Date: Mon, 31 May 93 03:59:02 MDT From: tperreau@banshee.VLA.NRAO.EDU (Bill'n'Opus'96) Message-Id: <9305310959.AA01381@banshee.vla.nrao.edu> To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Subject: REPOST -- Future Perfect -- Part 5 Oops. I made a mistake! That's what I get for not proofreading! The year than Sam is in is 1023, not 1033. I also corrected a couple of inconsistancies. Sorry! Future Perfect Part V "...Ephem: a person who, using the drug althostricalonade, is able to temporally translocate their 'spirit' to the past, overwriting their host persona..." Glossary of Paratemp Terminology, Third Edition (Internal Use Only) Temporal Index: September 18, 1999 Spatial Co-ordernates: Classified (Project Quantum Leap) Al brushed off imaginary lint from his dress whites, and made sure that his ribbons were on straight. This uniform hardly ever failed to impress the other members of the military, and he counted on this to throw the spook off balance. The last thing he needed now was an intelligence type looking over his shoulder and asking God awful inane questions. Then again, Al thought to himself as he entered the outer waiting room, if she is the spook, then she could haunt him anytime. Virtually all projects, secret or not, have an accumulated infrastructure called paperwork. Quantum Leap was designed to keep the paperwork as far away (mentally) as possible from the actual inner workings of the project. Thus the creation of a very interesting facade that visiting people are allowed in. Videos of the imaging chamber, crude diagrams of Ziggy, a general disinformation program. The outer waiting room overlooked the flat scenery of the road of death, so named by the Spanish conquistadores and the travelers on the El Camino Real, the route that lead from Mexico City to Santa Fe. Off in the distance, with binoculars, one could make out the Trinity site monument. Al walked over next to the woman in an Air Force blue uniform. "Lonely...yet lovely in it's way." Al said. "Accounts said that people thought that the sun rose twice on July 16th. It did, in a way." The woman turned around and saluted sharply. "Lt. Col. Sara Allen Wade, reporting, Admiral." Al looked at the woman as he returned her salute. She was tall, close to six feet, with legs that didn't seem to quit. Al approved of the new Air Force uniform that seemed to be tailored to Col. Wade. Her features were a mixture of Hispanic and Oriental. Her black hair was styled short, but in a way that accented her face. "Colonel," Al replied. "I must say, I didn't expect anyone from Washington." "I'm not part of the oversight committee, Admiral." Sara produced a small piece of paper. Al scanned it quickly, his brow darkening as he read it. "No. I'm not going to let some spook run around the project like she owned the place." He crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it to the floor. "I'm sorry, Admiral. I know how you feel." "You have no idea how I feel." Al fumed. He wanted to hit something. He opted for the window. But before he could hit the glass, a slim hand was grasping his wrist with a pressure that hurt. Al looked at Sara. "Let me go." "So you can do something stupid, Admiral? No, I doubt that." Sara let go of Al's wrist, and he rubbed it. She was a lot stronger than Al would had ever suspected. "Now. Let us begin with the imaging chamber." Temporal Index: August 20, 1023 Spatial Co-ordernates: 6 degrees West, 56 degrees 30 minutes North, Terra (Isle of Iona, off the coast of Mull, Scotland) The huge ship came in with the tide, Sam noticed. It was expertly timed, but then it was a Viking ship. Yards from shore, the oars were raised at a command, and the momentum of the ship brought it to shore with a hissing of salt spray. The small group backed up as the curved prow dominated them. Sam saw intricate animals and spiral patterns carved into the wood of the keel. "It's beautiful," Sam said. Thom nodded is head in agreement. "Funeral ships usually are. Very few longboats had the now famous dragon head design from legends. Same for the helmets with cow horns." "You know a lot about this time period." Thom tapped his right temple. "Memory, Dr. Beckett. This era is an interest of mine. Now, look sharp." Thom looked up. "The man dressed in the leather leggings and chain mail is Thorfinn Ravensfeeder. He is the half brother to MacBeth. The other man, is MacBeth. The translation for his name is..." "'Son of Life,'" Sam said. He shot a quick grin at Thom. "Guess I have a few neurons from the real abbot still rattling about." "Humph," Thom grunted. The two men in question approached through the surf. Sam looked at Thorfinn, and decided that he would not want to meet the Viking in a dark or lit alleyway. Thorfinn was built like a linebacker from pro football, and he had gold links in his chainmail. Dark blonde hair and blue eyes showed his heritage. A scabbard hung at his side, and a servicable sword handle emerged from it. Sam had no question that Thorfinn knew how to use the sword. The other man was smaller than Thorfinn, more compact a person. His black hair was just beginning to show a sign of silver. He, too, had shining blue eyes. Unlike Thorfinn, however, he wore no outwards sign of armor, but a yellowish colored tunic with spiraling trim around the arms. He, too, wore a sword. They came ashore and stood before Sam and Thom. "Father," the smaller man said as he knelt upon the sand with his head bowed. Sam glanced over at Thom, who nodded slightly. "Welcome, Son of Life, to Iona," Sam held out his hand. MacBeth raised his head and kissed the ring that adorned Sam's hand. "Be at peace, my son." "Thank you, Father." MacBeth stood up. "This is my brother, Thorfinn, Jarl of Orkney." "Jarl," Sam tipped his head at Thorfinn, who likewise nodded at Sam. "May I present Father Donald, from Dunkeld. He has been most kind in assissting me for the preparation for crowning the new king." "And that king will be MacBeth," Thorfinn placed his hand on the sword. MacBeth, for his part, raised his left hand. "Enough, brother. We have not even placed Duncan into the earth. There will be enough time later for the election." They watched in silence as the monks were given the body of Duncan, which was wrapped up in a simple piece of cloth. They then began to walk towards the chapel, starting up a chant. Sam and Thom joined in automatically. The latin came easy to Sam, although the inflections were not as modern as what he was used to. The sun had set, but the western sky still glowed brightly. "The gloaming," Thom whispered to Sam. "During the summer, it never really is dark at night, just a faint twilight between midnight and three in the morning." "Where are they going to stay?" Sam indicated MacBeth and Thorfinn. "Your cell. Highland hospitality and all that. We will sleep in the chapel, with Duncan." Thom looked thoughtfully at the corpse. "I hope that this isn't a foreshadowing of my future..."