From: eah4@po.CWRU.Edu (Elizabeth A. Hlabse)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: LeapTrek I, part 3 & 4
Date: 5 Nov 1992 18:59:34 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

by Katriena Knights

PART III


Deanna Troi shook her head in frustration.  
"None of this makes any sense at all."

"Tell me about it," Al mumbled.

"No, no, wait a minute," Geordi broke in.  "I think I get it."  
He faced Sam squarely.  "If you're in contact with the real Captain 
Picard, then you can prove it."

Sam shrugged.  "Yeah, I suppose I could.  Al, are we in contact with Picard?"

"Not at the moment.  He's probably flirting with Tina.  I'll be back."

As Al slipped out the Imaging Chamber door, Troi protested again.  
"He's talking to thin air and you believe him?"

"I don't know," Geordi replied.  "Do you sense any . . . 
insanity?  Dishonesty?"

Troi calmed, looking at Sam.  Sam found her scrutiny unnerving at best.  
"He believes what he says is the truth, and he does not 
feel any hostility towards us.  Beyond that . . ."

Sam looked from Troi to Geordi and back.  
Some pieces were falling into place.  "Wait a minute.  
What does he mean do you sense anything?  You're telepathic or something?"

"No.  I'm not telepathic.  I'm an empath.  I'm only half Betazoid."  
Her tone indicated she had explained this more times than anyone could count.

"Picard didn't tell us that.  He _knew_ you would figure it out, 
so he didn't tell us."  Sam didn't know whether to be angry or impressed, 
so instead he turned his attention to the problem at hand.  
"Al went to get Picard.  He'll be back in a minute.  
In the mean time, is there someplace you can look, 
I don't know, some history files or something, 
where there might be some record of Project Quantum Leap?  
I wrote a good number of papers, as I remember."

"Computer," Geordi said.  "Do you have anything on a Sam Beckett?"

A voice, apparently from nowhere, said, "Working."

"What's going on?"

"The computer's looking," Geordi replied.

"You have a voice activated computer?  Cool."

"What's so great about that?"  Al had returned.  "Ziggy's voice activated."

"Yeah, but this is a lot bigger than Ziggy.  Al's back," 
he added to the others by way of explanation.

"Beckett, Samuel."  The voice came from overhead, a pleasant 
though sedate woman's voice.  "There are two entries in the history files.  
First entry:  Beckett, Samuel.  Born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1906.  
Shall I continue with this entry?"

"No, that's the wrong one," Sam said.  "Go to the next one."

"Beckett, Samuel.  Born 1956, Elk Ridge, Indiana.  
Shall I continue with this entry?"

"That's it.  Um . . . Could you please skip a death date, if it's recorded?"

"Affirmative.  Beckett, Samuel.  Born 1956, Elk Ridge, Indiana.  
Received seven doctoral degrees from MIT, including quantum 
physics, medicine and music.  Received Nobel Prize in physics, 1993.  
Best known for development of Quantum String Theory of time travel.  
Founded Project Quantum Leap in 1995.  Project involved time travel 
within the lifetime of the traveller.  For further details, 
I will have to consult the archives.  Shall I do so?"

"Not yet," Geordi said.  "Can you tell us the exact location 
where Project Quantum Leap was built?"

"In the vicinity of Blue Rock, New Mexico."

"Thank you."

"The computer doesn't know your middle name, either," Al put in.

Sam chose to ignore the comment.  "Do you have Picard there?"

"Yeah, he's here."

"He's here," Sam said.

Troi frowned.  "If the captain is here, why can I not sense his presence?"

"Because he's not _here_ here -- he's four years in the future.  
I just have contact with him through Al."

"Can you see him?"

"No, I can't.  I can see Al, but Ziggy can't 
put out enough power to allow me to see Picard, too, 
because he's using so much power to get Al's signal to me."

"Who's Ziggy?" LaForge put in.

"Ziggy is the computer that runs Project Quantum Leap."

"But what . . ."

"Wait a minute, Geordi," Troi broke in.  "I want to know if he 
really is in contact with the captain, or if he's just standing 
there talking to himself."

Geordi gestured for her to proceed.  
Troi settled herself in her chair and regarded Sam intently.

"God, is she cute."  Al was looking just as intently back at Troi.

"What was that?" Troi demanded.

Sam was puzzled.  "What was what?"

"I sense irritation."

Impressed, Sam said, "Yes, a little.  Al just said something rude."

