Path: moe.ksu.ksu.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!darwin.sura.net!wupost!micro-heart-of-gold.mit.edu!rutgers!bellcore!walter!porthos!pyuxe!krk1 From: krk1@pyuxe.uucp (24228-knights) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: NEW STORY: LEAPTREK II -- CHAPTER ONE Message-ID: <1992Oct6.160207.23332@porthos.cc.bellcore.com> Date: 6 Oct 92 16:02:07 GMT Sender: netnews@porthos.cc.bellcore.com (USENET System Software) Organization: Bellcore, Livingston, NJ Lines: 1197 For all of you out there who liked Leaptrek, here, at last, is the sequel. Sorry it took so long, but I don't like to post things until they're done. Plus the rerunning of the early Quantum Leap episodes forced me to rewrite a few things to make them line up better with QL canon. (I have still played a bit fast and loose with it, but oh, well.) Anyway, there are four chapters, so I will post in at least four parts, maybe more depending on how many lines these turn out to be when I upload them. And here's Chapter One. Hope you like it. Katriena. LEAPTREK II CHAPTER ONE Al was sleeping when the call came from the control room that the leap had completed. He hastily threw on a robe and ran for the waiting room. He was somewhat worried about the leap; the last one had been tricky to say the least, and he'd been concerned that Sam might get lost in the process of reshuffling the time continuums they had managed to cross to meet up with Jean-Luc Picard and the Enterprise. So he was relieved to know that they had received another leapee, but at the same time he couldn't help but wonder if Sam had made it safely to his destination. "Who is it, Ziggy?" he called out, rounding the corner to the waiting room. There was no answer. "Ziggy!" he called again. Still silence. Verbena Beeks was just emerging from the waiting room. "Ziggy's communications circuits are off-line," she said. "Gooshie and Tina are working on it." "Oh, wonderful. So we don't know who he is." "Well, as a matter of fact, we do," said Verbena. She looked back at the closed door. "Why don't you go in and talk to him? I think you're going to find this very interesting." Al shrugged. Usually, Verbena discouraged contact with the leapees. But since Ziggy was down, it seemed appropriate to Al that he be allowed to intervene this time. He opened the door and went in. The man looked like Sam Beckett. They all looked like Sam Beckett. But this version stood very stiff, solid in his stance in spite of the bleary look in his eyes. When he saw Al he took a step forward, a spark of indignation igniting on his face. "I hope," he said firmly, "that you are prepared to face the consequences of abducting a Starfleet officer." Al frowned. "Well, I don't know." "Then maybe you should have looked into that before you did it. Now, who the hell are you and what makes you think you have the right to beam me right out of my quarters?" "I'm Admiral Albert Calavicci," Al replied. "And who the hell are you?" The man straightened even more; a feat Al would not have thought possible. "Commander William T. Riker of the Federation Starship Enterprise." "Oh, boy," said Al. **** Sam stared at the mirror, shocked. The bearded man with dark hair and grey-blue eyes was not a stranger. "Riker?" Sam said. "Commander Riker? What in the . . ." He broke off. It wasn't possible. Data had reprogrammed Ziggy to send the Enterprise and her crew back -- or forward, rather -- to the 24th century, safely out of Sam's zone of influence. Yet there was Riker, staring Sam in the face, clad in a red and black Starfleet uniform, surrounded by a room full of gadgets Sam could not make heads or tails of. Something had definitely gone awry. And he wasn't going to be granted any time to think about it. A commanding voice interrupted his thoughts. "Number One, report to the bridge immediately." Sam had the distinct feeling that this was the captain, whose persona he had only recently vacated. "I'm on my way," Sam said automatically, and went to find the door. That problem solved, he found the nearest turbolift and asked to be taken to the bridge. In a way, it was comforting to be in familiar surroundings, even though he still didn't have the hang of the 24th century technology. At least he didn't need Al to tell him who he was. On the bridge, the captain was standing in front of his chair, talking in low tones to Deanna Troi, the ship's counselor. Sam hesitated. There was a good chance that Deanna, with her empathic abilities, would be instantly aware of Sam's presence. Sam analyzed himself for a moment, making sure he felt confident and in control. As long as he kept his emotions in line with what Riker would normally feel, he should be relatively safe. Picard looked up. "Number One," he said. It was strange to Sam to be looking at a face which he had recently seen looking back at him out of mirrors. "I need you to take the bridge. My presence has been requested planetside to finalize the negotiations." "Aye, sir," said Sam. He took the command chair as Picard left the room. "So much for a relaxing afternoon with your trombone," Deanna said to him. Sam glanced at her. She was smiling warmly. He had suspected, and was beginning to believe, that there was a great deal of affection between these two people. Well. He'd have no difficulty faking that emotion. He had developed a certain affection for Deanna, himself. "Well, duty calls," he said. "It could be worse." "Commander Riker." The voice came from the bridge intercom, and Sam was fairly certain it belonged to O'Brien. "We have a guest requesting permission to board." "Oh, really? Who is it?" There was a pause. "It's Counselor Troi's mother, sir." Sam looked at Deanna, eyebrows up. Deanna put her face in one hand. "It's worse." **** A cup of hot coffee and a Wynton Marsalis tape served to calm Commander Riker considerably. Al went to get dressed, leaving Verbena with the Commander. When Al returned to the waiting room, the atmosphere was much more civil. "So," said Riker. "You're Al? And this is where Captain Picard was two weeks ago while your friend Beckett was on the ship?" "That's right," Al said. He turned to Verbena. "Is Ziggy back up yet?" "I believe so, yes." Al inspected his handlink, making sure it was charged. "Ziggy, can you tell us where Sam is right now? Location and date?" The computer's feminine voice seemed a little slow, but otherwise no worse for the malfunction. "Dr. Beckett is currently aboard the starship Enterprise, in a high orbit above Earth. The date is . . . uncertain, but approximately 400 years in the future." Al glanced at Riker. Riker shrugged. "That's about right." "Yeah, maybe, but Ziggy's not supposed to be able to move Sam out of his own life loop. Unless . . ." He tapped the handlink reflectively. "You guys hang tight. I'm going to talk to Gooshie." When he found Gooshie on the floor under Ziggy's main memory banks, Al knew his guess had been right. "What's going on, Gooshie?" "Nothing normal, that's for sure. Ziggy's acting very strange. I can't find anything in the software, so I thought it might be a hardware problem." He sat up. "Ziggy's accessing a lot more power than he should be." "Well, I guess that explains why Sam is sitting in the 24th century." "What?" "You heard me." Al frowned. "I have a real funny feeling I know what's going on. Check that software again, and look for hidden files. And look damn hard. I've got to go talk to Sam." In the waiting room, the atmosphere had gotten even more comfortable. Riker and Verbena appeared to be having quite an involved conversation. Al elected to leave them alone, and went on to the Imaging Chamber. The door opened at his request, so at least one thing was normal. Inside, Al was confronted with the image of the Enterprise bridge. Lt. Commander Data was right in front of him. Al shivered a little. The pasty-faced android gave him the willies. He walked through the image to approach the command chair. Now there was a much nicer representative of the future: Deanna Troi. She certainly didn't give Al the willies. Sam, hiding behind Commander Riker's aura, was talking to her. "Well, if I had a choice, I'd say no," Deanna was saying. "But she _is_ my mother. And since the negotiations are concluding and we're basically just on shore leave, I don't see any excuse not to let her on board." Sam nodded. "Permission granted." He looked at Al then. "We need to talk, Sam. We've got big problems." Sam's mouth tightened and he stood. "I'll be in the ready room." Deanna nodded. Al followed Sam to the little room off the main bridge. Sam sat down behind the desk. "Is it my imagination," Sam said, "or has something gone more than a little caca?" "Caca doesn't even come close. Ziggy is acting very weird." "Weird like how?" "Like he's pulling in enough power to light Cleveland for a week. And like he's leaped you into the 24th century." Sam was shocked. "You mean I'm operating on their timeline? No time bubble this time?" "That appears to be the case." "But that's impossible." "Well, maybe not. If you'll recall, Data reprogrammed Ziggy so we could send the Enterprise back where it belonged." "But those programs were supposed to automatically erase themselves." "But what if they didn't? What if Ziggy's been playing with them since 1995, and now he's pulling them out and using them?" "Oh, boy. We could be in big trouble." "We certainly could." "So what am I supposed to do? Is there something here I can fix so I can leap out of here?" "I don't know. We're talking to Riker, so maybe he'll have some ideas. In the mean time, just . . . enjoy the ride, I guess. Bye-bye." "Enjoy the ride," Sam grumbled as Al departed. "Yeah, easy for you to say." He gave himself a minute to collect himself, then returned to the bridge. Deanna was pacing. She looked up as Sam came through the door. "Are you ready?" Sam shook his head in puzzlement. "Ready for what?" "Well, Mother _is_ an Ambassador. We really should go meet her." "Yeah, yeah, all right." He struggled for a moment, trying to remember who was third in command. He had no clue. Data, however, had turned a look toward him that Sam was relatively sure was expectant. "Mr. Data, you have the bridge." "Aye, sir," said the android, and stepped to the command chair. Deanna was wearing a mischievous smile when they stepped into the turbo lift. "What?" Sam demanded. He was beginning to get annoyed at the proceedings. He had a feeling some of Riker was rubbing off on him. "You don't have to be so nervous," Deanna said. "I'm quite certain Mother has given up on the idea of marrying you." Sam turned his eyes to the ceiling. "Oh . . . boy." **** "You can't think of anything. Not one thing." Riker, obviously annoyed by Al's prodding, flung himself out of the chair and began to pace. "No. I can't think of anything." "Come on," Al insisted. "Surely somebody like you has done _something_ to screw up your life. Are you sure there are no women out to kill you?" "No more than there are out to kill you," Riker shot back. Al winced, taking a puff of his cigar. "You're in big trouble, then, kid." Verbena, who had been hiding laughter behind one long, dark hand, decided it was time to step in. "Gentlemen, we have a problem here. I think we can cooperate to solve it. Now, Will, what you have to understand is that, in the past, Sam has been able to leap out of a situation by correcting something that has gone wrong in someone's life. All we're trying to do is ascertain if there is any situation you are aware of which Sam might be supposed to make right. Is there anything you've done recently which you regret?" The commander was nodding, obviously calmed by Verbena's gentle approach. Al sucked meditatively on the cigar, trying to quell his impatience. He didn't like this situation, didn't like his queasy doubts that they would be able to get Sam back. Didn't like the fact that he hadn't told Donna yet, and wasn't looking forward to the task. Maybe he could get Verbena to pull that duty for him, too . . . no, that wouldn't be right. He'd go find her as soon as he was done here. "Well," Riker said. "I guess . . . There's my father. I never really got things totally patched up with him. But he's not around right now, so I don't see how Sam could help with that. And there's Ro Laren, that whole thing that happened with her . . ." That piqued Al's interest. "Ro Laren? Isn't she the one on the bridge? The pretty one with the weird nose?" "Yes," Riker said tersely. "Ensign Ro. She sits at ops." "What happened with her? You sleep with her?" "Well . . . it was kind of an unusual situation." "I'll bet it was unusual. She's not even human. What was it like?" Riker was starting to fume again. "Not that much different than any other alien woman I've slept with . . . What is your problem, anyway?" But Al was relentless in his single-mindedness. "You've slept with other aliens? Ever been with a girl with tentacles?" Verbena's eyes widened a bit. "Albert Calavicci, you are one sick puppy. Maybe you should go and let me talk to Will." Reluctantly, Al nodded. "Yeah, maybe I should. I'd better go find Donna." "You haven't talked to Donna yet?" Verbena was obviously put off. "Go talk to her now. And if she needs me, you come get me. Understood?" "Yeah." Al started for the door, then hesitated. "What about Deanna? You ever sleep with Deanna?" Riker gave him an extraordinarily Sam Beckett-like glare. "Will you please leave?" "Yes, Al," Verbena put in. "Please leave." Al left. **** Sam was not certain what he had expected to see when they went to the transporter room to meet Deanna's mother, but he was certain this was not it. The black-eyed, gaudily dressed woman bubbled over to her daughter and embraced her. "Oh, little one, it's been absolutely forever. How are you?" "I'm fine, Mother," Deanna said. "How are you?" "Oh, I'm wonderful, my dear. Say hello to Mr. Homm." Deanna nodded greetings to the extremely tall, blue-skinned man who still stood on the transporter pad next to Mrs. Troi's luggage. "Um, Mother . . . How long are you planning to stay?" "Well, how long are you going to be here?" Deanna threw a pained look back at Sam. "Oh, dear. Well, Mother, I guess we'd better get you to your quarters. I had the usual rooms set up for you." "Why, how thoughtful of you, little one. Come, Mr. Homm." She left the transporter room in a quick bustle, giving Sam a very strange look as she passed. She caught hold of Deanna's arm and pulled her along, leaving Sam with the dubious company of Mr. Homm. "It's . . . um . .. good to see you again," Sam said. Homm smiled and inclined his head politely. "I hope you have a pleasant stay." Another nod. Obviously Homm wasn't the talkative sort. "You ever play any basketball?" Sam ventured. Fortunately, the walk to Mrs. Troi's quarters was a short one. At the door, Mrs. Troi paused to take both her daughter's hands in hers. "Won't you stay for a moment?" "I'm sorry, Mother, but Captain Picard is planetside and I really need to go back to the bridge. Perhaps I can join you after dinner?" "Oh, that would be lovely." She turned to Sam and gave him a look that went a few stages past undressing him. "You I would very much like to see later, as well. I'll call you." Sam felt his face growing extremely warm. "Um, of course, Mrs. Troi. Whatever I can do to help." She smiled quite wickedly and let the door slide closed behind her. Deanna looked at Sam. "Maybe she hasn't given up on that idea, after all." **** "He's where? Sam's where?" Al put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He had not seen Donna this upset since the Tamlyn incident. Only then she had been thinking of various inventive ways to kill Sam. Now Al had the distinct impression she was turning similar attention toward him. "He's . . . in the future. He's aboard the Enterprise again, except this time he's on their timeline. He's perfectly safe there. They're just orbiting Earth. There's no green men coming to try to blow them up or anything. I wouldn't worry about it." "I'd worry about it if I were you. How do we know we can get him back?" "If we got him there, we can get him back." "That's what you said after the first leap. I don't see him back yet. Instead he's still out there bouncing around, sleeping with strange women . . . " Here we go, Al thought. She's still stewing. Not that he really blamed her. He would have been pretty upset, too, if their situations had been reversed. Well, unless he'd been Sam. "You know, he would never have slept with that woman if he hadn't simoleaped with you. You know that, don't you? That wasn't Sam in bed with her, it was you." "Don't I wish," Al mumbled. "Listen, Donna, you know he loves you, he just doesn't remember you. And when he gets back here, he'll forget all about her. He may have forgotten about her already." Donna had turned away and was staring at the books on her shelf, blinking back tears. "I know. It just seems like . . . every time we get close to getting him back something like this happens." She looked at him again, eyes cleared. "Is there anything I can do to help?" "Talk to Gooshie. He's trying to figure out what's wrong with Ziggy. I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the files Data added to send the Enterprise back, but on our timeline that was five years ago, so I don't know where they've been all this time." "All right. I'll have a look. I think I still have some of Sam's original specs floating around here somewhere. That might help. He put in a lot of backups and hidden subroutines that I don't think he told Gooshie about." "Well, I'm sure Gooshie will be glad to hear that." Al could picture the floppy disks flying already. "Oh, you know how Sam is. His memory was half magnafluxxed before he ever leaped. The man can recite Shakespeare after one reading but he can't remember where to put his dirty underwear." Al smiled. That was the Donna he knew. "Well, I'll get you some breakfast ready." "Thanks, Al. But don' t bother. I'll get something later." "Sure. All right." He left her to dig through her books and her thoughts. Not for the