MAG.E 3/MAG.E 3 (Disk 2 of 2).adf/105/105

Text File | 1992-09-02 | 104KB | 2,164 lines

@4"No Escape From Reality"
========================


@7Part 1
======

@1"Captains log, Stardate 1108.93.  We are in orbit above what is only known
as the Time Planet.  In recent weeks, the fields of time displacement, and
subsequent disappearances of ships, and now even the home planet of Earth
being affected by the fields; earthquakes, atmopheric changes, such as
snow falling in tropic regions.  Starfleet has ordered the Enterprise to
check out the Guardian, theorizing it is in fact, the center of Time itself."

Sighing, Picard turned off the recorder.  He had elected to lead the landing
party himself, a rarity, leaving his subordinate in Number One's absence
to balance the ship in it's precarious orbit.  Waves of time displacement
buffetted the craft in periodic fluxes, tossing the ship in odd moments and
causing general havoc with the navigation.

The landing party beamed down to the coordinates and stood in awe at the
sight before them.  The Guardian of Forever, one of the deepest secrets the
Federation kept, and they were among the priveleged few to actually view it.

Data was the first to make a move, taking his tricorder and analyzing the
images playing across the odd oval shaped doorway.  The framework had long
since fallen around it, leaving the balanced time picture; hazy and moving
too quickly for the human eye to follow.

WELCOME.  It was the Voice, the one told of only in highly classified
documents and secret Federation staff meetings.

Captain Picard stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with his
science officer.  "We are from the ENTERPRISE," he stated.

"ENTERPRISE. BUT NOT FROM THE TIME BEFORE.  There was a pause, as if
reflecting on it's own records of the past.  YOU ARE PICARD, CAPTAIN
OF THE VESSEL THAT ORBITS THIS PLANET.  I KNOW YOUR MISSION, AND OF THE
TIME DISPLACEMENT.  THIS PORTAL IS NOT THE CAUSE, BUT I CAN BE OF ASSISTANCE.
THE FOCUS IS IN THE EARTH'S PAST.  MY PORTAL IS A DOORWAY TO WHAT YOU SEEK.

"Earth." He glanced at the rest of the landing party.  Worf, frowning
slightly the sight of a speaking portal, and Data, always alert, curious,
recording every bit of information that sped across the Guardian.

OBSERVE. THIS IS YOUR HISTORY, PICARD.  EARTH, FROM BEGINNINGS TO PRESENT.
The ancient voice sounded quite pleased with itself.

"Amazing, Captain!"  Data enthused. "The tricorder is able to record all
of this, even at the speed it's being played.  Something on the order of
200 years every second."

"Can you slow down the centuries?" Picard questioned, addressing the
portal.

IT IS AS YOU SEE.  THERE IS NO WAY TO CHANGE THE SPEED AT WHICH THE
CENTURIES PASS.

"It's only been a few minutes, Captain," Data said, glancing up from the
remarkable pictures flashing before him.  With his advanced android
assimilation, he managed to analyze the images with more speed than the
tricorder he could pass that advanced technology onto it.  "We are well
into the 18th century and speeding through the 19th.  In just a few
seconds we will be up to our own time."

Suddenly the images before them, blurred and strange, wavered.  For a
moment, the oval cleared, then resequenced. Picard frowned.  "Guardian,
is there a problem?"

THE STRANGE ENERGY, THE TIME DISPLACEMENT IS FOCUSED, CAUSING A DIFFICULTY,
ALTERING THE TIME/SPACE VORTEX.  I AM CORRECTING...

Without warning, a man tumbled from the oval, falling to the ground, still
as death, wearing a white jumpsuit that clung to his body like a second
skin.  The unexpected stranger's eyes went wide for a moment, as if stunned,
then closing, losing consciousness as he fell back to the ground.

Worf approached, hand on his phaser, Picard close behind.  "Status," the
Captain snapped, directed at Data.

Data knelt by the still form, scanning the newcomer with his tricorder.
"Human, Captain.  I do not believe he is damaged, but I think it would
be advisable to have Dr. Crusher stand by."

HE IS FROM THE PAST.

"Is he from Earth?" Picard queried, joining Data by the still form.

YES, BUT NOT FROM YOUR TIME. THE PAST.  HE HAS TRAVELLED.  AND ARRIVED.
THAT IS ALL I CAN TELL YOU.  HE IS HERE TO SERVE A PURPOSE, BUT IN TIME,
MUST BE RETURNED.

Touching his hand to his communicator, Picard sent the word.  "Four to
beam up.  Medical team, stand by."


@7Part 2
======

@1With great care, Data lifted the unconscious man from the transporter
platform, carrying him through the ship to the Sickbay.  He was not
very tall, the android noted, nor heavy, but muscular and compact.  As
they entered the Sickbay, Dr. Crusher indicated a bed ready for Data's
cargo and he laid the man upon it, stepping back, his eyes not leaving
the newcomer for a second.

"He's human."  Crusher made the statement drily, checking the life support
readings.

"I surmised that, Doctor," Data said, temporarily distracted from his
thoughts.

The doctor gave her friend a grin, sensing his fascination with her patient.
"You say he's from the past?"

"Late 20th Century Earth.  He fell through the Guardian at that precise
sector of time," Data replied, his eyes not leaving his fascinating subject
for a moment.  "Can you imagine what he knows that our historians have lost?
Could it be possible that he is one connected with the displacement fields
that are buffetting the galaxy? The Guardian indicated that may be the
reason he fell through the portal."

"We'll deal with that when time warrants it, Data," Picard said, half smiling
at his science officer's excitement.  He turned to Worf.  "I want guards
on Sickbay at all times.  We have no idea what his reaction will be when
he awakes in an alien enviornment."

"That shouldn't be in too long a time," Crusher said, making a notation
on a clipboard.  "His readings are growing stronger."

The form on the bed was stirring, a frown deepening between his eyes as
they cracked open. Greenish eyes took in the people around him, widening
when his vision encountered Worf.  His throat was so dry he could barely
speak. When he did manage it, the sounds were barely above a whisper and
only Dr. Crusher could hear them.

She frowned at the words he spoke.  "Waiting Room?"  She glanced back at
the Captain, her expression bewildered.

"Am I home?"  His voice strengthened. "Is this the Waiting Room?" he
repeated, eyes widening.  "Where's Al?"

Picard swiftly changed places with the doctor.  "You're not home, but
we'll do our best to get you back there.  What is your name?"

"Not Home?"  The man stirred restlessly, slamming back on the pillows.
"I just leaped from...San Francisco.  Tamlyn.  1982."  He looked pleadingly
at the Captain, as if he knew he was the one in charge.  "I just want to
go home.  Can you do that?  Send me home?  I'm so tired."

"We might be able to, but we need your name."

Sighing, he felt as if every limb was iron,slow moving and heavy.  All he
wanted was Al, and was uncertain if he should tell his name to this stranger
looming above him.  Where was his Observer?  Could he appear here, in this
strange place?  It didn't look like the Waiting Room he remembered.  First
of all, it was far too large a space, and, secondly, he thought, glancing
at the biggest of the people gathered around him, unless it was Halloween
he didn
he didn't remember anyone them looking quite like the ominous visage near
the guy with the yellow eyes.  Yellow eyes????  Suddenly he was more
than frightened.  He felt himself going into shock.  Something was
preventing his body from leaving the bed, but he struggled, ignoring the
woman's soothing words.

"I'm going to sedate him," Crusher said, slippiing a hypo from her
tray and expertly injecting it through the tight material ofthe white
jumpsuit he wore.  Instantly, he settled back into unconsciousness, his
agitated features still prominent, mouth half open, looking agonized and
upset.  "He's very confused, Captain."  Crusher pressed her lips together,
glancing at her commander.

"We need name, damn it, and how he arrived here.  Data, did he say 1982?"

"Yes, sir."  Data broke his concentration from the images that flickered
across his tricorder.  "San Francisco, Tamlyn.  I presume that is a name,
and the city of origin.  I will do checks, but I wish to stay with our
patient until he regains consciousness."

Picard sighed, an ironic smile playing across his lips.  "Our ship is
being buffetted by the time disturbance, and this gentlemen shows up..."
Annoyance clouded his features at the more than odd occurance, all
happening at once.  "It looks to me that we have a real life time
traveller on our hands."


@7Part 3
======

@1The center of the Captain's concern had no idea how long he'd been out,
and woke up again in the same room.  For several minutes he kept his eyes
closed, hoping it had all been a bad dream.  He thought fleetingly of
Havenwell, and wishing, for a moment, that he was in that situation other
than this.  Something told him he'd fallen into something far worse than
electroshock. Even Al's confident presence was denied him here, or so he
surmised.  Slowly, by degrees, he opened his eyes, cautiously glancing around
the room.  Yellow Eyes was watching, like a hawk ready to pounce, he thought,
but with out maliscious intent.

"Ah, you're awake."  Data slid into a chair by the bed, anxious to speak to
the stranger.  "I did some checking on the year you mentioned, and San
Francisco, as in regards to the Guardian.  It seems..."

"The Guardian?"  Confusion again, as if these strange people were speaking
a new languege.

"That's where we found you. Do you have a name?"

"Sam."  He took a deep breath.  It didn't seem he had a choice but to trust
this man, and the others, even the linebacker.  "Sam Beckett."

Data's mind collected the words, assimilated, eyes widening.  "Not THE
Sam Beckett?  Creator of the subatomic hybrid computer?  What were you
doing in the streams of time?"

"I don't know."  Sam knew he sounded as if he were unintelligent, but this
conversation was skating too close to the Project.  His instinct was telling
him that he not tell these people of that, not yet.

"But you are the physicist that created Ziggy?"

"How did you know that?

"It's part of my history, too.  When Dr. Noonian Singh created me and my
brother he used some of your components.  The very circuits you created,
if you are that Sam Beckett."

"Yes, I am."  Sam tried to sit up and found something was preventing him
from even that movement.  "Could you...?" he asked, glancing pleadingly
at Data.

"You are being held by a neural field, low density.  I'm not allowed to
disrupt it, but I will ask the Captain or Dr. Crusher."  He touched his
fingers to his communicator, requesting either the doctor or Captain
Picard.

"A communication device," Sam whispered, eyes fastened on the neat broach-
like instrument fastened on Yellow Eyes's chest.  Neural fields, the bed,
the uniforms...  Suddenly he realized he must have somehow ended up in a
place far ahead of his own time.  How?  His mind was a blur, not recalling
anything of the last few moments before he ended up here.  Dark depression
filled him, and hopelessness.  It was almost impossible to return home
from this place, and Al...  This wasn't a Leap, he suddenly realized.
"Could you please hand me a mirror?"   He hoped he didn't look as
desperate as his voice sounded.

"There is one on the wall," Data answered, curious at the man's strange
request.  "When Dr. Crusher releases you from the field, you can use it.
Why do you need to see your reflection."

"It's complicated, but trust me, it's important, too."  His eyes wandered
to the doors that opened with such ease, not unlike the ones at his Project.
Internal implants, perhaps, like the ones there, that opened the doors
when someone with an encoded pass or those strange communicators neared
them.

"Well, you're awake!  I'm Dr. Beverly Crusher."  Her voice was soft,
smile sweet, and Sam couldn't help but like her and this strange
admiring man next to him.  "How are you feeling?"

"Confused and a little worried."  Sam sighed, pressing back against the
mattress.  "I don't think you need to keep me pinned to this bed,  and
it's only making me more nervous then I already am."

"The field was activated for your own protection, but I think we can
remove it now."  She quickly pressed the overhead panel, releasing the man
from the field.  "I'm sorry to cause you any discomfort."  Her patient
was handsome, she thought, and vulnerable with that strange lock of silver
falling over his forehead.  "Are you thinking more clearly than you were?"

