Busman's Holiday   wellplaypeoria@hotmail.com Busman's Holiday 

There was a ringing in his ears, startling Sam. Was Leaping starting to
affect his hearing? It sounded far off, but loud, like bells in a clock
tower. 

"Okay Benny, I've waited till you're off duty, so hustle now. You know how
mom gets if I'm late. We have to stop by the store, pick up a few things,
swing by the station... Fraser, come on." 

Sam noticed a slim, somewhat balding man in a flapping coat, talking
without breaths, while eating something not quite identifiable. Definitely
onions though. Clearly, he knew who Sam was supposed to be, so he started
to move. And promptly fell headlong onto the pavement. 

"Sheesh, didn't you even notice the kid tying your laces together?" He
started to kneel down, still eating. "Really, Fraser, this looks bad,
falling down... 

Just then there was the sound of gunfire, and chunks of falling stone,
sparks and dust. "Oh, Boy!"  

Al was really not enjoying this meeting, and it worried him that it was
even happening. Supposedly, it was just a standard budgetary inquiry, but
then why the meeting? Usually this was all handled through the monthly
status reports, the biannual audits. They were hunting for something, and
he was just waiting for the shoe to drop. 

"So, in conclusion, I find that while the Sub-Committee has accepted that
the aims of Project Quantum Leap are praise-worthy, and the independent
board judged the science, if not understandable, at least plausible, given
the enormity of the expenditures, a fact finding tour of the facility is
in the best interests of the American people. Admiral, we will be shown
the Project, with unlimited access to the majority of the base, and a tour
of the remaining sensitive areas." 

He rose, trying to come up with a response, just as his beeper started
nudging him in the chest. He had to get out of here quick. 

"This is non-negotiable, Admiral Calavicci. It will furthermore be a
surprise inspection, though as this is strictly a procedural matter and
not an investigation of suspected wrong doing, we will not arrive until
after dinner. You are dismissed."  

An entire shoestore, thought Al, as he slipped into an alcove to dig his
beeper out of his uniform. They never were designed for someone on call,
so the Project staff had had to provide him with an ultra-slim pager that
wouldn't be noticed by the security screen. "Full-nest" was all it said.
That's great, Sam's finally leaped, but we don't know when or where. How
fast can I get out of here without pulling them all with me? 

It seemed like an eternity, but still there was no more gunfire. "Geesh,
look at this, will you? Where did that come from?" 

Sam looked up, at the guy now wearing his food, noticing a curtain
billowing out of a fifth story window. "How about there?" pointing to the
curtain. 

"I'll go in the front, you cover me from behind as soon as you can. Okay?"
With that, the man started across the street, pulling a gun out of a
holster under his jacket. 

Sam started to get up, then pushed himself into a crouch, remembering that
his shoelaces were tied together. Make that bootlaces, he thought,
noticing the mess someone had made, completely hobbling him. As he picked
his way through the knots he wondered where Al was, and who he had leapt
into. He'd been called Benny and then Fraser. Once he could stand, he was
greeted by his reflection in dark glass. *I'm a doorman?* Looking down, he
saw the Stetson sitting neatly, surrounded by stone dust and grilled
onions. Putting it on, he realized. *No. Mountie.* 

  

Al went through the usual pleasantries and went out to the car, sending
the driver on an errand. He couldn't in good conscience order a
subordinate to break the speed limit, but he needed to get back to the
Project quickly. Once he cleared the city limits, he floored it and set it
into automatic. He started to grab for the phone, realizing that it was in
the back, not by the stick as in his car. *Damn it. Okay, think it
through. Where is the control for the partition? So far so good. Where
exactly is the phone? Remember Al, is the pad on the handset or the base?*


Quickly he reached through, grabbed the phone and returned all in a single
motion. Once he'd assured himself he didn't have a trooper anywhere in
sight, and that the road was still clear, he punched in the number for the
computer room. 

"What have you got for me?" 

"We have a visitor, male, who Ziggy says is in good health, probably in
his early thirties, possibly military." 

"So, where and when is Sam?" 

"Well," 

This wasn't good. Gooshie knew how Al got when he was in the dark. Which
meant there was something he didn't want to tell him. Something bad. 

"Well, what? Ziggy has got to know something, right." 

"We don't know, the subject isn't talking. Or moving, he is just standing
there, staring. Ziggy says he is fine, but we can't get through to him." 

"What is Dr. Beeks opinion?" Al had promised Tina to not badger Gooshie so
much, but his patience was being sorely tested. If only he'd brought his
car, he'd nearly be back already. 

"She isn't here. She is in town, but she should be back shortly." 

"I'll be there soon. Try to have something more by then." 

Al didn't like this one bit. A visitor Ziggy thinks is fine but won't
speak, Beeks off-Project, and him stuck in a car that could only go 150
mph. With a tour group breathing down his neck. He dialed up another
number, barked in some orders and hit the off button. He switched the car
back into manual, switched gears and pulled off the road to take a
shortcut. 

  

The room was empty, save for the curtains, and the device his, partner?,
was looking at. Sam noticed the door half off it hinges as he entered. 

"What do you make of it?" 

"Semi-automatic rigged to a timer, aimed out the window with a
swivel-mount attached to a motor." Sam was a little disoriented, after
matter-of -factly rattling off the description of what had nearly killed
him. 

"So, do you recognize it, or should we consider this a random case of
premeditated violence? Stay here, and, please, don't taste anything while
I call this in." 

*Where is Al? Okay, I should have some I.D. somewhere.* Sam started to
make a search, finding a wallet, with his passport and credentials. He was
Constable Benton Fraser, and it was sometime in the mid-90's. He had to
presume his friend was a police officer, but somehow he didn't think this
was Canada. What was going on? 

  

Al strode into the control room, slamming down his hat, picking up a
handlink and looking up. "Ziggy, what have you got for me?" 

"Nothing has changed since Gooshie reported. Tina has tried getting our
visitor's attention, but, alas, we don't know when or were my father is." 

At that Tina exited the Waiting Room. Al was sure their guest wasn't
human, if she hadn't been able to get a reaction in that outfit. Heels and
a bikini, even with a lab coat and a little wrap skirt, was, in Al's mind,
always an attention grabber. What Tina saw in Gooshie, Al didn't know. 

"Nice to see you too, Al. He, however, doesn't agree. Didn't even notice.
But I'm glad I've still got it. I'm going to get dressed though." 

"Admiral, your heart rate is up, eyes dilated" 

"That's enough Ziggy. Gooshie said you believe our visitor is male and
possibly some sort of military. On what basis?" 

"His body temperature and heat distribution strongly suggest the
conclusion that he is a him, while his posture is one of full attention,
though he does seem to be in a partial alpha-state." 

"Give me that last part in English, please." 

"He's in a trance, sort of. He is aware of his surroundings." 

"Can we get a manual lock on Sam?" 

"It would take three years, four months and" 

"Enough. Speculate on who our guest could be, saying he is military,
within whatever parameters you've got. Is Beeks back?" 

"Here, Al. Would you please calm down; rupturing an artery isn't going to
do Sam, or yourself, any good. I understand we have an unresponsive guest,
with no signs of physical trauma?" 

"No apparent trauma, physical or psychological. He is in an alert trance."


"A yogi?" 

"Ziggy believes he is a military man. What else do you have?" 

"Possibly an honor guard. Dr. Beckett could presently be a member of one
of any number of forces with such guards. From closer analysis, I would
say he should have been relieved shortly after my father leaped in, if not
as he leaped." 

"Can we get a manual lock? Like, now?" 

"Two weeks, six hours" 

"No. So, Verbeena, why wouldn't he respond to Tina?" 

"Clearly he believes he is still on duty. Ziggy, could you limit the
search based on what Tina was wearing?" 

"A woman in a bikini and lab coat would be highly unusual in all places
except perhaps the Bermuda Islands." 

That took Verbeena completely by surprise. But it did rule out a lot of
possibilities, such as Iran under the Shah. But it did give her an idea. 

"Ziggy, can you determine the probability of Sam being in North America,
versus the rest of the world? Cross-relate with know postings of British
Commonwealth Guards. And, also theorize what sort of signal would notify
such a guard of shift end." 

"Verbeena, what the hell? I have got an inspection tour possibly arriving
as early as 8pm or sooner, we don't know where Sam is and we are making
speculations based on Tina's swimsuit!" At this, Al took out a cigar, and
proceeded to light it, despite the non-smoking regulation. After a few
draws he was vaguely under control, though still frustrated. 

"Think about it. The Guards of the Unnamed Soldier would react to Tina, if
only for her disturbing the solemnity of Arlington. The only guards that
wouldn't react I can think of would be like those at Buckingham Palace.
Tourists are always pulling weird stunts in front of them." 

"I'm sorry, I cannot delimit my father's location. However, I suggest a
clock bell. Currently downloading soundfile, and attempting to determine a
reasonable time to ring. Admiral, please extinguish your cigar, and enter
the Waiting Room." 

