From: akulsum@aol.com (AKulsum) Newsgroups: alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative Subject: REPOST: Window 3/7 Date: 25 Sep 1996 15:43:52 -0400 Message-Id: <52c21o$hor@newsbf02.news.aol.com> A lot of people have been writing me telling me this one never really went through. Well, thanks for the compliments and thanks for reading, guys! Here it is again! -amkt "Window to the Future" pt. III Verbeena Beeks strolled along the hallway in the back corner of the project. She dealt with people all day and at night, all she really wanted was just to kick back and relax by herself. Oh, the other members of the staff knew where to find her, of course, but they also knew better than to bother her with trivial things in the dead of night. "Dr. Beeks?" Well, most of them, anyhow. "Yes, Ziggy? What do you want?" "I feel this may be the appropriate time to update you on my observations of Admiral Calavicci." Dr. Beeks stopped. Al? Oh, that was right. She had asked Ziggy just to monitor him for a few days. He was pushing himself too hard again. Nothing big, really, and Verbeena would never invade someone's privacy, but a simple scan of sleeping and working habits of random members of the project (or members she just felt needed a guardian angel to watch over them) was not really that much of an invasion. She knew Al really wouldn't see it this way, but that was OK because she never exactly told him she did it. Not directly. "What have you got, Ziggy?" she asked as she opened the door to her quarters and relaxed on the sofa. "Anything worth interrupting my evening about?" "Aside from the fact that he is currently in conference room B talking to thin air? No." Verbeena frowned. Ziggy had a sarcastic streak that could occasionally become irritable. Like every time you talked to her. "Thin air, huh?" "That is correct, Doctor." "Ah, now I understand....he's cracked and he's pretending to talk to Sam!" Verbeena had a sarcastic streak herself that emerged from time to time, especially at the end of a very long day. "Actually," if Ziggy had picked up on her bitter tones, she was pretending not to notice, "he is currently addressing someone named Thames. And he is referring to himself in third person. Your normal, run of the mill, psychotic behavior, I suppose?" But Verbeena wasn't listening anymore. Why was it that the name Thames rang a bell? A very dangerous bell. "Ziggy? Where have I heard the name Thames before?" A slight pause that only another computer would have noticed elapsed as Ziggy searched her record banks. "There is a 98.5 percent chance that Thames was Zoe's observer before she was shot and killed by Dr. Beckett. Zoe was one of the leapers who was involved in-" "Thank you, Ziggy, I remember now." Verbeena was up and moving. Locate Tina and Gooshie and have them meet me in my office in ten minutes. We could have a problem on our hands. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------ Sam looked around the room, but the darkness was so thick and complete that he couldn't make out a thing. He stood up and walked a hesitant pace or two before banging his shin painfully on what appeared to be the corner of a night table. The gentle tinkling of the chain on a lamp hitting the metal neck caused him to reach over and turn on the little lamp that sat on top of the night table. He was in a little room that reminded him of government assigned quarters. Perhaps he was on a military base or somthing. Some pants draped over the back of a nearby chair held a wallet with a few credit cards and a license. His name was Greg Turner. Greg Turner?...... He studied the little picture and crossed the room to a door he could only assume led to the bathroom. Entering, he took a good look in the mirror. Greg was about medium height, with rusty blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes. He must have been about 30 or 31 (another glance at the driver's liscence told him that he was indeed 31) and a nearby uniform told him he was a Lieutenant in the Navy. Okay, then, a Naval Base. Inwardly, he sighed, just knowing that as soon as Al showed up, he would chatter on and on about how wrong he had all the regulations and how unappreciative he was of all the Navy nurses. He wondered what year it was. A glance at an appointment book told him it was March of the year 2000! That just had to be the furthest home he'd ever leaped. A further study of the calander to try and determine when he was supposed to be on duty revealed that he had a report due to Admiral Calavicci on March 15. Sam staggered back from the desk and caught himself on the edge of the bed. Despite his best efforts, he felt tears fill his eyes and a small sob clawed its way out of his chest. "Al," he whispered and turned and ran for the door. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------ Several years in the future, Al was once again left alone in the small waiting room. Yet, again, he was not left alone for long. This time, his visitor was a small man, slightly shorter than Al himself, and two much bigger men. Al reflected on the fact that his stay was probably about to get a lot worse. "Admiral," the shorter man intoned with a patronizing bow, "Thames has sent us to get you. I am the project doctor. I am therefore responsible for the physical and mental health of everyone on this project," he smiled, "including yours." Al did not reply, but unconsiously took a small step backwards into the corner. "I have been ordered to, shall we say, give you a physical. If you'll come with me." The two guards advanced on him and even though he knew there was nothing he could do at the moment, Al felt the familiar throb of panic take hold of him and he made a dive for the still open door. As he predicted, he was throughly unsuccessful as both men grabbed either one of his arms and held him fast. Al relaxed in the grip, biding his time. He'd been through worse, he was sure. "I assure you," he said in a tight voice, "I am in perfect health." "It is common for the leapee to suffer disorientation and acute memory loss. We have, of course, been able to perfect upon that as well as other aspects of Dr. Beckett's project, but there are some things you just can't fix. Not entirely. We wouldn't want to find out later, after it was too late, that you had a....condition....that could have been attended to and prevented. There is no cause to worry." "Isn't this the part where you're supposed to tell me it won't hurt a bit?" Al snarled, struggling minutely in the ever tightening vise on his arms. He could feel the blood circulation to his hands and wrists slow and a slight tingling sent shivers up his spine. "Now, Admiral, most civilized people realize, of course, that in some cases, you have to tolerate feeling a little worse for a while in order to feel better in the end." That seemed to end the discussion and the two men led Al none too gently out of the waiting room. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------ Thames always enjoyed this part of the job. He liked being a hologram too, but along with that went constant screaming and fussing that he had to put up with from Zoe. Actually, this part of the job often included screaming too, but in a _good_ way. And this particular subject (he liked calling them subjects....it made them seem almost sub-human) proved to be very interesting indeed. After all, Thames was always one to readily take advantage of opportunity, especially one that dropped right into his lap. Rubbing his hands together, he entered the room. The room was one Zoe would be proud of. If she was ever here to see it, that is. But then, that was the price one paid for making the world a better place. Worse place. Whatever. He heard the bustle of people coming down the hall behind him and turned in the doorway to observe the admiral being escorted down the corridor by two rather burly looking guards. The admiral had always been on the short side, and next to these two he looked positively tiny. Or he would have been had it not been for the look in his eyes. It was a look that was used to being obeyed, a look that could get what it wanted, but Thames saw a hint of fear when he looked deep into his dark eyes. Oh, not fear for himself, Thames was sure, but for his friend. Stupid fool. Selflessness didn't earn anyone any extra points here. Actually, he was doing better than most. Sometimes, he got the screams even before the fun began. But Thames knew about his past and knew he was probably thinking that nothing could be worse than that. Thames loved a challenge. They dragged him into the room and threw him down in the chair. Leather straps around his wrists and ankles held him there as Thames prepared for his introduction. Al interrupted him even before he could start. "Is there a purpose for this interrogation? Because I can tell you now that I would not give away any secrets of Project Quantum Leap." His eyes shot fire and he pulled minutely against the straps. "Interrogation? Admiral, look around you," Thames gestured expansively at the room around them and the project in general, "we already _know_ all the secrets of your project. It is, in our eyes....primitive. Now, shall we begin?" "Thames?" a disembodied voice that Al could only assume was Lothos echoed in the room. "I believe I have extrapolated the figures for greatest success on this mission. You will report them to the leaper." "In a minute, Thames snapped. He just wanted to hear one scream first...perhaps even a whimper would do. "Hook him up." The "doctor" pulled something from behind the chair and strapped it around Al's upper arm. He began to sweat. He couldn't tell what it was exactly, but it was cold and hard and it pressed against his skin, which was already becoming cold and clammy before anything was even done. There was a terrible pause as he braced himself, and then he could feel the burning shock of electricity passing upward through his body. It jolted him once, twice, a third time.... His heart pounded so furiously against his rib cage that he thought he might die, but he did not make a sound. He was determined not to make a sound and the effort of not doing so drew blood to his bottom lip. Years of training had taught him the art of repressing pain, but this was a different kind of pain than what he faced all those years as a POW. The electric fury was relentless, and could be used indefinitely. Clammy skin became numb, but just below the surface, the fire still burned. Insanely, all Al could think about inbetween stabs of fury was the fate his friend would befall if he did not survive this and find a way to stop the project. An hour and a half later, Thames had to leave in the middle of the session to deliver information to Zoe, and he did so never having heard a sound. part 4 is already out and part 5 should be coming soon!! amkt