"Not Swiss Cheesed, I think."  He glanced at Data, who's head snapped up
at the strange referenece. "Where is that mirror?"

"Mirror?"  Beverly frowned, assisting the man from the bed.

The moment he saw his reflection he knew his worst fears were realized.
He was himself, and this wasn't a Leap.  If that was so, he thought, a
sinking feeling touching his stomach, Al and the Project were cut off from
him.  There would be no contact, no Ziggy, and, possibly, no Leaps ever
again.  "My God," he whispered, hands reaching up to stroke his cheeks,
taking in the worn visage reflected in front of him.  "I'm stuck here."
Breaking away from the woman's grasp, he slumped back on the bed, his mind
a whirl of questions.  "My name is Dr. Sam Beckett.  Where am I?  What
year is this?"

"You're on a sort of...well, ship." She'd called the Captain and hoped he'd arrive soon so she'd know how much information
was prudent to give this man.  "As for time...as in years?  Earth years?"

His feeling grew worse. She spoke of the planet as ifit were one of many.
"Yes, please, uh, Earth years."


@7Part 4
======

@1As he said the words, the doors opened again.  It was the Captain, from
before, a man, he sensed, of great dignity and authority.  If anyone knew
anything he must be the one.  "Can you please help me?"  Sam asked, his
hands clenching at the bed, jolting away from Crusher's gently soothing
motions.

"We need more information on you before we give you the lay of the land,
as it were.  I'm Captain Jean Luc Picard.  What is your name?"

"I'm Dr. Sam Beckett," Sam repeated patiently, with just a touch of ire.
"I don't know how I got here, and I really just want to go home.  I'm
involved in a Top Secret government project and that information is
priveleged.  Other than my name, I don't feel comfortable giving you
anything else.  I need a year, a place, why I'm here."

"I see."  Picard rocked back on his heels, studying the man on the bed.
"Then we will do some checking on you, Dr. Sam Beckett.  As for where you
are, you are on board the starship, Enterprise."

"What year?"  The words were laced with desperation, glancing from face
to face around him.  "She said to ask in Earth years, which really is
making me crazy.  I"m not on Earth.  Where the hell am I?"

"Our designation is Earth," Picard said gently, sensing the man's true
near panic state. "As for the year, it's 2553."

The broad face went white, every drop of blood draining from his visage.
God, how could he have leaped this far ahead of his time?  Six hundred
years??  What had happened?

Crusher reached again to touch him, and he jerked away from her, his hands
wiping across his face, apprehensively glancing from Data's worried
expression to Picard.  Behind his steel grey eyes he saw empathy for him;
true concern for his well-being.  In all the years he'd been Leaping he'd
been able to only trust people by their surface, and he had to that now.
"I'm from 1995," he managed.  "And there's no way to send me back."

"I thought you said 1985," Data reiterated. "When you first regained
consciousness you said a city and the year.  What I believed was a name."

"Tamlyn.  Yes."  The memories fell together, orderly and in place.

"This is very important, Dr. Beckett," Picard said sternly.  "Were you
travelling in time?  The Guardian implied you were.  That might indicate
you were moving through time/space in some way."

Sam's breath caught in his throat.  That reference again; the Guardian.
"What is this? How did I get here, damn it???!!!!"  His green/hazel eyes
slitted, suddenly suspicious.

Picard seated himself on a chair Crusher pulled up for him.  "The planet
we are orbiting..."

"Orbiting."  Sam accepted the words as best he could.  "So we're in
space, right?"

"Correct.  On the planet is a time machine of sorts, that we call the
Guardian.  As we observe Earth's history through it's portal, you fell
into our laps, as it were.  At this point we don't know what to think, but
the Guardian indicates to us that you must be sent back.  We need specific
information from you, where your point of origin is, and when.  It's a
chance, but we might be able to send you home if we have the proper
information."

"When?"

"It might take days to pinpoint the exact point of entry, Doctor," Data
said.  He handed his tricorder to the man on the bed, cueing it to the
images of Beckett falling through the portal, and then the speeding vision
of time the Guardian presented.  "At the rate time passes through it, it
might take a long time to pinpoint your origin and return you to your home."
He glanced at Picard for a moment.  "My data implies that you came from
'between time', something which the Guardian does not cover.  If this
is so, you may not be able to return.  Where were you the moment you
'leaped' here?"

"I...don't...know!"

The expressive greenish eyes betrayed Sam's fright and total confusion.
Picard could see through the hesitant words.  "You do know, Dr. Beckett.
We can't help you if you refuse to say anything of it.  You're cutting
your own throat."

"How can I explain it???"  A headache was growling at the back of his
mind, just throbbing above his eyes.  It seemed to be growing worse
with each question Picard asked him.  "Maybe the best explanation was that
I was 'between time' as he ..."  He glanced at Data, smiling apologetically.
"I don't know your name."

"Data.  I am an android."

"Amazing.  We'll talk, but as I was saying, I was conducting a time
travel experiment.  My mind was affected by the initial, well, Leap,
as I call it. I've been bouncing around time for ages, I don't know
exactly how long, but only in my own lifetime.  You have to understand
that my being here is impossible; it just can't be."

"You're here, Doctor," Picard said calmly.  "Please continue."

"It was an experiment, using a theory I developed. Unfortuantely...it
got a little out of hand, out of control.  My computer wasn't moving me
around after the first leap, and every indication, according to my
Observer..."

"Is this the 'Al' you spoke of before?" Data interjected.

"Yes."  Sighing, Sam dipped his head for a moment, missing his friend
even more.  "He guided me, in the form of a hologram.  It sounds far
fetched, but he told me that God was buffetting me around from place
to place, helping me set right what once was wrong.  I've changed
lives, and caused events that changed things for the better, I hoped.  This
last time, I just left 1985 and was in the midst of moving through to the
next...place."  His eyes came up, locking with Picard's intense gaze.
"When I'm between leaps, normally, there is no sensation of time, no
passage of events or awareness.  When I arrived here, I felt a pull,
and light, wind, whatever.  It hurt, my head, everything being dragged,
and then..."

"Your head?"  Crusher gently touched the man's face, gazing into his
green/gold eyes.  "Are you in pain now?"

"A bit." Sam said reluctantly.  "It's nothing."

"Nothing could be something.  I'll give yoiu something for it."

"Time travel--in the mid `1990's?"  Picard's face was one great frown.  He
didn't remember that particular bit of information from his history courses
at Academy.  "You say this device was of your invention?"

"You could say,"  Data interjected.  "that Dr. Beckett is my sort of
Great Grandfather.  No offense, to you, Sir," Data said, acknowledging
Beckett' startled look.  "I checked his identity throiugh library records
and found many references to his research.  There was no indication that
you actually travelled in time, but I came across an amazing coincidence.
Some of the components you invented for your hybrid computer were primitive
versions of the instrumentation Dr. Singh used to build my brother and I,
'

"I'm pleased to hear that, but can you send me home?"  Sam didn't care to
hear about Ziggy now, or hybrid computers or components.  He'd spilled his
guts and it was their turn to play a hand in this strange game.

"We'll do our best, Dr. Beckett," Picard said, rising from his chair.
"Data, I want to see you in my Ready Room."  The Captains eyes were a dark
storm, wanting to check and recheck this man's story from top to bottom
before coming to any conclusions.  "I apologize for the accomodations,
Dr. Beckett, but Dr. Crusher will insist you stay in her Sickbay until she
decides you are fit."

Beaming at her patient, with her best bedside manner in place, Crusher
sat in the chair the captain vacated.  "You must be very confused right
now, and upset.  Are you hungry?"

Sam hadn't really thought about the last time he'd eaten.  Dinner last
night at Tamlyns, he guessed.  Candlelight, silly Valentine presents,
then...  He shoved the memories to the back of his mind, too painfull to
think about.  A waste of time, actually, thinking of someone long dead
and gone.  Everyone was dead, even Al.

"Dr. Beckett?"

The green eyes came up, his expression hollow and empty.  The others had
left.  The doctor seemed concerened.  "I'm sorry.  It's a lot to take at
one time.  I could use something to eat, if it isn't a problem."

"Not at all," she replied brightly.  "And you said you had a headache. I'd
like to do some checks on that, if you think you're up to it."  She patted
his hand as his eyes grew large with alarm.  "Completely painless, and will
only take a few minutes.  After that, I can send one of the techs for your
dinner.  Anything yoiu want."

She didn't think Sam was quite prepared for food coming out of the wall,
not yet.


@7Part 5
@1======

"All right, Mr. Data," Picard said, steadily gazing at his science officer
across the conference table.  "You did a check on our guest?"

"Yes, of course, Captain."  He glanced from his tricorder to his commander.
"I checked all Earth records for references to Dr. Beckett.  He was born in
Earth year, 1953, son of John and Thelma Beckett, a child prodigy.  At age
two..."

"I'm more interested in his later history, Data."  Picard missed the input
from his First Officer.  Riker was currently on leave for another nine days.
"You said there was no mention of time travel."

"There were some indications that he was working on a theory for time
exploration while attending Massachusets Institute of Technology, but none
after that.  Most of the information I assimilated had to do with his work
with hybrid computers.  Even now, on outlying bases, where there is  little
human contact, "Zigs' are used, for companionship where there is none to
be had.  A computerized 'friend' as it were.  I believe the term 'Zigs' are
a reference to Dr. Beckett's own computer creation, Ziggy."

"You mean the 'human' computers that do everything including insult you?"
The Captain grimaced.  "You either love them or hate them.


"Some of the Enterprises personality, computer-wise, is a branch of the
Zigs.  The first components were developed by Dr. Beckett.  Also, his
reference to 'Al'.  I believe he was referring to Admiral Albert Calavicci,
his partner through most of his professional life.  They jointly received
a Nobel Prize in 1994 for pioneer work in holography.  The roots of our
own holodeck were created by Admiral Calavicci and a Dr. Kevin Drayton;
the Admiral also had a doctorate in physics and engineering."

The Captain frowned, questions still clouding his mind.  "Where does time
travel come into play here?  You tell of holography and computers, but no
time machine?"

"Sir, there was no reference to any experiments in time travel, not past
his theory in college.  I'm sorry."  Data sighed, feeling it was a personal
fault on his part that he could not find the information his commander
desired.

"What information did you find on his later life?"

"Most interesting, Captain."  Data folded his hands in front of himself on
the polished table.  "The records indicate that Dr. Beckett disappeared in
1995, never to be heard from again.  Questions were asked, mostly by his
family, but his time on Earth, as we know it, ended there."

"So."  Brow furrowing, Picard leaned back in his chair, talking in the newest
bit of information.  "He's appeared here, and we must, somehow, find a way
to send him home."

"Thereupon posing a problem, Captain."  Data's tone turned serious. "We
could send him back through the Guardian, to his own time.  Unfortunately..."

The door opened and Dr. Crusher entered, smoothly taking her place at the
table.  "Dr. Beckett has lost part of his memory, and is now suffering from
some kind of neural damage.  I've done tests, and it seems, the pain he's
feeling is caused by the quantum energy, and something else I can't fathom.
I gave him some pain medication and he's much calmer, but very upset.  He
has trouble remembering the simplest of information about himself.  Possibly
he's going through an identity crisis, being brought here under such adverse
conditions, but it doesn't seem so."

"He's not a clever liar, then," Picard said, eyes narrowing.

"Captain, he's not lying. The monitors would show that, and they are reading
normal.  I asked where he lived, when he left.  He could only give me a year,
and the state he was living in, then, New Mexico.  Other than that..." She
shrugged.

