2632 lines
120 KiB
Plaintext
2632 lines
120 KiB
Plaintext
Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p01)
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~From: aa811@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Terri M. Librande)
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~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
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~Subject: "No Escape From Reality--Part 1
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~Date: 23 Mar 1993 22:45:26 GMT
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Nntp-Posting-Host: thor.ins.cwru.edu
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~Lines: 103
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This is written in the Next Gen universe, and QL is the crux.
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As always, I welcome comments and suggestions. This piece is currently
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unpublished.
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"No Escape From Reality"
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Terri Librande
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"Captains log, Stardate 1108.93. We are in orbit above what is only known
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as the Time Planet. In recent weeks, the fields of time displacement, and
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subsequent disappearances of ships, and now even the home planet of Earth
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being affected by the fields; earthquakes, atmopheric changes, such as
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snow falling in tropic regions. Starfleet has ordered the Enterprise to
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check out the Guardian, theorizing it is in fact, the center of Time itself."
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Sighing, Picard turned off the recorder. He had elected to lead the landing
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party himself, a rarity, leaving his subordinate in Number One's absence
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to balance the ship in it's precarious orbit. Waves of time displacement
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buffetted the craft in periodic fluxes, tossing the ship in odd moments and
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causing general havoc with the navigation.
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The landing party beamed down to the coordinates and stood in awe at the
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sight before them. The Guardian of Forever, one of the deepest secrets the
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Federation kept, and they were among the priveleged few to actually view it.
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Data was the first to make a move, taking his tricorder and analyzing the
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images playing across the odd oval shaped doorway. The framework had long
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since fallen around it, leaving the balanced time picture; hazy and moving
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too quickly for the human eye to follow.
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WELCOME. It was the Voice, the one told of only in highly classified
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documents and secret Federation staff meetings.
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Captain Picard stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with his
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science officer. "We are from the ENTERPRISE," he stated.
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"ENTERPRISE. BUT NOT FROM THE TIME BEFORE. There was a pause, as if
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reflecting on it's own records of the past. YOU ARE PICARD, CAPTAIN
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OF THE VESSEL THAT ORBITS THIS PLANET. I KNOW YOUR MISSION, AND OF THE
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TIME DISPLACEMENT. THIS PORTAL IS NOT THE CAUSE, BUT I CAN BE OF ASSISTANCE.
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THE FOCUS IS IN THE EARTH'S PAST. MY PORTAL IS A DOORWAY TO WHAT YOU SEEK.
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"Earth." He glanced at the rest of the landing party. Worf, frowning
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slightly the sight of a speaking portal, and Data, always alert, curious,
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recording every bit of information that sped across the Guardian.
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OBSERVE. THIS IS YOUR HISTORY, PICARD. EARTH, FROM BEGINNINGS TO PRESENT.
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The ancient voice sounded quite pleased with itself.
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"Amazing, Captain!" Data enthused. "The tricorder is able to record all
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of this, even at the speed it's being played. Something on the order of
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200 years every second."
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"Can you slow down the centuries?" Picard questioned, addressing the
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portal.
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IT IS AS YOU SEE. THERE IS NO WAY TO CHANGE THE SPEED AT WHICH THE
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CENTURIES PASS.
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"It's only been a few minutes, Captain," Data said, glancing up from the
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remarkable pictures flashing before him. With his advanced android
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assimilation, he managed to analyze the images with more speed than the
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tricorder he could pass that advanced technology onto it. "We are well
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into the 18th century and speeding through the 19th. In just a few
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seconds we will be up to our own time."
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Suddenly the images before them, blurred and strange, wavered. For a
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moment, the oval cleared, then resequenced. Picard frowned. "Guardian,
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is there a problem?"
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THE STRANGE ENERGY, THE TIME DISPLACEMENT IS FOCUSED, CAUSING A DIFFICULTY,
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ALTERING THE TIME/SPACE VORTEX. I AM CORRECTING...
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Without warning, a man tumbled from the oval, falling to the ground, still
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as death, wearing a white jumpsuit that clung to his body like a second
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skin. The unexpected stranger's eyes went wide for a moment, as if stunned,
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then closing, losing consciousness as he fell back to the ground.
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Worf approached, hand on his phaser, Picard close behind. "Status," the
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Captain snapped, directed at Data.
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Data knelt by the still form, scanning the newcomer with his tricorder.
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"Human, Captain. I do not believe he is damaged, but I think it would
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be advisable to have Dr. Crusher stand by."
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HE IS FROM THE PAST.
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"Is he from Earth?" Picard queried, joining Data by the still form.
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YES, BUT NOT FROM YOUR TIME. THE PAST. HE HAS TRAVELLED. AND ARRIVED.
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THAT IS ALL I CAN TELL YOU. HE IS HERE TO SERVE A PURPOSE, BUT IN TIME,
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MUST BE RETURNED.
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Touching his hand to his communicator, Picard sent the word. "Four to
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beam up. Medical team, stand by."
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Part 2 to follow....
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--
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"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
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Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
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The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
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Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
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From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
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To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
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Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
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Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p02)
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Message-ID: <199305050142.AA04692@glare.cisco.com>
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Date: 5 May 93 01:42:00 GMT
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Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
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Lines: 104
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~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
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~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
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~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 2
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~Date: 24 Mar 1993 00:00:34 GMT
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Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
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~Lines: 94
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Message-Id: <1oo8b2$ckt@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
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Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu
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Part 2
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With great care, Data lifted the unconscious man from the transporter
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platform, carrying him through the ship to the Sickbay. He was not
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very tall, the android noted, nor heavy, but muscular and compact. As
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they entered the Sickbay, Dr. Crusher indicated a bed ready for Data's
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cargo and he laid the man upon it, stepping back, his eyes not leaving
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the newcomer for a second.
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"He's human." Crusher made the statement drily, checking the life support
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readings.
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"I surmised that, Doctor," Data said, temporarily distracted from his
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thoughts.
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The doctor gave her friend a grin, sensing his fascination with her patient.
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"You say he's from the past?"
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"Late 20th Century Earth. He fell through the Guardian at that precise
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sector of time," Data replied, his eyes not leaving his fascinating subject
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for a moment. "Can you imagine what he knows that our historians have lost?
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Could it be possible that he is one connected with the displacement fields
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that are buffetting the galaxy? The Guardian indicated that may be the
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reason he fell through the portal."
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"We'll deal with that when time warrants it, Data," Picard said, half smiling
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at his science officer's excitement. He turned to Worf. "I want guards
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on Sickbay at all times. We have no idea what his reaction will be when
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he awakes in an alien enviornment."
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"That shouldn't be in too long a time," Crusher said, making a notation
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on a clipboard. "His readings are growing stronger."
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The form on the bed was stirring, a frown deepening between his eyes as
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they cracked open. Greenish eyes took in the people around him, widening
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when his vision encountered Worf. His throat was so dry he could barely
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speak. When he did manage it, the sounds were barely above a whisper and
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only Dr. Crusher could hear them.
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She frowned at the words he spoke. "Waiting Room?" She glanced back at
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the Captain, her expression bewildered.
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"Am I home?" His voice strengthened. "Is this the Waiting Room?" he
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repeated, eyes widening. "Where's Al?"
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Picard swiftly changed places with the doctor. "You're not home, but
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we'll do our best to get you back there. What is your name?"
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"Not Home?" The man stirred restlessly, slamming back on the pillows.
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"I just leaped from...San Francisco. Tamlyn. 1982." He looked pleadingly
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at the Captain, as if he knew he was the one in charge. "I just want to
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go home. Can you do that? Send me home? I'm so tired."
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"We might be able to, but we need your name."
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Sighing, he felt as if every limb was iron,slow moving and heavy. All he
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wanted was Al, and was uncertain if he should tell his name to this stranger
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looming above him. Where was his Observer? Could he appear here, in this
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strange place? It didn't look like the Waiting Room he remembered. First
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of all, it was far too large a space, and, secondly, he thought, glancing
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at the biggest of the people gathered around him, unless it was Halloween
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he didn
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he didn't remember anyone them looking quite like the ominous visage near
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the guy with the yellow eyes. Yellow eyes???? Suddenly he was more
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than frightened. He felt himself going into shock. Something was
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preventing his body from leaving the bed, but he struggled, ignoring the
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woman's soothing words.
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"I'm going to sedate him," Crusher said, slippiing a hypo from her
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tray and expertly injecting it through the tight material ofthe white
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jumpsuit he wore. Instantly, he settled back into unconsciousness, his
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agitated features still prominent, mouth half open, looking agonized and
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upset. "He's very confused, Captain." Crusher pressed her lips together,
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glancing at her commander.
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"We need name, damn it, and how he arrived here. Data, did he say 1982?"
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"Yes, sir." Data broke his concentration from the images that flickered
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across his tricorder. "San Francisco, Tamlyn. I presume that is a name,
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and the city of origin. I will do checks, but I wish to stay with our
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patient until he regains consciousness."
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Picard sighed, an ironic smile playing across his lips. "Our ship is
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being buffetted by the time disturbance, and this gentlemen shows up..."
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Annoyance clouded his features at the more than odd occurance, all
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happening at once. "It looks to me that we have a real life time
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traveller on our hands."
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More to come...
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--
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"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
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Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
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The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
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Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
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From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
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To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
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Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
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Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p03)
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Message-ID: <199305050142.AA04737@glare.cisco.com>
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Date: 5 May 93 01:42:21 GMT
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Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
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Lines: 121
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~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
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~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
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~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 3
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~Date: 24 Mar 1993 22:38:45 GMT
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Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
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~Lines: 111
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Message-Id: <1oqntl$lph@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
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Nntp-Posting-Host: thor.ins.cwru.edu
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Part 3
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The center of the Captain's concern had no idea how long he'd been out,
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and woke up again in the same room. For several minutes he kept his eyes
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closed, hoping it had all been a bad dream. He thought fleetingly of
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Havenwell, and wishing, for a moment, that he was in that situation other
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than this. Something told him he'd fallen into something far worse than
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electroshock. Even Al's confident presence was denied him here, or so he
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surmised. Slowly, by degrees, he opened his eyes, cautiously glancing around
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the room. Yellow Eyes was watching, like a hawk ready to pounce, he thought,
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but with out maliscious intent.
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"Ah, you're awake." Data slid into a chair by the bed, anxious to speak to
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the stranger. "I did some checking on the year you mentioned, and San
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Francisco, as in regards to the Guardian. It seems..."
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"The Guardian?" Confusion again, as if these strange people were speaking
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a new languege.
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"That's where we found you. Do you have a name?"
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"Sam." He took a deep breath. It didn't seem he had a choice but to trust
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this man, and the others, even the linebacker. "Sam Beckett."
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Data's mind collected the words, assimilated, eyes widening. "Not THE
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Sam Beckett? Creator of the subatomic hybrid computer? What were you
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doing in the streams of time?"
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"I don't know." Sam knew he sounded as if he were unintelligent, but this
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conversation was skating too close to the Project. His instinct was telling
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him that he not tell these people of that, not yet.
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"But you are the physicist that created Ziggy?"
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"How did you know that?
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"It's part of my history, too. When Dr. Noonian Singh created me and my
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brother he used some of your components. The very circuits you created,
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if you are that Sam Beckett."
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"Yes, I am." Sam tried to sit up and found something was preventing him
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from even that movement. "Could you...?" he asked, glancing pleadingly
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at Data.
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"You are being held by a neural field, low density. I'm not allowed to
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disrupt it, but I will ask the Captain or Dr. Crusher." He touched his
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fingers to his communicator, requesting either the doctor or Captain
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Picard.
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"A communication device," Sam whispered, eyes fastened on the neat broach-
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like instrument fastened on Yellow Eyes's chest. Neural fields, the bed,
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the uniforms... Suddenly he realized he must have somehow ended up in a
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place far ahead of his own time. How? His mind was a blur, not recalling
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anything of the last few moments before he ended up here. Dark depression
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filled him, and hopelessness. It was almost impossible to return home
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from this place, and Al... This wasn't a Leap, he suddenly realized.
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"Could you please hand me a mirror?" He hoped he didn't look as
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desperate as his voice sounded.
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"There is one on the wall," Data answered, curious at the man's strange
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request. "When Dr. Crusher releases you from the field, you can use it.
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Why do you need to see your reflection."
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"It's complicated, but trust me, it's important, too." His eyes wandered
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to the doors that opened with such ease, not unlike the ones at his Project.
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Internal implants, perhaps, like the ones there, that opened the doors
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when someone with an encoded pass or those strange communicators neared
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them.
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"Well, you're awake! I'm Dr. Beverly Crusher." Her voice was soft,
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smile sweet, and Sam couldn't help but like her and this strange
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admiring man next to him. "How are you feeling?"
