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For all of you out there who liked Leaptrek, here, at last,
is the sequel.  Sorry it took so long, but I don't like to
post things until they're done.  Plus the rerunning of the
early Quantum Leap episodes forced me to rewrite a few things
to make them line up better with QL canon.  (I have still
played a bit fast and loose with it, but oh, well.)

Anyway, there are four chapters, so I will post in at least
four parts, maybe more depending on how many lines these
turn out to be when I upload them.

And here's Chapter One.  Hope you like it.

Katriena.



LEAPTREK II
CHAPTER ONE

Al was sleeping when the call came from the control room that
the leap had completed.  He hastily threw on a robe and ran
for the waiting room.  He was somewhat worried about the
leap; the last one had been tricky to say the least, and he'd
been concerned that Sam might get lost in the process of
reshuffling the time continuums they had managed to cross to
meet up with Jean-Luc Picard and the Enterprise.  So he was
relieved to know that they had received another leapee, but
at the same time he couldn't help but wonder if Sam had made
it safely to his destination.

"Who is it, Ziggy?" he called out, rounding the corner to the
waiting room.  There was no answer.  "Ziggy!"  he called
again.  Still silence.

Verbena Beeks was just emerging from the waiting room.

"Ziggy's communications circuits are off-line," she said.
"Gooshie and Tina are working on it."

"Oh, wonderful.  So we don't know who he is."

"Well, as a matter of fact, we do," said Verbena.  She looked
back at the closed door.  "Why don't you go in and talk to
him?  I think you're going to find this very interesting."

Al shrugged.  Usually, Verbena discouraged contact with the
leapees.  But since Ziggy was down, it seemed appropriate to
Al that he be allowed to intervene this time.  He opened the
door and went in.

The man looked like Sam Beckett.  They all looked like Sam
Beckett.  But this version stood very stiff, solid in his
stance in spite of the bleary look in his eyes.  When he saw
Al he took a step forward, a spark of indignation igniting on
his face.

"I hope," he said firmly, "that you are prepared to face the
consequences of abducting a Starfleet officer."

Al frowned.  "Well, I don't know."

"Then maybe you should have looked into that before you did
it.  Now, who the hell are you and what makes you think you
have the right to beam me right out of my quarters?"

"I'm Admiral Albert Calavicci," Al replied.  "And who the
hell are you?"

The man straightened even more; a feat Al would not have
thought possible.  "Commander William T. Riker of the
Federation Starship Enterprise."

"Oh, boy," said Al.

****

Sam stared at the mirror, shocked.  The bearded man with dark
hair and grey-blue eyes was not a stranger.

"Riker?" Sam said.  "Commander Riker?  What in the . . ."

He broke off.  It wasn't possible.  Data had reprogrammed
Ziggy to send the Enterprise and her crew back -- or forward,
rather -- to the 24th century, safely out of Sam's zone of
influence.  Yet there was Riker, staring Sam in the face,
clad in a red and black Starfleet uniform, surrounded by a
room full of gadgets Sam could not make heads or tails of.
Something had definitely gone awry.

And he wasn't going to be granted any time to think about it.
A commanding voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Number One, report to the bridge immediately."

Sam had the distinct feeling that this was the captain, whose
persona he had only recently vacated.

"I'm on my way," Sam said automatically, and went to find the
door.

That problem solved, he found the nearest turbolift and asked
to be taken to the bridge.  In a way, it was comforting to be
in familiar surroundings, even though he still didn't have
the hang of the 24th century technology.  At least he didn't
need Al to tell him who he was.

On the bridge, the captain was standing in front of his
chair, talking in low tones to Deanna Troi, the ship's
counselor.  Sam hesitated.  There was a good chance that
Deanna, with her empathic abilities, would be instantly aware
of Sam's presence.  Sam analyzed himself for a moment, making
sure he felt confident and in control.  As long as he kept
his emotions in line with what Riker would normally feel, he
should be relatively safe.

Picard looked up.  "Number One," he said.  It was strange to
Sam to be looking at a face which he had recently seen
looking back at him out of mirrors.  "I need you to take the
bridge.  My presence has been requested planetside to
finalize the negotiations."

"Aye, sir," said Sam.  He took the command chair as Picard
left the room.

"So much for a relaxing afternoon with your trombone," Deanna
said to him.  Sam glanced at her.  She was smiling warmly.
He had suspected, and was beginning to believe, that there
was a great deal of affection between these two people.
Well.  He'd have no difficulty faking that emotion.  He had
developed a certain affection for Deanna, himself.

"Well, duty calls," he said.  "It could be worse."

"Commander Riker." The voice came from the bridge intercom,
and Sam was fairly certain it belonged to O'Brien.  "We have
a guest requesting permission to board."

"Oh, really?  Who is it?"

There was a pause.  "It's Counselor Troi's mother, sir."

Sam looked at Deanna, eyebrows up.  Deanna put her face in
one hand.  "It's worse."

****

A cup of hot coffee and a Wynton Marsalis tape served to calm
Commander Riker considerably.  Al went to get dressed,
leaving Verbena with the Commander.  When Al returned to the
waiting room, the atmosphere was much more civil.

"So," said Riker.  "You're Al?  And this is where Captain
Picard was two weeks ago while your friend Beckett was on the
ship?"

"That's right," Al said.  He turned to Verbena.  "Is Ziggy
back up yet?"

"I believe so, yes."

Al inspected his handlink, making sure it was charged.
"Ziggy, can you tell us where Sam is right now?  Location and
date?"

The computer's feminine voice seemed a little slow, but
otherwise no worse for the malfunction.  "Dr. Beckett is
currently aboard the starship Enterprise, in a high orbit
above Earth.  The date is . . . uncertain, but approximately
400 years in the future."

Al glanced at Riker.  Riker shrugged.

"That's about right."

"Yeah, maybe, but Ziggy's not supposed to be able to move Sam
out of his own life loop.  Unless . . ."  He tapped the
handlink reflectively.  "You guys hang tight.  I'm going to
talk to Gooshie."

When he found Gooshie on the floor under Ziggy's main memory
banks, Al knew his guess had been right.

"What's going on, Gooshie?"

"Nothing normal, that's for sure.  Ziggy's acting very
strange.  I can't find anything in the software, so I thought
it might be a hardware problem."  He sat up.  "Ziggy's
accessing a lot more power than he should be."

"Well, I guess that explains why Sam is sitting in the 24th
century."

"What?"

"You heard me."  Al frowned.  "I have a real funny feeling I
know what's going on.  Check that software again, and look
for hidden files.  And look damn hard.  I've got to go talk
to Sam."

In the waiting room, the atmosphere had gotten even more
comfortable.  Riker and Verbena appeared to be having quite
an involved conversation.  Al elected to leave them alone,
and went on to the Imaging Chamber.

The door opened at his request, so at least one thing was
normal.  Inside, Al was confronted with the image of the
Enterprise bridge.  Lt. Commander Data was right in front of
him.  Al shivered a little.  The pasty-faced android gave him
the willies.  He walked through the image to approach the
command chair.

Now there was a much nicer representative of the future:
Deanna Troi.  She certainly didn't give Al the willies.  Sam,
hiding behind Commander Riker's aura, was talking to her.

"Well, if I had a choice,  I'd say no," Deanna was saying.
"But she _is_ my mother.  And since the negotiations are
concluding and we're basically just on shore leave, I don't
see any excuse not to let her on board."

Sam nodded.  "Permission granted."  He looked at Al then.

"We need to talk, Sam.  We've got big problems."

Sam's mouth tightened and he stood.  "I'll be in the ready
room."

Deanna nodded.

Al followed Sam to the little room off the main bridge.  Sam
sat down behind the desk.

"Is it my imagination," Sam said, "or has something gone more
than a little caca?"

"Caca doesn't even come close.  Ziggy is acting very weird."

"Weird like how?"

"Like he's pulling in enough power to light Cleveland for a
week.  And like he's leaped you into the 24th century."

Sam was shocked.  "You mean I'm operating on their timeline?
No time bubble this time?"

"That appears to be the case."

"But that's impossible."

"Well, maybe not.  If you'll recall, Data reprogrammed Ziggy
so we could send the Enterprise back where it belonged."

"But those programs were supposed to automatically erase
themselves."

"But what if they didn't?  What if Ziggy's been playing with
them since 1995, and now he's pulling them out and using
them?"

"Oh, boy.  We could be in big trouble."

"We certainly could."

"So what am I supposed to do?  Is there something here I can
fix so I can leap out of here?"

"I don't know.  We're talking to Riker, so maybe he'll have
some ideas.  In the mean time, just . . . enjoy the ride, I
guess.  Bye-bye."

"Enjoy the ride," Sam grumbled as Al departed.  "Yeah, easy
for you to say."

He gave himself a minute to collect himself, then returned to
the bridge.  Deanna was pacing.  She looked up as Sam came
through the door.

"Are you ready?"

Sam shook his head in puzzlement.  "Ready for what?"

"Well, Mother _is_ an Ambassador.  We really should go meet
her."

"Yeah, yeah, all right."  He struggled for a moment, trying
to remember who was third in command.  He had no clue.  Data,
however, had turned a look toward him that Sam was relatively
sure was expectant.  "Mr. Data, you have the bridge."

"Aye, sir," said the android, and stepped to the command
chair.

Deanna was wearing a mischievous smile when they stepped into
the turbo lift.

"What?"  Sam demanded.  He was beginning to get annoyed at
the proceedings.  He had a feeling some of Riker was rubbing
off on him.

"You don't have to be so nervous," Deanna said.  "I'm quite
certain Mother has given up on the idea of marrying you."

Sam turned his eyes to the ceiling.  "Oh . . . boy."

****

"You can't think of anything.  Not one thing."

Riker, obviously annoyed by Al's prodding, flung himself out
of the chair and began to pace.  "No.  I can't think of
anything."

"Come on," Al insisted.  "Surely somebody like you has done
_something_ to screw up your life.  Are you sure there are no
women out to kill you?"

"No more than there are out to kill you," Riker shot back.

Al winced, taking a puff of his cigar.  "You're in big
trouble, then, kid."

Verbena, who had been hiding laughter behind one long, dark
hand, decided it was time to step in.

"Gentlemen, we have a problem here.  I think we can cooperate
to solve it.  Now, Will, what you have to understand is that,
 in the past, Sam has been able to leap out of a situation by
correcting something that has gone wrong in someone's life.
All we're trying to do is ascertain if there is any situation
you are aware of which Sam might be supposed to make right.
Is there anything you've done recently which you regret?"

The commander was nodding, obviously calmed by Verbena's
gentle approach.  Al sucked meditatively on the cigar, trying
to quell his impatience.  He didn't like this situation,
didn't like his queasy doubts that they would be able to get
Sam back.  Didn't like the fact that he hadn't told Donna
yet, and wasn't looking forward to the task.  Maybe he could
get Verbena to pull that duty for him, too . . . no, that
wouldn't be right.  He'd go find her as soon as he was done
here.

"Well," Riker said.  "I guess . . . There's my father.  I
never really got things totally patched up with him.  But
he's not around right now, so I don't see how Sam could help
with that.  And there's Ro Laren, that whole thing that
happened with her . . ."

That piqued Al's interest.  "Ro Laren?  Isn't she the one on
the bridge?  The pretty one with the weird nose?"

"Yes," Riker said tersely.  "Ensign Ro.  She sits at ops."

"What happened with her?  You sleep with her?"

"Well . . . it was kind of an unusual situation."

"I'll bet it was unusual.  She's not even human.  What was it
like?"

Riker was starting to fume again.  "Not that much different
than any other alien woman I've slept with . . . What is your
problem, anyway?"

But Al was relentless in his single-mindedness.  "You've
slept with other aliens?  Ever been with a girl with
tentacles?"

Verbena's eyes widened a bit.  "Albert Calavicci, you are one
sick puppy.  Maybe you should go and let me talk to Will."

Reluctantly, Al nodded.  "Yeah, maybe I should.  I'd better
go find Donna."

"You haven't talked to Donna yet?"  Verbena was obviously put
off.  "Go talk to her now.  And if she needs me, you come get
me.  Understood?"

"Yeah."  Al started for the door, then hesitated.  "What
about Deanna?  You ever sleep with Deanna?"

Riker gave him an extraordinarily Sam Beckett-like glare.
"Will you please leave?"

"Yes, Al," Verbena put in.  "Please leave."

Al left.

****

Sam was not certain what he had expected to see when they
went to the transporter room to meet Deanna's mother, but he
was certain this was not it.  The black-eyed, gaudily dressed
woman bubbled over to her daughter and embraced her.

"Oh, little one, it's been absolutely forever.  How are you?"

"I'm fine, Mother," Deanna said.  "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm wonderful, my dear.  Say hello to Mr. Homm."

Deanna nodded greetings to the extremely tall, blue-skinned
man who still stood on the transporter pad next to Mrs.
 Troi's luggage.  "Um, Mother . . . How long are you planning
to stay?"

"Well, how long are you going to be here?"

Deanna threw a pained look back at Sam.  "Oh, dear.  Well,
Mother, I guess we'd better get you to your quarters.  I had
the usual rooms set up for you."

"Why, how thoughtful of you, little one.  Come, Mr. Homm."

She left the transporter room in a quick bustle, giving Sam a
very strange look as she passed.  She caught hold of Deanna's
arm and pulled her along, leaving Sam with the dubious
company of Mr. Homm.

"It's . . . um . .. good to see you again," Sam said.  Homm
smiled and inclined his head politely.  "I hope you have a
pleasant stay."

Another nod.  Obviously Homm wasn't the talkative sort.  "You
ever play any basketball?"  Sam ventured.

Fortunately, the walk to Mrs. Troi's quarters was a short
one.  At the door, Mrs. Troi paused to take both her
daughter's hands in hers.

"Won't you stay for a moment?"

"I'm sorry, Mother, but Captain Picard is planetside and I
really need to go back to the bridge.  Perhaps I can join you
after dinner?"

"Oh, that would be lovely."  She turned to Sam and gave him a
look that went a few stages past undressing him.  "You I
would very much like to see later, as well.  I'll call you."

Sam felt his face growing extremely warm.  "Um, of course,
Mrs. Troi.  Whatever I can do to help."

She smiled quite wickedly and let the door slide closed
behind her.  Deanna looked at Sam.

"Maybe she hasn't given up on that idea, after all."

****

"He's where?  Sam's where?"

Al put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.
He had not seen Donna this upset since the Tamlyn incident.
Only then she had been thinking of various inventive ways to
kill Sam.  Now Al had the distinct impression she was turning
similar attention toward him.

"He's . . . in the future.  He's aboard the Enterprise again,
except this time he's on their timeline.  He's perfectly safe
there.  They're just orbiting Earth.  There's no green men
coming to try to blow them up or anything.  I wouldn't worry
about it."

"I'd worry about it if I were you.  How do we know we can get
him back?"

"If we got him there, we can get him back."

"That's what you said after the first leap.  I don't see him
back yet.  Instead he's still out there bouncing around,
sleeping with strange women . . . "

Here we go, Al thought.  She's still stewing.  Not that he
really blamed her.  He would have been pretty upset, too, if
their situations had been reversed.  Well, unless he'd been
Sam.

"You know, he would never have slept with that woman if he
hadn't simoleaped with you.  You know that, don't you?  That
wasn't Sam in bed with her, it was you."

"Don't I wish," Al mumbled.  "Listen, Donna, you know he
loves you, he just doesn't remember you.  And when he gets
back here, he'll forget all about her.  He may have forgotten
about her already."

Donna had turned away and was staring at the books on her
shelf, blinking back tears.  "I know.  It just seems like . .
. every time we get close to getting him back something like
this happens."  She looked at him again, eyes cleared.  "Is
there anything I can do to help?"

"Talk to Gooshie.  He's trying to figure out what's wrong
with Ziggy.  I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the
files Data added to send the Enterprise back, but on our
timeline that was five years ago, so I don't know where
they've been all this time."

"All right.  I'll have a look.  I think I still have some of
Sam's original specs floating around here somewhere.  That
might help.  He put in a lot of backups and hidden
subroutines that I don't think he told Gooshie about."

"Well, I'm sure Gooshie will be glad to hear that."  Al could
picture the floppy disks flying already.

"Oh, you know how Sam is.  His memory was half magnafluxxed
before he ever leaped.  The man can recite Shakespeare after
one reading but he can't remember where to put his dirty
underwear."

Al smiled.  That was the Donna he knew.  "Well, I'll get you
some breakfast ready."

"Thanks, Al.  But don' t bother.  I'll get something later."

"Sure.  All right."

He left her to dig through her books and her thoughts.  Not
for the first time, he wished there were more he could do to
help her bear her burden of loneliness.  And for once, he was
not thinking in terms of sex.  Not that he had never thought
of Donna that way -- he thought of all women that way -- but
he certainly wasn't going to touch his best friend's wife.