"And," Data added.  "Who's to say that he's to return in 1995?  Maybe he
was destined to return later, years from then.  We could alter history if
we send him back at the wrong time.  It's a perplexing problem, Captain,
and one I'm afraid we may not be able to solve."

"Is he the reason for the time displacement?  Could his experiment have
altered space itslef, causing the rifts, and disruption?"

"I won't know that, Captain," Data replied.  "Not until I take all factors
under consideration and obtain more details from Dr. Beckett about the actual
time machine itself."

The Captain leaned forward, eyes meeting Beverly's.  "Can he adjust to our
time?"

"He's brilliant, Jean Luc."  The doctor looked confident.  "I'm certain that
he could not only adjust, but contribute.  What I'm most concerned about
is his depression.  I left Councilor Troi with him so I could participate
in this discussion.  He's homesick, and from what I can gather, he's not
been 'home' in a long, long, time.  Whatever he's been doing, his entire
focus seems to be riveted on one thing; that someday he'll be able to
return."

*********************

Sam eyed the attractive, dark haired woman that sat quietly at his bedside.
Her soft, doe-like gaze unsettled him.

"My name is Deanna Troi, Ships Counselor.  I can sense that you are very
sad, and I want to help you."

"How can you 'sense' anything," Sam snapped, rolling away from her gaze.  "You
have no idea what I'm feeling."

"I do, Dr. Beckett."  She folded her hands in her lap, feeling the anger from
the man mixing with the depression.  "I'm not from Earth.  My race is BetaZed,
and we are empathic, able to feel emotions from others as if they were our own.
I sense loss from you, someone quite close, that you long to see."

His mind tried it's best to fill with the new information.  Another planet,
another race.  It seemed, not only was the Earth at peace, but so was the rest
of the Solar System, or Galaxy--certainly that husky security chief was
from another planet, as well.  Deanna Troi didn't seem threatening, or as
if she was out to rip his mind open, like the doctors at Havenwell.  That's
what he must be to these people; an antiquity, old-fashioned and fascinating.
"I just want to go home," he said softly.  It was the truth, and all he
felt like telling yet another stranger.

"You can trust us, Sam."  She smiled at the uneasy look the man gave her.
"Maybe not now, but soon.  Who do you miss so much?"

"Al."  The name left his mouth before he could think about it, almost as if
she'd willed it from him.  "My friend," he continued, turning onto his back.
"We haven't seen each other for a while now."

"I sense that you have a dependency on him, Sam. You have difficulty focusing
without his presence.  That must put a great deal of stress on him."

"What the hell do you know about it?"  Sam bristled, sitting up in the bed.
"He's always there for me, and I need him to do...what I have to do."

"And what do you feel you have to do, Sam?"

Her patronizing, or what seemed that way, tone was bridling Sam's nerves.
"I don't know, damn it," he snapped. "Whatever is needed, I guess."  His
eyes spat green flame.  "And what do you need to do?  Are you some kind of
psychiatrist?"  His memory recalled another therapist like this one,
asking soothing questions, a fan turning above him, drawing out another's
personality.  Since then, he'd not trusted or like the type, with the
exception of his few warm memories of Verbena Beeks.  She'd never tried to
psychoanalyze him, or try to turn his mind inside out.

"I'm the ships coucelor, Sam.  I hold many degrees, but usually I just talk,
and try to draw the pain from others.  You are so sad, and scared.  Dr.
Crusher thought that maybe I could help you adjust to this new situation."


"I've spent the past few years adjusting quite nicely to new situations,
and I don't need you or anyone else trying to soothe me."  He sighed.  "I'm
sorry if I sound less than myself, but I'm just a little...messed up right
now.  As far as being dependent on anyone, I don't need that thrown in my
face.  The very things that are dearest to me are three hundred years in the
past.  It doesn't look like I'll be able to return and as far as adjusting
to this, it's going to take more than your abilities."  He shut his eyes,
his mouth tightening.  "I'd rather talk tothe android--Data.  He's the
only one here who doesn't treat me like a test subject--or a liar."

"You think that's the way I'm treating you?  Of course, not.  I'm just
quite concerned.  No, I don't know you very well, but just by talking
to me you might feel better."

A tear slowly fell down Sam's face, dripping down on the Fermi suit he
wore.  He swallowed, not attempting to wipe the wetness away.  He could
feel himself building to a real emotional outburst and he didn't want this
woman to see it.  "Just go away," he managed, turning away from her.

Deanna's soul cried out for the lonely man, wishing she could do more,
but finding the door to his emotions close firmly against her.  She stood
and left the room, giving Sam his privacy and hoping that later he'd want
to give her some of his grief.


@7Part 6
======

@1Admiral Albert Calavicci tore through the rooms of the Project, his rage
apparent to the other personnel scattering out of his furious path.  He
entered the Control Room, facing Gooshie withone of the blistering looks
normally reserved for stuffy Pentagon types who hadn't learned the lay of
the land.  "I got your message," he growled.  "What do you mean by 'he's
gone'?"

The little programmer moved behind the panel in a vain attempt to protect
himself from the Admiral's wrath.  "We've been doing routine checks
through the usual pathways and there's no sign of Dr. Beckett's implant
signal.  Ziggy..."

"Ziggy."  Al turned to face the ceiling, and the bluish monitor that
softly hummed with power.  "Where's Sam?"

I CANNOT FIND HIM, ADMIRAL.  THIS IS THE LONGEST HE'S GONE WITHOUT LEAPING
INTO A SPECIFIC TIME. I'VE BEEN DOING THE SYSTEM CHECKS AND HE'S SIMPLY
DISAPPEARED.  THERE IS NO INDICATION THAT HE EXISTS IN ANY TIMELINE,
ANYWHERE.  THERE WAS A FLUX IN THE FLOW A WEEK AGO, AND I ACCERTAINED
THAT IT WAS NOT ABNORMAL, BUT NOTHING SINCE THEN.  I MAY HAVE MADE A
WRONG DECISION, AND NOW HE IS GONE.  The computer's voice took on a
very worried tone.  USUALLY, DR. BECKETT'S ESSENCE IS PRESENT IN FIVE
TO SIX DAYS, SOMEWHERE IN HIS OWN LIFETIME.  SO STRANGE THIS TIME, THAT
HE HAS NOT APPEARED, NOR IS HIS IMPLANT DETECTABLE.

"Can you track Dr. Beckett between leaps?"

IS THIS A TRICK QUESTION?   I CAN TELL YOU THAT I CAN TO A DEGREE.  THERE
IS ALWAYS A MARGINAL SIGNAL, BUT NOW, NOTHING.  I AM VERY CONCERNED,
ADMIRAL.


"So am I, Ziggy, so am I."  Al brushed his hand through his short, curly
hair, avoiding the wide blue eyes of Gooshie looking to him for answers.
He turned to the programmer, knowing anger and demands would get him
nowhere.  "Is there something I can do to assist?  We have to find the
kid, Goosh."

"I've been doing all the checks, everything that usually works.  The
entire Project is on it. All we can dois check again and wait another
twenty-four hours.  If there's nothing after this one..."  His
mustache drooped as his expression darkened.  "We might assume that
Dr. Beckett has..."

"Don't say it," Al snapped.  "Damn it, I'm not going to let taht
bastard take him, not yet."  His temper got the best of him.  "Find him,
or I'm going to take this place apart until we do."

ADMIRAL, I DON'T BELIEVE THAT WOULD ASSIST DR. BECKETT...

"Starting with this damn computer!"  He stormed out of the room, wishing
he could slam the door behind him.  Instead he stalked out of the Project
to the break area; tables, hot wind blowing off the desert, a place he
went when he wanted out and away.  Damn it, Sam Beckett couldn't die,
not this way.  He lit a cigar, not soothing his nerves or energy a bit.
They hadn't even said goodbye, not really.

"I heard there was a thunderstorm passing through."

Al glanced behind him.  Verbena, of course, always on his butt when he lost
his temper.  "Not a cloud in the sky."

"I meant _you_."

"What happened?" he asked, turning his back to her.
"Gooshie tattle again?"

"He's doing his best, Al."  The attractive psychiatrist rubbed the Admiral's
rock hard shoulders, feeling the tension there.  "You need to relax and
realize that things like this will happen.  Before too long you'll be
complaining about that long elevator ride down to the Imaging Chamber and
all the ensuing madness that another Leap brings us.  Maybe he's even on his
way home."

"No."  Al shook his head, shrugging away from her comforting hands. "This
feels...strange.  Not normal, not this time.  I've got this feeling, and it's
biting my butt.  He's in trouble, and we can't do a thing about it. I even
went down to the Imaging Chamber to see if I could center on him and there
was nothing in there but a whole lot of white.  I hate that place."

"I'll buy you some dinner, a really good steak, and maybe a drink or two."

The dark eyes softened, tempted by her offer.  "Thanks, but no thanks,
'Bena. I don't want to leave. If he should come home he'll want me here.
I can't take a chance that I'll miss that."

The psychiatrist nodded in agreement.  "I'll be here if you need to talk."

"Thanks, and I might take you up on that--later."  Al sat at the table,
staring across the expanse of desert, not really seeing it.  He heard
the door shut behind Beeks and sighed. She tried her best with him, but, at
times, he must frustrate the hellout of her patient soul.  All he really
wanted now was to see Sam Beckett across this table, like so many years
before, looking pensive and preoccupied, but here, and alive.  Damn it all,
he wanted him home.


@7Part 7
======

@1Sam gave into the tears that fought for prominence and felt somewhat
better afterwards.  He silently thanked the others for leaving him alone
with his emotions, giving him a gracious amount of time to sort through
the many facats of this new Leap.  Well, he was himself, for once.  His
reflection frowned back at him.  You look a little older, he thought to
himself, and a lot confused and unhappy.  Taking a deep breath, he settled
on the bed, biting his lower lip.  Okay, he was here, not home, and he had to
think practical thoughts, about how he could return to the Project, and
get more information about this Guardian that had seemingly dragged him
here in the first place.

"Dr. Beckett?"

His head came up as the one named Data, formerlly called 'Yellow Eyes',
entered the room.

"I hope you do not mind, but I thought you needed the company."  He sat
down by the bed, his face reflecting his own sorrow.  "I am sorry about
not being able to give you instant answers.  Councelor Troi said you
seemed to like to spend time with me, and I will do everything in my
power to help you feel comfortable here."

"Thank you, but what I really want is to figure out how to get me home."

"We are using our computer to analyze the tricorder recordings from the
Guardian.  We need more information about possible changes that may
incur should we send you back at an incorrect time.  It is not just
a doorway, but a fast moving one.  We may be able to calculate the precise
moment you arrived, but if we send you through then you may find yourself
in a place you do not belong.  Can you tell me how you travelled, what
means you used?  Was it a mechanical contrivance?"

Sam knew his silenc about his Project was only complicating matters.
"Initially, I used a device called the Quantum Accelerator."  He sighed,
trying with great difficulty to remember the details of his own experiment.
"Everything's a little fuzzy.  I wish Al was here to explain things,
but..."

"We know of Admiral Calavicci. He made his place in history also."

"He was ... my partner.  We built the Project together.  Was there
any reference to it in your records?"

"No, none at all.  It seems it was so deeply classified that even three
hundred years later there are no signs that it even existed."

"It was a government project.  Quantum Leap. I used the accelerator, or
so I'm told, because funding was about to be cut.  I had to prove my
theories or lose everything."  He thought back on everything Al had ever
told him of the past, those days before he Leaped.  "When I used the
Accelerator, I lost my memory, couldn't even remember my name.  Al had to
remind me--he was in the form of a hologram, tuned to my maisons and neurons.
He's back at the Project in a place we called the Imaging Chamber.  As a
hologram he appears to me and guides me along when I need information."

