From: eah4@po.CWRU.Edu (Elizabeth A. Hlabse)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: LeapTrek I, part 1 & 2
Date: 5 Nov 1992 18:59:14 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA)
Reply-To: eah4@po.CWRU.Edu (Elizabeth A. Hlabse)
NNTP-Posting-Host: thor.ins.cwru.edu


LEAPTREK

Katriena Knights


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

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

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

"Red alert!" a voice shouted.

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


             *****


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

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

"Captain?" he said again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Where _are_ you, Al?_

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It is about time!"  Sam snapped.

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

"For how long?"

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

"Where am I?  Who am I?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Ziggy doesn't have gaskets."

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

"No way.  He must be nuts."

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

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

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

"So why am I here?"

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

"But you said it's 1995."

"February 27, 1995, yes."

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

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

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

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

"It looks that way, yes."

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

"Apparently."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, shoot.  I could use that."

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

"An android?  You're kidding."

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

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

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

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

"You bet."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, do that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, it doesn't look that way," Sam answered.  
Beverly had returned and was pointing a hand-held instrument at Sam's head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why wouldn't you trust the scanner?"

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

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

"Yes.  Explain that one to me."

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

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

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

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

Beverly slumped, finally admitting defeat.

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you."

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

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

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

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

"Why were you on the catwalk?"

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

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

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

"Aye, sir."

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

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

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

"Riker to Picard."

"Picard here," Sam told it.

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

"I'm on my way."



--------
Katriena Knights
"Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time!"
                         -- Samuel Beckett, "Waiting for Godot"


LEAPTREK

by Katriena Knights

PART II

On the bridge, another person had taken his post behind the captain's chair.  
Sam swallowed a great deal of air in his effort to contain an 
exclamation of surprise as he stepped out of the turbolift.  
In fact, he nearly turned around and got back on the turbolift.  
He wasn't sure he wanted to be anywhere too near this large, 
dark-skinned creature with a forehead that looked like a beetle's carapace.  
But then the man -- or whatever -- looked at him, and he saw 
respect in the dark, hooded eyes.

"I am glad you are well, Captain."  The voice was deep and resonant, 
pleasant in a dour sort of way.  Sam forced a smile.

"Thank you."

Riker switched to his own chair as Sam approached, letting 
Sam take the captain's chair.

"Mister Data," Riker said, settling back in, "give the Captain a full report."

The pale android swung around in his chair.  Most of his movements, 
Sam noticed, were smooth and precise, but when he spoke his head 
bobbed back and forth like a robin investigating a wormhole.

"The turbulence we experienced appeared to be caused by a spatial 
anomaly combined with the gravitational effects of our return to 
impulse power from warp speed, as I suggested earlier.  
However, it appears now that the anomaly was temporal as well as spatial, 
and has affected our normal placement on the time continuum."

"You mean we've travelled in time," Sam stated.

"That seems to be the case, yes, Captain."

"Any idea how far, or in which direction?"

"Analysis of star positions in this sector indicate late 
20th century, Captain."

"Any suggestions on how we might get back?"

"If the anomaly still exists, we may be able to utilize it to 
create a reverse effect.  Otherwise, we can make use of the slingshot 
approach by accelerating around the planet.   
However, given the unlikelihood of the first possibility and the 
inherent dangers of the second, it would be worthwhile to 
investigate further."

"How long will it be before we have enough information to make a decision?"

"One could spend an infinite amount of time analyzing the possibilities, 
Captain.  And even then, given the difficult nature of the problem, 
one could never be certain of a definitive answer . . ."

"Take two hours," Riker broke in.  "Come up with a couple of 
reasonable alternatives with input from Geordi and Worf.  
Then we can meet and discuss."  He looked at Sam, awaiting confirmation.

"That seems appro --"

"Holy Great God Almighty!"

"Captain, I have detected an unusual reading off our port bow."