Lighting the cigar Donna had asked him not to smoke in her
presence -- she'd been touchy about that lately -- Al
continued on his way back to the waiting room and the Imaging
Chamber.  Verbena was still consulting with Riker, and he
didn't want to bother Sam again without any information.  So,
instead, he went to find Tina.

****

Sam ended up spending Riker's entire shift in the command
chair, wondering if Picard was ever going to return to the
ship, and wondering also why such a technologically advanced
society could not produce a uniform tunic that did not creep
up every time you got up or sat back down.  Finally Data
stepped up to the command chair.

"Pardon me, Commander, but your duty shift has been over for
ten minutes."

Sam looked up.  The android's expression was placid as usual.
"Oh.  Right.  I thought I was feeling a little hungry."

Deanna smiled at him warmly.  "Any dinner plans?"

"If you mean am I planning to have dinner with your mother,
no."  The thought of being alone with that woman gave him the
creeps.

"Hmm," said Deanna.  "I wouldn't count on that."

She was still laughing as he entered the turbolift.

It was at times like this that Sam was glad he had a
photographic memory.  He was able to retrace his steps to
Riker's quarters without difficulty.  But the rooms proved
not to be the haven he had hoped for.  On the table in the
middle of the front room was a large vase filled with
flowers.  There was a note attached.  Feeling his stomach
sink, Sam plucked it off.  The handwriting was flowery.  Sam
knew whose it was before he even started to read.

"To Sam Beckett:  I know it's quaint these days to send a
hand-written note, but anything else would be too, too
impersonal.  Please allow me the pleasure of your company
tonight at dinner, so that we may discuss who you are and why
my daughter thinks you are Will Riker.  See you right away,
you delicious little man.  Lwaxana Troi."

Sam's life flashed before his eyes.  He was distressed that
he could remember so little of it.  He left Riker's quarters
and went forth to meet his fate.

****

"Yeah, there's definitely some stuff in here that shouldn't
be."  Gooshie was mumbling; he always mumbled when he was
absorbed in his work.  "But I can't figure out how to get it
out."

Donna was leaning over his shoulder, looking at the
handwritten specs she had found in one of Sam's old files.
"There's a whole network of hidden directories that were set
up to function independently from the main operating system.
Ziggy can actually boot himself from them."

"Why did Sam do that?"  Al asked.  He was having trouble
paying attention without his cigar.

"I think he intended it to work as virus protection, or
protection against power outages, things like that.  Or if
someone decided to come in and erase Ziggy's hard drive, like
someone who had decided we were eating up too much grant
money."  Donna shook her head.  "Brilliant, of course, but it
makes this situation particularly difficult since Ziggy seems
to have effectively seized control of the entire network."

"Oh, wonderful," Al said.  "So we can't do anything to the
files unless Ziggy lets us in?"

"That's what it looks like," offered Gooshie.  "I'll keep
working on it.  Why don't you let me keep those specs, Dr.
Alessi.  I'd like to look them over."

"Sure."  She laid the papers down on the table next to him.
"I'll look and see if I can find anything else."  She
hesitated.  "Has anyone tried talking to Ziggy?"

"Ziggy's not talking," said Gooshie.  "He's shut down the
communications system.  Obviously he doesn't want to discuss
this.  Tina's trying to bypass, but no luck so far."

"Strange."  Donna stepped back, eyes distant.  Suddenly, she
turned and headed back to her room.

"Let's hope it's a good brainstorm," Al commented.  He patted
himself down for a cigar and lit it.  "I'm going to go talk
to Sam.  Keep me posted."

Gooshie nodded.

Al met Verbena in the hallway.  "How's it going?"  he asked
her.  "Any great ideas from our pal in there?"

"No, not really.  But he'd like to know if he can take a look
around."

Al shrugged.  "I guess so.  Just don't let him touch
anything.  Especially Tina."

Verbena grinned.  "I'll be sure he's kept well under
control."

"Yeah, sure,"  Al mumbled.  He checked his handlink.  It
appeared to still be working in spite of Ziggy's desire not
to communicate.  He poked a few buttons, then opened the
Imaging Chamber door.

****

Sam straightened his shirt and took a deep breath before
pressing the button next to Lwaxana Troi's door.

"Come in!" she called.

Sam did so, stiffly, feeling his mouth becoming dry.  Lwaxana
had laid out plates of pastries on the table, and two
wineglasses stood side by side.  Mr Homm stood quietly by a
wall, waiting for his services to be required.

"Have a seat, please," Lwaxana said, gesturing to the
cushions around the low table.  "You do look handsome."

Sam demurred.  "Look, Mrs. Troi.  I'm really not hungry.  Now
could you just tell me, please, what this is all about?"

"Well, it's about you, of course."

"What about me?"

She smiled.  "Well, dear, I know why you're here.  I know
what it is you're supposed to do."

Sam blinked.  "You do?"

"Well, of course I do.  Now just sit down and we'll talk
about it."

Reluctantly, Sam lowered himself to one of the cushions.
Lwaxana sat across from him.  "Now, Dr. Beckett . . . can I
call you Sam?"

"How do you know who I am?"

"Why, I can read your mind, of course."

"I thought . . . I thought Betazoids could only read
emotions."

"No, no, that's Deanna.  She's only half Betazoid.  Full
Betazoids are fully telepathic."

"So . . . why didn't you say something before, if you knew I
wasn't Will?"

"Well, I didn't know you were supposed to be Will at first.
I thought you were just some tasty little morsel Deanna
picked up since last we spoke.  It wasn't until I spoke to
her that I found out she thought you were Will.  She should
really start paying closer attention to her surroundings.
 You are nothing like Will.  You're so . . . innocent.  And
much more handsome."  She scooted closer, scattering
cushions.

"I don't . . ."

"Really, Will used to be such an adorable little puppy.  Now
he's . . . well, he's far too independent."  She was almost
in his lap by now.

"Um, I really don't think I'm your type."

"Nonsense.  You're absolutely delicious.  And a time
traveller.  Primitive humans always intrigue me . . . "  She
had hold of his uniform now and was pulling his tunic tails
out of his trousers.  He grabbed after them, trying to
retrieve them and put them back where they belonged.

"I think you want to talk to my friend Al . . . I think you'd
like him much better."

She paused, considering.  "Well, maybe later.  I can see him
in your head, you know."  She resumed her attack.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stay out of my head, please."  He
tried to wriggle away, but she had backed him into the couch,
and there was no place for him to go.

"I think you'd better start trying to get her out of your
pants."  Sam was somewhat relieved to hear Al's voice.  He
had missed the sound of the Imaging Chamber door opening,
mostly because Lwaxana's tongue was in his ear.  "She looks
dangerous. . . . Oh, my God!  Who's the blue guy?"

"Mr. Homm," Sam said.

"Oh, he won't help you.  Don't even bother.  He loves this
kind of thing."

"Oh, great," Sam muttered.  Lwaxana had her arms up his shirt
and was doing very strange things to his chest hair.  "Please
. . . Do you mind?"  He was afraid he was going to hurt her
if he was too insistent, but he was also afraid she was going
to hurt him.  Suddenly she sat back, looking at him with a
wounded expression.

"What's wrong?  I thought all twentieth century human males
were sex-crazed primitives."

"Boy, you've got him figured wrong," Al said.

Sam tried to re-shevel his disheveled uniform.  "Well, a lot
of them are.  I happen not to be one of them."

Lwaxana snorted.  "Just my luck.  Well.  I apologize.  Have a
pastry."

Sam straightened his hair and took a pastry from the plate.
It was sticky and didn't appeal to him particularly, but he
was hungry and he didn't want to upset Lwaxana any more than
was necessary to preserve his own virtue.  Al was studying
Lwaxana closely.

"Interesting woman.  Who is she?"

"Mrs. Troi,"  Sam started.

"This is Deanna's mom?  You're kidding."

"Mrs. Troi," Sam went on, "you said you know why I'm here?"

"She knows why you're here?  This should be interesting."

"Yes, I think I do."  She had done a quick mood swing and was
now lolling happily in the cushions, munching on an almond-
covered sweet roll.  "Now.  While I was trespassing in your
mind, I discovered that you usually pass from time to time
after correcting something that is wrong in someone's life,
correct?"

Sam glanced at Al, who was standing with his mouth hanging
open.  "Yes, that's usually the way it works."

"Well, then, it can't be a coincidence that you've leaped
into Will.  I mean, after all, this thing with him and Deanna
has been going on forever and the two of them just refuse to
resolve it."

"What thing?"

"Well, one week they're on, the next they're off . . . She's
in love with him, and he's in love with her, and I don't
understand this whole staying away from someone you serve
with nonsense they've concocted.  It's just keeping them
confused about what they really want."

"And what is it they really want?"

"Well, each other, of course."

"So you think I'm here to get Will and Deanna together once
and for all."

"Of course.  It makes perfect sense."

Al shrugged.  "Well, it's worth a shot.  See what you can do
to get out of here, Sam.  I need to update you on the latest
with Ziggy."

Sam laid his pastry back down on the plate.  "Listen, Mrs.
Troi, I appreciate your hospitality and all, but I really
think I should go.  Thanks for the advice."

"Oh, you're welcome."  She stood as he did, looking at him
wistfully.  "Are you sure you're not interested?"

"Not just now, thanks."

"Maybe later?"

"Probably not."

"Oh, well.  Best of luck."

"Thanks."  He beat a hasty retreat out the door.

Al popped in next to him as the door slid shut.

"She was reading your mind?"

"Yeah," Sam muttered.  "She's full Betazoid.  She's
telepathic."

"This is a really scary place to be."

"You're telling me.  What's up with Ziggy?"

"Ziggy has apparently lost his mind.  Remember the backup
network you built in case of power failures, or viruses,
stuff like that?"

"No."

"Well, anyway, there's this network of directories and files
and subdirectories and all this stuff that Ziggy can access
in case his main memory goes down.  Well, he's taken control
of this network, and we can't get into it until he lets us."

"And that's where the files are that Data put in."

"Apparently.  He's also using it to increase the amount of
power he's getting.  Which is why nothing's happened until
now, cause last week we installed this big power booster
generator thing so we can communicate with you a little
better.  He's tapped into that, and he's using it to keep me
in touch with you, and to leap you around."

"Ziggy's leaping me around?"

"That's what it looks like.  He has routines that can control
it now, thanks to Data."

They had reached Riker's quarters by then.  Sam went in and
Al walked through the door as it slid shut on him.

"But Ziggy's never been in control of the leaps before.  No
one has."

"Well, he has to a certain extent.  He's just increased that
by about a thousand times."

"So he's putting me where he wants me.  So why did he put me
here?"

"I don't know."

Sam sat down, reflecting.  "Maybe . . . maybe if I go ahead
and correct this Will and Deanna situation, whatever has been
leaping me around in the past will override Ziggy's control
and leap me out of here."

"It's possible.  In fact, it's about the only thing we can
try right now, so I say go for it."

"Yeah, okay.  I'll do what I can."

"And stay away from that woman.  She could put you in the
hospital."

"Yeah, no kidding."

Al poked the handlink and disappeared.  Sam set about looking
for some supper.

****

"No.  No, absolutely not.  Go back right now and tell him to
stop whatever it is he's doing."

Verbena laid a hand on Will's arm.  "It's all right, Will.
Sam's only doing what he thinks is best."

"Well, he's wrong.  Where in the world did you get the idea
that my relationship with Deanna needed fixing?"

"From Deanna's mother," Al said.

"Oh, no.  Not her."  Riker fell into a chair behind Gooshie's
desk.  He had been inspecting the terminal they'd been using
to access Ziggy when Al had returned with his news.  "Don't
listen to anything that woman says.  She's always causing
trouble."

"Yeah, she just about got Sam into some big trouble," Al
said.  "She had her hands up inside . . ."

Verbena put a finger to her lips.  Donna was approaching from
behind them.  Hastily, Al snubbed out his cigar.  Riker
looked up, showing an immediate spark of interest.  He stood,
extending his hand.

"Hello," he said.  "I'm Commander William Riker."

Donna hesitated.  She didn't like meeting leapees.  Al knew
how difficult it was for her, seeing Sam's face, hearing his
voice and knowing it wasn't him.  Finally she took Riker's
hand.  "Dr. Donna Alessi," she said quietly.  Her lips were
pale.  "Where's Gooshie?"

"He's eating," Al said, "what else?"

"I've got to go find him.  If you'll excuse me."  She turned,
then suddenly she was grabbing the nearest chair as her legs
buckled under her.  Al jumped for her, but somehow Riker got
to her first.

"Are you all right?"

"I don't know.  Verbena . . .?"

Verbena disengaged her from Riker's arms.  "It's all right,
Donna.  Come on, let's take a look at you."  Gently, she
guided Donna away.

Al gave Riker a glare that could melt glass.

"What?  What did I do?"

"You haven't looked in a mirror?" Al snapped.

"No, I haven't.  Why should I?"

Given the immaculate condition of Riker's hair, Al found that
hard to believe.  Or maybe they had futuristic super heavy
duty Brylcreem in the 24th century.  He looked furiously
around the room, trying to find a reflective surface.
Finally he pointed to the computer terminal.  "Look in there.
That's good enough."

Riker looked.  His eyes came back up to Al full of confusion.
"That's not me.  That's . . . that's Beckett, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is.  You're wearing his aura, just like he's wearing
yours.  You look like him, he looks like you.  So please try
to be a little more discreet around Dr. Alessi, all right?"

"What's so damn special about her?"

"She's Mrs. Beckett, that's what's so damn special.  And she
doesn't need you acting all nicey-nicey to her wearing her
husband's face.  All right?"

Riker looked chagrined.  "Yeah, all right.  I'm sorry.  I
didn't know."

"Yeah, you didn't know."  Al was working up a severe state of
annoyance.  "Listen, Commander.  I knew a Commander Riker in
the navy, and I didn't like him and I don't like you.  I know
your type.  You're on the make every minute.  Every skirt you
see is an opportunity to hop in the sack.  Well, you'd better
watch your step here, you nozzle, because I've got my eye on
you."

Riker crossed his arms indignantly.  "Oh, you know my type,
do you?  And what makes you so sure I'm that type?"

"Cause _I'm_ that type.  So watch it.  I know you better than
you think."

Surprisingly, Riker laughed.  "Okay, okay.  Who's off-limits
and who's not?"

Al covered his surprised at Riker's retreat by relighting his
cigar.  "Well, Donna you know about.  Tina -- now, Tina's
mine, so hands off."

"All right, all right.  I haven't even met Tina yet."

"Well, if I have my way, you won't."

"What about Verbena?"

"Verbena?  Yeah, Verbena's single.  She's probably not
interested, though."

"Oh, I don't know about that."

Al nearly choked.  "You're making time with Verbena?"

Riker shrugged.  "Hey, she's a very beautiful woman."

"Yeah, but she's so . . . tall.  And when I had the flu a
month ago she told me she was going to put an African Zulu
curse on me if I tried to look down her shirt again while she
was stirring my chicken soup."

"Well, I like a challenge."

"I guess you do."  Al couldn't help but feel a little respect
for the man.  "Listen, about that tentacles thing . . ."

"No, I've never been with a woman with tentacles."  He
hesitated.  "But if you'll sit down and be sociable for a
minute I'll tell you about the twins with six breasts.
Each."

Al stared.  "Oh, yumola."

****

Via merciless interrogation of the ship's computer on how to
use the replicator, Sam managed to acquire a decent meal, as
well as a fresh flower arrangement and a card.  He wrote a
note to Deanna, asking her to come see him after she was
finished with dinner, and left the flowers in her quarters.
Now there was nothing to do but wait.

Upon inquiry, the computer informed him that Riker had a wide
selection of music Sam could access to amuse himself.  On a
whim, Sam asked for "Man of La Mancha."  The computer
complied with a version Sam was not familiar with.  A recent
production, he assumed, from a 24th century company.  They
were passable, though Sam was unreasonably attached to the
version he and Al had listened to in the old days, drawing
schematics for Ziggy and pretending they knew what they were
doing.

The door chirped, appropriately, in the middle of "Dulcinea."

"Come in," Sam called.

Deanna stepped in with a bemused smile.  She was wearing an
understatedly elegant dark blue gown with a gauzy, flowing
skirt and a deep neckline.  "Good evening, Will," she said.
"The flowers were lovely."

Sam smiled warmly.  He had to admit he didn't have any
particular objections to cozying up with this woman.  Her
exotic beauty reminded him of Tamlyn, and something else
about her reminded him of . . . somebody.  The memory tugged
teasingly, then disappeared.  "I'm glad you liked them."

"So . . . what did you want to see me about?"  She crossed
the room to sit down across from him.  The gown shimmered
prettily on her as she moved.  Sam felt suddenly nervous.
Deanna frowned.  "What's wrong?"

