Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p01) ~From: aa811@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: "No Escape From Reality--Part 1 ~Date: 23 Mar 1993 22:45:26 GMT Nntp-Posting-Host: thor.ins.cwru.edu ~Lines: 103 This is written in the Next Gen universe, and QL is the crux. As always, I welcome comments and suggestions. This piece is currently unpublished. "No Escape From Reality" Terri Librande "Captains log, Stardate 1108.93. We are in orbit above what is only known as the Time Planet. In recent weeks, the fields of time displacement, and subsequent disappearances of ships, and now even the home planet of Earth being affected by the fields; earthquakes, atmopheric changes, such as snow falling in tropic regions. Starfleet has ordered the Enterprise to check out the Guardian, theorizing it is in fact, the center of Time itself." Sighing, Picard turned off the recorder. He had elected to lead the landing party himself, a rarity, leaving his subordinate in Number One's absence to balance the ship in it's precarious orbit. Waves of time displacement buffetted the craft in periodic fluxes, tossing the ship in odd moments and causing general havoc with the navigation. The landing party beamed down to the coordinates and stood in awe at the sight before them. The Guardian of Forever, one of the deepest secrets the Federation kept, and they were among the priveleged few to actually view it. Data was the first to make a move, taking his tricorder and analyzing the images playing across the odd oval shaped doorway. The framework had long since fallen around it, leaving the balanced time picture; hazy and moving too quickly for the human eye to follow. WELCOME. It was the Voice, the one told of only in highly classified documents and secret Federation staff meetings. Captain Picard stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with his science officer. "We are from the ENTERPRISE," he stated. "ENTERPRISE. BUT NOT FROM THE TIME BEFORE. There was a pause, as if reflecting on it's own records of the past. YOU ARE PICARD, CAPTAIN OF THE VESSEL THAT ORBITS THIS PLANET. I KNOW YOUR MISSION, AND OF THE TIME DISPLACEMENT. THIS PORTAL IS NOT THE CAUSE, BUT I CAN BE OF ASSISTANCE. THE FOCUS IS IN THE EARTH'S PAST. MY PORTAL IS A DOORWAY TO WHAT YOU SEEK. "Earth." He glanced at the rest of the landing party. Worf, frowning slightly the sight of a speaking portal, and Data, always alert, curious, recording every bit of information that sped across the Guardian. OBSERVE. THIS IS YOUR HISTORY, PICARD. EARTH, FROM BEGINNINGS TO PRESENT. The ancient voice sounded quite pleased with itself. "Amazing, Captain!" Data enthused. "The tricorder is able to record all of this, even at the speed it's being played. Something on the order of 200 years every second." "Can you slow down the centuries?" Picard questioned, addressing the portal. IT IS AS YOU SEE. THERE IS NO WAY TO CHANGE THE SPEED AT WHICH THE CENTURIES PASS. "It's only been a few minutes, Captain," Data said, glancing up from the remarkable pictures flashing before him. With his advanced android assimilation, he managed to analyze the images with more speed than the tricorder he could pass that advanced technology onto it. "We are well into the 18th century and speeding through the 19th. In just a few seconds we will be up to our own time." Suddenly the images before them, blurred and strange, wavered. For a moment, the oval cleared, then resequenced. Picard frowned. "Guardian, is there a problem?" THE STRANGE ENERGY, THE TIME DISPLACEMENT IS FOCUSED, CAUSING A DIFFICULTY, ALTERING THE TIME/SPACE VORTEX. I AM CORRECTING... Without warning, a man tumbled from the oval, falling to the ground, still as death, wearing a white jumpsuit that clung to his body like a second skin. The unexpected stranger's eyes went wide for a moment, as if stunned, then closing, losing consciousness as he fell back to the ground. Worf approached, hand on his phaser, Picard close behind. "Status," the Captain snapped, directed at Data. Data knelt by the still form, scanning the newcomer with his tricorder. "Human, Captain. I do not believe he is damaged, but I think it would be advisable to have Dr. Crusher stand by." HE IS FROM THE PAST. "Is he from Earth?" Picard queried, joining Data by the still form. YES, BUT NOT FROM YOUR TIME. THE PAST. HE HAS TRAVELLED. AND ARRIVED. THAT IS ALL I CAN TELL YOU. HE IS HERE TO SERVE A PURPOSE, BUT IN TIME, MUST BE RETURNED. Touching his hand to his communicator, Picard sent the word. "Four to beam up. Medical team, stand by." Part 2 to follow.... -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p02) Message-ID: <199305050142.AA04692@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:42:00 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 104 ~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 2 ~Date: 24 Mar 1993 00:00:34 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) ~Lines: 94 Message-Id: <1oo8b2$ckt@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu Part 2 With great care, Data lifted the unconscious man from the transporter platform, carrying him through the ship to the Sickbay. He was not very tall, the android noted, nor heavy, but muscular and compact. As they entered the Sickbay, Dr. Crusher indicated a bed ready for Data's cargo and he laid the man upon it, stepping back, his eyes not leaving the newcomer for a second. "He's human." Crusher made the statement drily, checking the life support readings. "I surmised that, Doctor," Data said, temporarily distracted from his thoughts. The doctor gave her friend a grin, sensing his fascination with her patient. "You say he's from the past?" "Late 20th Century Earth. He fell through the Guardian at that precise sector of time," Data replied, his eyes not leaving his fascinating subject for a moment. "Can you imagine what he knows that our historians have lost? Could it be possible that he is one connected with the displacement fields that are buffetting the galaxy? The Guardian indicated that may be the reason he fell through the portal." "We'll deal with that when time warrants it, Data," Picard said, half smiling at his science officer's excitement. He turned to Worf. "I want guards on Sickbay at all times. We have no idea what his reaction will be when he awakes in an alien enviornment." "That shouldn't be in too long a time," Crusher said, making a notation on a clipboard. "His readings are growing stronger." The form on the bed was stirring, a frown deepening between his eyes as they cracked open. Greenish eyes took in the people around him, widening when his vision encountered Worf. His throat was so dry he could barely speak. When he did manage it, the sounds were barely above a whisper and only Dr. Crusher could hear them. She frowned at the words he spoke. "Waiting Room?" She glanced back at the Captain, her expression bewildered. "Am I home?" His voice strengthened. "Is this the Waiting Room?" he repeated, eyes widening. "Where's Al?" Picard swiftly changed places with the doctor. "You're not home, but we'll do our best to get you back there. What is your name?" "Not Home?" The man stirred restlessly, slamming back on the pillows. "I just leaped from...San Francisco. Tamlyn. 1982." He looked pleadingly at the Captain, as if he knew he was the one in charge. "I just want to go home. Can you do that? Send me home? I'm so tired." "We might be able to, but we need your name." Sighing, he felt as if every limb was iron,slow moving and heavy. All he wanted was Al, and was uncertain if he should tell his name to this stranger looming above him. Where was his Observer? Could he appear here, in this strange place? It didn't look like the Waiting Room he remembered. First of all, it was far too large a space, and, secondly, he thought, glancing at the biggest of the people gathered around him, unless it was Halloween he didn he didn't remember anyone them looking quite like the ominous visage near the guy with the yellow eyes. Yellow eyes???? Suddenly he was more than frightened. He felt himself going into shock. Something was preventing his body from leaving the bed, but he struggled, ignoring the woman's soothing words. "I'm going to sedate him," Crusher said, slippiing a hypo from her tray and expertly injecting it through the tight material ofthe white jumpsuit he wore. Instantly, he settled back into unconsciousness, his agitated features still prominent, mouth half open, looking agonized and upset. "He's very confused, Captain." Crusher pressed her lips together, glancing at her commander. "We need name, damn it, and how he arrived here. Data, did he say 1982?" "Yes, sir." Data broke his concentration from the images that flickered across his tricorder. "San Francisco, Tamlyn. I presume that is a name, and the city of origin. I will do checks, but I wish to stay with our patient until he regains consciousness." Picard sighed, an ironic smile playing across his lips. "Our ship is being buffetted by the time disturbance, and this gentlemen shows up..." Annoyance clouded his features at the more than odd occurance, all happening at once. "It looks to me that we have a real life time traveller on our hands." More to come... -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p03) Message-ID: <199305050142.AA04737@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:42:21 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 121 ~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 3 ~Date: 24 Mar 1993 22:38:45 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) ~Lines: 111 Message-Id: <1oqntl$lph@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: thor.ins.cwru.edu Part 3 The center of the Captain's concern had no idea how long he'd been out, and woke up again in the same room. For several minutes he kept his eyes closed, hoping it had all been a bad dream. He thought fleetingly of Havenwell, and wishing, for a moment, that he was in that situation other than this. Something told him he'd fallen into something far worse than electroshock. Even Al's confident presence was denied him here, or so he surmised. Slowly, by degrees, he opened his eyes, cautiously glancing around the room. Yellow Eyes was watching, like a hawk ready to pounce, he thought, but with out maliscious intent. "Ah, you're awake." Data slid into a chair by the bed, anxious to speak to the stranger. "I did some checking on the year you mentioned, and San Francisco, as in regards to the Guardian. It seems..." "The Guardian?" Confusion again, as if these strange people were speaking a new languege. "That's where we found you. Do you have a name?" "Sam." He took a deep breath. It didn't seem he had a choice but to trust this man, and the others, even the linebacker. "Sam Beckett." Data's mind collected the words, assimilated, eyes widening. "Not THE Sam Beckett? Creator of the subatomic hybrid computer? What were you doing in the streams of time?" "I don't know." Sam knew he sounded as if he were unintelligent, but this conversation was skating too close to the Project. His instinct was telling him that he not tell these people of that, not yet. "But you are the physicist that created Ziggy?" "How did you know that? "It's part of my history, too. When Dr. Noonian Singh created me and my brother he used some of your components. The very circuits you created, if you are that Sam Beckett." "Yes, I am." Sam tried to sit up and found something was preventing him from even that movement. "Could you...?" he asked, glancing pleadingly at Data. "You are being held by a neural field, low density. I'm not allowed to disrupt it, but I will ask the Captain or Dr. Crusher." He touched his fingers to his communicator, requesting either the doctor or Captain Picard. "A communication device," Sam whispered, eyes fastened on the neat broach- like instrument fastened on Yellow Eyes's chest. Neural fields, the bed, the uniforms... Suddenly he realized he must have somehow ended up in a place far ahead of his own time. How? His mind was a blur, not recalling anything of the last few moments before he ended up here. Dark depression filled him, and hopelessness. It was almost impossible to return home from this place, and Al... This wasn't a Leap, he suddenly realized. "Could you please hand me a mirror?" He hoped he didn't look as desperate as his voice sounded. "There is one on the wall," Data answered, curious at the man's strange request. "When Dr. Crusher releases you from the field, you can use it. Why do you need to see your reflection." "It's complicated, but trust me, it's important, too." His eyes wandered to the doors that opened with such ease, not unlike the ones at his Project. Internal implants, perhaps, like the ones there, that opened the doors when someone with an encoded pass or those strange communicators neared them. "Well, you're awake! I'm Dr. Beverly Crusher." Her voice was soft, smile sweet, and Sam couldn't help but like her and this strange admiring man next to him. "How are you feeling?" "Confused and a little worried." Sam sighed, pressing back against the mattress. "I don't think you need to keep me pinned to this bed, and it's only making me more nervous then I already am." "The field was activated for your own protection, but I think we can remove it now." She quickly pressed the overhead panel, releasing the man from the field. "I'm sorry to cause you any discomfort." Her patient was handsome, she thought, and vulnerable with that strange lock of silver falling over his forehead. "Are you thinking more clearly than you were?" "Not Swiss Cheesed, I think." He glanced at Data, who's head snapped up at the strange referenece. "Where is that mirror?" "Mirror?" Beverly frowned, assisting the man from the bed. The moment he saw his reflection he knew his worst fears were realized. He was himself, and this wasn't a Leap. If that was so, he thought, a sinking feeling touching his