Sam was no empath, but he could tell Troi was getting annoyed.  
"I want to talk to the captain."

"Deanna, you have done very well," Al said suddenly.

"What?"

"Tell her that, Sam.  It's what Baldy just said."

"Picard says, 'Deanna, you have done very well.'"

"And?"

Sam waved for Al to continue.  It was awkward, running the 
conversation in relay form, but they had done similar things before.

"Deanna," Picard continued, "I deliberately did not mention 
your empathic abilities because I had hoped you would 
ascertain what was happening.  Obviously, you have done so."

Deanna looked slightly abashed.  "Actually, Captain -- 
if I am, indeed, speaking to the captain -- 
I wouldn't have realized anything was amiss if Geordi 
hadn't felt something strange was gong on."

"Commander LaForge?  How did he come to that conclusion?  
Yeah," Al added for himself.  "I can understand the 
telepathic thing, but what tipped _him_ off?"

Geordi tapped his VISOR.  "I see different wavelengths 
than sighted people.  The image I was seeing of the captain 
seemed like it was coming in on another wavelength.  
It's difficult to explain to someone who can't see it.  
Then when I was in sickbay and Dr. Crusher's scanner 
read the wrong blood type . . . well, that's when I went to Counsellor Troi."

"Nice job, Geordi," Picard said, though coming from Al's mouth 
it didn't sound very complimentary.  Sam retranslated.  
"I hadn't thought of that.  But I suppose I should have 
after the other times your VISOR has helped us.  
Like with the analysis of the shielding on Moab IV.  
But it seems we make more use of your talents, Counsellor, 
such as on Vegra II when you were able to help save most of 
the away team as well as yourself and Ben from Armus.  
But it was a pity we lost Tasha Yar."  Al paused.  "Is that enough?"

"Was that from you or from Picard?" Sam asked.

"From me.  You know how much I hate this kind of thing."

Judging by the obvious softening of Deanna Troi's features, 
Sam guessed that she had been convinced.

"Do you need to hear anymore?" he asked her.

"No," she said quietly.  "No, I don't think so.  
But there is one more thing I would like to ask."

"And that is?"

"What course of action does the captain recommend?"

Sam watched Al nod and concentrate for a time, then Al supplied the answer.

"He would like to see Commander Riker apprised of the 
situation so that, if the need arises, he will not 
hesitate to make crucial command decisions.  
Then he would suggest that Commander LaForge do the 
diagnostics on the engines, as planned, and that you 
attempt to recreate the jump through the anomaly . . . 
Which is about what I would have recommended," Sam finished.

Deanna was studying him intently again.  
"I sense in you an honest desire to help us," she said.  "I believe you."

Sam smiled a little.  "I have to help you," he said.  
"Otherwise I may never get home."

    * * * *

" . . . Now let me see if I have this right.  This man travels 
through time by taking the place of people who exist on that timeframe?"

"Apparently, yes."  Deanna was more amused than annoyed by 
Riker's seeming inability to comprehend the situation.  
Sam merely sat calmly by, behind Picard's face, adding nothing.  
LaForge had departed earlier to begin the diagnostics on the engines.

"And he has no control over where he goes, or who he displaces."

"None whatsoever."

"But he's in contact with 1999 through a person who we can't see, 
and this person has been relaying messages from the _real_ 
Captain Picard, who is also in 1999, while we are in 1995?"

"Yes."

Arms crossed over his chest, the tall commander stood chewing 
over the thought through a long silence.  Finally, then, 
he turned his gaze to Sam.  There was a look of slowly 
dawning realization in his grey eyes.

"When you hit your head.  That was when it happened.  Am I right?"

"You're close," Sam answered.  "It was a split second before that."

Riker nodded.  He was already mulling again, weighing implications.  
"There's one thing I don't understand, though."

"What's that?" Troi prompted.

"If the anomaly which we are dealing with now is indeed being 
produced by your Project Quantum Leap, or Ziggy, or whatever -- 
then what produced the initial effect in our present that 
threw us back here?"

"And that, of course," Sam said, "is a very good question.  
Al is checking right now to see if, theoretically, our initial 
startup of the accelerator could have produced some kind 
of folding effect . . ."

He was broken off by the sharp bleeping of Riker's communicator.

"Commander Riker, this is LaForge."

"Go ahead, Geordi."

"We've got some problems here.  I think we'd better discuss this in person."

"We'll be in the conference room in ten."