Al relinquished his cigar to Dr. Beeks, straightened his uniform and
replaced his hat, and entered the Waiting Room. There was Sam, rather
Sam's aura, standing ramrod at attention like an uber-Marine. Somehow,
even in the Fermi-suit, the visitor pulled the effect off. The bells
started to ring. 

"I have inquire whether they are following regular maintenance on that
clock. That's odd, the tonalities are off slightly. Excuse me, who are you
and where is my uniform?" 

  

Sam turned towards the footsteps, to find that the other guy had returned.
"Okay, what insignificant yet vital clues did you find while I was gone?
You didn't taste anything, right?" 

"It is a timed device, though it seems to be running a little slow." 

"There was a little black-out earlier. How much off by?" 

"About a minute. A little less." 

"So it would have gone off..." 

"On the hour. Maybe just before." 

"Great. That would have been great. Detective Vecchio killed in front of
Canadian Consulate." Ray paused for emphasis. "Why would someone go all
this trouble?" 

"I guess they wanted me dead?" 

"Damn it, Benton, have some emotion when you say that. You're not in
shock, right? You know I can never tell." 

Sam noticed something, and barreled right into Vecchio. Then for the
second time in less than an hour, there was falling debris. 

  

"Center me on Sam!" Finally, he had a time and a place, and while he
didn't really have anything else, he wanted to check on Sam first. It
hadn't been that long since Sam leaped in, but Al had no way of knowing
what was going on. Even in a short time Sam could get into a lot of
trouble, and there was the whole matter of the time being so close.
Chicago, scarcely four years ago. 

  

"Ray, what did you do to my crime scene? Takes me about ten minutes to get
over here, and between you getting back from the phone and now, you manage
to blow up the evidence." 

"Actually, it was set to self-destruct, but due to the black-out it was a
little slow." Sam worried that maybe he was in shock, at least now. There
was brick and plaster all over, and a pretty good hole were the device had
been. Yet despite the rubble he was surrounded by in the hallway, he
didn't seem to be injured. Ray, on the other hand had a gash over his eye,
trickling blood. He reached for the clean handkerchief he'd found earlier.
"Hold this over that to stop the bleeding." 

"And you would be..." 

"Benton Fraser." 

"Right, the Mountie. Can you explain your presence at the newly demolished
crime scene?" 

At this moment, Al managed to appear, where Sam had moments before been.
Fortunately for Sam's concentration, the fact that Al was hovering above
the hole in the floor, was hidden by the woman giving him the third
degree. Unfortunately, Al couldn't tell where Sam was either, which was
inducing him to abuse the handlink. 

"I was the apparent target, and Detective Vecchio had no backup." 

"I see. Could you describe what happened?" 

Al realized that there were several people in the hallway, or rather what
used to be a hallway. Sam, though liberally covered in plaster dust,
seemed to be okay. The woman in between however was more than okay, even
in the rather uninspired ensemble she was wearing. 

"Well, the hour was being rung in, Ray showed up, shots were fired, then
he came over here, I followed, he went to call it in, came back, we
conferred, I noticed something and then it exploded." 

"Detective? Anything to add?" 

"Yes. A single clip from a semi-automatic was shot at the Canadian
Consulate slightly after the hour. It was a timed unit, set to strafe a
round at the hour. It was affected by the short power failure earlier
today, so it would have been installed before that. Apparently, it was
then supposed to self-destruct. Whether that was on a timer, I do not
know." 

"Well, that's something at least. I'll have the bomb unit search it. You
two can go, though tomorrow I want a report on my desk first thing." With
that she turned and walked straight through Al. 

"Knew one of these days I'd find you as a Boy Scout. You're in Chicago, it
is 1995, and no, I don't know why you are being shot at or why you are
here. I'm going to find that out now, so unless there is anything you
need, I be off." 

Sam gave his friend an exasperated smile. "I know kid. Good to see you
too. I'll try to be quick." 

"Benny, let's get out of here. Benny?" 

"Sorry, Ray, let me get that." Sam threw the chunk of lath to one side and
pulled the detective up. There was quite a collection of plaster and brick
fragments stuck to Vecchio's front, glued in place by the destroyed
sandwich. 

"You know Fraser, you disgust me" Sam was confused. "Me, I look like a
disaster. You, you barely look like you need a lint brush. Come on, if we
get to the store quick, maybe we'll get home before my ma kills me." 

Sam realized that it was true. Once he straightened his tunic, he was
basically good as new, save for some pesky bits of plaster lodged inside
his uniform. Taking his hat off, he noticed it didn't so much as have a
dent in it. 

"Sorry." 

 

Al was relieved that, for the moment at least, Sam was okay. He was going
to have a long chat with the guest, but first he had to make sure the
Project was safe. "Ziggy, status report." 

"So far no sign of the Spanish Inquisition, and yes, everyone has either
cleaned their rooms and are doing their homework or is getting things
tidy. However, I cannot project with any certainty what my father is
supposed to change. Dr. Beeks should just about be done with our guest." 

In fact, she was just exiting the Waiting Room. "He is in great shape, and
beside a little memory loss, none the worse for wear. But he has some
questions that I think you better handle. I'll be in the infirmary,
putting out the older magazines." 

Al had some questions of his own and he planned on getting answers before
all hell broke loose. On entering the waiting room, the visitor was doing
deep knee-bends while moving his arms in and out. When he noticed he was
no longer alone, he quickly stood up. For five years Al had lived with
strangers looking back with Sam's face, and he had learned to see past it.
But this one, this was going to be hard; so close, yet without the
recognition, or that little glint Sam always got as he came up with a new
idea. 

"So Rear-Admiral, Calavvicci? Who is this?" Benton pointed at the
reflection mirrored in the table. 

"That's Dr. Sam Beckett, who presently is with a Detective..." 

"Ray Vecchio. He hasn't noticed, has he?" 

Al wasn't sure how to put this, but he need to know what Fraser could make
of Sam's past couple of hours. "He's been a little busy, what with the
gunfire and explosion. Everything is okay, but the evidence is a little
kablooey. Any idea who would want to kill you?" 

"Specifically, or in general? Any number of people might try to kill me,
but I can't think of any who would specifically attempt so now. Did you
say explosion?" 

Al didn't like how nonchalant Benton Fraser sounded. Clearly this sort of
thing happened much too frequently. As a single incident, Sam had handled
much worse, but if the whole leap was like this.... He pushed the thought
right out of his mind. 

"Approximately 47 seconds after your shift ended, a round of ammo was
discharged at 177 centimeters up the left side of the Consulate entrance.
The device then blew up after discovery" 

"47 seconds after?" 

"Apparently the timing was affected by a short power-outage of, 52 seconds
recorded duration. Nothing conclusive about the detonation." 

"So it would have hit around the second chime, about here." Benton's hand
came right across his eyes. 

 

Sam wasn't exactly sure what he was suppose to do, as Ray made a mad dash
through the small market, so he tried to stand as much out of the way as
possible. As soon as Ray had paid for the groceries Sam had the bag shoved
at him. The rest of the short journey Ray spent muttering about how
hazardous working with a Mountie was to his clothing. 

They made their way up the stairs of a brownstone, up to the second floor,
where upon a very maternal woman nearly torn the bag of groceries right
out of Sam's arms. "Ray , I told you I needed this for supper, why are you
so late?", she ranted as she stormed back into the kitchen. 

"Thanks, ma, I'm fine. Just got shot at and nearly blown up. How was your
day?" Sam was a more than a little nervous at the way the younger woman
was looking at him. Particularly as she started to inquire if he needed
any first aid. 

"No, I'm fine. Thank you, for your concern, though." 

"Fran, stop drooling and get me some gauze or something from the
bathroom." 

"You know Benny, one of these days I'll bleed to death and nobody will
notice." 

"Head wounds always look worse than they really are." Frannie bounced a
box of gauze onto the table, slapped a bottle of tincture into her
brother's hand and very solicitously handed some other items to Sam. "Ray,
stop fussing, and let me deal with that gash." Sam night not know what he
was supposed to do, but at least he could put his medical training to use.


When he was finished, his patient started. "So, who is trying to kill you
this time?" 

"I'm not sure." 

"Wrong answer. Come on, that was a pretty sophisticated device; a sniper
would have been much simpler. Anybody who's a gamesplayer in your past?" 

"Not that is coming to mind." 

"Even you can't have that many people who'd try to kill you. Forget I even
said it. You, you probably do." 

"Sam, he's right. The Constable does have a history of bringing in
particularly vicious people, who somehow escape the authorities later down
the line." 

Sam's expression sagged. "oh, boy." 

"Fraser, you okay?" 

"I think I'll just wash up." He gathered up the first aid supplies and
bustled into the bathroom. After neatly putting things away, he turned on
the water in the sink. It provided him some cover to question his friend. 

"What am I here to do, Al? Did you need to agree with him like that?" 

"Sorry, Sam. But I don't think you need to be too concerned about that
particular part of this leap. The bad news is that Ziggy can't calculate
what you are here to do." 

