Message-Id: <199308251442.AA03379@dirt.cisco.com> Date: Wed, 25 Aug 93 09:41:09 CDT From: Gina Goff Subject: "Afterimage", part 10 "Afterimage" by Gina Goff Part Ten "You want to *what*? Have you gone crazy?" "Calm down, 'Bena..." "Your responsibility as Observer..." "Is to maintain communication with Dr. Beckett and provide assistance as necessary. And that's all I intend to do. I want to talk to the younger Sam and convince him not to work so hard. That's helping him, isn't it?" "It's also your duty not to break the Project rules. You do remember the rules? Like the one about not revealing future events?" "Verbena, I won't tell him I'm from the future. I'm just going to go in there and read him the riot act." "And what if you walk through a wall? What if he tries to touch you?" Al began to wish he hadn't told Dr. Beeks his plans. She had a nasty habit of pointing out things he didn't want to think about. Luckily, this was one problem he *had* thought about. "I'm not going to walk through anything. And if touches me... well, maybe he'll think I'm a ghost..." "Like hell he will! He'll know the Project worked." "So he'll know it worked." _Come on, Beeks, take the bait._ "And he'll know you're there for a reason." _Yes!_ "Which will give him one hell of a good scare, and that's what I'm trying to do in the first place. Ziggy says my odds of succeeding are 64% even if Sam does find out I'm from the future." _Gotcha._ Dr. Beeks thought for a moment. "And what are the odds if he doesn't find out?" _Damn_. "87%." Dr. Beeks opened her mouth to protest, but Al cut her off. "I'll be careful, 'Bena. Promise." As Al walked down the corridor to Sam's office, he thought _I don't like visiting my own past. Everything seems so... different, and so vivid. It's just too damned spooky._ He paused at Sam's door, unseen, and studied the younger Dr. Beckett for a moment. _God, he looks like hell. Did he sleep last night?_ "Dr. Beckett, I presume." Sam started guiltily. _What now? I came here to bawl him out and I don't know where to start. Maybe the silent stare. I don't think he likes that._ Al concentrated a steady, flat gaze on Sam that seemed both cynical and expectant. _Ah, yes. I do detect a squirm._ "Al. Um, I thought you'd gone home for the day. Why are you wearing your uniform?" _Because your brain hasn't been Swiss-cheesed yet and you probably have all of my clothes memorized. And God help us if I've forgotten to take off any decorations I haven't gotten yet._ "Because this is an official scolding. Well, as official as I can get without bringing Washington into it." _What was it the other Sam said about a little smile?_ Al planted himself squarely in front of Sam's desk and tried to look as if he were relishing the task that lay ahead. "Look, I know I promised to go home early, but these design alterations..." "Are unimportant. You're doing too much, Sam. You look like you haven't slept in a week." "Give it a rest, Al. I don't need to be lectured." "No, you need to be spanked, but I like to pretend you're a big boy." "Then give me some credit for knowing my limits." "You don't know your limits, Sam; that's the problem. You act like you haven't *got* any limits." "That's not true." "You've got so much energy, so much curiosity and intelligence, but you don't know when to quit. You're just like Maxine..." "I am not a child," Sam said angrily. "And I'm sure as hell not *your* child, so just back off." "I'm not trying to belittle you, Sam. The point I'm trying to make is that little kids like Maxine use all of their energy, every last bit. They'll go until they fall over if you don't make them stop. And you're the same way. But if *you* fall over, I'm going to have something on my hands that's a little more serious than a temper tantrum or a crying jag at the end of the day." "I'm not going to have a nervous breakdown." "I didn't say you were. But you're going to collapse from physical exhaustion if you don't slow down. You're so tired, I'm not sure you know what you're doing anymore." Al pointed at the sheaf of notes Sam had been reading, the same notes the older Sam had written a few days before. "Do you understand that stuff? Do you even remember writing it in the first place?" Sam swallowed convulsively and said, "Of course I do." "No, Sam, you don't." Al's voice was gentle, but insistent. _Forgive me for this deception._ They stared at each other, silently arguing the point. After a long moment, Sam's eyes dropped. "No, I don't. This... these calculations are in my own handwriting and it's like I've never seen them before. I have a photographic memory, Al. I'm not supposed to forget things I've read." Sam turned away from Al, clearly shaken. "Hey... Sam... you're just tired, kid." Sam turned back to glare at Al for using the word "kid". Al saw the tears standing in his eyes, and took an instinctive step toward him before stopping himself. "Go home. Rest. Spend some time with Donna." "But the Project..." "Will still be here when you get back." "Will it? We told the committee we'd have..." "I know what we've promised. It'll happen Sam, you've got to trust me. It'll all happen. But only if you take care of yourself. Now I want you to leave all of that stuff here and not think about it for a couple of days." Sam looked at the notes indecisively. Al frowned at him and sharpened his tone. "Sam. Leave the papers. Go home. Now. That's an order. And none of this sneaking back in the middle of the night crap, either." "Yes, Master." "Good boy." Sam collected the papers and locked them in his desk while Al looked on with satisfaction. "Do you want the key?" Al shook his head and left Sam's office. "Oh, so you do trust me," Sam called after him. He locked his office and looked down the empty corridor. "Al?"