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"Confused and a little worried." Sam sighed, pressing back against the
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mattress. "I don't think you need to keep me pinned to this bed, and
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it's only making me more nervous then I already am."
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"The field was activated for your own protection, but I think we can
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remove it now." She quickly pressed the overhead panel, releasing the man
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from the field. "I'm sorry to cause you any discomfort." Her patient
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was handsome, she thought, and vulnerable with that strange lock of silver
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falling over his forehead. "Are you thinking more clearly than you were?"
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"Not Swiss Cheesed, I think." He glanced at Data, who's head snapped up
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at the strange referenece. "Where is that mirror?"
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"Mirror?" Beverly frowned, assisting the man from the bed.
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The moment he saw his reflection he knew his worst fears were realized.
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He was himself, and this wasn't a Leap. If that was so, he thought, a
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sinking feeling touching his stomach, Al and the Project were cut off from
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him. There would be no contact, no Ziggy, and, possibly, no Leaps ever
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again. "My God," he whispered, hands reaching up to stroke his cheeks,
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taking in the worn visage reflected in front of him. "I'm stuck here."
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Breaking away from the woman's grasp, he slumped back on the bed, his mind
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a whirl of questions. "My name is Dr. Sam Beckett. Where am I? What
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year is this?"
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"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
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was prudent to give this man. "As for time...as in years? Earth years?"
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His feeling grew worse. She spoke of the planet as ifit were one of many.
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"Yes, please, uh, Earth years."
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more to come.
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--
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"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
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Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
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The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
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Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
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From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
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To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
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Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
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Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p04)
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Message-ID: <199305050142.AA04772@glare.cisco.com>
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Date: 5 May 93 01:42:42 GMT
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Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
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Lines: 191
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~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
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~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
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~Subject: No Escape from Reality Part 4
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~Date: 24 Mar 1993 23:47:57 GMT
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Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
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~Lines: 181
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Message-Id: <1oqrvd$qbl@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
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Nntp-Posting-Host: thor.ins.cwru.edu
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Part 4
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As he said the words, the doors opened again. It was the Captain, from
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before, a man, he sensed, of great dignity and authority. If anyone knew
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anything he must be the one. "Can you please help me?" Sam asked, his
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hands clenching at the bed, jolting away from Crusher's gently soothing
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motions.
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"We need more information on you before we give you the lay of the land,
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as it were. I'm Captain Jean Luc Picard. What is your name?"
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"I'm Dr. Sam Beckett," Sam repeated patiently, with just a touch of ire.
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"I don't know how I got here, and I really just want to go home. I'm
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involved in a Top Secret government project and that information is
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priveleged. Other than my name, I don't feel comfortable giving you
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anything else. I need a year, a place, why I'm here."
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"I see." Picard rocked back on his heels, studying the man on the bed.
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"Then we will do some checking on you, Dr. Sam Beckett. As for where you
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are, you are on board the starship, Enterprise."
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"What year?" The words were laced with desperation, glancing from face
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to face around him. "She said to ask in Earth years, which really is
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making me crazy. I"m not on Earth. Where the hell am I?"
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"Our designation is Earth," Picard said gently, sensing the man's true
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near panic state. "As for the year, it's 2553."
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The broad face went white, every drop of blood draining from his visage.
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God, how could he have leaped this far ahead of his time? Six hundred
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years?? What had happened?
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Crusher reached again to touch him, and he jerked away from her, his hands
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wiping across his face, apprehensively glancing from Data's worried
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expression to Picard. Behind his steel grey eyes he saw empathy for him;
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true concern for his well-being. In all the years he'd been Leaping he'd
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been able to only trust people by their surface, and he had to that now.
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"I'm from 1995," he managed. "And there's no way to send me back."
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"I thought you said 1985," Data reiterated. "When you first regained
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consciousness you said a city and the year. What I believed was a name."
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"Tamlyn. Yes." The memories fell together, orderly and in place.
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"This is very important, Dr. Beckett," Picard said sternly. "Were you
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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.
|
|
|
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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."
|
|
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"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."
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"Data. I am an android."
|
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|
"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."
|
|
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|
"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."
|
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|
|
"Time travel--in the mid `1990's?" Picard's face was one great frown. He
|
|
didn't remember that particular bit of information from his history courses
|
|
at Academy. "You say this device was of your invention?"
|
|
|
|
"You could say," Data interjected. "that Dr. Beckett is my sort of
|
|
Great Grandfather. No offense, to you, Sir," Data said, acknowledging
|
|
Beckett' startled look. "I checked his identity throiugh library records
|
|
and found many references to his research. There was no indication that
|
|
you actually travelled in time, but I came across an amazing coincidence.
|
|
Some of the components you invented for your hybrid computer were primitive
|
|
versions of the instrumentation Dr. Singh used to build my brother and I,
|
|
'
|
|
|
|
"I'm pleased to hear that, but can you send me home?" Sam didn't care to
|
|
hear about Ziggy now, or hybrid computers or components. He'd spilled his
|
|
guts and it was their turn to play a hand in this strange game.
|
|
|
|
"We'll do our best, Dr. Beckett," Picard said, rising from his chair.
|
|
"Data, I want to see you in my Ready Room." The Captains eyes were a dark
|
|
storm, wanting to check and recheck this man's story from top to bottom
|
|
before coming to any conclusions. "I apologize for the accomodations,
|
|
Dr. Beckett, but Dr. Crusher will insist you stay in her Sickbay until she
|
|
decides you are fit."
|
|
|
|
Beaming at her patient, with her best bedside manner in place, Crusher
|
|
sat in the chair the captain vacated. "You must be very confused right
|
|
now, and upset. Are you hungry?"
|
|
|
|
Sam hadn't really thought about the last time he'd eaten. Dinner last
|
|
night at Tamlyns, he guessed. Candlelight, silly Valentine presents,
|
|
then... He shoved the memories to the back of his mind, too painfull to
|
|
think about. A waste of time, actually, thinking of someone long dead
|
|
and gone. Everyone was dead, even Al.
|
|
|
|
"Dr. Beckett?"
|
|
|
|
The green eyes came up, his expression hollow and empty. The others had
|
|
left. The doctor seemed concerened. "I'm sorry. It's a lot to take at
|
|
one time. I could use something to eat, if it isn't a problem."
|
|
|
|
"Not at all," she replied brightly. "And you said you had a headache. I'd
|
|
like to do some checks on that, if you think you're up to it." She patted
|
|
his hand as his eyes grew large with alarm. "Completely painless, and will
|
|
only take a few minutes. After that, I can send one of the techs for your
|
|
dinner. Anything yoiu want."
|
|
|
|
She didn't think Sam was quite prepared for food coming out of the wall,
|
|
not yet.
|
|
|
|
--
|
|
"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
|
|
Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
|
|
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
|
|
|
|
Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
|
|
From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
|
|
To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
|
|
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p05)
|
|
Message-ID: <199305050143.AA04825@glare.cisco.com>
|
|
Date: 5 May 93 01:43:03 GMT
|
|
Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
|
|
Lines: 189
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|
|
|
|
~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
|
|
~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 5
|
|
~Date: 27 Mar 1993 16:54:32 GMT
|
|
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
|
|
~Lines: 179
|
|
Message-Id: <1p20s8$g5m@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
|
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Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu
|
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Part 5
|
|
|
|
"All right, Mr. Data," Picard said, steadily gazing at his science officer
|
|
across the conference table. "You did a check on our guest?"
|
|
|
|
"Yes, of course, Captain." He glanced from his tricorder to his commander.
|
|
"I checked all Earth records for references to Dr. Beckett. He was born in
|
|
Earth year, 1953, son of John and Thelma Beckett, a child prodigy. At age
|
|
two..."
|
|
|
|
"I'm more interested in his later history, Data." Picard missed the input
|
|
from his First Officer. Riker was currently on leave for another nine days.
|
|
"You said there was no mention of time travel."
|
|
|
|
"There were some indications that he was working on a theory for time
|
|
exploration while attending Massachusets Institute of Technology, but none
|
|
after that. Most of the information I assimilated had to do with his work
|
|
with hybrid computers. Even now, on outlying bases, where there is little
|
|
human contact, "Zigs' are used, for companionship where there is none to
|
|
be had. A computerized 'friend' as it were. I believe the term 'Zigs' are
|
|
a reference to Dr. Beckett's own computer creation, Ziggy."
|
|
|
|
"You mean the 'human' computers that do everything including insult you?"
|
|
The Captain grimaced. "You either love them or hate them.
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Some of the Enterprises personality, computer-wise, is a branch of the
|
|
Zigs. The first components were developed by Dr. Beckett. Also, his
|
|
reference to 'Al'. I believe he was referring to Admiral Albert Calavicci,
|
|
his partner through most of his professional life. They jointly received
|
|
a Nobel Prize in 1994 for pioneer work in holography. The roots of our
|
|
own holodeck were created by Admiral Calavicci and a Dr. Kevin Drayton;
|
|
the Admiral also had a doctorate in physics and engineering."
|
|
|
|
The Captain frowned, questions still clouding his mind. "Where does time
|
|
travel come into play here? You tell of holography and computers, but no
|
|
time machine?"
|
|
|
|
"Sir, there was no reference to any experiments in time travel, not past
|
|
his theory in college. I'm sorry." Data sighed, feeling it was a personal
|
|
fault on his part that he could not find the information his commander
|
|
desired.
|
|
|
|
"What information did you find on his later life?"
|
|
|
|
"Most interesting, Captain." Data folded his hands in front of himself on
|
|
the polished table. "The records indicate that Dr. Beckett disappeared in
|
|
1995, never to be heard from again. Questions were asked, mostly by his
|
|
family, but his time on Earth, as we know it, ended there."
|
|
|
|
"So." Brow furrowing, Picard leaned back in his chair, talking in the newest
|
|
bit of information. "He's appeared here, and we must, somehow, find a way
|
|
to send him home."
|
|
|
|
"Thereupon posing a problem, Captain." Data's tone turned serious. "We
|
|
could send him back through the Guardian, to his own time. Unfortunately..."
|
|
|
|
The door opened and Dr. Crusher entered, smoothly taking her place at the
|
|
table. "Dr. Beckett has lost part of his memory, and is now suffering from
|
|
some kind of neural damage. I've done tests, and it seems, the pain he's
|
|
feeling is caused by the quantum energy, and something else I can't fathom.
|
|
I gave him some pain medication and he's much calmer, but very upset. He
|
|
has trouble remembering the simplest of information about himself. Possibly
|
|
he's going through an identity crisis, being brought here under such adverse
|
|
conditions, but it doesn't seem so."
|
|
|
|
"He's not a clever liar, then," Picard said, eyes narrowing.
|
|
|
|
"Captain, he's not lying. The monitors would show that, and they are reading
|
|
normal. I asked where he lived, when he left. He could only give me a year,
|
|
and the state he was living in, then, New Mexico. Other than that..." She
|
|
shrugged.
|
|
|
|
"And," Data added. "Who's to say that he's to return in 1995? Maybe he
|
|
was destined to return later, years from then. We could alter history if
|
|
we send him back at the wrong time. It's a perplexing problem, Captain,
|
|
and one I'm afraid we may not be able to solve."
|
|
|
|
"Is he the reason for the time displacement? Could his experiment have
|
|
altered space itslef, causing the rifts, and disruption?"
|
|
|
|
"I won't know that, Captain," Data replied. "Not until I take all factors
|
|
under consideration and obtain more details from Dr. Beckett about the actual
|
|
time machine itself."
|
|
|
|
The Captain leaned forward, eyes meeting Beverly's. "Can he adjust to our
|
|
time?"
|
|
|
|
"He's brilliant, Jean Luc." The doctor looked confident. "I'm certain that
|
|
he could not only adjust, but contribute. What I'm most concerned about
|
|
is his depression. I left Councilor Troi with him so I could participate
|
|
in this discussion. He's homesick, and from what I can gather, he's not
|
|
been 'home' in a long, long, time. Whatever he's been doing, his entire
|
|
focus seems to be riveted on one thing; that someday he'll be able to
|
|
return."
|
|
|
|
*********************
|
|
|
|
Sam eyed the attractive, dark haired woman that sat quietly at his bedside.
|
|
Her soft, doe-like gaze unsettled him.
|
|
|
|
"My name is Deanna Troi, Ships Counselor. I can sense that you are very
|
|
sad, and I want to help you."
|
|
|
|
"How can you 'sense' anything," Sam snapped, rolling away from her gaze. "You
|
|
have no idea what I'm feeling."