    ****

Geordi's hands would not stop shaking.  The diagnostics results 
were blinking on the viewscreen in the conference room, 
red and yellow and green, blinking and blinking, and all 
he could think about or see was Lara.  Lara asking him 
question after question about the engines, obsessed with 
details of function, devouring information with a hunger 
that rivaled his own.  It was this more than anything else 
that had brought them together so quickly, so intensely.  
He had told her things about his engines he had never told anyone else.  
And he had given her the most valuable thing he had ever possessed -- 
his diary, where he documented every change, every modification, 
every emergency backup system he had ever installed on the Enterprise.  
Now his mind replayed the scene again and again -- 
her eagerness, the almost frightened, reverent way she had 
taken the disc from his hand -- and he felt such a sick sense 
of betrayal he thought for a moment he was going to vomit, or to weep.

Deanna, of course, sensed it as soon as she walked into the room -- 
probably before.  She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her 
off with a sharp jerk of his head.  This was not the time.  
The whole, sordid story would come out soon enough.

Riker and the man, Sam Beckett, who did and did not look like 
Captain Picard, followed the Counsellor into the room.

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

"No, I'm not," Geordi shot back.  He gestured to the screen.  
"None of us are."

Sliding into a chair, the commander squinted at the screen.  
"What have you got?"

Geordi swallowed.  The sound was so loud he was certain 
they all must have heard it.  Deanna was watching him closely.  
He couldn't bear to meet her gaze.  Looking at Beckett 
gave him a headache.  So he focused on the screen and 
its damning blips of red and green.

"If we try to go to warp speed, the anti-matter containment 
system will fail."

Riker's eyes widened.  "How long will it take you to correct that?"

Geordi bit the inside of his lip fiercely.  "I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"  The question, sharp as an accusation, made 
Geordi bite his lip until he tasted blood.  
One hand curled into a fist on the table.

"Every move I could have made has been anticipated.  
Every backup circuit in the system has been blown.  
The only way to repair this is with an entirely new control panel."

"Well, do we have one?"

"We did.  We don't anymore.  As far as I can tell, 
it was destroyed with a phaser."

"Well, can we replicate one?"

"We could, except several vital substances have been 
purged from the replicator stores."

"Sabotage," said Beckett quietly.

Riker threw himself out of his chair, passing a look 
of daggers at their time-travelling refugee.  
"No kidding.  Who in the hell could have done this?"

A hand brushed against Geordi's arm -- Deanna's, of course.  
He kept himself focused on the screen, on Riker's anger.

"There are only three people on this ship who possess 
sufficient knowledge,"  Geordi said quietly.  
"Myself, Commander Data, and Ensign Kylaree Lara."

"Who?" Riker demanded.

"Ensign Lara is new to Engineering," Deanna put in.  
"She transferred to the Enterprise from the USS Asimov six months ago.  
Geordi was training her on engine maintenance."

"How could a raw ensign manage something like this?"

_Here it is_, Geordi thought.  _Confession time._ 
He still couldn't believe this was happening.  
Not Lara.  Not Kylie.  It wasn't possible.

"She had access to my diaries, Commander."

Riker stared at him.  Geordi saw the same sense of betrayal in 
Riker's eyes that he felt in the pit of his own stomach.

"You gave her your diaries?  Six months on board and you 
gave her your diaries?  What were you thinking?  
What in the hell were you thinking?"

Geordi gave back silence.  Slowly, Riker began to nod.

"So that's it.  Well, LaForge, that's a damned irresponsible way to behave."

"Number One!"  The familiar voice of the captain sliced 
through the argument.  "This is not the time for recriminations.  
And I don't think you can say you haven't been guilty of the same crime."

Silence filled the room.  Geordi and the others gaped at Beckett.  
Their response to the voice had been automatic; 
now they did not know whether to feel foolish or angry.

"Sorry," Beckett finally said.  "Picard thought it was 
getting out of hand, and he asked me to step in."  
He paused, cleared his throat.  "I think we should look at 
how we can get out of this situation rather than trying 
to determine whose fault it is."

"He's right, Will," said Deanna.

"Yeah.  Yeah, I suppose he is."  Riker sat down again, defeated.  
"So what do we do?"

"We leap you back," said Beckett.  All eyes turned to him, 
but he was batting a hand at an empty space next to him.  
"No, Al, shut up a minute.  I think I've got this figured out."

"Well, please elaborate," Riker prompted.