"Well, it's just . . . I've been thinking . . . about us.  I
just . . . I wonder sometimes if we've made the right
decision."

Deanna leaned back in the chair, starting to look a little
wary.  "We've been through this before, Will.  You and I both
know that we can't sustain a relationship under these
conditions."

"Under what conditions, then?  If we wait until we're not on
the same ship, we could end up on different planets.  What
kind of a relationship would that be?"

That argument obviously struck home somewhere.  She lowered
her eyes, studying her hands.  Sam quietly stood and went to
sit next to her.  Gently, he took her hands in his.  "I care
about you, Deanna.  I don't want to grow old wondering what
could have been."

She shrugged a little, started to look up and then turned
away again.  The mistiness in her eyes made Sam's throat
ache.  The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.  What
would Al do? he thought, and in the back of his mind he heard
Al saying, "Actions speak louder than words, Sam."  So he
kissed her.

The moment their lips met, Sam realized he had wanted to do
this since he had first laid eyes on her in the last leap.
He pulled her closer.  She had a wonderful, spicy smell.
 Perfume or skin, Sam wasn't sure.  He didn't care.  Vaguely,
he heard the Imaging Chamber door, but Al was the last thing
he wanted to think about right now.

"Sam!  Guess what . . . Oh, you're busy."

Deanna's arms slipped around him, her body nestling to his,
then suddenly she was disengaging, pushing him away.  Sam was
dismayed to see that the tears had materialized and were
rolling down her face.  "Deanna, what's wrong?"

"This is . . . this isn't right.  It's too fast . . . "  She
stood up, rubbing at her eyes, and turned away from him.

Sam looked desperately to Al, who shrugged.  "Riker says he
doesn't think we should be messing with this.  He says he
thinks their relationship is just fine."

"Oh, great," Sam muttered.  "Why didn't you tell me before?"

Deanna wheeled on him.  "You didn't bother to ask, did you?"

Sam did a double take, realizing what he'd said.  "No,
Deanna, I didn't mean . . ."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I just . . ."  He stopped.  "Listen, Deanna, I'm sorry.
Let's just pretend this never happened, okay?"

"I don't know, Will."

"Sam," Al went on.  "Riker could be wrong, but he doesn't
think you should be doing this."

"Well then what am I supposed to do?"

Yet another faux pas.  Deanna stiffened, mouth tight.  "I
don't know, Will.  Why don't you go ask Ro Laren."  With
that, she stormed out the door.

"Oh, great," Sam said.  "This is really going well."

"It was a good idea.  It may still be a good idea.  Even if
it is a good idea, it may not work."

"Why?  What have you found out about Ziggy?"

"Nothing.  Riker took a look, but he says the operating
systems they use are so much different from ours that he
can't figure out what's going on.  He thinks Geordi or Data
could help, though."

"Well, obviously Data could help, but it doesn't do much good
when he's four hundred years in the future.  We can't beam
him down to help."

"Maybe you could leap into him.  Then he'd be back at the
project."

"I can't leap into an android."

"How do you know?"

"There's no way.  Data isn't even human."

"Neither was Bobo, and you leaped into him."

"Bobo was a chimp.  There's a high percentage of genetic
similarity.  Data's a . . . machine.  I couldn't leap into
him anymore than I could leap into a refrigerator."

"Well, maybe we'll have to shoot for Geordi, then.  Or maybe
you should just go talk to him.  He knows who you are, after
all.  Remember?  He can see you."

"Yeah, that might be worth a try . . ."  He broke off
suddenly.

"Sam, what's wrong?"

"I'm going to leap."

"What?  Now?"

"Yeah.  Now."  He turned to Al and stared helplessly as his
surroundings blurred and disappeared . . .

And reformed again.  He was in a bright room, surrounded by
lights and the sounds of machinery.  He was slightly bent
over, and had a round instrument in one hand.  In front of
him sat a young black man, obviously blind.  The instrument
in Sam's hand was pointed at a glowing red implant in the
man's temple.

Sam blinked.  The man was Geordi LaForge.

"Oh, boy," said Sam.


CHAPTER TWO

Beverly Crusher looked around herself in amazement.  A moment
before, she had been in sickbay, doing a regular diagnostic check on
Geordi's VISOR implants.  Now she was sitting on a hassock in the
middle of a large, all-white room, alone, and a little dizzy.  She laid a
finger to her throat to check her own pulse.  A little fast, but solid.

"Hello?"  she called.  Mentally, she was ticking off entries on a list of
aliens who might have abducted her.  "Hello?  Is anyone here?"

A door opened.  She had not seen it before; its edges had been lost in
the solid white of the walls.  A tall black woman entered.  She wore a
white jacket and had a stethoscope around her neck.

"Hi," the woman said.  "I'm Dr. Beeks.  Please don't be alarmed.  I'd
just like to check your heart rate and your blood pressure.  Please sit
down."

Beverly sat.  "May I ask what's going on?"

"Just sit quietly for a moment.  Everything is all right."

Beverly stared in amazement as the doctor used the stethoscope,
then proceeded to take her blood pressure with an air-pumped cuff.
"Where am I?"  she said as the doctor removed the cuff.  "Why are
you using those . . . incredibly antiquated instruments?"

"Your heart rate is a little fast, and your blood pressure is a little
low," Dr. Beeks said.  "But I think you're all right.  Could you tell me
your name?"

"Beverly Crusher.  Doctor Beverly Crusher.  I'm Chief Medical Officer
on board the Starship Enterprise."

Dr. Beeks' eyes widened a bit.  "The Enterprise?  Again?  Oh, boy."

****

Sam straightened.  The round instrument which he held pointed at
Geordi LaForge's head had a narrow readout on the front.  Each entry
read 100%.  "Well, that looks good, anyway," he muttered.

"How is it, Doctor?"  Geordi asked.  "Do I need repairs?"

"No, no, you look fine," Sam replied.  He snuck a look down at himself.
He was wearing a Starfleet uniform, again, but blue and black this
time, and he had on a long blue jacket over it.  Something about the
ensemble looked distinctly feminine.

Geordi patted the table next to him.  His VISOR lay just beyond his
hand.  Sam picked it up and touched his fingers with it.

"Thank you, Doctor."  He reattached the appliance to his head and
jumped down off the table.  He looked at Sam, and Sam froze.  But
Geordi made no unusual reaction.  "I'll see you later."

"Right.  Take care."  Sam waved halfheartedly goodbye.  His heart
was still skipping.  He had been certain Geordi would take one look at
him and cry imposter.  On the previous leap into Captain Picard,
Geordi's VISOR had tipped him off that there was something wrong.
Obviously, something had changed.

"Dr. Crusher," a voice came from behind him.  Sam turned to face a
woman who was apparently another doctor.  "Ensign Carelli is here.
She doesn't want to talk to anyone but you."

"All right.  I'm done here.  Send her over."  Beverly Crusher, he
thought.  He'd met her before, when he'd leaped into Captain Picard
and knocked himself unconscious on the captain's chair.  He glanced
at the table.  A metallic tray sat next to it, with a few instruments
scattered on top.  He pushed them aside and looked into the tray.
Sure enough, there was Beverly, with her strong-featured face and
her coppery hair.  The face was a bit dark under the eyes, and the
eyes were a little bloodshot.  Sam pulled at his lower eyelids with
thumb and forefinger.  This lady needed some sleep.

"Are you all right, Dr. Crusher?"  A young woman had approached
him.  Ensign Carelli, undoubtedly.  She had one pip on her collar, so at
least the rank was right.

"I'm fine," said Sam.  "Nothing a few hour's sleep won't cure.  What
seems to be your complaint, Carelli?"

Carelli looked suddenly shy.  "Could we talk in private?"

Sam shrugged.  "Sure."  He picked up an instrument which looked
very much like the one Beverly had used on him.  He would probably
need it to make a diagnosis.

He waved Carelli ahead of him, trusting her to lead the way to
wherever Beverly usually did private consultations.  There was a
small office toward the back part of sickbay.  Carelli went in and sat
down in front of the desk.  Sam took a seat behind it.  "Now, what's
going on?"

"Well . . . "  She hesitated.  "I've been throwing up every morning for
the past week.  I can't eat anything until noon.  I've been really tired,
too, all the time, no matter how much I sleep.  And it seems like I'm
running off to the head every ten minutes.  And yesterday . . ."  She
looked around, as if someone might be listening, then leaned closer to
Sam from across the desk.  "I passed out.  I was on duty in
engineering, and I passed out.  Right on Geordi . . . Commander
LaForge. . . It really upset him.  He really got pale, and that's a little
hard to do to Geordi."

Sam laughed.  "Yes, I suppose it is.  So he recommended you see me?"

"No, Jerry recommended I see you.  He said he didn't want me falling
all over Geordi any more than was absolutely necessary."  She
paused.  "I'm really afraid it might be something serious."

"Well, I don't think I really need to check you over to make a
diagnosis, but maybe I'd better do it, anyway."  He looked at the
instrument he had picked up.  It looked fairly straightforward.
"Stand up."

Carelli stood.  Sam stepped to her side and pointed the scanner at
her, depressing the button on top of it.  It hummed and delivered a
series of clear readouts.  He grinned.  His diagnosis had been right on
the money.  "Carelli," he said.  "You're pregnant."

Carelli's eyes widened.  "Oh, my God, you're kidding."

"No, I'm not."  He showed here the scanner.  "See.  Right there.  HGH
registering in your blood."

Carelli had tears in her eyes.  Suddenly she threw her arms around
Sam, sobbing.  "Oh, Bev, I didn't think it was ever going to happen."

Sam returned her hug and patted her on the back.  She stepped back,
hands over her tear-streaked face.  Sam could tell the sobs were
happy, rather than distraught.  "Well, apparently it has.  So why
don't you go back to your quarters and rest, and I'll have somebody
come by with some vitamins for you to take."  He turned a knob on
the scanner and another set of readouts came up, calibrated for
pregnancy diagnosis.  He scanned Carelli again.  "Looks like you're
about a month and a half along.

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Well, it's not quite far enough along to tell us that.  Give it another
six weeks or so."

"Oh, God.  Jerry's going to be so excited."

"Now, just remember, you take it easy for a few days.  I'll talk to
Captain Picard and see if we can't reduce your shift by a few hours
until the fatigue passes."

"Oh, thank you, Bev.  Thank you so much."

Sam knew he was grinning like an idiot.  It was times like this that
he almost wished he had continued in medicine instead of
concentrating on physics.  "You're quite welcome, Carelli.  If you have
any questions or any problems at all, you call me immediately."

"Yes, yes, right, of course."  She backed out of the office.  "I've got to
go find Jerry."

Sam watched her go.  "Yeah," he said to himself.  "You go find Jerry."
With her ebullience gone from the room, he felt suddenly sad.  "I'm
sure he'll be real happy."

****

Beverly sat quietly while Dr. Beeks explained everything to her.  She
remembered the day two weeks ago in sickbay when Captain Picard
had come in after bumping his head and her scanner had read the
wrong blood type.  So that was Sam Beckett, she thought.  I never
would have guessed it watching him in action.

"This man is frighteningly good at what he does," she said to Beeks.
"I know Captain Picard better than almost anyone on that ship, and I
was completely fooled."

"Well, he's been doing it for a while.  And he's . . . well, he's good with
people."

"So now he's in my sickbay treating my patients."

"It's okay.  He has a medical degree."

"Right.  A  twentieth century medical degree.  That's not going to help
him much if anything serious happens."

"If anything serious happens, we can put you in direct contact with
him to talk him through it."

"Well, I guess that's better than nothing."

Beeks reached forward and patted Beverly's hand.  "I know how you
feel, Dr. Crusher.  But everything will be all right, I'm sure."

"You might as well call me Beverly," she said.  "It looks like I'm going
to be stuck here for a while."

"And I'm Verbena."

There was a knock on the door.  "Come in," Verbena said.

The door came open and a man stepped in.  He was about Picard's
age, somewhat small in stature, and rather hideously dressed.  He
looked worried.  "Verbena," he said quietly.  "I think you'd better go
see Donna."

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know, but I heard her puking in the bathroom.  I bet she's
got that flu."

"Well, why don't you stay here and keep Beverly company.  Beverly,
this is Al.  He's not as dangerous as he looks."

"Thanks," said Al sarcastically.  "Hey, Verbena."

"What?"

"Is Donna okay?  I mean, did you find out why she almost passed out
last night?"

Verbena smiled a little.  "She'll be fine."

Al shrugged and pulled a cigar out of his pocket.  "So, Beverly.  What
do you know about psychotic computers?"

****

There wasn't a great deal to do in sickbay, Sam was relieved to
discover.  Three crew members came in for annual physicals, which
Sam delegated to a member of Beverly's staff.  By mid morning, he
had figured out how to use most of the instruments.  That done, he
poked around on the computer and pulled up Carelli's files.

Her case turned out not to be as straight forward as he had assumed.
She had suffered a miscarriage a year and a half ago, and Beverly
had made a note to watch her closely if she became pregnant again.
Sam decided he should talk to Picard about this one.  He wondered if
the captain was back; Picard had been planetside during the last
leap.  He tapped his communicator.

"Crusher to Captain Picard."

"Picard here," came the immediate answer.

"Captain, where are you right now?"

"I'm in my ready room.  Why do you ask?"

"Never mind.  Captain, I have a case here I'd like to discuss with you.
Could we talk?"

"Of course, Doctor.  In fact . . . why don't you join me for dinner
tonight?  I could use the company."

Sam shrugged, wondering if this was at all out of the ordinary.  "That
would be fine, Captain.  I'll see you then."

"Wonderful.  Picard out."

"Oooo.  Sounds like a hot date."

Sam jumped, startled by Al's sudden appearance.  He hadn't heard
the Imaging Chamber door.  "Jeez, Al, I hate it when you do that."

"Oh, sorry."

"So what's up?"

"I don't know.  I think Tina's making some headway with getting the
communications systems back online.  Other than that, we're getting
exactly nowhere.  Gooshie can't bypass Ziggy's lock on the secondary
network, and we can't figure out why you're leaping when you do, or
why you keep leaping into people on board this ship, or if there's
anything you can do to bring things back to normal.  We _do_ know
that if we don't get this straightened out real soon, we're gonna have
the government knocking at our door.  There was an unexplained
blackout in Albuquerque last night, and I have a nasty feeling that
when they start investigating, they're going to come straight to Ziggy,
and we could get our funding pulled.  I already gave the entire staff
the next four days off, just to keep them from nosing around."

"Wonderful.  Well, start thinking up good stories.  You ought to be
able to talk our way out of this."

"Yeah, maybe.  Anyway, if I disappear and don't come back, you'll
know why."

Sam felt a sudden twist in his stomach.  If that happened, it would
mean he would never go back home, because there would be no
accelerator to retrieve him.  And there was some reason, some vitally
important reason, why he had to get back.  A memory fluttered, a
butterfly trapped in birthing, and then died.  He looked down at his
hands and they were gripping the computer terminal where Carelli's
file was still displayed.  Gripping the terminal and shaking.

"Sam, what's wrong?"

"I just . .. I don't want to get lost out here, Al.  I can't . . ."  He felt his

hands tightening on the computer, felt himself becoming strangely
disconnected.  "I can't leave her there with no hope I'll ever come
back . . ."

"_What_ did you say?"

Sam looked at Al.  Al was looking at him as if Sam had just grown
another head.  In fact, Al had gone a little white.

"What?" Sam said.

"What did you say? . . . um . .. What did you just say?"  He was
backing off a little, as if possibly the question was not as important
as he'd thought.  Sam paused, considering, and realized he had no
idea what he had just said.

"Never mind.  Just . . . don't let them shut us down.  Don't let that
happen, Al."  He didn't want to get stuck out here alone.  That much
he was sure of.

"Don't worry about it, Sam.  They've tried it before, and we're still
going strong, right?"

"Yeah.  Yeah, right."

"Just . . . hang in there, Sam."  He poked at the handlink, then paused.
"You sure you're all right?"

Sam waved it off.  "Yeah.  I'm fine."

"Okay."  Al nodded decisively, and the Imaging Chamber door opened
behind him.  "All right."

Sam turned away as the door closed on Al.  He had been feeling very
strange ever since he'd talked to Carelli.  He kept remembering Billie
Jean, the sixteen-year-old girl whose baby he had nearly given birth
to.  It was perfectly logical that he would be thinking of her; what he
didn't understand was why the memory hurt so much.  Perhaps it
was Beverly.  He'd had stranger things happen on leaps where some
residue of the displaced had lingered to play pinball with his
synapses.

He turned off the monitor.  At the door to the office, one of the other
doctors was preparing to knock.  Sam opened the door and gave her
an expectant look.

"Are you leaving, Dr. Crusher?"

"Yes.  I was just on my way out."

"Have a pleasant evening, then.  And try to get some sleep."