"You initially leaped then..."  Data frowned.  "You said that an
omnipotent being is propelling you through time?"

"I don't know howto explain this, Data."  Sam started to smile.  How could
he tell anyone besides Al and Gooshie this strange theory?  "We figured
God is moving me around, so I can change things, set right wrongs."  For
an android Data was very animated, exactly human.  He continued, giving
his companion examples; his very first look in a mirror after leaping into
Tom Stratton, citing situations he'd found himself in.  "My whole theory
is centered around me leaping within my own lifetime.  I don't know how
I ended up here except that something interrupted my Leap and tossed me
into your time.  All I do know is that I want to get back, and it seems
that..."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Beckett.  We will do the best we can to return you to your
time, but I can't make promises.  I am learning from each new experience,
as you are, and I still do not quite understand how 'God' could be
propelling you through Time.  _You_ are not in control?"

"Sorry to interrupt this conversation."  Beverly entered, glancing from one
sober face to the other.  "I just wanted to let Dr. Beckett know that
Captain Picard has allowed him limited access to ship facilities. You're
probably sick to death of Sickbay by now, and we've had quarters prepared
for you, and a change of clothes.  You have to make me a promise, though."


"Which is?"

"If those headaches worsen, you'll let me know."

The pain was almost gone, just a dull ache now.  Whatever medication she'd
given him had done the trick, and without nasty side effects. "I appreciate
your concern, but I could really use some quiet time alone."

"I think that can be arranged," Crusher said.  "Counselor Troi would like
to speak to you again, if it's not a problem."

"No offense," Sam said quickly. "I'd rather not.  She makes me...uneasy
and a little nervous.  Frankly, if I need to talk to anyone, I'll talk
to myself...or Data, here."  His smile was tight, eyes small, thinking
of Al, and longing really to talk only to him.  "Sometimes that's the
only way I can get through things," he continued.  "Alone."


@7Part 8
======

@1Twenty four hours passed, Al biting his nails and trying to stay out of
Gooshies way.  He spent most of his time in his office, waiting for world
of Sam's return.  A knock at the door made his head rise hopefully.

The programmers face was hardened into stricken lines.  "I'm sorry,
Admiral," he began.

"Don't say it," Al cut in.
"He's not dead."

"We can't find him.  If we checked further, it would be useless.  You can
verify our readings, every aspect of the search, and you'll find nothing.
God, I wish it wasn't so, but..."

"Thank you, Gooshie."  Al's voice was soft and dark, hiding his inner fears.
"Get some sleep.  You look like you could use it."

"Im so sorry, Admiral."

"Okay, just...go."  Al locked the door behind the man, and went to his
liquor cabinet.  The first drink went down, then, another.  It had been
years since he'd consumed the stuff, in deference to certain promises he'd
made.  Before he realized it, he'd drained the half bottle of harsh whiskey,
and started on a second one.  Shot after shot downed, a burning trail
to try to cloud his mind against the reality of what he must face now.  Sam
Beckett had succeeded in proving his theory...and died without even coming
home.  He'd lost the only friend he'd ever had that treated him with respect
not kissing his butt, or wincing in fear when his temper flared.  They
d
spent more time clearing the air with wingbang arguements then they did
patronizing each other.  Christ, he missed those days, working with the
kid, pouring every bit of living blood into the Project.  Sam's "Feed
me Ziggy," programming the computer, with Al giving him information until
his voice broke, giving out the numbers and words in a harsh whisper until
both men collapsed with exhaustion.

The liquor numbed, but did not kill the fire that built in him.  There
had to be something else he could do, to find Sam and return him to where
he belonged.  He staggared from the office and down the empty halls of eh
Project. The walls echoed silence, almost a funeral atmosphere, the place
nearly empty of activity.  Most of the techs had gone home after their
fruitless search, or to their quarters.  The door to Control opened silently
in front of him and Al staggared into the nerve center, taking another
swallow from the bottle he held.  Computer paper littered the floor.
Obviously, the janitor was occupied elsewhere, or had been ordered out.
Even Ziggy was silent, probably upset at the fact that it had failed
to find it's creator.  His vision fuzzy from the amount of drink he'd
downed, he glanced over the printouts, read what seemed to be a finality.
There wasn't any indication that Sam Beckett lived out there, not on
these sheafs of computer paper, not a blip, just flat lines that indicated
timeflow and nothing more.

"Something.  Nothing."  Al hurled the empty bottle against the wall,
causing Ziggy's dome to blink once, but no sound.  Glass shattered, drops
of liquor staining the immaculate whiteness.  An insane idea was building
in his mind, caused by the alcohol or maybe just desperation.  In
an hour, perhaps less, the place would be busy again, techs, office
personnel, and others that would prevent him from carrying out his plan.

"Ziggy?"

Silence greeted his query.

"Ziggy, damn it, talk to me or so help me God, I'll rip you apart!"

HELLO, ADMIRAL.  I'M VERY DEPRESSED RIGHT NOW.  PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE.

"I don't give a dan about your emotional state!  Help me find Sam, you
pile of nuts and bolts!"  He moved behind the panel, remembering easily,
even with his booze numbed brain, the proper sequence he had to feed into
the computer. "I'm going in after him!"

ADMIRAL, THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE.  I WON'T ALLOW IT.

Red faced with anger, Al looked up at the computer, his dark eyes narrowing
into slits.  "Sam goes, you go, too.  The U.S. Government takes charge.
I'm not covering your butt, so either you help me out, or we're both out
of a job."  He straightened, hands on hips.  "Are you with me, or am I
on my own here?"

I DON'T WANT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR DEATH, TOO, ADMIRAL.  IF BOTH
YOU AND DR. BECKETT SHOULD BE LOST....

"I'm telling you he's not dead." Al worked the panel.  "I will bring him
back."

EVERY INDICATION...

"I don't care!"  He roared the words upward, keeping his eyes on the settings.
"I'm not leaving him out there alone.  Now, power up, and get that damn
thing ready, because I'm going in after him!"

AS YOU WISH, ADMIRAL. WHEN DR. BECKETT INITIALLY LEAPED, I COULD NOT SEND
HIM TO A SET POINT, BUT DR. GOOSHE HAS WORKED ON THE PROBLEM.  I HAVE THE
APPROXIMATE POINT WHERE DR. BECKETT SEEMINGLY DISAPPEARED.  IF YOU WISH,
I WILL DIRECTIONALIZE YOU TO THAT PLACE, BUT I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOUR
SAFE RETURN.

"Do it, Ziggy!"  He thought briefly about changing into a fermisuit, and
disregarded the thought as unnecessary and time consuming.  Everything was
set, and the low thrum of the powering up was beginning to vibrate the
very walls.  "One more thing--seal this place off, keep people out. I
don't want any outside interference!"

YES, ADMIRAL.  The computer's voice was a little sad, and very worried.
I HOPE YOU DO FIND HIM!

The door to the Accelerator chamber slid open and Al entered the small
room, running to take his place on the platform that had once carried
Sam away.  Mist and steam rose as the blue light wrapped around him.
//God,// he thought, as he felt the first tingling sensation of teh
Leap.  //I hope I remembered my cigars!//


@7Part 9
======

@1Using the sonic shower was another new experience Sam hadn't expected.
Of course, it was practical, considering how difficult it would be to
carry enough water to bathe the amount of people he guessed was on the
ship.  His journey to his new quarters had been carefully monitored,
security outside his door, not allowing him more than a minor peek at
what seemed more interesting parts of the ship.  Adding to his apprehension
was the periodic jolts that the Enterprise was taking, sudden bumps.
With each one came the headache bursts again, but he avoided telling
Crusher of them.  The Captain had explained about the turbulent disturbance
that surrounded the planet and it's effect on their smooth course.
Scientific curiousity was getting the better of his depression, forcing
him to think past the darkness that clouded his mind.  Here he was, in
the 24th Century, with all this new technology to investigate and he
was cooped up in a suite of rooms, expected to stay put until further
notice.

The outfit they gave him was much like the uniforms the others wore,
except his communicator didn't seem to work.  He decided it was no more
than a tracking device and he couldn't detach it from the strange material.

It was soft, yet crisp, and quite comfortable.  Not quite as snug as
the fermisuit, which he had folded and tucked carefully in the dresser.
There was a small monitor on the table in the central room, and a port,
or screen that showed some kind of holographic display.  This wasn't Captain
Galaxy; certainly it wasn't a 'window'.  The scene beyond the port he
watched with wonder, planets and stars, differenet constellations, some he
didn't recognize or remember.  Holography he mused, or video of some kind.
His shoulders sagged as he gazed at the pretty picture, realizing, with
finality, how far he was from home.

The door chimed, and Sam frowned as it opened automatically.  Apparently,
his privacy wasn't a priority.  He turned to greet his guest with a touch
of ire.  Captain Picard was not big on his list of people he could allow
himself to trust, not yet.  "What can I do for you, Captain?"

"It took some doing, but we found the information on your Project.  Someone
took great pains to protect you, and your work.  Most of the details are
missing, but not the facts.  There were only fragments, and bits of
paperwork, but more than you can expect after six hundred years.  It was
enough to convince me that you are no liar.  Data told me some of what you
said, but felt uncomfortable giving up confidences. I don't expect you to
immediately speak to me of what you've gone through, but it may help me
to understand more of how you came to be here.  Be assured, I want
what you want."

"What can I do? You have me in here, secured, and held."  Sam shivered,
even though the room was perfectly warm. "If I could work with Data,
maybe I could find something he can't.  You understand my abilities.

"I'm not sure about that Dr. Beckett." Picard returned to the door,
hesitating as it opened.  "I'll take your assistance under consideration.
The monitor is programmed to give you simple shipboard information.  If
you require anything, inform security.  This is for your own protection.
You must understand," he added, a touch of sympathy in his voice.  "If
we managed to send you home you must know as little of our time as possible."

As the door slipped shut,  Sam accepted the explanation of his confinement
rationally, then went to the computer.  Data had given him simple instructions
on how to voice activate the instrument.  What did you say to a 24th Century
computer?  Did it have a name?

"Computer..." he began.

MAY I ASSIST YOU, DR. BECKETT?  WHAT DO YOU REQUIRE?

The voice wasn't Ziggy's, perhaps more human, but not by much.  Definetly
female, with a peculiar warmth.  What he wanted was a keyboard or something
more his style than just speaking at a monitor.  He felt distanced and
unweildly.  "I'm not sure how to work this device--uh, You.  Is it possible
for me to have a keyboard of some kind to use to communicate?"

ARCHAIC, BUT I CAN ASSIST. The front of the desk neatly materialized
into a standard laptop of 20th century design.  I CAN GIVE YOU THIS,
ALTHOUGH IT IS UNSOPHISTICATED.

"I'll learn the new ways soon enough," Sam said, meaning it.  Cracking
his knuckles, he didn't care what the computer thought of his use of the
old keyboard.  He had access and he'd manage, somehow, to get the information
that he needed.  A smile touched his face for the first time since his
arrival, his hands playing across the keys.  They had no idea what he
was capable of; a secured computer was his playground.


*************************

The security guards on the planet were making their checks, more frequent
since the unexpected vistor.  Since Beckett's arrival, the Guardian was
completely quiet, never coming into being unless directly asked.  Therefore,
it was more than a surprise to the security personnell to hear the Voice,
without motivation, speak.

THE OBSERVER HAS ARRIVED.

Once again, a stranger flopped out of the oval, landing on his feet like
a cat.  He straightened, dark eyes slowly travelling from feet, to knees,
to, finally, the scowling visage of Worf, Chief of Security, temporarily
in charge of security on the planet's surface.

