Date: Fri, 18 Oct 1996 18:08:49 -0600 (MDT) From: "Katherine R. Freymuth" Subject: The Impossible Dream - Chapter 11 Message-ID: MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII Chapter 11 "Still here?" Al the bartender asked as he came out of the back room of the bar, having gone back there to restock his liquor supply. "Thought you'd have gone to find a place to stay." Sam looked at him carefully. "How do you know I haven't already?" Al shrugged. "Just a hunch but it makes sense. You've been here all day. You don't seem to be in any hurry to go anywhere. You obviously have a lot on your mind and you seem like the kind of guy who would neglect things like where to sleep if he has a lot on his mind." "You seem to know a lot about me," Sam commented. *What is it about this guy that's so familiar?* "I know everything about you, Sam," Al told him, picking up a dish rag and putting it over his right shoulder. "You, your friends, your family." Sam's eyes widened. "Then you know about Al." "You mean your friend Admiral Albert Calavicci? Yeah, I know a little about him. You've been friends for a long time, haven't you?" Sam looked at him suspiciously. "You said you know everything about me." Al tilted his head slightly. "About you? Yes. About Albert? That's a different story. Not even you know everything about him. You, you're terminally good, a hero, sometimes a prude. A lot like Don Quixote." "I KNOW YOU, SAM! YOU'RE TERMINALLY GOOD!" ~~~~~~~~~~~~ "WHY ME, AL?" "BECAUSE YOU'RE A HERO." Sam shook the eerie feeling out of his head. He took a breath. "Well, if I'm Don Quixote, then Al is my Sancho," Sam started to explain. "There isn't anything he wouldn't do for me." "Or you for him," Al the bartender added. "Or me for him," Sam nodded. He paused. A memory came to him. "GAWD, SAM! I LOVE HER! BETH WAS THE ONLY WOMAN I EVER REALLY LOVED! THE ONLY ONE I EVER WANTED TO GROW OLD WITH! THAT'S WHY NONE OF MY OTHER MARRIAGES EVER WORKED OUT! SAM, LIFE GIVES YOU ONE SHOT AT TRUE LOVE...AND BETH WAS MINE! I LOST HER BUT YOU CAN GET HER BACK FOR ME! Sam closed his eyes. The memory hurt. It hurt a lot. He looked at the bartender. "Actually, that's not true." Al raised his eyebrows - the same way Al Calavicci would. Sam turned away. "He wanted me to do something for him but I didn't." "Why not?" Sam closed his eyes. "Because I always play by the rules." "Could you have done it?" "I could have tried," Sam told him. "I was trying until I found out the woman I was trying to keep from remarrying was Al's first wife." Al nodded. "But you didn't do it. So Beth remarried and Al returned to an empty house." Sam nodded. He stopped and looked at Al with furrowed eyebrows. "You know about Beth?" Al shrugged. "Like I said, I know a little about Al Calavicci." Sam stared at him. "Seems to me you know a little more than just a little about him." "Could be," Al told him. "But that's something you'll have to find out on your own." Sam frowned. "Why won't you just tell me?" "I can only tell you what you already know." Sam sighed. "You sound like Al." "Hey," the bartender said. "I don't make the rules. I just obey them. And you know as well as I do that you can't change the rules simply because you don't like them." "But I made the rules," Sam pointed out. "Then why change them?" Al pointed out as he walked away from Sam to do some chores. Sam looked about the bar. "There were only three people there: Al, himself, and Stawpah. Stawpah sat at a table, drinking a Coke. He had a concerned look on his face. Again, Sam got the feeling that he somehow knew the man without knowing him. The expression on Stawpah's face was familiar - very familiar. "Is there something wrong, Stawpah?" Sam asked carefully. Stawpah looked at him suspiciously. His features softened when he realized Sam had no ulterior motives to the question. "I worry about miners," he told Sam. "Tawnchy and Pete," Sam nodded. "Others think that they get them out without permission. Can't. Need other way." He looked at Sam, a glimmer in his eyes. "You remember what I say at mine?" Sam nodded. He remembered. To cover Sam's presence, Stawpah told the foreman that Sam was the state mine safety inspector. Stawpah nodded as well certain Sam would understand what he was going to suggest. "You want help Tawnchy and Pete?" "It's what I think I'm here for," Sam told him. Stawpah looked at him firmly. "Be safety inspector." Sam thought a moment and then smiled with understanding. ************************ Al laid on the couch in his office. Though it was comfortable, his sleep was not. His rest was disturbed by dreams of Sam: Sam doing the semi- truck stunt, Sam's still form on the concrete floor of the arena, Sam's still form on the hospital bed, Sam.... dead. Al sat up with a start. He rubbed his forehead and face, trying to clear his mind of the images he had just seen. "Get a grip, Calavicci," he told himself. "You've got to stay calm and optimistic." Exhaling, he stood up, went into the office bathroom, and washed his face with cold water. The chill did well in clearing his mind. It was then that he noticed his reflection in the mirror. He huffed. He didn't look like an admiral. He was dressed in wrinkled whites, had a pale face, and needed a shave. Taking a breath, Al set out to make himself look more suitable. After all, a crew reacts based on their perception of their captain and Al was the captain of this particular ship. Al found it necessary, after Sam had started leaping, to keep a razor and iron available in his office. He found that, many times, he had to stay in the complex overnight and this was another mark in a long line of marks of the number of times. This time, however, was different. This time there was a chance of Sam's being separated from his own time forever and there was nothing anyone could do except wait. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked much better now, even though he didn't feel any better. He took a breath and, while still looking at himself, said, "Ziggy, any news?" "Your being awake is news, Admiral. Dr. Beeks left orders not to disturb you unless it was an absolute emergency. You have had only two hours, twenty-two minutes, and eleven seconds of sleep since." "Any news about Sam," Al corrected himself. "There was a brief fluctuation allowing contact with Dr. Beckett. However, the incident occurred within only twenty-nine seconds time, not enough to deem it necessary to inform you until you were awake." Al exhaled. Gawd, this was all so frustrating! He walked back into his office and sat on the couch. "I suppose you told Dr. Beeks that I was awake," he said quietly, knowingly. "It was one of the instructions which she gave me. She is currently on her way to your office." Al rolled his eyes. Just what he needed. More psycho-analysis. It wasn't long afterwards when Verbina came into the room. "Can't sleep?" she asked. "Do you always ask the obvious?" Al retaliated gently. "So, sue me for caring," Verbina replied. Al smiled slightly. "Sorry, Verbina. Guess I'm more worried about Sam than I thought." "That's only natural." Al hesitated. "Verbina, why did you come here?" "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I thought you might have had more than a little trouble sleeping." Al squinted at her. "What makes you think that?" "Well, your REM sleep was erratic and you were mumbling about Sam." Al glared at her. "You had Ziggy monitor me," he said calmly but angrily. Verbina smiled. "Just doing my job, Admiral." Al exhaled loudly. "So I had trouble sleeping. Goes with the territory." Verbina sat beside him. "He'll be okay, Al." Al looked away from her with a huff. "I know that. I just can't help feeling helpless. I mean, I'm here and he's there and his own brain is keeping us apart so that I can't even talk to him." He took a breath. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd rather be alone." Verbina stood up and left the room with a nod while Al gazed at the far wall, thinking. ------------------------------------- Chapter 12 next which means another seven chapters to go. Kat