The World of Computer Software/World_Of_Computer_Software-02-387-Vol-3of3.iso/p/par162.zip/LEAPTREK.TXT

Text File | 1993-02-03 | 27KB | 678 lines

                                "LeapTrek"
                        By Ken Quick, @ 1:260/338
                ("cleaned up" by Ray Brown, TFDN_PL, @ 1:135/70)

  Well, Boys and Girls, here it is.  For those of you who either haven't
or can't FREQ it, here's LeapTrek.  Hope ya' like it, and Happy Holidays.

LEAPTREK

Katriena Knights


It was cold, and fire, and electricity; it was pain and a suffocating
sensation that drained him down to the bones he could no longer feel.
And, since this misbegotten experiment with time had begun, it had never
lasted so long.  He saw glimpses, snatches of reality, or thought he
did, but it was like drowning, struggling for the surface, seeing the
open sky while water filled up your lungs ...

Then it was gone, and Sam Beckett was _there_ -- the only way he knew to
describe the certainty of the end of the leap.  He was _there_,
ensconced in someone else's reality. This time he was in a large, padded
chair, fingers dug deep into the arms.  His attention went first to
himself -- to his heart that felt like it might implode if it contracted
upon itself any harder, to his breathing which came far too fast --
capturing control of himself before looking where he had leaped.

He looked up then, to see. He was surrounded by people at instrument
panels, and in front of them a wide screen showed a swath of stars and
whorls of strange color.  Then the world tipped out from under them all
and Sam was dumped unceremoniously to the floor.  The edge of the
chair's arm made painful contact with his temple.

"Red alert!" a voice shouted.

"Oh, boy," Sam mumbled, and blacked out.


             *****


"Damage report."  The same voice, in its commanding tone.  A hand closed
on Sam's arm and the voice continued, gentler, "Captain, are you all
right?"

Sam looked up.  Apparently he had only blacked out for a moment.  His
head felt fairly clear, other than the usual leap-induced muzziness.
The hand on his arm was attached to a dark-haired, bearded man about
Sam's age, perhaps a little younger.  The man wore a red and black
uniform, and his grey-blue eyes held genuine concern.

"Captain?" he said again.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Sam mumbled.  He brushed himself off.  The other
man helped him get up and back into the chair.  Sam was also uniformed
in red and black.  All around him, voices were coming out of the air,
reporting minor damage and minor injuries.  Behind it all was a wail of
claxons.  "What was that, anyway?"  Sam asked no one in particular.

"I have no answer as of yet, sir."  The voice came from a gold-clad
person seated ahead of Sam and to his left.  The man turned then, to
face Sam. "It appears to have been an aftershock created by an anomaly
in our quadrant combined with the gravitational forces of our return
from warp drive."

Sam missed most of the words.  The man speaking to him had the flesh
tones of a man three days dead, and his eyes were yellow.

"Um ... I see.  Well.  Continue to investigate and ... let me know what
you find out."

"Affirmative, sir."  The man turned back to face front.

_What the hell was that?_  Sam thought.  _And where the hell am I?_
"And where the hell is Al?" he mumbled.

"I'm sorry, Captain?"  The man with the beard again, leaning toward him
expectantly.

"Nothing.  Um ... how much damage have we sustained?"

"Surprisingly minor.  Nothing that will keep us from continuing on our
course to Earth."

Sam realized then that the strange, wide ribbons of color on the screen
ahead of him had disappeared, leaving only a wide starfield.  This is a
movie, he thought.  I've leaped into an actor, and we're filming a
movie. "Well, then.  Let's ... get going."

Yellow Eyes peered back over his shoulder.  "We are going, Captain."

Sam nodded emphatically.  "Yes.  Right.  Well."

The bearded man, seated now to Sam's right, was leaning toward him.
"Are you sure you're all right, Captain?  Perhaps you might want to sit
in the ready room for a few minutes.  I think I can handle things here.
I'll have Dr. Crusher up right away."

If this is a movie, Sam was thinking, where are the cameras?  And why is
this man adjusting to me instead of looking at me like I don't know my
lines?

"Captain?" the man said again.  Sam looked at him.  The concern was very
real.