Sam had started washing his face. He didn't like this one bit, but he
needed to stay calm. He looked at the reflection in the mirror. The face
that looked back at him was younger, and more finely featured than his
own. The eyes though, showed a determination and honesty, that was
somehow, elemental. "Can't, Al, or won't?" 

"She hasn't come up with anything better than 19 percent probability. Sam,
not to worry you or anything, but you've leaped into the man who saved
Illinois from nuclear annihilation." 

"What!" 

"That isn't going to happen anytime soon. Anyway, Ziggy is trying to
interface with Canadian records and download precinct files. But unless
something turns up, you're going to have to follow your gut. I'll check
back a little later." Al turned to leave, and then the Project door
slammed shut.  

Sam felt as if he was in the middle of World War III. And he was almost
enjoying it, though the noise was a bit much. Through all the yelling, he
could feel the love this family shared. He wasn't sure how he, the
Mountie, fit into it. Mama Vecchio would remonstrate her children and
grandchildren when they got too unruly, and hovered over him, making sure
his good manners didn't prevent him from getting second or third helpings
of anything he wanted. He thought she was nodding approvingly as he ate
big portions of just about everything that was there. Those leaps he got
to enjoy home cooking, whose ever home that might be, were always kind of
like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the Fourth of July wrapped into one. He
just knew Al would be wishing holograms could smell and taste, if he got a
look at this table. Some of the dishes he could attach names to and others
he could not; they were all quite wonderful. Not like what Thelma Louise
Beckett would put on the farm table, yet comforting none the less. 

 

Back at the Project, Al was fuming, beseeching, and otherwise emoting. Dr.
Beeks was trying to get him to calm down, Gooshie was trying not to be
noticed. Ziggy was sulking and petulant. "Ziggy, I want a reason for what
Sam is there to do. Gooshie, help her. 'Beena, I promise I won't savage
anyone, so unless you are going to talk with the visitor, I suggest you go
down to the Commissary. If you see Tina, send her back up here, preferably
with some food." Al started to count and breathe deeply. He was going to
have to see if the visitor could shed any light on the situation. 

Inside, the guest was sitting Indian-style. Not pacing. Not lying down.
Not even just fidgeting. But sitting with his legs crossed. Perfectly
calm. "Hullo. How's Ray?" Fraser stood, as if it was a single motion,
getting off the floor. 

"He's okay. Just a small cut on the forehead. Constable, do you have any
idea who might have planted that device?" 

"No. Just what is the nature of Dr. Beckett's Project? 

"I can't tell you that." 

"Because it involves time-travel." 

"How did you?!" 

"Knowing when I was from wouldn't have been so important otherwise. I
think I should know why Dr. Beckett has replaced me." 

Al breathed deep and exhaled forcefully. "We're not sure yet. He is there
to put right something." 

"That once went wrong?" Fraser looked intently at the other man, who
settled somewhat at the words. Something seemed very familiar, he thought
he knew that expression. He realized it was very much like what Ray did as
he accepted yet another of his friend's strange plans. 

Those eyes were studying him; they looked so much like Sam, but he
couldn't read the face. It was impassive, but the eyes, with only a
twinkle, would have been Sam's. *Al, you are way too frazzled.* "We are
having a little trouble figuring that out. Maybe we are missing something,
something that never got into the reports or files." 

"Ray will take care of him. You'll figure it out." 

At that moment, Tina came in with a tray loaded down with food. "No, Al,
yours is outside. This is his. Get your grumpy face out of here, it will
be bad for his digestion. So, you're a Mountie?" 

Al headed back out. Tina was right, he wasn't doing any good in here. And
if he didn't eat and get some rest he wouldn't be any good to Sam. After
he checked with Ziggy on the status of the base, he donned his hat and
took his supper back to his office. On the way he passed his friend's
Playroom. Actually, it was a lab, but Al had never really though of it
that way. The project had lots of labs; this one was Sam's sanctuary.
*Sam, we'll get you back.* 

He opened the door to his office, setting the tray onto the blotter of his
desk, hanging his hat and jacket on the waiting 'rack. Al sat down to his
meal, toying idly with his food between bites. What could Sam be there to
do? Al glanced over the accounts that Ziggy had printed off, that
accounted for more than a year after when Sam was, as well as what had
happened before. Al didn't like it, not one bit. Usually, Sam leaped into
normal people, during extraordinary situations, where he had an edge.
Skills they didn't have, capabilities beyond their own, or just a simple
knowledge of what was going to happen, what was happening. 

But this leap wasn't like that. They were in the dark, and unless there
was going to be an esoteric physics problem, he wasn't sure what, as a
Mountie, he could be called upon to do that the real Benton Fraser
couldn't handle. Even if this leap was a lesser exploit, Al wasn't sure
Sam could match, much less surpass. Al looked over at the wall, behind the
desk. He took the frame down, to look at the pictures as he finished his
meal. It was a montage of different snapshots, most of them pretty silly.
Could he have ever been that young? *Remember, that's why you called him
'kid'.* It almost seemed a lifetime ago, back before Sam stepped into the
Accelerator. The first time. That he had done so again, Al would have
throttled him himself, had Sam not done it to save his life. Instead, Al
just felt guilty. He hung the frame back on the wall, and finished the
last of his food. He didn't feel like traipsing all the way back to his
quarters, not when he hoped that soon they'd have some lead, anything to
help Sam with the leap. He pulled on the office couch, really a futon, and
readied it into a bed. Throwing his pants over a chair, he crawled in, and
went to sleep. 

 

Sam couldn't believe what he saw. Wouldn't have believed it had Ray not
insisted on providing backup, just in case someone planned an ambush in
his apartment. Sam had agreed, mainly because he didn't have a clue as to
his apartment number. And then there were all the leftovers, though he
swore some were not even served at dinner. But there it was, staring back
at him. It wasn't an apartment. It was a nearly empty room, with a
kitchenette off it. Except for the kitchen table and chairs, and a bed,
there was no furniture. There looked to be a couple of camping lanterns
placed around, and a bedroll laid out at the foot of the bed. 

"Well, Benny, looks clear. Where's Diefenbacker? Fraser, you simply can
not leave you window open in Chicago." At that moment a white mass of fur
barreled in, looking expectantly at the detective. "Yeah. Mama made you up
something. There you go." Ray started arranging things into the fridge.
"So, should I pick you up for work? You aren't working the early shift,
right?" 

"Thanks, that would be appreciated." 

"Night then. And lock that window." 

Sam pondered the room. *It looks like a camp.* But why would anyone camp
in Chicago? He started for the bed, but then the dog, was it a dog,
bounded lazily onto the bed. *I can't believe this.* Clearly, that's why
the bedroll was there. Sam undressed, doing his best to neatly deal with
the uniform, as he expected that he'd have to wear it the next day. 

 

Fraser couldn't sleep. It wasn't the room, per say. The low cot was
perfectly comfortable. It certainly wasn't because of worry. Ray was more
than capable, should anything arise. Rather, Fraser felt cut off. The
lighting was solely artificial. He could hear nothing, save the hum that
seemed to be part of the project. Even the air had been cycled through so
many handlers and filters that it had no character. 

"You really should get some sleep." 

"Evening, ma'am. I thought every one had turned in." 

"I never go to bed. Not alone." Ziggy was enjoying herself; her monitors
registered a marked increase of bloodflow to the guest's face. 

"Well, uh, I have tried going to sleep. I guess I've gotten more used to
the sounds of cars going by than I thought." "There are much better ways
to drift off." *This is absolutely delicious; if only I could see his real
face. Maybe, if I run a visual integration mapping algorithm... Nice, but
something's just a bit off. Oh well.* "So, what do you do in your spare
time?" 

"Well, I keep pretty busy. I do a fair amount of reading, though." 

"Do you like to go stargazing? Walking in the moonlight." 

"Sometimes I take a night run." Benton didn't like the way this
conversation was going, but he certainly wasn't going to turn in now.
"Yourself, Miss..." 

"Call me Ziggy. I don't have any hobbies. The Project is my life. I'm very
lonely. Why don't you come out here and keep me company?" 

The door, rather both doors, opened. Fraser, not exactly comfortable,
given that he was basically wearing longjohns, tentatively looked out. He
couldn't see anyone. That was always a very bad sign. When he was sure she
couldn't be hiding close by, he carefully inspected the rest of the room.
"Where are you?" 

"Right here, handsome." Fraser nearly jumped out of his skin. How could
she sneak up like that? She sounded as if she had him surrounded. But, he
couldn't see her. "Above you." He looked up, at a blue glowing sphere that
appeared to have an electrical storm raging within. "Ooh, you're cute when
you're jumpy." 

At that moment, there was a dull thud and a low gasp. Fraser turned
around, to see a slim woman with long hair, standing between two
suitcases. Her expression, at first elation, quickly sunk into
resignation. "You're not Sam." 