Without losing a beat, Al pulled a cigar from his slightly singed jacket,
burned by the Accelerator and his journey.  "Take me to your Leader," he
quipped, attempting a cocky pose in the face of the baffled security
personnell.

As the other security guards held their phasers on Al, Worf called up to
the Enterprise.  "Captain," he said, his eyes not leaving his prisoner
for a moment.  "We have another problem."  His eyes raked the smaller man,
lip curling at the outright arrogance that oozed from him.

Al glanced around at the impassive security men surrounding him.  "Any
of you guys got a light?" he asked, waving his frayed cigar.


@7Part 10
======

@1Awakened from the first decent night's sleep he'd managed since they'd
arived at the Guardian planet, Picard was not in the best of moods.  If
his security chief requested his presence and told him they had a prisoner,
God only knew what was in store for them now.

The landing party and most of the security team had beamed up with their new
'guest', who seemed nonplussed by the entire process.  Resplendent in his
scarlet jacket and bright red slacks, mirrored tie partially hanging, but
intact, he was a sight and a half for Picard's eyes.

The Captain approached the man cautiously, glancing over at Worf for
explanation.

"He came through the portal."  His voice was indignent, as if offended by
the entire incident.  "Like the other one."

Al's eyebrows lifted slightly at the words, but he allowed no other outward
sign to reach his expression.  Sam was here!  He rejoiced inwardly, thanking
Ziggy for hitting the target.  The tall bald guy seemed to be the one in
charge.

Striding over to the oddly dressed little man, Picard placed his hands onhis
hips, towering over his new arrival.  "What is your name and how did you
manage to arrive here?"

Casually, almost insolently, Al removed the cigar from his lips.  "Admiral
Albert Calavicci," he answered, his voice and tone flat and emotionless.
"United States Navy, Serial Number two, six, one, five, one, four, five,
three, three."

"I asked you a direct question.  How did you arrive here?"

Wide brown eyes met cold and furious grey ones, Al's smooth gaze infuriating.
The Admiral almost smiled, but not quite.  "It was the most amazing thing.
I was standing there and tapped my heels together three times, saying 'there's
no place like home, there's no place like home..."  He glanced at Worf and
then back to the Captain.  "Then, Whammo, I'm in Munchkinland.  Are you the
Wizard--or Glinda?"

The Captain's color went from dead white to deep burgendy.  Turning on
his heel, he strode back to Worf.  "Keep him here, for the time being.
Question him, if you can stand it."

"Hey--Baldy?"

The Captain stiffened, bristling at the out and out insult.

"Can I kill him now, Sir?" Worf suggested.

Tempted by his Security Officer's words, the Captain untensed, not wanting
his crew to see him in such an agitated state.  He turned back tot he
'Admiral', bending slightly, delicatley trading one insult for another
without words.  "Can I help you?"

"You have a light?"  Al waved his cigar in the air.  "I really could use
one."

"I'll see to it.  You will remain here, with Lt. Worf.  I shall return
shortly."

"Is this a Navy vessel?"  Al tilted his chin up as he spoke, his bearing
belying his crazy quilt clothes and attitude.  "If it is, and this is what
I think it _all_ is...and you're the ranking officer...I outrank _you_."

"I hardly think so."  Picard had enough of the man for the moment.  Right
now all he wanted was to interrogate Beckett and delve more into the
history of their new guest.  His personal communicator beeped insistantly,
and Picard turned away from the squad and prisoner, answering the call.
"Captain here."

"Prescott, Sir.  Our visitor has escaped."

Picard felt the blood drain from his face. Glancing back he was reassured
that this Admiral whatever his name was had not heard the guards words.
"Keep this quiet, Lieutenant," he said, keeping his voice modulated.  "Find
that man."

*******************

Sam Beckett had managed to distract the guards, after figuring out different
and sundry codes that were common usage on the Enterprise computer.  What
he thought would take hours, took only a matter of minutes, and he was
surprised at the ease of brushing past the instructional programs they
had left for him.

Once past the first hurdle, he assayed the Enterprises layout, memorizing
those areas that he thought were near or around his quarters.  When he
moved past that point he disrupted power to some strategic areas, confident
that he would not be discovered as the sabouteur until he'd escaped.
The security alarms went off obediantly as he hit the proper keys, ignoring
the 'eyes only' features, and cutting to the chase.  He actually giggled
giggled like a little kid at the ease of it all, then, shut down the
monitor and left the quarters to further explore the ship on foot.

**************

Picard explained the situation  to his Security Chief and Worf went out
to hunt down Beckett.  Sighing, the Captain returned to the newest addition,
knowing hemust be the one to interrogate him, now that Worf had otehr
duties. "How did you get here?"

"Admiral Albert Calavicci," Al repeated patiently, frowning at his unlit
cigar.  He really needed a smoke.  "Serial number..."

"Answer my question!"

"Admiral Albert Calavicci, U.S. Navy." He grinned beguilingly.  "Serial
Number two, six, one, five, one, four, five, three, three."

"I know who you are, Admiral!"  Picard barely kept his roar in check.
"How did you arrive and fell through the Guardian??  I demand an answer!"

"Admiral...Albert...Calavicci."  He said the words delicately, amused
at the interesting change in this man's coloration.  "U.S....Navy.
Serial Number..."

"Perhaps we should change tacts," Picard said, through gritted teeth.
"My name is Captain Jean Luc Picard, Captain of this ship, the Enterprise."

"Fancy that," Al replied, waiting for the man to continue.

"My patience is wearing thin...Admiral.  We have ways of interrogation
that are not that unpleasant, but do achieve results."

"Bluffs don't work with me." A dark eyebrow arched over suddenly dangerous
dark eyes.  "I've been tortured by the best; it didn't work then, and it
won't work now.  You'll get name, rank, and serial number, and that's
it, Amigo.  Loose lips sink ships, y'know."

Pursing his lips, Picard steered away from his prisoner, that lingering
headache growing suddenly worse.  He almost would have preferred if this
man had arrived here in the same state as Beckett; unconscious.

Al patted his pockets, finally finding the desired item and lighting up
his cigar, puffing it into being.  There, he felt more human already!
It was actually kind of fun to watch the Captain lose his temper, but
knew easily when to stop.  He hadn't gotten the postion he was in by being
a gullible fool who lost his temper easily.  If he told himself he wasn't
scared, he'd be a liar.  What had Sam gotten himself into this time??


@7Part 11
======

@1Hugging the walls, ducking into doorways, Sam managed to avoid the
security guards that were working the search pattern, trying, he knew
well, to find him.  He knew the ship, his mind obediantly showing him the
blueprints he'd memorized.  Back in his quarters, he'd managed to rip off
the  tracking device, and hoped there wasn't something sewn into his
clothes that would assist them in their search.  Crounching on the ladder
of one of the gangways, he hovered upwards.  He had no preconcievied
notions that he'd be able to somehow get down to the planet; certainly
they could prevent that, but he wanted access to the ship, and to discover
where he wsa and if it was all they said.  Trust was something he'd
learned you could accept initially, but only after exploring all options.
Plus the fact being out here, pursued by security and God knew what else
sure as hell beat sitting on his duff waiting for nothing but self-pity
rushes.

Landing on his feet, he found himself two decks below where he'd initially
started.  Fortunately, security hadn't found it's way here, not yet.
Voices, of children?  Startled, he slid into a doorway, watching as a
group of kids and adults went by him, too occupied in their conversation
to notice him.  What were children doing up here, he wondered?  Did this
Federation allow crewmembers to  bring thier families with them while on
duty in space?  It seemed practical, and good for morale, he thought.
Right now he was more occupied with finding a place to hide and think
things through then with the many intricies of shipboard life.

"You can't run away, you know."

Holding his breath for a moment, Sam peered around the corner of the doorway
at the woman speaking to him.  She stood there calmly, arms crossed over her
chest, her face, wise, eyes dancing with suppressed laughter.  A soft hat
rested over her long, thick, hair.  His first impulse was to run, but
something held him there, fascinated and annoyed at the same time.

"I don't see what the problem is, Sam."  She smiled at the look he gave her.
"Oh, I know your name, and that you're pretty shook up by all this."  One
warm, brown hand touched his arm, gently guiding hm from is hiding place.
"My name is Guinan.  Let's go down to my place and talk."

"You're not going to turn me in?"

"Not unless you want me to, although I think it would be the right idea."
Her voice was warmly conversational, as if they were old and dear friends.
"You know, the Captain isn't a bad guy, nobody is, except maybe Worf, but
that's his job.  They aren't kidding when they say they want the best for
you.  Not only that but aside from yoiu, they have a lot more on thier
minds.  You really caused a lot of problems with this amateur trick you
pulled."

"Amateur..."  Sam felt himself bristle slightly, not sure what she meant
or what she was referring to.  "You'd better explain that, because I'm
about to take offense."

"No reason you should and all explanations in good time."  She glanced
behind her, then reached and took his hand.  His grip was a little tight,
but nothing she couldn't handle.  "We'd better take this discussion  down
the corridor or we'll be interrupted."  The handsome, vulnerable face in
front of her still looked uncertain.  "C'mon, Sam," she coaxed.  "I'll
make you a drink, a little talk, and answer a few questions. It won't hurt,
I promise."

It was almost a relief to allow the woman to lead him down the corridor and
into what seemed to be a bar or lounge of sorts.  Even better, he noted,
was that she locked the door behind them, not to keep hm from escaping,
but to keep out unwelcome security types.  "I hear you like tea," she
said, standing behind the bar as he sat down on one of the stools.  "Name
your poisen; Earl Grey, orange spice.  The skies the limit."

"Orange, I guess," Sam managed, feeling his heart begin to slowly return
to a more moderate rythum.  "Is this your job here?  Sort of a bartender?

"Among other things."  She took the steaming cup of tea from the wall
dispenser and set it in front of the man.  "I'm a listener, a mover
and a shaker.  I also keep my ear to crew gossip. You travel in time,
not by your own choice, and you're from the 20th Century.  Always liked
that particular time; the way things changed so quickly, all the slang,
the music.  I know a lot about you, Sam Beckett."

The tea was strong and sweet, and he wondered briefly how Guinan knew he
liked it that way.  "What else do you know about me? he asked, between sips.

Her smile was mysterious and Mona Lisa-like.  "You have a sister and a
brother, both of whom you haven't seen for some time.  And your mother,
too, of course.  A nice family.  You hold lots of degrees, in many
fields, which impresses me, and you spent a good part of your life
building a time machine."

"How did yoiu know all this?"  For some reason, Sam didn't feel odd
hearing her say things he'd not told other members of the crew.  "Do you
have access to my records, too?"

"It must seem to you that everyone here wants to dissect yoiur mind, and
I'm not that type. You fascinate me. I've been wanting to speak to yoiu
since you arrived.  And it's not idle curiousity, no, none of that.  I
like you.  You're one of the most completely unselfish people I've ever met.
You think first of the other guy, and not yourself.  For a 20th Century
male, that's pretty fantastic."

"You don't know how much I really want to be selfish!  Even though I was
brought here against any of the laws I've encountered previously, out of
my own lifetime, and even into space itself, which I never thought was
possible, I have this feeling I'm here to do something, to help someone.
I want to ignore that part of me that says I have to stay here and do
soemthing. You dont' know what it's like to travel without direction,
hopping in somewhere, then leaving the moment you feel like you're getting
used to the situation, and then, falling back into some other situation.

"Oh, I think I know very well." She leaned on the bar, cradling her head
on her arms as she looked up at Sam. "I'm going to tell you one of my
deep dark secrets, something no one here knows, but I think a few suspect.
I'm a time traveller, too."  She smiled at her companion knowingly.  "I've
been doing it, well, for longer than I care to mention.  You might say I've
got someone out to get me, eventually, but I'm safe here, for now.  My
sitaution varies from yours becasue I can stay somewhere as long as I like."
She grinned again, wrinkling her nose as she did so, like a playful child.
"And I really like this gig, too, Sam.  You'll grow to like it, too."

"I...I'm not sure if I want to like it."  The physcists face was downcast,
thinking again of his friends and all the work he'd left behind that was
still to be completed.  "My hope is that i'm not going to be arond long
enough to adjust to all...this."  His hand waved in a general way, taking
in the room around them, the ship.


@7Part 12
=======

@1"Why did you escape?"  Her tone became curious, not interrogating.

"I don't like being confined, in any way," he snapped. "There was all
this to explore, and try to find a way back, and I was wasting my time
sitting in that room, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  It was as if
they were taking my own life out of my hands.  I'm myself now, not
another person, and I need to look after my own interests."

"Straight and to the point, and I'm sure Captain Picard will understand.
You really should turn yourself in."

"Why haven't you called security?  You could, you know."  Sam's right
index finger played along the rim of the china cup, or what appeared to
be china, wondering what her answer would be to that question.

"Well, I thought you needed someone you can trust, and I'm that somebody.
Sure, no one's out to get you, friend.  Not anyone on this ship.  I"m
not going to turn you in; you'll have to do that yourself, make your
own decisions. I have a feeling it's been some time since you've been
able to do that."

"You remind me of Al," Sam said wistfully.  "He's never one to back me
into a corner on making up my mind.  Well, sometimes, but not often."

"Al.  Oh, you mean the Admiral."  She smiled again, that all-knowing
grin.  "You must really miss that guy.  He was your Observer, right?"

"More than that," Sam answered, voice breaking just a bit.  It was still
difficult to speak of his partner.  "He was my friend, my best friend, and
we always work well together.  I'm still fuzzy on a lot of stuff, but I
know we've been together for a long, long time.  Before...this...there
was something called Starbright, a project...like this one..."

"You're forgetting a lot of things, aren't you?"  A trifle concerned,
she leaned down to look into the hazel eyes.  "Is it getting worse or
is this normal?"

"Worse, I think."  His fingers came up to touch his forehead, frowning.
The headache was back, full force, almost blinding him for a moment,
then fading.  "It's all becoming hazy; the Leap, initially, when I began,
all the details of the past ones... like a fade out at the end of a movie.
I can still remember Al," he added firmly.  "I won't forget him, or all
the things he's done for me.  I've never really thanked him for what
he's done, and now..."  His shoulders squared, forcing away the depression
that threatened.  "I've always had an insatiable curiousity about everything,
how it works, and why.  Locking me up in that room only made it worse."

"So you played around with the computer until you distracted security
and went out into the ship.  Good for you.  If anything, that will convince
the Captain that you are who you say you are, even if he's catered
thoughts that you were a bald faced liar."

"How do you know that?"

"We talk."  She took his cup and saucer, dumping them neatly into the
disposall.  "I admire him.  He's a good Captain, very just and right in
his way.  Sometimes I don't understand him, but I do think he'sthe
very best, and you will, too, in time.  Now," she added, turning back to
him.  "I really think you ought to turn yourself in.  I'll go with yoiu,
get you over the rough spots, but I'm sure the Captain is very worried
about you right now."

"I don't know."  Sam shook his head, not wanting to be dumped unceremoniously
in his quarters again with no computer and twice the security, which e
was sure would occur.  "I really want to find out how I can activate this
Guardian and ask it some questions."

"Not a good idea.  See, it's pretty powerful, more than _they_ know.
You and I respect that, or you will once you understand the situation.
It's not just a time portal, it's the center of Time itself.  All the
waves of space displacement, oddly enough, occur here, over this planet.
You'll know what to do in good time.  I've got a lot on the ball here,
and I know what I'm talking about."  Settling her hand over his, she
gave him that curious grin again, winking once.  "As for your friend...
you'll see him again."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do, Sam Beckett.  Just like I know about your brother Tom, and
what happened between you both, and how you said goodbye to your father.
At one time you thought you'd never see him again, but you did."  She
placed a finger over Sam's lips, halting the questions she knew he'd ask.
"I can't tell you anything more, about how I know, or what I've known of
you many years ago.  We're old friends, you and I."

"I sense that."  Sam held her hand tightly, bringing it down from his mouth.
"I don't know how, but I do.  And I trust you.  Will you really come with
me if I turn myself in?"

"I want you to do that, establish some trust with them.  They need you,
Sam. I'll talk to the Captain."  Her expression was almost motherly,
protective.  "You'll have more access to the ship.  I don't think there
will be anything for him to worry about.  You do know how to keep secrets,
and if we do send you back I have a feeling you  won't remember enough
about us to change the universe as we know it."  She touched the side of
his face, fingers gliding for a moment against his smooth cheek.  "You
have a lot to do, Sam.  Not in our time, not now."  She straightened,
coming around the bar.  "Now, let's go see Jean Luc.  I'm sure he's going
out of his mind about now."

****************

The Captain had ordered proceedings to move to his ready room.  If he
had more hair it would have been torn out from impatience.  The 'Admiral's'
annoying confidence tightened each nerve in his body, difficult to keep
his anger in check.  He paced the ready room now, gazing icily at the
wildly dressed man.  Al sat at the end of the table, seemingly ignoring
the Captain's scrutiny, leg crossing over the other, puffing merrily
away at what was left of his cigar.  When Data arrived it was almost
a relief.  Picard took the android aside, far out of earshot of the other
man.

"What did you find about this man?"

"Not much more than I discovered earlier, Captain."  Data's expression
was impassive.  "With the addition of one thing."  He glance over at
the stranger for a moment, keeping his voice a match for Picard's low
tone.  "In the original history, that I told you a day ago, Admiral
Calavicci died of natural causes in Earth year 2028."

"Why don't I remember that?"

"Because that was yesterday, before the Admiral arrived here, in our
time.  Now, after the timeline was changed, the history shows that
Admiral Calavicci disappeared in 1999--never to be seen again.  I might
add there are many references to Project Quantum Leap available to us,
but the personal information about Dr. Beckett's accomplishments are
gone from the record.  Previously, I assumed the Admiral protected Dr.
Beckett by deleting his data, but now it's public record.  By leaving
prematurely, the Admiral may have unwittingly caused a major alteration
of time."

"And," Picard sighed.  "Security still hasn't tracked our man down.
Dr. Crusher informs me his condition is slowly deteriorating, and she
needs to do more tests before she can begin to treat him."  He turned
back to the Admiral, far across from them in the room.  The man looked
seemingly bored, and, as if he'd been discreetly straining to listen
to his and Data's conversation.  "This is Mr. Data, Admiral.  My Science
Officer."

"Nice to meet you."  His voice fairly dripped sarcasm, looking a touch
pensive, inwardly fascinating at yet another odd character, just as
peculiar as the big security guard.  "Since I'm in OZ, is this the Tin
Man?"

"I understand the reference, Admiral." Data was incapable of taking offense
to the words, hearing no animosity in Al's tone.  "Quite an appropriate
reference as I am an artificial construct."

The Admiral looked duly impressed at the fact.  "Isn't this nice."  Al
glared at the Captain, suddenly pushing back from the table.  Despite
his outward appearance, his manner was pure military, all joking and
sarcasm aside.  "I know you're holding Sam Beckett, that he might be
hurt or dying.  Allow me to make myself perfectly clear.  I don't care
where I am, or who you people are, but either I am taken to Sam Beckett,
or I'll tear this place apart.  I outrank you."  A small, satisfied smile
played across his his face.  "I couldn't hear all you just said, Mr. Data,
but I did catch the bit about my sudden disappearance.  If I bipped out of
history in 1999 I'm still an Admiral."  He flicked the ashes off his
cigar elegantly, eyes shifting back to Picard.  "...and you're only a
Captain."

"Admiral Calavicci is quite correct, Sir," Data said helpfully.  "Starfleet
is essentially a branch of what was once called the Navy.  Technically,
although he hasn't actually existed for a great deal of centuries,he
is still an Admiral, and ranking officer on the Enterprise at this moment."

"Thank you for your insight, Data."  Picard's voice was ungracious and dry.
"I will check with Starfleet Command as to the 'Admiral's' status.  As
to Dr. Beckett..."

"I'm listening, Captain."  Al's sparring tone was in force, glaring at the
slightly taller man in front of him.  "What's wrong with him and where
is he?"

The door to the room slid open as Picard was about to answer.  A loud
shout and an unceremonious, "Here is the prisoner, Captain!" from the
Security Chief made all heads turn.  "You said to bring him here directly,
if we..."  Worf's arms were wrapped around the struggling phycist, the
human's feet and legs kicking wildly in search of a target.  One flaying
boot came close, and if Worf did not have lightning quick reflexes and
a reinforced crotch piece, he would've been seriously disabled for
several minutes.  "Found him!" the Klingon grunted, dumping Sam to the
floor, landing in a tangle of legs and temper.

Guinan was soon on Worf's heels.  "You big, dumb galoot," she shouted,
smacking him sharply across his back. "He was turning himself in!!" She
looked like the famed mouse meeting the lion as Worf turned on her, nose
flaring, eyes wide and furious.  "I have a good mind..."

"Sam??"  Al came around the table, pushing past Picard and security and
anyone else who dared to get in his way.  He had eyes only for the man
sitting on the floor gazing at him in wonder and delight.

"Al?"


"Sam?"

The younger man felt himself shake, unable to get up, his legs suddenlyu
weak and rubbery at the sudden appearance of his friend.  Simply, he lifted
his arms, burying his face into the tattered suit.  Al's arms pulled him
in tight, soothing and calming Sam, overwhelmed by the contact he'd wanted
for so long.  No, they weren't home, but they were together.


@7Part 13
=======

@1"I'm here, kid," Al said softly, for Sam's ears only.  "We'll get out of
this somehow.  Now, enough of the mushy stuff, okay?"  He pulled away,
his hands still gripping the younger man's upper arms.  "You look great.
Just fine.

Frowning, Sam tookin the scorched clothing and his friend's uncustomarily
rumpled exterior.  "What the hell did they do to you?  How did you get
here?"  His firey gaze flashed to Picard.  "You could've killed him!  I
would have told you everything.  EVERYTHING!! You didn't have any
reason ..."

"Sam."  Al touched the face of the man in front of him, turning his
attention back to him.  "All right, kiddo.  I used the Accelerator."

"You did _what_??"

"I'm not a parrot, and I don't need to repeat myself." Flashing a look at
Worf, who was hovering dangerously near, the Admiral snapped, sick of the
sight of security and the strangers hovering near them during this personal
reunion.  "DO YOU MIND????"

"My God, Al, you saw what happened with me and the Accelerator!  I can't
believe...

"Kid, we thought you were lost to us, and I had to find out for myself.
Don't lecture me, or tell me it was the wrong thing to do.  All in all,
a rather interesting experience, but not one I'm likely to repeat, so let
put this all behind us and find a way to get the hell out of here, wherever
'here' is.  I don't like these nozzles, Sam."  He eyed Worf, who looked
as if he were about to growl.  "Especially the Terminator, here.  They
all give me the creeps."

Guinan moved across the room to face off with Picard.  "That was completely
uncalled for, Captain."  She pointed at Worf, her eyes bright with anger.
"We were on our way here and that...that..."

"Guinan, calm yourself.  Mr. Worf, thank you for assisting Dr. Beckett
in his surrender, and I'm sure you did it with only the best of intentions.
Dismissed."

"You could've been killed," Sam muttered at his partner, keeping his voice
low.  "I'm glad to see you, but..."