stomach, Al and the Project were cut off from him. There would be no contact, no Ziggy, and, possibly, no Leaps ever again. "My God," he whispered, hands reaching up to stroke his cheeks, taking in the worn visage reflected in front of him. "I'm stuck here." Breaking away from the woman's grasp, he slumped back on the bed, his mind a whirl of questions. "My name is Dr. Sam Beckett. Where am I? What year is this?" "You're on a sort of...well, ship." She'd called the Captain and hoped he'd arrive soon so she'd know how much information was prudent to give this man. "As for time...as in years? Earth years?" His feeling grew worse. She spoke of the planet as ifit were one of many. "Yes, please, uh, Earth years." more to come. -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p04) Message-ID: <199305050142.AA04772@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:42:42 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 191 ~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: No Escape from Reality Part 4 ~Date: 24 Mar 1993 23:47:57 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) ~Lines: 181 Message-Id: <1oqrvd$qbl@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: thor.ins.cwru.edu Part 4 As he said the words, the doors opened again. It was the Captain, from before, a man, he sensed, of great dignity and authority. If anyone knew anything he must be the one. "Can you please help me?" Sam asked, his hands clenching at the bed, jolting away from Crusher's gently soothing motions. "We need more information on you before we give you the lay of the land, as it were. I'm Captain Jean Luc Picard. What is your name?" "I'm Dr. Sam Beckett," Sam repeated patiently, with just a touch of ire. "I don't know how I got here, and I really just want to go home. I'm involved in a Top Secret government project and that information is priveleged. Other than my name, I don't feel comfortable giving you anything else. I need a year, a place, why I'm here." "I see." Picard rocked back on his heels, studying the man on the bed. "Then we will do some checking on you, Dr. Sam Beckett. As for where you are, you are on board the starship, Enterprise." "What year?" The words were laced with desperation, glancing from face to face around him. "She said to ask in Earth years, which really is making me crazy. I"m not on Earth. Where the hell am I?" "Our designation is Earth," Picard said gently, sensing the man's true near panic state. "As for the year, it's 2553." The broad face went white, every drop of blood draining from his visage. God, how could he have leaped this far ahead of his time? Six hundred years?? What had happened? Crusher reached again to touch him, and he jerked away from her, his hands wiping across his face, apprehensively glancing from Data's worried expression to Picard. Behind his steel grey eyes he saw empathy for him; true concern for his well-being. In all the years he'd been Leaping he'd been able to only trust people by their surface, and he had to that now. "I'm from 1995," he managed. "And there's no way to send me back." "I thought you said 1985," Data reiterated. "When you first regained consciousness you said a city and the year. What I believed was a name." "Tamlyn. Yes." The memories fell together, orderly and in place. "This is very important, Dr. Beckett," Picard said sternly. "Were you travelling in time? The Guardian implied you were. That might indicate you were moving through time/space in some way." Sam's breath caught in his throat. That reference again; the Guardian. "What is this? How did I get here, damn it???!!!!" His green/hazel eyes slitted, suddenly suspicious. Picard seated himself on a chair Crusher pulled up for him. "The planet we are orbiting..." "Orbiting." Sam accepted the words as best he could. "So we're in space, right?" "Correct. On the planet is a time machine of sorts, that we call the Guardian. As we observe Earth's history through it's portal, you fell into our laps, as it were. At this point we don't know what to think, but the Guardian indicates to us that you must be sent back. We need specific information from you, where your point of origin is, and when. It's a chance, but we might be able to send you home if we have the proper information." "When?" "It might take days to pinpoint the exact point of entry, Doctor," Data said. He handed his tricorder to the man on the bed, cueing it to the images of Beckett falling through the portal, and then the speeding vision of time the Guardian presented. "At the rate time passes through it, it might take a long time to pinpoint your origin and return you to your home." He glanced at Picard for a moment. "My data implies that you came from 'between time', something which the Guardian does not cover. If this is so, you may not be able to return. Where were you the moment you 'leaped' here?" "I...don't...know!" The expressive greenish eyes betrayed Sam's fright and total confusion. Picard could see through the hesitant words. "You do know, Dr. Beckett. We can't help you if you refuse to say anything of it. You're cutting your own throat." "How can I explain it???" A headache was growling at the back of his mind, just throbbing above his eyes. It seemed to be growing worse with each question Picard asked him. "Maybe the best explanation was that I was 'between time' as he ..." He glanced at Data, smiling apologetically. "I don't know your name." "Data. I am an android." "Amazing. We'll talk, but as I was saying, I was conducting a time travel experiment. My mind was affected by the initial, well, Leap, as I call it. I've been bouncing around time for ages, I don't know exactly how long, but only in my own lifetime. You have to understand that my being here is impossible; it just can't be." "You're here, Doctor," Picard said calmly. "Please continue." "It was an experiment, using a theory I developed. Unfortuantely...it got a little out of hand, out of control. My computer wasn't moving me around after the first leap, and every indication, according to my Observer..." "Is this the 'Al' you spoke of before?" Data interjected. "Yes." Sighing, Sam dipped his head for a moment, missing his friend even more. "He guided me, in the form of a hologram. It sounds far fetched, but he told me that God was buffetting me around from place to place, helping me set right what once was wrong. I've changed lives, and caused events that changed things for the better, I hoped. This last time, I just left 1985 and was in the midst of moving through to the next...place." His eyes came up, locking with Picard's intense gaze. "When I'm between leaps, normally, there is no sensation of time, no passage of events or awareness. When I arrived here, I felt a pull, and light, wind, whatever. It hurt, my head, everything being dragged, and then..." "Your head?" Crusher gently touched the man's face, gazing into his green/gold eyes. "Are you in pain now?" "A bit." Sam said reluctantly. "It's nothing." "Nothing could be something. I'll give yoiu something for it." "Time travel--in the mid `1990's?" Picard's face was one great frown. He didn't remember that particular bit of information from his history courses at Academy. "You say this device was of your invention?" "You could say," Data interjected. "that Dr. Beckett is my sort of Great Grandfather. No offense, to you, Sir," Data said, acknowledging Beckett' startled look. "I checked his identity throiugh library records and found many references to his research. There was no indication that you actually travelled in time, but I came across an amazing coincidence. Some of the components you invented for your hybrid computer were primitive versions of the instrumentation Dr. Singh used to build my brother and I, ' "I'm pleased to hear that, but can you send me home?" Sam didn't care to hear about Ziggy now, or hybrid computers or components. He'd spilled his guts and it was their turn to play a hand in this strange game. "We'll do our best, Dr. Beckett," Picard said, rising from his chair. "Data, I want to see you in my Ready Room." The Captains eyes were a dark storm, wanting to check and recheck this man's story from top to bottom before coming to any conclusions. "I apologize for the accomodations, Dr. Beckett, but Dr. Crusher will insist you stay in her Sickbay until she decides you are fit." Beaming at her patient, with her best bedside manner in place, Crusher sat in the chair the captain vacated. "You must be very confused right now, and upset. Are you hungry?" Sam hadn't really thought about the last time he'd eaten. Dinner last night at Tamlyns, he guessed. Candlelight, silly Valentine presents, then... He shoved the memories to the back of his mind, too painfull to think about. A waste of time, actually, thinking of someone long dead and gone. Everyone was dead, even Al. "Dr. Beckett?" The green eyes came up, his expression hollow and empty. The others had left. The doctor seemed concerened. "I'm sorry. It's a lot to take at one time. I could use something to eat, if it isn't a problem." "Not at all," she replied brightly. "And you said you had a headache. I'd like to do some checks on that, if you think you're up to it." She patted his hand as his eyes grew large with alarm. "Completely painless, and will only take a few minutes. After that, I can send one of the techs for your dinner. Anything yoiu want." She didn't think Sam was quite prepared for food coming out of the wall, not yet. -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p05) Message-ID: <199305050143.AA04825@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:43:03 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 189 ~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 5 ~Date: 27 Mar 1993 16:54:32 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) ~Lines: 179 Message-Id: <1p20s8$g5m@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu Part 5 "All right, Mr. Data," Picard said, steadily gazing at his science officer across the conference table. "You did a check on our guest?" "Yes, of course, Captain." He glanced from his tricorder to his commander. "I checked all Earth records for references to Dr. Beckett. He was born in Earth year, 1953, son of John and Thelma Beckett, a child prodigy. At age two..." "I'm more interested in his later history, Data." Picard missed the input from his First Officer. Riker was currently on leave for another nine days. "You said there was no mention of time travel." "There were some indications that he was working on a theory for time exploration while attending Massachusets Institute of Technology, but none after that. Most of the information I assimilated had to do with his work with hybrid computers. Even now, on outlying bases, where there is little human contact, "Zigs' are used, for companionship where there is none to be had. A computerized 'friend' as it were. I believe the term 'Zigs' are a reference to Dr. Beckett's own computer creation, Ziggy." "You mean the 'human' computers that do everything including insult you?" The Captain grimaced. "You either love them or hate them. "Some of the Enterprises personality, computer-wise, is a branch of the Zigs. The first components were developed by Dr. Beckett. Also, his reference to 'Al'. I believe he was referring to Admiral Albert Calavicci, his partner through most of his professional life. They jointly received a Nobel Prize in 1994 for pioneer work in holography. The roots of our own holodeck were created by Admiral Calavicci and a Dr. Kevin Drayton; the Admiral also had a doctorate in physics and engineering." The Captain frowned, questions still clouding his mind. "Where does time travel come into play here? You tell of holography and computers, but no time machine?" "Sir, there was no reference to any experiments in time travel, not past his theory in college. I'm sorry." Data sighed, feeling it was a personal fault on his part that he could not find the information his commander desired. "What information did you find on his later life?" "Most interesting, Captain." Data folded his hands in front of himself on the polished table. "The records indicate that Dr. Beckett disappeared in 1995, never to be heard from again. Questions were asked, mostly by his family, but his time on Earth, as we know it, ended there." "So." Brow furrowing, Picard leaned back in his chair, talking in the newest bit of information. "He's appeared here, and we must, somehow, find a way to send him home." "Thereupon posing a problem, Captain." Data's tone turned serious. "We could send him back through the Guardian, to his own time. Unfortunately..." The door opened and Dr. Crusher entered, smoothly taking her place at the table. "Dr. Beckett has lost part of his memory, and is now suffering from some kind of neural damage. I've done tests, and it seems, the pain he's feeling is caused by the quantum energy, and something else I can't fathom. I gave him some pain medication and he's much calmer, but very upset. He has trouble remembering the simplest of information about himself. Possibly he's going through an identity crisis, being brought here under such adverse conditions, but it doesn't seem so." "He's not a clever liar, then," Picard said, eyes narrowing. "Captain, he's not lying. The monitors would show that, and they are reading normal. I asked where he lived, when he left. He could only give me a year, and the state he was living in, then, New Mexico. Other than that..." She shrugged. "And," Data added. "Who's to say that he's to return in 1995? Maybe he was destined to return later, years from then. We could alter history if we send him back at the wrong time. It's a perplexing problem, Captain, and one I'm afraid we may not be able to solve." "Is he the reason for the time displacement? Could his experiment have altered space itslef, causing the rifts, and disruption?" "I won't know that, Captain," Data replied. "Not until I