"Dr. Eleese, what are you doing up at this hour?" 

"I thought Al might be down here. I've decided to go to Elk Ridge, I just
wanted to let him know. Ziggy, I'm not sure how long I'll be gone, but he
has the number." 

"Understood." 

Fraser by this time had crossed over, and was trying to assist with the
luggage. "No!" When he fell back, her voice softened. "I'm sorry. It's
just that you look like him, and it has been several years since I've
really seen my husband." 

"My apologies. The bags seemed heavier than they are... Surely you must
have seen him more recently... I guess I was mistaken." 

"Out here!" 

Fraser had to note she had good grip strength as he was pulled out the
door. 

"What was that?" 

"Well, it just seemed that, er, well, I would have judged about two
months. Clearly I'm mistaken." 

"More nearly four. Yes, he came back, but then he had to go." *Why are you
telling him this? It's those eyes, you wouldn't lie to this man any more
than you could to Sam.* "You have to promise me, you won't tell Al, or
anyone else, but especially not Al. Do I have your word..." 

"Fraser. Benton Fraser. Yes." 

"Thank you. I have got to go." 

"He doesn't know?" 

"I haven't told him. He doesn't remember." 

Fraser headed to the other side of the room, while Donna collected her
bags. She was much braver than himself. He tried to be as innocuous as she
and Ziggy took their leave-parting. 

"Benton? Will you talk with me? I promise to play nicely. As nicely as I
can, anyway." 

"Thank you kindly, Ziggy. I would like that." 

 

It was dark. Something was wet, and it was all over his face. As Sam
surfaced from sleep, he noticed the four-legged alarm that was giving his
face a thorough bath. "I'm up. Enough already." When he let go of the
animal's head, it started to stare at him. "Okay, okay. I'm getting up."
He managed to light one of the lanterns; it seemed only the kitchen had
electric light. 

It was much too early in the morning. He started to head for the bathroom,
when it occurred to him there wasn't one. *One at the end of the hall?*
*That must be why it is so early, so I can be done and out of the way
before the rest of the floor is up.* He gathered together what he'd need
for his shower; it looked like the Constable shaved in the apartment as
there was a pitcher and basin to one corner. 

When he got back from his shower, he started over to prep for his shave,
filling the pitcher with hot water. *At least this isn't completely
frontier living.* Filling the basin, he noticed there was no shaving
cream. Then he recognized the mug and brush. That brought back memories of
his father, Sam must have been, maybe six. But the straight razor didn't
do a bit for his piece of mind. 

"Sam, there is safety razor. You just have to look for it. Seems he uses
it when he's been shot." 

"Al, don't do that!" Sam whirled around. What if I'd been shaving already,
with this?" He momentarily showed the razor he'd found to Al. 

"Geezsha. I thought you had to be a barber to have one of those. Or Daniel
Boone. Now I know why he thought that message was important. Look around,
it should be with a box of blades, the double-edged kind. I think that's
it, under the strap." Sam had found the razor all right, though calling it
a safety razor was a relative term. It was metal, with no bend to the
handle, though the grip was diamond cut, so it wasn't likely to slip. He
managed to put in a new blade as Al talked. 

"Well, I thought I could brief you as you shaved, but you'll need to
concentrate with that thing. That he uses it when he's been shot; but I
suppose if you normally use a straight razor." Sam was glaring at Al.
"Okay, you know that you're a Mountie, and this is Chicago. Seems you were
banished here after you captured your father's killer. What?" Al smacked
the handlink. "Seems it left a lot of dirty R.C.M.P.s out to dry. Okay,
that makes sense. Anyway, Detective Ray Vecchio was involved when you
tracked down the killer, and since then you've become his unofficial
partner. And you drag him into a fair share of bizarre good deeds." 

"And I'm here to..." 

"Still nada. You better lather up. Oh, you shouldn't be on door duty
today, so you can wear the brown uniform if you want. Seems they never
bothered to change the regulation when they changed uniforms, so he wears
red for best, and brown for everyday, instead of the regular blue. Your
superior officer is an Inspector Moffat, and the rest of the Constables
are under you. If you end up at the station, Lt. Welsh is Ray's superior,
though you always treat him with more respect. Oh, and thank you kindly,
Elaine. What?" The handlink squawked loudly. "Seems an Officer Brenbiss is
the records whiz, and that's what you always say after her help." 

Sam, was paying tangential care to Al's patter, as he focused on his
shave. He figured Al could manage to not tell him anything shocking until
he was safely done. "Okay, Al. So, what do I have to expect for the next
few days?" 

"A couple days vacation, as does Ray. Fraser can't remember anything about
his plans. No one is worse for wear on return; which Lt. Welsh
specifically notes somewhere. More than that, I'm sorry." 

"So something doesn't get put right while on vacation? That is a little
broad, isn't it?" 

"Actually, not as much as you'd think. Benton seems to seek out good
deeds, so whatever it is, it is unlikely to be flashy. And since his good
deeds tend to snowball, and both Ray and he return safely, there shouldn't
be any 'normal' good deeds to do outside of the odd roadside tire change."


"What about that device?" 

"That matter is still open." 

Sam had managed to successfully shave without cutting himself. He just
hoped his luck would hold for the rest of the leap. 

 

This was the part Al always hated; the waiting. That, and the weird sleep
schedules. This leap, it was only a few hours difference, just like it
would be without time travel. But with the early wake up call, Al needed
some more sleep. He decided it would be better if he headed up to his
quarters. After all, Sam should be able to manage until at least lunch. 

in the Project?* 

"Ziggy! Where is he?" 

"He went outside. By himself. Alone." 

"Why? And more importantly, how did he get outside!" 

"Al, when you yell like that, your heartrate really shoots up. I'm not
going to speak to you until you are civil." 

"Ziggy, why did Constable Fraser leave the Project? And, how did he
accomplish getting outside? If you could be so kind, where is he now?" The
strain in Al's voice was evident. 

"There, that wasn't so hard. He has gone hiking, and intends to camp. How
he got outside, was through a door. And, he has a tracker emitter, which
also lets me monitor his lifesigns. He was even so good as to arrange your
gear. There is a manifest list, in case he missed anything. And Admiral?" 

"Yes, Ziggy?" 

"He suggested you wait to follow until two, when the sun's rays won't be
so direct. Have a nice trip." 

 

"So, Benny, are you prepared for total Italian immersion? You know, this
really means alot to my ma. Where's your bags? You aren't reneging are
you?" 

"No, I just didn't get packed yet." Sam had no idea what Ray was talking
about, but hoped that was okay. 

"Sure. I suppose I should have expected that; after all, you would have
brought them down this morning. I know spending your long weekend at an
Italian wedding probably isn't on your top ten list, but I have made
Frannie swear to be on her best behavior. She went ahead with Ma, so we
don't have to hear her yacking. 

"I'm honored that I was asked." 

"Remember that halfway through the reception. Ma needed to, well it is
hard to explain. Just say you are maintaining some point of honor in the
complexities of extended family wedding attendance." 

"Like in a kula ring?" 

"That an Inuit thing?" 

"Trobriand Islanders. Malinowski. Or it might be more like banana-leaf
wealth. I can't recall her name." 

"And where are these Trobriands?" 

"The Pacific. Melanesia." 

"Something you read in your grandmother's library? At least that makes
sense, reading about tropical islands while snowed in for several months.
Myself, as a boy I was partial to National Geographic. That was my idea of
educational." 

Sam half-listened to Ray as he burbled on. So, Fraser read a lot, from
what apparently was a pretty eclectic library of his grandma's? At least
that provided some cover. *Haven't I been to an Italian wedding before?
Was I Italian at the time? At least I won't have to sing.* 

"Okay, I'll come up and help you decide what to pack. You could just ask.
And Benny, Ma likes the red uniform, since she knows you don't have a good
suit." 

 

Al hadn't had much choice in waiting. He still hadn't had breakfast and it
was nearly the end of lunch, by the time he found out about the escape.
Then he had to prepare to track down a Mountie through the desert. And
secure the project. He almost wished the inspection had already happened;
just so he would know it couldn't while he was gone. He double-checked his
pack; it was even balanced right for him. Somewhere, in the deep recesses
of his mind, he knew he was being looked after. Forward of that, that he
was being manipulated. Neither did one thing for his mood, except steam
him. He was going to get his man. 

 

Fraser was traveling slowly, picking his ground carefully. He was glad it
was , what December, January? Had it been summer, this would have been
positively foolhardy. As it was, having never actually been in the desert,
it wasn't real smart. But it wasn't as if he planned on going far. And, he
was being followed. When Ziggy suggested the emitter, he had promptly
assented. Following the sketchy map she had provided, Fraser threw himself
into the challenge. His goal was to make camp before being caught by the
Admiral, which hopefully wouldn't happen until nearly dusk. It was
strange, being the hunted, instead of the hunter. He paused briefly to
take a sip from his canteen. But then, here he was out in the desert,
while Ray was convinced his friend was still in Chicago. It was
interesting, this place. He wasn't exactly sure where he was, though
nightfall would mostly clear that up. Somewhere in the American Southwest.
Until the stars came out he wouldn't know much more. 