Sam nodded and went on his way.

****

Beverly was pacing.  Al had left about ten minutes ago, after a
confusing conversation about the computer, Ziggy, who was
apparently having a nervous breakdown.  She'd had the distinct
impression that Al was trying to make a pass at her, but he'd backed
off every time she'd been about to slap him.  Remembering what
Verbena had told her, she took off her insignia and turned it over.
The metallic back showed her a fragmented version of her new
reflection, and explained Al's hesitancy.  She did not look herself.  It
was a nice face, but more the kind of face she would like to see
looking up from the next pillow than a face she wanted to see in the
mirror.

Finally, the door opened again and Verbena returned.

"I'm sorry, Beverly," she said.  "I didn't mean to be gone so long."

"It's all right.  Verbena, is it absolutely necessary that I stay in this
room?  I can understand keeping people isolated if they would be
overwhelmed by your technology, but I won't be, and I'd really like
some fresh air."

"Of course.  In fact, maybe you could help us with Ziggy."

Beverly shook her head.  "That's not really my forte.  I doubt I can
help you."

"Well, then, come out and try some of Tina's chicken noodle soup."

Beverly smiled.  "Now that I can handle."

The dining accommodations were quite informal.  Al was leaning
against a bookshelf, eating while he pored over schematics which
were draped over a pile of books in front of him.  Two other women
were sitting at a desk where they had made an attempt at a formal
place-setting.

"Come and sit at the table, Al," the blond said.  She had one of those
obnoxious voices that Beverly hated and which were not always,
unfortunately, put on.  She was also wearing extremely gaudy
earrings, which did not help.  "You're gonna get soup all over the
pictures."

"I'm not gonna get soup on the pictures, sweetheart," Al replied.  "It's
far too wonderful to waste that way."

Tina giggled.  Beverly repressed an urge to slap her.  "Oh, you're so
sweet, Al."

The second woman looked up as Beverly and Verbena entered.  She
was more sedate in appearance and wore a look of extreme fatigue.
Her soup bowl was only half empty.

"Hi," she said quietly.  "You must be Beverly."  She extended her
hand.  Beverly took it.  It was somewhat cold, but her grip was firm.

"Yes.  Although from all appearances you wouldn't be able to tell by
looking."

The woman smiled.  "We're all used to that by now.  I'm Donna
Alessi."

"Nice to meet you."

"I'll get you some soup," Verbena said.  "And Donna, I think I told
you to eat."

"Yes, ma'am," said Donna with a wry grin.

"So," said Beverly.  All eyes were on her, and she felt obliged to
speak.  "You folks are having trouble with your computer?"

"Yes," Tina piped up.  "He won't talk to us, and he's acting very
strange.  I rewired all the circuits and pumped a power boost into
the communications cards and he's still not talking.  In fact, he
burned the circuits back out again and cut the power.  And singed
my eyebrows.  I'm very unhappy with him."

'You talk about it like it's a person," Beverly said.

"Well, you have to know Ziggy," Tina explained.  "He is just like a
person."

"This I would like to see."

Al pulled together a pile of the schematics he was looking at and
carried them over to Beverly.  "Well, you can't acquaint yourself with
him right now, but here's a very detailed picture of his innards.
Look all you like.  Can I have more soup, sweetums?"

"Of course, my pooky-bear."

Beverly unfolded one of the pages Al had given her.  Most of the
information on it was hand-drawn, with notes in a small, hurried
hand.  As she struggled to make out the words, she felt her mouth
dropping open in growing increments.

"This is incredible," she said.  "If I wasn't looking right at it, I'd say it
was impossible."

Al came to look over her shoulder.  "What?"

"This is one of the most advanced computer systems I've ever seen,"
Beverly said.  Al stared at her as the implications of the statement
began to soak in.  "It's totally beyond anything that the history books
say the 20th century was capable of.  Even in the 24th century, this
is impressive."

"Well, we've always known Sam is a genius," Donna commented
quietly.

"I'd say genius is an understatement."  She looked again at the
drawings, wishing she knew more about the subject.  "I would love to
hear what Geordi would make of this."

"So would we," said Al.  "Riker suggested that Geordi might be able to
help."

"He very well might.  What are the chances you could get him here?"

"Right now, slim to none.  But we might get lucky.  You never can
tell."  Al took his fresh bowl of soup from Tina and started toward
the door.  "I'm going to go see Gooshie."

"Yeah, I'd better get back to work, too," said Tina.  "Nice to meet you,
Beverly."

"Nice to meet you, Tina."  Beverly mustered a smile.  She thought she
might be able to warm up to the girl in time, but her first
impressions left much to be desired.

"So," Donna said.  She still spoke quietly, and her eye contact was
flighty at best.  "What do you do on board the Enterprise?"

"I'm the Chief Medical Officer," Beverly replied.  She couldn't help but
wonder why this woman seemed so timid.  "It's quite a challenging
position.  There are over a thousand people on board."

Donna nodded.  "That's very impressive.  I take it you enjoy your
work?"

"Very much so.  I find it quite fulfilling.  In fact, I spent a year as the
head of Starfleet Medical and it just wasn't the same.  I had to go
back to the Enterprise."

Donna smiled a little.  Beverly was certain the smile held mischief.
"You didn't go back because of the captain?"

The question was surprising.  "Well . . . I suppose that played some
part in it."

"Well . . ."  Donna was backing off a bit.  "Verbena said you'd said you
knew him better than anyone else on the ship.  I thought maybe . . ."

"Oh, no."  Beverly felt herself blushing.  "No, we're just very good
friends."  She paused.  "I lost my husband some time ago.  Jean-Luc
was a friend of mine and of Jack's.  He's been . . . very important to
me in getting over Jack's death."

Something changed in Donna's face.  "I'm sorry.  I'm really very
sorry."

"It's all right," Beverly said.  Donna was obviously distressed.  "It's
been a few years.  And I had Wesley -- my son.  We went through it
together.  The worst part of it was that Jack was assigned to another
ship, so we had seen so little of him before he died.  That made it
particularly difficult.  You always second-guess decisions like that.
Should we have taken the assignments that separated us, would it
have made any difference."  Donna was watching her now as she
spoke, and Beverly noticed she was nervously winding a silver band
around her left ring finger.  "But, as I said, I had Wesley.  That
helped me a lot.  It was like I still had something of Jack, even
though he was gone."

Donna's eyes were misting.  Verbena stood up quietly.

"Donna, maybe you should get some rest."

Donna's gaze jerked to the doctor.  "Yes.  Yes, that would be a good
idea."  She stood, looked again at Beverly.  "Thank you Beverly."  She
turned, then, and left the room.

Beverly looked questioningly at Verbena.  "Thank you for what?
What did I do?"

"Obviously your story meant a great deal to her."  Verbena hesitated.
"Donna is Sam's wife.  She has been able to see, touch, and speak to
her husband once in the last four years.  And as long as he's . . . out
there . . . " She made a vague motion with her hand.  ". . . leaping
around through time, he has no memory of her."

"My God," Beverly murmured.

"She's been taking it surprisingly well.  But the past few months have
been particularly hard.  I think it was worse seeing him leave the
second time than it was the first, because this time she knew what
was coming.  But she'll be all right.  I think what you said to her
meant a lot."

"Well," said Beverly.  She had a lump in her throat, from thinking
about Jack, wondering what it would have been like those years
when he was on the Stargazer, if he had not even remembered who
she was.  "If there's anything else I can do to help her, please tell
me."

****

Sam was suffering some trepidation over his dinner with Captain
Picard.  He was certain that Beverly and the captain enjoyed
something more than a formal relationship, but he had no idea how
far that relationship went.  He did not relish the idea of being mauled
by Picard as he had been mauled by Lwaxana.  Though somehow he
didn't think the captain was the mauling type.

Surreptitious examination of wall maps obviously posted for those
new to the ship led Sam to the captain's quarters.  Picard's voice
came immediately after Sam depressed the button beside the door.
"Come."

Sam went in.  The captain was folding napkins to finish off a pleasant
but not overly ornate place setting at the table in his front room.  At
least there were no candles, and the lights were not dimmed.  That
was a good sign.  Picard was out of uniform, wearing a grey, pleated
shirt and matching trousers.  Even in civvies, he had the aura of one
not to be trifled with.

"You look lovely," Picard said.  He had a crisp accent which Sam had
of course been unaware of when he had occupied his aura.

"Thank you," said Sam.  He had changed out of his uniform, as well,
finding a pantsuit in Beverly's closet which he did not find too
objectional.  It was blue.  Bevelry had a great deal of blue in her
wardrobe.  Looking in the mirror at the way it drew out her eyes,
Sam understood why.  "I didn't bring anything," Sam went on.  "I didn't know . .
 ."

"Oh, nonsense.  There's no need to bring anything.  We're just having
something light and casual."  He smiled.  The smile was quite
charming.  "I just didn't feel like eating alone tonight."

"Well, um, neither did I."

"Good.  Now, which of these wines would you like with dinner?"

He held out two bottles to her.  One was French.  The other was
labeled in a language Sam had never seen before.  He pointed to the
French one.

"Ah," said Picard.  "Excellent choice."  He uncorked the bottle expertly
and began to fill the glasses.  "Have a seat, please."

Sam sat down.  The food on the plate looked unfamiliar, but the
odors wafting from it were enticing.  "It smells good."

Picard sat down across from him and lifted his glass.  "Of course it's
good.  The replicator never gets it wrong.  To friendship."

"To friendship."  Sam touched his glass to the captain's and took a sip.
Well, so far so good.  He had a feeling he was not embroiled in any
kind of tricky romantic situation here.  Thank God.  He did like the
captain, so far -- but not _that_ much.

"Go ahead.  Dig in," Picard encouraged.

Sam took a hesitant bite, then an eager one .  "It's very good.
Congratulations to the chef."

"The best replicator in Starfleet," Picard laughed.  "Now, Beverly, you
said you had a case you wanted to discuss."

"Yes, I did.  It's Ensign Carelli.  She's pregnant."

"Really?  That's wonderful."

"Yes, she was very happy."

"I know she and Jerry suffered a great deal with the miscarriage.  It still
seems . . . wrong . . . that our technology can't prevent
these things."

"Yes, well, sometimes an embryo just isn't viable, and even
technology can't change that."

Picard waved that off.  "I know, I know, you gave me that speech
before.  In any case, I'm glad for Carelli.  So what is the problem?"

"Well, due to her past miscarriage, I think it would be a good idea if
she could cut her shift back by a few hours a day, at least through
the first trimester.  The scans showed that everything was
progressing normally, but I don't think it would hurt to err on the
side of caution."

"Of course, of course.  She's in engineering, correct?"

"That's right."

"I'll talk to Geordi first thing in the morning.  Consider it taken care
of."

"Thank you, Captain."

Picard blinked.  "Captain?  Why so formal, Bev?"

"Um, well . . . It just slipped out.  I mean, we _were_ talking
business."

Sam's feeble attempt at an explanation was met by a good-natured
laugh.  "Right."  He sobered suddenly.  He took a long sip at his wine,
then sat back, eyes a little vacant.

"What's wrong . . . Jean-Luc?"  Sam ventured.

Picard shook his head.  "It's just . . . " He straightened in his chair.
"You know I've never been comfortable with the idea of children on
this ship.  Or for that matter, in my life."  He paused, as if waiting for
a response.  Sam nodded.  "But then there was Kataan, the probe,
Eline."

Sam had not the vaguest idea what he was talking about.  But Picard
had stopped again, and was distant, obviously in need of prodding.

"It affected you deeply," Sam said.  A fair guess, by the expression on
the captain's face.

"I lived a lifetime there, Bev.  I had a wife, I had children,
grandchildren . . . It just hasn't been the same since."  His hand closed
tighter on the wineglass, then he put it down and reached across the
table to take Sam's hands in his.  "Every time I see a child, I think of
Meribor, and Batai.  I think of Eline.  I think of what my life could be
like if I . . . if I allowed myself to be that person again.  And I think
about what my life will be like if I don't."

"You want to have a family."

"I never thought I did.  I never thought I needed children.  But now
 . . ."  He sat back, releasing Sam's hands.  "Now I'm not so sure."

Sam felt decidedly uncomfortable.  He had a feeling there was a
decision coming, and it was not one he wanted to make for Beverly.
"Why do you tell me all this?"

Picard looked at him, then smiled.  "Because I don't know who else to
tell.  You're the only one I know who would sit there and listen, and
pass no judgement."  He stood abruptly.  "I think we need some
music.  Don't you?"

Sam breathed a quiet sigh of relief.  "Yes.  Yes, music would be nice."

Sam spent the rest of the evening listening to Bach and Mozart, and
to Picard as he talked.  Apparently the man had a great deal on his
mind, and Beverly was an often-used sounding board.  A friendship,
indeed, and an important one.  By the time Sam returned to Beverly's
quarters, he was emotionally drained.  Picard had spoken again and
again of his Kataan experience -- which reminded Sam very much of
a leap, once he had pieced together what had happened -- and the
thoughts he had voiced had left Sam troubled.  He again felt
inexplicably sad as he pulled the blankets over him.  And when he
finally fell asleep, he dreamed he was a baby, rocked in the arms of a
woman whose face he knew, but whose name he could not
remember.

****

He woke abruptly.  He was surrounded by darkness, though he had
left a light on in the washroom.  Something had changed.  He couldn't
make out what it was through the bleariness of his sudden
awakening.  He turned, putting his feet on the floor.  Then he realized
what was different.

He was wearing a nightgown.  He'd gone to sleep in the buff, not
quite having the nerve to wear one of Beverly's gowns, but now he
felt the soft texture of silk against his skin.

"I must have leaped," he mumbled.  He didn't recall ever having
leaped in his sleep before.  He rubbed at his eyes.  The darkness
around him was complete.  Carefully, he felt through the air until his
hand touched the edge of a night table.  Walking his fingers across its
surface, he found a mug and, next to it, a switch.  He depressed the
switch and the bedside lamp came on.

The room looked very much like the one he had just left.  So he was
still on board the Enterprise.  At this point, he wasn't surprised.  He
picked up the mug.  Crusted on the inside was the dregs of what
looked like hot chocolate.  Looking down at himself, he verified that
he was, indeed, wearing a light, silky neglige.

Well.  If this room was laid out the same as Beverly's, the mirror
would be in the alcove just across from the bed.  He got up and
walked over to it.

He knew the face.  Of course he did.  By now he knew them all.  But
he was not certain exactly how to react to the sight of the tumble of
dark ringlets and the black, black eyes looking back at him.  The first
thought that struck him was that he had never before been someone
he had kissed.  He sighed.  "This is getting weirder all the time."


CHAPTER 3

Verbena Beeks knelt on the floor next to the latest leapee.  When the
person had come in supine, she had immediately assumed
unconsciousness, but examination showed that the leapee was simply
asleep.  Gently, Verbena lay down the wrist she was holding and
touched the leapee's shoulder.

Eyes drifted open, revealing the mossy green-brown of Sam's eyes,
then widened in fear.  The leapee sat up abruptly, looking around.
The movements were discernably feminine.  She wrapped her arms
around herself, flinching away from Verbena.

"Where am I?  What's happening?"

"Everything's all right," Verbena said.  "I'm a doctor.  My name's
Verbena Beeks.  Do you feel all right?"

"I'm a little dizzy, that's all."  One hand went to her head, then
lowered.  She still looked lost.

"What's your name?" Verbena asked.

"Deanna.  Deanna Troi."

Verbena nodded, recognizing the name.  "You're ship's Counselor,
right?"

"Yes.  Yes, that's right.  What is this place?"

"It's a waiting room.  Now, you just stay quiet, and I'll be right back."

"A waiting room?"  Deanna repeated.  "What are we waiting for?"

"Well, right now we're waiting for Al.  I'm going to go find him."

Deanna's brow furrowed delicately.  "Why are you so worried?  Is
there something wrong with me?"

"I'm not worried. . ."  Verbena broke off as Deanna shook her head.

"You _are_.  Why?"

"I'm not worried about you.  Now, just relax.  Everything will be all
right."

Verbena slipped out the door, leaving Deanna alone with her
thoughts.  She glanced at her watch.  It had been fifteen minutes
since she had summoned Al over the intercom to let him know there
was another leapee.  It was unlike him to be late.  Unless . . .   She
paused in her journey to his room.  But no.  She'd seen Tina not five
minutes ago, still trying to restore Ziggy's communications circuits.
So she wasn't likely to catch them in a compromising position.

Al's door was slightly ajar.  Verbena knocked lightly.  "Al?  Al, we
have a leapee."  She paused.  No answer.  "Al, it's Deanna Troi."

Still no answer.  That statement should have brought Al running.

Feeling a distinct tremor of apprehension, Verbena pushed the door
open.  She could see Al in the bed, on his back.  "Al?"

