Date: Thu, 17 Oct 1996 17:33:59 -0600 (MDT) From: "Katherine R. Freymuth" Subject: The Impossible Dream - Chapter 8 Message-ID: MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII Chapter 8 Al was storming out of the Imaging Chamber with the most fearful look in his eyes. Something that shouldn't have happened happened and he wanted to know why. "Gushie, what the hell is going on?" he demanded. "What the hell happened to my link with Sam?" "Admiral?" Dr. Conelf questioned in confusion. Al looked at him carefully. "I've just lost contact with Sam. So, what the hell happened? Did he leap? Did we lose power? What?" Gushie frowned. He checked the computer terminal, a large table-like object, before him. "No loss of power," he said mostly to himself. Al started to pace. If he was pale before, he was becoming almost as white as the dress uniform he was wearing which contrasted with the arm-band on his right arm. "He hasn't leaped," Gushie muttered. "Then, what the hell _did_ happen?" Al exclaimed impatiently, stopping his pace. Gushie looked at Al cautiously. He really didn't want to make Al anymore upset than he already was. But, on the other hand, Al wanted a frank, direct answer, just as he usually did. "Ziggy isn't sure," Gushie told him softly. Al sighed in frustration. "She isn't sure. Sam's in a coma, we've lost contact with him, and she isn't sure what happened?" He started pacing again. He took a calming breath. "Then, what does she have?" "I am researching the possibilities," a female voice put in from seemingly everywhere. "It appears, however, that the link between you and Dr. Beckett has not been broken." "Then, why can't I contact him?" Al questioned, still pacing nervously. "I do not know," Ziggy replied, concern in her voice. "According to my research so far, contact between you and Dr. Beckett should not have ceased." As Ziggy spoke, the door to the Waiting Room opened and Dr. Verbina Beeks entered the Control Room. The black psychiatrist was dressed conservatively in a navy dress and white lab coat. Al turned to her immediately. Verbina looked at him carefully. Concern crossed her face. *He's so pale!* she thought. *Something awful must have happened.* But before she could say a word, Al spoke. "How's the guest?" Verbina took a breath. "When Sam slipped into the coma, so did he. I've already set him up with an I.V. and life support, although I hope we won't have to use them." She paused. Al's dress whites certainly didn't help darken his pale complexion. "I thought you'd be with Sam." Al closed his eyes and started pacing again. "I was. We lost contact. Ziggy's trying to find out why." Verbina frowned. "Have we lost power to the Imaging Chamber?" "Negative, Dr. Beeks," Ziggy answered. "Nor has Dr. Beckett leaped. It's most likely that something is preventing contact between Dr. Beckett and Admiral Calavicci." Al winced. He didn't like the sound of that at all. "So, what's preventing contact?" His voice was calm yet still concerned. "I'm not sure," Ziggy told him. There was a sadness in her voice. "Since the two most likely theories have already been eliminated, I have been searching for other possibilities." "And those are?" Al stopped pacing. Verbina walked closer to him, making it look as if her destination was Ziggy's terminal. She wanted a closer look at him to see how he was handling the situation. "There are many possibilities, Admiral. There may be some electrical interference in Dr. Beckett's time. There may be radioactive interference in Dr. Beckett's time. There may be mental imbalance in either you or Dr. Beckett...." Al turned to the computer with a glare. "Meaning one of us is crazy," he translated. "Or otherwise mentally unstable," Ziggy amended. "There is one other possibility," she told after a pause. "And that is?" Ziggy didn't answer right away. "Dr. Beckett... could be dead." Al shook his head strongly, pacing yet again. "No. I refuse to believe that. Sam's not dead." "It isn't a possibility that I prefer either," Ziggy told him. Verbina had grown contemplative as Ziggy and Al spoke. Something Ziggy had said reminded her of something she had read. "Ziggy?" she spoke up. Al turned to her. She had been so quiet that he had forgotten she was in the room. "Yes, Dr. Beeks?" Ziggy replied. "You said that there might be a mental imbalance in Dr. Beckett," she said to confirm. "That is correct, Dr. Beeks," the hybrid-computer told her. Al's brow furrowed. She was onto something. He could see it in her eyes. "What is it?" "There was this article I read," she said, slowly walking to the other side of Ziggy where Gushie stood. "About this boy who had been in a coma last year. It was a study on comatose patients." She paused. "There was something about semi-unconsciousness and REM sleep." She raised her head to look at the blue incandescent sphere that hung above Ziggy's console. "Ziggy, run a check on last years psychology magazines. Look for an article relating comas with REM sleep," she ordered. There was a brief silence. Al watched Verbina while Gushie tinkered with an electronic pad, trying to find a way to re-establish contact with Sam. Finally, Ziggy broke the silence. "I have found the article that you have requested, Dr. Beeks. In 1998, research of comatose patients showed that some patients can and do slip between semi-conscious and semi-unconscious states. Dr. Richard Danton noted that, during semi-unconsciousness, some comatose patients were found to be in intense REM