Sam jerked around in his chair, trying to look like he was responding 
to the announcement from the non-human officer behind him.  
In truth, Al's sudden exclamation had just about sent him out of his skin.

"What the hell is that?" Al continued.  Apparently Picard made some 
contribution, for Al turned his head away from Sam.  
"Oh, I see.  That's Lieutenant Worf, Sam.  He's a Klinger.  
What?  Oh, sorry.  Kling -_on_.  God, is he ugly."  
He gave Sam a knowing look.  "Makes me glad I'm a hologram.  
Don't get this one mad, huh, Sam?"

Sam dropped his face to one hand.  "Can we see it on the screen, Mister Worf?"

There was some beeping and clicking from behind Sam's shoulder as Worf 
fiddled with the controls.  "Negative, Captain.  Composition still
uncertain, but it is not visible."

"Do some checking," Sam said.  "See if you can figure out what it is.  
Data, you find out what you can about alternatives for dealing with 
this situation, and have Commander LaForge provide information on 
the ship's ability to manage any of them.  
We'll meet in two hours formally to discuss our findings."

Sam looked at Al.  He was talking to thin air, apparently 
discussing something with Picard.  At his station, 
Data stood and turned toward Sam.

"Permission to join Commander LaForge in Engineering, Captain.  
I believe it would be easier to make judgements on viable alternatives if 
we work together."

"Granted," Sam said.

"You need to get to your little office over there, Sam, so we can talk," 
Al put in.  "Picard here says he doesn't like the idea of you 
impersonating him, but as long as you seem to have the welfare of 
his ship in mind, he'll help you out.  But you need to get some 
information from him as soon as possible."

Sam turned and gave Al a questioning look over his shoulder.  
Worf apparently thought it was aimed at him and began 
poking at his control panel again.

"Tell them you want to do some investigating yourself.  Give Riker the conn."

Sam nodded.  From behind him, Worf announced, "The anomaly appears 
to be unchanged, Captain.  It also appears to be stationary.  
Shall I continue monitoring?"

"Yes, please do."  He stood, administering a yank to the perennially 
creeping tunic.  "I'm going to do some investigating, myself.  
Commander Riker, you have the conn.  I'll see you in two hours."

   ****

As usual after a long session of brainstorming with Data, 
Geordi LaForge was beginning to feel as if he had a head full of oatmeal.  
He had reached his limit about twenty minutes ago, 
what with the continuous tingle of residual pain in his mended 
wrist and the deeper ache of pain from other recent events.  
He had about forty minutes until they were due to meet in the 
conference room, and it was just past the time he had been 
starting his sessions with Counsellor Troi.  
Normally, under an emergency situation, he would have foregone anything else.  
But lately he felt like his own systems were working on little more than 
auxiliary power, and he wasn't sure he could make it through the day 
without at least a few minutes with Troi.  Besides, Data and Ensign 
Lara had things well in hand, and anything was better than sitting 
here next to Lara, trying not to think about what had passed between 
them and been ended so abruptly three days ago.  
And today, for once, he had something else to discuss with the Counsellor.

Geordi swiveled his chair away from Data's, rubbing his wrist.  
"If you think this is all under control, I'm going to slide down to 
sickbay and have this wrist looked at again."

Data answered without looking up.  "That would be advisable, 
Geordi, if your wrist is still causing you distress."

"Right."  Geordi allowed a glance at Lara.  "Keep up the good work."

"Aye, sir," the ensign replied.  She didn't return his glance.  
He forced himself not to look at her again, though the delicate 
curvature of her faced danced at the edge of his vision, daring him.  
Resolutely turning his back, he left Engineering and headed for the turbo lift.

Of course, he did not go to sick bay.  Deanna 
Troi was in her quarters when he arrived.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Geordi said as, smiling, she waved him in.

"Oh, not at all, Geordi.  I assumed you wouldn't be here because 
of everything else that's going on.  Come in and sit down.  I was just 
watering my plants."  She gestured with the small watering 
can she was carrying. 