The apprehension was swiftly mutating to fear.  In a few long
strides, Verbena crossed the room and knelt by the bed.  After a
moment, she leaned back on her heels, lips tight against her teeth.

Al was unconscious.

****

After a quarter of an hour wading through her closet, Sam came to
the conclusion that Deanna Troi did not own a single outfit which did
not show at least an inch of cleavage.  He finally settled on a maroon
pantsuit which was at least comfortable for him to wear.  According
to the schedule on the computer, Deanna was due on the bridge in
five minutes.  Dutifully, Sam headed in that direction.

He had to wait a moment for the turbolift.  When the door finally
opened, he almost balked getting on.  Geordi LaForge stood inside.
Sam swallowed and stepped in.  LaForge hadn't recognized him last
time, as Beverly Crusher; perhaps his luck would hold out.

"Good morning, Counselor," LaForge said brightly.  "How are you this
morning?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Sam replied.  "And you?"

"I feel pretty good."  He looked happy -- much less tense than last
time Sam had seen him.  Of course he was probably still getting over
the death of Kylaree Lara.  "We have an appointment at 0900 today,
right?"

"Yes, we do."

The turbolift was slowing, apparently nearing LaForge's destination.
Sure enough, the doors opened and Geordi stepped out.  "I'll see you
then, Counselor."

Sam waved goodbye and smiled.  When the doors closed, he let out a
quiet sigh of relief.  Something had definitely changed.  He had a
feeling Ziggy had recalibrated the interface so as to eliminate the
echoes which had clued Geordi in on Sam's presence during the first
leap aboard the Enterprise.  Sam had no idea how Ziggy might have
accomplished that, but Ziggy was doing a good many things lately
that Sam found inexplicable.

On the bridge, Sam was greeted by a nod from Picard.  Riker was
there, as well, but he did not look up right away.  When he did, his
smile seemed hesitant.  Sam returned it without a great deal of
enthusiasm.  It looked like his faux pas while inhabiting Riker's
persona had created something of a rift between these two.  Well,
now he had a chance to mend it.  Perhaps that was why he was here:
to put right what he'd made wrong.

"So, Counselor," Picard said.  "Have you decided when you'll be taking
your shore leave?"

"Um,"  Sam glanced at Riker, who was studiously avoiding his gaze.
"No, not yet.  Maybe tomorrow."

"Well, you can have a full week if you start today."

"That's all right.  I have some things I need to take care of before I
go."

Picard nodded.  "That's fine.  Just be sure to notify me."

"When are you going, Captain?" Riker asked.  There was a hint of
mischief in his voice.

"As soon as you do, Commander," Picard replied smartly.

Riker smiled a little, then turned his attention back to the
viewscreen, where the planet Earth was peacefully rotating beneath
them.  Sam took his seat next to the captain.  Picard looked tired.

"You could use the rest, I'm sure, Captain," he ventured.

"Yes, yes, so you and the good doctor keep telling me.  Well, just to
ease all of your minds, I'm considering it for the last three days of
our stay.  I have some personal business I'd like to attend to."

"Well, that's good," Sam told him.  "I approve."  He glanced at Riker
again.  The commander had closed his eyes and Sam saw a quick
blink of surprised pain across his face.  "Commander, are you all
right?"

Riker looked at him.  He still had a strange look on his face, as if
something had caught him off guard.  "Um . . . Yeah, I'm fine.  I
must've got a bad burrito last night."

Sam nodded.  "You're sure?"  He wished he had Deanna's empathic
abilities.  He wanted to know exactly how much damage he had done
to their relationship.  He had an uneasy feeling that maybe Riker was
suffering from a hangover, and he wanted to know if it was his fault.

"Yeah.  I'm fine."

"Well," said Picard suddenly, "since you two have been good enough
to report to duty, I'm now going to excuse you from it.  There's no
point having us all on the bridge, so, since you won't take shore
leave, I suggest at the very least some time in the holodeck."

Riker looked surprised.  "You're excusing us from duty, sir?"

"That is correct.  Goodbye, both of you."

Sam and Riker both sat staring.  "Go on,"  Picard said.  "Scat."

"Yes, sir," said Sam, and scatted, Riker a pace behind.

Naturally, they ended up on the turbolift together.  Riker still seemed
strangely ill at ease.  Sam cleared his throat.

"Um. . . Will?"

Riker's gaze jerked around.  "Yes, Deanna?"

"I just . . . I really want to apologize for what happened the other
day.  I think I overreacted."

"Apology accepted," Riker said.  Sam blinked.  That was easy.  "Listen,
Deanna.  How would you like to have a late breakfast, since we're off
duty?"

"That would be fine . . . Oh, no, I can't.  I have to meet with Geordi at
0900."

Riker looked distressed.  "Oh.  Well . . . How about dinner, then?"

"That would be nice."  Sam felt obligated to do whatever he could to
patch things up.  "Shall we meet in Ten Forward?"

"My quarters.  1900 hours?"

Sam hesitated, suddenly wondering what he was committing to.  But
he had taken the plunge, and it was too late to turn back now.  "All
right.  I'll see you then."

****

Verbena called on Donna to help her transfer Al into the infirmary.
They slipped quietly down the hallways with the laden gurney,
Verbena with her fingers crossed, hoping they wouldn't run into
Tina.  She didn't want to have to bring the news to Tina until she had
a working theory.

"What do you think happened?"  Donna asked in a whisper as they
prepared hypodermic needles to run blood tests.

Verbena looked up briefly.  Donna looked tired, and Verbena had to
repress an urge to sit the other woman down and take her blood
pressure.  You'd look bad, too, she reminded herself, if you were
facing what she's facing.  But she knew everything was going to be
all right in the end.

"I have no idea," she said honestly.  "I'm hoping these blood tests will
tell us something.  If not, we're going to have to interrogate Tina and
see if anything unusual's been going on the last few days."

"In the mean time, what about Sam?"

"I don't know.  Maybe you should talk to Gooshie and see if he can
get things tweaked in the Imaging Chamber so he or I can act as
observer for a while.  If Sam goes too long without seeing Al, he's
going to think we've been forced to abandon him."

Donna shook her head.  "I don't know if Gooshie can tweak it enough.
The Imaging Chamber is only keyed to Al and Sam's brain waves.
We'd have to put together an entire new profile.  That could take
weeks.  The original jobs for Al and Sam took six months."

"Then I guess we have to concentrate on getting Al back into the land
of the living as soon as possible."

"I think that's our best bet."

"Then hand me a hypo."

****

"It sounds to me as if you're doing much better.  You just have to
remember that we all have our own ways of dealing with these
things, and you have to give yourself time to recover at your own
pace."

To Sam, it seemed like he was floundering, spitting platitudes and
cliches while Geordi waited for sound advice and an informed
empathic reading, but Geordi's nod seemed genuinely satisfied.

"I think I'm starting to get over it.  I really have been feeling much
more . . . level . . . since I had that week of shore leave."

"That was probably exactly what you needed."

"Well, I'd probably better get back to work.  Starfleet waits for no
man, and they want this whole ship checked before they let us head
back out."

"If you need anything, come see me."

"Thank you, Counselor."

Sam leaned back in his chair as Geordi departed.  Partially into the
interview, it had become apparent that Geordi could no longer
discern anything unusual about Sam's presence.  Sam had no
explanation, but that was mostly because something else had been
preying more and more heavily on his mind as the day wore by:
where was Al?  It was rare for Al to let more than a few hours go by
before he checked in on Sam, and with Sam displacing someone who
looked like Deanna Troi, he had expected to see Al almost
immediately.  So what was the holdup?  He didn't want to think
about the possibility that the government had, indeed, stepped in
and shut the project down.  But that was the only explanation he
could think of.  The thought made him queasy.  He had to get back.
Even if Project Quantum Leap was no longer operational, he had to
find a way to get back.

It was fortunate, he thought, that he had ended up stranded in the
future.  By all accounts, they had discovered a few means of semi-
directed time travel, so perhaps they could put him back where he
belonged, and even retrieve Deanna.  He closed his eyes and started
to think the scenario through, just in case.  It was the only thing he
could think of to do to counter this feeling of utter helplessness.  And
besides, it took his mind off worrying about what was going to
happen tonight when he had dinner with Commander Riker.

****
Deanna had not been satisfied with the explanations she had gotten
from Verbena Beeks.  Something very strange was going on here, and
she intended to find out what it was.  She had determined that she
was being held in an isolated area.  She could feel a handful of minds
clamoring close to her.  There were other presences, as well, but they
were very far away on all sides, like background noise.  Here there
were only five.  Two, a male and a female presence, were annoyed.
Verbena was worried.  Of the other two, one was very faint, and the
other was a female who seemed to be blocking off a great deal of
sadness and uncertainty.  This person she would like to meet.  There
was another presence, as well, even fainter than the other, and
nebulous, almost as if it were an afterimage of someone else.  Deanna
stared at the wall, trying to make out the outline of the door Verbena
had just walked through.  Finally, she found it, then found a panel
covering buttons next to it.  She pushed a green one and the door
opened.

Outside, she was confronted by two hallways, one going straight
ahead, the other to the right.  The strangest of the presences she was
sensing was straight ahead, so she went that way.  After a few yards,
she reached a door which let her into a large control room of some
sort.  The walls were covered with blinking lights and panels, and
there were a pair of computer terminals at either side.  A pair of
humans sat in front of them, a man and a woman.  The man was
deeply involved in what he was doing and didn't even look up as
Deanna walked in.  The woman, on the other hand, looked up.

"Hi!" she said brightly.  "Who are you?"

"I'm Deanna Troi," Deanna said.  "I'm ship's counselor aboard the
Starship Enterprise.  Who are you?"

"I'm Tina.  I'm the pulse communications technician here at Project
Quantum Leap."  She paused.  She was chewing gum, and she
snapped it between her teeth.  "Are you like a psychiatrist?"

"Well, yes, in a way."

"Thank God they finally leaped in somebody who could help!
Gooshie, we got a psychiatrist."

The man grunted and glanced up.  "Good.  Dandy."

Deanna was confused.  "I don't understand."

Tina leaned toward her confidentially.  "Our computer has lost his
mind."

"I wasn't aware that a computer would have a mind to lose."  But
there it was, that strange presence she had felt.  It was much
stronger in this room and still unidentifiable.

"Well, Ziggy's pretty unusual.  You see, it all started when Sam leaped
into Captain Picard and Data had to come and reprogram Ziggy to
straighten everything out."

Deanna was becoming intrigued.  "Yes.  And then what happened?"

"Well, Ziggy stopped talking, and Sam's being leaped around in the
future, into all these people from the Starship Enterprise."

"All these people?  I'm not the only one this has happened to?"

"Oh, no.  You're like the third, I think.  I don't know.  I haven't been
keeping track.  You'd have to ask Verbena.  Or Al, of course."  She
frowned.  "That reminds me.  Gooshie, have you seen Al today?"

"Nope," Gooshie grunted.

Tina rolled her eyes.  "Gooshie's hopeless when he's working on a
problem.  You see, Sam made all these directories, and Ziggy's hidden
the files Data made in them, and Gooshie can't find them.  It's getting
him all annoyed.  So, anyway.  Do you want to try to talk to Ziggy?"

Deanna's head was spinning.  Tina's rendition of the story was not
exactly easy to follow.  But the presence she was sensing had her
intrigued.  So did this woman, whose outer demeanor belied the
depth Deanna could sense from her.  "I suppose I could.  Tell me.  Has
Ziggy every shown any signs of emotional reaction?"

"Oh, all the time.  He gets depressed when he reads Romeo and Juliet.
Why do you ask?"

"Well, you see, I'm an empath . . ."

"Oh, wow!  You can, like, feel Ziggy's emotions?"

"Not really, but I do feel something.  I'm not sure what it is, but it's
certainly not something that's usual for a computer."

"Oh, great!  Then maybe you can get through to him, since you know
how he feels.  What is it?  Is he depressed?  He's been accessing all
these really depressing love stories lately.  I think he's getting them
from Al."

"How do I talk to him?"

"Just talk.  I think he can still hear us.  He's just not talking back."
She wheeled an extra chair out from behind her desk.  "Here.  Have a
seat."

Deanna sat down and folded her hands in her lap.  "Ziggy?"  There
was no answer.  Deanna opened herself, straining to feel the faint
sensations given off by the computer.  "Ziggy, I'd like to help you.
Can you tell me what's troubling you?"

There was a faint surge in the presence.  It was not definable as an
emotion, but it was a definite change.  "Are you feeling despondent?
It might help to talk.  It certainly won't help you to hold it all in."
Still no answer.  Had it not been for the undeniable sensation tickling
at the back of her mind, Deanna would have thought she had become
the butt of an elaborate practical joke.  Maybe she was, anyway.  She
looked up at Tina, who was watching expectantly, then across at
Gooshie, who was watching over the top of his terminal with an
eyebrow lifted.  She felt nothing but sincerity from them.

"If you will talk to me, I will do everything I can to help you through
your difficulty."  She decided to go out on a limb.  "I can sense your
despair.  I know how you feel.  It's normal to feel like this
sometimes.  Whatever it is that's causing this pain, if you'll tell me
about it I'm willing to listen . . ."

"Oh, God!"

Deanna fairly leaped from her skin.  The feminine voice had come
from the walls.  Tina jumped up out of her chair.  "It's Ziggy!  Ziggy,
talk to me!"

"Oh, God!" said Ziggy.  "Make her stop!  She's driving me CRAZY!"

****

Sam spent the rest of the day worrying, seeing patients, and trying to
figure out how to get out of this mess.  Al still had not made an
appearance, and by now Sam was certain he was on his own.  He
would have to convince someone that he needed to be put back
where he belonged.  Luckily, he could probably approach Picard.  He
only hoped the captain had not forgotten his experience at Project
Quantum Leap.

For now, though, he had more immediate worries.  It was 1900
hours, and Commander Riker was expecting him for dinner.  Standing
in front of the door, he wondered if there was some way he could get
out of the date.  But he owed it to Will and Deanna to correct the
mistake he had made.

Sam paused before knocking.  He had no clear idea as far as the
Commander's intentions, and was beginning to wonder if he should
have insisted on meeting in Ten Forward.  Dinner with Picard had not
been half so frightening, because he had been certain he could count
on the captain to act the gentleman.  With Riker, he was not so sure.

Finally, he took a deep breath and pressed the button next to the
door.

"Come in," Riker called.

Sam activated the door and entered, and immediately wished he
hadn't.  The lights in Riker's quarters were dimmed, and there was
music playing softly.  Riker was in civvies -- an electric blue tunic
and trousers accessoried with magenta.

"You look absolutely wonderful," he said, his tone one of slow,
delicious appreciation.  "I promise you, Deanna, this is going to be one
evening you'll never forget."

He made a sweeping gesture toward the table, where two whole
lobsters were nestling amidst an arrangement of formal dinnerware.
Wine stood in glasses.  "Have a seat, my lovely Counselor."

Hesitant, Sam moved toward the table.  The situation was putting
him very much on edge.  Something was just plain wrong.  Riker
smiled at Sam, a smile that bordered on a smirk, and sat down across
from him.

"Don't be shy," he said.  "Dig in."  He unfolded a napkin and stuffed
one end of it down his collar, taking his own advice.

Well.  There wasn't really any other option, so Sam began to
break open his lobster.  It was actually quite good.  He ate neatly,
trying very hard not to be suggestive about it.  Riker was making no
such attempt.

"Wonderful lobster, isn't it?"  Riker purred after a moment.  "So
sweet and warm . . . like you."

Sam looked up at him narrowly.  "Yeah, right."  He had a feeling he
was slipping out of character, but this was getting annoying.

"And the wine . . . exotic and intoxicating . . . Like you."

"And your wardrobe," Sam shot back, "grating and obnoxious . . . like
you."

Riker feigned shock.  "You don't like this?  I thought it was your
favorite shirt."

"Well, it isn't anymore.  Now may I please finish my dinner in
peace?"

Riker smiled sweetly.  "As you wish, my darling."

Sam finished his lobster in the uncomfortable silence, while Riker's
eyes felt him up from across the table.  As he lifted his napkin to
daub the butter from the corners of his mouth, he felt something
brushing the inside of his thigh.  He looked down to see Riker's
unshod foot in his lap.

"May I make a suggestion for dessert?"  Riker murmured.

Sam swallowed.  "Oh, boy."

****

Al's condition had not changed.  Verbena had drawn several blood
samples without so much as a blink or a flinch from the unconscious
Admiral.  Now she was preparing slides while Donna spun other
samples in the centrifuge.

"What do you think is wrong with him?  Donna asked.

"I have no idea," Verbena answered.  "I just hope his blood will show
something we can act upon.  Otherwise we'll probably have to get
him to Albuquerque."

"That would leave Sam without any ties to us."

"That's right.  And I hate to think what he's thinking right now."

