From: nakazawa@phakt.usc.edu (Rei Nakazawa)
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative,alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative
Subject: NEW STORY: "Leap Year" (2/6)
Date: 9 Nov 1995 23:27:08 -0800
Organization: University of Southern California, Los Angeles, CA
Message-Id: <47uusc$q0i@phakt.usc.edu>

	When Thames stepped out of the Projection Room, he found 
himself at once face to face with someone who'd been standing right 
almost right in front of the door.  His blood immediately froze.  The ice 
blue eyes staring into his weren't particularly cold or angry, and that 
almost scared him more than if they had been.  And he didn't scare 
easily.  At least if the Project Head showed some emotion, you knew 
where you stood.  But that wasn't often.  It was more like this: just a 
plain mask of a face, giving no indication of the feelings underneath.  
That's when you had to watch out and walk on eggshells.  "Sir," he said 
deferentially.  "What a pleasant surprise.  What brings you here?"
	"Just checking on your progress."  He paused for a moment, long 
enough to make Thames sweat, before smiling.  "Lothos gives a 97.3% 
chance of your mission succeeding.  Very good, Reginald, very good."
	Normally, Thames would have snappishly demanded that he not 
be called by his first name.  With the Project Head, though, he just 
grinned, utterly relieved.  "Thank you, sir."
	"It's nice to see that you haven't lost your touch.  Of course, 
much of the credit must go to Monica.  She is excellent at her work, isn't 
she?"
	"That she is, sir," Thames had to admit as he returned the hand 
link to the Control Unit.  "She's a pretty good actress.  She also loves 
her work."  Thames smiled at this.  "She's perfect."
	"I wouldn't say that.  She isn't quite perfect.  There is only one 
person who is."
	Immediately, Thames knew he'd made a dreadful mistake.  He 
coughed nervously.  "Of course," he soothed immediately.  "But she is 
the best we have available currently..."  He stopped, trying desperately 
to figure out a way out of the hole he was rapidly digging himself.
	The Project Head smiled in amusement.  "Don't sweat any 
further, Reginald.  I know exactly what you meant.  Just try not to hang 
yourself next time, won't you?  As I said, I'd hate to lose you so soon 
after we've straightened out our differences."
	"Yes, sir.  Thank you."
	Lothos cleared its electronic throat.  "Now that that touching 
scene is finally over, I think I need some upgrades on my secondary 
memory circuits.  And I want some more data, especially on the years 
1963 to 1975."
	"Are you crazy?" Thames demanded.  "We'll have to take you 
off-line for several hours to make the kind of adjustments you want!"
	"Then do it when the current mission is finished.  I'm patient.  
Just make sure it's done."
	"Discipline within the Project has increased obedience and 
efficiency to an all time high," the Project Head noted.  "And I have you, 
Reginald, partially to thank."
	_But mostly because you punished everyone right down the line 
after Beckett took away Alia and Zoey._  But, of course, Thames knew 
better than to say that out loud.  He'd had a lot of time to learn and think 
after the treatment he'd been given, but he wasn't sure it was all bad.  It 
gave him a new perspective on things, to be sure.  "But our operating 
budget is strained to the limit!  Lothos wants this, he needs that..."
	"Careful, Thames," Lothos warned.
	"Actually, Reginald, it's in the best interests of the Project to 
give Lothos what he wants."
	"As it always is," Lothos interrupted.  He was the only one who 
could do that to the Project Head.  And he knew it.
	"After all, the consortium of financiers who are bankrolling 
Project Hades are the people we are trying to benefit, are they not?  
And have we not improved their lot in life, as well as that of their 
friends, with this Project?  We simply give them a little proof of change 
in the form of rather intimate information, and they are more than happy 
to pay us to keep up the status quo that we gave them.  A more 
powerful Lothos would just give us all the more capacity to benefit 
ourselves."