Geordi did as bidden.  He was certain, after some limited research, that 
Deanna had the most comfortable furniture on the ship.  
Of course, it was logical, considering her job, but a nice perk nonetheless.  
Deanna disappeared into her bedroom for a moment, letting Geordi settle in.  
When she came back, she had her Counsellor face on.  
She sat down across from him.  She always looked so 
relaxed when she sat down; it was hard not to follow her example.

"So, how are you doing today, Geordi?"

"I don't know.  I was feeling all right this morning, but now. . ."

"I do sense a great deal of turbulence."

Geordi laughed mirthlessly.  "Yeah.  Turbulence.  That's a word for it, 
I guess."  He paused, looking at his hands.  "I've been in 
Engineering all morning brainstorming with Data and . . . 
Kylaree.  It wasn't easy."

"Have you spoken with her at all?"

"No.  She doesn't want to talk.  She won't even look at me.  
It just makes it that much more difficult to understand."

Deanna nodded.  "As much as we hope these things won't happen, 
sometimes they do.  And when they do, sometimes they take a long 
time to heal.  But it will get better.  I promise."

Geordi took a deep, slow breath, trying to get his insides to settle down.  
He had heard the words before, and from anyone else he would have 
considered them patronizing.  But from Deanna he could take them to heart, 
because he knew she knew exactly how he felt.  
He was not certain what exactly had gone on between her and Will Riker, 
but he knew she must have suffered something similar to 
what he was feeling now.

"I think it would be easier if it hadn't been so sudden.  
I mean, it all came out of nowhere and it was one of the most intense things 
I've ever experienced.  Then she just . . . decided it had to be over . . ."  
Vaguely, he felt Deanna's light touch on his hand as his words trailed off.  
More than anything, he wanted to ask her if Lara had been coming to see her, 
if she was hurting the way he was.  But Troi wouldn't tell him even if he 
had the nerve to ask.  He put his hand over his VISOR, 
blocking himself off for a moment.  Forcefully, he turned his mind to the 
other reason why he had decided to keep his appointment with the counsellor.

"Have you sensed anything unusual from the captain lately?  
I mean, since we struck the anomaly?"

Deanna looked puzzled, probably as much by the sudden change of subject 
as by the question.  "I can't say I've been concentrating too 
strongly on the captain since I went off duty this afternoon.  
Everything seemed to be well in hand.  Why do you ask?"

"Well . . ."  Geordi considered, trying to figure out how to 
explain this without sounding foolish.  "I saw him in sick bay 
just after we took that jolt and he just didn't look right.  
It was like . . . well, it was like his image was coming from 
a different set of wavelengths.  And when Dr. Crusher was 
checking him to be sure he hadn't suffered a concussion, 
the scanner registered the wrong blood type."

Troi shrugged.  "It could have been a defective scanner."

"Yes, you're right.  It could have been.  But when Dr. Crusher 
tried to get another one, to double check, Captain Picard 
effectively ordered her to leave him alone."

"Well, that sounds typical.  You know the captain hates being fussed over."

"I don't know.  It just seems weird."  He shook his head.  
"Maybe I'm reading something into nothing, just because I'm wound up."

"That's possible."

"Well."  He stood.  "I think I'll go have Dr. Crusher take a look at my 
VISOR, just in case it's malfunctioning.  
Although it seems odd that it would malfunction only on Captain Picard."

Deanna smiled.  "That sounds like a good idea.  
And then see if you can get some rest before the briefing."

     ****

After a briefing from the real Captain Picard -- via Al -- 
Sam felt much more sure of himself.  
The briefing, however, had not changed the magnitude of the 
problem he was facing.  It had only given him an idea about how to handle it.

When he arrived at the conference room, all the requested 
participants were there except Geordi LaForge.  
Sam watched them while they waited, reminding himself of names, 
ranks, and functions.

