyed Kwai Chang Caine."

Zoey cocked her head. "Interesting....we'll see what Lothos says," Zoey
said. "Although I would hate to see that delicious hunk with a bullet
hole..." Depressing handlink buttons, she added, "Rest well, darling.
Tomorrow should be...interesting." Zoey exited the imaging chamber.

Alia stared after her. She felt scared and alone, but also relieved. If Zoey
told her to kill Peter Caine, she knew that Sam would stop her.

*****

By this time, Peter had finished telling Sam the highlights of the past two
and a half years.

"Nobody will tell me anything," Peter said, closing the story on Paul's
departure. "I think even Kerm--Hey! You said you got some of Kermit's
memories...."

Sam shook his head. "They're usually more along the line of feelings," he
told Peter, "not facts. I don't even know what Paul Blaisdell looks like,
much less where he is."

Peter made a half-shrug gesture. "Oh, well," he said, "thought it was worth
a try."

"Why do you want to find Paul, anyway, Peter?"

"Huh?"

Sam enunciated, "Why do you want to find Paul? Seems to me like you have
enough problems of your own."

"Paul could be in danger, that's why."

"So it's all up to you to save him - when you don't even know he's in
danger?" Peter didn't answer. "It sounds like you've placed a lot on your
shoulders," Sam continued. "Maybe too much...?"

"Hey!" Peter protested, "they'd do the same for me, in a heartbeat!"

"I'm sure they would, but didn't your father say something at lunch about
how you told him that you'd rather he not interfere in your police cases?"

Peter looked at Sam in astonishment. "Yeah, but..." he stammered, "that's
different."

"How?" Seeing Peter was at a loss, Sam continued on another track. "Peter,
why didn't you tell your father about your suicide attempt when we were at
his place?"

"We DID tell him."

"Then, things got a little distracted," Sam completed. "But you still didn't
tell your father you aimed your gun at your head and you didn't tell him
that this depression makes you feel worthless."

Peter waved a hand dismissively. "He was sick," he said, "I don't know what
he had done to exhaust himself, but then was not the time. I didn't want to-"

"-worry him?" Sam completed.

"Yeah!"

"So don't you think Paul and your father occasionally do the same thing?"

"*I* didn't ask to be protected--!"

"Did they?" Peter didn't answer. Sam got up. "Just food for thought."

"Speaking of food for thought, " Peter began, changing the subject. "Do we
have anything or do I need to spill the rest of my guts?"

"Well, let's engage in a little deductive reasoning," Sam said, pacing
around Peter. "We have ten bodies, all male, only one obviously of Chinese
descent. All ten died from knife wounds - a stroke up under the ribs...."

Peter squirmed.

"What is it, kid?" Sam asked, noticing the movement.

"I just remembered something, that's all..." Peter said, trying to look
innocent.

"Care to share it with the rest of the class?"

"...that's the other way I was gonna kill myself when I was thirteen...."

"What was?"

"Stabbing up under the ribs with a long blade..."

"How did you get from that to cutting your wrists?" Sam asked, intrigued.

"I couldn't find the ceremonial knife I brought from the temple ruins. They
took it from me when I...uh...went to live at Pathways," Peter said. "I did
find a Swiss Army knife though."

Sam could only shake his head in response.

"Anyway..." Peter said, switching the focus off himself again. "The only
connection between these bodies is an Internet mailing list for
Chinese-American Taoists or those interested in same. Until yours truly
tried to commit suicide after reading and 'decoding' three messages from the
list on I'Ching, we had no further link."

"The messages that must have induced severe depression..."

"But not in everyone. You and the Chief didn't become suicidally depressed.
You don't feel totally worthless or any of the other things I've been
feeling, right?"

"*Right. Perhaps we better double check on the Chief-" Sam suggested.

KNOCK!

The office door opened and Strenlich poked his head inside. "You two have
been huddled in here a long time. Anything?"

"Chief, just the man we were looking for..." Sam said, indicating he join them.

"Yeah?"

"Have you experienced a delayed reaction to the message you read on Peter's PC?"

"Like what?"

"Depression, feelings of worthlessness, suicidal thoughts?"

"No."

"Neither have I, but we've spent some time discussing Peter's reaction and I
think we're onto something..."

Sam brought Strenlich up to speed. Peter sat quietly, listening. It seemed
to him as though they were discussing someone else.

"...but we can't be sure that each of the victims read and decoded the
messages like I did," Peter filled in at the end.

"Not without checking their computers," Sam agreed.

"We can do that...I take it you can find your way around any PC just
like..." Peter stopped short, having almost given Sam away. "...What am I
saying?...Of course, you can...."

Sam let out the breath he had not realized he had been holding, then covered
by saying "So, we need to find out if the victims were of Chinese descent,
whether any of them had previous psychological assistance - special emphasis
on suicidal tendencies or severe depression, check their computers and have
Peter's father translate that message. In other words, we need to find out
how much each of them had in common with Peter."

