Date: Thu, 4 Mar 93 15:22:29 CST From: Ingrid de Beus To: ql-archive@cisco.com Subject: Enemies:Part Three _Enemies_ by Ingrid de Beus (c)1993 Ingrid de Beus Part Three: Dinner is a quiet trial for Sam. Mrs. Funddiker's dining room is an explosion of kitsch, such that even with ample room beneath the mahogany dining table for his legs, Sam still feels the stirring of claustrophobia. Every inch of wall space is covered with framed things. There is a fireplace in one wall, with a large mantlepiece drooping over it. The never-ending stream of chatter from his "mother" only exacerbates his crowded feeling. Fortunately, her propensity for gab alleviates any conversational demands he might have labored under. Sam is the only guest for dinner, Mrs. Funddiker having apparently divorced her husband long ago. Sam finds himself concentrating more and more on the annoying decor of the room as his "mother"'s speech gets more and more on his nerves. Every item in the room seems to express a distinct longing for a different environment, from the white lace-trimmed tablecloth (placed in diagonal contrast to the grain of the table) to the heavy mirrors, paintings, china pieces, mantle settings, forget-me-not cupboards, and elaborate bronze book-ends. It's the book-ends that bothers Sam the most, standing absurdly at one end of the mantlepiece, with no books between them. Sam thrusts away a sudden impulse to sweep the entire mantlepiece into a pile, and to crash the book-ends on top, smashing everything. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" he says to Mrs. Funddiker, looking up and smiling as pleasantly as he could manage. "I said, " repeats the formidable lady, " dinner's over, so do as you like, Gerry. " Sam glances down at his plate, briefly, and quickly folds his napkin over the remains of his food and pushes back his chair. He wanders out into the living room, anxious to become familiar with his surroundings. Most of the furniture is low-lying leather couches of a vague tan color, with matching carpet. The walls of the living room are also covered with paintings, though not as thickly, as though some concession to style had been made for guests. There are a few chairs set around coffee tables, as well. Sam is unable to sit still, and paces his way to the front door, which he pauses at, but resolves to explore the rest of the house before leaving its environs. The living room is on the left the house; Sam proceeds through the foyer, turns left, and walks past two doors on his right which are interspersed with about thirty feet of (again) highly decorated corridor. He stops his pacing at the second door, which is solid wood and opens onto a small room with a desk and three sets of filing cabinets. Sam walks into it, letting the door close behind him, and notes the complete lack of noise from the kitchen the second the door closes. There's a second door on the right wall of the office, which Sam opens. The next room, which has a glass double-door leading out into the corridor, looks like a sitting room, with couches that would never hold a shape no matter how long you sat in them, and ornate coffee tables that hadn't been threatened with a stain for many a moon, no doubt. Sam grimaces in distaste. Rooms like this always made him feel like a stranger, even before he started leaping about in time. He exits the sitting room via the glass doors, and finds himself near the front door again. Sam turns towards the back of the house, hears the sounds of dishes being done in the kitchen, weighs his sense of guilt for not helping against spending more time in the company of Gerald's mother, and decides to go upstairs to find his bedroom. Gerald's bedroom proves to be a lot more normal looking then Sam envisioned. He sits on the bed, looking at Gerald's college banner, for a little while, turning over in his mind all the impressions of the day. When it becomes clear that Al is not going to make another appearance that evening, Sam climbs into bed and forces himself to sleep. After a fitful night, Sam wakes up and manages to get showered and dressed without directly encountering Mrs. Fundikker. He's trying to find formal shoes in Gerald's closet when the Imaging Chamber opens behind him. "University of Connecticut, " remarks Al, looking at Gerald's wall of memorabilia, "huh. It figures." Sam starts violently while kneeling in the closet, and emerges, shaking a shoe at the Observer. "Al, how many times--" he stops, his annoyance eclipsed by his sight of Al's outfit de jour. The Observer is clad in maroon pin-stripe trousers, accented by ultra-fine gold piping down the sides, a silk shirt of a delicate light pink, with a scalloped shirt-front and wing-tipped cuffs, graced by a thin gold lame' tie. All this was covered with a dark rose jacket cut