|
|
|
|
"I do, Dr. Beckett." She folded her hands in her lap, feeling the anger from
|
|
the man mixing with the depression. "I'm not from Earth. My race is BetaZed,
|
|
and we are empathic, able to feel emotions from others as if they were our own.
|
|
I sense loss from you, someone quite close, that you long to see."
|
|
|
|
His mind tried it's best to fill with the new information. Another planet,
|
|
another race. It seemed, not only was the Earth at peace, but so was the rest
|
|
of the Solar System, or Galaxy--certainly that husky security chief was
|
|
from another planet, as well. Deanna Troi didn't seem threatening, or as
|
|
if she was out to rip his mind open, like the doctors at Havenwell. That's
|
|
what he must be to these people; an antiquity, old-fashioned and fascinating.
|
|
"I just want to go home," he said softly. It was the truth, and all he
|
|
felt like telling yet another stranger.
|
|
|
|
"You can trust us, Sam." She smiled at the uneasy look the man gave her.
|
|
"Maybe not now, but soon. Who do you miss so much?"
|
|
|
|
"Al." The name left his mouth before he could think about it, almost as if
|
|
she'd willed it from him. "My friend," he continued, turning onto his back.
|
|
"We haven't seen each other for a while now."
|
|
|
|
"I sense that you have a dependency on him, Sam. You have difficulty focusing
|
|
without his presence. That must put a great deal of stress on him."
|
|
|
|
"What the hell do you know about it?" Sam bristled, sitting up in the bed.
|
|
"He's always there for me, and I need him to do...what I have to do."
|
|
|
|
"And what do you feel you have to do, Sam?"
|
|
|
|
Her patronizing, or what seemed that way, tone was bridling Sam's nerves.
|
|
"I don't know, damn it," he snapped. "Whatever is needed, I guess." His
|
|
eyes spat green flame. "And what do you need to do? Are you some kind of
|
|
psychiatrist?" His memory recalled another therapist like this one,
|
|
asking soothing questions, a fan turning above him, drawing out another's
|
|
personality. Since then, he'd not trusted or like the type, with the
|
|
exception of his few warm memories of Verbena Beeks. She'd never tried to
|
|
psychoanalyze him, or try to turn his mind inside out.
|
|
|
|
"I'm the ships coucelor, Sam. I hold many degrees, but usually I just talk,
|
|
and try to draw the pain from others. You are so sad, and scared. Dr.
|
|
Crusher thought that maybe I could help you adjust to this new situation."
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I've spent the past few years adjusting quite nicely to new situations,
|
|
and I don't need you or anyone else trying to soothe me." He sighed. "I'm
|
|
sorry if I sound less than myself, but I'm just a little...messed up right
|
|
now. As far as being dependent on anyone, I don't need that thrown in my
|
|
face. The very things that are dearest to me are three hundred years in the
|
|
past. It doesn't look like I'll be able to return and as far as adjusting
|
|
to this, it's going to take more than your abilities." He shut his eyes,
|
|
his mouth tightening. "I'd rather talk tothe android--Data. He's the
|
|
only one here who doesn't treat me like a test subject--or a liar."
|
|
|
|
"You think that's the way I'm treating you? Of course, not. I'm just
|
|
quite concerned. No, I don't know you very well, but just by talking
|
|
to me you might feel better."
|
|
|
|
A tear slowly fell down Sam's face, dripping down on the Fermi suit he
|
|
wore. He swallowed, not attempting to wipe the wetness away. He could
|
|
feel himself building to a real emotional outburst and he didn't want this
|
|
woman to see it. "Just go away," he managed, turning away from her.
|
|
|
|
Deanna's soul cried out for the lonely man, wishing she could do more,
|
|
but finding the door to his emotions close firmly against her. She stood
|
|
and left the room, giving Sam his privacy and hoping that later he'd want
|
|
to give her some of his grief.
|
|
|
|
--
|
|
"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
|
|
Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
|
|
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
|
|
|
|
Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
|
|
From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
|
|
To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
|
|
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p06)
|
|
Message-ID: <199305050143.AA04856@glare.cisco.com>
|
|
Date: 5 May 93 01:43:24 GMT
|
|
Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
|
|
Lines: 114
|
|
|
|
|
|
~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
|
|
~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
~Subject: No Escape from Reality Part 6
|
|
~Date: 1 Apr 1993 01:03:32 GMT
|
|
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
|
|
~Lines: 104
|
|
Message-Id: <1pdf14$ort@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
|
|
Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu
|
|
|
|
|
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Part 6
|
|
|
|
Admiral Albert Calavicci tore through the rooms of the Project, his rage
|
|
apparent to the other personnel scattering out of his furious path. He
|
|
entered the Control Room, facing Gooshie withone of the blistering looks
|
|
normally reserved for stuffy Pentagon types who hadn't learned the lay of
|
|
the land. "I got your message," he growled. "What do you mean by 'he's
|
|
gone'?"
|
|
|
|
The little programmer moved behind the panel in a vain attempt to protect
|
|
himself from the Admiral's wrath. "We've been doing routine checks
|
|
through the usual pathways and there's no sign of Dr. Beckett's implant
|
|
signal. Ziggy..."
|
|
|
|
"Ziggy." Al turned to face the ceiling, and the bluish monitor that
|
|
softly hummed with power. "Where's Sam?"
|
|
|
|
I CANNOT FIND HIM, ADMIRAL. THIS IS THE LONGEST HE'S GONE WITHOUT LEAPING
|
|
INTO A SPECIFIC TIME. I'VE BEEN DOING THE SYSTEM CHECKS AND HE'S SIMPLY
|
|
DISAPPEARED. THERE IS NO INDICATION THAT HE EXISTS IN ANY TIMELINE,
|
|
ANYWHERE. THERE WAS A FLUX IN THE FLOW A WEEK AGO, AND I ACCERTAINED
|
|
THAT IT WAS NOT ABNORMAL, BUT NOTHING SINCE THEN. I MAY HAVE MADE A
|
|
WRONG DECISION, AND NOW HE IS GONE. The computer's voice took on a
|
|
very worried tone. USUALLY, DR. BECKETT'S ESSENCE IS PRESENT IN FIVE
|
|
TO SIX DAYS, SOMEWHERE IN HIS OWN LIFETIME. SO STRANGE THIS TIME, THAT
|
|
HE HAS NOT APPEARED, NOR IS HIS IMPLANT DETECTABLE.
|
|
|
|
"Can you track Dr. Beckett between leaps?"
|
|
|
|
IS THIS A TRICK QUESTION? I CAN TELL YOU THAT I CAN TO A DEGREE. THERE
|
|
IS ALWAYS A MARGINAL SIGNAL, BUT NOW, NOTHING. I AM VERY CONCERNED,
|
|
ADMIRAL.
|
|
|
|
|
|
"So am I, Ziggy, so am I." Al brushed his hand through his short, curly
|
|
hair, avoiding the wide blue eyes of Gooshie looking to him for answers.
|
|
He turned to the programmer, knowing anger and demands would get him
|
|
nowhere. "Is there something I can do to assist? We have to find the
|
|
kid, Goosh."
|
|
|
|
"I've been doing all the checks, everything that usually works. The
|
|
entire Project is on it. All we can dois check again and wait another
|
|
twenty-four hours. If there's nothing after this one..." His
|
|
mustache drooped as his expression darkened. "We might assume that
|
|
Dr. Beckett has..."
|
|
|
|
"Don't say it," Al snapped. "Damn it, I'm not going to let taht
|
|
bastard take him, not yet." His temper got the best of him. "Find him,
|
|
or I'm going to take this place apart until we do."
|
|
|
|
ADMIRAL, I DON'T BELIEVE THAT WOULD ASSIST DR. BECKETT...
|
|
|
|
"Starting with this damn computer!" He stormed out of the room, wishing
|
|
he could slam the door behind him. Instead he stalked out of the Project
|
|
to the break area; tables, hot wind blowing off the desert, a place he
|
|
went when he wanted out and away. Damn it, Sam Beckett couldn't die,
|
|
not this way. He lit a cigar, not soothing his nerves or energy a bit.
|
|
They hadn't even said goodbye, not really.
|
|
|
|
"I heard there was a thunderstorm passing through."
|
|
|
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Al glanced behind him. Verbena, of course, always on his butt when he lost
|
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his temper. "Not a cloud in the sky."
|
|
|
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"I meant _you_."
|
|
|
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"What happened?" he asked, turning his back to her.
|
|
"Gooshie tattle again?"
|
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|
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"He's doing his best, Al." The attractive psychiatrist rubbed the Admiral's
|
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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."
|
|
|
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"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."
|
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"I'll buy you some dinner, a really good steak, and maybe a drink or two."
|
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|
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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.
|
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I can't take a chance that I'll miss that."
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The psychiatrist nodded in agreement. "I'll be here if you need to talk."
|
|
|
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"Thanks, and I might take you up on that--later." Al sat at the table,
|
|
staring across the expanse of desert, not really seeing it. He heard
|
|
the door shut behind Beeks and sighed. She tried her best with him, but, at
|
|
times, he must frustrate the hellout of her patient soul. All he really
|
|
wanted now was to see Sam Beckett across this table, like so many years
|
|
before, looking pensive and preoccupied, but here, and alive. Damn it all,
|
|
he wanted him home.
|
|
|
|
more to come--happy birthday, Marsh!
|
|
--
|
|
"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
|
|
Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
|
|
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
|
|
|
|
Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
|
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From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
|
|
To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
|
|
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p07)
|
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Message-ID: <199305050143.AA04896@glare.cisco.com>
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Date: 5 May 93 01:43:46 GMT
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Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
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Lines: 118
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~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
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~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
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~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 7
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~Date: 2 Apr 1993 22:52:06 GMT
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Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
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~Lines: 108
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Message-Id: <1pig2m$7rk@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
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Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu
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Part 7
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Sam gave into the tears that fought for prominence and felt somewhat
|
|
better afterwards. He silently thanked the others for leaving him alone
|
|
with his emotions, giving him a gracious amount of time to sort through
|
|
the many facats of this new Leap. Well, he was himself, for once. His
|
|
reflection frowned back at him. You look a little older, he thought to
|
|
himself, and a lot confused and unhappy. Taking a deep breath, he settled
|
|
on the bed, biting his lower lip. Okay, he was here, not home, and he had to
|
|
think practical thoughts, about how he could return to the Project, and
|
|
get more information about this Guardian that had seemingly dragged him
|
|
here in the first place.
|
|
|
|
"Dr. Beckett?"
|
|
|
|
His head came up as the one named Data, formerlly called 'Yellow Eyes',
|
|
entered the room.
|
|
|
|
"I hope you do not mind, but I thought you needed the company." He sat
|
|
down by the bed, his face reflecting his own sorrow. "I am sorry about
|
|
not being able to give you instant answers. Councelor Troi said you
|
|
seemed to like to spend time with me, and I will do everything in my
|
|
power to help you feel comfortable here."
|
|
|
|
"Thank you, but what I really want is to figure out how to get me home."
|
|
|
|
"We are using our computer to analyze the tricorder recordings from the
|
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Guardian. We need more information about possible changes that may
|
|
incur should we send you back at an incorrect time. It is not just
|
|
a doorway, but a fast moving one. We may be able to calculate the precise
|
|
moment you arrived, but if we send you through then you may find yourself
|
|
in a place you do not belong. Can you tell me how you travelled, what
|
|
means you used? Was it a mechanical contrivance?"
|
|
|
|
Sam knew his silenc about his Project was only complicating matters.
|
|
"Initially, I used a device called the Quantum Accelerator." He sighed,
|
|
trying with great difficulty to remember the details of his own experiment.
|
|
"Everything's a little fuzzy. I wish Al was here to explain things,
|
|
but..."
|
|
|
|
"We know of Admiral Calavicci. He made his place in history also."
|
|
|
|
"He was ... my partner. We built the Project together. Was there
|
|
any reference to it in your records?"
|
|
|
|
"No, none at all. It seems it was so deeply classified that even three
|
|
hundred years later there are no signs that it even existed."
|
|
|
|
"It was a government project. Quantum Leap. I used the accelerator, or
|
|
so I'm told, because funding was about to be cut. I had to prove my
|
|
theories or lose everything." He thought back on everything Al had ever
|
|
told him of the past, those days before he Leaped. "When I used the
|
|
Accelerator, I lost my memory, couldn't even remember my name. Al had to
|
|
remind me--he was in the form of a hologram, tuned to my maisons and neurons.
|
|
He's back at the Project in a place we called the Imaging Chamber. As a
|
|
hologram he appears to me and guides me along when I need information."
|
|
|
|
"You initially leaped then..." Data frowned. "You said that an
|
|
omnipotent being is propelling you through time?"
|
|
|
|
"I don't know howto explain this, Data." Sam started to smile. How could
|
|
he tell anyone besides Al and Gooshie this strange theory? "We figured
|
|
God is moving me around, so I can change things, set right wrongs." For
|
|
an android Data was very animated, exactly human. He continued, giving
|
|
his companion examples; his very first look in a mirror after leaping into
|
|
Tom Stratton, citing situations he'd found himself in. "My whole theory
|
|
is centered around me leaping within my own lifetime. I don't know how
|
|
I ended up here except that something interrupted my Leap and tossed me
|
|
into your time. All I do know is that I want to get back, and it seems
|
|
that..."
|
|
|
|
"I'm sorry, Dr. Beckett. We will do the best we can to return you to your
|
|
time, but I can't make promises. I am learning from each new experience,
|
|
as you are, and I still do not quite understand how 'God' could be
|
|
propelling you through Time. _You_ are not in control?"
|
|
|
|
"Sorry to interrupt this conversation." Beverly entered, glancing from one
|
|
sober face to the other. "I just wanted to let Dr. Beckett know that
|
|
Captain Picard has allowed him limited access to ship facilities. You're
|
|
probably sick to death of Sickbay by now, and we've had quarters prepared
|
|
for you, and a change of clothes. You have to make me a promise, though."
