Date: Wed, 16 Jun 93 21:45:11 MDT
From: tperreau@banshee.VLA.NRAO.EDU (This space for rent)
Message-Id: <9306170345.AA09222@banshee.vla.nrao.edu>
To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
Subject: All Soul's Night -- Part 4

				All Soul's Night

				   Part IV

"Ok, Ziggy, what've you got?"

"A disturbing pattern, Admiral.  While there are many English folktales
concerning Halloween, I had to go back to the original sources.  Halloween
is actually a Celtic festival."

"Come again?"  Al walked into the waiting room.  Dr. Wallace looked up and
waved at Al.  "I think that the good doctor here should hear this too."

"Halloween, or All Hallow's Eve, is the first day of the Celtic new year,
also known as Samhain.  This day begins on sunset of October 31, and runs
through to sunset of November 1.  It seems that the Celts, like the Jews,
mark days from sunset to sunset, not sunrise to sunrise."

"Quite right, Admiral."  Wallace sipped some water.  "Samhain was the
first day of a five day festival, marking the harvesting of the crops.
There were games, weddings, and the assignment of taxes.  Only the first 
day, however, held any mystical context it seems."

"Thank you, Dr. Wallace;" Ziggy's voice took on a slightly injured tone.  "The
first day of Samhain is when the barriers between this world and the Other-
world are the weakest."

"Otherworld?  You don't mean..."  Al felt his throat go dry.

"No, Admiral;" Wallace took over.  "The Otherworld in Celtic mythology is
best represented by the concept of Tir-nan-Og, the Isle of the Blessed.  No
one ages, no one dies.  There is also no challenge.  It is a life of perpetual
ease.  The Otherworld is also the home of the Si."

"She?"

"Faeries, Admiral."  Ziggy replied.  "There is an extensive collection of
Irish lore and mythology that explains how the Si come about to live in
the Otherworld.  Suffice to say that the Irish really believed in the concept
of the Si and spirits, both good and evil -- or, actually, mischevious is a
better word.  The Si were never truly evil, although Christianity painted
them as such."

"Ok.  Let me get this straight.  On Halloween, from sunset to the sunset on
the first day of November, the barriers between this world and another are
weak?"  Al shook his head.  "Sounds like a bad Vincent Price movie."

Wallace smiled.  "But I assure you it's not, Admiral Calavicci.  Imagine if
you will that this Otherworld is another dimension -- the fourth dimension."

Al glared at Wallace.  "HA!  Got you there, pal!  The fourth dimension 
is time."

Ziggy cleared her voice.  "Admiral, we only percieve time as being a fourth
dimension.  The Si live in the fourth dimension.  There are accounts of how
people go to the Otherworld for only a day, week, or year and return to find 
up to hundreds of years have passed."

"Accounts, or tales, Ziggy?"

"Well, tales and ubsustanciated reports, Admiral."

"What of Thomas Learmonth of Ercildoune?"  Wallace smiled broadly.

"Who?"  Al felt he was being tag teamed by Ziggy and Wallace.

"Thomas Learmonth, Admiral.  He was a minor Scottish noble who lived in
the late 13th century.  He is also known as True Thomas the Rhymer.  Thomas
was, to lack a better term, a bard.  He comprised a Scots Gaelic version of
Tristan and Ioslde, called Sir Tristrem.  However, Thomas is more known
for his ability of prophsey."

Al rolled his eyes.  "He faked it, Ziggy.  Just like the gypsy fortune
teller in the carnivals.  Pure hocus-pocus."  Al puffed on his cigar.

"Admiral, all of Thomas's prophesies have come true;" Ziggy sniffed.  "How
would you like to bat a thousand every time you..."

"Never mind, Ziggy."  Al sighed.

"Thomas vanished for seven years," Ziggy continued.  "It was rumored that
he went to Elfland.  There is a whole poem about this I can recite."

"No, that's not necessary."  Wallace said.  "But do tell the Admiral here about
Thomas's prophesy of Bruce."

"Admiral, here is one of Thomas's prophesies:
		
		Of Bruce's side a son shall come,
		From Carrick's bower to Scotland's throne:
		The Red Lion beareth he.
		The foe shall tread the Lion down
		A score of years but three:
		Till red of English blood shall run
		Burn of Bannock to the sea."

"So, what does that prove?"  Al looked at Wallace, who was grinning like
the cat that ate the canary.  "It could have been written after the fact."

"One," Wallace stood up and began to pace.  "That poem was written well
before Alexander III, then king of Scotland, was dead.  Alexander had
three sons, Admiral.  There was no doubt that one of them would live to
be king -- and all of them predeceased their father.  Two, in 1297 Edward I
basically ruled Scotland through a puppet king, John Baliol -- now, 
Bannockburn was fought in 1314.  Ziggy, what is the span of years between 
these two dates?"

"Seventeen years, Dr. Wallace.  A score of years but three."

"Three.  Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, had a son, who was also named
Robert Bruce.  This Robert Bruce was crowned king of Scotland in 1306,
but it was not until the battle of Bannockburn, or the Burn of Bannock
if you will, that the English even recognized him to some extent.  In
fact, it was not until 1328 that Edward II recognized Bruce as king of
Scotland, and in 1329 Bruce died.  The coat of arms for the royal family
of Scotland, by the way, is a red lion rampant on a field of gold."

"Ok, ok, ok!  So he got one poem right, it doesn't matter if he got
a thousand of them correct, it still doesn't prove the existance of
little Tinkerbells bobbing around England, Scotland, or my back yard!"
Al waved his arms about.

Wallace waited for Al to calm down.  "I can understand you, Admiral.  Very
well as a matter of fact.  I, too, started out as a skeptic -- wanting to
prove that all the tales of the faery folk were just that, tales.  However,
the further I've gone into my research, the more I am convinced that there
is a doorway, if you will, to another universe.  In this universe, time
flows differently, and the beings there are also different.  Perhaps they
were humans trapped there, perhaps not.  The important thing is that only
every so often can this doorway be opened.  If not now, then perhaps in
another year, or a dozen -- however, no one knows where the doorway will
be.  I know, Admiral, that it is in Wells; and tonight is the last night 
that the door can be opened -- it is also the best night, for it will be
Samhain."

Al looked at Wallace for over a minute without saying a word.  "You really
believe this."

"Admiral, I have spent my life chasing this down.  I have given up everything
that I held dear to me.  My wife, my children."  Wallace looked around the
waiting room.  "And now, on the verge of perhaps the greatest discovery
known to man, I'm stuck here, almost twenty years out of my own time."
Wallace looked at Al.  "How do you think I feel, Admiral."  He bowed his
head.  "Please leave me alone."

Al walked out of the waiting room and headed slowly towards the control
chamber.  "Ziggy, give me the odds."

"If Dr. Beckett does not repeat Wallace's steps, then I calculate that
there is a less than 3% chance he will leap.  If Dr. Beckett repeats
Wallace's steps, then the chance of leaping exceeds 99%."

"I hear an implied 'but' in there, Ziggy."

"There is a problem.  If we take the hypothesis that the mound is a focal
point for a doorway that can be opened by a magnetic pattern or charge,
then the coronal discharge of the leap will almost certainly cause the
doorway to open.  If Dr. Beckett leaps before the doorway is open, there
is no problem.  The problem arises if Dr. Beckett does not fully leap before
the doorway is opened.  In this senario, I have calculated two probabilities,
each with an equal chance of happening."

Al rested his back against the cool wall.  He felt like he had a mouthful
of cotton.  "What are they?"

"One, Dr, Beckett will leap in as himself and Dr. Wallace will leap in
as well.  I have no way of knowing how long the doorway will remain open,
so it could close instantly, or give Dr. Beckett several seconds to escape
before it seals.  The second possibility is that Dr. Beckett will leap in
as one of the Si."

Al felt sweat make it's way down his neck.  "And the odds are equal?"

"For all three possibilities, Admiral.  Dr. Beckett could leap out, could
leap back there as himself, or leap into a Si.  Is this what you would call
a 'crap shoot'?"

"Yeah, Ziggy, it damn well is..."