"Sounds like a plan to me..." Strenlich said. "You two will have to handle
it. Everybody else is booked."

"No problem, Chief," Sam told him.

"Pete, you okay with this?" Strenlich asked, not liking what he read on
Peter's expressive face.

"Not much choice in the matter, Chief," Peter responded. "I'll pull it
together, don't worry."

"Well, if it doesn't work..."

"You'll know...probably because of a call from Nicky Elder."

Both Strenlich and Sam stared at Peter, uncertain whether he was kidding or not.

"Keep an eye on him, Kermit," Strenlich ordered, exiting.

"Will do."

The office door closed, then Sam heard another door - the imaging chamber
door - open. He saw the light. So did Peter. Both oriented on that section
of the room. Unlike Al's perfect to near-perfect image, this image was shaky
and distorted, although still recognizable.

"Hello, Dr. Beckett...."

"Gooshie? What are you doing here?" Sam asked, confused, but glad to have
recognized the diminutive programmer.

"Gooshie? Who's Gooshie?" Peter asked, confused also. "I thought you saw Al
after the light appeared." Peter tried to calm himself and detect the third
person who just entered the room but he was unsuccessful - he was too
emotionally overwrought.

"Um..." the computer programmer hesitated, "I was told that certain parties
are aware of the holographic transmissions...?"

Obviously, Gooshie had something to tell him privately and he had to let
Gooshie know without letting PETER know that he was being excluded. Peter
felt isolated enough as it is. "Not in this case, Gooshie," Sam said carefully."

"Oh!" Gooshie exclaimed as he caught on. "Admiral Calavicci has had...a
small accident."

"An accident?"

"Accident?" Peter asked, able to hear only one side of the conversation.

"Yes, Mr. Griffin attacked him when the Admiral delivered his dinner."

"How is Al?"

"Al was in an accident?" Peter asked, watching Sam talk to empty space.

"He has a concussion and a very sore back."

"Great!" Sam said, exasperated.

"Ziggy had to render our guest unconscious," Gooshie continued. At Sam's
puzzled look, Gooshie elaborated. "Since the Leon Stiles incident-"

"Who's Leon Stiles?" Sam asked, frowning, trying to remember.

Gooshie shook his head. "Really, Doctor, that 'swiss-cheese' effect is
rather annoying. He was on a former leap not too long ago. He escaped the
complex and stole my car...Admiral Calavicci had to retrieve him so that you
could leap...?" Sam shrugged. Gooshie continued regardless with, "At any
rate, the Admiral arranged for additional security measurements should a
leapee prove dangerous. Quite harmless sleep gas, really...."

"Well, dammit, Al should have been more careful around a mercenary!" Sam
concluded.

"Kermit took Al out?" Peter asked. "Sam, is that what happened?"

"Yes...Kermit tried to escape."

"I'm not surprised. I wouldn't tangle with Kermit, especially if he were
cornered," Peter said, having a healthy respect for his dangerous colleague.
"Kermit's okay, though?"

"Yes. They knocked him out with sleep gas."

"Who's Gooshie?" Peter asked, hoping for an answer this time.

"The chief computer programmer," Sam told him. Then, turning back to empty
space, he said, "Gooshie, we need information on the victims' family trees.
Have Ziggy look for Chinese ancestors and possible cases of abandonment."

"Who's Ziggy?" Peter asked.

"The name of the computer," Sam said. At Peter's look, he said, "Don't blame
ME; Al named her."

Peter mouthed "her?" as Gooshie pushed buttons on the handlink. Ziggy
accepted all of his input without a fuss.

"Dr. Beckett, Ziggy asks that you define 'cases of abandonment'," Gooshie
asked, somewhat sheepishly.

"Ummm...orphaned children, relatives dying unexpectedly in accidents or
something..." Sam replied.

Gooshie entered the information then said, "She's processing now, Doctor. Is
there any other way I may assist you at this time?"

"No. Thanks. We'll take it from here."

"Very good, Doctor," Gooshie said. "I will return with the information you
have requested as soon as possible." Then, after depressing handlink
buttons, Gooshie stepped out through the open imaging chamber door and
disappeared.

"He's gone?" Peter asked, having seen the light flash again.

"Yes. Do you feel like checking medical records or do you want to call it a
night?"

"I think I'd be better off working."

"All right. You check the medical records and I will see if I can trace the
messages to their origin." Sam suggested, crossing the room to his chair
behind the desk.

"Okay," Peter agreed, rising from the guest chair. "You don't have to stay,
you know..."

"I told you I would watch your back," Sam said, looking up at Peter.

"Yeah...but..."

"No buts." Sam stated, still watching his young partner.

Peter eyed Sam for a moment then said, "Thanks, Sam." He opened the door and
walked to his desk.

*****

TO BE CONTINUED!