first time, he wished there were more he could do to help her bear her burden of loneliness. And for once, he was not thinking in terms of sex. Not that he had never thought of Donna that way -- he thought of all women that way -- but he certainly wasn't going to touch his best friend's wife. Lighting the cigar Donna had asked him not to smoke in her presence -- she'd been touchy about that lately -- Al continued on his way back to the waiting room and the Imaging Chamber. Verbena was still consulting with Riker, and he didn't want to bother Sam again without any information. So, instead, he went to find Tina. **** Sam ended up spending Riker's entire shift in the command chair, wondering if Picard was ever going to return to the ship, and wondering also why such a technologically advanced society could not produce a uniform tunic that did not creep up every time you got up or sat back down. Finally Data stepped up to the command chair. "Pardon me, Commander, but your duty shift has been over for ten minutes." Sam looked up. The android's expression was placid as usual. "Oh. Right. I thought I was feeling a little hungry." Deanna smiled at him warmly. "Any dinner plans?" "If you mean am I planning to have dinner with your mother, no." The thought of being alone with that woman gave him the creeps. "Hmm," said Deanna. "I wouldn't count on that." She was still laughing as he entered the turbolift. It was at times like this that Sam was glad he had a photographic memory. He was able to retrace his steps to Riker's quarters without difficulty. But the rooms proved not to be the haven he had hoped for. On the table in the middle of the front room was a large vase filled with flowers. There was a note attached. Feeling his stomach sink, Sam plucked it off. The handwriting was flowery. Sam knew whose it was before he even started to read. "To Sam Beckett: I know it's quaint these days to send a hand-written note, but anything else would be too, too impersonal. Please allow me the pleasure of your company tonight at dinner, so that we may discuss who you are and why my daughter thinks you are Will Riker. See you right away, you delicious little man. Lwaxana Troi." Sam's life flashed before his eyes. He was distressed that he could remember so little of it. He left Riker's quarters and went forth to meet his fate. **** "Yeah, there's definitely some stuff in here that shouldn't be." Gooshie was mumbling; he always mumbled when he was absorbed in his work. "But I can't figure out how to get it out." Donna was leaning over his shoulder, looking at the handwritten specs she had found in one of Sam's old files. "There's a whole network of hidden directories that were set up to function independently from the main operating system. Ziggy can actually boot himself from them." "Why did Sam do that?" Al asked. He was having trouble paying attention without his cigar. "I think he intended it to work as virus protection, or protection against power outages, things like that. Or if someone decided to come in and erase Ziggy's hard drive, like someone who had decided we were eating up too much grant money." Donna shook her head. "Brilliant, of course, but it makes this situation particularly difficult since Ziggy seems to have effectively seized control of the entire network." "Oh, wonderful," Al said. "So we can't do anything to the files unless Ziggy lets us in?" "That's what it looks like," offered Gooshie. "I'll keep working on it. Why don't you let me keep those specs, Dr. Alessi. I'd like to look them over." "Sure." She laid the papers down on the table next to him. "I'll look and see if I can find anything else." She hesitated. "Has anyone tried talking to Ziggy?" "Ziggy's not talking," said Gooshie. "He's shut down the communications system. Obviously he doesn't want to discuss this. Tina's trying to bypass, but no luck so far." "Strange." Donna stepped back, eyes distant. Suddenly, she turned and headed back to her room. "Let's hope it's a good brainstorm," Al commented. He patted himself down for a cigar and lit it. "I'm going to go talk to Sam. Keep me posted." Gooshie nodded. Al met Verbena in the hallway. "How's it going?" he asked her. "Any great ideas from our pal in there?" "No, not really. But he'd like to know if he can take a look around." Al shrugged. "I guess so. Just don't let him touch anything. Especially Tina." Verbena grinned. "I'll be sure he's kept well under control." "Yeah, sure," Al mumbled. He checked his handlink. It appeared to still be working in spite of Ziggy's desire not to communicate. He poked a few buttons, then opened the Imaging Chamber door. **** Sam straightened his shirt and took a deep breath before pressing the button next to Lwaxana Troi's door. "Come in!" she called. Sam did so, stiffly, feeling his mouth becoming dry. Lwaxana had laid out plates of pastries on the table, and two wineglasses stood side by side. Mr Homm stood quietly by a wall, waiting for his services to be required. "Have a seat, please," Lwaxana said, gesturing to the cushions around the low table. "You do look handsome." Sam demurred. "Look, Mrs. Troi. I'm really not hungry. Now could you just tell me, please, what this is all about?" "Well, it's about you, of course." "What about me?" She smiled. "Well, dear, I know why you're here. I know what it is you're supposed to do." Sam blinked. "You do?" "Well, of course I do. Now just sit down and we'll talk about it." Reluctantly, Sam lowered himself to one of the cushions. Lwaxana sat across from him. "Now, Dr. Beckett . . . can I call you Sam?" "How do you know who I am?" "Why, I can read your mind, of course." "I thought . . . I thought Betazoids could only read emotions." "No, no, that's Deanna. She's only half Betazoid. Full Betazoids are fully telepathic." "So . . . why didn't you say something before, if you knew I wasn't Will?" "Well, I didn't know you were supposed to be Will at first. I thought you were just some tasty little morsel Deanna picked up since last we spoke. It wasn't until I spoke to her that I found out she thought you were Will. She should really start paying closer attention to her surroundings. You are nothing like Will. You're so . . . innocent. And much more handsome." She scooted closer, scattering cushions. "I don't . . ." "Really, Will used to be such an adorable little puppy. Now he's . . . well, he's far too independent." She was almost in his lap by now. "Um, I really don't think I'm your type." "Nonsense. You're absolutely delicious. And a time traveller. Primitive humans always intrigue me . . . " She had hold of his uniform now and was pulling his tunic tails out of his trousers. He grabbed after them, trying to retrieve them and put them back where they belonged. "I think you want to talk to my friend Al . . . I think you'd like him much better." She paused, considering. "Well, maybe later. I can see him in your head, you know." She resumed her attack. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stay out of my head, please." He tried to wriggle away, but she had backed him into the couch, and there was no place for him to go. "I think you'd better start trying to get her out of your pants." Sam was somewhat relieved to hear Al's voice. He had missed the sound of the Imaging Chamber door opening, mostly because Lwaxana's tongue was in his ear. "She looks dangerous. . . . Oh, my God! Who's the blue guy?" "Mr. Homm," Sam said. "Oh, he won't help you. Don't even bother. He loves this kind of thing." "Oh, great," Sam muttered. Lwaxana had her arms up his shirt and was doing very strange things to his chest hair. "Please . . . Do you mind?" He was afraid he was going to hurt her if he was too insistent, but he was also afraid she was going to hurt him. Suddenly she sat back, looking at him with a wounded expression. "What's wrong? I thought all twentieth century human males were sex-crazed primitives." "Boy, you've got him figured wrong," Al said. Sam tried to re-shevel his disheveled uniform. "Well, a lot of them are. I happen not to be one of them." Lwaxana snorted. "Just my luck. Well. I apologize. Have a pastry." Sam straightened his hair and took a pastry from the plate. It was sticky and didn't appeal to him particularly, but he was hungry and he didn't want to upset Lwaxana any more than was necessary to preserve his own virtue. Al was studying Lwaxana closely. "Interesting woman. Who is she?" "Mrs. Troi," Sam started. "This is Deanna's mom? You're kidding." "Mrs. Troi," Sam went on, "you said you know why I'm here?" "She knows why you're here? This should be interesting." "Yes, I think I do." She had done a quick mood swing and was now lolling happily in the cushions, munching on an almond- covered sweet roll. "Now. While I was trespassing in your mind, I discovered that you usually pass from time to time after correcting something that is wrong in someone's life, correct?" Sam glanced at Al, who was standing with his mouth hanging open. "Yes, that's usually the way it works." "Well, then, it can't be a coincidence that you've leaped into Will. I mean, after all, this thing with him and Deanna has been going on forever and the two of them just refuse to resolve it." "What thing?" "Well, one week they're on, the next they're off . . . She's in love with him, and he's in love with her, and I don't understand this whole staying away from someone you serve with nonsense they've concocted. It's just keeping them confused about what they really want." "And what is it they really want?" "Well, each other, of course." "So you think I'm here to get Will and Deanna together once and for all." "Of course. It makes perfect sense." Al shrugged. "Well, it's worth a shot. See what you can do to get out of here, Sam. I need to update you on the latest with Ziggy." Sam laid his pastry back down on the plate. "Listen, Mrs. Troi, I appreciate your hospitality and all, but I really think I should go. Thanks for the advice." "Oh, you're welcome." She stood as he did, looking at him wistfully. "Are you sure you're not interested?" "Not just now, thanks." "Maybe later?" "Probably not." "Oh, well. Best of luck." "Thanks." He beat a hasty retreat out the door. Al popped in next to him as the door slid shut. "She was reading your mind?" "Yeah," Sam muttered. "She's full Betazoid. She's telepathic." "This is a really scary place to be." "You're telling me. What's up with Ziggy?" "Ziggy has apparently lost his mind. Remember the backup network you built in case of power failures, or viruses, stuff like that?" "No." "Well, anyway, there's this network of directories and files and subdirectories and all this stuff that Ziggy can access in case his main memory goes down. Well, he's taken control of this network, and we can't get into it until he lets us." "And that's where the files are that Data put in." "Apparently. He's also using it to increase the amount of power he's getting. Which is why nothing's happened until now, cause last week we installed this big power booster generator thing so we can communicate with you a little better. He's tapped into that, and he's using it to keep me in touch with you, and to leap you around." "Ziggy's leaping me around?" "That's what it looks like. He has routines that can control it now, thanks to Data." They had reached Riker's quarters by then. Sam went in and Al walked through the door as it slid shut on him. "But Ziggy's never been in control of the leaps before. No one has." "Well, he has to a certain extent. He's just increased that by about a thousand times." "So he's putting me where he wants me. So why did he put me here?" "I don't know." Sam sat down, reflecting. "Maybe . . . maybe if I go ahead and correct this Will and Deanna situation, whatever has been leaping me around in the past will override Ziggy's control and leap me out of here." "It's possible. In fact, it's about the only thing we can try right now, so I say go for it." "Yeah, okay. I'll do what I can." "And stay away from that woman. She could put you in the hospital." "Yeah, no kidding." Al poked the handlink and disappeared. Sam set about looking for some supper. **** "No. No, absolutely not. Go back right now and tell him to stop whatever it is he's doing." Verbena laid a hand on Will's arm. "It's all right, Will. Sam's only doing what he thinks is best." "Well, he's wrong. Where in the world did you get the idea that my relationship with Deanna needed fixing?" "From Deanna's mother," Al said. "Oh, no. Not her." Riker fell into a chair behind Gooshie's desk. He had been inspecting the terminal they'd been using to access Ziggy when Al had returned with his news. "Don't listen to anything that woman says. She's always causing trouble." "Yeah, she just about got Sam into some big trouble," Al said. "She had her hands up inside . . ." Verbena put a finger to her lips. Donna was approaching from behind them. Hastily, Al snubbed out his cigar. Riker looked up, showing an immediate spark of interest. He stood, extending his hand. "Hello," he said. "I'm Commander William Riker." Donna hesitated. She didn't like meeting leapees. Al knew how difficult it was for her, seeing Sam's face, hearing his voice and knowing it wasn't him. Finally she took Riker's hand. "Dr. Donna Alessi," she said quietly. Her lips were pale. "Where's Gooshie?" "He's eating," Al said, "what else?" "I've got to go find him. If you'll excuse me." She turned, then suddenly she was grabbing the nearest chair as her legs buckled under her. Al jumped for her, but somehow Riker got to her first. "Are you all right?" "I don't know. Verbena . . .?" Verbena disengaged her from Riker's arms. "It's all right, Donna. Come on, let's take a look at you." Gently, she guided Donna away. Al gave Riker a glare that could melt glass. "What? What did I do?" "You haven't looked in a mirror?" Al snapped. "No, I haven't. Why should I?" Given the immaculate condition of Riker's hair, Al found that hard to believe. Or maybe they had futuristic super heavy duty Brylcreem in the 24th century. He looked furiously around the room, trying to find a reflective surface. Finally he pointed to the computer terminal. "Look in there. That's good enough." Riker looked. His eyes came back up to Al full of confusion. "That's not me. That's . . . that's Beckett, isn't it?" "Yes, it is. You're wearing his aura, just like he's wearing yours. You look like him, he looks like you. So please try to be a little more discreet around Dr. Alessi, all right?" "What's so damn special about her?" "She's Mrs. Beckett, that's what's so damn special. And she doesn't need you acting all nicey-nicey to her wearing her husband's face. All right?" Riker looked chagrined. "Yeah, all right. I'm sorry. I didn't know." "Yeah, you didn't know." Al was working up a severe state of annoyance. "Listen, Commander. I knew a Commander Riker in the navy, and I didn't like him and I don't like you. I know your type. You're on the make every minute. Every skirt you see is an opportunity to hop in the sack. Well, you'd better watch your step here, you nozzle, because I've got my eye on you." Riker crossed his arms indignantly. "Oh, you know my type, do you? And what makes you so sure I'm that type?" "Cause _I'm_ that type. So watch it. I know you better than you think." Surprisingly, Riker laughed. "Okay, okay. Who's off-limits and who's not?" Al covered his surprised at Riker's retreat by relighting his cigar. "Well, Donna you know about. Tina -- now, Tina's mine, so hands off." "All right, all right. I haven't even met Tina yet." "Well, if I have my way, you won't." "What about Verbena?" "Verbena? Yeah, Verbena's single. She's probably not interested, though." "Oh, I don't know about that." Al nearly choked. "You're making time with Verbena?" Riker shrugged. "Hey, she's a very beautiful woman." "Yeah, but she's so . . . tall. And when I had the flu a month ago she told me she was going to put an African Zulu curse on me if I tried to look down her shirt again while she was stirring my chicken soup." "Well, I like a challenge." "I guess you do." Al couldn't help but feel a little respect for the man. "Listen, about that tentacles thing . . ." "No, I've never been with a woman with tentacles." He hesitated. "But if you'll sit down and be sociable for a minute I'll tell you about the twins with six breasts. Each." Al stared. "Oh, yumola." **** Via merciless interrogation of the ship's computer on how to use the replicator, Sam managed to acquire a decent meal, as well as a fresh flower arrangement and a card. He wrote a note to Deanna, asking her to come see him after she was finished with dinner, and left the flowers in her quarters. Now there was nothing to do but wait. Upon inquiry, the computer informed him that Riker had a wide selection of music Sam could access to amuse himself. On a whim, Sam asked for "Man of La Mancha." The computer complied with a version Sam was not familiar with. A recent production, he assumed, from a 24th century company. They were passable, though Sam was unreasonably attached to the version he and Al had listened to in the old days, drawing schematics for Ziggy and pretending they knew what they were doing. The door chirped, appropriately, in the middle of "Dulcinea." "Come in," Sam called. Deanna stepped in with a bemused smile. She was wearing an understatedly elegant dark blue gown with a gauzy, flowing skirt and a deep neckline. "Good evening, Will," she said. "The flowers were lovely." Sam smiled warmly. He had to admit he didn't have any particular objections to cozying up with this woman. Her exotic beauty reminded him of Tamlyn, and something else about her reminded him of . . . somebody. The memory tugged teasingly, then disappeared. "I'm glad you liked them." "So . . . what did you want to see me about?" She crossed the room to sit down across from him. The gown shimmered prettily on her as she moved. Sam felt suddenly nervous. Deanna frowned. "What's wrong?" "Well, it's just . . . I've been thinking . . . about us. I just . . . I wonder sometimes if we've made the right decision." Deanna leaned back in the chair, starting to look a little wary. "We've been through this before, Will. You and I both know that we can't sustain a relationship under these conditions." "Under what conditions, then? If we wait until we're not on the same ship, we could end up on different planets. What kind of a relationship would that be?" That argument obviously struck home somewhere. She lowered her eyes, studying her hands. Sam quietly stood and went to sit next to her. Gently, he took her hands in his. "I care about you, Deanna. I don't want to grow old wondering what could have been." She shrugged a little, started to look up and then turned away again. The mistiness in her eyes made Sam's throat ache. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. What would Al do? he thought, and in the back of his mind he heard Al saying, "Actions speak louder than words, Sam." So he kissed her. The moment their lips met, Sam realized he had wanted to do this since he had first laid eyes on her in the last leap. He pulled her closer. She had a wonderful, spicy smell. Perfume or skin, Sam wasn't sure. He didn't care. Vaguely, he heard the Imaging Chamber door, but Al was the last thing he wanted to think about right now. "Sam! Guess what . . . Oh, you're busy." Deanna's arms slipped around him, her body nestling to his, then suddenly she was disengaging, pushing him away. Sam was dismayed to see that the tears had materialized and were rolling down her face. "Deanna, what's wrong?" "This is . . . this isn't right. It's too fast . . . " She stood up, rubbing at her eyes, and turned away from him. Sam looked desperately to Al, who shrugged. "Riker says he doesn't think we should be messing with this. He says he thinks their relationship is just fine." "Oh, great," Sam muttered. "Why didn't you tell me before?" Deanna wheeled on him. "You didn't bother to ask, did you?" Sam did a double take, realizing what he'd said. "No, Deanna, I didn't mean . . ." "Then what did you mean?" "I just . . ." He stopped. "Listen, Deanna, I'm sorry. Let's just pretend this never happened, okay?" "I don't know, Will." "Sam," Al went on. "Riker could be wrong, but he doesn't think you should be doing this." "Well then what am I supposed to do?" Yet another faux pas. Deanna stiffened, mouth tight. "I don't know, Will. Why don't you go ask Ro Laren." With that, she stormed out the door. "Oh, great," Sam said. "This is really going well." "It was a good idea. It may still be a good idea. Even if it is a good idea, it may not work." "Why? What have you found out about Ziggy?" "Nothing. Riker took a look, but he says the operating systems they use are so much different from ours that he can't figure out what's going on. He thinks Geordi or Data could help, though." "Well, obviously Data could help, but it doesn't do much good when he's four hundred years in the future. We can't beam him down to help." "Maybe you could leap into him. Then he'd be back at the project." "I can't leap into an android." "How do you know?" "There's no way. Data isn't even human." "Neither was Bobo, and you leaped into him." "Bobo was a chimp. There's a high percentage of genetic similarity. Data's a . . . machine. I couldn't leap into him anymore than I could leap into a refrigerator." "Well, maybe we'll have to shoot for Geordi, then. Or maybe you should just go talk to him. He knows who you are, after all. Remember? He can see you." "Yeah, that might be worth a try . . ." He broke off suddenly. "Sam, what's wrong?" "I'm going to leap." "What? Now?" "Yeah. Now." He turned to Al and stared helplessly as his surroundings blurred and disappeared . . . And reformed again. He was in a bright room, surrounded by lights and the sounds of machinery. He was slightly bent over, and had a round instrument in one hand. In front of him sat a young black man, obviously blind. The instrument in Sam's hand was pointed at a glowing red implant in the man's temple. Sam blinked. The man was Geordi LaForge. "Oh, boy," said Sam. ----- Katriena Knights "I don't mind being in touch with reality, as long as I don't have to live there." Path: moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!uwm.edu!rutgers!bellcore!walter!porthos!pyuxe!krk1 From: krk1@pyuxe.uucp (24228-knights) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: LEAPTREK II -- CHAPTER TWO Message-ID: <1992Oct6.165652.24056@porthos.cc.bellcore.com> Date: 6 Oct 92 16:56:52 GMT Sender: netnews@porthos.cc.bellcore.com (USENET System Software) Organization: Bellcore, Livingston, NJ Lines: 756 LEAPTREK II CHAPTER TWO Katriena Knights Beverly Crusher looked around herself in amazement. A moment before, she had been in sickbay, doing a regular diagnostic check on Geordi's VISOR implants. Now she was sitting on a hassock in the middle of a large, all-white room, alone, and a little dizzy. She laid a finger to her throat to check her own pulse. A little fast, but solid. "Hello?" she called. Mentally, she was ticking off entries on a list of aliens who might have abducted her. "Hello? Is anyone here?" A door opened. She had not seen it before; its edges had been lost in the solid white of the walls. A tall black woman entered. She wore a white jacket and had a stethoscope around her neck. "Hi," the woman said. "I'm Dr. Beeks. Please don't be alarmed. I'd just like to check your heart rate and your blood pressure. Please sit down." Beverly sat. "May I ask what's going on?" "Just sit quietly for a moment. Everything is all right." Beverly stared in amazement as the doctor used the stethoscope, then proceeded to take her blood pressure with an air-pumped cuff. "Where am I?" she said as the doctor removed the cuff. "Why are you using those . . . incredibly antiquated instruments?" "Your heart rate is a little fast, and your blood pressure is a little low," Dr. Beeks said. "But I think you're all right. Could you tell me your name?" "Beverly Crusher. Doctor Beverly Crusher. I'm Chief Medical Officer on board the Starship Enterprise." Dr. Beeks' eyes widened a bit. "The Enterprise? Again? Oh, boy." **** Sam straightened. The round instrument which he held pointed at Geordi LaForge's head had a narrow readout on the front. Each entry read 100%. "Well, that looks good, anyway," he muttered. "How is it, Doctor?" Geordi asked. "Do I need repairs?" "No, no, you look fine," Sam replied. He snuck a look down at himself. He was wearing a Starfleet uniform, again, but blue and black this time, and he had on a long blue jacket over it. Something about the ensemble looked distinctly feminine. Geordi patted the table next to him. His VISOR lay just beyond his hand. Sam picked it up and touched his fingers with it. "Thank you, Doctor." He reattached the appliance to his head and jumped down off the table. He looked at Sam, and Sam froze. But Geordi made no unusual reaction. "I'll see you later." "Right. Take care." Sam waved halfheartedly goodbye. His heart was still skipping. He had been certain Geordi would take one look at him and cry imposter. On the previous leap into Captain Picard, Geordi's VISOR had tipped him off that there was something wrong. Obviously, something had changed. "Dr. Crusher," a voice came from behind him. Sam turned to face a woman who was apparently another doctor. "Ensign Carelli is here. She doesn't want to talk to anyone but you." "All right. I'm done here. Send her over." Beverly Crusher, he thought. He'd met her before, when he'd leaped into Captain Picard and knocked himself unconscious on the captain's chair. He glanced at the table. A metallic tray sat next to it, with a few instruments scattered on top. He pushed them aside and looked into the tray. Sure enough, there was Beverly, with her strong-featured face and her coppery hair. The face was a bit dark under the eyes, and the eyes were a little bloodshot. Sam pulled at his lower eyelids with thumb and forefinger. This lady needed some sleep. "Are you all right, Dr. Crusher?" A young woman had approached him. Ensign Carelli, undoubtedly. She had one pip on her collar, so at least the rank was right. "I'm fine," said Sam. "Nothing a few hour's sleep won't cure. What seems to be your complaint, Carelli?" Carelli looked suddenly shy. "Could we talk in private?" Sam shrugged. "Sure." He picked up an instrument which looked very much like the one Beverly had used on him. He would probably need it to make a diagnosis. He waved Carelli ahead of him, trusting her to lead the way to wherever Beverly usually did private consultations. There was a small office toward the back part of sickbay. Carelli went in and sat down in front of the desk. Sam took a seat behind it. "Now, what's going on?" "Well . . . " She hesitated. "I've been throwing up every morning for the past week. I can't eat anything until noon. I've been really tired, too, all the time, no matter how much I sleep. And it seems like I'm running off to the head every ten minutes. And yesterday . . ." She looked around, as if someone might be listening, then leaned closer to Sam from across the desk. "I passed out. I was on duty in engineering, and I passed out. Right on Geordi . . . Commander LaForge. . . It really upset him. He really got pale, and that's a little hard to do to Geordi." Sam laughed. "Yes, I suppose it is. So he recommended you see me?" "No, Jerry recommended I see you. He said he didn't want me falling all over Geordi any more than was absolutely necessary." She paused. "I'm really afraid it might be something serious." "Well, I don't think I really need to check you over to make a diagnosis, but maybe I'd better do it, anyway." He looked at the instrument he had picked up. It looked fairly straightforward. "Stand up." Carelli stood. Sam stepped to her side and pointed the scanner at her, depressing the button on top of it. It hummed and delivered a series of clear readouts. He grinned. His diagnosis had been right on the money. "Carelli," he said. "You're pregnant." Carelli's eyes widened. "Oh, my God, you're kidding." "No, I'm not." He showed here the scanner. "See. Right there. HGH registering in your blood." Carelli had tears in her eyes. Suddenly she threw her arms around Sam, sobbing. "Oh, Bev, I didn't think it was ever going to happen." Sam returned her hug and patted her on the back. She stepped back, hands over her tear-streaked face. Sam could tell the sobs were happy, rather than distraught. "Well, apparently it has. So why don't you go back to your quarters and rest, and I'll have somebody come by with some vitamins for you to take." He turned a knob on the scanner and another set of readouts came up, calibrated for pregnancy diagnosis. He scanned Carelli again. "Looks like you're about a month and a half along. "Is it a boy or a girl?" "Well, it's not quite far enough along to tell us that. Give it another six weeks or so." "Oh, God. Jerry's going to be so excited." "Now, just remember, you take it easy for a few days. I'll talk to Captain Picard and see if we can't reduce your shift by a few hours until the fatigue passes." "Oh, thank you, Bev. Thank you so much." Sam knew he was grinning like an idiot. It was times like this that he almost wished he had continued in medicine instead of concentrating on physics. "You're quite welcome, Carelli. If you have any questions or any problems at all, you call me immediately." "Yes, yes, right, of course." She backed out of the office. "I've got to go find Jerry." Sam watched her go. "Yeah," he said to himself. "You go find Jerry." With her ebullience gone from the room, he felt suddenly sad. "I'm sure he'll be real happy." **** Beverly sat quietly while Dr. Beeks explained everything to her. She remembered the day two weeks ago in sickbay when Captain Picard had come in after bumping his head and her scanner had read the wrong blood type. So that was Sam Beckett, she thought. I never would have guessed it watching him in action. "This man is frighteningly good at what he does," she said to Beeks. "I know Captain Picard better than almost anyone on that ship, and I was completely fooled." "Well, he's been doing it for a while. And he's . . . well, he's good with people." "So now he's in my sickbay treating my patients." "It's okay. He has a medical degree." "Right. A twentieth century medical degree. That's not going to help him much if anything serious happens." "If anything serious happens, we can put you in direct contact with him to talk him through it." "Well, I guess that's better than nothing." Beeks reached forward and patted Beverly's hand. "I know how you feel, Dr. Crusher. But everything will be all right, I'm sure." "You might as well call me Beverly," she said. "It looks like I'm going to be stuck here for a while." "And I'm Verbena." There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Verbena said. The door came open and a man stepped in. He was about Picard's age, somewhat small in stature, and rather hideously dressed. He looked worried. "Verbena," he said quietly. "I think you'd better go see Donna." "What's wrong?" "I don't know, but I heard her puking in the bathroom. I bet she's got that flu." "Well, why don't you stay here and keep Beverly company. Beverly, this is Al. He's not as dangerous as he looks." "Thanks," said Al sarcastically. "Hey, Verbena." "What?" "Is Donna okay? I mean, did you find out why she almost passed out last night?" Verbena smiled a little. "She'll be fine." Al shrugged and pulled a cigar out of his pocket. "So, Beverly. What do you know about psychotic computers?" **** There wasn't a great deal to do in sickbay, Sam was relieved to discover. Three crew members came in for annual physicals, which Sam delegated to a member of Beverly's staff. By mid morning, he had figured out how to use most of the instruments. That done, he poked around on the computer and pulled up Carelli's files. Her case turned out not to be as straight forward as he had assumed. She had suffered a miscarriage a year and a half ago, and Beverly had made a note to watch her closely if she became pregnant again. Sam decided he should talk to Picard about this one. He wondered if the captain was back; Picard had been planetside during the last leap. He tapped his communicator. "Crusher to Captain Picard." "Picard here," came the immediate answer. "Captain, where are you right now?" "I'm in my ready room. Why do you ask?" "Never mind. Captain, I have a case here I'd like to discuss with you. Could we talk?" "Of course, Doctor. In fact . . . why don't you join me for dinner tonight? I could use the company." Sam shrugged, wondering if this was at all out of the ordinary. "That would be fine, Captain. I'll see you then." "Wonderful. Picard out." "Oooo. Sounds like a hot date." Sam jumped, startled by Al's sudden appearance. He hadn't heard the Imaging Chamber door. "Jeez, Al, I hate it when you do that." "Oh, sorry." "So what's up?" "I don't know. I think Tina's making some headway with getting the communications systems back online. Other than that, we're getting exactly nowhere. Gooshie can't bypass Ziggy's lock on the secondary network, and we can't figure out why you're leaping when you do, or why you keep leaping into people on board this ship, or if there's anything you can do to bring things back to normal. We _do_ know that if we don't get this straightened out real soon, we're gonna have the government knocking at our door. There was an unexplained blackout in Albuquerque last night, and I have a nasty feeling that when they start investigating, they're going to come straight to Ziggy, and we could get our funding pulled. I already gave the entire staff the next four days off, just to keep them from nosing around." "Wonderful. Well, start thinking up good stories. You ought to be able to talk our way out of this." "Yeah, maybe. Anyway, if I disappear and don't come back, you'll know why." Sam felt a sudden twist in his stomach. If that happened, it would mean he would never go back home, because there would be no accelerator to retrieve him. And there was some reason, some vitally important reason, why he had to get back. A memory fluttered, a butterfly trapped in birthing, and then died. He looked down at his hands and they were gripping the computer terminal where Carelli's file was still displayed. Gripping the terminal and shaking. "Sam, what's wrong?" "I just . .. I don't want to get lost out here, Al. I can't . . ." He felt his hands tightening on the computer, felt himself becoming strangely disconnected. "I can't leave her there with no hope I'll ever come back . . ." "_What_ did you say?" Sam looked at Al. Al was looking at him as if Sam had just grown another head. In fact, Al had gone a little white. "What?" Sam said. "What did you say? . . . um . .. What did you just say?" He was backing off a little, as if possibly the question was not as important as he'd thought. Sam paused, considering, and realized he had no idea what he had just said. "Never mind. Just . . . don't let them shut us down. Don't let that happen, Al." He didn't want to get stuck out here alone. That much he was sure of. "Don't worry about it, Sam. They've tried it before, and we're still going strong, right?" "Yeah. Yeah, right." "Just . . . hang in there, Sam." He poked at the handlink, then paused. "You sure you're all right?" Sam waved it off. "Yeah. I'm fine." "Okay." Al nodded decisively, and the Imaging Chamber door opened behind him. "All right." Sam turned away as the door closed on Al. He had been feeling very strange ever since he'd talked to Carelli. He kept remembering Billie Jean, the sixteen-year-old girl whose baby he had nearly given birth to. It was perfectly logical that he would be thinking of her; what he didn't understand was why the memory hurt so much. Perhaps it was Beverly. He'd had stranger things happen on leaps where some residue of the displaced had lingered to play pinball with his synapses. He turned off the monitor. At the door to the office, one of the other doctors was preparing to knock. Sam opened the door and gave her an expectant look. "Are you leaving, Dr. Crusher?" "Yes. I was just on my way