Commander Will Riker, Second-in-Command; 
Lieutenant Commander Data, android, repository of multitudinous information, 
useful and otherwise; Lieutenant Worf, Klingon, head of security, 
inclined to assume hostility from anything unfamiliar; Deanna Troi, 
ship's counsellor, half human, half Betazoid, who according to 
Picard could often supply unique insights in situations dealing 
with alien intelligences.  Sam was not completely certain why she was here, 
but Picard had said she was usually included in these meetings.  
Sam had already braced himself for Al's reaction to her presence; 
she was an extremely attractive woman, and the low cut of her 
tunic flattered her nicely.

Al, however, was surprisingly restrained.  He walked around her a 
couple of times, going through the table to get all possible views, 
sucking thoughtfully on his cigar.  Sam tried not to watch him, 
though he, too, was intrigued by Troi.

After a time, Al removed the cigar, looking thoughtful.  
"I wonder if she's just like a human woman."

Sam shook his head and wondered why he had expected anything else.

"Oh, don't tell me you don't look at her, too."  
Al was talking to the empty space next to him again.  
"Man, if I was captain of a ship full of women like that I'd . . ."  
He broke off.  "You," he said, pointing emphatically to nothing with the 
cigar,  "are worse than Sam Beckett.  I'm stuck in a world of prudes . . ."

_So that's what I look like talking to Al_, Sam thought.  
_No wonder everybody thinks I'm nuts._

Geordi appeared then.  He sat down next to Troi, who smiled at him.

"Well, we're all here, so let's begin," Sam said.  
"Commander LaForge, what conclusions have you come to?"

LaForge nodded to Data.  "I'd like to allow Commander 
Data to summarize, if I may."

Sam nodded approval to the android.  Data was sitting very straight, 
his too-white hands folded primly on the table.  
His head rotated precisely to face Sam.

"Captain, analysis of the anomaly indicates that
it is a rudimentary form of time bubble."

Al's attention jerked from Troi to Data.  "_What_ did he say?"

Data had more bombshells to drop.  "Its shape and size 
are remarkably regular, implying that its source is artificial.  
In addition, it appears to be stationary over a particular point 
on the planet, indicating a source from the planet's surface."

"What point on the planet appears to be the source?" 
Sam put in, but he had a feeling he knew the answer.

"It appears to be emanating from somewhere in New Mexico."

_Oh, boy_, Sam thought.  Al was poking furiously at the handlink.  
"I'll be back," he said.  "I'm going to check this out."

Sam nodded to him.  Across the table, Deanna Troi was watching him rather 
closely.  He wondered if he had betrayed something in his face when 
Al had spoken.  The Counsellor's expression was neutral -- 
almost too neutral, like a poker player holding a royal flush.

Data was continuing his discourse.

"In any case, Captain, if we were to try to duplicate the effect 
which led us here, we would have to strike the bubble while returning from 
warp speed.  I see no reason why we would not be able to reproduce this 
combination of factors, but I cannot 
guarantee it will produce the desired results."

"And what about the slingshot approach?  What's the viability of that?"

"I have calculated the necessary acceleration to achieve the appropriate 
length of time leap using the slingshot technique.  
However, the accuracy of these calculations is, as always, questionable.  
In addition, under these conditions there is always the danger that the 
massive gravitational forces will destroy the ship."

"I see."  Sam couldn't help but feel a little smug.  
They were from the 24th century, and they still obviously had very little 
knowledge of controlling time travel.  
And Picard had had the nerve to call Project Quantum Leap quaint!  
"Well.  Those are the options.  Any further input?"

"I would like to comment, Captain."  
Geordi leaned into the table as he spoke, looking past Data.  
Sam nodded for him to continue.  "I would suggest attempting 
the former option simply because the danger to the ship is less.  
We were travelling at warp 6 when we came out and contacted the anomaly.  
Recreating this situation would cause very little stress to the engines.  
Attempting a slingshot effect would produce considerable strain.  
But, in any case, before we attempt anything, I would like to 
run a diagnostic test on the engines to be sure no hidden damage was 
done in the initial jump."