	Thames sighed, deciding to switch to a different tack.  "But I'm 
just worried that sooner or later, Lothos will overpower himself.  I don't 
know how much more we can do with him that he'll be able to handle."
	"Blasphemy!" Lothos bubbled, only half jokingly.  "I can take 
anything you give to me."
	"So you see," the Project Head said serenely, "it's in all our best 
interests, especially mine, to benefit Lothos.  And you do want to serve 
my best interests, don't you, Reginald?"
	A pause.  "Of course, sir."
	The Project Head patted Thames' shoulder.  "Good man.  I knew 
you did.  See to it."  Without another word, he turned and walked slowly 
out of the room.
	"Wise man," Lothos noted.  "You could learn from him... 
Reginald."
	"Yeah, I'll bet," Thames muttered under his breath.  "So how's 
our guest doing?"
	"Oh, I'm taking care of her."

	Another blast of electricity jumped from the electrode.  Michelle 
Wharton shrieked in pain, her throat already raw.  "Doesn't feel good, 
does it?" Lothos asked, his voice devoid of pity.  "The charge isn't 
enough to kill you, not even after a hundred doses.  But it is quite 
painful.  I pride myself on being quite the expert on human pain.  It's a 
fascinating topic; you really should look into it sometime."  The door set 
into one of the walls ground open.  Her eyes widening, Michelle got 
slowly up and ran as fast as she could, which wasn't that fast, towards 
it.  Half a step away, the door shut.  Weakly, she leaned against the 
closed door in despair, pounding on it before sinking back to the floor.
	"What do you want from me?" Michelle sobbed.
	"Just the information I ask for: how do I make your boyfriend 
Jeffrey Marshall go berserk?"
	"Why?  Why would you want to hurt Jeff?"  Another bolt of 
electricity shot out, and more waves of pain wracked Michelle's hurt and 
exhausted body.
	"I'm supposed to be asking the questions, young lady, not you."  
Lothos' voice developed a hard, cold edge, like steel.  "You know, I 
could do this the hard way.  I could give you pain such as you've never 
dreamed of in your worst nightmares.  I could make it last forever.  And 
you wouldn't die.  That would be too easy.  No, I'd keep you alive to feel 
the pain until you go mad."  Another high pitched snapping sound, and 
Michelle's wail filled the Holding Chamber.  "Now tell me!"
	"All right, all right," Michelle sobbed between gasps of pain.  
"He... he was really close to his mother.  And he has this car that he 
built himself; it's his baby.  He gets really mad if someone tells him that 
he's a wimp or something.  That's it, that's the only things that make 
him really upset, I swear!"  The words vomited out of her all at once, as 
if in a wave.  The electrode hummed as it built up power again.  "NO!!!"  
She cowered, curling up into a ball and shivered, bracing herself for the 
worst.
	Then the electrode retreated back into the ceiling.  "See, that 
wasn't so hard, was it?"  Lothos asked condescendingly.  "Hah.  No 
challenge.  Humans are so easy to crack.  But if I find out that you've 
been keeping something from me... zap, zap!"  Michelle nearly jumped, 
still fetal with pain and terror.  "Now I should..."  A pause.  "What's 
this?"

	"What's what?" Thames asked.
	"I'm receiving some strange readings in temporal patterns in the 
era Monica is in now."
	"That's because it's a leap year; we already know that!"
	"No, no, it's something else.  I'll have to take a closer look, but 
this seems really familiar..."  The computer fell silent.  Thames knew he 
wasn't going to get anything more out of him, so he departed.  There 
was a long overdue appointment he had to keep.

	The lunchroom of the high school was like many Sam had seen, 
both as himself and as others: large, crowded, filled with the excited 
chatter of several hundred students getting together and sharing the 
day's news.  Today's hot topic, of course, was the upcoming basketball 
game.  It was the biggest of the season, against their most hated rival.  