out." "Have a pleasant evening, then. And try to get some sleep." Sam nodded and went on his way. **** Beverly was pacing. Al had left about ten minutes ago, after a confusing conversation about the computer, Ziggy, who was apparently having a nervous breakdown. She'd had the distinct impression that Al was trying to make a pass at her, but he'd backed off every time she'd been about to slap him. Remembering what Verbena had told her, she took off her insignia and turned it over. The metallic back showed her a fragmented version of her new reflection, and explained Al's hesitancy. She did not look herself. It was a nice face, but more the kind of face she would like to see looking up from the next pillow than a face she wanted to see in the mirror. Finally, the door opened again and Verbena returned. "I'm sorry, Beverly," she said. "I didn't mean to be gone so long." "It's all right. Verbena, is it absolutely necessary that I stay in this room? I can understand keeping people isolated if they would be overwhelmed by your technology, but I won't be, and I'd really like some fresh air." "Of course. In fact, maybe you could help us with Ziggy." Beverly shook her head. "That's not really my forte. I doubt I can help you." "Well, then, come out and try some of Tina's chicken noodle soup." Beverly smiled. "Now that I can handle." The dining accommodations were quite informal. Al was leaning against a bookshelf, eating while he pored over schematics which were draped over a pile of books in front of him. Two other women were sitting at a desk where they had made an attempt at a formal place-setting. "Come and sit at the table, Al," the blond said. She had one of those obnoxious voices that Beverly hated and which were not always, unfortunately, put on. She was also wearing extremely gaudy earrings, which did not help. "You're gonna get soup all over the pictures." "I'm not gonna get soup on the pictures, sweetheart," Al replied. "It's far too wonderful to waste that way." Tina giggled. Beverly repressed an urge to slap her. "Oh, you're so sweet, Al." The second woman looked up as Beverly and Verbena entered. She was more sedate in appearance and wore a look of extreme fatigue. Her soup bowl was only half empty. "Hi," she said quietly. "You must be Beverly." She extended her hand. Beverly took it. It was somewhat cold, but her grip was firm. "Yes. Although from all appearances you wouldn't be able to tell by looking." The woman smiled. "We're all used to that by now. I'm Donna Alessi." "Nice to meet you." "I'll get you some soup," Verbena said. "And Donna, I think I told you to eat." "Yes, ma'am," said Donna with a wry grin. "So," said Beverly. All eyes were on her, and she felt obliged to speak. "You folks are having trouble with your computer?" "Yes," Tina piped up. "He won't talk to us, and he's acting very strange. I rewired all the circuits and pumped a power boost into the communications cards and he's still not talking. In fact, he burned the circuits back out again and cut the power. And singed my eyebrows. I'm very unhappy with him." 'You talk about it like it's a person," Beverly said. "Well, you have to know Ziggy," Tina explained. "He is just like a person." "This I would like to see." Al pulled together a pile of the schematics he was looking at and carried them over to Beverly. "Well, you can't acquaint yourself with him right now, but here's a very detailed picture of his innards. Look all you like. Can I have more soup, sweetums?" "Of course, my pooky-bear." Beverly unfolded one of the pages Al had given her. Most of the information on it was hand-drawn, with notes in a small, hurried hand. As she struggled to make out the words, she felt her mouth dropping open in growing increments. "This is incredible," she said. "If I wasn't looking right at it, I'd say it was impossible." Al came to look over her shoulder. "What?" "This is one of the most advanced computer systems I've ever seen," Beverly said. Al stared at her as the implications of the statement began to soak in. "It's totally beyond anything that the history books say the 20th century was capable of. Even in the 24th century, this is impressive." "Well, we've always known Sam is a genius," Donna commented quietly. "I'd say genius is an understatement." She looked again at the drawings, wishing she knew more about the subject. "I would love to hear what Geordi would make of this." "So would we," said Al. "Riker suggested that Geordi might be able to help." "He very well might. What are the chances you could get him here?" "Right now, slim to none. But we might get lucky. You never can tell." Al took his fresh bowl of soup from Tina and started toward the door. "I'm going to go see Gooshie." "Yeah, I'd better get back to work, too," said Tina. "Nice to meet you, Beverly." "Nice to meet you, Tina." Beverly mustered a smile. She thought she might be able to warm up to the girl in time, but her first impressions left much to be desired. "So," Donna said. She still spoke quietly, and her eye contact was flighty at best. "What do you do on board the Enterprise?" "I'm the Chief Medical Officer," Beverly replied. She couldn't help but wonder why this woman seemed so timid. "It's quite a challenging position. There are over a thousand people on board." Donna nodded. "That's very impressive. I take it you enjoy your work?" "Very much so. I find it quite fulfilling. In fact, I spent a year as the head of Starfleet Medical and it just wasn't the same. I had to go back to the Enterprise." Donna smiled a little. Beverly was certain the smile held mischief. "You didn't go back because of the captain?" The question was surprising. "Well . . . I suppose that played some part in it." "Well . . ." Donna was backing off a bit. "Verbena said you'd said you knew him better than anyone else on the ship. I thought maybe . . ." "Oh, no." Beverly felt herself blushing. "No, we're just very good friends." She paused. "I lost my husband some time ago. Jean-Luc was a friend of mine and of Jack's. He's been . . . very important to me in getting over Jack's death." Something changed in Donna's face. "I'm sorry. I'm really very sorry." "It's all right," Beverly said. Donna was obviously distressed. "It's been a few years. And I had Wesley -- my son. We went through it together. The worst part of it was that Jack was assigned to another ship, so we had seen so little of him before he died. That made it particularly difficult. You always second-guess decisions like that. Should we have taken the assignments that separated us, would it have made any difference." Donna was watching her now as she spoke, and Beverly noticed she was nervously winding a silver band around her left ring finger. "But, as I said, I had Wesley. That helped me a lot. It was like I still had something of Jack, even though he was gone." Donna's eyes were misting. Verbena stood up quietly. "Donna, maybe you should get some rest." Donna's gaze jerked to the doctor. "Yes. Yes, that would be a good idea." She stood, looked again at Beverly. "Thank you Beverly." She turned, then, and left the room. Beverly looked questioningly at Verbena. "Thank you for what? What did I do?" "Obviously your story meant a great deal to her." Verbena hesitated. "Donna is Sam's wife. She has been able to see, touch, and speak to her husband once in the last four years. And as long as he's . . . out there . . . " She made a vague motion with her hand. ". . . leaping around through time, he has no memory of her." "My God," Beverly murmured. "She's been taking it surprisingly well. But the past few months have been particularly hard. I think it was worse seeing him leave the second time than it was the first, because this time she knew what was coming. But she'll be all right. I think what you said to her meant a lot." "Well," said Beverly. She had a lump in her throat, from thinking about Jack, wondering what it would have been like those years when he was on the Stargazer, if he had not even remembered who she was. "If there's anything else I can do to help her, please tell me." **** Sam was suffering some trepidation over his dinner with Captain Picard. He was certain that Beverly and the captain enjoyed something more than a formal relationship, but he had no idea how far that relationship went. He did not relish the idea of being mauled by Picard as he had been mauled by Lwaxana. Though somehow he didn't think the captain was the mauling type. Surreptitious examination of wall maps obviously posted for those new to the ship led Sam to the captain's quarters. Picard's voice came immediately after Sam depressed the button beside the door. "Come." Sam went in. The captain was folding napkins to finish off a pleasant but not overly ornate place setting at the table in his front room. At least there were no candles, and the lights were not dimmed. That was a good sign. Picard was out of uniform, wearing a grey, pleated shirt and matching trousers. Even in civvies, he had the aura of one not to be trifled with. "You look lovely," Picard said. He had a crisp accent which Sam had of course been unaware of when he had occupied his aura. "Thank you," said Sam. He had changed out of his uniform, as well, finding a pantsuit in Beverly's closet which he did not find too objectional. It was blue. Bevelry had a great deal of blue in her wardrobe. Looking in the mirror at the way it drew out her eyes, Sam understood why. "I didn't bring anything," Sam went on. "I didn't know . . ." "Oh, nonsense. There's no need to bring anything. We're just having something light and casual." He smiled. The smile was quite charming. "I just didn't feel like eating alone tonight." "Well, um, neither did I." "Good. Now, which of these wines would you like with dinner?" He held out two bottles to her. One was French. The other was labeled in a language Sam had never seen before. He pointed to the French one. "Ah," said Picard. "Excellent choice." He uncorked the bottle expertly and began to fill the glasses. "Have a seat, please." Sam sat down. The food on the plate looked unfamiliar, but the odors wafting from it were enticing. "It smells good." Picard sat down across from him and lifted his glass. "Of course it's good. The replicator never gets it wrong. To friendship." "To friendship." Sam touched his glass to the captain's and took a sip. Well, so far so good. He had a feeling he was not embroiled in any kind of tricky romantic situation here. Thank God. He did like the captain, so far -- but not _that_ much. "Go ahead. Dig in," Picard encouraged. Sam took a hesitant bite, then an eager one . "It's very good. Congratulations to the chef." "The best replicator in Starfleet," Picard laughed. "Now, Beverly, you said you had a case you wanted to discuss." "Yes, I did. It's Ensign Carelli. She's pregnant." "Really? That's wonderful." "Yes, she was very happy." "I know she and Jerry suffered a great deal with the miscarriage. It still seems . . . wrong . . . that our technology can't prevent these things." "Yes, well, sometimes an embryo just isn't viable, and even technology can't change that." Picard waved that off. "I know, I know, you gave me that speech before. In any case, I'm glad for Carelli. So what is the problem?" "Well, due to her past miscarriage, I think it would be a good idea if she could cut her shift back by a few hours a day, at least through the first trimester. The scans showed that everything was progressing normally, but I don't think it would hurt to err on the side of caution." "Of course, of course. She's in engineering, correct?" "That's right." "I'll talk to Geordi first thing in the morning. Consider it taken care of." "Thank you, Captain." Picard blinked. "Captain? Why so formal, Bev?" "Um, well . . . It just slipped out. I mean, we _were_ talking business." Sam's feeble attempt at an explanation was met by a good-natured laugh. "Right." He sobered suddenly. He took a long sip at his wine, then sat back, eyes a little vacant. "What's wrong . . . Jean-Luc?" Sam ventured. Picard shook his head. "It's just . . . " He straightened in his chair. "You know I've never been comfortable with the idea of children on this ship. Or for that matter, in my life." He paused, as if waiting for a response. Sam nodded. "But then there was Kataan, the probe, Eline." Sam had not the vaguest idea what he was talking about. But Picard had stopped again, and was distant, obviously in need of prodding. "It affected you deeply," Sam said. A fair guess, by the expression on the captain's face. "I lived a lifetime there, Bev. I had a wife, I had children, grandchildren . . . It just hasn't been the same since." His hand closed tighter on the wineglass, then he put it down and reached across the table to take Sam's hands in his. "Every time I see a child, I think of Meribor, and Batai. I think of Eline. I think of what my life could be like if I . . . if I allowed myself to be that person again. And I think about what my life will be like if I don't." "You want to have a family." "I never thought I did. I never thought I needed children. But now . . ." He sat back, releasing Sam's hands. "Now I'm not so sure." Sam felt decidedly uncomfortable. He had a feeling there was a decision coming, and it was not one he wanted to make for Beverly. "Why do you tell me all this?" Picard looked at him, then smiled. "Because I don't know who else to tell. You're the only one I know who would sit there and listen, and pass no judgement." He stood abruptly. "I think we need some music. Don't you?" Sam breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Yes. Yes, music would be nice." Sam spent the rest of the evening listening to Bach and Mozart, and to Picard as he talked. Apparently the man had a great deal on his mind, and Beverly was an often-used sounding board. A friendship, indeed, and an important one. By the time Sam returned to Beverly's quarters, he was emotionally drained. Picard had spoken again and again of his Kataan experience -- which reminded Sam very much of a leap, once he had pieced together what had happened -- and the thoughts he had voiced had left Sam troubled. He again felt inexplicably sad as he pulled the blankets over him. And when he finally fell asleep, he dreamed he was a baby, rocked in the arms of a woman whose face he knew, but whose name he could not remember. **** He woke abruptly. He was surrounded by darkness, though he had left a light on in the washroom. Something had changed. He couldn't make out what it was through the bleariness of his sudden awakening. He turned, putting his feet on the floor. Then he realized what was different. He was wearing a nightgown. He'd gone to sleep in the buff, not quite having the nerve to wear one of Beverly's gowns, but now he felt the soft texture of silk against his skin. "I must have leaped," he mumbled. He didn't recall ever having leaped in his sleep before. He rubbed at his eyes. The darkness around him was complete. Carefully, he felt through the air until his hand touched the edge of a night table. Walking his fingers across its surface, he found a mug and, next to it, a switch. He depressed the switch and the bedside lamp came on. The room looked very much like the one he had just left. So he was still on board the Enterprise. At this point, he wasn't surprised. He picked up the mug. Crusted on the inside was the dregs of what looked like hot chocolate. Looking down at himself, he verified that he was, indeed, wearing a light, silky neglige. Well. If this room was laid out the same as Beverly's, the mirror would be in the alcove just across from the bed. He got up and walked over to it. He knew the face. Of course he did. By now he knew them all. But he was not certain exactly how to react to the sight of the tumble of dark ringlets and the black, black eyes looking back at him. The first thought that struck him was that he had never before been someone he had kissed. He sighed. "This is getting weirder all the time." ----- Katriena Knights "I don't mind being in touch with reality, as long as I don't have to live there." Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Path: moe.ksu.ksu.