Message-Id: <199308201637.AA12375@dirt.cisco.com> Date: Fri, 20 Aug 93 11:36:19 CDT From: Gina Goff Subject: "Afterimage", part 7 "Afterimage" by Gina Goff Part Seven Dr. Beckett looked up from his desk to see Admiral Calavicci frowning at him. "Al. I didn't think you were coming in today." "Obviously not. I thought you were going to stay home. Or is there a law that says you can't spend Sundays with your wife?" "Well, I got this new idea about the Imaging Chamber, and..." "You can tell me in the car." "The car? Al, you're not dragging me out in the desert again." "No, I'm not. Come on." Sam got into Al's car and spent fifteen minutes excitedly outlining his latest inspiration. Then he looked at the road instead of Al, and suddenly wondered where they were going. "Al, this is the road to Albuquerque." "Sure is." "We're going to Albuquerque? Why?" "Donna asked Beth to ask me to take you shopping." "Shopping? For what?" "Well, there's this place I've heard of that sells these really interesting G-strings..." Sam's face reddened with embarrassment. "Al, you're disgusting. Donna never said that." "She didn't?" Al considered the matter thoughtfully. "She must have. Who else would you wear one of those little things for?" "Al..." "I hear they've even got this outfit that's kind of like a Boy Scout uniform..." "Stop it. You know we're not going shopping. What *are* you up to?" "I want you to meet an old friend of mine. His name's Bob. He's a doctor." "Of what?" "Medicine." "Why would I... oh, no you don't, Al. You are *not* taking me to see a doctor." "What's wrong with doctors? You're a doctor, Sam." "That's how I know I don't need to see one. You know I hate being examined." "Well, yeah..." "So why are you doing this?" "I'm worried, Sam. Humor me." "I will not humor you. You might as well turn around right now, because I'm not going to see this guy." "Sam..." "I won't do it, Al. I'm not going to talk about it anymore." Sam said nothing for the rest of the drive into Albuquerque; he merely sat and scowled at the scenery. _This is a record,_ thought Al. _I've never known him to sulk over something for more than twenty minutes. I wonder if he's staying mad just to keep from falling asleep; he really looks worn out. Maybe this checkup is a better idea than I thought. Assuming I can get him to go through with it._ Al parked at a professional building and got out. He walked around to Sam's side of the car and opened the door. Sam stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him. Al sighed. "Look, this guy's seeing you on his day off as a favor." "It's no favor to me." "Sam... this is no big deal. You fill the little cup, he takes some blood, listens to your chest, maybe checks your reflexes. It's not the Inquisition." Sam thought for a minute, then grudgingly got out of the car. He looked down at the briefcase in Al's hand. "What's that for?" "I thought I'd do some paperwork while Bob's looking at you." "Do I get a lollipop?" Sam asked sarcastically. "Only if you're a good boy." Thirty minutes later, Sam came out to the deserted waiting area where Al was sitting. "Next," he announced, grinning widely. "Next what?" "That's right, Al, it's your turn," said Bob. "Now, wait a minute, we came here for Sam!" Al protested. "I'm running a two-for-one special today," said Bob. "It's not the Inquisition," Sam said with a triumphant smirk. "I'm gonna slug you," said Al, as he passed Sam on his way back to the examining room. Sam slept through most of the drive home. Al's thoughts drifted back to the talk he'd had with Bob during his examination. "You got the sample from Sam?" Al asked, as Bob drew blood from his arm. "Ow. Don't do this much, do you?" "Yes, I got the sample from your friend, and no, I usually get a nurse to do this. But I was under the impression you wanted this kept quiet." "That's an understatement. I want the results tomorrow, Bob." "They usually don't work that fast." "I'll find somebody to chew on to *make* them work that fast. This is an extremely sensitive situation. Global impact." "Al..." "I'm serious. Sorry I can't give you the details." "I don't want them." "What's the word on Sam?" "Confidentiality..." said Bob, in a warning tone. "Come on, Bob." Bob hesitated for a moment, then said, "Make him slow down." "You think I haven't tried?" "Try harder." Al pulled up in front of Sam's car. "I've finished those notes you gave me. You can have them back. Oh, and this is for you, too," he said, handing Sam a small bag. Sam eyed the bag as if it might contain a poisonous snake. "What is it?" "I snuck out for a minute and bought something while you were getting your checkup." "If this is some sort of sleazy... I don't want it, Al," he said, giving the bag back. "I won't wear it." "I hope not," said Al, opening the bag. "It's a lollipop." "No, Maxine, Barbie can't wear that outfit to the party," said Sharon. "This is where she meets Ken for the first time. He's not going to fall in love with her unless she's got on a pretty dress." "Why not?" said Sam. "Isn't what Barbie *is* more important than her clothes?" "You sound like Mommy." "Well, maybe Mommy's right." "She doesn't know anything about boys; she's just a Mommy." Sharon looked at Sam as if he were hopelessly ignorant. Actually, Sam did feel ignorant; Sharon had roped him into playing Barbie with her and Sam was still trying to deduce the rules of the game. As far as he could tell, there *were* no rules, except that Barbie spent a lot of time changing clothes. He was wondering where Barbie went in all those evening gowns when Al appeared behind Sharon. "Sam, we gotta talk. It's bad, Sam, really bad." "I don't want to play anymore," said Sam. "But we haven't done the party yet," wailed Sharon. "You do the party without me. I want to play in the sandbox," Sam said, looking up at Al. Al nodded and disappeared. "At least I know how to play in a sandbox," Sam said. "What's Ziggy got?" "Two things." "Both bad?" "Yeah. First, there's a 71% chance that you -- meaning the other Sam, the younger you -- will collapse in about three weeks' time." "What do you mean, `collapse'? Are you talking mental, physical..." "A little bit of both, we think. You probably don't remember this phase of the Project, Sam, but you were pushing yourself really hard. Too hard; we had a couple of fights over it." "I remember; you usually won." "Yeah, well, Ziggy thinks that the other Sam is going to get so wrapped up with these design changes we've introduced that he won't listen to me this time." Sam sighed. "What are we going to do? I mean, we can't tell the other Al what's going to happen. Or me." "Sam, that's not our biggest problem right now." "It isn't?" "No. That's something that won't happen for another couple of weeks. Ziggy says Ruthie is going to die tomorrow."