"The theory behind the Quantum Leap accelerator is to 
enable time travel within the lifetime of the traveler.  
So, if you are displaced out of your native timestream, 
the tendency should be to throw you forward, back into your own timestream."

Riker was skeptical.  "I don't know.  Your movement in time 
has been thoroughly randomized.  How do we know we'll end 
up where we're supposed to be?  Or that we won't end up 
like you, displacing somebody else?  I mean, we could end up as 
Ferengi or something."

"Well, surely your technology is advanced enough that 
you could make some improvements on my efforts.  
Is there anyone aboard who is well-versed in time theory?"

"Data knows about everything there is to know as far as current theory.  
I don't know if he would have any knowledge of 
something as outdated as your work."

A flash of strangely Picard-like irritation moved 
over Beckett's face.  "Well, why don't we ask him?"  he said tightly.

"We will," Riker answered, terse.  "First we have 
a saboteur to deal with."  He tapped his communicator. 
"Riker to Lieutenant Worf."

There was a pause, then Worf's dark voice answered, "Worf here."

"Send a security team to apprehend Ensign Kylaree Lara.  Take her to . . ."

"Commander," Geordi broke in quietly.

"Hold a moment, Worf.  What is it, LaForge?"

"I want to see her first."

"I hardly think that would be appropriate."

"Please, Commander.  All I ask for is a few minutes."

Riker hesitated, his eyes moving automatically to the 
captain for confirmation or denial.  Beckett gave none.  
Finally, the commander tapped the communicator again.  
"Worf, belay that order for fifteen minutes, then proceed."

"Affirmative, Commander."

"All right, Geordi," Riker said.  "You've got fifteen minutes."

"Thank you, Commander."

    ****

"Picard and Ziggy both think you're on to something."  
Al had left the imaging chamber when Sam had outlined his 
plan for setting the _Enterprise_ back on the right timeline, and 
popped back in just as Geordi walked out the door.  
"But Ziggy says you're going to need a good bit more 
power, and somebody will have to do some reprogramming to pull it off.  
And whatever programming was changed will have to be changed 
back to keep from interfering with our future.  Or past.  Or whatever."

"Well, I'm assuming Data can handle that?" Sam put in.  
Al looked at the empty spot where Sam knew Picard was standing and nodded.

"Picard says yes."

"But how do we get him there?"

"We beam him down," said Riker.  "We pin down the exact 
coordinates of the source of this anomaly.  
>From there, he can determine if it is, indeed, Ziggy, 
interface with it, and do whatever has to be done."

"Him," Sam said.

"What?"

"Interface with 'him.'  Not 'it.'  Ziggy is a 'him.'"

Riker was dumbfounded.  "It's a computer."

"So is Data, and you call it him."

"Data is an android.  I hardly think . . ."

"Riker, LaForge."  Geordi's voice came tight and broken.  
"I think you'd better come down here."

"Where are you, Geordi?"

"Ensign Lara's quarters."

The look Riker gave Troi did not make Sam optimistic 
about what they were going to find there.  The commander 
started for the door, indicating with a jerk of his head 
that the others should follow.  "We're on our way."

    ****

She had, at least, done it cleanly.  Sam did not know what 
else to think as he stood there, useless, watching Beverly 
Crusher run a scanner over the body.  The dead woman was 
beautiful, with deep red hair and very pale skin.  
Her eyes had been closed when they came in, but somehow 
Sam was sure they must be green.  She lay on a couch on her 
back, her arms crossed over her chest.  She wore a red dress.  
The room smelled of roses, but there were no flowers to be seen.

"It was poison," Dr. Crusher announced.  
"A highly potent strain often used by Romulans.  
My guess is it was taken voluntarily."

Geordi had moved away from the rest of them, standing by the 
wall with his back turned.  From the edge of his vision, 
Sam saw Deanna move to touch him, saw Geordi jerk away from 
her touch as if afraid hr hand would burn him.  Deanna retreated.  
Her eyes were brimming, and Sam knew the pain was not her own.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it?" he mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's happened?" Worf demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


LEAPTREK

by Katriena Knights

Part IV

Since he had nothing else to do, Sam went straight to the conference room.  
He was trying to manage his way into the computer through the 
terminal on the table when Al popped in.

"Better be careful there, Sam," Al told him.  
"There's probably a hell of a lot of stuff 
in there that you don't want to know."

"That's not the half of it.  Think about all the 
things that have happened.  I mean, we've gone into
space, we've established relations with alien life
forms . . . it's mind-boggling.  And I don't dare look
at any of it, for fear that, if I know, something I do may cause it
never to happen."