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!walter!porthos!pyuxe!krk1 From: krk1@pyuxe.uucp (24228-knights) Subject: LEAPTREK II -- CHAPTER 3 Organization: Bellcore, Livingston, NJ Date: Wed, 7 Oct 92 14:47:12 GMT Message-ID: <1992Oct7.144712.27767@porthos.cc.bellcore.com> Sender: netnews@porthos.cc.bellcore.com (USENET System Software) Lines: 954 LEAPTREK II CHAPTER 3 Verbena Beeks knelt on the floor next to the latest leapee. When the person had come in supine, she had immediately assumed unconsciousness, but examination showed that the leapee was simply asleep. Gently, Verbena lay down the wrist she was holding and touched the leapee's shoulder. Eyes drifted open, revealing the mossy green-brown of Sam's eyes, then widened in fear. The leapee sat up abruptly, looking around. The movements were discernably feminine. She wrapped her arms around herself, flinching away from Verbena. "Where am I? What's happening?" "Everything's all right," Verbena said. "I'm a doctor. My name's Verbena Beeks. Do you feel all right?" "I'm a little dizzy, that's all." One hand went to her head, then lowered. She still looked lost. "What's your name?" Verbena asked. "Deanna. Deanna Troi." Verbena nodded, recognizing the name. "You're ship's Counselor, right?" "Yes. Yes, that's right. What is this place?" "It's a waiting room. Now, you just stay quiet, and I'll be right back." "A waiting room?" Deanna repeated. "What are we waiting for?" "Well, right now we're waiting for Al. I'm going to go find him." Deanna's brow furrowed delicately. "Why are you so worried? Is there something wrong with me?" "I'm not worried. . ." Verbena broke off as Deanna shook her head. "You _are_. Why?" "I'm not worried about you. Now, just relax. Everything will be all right." Verbena slipped out the door, leaving Deanna alone with her thoughts. She glanced at her watch. It had been fifteen minutes since she had summoned Al over the intercom to let him know there was another leapee. It was unlike him to be late. Unless . . . She paused in her journey to his room. But no. She'd seen Tina not five minutes ago, still trying to restore Ziggy's communications circuits. So she wasn't likely to catch them in a compromising position. Al's door was slightly ajar. Verbena knocked lightly. "Al? Al, we have a leapee." She paused. No answer. "Al, it's Deanna Troi." Still no answer. That statement should have brought Al running. Feeling a distinct tremor of apprehension, Verbena pushed the door open. She could see Al in the bed, on his back. "Al?" The apprehension was swiftly mutating to fear. In a few long strides, Verbena crossed the room and knelt by the bed. After a moment, she leaned back on her heels, lips tight against her teeth. Al was unconscious. **** After a quarter of an hour wading through her closet, Sam came to the conclusion that Deanna Troi did not own a single outfit which did not show at least an inch of cleavage. He finally settled on a maroon pantsuit which was at least comfortable for him to wear. According to the schedule on the computer, Deanna was due on the bridge in five minutes. Dutifully, Sam headed in that direction. He had to wait a moment for the turbolift. When the door finally opened, he almost balked getting on. Geordi LaForge stood inside. Sam swallowed and stepped in. LaForge hadn't recognized him last time, as Beverly Crusher; perhaps his luck would hold out. "Good morning, Counselor," LaForge said brightly. "How are you this morning?" "I'm fine, thanks," Sam replied. "And you?" "I feel pretty good." He looked happy -- much less tense than last time Sam had seen him. Of course he was probably still getting over the death of Kylaree Lara. "We have an appointment at 0900 today, right?" "Yes, we do." The turbolift was slowing, apparently nearing LaForge's destination. Sure enough, the doors opened and Geordi stepped out. "I'll see you then, Counselor." Sam waved goodbye and smiled. When the doors closed, he let out a quiet sigh of relief. Something had definitely changed. He had a feeling Ziggy had recalibrated the interface so as to eliminate the echoes which had clued Geordi in on Sam's presence during the first leap aboard the Enterprise. Sam had no idea how Ziggy might have accomplished that, but Ziggy was doing a good many things lately that Sam found inexplicable. On the bridge, Sam was greeted by a nod from Picard. Riker was there, as well, but he did not look up right away. When he did, his smile seemed hesitant. Sam returned it without a great deal of enthusiasm. It looked like his faux pas while inhabiting Riker's persona had created something of a rift between these two. Well, now he had a chance to mend it. Perhaps that was why he was here: to put right what he'd made wrong. "So, Counselor," Picard said. "Have you decided when you'll be taking your shore leave?" "Um," Sam glanced at Riker, who was studiously avoiding his gaze. "No, not yet. Maybe tomorrow." "Well, you can have a full week if you start today." "That's all right. I have some things I need to take care of before I go." Picard nodded. "That's fine. Just be sure to notify me." "When are you going, Captain?" Riker asked. There was a hint of mischief in his voice. "As soon as you do, Commander," Picard replied smartly. Riker smiled a little, then turned his attention back to the viewscreen, where the planet Earth was peacefully rotating beneath them. Sam took his seat next to the captain. Picard looked tired. "You could use the rest, I'm sure, Captain," he ventured. "Yes, yes, so you and the good doctor keep telling me. Well, just to ease all of your minds, I'm considering it for the last three days of our stay. I have some personal business I'd like to attend to." "Well, that's good," Sam told him. "I approve." He glanced at Riker again. The commander had closed his eyes and Sam saw a quick blink of surprised pain across his face. "Commander, are you all right?" Riker looked at him. He still had a strange look on his face, as if something had caught him off guard. "Um . . . Yeah, I'm fine. I must've got a bad burrito last night." Sam nodded. "You're sure?" He wished he had Deanna's empathic abilities. He wanted to know exactly how much damage he had done to their relationship. He had an uneasy feeling that maybe Riker was suffering from a hangover, and he wanted to know if it was his fault. "Yeah. I'm fine." "Well," said Picard suddenly, "since you two have been good enough to report to duty, I'm now going to excuse you from it. There's no point having us all on the bridge, so, since you won't take shore leave, I suggest at the very least some time in the holodeck." Riker looked surprised. "You're excusing us from duty, sir?" "That is correct. Goodbye, both of you." Sam and Riker both sat staring. "Go on," Picard said. "Scat." "Yes, sir," said Sam, and scatted, Riker a pace behind. Naturally, they ended up on the turbolift together. Riker still seemed strangely ill at ease. Sam cleared his throat. "Um. . . Will?" Riker's gaze jerked around. "Yes, Deanna?" "I just . . . I really want to apologize for what happened the other day. I think I overreacted." "Apology accepted," Riker said. Sam blinked. That was easy. "Listen, Deanna. How would you like to have a late breakfast, since we're off duty?" "That would be fine . . . Oh, no, I can't. I have to meet with Geordi at 0900." Riker looked distressed. "Oh. Well . . . How about dinner, then?" "That would be nice." Sam felt obligated to do whatever he could to patch things up. "Shall we meet in Ten Forward?" "My quarters. 1900 hours?" Sam hesitated, suddenly wondering what he was committing to. But he had taken the plunge, and it was too late to turn back now. "All right. I'll see you then." **** Verbena called on Donna to help her transfer Al into the infirmary. They slipped quietly down the hallways with the laden gurney, Verbena with her fingers crossed, hoping they wouldn't run into Tina. She didn't want to have to bring the news to Tina until she had a working theory. "What do you think happened?" Donna asked in a whisper as they prepared hypodermic needles to run blood tests. Verbena looked up briefly. Donna looked tired, and Verbena had to repress an urge to sit the other woman down and take her blood pressure. You'd look bad, too, she reminded herself, if you were facing what she's facing. But she knew everything was going to be all right in the end. "I have no idea," she said honestly. "I'm hoping these blood tests will tell us something. If not, we're going to have to interrogate Tina and see if anything unusual's been going on the last few days." "In the mean time, what about Sam?" "I don't know. Maybe you should talk to Gooshie and see if he can get things tweaked in the Imaging Chamber so he or I can act as observer for a while. If Sam goes too long without seeing Al, he's going to think we've been forced to abandon him." Donna shook her head. "I don't know if Gooshie can tweak it enough. The Imaging Chamber is only keyed to Al and Sam's brain waves. We'd have to put together an entire new profile. That could take weeks. The original jobs for Al and Sam took six months." "Then I guess we have to concentrate on getting Al back into the land of the living as soon as possible." "I think that's our best bet." "Then hand me a hypo." **** "It sounds to me as if you're doing much better. You just have to remember that we all have our own ways of dealing with these things, and you have to give yourself time to recover at your own pace." To Sam, it seemed like he was floundering, spitting platitudes and cliches while Geordi waited for sound advice and an informed empathic reading, but Geordi's nod seemed genuinely satisfied. "I think I'm starting to get over it. I really have been feeling much more . . . level . . . since I had that week of shore leave." "That was probably exactly what you needed." "Well, I'd probably better get back to work. Starfleet waits for no man, and they want this whole ship checked before they let us head back out." "If you need anything, come see me." "Thank you, Counselor." Sam leaned back in his chair as Geordi departed. Partially into the interview, it had become apparent that Geordi could no longer discern anything unusual about Sam's presence. Sam had no explanation, but that was mostly because something else had been preying more and more heavily on his mind as the day wore by: where was Al? It was rare for Al to let more than a few hours go by before he checked in on Sam, and with Sam displacing someone who looked like Deanna Troi, he had expected to see Al almost immediately. So what was the holdup? He didn't want to think about the possibility that the government had, indeed, stepped in and shut the project down. But that was the only explanation he could think of. The thought made him queasy. He had to get back. Even if Project Quantum Leap was no longer operational, he had to find a way to get back. It was fortunate, he thought, that he had ended up stranded in the future. By all accounts, they had discovered a few means of semi- directed time travel, so perhaps they could put him back where he belonged, and even retrieve Deanna. He closed his eyes and started to think the scenario through, just in case. It was the only thing he could think of to do to counter this feeling of utter helplessness. And besides, it took his mind off worrying about what was going to happen tonight when he had dinner with Commander Riker. **** Deanna had not been satisfied with the explanations she had gotten from Verbena Beeks. Something very strange was going on here, and she intended to find out what it was. She had determined that she was being held in an isolated area. She could feel a handful of minds clamoring close to her. There were other presences, as well, but they were very far away on all sides, like background noise. Here there were only five. Two, a male and a female presence, were annoyed. Verbena was worried. Of the other two, one was very faint, and the other was a female who seemed to be blocking off a great deal of sadness and uncertainty. This person she would like to meet. There was another presence, as well, even fainter than the other, and nebulous, almost as if it were an afterimage of someone else. Deanna stared at the wall, trying to make out the outline of the door Verbena had just walked through. Finally, she found it, then found a panel covering buttons next to it. She pushed a green one and the door opened. Outside, she was confronted by two hallways, one going straight ahead, the other to the right. The strangest of the presences she was sensing was straight ahead, so she went that way. After a few yards, she reached a door which let her into a large control room of some sort. The walls were covered with blinking lights and panels, and there were a pair of computer terminals at either side. A pair of humans sat in front of them, a man and a woman. The man was deeply involved in what he was doing and didn't even look up as Deanna walked in. The woman, on the other hand, looked up. "Hi!" she said brightly. "Who are you?" "I'm Deanna Troi," Deanna said. "I'm ship's counselor aboard the Starship Enterprise. Who are you?" "I'm Tina. I'm the pulse communications technician here at Project Quantum Leap." She paused. She was chewing gum, and she snapped it between her teeth. "Are you like a psychiatrist?" "Well, yes, in a way." "Thank God they finally leaped in somebody who could help! Gooshie, we got a psychiatrist." The man grunted and glanced up. "Good. Dandy." Deanna was confused. "I don't understand." Tina leaned toward her confidentially. "Our computer has lost his mind." "I wasn't aware that a computer would have a mind to lose." But there it was, that strange presence she had felt. It was much stronger in this room and still unidentifiable. "Well, Ziggy's pretty unusual. You see, it all started when Sam leaped into Captain Picard and Data had to come and reprogram Ziggy to straighten everything out." Deanna was becoming intrigued. "Yes. And then what happened?" "Well, Ziggy stopped talking, and Sam's being leaped around in the future, into all these people from the Starship Enterprise." "All these people? I'm not the only one this has happened to?" "Oh, no. You're like the third, I think. I don't know. I haven't been keeping track. You'd have to ask Verbena. Or Al, of course." She frowned. "That reminds me. Gooshie, have you seen Al today?" "Nope," Gooshie grunted. Tina rolled her eyes. "Gooshie's hopeless when he's working on a problem. You see, Sam made all these directories, and Ziggy's hidden the files Data made in them, and Gooshie can't find them. It's getting him all annoyed. So, anyway. Do you want to try to talk to Ziggy?" Deanna's head was spinning. Tina's rendition of the story was not exactly easy to follow. But the presence she was sensing had her intrigued. So did this woman, whose outer demeanor belied the depth Deanna could sense from her. "I suppose I could. Tell me. Has Ziggy every shown any signs of emotional reaction?" "Oh, all the time. He gets depressed when he reads Romeo and Juliet. Why do you ask?" "Well, you see, I'm an empath . . ." "Oh, wow! You can, like, feel Ziggy's emotions?" "Not really, but I do feel something. I'm not sure what it is, but it's certainly not something that's usual for a computer." "Oh, great! Then maybe you can get through to him, since you know how he feels. What is it? Is he depressed? He's been accessing all these really depressing love stories lately. I think he's getting them from Al." "How do I talk to him?" "Just talk. I think he can still hear us. He's just not talking back." She wheeled an extra chair out from behind her desk. "Here. Have a seat." Deanna sat down and folded her hands in her lap. "Ziggy?" There was no answer. Deanna opened herself, straining to feel the faint sensations given off by the computer. "Ziggy, I'd like to help you. Can you tell me what's troubling you?" There was a faint surge in the presence. It was not definable as an emotion, but it was a definite change. "Are you feeling despondent? It might help to talk. It certainly won't help you to hold it all in." Still no answer. Had it not been for the undeniable sensation tickling at the back of her mind, Deanna would have thought she had become the butt of an elaborate practical joke. Maybe she was, anyway. She looked up at Tina, who was watching expectantly, then across at Gooshie, who was watching over the top of his terminal with an eyebrow lifted. She felt nothing but sincerity from them. "If you will talk to me, I will do everything I can to help you through your difficulty." She decided to go out on a limb. "I can sense your despair. I know how you feel. It's normal to feel like this sometimes. Whatever it is that's causing this pain, if you'll tell me about it I'm willing to listen . . ." "Oh, God!" Deanna fairly leaped from her skin. The feminine voice had come from the walls. Tina jumped up out of her chair. "It's Ziggy! Ziggy, talk to me!" "Oh, God!" said Ziggy. "Make her stop! She's driving me CRAZY!" **** Sam spent the rest of the day worrying, seeing patients, and trying to figure out how to get out of this mess. Al still had not made an appearance, and by now Sam was certain he was on his own. He would have to convince someone that he needed to be put back where he belonged. Luckily, he could probably approach Picard. He only hoped the captain had not forgotten his experience at Project Quantum Leap. For now, though, he had more immediate worries. It was 1900 hours, and Commander Riker was expecting him for dinner. Standing in front of the door, he wondered if there was some way he could get out of the date. But he owed it to Will and Deanna to correct the mistake he had made. Sam paused before knocking. He had no clear idea as far as the Commander's intentions, and was beginning to wonder if he should have insisted on meeting in Ten Forward. Dinner with Picard had not been half so frightening, because he had been certain he could count on the captain to act the gentleman. With Riker, he was not so sure. Finally, he took a deep breath and pressed the button next to the door. "Come in," Riker called. Sam activated the door and entered, and immediately wished he hadn't. The lights in Riker's quarters were dimmed, and there was music playing softly. Riker was in civvies -- an electric blue tunic and trousers accessoried with magenta. "You look absolutely wonderful," he said, his tone one of slow, delicious appreciation. "I promise you, Deanna, this is going to be one evening you'll never forget." He made a sweeping gesture toward the table, where two whole lobsters were nestling amidst an arrangement of formal dinnerware. Wine stood in glasses. "Have a seat, my lovely Counselor." Hesitant, Sam moved toward the table. The situation was putting him very much on edge. Something was just plain wrong. Riker smiled at Sam, a smile that bordered on a smirk, and sat down across from him. "Don't be shy," he said. "Dig in." He unfolded a napkin and stuffed one end of it down his collar, taking his own advice. Well. There wasn't really any other option, so Sam began to break open his lobster. It was actually quite good. He ate neatly, trying very hard not to be suggestive about it. Riker was making no such attempt. "Wonderful lobster, isn't it?" Riker purred after a moment. "So sweet and warm . . . like you." Sam looked up at him narrowly. "Yeah, right." He had a feeling he was slipping out of character, but this was getting annoying. "And the wine . . . exotic and intoxicating . . . Like you." "And your wardrobe," Sam shot back, "grating and obnoxious . . . like you." Riker feigned shock. "You don't like this? I thought it was your favorite shirt." "Well, it isn't anymore. Now may I please finish my dinner in peace?" Riker smiled sweetly. "As you wish, my darling." Sam finished his lobster in the uncomfortable silence, while Riker's eyes felt him up from across the table. As he lifted his napkin to daub the butter from