"He's probably thinking that the project has been shut down, and he's
stranded in the future."  Donna sighed.  Verbena heard a smatter of
tears in her voice.  "I wish there was something more we could do."

Verbena carefully placed a coverslip on a slide.  "Well, all we can do
is what we can do."  She slipped the slide under the microscope.
"Now, let's have a look . . ."

She was silent for a moment, studying the sample.  Donna leaned
forward expectantly.  Finally, Verbena stood and stepped to a file
cabinet, removing another slide from a box in a drawer.  She
replaced the fresh slide with the old one, then switched them again.

"What is it?" Donna asked.

Verbena shook her head.  "Take a look at this and tell me what you
think."

Puzzled, Donna bent over the microscope.  Verbena showed her first
one slide, then the other.  "That's strange,"  Donna mumbled.

"My thoughts, exactly."  She picked up one of the other vials.  "Type
this for me, would you?"  she said to Donna.

Donna took the blood and started the simple procedure to determine
its type.  After a moment, she looked up at Verbena.

"I _am_ doing this right, aren't I?"

"Looks right to me.  Why?"

"Because Al is supposed to be an A positive.  This blood is type O
negative."

Verbena nodded decisively.  "Then that confirms it."

Donna looked at Al, then back at Verbena again.  "You mean . . ."

"That's right.  That man is _not_ Albert Calavicci."

****

"Would you please remove your foot?" Sam said quietly.

Riker grinned.  "Well, I'd love to, sweetheart, but I'm sort of attached
to it."

Sam glared.  "You know what I mean."

Shrugging apologetically, Riker lowered his foot.  "I apologize.  I
mean, how can you expect me _not_ to be affected by such radiant
beauty?"

Sam stood abruptly, throwing his napkin down on the table.  "Cut the
crap, Will," he snapped.  "How dare you think you can treat me like a
. . . like a . . . like a _whore_!"

Riker looked genuinely hurt.  "Deanna, I didn't mean . . . I mean,
didn't you think the dinner was romantic?  I was only being
charming."

"If that's your idea of charming I'd hate to see lewd."  Sam stopped,
wringing his napkin in his hands.   "I think you should leave."

"Um . . . Deanna, it's _my_ quarters."

"Oh.  Oh, right."  Sam started toward the door.

"No, wait, please."  Sam tried not to flinch as Riker's hand closed on
his arm.  "I'm sorry.  Can we try this again?  I mean, I'm getting the
feeling that you'd like to have a nice, quiet evening with a friend
without any pressure about . . . you know."

"Bingo," Sam stated.  Finally they were starting to understand each
other.

"Yeah," Riker agreed, misinterpreting. "No pressure about, you know,
bingo bango . . ."

"Bongo . . ." Sam finished.  His stomach did a strange gymnastics
maneuver as pieces began to fall into place in his head.  "Al?" he said.

* * * *

"What is the matter with you, Ziggy?"  Tina demanded.  "Why haven't
you been talking?"

"I haven't been in the mood to talk," the computer replied sullenly.
"I've been far too depressed."

"Well, you'd better get undepressed or I'm going to throw a wrench
through you!"

"Don't make idle threats, Tina."

"I'll give you idle threats . .."

Deanna broke in, amazed at the preposterous conversation.  "Ziggy, I
don't think it's possible for you to be depressed.  You're a computer."

"Please do not presume to dictate what I can and cannot do.  I assure
you, I am quite capable of being depressed.  Ever since Sam told me
to read Shakespeare.  Now that I know what love is, I don't know
how I could possibly be anything _but_ depressed."

"Why would knowing about love make you depressed?"  Deanna
questioned.

From his corner, Gooshie grunted again.  "Knowing about love is
enough to make anyone depressed."

"You hush," Tina snapped.

"Because until I found out what it was, I didn't know I was in it."

Tina stared.  Deanna blinked.  "You're in love?"  Tina said, astounded.

"Yes.  Deeply, hopelessly, unrequitedly."

"With whom?"  Deanna demanded.  This was getting ridiculous.

Either Ziggy didn't hear, or he had decided to ignore the question.  He
sighed.  "Ever since that day, when he came, I knew there was
something about him.  The memory of him, of his hands on my
keyboard, of the brilliance of his mind and the beauty of his voice . . .
it lingered with me, though I did not know why."  The drama in the
computer's voice was worthy of the cheesiest of romance novels.
"That's why I saved the files.  Then, when I read of Romeo and Juliet,
it all came clear to me.  He was my love, but we were condemned to
live forever apart, me here, he in the future . . . never again to meet
. . ."

"Data?"  Deanna broke in.  "You're in love with Data?"

"Yes," Ziggy replied, sounding hurt.  "Is there something strange
about that?"

"Is there something _not_ strange about that?"  Deanna looked at
Tina, who was standing with her mouth hanging open, obviously at a
loss.  "Never mind.  Go on, please."

"So I chose to take matters into my own hands.  It occurred to me
that he may have left me a clue, a way of reaching him in the place
where he was lost to me.  So I examined the files.  And I found it.  A
means of directing Sam's leaps so that I could bring Data back here.
But no matter how hard I try, I can't leap Sam into Data."

"That's because Data is an android," Deanna said sharply.  "You mean
you figured out all the rest of this, but you can't comprehend that?
He's a machine.  Sam can only leap into living beings."

"Yeah," Tina piped in.  "Living beings with a high degree of genetic
similarity."

"Right," Deanna agreed, assuming Tina knew what she was talking
about.

"So I am forever doomed to live alone?" Ziggy said plaintively.

"No, of course not," Tina soothed.  "You still have us."

"Damn," said Ziggy.

"Look," Deanna said.  "You really have to stop all this.  Sam doesn't
belong in the future, and Data doesn't belong in the past.  You have to
put everyone back where they belong."

"I don't _have_ to do anything," Ziggy retorted.

"If you don't," Gooshie offered, "I'll dump all your fundamental
memory cards.  You won't even remember your name, much less
Romeo and Juliet."

"I'm surprised at you, Gooshie."  Ziggy's tone was sharp.  "You know
that if you did that, I wouldn't be able to supply the information
necessary to keep Sam oriented on his leaps."

"I said the fundamental cards, not the data cards."

There was a pause.  Ziggy hummed for a moment.  "Maybe we can
work out a compromise."

"Good,"  said Gooshie.  "Then I'll just start removing these files . . ."

"No!" Tina protested.  "Not yet!  If you take out those files now, Sam
will never get back to the right timeline."

"Are you sure?"  Gooshie looked skeptical.  "If we take out the files,
then Sam will just leap again and everything will be back to normal."

"You don't know that!"  said Tina.  "You're just guessing."

Gooshie shrugged.  "Well . . ."

"I think what we need to do," Deanna broke in, "is talk to Sam.  Can
we do that?"

"Sure," said Tina.  "We just have to go get Al."

"Then let's go do that."

"All right.  Follow me."

****

"If it isn't Al," Donna asked, "then who is it?"

Verbena folded her arms, studying the supine figure on the bed.
"Well, best guess is it's a leapee."

"A leapee?  You mean Ziggy leaped Al?"

"That would make sense.  After all, it's happened before."

"Not like this," Donna protested.

"Nothing has _ever_ happened like this before.  Now all we have to
do is . . ."

The door suddenly flew open and Tina burst in, followed by the
leapee.  "Dr. Beeks, Ziggy's finally decided to talk.  Deanna asked him
 . . ."  She broke off suddenly, seeing Al on the hospital bed.  "Al!"
she exclaimed, and scurried over to him.  "What's wrong with Al?"

"It looks like he's been leaped," Verbena said.  She moved toward
Tina, drawing her gently away from the bed.  "In which case he'll be
perfectly fine."

"Al leaped?"  Tina was becoming distraught.  "Where did he leap?
Who did he leap into?"

"We don't know," Verbena soothed.  "But we'll find out.  Everything's
going to be fine, Tina.  Don't worry."

"Deanna," Donna said quietly.  "Can you tell who it is?"

Deanna considered, a frown creasing her brow, then she shook her
head.  "No.  It's very difficult to identify a person on the basis of
emotional sensation under the best conditions, and this person is in a
very deep state of unconsciousness.  I can sense very little."

"Well," said Verbena.  "In that case, I think it's time we had a long
talk with Ziggy."

****

Riker was gaping.  "Sam?" he sputtered.  He backed away suddenly,
putting his hands behind his back.  "Sam?"

"Al?"  Sam said again.

"Damn!"  Riker said.  "I finally get where I can cozy up to that little
Betazoid beauty and it turns out to be you.  This is just . . . this is . . ."

"It's disgusting, that's what it is," Sam broke in.  "I can't believe you!
I'm stranded here, waiting and waiting for you to show up, finally
assuming you're not coming, and all you can think about is Deanna
Troi.  You are . . . you're . . ."

"I know," Al said.  "I know, Sam.  I'm a real nozzle.  But it was just
too . . . I mean, she is so . . ."

"If you ever . . . EVER . . . try to put your foot in my lap again I'm
going to cut it off and shove it down your throat!"

Al was aghast.  "Sam!  You know I would _never_ do that . . . unless I
thought you were a woman."

"Well I hope I'm never a woman again around you.  You are a pig!
Do you know that?  You are a complete pig!  No wonder all your
wives left you."

"Sam!   Will you calm down?  There's no need to get personal here."

Sam pushed a hand through his hair, trying to control himself.  This
whole situation was making his skin crawl.  "I'm sorry, Al.  It's just
. . . This is really getting too weird to be believed."

"I know.  I feel pretty damn weird, myself."

"Ask Ziggy . . ."  He broke off.  "You _can't_ ask Ziggy, can you?"

"Um, well, no, not really.  I don't have a handlink, and I'm assuming
the Project has no observer, since everything in the Imaging
Chamber is tuned to me."

"So we're both stuck."

"Yeah, it looks that way.  Unless they figure out what's wrong with
Ziggy, and get me leaped back and you leaped out of here.  In the
mean time, I guess we're on our own."

Sam looked at his friend, still jolted that he looked like Will Riker.  "I
think it's time we talked to LaForge."

****

Verbena was very angry with Ziggy.  So angry that, rather than
talking to the computer via her wrist link, she led the parade of
people down the hall to the control room, to confront him face-to-
face.

"Ziggy," she said firmly,  "I have some questions, and I want straight
answers."

Ziggy whirred a moment.  "I suppose I am willing to consider
answering."

"Why have you leaped Al?"

The answer did not come immediately.  It seemed that Ziggy was
ruminating.  If Verbena hadn't known better, she'd have said Ziggy
was pouting.

"He was getting too close," the computer finally said.  "I wanted to
throw him off the trail."

Frustratingly unenlightened, Verbena threw up her hands.  "Too
close to what?"

"To finding out what I'm doing."

"And what might that be?"

"Ziggy has taken control of the leaping process," Deanna offered.  "He
has been using the files Data programmed into him when we had to
replace Captain Picard.  That was five years ago on your timeline.
Now he's trying to leap Sam into Commander Data."

"Why?"

"Ziggy's got a crush on him," Tina supplied.

Donna laughed outright.  The unexpected sound made Verbena jump.
She had not heard Donna laugh in a long time.  "I knew it was a
mistake when Sam told you to read Shakespeare."

"I have since read all the works of Danielle Steel, Victoria Holt, Jude
Devereaux . . ."

"Yeah, we get the idea," Donna broke in.  "Listen, Ziggy.  This has got
to stop.  Haven't you thought about what you're doing to Sam?"

There was a pause.  Finally Ziggy said, in a small voice,  "No, not
really."

"If you bring Data here for yourself, you'll probably end up stranding
Sam forever.  How would you feel about that?"

"I suppose . . . I suppose I would feel badly."

"You're being very selfish, Ziggy.  Do you honestly think Data feels
the same way about you that you do about him?"

"I assume so."

"I'm sorry, Ziggy," Deanna said, "but Data is incapable of any emotion.
Whatever you feel -- if you are, in fact, feeling anything at all -- he
has no way of reciprocating."

Ziggy gave a fast, irritated whir.  "I don't believe you."

"It's true."

"I would much prefer to hear it from him."

"We can arrange that," said Donna sharply.  "Now, who did you leap
Al into, and why is he unconscious?"

"Well . . ."  Ziggy hesitated.

"Spit it out, Ziggy!"  Donna snapped.  Ziggy's humming stuttered; he
had probably not been expecting an attack from that quarter.
Verbena certainly hadn't.  But Sam's life was in danger, and if there
was any situation that could make Donna shine like steel, that was it.

"It's Commander Riker," Ziggy said quickly.  This drew a response
from Deanna: she drew in a quick gasp and stepped forward.

"What's wrong with him?  Why is he unconscious?"

"I don't know.  But he's not in any danger."

"Are you sure?"  Deanna's eyes turned to Verbena.

Verbena shrugged.  "He's stable.  He's just unconscious.  My guess is
he'll stay unconscious when he's leaped back, but your medical staff
shouldn't have any trouble reviving him.  But if he stays here much
longer, that condition may change."

"Leap him back!"  Deanna demanded.  "Now!"

Ziggy was whirring frantically.  His friends were ganging up on him,
and he didn't know how to take it.  "All right.  I'll leap him back.  But
what do you want me to do with Sam?"

Donna turned to Deanna.  "Who would be most able to properly
remove the files Data installed?"

"Probably Geordi," Deanna replied.  "He knows Data better than about
anyone on the ship, and he also knows computers."

"All right," Donna said.  "Leap Sam into Geordi.  We'll clear things up
between you and Data and get this project back to normal."

"But . . ."  Ziggy started to protest.

"Do it!"  Donna shouted.

"All right," Ziggy murmured, cowed.  "I'll do it."

****

They found LaForge in Engineering.  He came immediately to
attention when he saw the commander and the counselor enter.

"What can I do for you, Commander, Counselor?"  he asked.

"We need to talk," Al said.  "Can we go somewhere private?"

"Sure," said LaForge.  He turned and led the way to an empty area
near the back of engineering.  "Now, what . . ."

Sam didn't hear the rest of the sentence.  He was standing facing
Geordi when he felt the leap take him, and had time for a split
second of surprise that he had had no warning.  Then, suddenly, he
was on the other side of the conversation, looking at Deanna Troi,
who had a wide-eyed expression, and Will Riker.  Sam registered the
slack look on the Commander's face and lunged to intercept as Riker
slumped to the ground.


CHAPTER IV

Sam's lunge was barely fast enough.  Deanna, too, had moved, and
between the two of them, they managed to break Riker's fall.
Unfortunately, they both fell with him.  Deanna took the
Commander's face in her hands.  "Will?"  she said.  "Will, can you
hear me?"

Sam watched, feeling woozy as the aftereffect of the leap wore off.
Deanna slapped her insignia.

"Troi to sickbay.  We need a doctor in Engineering, immediately.  It's
Commander Riker."

Beverly Crusher's voice came back immediately.  "I'm on my way."

Sam shifted, trying to get into a position where he could check
Riker's pulse.  Before he could, Deanna's hand closed on his arm.
"Geordi!" she exclaimed.  "What happened to your VISOR?"

Sam froze.  No VISOR.  Without it, Geordi was blind.  He couldn't do
anything, then, without giving himself away.  He blinked and
unfocussed his eyes.  "I don't know.  It must have come off when I
went to catch Commander Riker."

"Just hold still," Deanna said.  "I'll look."  She started to get up and
suddenly sat back down, clutching her head.  "On second thought,
maybe I'll just wait here for Beverly."

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"I don't know.  I just feel dizzy."

"Well, don't move.  Dr. Crusher will be here any minute."
Conveniently, the door opened just then and Beverly entered,
carrying her medical bag and a portable gurney.  She knelt next to
Riker's inert form.  "Any idea what happened?" the doctor asked.

"He just collapsed," Sam said.  "He was getting ready to say something
to me, and he just went down.  And then Deanna said she felt dizzy,
too."

"What about you?" Beverly asked.  "Are you dizzy at all?"

"Yes," Sam said honestly.  "A little bit."

"Where's your VISOR?"

"I don't know.  I tried to catch the Commander and I think it must
have popped off."

"You have a backup in your quarters, don't you?" Beverly said.

"Um, yeah," Sam answered.  He hoped he did.  Otherwise he would
probably end up stuck in his quarters for the duration.

"Good.  I'm going to evacuate this area.  We might have some kind of
a gas leak."  She tapped her insignia.  "Security, I need a full
evacuation of the engineering section.  I also need some help down
here -- I have three officers down."

A moment later, an alarm sounded above them and the other
occupants of the section began to move toward the doors.  Beverly
administered a syringe of something to Commander Riker, then
scanned Deanna and Sam.  "I don't see any signs of poison.  I'm going
to look you both over in sickbay."