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Which is?"
|
|
|
|
"If those headaches worsen, you'll let me know."
|
|
|
|
The pain was almost gone, just a dull ache now. Whatever medication she'd
|
|
given him had done the trick, and without nasty side effects. "I appreciate
|
|
your concern, but I could really use some quiet time alone."
|
|
|
|
"I think that can be arranged," Crusher said. "Counselor Troi would like
|
|
to speak to you again, if it's not a problem."
|
|
|
|
"No offense," Sam said quickly. "I'd rather not. She makes me...uneasy
|
|
and a little nervous. Frankly, if I need to talk to anyone, I'll talk
|
|
to myself...or Data, here." His smile was tight, eyes small, thinking
|
|
of Al, and longing really to talk only to him. "Sometimes that's the
|
|
only way I can get through things," he continued. "Alone."
|
|
|
|
Part 8 to come
|
|
|
|
|
|
--
|
|
"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
|
|
Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
|
|
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
|
|
|
|
Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
|
|
From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
|
|
To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
|
|
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p08)
|
|
Message-ID: <199305050144.AA04931@glare.cisco.com>
|
|
Date: 5 May 93 01:44:07 GMT
|
|
Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
|
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Lines: 132
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~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
|
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~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
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~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 8
|
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~Date: 3 Apr 1993 18:08:54 GMT
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|
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
|
|
~Lines: 122
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Message-Id: <1pkjrm$4ni@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
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Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu
|
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Part 8
|
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Twenty four hours passed, Al biting his nails and trying to stay out of
|
|
Gooshies way. He spent most of his time in his office, waiting for world
|
|
of Sam's return. A knock at the door made his head rise hopefully.
|
|
|
|
The programmers face was hardened into stricken lines. "I'm sorry,
|
|
Admiral," he began.
|
|
|
|
"Don't say it," Al cut in.
|
|
"He's not dead."
|
|
|
|
"We can't find him. If we checked further, it would be useless. You can
|
|
verify our readings, every aspect of the search, and you'll find nothing.
|
|
God, I wish it wasn't so, but..."
|
|
|
|
"Thank you, Gooshie." Al's voice was soft and dark, hiding his inner fears.
|
|
"Get some sleep. You look like you could use it."
|
|
|
|
"Im so sorry, Admiral."
|
|
|
|
"Okay, just...go." Al locked the door behind the man, and went to his
|
|
liquor cabinet. The first drink went down, then, another. It had been
|
|
years since he'd consumed the stuff, in deference to certain promises he'd
|
|
made. Before he realized it, he'd drained the half bottle of harsh whiskey,
|
|
and started on a second one. Shot after shot downed, a burning trail
|
|
to try to cloud his mind against the reality of what he must face now. Sam
|
|
Beckett had succeeded in proving his theory...and died without even coming
|
|
home. He'd lost the only friend he'd ever had that treated him with respect
|
|
not kissing his butt, or wincing in fear when his temper flared. They
|
|
d
|
|
spent more time clearing the air with wingbang arguements then they did
|
|
patronizing each other. Christ, he missed those days, working with the
|
|
kid, pouring every bit of living blood into the Project. Sam's "Feed
|
|
me Ziggy," programming the computer, with Al giving him information until
|
|
his voice broke, giving out the numbers and words in a harsh whisper until
|
|
both men collapsed with exhaustion.
|
|
|
|
The liquor numbed, but did not kill the fire that built in him. There
|
|
had to be something else he could do, to find Sam and return him to where
|
|
he belonged. He staggared from the office and down the empty halls of eh
|
|
Project. The walls echoed silence, almost a funeral atmosphere, the place
|
|
nearly empty of activity. Most of the techs had gone home after their
|
|
fruitless search, or to their quarters. The door to Control opened silently
|
|
in front of him and Al staggared into the nerve center, taking another
|
|
swallow from the bottle he held. Computer paper littered the floor.
|
|
Obviously, the janitor was occupied elsewhere, or had been ordered out.
|
|
Even Ziggy was silent, probably upset at the fact that it had failed
|
|
to find it's creator. His vision fuzzy from the amount of drink he'd
|
|
downed, he glanced over the printouts, read what seemed to be a finality.
|
|
There wasn't any indication that Sam Beckett lived out there, not on
|
|
these sheafs of computer paper, not a blip, just flat lines that indicated
|
|
timeflow and nothing more.
|
|
|
|
"Something. Nothing." Al hurled the empty bottle against the wall,
|
|
causing Ziggy's dome to blink once, but no sound. Glass shattered, drops
|
|
of liquor staining the immaculate whiteness. An insane idea was building
|
|
in his mind, caused by the alcohol or maybe just desperation. In
|
|
an hour, perhaps less, the place would be busy again, techs, office
|
|
personnel, and others that would prevent him from carrying out his plan.
|
|
|
|
"Ziggy?"
|
|
|
|
Silence greeted his query.
|
|
|
|
"Ziggy, damn it, talk to me or so help me God, I'll rip you apart!"
|
|
|
|
HELLO, ADMIRAL. I'M VERY DEPRESSED RIGHT NOW. PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE.
|
|
|
|
"I don't give a dan about your emotional state! Help me find Sam, you
|
|
pile of nuts and bolts!" He moved behind the panel, remembering easily,
|
|
even with his booze numbed brain, the proper sequence he had to feed into
|
|
the computer. "I'm going in after him!"
|
|
|
|
ADMIRAL, THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE. I WON'T ALLOW IT.
|
|
|
|
Red faced with anger, Al looked up at the computer, his dark eyes narrowing
|
|
into slits. "Sam goes, you go, too. The U.S. Government takes charge.
|
|
I'm not covering your butt, so either you help me out, or we're both out
|
|
of a job." He straightened, hands on hips. "Are you with me, or am I
|
|
on my own here?"
|
|
|
|
I DON'T WANT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR DEATH, TOO, ADMIRAL. IF BOTH
|
|
YOU AND DR. BECKETT SHOULD BE LOST....
|
|
|
|
"I'm telling you he's not dead." Al worked the panel. "I will bring him
|
|
back."
|
|
|
|
EVERY INDICATION...
|
|
|
|
"I don't care!" He roared the words upward, keeping his eyes on the settings.
|
|
"I'm not leaving him out there alone. Now, power up, and get that damn
|
|
thing ready, because I'm going in after him!"
|
|
|
|
AS YOU WISH, ADMIRAL. WHEN DR. BECKETT INITIALLY LEAPED, I COULD NOT SEND
|
|
HIM TO A SET POINT, BUT DR. GOOSHE HAS WORKED ON THE PROBLEM. I HAVE THE
|
|
APPROXIMATE POINT WHERE DR. BECKETT SEEMINGLY DISAPPEARED. IF YOU WISH,
|
|
I WILL DIRECTIONALIZE YOU TO THAT PLACE, BUT I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOUR
|
|
SAFE RETURN.
|
|
|
|
"Do it, Ziggy!" He thought briefly about changing into a fermisuit, and
|
|
disregarded the thought as unnecessary and time consuming. Everything was
|
|
set, and the low thrum of the powering up was beginning to vibrate the
|
|
very walls. "One more thing--seal this place off, keep people out. I
|
|
don't want any outside interference!"
|
|
|
|
YES, ADMIRAL. The computer's voice was a little sad, and very worried.
|
|
I HOPE YOU DO FIND HIM!
|
|
|
|
The door to the Accelerator chamber slid open and Al entered the small
|
|
room, running to take his place on the platform that had once carried
|
|
Sam away. Mist and steam rose as the blue light wrapped around him.
|
|
//God,// he thought, as he felt the first tingling sensation of teh
|
|
Leap. //I hope I remembered my cigars!//
|
|
|
|
more to come....
|
|
|
|
--
|
|
"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
|
|
Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
|
|
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
|
|
|
|
Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
|
|
From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
|
|
To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
|
|
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p09)
|
|
Message-ID: <199305050144.AA04990@glare.cisco.com>
|
|
Date: 5 May 93 01:44:29 GMT
|
|
Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
|
|
Lines: 130
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|
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|
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~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
|
|
~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 9
|
|
~Date: 4 Apr 1993 21:22:55 GMT
|
|
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
|
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~Lines: 120
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Message-Id: <1pnjjf$brv@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
|
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Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu
|
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Part 9
|
|
|
|
Using the sonic shower was another new experience Sam hadn't expected.
|
|
Of course, it was practical, considering how difficult it would be to
|
|
carry enough water to bathe the amount of people he guessed was on the
|
|
ship. His journey to his new quarters had been carefully monitored,
|
|
security outside his door, not allowing him more than a minor peek at
|
|
what seemed more interesting parts of the ship. Adding to his apprehension
|
|
was the periodic jolts that the Enterprise was taking, sudden bumps.
|
|
With each one came the headache bursts again, but he avoided telling
|
|
Crusher of them. The Captain had explained about the turbulent disturbance
|
|
that surrounded the planet and it's effect on their smooth course.
|
|
Scientific curiousity was getting the better of his depression, forcing
|
|
him to think past the darkness that clouded his mind. Here he was, in
|
|
the 24th Century, with all this new technology to investigate and he
|
|
was cooped up in a suite of rooms, expected to stay put until further
|
|
notice.
|
|
|
|
The outfit they gave him was much like the uniforms the others wore,
|
|
except his communicator didn't seem to work. He decided it was no more
|
|
than a tracking device and he couldn't detach it from the strange material.
|
|
|
|
It was soft, yet crisp, and quite comfortable. Not quite as snug as
|
|
the fermisuit, which he had folded and tucked carefully in the dresser.
|
|
There was a small monitor on the table in the central room, and a port,
|
|
or screen that showed some kind of holographic display. This wasn't Captain
|
|
Galaxy; certainly it wasn't a 'window'. The scene beyond the port he
|
|
watched with wonder, planets and stars, differenet constellations, some he
|
|
didn't recognize or remember. Holography he mused, or video of some kind.
|
|
His shoulders sagged as he gazed at the pretty picture, realizing, with
|
|
finality, how far he was from home.
|
|
|
|
The door chimed, and Sam frowned as it opened automatically. Apparently,
|
|
his privacy wasn't a priority. He turned to greet his guest with a touch
|
|
of ire. Captain Picard was not big on his list of people he could allow
|
|
himself to trust, not yet. "What can I do for you, Captain?"
|
|
|
|
"It took some doing, but we found the information on your Project. Someone
|
|
took great pains to protect you, and your work. Most of the details are
|
|
missing, but not the facts. There were only fragments, and bits of
|
|
paperwork, but more than you can expect after six hundred years. It was
|
|
enough to convince me that you are no liar. Data told me some of what you
|
|
said, but felt uncomfortable giving up confidences. I don't expect you to
|
|
immediately speak to me of what you've gone through, but it may help me
|
|
to understand more of how you came to be here. Be assured, I want
|
|
what you want."
|
|
|
|
"What can I do? You have me in here, secured, and held." Sam shivered,
|
|
even though the room was perfectly warm. "If I could work with Data,
|
|
maybe I could find something he can't. You understand my abilities.
|
|
|
|
"I'm not sure about that Dr. Beckett." Picard returned to the door,
|
|
hesitating as it opened. "I'll take your assistance under consideration.
|
|
The monitor is programmed to give you simple shipboard information. If
|
|
you require anything, inform security. This is for your own protection.
|
|
You must understand," he added, a touch of sympathy in his voice. "If
|
|
we managed to send you home you must know as little of our time as possible."
|
|
|
|
As the door slipped shut, Sam accepted the explanation of his confinement
|
|
rationally, then went to the computer. Data had given him simple instructions
|
|
on how to voice activate the instrument. What did you say to a 24th Century
|
|
computer? Did it have a name?
|
|
|
|
"Computer..." he began.
|
|
|
|
MAY I ASSIST YOU, DR. BECKETT? WHAT DO YOU REQUIRE?
|
|
|
|
The voice wasn't Ziggy's, perhaps more human, but not by much. Definetly
|
|
female, with a peculiar warmth. What he wanted was a keyboard or something
|
|
more his style than just speaking at a monitor. He felt distanced and
|
|
unweildly. "I'm not sure how to work this device--uh, You. Is it possible
|
|
for me to have a keyboard of some kind to use to communicate?"
|
|
|
|
ARCHAIC, BUT I CAN ASSIST. The front of the desk neatly materialized
|
|
into a standard laptop of 20th century design. I CAN GIVE YOU THIS,
|
|
ALTHOUGH IT IS UNSOPHISTICATED.
|
|
|
|
"I'll learn the new ways soon enough," Sam said, meaning it. Cracking
|
|
his knuckles, he didn't care what the computer thought of his use of the
|
|
old keyboard. He had access and he'd manage, somehow, to get the information
|
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that he needed. A smile touched his face for the first time since his
|
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arrival, his hands playing across the keys. They had no idea what he
|
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was capable of; a secured computer was his playground.