So far in both schools' histories, the number of games won between 
them was the same; this game would break the record's tie.  Besides 
that, it was more than likely that the winner of the game would go on to 
the state championship.  So that night's game was the most important 
so far in the school's long existence.  But only two people in the school 
knew the tragic way the game would go down in school history.
	Sam grimaced as the lunch lady plopped a scoop of what looked 
like runny mashed potatoes on his tray.  _Ziggy was right,_ Sam
 thought ironically as he sat at a free spot with some of Tyler's friends.
	"Hey, Ty, you coming to the game?" one of the guys asked.
	"Definitely," Sam said heavily.
	"Great.  Wanna catch a ride with Zeke down to the gym?"
	"Uh, no, I think I'll catch a ride with my sister."
	"Yeah, your sister."  The young man grinned widely.  "What's it 
like, having a fox like that related to you?"
	Sam paused.  "Well, I don't really think of it that way..."
	"Yeah, we know."  The same silly grin spread through the table.  
Sam's cheeks turned a little red before he could check his reaction.
	"So," one of the other guys spoke up, "anyone see Michelle rip 
into Jeff Marshall before school?"
	"Yeah!  Man, what a..."  He trailed off as he saw Sam staring at 
him.  But everyone knew what he was going to say.
	"I wonder what was eating her?  She's not usually like that."  All 
eyes turned to Sam.
	"I have no idea," Sam said truthfully.  "I mean, I'm her little 
brother.  She doesn't tell me that much."  Growing up in Indiana, he and 
his brother Tom had been best friends as well as relations.  Still, there 
were some things, personal things, that neither dreamed of telling the 
other, the things that shaped and affected them the most.  It didn't mean 
that they loved or trusted each other any the less... it was just that 
there were some things that they had to work out for themselves.  
Unfortunately, it looked like whatever was causing Michelle to react the 
way she was was probably one of those things.  Besides, if her present 
behavior was any indication, they probably didn't have that close of a 
relationship to begin with.
	"True.  Think Jeff can handle himself?"
	"You kidding?  This is Jeff Marshall you're talking about.  He's 
invincible."
	Sam shook his head silently.  Perhaps it was that very 
reputation for invulnerability that caused the whole thing.  Maybe with 
his image at stake as the big, bad sports star, he kept his feelings 
bottled up inside until Michelle's rejections pushed him too far.
	"I heard that Jeff may not be playing in the game tonight."
	Stunned cries spread through the assembled teens.  "Jeff?  Not 
in the game?"
	"We're doomed!"
	"Why wouldn't he play?"
	"You heard the way Michelle treated him!  He's been kinda 
hinting around."
	"Ty, you've got to talk to Michelle!"
	Sam blinked.  "Me?  Why?"
	"If Jeff isn't in the game tonight, we'll never win!"
	"You've got to tell her to apologize to Jeff so he'll play!"
	Sam laughed.  If there was one thing he'd learned from having 
both an older and younger sibling, it was that you could never _tell_ 
either to do anything.  "I don't know if she'd listen to me."
	"You have to try!"
	"Hey, there she is!"  One of the boys pointed, and Sam followed 
his finger to table near the back.  Sure enough, there was Michelle, 
sitting with a bunch of her girlfriends, eating and talking.  Actually, she 
wasn't listening to them much, it seemed; she appeared to be more 
interested in something over her shoulder.  She glanced back there 
occasionally, even though nothing was there except a wall.  Okay, so 
she was getting tired of the conversation; this might be a good time to 
step in.  His eye also caught Jeff at a nearby table, silently eating with 
friends and obviously trying not to look in Michelle's direction.
	"C'mon, Ty!"
	"Yeah, go to it!"  As a group, Tyler's friends stood Sam up and 
nudged him towards the table.  Sam sighed; he might as well try, but he 
hoped he just didn't make things worse.