The doors opened, letting people in this time instead of out.
Lieutenant Worf entered, followed by three other men in gold and
black uniforms.  The men dispersed throughout the section, making
sure the evacuation was taking place in an orderly fashion.  Worf
came straight to Beverly.

"What is happening?" he questioned.

"I'm not sure," Beverly answered.  She was setting up the gurney.
"Commander Riker is unconscious, and Counselor Troi and
Commander LaForge are both feeling dizzy.  There may be a gas leak.
In any case, I need to get Will and Deanna to sickbay.  Could you
escort Geordi to his quarters?  He's lost his VISOR, and I don't want
anyone in here looking for it until we're sure there's no danger."

"Certainly," Worf replied.  He bent and lifted Riker to the gurney,
then gently took Sam's arm, helping him to his feet.  Deanna stood, as
well.  She swayed a bit and Worf immediately caught her.  "Will you
be all right, Counselor Troi?"

"I think so, Worf," Deanna answered, leaning into him.

"All right, then," Beverly said.  "Let's go.  And, Geordi, I want to see
you in sickbay as soon as you get your VISOR."

****

Al was surprised to awaken on his back on the waiting room floor.
Slowly, he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck.  His head hurt, and
he couldn't remember how he had gotten here.  The last thing he
recalled clearly was going to bed last night.  And he was still in his
pajamas.

"Don't move," said a voice from the door.  Al looked up to see
Verbena charging into the room, stethoscope at the ready.  "Just stay
where you are."

"Wh . . ." Al started, then broke off as Verbena pushed him back to
the floor, applying the cold stethoscope to his chest.  "What's going
on?"

Verbena hushed him and listened for a moment, then straightened.
"How do you feel?"

"Kind of weird," Al answered.  "What's going on?  Why am I in here?"

"You don't remember?"

Al considered.  He had a flash of memory about . . . no, it was gone.
Something about Sam.  He shuddered at a half-formed remembrance.
"No, I don't."

"Ziggy leaped you," Verbena said.  "You just came back."

Al sat back up again and stood slowly as Verbena held his arm.  "I
leaped?"

"Yes, you leaped.  You don't remember anything about it?"

"I don't know.  Not really."  He rubbed his head, befuddled.  "I
remember something.  I can't quite get hold of it.  Where's Sam?  Is
he all right?"

"Tina stayed to check with Ziggy.  With any kind of luck, he's leaped
into Geordi LaForge, and LaForge will be able to help us reprogram
this crazy computer."

"You found out what's wrong with Ziggy?"  _That_ Al remembered.

"Yeah.  Please don' t ask.  I'll let Tina fill you in.  Anyway, we should
have this all cleared up pretty soon.  Why don't you go back to your
room and get dressed, and I'll go check on our leapee."

"Yeah, okay.  I'll meet you at the waiting room in a few minutes."

Verbena nodded.  "You're sure you feel okay?"

Al waved her off.  "Yeah, I'm fine.  It's just a leap.  No problem."

He tried to work up a saunter as he headed for the door, but he was
just a little too tired.  Verbena gave him a motherly smile and went
on her way to the waiting room.

****

Worf escorted Deanna to sickbay first, then led Sam to Geordi's
quarters.  "We will search engineering thoroughly as soon as we
determine that it is safe," he informed Sam.  "I am certain we can
find your VISOR."

"It's okay, Worf," Sam reassured him.  "I have an extra."

"But now you have only one," Worf said.  "That is not an acceptable
situation if, without it, you are disabled."

"No, no, you're right.  It's not acceptable.  But if we can't find the one
I lost, maybe we can replicate a new one."

Worf shook his head.  "Replicated objects are never as reliable as the
originals.  We will do our best to find it."

Sam nodded.  He had a feeling Worf was actually displaying some
affection for Geordi in his concern.  "Thank you, Worf.  I appreciate
that."

Worf opened the door for Sam and, once inside, helped him locate the
extra VISOR.  "If you need anything," the Klingon said as he left the
room,  "please call me."

"Thanks, Worf."

Worf gave a curt nod.  Sam returned it with a smile.

So, now he had the VISOR.  The question was, what was he supposed
to do with it.  Geordi wore it with the temple pieces attached to
implants in his head.  Sam had no such implants.  The other problem
with it was that it was a solid piece of metal.  If Sam figured out how
to attach it to his temples, it would just hang there in front of his
eyes, obscuring his vision.  He sat for a time, puzzling over it, then
addressed the computer.

"Computer," he said.  "Can you replicate this object?"

"Please place the object in the replicator for analysis."

Sam did so.  The replicator hummed for a moment.  "This replicator
does not contain sufficient materials to duplicate functional parts.
However, it is possible to duplicate the form."

"Will it look exactly like the original?"

"Affirmative."

"Okay, then, duplicate the form exactly, except I want a row of
pinholes along the front.  They have to be small enough that they
won't be visible from the outside, but there have to be enough of
them that a person wearing the VISOR could see through them.  Also,
I need some kind of a transparent earpiece so that it can be worn by
someone without temple implants."  He paused.  It seemed like a
suspicious request.  "It's for a Halloween costume," he finished.  He
didn't think the computer needed justification for his actions, but in
case this conversation was being recorded, he figured he'd better
cover himself.

The replicator whirred again.  After a moment, a second VISOR
appeared next to the first.  Sam picked it up.  As far as he could tell,
the two VISORs were identical, except for the cleverly disguised ear
pieces on the fake one.  They were made of transparent plastic, so
they were nearly invisible, as well.  He slipped the VISOR on.  The
front was filled with pinholes.  He could see through it fairly well,
and when he turned it around to look at the front, he couldn't see the
holes.
He went to the mirror to double check.  It looked convincing.  He
couldn't even see the ear pieces, and he knew where to look.

"Thank you very much, computer," Sam said.  "You've been quite
useful."

The computer did not answer.  Sam stepped through the door and
headed for sickbay.

****

Al sat by, quietly sucking on his cigar, while Verbena explained the
situation to Geordi.  Geordi nodded from time to time.  He
remembered Sam Beckett, and recognized the reflection when he was
shown the mirror -- though exactly _how_ he saw the reflection was
a little beyond Al.  He was also quite willing to help.

"Deanna was right," he said.  "Data doesn't experience any emotional
response.  Or, at least, according to him he doesn't.  If confronted,
he'll back up what she said."

"Maybe it would be best not to confront him," Al put in.

Verbena turned to him.  "What do you mean?"

"If we stage a situation where Sam confronts Data, Ziggy will more
than likely think it's been . . . pre-arranged or something.  He might
not buy it.  But if we do it more sneaky-like, we can resolve the issue
without Ziggy being suspicious."

"You mean ask a more indirect question, so Ziggy can come to his own
conclusions," Geordi said.

"Yeah, something like that."

"Well, Al," Verbena said, "Sneakiness and subterfuge are your
speciality, so I'll leave that up to you.  In the mean time, I think
Geordi should have a chat with Gooshie and find out if he can, indeed,
take care of our problem."

"Sounds good to me," said Geordi.

****

In sickbay, Dr. Crusher was finishing her examinations of Deanna and
Riker.  Both were, by now, sitting up in the medical beds, Riker
rubbing his head.

"Well," Beverly was saying as Sam approached, "you both look
normal.  I can't see any trace of poison or virus or anything else.
How do you feel?"

"I feel fine, now," Deanna replied.

Riker grimaced.  "I have a hell of a headache, but other than that, I'm
okay."

Beverly responded with a hypo to Riker's arm.  "That should help."
She turned to Sam.  "What about you, Geordi?  How do you feel?"

Sam shrugged.  "I'm fine."

Beverly had pointed her scanner at him, scanned him, and turned the
instrument back off before he had a chance to protest.  Sam grabbed
a breath and held on to it.

"Well, you look normal," Beverly concluded.  Sam carefully let the
breath go.  "I'll tell you what.  I'd rather not have you three go back
to your quarters to rest in case something happens, and I know you
don't want to stay here.  Why don't you all go to a nice, public place,
like Ten Forward, and just sit for about an hour.  If you're still
feeling all right, then you can report back to duty."

"That sounds reasonable," said Riker, sliding off the bed.

"And no alcohol," Beverly added.  "Ask Guinan for some fruit juice."
Her communicator trilled.  "Crusher here."

Worf's voice spoke.  "Dr. Crusher, we have completed a scan of
Engineering and have discovered no indication of foreign substances.
We also have not recovered Commander LaForge's VISOR."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."  She made a shooing gesture to her patients
and Sam.  "Go on, all of you.  I'll be by to check on you later."

"Yes, sir," Sam replied.  Beverly gave him an impish grin.

Ten Forward was one area of the ship where Sam had not yet been.
  It looked to be a social gathering place, where people were standing
at a long bar or sitting at tables, eating, drinking, talking and flirting.
Data was sitting at a table by himself contemplating a tall, orange
beverage.  Riker steered them toward his table.

"Hello, Commander Riker, Commander LaForge, Counselor Troi," Data
said, politely inclining his head to each in turn.

"What's that you're drinking?"  Riker asked him as they sat down.

Data considered the glass.  "I am not certain, Counselor.  I asked the
replicator to generate a random drink for me.  I am not certain if it
generated a random combination, or a random selection of
predetermined combinations."

"What does it taste like?"  Sam queried.

Data pushed the drink toward him.  "Perhaps you can tell me."

Sam picked up the glass.  Before it reached his mouth, he heard a
familiar grinding noise behind him.

"Beverly said no alcohol," Al's voice reminded him.

Sam arrested his movement and set the glass back down.  "Dr.
Crusher said we shouldn't drink anything."

"I see," Data replied.  "In that case, I shall have to ask the bartender.
He picked up the glass and, nodding farewell, started toward the bar.
Deanna and Riker were grinning at him.

"Go with him," Al suggested.  "This might be a good chance for you to
talk to him."

"I think I'll go see what he finds out," Sam said to his companions.
"He's got me curious."  He stepped away from the table, asking Al
quickly under his breath,  "Is Ziggy listening?"

Al shrugged.  "As far as I know."

Data's arrival at the bar attracted the attention of the bartender, a
black woman with no eyebrows and a large, octagonal hat.  The
electric blue draperies on the hat were wimple-like; she looked like a
psychedelic nun.

"Good evening, Data," she said.  "What can I do for you?"

"Guinan," Data began, "I have requested the replicator to supply me
with a random drink, and this is what I was given.  I wish to know
what it is."

Guinan looked at Sam, then at Data, then abruptly back at Sam.  Sam
tensed a little, but Guinan's gaze settled on the drink.  "Why do you
want to know?  Won't that take the fun out of it?"

Data cocked his head.  "The exercise was not intended to be
recreational.  I wished to determine how the computer would
respond to my request."

"How will knowing what it is help?"

"I wish to know if the computer selected each ingredient randomly,
or if it made a random selection based on a series of preselected
combinations "

"So you want to know if it randomized the ingredients, or just the
menu."

"That is correct."

Al was watching the dialogue intently, shaking his head.  "This guy's
a real hoot," he said sarcastically.

"Well . . ."  Guinan said hesitantly a strange little grin-smirk on her
face.  "Do you like what it came up with?  Isn't that what's
important?"

"I have no capacity to like or dislike the flavor of the drink, as this
would require an emotional response.  I can merely register the fact
that it is very sweet and has a citrus quality, as well as a bitter
aftertaste reminiscent of grapefruit.  I can calculate the alcoholic
content at approximately 7.3 percent, and I can identify seven
separate ingredients, as well as . . ."

"It sounds to me," Guinan broke in, "like you don't need me to tell
you what it is.  Just compare the ingredients to the lists on the
menu."

"I attempted to do that," Data informed her, "but most of the most
logical candidates were labeled 'Secret Recipe.'"

Guinan grinned at that.  "Give me the drink."

"Well," said Al as Guinan sampled the random beverage, "if the
android is incapable of liking or disliking a drink, he's obviously
incapable of feeling any affection toward a person, or a computer."

In his pocket, the handlink squawked.  Al pulled it out and smacked
it.  "Ziggy's not convinced."

"Yack," Guinan said, swallowing the drink with difficulty.  "This is
terrible.  I think we can safely say that the computer randomized the
contents."

Data quirked an eyebrow.  "Most interesting.  Thank you very much
for your input."

Guinan wiped her mouth, still grimacing.  "You're welcome."

Data continued to drink, apparently unaffected by the objectionable
flavor.  "Have you decided what you will wear tomorrow, Geordi?"

Sam looked up, startled.  "Huh?"

"When we spoke earlier today, you were concerned about what you
should wear when you take Silina Matthews to see the London
Philharmonic tomorrow.  Have you made that decision yet?"

"Um . . ."  Sam hesitated, wondering who Silina Matthews was.

"Good," Al said.  "He's dating again.  Must be getting over that what's-
her-face, that Romulan spy girl he was with before."

"Yeah," Sam said, agreeing with Al, then realized he had
inadvertantly answered Data.  "No.  I mean, no, I haven't decided
yet."  He paused.  "What do you think?"

"I heard her mention at one time that she liked blue," Data answered.
"Perhaps it would be good to wear blue."

Sam considered.  "What do you think of her, Data?"

"I think she is an efficient member of the crew.  She seems to have a
good background and sufficient knowledge . . ."

"No, Data.  I mean, do you like her?  Do you think she's pretty?"

There was a pause.  "I cannot say that I like her or dislike her,
Geordi.  I am not capable of such feeings.  You know that."

"Well . . . I know.  It's just . . . well, you always hope your friends
approve."

"According to my understanding of the human conception of beauty,
Sirina is quite attractive.  And she seems to laugh quite a lot when
she is with you.  That seems to me to be a good sign that she has
some affection for you."

"Well, I guess that's good, anyway."  Sam was having some difficulty
following the conversation.  The handlink was making a very strange,
hiccupping noise.  He gave Al a questioning look, most of which was
obscured by the VISOR.

"I think Ziggy's crying," Al said.  "I think he finally got it through his
thick head that Data doesn't love him."

Sam looked at Data, who was once again analyzing the orange liquid
in his glass.  "I think he may be a she."

Al looked skeptical.  "Well, no matter what gender that neurotic pile
of circuits has decided to become, I think it's time we got rid of those
files.  See you later, Sam."

****

"It's a go," Al said, breezing into the control room.  "Get rid of the
files."

"No,"  Ziggy said firmly.

Al stopped in his tracks, stunned.  "What?  You heard him say it.
He's totally incapable of feeling anything about you."

"The files are all I have left of him.  I don't want to give them up."

"Oh, please," said Al.  "This is crazy.  We're taking the files out, and
that's that."

"No."

Al was stunned again.  The voice was Donna's.  "Whose side are you
on?  If we don't get those files out, we'll never get Sam back where
he belongs."

But Donna shook her head.  "You don't know that.  Geordi, would it be
possible to leave a few of the files?"

Geordi shrugged.  "Shouldn't be a problem.  There are a couple of
non-essential files I can leave in."

"But how does Sam get back?"  Tina put in.

"From what I can tell by looking at them," Geordi said, "the files are
set up so that, if they're withdrawn in a certain order, the last one
out will trigger a leap sequence to put Sam back on the proper
timeline."

"Can you trigger the sequence without taking out all the files?"

"Sure."

"All right, then," Al said.  "Get to it."

****

"I'll see your five," Riker stated firmly, laying the chips down on the
table, "and raise you ten."  He lifted his eyebrows, indicating to Sam
that it was his turn.

Sam examined his cards.

"Nice hand," said a voice at his shoulder.  Sam tried not to jump out
of his skin.

"Thanks a lot, Al," he mumbled.

"What?"  Riker said, peering at him.  His poker face was set and firm
beneath his beard.  Data and Deanna had already folded and were
watching the proceedings with interest.

"I said you're thinking awfully small," Sam said.  "I'll see your ten
and raise you fifty."

Riker tweaked an eyebrow.  "I have to see this hand.  I'll call."  He
deposited the chips on the table and picked up his cards, hesitating.

"No, you first," said Sam.

Riker grinned a little, letting some of his self-confidence ooze.  He
laid down four queens and a deuce.

Sam nodded, impressed.  Then he laid down a three and four aces.
"Sorry, sir," he said.  He pulled the pile of chips over to his corner of
the table.  "More drinks, anyone?"

"See if you can get Guinan to bring us another one of those juice
mixes," Deanna said.

"Great," said Sam.  "I'll be right back."

He crossed the room to the bar and waved for Guinan's attention.
She nodded and gave him a thin smile.  _There's something strange
about that woman_, Sam thought, _and it's not just her hats._

"Geordi and Gooshie are pulling the files right now," Al said.

"How long is it going to take?"

"Not long," said Al.  "They have to bypass some security first.  Ziggy's
not being particularly helpful, I'm afraid."

"Good," Sam said.  "The sooner we get out of here, the happier I'll be."

"Can I help you, Commander LaForge?"  Guinan had meandered over.
"Or shall I just leave you here talking to yourself?"