"Well, Sam, so far you haven't been able to alter any
major historical events."

"Even so."  He paused, mulling.  The temptation was enormous,
especially since he knew there had been advances in time travel.
Finally he forced himself to turn away from the terminal
and said,  "How's Geordi?"

"He'll be all right.  That's one tough kid."

"That's about how I had him figured . . ."  
He broke off, stabbing the return key in frustration.  
"I can't figure this damn thing out."

"Why don't you just . . . talk to it."

Al had a particularly annoying manner when pointing out the obvious.  
Sam gave him a tight look.  
"Computer, I'd like to access data in the archives on quantum 
string theory and application."

"One moment, please."

Al looked impressed.  "She's much more polite than Ziggy."

"But not nearly as entertaining."

The pleasant, feminine voice spoke again.  
"There are 35 documents currently in the archives regarding 
quantum string theory.  Please specify by date or by author."

"Author, Beckett, Samuel.  Date, before . .. 1999."

Another pause.  "Five documents fit this description.  
Please consult your terminal."

Sam glanced down.  A listing of five titles had appeared.  
The first three involved theory, the last two implementation.  
The second of the implementation papers related directly 
to the construction of Ziggy, the imaging chamber and the accelerator ring.  
He chose that one.

It was a long paper, but Sam only needed bits and pieces of the 
information in it.  It galled him that he couldn't 
remember most of what he knew he had written.

"What do you think, Sam?" Al asked after a time.

"I think we can make this work."  He tapped thoughtfully on the table.  
"What does Ziggy say about the folding theory?"

"He says it's not likely."

"Okay.  Then we'll have to . . ." He broke off.  
The door to the conference room had slid open.  
Deanna Troi stood just inside it, hesitant.

"May I come in?" she asked.

"Please do."

"Oh, Sam . . ."  Al, of course, had to put in his two cents worth.  
"I think she wants to get to know you a little better."

Deanna looked perplexed.  "Did Al just say something rude again?"

Sam laughed.  "How could you tell?"

"You were annoyed again."  She paused, 
involuntarily looking around the room.  "What did he say?"

"Nothing you want to hear, believe me."  He looked at Al, 
who was shaking his head.  "My friend Al is . . . intensely 
appreciative of the opposite sex."

"Oh, I see.  And you're not?"

"Well, I mean, I'm, well . . . appreciative, I just . .. 
I wouldn't word things quite the way he does."

"No, you wouldn't word them at all," Al countered.

Sam ignored him.  Deanna smiled.  "I see.  So you're a gentleman."

"I try to be."

Al snorted.  "Gentleman.  You're a prude, that's what you are, 
you're just like a little old lady."  He poked at the handlink 
and the Imaging Chamber opened behind him.  "I'm outta here.
I can't stand to watch you 
miss these opportunities.  It makes me want to cry."

The door closed before Sam could reply.  
He turned away, face in his hands, then looked apologetically at Deanna.  
Her smile was partly perplexed, partly amazed.  She shook her head.

"I've seen some very strange things in my time," she said, 
"but this is definitely among the strangest.  
You look like the captain, you sound like the captain, 
but you act and react in a totally different manner."

"Well, now that the secret's out, I must admit I'm not trying very hard."

"You say that you've . . . been in the lives of many people, 
that you've helped them change situations in their lives.  Why do you do it?"

"I have to.  I keep hoping that the next time I leap 
I'll find myself back where I belong."  He paused, shrugging.  
"I'm just trying to get home."

But Deanna was shaking her head.  Sam found his eyes 
drawn to the movement of her dark ringlets against her skin, 
then to the remarkable darkness of her eyes.  "No," she said.  
"There's more to it than that.  You were hurting for Geordi --
almost as much as I was."

"Why is that remarkable?  The man was in pain."

Deanna shook her head, frustrated at her inability to say 
what she wanted to say.  "Yes, and the rest of them -- Will, 
Beverly -- they all felt for him, they all sympathized -- 
but it was pity.  With you -- it was as if it was all happening to 
you as well as to Geordi.  So many people have that ability 
and have blocked themselves off from it.  You haven't.  
In fact, it seems that you have nurtured it."  She stopped again.  
"Reading you is almost like reading another empath, 
except you can't sense me."