"Not a bad idea," Sam said.  "You take care of things here for a while.
But don't disturb the doctor.  I'm sure I'm all right. Just ... a little
bang on the head."

Sam stood, rubbing his temple where the chair had connected.  The flesh
felt puffy and warm, but he was certain the blackout had been more an
aftereffect of the extended leap than a result of the injury.

"Ensign."  The dark-haired man again, in a hiss Sam thought he was not
supposed to have heard.  "Escort the captain."

Thank God, Sam thought.  Now I don't have to fumble around trying to
figure out where the ready room is ... The thought trailed off as the
ensign took his arm.  She was a pretty woman, with dark hair and even
features, but the bumpy growth across the bridge of her nose was as
offputting as the complexion of the man who had spoken to Sam earlier.

_Where _are_ you, Al?_

The ensign gently guided Sam to a door at the back of the room.  From
this angle, it was obvious that the area was a command center of some
kind.  In fact, Sam was beginning to have the distinct impression that
he was on a spaceship.

The door slid open as Sam and the bumpy-nosed ensign approached it.
"Would you like me to stay?" she asked.

"No.  No, I'm fine.  I'll just ... I'll be back in a few minutes."

He stepped in quickly and the door hissed shut behind him.

"Al!"  Sam hissed.  "_What_ is going on?"

No answer.  There was a desk in the room, with a chair behind it.  Sam
sat down.

The room could have kept him fascinated for hours, with the strange
pictures on the walls and the models of weird-looking vessels displayed
here and there, but Sam's attention was immediately grabbed by the
computer terminal on the desk.  First because it was obviously a source
of information, but then because the black, staring screen returned him
his reflection.

The face that looked back at him was that of an older man, perhaps
fifty.  The small portion of his hair that had not succumbed to male
pattern baldness was grey.  His eyes were grey, as well, and the entire
face had the look of a man who carried authority out of habit.  Very
Captainly, Sam thought.  He was relieved to see that he did not have
corpse-white skin, or a bony, bumpy nose-bridge.  He looked perfectly
normal.

Sam found the switch on the small computer terminal and turned it on.
He was trying to puzzle out the machine's operating system when he heard
the familiar sound of the Imaging Chamber door opening.  There was Al,
finally, in a chartreuse suit accessoried with magenta tie, shoes and
lapel pin, handlink blinking brightly in one hand, cigar smouldering in
the other.

"It is about time!"  Sam snapped.

But Al had other things on his mind.  "Thank God you're all right, Sam.
For a while there, we thought we'd lost you permanently."

"For how long?"

"You don't want to know.  We had a devil of a time locking on to your
signal."

"Where am I?  Who am I?"

"Well, I hate to break this to you, Sam ... In fact, maybe you'd better
sit down ..."

"I'm on a spaceship, aren't I?"

Al looked up from the handlink, a surprised expression on his face.
"How did you know?"

"Just a guess.  How can I be on a spaceship?  There are no spaceships.
Are all these people aliens or something?"

"Ziggy has no idea.  He's been blowing gaskets trying to find
information, and he's coming up with nothing."

"Ziggy doesn't have gaskets."

"Well, you know, it's just an expression."  He poked at the handlink,
then smacked it.  "Okay, here's what we _do_ know.  You're in 1995.  But
the guy in the waiting room says he's from the 24th century."

"No way.  He must be nuts."

"Well, he seems to be completely sane.  He says his name is Captain
Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship _Enterprise_."

"So now I'm ... John Luke."

"Jean-Luc.  It's French.  Yes, apparently you are."

"So why am I here?"

Al shrugged, sucking on his cigar.  "There's no way to know. If this
guy's from the 24th century, whatever it is you're supposed to change
hasn't happened yet."

"But you said it's 1995."

"February 27, 1995, yes."

"Then it's not the future.  It's my immediate past."

"But whatever happened here isn't recorded in any newspapers or anything
Ziggy can access, because you're in a high orbit above planet Earth."

Sam slumped, digesting this decidedly convoluted batch of information.
It posed more questions than it answered.  But that was fairly standard
for Ziggy.  In the end, though, he supposed he could fake his way
through this situation as well as any other.

