Return-Path: krk1@pyuxe.uucp Path: bridge2!mips!swrinde!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!walter!porthos!pyuxe!krk1 From: krk1@pyuxe.uucp (24220s-knights) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: LEAPTREK - PART I Keywords: Story in 4 parts Message-ID: <1992Jun8.154627.22462@porthos.cc.bellcore.com> Date: 8 Jun 92 15:46:27 GMT Sender: netnews@porthos.cc.bellcore.com (USENET System Software) Organization: Bellcore, Livingston, NJ Lines: 529 LEAPTREK Katriena Knights It was cold, and fire, and electricity; it was pain and a suffocating sensation that drained him down to the bones he could no longer feel. And, since this misbegotten experiment with time had begun, it had never lasted so long. He saw glimpses, snatches of reality, or thought he did, but it was like drowning, struggling for the surface, seeing the open sky while water filled up your lungs . . . Then it was gone, and Sam Beckett was _there_ -- the only way he knew to describe the certainty of the end of the leap. He was _there_, ensconced in someone else's reality. This time he was in a large, padded chair, fingers dug deep into the arms. His attention went first to himself -- to his heart that felt like it might implode if it contracted upon itself any harder, to his breathing which came far too fast -- capturing control of himself before looking where he had leaped. He looked up then, to see. He was surrounded by people at instrument panels, and in front of them a wide screen showed a swath of stars and whorls of strange color. Then the world tipped out from under them all and Sam was dumped unceremoniously to the floor. The edge of the chair's arm made painful contact with his temple. "Red alert!" a voice shouted. "Oh, boy," Sam mumbled, and blacked out. ***** "Damage report." The same voice, in its commanding tone. A hand closed on Sam's arm and the voice continued, gentler, "Captain, are you all right?" Sam looked up. Apparently he had only blacked out for a moment. His head felt fairly clear, other than the usual leap-induced muzziness. The hand on his arm was attached to a dark-haired, bearded man about Sam's age, perhaps a little younger. The man wore a red and black uniform, and his grey-blue eyes held genuine concern. "Captain?" he said again. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Sam mumbled. He brushed himself off. The other man helped him get up and back into the chair. Sam was also uniformed in red and black. All around him, voices were coming out of the air, reporting minor damage and minor injuries. Behind it all was a wail of claxons. "What was that, anyway?" Sam asked no one in particular. "I have no answer as of yet, sir." The voice came from a gold-clad person seated ahead of Sam and to his left. The man turned then, to face Sam. "It appears to have been an aftershock created by an anomaly in our quadrant combined with the gravitational forces of our return from warp drive." Sam missed most of the words. The man speaking to him had the flesh tones of a man three days dead, and his eyes were yellow. "Um . . . I see. Well. Continue to investigate and . . . let me know what you find out." "Affirmative, sir." The man turned back to face front. _What the hell was that?_ Sam thought. _And where the hell am I?_ "And where the hell is Al?" he mumbled. "I'm sorry, Captain?" The man with the beard again, leaning toward him expectantly. "Nothing. Um . . . how much damage have we sustained?" "Surprisingly minor. Nothing that will keep us from continuing on our course to Earth." "To Earth. Yes, right, to Earth." Sam realized then that the strange, wide ribbons of color on the screen ahead of him had disappeared, leaving only a wide starfield. This is a movie, he thought. I've leaped into an actor, and we're filming a movie. "Well, then. Let's . . . get going." Yellow Eyes peered back over his shoulder. "We are going, Captain." Sam nodded emphatically. "Yes. Right. Well." The bearded man, seated now to Sam's right, was leaning toward him. "Are you sure you're all right, Captain? Perhaps you might want to sit in the ready room for a few minutes. I think I can handle things here. I'll have Dr. Crusher up right away." If this is a movie, Sam was thinking, where are the cameras? And why is this man adjusting to me instead of looking at me like I don't know my lines? "Captain?" the man said again. Sam looked at him. The concern was very real. "Not a bad idea," Sam said. "You take care of things here for a while. But don't disturb the doctor. I'm sure I'm all right. Just . . . a little bang on the head." Sam stood, rubbing his temple where the chair had connected. The flesh felt puffy and warm, but he was certain the blackout had been more an aftereffect of the extended leap than a result of the injury. "Ensign." The dark-haired man again, in a hiss Sam thought he was not supposed to have heard. "Escort the captain." Thank God, Sam thought. Now I don't have to fumble around trying to figure out where the ready room is . . . The thought trailed off as the ensign took his arm. She was a pretty woman, with dark hair and even features, but the bumpy growth across the bridge of her nose was as offputting as the complexion of the man who had spoken to Sam earlier. _Where _are_ you, Al?