Sam was bewildered.  "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I thought it might be an answer.  
I thought it might explain why all this has happened to you.  
You said you sometimes feel like you were chosen, but 
you don't know how, or by whom, or why.  
It just seemed to me that this might be the answer to the why.  
Because you have an uncanny ability to identify with other 
people's feelings."

Sam nodded.  "I see.  Thank you."

Some of the intensity had left the counsellor's eyes.  
"If this works, you may have saved our lives.  
I thought I owed you that much."

At a loss for words, Sam turned his gaze again to the terminal.  
>From the tops of his vision he say Deanna shift again, 
gathering herself for something else.

"Dr. Beckett . . ." she started.

"Sam," he broke in.  "Just call me Sam."

"It's difficult enough for me to remember not to call you Captain Picard."

"Or _when_ not to call me Captain Picard."

She laughed.  Her smile was captivating.  
Suddenly Sam was very glad Al had left.  
"What do you really look like?"  she said.

It was not what he had expected her to ask.  
He sobered, realizing how long it had been since his own 
face had looked back at him from a mirror.  
The picture of it was becoming dim even to him.

"Computer," he said.  "Do you have a visual on Samuel 
Beckett?  Before 1999."

"One moment, please."

A pause, and then a newspaper photo appeared on the viewscreen.  
The caption under the photo said, "MIT Grad Wins Nobel Prize."

"Well, there you go," he said.  He studied the face, himself, 
taking the chance to refresh his own memory.  
he didn't want to forget that face in the swamp of 
other faces he kept seeing in all the different mirrors he encountered.

"It's not what I expected," Deanna said.  
She was smiling.  Smiling warmly, even.  

"Why?  What did you expect?"

"I don't know.  Something a little more . . . scholarly, I guess."

"You mean a geeky looking guy with greasy hair, 
thick glasses and a pocket protector?"

"Um, well, I suppose for your time period, a man with seven 
doctoral degrees would have been expected to look like that."  
She tilted her head a little.  "You know, I can see you a little.  
I mean, I can still see Picard, but now . . . "  She shook her head.  
"It's fading in and out."  She hesitated again, her scrutiny again intense.  
"It must be very hard for you, living this way."

Sam was beginning to feel very warm.  "It'll be over someday."

"Is there anyone you left behind?  Anyone waiting for you?"

"Well, there's Al, and Gooshie, and Tina, and 
Dr. Beeks, and the rest of the staff."

"No, I mean someone special.  Someone you care for."

"I don't remember."

Deanna leaned forward and laid a hand on his.  
"You're a very special person, Sam.  Don't ever forget that."

"Thank you," he mumbled.  Her hand was warm and soft.  
For a moment he wondered what might have happened if he had not 
worn the captain's face, or if she had been able to see through it 
completely.  Then the door slid open and Will Riker entered the room, 
Data and Geordi close behind him.

"Who's that?"  Riker asked, indicating the screen.

"That's me," said Sam.  Deanna had not moved her 
hand and he was suddenly very self-conscious, afraid, 
for some reason, that Riker would see and misinterpret.  
Deanna obviously felt his discomfort, for she looked at 
him with a mischievous smile, patted his hand and let it go.

"That's you?" Riker said.

"Yes," said Deanna.  "I wanted to know what he really looked like."

Data's attention was jerking from the screen to Sam and back again.  
"I take this to mean that you do not always have the appearance of 
Captain Picard."

"No, I don't."  Obviously Data, too, had been informed of Sam's
trespass into their Captain's existence.  Which was probably
for the best.

Data hesitated, considering, then looked at Sam again, head tilted.  
"I do not recall any provision for this phenomenon in the materials 
I read concerning your string theory of time travel."

"That's because there was none.  Computer, discontinue image."

The screen went black.  Data stepped to the table and took a seat.  
"I have reviewed all of the available information on your 
theory of time travel and how it was implemented," he said.  
"Your work was really quite brilliant for the time in which it was done."

"Thank you."

"In fact, I find it fascinating that, given the advanced 
nature of our current knowledge, no one has as of yet 
formally assimilated your work into current theory.  
It seems to me that your hypotheses would parallel the work of . . ."

"Data," Riker broke in.  "Can we please stick to the subject at hand?"

"He's worse than Ziggy."  Al's mumble came from behind 
Sam's left shoulder.  Sam glanced back, acknowledging, but 
Al's attention was already elsewhere.  "Oh, really?  
Well, if your technology is so advanced, 
how come you haven't figured out some way to keep your hair?"