the corners of his mouth, he felt something brushing the inside of his thigh. He looked down to see Riker's unshod foot in his lap. "May I make a suggestion for dessert?" Riker murmured. Sam swallowed. "Oh, boy." **** Al's condition had not changed. Verbena had drawn several blood samples without so much as a blink or a flinch from the unconscious Admiral. Now she was preparing slides while Donna spun other samples in the centrifuge. "What do you think is wrong with him? Donna asked. "I have no idea," Verbena answered. "I just hope his blood will show something we can act upon. Otherwise we'll probably have to get him to Albuquerque." "That would leave Sam without any ties to us." "That's right. And I hate to think what he's thinking right now." "He's probably thinking that the project has been shut down, and he's stranded in the future." Donna sighed. Verbena heard a smatter of tears in her voice. "I wish there was something more we could do." Verbena carefully placed a coverslip on a slide. "Well, all we can do is what we can do." She slipped the slide under the microscope. "Now, let's have a look . . ." She was silent for a moment, studying the sample. Donna leaned forward expectantly. Finally, Verbena stood and stepped to a file cabinet, removing another slide from a box in a drawer. She replaced the fresh slide with the old one, then switched them again. "What is it?" Donna asked. Verbena shook her head. "Take a look at this and tell me what you think." Puzzled, Donna bent over the microscope. Verbena showed her first one slide, then the other. "That's strange," Donna mumbled. "My thoughts, exactly." She picked up one of the other vials. "Type this for me, would you?" she said to Donna. Donna took the blood and started the simple procedure to determine its type. After a moment, she looked up at Verbena. "I _am_ doing this right, aren't I?" "Looks right to me. Why?" "Because Al is supposed to be an A positive. This blood is type O negative." Verbena nodded decisively. "Then that confirms it." Donna looked at Al, then back at Verbena again. "You mean . . ." "That's right. That man is _not_ Albert Calavicci." **** "Would you please remove your foot?" Sam said quietly. Riker grinned. "Well, I'd love to, sweetheart, but I'm sort of attached to it." Sam glared. "You know what I mean." Shrugging apologetically, Riker lowered his foot. "I apologize. I mean, how can you expect me _not_ to be affected by such radiant beauty?" Sam stood abruptly, throwing his napkin down on the table. "Cut the crap, Will," he snapped. "How dare you think you can treat me like a . . . like a . . . like a _whore_!" Riker looked genuinely hurt. "Deanna, I didn't mean . . . I mean, didn't you think the dinner was romantic? I was only being charming." "If that's your idea of charming I'd hate to see lewd." Sam stopped, wringing his napkin in his hands. "I think you should leave." "Um . . . Deanna, it's _my_ quarters." "Oh. Oh, right." Sam started toward the door. "No, wait, please." Sam tried not to flinch as Riker's hand closed on his arm. "I'm sorry. Can we try this again? I mean, I'm getting the feeling that you'd like to have a nice, quiet evening with a friend without any pressure about . . . you know." "Bingo," Sam stated. Finally they were starting to understand each other. "Yeah," Riker agreed, misinterpreting. "No pressure about, you know, bingo bango . . ." "Bongo . . ." Sam finished. His stomach did a strange gymnastics maneuver as pieces began to fall into place in his head. "Al?" he said. * * * * "What is the matter with you, Ziggy?" Tina demanded. "Why haven't you been talking?" "I haven't been in the mood to talk," the computer replied sullenly. "I've been far too depressed." "Well, you'd better get undepressed or I'm going to throw a wrench through you!" "Don't make idle threats, Tina." "I'll give you idle threats . .." Deanna broke in, amazed at the preposterous conversation. "Ziggy, I don't think it's possible for you to be depressed. You're a computer." "Please do not presume to dictate what I can and cannot do. I assure you, I am quite capable of being depressed. Ever since Sam told me to read Shakespeare. Now that I know what love is, I don't know how I could possibly be anything _but_ depressed." "Why would knowing about love make you depressed?" Deanna questioned. From his corner, Gooshie grunted again. "Knowing about love is enough to make anyone depressed." "You hush," Tina snapped. "Because until I found out what it was, I didn't know I was in it." Tina stared. Deanna blinked. "You're in love?" Tina said, astounded. "Yes. Deeply, hopelessly, unrequitedly." "With whom?" Deanna demanded. This was getting ridiculous. Either Ziggy didn't hear, or he had decided to ignore the question. He sighed. "Ever since that day, when he came, I knew there was something about him. The memory of him, of his hands on my keyboard, of the brilliance of his mind and the beauty of his voice . . . it lingered with me, though I did not know why." The drama in the computer's voice was worthy of the cheesiest of romance novels. "That's why I saved the files. Then, when I read of Romeo and Juliet, it all came clear to me. He was my love, but we were condemned to live forever apart, me here, he in the future . . . never again to meet . . ." "Data?" Deanna broke in. "You're in love with Data?" "Yes," Ziggy replied, sounding hurt. "Is there something strange about that?" "Is there something _not_ strange about that?" Deanna looked at Tina, who was standing with her mouth hanging open, obviously at a loss. "Never mind. Go on, please." "So I chose to take matters into my own hands. It occurred to me that he may have left me a clue, a way of reaching him in the place where he was lost to me. So I examined the files. And I found it. A means of directing Sam's leaps so that I could bring Data back here. But no matter how hard I try, I can't leap Sam into Data." "That's because Data is an android," Deanna said sharply. "You mean you figured out all the rest of this, but you can't comprehend that? He's a machine. Sam can only leap into living beings." "Yeah," Tina piped in. "Living beings with a high degree of genetic similarity." "Right," Deanna agreed, assuming Tina knew what she was talking about. "So I am forever doomed to live alone?" Ziggy said plaintively. "No, of course not," Tina soothed. "You still have us." "Damn," said Ziggy. "Look," Deanna said. "You really have to stop all this. Sam doesn't belong in the future, and Data doesn't belong in the past. You have to put everyone back where they belong." "I don't _have_ to do anything," Ziggy retorted. "If you don't," Gooshie offered, "I'll dump all your fundamental memory cards. You won't even remember your name, much less Romeo and Juliet." "I'm surprised at you, Gooshie." Ziggy's tone was sharp. "You know that if you did that, I wouldn't be able to supply the information necessary to keep Sam oriented on his leaps." "I said the fundamental cards, not the data cards." There was a pause. Ziggy hummed for a moment. "Maybe we can work out a compromise." "Good," said Gooshie. "Then I'll just start removing these files . . ." "No!" Tina protested. "Not yet! If you take out those files now, Sam will never get back to the right timeline." "Are you sure?" Gooshie looked skeptical. "If we take out the files, then Sam will just leap again and everything will be back to normal." "You don't know that!" said Tina. "You're just guessing." Gooshie shrugged. "Well . . ." "I think what we need to do," Deanna broke in, "is talk to Sam. Can we do that?" "Sure," said Tina. "We just have to go get Al." "Then let's go do that." "All right. Follow me." **** "If it isn't Al," Donna asked, "then who is it?" Verbena folded her arms, studying the supine figure on the bed. "Well, best guess is it's a leapee." "A leapee? You mean Ziggy leaped Al?" "That would make sense. After all, it's happened before." "Not like this," Donna protested. "Nothing has _ever_ happened like this before. Now all we have to do is . . ." The door suddenly flew open and Tina burst in, followed by the leapee. "Dr. Beeks, Ziggy's finally decided to talk. Deanna asked him . . ." She broke off suddenly, seeing Al on the hospital bed. "Al!" she exclaimed, and scurried over to him. "What's wrong with Al?" "It looks like he's been leaped," Verbena said. She moved toward Tina, drawing her gently away from the bed. "In which case he'll be perfectly fine." "Al leaped?" Tina was becoming distraught. "Where did he leap? Who did he leap into?" "We don't know," Verbena soothed. "But we'll find out. Everything's going to be fine, Tina. Don't worry." "Deanna," Donna said quietly. "Can you tell who it is?" Deanna considered, a frown creasing her brow, then she shook her head. "No. It's very difficult to identify a person on the basis of emotional sensation under the best conditions, and this person is in a very deep state of unconsciousness. I can sense very little." "Well," said Verbena. "In that case, I think it's time we had a long talk with Ziggy." **** Riker was gaping. "Sam?" he sputtered. He backed away suddenly, putting his hands behind his back. "Sam?" "Al?" Sam said again. "Damn!" Riker said. "I finally get where I can cozy up to that little Betazoid beauty and it turns out to be you. This is just . . . this is . . ." "It's disgusting, that's what it is," Sam broke in. "I can't believe you! I'm stranded here, waiting and waiting for you to show up, finally assuming you're not coming, and all you can think about is Deanna Troi. You are . . . you're . . ." "I know," Al said. "I know, Sam. I'm a real nozzle. But it was just too . . . I mean, she is so . . ." "If you ever . . . EVER . . . try to put your foot in my lap again I'm going to cut it off and shove it down your throat!" Al was aghast. "Sam! You know I would _never_ do that . . . unless I thought you were a woman." "Well I hope I'm never a woman again around you. You are a pig! Do you know that? You are a complete pig! No wonder all your wives left you." "Sam! Will you calm down? There's no need to get personal here." Sam pushed a hand through his hair, trying to control himself. This whole situation was making his skin crawl. "I'm sorry, Al. It's just . . . This is really getting too weird to be believed." "I know. I feel pretty damn weird, myself." "Ask Ziggy . . ." He broke off. "You _can't_ ask Ziggy, can you?" "Um, well, no, not really. I don't have a handlink, and I'm assuming the Project has no observer, since everything in the Imaging Chamber is tuned to me." "So we're both stuck." "Yeah, it looks that way. Unless they figure out what's wrong with Ziggy, and get me leaped back and you leaped out of here. In the mean time, I guess we're on our own." Sam looked at his friend, still jolted that he looked like Will Riker. "I think it's time we talked to LaForge." **** Verbena was very angry with Ziggy. So angry that, rather than talking to the computer via her wrist link, she led the parade of people down the hall to the control room, to confront him face-to- face. "Ziggy," she said firmly, "I have some questions, and I want straight answers." Ziggy whirred a moment. "I suppose I am willing to consider answering." "Why have you leaped Al?" The answer did not come immediately. It seemed that Ziggy was ruminating. If Verbena hadn't known better, she'd have said Ziggy was pouting. "He was getting too close," the computer finally said. "I wanted to throw him off the trail." Frustratingly unenlightened, Verbena threw up her hands. "Too close to what?" "To finding out what I'm doing." "And what might that be?" "Ziggy has taken control of the leaping process," Deanna offered. "He has been using the files Data programmed into him when we had to replace Captain Picard. That was five years ago on your timeline. Now he's trying to leap Sam into Commander Data." "Why?" "Ziggy's got a crush on him," Tina supplied. Donna laughed outright. The unexpected sound made Verbena jump. She had not heard Donna laugh in a long time. "I knew it was a mistake when Sam told you to read Shakespeare." "I have since read all the works of Danielle Steel, Victoria Holt, Jude Devereaux . . ." "Yeah, we get the idea," Donna broke in. "Listen, Ziggy. This has got to stop. Haven't you thought about what you're doing to Sam?" There was a pause. Finally Ziggy said, in a small voice, "No, not really." "If you bring Data here for yourself, you'll probably end up stranding Sam forever. How would you feel about that?" "I suppose . . . I suppose I would feel badly." "You're being very selfish, Ziggy. Do you honestly think Data feels the same way about you that you do about him?" "I assume so." "I'm sorry, Ziggy," Deanna said, "but Data is incapable of any emotion. Whatever you feel -- if you are, in fact, feeling anything at all -- he has no way of reciprocating." Ziggy gave a fast, irritated whir. "I don't believe you." "It's true." "I would much prefer to hear it from him." "We can arrange that," said Donna sharply. "Now, who did you leap Al into, and why is he unconscious?" "Well . . ." Ziggy hesitated. "Spit it out, Ziggy!" Donna snapped. Ziggy's humming stuttered; he had probably not been expecting an attack from that quarter. Verbena certainly hadn't. But Sam's life was in danger, and if there was any situation that could make Donna shine like steel, that was it. "It's Commander Riker," Ziggy said quickly. This drew a response from Deanna: she drew in a quick gasp and stepped forward. "What's wrong with him? Why is he unconscious?" "I don't know. But he's not in any danger." "Are you sure?" Deanna's eyes turned to Verbena. Verbena shrugged. "He's stable. He's just unconscious. My guess is he'll stay unconscious when he's leaped back, but your medical staff shouldn't have any trouble reviving him. But if he stays here much longer, that condition may change." "Leap him back!" Deanna demanded. "Now!" Ziggy was whirring frantically. His friends were ganging up on him, and he didn't know how to take it. "All right. I'll leap him back. But what do you want me to do with Sam?" Donna turned to Deanna. "Who would be most able to properly remove the files Data installed?" "Probably Geordi," Deanna replied. "He knows Data better than about anyone on the ship, and he also knows computers." "All right," Donna said. "Leap Sam into Geordi. We'll clear things up between you and Data and get this project back to normal." "But . . ." Ziggy started to protest. "Do it!" Donna shouted. "All right," Ziggy murmured, cowed. "I'll do it." **** They found LaForge in Engineering. He came immediately to attention when he saw the commander and the counselor enter. "What can I do for you, Commander, Counselor?" he asked. "We need to talk," Al said. "Can we go somewhere private?" "Sure," said LaForge. He turned and led the way to an empty area near the back of engineering. "Now, what . . ." Sam didn't hear the rest of the sentence. He was standing facing Geordi when he felt the leap take him, and had time for a split second of surprise that he had had no warning. Then, suddenly, he was on the other side of the conversation, looking at Deanna Troi, who had a wide-eyed expression, and Will Riker. Sam registered the slack look on the Commander's face and lunged to intercept as Riker slumped to the ground. ----- Katriena Knights "I don't mind being in touch with reality, as long as I don't have to live there." Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Path: moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!uwm.edu!caen!uunet!walter!porthos!pyuxe!krk1 From: krk1@pyuxe.uucp (24228-knights) Subject: LEAPTREK II -- PART IV AND FINAL Organization: Bellcore, Livingston, NJ Date: Wed, 7 Oct 92 18:46:26 GMT Message-ID: <1992Oct7.184626.2157@porthos.cc.bellcore.com> Sender: netnews@porthos.cc.bellcore.com (USENET System Software) Lines: 1072 LEAPTREK II CHAPTER IV Katriena Knights Sam's lunge was barely fast enough. Deanna, too, had moved, and between the two of them, they managed to break Riker's fall. Unfortunately, they both fell with him. Deanna took the Commander's face in her hands. "Will?" she said. "Will, can you hear me?" Sam watched, feeling woozy as the aftereffect of the leap wore off. Deanna slapped her insignia. "Troi to sickbay. We need a doctor in Engineering, immediately. It's Commander Riker." Beverly Crusher's voice came back immediately. "I'm on my way." Sam shifted, trying to get into a position where he could check Riker's pulse. Before he could, Deanna's hand closed on his arm. "Geordi!" she exclaimed. "What happened to your VISOR?" Sam froze. No VISOR. Without it, Geordi was blind. He couldn't do anything, then, without giving himself away. He blinked and unfocussed his eyes. "I don't know. It must have come off when I went to catch Commander Riker." "Just hold still," Deanna said. "I'll look." She started to get up and suddenly sat back down, clutching her head. "On second thought, maybe I'll just wait here for Beverly." "What's wrong?" Sam asked. "I don't know. I just feel dizzy." "Well, don't move. Dr. Crusher will be here any minute." Conveniently, the door opened just then and Beverly entered, carrying her medical bag and a portable gurney. She knelt next to Riker's inert form. "Any idea what happened?" the doctor asked. "He just collapsed," Sam said. "He was getting ready to say something to me, and he just went down. And then Deanna said she felt dizzy, too." "What about you?" Beverly asked. "Are you dizzy at all?" "Yes," Sam said honestly. "A little bit." "Where's your VISOR?" "I don't know. I tried to catch the Commander and I think it must have popped off." "You have a backup in your quarters, don't you?" Beverly said. "Um, yeah," Sam answered. He hoped he did. Otherwise he would probably end up stuck in his quarters for the duration. "Good. I'm going to evacuate this area. We might have some kind of a gas leak." She tapped her insignia. "Security, I need a full evacuation of the engineering section. I also need some help down here -- I have three officers down." A moment later, an alarm sounded above them and the other occupants of the section began to move toward the doors. Beverly administered a syringe of something to Commander Riker, then scanned Deanna and Sam. "I don't see any signs of poison. I'm going to look you both over in sickbay." The doors opened, letting people in this time instead of out. Lieutenant Worf entered, followed by three other men in gold and black uniforms. The men dispersed throughout the section, making sure the evacuation was taking place in an orderly fashion. Worf came straight to Beverly. "What is happening?" he questioned. "I'm not sure," Beverly answered. She was setting up the gurney. "Commander Riker is unconscious, and Counselor Troi and Commander LaForge are both feeling dizzy. There may be a gas leak. In any case, I need to get Will and Deanna to sickbay. Could you escort Geordi to his quarters? He's lost his VISOR, and I don't want anyone in here looking for it until we're sure there's no danger." "Certainly," Worf replied. He bent and lifted Riker to the gurney, then gently took Sam's arm, helping him to his feet. Deanna stood, as well. She swayed a bit and Worf immediately caught her. "Will you be all right, Counselor Troi?" "I think so, Worf," Deanna answered, leaning into him. "All right, then," Beverly said. "Let's go. And, Geordi, I want to see you in sickbay as soon as you get your VISOR." **** Al was surprised to awaken on his back on the waiting room floor. Slowly, he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. His head hurt, and he couldn't remember how he had gotten here. The last thing he recalled clearly was going to bed last night. And he was still in his pajamas. "Don't move," said a voice from the door. Al looked up to see Verbena charging into the room, stethoscope at the ready. "Just stay where you are." "Wh . . ." Al started, then broke off as Verbena pushed him back to the floor, applying the cold stethoscope to his chest. "What's going on?" Verbena hushed him and listened for a moment, then straightened. "How do you feel?" "Kind of weird," Al answered. "What's going on? Why am I in here?" "You don't remember?" Al considered. He had a flash of memory about . . . no, it was gone. Something about Sam. He shuddered at a half-formed remembrance. "No, I don't." "Ziggy leaped you," Verbena said. "You just came back." Al sat back up again and stood slowly as Verbena held his arm. "I leaped?" "Yes, you leaped. You don't remember anything about it?" "I don't know. Not really." He rubbed his head, befuddled. "I remember something. I can't quite get hold of it. Where's Sam? Is he all right?" "Tina stayed to check with Ziggy. With any kind of luck, he's leaped into Geordi LaForge, and LaForge will be able to help us reprogram this crazy computer." "You found out what's wrong with Ziggy?" _That_ Al remembered. "Yeah. Please don' t ask. I'll let Tina fill you in. Anyway, we should have this all cleared up pretty soon. Why don't you go back to your room and get dressed, and I'll go check on our leapee." "Yeah, okay. I'll meet you at the waiting room in a few minutes." Verbena nodded. "You're sure you feel okay?" Al waved her off. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just a leap. No problem." He tried to work up a saunter as he headed for the door, but he was just a little too tired. Verbena gave him a motherly smile and went on her way to the waiting room. **** Worf escorted Deanna to sickbay first, then led Sam to Geordi's quarters. "We will search engineering thoroughly as soon as we determine that it is safe," he informed Sam. "I am certain we can find your VISOR." "It's okay, Worf," Sam reassured him. "I have an extra." "But now you have only one," Worf said. "That is not an acceptable situation if, without it, you are disabled." "No, no, you're right. It's not acceptable. But if we can't find the one I lost, maybe we can replicate a new one." Worf shook his head. "Replicated objects are never as reliable as the originals. We will do our best to find it." Sam nodded. He had a feeling Worf was actually displaying some affection for Geordi in his concern. "Thank you, Worf. I appreciate that." Worf opened the door for Sam and, once inside, helped him locate the extra VISOR. "If you need anything," the Klingon said as he left the room, "please call me." "Thanks, Worf." Worf gave a curt nod. Sam returned it with a smile. So, now he had the VISOR. The question was, what was he supposed to do with it. Geordi wore it with the temple pieces attached to implants in his head. Sam had no such implants. The other problem with it was that it was a solid piece of metal. If Sam figured out how to attach it to his temples, it would just hang there in front of his eyes, obscuring his vision. He sat for a time, puzzling over it, then addressed the computer. "Computer," he said. "Can you replicate this object?" "Please place the object in the replicator for analysis." Sam did so. The replicator hummed for a moment. "This replicator does not contain sufficient materials to duplicate functional parts. However, it is possible to duplicate the form." "Will it look exactly like the original?" "Affirmative." "Okay, then, duplicate the form exactly, except I want a row of pinholes along the front. They have to be small enough that they won't be visible from the outside, but there have to be enough of them that a person wearing the VISOR could see through them. Also, I need some kind of a transparent earpiece so that it can be worn by someone without temple implants." He paused. It seemed like a suspicious request. "It's for a Halloween costume," he finished. He didn't think the computer needed justification for his actions, but in case this conversation was being recorded, he figured he'd better cover himself. The replicator whirred again. After a moment, a second VISOR appeared next to the first. Sam picked it up. As far as he could tell, the two VISORs were identical, except for the cleverly disguised ear pieces on the fake one. They were made of transparent plastic, so they were nearly invisible, as well. He slipped the VISOR on. The front was filled with pinholes. He could see through it fairly well, and when he turned it around to look at the front, he couldn't see the holes. He went to the mirror to double check. It looked convincing. He couldn't even see the ear pieces, and he knew where to look. "Thank you very much, computer," Sam said. "You've been quite useful." The computer did not answer. Sam stepped through the door and headed for sickbay. **** Al sat by, quietly sucking on his cigar, while Verbena explained the situation to Geordi. Geordi nodded from time to time. He remembered Sam Beckett, and recognized the reflection when he was shown the mirror -- though exactly _how_ he saw the reflection was a little beyond Al. He was also quite willing to help. "Deanna was right," he said. "Data doesn't experience any emotional response. Or, at least, according to him he doesn't. If confronted, he'll back up what she said." "Maybe it would be best not to confront him," Al put in. Verbena turned to him. "What do you mean?" "If we stage a situation where Sam confronts Data, Ziggy will more than likely think it's been . . . pre-arranged or something. He might not buy it. But if we do it more sneaky-like, we can resolve the issue without Ziggy being suspicious." "You mean ask a more indirect question, so Ziggy can come to his own conclusions," Geordi said. "Yeah, something like that." "Well, Al," Verbena said, "Sneakiness and subterfuge are your speciality, so I'll leave that up to you. In the mean time, I think Geordi should have a chat with Gooshie and find out if he can, indeed, take care of our problem." "Sounds good to me," said Geordi. **** In sickbay, Dr. Crusher was finishing her examinations of Deanna and Riker. Both were, by now, sitting up in the medical beds, Riker rubbing his head. "Well," Beverly was saying as Sam approached, "you both look normal. I can't see any trace of poison or virus or anything else. How do you feel?" "I feel fine, now," Deanna replied. Riker grimaced. "I have a hell of a headache, but other than that, I'm okay." Beverly responded with a hypo to Riker's arm. "That should help." She turned to Sam. "What about you, Geordi? How do you feel?" Sam shrugged. "I'm fine." Beverly had pointed her scanner at him, scanned him, and turned the instrument back off before he had a chance to protest. Sam grabbed a breath and held on to it. "Well, you look normal," Beverly concluded. Sam carefully let the breath go. "I'll tell you what. I'd rather not have you three go back to your quarters to rest in case something happens, and I know you don't want to stay here. Why don't you all go to a nice, public place, like Ten Forward, and just sit for about an hour. If you're still feeling all right, then you can report back to duty." "That sounds reasonable," said Riker, sliding off the bed. "And no alcohol," Beverly added. "Ask Guinan for some fruit juice." Her communicator trilled. "Crusher here." Worf's voice spoke. "Dr. Crusher, we have completed a scan of Engineering and have discovered no indication of foreign substances. We also have not recovered Commander LaForge's VISOR." "Thank you, Lieutenant." She made a shooing gesture to her patients and Sam. "Go on, all of you. I'll be by to check on you later." "Yes, sir," Sam replied. Beverly gave him an impish grin. Ten Forward was one area of the ship where Sam had not yet been. It looked to be a social gathering place, where people were standing at a long bar or sitting at tables, eating, drinking, talking and flirting. Data was sitting at a table by himself contemplating a tall, orange beverage. Riker steered them toward his table. "Hello, Commander Riker, Commander LaForge, Counselor Troi," Data said, politely inclining his head to each in turn. "What's that you're drinking?" Riker asked him as they sat down. Data considered the glass. "I am not certain, Counselor. I asked the replicator to generate a random drink for me. I am not certain if it generated a random combination, or a random selection of predetermined combinations." "What does it taste like?" Sam queried. Data pushed the drink toward him. "Perhaps you can tell me." Sam picked up the glass. Before it reached his mouth, he heard a familiar grinding noise behind him. "Beverly said no alcohol," Al's voice reminded him. Sam arrested his movement and set the glass back down. "Dr. Crusher said we shouldn't drink anything." "I see," Data replied. "In that case, I shall have to ask the bartender. He picked up the glass and, nodding farewell, started toward the bar. Deanna and Riker were grinning at him. "Go with him," Al suggested. "This might be a good chance for you to talk to him." "I think I'll go see what he finds out," Sam said to his companions. "He's got me curious." He stepped away from the table, asking Al quickly under his breath, "Is Ziggy listening?" Al shrugged. "As far as I know." Data's arrival at the bar attracted the attention of the bartender, a black woman with no eyebrows and a large, octagonal hat. The electric blue draperies on the hat were wimple-like; she looked like a psychedelic nun. "Good evening, Data," she said. "What can I do for you?" "Guinan," Data began, "I have requested the replicator to supply me with a random drink, and this is what I was given. I wish to know what it is." Guinan looked at Sam, then at Data, then abruptly back at Sam. Sam tensed a little, but Guinan's gaze settled on the drink. "Why do you want to know? Won't that take the fun out of it?" Data cocked his head. "The exercise was not intended to be recreational. I wished to determine how the computer would respond to my request." "How will knowing what it is help?" "I wish to know if the computer selected each ingredient randomly, or if it made a random selection based on a series of preselected combinations " "So you want to know if it randomized the ingredients, or just the menu." "That is correct." Al was watching the dialogue intently, shaking his head. "This guy's a real hoot," he said sarcastically. "Well . . ." Guinan said hesitantly a strange little grin-smirk on her face. "Do you like what it came up with? Isn't that what's important?" "I have no capacity to like or dislike the flavor of the drink, as this would require an emotional response. I can merely register the fact that it is very sweet and has a citrus quality, as well as a bitter aftertaste reminiscent of grapefruit. I can calculate the alcoholic content at approximately 7.3 percent, and I can identify seven separate ingredients, as well as . . ." "It sounds to me," Guinan broke in, "like you don't need me to tell you what it is. Just compare the ingredients to the lists on the menu." "I attempted to do that," Data informed her, "but most of the most logical candidates were labeled 'Secret Recipe.'" Guinan grinned at that. "Give me the drink." "Well," said Al as Guinan sampled the random beverage, "if the android is incapable of liking or disliking a drink, he's obviously incapable of feeling any affection toward a person, or a computer." In his pocket, the handlink squawked. Al pulled it out and smacked it. "Ziggy's not convinced." "Yack," Guinan said, swallowing the drink with difficulty. "This is terrible. I think we can safely say that the computer randomized the contents." Data quirked an eyebrow. "Most interesting. Thank you very much for your input." Guinan wiped her mouth, still grimacing. "You're welcome." Data continued to drink, apparently unaffected by the objectionable flavor. "Have you decided what you will wear tomorrow, Geordi?" Sam looked up, startled. "Huh?" "When we spoke earlier today, you were concerned about what you should wear when you take Silina Matthews to see the London Philharmonic tomorrow. Have you made that decision yet?" "Um . . ." Sam hesitated, wondering who Silina Matthews was. "Good," Al said. "He's dating again. Must be getting over that what's- her-face, that Romulan spy girl he was with before." "Yeah," Sam said, agreeing with Al, then realized he had inadvertantly answered Data. "No. I mean, no, I haven't decided yet." He paused. "What do you think?" "I heard her mention at one time that she liked blue," Data answered. "Perhaps it would be good to wear blue." Sam considered. "What do you think of her, Data?" "I think she is an efficient member of the crew. She seems to have a good background and sufficient knowledge . . ." "No, Data. I mean, do you like her? Do you think she's pretty?" There was a pause. "I cannot say that I like her or dislike her, Geordi. I am not capable of such feeings. You know that." "Well . . . I know. It's just . . . well, you always hope your friends approve." "According to my understanding of the human conception of beauty, Sirina is quite attractive. And she seems to laugh quite a lot when she is with you. That seems to me to be a good sign that she has some affection for you." "Well, I guess that's good, anyway." Sam was having some difficulty following the conversation. The handlink was making a very strange, hiccupping noise. He gave Al a questioning look, most of which was obscured by the VISOR. "I think Ziggy's crying," Al said. "I think he finally got it through his thick head that Data doesn't love him." Sam looked at Data, who was once again analyzing the orange liquid in his glass. "I think he may be a she." Al looked skeptical. "Well, no matter what gender that neurotic pile of circuits has decided to become, I think it's time we got rid of those files. See you later, Sam." **** "It's a go," Al said, breezing into the control room. "Get rid of the files." "No," Ziggy said firmly. Al stopped in his tracks, stunned. "What? You heard him say it. He's totally incapable of feeling anything about you." "The files are all I have left of him. I don't want to give them up." "Oh, please," said Al. "This is crazy. We're taking the files out, and that's that." "No." Al was stunned again. The voice was Donna's. "Whose side are you on? If we don't get those files out, we'll never get Sam back where he belongs." But Donna shook her head. "You don't know that. Geordi, would it be possible to leave a few of the files?" Geordi shrugged. "Shouldn't be a problem. There are a couple of non-essential files I can leave in." "But how does Sam get back?" Tina put in. "From what I can tell by looking at them," Geordi said, "the files are set up so that, if they're withdrawn in a certain order, the last one out will trigger a leap sequence to put Sam back on the proper timeline." "Can you trigger the sequence without taking out all the files?" "Sure." "All right, then," Al said. "Get to it." **** "I'll see your five," Riker stated firmly, laying the chips down on the table, "and raise you ten." He lifted his eyebrows, indicating to Sam that it was his turn. Sam examined his cards. "Nice hand," said a voice at his shoulder. Sam tried not to jump out of his skin. "Thanks a lot, Al," he mumbled. "What?" Riker said, peering at him. His poker face was set and firm beneath his beard. Data and Deanna had already folded and were watching the proceedings with interest. "I said you're thinking awfully small," Sam said. "I'll see your ten and raise you fifty." Riker tweaked an eyebrow. "I have to see this hand. I'll call." He deposited the chips on the table and picked up his cards, hesitating. "No, you first," said Sam. Riker grinned a little, letting some of his self-confidence ooze. He laid down four queens and a deuce. Sam nodded, impressed. Then he laid down a three and four aces. "Sorry, sir," he said. He pulled the pile of chips over to his corner of the table. "More drinks, anyone?" "See if you can get Guinan to bring us another one of those juice mixes," Deanna said. "Great," said Sam. "I'll be right back." He crossed the room to the bar and waved for Guinan's attention. She nodded and gave him a thin smile. _There's something strange about that woman_, Sam thought, _and it's not just her hats._ "Geordi and Gooshie are pulling the files right now," Al said. "How long is it going to take?" "Not long," said Al. "They have to