"So I really am on board a spaceship, huh?"

"It looks that way, yes."

"And it's from the 24th century?"

"Apparently."

"So what happened?  Did they get caught in a ... I don't know ... a time
warp or something?"

"That's what Picard thinks.  He says they detected some anomalous
readings off their port bow just as they came out of warp drive."  Al
shrugged.  "I know.  Doesn't make any sense to me, either.  But he says
this kind of thing has happened to them before under various
circumstances.  I explained our setup to him and he seemed to understand
it.  In fact, he called it quaint."

Sam gaped, offended.  "Quaint?  Quaint?  My life's work and all he can
come up with is quaint?"

Al shrugged.  "Well, you have to admit it would be a lot more impressive
if we had some kind of control over it."

"Yeah, right."  Sam scrubbed forehead with fingertips. "My guess is I'm
here to help them get back where they belong."

"A fair enough guess.  Oh, by the way, I got some names for you on your
crew."

"Okay, shoot.  I could use that."

"Your second-in-command is Commander William Riker..."  Al paused. "Hold
on."  He fiddled with the handlink a moment, then stepped to the door
and stuck his face through it.  When it came back, he continued, "He's
the guy with the beard."  Al frowned, then looked through the door
again.  "Jeez, there's some weird-looking folks out there.  Anyway.  The
guy who looks like he's been dead for a week is Lieutenant Commander
Data.  Picard says he's an android."

"An android?  You're kidding."

"I don't know.  Why don't you stick a screwdriver in him and find out?
Anyway, then there's an Ensign Ro, she's the one - I think - with the
weird nose.  And somebody named Worf, but he's not on the bridge right
now.  Neither is Counsellor Troi, she's off duty at the moment."

"Well, that's a start, anyway."

"Right.  Look, I'm going to get back and see what else I can do to
figure out what's going on.  I'm going to try to keep Picard nearby
while I'm in contact with you so he can help supply information. Verbena
says he's taking this all like just another day on the job, so there's
no risk of creating any trauma."

"Good.  Get back to me as soon as you can."

"You bet."

The Imaging Chamber door appeared again, and Al stepped back through,
giving Sam a look that was meant to be encouraging but looked far too
worried to be helpful.  Taking a deep breath, Sam rubbed at his eyes.
He had a feeling this short reprieve was nearing an end.

He was right.  A voice addressed him just as he was returning his
attention to the computer.  After a second, more insistent, "Captain
Picard," Sam realized the voice was coming from the pin on his uniform.
He poked at it experimentally and it made a trilling sound. "Um ...
Picard here," he said, trying to sound authoritative.

"It's Beverly, Captain.  Commander Riker said you suffered a head
injury.  I really think it would be best if you let me look at it, just
in case.  Can I see you in sick bay in five minutes?"

Sam considered.  As a doctor, he knew she was probably right.  As a man
masquerading as the ship's captain, he wasn't sure he wanted to be poked
and prodded and examined with instruments of a technological level he
knew nothing about.  In the end, he decided that to succumb would create
the least suspicion.

"All right.  I'll be there shortly."

"Good."  The voice sounded relieved, but also a little smug.  Sam stood
resignedly.  His uniform shirt had crept up and he yanked it back down
with some annoyance.

Commander Riker stood as Sam returned to the bridge, giving his captain
an expectant look.  Sam waved for him to sit back down.

"As you were, Commander.  I've been ordered to sick bay."

Riker gave him a knowing smile.  "We'll contact you as soon as we have
more information on what happened."

"Yes, do that."

Sam realized then that he had no idea how to get to sick bay.  There was
a door ahead of him that said TURBOLIFT, though.  That looked
promising.  He headed toward it.  No one was giving him strange looks, so
he assumed he was doing the right thing.

The space beyond the door bore a comforting resemblance to an elevator,
but there were no buttons at all, much less one conveniently labeled,
"SICK BAY."

"Oh, great," Sam muttered.  "So how do I get to sick bay?"

Immediately, the elevator began to move.  On a hunch, Sam said, "Stop."
The movement stopped.  "Continue."  He grinned as the elevator went on
its way again.  "Voice activated.  Cool."