	Monica laughed as one of Michelle's friends discussed an ill-
fated date the week before.  It was times like this that she truly missed 
her younger years; looking back on it all, she had to admit that they 
were some of the best times she'd ever had.  And, of course, that was 
one of the fringe benefits of Leaping, besides wreaking havoc.  Once in a 
while, she'd get an assignment that allowed her to kick back, relax a 
little.
	One of the other girls looked up.  "Hey, Michelle, isn't that your 
little brother coming this way?"
	Monica looked up and groaned.  It was indeed the little 
troublemaker.  "Yeah.  It is."
	"He's kinda cute," one of the others said, twirling her hair around 
her finger.
	"Cute?" Monica asked in disbelief.  "That little toad?"
	"You're just biased because he's your brother," a young, 
intelligent looking woman spoke up.  "I happen to think he's cute too."
	Monica shrugged.  "No accounting for taste."  She said that just 
as Tyler came up to the table.  She idly wondered if he'd heard that 
remark, not that she cared if he did.
	If he did, Tyler didn't give any indication of it.  His face was set 
in a serious cast.  "Michelle, we have to talk."
	"Not now.  I'm talking to my friends."
	"No, it has to be now."  He leaned forward, frowning.
	"Tyler, what is it with you?  What's the problem?"
	Tyler blinked, and seemed to calm down, as if realizing that what 
he was currently doing wasn't going to get her to talk to him.  "No 
problem.  Just wanted to see how my big sister is doing."
	"I'm doing fine.  Now go away."
	"Now, Michelle, if he wants to talk, let him," one of the other 
teens chided.
	"In fact," said another, "if he wants to sit, he can sit here."  She 
scooted down the bench so a small space on the table was cleared.  
Monica glared at her.
	"Thanks."  Tyler slid into the seat, right across from Monica.  
The other girls turned from them and started talking among themselves, 
as if indicating that they could have some modicum of privacy.  "So..."  
Tyler paused again, as if uncertain of how to lead off.  "Uh, how are you 
doing?"
	"Fine, thanks."  Privately, Monica wondered why she was even 
bothering to talk to the kid.  She had a mission to fulfill.  Maybe that 
was the reason; it had been a long time since she'd been able to sit 
down and talk to anyone, quietly, for a while.  It was one of those basic 
human needs, she thought, and she had to confess to herself that it kind 
of felt good.
	"We haven't been talking much lately.  I haven't had a chance to 
catch up on my favorite sister before she has to graduate."
	Monica nodded, while privately wondering if it was true, at least 
with the real Michelle.  "Yeah, Mich... I'm graduating, aren't I?"  The 
memory, vague and unsteady as it was, of her own high school 
graduation popped unbidden to her mind.  The image that stood out was 
of herself and her parents posing for a photo.  Her parents... She shook 
the memory out of her head.  "I suppose I have been a little busy."
	"Sure.  So how are things going?"
	Monica shrugged.  "Okay, I guess," she responded, pretty much 
telling the truth.  "There's a lot I still have to do, but I think I can 
pull it off.  What about you?"
	Tyler grimaced.  "I've still got a long way to go.  I don't think I 
can do it; it seems a little hopeless sometimes."
	Monica smiled; for some reason she couldn't explain, she 
actually felt sorry for the kid.  "Hey, don't worry about it.  You're young; 
you've got your whole life ahead of you.  You can do anything you want 
if you just set your mind to it.  I don't care if it looks hard; you can 
do it if you really want to."  It felt strange, counseling the kid, but 
something about him aroused a side of her she didn't know she had.
	Tyler gave her a wan smile.  "Thanks, sis.  I could use all the 
encouragement I can get right now."
	"No problem.  Anything I can do, ask."
	Tyler's grin grew wider.  "Anything?"
	Monica hesitated, seeing the trap she was stepping into.  Yet 
she couldn't resist stepping.  "Anything."
	"How about getting back together with Jeff?"
	_Aha!_  "So that's what this is all about, isn't it?"  Monica
 flushed; she didn't need to act that.  "How much did Jeff pay you to try
 to get me back?"