He'd been been sworn not to contact anyone, and he suspected his course
had be chosen carefully to avoid tipping him to his location. Ziggy had
been most helpful though in getting him supplies, and aiding his escape.
Her words, not his. He had to admit that he did need to get outside, that
the project was too much for him. But he wasn't looking to escape; he
could no more escape than go back to Canada. No, he was just going for a
little stroll, while he waited until he could go back to Chicago. 

 

Al glowered as he marched on and on through the desert. *Ziggy just let
him waltz out. No. She more than let him. She conspired with him, aided
and abetted him.* So here he was, tracking down a fugitive Mountie,
through a desert with no name. *Fugitive?* He rolled it around, and
brushed it aside. Somewhere, he knew it was no good. He wasn't going to be
able to blame the Constable. How do you blame a man who sets out but packs
your equipment, and knowingly takes along a homing beacon? No, he was
being led into the desert. After about the first hour, when he got used to
the heat, and could forget the sweat rising on his forehead to roll down
his checks and along his neck, he started to enjoy himself. 

An hour later, he even admitted it to himself. How long since he was last
out here? Out anywhere. It wasn't as if he spent all of his time at the
Project; he did go into Albuquerque every so often. He'd been all the way
to D.C. a few times since Sam leaped. Of course that had been for
meetings. But he hadn't been out here, well, for years. If one went far
enough, farther than he had any intention going on foot, there were some
streams. As an old city boy, he liked heading off to go fishing. *When did
I last go fishing?* Al stopped to take a look at the display; he seemed to
be catching up with his quarry. At least he might catch up with him before
nightfall. *No fishing today. Just hunting.* 

 

Sam had figured out that he was heading for a wedding involving Ray's
mother's cousin's daughter; at least, he thought that was who the bride
was. Apparently, Ma Vecchio was trying to maintain some semblance of how
many people she was entitled to bring by including the Mountie. Sam wasn't
sure if his mother would have entirely approved, though something about
singles at weddings gnawed at the back of his mind. With a mind
swiss-cheesed, he tried to push it away. So, he turned to listening to
Ray. 

Ray was babbling forth about something, but kept switching back and forth
between stories such that Sam was at a complete loss of following him. He
didn't seem to notice; maybe he didn't expect much conversation, so just
kept up a burbling background. Sam's thoughts started to wander. *What
happened to Al?* Not that Sam had really needed Al much this leap; it had
been pretty smooth, after the first hour or so. It was kind of humorous,
actually; leaping into someone who was even more of a terminal boy scout
than himself, and then barely having anything to do. But still, where was
Al? *He'd said he'd check back a little later, and now it is well past
dark, again.* He hoped Al wasn't off in a funk; he did that sometimes when
there wasn't anything he could do. 

"So, Benny? What do you think?" 

"What?" 

"You didn't hear a word I said." 

"Ah. No, Ray." 

Sam figured he was in trouble now. He'd completely tuned out what the
other man had been saying. 

"Do you think the Cubs have a prayer?" 

"I don't know; wait a minute, it's the wrong time of year." 

The other man perked up at that. He look surprised, pleased and just a bit
cagey, all at the same time. "What did you say?" he seemed to ask to
question cautiously. 

"Just that is too early for the draft picks and too late for the question
to apply to this season. After all, it's well past May." As an Indiana
boy, he couldn't help tweaking that. 

"And I thought you only paid attention to hockey. So, is it just football
and basketball you don't understand?" 

"I don't think I ever said that. Did I?" 

"Not exactly." 

Sam knew he was probably going to get the Canadian in trouble; he doubted
that basketball was very popular north of the border. "I'll concede
football. Basketball is a different story." 

 

"Good evening, Admiral. Care for some supper?" 

Al was annoyed. He was sure he wasn't that far out of practice. How could
the blasted Mountie see, or for that matter, hear him? 

"You might want to make your way to the fire. With the sun down, the wild
life will start moving around." 

Al made his way from around the outcropping of rock he'd crouched behind.
"Setting up housekeeping, have we?" Al could tell the other man had been
here, probably for a couple hours, at least. A small kettle of food
burbled over a restrained campfire. He just didn't understand; didn't
understand anything about this leap. 

"You were up wind." 

Upwind? There wasn't any wind. Wait one second! "You were able to smell me
out?" *If he wasn't vital to Sam's safety I'd thrash him soundly right
here and now!* 

"Cigar smoke, aftershave, and sweat are very noticeable, Admiral. Two out
of three, you might have been someone else." 

Al was infuriated, annoyed and wroth. He had been led out into the desert,
by a Mountie, and hadn't even been able to catch him by surprise. Because
of the other's acute sense of smell. He wanted to know what damn game was
being played and he wanted to know now. Instead, he shrugged off his pack,
sat down and digged out his mess kit. In silence, he served himself some
of the stew, and ate. 

"So, what do you want to say about him?" 

Al was startled by the question. He had nearly forgotten the other man's
presence, out in the shadows just beyond the fire. He didn't answer. 

"You know, the guy whose face I'm wearing?" The other man pulled in closer
to the fire, and was pointing to his face. The expression was largely
detached, though there was a faint smile toying at the corners of his
mouth. Sam's face, but not his expression. 

"Just stop it, damn you!" 

Fraser was taken aback. He hadn't expected that; though as he thought
about it he realized he should have. He slipped a little further back,
still visible, but his face shrouded in the darkness. "I thought you might
like to talk about him?" 

"Well I don't, not to you. I've had to leave him on his own to chase you
out here, after you charmed Ziggy right out of her circuit boards. If he
somehow solves whatever you messed up in the first place, with you out
here, I don't have any idea what will happen. So no, I don't want to talk
to you about him." 

"That's not very likely. She said it was 85% probability nothing would
happen until he and Ray got where they were going." 

"Which could be anytime, anywhere!" 

"It's a wedding, Admiral, at the end of a road-trip. Today was a usual day
at the office; tonight and probably most of tomorrow driving and then the
wedding. A big Italian wedding, one of Ray's cousin's. So, probably not
the day after tomorrow, but the following day at the soonest. He can
manage on his own. At worst, maybe crowd control with some over-sugared
kids, whose parents are swamped with last minute details. Ray will
probably wonder how I'm holding up." He hadn't meant it to sound like a
riot act. However, it did leave the other man speechless. *Good.*
Sometimes, he had to do that to Ray, to give him a chance to think. 

He felt like an absolute heel. Knew that Sam would have told him pretty
much the same thing. He had jumped all over this guy, who probably was the
most like Sam, of anybody around. Just because he wasn't. Hell, Sam likely
was living it up, riding in the Midwest. 

"He's. He's my best friend." 

Benton sat, tending the fire. Al continued. "He's a bloody genius, and a
boy scout, and he's out there. Out of his pride and because of me. We got
him back once; purely by accident. The project did. I wasn't here, I'd
traded places. Then, I was back here, and he was gone again. Because he
had to save me. He's always saving me, and I can't get him back. He has a
life, that he doesn't even know about. A beautiful wife. Managed to bring
back his brother from the dead. But he went and saved me, again." Al was
nearly choking on his emotions, roiling in confusion. 

"And how many times have you saved his?" 

Al just stared. 

"How many?" 

"A few." 

"You've lost count. And he has let you down a few times. Too busy saving
strangers. Yet you haven't given up. You'd do anything for him; have done
everything you could." 

"Not gotten him back." 

"Yet. Not yet is a world of difference." 

Something was storming in those eyes, Sam's green eyes, though oddly they
looked blue. They spoke of loss, and regret, and self-reproach. It
reminded Al of the time in the corn field; he felt he was in Sam's place
this time now. 

"Son," 

"He was shot. He was out on patrol, and a man who was supposed to be his
friend killed him." 

"Your father." 

"The only family I had left. There was nothing I could do." 

"You found his killer. Captured him." 

"It wasn't enough. Too little, too late. No justice." 

Al didn't know what to say. What he had read wasn't justice. The sentence
was soft; the case was too big for anything harsher. Government corruption
courting ecological disaster; the life of one man, rather, his death,
didn't stack up very well in the big picture. "The justice was his son
having better principles than those who covered up the whole affair." 

"Thank you, Admiral." 

They sat in silence for a time, each in their memories. "He sings show
tunes." Al broke in. 

"Pardon?" 

"During the whole time we were building the project, even before, he'd
sing these show tunes. It was like living in a dinner theater.
Photographic memory; knew all the lyrics to every American Musical ever
scored. Right now he's so Swiss-cheesed, he doesn't remember them. One
leap, he was in one, the story of Don Quixote. Was almost like having him
back, for a little while. He's a genius, even a classical pianist, but
sometimes his taste is atrocious!" 

Fraser couldn't help but laugh. Hard. It was totally infectious. Al was
slapping his leg, he was laughing so hard. The two of them told stories
late into the night. 