He was not so entranced, though, when the lift came to a halt and the
opening door revealed a hallway rather than an immediate entrance into
sickbay.

"Now what?" he mumbled.  There were people wandering in the halls, but
about the best way he could think of to blow his cover would be for him
to stop one of them and ask the way.  And there didn't seem to be any
"You are Here" signs.

"Don't even think about trying to avoid this, Jean-Luc."  Sam turned at
the familiar voice.  Apparently this was Beverly, who had been speaking
out of his chest a few minutes ago.  She took his arm and headed him
down the corridor, and Sam knew from the way she touched him that the
relationship between the doctor and her captain transcended the purely
formal.  Understandable, given her remarkable sweep of copper-coloured
hair. "I can't believe you would think I would let a head injury get by
me."

"It's nothing, really," Sam insisted.  "I'm sure there were other people
hurt more severely ..."

"I had one broken wrist and a twisted ankle," Beverly cut in.  "Now get
in there and sit down."

Her tone startled Sam a little, but he saw she was smiling so he smiled
back and did as told, taking a seat on one of the empty tables.  Next to
him, a young black man sat with his right wrist enclosed in a metallic
sleeve which was attached to a control panel in the wall.  He was
smiling, also, apparently amused by the interchange.  It was difficult
to read very much into his expression because his eyes were hidden
behind a metallic strip which appeared to be attached to his head at
each temple.

"Even the captain can't avoid getting a once-over, huh?"  the man said.

"Oh, she can once me over any time."  Al's voice, of course. "Or twice,
or thrice ..."  Sam resisted the urge to swing around to look at him.
The suit would only hurt his eyes, anyway. "Man o man o man ..."  Al
stepped through the table and positioned himself where Sam could see
him.  Sam took advantage of the opportunity to shoot him a dirty look.

"It is _not_ that bad, Captain," Beverly said in response. "I'm just
going to be sure there's no sign of concussion..."  She broke off,
shaking the instrument.  She made some adjustments and pointed it at him
again.

"I've got Picard here with me," Al continued.  "Don't even ask if you
can see him, because we're already pumping out mega-power to get my
signal to you."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam mumbled, covering both situations.  Beverly was still
tapping delicately on her instrument and frowning.

"Anyway," said Al, "this lovely lady is Dr. Beverly Crusher, Chief
Medical Officer.  The guy with the thing on his face ... "  He stopped,
looking somewhere to his left, undoubtedly at the real Picard. "Visor?
It's a VISOR, Sam.  What?  Visual Instrument and Sensory Organ
Replacement ... He _sees_ with it?  Really?  Amazing.  Isn't that
amazing, Sam?"

Sam nodded.  It was, indeed, amazing.  He wondered what else the
technology of the 24th century had accomplished, but at the same time he
was afraid to ask, knowing what the consequences could be.

Al, however, seemed not to be at all intimidated by either the
technology or the captain.  "... No, I will _not_ put out this cigar!"
he was informing the air.  "Because I outrank you, that's why."  He
turned back to Sam.  "Sorry, Sam.  This guy is really getting on my
nerves.  He reminds me of one of the captains I used to serve under ..
." Catching Sam's look, he waved the thought off.  "Never mind. Anyway.
This is Geordi LaForge.  He's Chief Engineer."

Sam filed the name mentally.  There were a hundred other things he
wanted to ask, but obviously they would have to wait.  His inability to
speak freely with Al was becoming more frustrating by the minute.

"Well," Beverly said, looking at her instrument, "if I can trust my
scanner, you seem to be all right."

"Why wouldn't you trust the scanner?"

"Because it's telling me your blood is AB positive."

"AB positive?"  Sam repeated.  Which, of course, was absolutely correct,
but apparently not for Captain Jean-Luc Picard.

"Yes.  Explain that one to me."

"Yeah, that's strange, all right."  He slipped down from the table.  The
action was met by another outburst from Beverly.

"Don't move, Captain.  Get back on the table and wait while I get
another scanner."

