Date: Wed, 16 Jun 93 21:44:48 MDT From: tperreau@banshee.VLA.NRAO.EDU (This space for rent) Message-Id: <9306170344.AA09210@banshee.vla.nrao.edu> To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Subject: All Soul's Night -- Part 3 All Soul's Night Part III [Author's note: Oops, I spelled Verbena wrong in Part II. Sorry! We now return you to the regularly scheduled story...] Al left the imaging chamber. The door closed behind him silently, shutting out the world of England, 1982. He tapped the handlink against his chin, letting his cigar dangle in his other hand. Eventually he noticed Verbena standing at the foot of the platform. "Verbena. How's our fruitcake?" A frown crossed Verbena's features. "You know Admiral, you could learn a lot from Dr. Wallace, not the least a taste in clothing. That outfit looks like a monkey's..." "Everybody is a fashion critic!" Al looked down at the black shirt with a flourscent paisley pattern that contrasted against the off lavender pants. "What is wrong with this?!" "Nothing, if you're colorblind." Verbena handed Al a slim clipboard. "Dr. Wallace is as sane as we are. There is nothing medically wrong with him. I can't explain the lights, other than they really exist." Al flipped through the charts, reading the negative toxicology reports. "How can they be real? Don't tell me that you believe in little Tinkerbells bobbing along the English countryside, singing a lilting tune?" Verbena sighed. "There are many things under Heaven stranger than bobbing lights. Perhaps Sam saw a purely physical phenomena? Car lights bent by refraction, swamp gas?" Al shook his head. "Not swamp gas -- no nearby sources of methane." He walked into the control chamber, and Verbena followed him. "Or cars -- no traffic. Sam was sure of that." "It was a nearly full moon. Reflections of moonlight off water?" "No, Doctor;" Ziggy's voice held a worried tone. "What fa...Dr. Beckett saw was not a normal physical manifestation." Al rolled his eyes heavanwards. "Not you too, Ziggy." "It is too soon to offer you a hypothesis based on the parameters that you gave me, Admiral, however I can tell you the following: if Dr. Beckett does not disappear tonight in Dr. Wallace's place, then inside three years Dr. Wallace will be dead." Al looked up at the slowly spinning lights. "Dead?" "A car accident involving alcohol, Admiral. To coin a human phrase, Dr. Wallace was 'stinking drunk' when he ran into another car. A woman and her daughter were killed, along with Dr. Wallace." "So you're saying that Sam has to vanish?" "At this point in time, I can not tell you. I should have formulated the hypothesis within a couple of hours." Al placed the handlink on the console. "Well, that tears it. Verbena, how about you an' me going to get a green chili cheeseburger." Al headed towards the exit. "And you can tell me all about the nozzle in the waiting room." *** Sam tried to sleep, but he kept on seeing the lights. They seemed to be dancing just for him, moving with the beating of his heart. The music was back, the drum a counterpoint to the throbbing in his ears. Sam bolted straight up out of the bed, covered with sweat. He blinked at the bright light that streamed through the window. There was music, too, but coming from outside -- a radio or television, he realized. He willed his heart to settle down from it's jackhammer rate. He was frightened, scared to death. Yet, he also felt a certain arousal; it was like he never had ever been truly alive before. The feeling disturbed him. Sam walked into the small bathroom and ran some cold water over his face and head. He looked up at the mirror, and bloodshot eyes looked back at him. The dream was fading, as was the music. Sam knew that it would be a while again before he could get back to sleep, so he pulled on some clothes, not really paying attention to what he was wearing other than to make sure that the color combination was not too garish. Sam smiled at the thought of Al and the apparent lack of clothing sense that he projected. Breakfast consisted of toast, hot Earl Grey tea, and little else. Sam tried to find something that even remotely looked like breakfast food in the fridge or the few cupboards, but it seemed that Jeffery Wallace was on a diet, or that it was close to the time to purchase groceries. Sam sighed and did the best he could. He turned on the radio, hoping to hear the news, and was rewarded with American country and