take all factors under consideration and obtain more details from Dr. Beckett about the actual time machine itself." The Captain leaned forward, eyes meeting Beverly's. "Can he adjust to our time?" "He's brilliant, Jean Luc." The doctor looked confident. "I'm certain that he could not only adjust, but contribute. What I'm most concerned about is his depression. I left Councilor Troi with him so I could participate in this discussion. He's homesick, and from what I can gather, he's not been 'home' in a long, long, time. Whatever he's been doing, his entire focus seems to be riveted on one thing; that someday he'll be able to return." ********************* Sam eyed the attractive, dark haired woman that sat quietly at his bedside. Her soft, doe-like gaze unsettled him. "My name is Deanna Troi, Ships Counselor. I can sense that you are very sad, and I want to help you." "How can you 'sense' anything," Sam snapped, rolling away from her gaze. "You have no idea what I'm feeling." "I do, Dr. Beckett." She folded her hands in her lap, feeling the anger from the man mixing with the depression. "I'm not from Earth. My race is BetaZed, and we are empathic, able to feel emotions from others as if they were our own. I sense loss from you, someone quite close, that you long to see." His mind tried it's best to fill with the new information. Another planet, another race. It seemed, not only was the Earth at peace, but so was the rest of the Solar System, or Galaxy--certainly that husky security chief was from another planet, as well. Deanna Troi didn't seem threatening, or as if she was out to rip his mind open, like the doctors at Havenwell. That's what he must be to these people; an antiquity, old-fashioned and fascinating. "I just want to go home," he said softly. It was the truth, and all he felt like telling yet another stranger. "You can trust us, Sam." She smiled at the uneasy look the man gave her. "Maybe not now, but soon. Who do you miss so much?" "Al." The name left his mouth before he could think about it, almost as if she'd willed it from him. "My friend," he continued, turning onto his back. "We haven't seen each other for a while now." "I sense that you have a dependency on him, Sam. You have difficulty focusing without his presence. That must put a great deal of stress on him." "What the hell do you know about it?" Sam bristled, sitting up in the bed. "He's always there for me, and I need him to do...what I have to do." "And what do you feel you have to do, Sam?" Her patronizing, or what seemed that way, tone was bridling Sam's nerves. "I don't know, damn it," he snapped. "Whatever is needed, I guess." His eyes spat green flame. "And what do you need to do? Are you some kind of psychiatrist?" His memory recalled another therapist like this one, asking soothing questions, a fan turning above him, drawing out another's personality. Since then, he'd not trusted or like the type, with the exception of his few warm memories of Verbena Beeks. She'd never tried to psychoanalyze him, or try to turn his mind inside out. "I'm the ships coucelor, Sam. I hold many degrees, but usually I just talk, and try to draw the pain from others. You are so sad, and scared. Dr. Crusher thought that maybe I could help you adjust to this new situation." "I've spent the past few years adjusting quite nicely to new situations, and I don't need you or anyone else trying to soothe me." He sighed. "I'm sorry if I sound less than myself, but I'm just a little...messed up right now. As far as being dependent on anyone, I don't need that thrown in my face. The very things that are dearest to me are three hundred years in the past. It doesn't look like I'll be able to return and as far as adjusting to this, it's going to take more than your abilities." He shut his eyes, his mouth tightening. "I'd rather talk tothe android--Data. He's the only one here who doesn't treat me like a test subject--or a liar." "You think that's the way I'm treating you? Of course, not. I'm just quite concerned. No, I don't know you very well, but just by talking to me you might feel better." A tear slowly fell down Sam's face, dripping down on the Fermi suit he wore. He swallowed, not attempting to wipe the wetness away. He could feel himself building to a real emotional outburst and he didn't want this woman to see it. "Just go away," he managed, turning away from her. Deanna's soul cried out for the lonely man, wishing she could do more, but finding the door to his emotions close firmly against her. She stood and left the room, giving Sam his privacy and hoping that later he'd want to give her some of his grief. -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p06) Message-ID: <199305050143.AA04856@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:43:24 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 114 ~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: No Escape from Reality Part 6 ~Date: 1 Apr 1993 01:03:32 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) ~Lines: 104 Message-Id: <1pdf14$ort@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu Part 6 Admiral Albert Calavicci tore through the rooms of the Project, his rage apparent to the other personnel scattering out of his furious path. He entered the Control Room, facing Gooshie withone of the blistering looks normally reserved for stuffy Pentagon types who hadn't learned the lay of the land. "I got your message," he growled. "What do you mean by 'he's gone'?" The little programmer moved behind the panel in a vain attempt to protect himself from the Admiral's wrath. "We've been doing routine checks through the usual pathways and there's no sign of Dr. Beckett's implant signal. Ziggy..." "Ziggy." Al turned to face the ceiling, and the bluish monitor that softly hummed with power. "Where's Sam?" I CANNOT FIND HIM, ADMIRAL. THIS IS THE LONGEST HE'S GONE WITHOUT LEAPING INTO A SPECIFIC TIME. I'VE BEEN DOING THE SYSTEM CHECKS AND HE'S SIMPLY DISAPPEARED. THERE IS NO INDICATION THAT HE EXISTS IN ANY TIMELINE, ANYWHERE. THERE WAS A FLUX IN THE FLOW A WEEK AGO, AND I ACCERTAINED THAT IT WAS NOT ABNORMAL, BUT NOTHING SINCE THEN. I MAY HAVE MADE A WRONG DECISION, AND NOW HE IS GONE. The computer's voice took on a very worried tone. USUALLY, DR. BECKETT'S ESSENCE IS PRESENT IN FIVE TO SIX DAYS, SOMEWHERE IN HIS OWN LIFETIME. SO STRANGE THIS TIME, THAT HE HAS NOT APPEARED, NOR IS HIS IMPLANT DETECTABLE. "Can you track Dr. Beckett between leaps?" IS THIS A TRICK QUESTION? I CAN TELL YOU THAT I CAN TO A DEGREE. THERE IS ALWAYS A MARGINAL SIGNAL, BUT NOW, NOTHING. I AM VERY CONCERNED, ADMIRAL. "So am I, Ziggy, so am I." Al brushed his hand through his short, curly hair, avoiding the wide blue eyes of Gooshie looking to him for answers. He turned to the programmer, knowing anger and demands would get him nowhere. "Is there something I can do to assist? We have to find the kid, Goosh." "I've been doing all the checks, everything that usually works. The entire Project is on it. All we can dois check again and wait another twenty-four hours. If there's nothing after this one..." His mustache drooped as his expression darkened. "We might assume that Dr. Beckett has..." "Don't say it," Al snapped. "Damn it, I'm not going to let taht bastard take him, not yet." His temper got the best of him. "Find him, or I'm going to take this place apart until we do." ADMIRAL, I DON'T BELIEVE THAT WOULD ASSIST DR. BECKETT... "Starting with this damn computer!" He stormed out of the room, wishing he could slam the door behind him. Instead he stalked out of the Project to the break area; tables, hot wind blowing off the desert, a place he went when he wanted out and away. Damn it, Sam Beckett couldn't die, not this way. He lit a cigar, not soothing his nerves or energy a bit. They hadn't even said goodbye, not really. "I heard there was a thunderstorm passing through." Al glanced behind him. Verbena, of course, always on his butt when he lost his temper. "Not a cloud in the sky." "I meant _you_." "What happened?" he asked, turning his back to her. "Gooshie tattle again?" "He's doing his best, Al." The attractive psychiatrist rubbed the Admiral's rock hard shoulders, feeling the tension there. "You need to relax and realize that things like this will happen. Before too long you'll be complaining about that long elevator ride down to the Imaging Chamber and all the ensuing madness that another Leap brings us. Maybe he's even on his way home." "No." Al shook his head, shrugging away from her comforting hands. "This feels...strange. Not normal, not this time. I've got this feeling, and it's biting my butt. He's in trouble, and we can't do a thing about it. I even went down to the Imaging Chamber to see if I could center on him and there was nothing in there but a whole lot of white. I hate that place." "I'll buy you some dinner, a really good steak, and maybe a drink or two." The dark eyes softened, tempted by her offer. "Thanks, but no thanks, 'Bena. I don't want to leave. If he should come home he'll want me here. I can't take a chance that I'll miss that." The psychiatrist nodded in agreement. "I'll be here if you need to talk." "Thanks, and I might take you up on that--later." Al sat at the table, staring across the expanse of desert, not really seeing it. He heard the door shut behind Beeks and sighed. She tried her best with him, but, at times, he must frustrate the hellout of her patient soul. All he really wanted now was to see Sam Beckett across this table, like so many years before, looking pensive and preoccupied, but here, and alive. Damn it all, he wanted him home. more to come--happy birthday, Marsh! -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p07) Message-ID: <199305050143.AA04896@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:43:46 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 118 ~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 7 ~Date: 2 Apr 1993 22:52:06 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) ~Lines: 108 Message-Id: <1pig2m$7rk@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu Part 7 Sam gave into the tears that fought for prominence and felt somewhat better afterwards. He silently thanked the others for leaving him alone with his emotions, giving him a gracious amount of time to sort through the many facats of this new Leap. Well, he was himself, for once. His reflection frowned back at him. You look a little older, he thought to himself, and a lot confused and unhappy. Taking a deep breath, he settled on the bed, biting his lower lip. Okay, he was here, not home, and he had to think practical thoughts, about how he could return to the Project, and get more information about this Guardian that had seemingly dragged him here in the first place. "Dr. Beckett?" His head came up as the one named Data, formerlly called 'Yellow Eyes', entered the room. "I hope you do not mind, but I thought you needed the company." He sat down by the bed, his face reflecting his own sorrow. "I am sorry about not being able to give you instant answers. Councelor Troi said you seemed to like to spend time with me, and I will do everything in my power to help you feel comfortable here." "Thank you, but what I really want is to figure out how to get me home." "We are using our computer to analyze the tricorder recordings from the Guardian. We need more information about possible changes that may incur should we send you back at an incorrect time. It is not just a doorway, but a fast moving one. We may be able to calculate the precise moment you arrived, but if we send you through then you may find yourself in a place you do not belong. Can you tell me how you travelled, what means you used? Was it a mechanical contrivance?" Sam knew his silenc about his Project was only complicating matters. "Initially, I used a device called the Quantum Accelerator." He sighed, trying with great difficulty to remember the details of his own experiment. "Everything's a little fuzzy. I wish Al was here to explain things, but..." "We know of Admiral Calavicci. He made his place in history also." "He was ... my partner. We built the Project together. Was there any reference to it in your records?" "No, none at all. It seems it was so deeply classified that even three hundred years later there are no signs that it even existed." "It was a government project. Quantum Leap. I used the accelerator, or so I'm told, because funding was about to be cut. I had to prove my theories or lose everything." He thought back on everything Al had ever told him of the past, those days before he Leaped. "When I used the Accelerator, I lost my memory, couldn't even remember my name. Al had to remind me--he was in the form of a hologram, tuned to my maisons and neurons. He's back at the Project in a place we called the Imaging Chamber. As a hologram he appears to me and guides me along when I need information." "You initially leaped then..." Data frowned. "You said that an omnipotent being is propelling you through time?" "I don't know howto explain this, Data." Sam started to smile. How could he tell anyone besides Al and Gooshie this strange theory? "We figured God is moving me around, so I can change things, set right wrongs." For an android Data was very animated, exactly human. He continued, giving his companion examples; his very first look in a mirror after leaping into Tom Stratton, citing situations he'd found himself in. "My whole theory is centered around me leaping within my own lifetime. I don't know how I ended up here except that something interrupted my Leap and tossed me into your time. All I do know is that I want to get back, and it seems that..." "I'm sorry, Dr. Beckett. We will do the best we can to return you to your time, but I can't make promises. I am learning from each new experience, as you are, and I still do not quite understand how 'God' could be propelling you through Time. _You_ are not in