_ The ensign gently guided Sam to a door at the back of the room. >From this angle, it was obvious that the area was a command center of some kind. In fact, Sam was beginning to have the distinct impression that he was on a spaceship. The door slid open as Sam and the bumpy-nosed ensign approached it. "Would you like me to stay?" she asked. "No. No, I'm fine. I'll just . . . I'll be back in a few minutes." He stepped in quickly and the door hissed shut behind him. "Al!" Sam hissed. "_What_ is going on?" No answer. There was a desk in the room, with a chair behind it. Sam sat down. The room could have kept him fascinated for hours, with the strange pictures on the walls and the models of weird-looking vessels displayed here and there, but Sam's attention was immediately grabbed by the computer terminal on the desk. First because it was obviously a source of information, but then because the black, staring screen returned him his reflection. The face that looked back at him was that of an older man, perhaps fifty. The small portion of his hair that had not succumbed to male pattern baldness was grey. His eyes were grey, as well, and the entire face had the look of a man who carried authority out of habit. Very Captainly, Sam thought. He was relieved to see that he did not have corpse-white skin, or a bony, bumpy nose-bridge. He looked perfectly normal. Sam found the switch on the small computer terminal and turned it on. He was trying to puzzle out the machine's operating system when he heard the familiar sound of the Imaging Chamber door opening. There was Al, finally, in a chartreuse suit accessoried with magenta tie, shoes and lapel pin, handlink blinking brightly in one hand, cigar smouldering in the other. "It is about time!" Sam snapped. But Al had other things on his mind. "Thank God you're all right, Sam. For a while there, we thought we'd lost you permanently." "For how long?" "You don't want to know. We had a devil of a time locking on to your signal." "Where am I? Who am I?" "Well, I hate to break this to you, Sam . . . In fact, maybe you'd better sit down . . ." "I'm on a spaceship, aren't I?" Al looked up from the handlink, a surprised expression on his face. "How did you know?" "Just a guess. How can I be on a spaceship? There are no spaceships. Are all these people aliens or something?" "Ziggy has no idea. He's been blowing gaskets trying to find information, and he's coming up with nothing." "Ziggy doesn't have gaskets." "Well, you know, it's just an expression." He poked at the handlink, then smacked it. "Okay, here's what we _do_ know. You're in 1995. But the guy in the waiting room says he's from the 24th century." "No way. He must be nuts." "Well, he seems to be completely sane. He says his name is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship _Enterprise_." "So now I'm . . . John Luke." "Jean-Luc. It's French. Yes, apparently you are." "So why am I here?" Al shrugged, sucking on his cigar. "There's no way to know. If this guy's from the 24th century, whatever it is you're supposed to change hasn't happened yet." "But you said it's 1995." "February 27, 1995, yes." "Then it's not the future. It's my immediate past." "But whatever happened here isn't recorded in any newspapers or anything Ziggy can access, because you're in a high orbit above planet Earth." Sam slumped, digesting this decidedly convoluted batch of information. It posed more questions than it answered. But that was fairly standard for Ziggy. In the end, though, he supposed he could fake his way through this situation as well as any other. "So I really am on board a spaceship, huh?" "It looks that way, yes." "And it's from the 24th century?" "Apparently." "So what happened? Did they get caught in a . . . I don't know . . . a time warp or something?" "That's what Picard thinks. He says they detected some anomalous readings off their port bow just as they came out of warp drive." Al shrugged. "I know. Doesn't make any sense to me, either. But he says this kind of thing has happened to them before under various circumstances. I explained our setup to him and he seemed to understand it. In fact, he called it quaint." Sam gaped, offended. "Quaint? Quaint? My life's work and all he can come up with is quaint?" Al shrugged. "Well, you have to admit it would be a lot more impressive if we had some kind of control over it." "Yeah, right." Sam scrubbed forehead with fingertips. "My guess is I'm here to help them get back where they belong." "A fair enough guess. Oh, by the way, I got some names for you on your crew." "Okay, shoot. I could use that." "Your second-in-command is Commander William Riker. . ." Al paused. "Hold on." He fiddled with the handlink a moment, then stepped to the door and stuck his