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|
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*************************
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|
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The security guards on the planet were making their checks, more frequent
|
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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,
|
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without motivation, speak.
|
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|
|
THE OBSERVER HAS ARRIVED.
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|
|
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,
|
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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.
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Al glanced around at the impassive security men surrounding him. "Any
|
|
of you guys got a light?" he asked, waving his frayed cigar.
|
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|
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More to come...
|
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--
|
|
"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
|
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Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
|
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The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
|
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|
|
Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
|
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From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
|
|
To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
|
|
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p10)
|
|
Message-ID: <199305050144.AA05029@glare.cisco.com>
|
|
Date: 5 May 93 01:44:50 GMT
|
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Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
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Lines: 160
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~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
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~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
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~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 10
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~Date: 7 Apr 1993 23:52:29 GMT
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Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
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~Lines: 150
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Message-Id: <1pvpft$8sm@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
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Nntp-Posting-Host: thor.ins.cwru.edu
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Part 10
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(of 17!)
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Awakened from the first decent night's sleep he'd managed since they'd
|
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arived at the Guardian planet, Picard was not in the best of moods. If
|
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his security chief requested his presence and told him they had a prisoner,
|
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God only knew what was in store for them now.
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|
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The landing party and most of the security team had beamed up with their new
|
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'guest', who seemed nonplussed by the entire process. Resplendent in his
|
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scarlet jacket and bright red slacks, mirrored tie partially hanging, but
|
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intact, he was a sight and a half for Picard's eyes.
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|
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The Captain approached the man cautiously, glancing over at Worf for
|
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explanation.
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"He came through the portal." His voice was indignent, as if offended by
|
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the entire incident. "Like the other one."
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|
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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
|
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Ziggy for hitting the target. The tall bald guy seemed to be the one in
|
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charge.
|
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|
Striding over to the oddly dressed little man, Picard placed his hands onhis
|
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hips, towering over his new arrival. "What is your name and how did you
|
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manage to arrive here?"
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Casually, almost insolently, Al removed the cigar from his lips. "Admiral
|
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Albert Calavicci," he answered, his voice and tone flat and emotionless.
|
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"United States Navy, Serial Number two, six, one, five, one, four, five,
|
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three, three."
|
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|
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"I asked you a direct question. How did you arrive here?"
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Wide brown eyes met cold and furious grey ones, Al's smooth gaze infuriating.
|
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The Admiral almost smiled, but not quite. "It was the most amazing thing.
|
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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?"
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The Captain's color went from dead white to deep burgendy. Turning on
|
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his heel, he strode back to Worf. "Keep him here, for the time being.
|
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Question him, if you can stand it."
|
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|
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"Hey--Baldy?"
|
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The Captain stiffened, bristling at the out and out insult.
|
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"Can I kill him now, Sir?" Worf suggested.
|
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|
|
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
|
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'Admiral', bending slightly, delicatley trading one insult for another
|
|
without words. "Can I help you?"
|
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|
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"You have a light?" Al waved his cigar in the air. "I really could use
|
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one."
|
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|
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"I'll see to it. You will remain here, with Lt. Worf. I shall return
|
|
shortly."
|
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"Is this a Navy vessel?" Al tilted his chin up as he spoke, his bearing
|
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belying his crazy quilt clothes and attitude. "If it is, and this is what
|
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I think it _all_ is...and you're the ranking officer...I outrank _you_."
|
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"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."
|
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|
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"Prescott, Sir. Our visitor has escaped."
|
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|
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
|
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monitor and left the quarters to further explore the ship on foot.
|
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**************
|
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Picard explained the situation to his Security Chief and Worf went out
|
|
to hunt down Beckett. Sighing, the Captain returned to the newest addition,
|
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knowing hemust be the one to interrogate him, now that Worf had otehr
|
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duties. "How did you get here?"
|
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|
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"Admiral Albert Calavicci," Al repeated patiently, frowning at his unlit
|
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cigar. He really needed a smoke. "Serial number..."
|
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|
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"Answer my question!"
|
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|
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"Admiral Albert Calavicci, U.S. Navy." He grinned beguilingly. "Serial
|
|
Number two, six, one, five, one, four, five, three, three."
|
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|
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"I know who you are, Admiral!" Picard barely kept his roar in check.
|
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"How did you arrive and fell through the Guardian?? I demand an answer!"
|
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|
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"Admiral...Albert...Calavicci." He said the words delicately, amused
|
|
at the interesting change in this man's coloration. "U.S....Navy.
|
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Serial Number..."
|
|
|
|
"Perhaps we should change tacts," Picard said, through gritted teeth.
|
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"My name is Captain Jean Luc Picard, Captain of this ship, the Enterprise."
|
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|
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"Fancy that," Al replied, waiting for the man to continue.
|
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|
|
"My patience is wearing thin...Admiral. We have ways of interrogation
|
|
that are not that unpleasant, but do achieve results."
|
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|
|
"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."
|
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|
|
Pursing his lips, Picard steered away from his prisoner, that lingering
|
|
headache growing suddenly worse. He almost would have preferred if this
|
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man had arrived here in the same state as Beckett; unconscious.
|
|
|
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Al patted his pockets, finally finding the desired item and lighting up
|
|
his cigar, puffing it into being. There, he felt more human already!
|
|
It was actually kind of fun to watch the Captain lose his temper, but
|
|
knew easily when to stop. He hadn't gotten the postion he was in by being
|
|
a gullible fool who lost his temper easily. If he told himself he wasn't
|
|
scared, he'd be a liar. What had Sam gotten himself into this time??
|
|
|
|
more to come...
|
|
|
|
--
|
|
"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
|
|
Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
|
|
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
|
|
|
|
Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
|
|
From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
|
|
To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
|
|
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p11)
|
|
Message-ID: <199305050145.AA05049@glare.cisco.com>
|
|
Date: 5 May 93 01:45:11 GMT
|
|
Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
|
|
Lines: 155
|
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|
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~From: eah4@po.CWRU.Edu (Elizabeth A. Hlabse)
|
|
~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
~Subject: No Escape from Reality Part 11
|
|
~Date: 12 Apr 1993 21:58:27 GMT
|
|
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA)
|
|
~Lines: 144
|
|
Message-Id: <1qcom3$qnh@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
|
|
~Reply-To: eah4@po.CWRU.Edu (Elizabeth A. Hlabse)
|
|
Nntp-Posting-Host: slc12.ins.cwru.edu
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I'm posting this for Terri who had problems with the net and other things.
|
|
You'll get your regular poster with part 12.
|
|
|
|
Part 11
|
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|
|
|
|
Hugging the walls, ducking into doorways, Sam managed to avoid the
|
|
security guards that were working the search pattern, trying, he knew
|
|
well, to find him. He knew the ship, his mind obediantly showing him the
|
|
blueprints he'd memorized. Back in his quarters, he'd managed to rip off
|
|
the tracking device, and hoped there wasn't something sewn into his
|
|
clothes that would assist them in their search. Crounching on the ladder
|
|
of one of the gangways, he hovered upwards. He had no preconcievied
|
|
notions that he'd be able to somehow get down to the planet; certainly
|
|
they could prevent that, but he wanted access to the ship, and to discover
|
|
where he wsa and if it was all they said. Trust was something he'd
|
|
learned you could accept initially, but only after exploring all options.
|
|
Plus the fact being out here, pursued by security and God knew what else
|
|
sure as hell beat sitting on his duff waiting for nothing but self-pity
|
|
rushes.
|
|
|
|
Landing on his feet, he found himself two decks below where he'd initially
|
|
started. Fortunately, security hadn't found it's way here, not yet.
|
|
Voices, of children? Startled, he slid into a doorway, watching as a
|
|
group of kids and adults went by him, too occupied in their conversation
|
|
to notice him. What were children doing up here, he wondered? Did this
|
|
Federation allow crewmembers to bring thier families with them while on
|
|
duty in space? It seemed practical, and good for morale, he thought.
|
|
Right now he was more occupied with finding a place to hide and think
|
|
things through then with the many intricies of shipboard life.
|
|
|
|
"You can't run away, you know."
|
|
|
|
Holding his breath for a moment, Sam peered around the corner of the doorway
|
|
at the woman speaking to him. She stood there calmly, arms crossed over her
|
|
chest, her face, wise, eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. A soft hat
|
|
rested over her long, thick, hair. His first impulse was to run, but
|
|
something held him there, fascinated and annoyed at the same time.
|
|
|
|
"I don't see what the problem is, Sam." She smiled at the look he gave her.
|
|
"Oh, I know your name, and that you're pretty shook up by all this." One
|
|
warm, brown hand touched his arm, gently guiding hm from is hiding place.
|
|
"My name is Guinan. Let's go down to my place and talk."
|
|
|
|
"You're not going to turn me in?"
|
|
|
|
"Not unless you want me to, although I think it would be the right idea."
|
|
Her voice was warmly conversational, as if they were old and dear friends.
|
|
"You know, the Captain isn't a bad guy, nobody is, except maybe Worf, but
|
|
that's his job. They aren't kidding when they say they want the best for
|
|
you. Not only that but aside from yoiu, they have a lot more on thier
|
|
minds. You really caused a lot of problems with this amateur trick you
|
|
pulled."
|
|
|
|
"Amateur..." Sam felt himself bristle slightly, not sure what she meant
|
|
or what she was referring to. "You'd better explain that, because I'm
|
|
about to take offense."
|
|
|
|
"No reason you should and all explanations in good time." She glanced
|
|
behind her, then reached and took his hand. His grip was a little tight,
|
|
but nothing she couldn't handle. "We'd better take this discussion down
|
|
the corridor or we'll be interrupted." The handsome, vulnerable face in
|
|
front of her still looked uncertain. "C'mon, Sam," she coaxed. "I'll
|
|
make you a drink, a little talk, and answer a few questions. It won't hurt,
|
|
I promise."
|
|
|
|
It was almost a relief to allow the woman to lead him down the corridor and
|
|
into what seemed to be a bar or lounge of sorts. Even better, he noted,
|
|
was that she locked the door behind them, not to keep hm from escaping,
|
|
but to keep out unwelcome security types. "I hear you like tea," she
|
|
said, standing behind the bar as he sat down on one of the stools. "Name
|
|
your poisen; Earl Grey, orange spice. The skies the limit."
|
|
|
|
"Orange, I guess," Sam managed, feeling his heart begin to slowly return
|
|
to a more moderate rythum. "Is this your job here? Sort of a bartender?
|
|
|
|
"Among other things." She took the steaming cup of tea from the wall
|
|
dispenser and set it in front of the man. "I'm a listener, a mover
|
|
and a shaker. I also keep my ear to crew gossip. You travel in time,
|
|
not by your own choice, and you're from the 20th Century. Always liked
|
|
that particular time; the way things changed so quickly, all the slang,
|
|
the music. I know a lot about you, Sam Beckett."
|
|
|
|
The tea was strong and sweet, and he wondered briefly how Guinan knew he
|
|
liked it that way. "What else do you know about me? he asked, between sips.
|
|
|
|
Her smile was mysterious and Mona Lisa-like. "You have a sister and a
|
|
brother, both of whom you haven't seen for some time. And your mother,
|
|
too, of course. A nice family. You hold lots of degrees, in many
|
|
fields, which impresses me, and you spent a good part of your life
|
|
building a time machine."