control?" "Sorry to interrupt this conversation." Beverly entered, glancing from one sober face to the other. "I just wanted to let Dr. Beckett know that Captain Picard has allowed him limited access to ship facilities. You're probably sick to death of Sickbay by now, and we've had quarters prepared for you, and a change of clothes. You have to make me a promise, though." "Which is?" "If those headaches worsen, you'll let me know." The pain was almost gone, just a dull ache now. Whatever medication she'd given him had done the trick, and without nasty side effects. "I appreciate your concern, but I could really use some quiet time alone." "I think that can be arranged," Crusher said. "Counselor Troi would like to speak to you again, if it's not a problem." "No offense," Sam said quickly. "I'd rather not. She makes me...uneasy and a little nervous. Frankly, if I need to talk to anyone, I'll talk to myself...or Data, here." His smile was tight, eyes small, thinking of Al, and longing really to talk only to him. "Sometimes that's the only way I can get through things," he continued. "Alone." Part 8 to come -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p08) Message-ID: <199305050144.AA04931@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:44:07 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 132 ~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 8 ~Date: 3 Apr 1993 18:08:54 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) ~Lines: 122 Message-Id: <1pkjrm$4ni@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu Part 8 Twenty four hours passed, Al biting his nails and trying to stay out of Gooshies way. He spent most of his time in his office, waiting for world of Sam's return. A knock at the door made his head rise hopefully. The programmers face was hardened into stricken lines. "I'm sorry, Admiral," he began. "Don't say it," Al cut in. "He's not dead." "We can't find him. If we checked further, it would be useless. You can verify our readings, every aspect of the search, and you'll find nothing. God, I wish it wasn't so, but..." "Thank you, Gooshie." Al's voice was soft and dark, hiding his inner fears. "Get some sleep. You look like you could use it." "Im so sorry, Admiral." "Okay, just...go." Al locked the door behind the man, and went to his liquor cabinet. The first drink went down, then, another. It had been years since he'd consumed the stuff, in deference to certain promises he'd made. Before he realized it, he'd drained the half bottle of harsh whiskey, and started on a second one. Shot after shot downed, a burning trail to try to cloud his mind against the reality of what he must face now. Sam Beckett had succeeded in proving his theory...and died without even coming home. He'd lost the only friend he'd ever had that treated him with respect not kissing his butt, or wincing in fear when his temper flared. They d spent more time clearing the air with wingbang arguements then they did patronizing each other. Christ, he missed those days, working with the kid, pouring every bit of living blood into the Project. Sam's "Feed me Ziggy," programming the computer, with Al giving him information until his voice broke, giving out the numbers and words in a harsh whisper until both men collapsed with exhaustion. The liquor numbed, but did not kill the fire that built in him. There had to be something else he could do, to find Sam and return him to where he belonged. He staggared from the office and down the empty halls of eh Project. The walls echoed silence, almost a funeral atmosphere, the place nearly empty of activity. Most of the techs had gone home after their fruitless search, or to their quarters. The door to Control opened silently in front of him and Al staggared into the nerve center, taking another swallow from the bottle he held. Computer paper littered the floor. Obviously, the janitor was occupied elsewhere, or had been ordered out. Even Ziggy was silent, probably upset at the fact that it had failed to find it's creator. His vision fuzzy from the amount of drink he'd downed, he glanced over the printouts, read what seemed to be a finality. There wasn't any indication that Sam Beckett lived out there, not on these sheafs of computer paper, not a blip, just flat lines that indicated timeflow and nothing more. "Something. Nothing." Al hurled the empty bottle against the wall, causing Ziggy's dome to blink once, but no sound. Glass shattered, drops of liquor staining the immaculate whiteness. An insane idea was building in his mind, caused by the alcohol or maybe just desperation. In an hour, perhaps less, the place would be busy again, techs, office personnel, and others that would prevent him from carrying out his plan. "Ziggy?" Silence greeted his query. "Ziggy, damn it, talk to me or so help me God, I'll rip you apart!" HELLO, ADMIRAL. I'M VERY DEPRESSED RIGHT NOW. PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE. "I don't give a dan about your emotional state! Help me find Sam, you pile of nuts and bolts!" He moved behind the panel, remembering easily, even with his booze numbed brain, the proper sequence he had to feed into the computer. "I'm going in after him!" ADMIRAL, THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE. I WON'T ALLOW IT. Red faced with anger, Al looked up at the computer, his dark eyes narrowing into slits. "Sam goes, you go, too. The U.S. Government takes charge. I'm not covering your butt, so either you help me out, or we're both out of a job." He straightened, hands on hips. "Are you with me, or am I on my own here?" I DON'T WANT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR DEATH, TOO, ADMIRAL. IF BOTH YOU AND DR. BECKETT SHOULD BE LOST.... "I'm telling you he's not dead." Al worked the panel. "I will bring him back." EVERY INDICATION... "I don't care!" He roared the words upward, keeping his eyes on the settings. "I'm not leaving him out there alone. Now, power up, and get that damn thing ready, because I'm going in after him!" AS YOU WISH, ADMIRAL. WHEN DR. BECKETT INITIALLY LEAPED, I COULD NOT SEND HIM TO A SET POINT, BUT DR. GOOSHE HAS WORKED ON THE PROBLEM. I HAVE THE APPROXIMATE POINT WHERE DR. BECKETT SEEMINGLY DISAPPEARED. IF YOU WISH, I WILL DIRECTIONALIZE YOU TO THAT PLACE, BUT I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOUR SAFE RETURN. "Do it, Ziggy!" He thought briefly about changing into a fermisuit, and disregarded the thought as unnecessary and time consuming. Everything was set, and the low thrum of the powering up was beginning to vibrate the very walls. "One more thing--seal this place off, keep people out. I don't want any outside interference!" YES, ADMIRAL. The computer's voice was a little sad, and very worried. I HOPE YOU DO FIND HIM! The door to the Accelerator chamber slid open and Al entered the small room, running to take his place on the platform that had once carried Sam away. Mist and steam rose as the blue light wrapped around him. //God,// he thought, as he felt the first tingling sensation of teh Leap. //I hope I remembered my cigars!// more to come.... -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p09) Message-ID: <199305050144.AA04990@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:44:29 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 130 ~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 9 ~Date: 4 Apr 1993 21:22:55 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) ~Lines: 120 Message-Id: <1pnjjf$brv@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu Part 9 Using the sonic shower was another new experience Sam hadn't expected. Of course, it was practical, considering how difficult it would be to carry enough water to bathe the amount of people he guessed was on the ship. His journey to his new quarters had been carefully monitored, security outside his door, not allowing him more than a minor peek at what seemed more interesting parts of the ship. Adding to his apprehension was the periodic jolts that the Enterprise was taking, sudden bumps. With each one came the headache bursts again, but he avoided telling Crusher of them. The Captain had explained about the turbulent disturbance that surrounded the planet and it's effect on their smooth course. Scientific curiousity was getting the better of his depression, forcing him to think past the darkness that clouded his mind. Here he was, in the 24th Century, with all this new technology to investigate and he was cooped up in a suite of rooms, expected to stay put until further notice. The outfit they gave him was much like the uniforms the others wore, except his communicator didn't seem to work. He decided it was no more than a tracking device and he couldn't detach it from the strange material. It was soft, yet crisp, and quite comfortable. Not quite as snug as the fermisuit, which he had folded and tucked carefully in the dresser. There was a small monitor on the table in the central room, and a port, or screen that showed some kind of holographic display. This wasn't Captain Galaxy; certainly it wasn't a 'window'. The scene beyond the port he watched with wonder, planets and stars, differenet constellations, some he didn't recognize or remember. Holography he mused, or video of some kind. His shoulders sagged as he gazed at the pretty picture, realizing, with finality, how far he was from home. The door chimed, and Sam frowned as it opened automatically. Apparently, his privacy wasn't a priority. He turned to greet his guest with a touch of ire. Captain Picard was not big on his list of people he could allow himself to trust, not yet. "What can I do for you, Captain?" "It took some doing, but we found the information on your Project. Someone took great pains to protect you, and your work. Most of the details are missing, but not the facts. There were only fragments, and bits of paperwork, but more than you can expect after six hundred years. It was enough to convince me that you are no liar. Data told me some of what you said, but felt uncomfortable giving up confidences. I don't expect you to immediately speak to me of what you've gone through, but it may help me to understand more of how you came to be here. Be assured, I want what you want." "What can I do? You have me in here, secured, and held." Sam shivered, even though the room was perfectly warm. "If I could work with Data, maybe I could find something he can't. You understand my abilities. "I'm not sure about that Dr. Beckett." Picard returned to the door, hesitating as it opened. "I'll take your assistance under consideration. The monitor is programmed to give you simple shipboard information. If you require anything, inform security. This is for your own protection. You must understand," he added, a touch of sympathy in his voice. "If we managed to send you home you must know as little of our time as possible." As the door slipped shut, Sam accepted the explanation of his confinement rationally, then went to the computer. Data had given him simple instructions on how to voice activate the instrument. What did you say to a 24th Century computer? Did it have a name? "Computer..." he began. MAY I ASSIST YOU, DR. BECKETT? WHAT DO YOU REQUIRE? The voice wasn't Ziggy's, perhaps more human, but not by much. Definetly female, with a peculiar warmth. What he wanted was a keyboard or something more his style than just speaking at a monitor. He felt distanced and unweildly. "I'm not sure how to work this device--uh, You. Is it possible for me to have a keyboard of some kind to use to communicate?" ARCHAIC, BUT I CAN ASSIST. The front of the desk neatly materialized into a standard laptop of 20th century design. I CAN GIVE YOU THIS, ALTHOUGH IT IS UNSOPHISTICATED. "I'll learn the new ways soon enough," Sam said, meaning it. Cracking his knuckles, he didn't care what the computer thought of his use of the old keyboard. He had access and he'd manage, somehow, to get the information that he needed. A smile touched his face for the first time since his arrival, his hands playing across the keys. They had no idea what he was capable of; a secured computer was his playground. ************************* The security guards on the planet were making their checks, more frequent since the unexpected vistor. Since Beckett's arrival, the Guardian was completely quiet, never coming into being unless directly asked. Therefore, it was more than a surprise to the security personnell to hear the Voice, without motivation, speak. THE OBSERVER HAS ARRIVED. Once again, a stranger flopped out of the oval, landing on his feet like a cat. He straightened, dark eyes slowly travelling from feet, to knees, to, finally, the scowling visage of Worf, Chief of Security, temporarily in charge of security on the planet's surface. Without losing a beat, Al pulled a cigar from his slightly singed jacket, burned by the Accelerator and his journey. "Take me to your Leader," he quipped, attempting a cocky pose in the face of the baffled security personnell. As the other security guards held their phasers on Al, Worf called up to the Enterprise. "Captain," he said, his eyes not leaving his prisoner for a moment. "We have another problem." His eyes raked the smaller man, lip curling at the outright arrogance that oozed from him. Al glanced around at the impassive security men surrounding him. "Any of you guys got a light?" he asked, waving his frayed cigar. More to come... -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p10) Message-ID: <199305050144.AA05029@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:44:50 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 160 ~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 10 ~Date: 7 Apr 1993 23:52:29 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) ~Lines: 150 Message-Id: <1pvpft$8sm@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: thor.ins.cwru.edu Part 10 (of 17!) Awakened from the first decent night's sleep