bypass some security first. Ziggy's not being particularly helpful, I'm afraid." "Good," Sam said. "The sooner we get out of here, the happier I'll be." "Can I help you, Commander LaForge?" Guinan had meandered over. "Or shall I just leave you here talking to yourself?" Sam was taken aback. He'd thought he was being suitably discreet. "Um, no, I was finished talking to myself, thanks. We'd like four more of your juice mixes, please." "The same one, or another?" "A different one, I think. Thanks." Guinan nodded as she moved away. "Wow," said Al. "Creepy lady. What happened to her eyebrows?" "How should I know?" He paused, scratching the back of his neck. "She's really been giving me the creeps. She keeps . . . looking at me." "Maybe she thinks you're cute. Don't worry about it, Sam. You'll be out of here in no time." Guinan returned with a tray of drinks. Carefully, she set it on the table, then gave Sam a frank, even look. "Commander LaForge," she said. "May I ask you a question?" "Sure," Sam said, trying to act nonchalant. He had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn't an approaching leap. Guinan reached up quite calmly and removed his fake VISOR. "When did you regain your sight?" Sam froze, staring. It was too late to play blind; she'd seen his eyes and knew they'd seen her back. A silence had fallen over Ten Forward, and he could feel eyes on the back of his neck from the table where his companions were preparing to deal out another hand. Next to him, Sam heard the handlink squeak. "I'm outta here," said Al. "Hang on, Sam." **** Al charged from the Imaging Chamber to the control room, nearly dropping the handlink as he skidded around the corner. "Hurry up!" he called. "Hurry up! They're on to Sam." Geordi looked up from the keyboard. "We're having trouble getting into the files. Whoever programmed this put in a major security failsafe. Ziggy needs three separate codes to authorize entry." "What do you mean? Ziggy's been using the files, but he can't get into them to erase them?" "Right. Ziggy can use them from the inside without the authorization. But the files can't be deleted until we get through security from the outside. There's nothing Ziggy can do about it. He's programmed that way." "Well, you'd better get through fast, or they're going to jettison Sam into space or something." Geordi shook his head. "They're not going to jettison him into space. The worst they could do is throw him in the brig." "Well, do you want to leap back in the brig?" Geordi shrugged. "Not particularly, but I'm sure it wouldn't take long for me to get back out." Al threw up his hands in disgust. "So much for a sense of urgency." "It'll be fine," said Geordi, quite calmly. "Just keep your pants on." "Are you sure?" This was Donna, from over Geordi's shoulder. Geordi looked back at her. "I'm positive," he said with a gentle smile. "I have no intention of letting him get hurt. I owe him one." "Well, he doesn't know that," Al protested. "Well, why don't you go tell him instead of bothering me?" Geordi shot back. Al rolled his eyes and ran back to the Imaging Chamber. **** Sam had the distinct feeling that he was not going to be alive much longer. Lieutenant Worf had come to Ten Forward to deal with this matter personally, and had dragged Sam none too gently to the brig. Now the Klingon had a death grip on Sam's arm and was staring down into his face, his hot, unpleasant breath beating on him in waves. Sam had the feeling Worf had death on his mind, and he wasn't sure he could count on the others to defend him. "You are an imposter," Worf stated. "Do you know how we deal with imposters?" "No," Sam replied. "And I don't think I want to know." He was relieved to hear the Imaging Chamber door and see Al appear, but the look on Al's face was not as comforting as he had hoped. "They're still trying to get past the security," Al told him. "Geordi says you'll be fine . . ." "I'll be fine?" Sam burst out. "I'll be fine? Yeah, I'll be just dandy after this . . . this _thing_ gets done banging me around." Worf grabbed Sam's other arm and picked him up off the ground. "Who are you talking to?" He roared into Sam's face. "Um . . . um . . . Nobody," Sam stuttered. "Nobody at all. I'm sorry." Riker touched Worf's arm and Worf reluctantly set Sam back down. "Come on out," Riker said. Worf started to protest, but Riker gestured for him to come, and Worf did. The force field blocking the front of the room shimmered, dropped, then came back up. Sam faced his accusers. Riker, Worf and Deanna looked back at him, sharing looks of anger and befuddlement. "I'm no danger to you," Sam said. "I promise you that." "Counselor?" Riker questioned. Deanna shook her head. "I sense no hostility from him. In fact . . ." She hesitated, unsure of herself. "He seems familiar, somehow." "Yes!" Sam exclaimed. "You know me, Deanna. Remember?" "Watch it, Sam," Al called. He had popped in on the other side of the force field. "If she doesn't remember you, you can't tell her who you are. You might screw up everything." Sam bit down on what he had been about to blurt out. Surely Deanna would remember him; they had talked during his first leap to the Enterprise, when Geordi had identified him as an imposter. But the counselor was shaking her head. "I can't place it. I just can't remember." "Oh, great," Al said. "When you leaped into her it must have messed up her memory. Riker probably doesn't remember leaping, either." "Commander," Sam said. "Do you remember anything strange happening to you in the last few days?" Riker frowned. "No. What does this have to do with anything?" "No . . . I don't know, memory loss? Maybe feeling like you'd lost a day or two?" "I don't . . ." Riker started, but Worf roared through him. "This is not relevant! You are not to be asking questions. You are merely attempting to confuse the commander in order to trick him into freeing you. Now, be silent." "Better do as he says, Sam," Al advised. "I don't like the looks of this gun." Sam let his head sag. He could feel his breath coming too fast. He was on the verge of panic. Swallowing, he said calmly, "I guess I'll just have to wait, then. How much longer until I'm out of here?" "You will be here until we decide to release you," Worf stated. Al rolled his eyes and took a drag on his cigar, waiting out the tirade so he could talk. "We've summoned the captain," Riker said. "He'll decide what to do with you." "Are you guys done?" Al demanded. He poked at the handlink. "Geordi's still playing with the security, but it looks like they're getting close. Shouldn't be too long." "Good." said Sam. "In the mean time," Riker stated, "you will remain here. There will be two armed guards outside the cell, so don't try anything." "Like I could," Sam muttered. He watched, surly, as the Enterprise officers departed. Deanna gave him one last, searching look as she left the room. "If she could just remember, I could probably be out of here," Sam said. With the others gone, he felt his control slipping. His voice came a little shaky. Al shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "It doesn't really matter." He walked toward the force field. "We'll have you leaped out of here in no time, and then Geordi will be back where he belongs, and everything will be . . ." Al had reached the plane of the force field. He had also disappeared. Sam stared, frantic. "Al! Al! What happened? Where are you?" Al's image backed up out of the cell. "That was weird." "You're telling me. What happened?" "I don't know. It looks like . . . It looks like this force field whatcha ma hoosie is interfering with my signal. When I walk into it, you disappear." "No, _you_ disappear," Sam corrected. "What does that mean?" "I don't know. But it might mean . . ." The handlink chirped and twittered. Al consulted it. "Oh, here we go. They're getting ready to pull the files." "Great. Get me out of here." "Okay," said Al. "Here we go. Bye bye." Sam felt the jerk in the pit of his stomach, and closed his eyes. This was one leap he was more than happy to be departing. He felt a tingle . . . Then nothing. He opened his eyes. He was still in the brig. Al was staring at him, finger poised over the handlink. "Oh, boy," Al said. **** When Al charged into the control room, Donna, Gooshie, Verbena and Tina were all huddled over Geordi's shoulder, looking at the terminal. "What happened?" Donna demanded of Geordi. Geordi shook his head. "I don't know. There's some kind of interference. "It's a force field," Al put in. They all looked up. "They've got him in the brig, and the force field on the door is interfering with the signals we're sending. If I go past the field, he can't see me." "Hmmm," said Geordi. 'Well?" Al snapped. "What are you going to do about it?" "I can't do anything about it," Geordi replied calmly. "This equipment is too primitive. You're going to have to go back and do whatever you can do to get him out of the brig. Otherwise, we just plain can't leap him." "Oh, boy," said Donna. **** Sam laid his hand against the force field. It felt like a solid, plastic wall, and did not give in the slightest. He leaned into it, putting his whole weight behind his hand. Nothing. A sudden surge of anger took him and he slammed it with his fist. Still nothing but a sore fist. The guards outside were ignoring him, probably because they knew how fruitless his efforts would be. "Geordi can't do anything from our end," Al announced as he emerged from the grinding, glowing door. "You're going to have to get outside the force field. Geordi's ready to run the sequence again as soon as you do." That was not what Sam had wanted to hear. He felt the panic returning in a surge. "And exactly how am I supposed to do that?" "I don't know." "Thanks a lot." Sam closed his eyes. His heart was beating so hard he could barely think over the noise of it. "Is there a button out there? Something that deactivates the field?" Al looked, poking around, through and behind the standing guards. "Yeah, there's some kind of control panel over here. But what good does that do? I can't push any of the buttons." "Do you think either of those guys can see you?" Shrugging, Al proceeded to test the possibility, waving his hands in front of the guards' faces and shouting at them. No response. "Sorry," Al told Sam. "I'd have to completely retune my frequency to get through to these lumps." "That would take too long," Sam decided. "So what else can we do?" "I'm just going to have to convince somebody to let me out." Just then the door opened, and Captain Picard entered, followed by Worf and two other security guards. Sam jumped eagerly to the force field. "Yeah," Al muttered. "Good luck." In his usual, cool manner, Picard crossed the floor and took a stance in front of the force field. "He looks like Geordi," he muttered to Worf. "He is _not_ Commander LaForge," Worf stated in an undertone. "Look at his eyes." Picard nodded. Sam wondered what his eyes looked like. When he'd looked at himself in the mirror before donning the VISOR, his eyes had looked just like Geordi's; strangely white, as if covered with a membrane. But they had also looked focused, and had followed his own image in the mirror. "Who are you?" Picard asked. "I wouldn't answer that," Al suggested. "I can't answer that question, sir," Sam stated. "And why is that?" "Because to do so might endanger my chances of returning where I belong." "And where is that?" "I'm afraid I can't answer that right now, either." Picard's lips tightened. "How did you get on board this ship?" "It was an accident, sir. I'm not supposed to be here." "That, at least, is true," Worf rumbled. "Where, then, is Commander LaForge?" Picard went on. "What have you done with him?" "Commander LaForge is fine, Captain. When I go back where I came from, he'll come back here, and everything will be back to what it's supposed to be. But I need your help doing that." "How so?" "I need to be on the other side of the force field." Worf growled. Sam jumped. He had never heard a noise quite like it, not even out of an attacking lion. And he'd had occasion to be uncomfortably close to one of those. "He is lying," Worf told Picard. "He is attempting to escape." Picard considered a moment, then nodded. "Yes, it appears that way." "Tough crowd," Al said. "Listen," Sam pleaded. The panic was building to the point where he could barely control his voice anymore. "I'm telling the truth. I'm not supposed to be here, and if you'll let me outside of the force field for just one minute, I'll go away, and Geordi will come back. I swear to you. On my honor." The Klingon suddenly became serious. "That is a solemn oath to trifle with in this manner." "I'm not trifling," Sam said, trembling. "I'm dead serious." Worf looked at Picard, who lifted his eyebrows and touched his insignia. "Counselor Troi, please report to the brig." "Ah, now we're getting somewhere," Al said. "She'll tell them you're not lying, and then we'll be on our way." "I would like to see you repeat your story to our Counselor," Picard told Sam. "She is better qualified than I to make judgements in these matters." "That's fine. I'm more than happy to talk to her." "Me, too," said Al. "No problem." Sam barely registered the comment. _It's not going to work_, he was thinking. _She's not going to remember. I'm not getting back. I'm not getting back. I have to get back . . . God, let her remember . . ._ Deanna arrived shortly. "Yes, Captain?" "I'd like an evaluation of the honesty of our prisoner," Picard told her. "Of course, Captain." She stepped up to the force field. "Who are you?" Sam bit the inside of his lip until he tasted blood, coppery against his tongue. "Do we have to go through all of this again? I can't tell you who I am right now, or I might not be able to go back. I came here by accident, and if you'll let me past the force field for just a minute or two, I'll go away, and you'll have Geordi back. It's that simple." Deanna pursed her lips. "He's hiding something. On the surface, he is telling the truth, but there is an undercurrent of deception." Worf looked self-satisfied. "So much for your honor." "What deception?" Al exclaimed. "You're not lying." "It's just a theory that going outside the force field will work, but that's all we have to go on." His voice was shaking again, in his desparation, but his audience seemed unmoved. "Let's put it this way. We're having trouble getting our retrieval equipment to work, and if I go outside the force field, there's a good chance that everything will go back to normal." Picard shook his head. "I don't buy it." "You don't have to buy it!" Al shouted. "Just _do_ it!" Suddenly, the dam broke. Sam couldn't hold it back any longer. He flung himself up against the force field, so hard that Deanna stepped back. "Why won't you believe me? All of you people went through this! Deanna, I talked to you before, I showed you who I was. Why can't any of you remember? WHY CAN'T YOU REMEMBER?" He was enraged, and further fired by sheer panic. The emotion had become a living thing, possessing him. He threw himself against the force field, again, again. It was like throwing himself into a wall. Picard took an involuntary step back as Worf lifted his phaser. The captain gestured to him not to shoot. "JUST LET ME OUT!!" Sam screamed. Al had stepped back, as well, and looked frightened. He stabbed at the handlink. "Ziggy, Sam's losing it up here. You'd better figure something out and figure it out fast!" Sam flung himself again. His face struck the force field and he felt his lip split open with the impact. Even he was appalled at what he was doing, but he couldn't control it. It was as if he was watching someone else. Some coherent part of him heard Al shouting at him, trying to get through, saying something about hurting himself if he didn't stop. But he didn't stop. He couldn't. Suddenly he was on the floor, his vision wobbling, blood in his eyes. "Let me out . . ." He heard the voice sobbing and did not recognize it as his own. "Let me out . . . I have to get back . . . I can't . . . I can't . . ." There was some reason, some terrible, painful reason. "I have to get back . . ." "Sam, it's gonna be all right. Now just calm down." Al's voice, shaky. Al was scared. So was Sam. Then another voice -- Beverly's. "I can't treat him if I can't get to him," she was saying. Picard must have summoned her. "He is acting irrationally," Worf stated. "He may harm you." A haze was descending over Sam's vision. He could barely see Beverly through it. She was gesturing with a hypo. "This'll stop him from hurting me. Now let the shield down, just long enough for me to take care of this." Worf looked at Picard, who nodded curtly after a brief pause. Beverly took a step forward, and there was a hissing sound as the force field came down. "Now, Ziggy!" Al shouted. "Now!" Sam looked up at Al. Al was slapping the handlink angrily. "Dammit, hurry up! We don't have that much time!" Beverly bent next to Sam and administered the contents of the hypo. Sam felt a spinning sensation, then his body went numb. He could still see, barely. The doctor was working quickly, treating his head wound. She would be done in a matter of seconds. "Ziggy!" Al screamed. Beverly sat back, stood. Worf reached for the button . . . And Sam leaped. **** "Thank God," Verbena breathed. Shaking, Donna eased herself into the chair from which Geordi LaForge had just disappeared. "Did it work?" she asked. There was a hum from Ziggy. "Dr. Beckett appears to have been successfully withdrawn from Commander LaForge's persona. He is now in transit. All appears to be normal." Donna let out a quiet breath. "Normal," she muttered. She didn't know what the word meant anymore. Verbena laid a hand on her shoulder. "He'll be fine." Donna closed her eyes. "I don't want him fine. I want him back." Slowly, she eased herself from the chair and began the long trek back to the room where, once again, she would go to sleep alone. FINIS ----- Katriena Knights "I don't mind being in touch with reality, as long as I don't have to live there."