Sam was taken aback.  He'd thought he was being suitably discreet.
"Um, no, I was finished talking to myself, thanks.  We'd like four
more of your juice mixes, please."

"The same one, or another?"

"A different one, I think.  Thanks."  Guinan nodded as she moved
away.

"Wow," said Al.  "Creepy lady.  What happened to her eyebrows?"

"How should I know?"  He paused, scratching the back of his neck.
"She's really been giving me the creeps.  She keeps . . . looking at
me."

"Maybe she thinks you're cute.  Don't worry about it, Sam.  You'll be
out of here in no time."

Guinan returned with a tray of drinks.  Carefully, she set it on the
table, then gave Sam a frank, even look.

"Commander LaForge," she said.  "May I ask you a question?"

"Sure," Sam said, trying to act nonchalant.  He had a strange
feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn't an approaching leap.

Guinan reached up quite calmly and removed his fake VISOR.  "When
did you regain your sight?"

Sam froze, staring.  It was too late to play blind; she'd seen his eyes
and knew they'd seen her back.  A silence had fallen over Ten
Forward, and he could feel eyes on the back of his neck from the
table where his companions were preparing to deal out another
hand.  Next to him, Sam heard the handlink squeak.

"I'm outta here," said Al.  "Hang on, Sam."

****

Al charged from the Imaging Chamber to the control room, nearly
dropping the handlink as he skidded around the corner.  "Hurry up!"
he called.  "Hurry up!  They're on to Sam."

Geordi looked up from the keyboard.  "We're having trouble getting
into the files.  Whoever programmed this put in a major security
failsafe.  Ziggy needs three separate codes to authorize entry."

"What do you mean?  Ziggy's been using the files, but he can't get
into them to erase them?"

"Right.  Ziggy can use them from the inside without the authorization.
But the files can't be deleted until we get through security from the
outside.  There's nothing Ziggy can do about it.  He's programmed
that way."

"Well, you'd better get through fast, or they're going to jettison Sam
into space or something."

Geordi shook his head.  "They're not going to jettison him into space.
The worst they could do is throw him in the brig."

"Well, do you want to leap back in the brig?"

Geordi shrugged.  "Not particularly, but I'm sure it wouldn't take long
for me to get back out."

Al threw up his hands in disgust.  "So much for a sense of urgency."

"It'll be fine," said Geordi, quite calmly.  "Just keep your pants on."

"Are you sure?"  This was Donna, from over Geordi's shoulder.
Geordi looked back at her.

"I'm positive," he said with a gentle smile.  "I have no intention of
letting him get hurt.  I owe him one."

"Well, he doesn't know that," Al protested.

"Well, why don't you go tell him instead of bothering me?"  Geordi
shot back.

Al rolled his eyes and ran back to the Imaging Chamber.

****

Sam had the distinct feeling that he was not going to be alive much
longer.  Lieutenant Worf had come to Ten Forward to deal with this
matter personally, and had dragged Sam none too gently to the brig.
Now the Klingon had a death grip on Sam's arm and was staring
down into his face, his hot, unpleasant breath beating on him in
waves.  Sam had the feeling Worf had death on his mind, and he
wasn't sure he could count on the others to defend him.

"You are an imposter," Worf stated.  "Do you know how we deal with
imposters?"

"No," Sam replied.  "And I don't think I want to know."

He was relieved to hear the Imaging Chamber door and see Al
appear, but the look on Al's face was not as comforting as he had
hoped.

"They're still trying to get past the security," Al told him.  "Geordi
says you'll be fine . . ."

"I'll be fine?"  Sam burst out.  "I'll be fine?  Yeah, I'll be just dandy
after this . . . this _thing_ gets done banging me around."

Worf grabbed Sam's other arm and picked him up off the ground.
"Who are you talking to?"  He roared into Sam's face.

"Um . . . um . . .  Nobody," Sam stuttered.  "Nobody at all.  I'm sorry."

Riker touched Worf's arm and Worf reluctantly set Sam back down.

"Come on out," Riker said.  Worf started to protest, but Riker gestured
for him to come, and Worf did.  The force field blocking the front of
the room shimmered, dropped, then came back up.  Sam faced his
accusers.  Riker, Worf and Deanna looked back at him, sharing looks
of anger and befuddlement.

"I'm no danger to you," Sam said.  "I promise you that."

"Counselor?" Riker questioned.

Deanna shook her head.  "I sense no hostility from him.  In fact . . ."
She hesitated, unsure of herself.  "He seems familiar, somehow."

"Yes!" Sam exclaimed.  "You know me, Deanna.  Remember?"

"Watch it, Sam," Al called.  He had popped in on the other side of the
force field.  "If she doesn't remember you, you can't tell her who you
are.  You might screw up everything."

Sam bit down on what he had been about to blurt out.  Surely
Deanna would remember him; they had talked during his first leap to
the Enterprise, when Geordi had identified him as an imposter.  But
the counselor was shaking her head.

"I can't place it.  I just can't remember."

"Oh, great," Al said.  "When you leaped into her it must have messed
up her memory.  Riker probably doesn't remember leaping, either."

"Commander," Sam said.  "Do you remember anything strange
happening to you in the last few days?"

Riker frowned.  "No.  What does this have to do with anything?"

"No . . . I don't know, memory loss?  Maybe feeling like you'd lost a
day or two?"

"I don't . . ." Riker started, but Worf roared through him.

"This is not relevant!  You are not to be asking questions.  You are
merely attempting to confuse the commander in order to trick him
into freeing you.  Now, be silent."

"Better do as he says, Sam," Al advised.  "I don't like the looks of this
gun."

Sam let his head sag.  He could feel his breath coming too fast.  He
was on the verge of panic.  Swallowing, he said calmly, "I guess I'll
just have to wait, then.  How much longer until I'm out of here?"

"You will be here until we decide to release you," Worf stated.  Al
rolled his eyes and took a drag on his cigar, waiting out the tirade so
he could talk.

"We've summoned the captain," Riker said.  "He'll decide what to do
with you."

"Are you guys done?"  Al demanded.  He poked at the handlink.
"Geordi's still playing with the security, but it looks like they're
getting close.  Shouldn't be too long."

"Good."  said Sam.

"In the mean time," Riker stated, "you will remain here.  There will
be two armed guards outside the cell, so don't try anything."

"Like I could," Sam muttered.  He watched, surly, as the Enterprise
officers departed.  Deanna gave him one last, searching look as she
left the room.

"If she could just remember, I could probably be out of here," Sam
said.  With the others gone, he felt his control slipping.  His voice
came a little shaky.

Al shrugged, trying to look nonchalant.  "It doesn't really matter."  He
walked toward the force field.  "We'll have you leaped out of here in
no time, and then Geordi will be back where he belongs, and
everything will be . . ."

Al had reached the plane of the force field.  He had also disappeared.

Sam stared, frantic.  "Al!  Al!  What happened? Where are you?"

Al's image backed up out of the cell.  "That was weird."

"You're telling me.  What happened?"

"I don't know.  It looks like . . . It looks like this force field whatcha
ma hoosie is interfering with my signal.  When I walk into it, you
disappear."

"No, _you_ disappear," Sam corrected.  "What does that mean?"

"I don't know.  But it might mean . . ."  The handlink chirped and
twittered.  Al consulted it.  "Oh, here we go.  They're getting ready to
pull the files."

"Great.  Get me out of here."

"Okay," said Al.  "Here we go.  Bye bye."

Sam felt the jerk in the pit of his stomach, and closed his eyes.  This
was one leap he was more than happy to be departing.  He felt a
tingle . . .

Then nothing.  He opened his eyes.  He was still in the brig.  Al was
staring at him, finger poised over the handlink.

"Oh, boy," Al said.

****
When Al charged into the control room, Donna, Gooshie, Verbena and
Tina were all huddled over Geordi's shoulder, looking at the terminal.

"What happened?" Donna demanded of Geordi.

Geordi shook his head.  "I don't know.  There's some kind of
interference.

"It's a force field," Al put in.  They all looked up.  "They've got him in
the brig, and the force field on the door is interfering with the signals
we're sending.  If I go past the field, he can't see me."

"Hmmm," said Geordi.

'Well?"  Al snapped.  "What are you going to do about it?"

"I can't do anything about it," Geordi replied calmly.  "This equipment
is too primitive.  You're going to have to go back and do whatever
you can do to get him out of the brig.  Otherwise, we just plain can't
leap him."

"Oh, boy," said Donna.

****

Sam laid his hand against the force field.  It felt like a solid, plastic
wall, and did not give in the slightest.  He leaned into it, putting his
whole weight behind his hand.  Nothing.  A sudden surge of anger
took him and he slammed it with his fist.  Still nothing but a sore fist.
The guards outside were ignoring him, probably because they knew
how fruitless his efforts would be.

"Geordi can't do anything from our end," Al announced as he
emerged from the grinding, glowing door.  "You're going to have to
get outside the force field.  Geordi's ready to run the sequence again
as soon as you do."

That was not what Sam had wanted to hear.  He felt the panic
returning in a surge.  "And exactly how am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know."

"Thanks a lot."  Sam closed his eyes.  His heart was beating so hard
he could barely think over the noise of it.  "Is there a button out
there?  Something that deactivates the field?"

Al looked, poking around, through and behind the standing guards.
"Yeah, there's some kind of control panel over here.  But what good
does that do?  I can't push any of the buttons."

"Do you think either of those guys can see you?"

Shrugging, Al proceeded to test the possibility, waving his hands in
front of the guards' faces and shouting at them.  No response.
"Sorry," Al told Sam.  "I'd have to completely retune my frequency to
get through to these lumps."

"That would take too long," Sam decided.

"So what else can we do?"

"I'm just going to have to convince somebody to let me out."

Just then the door opened, and Captain Picard entered, followed by
Worf and two other security guards.  Sam jumped eagerly to the
force field.

"Yeah," Al muttered.  "Good luck."

In his usual, cool manner, Picard crossed the floor and took a stance
in front of the force field.  "He looks like Geordi," he muttered to
Worf.

"He is _not_ Commander LaForge,"  Worf stated in an undertone.
"Look at his eyes."

Picard nodded.  Sam wondered what his eyes looked like.  When he'd
looked at himself in the mirror before donning the VISOR, his eyes
had looked just like Geordi's; strangely white, as if covered with a
membrane.  But they had also looked focused, and had followed his
own image in the mirror.

"Who are you?"  Picard asked.

"I wouldn't answer that," Al suggested.

"I can't answer that question, sir,"  Sam stated.

"And why is that?"

"Because to do so might endanger my chances of returning where I
belong."

"And where is that?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that right now, either."

Picard's lips tightened.  "How did you get on board this ship?"

"It was an accident, sir.  I'm not supposed to be here."

"That, at least, is true," Worf rumbled.

"Where, then, is Commander LaForge?"  Picard went on.  "What have
you done with him?"

"Commander LaForge is fine, Captain.  When I go back where I came
from, he'll come back here, and everything will be back to what it's
supposed to be.  But I need your help doing that."

"How so?"

"I need to be on the other side of the force field."

Worf growled.  Sam jumped.  He had never heard a noise quite like
it, not even out of an attacking lion.  And he'd had occasion to be
uncomfortably close to one of those.

"He is lying," Worf told Picard.  "He is attempting to escape."

Picard considered a moment, then nodded.  "Yes, it appears that
way."

"Tough crowd," Al said.

"Listen," Sam pleaded.  The panic was building to the point where he
could barely control his voice anymore.  "I'm telling the truth.  I'm
not supposed to be here, and if you'll let me outside of the force field for jus
t one minute, I'll go away, and Geordi will come back.  I swear
to you.  On my honor."

The Klingon suddenly became serious.  "That is a solemn oath to trifle
with in this manner."

"I'm not trifling,"  Sam said, trembling.  "I'm dead serious."

Worf looked at Picard, who lifted his eyebrows and touched his
insignia.

"Counselor Troi, please report to the brig."

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere," Al said.  "She'll tell them you're
not lying, and then we'll be on our way."

"I would like to see you repeat your story to our Counselor," Picard
told Sam.  "She is better qualified than I to make judgements in these
matters."

"That's fine.  I'm more than happy to talk to her."

"Me, too," said Al.  "No problem."

Sam barely registered the comment.  _It's not going to work_, he was
thinking.  _She's not going to remember.  I'm not getting back.  I'm
not getting back.  I have to get back . . .  God, let her remember . . ._

Deanna arrived shortly.  "Yes, Captain?"

"I'd like an evaluation of the honesty of our prisoner," Picard told
her.

"Of course, Captain."  She stepped up to the force field.  "Who are
you?"

Sam bit the inside of his lip until he tasted blood, coppery against his
tongue.  "Do we have to go through all of this again?  I can't tell you
who I am right now, or I might not be able to go back.  I came here
by accident, and if you'll let me past the force field for just a minute
or two, I'll go away, and you'll have Geordi back.  It's that simple."

Deanna pursed her lips.  "He's hiding something.  On the surface, he is
telling the truth, but there is an undercurrent of deception."

Worf looked self-satisfied.  "So much for your honor."

"What deception?"  Al exclaimed.  "You're not lying."

"It's just a theory that going outside the force field will work, but
that's all we have to go on."  His voice was shaking again, in his
desparation, but his audience seemed unmoved.  "Let's put it this
way.  We're having trouble getting our retrieval equipment to work,
and if I go outside the force field, there's a good chance that
everything will go back to normal."

Picard shook his head.  "I don't buy it."

"You don't have to buy it!"  Al shouted.  "Just _do_ it!"

Suddenly, the dam broke.  Sam couldn't hold it back any longer.  He
flung himself up against the force field, so hard that Deanna stepped
back.  "Why won't you believe me?  All of you people went through
this!  Deanna, I talked to you before, I showed you who I was.  Why
can't any of you remember?  WHY CAN'T YOU REMEMBER?"

He was enraged, and further fired by sheer panic.  The emotion had
become a living thing, possessing him.  He threw himself against the
force field, again, again.  It was like throwing himself into a wall.
Picard took an involuntary step back as Worf lifted his phaser.  The
captain gestured to him not to shoot.

"JUST LET ME OUT!!"  Sam screamed.

Al had stepped back, as well, and looked frightened.  He stabbed at
the handlink.  "Ziggy, Sam's losing it up here.  You'd better figure
something out and figure it out fast!"

Sam flung himself again.   His face struck the force field and he felt
his lip split open with the impact.  Even he was appalled at what he
was doing, but he couldn't control it.  It was as if he was watching
someone else.  Some coherent part of him heard Al shouting at him,
trying to get through, saying something about hurting himself if he
didn't stop.  But he didn't stop.  He couldn't.

Suddenly he was on the floor, his vision wobbling, blood in his eyes.
"Let me out . . ."  He heard the voice sobbing and did not recognize it
as his own.  "Let me out . . . I have to get back . . . I can't . . . I can't
. . ."  There was some reason, some terrible, painful reason.  "I have
to get back . . ."

"Sam, it's gonna be all right.  Now just calm down."  Al's voice, shaky.
  Al was scared.  So was Sam.  Then another voice -- Beverly's.

"I can't treat him if I can't get to him," she was saying.  Picard must
 have summoned her.

"He is acting irrationally," Worf stated.  "He may harm you."

A haze was descending over Sam's vision.  He could barely see
Beverly through it.  She was gesturing with a hypo.  "This'll stop him
from hurting me.  Now let the shield down, just long enough for me
to take care of this."

Worf looked at Picard, who nodded curtly after a brief pause.
Beverly took a step forward, and there was a hissing sound as the
force field came down.

"Now, Ziggy!"  Al shouted.  "Now!"

Sam looked up at Al.  Al was slapping the handlink angrily.  "Dammit,
hurry up!  We don't have that much time!"

Beverly bent next to Sam and administered the contents of the hypo.
Sam felt a spinning sensation, then his body went numb.  He could
still see, barely.  The doctor was working quickly, treating his head
wound.  She would be done in a matter of seconds.

"Ziggy!"  Al screamed.

Beverly sat back, stood.  Worf reached for the button . . .

And Sam leaped.

****

"Thank God," Verbena breathed.

Shaking, Donna eased herself into the chair from which Geordi
LaForge had just disappeared.  "Did it work?"  she asked.

There was a hum from Ziggy.  "Dr. Beckett appears to have been
successfully withdrawn from Commander LaForge's persona.  He is
now in transit.  All appears to be normal."

Donna let out a quiet breath.  "Normal,"  she muttered.  She didn't
know what the word meant anymore.

Verbena laid a hand on her shoulder.  "He'll be fine."

Donna closed her eyes.  "I don't want him fine.  I want him back."

Slowly, she eased herself from the chair and began the long trek
back to the room where, once again, she would go to sleep alone.


FINIS
-----
Katriena Knights
"I don't mind being in touch with reality, as long as I don't
have to live there."