"Don't let her get another scanner, Sam!"  Al protested. "She'll start
poking and prodding and finding out all kinds of things ..."  He
hesitated.  "Not that that would be so bad, really ..."

"Dr. Crusher," Sam said firmly.  "I do not need to be scanned again.  I
am perfectly all right.  I merely sustained a minor bump to the head.
Now, if you don't mind, I would like to speak with Mister LaForge here,
and then I would appreciate it if you would allow me to return to my
bridge."

Beverly slumped, finally admitting defeat.

"Aw, Sam, you hurt her feelings ..."

"All right," Beverly said.  "But if you feel the slightest bit dizzy, or
anything else unusual, call me immediately."

"I feel a little dizzy," Al said hopefully.

Sam gave the doctor a small smile.  It did not seem inappropriate.  "You
can count on it."

Beverly shook her head in mock disgust.  "And you can talk to Geordi,
also, if you like.  I'm almost finished with him, anyway."

"Thank you."

Sam turned to LaForge, who had been watching him rather intently, if it
was possible to judge by the angle of his VISOR.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Captain?"

"Where were you when we hit this ... turbulence?  I was wondering if you
might have some idea what might have caused it."

Geordi nodded toward the arm which was being treated.  "Well,
_un_fortunately, I was out on a catwalk.  Fortunately, it was a low
catwalk."

"Why were you on the catwalk?"

"Just doing some curiosity checks.  You know me, always fiddling."  He
tilted his head slightly.  Sam wondered what exactly he was looking at.
It was disconcerting, not being able to see the man's eyes.  Not only
was it very difficult to read his face, but Sam was not certain where to
look while conversing.  "Ensign Lara may have gotten some readings.  I'm
sure Data has spoken with her by now."

Sam glanced nonchalantly in Al's direction.  Al shrugged.  "It was worth
a shot."

"All right, Mister LaForge," Sam said.  "Take care of yourself."

"Aye, sir."

_Now back to the bridge_, Sam thought, heading for the door, _to see if
there are any answers yet_.

"I'll meet you on the bridge," Al said.  Sam nodded.

As the sickbay door slid open, Sam's chest badge spoke up again.

"Riker to Picard."

"Picard here," Sam told it.

"Captain, we have some information for you.  I think you should come to
the bridge."

"I'm on my way."

His own throat tightening painfully, Sam turned away.  Eyes brushed over
him, he could feel them, looking and turning away.  Beverly's scrutiny
was particularly intense.  Captain or no, he wore the captain's face,
and habit made them look to him for guidance.

"I don't understand what's going on here," Riker mumbled, partly to Sam,
partly to himself.  "She was a Starfleet officer.  Tested, scanned and
verified.  How could this happen?"

Sam shrugged.  "I don't know.  I ..."

"Hey, Sam.  What's this?"  Al had been nosing through the room, peering
at and putting his fingers through things.  Now he was pointing to the
computer terminal, which was on.  A single word flashed blue on the
screen: "Geordi."

"Commander LaForge," Sam said gently.  "There's something here for you."

Geordi started at him for a moment, as if he could not remember who he
was talking to.

"What is it?" he mumbled.

"I don't know.  Maybe an answer."

Geordi's approach was hesitant.  Sam imagined he was wondering if he
would be within his rights to ask the others to leave.  In the end he
said nothing, but went to the terminal and touched the keypad.  Sam
admired him for it.  They all had a right to know what had happened, but
that would have been easy for Geordi to ignore, and his selfishness
would have been easy to forgive, under the circumstances.

Ensign Lara's face appeared on the screen, beautiful and alive, but very
pale.  Her eyes were, indeed, green.  Her voice bore a trace of accent,
one Sam did not recognize.

"Geordi ..." she started.  The word trembled and broke off.  She looked
down, hardened her mouth, looked back up again.  "I don't know what to
say to you.  I'm sorry I hurt you, but I couldn't go on, knowing what I
had to do.  I won't kill you like they said I must, not any of you.  You
can make a life here -- I can't take that from you.  You can never go
back.  I did make certain of that, so they will never know I didn't
carry out all of their orders."  She paused, blinking back the tears
that were trying to come.  "Look at my records, Geordi.  Two years ago I
disappeared during a furlough.  I came back and passed all the tests,
but that was because the Romulans made sure I would.  They have my
daughter, Geordi.  They took her from me.  I'll never see her again but
at least they'll let her go.  This was the condition.  I'm sorry,
Geordi. I shouldn't have told you any of this but I thought I owed you
an explanation.  I do care about you."  She stopped.  Her lips were
trembling.  "Goodbye, Geordi."