he'd managed since they'd arived at the Guardian planet, Picard was not in the best of moods. If his security chief requested his presence and told him they had a prisoner, God only knew what was in store for them now. The landing party and most of the security team had beamed up with their new 'guest', who seemed nonplussed by the entire process. Resplendent in his scarlet jacket and bright red slacks, mirrored tie partially hanging, but intact, he was a sight and a half for Picard's eyes. The Captain approached the man cautiously, glancing over at Worf for explanation. "He came through the portal." His voice was indignent, as if offended by the entire incident. "Like the other one." Al's eyebrows lifted slightly at the words, but he allowed no other outward sign to reach his expression. Sam was here! He rejoiced inwardly, thanking Ziggy for hitting the target. The tall bald guy seemed to be the one in charge. Striding over to the oddly dressed little man, Picard placed his hands onhis hips, towering over his new arrival. "What is your name and how did you manage to arrive here?" Casually, almost insolently, Al removed the cigar from his lips. "Admiral Albert Calavicci," he answered, his voice and tone flat and emotionless. "United States Navy, Serial Number two, six, one, five, one, four, five, three, three." "I asked you a direct question. How did you arrive here?" Wide brown eyes met cold and furious grey ones, Al's smooth gaze infuriating. The Admiral almost smiled, but not quite. "It was the most amazing thing. I was standing there and tapped my heels together three times, saying 'there's no place like home, there's no place like home..." He glanced at Worf and then back to the Captain. "Then, Whammo, I'm in Munchkinland. Are you the Wizard--or Glinda?" The Captain's color went from dead white to deep burgendy. Turning on his heel, he strode back to Worf. "Keep him here, for the time being. Question him, if you can stand it." "Hey--Baldy?" The Captain stiffened, bristling at the out and out insult. "Can I kill him now, Sir?" Worf suggested. Tempted by his Security Officer's words, the Captain untensed, not wanting his crew to see him in such an agitated state. He turned back tot he 'Admiral', bending slightly, delicatley trading one insult for another without words. "Can I help you?" "You have a light?" Al waved his cigar in the air. "I really could use one." "I'll see to it. You will remain here, with Lt. Worf. I shall return shortly." "Is this a Navy vessel?" Al tilted his chin up as he spoke, his bearing belying his crazy quilt clothes and attitude. "If it is, and this is what I think it _all_ is...and you're the ranking officer...I outrank _you_." "I hardly think so." Picard had enough of the man for the moment. Right now all he wanted was to interrogate Beckett and delve more into the history of their new guest. His personal communicator beeped insistantly, and Picard turned away from the squad and prisoner, answering the call. "Captain here." "Prescott, Sir. Our visitor has escaped." Picard felt the blood drain from his face. Glancing back he was reassured that this Admiral whatever his name was had not heard the guards words. "Keep this quiet, Lieutenant," he said, keeping his voice modulated. "Find that man." ******************* Sam Beckett had managed to distract the guards, after figuring out different and sundry codes that were common usage on the Enterprise computer. What he thought would take hours, took only a matter of minutes, and he was surprised at the ease of brushing past the instructional programs they had left for him. Once past the first hurdle, he assayed the Enterprises layout, memorizing those areas that he thought were near or around his quarters. When he moved past that point he disrupted power to some strategic areas, confident that he would not be discovered as the sabouteur until he'd escaped. The security alarms went off obediantly as he hit the proper keys, ignoring the 'eyes only' features, and cutting to the chase. He actually giggled giggled like a little kid at the ease of it all, then, shut down the monitor and left the quarters to further explore the ship on foot. ************** Picard explained the situation to his Security Chief and Worf went out to hunt down Beckett. Sighing, the Captain returned to the newest addition, knowing hemust be the one to interrogate him, now that Worf had otehr duties. "How did you get here?" "Admiral Albert Calavicci," Al repeated patiently, frowning at his unlit cigar. He really needed a smoke. "Serial number..." "Answer my question!" "Admiral Albert Calavicci, U.S. Navy." He grinned beguilingly. "Serial Number two, six, one, five, one, four, five, three, three." "I know who you are, Admiral!" Picard barely kept his roar in check. "How did you arrive and fell through the Guardian?? I demand an answer!" "Admiral...Albert...Calavicci." He said the words delicately, amused at the interesting change in this man's coloration. "U.S....Navy. Serial Number..." "Perhaps we should change tacts," Picard said, through gritted teeth. "My name is Captain Jean Luc Picard, Captain of this ship, the Enterprise." "Fancy that," Al replied, waiting for the man to continue. "My patience is wearing thin...Admiral. We have ways of interrogation that are not that unpleasant, but do achieve results." "Bluffs don't work with me." A dark eyebrow arched over suddenly dangerous dark eyes. "I've been tortured by the best; it didn't work then, and it won't work now. You'll get name, rank, and serial number, and that's it, Amigo. Loose lips sink ships, y'know." Pursing his lips, Picard steered away from his prisoner, that lingering headache growing suddenly worse. He almost would have preferred if this man had arrived here in the same state as Beckett; unconscious. Al patted his pockets, finally finding the desired item and lighting up his cigar, puffing it into being. There, he felt more human already! It was actually kind of fun to watch the Captain lose his temper, but knew easily when to stop. He hadn't gotten the postion he was in by being a gullible fool who lost his temper easily. If he told himself he wasn't scared, he'd be a liar. What had Sam gotten himself into this time?? more to come... -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p11) Message-ID: <199305050145.AA05049@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:45:11 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 155 ~From: eah4@po.CWRU.Edu (Elizabeth A. Hlabse) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: No Escape from Reality Part 11 ~Date: 12 Apr 1993 21:58:27 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA) ~Lines: 144 Message-Id: <1qcom3$qnh@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> ~Reply-To: eah4@po.CWRU.Edu (Elizabeth A. Hlabse) Nntp-Posting-Host: slc12.ins.cwru.edu I'm posting this for Terri who had problems with the net and other things. You'll get your regular poster with part 12. Part 11 Hugging the walls, ducking into doorways, Sam managed to avoid the security guards that were working the search pattern, trying, he knew well, to find him. He knew the ship, his mind obediantly showing him the blueprints he'd memorized. Back in his quarters, he'd managed to rip off the tracking device, and hoped there wasn't something sewn into his clothes that would assist them in their search. Crounching on the ladder of one of the gangways, he hovered upwards. He had no preconcievied notions that he'd be able to somehow get down to the planet; certainly they could prevent that, but he wanted access to the ship, and to discover where he wsa and if it was all they said. Trust was something he'd learned you could accept initially, but only after exploring all options. Plus the fact being out here, pursued by security and God knew what else sure as hell beat sitting on his duff waiting for nothing but self-pity rushes. Landing on his feet, he found himself two decks below where he'd initially started. Fortunately, security hadn't found it's way here, not yet. Voices, of children? Startled, he slid into a doorway, watching as a group of kids and adults went by him, too occupied in their conversation to notice him. What were children doing up here, he wondered? Did this Federation allow crewmembers to bring thier families with them while on duty in space? It seemed practical, and good for morale, he thought. Right now he was more occupied with finding a place to hide and think things through then with the many intricies of shipboard life. "You can't run away, you know." Holding his breath for a moment, Sam peered around the corner of the doorway at the woman speaking to him. She stood there calmly, arms crossed over her chest, her face, wise, eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. A soft hat rested over her long, thick, hair. His first impulse was to run, but something held him there, fascinated and annoyed at the same time. "I don't see what the problem is, Sam." She smiled at the look he gave her. "Oh, I know your name, and that you're pretty shook up by all this." One warm, brown hand touched his arm, gently guiding hm from is hiding place. "My name is Guinan. Let's go down to my place and talk." "You're not going to turn me in?" "Not unless you want me to, although I think it would be the right idea." Her voice was warmly conversational, as if they were old and dear friends. "You know, the Captain isn't a bad guy, nobody is, except maybe Worf, but that's his job. They aren't kidding when they say they want the best for you. Not only that but aside from yoiu, they have a lot more on thier minds. You really caused a lot of problems with this amateur trick you pulled." "Amateur..." Sam felt himself bristle slightly, not sure what she meant or what she was referring to. "You'd better explain that, because I'm about to take offense." "No reason you should and all explanations in good time." She glanced behind her, then reached and took his hand. His grip was a little tight, but nothing she couldn't handle. "We'd better take this discussion down the corridor or we'll be interrupted." The handsome, vulnerable face in front of her still looked uncertain. "C'mon, Sam," she coaxed. "I'll make you a drink, a little talk, and answer a few questions. It won't hurt, I promise." It was almost a relief to allow the woman to lead him down the corridor and into what seemed to be a bar or lounge of sorts. Even better, he noted, was that she locked the door behind them, not to keep hm from escaping, but to keep out unwelcome security types. "I hear you like tea," she said, standing behind the bar as he sat down on one of the stools. "Name your poisen; Earl Grey, orange spice. The skies the limit." "Orange, I guess," Sam managed, feeling his heart begin to slowly return to a more moderate rythum. "Is this your job here? Sort of a bartender? "Among other things." She took the steaming cup of tea from the wall dispenser and set it in front of the man. "I'm a listener, a mover and a shaker. I also keep my ear to crew gossip. You travel in time, not by your own choice, and you're from the 20th Century. Always liked that particular time; the way things changed so quickly, all the slang, the music. I know a lot about you, Sam Beckett." The tea was strong and sweet, and he wondered briefly how Guinan knew he liked it that way. "What else do you know about me? he asked, between sips. Her smile was mysterious and Mona Lisa-like. "You have a sister and a brother, both of whom you haven't seen for some time. And your mother, too, of course. A nice family. You hold lots of degrees, in many fields, which impresses me, and you spent a good part of your life building a time machine." "How did yoiu know all this?" For some reason, Sam didn't feel odd hearing her say things he'd not told other members of the crew. "Do you have access to my records, too?" "It must seem to you that everyone here wants to dissect yoiur mind, and I'm not that type. You fascinate me. I've been wanting to speak to yoiu since you arrived. And it's not idle curiousity, no, none of that. I like you. You're one of the most completely unselfish people I've ever met. You think first of the other guy, and not yourself. For a 20th Century male, that's pretty fantastic." "You don't know how much I really want to be selfish! Even though I was brought here against any of the laws I've encountered previously, out of my own lifetime, and even into space itself, which I never thought was possible, I have this feeling I'm here to do something, to help someone. I want to ignore that part of me that says I have to stay here and do soemthing. You dont' know what it's like to travel without direction, hopping in somewhere, then leaving the moment you feel like you're getting used to the situation, and then, falling back into some other situation. "Oh, I think I know very well." She leaned on the bar, cradling her head on her arms as she looked up at Sam. "I'm going to tell you one of my deep dark secrets, something no one here knows, but I think a few suspect. I'm a time traveller, too." She smiled at her companion knowingly. "I've been doing it, well, for longer than I care to mention. You might say I've got someone out to get me, eventually, but I'm safe here, for now. My sitaution varies from yours becasue I can stay somewhere as long as I like." She grinned again, wrinkling her nose as she did so, like a playful child. "And I really like this gig, too, Sam. You'll grow to like it, too." "I...I'm not sure if I want to like it." The physcists face was downcast, thinking again of his friends and all the work he'd left behind that was still to be completed. "My hope is that i'm not going to be arond long enough to adjust to all...this." His hand waved in a general way, taking in the room around them, the ship. MOre to come... my fingers have died. QL Last Episode spoiler in sig. Proceed at your own risk. -- Beth Hlabse eah4@po.CWRU.Edu Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig (GO SCIFI) ______________________________________________________________________________ SPOILER! Al's Place: Where Leapers can be themselves! SPOILER! Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p12) Message-ID: <199305050145.AA05093@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:45:33 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 222 ~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 12 ~Date: 14 Apr 1993 21:22:38 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) ~Lines: 212 Message-Id: <1qhvau$ftq@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu "Why did you escape?" Her tone became curious, not interrogating. "I don't like being confined, in any way," he snapped. "There was all this to explore, and try to find a way back, and I was wasting my time sitting in that room, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was as if they were taking my own life out of my hands. I'm myself now, not another person, and I need to look after my own interests." "Straight and to the point, and I'm sure Captain Picard will understand. You really should turn yourself in." "Why haven't you called security? You could, you know." Sam's right index finger played along the rim of the china cup, or what appeared to be china, wondering what her answer would be to that question. "Well, I thought you needed someone you can trust, and I'm that somebody. Sure, no one's out to get you, friend. Not anyone on this ship. I"m not going to turn you in; you'll have to do that yourself, make your own decisions. I have a feeling it's been some time since you've been able to do that." "You remind me of Al," Sam said wistfully. "He's never one to back me into a corner on making up my mind. Well, sometimes, but not often." "Al. Oh, you mean the Admiral." She smiled again, that all-knowing grin. "You must really miss that guy. He was your Observer, right?" "More than that," Sam answered, voice breaking just a bit. It was still difficult to speak of his partner. "He was my friend, my best friend, and we always work well together. I'm still fuzzy on a lot of stuff, but I know we've been together for a long, long time. Before...this...there was something called Starbright, a project...like this one..." "You're forgetting a lot of things, aren't you?" A trifle concerned, she leaned down to look into the hazel eyes. "Is it getting worse or is this normal?" "Worse, I think." His fingers came up to touch his forehead, frowning. The headache was back, full force, almost blinding him for a moment, then fading. "It's all becoming hazy; the Leap, initially, when I began, all the details of the past ones... like a fade out at the end of a movie. I can still remember Al," he added firmly. "I won't forget him, or all the things he's done for me. I've never really thanked him for what he's done, and now..." His shoulders squared, forcing away the depression that threatened. "I've always had an insatiable curiousity about everything, how it works, and why. Locking me up in that room only made it worse." "So you played around with the computer until you distracted security and went out into the ship. Good for you. If anything, that will convince the Captain that you are who you say you are, even if he's catered thoughts that you were a bald faced liar." "How do you know that?" "We talk." She took his cup and saucer, dumping them neatly into the disposall. "I admire him. He's a good Captain, very just and right in his way. Sometimes I don't understand him, but I do think he'sthe very best, and you will, too, in time. Now," she added, turning back to him. "I really think you ought to turn yourself in. I'll go with yoiu, get you over the rough spots, but I'm sure the Captain is very worried about you right now." "I don't know." Sam shook his head, not wanting to be dumped unceremoniously in his quarters again with no computer and twice the security, which e was sure would occur. "I really want to find out how I can activate this Guardian and ask it some questions." "Not a good idea. See, it's pretty powerful, more than _they_ know. You and I respect that, or you will once you understand the situation. It's not just a time portal, it's the center of Time itself. All the waves of space displacement, oddly enough, occur here, over this planet. You'll know what to do in good time. I've got a lot on the ball here, and I know what I'm talking about." Settling her hand over his, she gave him that curious grin again, winking once. "As for your friend... you'll see him again." "How do you know that?" "I just do, Sam Beckett. Just like I know about your brother Tom, and what happened between you both, and how you said goodbye to your father. At one time you thought you'd never see him again, but you did." She placed a finger over Sam's lips, halting the questions she knew he'd ask. "I can't tell you anything more, about how I know, or what I've known of you many years ago. We're old friends, you and I." "I sense that." Sam held her hand tightly, bringing it down from his mouth. "I don't know how, but I do. And I trust you. Will you really come with me if I turn myself in?" "I want you to do that, establish some trust with them. They need you, Sam. I'll talk to the Captain." Her expression was almost motherly, protective. "You'll have more access to the ship. I don't think there will be anything for him to worry about. You do know how to keep secrets, and if we do send you back I have a feeling you won't remember enough about us to change the universe as we know it." She touched the side of his face, fingers gliding for a moment against his smooth cheek. "You have a lot to do, Sam. Not in our time, not now." She straightened, coming around the bar. "Now, let's go see Jean Luc. I'm sure he's going out of his mind about now." **************** The Captain had ordered proceedings to move to his ready room. If he had more hair it would have been torn out from impatience. The 'Admiral's' annoying confidence tightened each nerve in his body, difficult to keep his anger in check. He paced the ready room now, gazing icily at the wildly dressed man. Al sat at the end of the table, seemingly ignoring the Captain's scrutiny, leg crossing over the other, puffing merrily away at what was left of his cigar. When Data arrived it was almost a relief. Picard took the android aside, far out of earshot of the other man. "What did you find about this man?" "Not much more than I discovered earlier, Captain." Data's expression was impassive. "With the addition of one thing." He glance over at the stranger for a moment, keeping his voice a match for Picard's low tone. "In the original history, that I told you a day ago, Admiral Calavicci died of natural causes in Earth year 2028." "Why don't I remember that?" "Because that was yesterday, before the Admiral arrived here, in our time. Now, after the timeline was changed, the history shows that Admiral Calavicci disappeared in 1999--never to be seen again. I might add there are many references to Project Quantum Leap available to us, but the personal information about Dr. Beckett's accomplishments are gone from the record. Previously, I assumed the Admiral protected Dr. Beckett by deleting his data, but now it's public record. By leaving prematurely, the Admiral may have unwittingly caused a major alteration of time." "And," Picard sighed. "Security still hasn't tracked our man down. Dr. Crusher informs me his condition is slowly deteriorating, and she needs to do more tests before she can begin to treat him." He turned back to the Admiral, far across from them in the room. The man looked seemingly bored, and, as if he'd been discreetly straining to listen to his and Data's conversation. "This is Mr. Data, Admiral. My Science Officer." "Nice to meet you." His voice fairly dripped sarcasm, looking a touch pensive, inwardly fascinating at yet another odd character, just as peculiar as the big security guard. "Since I'm in OZ, is this the Tin Man?" "I understand the reference, Admiral." Data was incapable of taking offense to the words, hearing no animosity in Al's tone. "Quite an appropriate reference as I am an artificial construct." The Admiral looked duly impressed at the fact. "Isn't this nice." Al glared at the Captain, suddenly pushing back from the table. Despite his outward appearance, his manner was pure military, all joking and sarcasm aside. "I know you're holding Sam Beckett, that he might be hurt or dying. Allow me to make myself perfectly clear. I don't care where I am, or who you people are, but either I am taken to Sam Beckett, or I'll tear this place apart. I outrank you." A small, satisfied smile played across his his face. "I couldn't hear all you just said, Mr. Data, but I did catch the bit about my sudden disappearance. If I bipped out of history in 1999 I'm still an Admiral." He flicked the ashes off his cigar elegantly, eyes shifting back to Picard. "...and you're only a Captain." "Admiral Calavicci is quite correct, Sir," Data said helpfully. "Starfleet is essentially a branch of what was once called the Navy. Technically, although he hasn't actually existed for a great deal of centuries,he is still an Admiral, and ranking officer on the Enterprise at this moment." "Thank you for your insight, Data." Picard's voice was ungracious and dry. "I will check with Starfleet Command as to the 'Admiral's' status. As to Dr. Beckett..." "I'm listening, Captain." Al's sparring tone was in force, glaring at the slightly taller man in front of him. "What's wrong with him and where is he?" The door to the room slid open as Picard was about to answer. A loud shout and an unceremonious, "Here is the prisoner, Captain!" from the Security Chief made all heads turn. "You said to bring him here directly, if we..." Worf's arms were wrapped around the struggling phycist, the human's feet and legs kicking wildly in search of a target. One flaying boot came close, and if Worf did not have lightning quick reflexes and a reinforced crotch piece, he would've been seriously disabled for several minutes. "Found him!" the Klingon grunted, dumping Sam to the floor, landing in a tangle of legs and temper. Guinan was soon on Worf's heels. "You big, dumb galoot," she shouted, smacking him sharply across his back. "He was turning himself in!!" She looked like the famed mouse meeting the lion as Worf turned on her, nose flaring, eyes wide and furious. "I have a good mind..." "Sam??" Al came around the table, pushing past Picard and security and anyone else who dared to get in his way. He had eyes only for the man sitting on the floor gazing at him in wonder and delight. "Al?" "Sam?" The younger man felt himself shake, unable to get up, his legs suddenlyu weak and rubbery at the sudden appearance of his friend. Simply, he lifted his arms, burying his face into the tattered suit. Al's arms pulled him in tight, soothing and calming Sam, overwhelmed by the contact he'd wanted for so long. No, they weren't home, but they were together. more to come.... -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p13) Message-ID: <199305050145.AA05124@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:45:53 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 186 ~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 13 ~Date: 17 Apr 1993 17:39:32 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) ~Lines: 176 Message-Id: <1qpfck$2n8@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: thor.ins.cwru.edu Part 13: "I'm here, kid," Al said softly, for Sam's ears only. "We'll get out of this somehow. Now, enough of the mushy stuff, okay?" He pulled away, his hands still gripping the younger man's upper arms. "You look great. Just fine. Frowning, Sam tookin the scorched clothing and his friend's uncustomarily rumpled exterior. "What the hell did they do to you? How did you get here?" His firey gaze flashed to Picard. "You could've killed him! I would have told you everything. EVERYTHING!! You didn't have any reason ..." "Sam." Al touched the face of the man in front of him, turning his attention back to him. "All right, kiddo. I used the Accelerator." "You did _what_??" "I'm not a parrot, and I don't need to repeat myself." Flashing a look at Worf, who was hovering dangerously near, the Admiral snapped, sick of the sight of security and the strangers hovering near them during this personal reunion. "DO YOU MIND????" "My God, Al, you saw what happened with me and the Accelerator! I can't believe... "Kid, we thought you were lost to us, and I had to find out for myself. Don't lecture me, or tell me it was the wrong thing to do. All in all, a rather interesting experience, but not one I'm likely to repeat, so let put this all behind us and find a way to get the hell out of here, wherever 'here' is. I don't like these nozzles, Sam." He eyed Worf, who looked as if he were about to growl. "Especially the Terminator, here. They all give me the creeps." Guinan moved across the room to face off with Picard. "That was completely uncalled for, Captain." She pointed at Worf, her eyes bright with anger. "We were on our way here and that...that..." "Guinan, calm yourself. Mr. Worf, thank you for assisting Dr. Beckett in his surrender, and I'm sure you did it with only the best of intentions. Dismissed." "You could've been killed," Sam muttered at his partner, keeping his voice low. "I'm glad to see you, but..." "You okay, Sam? That ape didn't break any of your bones, did he?" Al frowned at the look of wincing pain that crossed his friend's face for a moment. "What's wrong? You hurting?" "My head..." He brushed away Al's hand from his temple as if it were an annoying insect. "It's nothing." "The last time you said that we had to call an ambulance." Glancing at Picard, Al's lips tightened. It looked as if he had to place an ounce of trust in the Captain, whether he liked it