From: FNYK09A@prodigy.com (Gary Himes)
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
Subject: TO FIGHT THE UNBEATABLE FOE 3/7
Date: 30 Jun 1995 18:16:18 GMT
Message-Id: <3t1f1i$1bko@usenetw1.news.prodigy.com>

     Gushie emerged from the imaging chamber door outside the
principal's office of Briarwood High School.  Before he could
dodge, a line of sophmores dressed in gym clothes ran through
him causing him to flinch spastically until he remembered
that he was both intangible and invisible to them.  He wiped
a wave of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve as they
disappeared down the hall.
     Being a hologram wasn't the thrill ride he had expected.
     First of all was Ziggy's failure to get a definite lock
on Andrew Clemens.  Each time they thought they had a solid
fix on him Ziggy reported a random shift in his brainwave
patterns, almost as if he was being hidden by some cloaking
field.  The best they could reason was that the photon energy
permeating Andrew's cells was somehow interfering with their
synaptic analysis scanner, but that seemed unlikely; there
was no precedent for photons jamming Ziggy's scans.
     Then there was this business of Andrew's super powers.
According to both Dr. Beckett and Dr. Jeffcoate the boy was a
virtual human dynamo, but somehow Gushie kept missing any
display of his unique talents.  Things just weren't working
out the way he had expected:  Admiral Calavicci made it seem
that every time he stepped into the imaging chamber there was
some exciting scene involving beautiful women, gun battles or
major sporting events.  All Gushie could seem to find were
musty basements and empty hallways.  Even a time machine, the
little man sighed, couldn't fix his innate bad timing.
     Finally there was Dr. Beckett.  In all the years Gushie
had known him Sam Beckett had been something of an idol to
him, living proof that someone could be brilliant AND well-
adjusted.  Since they had met when Gushie was a low level
technician on the Starbright Project he had felt an almost
squirely devotion to the man, an awe bordering on hero
worship.  And now, when he finally had a chance to be a real
asset to the leaper and get to know him on a more personal
basis, all he could seem to do was irritate him with
oversights and errors.  Oh well, Gushie mused,  Dr.  Beckett
would appreciate him for keeping an eye on Andrew and
alerting him to the moment of potential disaster.  He would
show Sam that Al was not the only one capable of playing
Squanto to his Lone Ranger.  Wait, that didn't sound right...
     The sound of the lunch bell blared through the hall,
followed by classroom doors flying open and disgourging a
horde of students.  Gushie's head pivoted around as he
searched for a sign of Andrew Clemens among the tightly-
packed teenagers crowding the hallway.  Unable to see through
the mass of bodies, the programmer adjusted the handlink to
orient him six feet off the ground for a bird's eye view.
     After a minute he spotted the figure of Andrew Clemens
walking out of a math classroom.  He wore the bored,
disgusted expression of a person who had been forced to sit
through...well, a hour-long math lecture.
     But there was something odd about his posture.  It was
erect, attentive, as if listening to a voice only he could
hear.  Occasionally he glanced to the side as if
acknowledging the presence of some unseen companion.
     Gushie reoriented himself from the air to Andrew's side
and walked along with him.  He heard the boy mutter under
his breath, "I swear Thames that if I had to listen to one
more syllable about the pythagorean theorem I was going to
scream!"
     Gushie blinked at the young man's words.  Who was he
talking to?
     After a pause Andrew spoke again, seemingly in response
to some irritating remark.  "One more joke at my expense and
I'll see you hooked up to our virtuality Dachau program!"
     The mustachioed hologram's forehead crinkled in
confusion.  While teenagers had been known to talk to
themselves on occasion, Andrew Clemens sounded as if he were
carrying on a complete conversation with some imaginary
friend about algebra, British rivers and Nazi death camps.
Not subjects one would normally associate with the interests
of a boy his age.  Was he more disturbed than they had