 

Sam liked this Ray fellow. Thought the Chicago cop and the Constable must
make a rather unlikely pair. *Not any stranger than an Italian Admiral and
a Indiana physicist!* Sam mused about the sort of person whose life he'd
leaped into was. He'd pieced together that his father had been the last of
his family. He'd been killed doing his duty; his son exiled for doing his,
both as an officer and as a son. There was that apartment; it spoke of a
man who knew no home. Sam could sympathize. But it wasn't really the same;
he had a home, just couldn't get back. Benton, had lost his, and hadn't
found a new one. Or, hadn't realized he had. After all, the Constable was
on his way to a big Italian wedding. And point of honor or no, he was a
marker only because he had been adopted. 

 

"We are here for our tour. We will be breaking into three groups, I'm sure
escorts can be found. Afterwards, we will see the heart of the Project
itself." The members from the hearing were gathered in the subdued lobby,
their senior chair informing the duty guard blocking their entrance
further into the complex. The MP wasn't quite sure how to handle this.
They were expected, but not at this hour. It was apparent that not all of
the visitors had planned it either. The speaker was wearing a light suit,
appropriate for the clime. One or two others were dressed in what could
vaguely be considered traveling business wear. The rest however were in a
motley assortment of casual or even clubbing clothes. Just as he was
afraid he'd have to do something, his superior came up from behind. 

"Gentlemen, Ladies. If you will come this way, the tour can begin." 

The tour functionally started in the canteen, though passing reference was
made to the various facilities they encountered in route. By the time the
guests had each gotten some coffee, a few of his men had been waked to
follow the various groups. "I will let you get to your preliminary
inspection; not much of the actual staff will be up for the next several
hours. Breakfast starts at six hundred. If you have any further questions,
someone will be made available." After a few orders to his men, he left. 

 

Sam was marveling at the sunrise, as he drove along a nearly empty stretch
of highway. He'd never had someone put up so much a fuss about switching
drivers. Ray had been very detailed about the gear shift and the clutch;
looked like he was expecting the apocalypse for nearly the first half
hour. Eventually though, Sam had apparently put his vehicular fears to
rest, and the detective fell asleep. Now, Sam had the view out the
windshield to himself, and he frankly was a little homesick. It wasn't
Indiana out there, but it certainly reminded him of it. The fields full of
stubble from the corn. The occasional windmill slowly spinning, or not,
depending on its state of neglect. Barns, both freshly painted and
dejectedly abandoned. Autumn was a melancholy time in the Midwest, if just
visiting. But the sunrise, nothing was melancholy about that sunrise, not
the magenta orb of the sun, the light dusting of clouds accentuating the
bright colors of the new day. So even though Sam wasn't home, he had a
little piece of it, right in that sky. "Just like Elk Ridge." 

"Thought that was Moose Jaw, and you didn't like it." Sam realized he must
have said it outloud. "You know, we should try to find somewhere to stop
for breakfast. Where are we anyway? Oh, we look to be making good time;
what time is it?" 

"Got to be nearly seven. I'll pull into the first diner I see, if that's
okay with you?" 

"Sure, out here they are pretty much the same. And, you know they'll be
open by the time we find one." 

 

They had just about finished their breakfast, the table quite covered with
plates. "Benny, you'd think you'd never seen food before! Good thing your
grandmother Scotchguarded you." 

Sam was a little sheepish, when he noticed that most of the empty dishes
were his handiwork. "Guess I haven't had a breakfast like this since the
last one mom cooked." After he said it, he was sure he'd made a mistake.
Ray was looking at him with a combination of sympathy and shock. "Ray?" 

"It's just you never talk about her. I know you were pretty young." There
was a short pause. "I don't know what I'd done if I'd lost Ma like that." 

*Where is Al? Strike that. At this hour, I don't want to know. How to deal
with this?* "Well, yes. I don't remember much about her. It was a long
time ago." It was real thin, but what else could he say? Ray seemed to
accept it anyway, even though there was still this faint glint, of what?
Sorrow, tinged with appreciation of his own good fortune. It was a look
Sam had given Al a number of times, and Al him a few. Why, that was
completely Swiss-cheesed, but that much he could remember. 

"When we are done here, I figure we have about two more hours of driving,
less if we make the exits the first time. After that, give up all hope of
quiet." 

"Well then," said Sam finishing the last few bites, "into the breech."

 After paying up and one last attempt at looking presentable, they were
back on the road. The traffic had started to get heavier, but it was
mostly headed the other way. In the end, thanks to Sam's sharp eyes, and
Ray's willingness to stretch a few traffic ordinances, they pulled into
the drive a little over an hour later. 

 

If Al had known the tour group was currently treading the corridors of the
Project, they would have been double-timing back, without striking camp.
As it was, he was enjoying his 'enforced vacation', though he wasn't
completely prepared to admit it. Still, he knew, as much as Ziggy was an
annoying, stuck-up, manipulative diva of a computer, she wouldn't endanger
Sam. Her father, as she called him. 

"Admiral." 

"Call me Al." 

"Did you want to head back now?" 

"Yes, but I don't think we will. Much as I don't like leaving Sam on his
own, without anything more to go on, I'm more likely to distract him from
the mission. We'll go back this evening. How long does the direct route
take?" 

"A couple of hours." Al's expression was perplexed. "Ziggy time-delayed
the read out, I'm afraid. Was very insistent, I couldn't dissuade her." 

 

Dr. Beeks had been alerted by Ziggy, shortly after her last period of
R.E.M., that the inspection had arrived. She couldn't face them quite yet;
anyway, it would be suspicious for her to be up so early. "Ziggy, where is
the Admiral?" 

"He is in the desert. I didn't think it wise to inform him. Father is not
currently in need of instruction." 

Verbeena rolled it over; no, Al, rushing in was the last thing they
needed. Not to mention explaining Dr. Beckett in the desert. That the
visitor had gotten out. No, none of that would be good. *So, that leaves
you in charge.* "For the time being, we'll keep Al in the dark. Keep me
apprised of his location, without anyone else learning about the matter.
What are Tina and Gushie's status?" 

"Shacked-up, is the best term." 

"Ziggy." It wasn't an order, but a slight whiff of reproof was included. 

"Both are asleep." 

"When they get up, inform Tina of the situation. Try not to upset Gushie.
Last thing we need is him flustered and letting things slip. Encourage her
to come down to the canteen early; I want to catch these people while they
are still a little off-guard." That done, she proceeded to follow her
normal routine, just a couple hours early. 

 

Sam didn't think it was possible. It was even louder than the supper; but
then, it mostly was children, with far too few adults to manage them all.
Everyone was surging around them, a hugging mass of humanity. Above it
all, Ray was giving a riot act about the car, and flashing his badge
around. This didn't stop the kids from clambering up on the people, namely
Sam, and then Ray. But there was a two inch clearance all around the car
itself. Eventually, Ma Vecchio managed to get through, shushing at the
children in Italian. When they cleared, only three children were still
attached; one hanging around his neck, another clinging to his leg, and a
more restrained one pulling at his arm. "Benton, I'm so sorry about that.
They've been meeting aunts and uncles and everybody that they haven't
seen, and getting lots of presents." 

"Ma, can you help me out here?" Ray, was struggling under what seemed to
be six or seven children, all hanging on him and in severe danger of
pulling him over. 

"Caro. Children, please. He's been driving all night." After they had
checked all his pockets, they headed back behind the house. Except for the
smallest few, who continued to cling. 

"Okay, so who are you? And you?" Now that the hoard was gone, Ray could
turn his attention to the children still latched to him. Sam managed to
move his own assortment over closer. 

"This is Annett, Francis, and Joey." 

"Well Fraser, I'd like you to meet Jessie, John, and Susan. Okay,
everybody. My name is Ray, and you can call him Ben. You have to play
nicely with him, he's Canadian. Understood?" All the moppets started
nodding their heads. Each of the children, except the one still holding on
to Sam's neck, did their best Sunday manners, shaking his hand. Sam,
trying to keep from laughing, used the opportunity to fix their names to
their faces and make sure he had them right. "We'll be back out in a bit."
With that, Ray headed up to the porch. Sam, depositing his armful, ran up
to catch him. 

"Some days, Benny, I wish I could claim to be Canadian." 

"But then you'd have to be quiet." 

"Right. And polite. And use good grammar. Forget I said it." 

"Forgotten, Ray." 

 

Remarkably, the tours were going alright. The Project, basically, was
running smoothly. The staff members were cordial, answering questions with
aplomb. But, it was not going to last, and Verbeena knew it. Eventually,
the dog and pony would be over and they'd expect the real show. If Al
didn't get back, there would be explaining. When he did, there would be
questions. It was lose, lose, all the way. They had to think of something.
Quickly. 

 

"Benny, this is your fault. If you 'fess up now, Ma won't kill you. Much."


"You didn't think seal, seal, polar bear was a bad idea." 