or not. "He needs a doctor." "Like hell I do." "Quit whining, Sam." Al kept his hand lightly on Sam's head as he spoke. "If there's something wrong with you that these people caused I'm going to nail their balls to the wall." "I've called Dr. Crusher," Picard interjected icily. "The medical team should arrive shortly. It appears you two do know each other, and I demand an explanation." "Well, it's really very simple." A wide and innocent gaze from Al made Picard bristle. "Once upon a time there was this little Jewish guy named Einstien and he created the big bang theory of immovable objects, much like yourself." "I've had enough of the insults, and accusations, Admiral." Picard's face was maddona calm, sensing the stranger's true concern for Beckett. "I'm not out to hurt either of you, or to keep you both here forever. As a matter of fact, the sooner you leave for your own time, the better. My only concern right now is for Dr. Beckett's health. Possibly there may be a flux in time that is causing his headache--or it might be normal stress." "It's just tension." Sam winced as a wave of nausea touched him. He hadn't felt this bad prior to the last hour or so. The arms encircling him were warm and comforting. "You look like you went through a fire," he commented to Al, grinning as best he could at his friend. "Must've been the Accelerator. No time for a fermisuit, kiddo. My best outfit, too!" "That can be remedied." Picard glanced up as Crusher and the team entered. The doctor knelt by her patient, scanning him with her monitor, frowing at the readings. "It's back to Sickbay with you, my friend," she said, trying to give Sam a confident smile. Suddenly she noticed Al, who was giving her his best appraising gaze, from toes to head. "I don't think we've been introduced." "And here I thought you were a wrestler, with a name like Crusher..." "Dr. Beverly Crusher, Admiral Albert Calavicci," Picard said, frowning at the older man's interested appraisal of his chief medical officer. "But you can call me Al...Beautiful." Trying hard to stifle the snort of laughter that threatened to break free, Sam dipped his head,shaking it slowly from side to side. Time travel hadn't changed his friend an iota. Yet another wave of pain made him lean heavily on Al, closing his eyes as it passed. Thank God he was there, Sam thought. If he wasn't, with this new twist, the pain in his head growing more wild, he'd be more afraid than ever of what would become of him. Al kept his contact with Sam, a hand gripping his shoulder, as he was taken to Sickbay. Not for a moment did his intense gaze leave Picard. Despite Sam's words, the older man didn't trust the Captain. The only person he could relate to was the short woman who had defended Sam in the ready room. She went along with the rest, staying at Al's side, taking his arm without asking, not unpleasant. Not a bit, actually. He even managed to give her a smile. "We haven't been properly introduced." "My name is Guinan, and you look like you could use a drink." "Several." The alcohol he'd consumed prior to his Leap had left no lingering effects. One good thing about the Accelerator, he noted-- a sure fire hangover cure. "Well, while Dr. Crusher is checking over our friend here, I can order you something and you can sit and talk to me." "No, that won't be possible." Al glanced at Sam; he could tell by his friend 's expression he was trying vainly to keep his pain to himself. "I'm not leaving him alone." They entered the Sickbay, Al sticking to Sam like the proverbial; glue, forcing Crusher to check her patient over with his stoic presence hovering over her every move. "I've just about had enough," she said, turning to face the Admiral. "You know, there's a certain way your eyes light up when you're angry. It's a real turn on." "Admiral..." The Captain's voice directly behind the other man was no nonsense. Just as he was about to add more, another jolt rocked the ship, causing everyone to grab onto the nearest stationary object for dear life until it passed. The very moment of the displacement, Sam felt the pain increase, twisting like a knife in his head. Unable to maintain consciousness, he let the darkness take him away, barely feeling Al's firm grip on him, keeping his body on the bed where he lay. "What the hell was that?" Al roared, as the rocking ceased. "Another problem, Admiral," the Captain drily answered, recovering from his near slide to the deck. "The planet below us is emitting waves of time displacement and is causing our maneuvering to be less than perfect." Al took the information stoically, trying to understand all this newness as best he could. Turning back to Sam and the doctor, his eyes widened with alarm. His friend lie as still as death, barely breathing, head lax against the pillow. "What happened," he gasped, addressing the doctor. "I...I don't know!" She glanced at the scanner above the unconscious man, her eyes taking in every bit of information. "When we were hit by the displacement, he passed out. His neural pathways are fluxing in a rhythum with the planet as if...." "They are connected." Guinan braced on the end of the bed, taking in the group around it. Her gaze settled on the Captain and Al. "We have to talk, Captain...you too, Admiral." more to come.... -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p14) Message-ID: <199305050146.AA05159@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:46:14 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 132 ~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 14 ~Date: 24 Apr 1993 18:43:27 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) ~Lines: 122 Message-Id: <1rc1of$ss@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu Sorry took so long between posts, gang. Part 14 They gathered in Crusher's small office, Al reluctantly leaving Sam, after being persuaded that he would receive the best of care. The little woman, he thought, seemed more in charge here than the Captain. It was interesting to note that Picard respected her opinion. The sight of Sam's still body unsettled him, reviving old fears. He slumped in the nearest chair, feeling exhaustion and nervous tension wash over him like a bad day. Standing before them, Guinan leaned over the desk the Captain had seated himself behind. Her quicksilver dark eyes glanced from her commander to the Admiral, riveting their attention on her. "Whole starships disappearing, disturbance being felt all the way across the Galaxy. A direct line from the is planet we're orbiting to Earth. Wrap around and back, all over the place." She gripped the table as the ship rocked again, ending as soon as it had begun. "Admiral, you and Dr. Beckett are the direct cause of all of it. Sam Beckett has been using the wrong magic, messing around and directing the quantum energy in a way that's caused this mess six hundred years in the future. The dark eyes across from her slitted angrily. "He's only done good with it. Sam Beckett wouldn't harm a fly, let alone..." "Admiral," the Captain said gently, not wanting to start a fight. "Let Guinan finish, although," he added, eyes glinting in a curious way. "i would very much like to know how you obtained this knowledge." A small grin crossed Guinan's face. "I'm not what I appear to be, and other than that, I'm not at liberty to tell you much more. Just take my word for it, it's a real mes and we have the ways and means to correct it if you pay close attention to what I say." She smiled satisfactorily at the Captain, then returned her attention to Al. "Dr. Beckett programmed something into Ziggy--your computer. He called it the string theory, tht lifetimes are like a string, at one end, life, the other, death. If you ball the string up, all the ends...." "I know all this," Al interjected, leaning back in the chair. "SO?" "Sam Beckett's theory limits the Traveller...himself. By doing so, he's thrown a block into Time itself, clogging up the works like a bad plumbing system in your time, Admiral. When he downloaded that theory into your computer, as part of the Quantum Accerlator programming, it jammed Time up, causing a blockage of sorts. You can't limit Time; it's infinite, no matter what Dr. Beckett thinks. As he travelled from one year to another, the problem became worse and worse until suddenly, Time broke free. The Guardian, which is, accurately enough, the subway stop for the time flow of the Universe...." Picard frowned. "Subway stop? Guinan, please explain." "Well, I understand." Al leaned forward a little, it all making sense in some strange way. "You're saying that thingamagig I fell through on tht planet down there, is a time flow device, where all time passes." "Exactly. As I was saying, the Guardian pulled Dr. Beckett from time, knowing full well that the problem somehow had to be solved or allt his time displacement, and the doors that are opening into Time itself--which is where your ships are going, Captain--would permanently damage and destroy life as we know it. Sam was brought here becasue the time was right. The cause of his 'illness' is directly connected with the Quantum Energy/String Theory. He has an implant which directionalizes so you can communicate with him anywhere he may be. Am I right, Admiral?" "A small neural implant he designed. I told him putting things like that in his head would screw things up." "It's not the implant, Admiral." She sighed. "No, it's the connection to time, itself. Even though he's here, and in this place, solid and real. his implant is trying it's best to directionalize on the Project. Part of that homing signal is causing our problems here, which is why Earth is feeling the brunt of it. He's not in the past anymore; he's here, inthe 25th Century, and that implant is trying to focus on a place in New Mexico that doesn't exist anymore. Since it can't find Ziggy, it's directing a rapid fire shot of energy towards Earth in the for of a wide band time slash, causing a complete and total chaotic situation there. If the implant is removed and destroyed...." "Now wait a minute." Al stiffened a moment. The implant was the only thing they had to focus on, should Sam leap again. "If we send him home through that Guardian down there, which seems the only logical thing I can think of, and he doesn't end up home, he'll be lost to us at PQL forever." "We'll have to take that chance. It's Sam's choice, Al. Not yours or mine, or the Captain's." She settled in the chair behind her, eyes steady. "There's only one problem. Once the homing signal is gone, we still have disturbance. I have a way of managing out of that, but first, we have to disrupt the implant. Secondly, we have to remove the defective programming from Ziggy." "That'll be a neat trick," Al stated, glancing at the Captain. "Considering that it's 600 (I know, Iknow, I have to fix this in the rewrite--author note) years in the past, I'd say so." Picard snorted. "Do you propose we send this man back through the Guardian to accomplish that?" "We can't do that," Guinan said impassively. "Not yet. With the sudden surges and flux points, we can't take that chance. There's no way to predict exactly what will become of whoever we send. No, I haven't a better solution, and one I'm perfectly capable of handling. First, we deal with the neural implant, and let me worry about Ziggy." Data had listened to all the conversation from his place by the door, assimilating each word. "How do you propose to deal with Dr. Beckett 's computer, Guinan?" I am curious about that." "I have my ways and means, and won't risk someone on board the Enterprise, so drop it, Data." "I was wrong before." Al glanced at Picard, who looked like he was expecting an apology. "You're not the Wizard--She is!" more to come... -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p15) Message-ID: <199305050146.AA05192@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:46:35 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 141 ~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 15 ~Date: 1 May 1993 17:08:06 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) ~Lines: 131 Message-Id: <1ruapm$a93@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu What with all that's gone on this week, I'm sorry it took me a while to post this.... Part 15 "I don't like this, Sam." "Do I have much of a choice?" The physicist glanced from his friend's face to Guinan's. She'd honestly explained the situation to him, and he understood. The implant couldn't be disrupted; it had to go. He knew the design; remembered enough to know that there was no way to block the signal, that it's removal was imperitive. "If it's any consolation, I've been told it won't hurt a bit, or impair me in any way. I won't even need to be put out. "That innate curiousity of yours," Al said affectionately, not quite hiding the apprehension in his voice. "It's going to get you killed some day." "Not now." The pain in his head made it difficult to speak, and with every rise and fall of the deck from the displacement it seemed to grow worse. "you go now." Sam glanced over at the doctor, waiting patiently by the door. "It won't take long, and I know how squeamish you are around surgery." He smiled at Guinan. "I trust you to take care of him." "No problem, Sam." She smoothly took the Admiral's arm and drew him away from his friend, and out of the Sickbay. "First things first. You need a change of clothes." "You got a tailor shop on this thing? I don't buy off the rack, you know." "I can believe it," she said drily, taking in the loud colors he wore. Al glanced back once at the Sickbay doors, torn between going back to stay at Sam's side or go off with Guinan as the kid had ordered. "He'll be fine." She smiled at the Admiral, immediately taking his arm warmly. "I promised you a drink, remember?" ****************** They returned to Deck Ten, called Sickbay to inform them of Al's whereabouts, and Guinan sat the man at the