thought?
     Gushie started to feed the conversation into the
handlink for Ziggy to analyze when a row of nubile young
women dressed in cheerleader uniforms passed them heading in
the opposite direction.  Gushie's head twisted around at the
sight of ripe young bodies in tight colorful costumes.  If he
had been paying closer attention the programmer might have
wondered why Andrew was showing no interest in the pretty
girls, but at the moment his attention was as sharply focused
as if he were debugging one of Ziggy's subroutines.  HERE was
the thrill of the whole hologram experience!
     For an instant Gushie turned his attention back to the
handlink and his task of analyzing Andrew's strange words.
But then his attention was drawn again to the disappearing
forms of the cheerleaders.  He gritted his teeth as he
struggled with the decision, until his old high school
fantasies combined with his desire to play the unseen
observor to the hilt spurred him to a decision.
     "So he talks to himself...where's the harm in that?"
Gushie said to himself.  "I'm sure there'll be no harm done
if I do a little...reconnoitering."
     Centering himself on the school gym to view their
practice, Gushie disappeared just seconds before "Andrew"
said to his invisible companion, "So where's this juvenile
delinquent I'll be dismembering?"
     "Patience girl, he'll be here soon,"  Thames replied.
"Say, did you see them cheerleaders?  Some fine young
horseflesh there!"
     "Now you focus!"  Zoey demanded.  "I couldn't ever get
anything done if you let your attention wander to every
overdeveloped little trollop who happens by!"
     "You never let me have any fun,"  Thames pouted
mockingly.
     "We're not here to have fun.  We're here to kill
someone."  the red-haired woman said coldly.
     "Yeah, well, don't tell me that isn't fun for you," he
admonished.  "I know you too well, lady."
     Zoey started to reply when she was interrupted by the
sudden appearance of a young blonde girl in a red sweater.
     "Hi Andrew,"  she said flirtatiously.  "What're you up
to?"
     "Acne...broken voice...sexual solitaire, all the normal
activities of an adolescent boy,"  Zoey replied coolly.
     "Uh uh, Zo,"  Thames warned.  "This is Sandy Lindane,
the little bundle of joy who set Chandler after Clemen's
hide.  I think a little kissing up might be the key to
settin' him up for the big fall."
     Zoey turned to the young girl and flashed her best
seductive smile.  "Excuse the joke, I've been told my sense
of humor is a little...twisted."
     Sandy returned the smile with a puzzled, but pleased
expression.  "Yeah, I guess so.  Anyway, I still don't have a
date for the spring formal next week.  How about you?  Any
luck yet finding someone?"
     Zoey stifled a laugh at the teenager's lack of subtlety.
In a way, she almost felt sorry for Andrew Clemens.  Most
boys his age would kill to have a ripe young thing like Sandy
lusting after them.  For a moment she almost considered
standing in for him, experimenting a bit with the joys of
puberty...
     "Heads up, Zoester,"  Thames warned.  "Teenaged caveman
at three o'clock."
     Zoey glanced down the corridor to see an overgrown boy
wearing a Judas Priest tee shirt and the expression of a
crazed gorilla coming towards them.  The jilted boyfriend,
she presumed.
     "SANDY!"  he exploded.  "What do you think you're
doin'?!  I done told you to stay away from that geek!"
     "I can talk to whoever I want to, Devon Chandler!"  the
girl pouted.  "You and me aren't a couple anymore so I can
date anyone I want!"
     Chandler turned on Zoey with blood in his eyes.  "I
warned you asshole!  I told you Sandy was my girlfriend and
you better stay away from her, but did you listen?!"
     "Apparently not,"  Zoey replied amiably, egging him on.
     "No you didn't!"  he yelled, oblivious to her words.
"Well now I'm gonna kill you a whole lot, jerkoff!"
     "Devon! No!"  Sandy yelled as he pushed past her,
baring his teeth as he brought one meaty fist up to bash in
Andrew Clemen's face.
     Zoey felt a tingle of glorious expectation, anticipating
gleefully the approaching moment when she leave this
brainless fool a mere smudge on the floor.  It was going to
be so easy.
     Thames grinned wickedly  "Oooo, this is gonna be good!"

                          * * * * * *

     Sam pulled Dr. Jeffcoate's jeep into the high school
parking lot, fighting the queasy feeling in his stomach.  for
the thousandth time since he started this drive he had to ask
himself the same question:  how in heaven's name was he
supposed to restrain a fighting-mad teenaged superhero?
Somehow, he didn't think a stern "Behave yourself!" was going
to do it.
     He parked in a space reserved for maintenance vehicles,
looking around for his observer.  Where was Gushie?  He had
sent the little man ahead to keep an idea on Andrew and to
alert him to when the moment of truth was approaching.  And,
he had to admit to himself, he neededd to be alone to think.
Gushie might mean well, but he had a talent for driving Sam
to distraction, and right now he had an important decision to
make.
     He had seen something in Andrew's eyes at their last
meeting, a coldness, a sadistic force that had chilled him to
the bone.  And it wasn't just the power the boy possessed
that disturbed him;  anyone with eyes filled with such evil
would have alarmed him.  Now he had to find a way to control
him before he made a fatal error.  But who could control a
superman?  If Andrew proved the old maxim that absolute power
corrupts absolutely, then there might be only one option left
to him...
     Sam checked his watch, noting the time at 12:12 pm.
Ziggy had placed the fight at 12:15 precisely, but Sam had
known the computer to miss minor details before.  After all,
she had to work with the official reports that had been
originally filed and there was no guarantee they were not
faulty.  It made having an invisible scout invaluable.  Even
if it was Gushie.
     Sam winced at his own thought.  It wasn't like him to be
this brittle with anyone, especially a trusted member of
Project Quantum Leap's inner circle.  Despite a few minor
gaffs the programmer had done a satisfactory job, especially
for someone new to being a hologram.  Sam realized he never
thought about how hard that job was--shifting through
changing histories, keeping track of every random element in
the situation, suffering through tedious surveillance.  Al
rarely complained about it and usually made the whole
business seem like one big game.  Gushie was having to juggle
Sam, Ziggy, Andrew, and Dr. Jeffcoate in the Waiting Room
while learning the job on the run.  He deserved a little
patience, Sam decided.
     But Gushie wasn't Al, and Sam realized that was the
problem.  He'd grown accustomed to the admiral's constant
presence these last few years, come to rely on him not just
for information and computer projections but for emotional
support and an element of stability he desperately needed in
his chaotic life.  Deprived of that friendly familiar face
for even a few days, Sam recognized that he was feeling lost,
alone, and frightened...emotions he was sublimating into his
aggravation with Gushie.  It wasn't that he believed Gushie
couldn't do the job, it was that no one was ever going to
measure up to Al in his eyes.  The two men had grown so close
Sam sometimes wondered where Beckett left off and Calavicci
began.  A disturbing thought, the leaper mused.
     Sam pushed his doubts and fears away and focused his
mind back on the task at hand.  The next time he saw Gushie
he would cut the man some slack, give him the encouragement
he knew the programmer craved.  Maybe if he worked out Al
would appreciate a little more time off...
     Sam check his watch again.  It was 12:14; where was
Gushie?
     Just then a crash from above caught Sam's attention.  He
looked up to see one of the school's second floor windows
shatter, sending jagged shards of glass to the sidewalk
below.  He could see past the broken window to a brawny, red-
faced boy swinging his fists at Andrew.
     Sam jumped from the jeep and ran for the school's front
entrance.  Whatever he was going to do, he was going to have
to do it NOW.

                          * * * * *

     "Stand still and fight!" Chandler gasped, clutching his
bloody fist where it had been cut up from smashing the
window.  This fight was not going as he expected.
     Devon Chandler at sixteen stood over six feet tall and
weighed 200 lbs.  He had been thrown off the Briarwood High
football team when he had sent his second defensive guard to
the hospital with multiple broken bones.  Barely a month went
by without some student of Briarwood limping down the halls
covered in bruises and bandages from having been on the
receiving end of the bully's temper.  The majority of the
student body, and even the teachers, knew to give him a wide
bearth; too many people had seen what his hands could do to a
body.
     The school psychologist had tried to get to the core of
Devon's violent temper without success.  But all his probing
into the boy's mind had missed the obvious:  it wasn't
parental abuse or a lack of attention that made him a walking
bulldozer.  The simple truth was that Devon Chandler was a
throwback to his primitive ancestors, reacting with bestial
rage and aggression to even the least provocation, and
possessing the savage strength of his neanderthal forebearers
to make those bursts of fury truly impressive. And dangerous.
     Yet here he was, expecting to swat puny little Andrew
Clemens like a fly, but unable to lay a finger on the guy.
He would aim a punch at some vital area, let it fly with his
usual animal roar, only to have Clemens seem to melt away
before him like quicksilver to appear a few feet away,
laughing as Chandler battered his fists bloody against
windows, lockers, or the school's brick walls.  The little
creep seemed to be faster than a hummingbird.
     Zoey sidestepped another of Chandler's blows and smacked
the back of his head for good measure.  The clumsy oaf wasn't
much sport, but she had to admire his determination.  MOST
people would give up after the seventh or eighth time they
mashed their hand against the wall.  As he let loose another
bellow and charged again she considered letting him crash his
head into the wall this time...
     Instead she tripped him and let the fool slump to the
floor.  A head injury of that type might have been fatal and
could possibly have been judged accidental.  They couldn't
have that now, could they?
     Thames, who had been watching the spectacle with growing
boredom, chided   "Didn't your momma ever teach you not to
play with your food girl?  Wind this up and put that buffalo
away!"
     Zoey's eyes narrowed and the edges of her mouth curled
up as Chandler rose unsteadily to his feet.  Perhaps it was
time for the coup de grace.  Chandler prepared himself for
one last lunge as she tried to decide where the fatal blow
would land.
     He charged as she made up her mind.  The heart, she
decided;  she wanted to see the expression on his face when
she ripped it out and showed it to him in his last second of
life.
     Zoey had always wanted to try that.

                          * * * * *

     Sam wheezed for breath as he ran up the stairs, mentally
admonishing Ben Jeffcoate for not keeping in better shape.
As he approached the third floor a young blonde girl ran past
him, crying "Somebody do something!  They're gonna kill each
other!"
     Reaching the top of the stairs the scientist saw a huge,
muscular teenager with bloody hands lunging at Andrew, who
had his right hand up in a position Sam recognized as a
karate thrust.  With horror he realized that Andrew was about
to plunge his hand straight into the boy's chest!
     "Andrew!  NO!"  Sam yelled.
     Chandler saw "Andrew" react to the unexpected
distraction, turning away from the fight to glare hatefully
in Sam's direction.  Chandler, seeing an opening, connected a
meaty fist with her midsection.  But, instead of dropping his
tormentor as expected, Chandler howled in pain.  Clemen's
stomach felt like it was made of iron!
     Zoey, ignoring the inconsequential blow to Andrew
Clemen's invulnerable body, glared at "Dr. Jeffcoate"
banefully.  "If you know what's good for you, feeb, you'll
stay out of this!"
     In a single blinding motion Zoey caught Chandler's wrist
and forced him to his knees.  With just the slightest effort
she exerted vise-like pressure on it until the large boy
cried out in agony.  A beautific smile spread over the evil
leaper's features at the sound of his screams.
     Sam looked on in horror.  This was no momentary lapse of
control;  Andrew was deliberately torturing this boy and
indications were he had intended to run his hand straight
through the boy's chest a moment ago.  From the cruel glee in
his eyes, Sam realized, the boy was not going to end this
without blood on his hands.
     As "Andrew" clutched the bully's throat with his
remaining hand, Sam searched the hallway for something to use
as a weapon against the superpowered teenager.  His eyes
alighted on a glass window reading IN CASE OF FIRE BREAK
GLASS.  Sam smashed it with one thrust of his elbow and
pulled the firehose behind free from its reel, giving the
accompanying handle a savage twist at the same time.
     Zoey looked down in pleasure as her hand constricted
Devon Chandler's throat, causing him to turn what she
considered a quite attractive shade of blue.  Though she
regretted not getting to experience ripping a beating heart
from a victim's chest, crushing a throat with her bare hands
was always an enjoyable method of assassination.
     But before she could give one last, fatal squeeze a
stream of water pounded into her back, knocking her off her
feet and causing her to tumble down the hall.  Chandler,
seeing his opportunity, broke and ran, disappearing down the
staircase.  Noting his success in ending the fight Sam shut
off the water.
     Seeing that her prey had escaped, Zoey sprang to her
feet and faced the man she believed to be Dr. Jeffcoate.
"How dare you interfere with me!"  she screeched.  "I knew I
should have taken of care of you when I had the chance!"
     Alarmed by the sheer hatred in the boy's eyes, Sam
stumbled backward away from his approaching figure.  For a
second he thought he might reach the escape offerred by the
stairs, but he had misjudged the distance and found himself
wedged against the railing overlooking a drop of twenty feet
to the second floor.
     Her face twisted into a mask of rage, Zoey reached for
Sam's throat.  Lothos was never forgiving of failure, but if
she was to face torture for Chandler's escape then Jeffcoate
would pay for it.