|
|
|
|
"How did yoiu know all this?" For some reason, Sam didn't feel odd
|
|
hearing her say things he'd not told other members of the crew. "Do you
|
|
have access to my records, too?"
|
|
|
|
"It must seem to you that everyone here wants to dissect yoiur mind, and
|
|
I'm not that type. You fascinate me. I've been wanting to speak to yoiu
|
|
since you arrived. And it's not idle curiousity, no, none of that. I
|
|
like you. You're one of the most completely unselfish people I've ever met.
|
|
You think first of the other guy, and not yourself. For a 20th Century
|
|
male, that's pretty fantastic."
|
|
|
|
"You don't know how much I really want to be selfish! Even though I was
|
|
brought here against any of the laws I've encountered previously, out of
|
|
my own lifetime, and even into space itself, which I never thought was
|
|
possible, I have this feeling I'm here to do something, to help someone.
|
|
I want to ignore that part of me that says I have to stay here and do
|
|
soemthing. You dont' know what it's like to travel without direction,
|
|
hopping in somewhere, then leaving the moment you feel like you're getting
|
|
used to the situation, and then, falling back into some other situation.
|
|
|
|
"Oh, I think I know very well." She leaned on the bar, cradling her head
|
|
on her arms as she looked up at Sam. "I'm going to tell you one of my
|
|
deep dark secrets, something no one here knows, but I think a few suspect.
|
|
I'm a time traveller, too." She smiled at her companion knowingly. "I've
|
|
been doing it, well, for longer than I care to mention. You might say I've
|
|
got someone out to get me, eventually, but I'm safe here, for now. My
|
|
sitaution varies from yours becasue I can stay somewhere as long as I like."
|
|
She grinned again, wrinkling her nose as she did so, like a playful child.
|
|
"And I really like this gig, too, Sam. You'll grow to like it, too."
|
|
|
|
"I...I'm not sure if I want to like it." The physcists face was downcast,
|
|
thinking again of his friends and all the work he'd left behind that was
|
|
still to be completed. "My hope is that i'm not going to be arond long
|
|
enough to adjust to all...this." His hand waved in a general way, taking
|
|
in the room around them, the ship.
|
|
|
|
MOre to come... my fingers have died.
|
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|
|
|
|
|
|
QL Last Episode spoiler in sig. Proceed at your own risk.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
--
|
|
Beth Hlabse eah4@po.CWRU.Edu Assistant Sysop
|
|
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig (GO SCIFI)
|
|
______________________________________________________________________________
|
|
SPOILER! Al's Place: Where Leapers can be themselves! SPOILER!
|
|
|
|
Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
|
|
From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
|
|
To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
|
|
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p12)
|
|
Message-ID: <199305050145.AA05093@glare.cisco.com>
|
|
Date: 5 May 93 01:45:33 GMT
|
|
Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
|
|
Lines: 222
|
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|
|
|
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~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
|
|
~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 12
|
|
~Date: 14 Apr 1993 21:22:38 GMT
|
|
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
|
|
~Lines: 212
|
|
Message-Id: <1qhvau$ftq@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
|
|
Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu
|
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|
|
|
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"Why did you escape?" Her tone became curious, not interrogating.
|
|
|
|
"I don't like being confined, in any way," he snapped. "There was all
|
|
this to explore, and try to find a way back, and I was wasting my time
|
|
sitting in that room, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was as if
|
|
they were taking my own life out of my hands. I'm myself now, not
|
|
another person, and I need to look after my own interests."
|
|
|
|
"Straight and to the point, and I'm sure Captain Picard will understand.
|
|
You really should turn yourself in."
|
|
|
|
"Why haven't you called security? You could, you know." Sam's right
|
|
index finger played along the rim of the china cup, or what appeared to
|
|
be china, wondering what her answer would be to that question.
|
|
|
|
"Well, I thought you needed someone you can trust, and I'm that somebody.
|
|
Sure, no one's out to get you, friend. Not anyone on this ship. I"m
|
|
not going to turn you in; you'll have to do that yourself, make your
|
|
own decisions. I have a feeling it's been some time since you've been
|
|
able to do that."
|
|
|
|
"You remind me of Al," Sam said wistfully. "He's never one to back me
|
|
into a corner on making up my mind. Well, sometimes, but not often."
|
|
|
|
"Al. Oh, you mean the Admiral." She smiled again, that all-knowing
|
|
grin. "You must really miss that guy. He was your Observer, right?"
|
|
|
|
"More than that," Sam answered, voice breaking just a bit. It was still
|
|
difficult to speak of his partner. "He was my friend, my best friend, and
|
|
we always work well together. I'm still fuzzy on a lot of stuff, but I
|
|
know we've been together for a long, long time. Before...this...there
|
|
was something called Starbright, a project...like this one..."
|
|
|
|
"You're forgetting a lot of things, aren't you?" A trifle concerned,
|
|
she leaned down to look into the hazel eyes. "Is it getting worse or
|
|
is this normal?"
|
|
|
|
"Worse, I think." His fingers came up to touch his forehead, frowning.
|
|
The headache was back, full force, almost blinding him for a moment,
|
|
then fading. "It's all becoming hazy; the Leap, initially, when I began,
|
|
all the details of the past ones... like a fade out at the end of a movie.
|
|
I can still remember Al," he added firmly. "I won't forget him, or all
|
|
the things he's done for me. I've never really thanked him for what
|
|
he's done, and now..." His shoulders squared, forcing away the depression
|
|
that threatened. "I've always had an insatiable curiousity about everything,
|
|
how it works, and why. Locking me up in that room only made it worse."
|
|
|
|
"So you played around with the computer until you distracted security
|
|
and went out into the ship. Good for you. If anything, that will convince
|
|
the Captain that you are who you say you are, even if he's catered
|
|
thoughts that you were a bald faced liar."
|
|
|
|
"How do you know that?"
|
|
|
|
"We talk." She took his cup and saucer, dumping them neatly into the
|
|
disposall. "I admire him. He's a good Captain, very just and right in
|
|
his way. Sometimes I don't understand him, but I do think he'sthe
|
|
very best, and you will, too, in time. Now," she added, turning back to
|
|
him. "I really think you ought to turn yourself in. I'll go with yoiu,
|
|
get you over the rough spots, but I'm sure the Captain is very worried
|
|
about you right now."
|
|
|
|
"I don't know." Sam shook his head, not wanting to be dumped unceremoniously
|
|
in his quarters again with no computer and twice the security, which e
|
|
was sure would occur. "I really want to find out how I can activate this
|
|
Guardian and ask it some questions."
|
|
|
|
"Not a good idea. See, it's pretty powerful, more than _they_ know.
|
|
You and I respect that, or you will once you understand the situation.
|
|
It's not just a time portal, it's the center of Time itself. All the
|
|
waves of space displacement, oddly enough, occur here, over this planet.
|
|
You'll know what to do in good time. I've got a lot on the ball here,
|
|
and I know what I'm talking about." Settling her hand over his, she
|
|
gave him that curious grin again, winking once. "As for your friend...
|
|
you'll see him again."
|
|
|
|
"How do you know that?"
|
|
|
|
"I just do, Sam Beckett. Just like I know about your brother Tom, and
|
|
what happened between you both, and how you said goodbye to your father.
|
|
At one time you thought you'd never see him again, but you did." She
|
|
placed a finger over Sam's lips, halting the questions she knew he'd ask.
|
|
"I can't tell you anything more, about how I know, or what I've known of
|
|
you many years ago. We're old friends, you and I."
|
|
|
|
"I sense that." Sam held her hand tightly, bringing it down from his mouth.
|
|
"I don't know how, but I do. And I trust you. Will you really come with
|
|
me if I turn myself in?"
|
|
|
|
"I want you to do that, establish some trust with them. They need you,
|
|
Sam. I'll talk to the Captain." Her expression was almost motherly,
|
|
protective. "You'll have more access to the ship. I don't think there
|
|
will be anything for him to worry about. You do know how to keep secrets,
|
|
and if we do send you back I have a feeling you won't remember enough
|
|
about us to change the universe as we know it." She touched the side of
|
|
his face, fingers gliding for a moment against his smooth cheek. "You
|
|
have a lot to do, Sam. Not in our time, not now." She straightened,
|
|
coming around the bar. "Now, let's go see Jean Luc. I'm sure he's going
|
|
out of his mind about now."
|
|
|
|
****************
|
|
|
|
The Captain had ordered proceedings to move to his ready room. If he
|
|
had more hair it would have been torn out from impatience. The 'Admiral's'
|
|
annoying confidence tightened each nerve in his body, difficult to keep
|
|
his anger in check. He paced the ready room now, gazing icily at the
|
|
wildly dressed man. Al sat at the end of the table, seemingly ignoring
|
|
the Captain's scrutiny, leg crossing over the other, puffing merrily
|
|
away at what was left of his cigar. When Data arrived it was almost
|
|
a relief. Picard took the android aside, far out of earshot of the other
|
|
man.
|
|
|
|
"What did you find about this man?"
|
|
|
|
"Not much more than I discovered earlier, Captain." Data's expression
|
|
was impassive. "With the addition of one thing." He glance over at
|
|
the stranger for a moment, keeping his voice a match for Picard's low
|
|
tone. "In the original history, that I told you a day ago, Admiral
|
|
Calavicci died of natural causes in Earth year 2028."
|
|
|
|
"Why don't I remember that?"
|
|
|
|
"Because that was yesterday, before the Admiral arrived here, in our
|
|
time. Now, after the timeline was changed, the history shows that
|
|
Admiral Calavicci disappeared in 1999--never to be seen again. I might
|
|
add there are many references to Project Quantum Leap available to us,
|
|
but the personal information about Dr. Beckett's accomplishments are
|
|
gone from the record. Previously, I assumed the Admiral protected Dr.
|
|
Beckett by deleting his data, but now it's public record. By leaving
|
|
prematurely, the Admiral may have unwittingly caused a major alteration
|
|
of time."
|
|
|
|
"And," Picard sighed. "Security still hasn't tracked our man down.
|
|
Dr. Crusher informs me his condition is slowly deteriorating, and she
|
|
needs to do more tests before she can begin to treat him." He turned
|
|
back to the Admiral, far across from them in the room. The man looked
|
|
seemingly bored, and, as if he'd been discreetly straining to listen
|
|
to his and Data's conversation. "This is Mr. Data, Admiral. My Science
|
|
Officer."
|
|
|
|
"Nice to meet you." His voice fairly dripped sarcasm, looking a touch
|
|
pensive, inwardly fascinating at yet another odd character, just as
|
|
peculiar as the big security guard. "Since I'm in OZ, is this the Tin
|
|
Man?"
|
|
|
|
"I understand the reference, Admiral." Data was incapable of taking offense
|
|
to the words, hearing no animosity in Al's tone. "Quite an appropriate
|
|
reference as I am an artificial construct."
|
|
|
|
The Admiral looked duly impressed at the fact. "Isn't this nice." Al
|
|
glared at the Captain, suddenly pushing back from the table. Despite
|
|
his outward appearance, his manner was pure military, all joking and
|
|
sarcasm aside. "I know you're holding Sam Beckett, that he might be
|
|
hurt or dying. Allow me to make myself perfectly clear. I don't care
|
|
where I am, or who you people are, but either I am taken to Sam Beckett,
|
|
or I'll tear this place apart. I outrank you." A small, satisfied smile
|
|
played across his his face. "I couldn't hear all you just said, Mr. Data,
|
|
but I did catch the bit about my sudden disappearance. If I bipped out of
|
|
history in 1999 I'm still an Admiral." He flicked the ashes off his
|
|
cigar elegantly, eyes shifting back to Picard. "...and you're only a
|
|
Captain."
|
|
|
|
"Admiral Calavicci is quite correct, Sir," Data said helpfully. "Starfleet
|
|
is essentially a branch of what was once called the Navy. Technically,
|
|
although he hasn't actually existed for a great deal of centuries,he
|
|
is still an Admiral, and ranking officer on the Enterprise at this moment."
|
|
|
|
"Thank you for your insight, Data." Picard's voice was ungracious and dry.
|
|
"I will check with Starfleet Command as to the 'Admiral's' status. As
|
|
to Dr. Beckett..."
|
|
|
|
"I'm listening, Captain." Al's sparring tone was in force, glaring at the
|
|
slightly taller man in front of him. "What's wrong with him and where
|
|
is he?"