"You okay, Sam?  That ape didn't break any of your bones, did he?"  Al
frowned  at the look of wincing pain that crossed his friend's face for
a moment.  "What's wrong?  You hurting?"

"My head..."  He brushed away Al's hand from his temple as if it were
an annoying insect.  "It's nothing."

"The last time you said that we had to call an ambulance."  Glancing at
Picard, Al's lips tightened.  It looked as if he had to place an ounce of
trust in the Captain, whether he liked it or not.  "He needs a doctor."

"Like hell I do."

"Quit whining, Sam."  Al kept his hand lightly on Sam's head as he spoke.
"If there's something wrong with you that these people caused I'm going
to nail their balls to the wall."

"I've called Dr. Crusher," Picard interjected icily.  "The medical team
should arrive shortly.  It appears you two do know each other, and I
demand an explanation."

"Well, it's really very simple."  A wide and innocent gaze from Al made
Picard bristle.  "Once upon a time there was this little Jewish guy
named Einstien and he created the big bang theory of immovable objects,
much like yourself."

"I've had enough of the insults, and accusations, Admiral."  Picard's face
was maddona calm, sensing the stranger's true concern for Beckett.  "I'm
not out to hurt either of you, or to keep you both here forever.  As a
matter of fact, the sooner you leave for your own time, the better.  My
only concern right now is for Dr. Beckett's health.  Possibly there may
be a flux in time that is causing his headache--or it might be normal
stress."

"It's just tension."  Sam winced as a wave of nausea touched him.  He
hadn't felt this bad prior to the last hour or so.  The arms encircling
him were warm and comforting.  "You look like you went through a fire,"
he commented to Al, grinning as best he could at his friend.

"Must've been the Accelerator.  No time for a fermisuit, kiddo. My
best outfit, too!"

"That can be remedied."  Picard glanced up as Crusher and the team entered.
The doctor knelt by her patient, scanning him with her monitor, frowing
at the readings.  "It's back to Sickbay with you, my friend," she said,
trying to give Sam a confident smile.  Suddenly she noticed Al, who was
giving her his best appraising gaze, from toes to head.  "I don't think
we've been introduced."

"And here I thought you were a wrestler, with a name like Crusher..."

"Dr. Beverly Crusher, Admiral Albert Calavicci," Picard said, frowning
at the older man's interested appraisal of his chief medical officer.

"But you can call me Al...Beautiful."

Trying hard to stifle the snort of laughter that threatened to break free,
Sam dipped his head,shaking it slowly from side to side.  Time travel
hadn't changed his friend an iota.  Yet another wave of pain made him
lean heavily on Al, closing his eyes as it passed.  Thank God he was
there, Sam thought.  If he wasn't, with this new twist, the pain in his
head growing more wild, he'd be more afraid than ever of what would become
of him.

Al kept his contact with Sam, a hand gripping his shoulder, as he was
taken to Sickbay.  Not for a moment did his intense gaze leave Picard.
Despite Sam's words, the older man didn't trust the Captain.  The only
person he could relate to was the short woman who had defended Sam in the
ready room.  She went along with the rest, staying at Al's side, taking his
arm without asking, not unpleasant.  Not a bit, actually.  He even managed
to give her a smile.  "We haven't been properly introduced."

"My name is Guinan, and you look like you could use a drink."

"Several."  The alcohol he'd consumed prior to his Leap had left no
lingering effects.  One good thing about the Accelerator, he noted--
a sure fire hangover cure.

"Well, while Dr. Crusher is checking over our friend here, I can order
you something and you can sit and talk to me."

"No, that won't be possible."  Al glanced at Sam; he could tell by his
friend
's expression he was trying vainly to keep his pain to himself.  "I'm
not leaving him alone."

They entered the Sickbay, Al sticking to Sam like the proverbial; glue,
forcing Crusher to check her patient over with his stoic presence hovering
over her every move. "I've just about had enough," she said, turning to
face the Admiral.

"You know, there's a certain way your eyes light up when you're angry.
It's a real turn on."

"Admiral..."  The Captain's voice directly behind the other man was no
nonsense.  Just as he was about to add more, another jolt rocked the ship,
causing everyone to grab onto the nearest stationary object for dear
life until it passed.

The very moment of the displacement, Sam felt the pain increase, twisting
like a knife in his head.  Unable to maintain consciousness, he let the
darkness take him away, barely feeling Al's firm grip on him, keeping his
body on the bed where he lay.

"What the hell was that?" Al roared, as the rocking ceased.

"Another problem, Admiral," the Captain drily answered, recovering from his
near slide to the deck.  "The planet below us is emitting waves of
time displacement and is causing our maneuvering to be less than perfect."

Al took the information stoically, trying to understand all this newness
as best he could.  Turning back to Sam and the doctor, his eyes widened with
alarm.  His friend lie as still as death, barely breathing, head lax against
the pillow.  "What happened," he gasped, addressing the doctor.

"I...I don't know!"  She glanced at the scanner above the unconscious man,
her eyes taking in every  bit of information.  "When we were hit by the
displacement, he passed out.  His neural pathways are fluxing in a rhythum
with the planet as if...."

"They are connected."  Guinan braced on the end of the bed, taking in the
group around it.  Her gaze settled on the Captain and Al.  "We have to talk,
Captain...you too, Admiral."


@7Part 14
=======

@1They gathered in Crusher's small office, Al reluctantly leaving Sam, after
being persuaded that he would receive the best of care.  The little
woman, he thought, seemed more in charge here than the Captain.  It was
interesting to note that Picard respected her opinion.  The sight of
Sam's still body unsettled him, reviving old fears.  He slumped in the
nearest chair, feeling exhaustion and nervous tension wash over him like
a bad day.

Standing before them, Guinan leaned over the desk the Captain had seated
himself behind.  Her quicksilver dark eyes glanced from her commander to
the Admiral, riveting their attention on her.  "Whole starships disappearing,
disturbance being felt all the way across the Galaxy.  A direct line from
the is planet we're orbiting to Earth.  Wrap around and back, all over
the place."  She gripped the table as the ship rocked again, ending as
soon as it had begun.  "Admiral, you and Dr. Beckett are the direct
cause of all of it.  Sam Beckett has been using the wrong magic, messing
around and directing the quantum energy in a way that's caused this mess
six hundred years in the future.

The dark eyes across from her slitted angrily.  "He's only done good with
it.  Sam Beckett wouldn't harm a fly, let alone..."

"Admiral,"  the Captain said gently, not wanting to start a fight.  "Let
Guinan finish, although," he added, eyes glinting in a curious way.  "i
would very much like to know how you obtained this knowledge."

A small grin crossed Guinan's face.  "I'm not what I appear to be, and
other than that, I'm not at liberty to tell you much more.  Just take my
word for it, it's a real mes and we have the ways and means to correct it
if you pay close attention to what I say."  She smiled satisfactorily at
the Captain, then returned her attention to Al.  "Dr. Beckett programmed
something into Ziggy--your computer.  He called it the string theory, tht
lifetimes are like a string, at one end, life, the other, death.  If you
ball the string up, all the ends...."

"I know all this," Al interjected, leaning back in the chair.  "SO?"

"Sam Beckett's theory limits the Traveller...himself.  By doing so, he's
thrown a block into Time itself, clogging up the works like a bad plumbing
system in your time, Admiral.  When he downloaded that theory into your
computer, as part of the Quantum Accerlator programming, it jammed Time
up, causing a blockage of sorts.  You can't limit Time; it's infinite,
no matter what Dr. Beckett thinks.  As he travelled from one year to another,
the problem became worse and worse until suddenly, Time broke free.  The
Guardian, which is, accurately enough, the subway stop for the time flow
of the Universe...."

Picard frowned. "Subway stop?  Guinan, please explain."

"Well, I understand."  Al leaned forward a little, it all making sense in
some strange way. "You're saying that thingamagig I fell through on tht
planet down there, is a time flow device, where all time passes."

"Exactly.  As I was saying, the Guardian pulled Dr. Beckett from time,
knowing full well that the problem somehow had to be solved or allt his
time displacement, and the doors that are opening into Time itself--which
is where your ships are going, Captain--would permanently damage and
destroy life as we know it.  Sam was brought here becasue the time was
right.  The cause of his 'illness' is directly connected with the Quantum
Energy/String Theory.  He has an implant which directionalizes so you can
communicate with him anywhere he may be.  Am I right, Admiral?"

"A small neural implant he designed.  I told him putting things like that
in his head would screw things up."

"It's not the implant, Admiral."  She sighed.  "No, it's the connection to
time, itself.  Even though he's here, and in this place, solid and real.
his implant is trying it's best to directionalize on the Project.  Part
of that homing signal is causing our problems here, which is why
Earth is feeling the brunt of it.  He's not in the past anymore; he's
here, inthe 25th Century, and that implant is trying to focus on a place
in New Mexico that doesn't exist anymore.  Since it can't find Ziggy,
it's directing a rapid fire shot of energy towards Earth in the for
of a wide band time slash, causing a complete and total chaotic situation
there.  If the implant is removed and destroyed...."

"Now wait a minute."  Al stiffened a moment.  The implant was the only thing
they had to focus on, should Sam leap again.  "If we send him home through
that Guardian down there, which seems the only logical thing I can think of,
and he doesn't end up home, he'll be lost to us at PQL forever."

"We'll have to take that chance. It's Sam's choice, Al.  Not yours or mine,
or the Captain's."  She settled in the chair behind her, eyes steady.  "There's
only one problem.  Once the homing signal is gone, we still have disturbance.
I have a way of managing out of that, but first, we have to disrupt the
implant.  Secondly, we have to remove the defective programming from
Ziggy."

"That'll be a neat trick," Al stated, glancing at the Captain.

"Considering that it's 600 (I know, Iknow, I have to fix this in the
rewrite--author note) years in the past, I'd say so."  Picard snorted.
"Do you propose we send this man back through the Guardian to accomplish
that?"

"We can't do that," Guinan said impassively.  "Not yet.  With the sudden
surges and flux points, we can't take that chance.  There's no way to
predict exactly what will become of whoever we send.  No, I haven't a better
solution, and one I'm perfectly capable of handling.  First, we deal with the
neural implant, and let me worry about Ziggy."

Data had listened to all the conversation from his place by the door,
assimilating each word.  "How do you propose to deal with Dr. Beckett
's computer, Guinan?"  I am curious about that."

"I have my ways and means, and won't risk someone on board the Enterprise,
so drop it, Data."

"I was wrong before."  Al glanced at Picard, who looked like he was expecting
an apology.  "You're not the Wizard--She is!"


@7Part 15
=======

@1"I don't like this, Sam."

"Do I have much of a choice?"  The physicist glanced from his friend's face
to Guinan's.  She'd honestly explained the situation to him, and he understood.
The implant couldn't be disrupted; it had to go.  He knew the design;
remembered enough to know that there was no way to block the signal, that it's
removal was imperitive.  "If it's any consolation, I've been told it won't
hurt a bit, or impair me in any way.  I won't even need to be put out.

"That innate curiousity of yours,"  Al said affectionately, not quite hiding
the apprehension in his voice.  "It's going to get you killed some day."

"Not now."  The pain in his head made it difficult to speak, and with every
rise and fall of the deck from the displacement it seemed to grow worse. "you
go now."  Sam glanced over at the doctor, waiting patiently by the door.
"It won't take long, and I know how squeamish you are around surgery."  He
smiled at Guinan.  "I trust you to take care of him."

"No problem, Sam."  She smoothly took the Admiral's arm and drew him away
from his friend, and out of the Sickbay.  "First things first.  You need
a change of clothes."

"You got a tailor shop on this thing?  I don't buy off the rack, you know."

"I can believe it," she said drily, taking in the loud colors he wore.