face through it. When it came back, he continued, "He's the guy with the beard." Al frowned, then looked through the door again. "Jeez, there's some weird-looking folks out there. Anyway. The guy who looks like he's been dead for a week is Lieutenant Commander Data. Picard says he's an android." "An android? You're kidding." "I don't know. Why don't you stick a screwdriver in him and find out? Anyway, then there's an Ensign Ro, she's the one - I think - with the weird nose. And somebody named Worf, but he's not on the bridge right now. Neither is Counsellor Troi, she's off duty at the moment." "Well, that's a start, anyway." "Right. Look, I'm going to get back and see what else I can do to figure out what's going on. I'm going to try to keep Picard nearby while I'm in contact with you so he can help supply information. Verbena says he's taking this all like just another day on the job, so there's no risk of creating any trauma." "Good. Get back to me as soon as you can." "You bet." The Imaging Chamber door appeared again, and Al stepped back through, giving Sam a look that was meant to be encouraging but looked far too worried to be helpful. Taking a deep breath, Sam rubbed at his eyes. He had a feeling this short reprieve was nearing an end. He was right. A voice addressed him just as he was returning his attention to the computer. After a second, more insistent, "Captain Picard," Sam realized the voice was coming from the pin on his uniform. He poked at it experimentally and it made a trilling sound. "Um . . . Picard here," he said, trying to sound authoritative. "It's Beverly, Captain. Commander Riker said you suffered a head injury. I really think it would be best if you let me look at it, just in case. Can I see you in sick bay in five minutes?" Sam considered. As a doctor, he knew she was probably right. As a man masquerading as the ship's captain, he wasn't sure he wanted to be poked and prodded and examined with instruments of a technological level he knew nothing about. In the end, he decided that to succumb would create the least suspicion. "All right. I'll be there shortly." "Good." The voice sounded relieved, but also a little smug. Sam stood resignedly. His uniform shirt had crept up and he yanked it back down with some annoyance. Commander Riker stood as Sam returned to the bridge, giving his captain an expectant look. Sam waved for him to sit back down. "As you were, Commander. I've been ordered to sick bay." Riker gave him a knowing smile. "We'll contact you as soon as we have more information on what happened." "Yes, do that." Sam realized then that he had no idea how to get to sick bay. There was a door ahead of him that said TURBO LIFT, though. That looked promising. He headed toward it. No one was giving him strange looks, so he assumed he was doing the right thing. The space beyond the door bore a comforting resemblance to an elevator, but there were no buttons at all, much less one conveniently labeled, "SICK BAY." "Oh, great," Sam muttered. "So how do I get to sick bay?" Immediately, the elevator began to move. On a hunch, Sam said, "Stop." The movement stopped. "Continue." He grinned as the elevator went on its way again. "Voice activated. Cool." He was not so entranced, though, when the lift came to a halt and the opening door revealed a hallway rather than an immediate entrance into sickbay. "Now what?" he mumbled. There were people wandering in the halls, but about the best way he could think of to blow his cover would be for him to stop one of them and ask the way. And there didn't seem to be any "You are Here" signs. "Don't even think about trying to avoid this, Jean-Luc." Sam turned at the familiar voice. Apparently this was Beverly, who had been speaking out of his chest a few minutes ago. She took his arm and headed him down the corridor, and Sam knew from the way she touched him that the relationship between the doctor and her captain transcended the purely formal. Understandable, given her remarkable sweep of copper-coloured hair. "I can't believe you would think I would let a head injury get by me." "It's nothing, really," Sam insisted. "I'm sure there were other people hurt more severely . . ." "I had one broken wrist and a twisted ankle," Beverly cut in. "Now get in there and sit down." Her tone startled Sam a little, but he saw she was smiling so he smiled back and did as told, taking a seat on one of the empty tables. Next to him, a young black man sat with his right wrist enclosed in a metallic sleeve which was attached to a control panel in the wall. He was smiling, also, apparently amused by the interchange. It was difficult to read very much into his expression because his eyes were hidden behind a metallic strip which appeared to be attached to his head at each temple. "Even the captain can't avoid getting a once-over, huh?" the man said. "No, it doesn't look that way," Sam answered. Beverly had returned and was pointing a hand-held instrument at Sam's head. "Oh, she can once me over any