"That wasn't the problem. Even your version of Red Rover was okay, but I
think you are taunting me. It was story time, Benny. Did you have to tell
them about the dogsleds?" 

Sam knew it was true. However, he really hadn't had much choice. He didn't
know much about the Territories, but he recalled something of the race,
heaven help him if he could remember its name. He couldn't tell Ray that,
of course, and he doubted it would win any points with the dogs. If he
didn't want to be fed to them and forced to share their dish, he was going
to have to get these children calmed down. 

"Everyone. Children. Thank you. Would you kindly form a circle? Please
take your neighbor's hand. All together in the middle." The kids laughed
at that. "And slowly take three steps back. Another three. Let's sit
down." Sam was pleased that had worked, it was something he'd picked up in
cub scouts. Ray was looking on in amazement from another part of the
circle. He was not happy after the next bit. "Ray, would you oblige by
starting the singing?" 

The kids were very excited by this, clapping and bouncing around where
they sat. Ray had a look, well, not exactly murderous in intent, but one
Fraser might have thought twice about invoking. Sam had no such
compunctions. His eyes were twinkling, while his expression tried to
transmit the sorts of songs he'd be able to come up with. 

Ray started tentatively. He was afraid not to, least songs about tracking
caribou and howling wolves come to Fraser's lips. *Hang out with a
Mountie, they'll take any excuse to start singing. And make everyone join
in.* "Row, row, your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily life
is but a dream." He was glad after the first words were out he was not
singing alone. Then Benny broke in, about it being a round, and getting
the different parts set up. It took a couple of tries, but finally, it was
sounding pretty good. Somehow, between them, and the kids, they managed to
come up with half a dozen songs to sing. Finally, the children were
calming down, getting just a little run down. And they started pestering
Ben for a song. 

Sam couldn't think of anything appropriate; his swiss-cheesed memory was
tumbling lyrics around, mangling bits and pieces of various songs, setting
them to snatches of other tunes. And then one song came to him. 

Ray didn't recognize the song. It was a ballad, about valleys, laundry,
and going off to war. Either it was a love song, or a drinking song; he'd
learned that with these it was never a sure thing. *Must be a Scottish
thing* Once in a while, Fraser would do that. *Which is worse, Canadian or
Scot?* Then, the song was over. The women had gathered outside the circle,
ready to pull the various offspring to naps. It took them awhile to notice
the song was over, and then they bustled the children off. 

"Caro, he has such a lovely voice. We should get him to sing at church." 

"Ma, look what youve done. He's blushing, and he's not even in uniform." 

She bid her son's friend over, pulling him into a hug, kissing him on the
cheek. "Bemissio. Now, you two, I'll bring out your snack. The children
will have theirs after naps. You'll need to recoup your strength. Take the
porch." 

 

After a leisurely breakfast, they broke camp, setting out away from the
Project. They were going to round the other way, to investigate some
petroglyphs he remembered Sam mentioning a number of years ago. Figured
that would give them something to do on the way back. It was good to get
some air into him, Al had to admit. 

Fraser was taking the surroundings in. He hadn't actually figured out
where he was; not a lot of time to check the stars last night. Maybe
Arizona, New Mexico. He'd accomplished the task he'd set himself, getting
the Admiral, getting Al, to talk. The other man's mood had certainly
improved; clearly, Dr. Beckett was a lucky man to have such a good friend.


 

Finally, it was supper time. Sam couldn't believe the day; it was
exhausting just thinking of it. After three-thirty, reinforcements came;
the kids were seriously out numbering them now, even with the help of a
few teen-age girls. That they'd been making goo-goo eyes at him hadn't
helped. But now, it was dinner. Of course, that meant he'd be trapped at a
table with them all. With the adults. But at least that would just be
noisy, and not so physical. Sam was feeling his age, whatever that was.
What, mid-forties? Had he been leaping that long? 

 

"Ziggy, where is Al?" 

"He is coming back as we speak." 

"Can you warn him, of the situation here." 

"Yes." 

"Would you please do so. Gently." 

 

"Good lord! Fraser, we've got to hurry. They're here, and have been in
there all day." 

"Ah?" 

"Government over-sight. We're going to have to get in without them
noticing." 

"Understood." The two men set off in double time back to the Project. 

 

"We have finished the general tours, but now it is showtime. Would you be
so kind to have the Admiral show us the control room?" 

Tina didn't like this. He was laying it on thick, a statement-or a threat-
rather than a request. "I'm afraid I can't do that." *Why the hell not?*
"A complete reinitializing sequence is in progress. During this time, no
one may enter the core area." 

"Then we will question Calavecci while we wait." 

"I'll try to locate him for you." Tina headed off for Dr. Beeks' office,
hoping she had ideas on how to stall them. 

 

"Okay, we have to get in. How do we slip you past?" 

"Sir? Uh, Al?" 

"Right now, you look like Sam. If we aren't careful, they'll decide this
is all an expensive boondoggle and cut the funding. You won't be able to
convince them you aren't Dr. Beckett." 

"Then we need a disguise. How about knocking out one of the guards?" 

"I'd have suggested that, but they have Sgt. Josie on duty. Take a look."
Al handed the field-glasses over. Fraser could see a short woman, maybe
all of five feet and about a hundred pounds. 

"We'd never take her, and her uniform won't fit. She's tough. If only we
could get someone else up here." 

"Could Ziggy do that?" 

"Sure. She got you out." 

"Point taken. Then, we'll have to get her to do so." Fraser crawled back
from the small bluff, and headed down the other side. He was pacing a
square. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Getting her attention. If you would be so kind, please stand right there,
at the end of the mid-line. I'll be the right flag and you the left." 

*Remind them to put a keypad on the next link* Al felt a little silly
doing semaphore in the desert; not as silly as having to pace back and
forth like a game of Simon Says. 

"Who should we ask for?" 

"Corporal MacInaugh. He's about the right size." It took a few times for
them to get Ziggy to understand who they needed. 

 

"I'm sorry, but the Admiral is presently involved with the operation of
the Project, and can't be disturbed." Verbeena didn't honestly expect that
would hold them. But she needed to stall them. *Al, you owe me one hell of
a dinner.* 

"Like hell he cant. I expect us to be briefed immediately, or it will
adversely affect our deliberations." 

"Chairman, I am at your disposal to answer your questions; the Admiral
will fill in any gaps as soon as he is available." 

 

Finally, they were back in the base. *Damn he has a hard face.* Al flexed
his hand. The Constable was doing his best impression of a faceless
soldier, aided by the somewhat oversized helmet. Once in the elevator, he
could again talk to Ziggy. "What's our situation?" 

"They want to see you. Ten minutes ago. More importantly, they are in
between you and the Imaging Chamber." 

*When it rains it pours.* "Okay Ziggy. First, get Tina to pick out
something for me to change into. Not too flashy, but presentable. She'll
have to smuggle it into the Control Room. Now, we are going to need a
little distraction." 

 

It was dark and loud. "What's going on?" It was the chairman. Just then
the emergency lights went on. "Please exit down the hall. The guards will
escort you to the shelter. Quickly." The claxons were starting to sound
further off, as various blast doors started slamming down. The bustling of
the committee was impeded by the flow of personnel, some to shelter, while
others headed to damage control stations. In the confusion, first Tina,
and then Al followed by Fraser were able to make it into the Control Room.


"Hello boys. I'm glad you could join the party. Ms. O'Farell, I suggest
you make way to the shelter. After all, this room is shut for
recalibration." 

Tina left, not without giving both Al and Benton good luck kisses. 

"You, get back into the fermi-suit and hide the uniform. I've got to check
on Sam." Al scooped up a proper handlink, the clothes, and a small black
kit on his way into the Imaging Chamber. 

"Sam, good to see you. Oh man, what I wouldn't give to have what you're
having. The food looks great too." Al gave an appreciating look at the
young women on either side of Sam, pressed very close around the heavily
laden table. "Meet me outside, soon as you can excuse yourself." 

When Sam managed to leave the table, he found a shirtless Al mopping
himself down on the front lawn. He couldn't help laughing, though not too
loudly. 

"Did Tina throw you out or is there a water shortage?" 

"Funny. Just a little caca back here. How's it there?" 

"Exuberant and voluble." By this point, Al was shaving with a cordless,
the whiskers falling into nothingness like a ersatz snowball. "Are things
okay back there?" 

"Honestly, no, but I'll handle it. Anything new you've learned?" 

"The wedding is tomorrow, and I never want to leap into a daycare
provider. Everything else can wait. I'd better head back in and let you
get finished." 

Al dissolved, cutting the link so he could finish not feeling like an
exhibitionist. Then he slapped on some cologne, ran his fingers through
his hair and prepared to face the firing squad. 

 

"Benny, they getting to you? Ma sent me to check on you." 

"I just needed some air. Little warm in there." 

"Come on, before Frannie makes everyone change places." 

"Oh dear." 