Riker's interruption had not fazed Data in the slightest.  
"Of course, Commander.  I have evaluated the structure and 
energy requirements of the radium accelerator ring and I 
believe that, with Geordi's help, we can create a supplemental 
energy source which will enable the accelerator to place us 
back along our original timeline.  I should also be able to interface with 
Ziggy to make appropriate programming changes, which I will 
place in a directory which will erase itself after the transfer is complete."

"You're absolutely certain you can do this without damaging Ziggy?"  
Sam was beginning to feel like they were proposing brain 
surgery on his own child, and the feeling made him nervous.  
"I mean, we're playing around in my past, here.  
I don't want to . . .program myself out of existence or something."

Riker laughed tensely.  "Of course, there's always the possibility that our 
modifications are what made your project work in the first place."

"I do _not_ want to hear that," Sam said emphatically.  
"I'd like to think the work I put my whole life into had some merit."

Riker was taken aback.  Data stepped into the commander's lack of words.

"I do not believe Commander Riker intended any slight to your 
accomplishments, Dr. Beckett.  I believe his comment was an attempt at 
humor, intended to make our situation seem less serious.  
In fact, according to my analysis, your theories and their 
implementation should be functional without any interference on our part."

"Which is why we want to be sure nothing we do will change 
Ziggy as he currently exists."  This was Geordi's first 
contribution to the conversation.  "I have devised a way to 
increase the power flow to your radium accelerator ring by a
pproximately 600%."

"So she did leave us with enough raw 
materials to work our way out of this," Riker commented.

"Simply because the Romulans did not anticipate the interference of 
Dr. Beckett," Data clarified.  "I have analyzed the anomalous 
readings we encountered just before coming out of warp drive.  
These appear to have been generated by a field similar to that created by 
Project Quantum Leap, but skewed to increase the length of the 
timeline affected.  The power source was not a radium ring, but 
rather a source much like that employed by a Romulan cloaking device.  
Apparently, the Romulans assumed that, because of the antiquity 
of the theory they were making use of, we would be unable to 
determine what had occurred, and would not be able to return to our own time."

"And the anomalous readings here?" Riker said.

"Are created by a radium accelerator ring in Blue Rock, New Mexico."

Riker turned to Sam.  "Do we have contact with Captain Picard?  
What is his opinion of this course of action?"

Al removed his cigar from his mouth and blew a languid ring of smoke.  
"He wishes you'd all quit yapping and _do_ something."

"He approves," Sam relayed.

"All right.  Data, can you do this all yourself?"

"Yes, Commander."

"Then you beam down and get the job done.  
I don't want anyone to see you, and I don't want anything left 
behind that could cause any problems."

"Affirmative, Commander."

"Beckett, you check over Geordi's work and make sure there 
won't be any interface problems with your computer.  
Data, you triple check it.  Beckett, be sure Data has any and all 
security codes to get in and out of your building."  Riker stood, 
decisive, jerking his uniform tunic into place.  "Now.  
Are we absolutely certain that when we make this jump back to our own time, 
Captain Picard will be put back where he belongs?"

"Based on past experience, I would have to say yes," Sam replied.

"Based on past experience," Riker mumbled.  "I'd like to be a 
little more certain than that."

"Well, that's as certain as you're gonna get," Al put in.  
"Tell him to loosen up.  God, he's stiff even for a military man.  
Just looking at him makes me uncomfortable.  
He looks like somebody stuck a broomstick up his . . ."

"I'm afraid I can't give you any certainties."  
Sam spoke a little too loudly, trying to overpower 
Al even though no one else could hear him.  
"But I'm willing to take the risk."

"Well.  I guess we have no other choice.  You all have your orders.  
Make it so."

    ****

There was nothing more infuriating than having to wait.  
Sam had grown used to leaping into a situation, evaluating it, 
taking immediate action, and leaping back out.  To have the entire leap -- 
his fate as well as the fate of the ship and crew -- 
on someone else's shoulders was driving him crazy.

He was sitting in the command chair on the bridge 
because he didn't know what else to do.  Commander 
Riker sat next to him, nervously running his hands up and down his thighs.  
Data had been gone for twenty minutes.  To avoid problems, 
he had been instructed to check in at twenty minute intervals.  
They were waiting for the first check-in.

Deanna, seated to Sam's left, crossed her arms and settled back 
firmly into her chair.  Her lips were tight, closed up on her own unease.  
She passed a sidelong glance to Sam, then to Riker.  
Sam gave her a small smile.  Riker gave her nothing.