sleep. The most notable of those researched was a twelve-year olf Phoenix boy named Brad Prince who, upon waking from his coma, told a detailed account of a dream he had regarding his family." There was a pause. "I had not considered that before." "Considered what?" Al asked, having heard Ziggy's report. "The possibility that Dr. Beckett's coma is producing side effect which prevent you from contacting him." Al lowered his eyelids thoughtfully. "Meaning?" Verbina answered. "Meaning the reason we can't contact Sam is he has slipped into a semi-unconscious state producing REM sleep." She paused. "He's dreaming." Al sighed. At least it was some relief from worry. "I hope they aren't nightmares." ********************************* Sam felt like getting drunk. Everything didn't make sense. He was in a mining town in Pennsylvania, in a bar with his best friend's name on it. The bartender looked familiar to him and had Al's name. There was an old man with halitosis named Gushie and another man with rheumatory arthritis with the familiar name of Stawpah, though Sam knew he didn't _know_ anyone with that name. Added to that, a guy named Tawnchy came into the bar for a quick drink, putting the bill on an illegal liquor tab. But that wasn't the strange part. The strange part was that Tawnchy looked exactly like Frank LaMott, one of the many people Sam had met in all his leaping. What's more, Tawchy had a brother with Down Syndrome, just like Frank. Everything was just all too weird. Sam was on his fifth beer and not even getting a buzz (four was normally his limit). The bar was crowded now. Everone working in the mines had just got off and, strangely enough, none of the thirty odd families had families to go home to. Or so it seemed. Almost two hours had passed since they came into the bar and none had left. The faces of the miners were all familiar to him and all had names with which Sam wasn't familiar. All but one, that is. It was a familiar face with a familiar name that didn't match the face. Sam has thought that Al the bartender was the only one until he saw the face of Moe Stein, better known as Captain Galaxy from one of Sam's leaps. The name, though, was Simmo. But everyone called him Ziggy, a nickname that Al the bartender gave him. *Just like Al Calavicci giving Ziggy her nickname*, Sam thought. "GOOD MORNING, ALPHA," SAM SAID, PLACING HIS HAND OVER THE SMALL SPHERE ON THE COMPUTER CONSOLE. THE CONSOLE WAS SIMPLE: A LARGE TABLE-LIKE OBJECT WITH NO DISTINGUISHING FEATURES EXCEPT FOR A DISPLAY OF COLORFUL LIGHTS THAT BOUNCED AROUND ON THE INSIDE AND THE BLUE SPHERE WHICH LAY DIRECTLY ON TOP. "GOOD MORNING, DR. BECKETT. ADMIRAL CALAVICCI," A MALE VOICE ANSWERED. AL LOOKED AT THE LIGHTS INSIDE THE COMPUTER CONSOLE AS THEY ZIGGED AND ZAGGED THROUGHOUT THE FRAME. "GOOD MORNING.... ZIGGY," AL SAID WITH A SMILE. There were other as well - people with familiar faces and nicknames like Herky and Tibby, names Sam used for classmates in high school. And every single one of them was nicknamed by Al the bartender. Faces like those of Jake Dorleac and Leon Stiles came to Sam, each so familiar but with names he hadn't even heard before. Even the bartender was familiar. Sam was certain he had seen him before in another leap. Al the bartender and Stawpah (Sam still couldn't remember where he heard that name) were speaking at the bar, Stawpah with a Coke in his hand. They were talking about Sam. "He not who he pretend to be, Al," Stawpah said, watching Sam. "Who is he pretending to be, Stawpah?" Al asked. "I don't know but when I find out then I know why he here." "Maybe he's here for the same reason you are: to have a beer." Stawpah's eyebrows rose. "I don't drink beer, Al. You know that." Al laughed slightly. "I forgot." Stawpah frowned. "You no forget anything. I wonder what would happen if you did." Al held up a dime that Stawpah had paid for his Coke. "If I did, things might go a little ca-ca." The phrase hit Sam like a wall..... "WELL, WHAT CAN YOU TELL ME?" "BASICALLY WHAT YOU ALREADY KNOW - THAT YOU'RE PART OF A TIME TRAVEL EXPERIMENT THAT WENT A LITTLE CA-CA." Sam hurried to the bar, to where Al was ringing up Stawpah's dime. "I know an Al who says 'a little ca-ca'," Sam announced firmly. Al shrugged. "It's a commone expression." Sam shook his head. "Not where I come from." Al tilted his head. "You're not where you come from. Are you, Sam?" Sam just looked at him. He sighed. "Look. 'A little ca-ca' is a common expression around these parts, especially since almost everyone comes from the old country." "The old country?" Sam questioned. "Russia. Scandinavia. That area," Al answered quickly. "Russia?" Sam repeated. SAM WAS BEING PANTSED BY FOUR HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS. BEFORE HE KNEW IT, HE WAS NAKED AND WAS THROWN INTO A GARBAGE DUMPSTER. "SEE?" AL SAID, WEARING A SILVER JACKET AND RED FRAMELESS SUNGLASSES. HE SHOWED SAM THE HANDLINK. "I GAVE YOU AN 9.5 ON THAT DIVE. I WOULD HAVE GIVEN YOU A 10 BUT I HAVE A LITTLE RUSSIAN BLODD FROM MY MOTHER'S SIDE. Sam thought about the fact. "The Al I know is a little Russian," Sam told the bartender. "Well, that explains that, then. Doesn't it?" Al asked. "I guess so," Sam replied. But it didn't answer his burning question: what's going on and why am I here? ----------------------------------------- Just to let you know, I haven't any medical data to either prove or disprove the idea that Sam is dreaming because of his coma. Chapter 9 will come soon. Kat