western music. "God. I didn't even listen to this at the Project!" Sam hurriedly turned the radio off. A quick glance at Jeffery's few tapes, and Sam decided that he would go outside and explore a little bit. He pulled on a sweater, and was just going to open the door when the phone rang. Sam looked around and found the plain black phone. Sam lifted it, looking at the rotary dial on the phone base unit. He sighed inwardly as he put the handset to his head. "Hello?" "Ah, good morning, Dr. Wallace. This is Mr. Gordon at the library. That book that you wanted, the one with the painting from Dunvegan? It just arrived in the post." The voice was very upper crust English, Sam noticed, with a slight trace of Oxfordish tone. "Oh, good. That's great. I'll be down there in a few minutes to look at it. Thank you very much for calling me, Mr. Gordon." Sam hung up the phone. Where had he heard of Dunvegan? Something in Jeffery's notes last night, he recalled. A vague reference to the faery folk. He went outside, heading, he presumed, to the library. In most small towns, Sam realized, even his own of Elk Ridge, the library had an almost medieval air about it, a cross between a monestary and a fortress. The problem in a small country town in England, Sam fumed as he looked about, was that there were several buildings that fit that description. Fortunately, the library was clearly marked with a sign, posting the times it was open. Sam went to the door and walked in. He looked face to face with a gargoyle that was perched on the wall. Sam heard the imaging room door open and shut. "Chirst, Sam! That looks just like Maxine's mother!" Al looked at the gargoyle. "Al," Sam hissed under his breath as he moved past the gargoyle. "No, Sam. It's true! She had this big, protruding nose -- beak, actually -- and..." Al looked around and caught up with Sam. "That's the thanks I get." Al looked up at the vaulted ceiling. "Nice place, must cost a fortune to heat." "Ah. Dr. Wallace," a smallish man stood up from behind a thick oaken desk. "I didn't expect you so soon." He pulled out a box, from which a thick book emerged. "Here it is," he handed the book over to Sam. "I took the liberty of tagging the page for you. I hope that you don't mind." He looked at Sam through thick glasses. "Frankly, I found the picture rather...unpleasant," and he shrugged his shoulders. "But, to each their own, I say." "Thank you, Mr. Gordon." Sam took the book and went to a far table and sat down. Al peered over his shoulder. "'The Grey Book of the Hebridies'," he puffed on his cigar. "Catchy title." Al pushed at the handlink, hoping that Gooshie was on top of things. He glanced at the readout. "What do you mean, it's not in a machine readable format!" Al spoke out loud. Sam glanced up at his friend and shook his head. He turned to the tagged page and gasped. The description stated that the painting was from the private archives of the family MacLeod of Dunvegan, on the isle of Skye. Sam looked at the picture, and felt the icy fingers again. The painting was of a mountain loch. Deep greens and blues abounded. Sam could swear that the heather plants were alive. A rainbow divided the picture, and through the rainbow Sam could see tall thin humans, apparently dancing in a circle. He looked closer. The humans had pointed ears, and were nude or semi-nude, but there were no gender differences. They were dancing in bright sunlight, while the real world was in a seemingly dim twilight. "Sam. Sam! You ok?" Al called out, as if from a distance. Sam drew his eyes away from the painting. "Al, that's what I saw." Sam kept his voice low. "There, the dancing figures. They were the lights." "Sam, you're making things up just to give me the heebie-jeebies," Al frowned as he looked at the picture. It, too, disturbed him in a way that he couldn't describe. "There's no such things as fairies!" The handlink sqeauled at Al, seemingly in disagreement to his statement. Al looked down at the small device. "Uh, Sam, I gotta run. Ziggy was working on some projections for us about this leap, and she's finished." Al pushed at the handlink and the imaging room door opened up. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Go home and get so sleep, would you?" The door closed. "If I sleep, Al, I'll dream again, of the lights and the music," Sam said, still staring at the picture. He traced the rainbow with a finger. "The lights and music of Tir-nan-Og."