"Enterprise, this is Lt. Commander Data."

Riker didn't jump up out of his seat, but his abrupt 
forward movement had the same effect.  He started to open his mouth, then 
closed it, looking at Sam.

"Go ahead, Data," Sam said.

"I have completed the initial interface with the computer.  
I must say, Ziggy is quite intriguing.  
It seems almost to have emotional response, and yet is enclosed 
in a machine-like structure which . . ."

"What's the status of the interface?" Sam broke in.  
Not that he didn't enjoy listening to Data praise 
Ziggy, but there was no time for it now.

"The interface has so far been quite successful."  Data paused.  
"I think Ziggy likes me."

Riker hid a smile behind one hand.  
"How about the additional power generators?  Any problems there?"

"I am beginning the connections now.  
It appears that there will be no difficulties."

"Just don't forget the erasure programs," Sam added.

"I will not forget, Captain," Data answered.

"Check in again in another twenty minutes," Riker finished.  
"Enterprise out."  He turned to Sam, but his eyes only 
paused there a moment before going on to Troi.  "Well, so far, so good."

"I'm sure everything will be fine," Troi said.  
She looked at Riker first, then settled on Sam.  
Sam felt decidedly uncomfortable.  
He had a feeling the attention Troi was giving him did not 
endear him at all to Riker.  

Riker's suddenly sour look confirmed Sam's suspicions.  
"Well, the sooner we get this over with, the better."

Deanna grinned.  Sam relaxed a little, realizing 
Deanna was not expressing a genuine interest in him, 
but was just trying to annoy Riker.  Apparently Riker 
knew it, too, and was annoyed that it was working.

"I think she likes you," Al commented.  
He was standing just to Deanna's right, 
and was not keeping his eyes forward.  "I know I like her."

"Trust me, Al, you would not be able to handle a 
woman who can read your mind," Sam muttered.  
Al gave him a dirty look.  Deanna grinned, 
knowing who he was talking to, and Riker quirked an eyebrow.

"Pardon me, Captain?"

"Never mind, Number One."

"Captain."  Worf was fiddling with his control panel, 
probably re-examining readings on the anomaly.  
"Has it been sufficiently established that this anomaly 
is not a result of enemy interference?  
I do not think it would be wise to discount that possibility."

Sam straightened in his chair.  "Well, Lieutenant, 
it has been proven beyond a doubt that the initial 
anomaly was indeed a result of enemy interference.  
However, the version which exists in this time zone 
is created by a particularly brilliant scientist who was 
experimenting with time travel, and has nothing 
whatsoever to do with the Romulans."

"'A particularly brilliant scientist?'" Al repeated. 
"Don't lay it on too thick, there, Sam."

"A scientist?" Worf said.  "Are we certain that he was 
not planted in this time zone by the Romulans?"

Sam looked back over his shoulder at the Klingon.  
His expression indicated that he was completely serious.  
To Deanna, Sam mumbled, "Is he always this paranoid?"

"Yes,"  Deanna replied.  She turned to Worf.  
"I have been in contact with the scientist, and he is quite 
willing to help.  I am certain he has no connection with the Romulans."

Worf nodded decisively.  "I will defer to your judgement then, Captain."

"Thank you, Mr. Worf."

"Captain Picard."  Data's voice, over the intercom.  
Sam was certain it had not yet been twenty minutes.

"Go ahead, Data."

"The power generators have been successfully connected, and 
should provide enough additional strength to the time bubble
to enable our movement forward in time without the additional
impact of the return from warp speed.
I have installed the erasure programs into Ziggy's main memory banks.  
As soon as the appropriate subroutine is completed, it will be erased."

"Good," Riker said.  "Prepare to beam up."

"Affirmative, Commander."

Riker turned to Sam.  "Well, this is it," he said in a low voice.  
"How will we know if it worked?"

"If this runs true to form, I should know a split second before it happens.  
Then Picard will be back, and I'll be gone."

"Off to your next mission," Deanna said, a little wistfully.

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

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

"Thank you."

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

"Affirmative, Commander."

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

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

"Aye, Captain."

"Engage."

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

"What?"  Sam was befuddled by this.

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

"Go away," Sam said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ****

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

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

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

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

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

"Channel open, sir."

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

"Thank you, Sam," she whispered.

Commander Riker caught her eye and smiled.  
--------
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)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
        Humans kill what they don't understand.  --unknown Deryni monk