	Tyler recoiled, realizing too late the mistake he'd made.  "He 
didn't pay me!"
	"Oh, so what, then?  Why are you doing this?"  Her voice raised, 
and their fellow diners began paying attention to this conversation, 
including and especially Jeff.
	"Look, I just think that you hurt him and at the very least, he 
deserves an apology!"
	"The hell he does!  I think I deserve an apology from him, Mister 
Jeffrey Marshall!"  Now half the eyes turned towards Jeff, who turned 
red in embarrassment.
	By now, Tyler was flustered.  He glanced behind his back and 
turned to face Monica, obviously unsure about what to say.  Then he 
half turned behind him again and shouted, "I am not baiting her!"
	"Oh, then what are you doing?" Monica demanded, instantly 
picking up on the statement.  "Look, maybe I've just gotten tired of 
riding around in that joke he calls his car and watching him flex his so-
called muscles every afternoon on a field, court, or diamond for hours 
and hours!"  She looked out of the corner of her eye and saw Jeff turning 
even redder.
	"Michelle, you don't mean that...!"  Tyler was almost pleading 
now.
	"I told you, you're not my keeper, and you aren't me, either.  
Don't pretend to know what I do or don't think.  Look, I'm sorry about 
his mother, but it's over!  I just can't handle his possessiveness 
anymore; I want a little independence, and he won't give it to me.  I 
thought we had something, he ruined it, it's over, and I want to get on 
with my life."  She stood and stared directly at Jeff.  "You hear me?  I 
want to get on with my life!"
	The cafeteria was dead silent.  Jeff stood there, stunned, then 
ran out as quickly as possible.  No one recovered quickly enough to 
follow.  Tyler turned towards Monica, looking very angry.  "What the 
hell was that for?"
	"He had to be told," she responded coolly.
	"Why that way?  In front of the whole school?  You humiliated 
him!"
	"He brought it on himself!"
	Tyler turned behind him again.  "I know that!"
	Monica blinked.  "You do?"
	"No!  I mean, I wasn't talking to you!  Look, Jeff's been through 
some tough times lately.  You could've let him down a little more easily, 
instead of just..."
	"It wouldn't have been fair to him or me if I led him on."
	"It wasn't fair to blame him for the break-up or yell out all that in 
front of everyone!"  Still the cafeteria was silent.  Just the focus of their 
attention was diverted.
	"I don't have to listen to this."  Monica grabbed her books and 
began to walk out.
	"Michelle, wait...!"  Tyler reached out to grab her arm, but she 
deftly avoided his grip.  Ignoring him and the stares she was getting 
from the others, she swept out of the cafeteria.

	"Whew," Al sputtered.  "That was something."  He shook his 
head sadly.  "You never would've known just by looking at her.  Like I 
said, it's a crying shame."
	"Dammit, Al, I..."  Sam stopped, remembering the still frozen 
cafeteria.  He was now their only point of attention, and it looked like he 
was talking to himself.  Not even bothering trying to make up an excuse 
or explanation, he hurried out of the cafeteria.  By that time, Michelle 
had vanished down any one of a number of corridors.
	"Maybe you could catch her at home before the game," Al 
offered, trying to shed some hope on the whole hopeless situation.  He 
didn't quite succeed.
	"Okay, give it to me," Sam sighed.
	"Give what?"
	"The odds.  What's going to happen now."
	Al punched a button.  His face clouded with grief.  "There's now 
a 99.2% chance that Jeff will go nuts.  And a 98.7% chance that he'll kill 
at least five people."
	Sam cried out, a loud, frustrated grunt, punching a locker in.  
"This isn't working, Al," he said hoarsely.  "This just isn't working.  
Dammit, I've never felt so helpless in my life!  What can I do?  What the 
hell can I do?"
	Al shook his head sadly.  "I don't know, kid.  I don't know."

Continued in part 3...