|
|
|
|
The door to the room slid open as Picard was about to answer. A loud
|
|
shout and an unceremonious, "Here is the prisoner, Captain!" from the
|
|
Security Chief made all heads turn. "You said to bring him here directly,
|
|
if we..." Worf's arms were wrapped around the struggling phycist, the
|
|
human's feet and legs kicking wildly in search of a target. One flaying
|
|
boot came close, and if Worf did not have lightning quick reflexes and
|
|
a reinforced crotch piece, he would've been seriously disabled for
|
|
several minutes. "Found him!" the Klingon grunted, dumping Sam to the
|
|
floor, landing in a tangle of legs and temper.
|
|
|
|
Guinan was soon on Worf's heels. "You big, dumb galoot," she shouted,
|
|
smacking him sharply across his back. "He was turning himself in!!" She
|
|
looked like the famed mouse meeting the lion as Worf turned on her, nose
|
|
flaring, eyes wide and furious. "I have a good mind..."
|
|
|
|
"Sam??" Al came around the table, pushing past Picard and security and
|
|
anyone else who dared to get in his way. He had eyes only for the man
|
|
sitting on the floor gazing at him in wonder and delight.
|
|
|
|
"Al?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Sam?"
|
|
|
|
The younger man felt himself shake, unable to get up, his legs suddenlyu
|
|
weak and rubbery at the sudden appearance of his friend. Simply, he lifted
|
|
his arms, burying his face into the tattered suit. Al's arms pulled him
|
|
in tight, soothing and calming Sam, overwhelmed by the contact he'd wanted
|
|
for so long. No, they weren't home, but they were together.
|
|
|
|
more to come....
|
|
|
|
--
|
|
"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
|
|
Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
|
|
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
|
|
|
|
Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
|
|
From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
|
|
To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
|
|
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p13)
|
|
Message-ID: <199305050145.AA05124@glare.cisco.com>
|
|
Date: 5 May 93 01:45:53 GMT
|
|
Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
|
|
Lines: 186
|
|
|
|
|
|
~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
|
|
~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 13
|
|
~Date: 17 Apr 1993 17:39:32 GMT
|
|
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
|
|
~Lines: 176
|
|
Message-Id: <1qpfck$2n8@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
|
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Nntp-Posting-Host: thor.ins.cwru.edu
|
|
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|
|
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Part 13:
|
|
|
|
"I'm here, kid," Al said softly, for Sam's ears only. "We'll get out of
|
|
this somehow. Now, enough of the mushy stuff, okay?" He pulled away,
|
|
his hands still gripping the younger man's upper arms. "You look great.
|
|
Just fine.
|
|
|
|
Frowning, Sam tookin the scorched clothing and his friend's uncustomarily
|
|
rumpled exterior. "What the hell did they do to you? How did you get
|
|
here?" His firey gaze flashed to Picard. "You could've killed him! I
|
|
would have told you everything. EVERYTHING!! You didn't have any
|
|
reason ..."
|
|
|
|
"Sam." Al touched the face of the man in front of him, turning his
|
|
attention back to him. "All right, kiddo. I used the Accelerator."
|
|
|
|
"You did _what_??"
|
|
|
|
"I'm not a parrot, and I don't need to repeat myself." Flashing a look at
|
|
Worf, who was hovering dangerously near, the Admiral snapped, sick of the
|
|
sight of security and the strangers hovering near them during this personal
|
|
reunion. "DO YOU MIND????"
|
|
|
|
"My God, Al, you saw what happened with me and the Accelerator! I can't
|
|
believe...
|
|
|
|
"Kid, we thought you were lost to us, and I had to find out for myself.
|
|
Don't lecture me, or tell me it was the wrong thing to do. All in all,
|
|
a rather interesting experience, but not one I'm likely to repeat, so let
|
|
put this all behind us and find a way to get the hell out of here, wherever
|
|
'here' is. I don't like these nozzles, Sam." He eyed Worf, who looked
|
|
as if he were about to growl. "Especially the Terminator, here. They
|
|
all give me the creeps."
|
|
|
|
Guinan moved across the room to face off with Picard. "That was completely
|
|
uncalled for, Captain." She pointed at Worf, her eyes bright with anger.
|
|
"We were on our way here and that...that..."
|
|
|
|
"Guinan, calm yourself. Mr. Worf, thank you for assisting Dr. Beckett
|
|
in his surrender, and I'm sure you did it with only the best of intentions.
|
|
Dismissed."
|
|
|
|
"You could've been killed," Sam muttered at his partner, keeping his voice
|
|
low. "I'm glad to see you, but..."
|
|
|
|
"You okay, Sam? That ape didn't break any of your bones, did he?" Al
|
|
frowned at the look of wincing pain that crossed his friend's face for
|
|
a moment. "What's wrong? You hurting?"
|
|
|
|
"My head..." He brushed away Al's hand from his temple as if it were
|
|
an annoying insect. "It's nothing."
|
|
|
|
"The last time you said that we had to call an ambulance." Glancing at
|
|
Picard, Al's lips tightened. It looked as if he had to place an ounce of
|
|
trust in the Captain, whether he liked it or not. "He needs a doctor."
|
|
|
|
"Like hell I do."
|
|
|
|
"Quit whining, Sam." Al kept his hand lightly on Sam's head as he spoke.
|
|
"If there's something wrong with you that these people caused I'm going
|
|
to nail their balls to the wall."
|
|
|
|
"I've called Dr. Crusher," Picard interjected icily. "The medical team
|
|
should arrive shortly. It appears you two do know each other, and I
|
|
demand an explanation."
|
|
|
|
"Well, it's really very simple." A wide and innocent gaze from Al made
|
|
Picard bristle. "Once upon a time there was this little Jewish guy
|
|
named Einstien and he created the big bang theory of immovable objects,
|
|
much like yourself."
|
|
|
|
"I've had enough of the insults, and accusations, Admiral." Picard's face
|
|
was maddona calm, sensing the stranger's true concern for Beckett. "I'm
|
|
not out to hurt either of you, or to keep you both here forever. As a
|
|
matter of fact, the sooner you leave for your own time, the better. My
|
|
only concern right now is for Dr. Beckett's health. Possibly there may
|
|
be a flux in time that is causing his headache--or it might be normal
|
|
stress."
|
|
|
|
"It's just tension." Sam winced as a wave of nausea touched him. He
|
|
hadn't felt this bad prior to the last hour or so. The arms encircling
|
|
him were warm and comforting. "You look like you went through a fire,"
|
|
he commented to Al, grinning as best he could at his friend.
|
|
|
|
"Must've been the Accelerator. No time for a fermisuit, kiddo. My
|
|
best outfit, too!"
|
|
|
|
"That can be remedied." Picard glanced up as Crusher and the team entered.
|
|
The doctor knelt by her patient, scanning him with her monitor, frowing
|
|
at the readings. "It's back to Sickbay with you, my friend," she said,
|
|
trying to give Sam a confident smile. Suddenly she noticed Al, who was
|
|
giving her his best appraising gaze, from toes to head. "I don't think
|
|
we've been introduced."
|
|
|
|
"And here I thought you were a wrestler, with a name like Crusher..."
|
|
|
|
"Dr. Beverly Crusher, Admiral Albert Calavicci," Picard said, frowning
|
|
at the older man's interested appraisal of his chief medical officer.
|
|
|
|
"But you can call me Al...Beautiful."
|
|
|
|
Trying hard to stifle the snort of laughter that threatened to break free,
|
|
Sam dipped his head,shaking it slowly from side to side. Time travel
|
|
hadn't changed his friend an iota. Yet another wave of pain made him
|
|
lean heavily on Al, closing his eyes as it passed. Thank God he was
|
|
there, Sam thought. If he wasn't, with this new twist, the pain in his
|
|
head growing more wild, he'd be more afraid than ever of what would become
|
|
of him.
|
|
|
|
Al kept his contact with Sam, a hand gripping his shoulder, as he was
|
|
taken to Sickbay. Not for a moment did his intense gaze leave Picard.
|
|
Despite Sam's words, the older man didn't trust the Captain. The only
|
|
person he could relate to was the short woman who had defended Sam in the
|
|
ready room. She went along with the rest, staying at Al's side, taking his
|
|
arm without asking, not unpleasant. Not a bit, actually. He even managed
|
|
to give her a smile. "We haven't been properly introduced."
|
|
|
|
"My name is Guinan, and you look like you could use a drink."
|
|
|
|
"Several." The alcohol he'd consumed prior to his Leap had left no
|
|
lingering effects. One good thing about the Accelerator, he noted--
|
|
a sure fire hangover cure.
|
|
|
|
"Well, while Dr. Crusher is checking over our friend here, I can order
|
|
you something and you can sit and talk to me."
|
|
|
|
"No, that won't be possible." Al glanced at Sam; he could tell by his
|
|
friend
|
|
's expression he was trying vainly to keep his pain to himself. "I'm
|
|
not leaving him alone."
|
|
|
|
They entered the Sickbay, Al sticking to Sam like the proverbial; glue,
|
|
forcing Crusher to check her patient over with his stoic presence hovering
|
|
over her every move. "I've just about had enough," she said, turning to
|
|
face the Admiral.
|
|
|
|
"You know, there's a certain way your eyes light up when you're angry.
|
|
It's a real turn on."
|
|
|
|
"Admiral..." The Captain's voice directly behind the other man was no
|
|
nonsense. Just as he was about to add more, another jolt rocked the ship,
|
|
causing everyone to grab onto the nearest stationary object for dear
|
|
life until it passed.
|
|
|
|
The very moment of the displacement, Sam felt the pain increase, twisting
|
|
like a knife in his head. Unable to maintain consciousness, he let the
|
|
darkness take him away, barely feeling Al's firm grip on him, keeping his
|
|
body on the bed where he lay.
|
|
|
|
"What the hell was that?" Al roared, as the rocking ceased.
|
|
|
|
"Another problem, Admiral," the Captain drily answered, recovering from his
|
|
near slide to the deck. "The planet below us is emitting waves of
|
|
time displacement and is causing our maneuvering to be less than perfect."
|
|
|
|
Al took the information stoically, trying to understand all this newness
|
|
as best he could. Turning back to Sam and the doctor, his eyes widened with
|
|
alarm. His friend lie as still as death, barely breathing, head lax against
|
|
the pillow. "What happened," he gasped, addressing the doctor.
|
|
|
|
"I...I don't know!" She glanced at the scanner above the unconscious man,
|
|
her eyes taking in every bit of information. "When we were hit by the
|
|
displacement, he passed out. His neural pathways are fluxing in a rhythum
|
|
with the planet as if...."
|
|
|
|
"They are connected." Guinan braced on the end of the bed, taking in the
|
|
group around it. Her gaze settled on the Captain and Al. "We have to talk,
|
|
Captain...you too, Admiral."
|
|
|
|
more to come....
|
|
|
|
--
|
|
"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
|
|
Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
|
|
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
|
|
|
|
Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
|
|
From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
|
|
To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
|
|
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p14)
|
|
Message-ID: <199305050146.AA05159@glare.cisco.com>
|
|
Date: 5 May 93 01:46:14 GMT
|
|
Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
|
|
Lines: 132
|
|
|
|
|
|
~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
|
|
~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 14
|
|
~Date: 24 Apr 1993 18:43:27 GMT
|
|
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
|
|
~Lines: 122
|
|
Message-Id: <1rc1of$ss@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
|
|
Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sorry took so long between posts, gang.
|
|
|
|
Part 14
|
|
|
|
They gathered in Crusher's small office, Al reluctantly leaving Sam, after
|
|
being persuaded that he would receive the best of care. The little
|
|
woman, he thought, seemed more in charge here than the Captain. It was
|
|
interesting to note that Picard respected her opinion. The sight of
|
|
Sam's still body unsettled him, reviving old fears. He slumped in the
|
|
nearest chair, feeling exhaustion and nervous tension wash over him like
|
|
a bad day.
|
|
|
|
Standing before them, Guinan leaned over the desk the Captain had seated
|
|
himself behind. Her quicksilver dark eyes glanced from her commander to
|
|
the Admiral, riveting their attention on her. "Whole starships disappearing,
|
|
disturbance being felt all the way across the Galaxy. A direct line from
|
|
the is planet we're orbiting to Earth. Wrap around and back, all over
|
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the place." She gripped the table as the ship rocked again, ending as
|
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soon as it had begun. "Admiral, you and Dr. Beckett are the direct
|
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cause of all of it. Sam Beckett has been using the wrong magic, messing
|
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around and directing the quantum energy in a way that's caused this mess
|
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six hundred years in the future.
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The dark eyes across from her slitted angrily. "He's only done good with
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it. Sam Beckett wouldn't harm a fly, let alone..."
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"Admiral," the Captain said gently, not wanting to start a fight. "Let
|
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Guinan finish, although," he added, eyes glinting in a curious way. "i
|
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would very much like to know how you obtained this knowledge."