time." Al's voice, of course. "Or twice, or thrice . . ." Sam resisted the urge to swing around to look at him. The suit would only hurt his eyes, anyway. "Man o man o man . . ." Al stepped through the table and positioned himself where Sam could see him. Sam took advantage of the opportunity to shoot him a dirty look. "It is _not_ that bad, Captain," Beverly said in response. "I'm just going to be sure there's no sign of concussion. . ." She broke off, shaking the instrument. She made some adjustments and pointed it at him again. "I've got Picard here with me," Al continued. "Don't even ask if you can see him, because we're already pumping out mega-power to get my signal to you." "Yeah, yeah," Sam mumbled, covering both situations. Beverly was still tapping delicately on her instrument and frowning. "Anyway," said Al, "this lovely lady is Dr. Beverly Crusher, Chief Medical Officer. The guy with the thing on his face . . . " He stopped, looking somewhere to his left, undoubtedly at the real Picard. "Visor? It's a VISOR, Sam. What? Visual Instrument and Sensory Organ Replacement . . . He _sees_ with it? Really? Amazing. Isn't that amazing, Sam?" Sam nodded. It was, indeed, amazing. He wondered what else the technology of the 24th century had accomplished, but at the same time he was afraid to ask, knowing what the consequences could be. Al, however, seemed not to be at all intimidated by either the technology or the captain. ". . . No, I will _not_ put out this cigar!" he was informing the air. "Because I outrank you, that's why." He turned back to Sam. "Sorry, Sam. This guy is really getting on my nerves. He reminds me of one of the captains I used to serve under . . ." Catching Sam's look, he waved the thought off. "Never mind. Anyway. This is Geordi LaForge. He's Chief Engineer." Sam filed the name mentally. There were a hundred other things he wanted to ask, but obviously they would have to wait. His inability to speak freely with Al was becoming more frustrating by the minute. "Well," Beverly said, looking at her instrument, "if I can trust my scanner, you seem to be all right." "Why wouldn't you trust the scanner?" "Because it's telling me your blood is AB positive." "AB positive?" Sam repeated. Which, of course, was absolutely correct, but apparently not for Captain Jean-Luc Picard. "Yes. Explain that one to me." "Yeah, that's strange, all right." He slipped down from the table. The action was met by another outburst from Beverly. "Don't move, Captain. Get back on the table and wait while I get another scanner." "Don't let her get another scanner, Sam!" Al protested. "She'll start poking and prodding and finding out all kinds of things . . ." He hesitated. "Not that that would be so bad, really . . ." "Dr. Crusher," Sam said firmly. "I do not need to be scanned again. I am perfectly all right. I merely sustained a minor bump to the head. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to speak with Mister LaForge here, and then I would appreciate it if you would allow me to return to my bridge." Beverly slumped, finally admitting defeat. "Aw, Sam, you hurt her feelings . . ." "All right," Beverly said. "But if you feel the slightest bit dizzy, or anything else unusual, call me immediately." "I feel a little dizzy," Al said hopefully. Sam gave the doctor a small smile. It did not seem inappropriate. "You can count on it." Beverly shook her head in mock disgust. "And you can talk to Geordi, also, if you like. I'm almost finished with him, anyway." "Thank you." Sam turned to LaForge, who had been watching him rather intently, if it was possible to judge by the angle of his VISOR. "What did you want to talk to me about, Captain?" "Where were you when we hit this . . . turbulence? I was wondering if you might have some idea what might have caused it." Geordi nodded toward the arm which was being treated. "Well, _un_fortunately, I was out on a catwalk. Fortunately, it was a low catwalk." "Why were you on the catwalk?" "Just doing some curiosity checks. You know me, always fiddling." He tilted his head slightly. Sam wondered what exactly he was looking at. It was disconcerting, not being able to see the man's eyes. Not only was it very difficult to read his face, but Sam was not certain where to look while conversing. "Ensign Lara may have gotten some readings. I'm sure Data has spoken with her by now." Sam glanced nonchalantly in Al's direction. Al shrugged. "It was worth a shot." "All right, Mister LaForge," Sam said. "Take care of yourself." "Aye, sir." _Now back to the bridge_, Sam thought, heading for the door, _to see if there are any answers yet_. "I'll meet you on the bridge," Al said. Sam nodded. As the sickbay door slid open, Sam's chest badge spoke up again. "Riker to Picard." "Picard here," Sam told it. "Captain, we have some information for you. I think you should come to the bridge." "I'm on my way." -------- Katriena Knights "Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time!" -- Samuel Beckett, "Waiting for Godot"