long in the back, with gold buttons. Sam shuts his eyes. Al turns back to him, mouth open to comment on Gerald's secondary education, sees the shoe, and changes his mind. "Good morning, Sam," he says cheerfully. Sam opens his eyes, pauses, and lowers the shoe. "Good morning, Al," he says, beginning to smile. He turns and quickly retrieves the other shoe from the closet, and sits on the bed to put them on. Al glances around the room again, and pulls out the handlink. "The party probably won't start for a couple of hours, Sam, so we have some time to talk. " "Has Ziggy come up with any ideas?" "Well, yes and no. Dr. Beeks and I have been arguing with that computer of yours for hours, but I think we've finally come up with something which will get you to leap out of here." Al stops for a moment to look at Sam. The time-traveller is sitting on the edge of the bed, every line of him eager for an answer, or even a new question. Al grimaces slightly to himself. This isn't going to be easy. "Al, come on, talk to me," says Sam, smiling at his friend encouragingly. "There are a couple of possibilities, Sam. According to Ziggy's projections, there's a 70% chance that you're here to make sure that Henry Layton transfers to the San Francisco office of your company, within the next six months. If he doesn't, the budget cutbacks in the mid-eighties will scuttle his career, leaving him a bitter old man in our time, out of touch with his daughter, who, ah, apparently loses contact with him, over the years. " Al's voice trails off a little at the end of this sad history. Witnessing the breakup of a family, no matter how slight, is always painful to Al. "Henry Layton? " Sam hesitates. "Wouldn't that be.. Danielle Layton's father?" Al nods. "Uh huh. Henry Layton will be at this party, so you can probably convince him of the merits of 'Frisco this weekend, and off you go, into the wild blue yonder. " Al gestures broadly, a grin playing over his face. Sam looks at him, his distress beginning to show on his face. Al stops, and waits. "He's bringing his daughter, Al." Sam speaks very quietly. "I know, buddy, " responds the Observer, " but don't worry. Ziggy and Dr. Beeks both say that the best possible thing you can do is just avoid her. " Sam interrupts with a snort. "Avoid her! I don't need a billion-dollar computer to tell me that! " "Yeah, well, Ziggy says that there's an 83% chance that if you leave Danielle completely alone this weekend, you'll actually have a beneficial impact on her life." "What, by doing nothing?" "That's right. " Al emphasizes his words carefully. "Dr. Beeks says that Danielle's profile -- what we've been able to piece together, anyway, originally indicates a personality that may have suffered sexual abuse on multiple occasions. Now, with you here instead of Gerald, those multiple occasions won't happen." Al scans Sam face. Dr. Beeks had impressed on him the urgency in communicating these details to Sam. Sam's face screws up in concentration. "Wait, Al, if I'm here just to not abuse her, why didn't I leap in earlier? " Sam's distress is very evident, now. Al sighs and gestures vaguely with the handlink. "I don't know, Sam. Dr. Beeks was going on and on about personality formation and external versus internal influences for half the night. Maybe the big guy upstairs just wanted it that way. I don't know. " Sam looks up at Al, a painful determination in his eyes. "I can't believe that, Al, " he says. Al shrugs, not willing to bring up all the things that he's seen God let happen on this Earth. Sam thinks to himself for a bit, and then turns to Al again. "What happens to Danielle, if I do like Ziggy says?" he asks. Al thumbs a control on the handlink, and taps a few buttons. "She still works for the same company in Chicago, but this time as a vice--" Al frowns at the handlink, and smacks it on its side, illiciting a remorseful squawk from the thing, and the rest of his data. "Vice-president, " he continues, glaring at the brightly flashing link, "hey, that's not bad at all, Sam." Sam nods, exhaling sharply. Al looks on sympathetically, and then jumps slightly when a shrill voice and its owner breeze through the door of the bedroom, clad in a russet tea gown. "Gerry! oh, you're all dressed, good." gushes Mrs. Fundikker. "Guests are starting to arrive, could you go downstairs and meet them? I've got to wait for the caterers." The lady vanishes, trailing perfume and gaudy silk scarves. Sam raises his eyebrows at Al's startled expression. "That's Mom." he says, with a hefty dose of sarcasm. He gets to his feet and starts downstairs. "Can you stick around, Al?" "Oh, yeah, you'll need to know who these people are, after all." says the Observer, glad for the appearance of business-as-usual in Sam's attitude, and in his own. To be continued...