Al glanced back once at the Sickbay doors, torn between going back to stay
at Sam's side or go off with Guinan as the kid had ordered.

"He'll be fine."  She smiled at the Admiral, immediately taking his arm
warmly.  "I promised you a drink, remember?"

******************

They returned to Deck Ten, called Sickbay to inform them of Al's whereabouts,
and Guinan sat the man at the bar.  "Now," she said, in her best bartender
voice.  "What's your poisen?"

"Surprise me."

"You never tell me something like that, Al.  I have every drink know to man
and alien.  We'd better stick to something you know--like scotch and
water."

"How did you know..."  Al was thunderstruck.

"A lucky guess," she quickly interjected.

"You make quite a few of those, lady."  Al leaned over the bar, eyes
narrowing. "I'm damned curious about who the hell you are."

"I'm a person that fixes things, when I can.  You'll have to trust me,
Admiral."

"What are you going to do to Ziggy?"

"Nothing too terrible, and it'll make things go back to normal."  She set
the drink in front of Al, smiling gently.  "See, Sam made one fatal error."

"He made more than one."  Al's face was grave, playing with but not drinking
his scotch.  "Jumping in that thing, for starters."

"The universe isn't finite, Al."

"That's part of Sam's theory--that it is."

"And, despite your faith in him, he isn't all knowing.  I've been around just
a little longer than he has, or you, for that matter."

"Right. You look like you're not over thirty five, forty..."

"I'm offended.  Looks can be decieving.  I'm right about the universe.  Sam's
theory states that the universe was finite, and by programming that into
Ziggy he choked up the works.  You think his word is gospel, but think
twice.  He's as smart and as good as any man who's ever come down the pike.
Only one thing wrong with that guy--he's always right, and when he isn't
he tears himself up.  That's your job; to put the pieces back together, once
he's home."

The tone of her voice, and the grave expression on her face forced Al to
believe her words.

"See, that's why the Leaps got out of hand.  It was a form of protection,
to keep Sam from flying off into the flow.  If you hadn't had the
interference, he'd be so far away now neither you nor I could do squat to
retrieve him.  He had really no idea what he was playing with, not yet.  Your
government pushed him and he had to rush past some very important elements.
If he'd had the time, you know he'd seen the complications."

"So," Al asked, frowning.  "What did yoiu say I had to do?"

"Keep him away from the Accelerator.  He's not lost most of his other work,
and the records of his Leaps are still there.  Document everything, an then
put it behind you both.  You have to be the Caretaker, making sure he does the
good he has to do, without interference."

"I've had that job for five years now. What if I wear out?  What if I get
tired?  I am human, after all, not a conglomoration of bits and bytes.  So
far, I think Ziggy is the only one that's ever been able to keep Sam Beckett
in line."

She grinned.  "You might lose some patience with him from time to time,
and maybe have some wing ding yelling matches, but, essentially, you'll
always be together, taking care of each other."

"What does he have to do?  You said 'the good he has to do'.


"I can't tell you that.  He'll know, and I think we should return to Sickbay,
but first, you need a change of clothes.  Between me and the ship's computer
I think we'll be more than happy to oblige."


"Those stupid uniforms, like Sam's, I guess," Al groaned.


"Not hardly."  Her smile was enigmatic.  "I think we can be a little more
creative than that."


@7Part 16
=======

@1Resplendent in his new outfit, Al strutted like a peacock into the
Sickbay.  Guinan was intuitive, he decided.  He didn't question her
means, or the nifty way the computer took his measurements, desires,
and color preferences, almost instantaneously presenting him with what
could be considered the Rolls Royce of creatively blinding suits.  The
jacket was bright blue, sparkling in the light, slacks to match, shimmering
as he moved.  Gold shoes that fit like a second skin.  If people didn't
go blind, they'd faint form the sheer beauty of it.  The shirt was of
some gossamry material, light and soft, the tie blinking wth tiny LEDS.
He was assured by Guinan that there was nothing ecologically unsafe about
any bit of the outfit.  He hoped, if they made it home, that he could
duplicate it in some way.

Sam's face widened with a smile as he entered the Sickbay, and he was
warmed by the way Crusher held her hands over her eyes in an exaggerated
way as he neared the bed.  "What do you think, kid?"

"I think that if you were putting out any more energy you could short
circuit whatever powers this ship."  Sam grinned, his head vastly clearer
once Crusher had removed the link.

"It's gone, isn't it?"  Al glanced at the doctor for verification of his
words, and received a sharp nod.

"It didn't hurt, not a bit, Al."  Sam reached out and motioned for his
friend to sit next to him on the bed.  Even without the link, their own
special closeness was still in place, and he could see the fear in the
older man's dark eyes.  "Dr. Crusher was generous enough to allow me to watch
the surgery."  He grinned at the sudden whitening of his freind's face,
and pointed to his left temple.  "Not even a scar."

"Leave it to you, watching them take things out of your head."  Squeamis
as ever, Al winced at even the thought of observing such a thing.  "So," he
asked, easily changing the subject.  "When do we go home, Tonto?"

"Soon," The Captain's voice behind them made Al turn.  "We just recieved
word.  The bombardment on Earth has ceased and..."

Confusion creased Picards face for a moment, glancing from Dr. Crusher
to Guinan, not precisely sure of how he'd arrived in Sickbay or what his
purpose was there.

"Captain..."  Crusher, confused, touched the distracted man's arm.  "Are
you all right?"

"Certainly."  Bristling, he tugged down the front of his tunic, smoothing
the fabric and his uncertainty.  "I ...I'll be on the bridge if I am needed,
Doctor."

Guinan smiled, cocking her head at the exiting commander.

"Guinan," Crusher said, bemused.  "You look like the cat that ate the
canary."

"Not ate it," she replied, tucking her hands in her cloak as she spoke.
"Just shifted the feathers around a bit..."

******************

Stumbling slightly, Al found himself outside of the Waiting Room.  A wash
of strange dizziness assaulted him, spinning the walls briefly.  Holding
a hand to his aching head, he winced, wondering how he'd gotten here
from... whereever he'd been before.  He'd been in the Imaging Chamber; that
last Leap--San Francisco, all those weeks waiting for the other shoe to
drop on that Leap...

Sam had leaped again. Sam had leaped.  To...?  It seemed he'd missed something
here.  The wave of vertigo passed as quickly as it had began and he stepped into
the Waiting Room.  It had seemed that was his destination, wasn't it?

There was only one other presence in the plain, white room, Al discovered,
and he wasn't rising in greeting.  Sam Beckett's body lay on the bed.  Not
an eyelash stirred on the still face, just the slow rise and fall of his
chest.  Who was he this time, Al wondered.

"Admiral?"

The soft voice behind him made him almost jump out of his socks. "Damn,
Verbena!"  She had the footfall of a cat,soft and silent, always showing
up at the least likely times.

"You didn't look well out in the hall, and I thought..."

"I'm perfectly find, and further more..."  He frowned.  "How the hell did
you know?  I didn't see a soul out in the hall?"

"I was in the doorway of my office.  How did the last Leap go?"

"You can read about in in the funny papers."  Al looked at her closely,
eyes slitting.  "Just ask Ziggy."

"I'd rather be debriefed by you than Ziggy.  I assume Sam concluded the
leap successfully or you wouldn't be in here holding vigil, like you do
every single time."

"It's no secret, and I'd appreciate a little privacy." Guilt over being
discovered in his usual waiting for Sam to come home mode made annoyance
color his words.  "One thing I don't need is that psychoanalyzing garbagbe
you always seem to come up with at times like these."

"And you go right along with it, every single time."  Verbena settled her
hand over Sam's, smiling down at the peaceful face.  They'd trimmed his
hair since the last time she'd been in here and his face hadn't aged much
in the time since he'd initially leaped.  "I'd like to have a friend like
you," she said softly to Al, feeling his warm presence at her shoulder.
"Someone that watches over me, waiting without hesitation for me to come
home, even after hundreds of disappointments.  You're holding up pretty
well, under the circumstances.  I'm not psychoanalyzing you when we talk.
I miss him, too."

"I get to see him every damned day.  You don't have to listen tohim
whine, or bitch and moan about whatever situation he's into now.  A real
pain, 'Bena."

"Not as bad as you."

"You can say that again..."

"Now is that fair?  I...mean..."  Slowly, dark eyes widening, Al wheeled
around to face the third voice, definetely not Verbena's , most assuradly
male.  For that matter, the only other person in the room.  "Sam??"

"Do I really whine that much, Al?"  Hazel eyes glittering in amusement,
Sam felt Al's arms practically lift him from the bed.  There were no words
exchanged; simply holding, feeling every bit of bone and muscle beneath his
hands, simple touch speaking volumes.

Over Al's shoulder, Sam could see Verbena, a slow, satisfied expression on
her amiable face, reminding him of another...someone he couldn't quite place.
The same impassive peace, with a touch of wit...Guinan.  Her name had been
Guinan...

Releasing fro his friend's embrace, cocking his head to one side as he looked
at the psychiatrist.  AS fast as he tried to assimiliate the half-recalled
memory it faded, color fading and melting from the mind photo.

"Sam?"  Worried by his friend's thoughtfully stunned expression, he glanced at
Beeks.  "Is he gonna be all right?"

"Just a few tests, and he should be good as gold."  Smoothly, the woman bent
and planted one gentle kiss on the physicists' forehead, easing him back
against the pillows.  "You're home, and for good, Sam Beckett."

"You sound pretty sure of yourself, Bena," Sam replied, his voice so low
it could barely be heard.  He felt so tired, and just from her words he
warmed, easing down muscle by muscle.  Al
's firm grip was a comfort, his dark, joyfilled gaze more than welcoming.
"What year is it, Al?  How long have I been gone?'

"1996, Sam. You've been gone about eighteen months; about 80+ leaps,
maybe more if I do some checking," Al said, with a sense of pride.  "Handled
it like a pro. I guess, now, God, or whoever, has decided you've done your
duty, pal."

"'96?  But I thought..."

"Now, Sam..."  Smoothing the blanket over the confused man, Verbena smiled.
"It's all over. No grief, no problem; you did only good.  I'll leave you
two alone, give you a chance to talk before I send the Med Team in."

The door closed behind Verbena, the two men softly talking together, shifting
the time apart into reality.  Informing the Team that Sam had indeed come
home, and to allow him and the Admiral, a few minutes, she hurried to her
office.

The modem to her PC lit up as she entered.  With a sigh, she sat in front
of the computer, tapping a 'Hello, Ziggy' into the unit.

DR. BECKETT HAS RETURNED?

"Yes, Ziggy. Thank you for your cooperation.

MY PLEASURE, ONCE I REALIZED THE MISTAKE THAT HAD BEEN MADE.  There was the
barest hint of laughter in the female voice, making Verbena grin.  I WAS
RATHER DISAPPOINTED IN LOSING DR. BECKETT'S STRING THEORY, BUT I
UNDERSTAND THE NECESSITY.  ISN'T TIME TRAVEL WONDERFUL?

"I know enough about it, don't I?"  Verbena's expression was warm and
understanding, feeling a kinship with the hybrid computer, as much an
alien to this world as she was. "And, it's our little secret, right?"

OF COURSE...DR. BEEKS,  Ziggy said, sounding very pleased with their
shared secrets.  GIVE MY REGARDS TO DR. BECKETT....AND GUINAN."

She grinned at that.  "You bet.  Take care, Ziggy."  With one satisfied
blink, the computer logged off.  From the sounds coming from the hall,
it was obvious that the rest of the Project personnell were starting to
celebrate Dr. Beckett's return. Rolling her eyes, Beeks got up form the
desk to join in, knowing full well it would be yet another memorable
party, made more so by Sam's presence.

Terri Librande