The image in the screen reached forward and the screen went black.

"So that was it," Geordi murmured.  "She sacrificed us to the Romulans
in exchange for her child.  And she used me to do it."

The silence in the room was deep and painful.  Beverly opened her mouth
to speak, but closed it again.  Finally Sam laid a hand on Geordi's
shoulder.

"We'll get out of this, Geordi," he said.  "We know something the
Romulans don't."

Geordi met his gaze and nodded.  Something in his face had hardened into
determination.

Behind them, the door slid open, and Worf and two security guards
stepped into the room.

"What's happened?" Worf demanded.

"You can return to your stations," Riker informed him.  "I'm afraid
you're not needed here anymore."

The Klingon hesitated, looking as if he wanted to press on with more
questions.  Riker raised his eyebrows and nodded toward the door.

"Let's go," Sam said to the others.  "I think Geordi needs a little
time."

"I'll stay with him," said Al,  "make sure he's okay."

Sam nodded.  The group left the room as quietly as possible.  Outside,
Riker turned to Beverly.

"Dr. Crusher, I'd like a full autopsy report and a copy of Lara's
personal files to deliver to Starfleet when we get back."  He looked at
Sam.  "I'm gong to get together with Data and be sure both of us are
briefed.  Counsellor, Captain, I recommend we meet again in thirty
minutes to finalize a plan of action."

"Agreed," said Sam.

Sam shrugged.  "Or, if I'm lucky, back home."

She smiled gently and closed a hand on his arm.  "I wish you luck."

"Thank you."

"O'Brien, do we have Commander Data?"  Riker said to the air.

"Affirmative, Commander."

"All right, then, we're ready."  He nodded to Sam.

"Ensign Ro," Sam said, "modify our orbital path so that our next sweep
will take us directly through the bubble."

"Aye, Captain."

"Engage."

"You didn't stick your finger up in the air," Al said.

"What?"  Sam was befuddled by this.

"Picard just said he always sticks his finger up in the air, like this."
Al demonstrated.

"Go away," Sam said.

"No, I think I'll stick this one out.  I want to be sure you leap."

"Well, we'll know in a minute."  They had been roughly over the Ukraine
when Sam had given the order.  Below them now the east coast of the
United States was coming into view.

"Beautiful, isn't it, Sam?"  Al said.  "This reminds me of my astronaut
days ... There's New Jersey.  I met my .. second, no, fifth ... fifth?
... fifth wife in Jersey City ..."

"I know, Al," Sam mumbled.  "You've told me this story before."

"Oh.  Well.  I never know when you're going to forget it."

"We're approaching the bubble, Captain," Ro announced.  Sam nodded.  All
eyes were on the viewscreen.  Silly, Sam thought, because they wouldn't
be able to tell if they had made it or not just by looking out the
window.

"Making contact with the bubble ... now."

Sam felt it then, the indescribable little lurch in his stomach that
told him all was well, and this was over.  He turned to Commander Riker
and nodded ...

    ****

Captain Jean-Luc Picard straightened in his command chair.  "Ensign Ro,
where are we?"

Ro consulted her station readouts.  "On a direct heading for Earth,
approaching high orbit."  She paused.  "Star charts indicate we are
about two hours after we left."

There was a cheer on the bridge.  Picard sank back in his chair.  "Thank
God."

"Are you all right, Captain?"  Riker asked.

"I think so.  But I'll be much happier when we are safely on Earth.
Lieutenant Worf, open a channel to Starfleet Command."

"Channel open, sir."

As the captain related the occurrences of the last several hours to
Starfleet, Deanna Troi looked out at the bright starfield, suddenly sad.

"Thank you, Sam," she whispered.

Commander Riker caught her eye and smiled.


THE END.