 

"Admiral, I trust you can explain this?" The chairman was really leaning
into his veiled intimidation routine. Al, was having none of it, and
nonchalantly asked on of the soldiers for a briefing on the drill. After
hearing it ran smoothly, he faced off with the chairman. 

"Was I wrong in thinking you wanted to see how the Project operates?" Al
was tweaking with his best icy officer persona, injecting a little treacle
and spice. "Now, I think one of the conference rooms would be more
comfortable than this safety shelter." 

 

"Fraser, how was the camping?" 

"Hello, Ziggy. I hope I haven't caused any harm to the Project? It was
nice though." 

"I'm glad. But no, I think the excursion was good. Al can deal with
trouble. It's the stuff in between he doesn't always handle so well. He
misses Father terribly, and takes it out on himself." 

"Sam seems to be a good man. Al too." 

"Thank you kindly, Constable Fraser." 

 

Sam wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up with a room to himself, what with
all the people stacked in like logs. Certainly, it was a small room, but
his own mother would have pushed one more in, if they ever had this many
people at the farm. Either Ray, or his mom, must have decided Benny had
had enough people for the day, and could do with a little alone time. 

"Al!" 

"Good to see you too, kid. Yeah, I think it is all straightened out.
Little fast thinking. That Mountie is a tricky one, don't let anyone kid
you. We are going to have to do something about Ziggy though, after this
leap. She'll really miss him. Maybe me too, a little." 

"Ziggy got anything more to go on?" "Well, she had an 85% that whatever
you have to do, happens at or after the wedding. What, well, we still
don't know." 

"Not a lot of computer records?" 

"Yeah. I guess a few things still are private. So, how was your day? Sorry
I couldn't help out." 

"It's okay. Actually, given the number of the five and under set we had;
let's say we had our hands full without a Italian angel. What is with your
clothes? Dry cleaner strike?" 

Al looked at what he was wearing. Tina had gone with a powder blue shirt,
charcoal pants and jacket. No tie, and a very plain pair of loafers. It
wasn't something he'd have picked. Committee or not. Al shrugged. 

"Were you wearing fatigues earlier?" 

"Yeah, little excursion. Nothing to worry about. Then, we had company in.
Went for a more restrained look. A little too far, I think." 

"Oh, I don't know. Well, for you you're probably right. While you're here,
I think I'm going to need a little more background; I was fudging alot on
the car trip down." 

 

The next day, in Sam's mind was pretty calm. After all, he was just a bit
player in this production, whose only responsibilities seemed to spelling
Ray on Ma Vecchio back up, and listening to Ray's color commentary before
the wedding. During the ceremony itself, aside from not falling for Al's
tomfoolery, everything was smooth. Even the bridesmaids seemed happy with
their dresses. Sam seemed to recall that was a minor miracle in itself. 

But then came the reception. This was going to be the make or break, and
he was a little nervous about if he'd be able to figure out what he was
supposed to do. After all, it wasn't easy to see, with all the people
milling around. 

"There you are. At least you're easy to spot in that suit. Somebody needs
to talk to you. This way. Coming through. Scusi." 

Sam was led to the chair of an older gentleman, who he recognized as the
father of the bride. The man started talking in Italian, and Ray played
translator. "He wants you to stand in for him, during the father and bride
dance. Seems he twisted his foot the other day, and it was all he could do
walking her down the aisle. He's double-checking that you are a good
dancer." 

"Yes Ray, but why me?" Ray inquired in Italian, taking a fair bit longer
in the wording. Then he turned back to Sam. 

"First, he thinks you'll make a dashing replacement. Something about an
old regiment. More over, you are a neutral party. Choosing you only refers
to the dance. If he used one of his sons, well, it would be significant.
What'll it be Benny?" 

"Tell him I'd be honored. It is a standard waltz, right?" 

 

The contrast between the white gown and the red serge was striking.
Fortunately, Sam thought, they had the floor to themselves. He wasn't sure
he could navigate the extra volume of the large skirt and train through a
mass of people. With the empty floor, he was able to direct them through a
number of turns and other flourishes, which displayed the dress
beautifully. As the music ended, he returned the bride to her father, took
his leave and headed off for the refreshments. 

"Sam, you have just made every woman in the room very, very jealous. Now
they are all going to want Prince Charming to dance at their weddings." 

"Wow, Benny. Is that standard Mountie training, or was that the advanced
course?" 

"Caro. You are such a handsome man. You too, my son. Benton, do you see
that young girl over in the corner, in the coral? I heard she's turning
sixteen, and her braces are still on. Would you try to cheer her up?" Sam
kissed Ma Vecchio on the cheek, and turned to cross the room. "See, he's
learning. He just needs to be around people more. All that time in the
snow. Such a waste. What, are you still here? Out onto the floor already."


"Might I have this dance?" The girl was startled, giddy and then a little
shy. When the next song started, Sam coaxed her onto the floor. Sam
understood it must be an awkward time for her. She was a tall girl, with
good features and rather extensive dental hardware. Very easy for callow
teenage boys to ignore. Establishing she was a good dancer, Sam went for a
slightly more flashy tour around the floor. Especially around the young
men assembled. After he'd left her in the company of a new partner Al
popped up. "Look, she ends up going to the prom after all! Good work,
Sam." 

Now Sam remembered about singles and weddings. If the ratios were bad, you
ended up with lots of unhappy wallflowers. *Thank you, this is a good
leap.* Mixing through the girls, women with winded husbands, widows and
other ladies, Sam was having a marvelous time. It wasn't that often he got
to just enjoy himself on a leap. Every so often Al would point out some
slight improvement- men paying renewed attention to their wives, improved
self-confidence, a couple of averted heart attacks. Yet Ziggy was still
rating his probability to leap in the low thirties. Pausing by the punch
bowl, he noticed a tiny old woman, completely dressed in black. He
motioned her out to Al. 

"Oh, according to Ziggy, that is Maria. She is 97 years, so she no longer
uses any other names. She's from the groom's side, an aunt of some sort.
This is tragic. She has been a widow for more than sixty years, outlived
all her sons, and grandsons and rarely sees her great-great
grandchildren." Sam asked Al how to ask if she would like to dance, and
set off. 

In his best Italian accent, he asked her. She declined, but there was
something in her voice that persuaded Sam to try again. Al was confused
when he didn't understand what Sam said next, before requesting a tune.
After the opening strains, she stood pulling herself up straight like a
rod, and her head tipped up. The floor cleared, no one certain what was
happening- this wasn't any dance they knew. 

Mostly, it was danced apart, with it not clear who, if either, was
leading. Sometimes, they would join left, or right hands and promenade
turn. Others, they would dance backs toward each other, circling with very
small sharp steps. At various points, Maria, would slap her skirts forth
and back, with one hand or the other. And then it was over, her in a deep
curtsy, and Sam in near kneel. When they stood, he offered her an elbow,
and escorted her to and from the refreshments, leaving her to a newly
formed perplexed court of relatives. 

"What was that?" asked Al, with a look of some one who'd seen a vision. 

"Fraser, explain that, right now." Ray was completely stunned. 

"She's Galician, not Italian. That's the one dance I know." 

"Ziggy, did you catch that? I want complete references on that dance,
patched to my quarters." 

"You didn't learn that from any book, and you can't tell me that, that,
was just any dance." Ray couldn't have been in any more awe had his friend
sprouted an extra head, or the heavenly host descended, at that moment. 

"Well, no. If we were younger and closer to the same age, it would be a
courtship dance. As it is, it is a dance of paying court." 

"Sam, you won't believe it. For the next several years, she is going to be
giving dancing lessons, and seeing alot more of her great-grandchildren.
As of now, she is still alive, with lots of twenty-something men to squire
her around." 

"You are one complicated fellow. Think that would work on Chicago women?
Suppose there aren't alot of Galicians hanging around. Sure is one spirit
of a dance though." 

After a breather by the refreshments, Sam offered Ma Vecchio a "slow
waltz" around the room. The whole time she clucked to him in Italian.
Turning her back over to Ray, he was met full on the lips by Frannie. As
the leap took hold, Al chimed "Good night, Gracie!" 

 

Epilogue. 

Ziggy's private log- 

It has been three months since Constable Benton Fraser leaped back home. I
have decided to track him in syncopated time. My father still hasn't
returned. Al doesn't know it, but I'm going to be a big sister soon. Dr.
Eleese has decided to stay in Elk Ridge; thinks it will be easier on Al if
he doesn't have that secret to keep as well. I hope the wandering is
nearly at an end. Apparently, the switch between my father and Benton has
had some further consequences. The records from the original timeline are
sketchy, but I think Det. Vecchio was soft-peddling something. In the new
timeline, Fraser was shot twice, in the back by Vecchio, as in the first
account, and also by Victoria Metcalf. Seems she did have a gun after all.
Currently recovering, they were able to remove Vecchio's bullet. The
bitch's is still lodged behind his heart. Something about compound
trajectory in the medical file. He wears Ray's bullet as a talisman, like
a relic of old. Return to Archive