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A small grin crossed Guinan's face. "I'm not what I appear to be, and
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other than that, I'm not at liberty to tell you much more. Just take my
|
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word for it, it's a real mes and we have the ways and means to correct it
|
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if you pay close attention to what I say." She smiled satisfactorily at
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the Captain, then returned her attention to Al. "Dr. Beckett programmed
|
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something into Ziggy--your computer. He called it the string theory, tht
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lifetimes are like a string, at one end, life, the other, death. If you
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ball the string up, all the ends...."
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"I know all this," Al interjected, leaning back in the chair. "SO?"
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"Sam Beckett's theory limits the Traveller...himself. By doing so, he's
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thrown a block into Time itself, clogging up the works like a bad plumbing
|
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system in your time, Admiral. When he downloaded that theory into your
|
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computer, as part of the Quantum Accerlator programming, it jammed Time
|
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up, causing a blockage of sorts. You can't limit Time; it's infinite,
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no matter what Dr. Beckett thinks. As he travelled from one year to another,
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the problem became worse and worse until suddenly, Time broke free. The
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Guardian, which is, accurately enough, the subway stop for the time flow
|
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of the Universe...."
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Picard frowned. "Subway stop? Guinan, please explain."
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"Well, I understand." Al leaned forward a little, it all making sense in
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some strange way. "You're saying that thingamagig I fell through on tht
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planet down there, is a time flow device, where all time passes."
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"Exactly. As I was saying, the Guardian pulled Dr. Beckett from time,
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knowing full well that the problem somehow had to be solved or allt his
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time displacement, and the doors that are opening into Time itself--which
|
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is where your ships are going, Captain--would permanently damage and
|
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destroy life as we know it. Sam was brought here becasue the time was
|
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right. The cause of his 'illness' is directly connected with the Quantum
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Energy/String Theory. He has an implant which directionalizes so you can
|
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communicate with him anywhere he may be. Am I right, Admiral?"
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"A small neural implant he designed. I told him putting things like that
|
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in his head would screw things up."
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"It's not the implant, Admiral." She sighed. "No, it's the connection to
|
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time, itself. Even though he's here, and in this place, solid and real.
|
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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
|
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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...."
|
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"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
|
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that Guardian down there, which seems the only logical thing I can think of,
|
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and he doesn't end up home, he'll be lost to us at PQL forever."
|
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"We'll have to take that chance. It's Sam's choice, Al. Not yours or mine,
|
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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.
|
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I have a way of managing out of that, but first, we have to disrupt the
|
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implant. Secondly, we have to remove the defective programming from
|
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Ziggy."
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"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."
|
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|
|
"I have my ways and means, and won't risk someone on board the Enterprise,
|
|
so drop it, Data."
|
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|
|
"I was wrong before." Al glanced at Picard, who looked like he was expecting
|
|
an apology. "You're not the Wizard--She is!"
|
|
|
|
more to come...
|
|
|
|
--
|
|
"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
|
|
Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
|
|
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
|
|
|
|
Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
|
|
From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
|
|
To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
|
|
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p15)
|
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Message-ID: <199305050146.AA05192@glare.cisco.com>
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Date: 5 May 93 01:46:35 GMT
|
|
Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
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Lines: 141
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~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
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~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
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~Subject: No Escape From Reality Part 15
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~Date: 1 May 1993 17:08:06 GMT
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Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
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~Lines: 131
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Message-Id: <1ruapm$a93@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
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Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu
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What with all that's gone on this week, I'm sorry it took me a while
|
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to post this....
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Part 15
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"I don't like this, Sam."
|
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"Do I have much of a choice?" The physicist glanced from his friend's face
|
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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.
|
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"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."
|
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|
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"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."
|
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|
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"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."
|
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|
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"You got a tailor shop on this thing? I don't buy off the rack, you know."
|
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"I can believe it," she said drily, taking in the loud colors he wore.
|
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Al glanced back once at the Sickbay doors, torn between going back to stay
|
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at Sam's side or go off with Guinan as the kid had ordered.
|
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"He'll be fine." She smiled at the Admiral, immediately taking his arm
|
|
warmly. "I promised you a drink, remember?"
|
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******************
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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?"
|
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|
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"Surprise me."
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"You never tell me something like that, Al. I have every drink know to man
|
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and alien. We'd better stick to something you know--like scotch and
|
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water."
|
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"How did you know..." Al was thunderstruck.
|
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"A lucky guess," she quickly interjected.
|
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|
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"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."
|
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"I'm a person that fixes things, when I can. You'll have to trust me,
|
|
Admiral."
|
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"What are you going to do to Ziggy?"
|
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|
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"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."
|
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|
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"He made more than one." Al's face was grave, playing with but not drinking
|
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his scotch. "Jumping in that thing, for starters."
|
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|
|
"The universe isn't finite, Al."
|
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|
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"That's part of Sam's theory--that it is."
|
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"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."
|
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"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."
|
|
|
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"What does he have to do? You said 'the good he has to do'.
|
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|
|
|
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"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
|
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I think we'll be more than happy to oblige."
|
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|
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"Those stupid uniforms, like Sam's, I guess," Al groaned.
|
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|
|
|
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"Not hardly." Her smile was enigmatic. "I think we can be a little more
|
|
creative than that."
|
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more to come....
|
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--
|
|
"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
|
|
Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
|
|
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
|
|
|
|
Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
|
|
From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
|
|
To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
|
|
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
|
Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p16)
|
|
Message-ID: <199305050146.AA05214@glare.cisco.com>
|
|
Date: 5 May 93 01:46:57 GMT
|
|
Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
|
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Lines: 212
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~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
|
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~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
|
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~Subject: The last and final part of No ESCAPE!
|
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~Date: 2 May 1993 14:09:58 GMT
|
|
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
|
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~Lines: 202
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Message-Id: <1s0knm$d4s@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
|
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Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu
|
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Here goes, gang. Sorry for the length of time between posts.
|
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|
|
Resplendent in his new outfit, Al strutted like a peacock into the
|
|
Sickbay. Guinan was intuitive, he decided. He didn't question her
|
|
means, or the nifty way the computer took his measurements, desires,
|
|
and color preferences, almost instantaneously presenting him with what
|
|
could be considered the Rolls Royce of creatively blinding suits. The
|
|
jacket was bright blue, sparkling in the light, slacks to match, shimmering
|
|
as he moved. Gold shoes that fit like a second skin. If people didn't
|
|
go blind, they'd faint form the sheer beauty of it. The shirt was of
|
|
some gossamry material, light and soft, the tie blinking wth tiny LEDS.
|
|
He was assured by Guinan that there was nothing ecologically unsafe about
|
|
any bit of the outfit. He hoped, if they made it home, that he could
|
|
duplicate it in some way.
|
|
|
|
Sam's face widened with a smile as he entered the Sickbay, and he was
|
|
warmed by the way Crusher held her hands over her eyes in an exaggerated
|
|
way as he neared the bed. "What do you think, kid?"
|
|
|
|
"I think that if you were putting out any more energy you could short
|
|
circuit whatever powers this ship." Sam grinned, his head vastly clearer
|
|
once Crusher had removed the link.
|
|
|
|
"It's gone, isn't it?" Al glanced at the doctor for verification of his
|
|
words, and received a sharp nod.
|
|
|
|
"It didn't hurt, not a bit, Al." Sam reached out and motioned for his
|
|
friend to sit next to him on the bed. Even without the link, their own
|
|
special closeness was still in place, and he could see the fear in the
|
|
older man's dark eyes. "Dr. Crusher was generous enough to allow me to watch
|
|
the surgery." He grinned at the sudden whitening of his freind's face,
|
|
and pointed to his left temple. "Not even a scar."
|
|
|
|
"Leave it to you, watching them take things out of your head." Squeamis
|
|
as ever, Al winced at even the thought of observing such a thing. "So," he
|
|
asked, easily changing the subject. "When do we go home, Tonto?"
|
|
|
|
"Soon," The Captain's voice behind them made Al turn. "We just recieved
|
|
word. The bombardment on Earth has ceased and..."
|
|
|
|
Confusion creased Picards face for a moment, glancing from Dr. Crusher
|
|
to Guinan, not precisely sure of how he'd arrived in Sickbay or what his
|
|
purpose was there.
|
|
|
|
"Captain..." Crusher, confused, touched the distracted man's arm. "Are
|
|
you all right?"
|
|
|
|
"Certainly." Bristling, he tugged down the front of his tunic, smoothing
|
|
the fabric and his uncertainty. "I ...I'll be on the bridge if I am needed,
|
|
Doctor."
|
|
|
|
Guinan smiled, cocking her head at the exiting commander.
|
|
|
|
"Guinan," Crusher said, bemused. "You look like the cat that ate the
|
|
canary."
|
|
|
|
"Not ate it," she replied, tucking her hands in her cloak as she spoke.
|
|
"Just shifted the feathers around a bit..."
|
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|
|
******************
|
|
|
|
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..."
|
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|
|
"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?'
|
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"1996, Sam. You've been gone about eighteen months; about 80+ leaps,
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maybe more if I do some checking," Al said, with a sense of pride. "Handled
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it like a pro. I guess, now, God, or whoever, has decided you've done your
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duty, pal."
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"'96? But I thought..."
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"Now, Sam..." Smoothing the blanket over the confused man, Verbena smiled.
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"It's all over. No grief, no problem; you did only good. I'll leave you
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two alone, give you a chance to talk before I send the Med Team in."
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The door closed behind Verbena, the two men softly talking together, shifting
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the time apart into reality. Informing the Team that Sam had indeed come
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home, and to allow him and the Admiral, a few minutes, she hurried to her
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office.
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The modem to her PC lit up as she entered. With a sigh, she sat in front
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of the computer, tapping a 'Hello, Ziggy' into the unit.
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DR. BECKETT HAS RETURNED?
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"Yes, Ziggy. Thank you for your cooperation.
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MY PLEASURE, ONCE I REALIZED THE MISTAKE THAT HAD BEEN MADE. There was the
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barest hint of laughter in the female voice, making Verbena grin. I WAS
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RATHER DISAPPOINTED IN LOSING DR. BECKETT'S STRING THEORY, BUT I
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UNDERSTAND THE NECESSITY. ISN'T TIME TRAVEL WONDERFUL?
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"I know enough about it, don't I?" Verbena's expression was warm and
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understanding, feeling a kinship with the hybrid computer, as much an
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alien to this world as she was. "And, it's our little secret, right?"
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OF COURSE...DR. BEEKS, Ziggy said, sounding very pleased with their
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shared secrets. GIVE MY REGARDS TO DR. BECKETT....AND GUINAN."
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She grinned at that. "You bet. Take care, Ziggy." With one satisfied
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blink, the computer logged off. From the sounds coming from the hall,
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it was obvious that the rest of the Project personnell were starting to
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celebrate Dr. Beckett's return. Rolling her eyes, Beeks got up form the
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desk to join in, knowing full well it would be yet another memorable
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party, made more so by Sam's presence.
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end
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4/30/92
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--
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"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
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Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
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The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
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Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!cronkite.cisco.com!newsgate.cisco.com
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From: mdb@cisco.com (Mark D Baushke)
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To: alt-ql-creative@cisco.com
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Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
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Subject: REPOST: No Escape (no-escape.p17)
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Message-ID: <199305050147.AA05256@glare.cisco.com>
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Date: 5 May 93 01:47:18 GMT
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Organization: Internet-USENET Gateway at cisco Systems
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Lines: 34
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~From: aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu (Terri M. Librande)
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~Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
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~Subject: Afterword -- No Escape
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~Date: 2 May 1993 14:13:21 GMT
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Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
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~Lines: 24
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Message-Id: <1s0ku1$dgo@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu>
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Nntp-Posting-Host: slc5.ins.cwru.edu
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Once again, would like to apologize for misnumbering chapters and
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general typos.
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I had a friend who is very into Next Gen and she begged me to write
|
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my theories on Guinan. I know that now there have been some eps where
|
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Guinan proves that she does, indeed, travel in time. I'm not a regular
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|
viewer of NEXT GEN, but have a lot of freinds here and elsewhere who
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kick me in the incontinuity department.
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Any and all comments, due to the dates being wrong, or Picard's character
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|
will be taken into consideration for the rewrite. That was one of the
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purposes I had in posting this story.
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You've all been wonderful. Special thanks to my Trek elf for posting this
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story on st.creative.
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More to come...believe me.
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Terri Librande
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--
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"Girls who have glasses have lots & lots of energy!" Al--Single Drop of Rain
|
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Terri Librande aa811@cleveland.Freenet.edu--Assistant Sysop
|
|
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig--Go SCIFI
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|