"That seems wise.  Does anyone else have anything to add?"

Riker and Troi shook their heads.  Worf cleared his throat.

"Captain, has it occurred to you that this might have been 
a trap set by the Romulans to prevent our arrival on Earth 
to discuss the reconfiguration of the Neutral Zone?"

Riker shrugged.  "He does have a point, Captain.  
It seems odd that we encountered this problem so close to Earth, 
and while engaged in so important a mission."

"If this is the case," Worf continued, "then it might be wise for us to 
approach the anomaly very cautiously.  It may be a trap."

"Agreed.  Thank you, Lieutenant Worf."  Sam stood.  
"Mr. Data, continue to monitor the bubble and let me know
if there are any changes, or if you are able to derive
any additional information. I'd like to know as much as 
possible before we make a final decision.  Mr. LaForge, run your 
diagnostics and let me know the results.  The rest of you may 
return to your stations.  Thank you."

As they walked out, Troi took hold of Geordi's arm and began to 
speak to him in a low voice.  Wondering what that was all about, 
Sam sat back down in his chair and leaned back, pondering. 

Al popped back in before Sam could form a coherent thought.  
"Oh, shoot, she's gone."

Sam swiveled in his chair to face the hologram.  
"What did you find out?"

"Ziggy says it's very likely that this bubble 
thingama-whatcha-hoosie is caused by Project Quantum Leap."

"He can't tell you for sure?" Sam was not only disappointed, but amazed.  
Ziggy always had an opinion, calculated to at least two decimal places.  
He was as bad as Data.

"Well, Ziggy's not concentrating too well.  
He's not used to transmitting signals into space."

"Well, hopefully this will all be over soon.  
I'll see if I can find out from here if there's a connection.  
If there is, Data should be able to come up with something."

"That's right, I forgot.  You've got your own little version of 
Ziggy up there keeping you company."  He poked idly at the handlink.  
"I hope it's over soon," he said, lowering his voice.  
"I'm getting sick and tired of this Picard guy."

"Oh, come on, Al, surely he's not that bad."

"Well . . ." Al hesitated.  "Tina thinks he's sweet."

"Ah.  Jealousy strikes again."

"Yeah, well, he could have the decency to not be so friendly."

"Why?  What's he doing?"

"Oh, he's been, you know, talking to her."

Sam gasped in mock horror.  "Oh, no!  Not that!"

"Oh, come on, Sam.  What is a highly educated guy from the 
24th century going to talk to Tina about?"

"I don't think you give Tina enough credit.  She's a very sweet girl."

"Oh, what do you know?  You can barely remember your own name."

"Sam Beckett," Sam said defensively.

"Yeah, but what's your _middle_ name?"

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again as he found himself 
mentally staring down another of the many gaping holes in his 
selectively edited memory.

"Ha!" said Al.

"Well . . . I do have one, don't I?"  
Encounters with the empty spots in his memory always left 
Sam feeling insecure, and this example was particularly disquieting.

And Al was no help.  He shrugged.  "I don't know.  You never told me."

"Al . . ."  Sam started, but he was interrupted by the return of 
LaForge and Troi to the conference room.  
Which was just as well, because he was not at all certain what 
he had been about to say.

"Look sharp," said Al.  "They look worried."

They did, indeed, look worried.  Sam stood.

"Some final concerns?"  he asked.

Geordi looked at Troi, who looked back at Geordi and nodded once.

"Yes . . . Captain," said Geordi.  
"We'd like to know just who the hell you are."

"Oh, boy," said Al.
--------
Katriena Knights
"Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time!"
                         -- Samuel Beckett, "Waiting for Godot"


                                
-- 
             Beth Hlabse    eah4@po.CWRU.Edu     Assistant Sysop
                The Science Fiction and Fantasy Sig (GO SCIFI)
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        Humans kill what they don't understand.  --unknown Deryni monk