bar. "Now," she said, in her best bartender voice. "What's your poisen?" "Surprise me." "You never tell me something like that, Al. I have every drink know to man and alien. We'd better stick to something you know--like scotch and water." "How did you know..." Al was thunderstruck. "A lucky guess," she quickly interjected. "You make quite a few of those, lady." Al leaned over the bar, eyes narrowing. "I'm damned curious about who the hell you are." "I'm a person that fixes things, when I can. You'll have to trust me, Admiral." "What are you going to do to Ziggy?" "Nothing too terrible, and it'll make things go back to normal." She set the drink in front of Al, smiling gently. "See, Sam made one fatal error." "He made more than one." Al's face was grave, playing with but not drinking his scotch. "Jumping in that thing, for starters." "The universe isn't finite, Al." "That's part of Sam's theory--that it is." "And, despite your faith in him, he isn't all knowing. I've been around just a little longer than he has, or you, for that matter." "Right. You look like you're not over thirty five, forty..." "I'm offended. Looks can be decieving. I'm right about the universe. Sam's theory states that the universe was finite, and by programming that into Ziggy he choked up the works. You think his word is gospel, but think twice. He's as smart and as good as any man who's ever come down the pike. Only one thing wrong with that guy--he's always right, and when he isn't he tears himself up. That's your job; to put the pieces back together, once he's home." The tone of her voice, and the grave expression on her face forced Al to believe her words. "See, that's why the Leaps got out of hand. It was a form of protection, to keep Sam from flying off into the flow. If you hadn't had the interference, he'd be so far away now neither you nor I could do squat to retrieve him. He had really no idea what he was playing with, not yet. Your government pushed him and he had to rush past some very important elements. If he'd had the time, you know he'd seen the complications." "So," Al asked, frowning. "What did yoiu say I had to do?" "Keep him away from the Accelerator. He's not lost most of his other work, and the records of his Leaps are still there. Document everything, an then put it behind you both. You have to be the Caretaker, making sure he does the good he has to do, without interference." "I've had that job for five years now. What if I wear out? What if I get tired? I am human, after all, not a conglomoration of bits and bytes. So far, I think Ziggy is the only one that's ever been able to keep Sam Beckett in line." She grinned. "You might lose some patience with him from time to time, and maybe have some wing ding yelling matches, but, essentially, you'll always be together, taking care of each other." "What does he have to do? You said 'the good he has to do'. "I can't tell you that. He'll know, and I think we should return to Sickbay, but first, you need a change of clothes. Between me and the ship's computer I think we'll be more than happy to oblige." "Those stupid uniforms, like Sam's, I guess," Al groaned. "Not hardly." Her smile was enigmatic. "I think we can be a little more creative than that." more to come.... -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p16) Message-ID: <199305050146.AA05214@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:46:57 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 212 ~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: The last and final part of No ESCAPE! ~Date: 2 May 1993 14:09:58 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) ~Lines: 202 Message-Id: <1s0knm$d4s@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu Here goes, gang. Sorry for the length of time between posts. Resplendent in his new outfit, Al strutted like a peacock into the Sickbay. Guinan was intuitive, he decided. He didn't question her means, or the nifty way the computer took his measurements, desires, and color preferences, almost instantaneously presenting him with what could be considered the Rolls Royce of creatively blinding suits. The jacket was bright blue, sparkling in the light, slacks to match, shimmering as he moved. Gold shoes that fit like a second skin. If people didn't go blind, they'd faint form the sheer beauty of it. The shirt was of some gossamry material, light and soft, the tie blinking wth tiny LEDS. He was assured by Guinan that there was nothing ecologically unsafe about any bit of the outfit. He hoped, if they made it home, that he could duplicate it in some way. Sam's face widened with a smile as he entered the Sickbay, and he was warmed by the way Crusher held her hands over her eyes in an exaggerated way as he neared the bed. "What do you think, kid?" "I think that if you were putting out any more energy you could short circuit whatever powers this ship." Sam grinned, his head vastly clearer once Crusher had removed the link. "It's gone, isn't it?" Al glanced at the doctor for verification of his words, and received a sharp nod. "It didn't hurt, not a bit, Al." Sam reached out and motioned for his friend to sit next to him on the bed. Even without the link, their own special closeness was still in place, and he could see the fear in the older man's dark eyes. "Dr. Crusher was generous enough to allow me to watch the surgery." He grinned at the sudden whitening of his freind's face, and pointed to his left temple. "Not even a scar." "Leave it to you, watching them take things out of your head." Squeamis as ever, Al winced at even the thought of observing such a thing. "So," he asked, easily changing the subject. "When do we go home, Tonto?" "Soon," The Captain's voice behind them made Al turn. "We just recieved word. The bombardment on Earth has ceased and..." Confusion creased Picards face for a moment, glancing from Dr. Crusher to Guinan, not precisely sure of how he'd arrived in Sickbay or what his purpose was there. "Captain..." Crusher, confused, touched the distracted man's arm. "Are you all right?" "Certainly." Bristling, he tugged down the front of his tunic, smoothing the fabric and his uncertainty. "I ...I'll be on the bridge if I am needed, Doctor." Guinan smiled, cocking her head at the exiting commander. "Guinan," Crusher said, bemused. "You look like the cat that ate the canary." "Not ate it," she replied, tucking her hands in her cloak as she spoke. "Just shifted the feathers around a bit..." ****************** Stumbling slightly, Al found himself outside of the Waiting Room. A wash of strange dizziness assaulted him, spinning the walls briefly. Holding a hand to his aching head, he winced, wondering how he'd gotten here from... whereever he'd been before. He'd been in the Imaging Chamber; that last Leap--San Francisco, all those weeks waiting for the other shoe to drop on that Leap... Sam had leaped again. Sam had leaped. To...? It seemed he'd missed something here. The wave of vertigo passed as quickly as it had began and he stepped into the Waiting Room. It had seemed that was his destination, wasn't it? There was only one other presence in the plain, white room, Al discovered, and he wasn't rising in greeting. Sam Beckett's body lay on the bed. Not an eyelash stirred on the still face, just the slow rise and fall of his chest. Who was he this time, Al wondered. "Admiral?" The soft voice behind him made him almost jump out of his socks. "Damn, Verbena!" She had the footfall of a cat,soft and silent, always showing up at the least likely times. "You didn't look well out in the hall, and I thought..." "I'm perfectly find, and further more..." He frowned. "How the hell did you know? I didn't see a soul out in the hall?" "I was in the doorway of my office. How did the last Leap go?" "You can read about in in the funny papers." Al looked at her closely, eyes slitting. "Just ask Ziggy." "I'd rather be debriefed by you than Ziggy. I assume Sam concluded the leap successfully or you wouldn't be in here holding vigil, like you do every single time." "It's no secret, and I'd appreciate a little privacy." Guilt over being discovered in his usual waiting for Sam to come home mode made annoyance color his words. "One thing I don't need is that psychoanalyzing garbagbe you always seem to come up with at times like these." "And you go right along with it, every single time." Verbena settled her hand over Sam's, smiling down at the peaceful face. They'd trimmed his hair since the last time she'd been in here and his face hadn't aged much in the time since he'd initially leaped. "I'd like to have a friend like you," she said softly to Al, feeling his warm presence at her shoulder. "Someone that watches over me, waiting without hesitation for me to come home, even after hundreds of disappointments. You're holding up pretty well, under the circumstances. I'm not psychoanalyzing you when we talk. I miss him, too." "I get to see him every damned day. You don't have to listen tohim whine, or bitch and moan about whatever situation he's into now. A real pain, 'Bena." "Not as bad as you." "You can say that again..." "Now is that fair? I...mean..." Slowly, dark eyes widening, Al wheeled around to face the third voice, definetely not Verbena's , most assuradly male. For that matter, the only other person in the room. "Sam??" "Do I really whine that much, Al?" Hazel eyes glittering in amusement, Sam felt Al's arms practically lift him from the bed. There were no words exchanged; simply holding, feeling every bit of bone and muscle beneath his hands, simple touch speaking volumes. Over Al's shoulder, Sam could see Verbena, a slow, satisfied expression on her amiable face, reminding him of another...someone he couldn't quite place. The same impassive peace, with a touch of wit...Guinan. Her name had been Guinan... Releasing fro his friend's embrace, cocking his head to one side as he looked at the psychiatrist. AS fast as he tried to assimiliate the half-recalled memory it faded, color fading and melting from the mind photo. "Sam?" Worried by his friend's thoughtfully stunned expression, he glanced at Beeks. "Is he gonna be all right?" "Just a few tests, and he should be good as gold." Smoothly, the woman bent and planted one gentle kiss on the physicists' forehead, easing him back against the pillows. "You're home, and for good, Sam Beckett." "You sound pretty sure of yourself, Bena," Sam replied, his voice so low it could barely be heard. He felt so tired, and just from her words he warmed, easing down muscle by muscle. Al 's firm grip was a comfort, his dark, joyfilled gaze more than welcoming. "What year is it, Al? How long have I been gone?' "1996, Sam. You've been gone about eighteen months; about 80+ leaps, maybe more if I do some checking," Al said, with a sense of pride. "Handled it like a pro. I guess, now, God, or whoever, has decided you've done your duty, pal." "'96? But I thought..." "Now, Sam..." Smoothing the blanket over the confused man, Verbena smiled. "It's all over. No grief, no problem; you did only good. I'll leave you two alone, give you a chance to talk before I send the Med Team in." The door closed behind Verbena, the two men softly talking together, shifting the time apart into reality. Informing the Team that Sam had indeed come home, and to allow him and the Admiral, a few minutes, she hurried to her office. The modem to her PC lit up as she entered. With a sigh, she sat in front of the computer, tapping a 'Hello, Ziggy' into the unit. DR. BECKETT HAS RETURNED? "Yes, Ziggy. Thank you for your cooperation. MY PLEASURE, ONCE I REALIZED THE MISTAKE THAT HAD BEEN MADE. There was the barest hint of laughter in the female voice, making Verbena grin. I WAS RATHER DISAPPOINTED IN LOSING DR. BECKETT'S STRING THEORY, BUT I UNDERSTAND THE NECESSITY. ISN'T TIME TRAVEL WONDERFUL? "I know enough about it, don't I?" Verbena's expression was warm and understanding, feeling a kinship with the hybrid computer, as much an alien to this world as she was. "And, it's our little secret, right?" OF COURSE...DR. BEEKS, Ziggy said, sounding very pleased with their shared secrets. GIVE MY REGARDS TO DR. BECKETT....AND GUINAN." She grinned at that. "You bet. Take care, Ziggy." With one satisfied blink, the computer logged off. From the sounds coming from the hall, it was obvious that the rest of the Project personnell were starting to celebrate Dr. Beckett's return. Rolling her eyes, Beeks got up form the desk to join in, knowing full well it would be yet another memorable party, made more so by Sam's presence. end 4/30/92 -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke) To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p17) Message-ID: <199305050147.AA05256@glare.cisco.com> Date: 5 May 93 01:47:18 GMT Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems Lines: 34 ~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande) ~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative ~Subject: Afterword -- No Escape ~Date: 2 May 1993 14:13:21 GMT Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA) ~Lines: 24 Message-Id: <1s0ku1$dgo@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu Once again, would like to apologize for misnumbering chapters and general typos. I had a friend who is very into Next Gen and she begged me to write my theories on Guinan. I know that now there have been some eps where Guinan proves that she does, indeed, travel in time. I'm not a regular viewer of NEXT GEN, but have a lot of freinds here and elsewhere who kick me in the incontinuity department. Any and all comments, due to the dates being wrong, or Picard's character will be taken into consideration for the rewrite. That was one of the purposes I had in posting this story. You've all been wonderful. Special thanks to my Trek elf for posting this story on st.creative. More to come...believe me. Terri Librande -- "Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI