QUANTUM BEAST:

The Waiting Room

by Lee Kirkland

Vincent trudged slowly homeward, another night of futile searchingbehind him. How many times now had he begun the evening in hope, onlyto end it in despair? How many hopeful hours had he spent in alleysand on rooftops, always alert, waiting, watching, listening for theslightest trace of Catherine? Yet he still had faith that she wasalive somewhere, waiting. She had to be. And if he searched enoughalleys, and stood silhouetted on enough rooftops, sooner or later hewould find her.

For now, however, the night was over; the sun had risen, castingbright beams of light into the shadowed places, and it was time to gohome. Pacing wearily, he closed his eyes for steps at a time,allowing his feet to trace the familiar path without consciousguidance. Sometimes he could almost feel Catherine walking besidehim, her hand small and warm in his. He felt her now, and treasuredthe sensation, savoring it...

Without warning, it was as if he'd stepped into the Chamber of theWinds... something howled around his ears; he felt a tuggingsensation, accompanied by a burst of dizziness. He fought to open hiseyes, but they resisted his efforts... and suddenly all wentblack.

At last the dizziness faded and he managed to open his eyes. Lightand shadow began to take shape around him, replacing thedarkness.

As the shock of his surroundings drove the breath from his lungs,he gasped for air, simultaneously scrambling from a relaxed positionto a wary crouch against a wall. Heart pounding, mind racing, hesurveyed his situation. He was in a spare, functional room. Recessedoverhead lights illuminated white-painted walls, making the roomuncomfortably bright. On the edge of panic, Vincent ducked his head,reaching unconsciously behind for something to cover his face, butwhatever he expected to find wasn't there.

He felt alert, not drugged, yet somehow he had been snatched fromsafety and spirited to this place without knowing it, without eventhe sensation of passing time. In contrast to his physicalwell-being, he was mentally disoriented and confused. There wereimages pressing against his mind, pieces of his memory he couldn'tquite bring into focus... things like his own name...

With his back pressed firmly against the wall, he inched to astanding position, eyes darting as he searched for clues to hiswhereabouts and an escape route.

The room he occupied was neither large nor small, but somewhere inbetween. A door, firmly closed, shared the far wall with a largewindow. Fine wires ran in a criss-cross pattern through the glass ofthe window, but Vincent could not see beyond it because of the drawncurtains on the other side. To his right, another door stoodpartially open and Vincent was easing toward it cautiously, listeningintently when a sound made him freeze. The knob of the first door wasturning slowly, and he shrank back.

"...call Al," a woman said, pausing with the door ajar a fewinches. "We've completed another leap." As she finished speaking toher unseen companion, the woman, carrying a clipboard and wearing awhite lab coat, came a few steps into the room.

"Hello," she smiled genially. "This must all be verystrange..."

Instinctively, Vincent's lip curled back from bared teeth and hegrowled softly. It sounded odd to his ears and he fleetingly wonderedwhy, but had no time to dwell on it. The woman's eyes widened inshock and he growled again, more loudly. Again, his snarl soundedless menacing than he expected, but it had the desired effect as thewoman stumbled backwards, yanking the door closed behind her.

Trembling, Vincent slid down to crouch against the wall. Despitehis confusion, it was clear that this was some sort of scientificfacility and he had no doubt that he was destined to be one of itsmost fascinating subjects.

As minutes passed and the door remained closed, Vincent resumedhis cautious exploration of the room. Creeping forward quietly, hepeered around the frame of the second, open door.

There was no escape route here, only a small, windowless bathroom,and after giving it a quick glance, Vincent turned his attention backto the larger room. It was furnished simply.

One corner held a bed with night stand and lamp beside it; anotherhad a small, utilitarian table with two chairs. A commonplace beigesofa stood against one wall with a three-shelf bookcase beside it. Alarge clock with a square white face was mounted on the wall abovethe sofa. It was an impersonal, clinical room, comfortable but notwelcoming.

Vincent eased forward to try the other door. As he expected, itwas locked, and cautious testing showed it to be a solid barrier.Turning away and moving to the corner farthest >from the lockeddoor, he crouched down to wait.

Passing minutes had stretched to nearly an hour when the dooropened again. This time, it was a man who entered. Again, Vincentbared his teeth in a feral snarl, but this time the effect wasdifferent. Instead of showing fear, the man sighed heavily, closingthe door behind him and leaning against the wall.

"You're not foolin' me with the gorilla act, Vincent," he saidwearily. "I know you can talk."

Vincent's hands curled themselves into a threatening, talon-likeposition as he snarled again, even as the rational part of his brainseized on the name. Vincent. That is who I am. I remember.

"Come on," the man persisted. "I'm not scared of you. Quitgrowling."

Warily, Vincent subsided, his eyes never leaving the man whoregarded him with guarded curiosity. Sinking into a chair, the manlit a cigar, waving it for emphasis in between puffs. "My name'sAlbert," he said. "Call me Al. I know you're probably wondering whereyou are... but I can't tell you that. It's restricted." He tookanother drag at his cigar.

Vincent watched him, wondering at Al's lack of fear and easyassumption that Vincent could understand him. It was not the reactionhe expected, though he had no clear memory to tell him what he didexpect. Instinct kept him from speaking and the man seemed to have avast reserve of patience, which was reflected in kind brown eyesoutlined by thick, dark eyebrows.

Al leaned back, placing his arms behind his head, and the movementdrew Vincent's attention to Al's outlandish attire. A shocking pinkshirt was complemented by a wide purple tie with a metallic silverstripe that matched his shiny silver racing jacket. Al shifted again,crossing his legs, exposing hot pink socks and silver high-toppedtennis shoes. He reminded Vincent of a gift wrapped brightly inaluminum foil. Minutes ticked by as they watched each other...waiting.

At last, a light tap on the outer door interrupted and the man whocalled himself Al rose and went to open it. He spoke quietly tosomeone beyond the door and Vincent strained to hear.

"...rine Chandler," he heard, and tensed. The name was familiar...his brow furrowed as he tried to force the reluctant memory. Rine...rine... Catherine... He couldn't make the memory come clearly, but heknew the person they spoke of was someone dear to him. Just thinkingher name aroused powerful feelings; fear, hope, longing. Who was she?Why couldn't he remember?

Al went out, shutting the door behind him and Vincent sank ontothe couch, eyes closed as he searched his fragmented memory. He hadbeen searching... for Catherine? Perhaps. He didn't know.

What is wrong with me? Am I ill? In his mind were faces withoutnames and names without faces. He could picture places that filledhim with a familiar longing, but had no idea where the places were.Voices echoed inside his head.

"She can only bring you unhappiness!"

The man's curt voice was replaced by a woman's, full of sadtenderness. "I love you."

"She can only bring you unhappiness!"

"I love you."

The voices repeated, faster and faster, until they began tooverlap, drowning each other out.

The memory of another voice, one he knew instinctively was hisown, broke in. "'For thy sweet love rememb'red...'"

With a low growl, he pressed his fists to his temples, rockingback and forth. He knew those voices, and knew the circumstancesbehind each phrase. He knew his own voice was quoting a poem, asonnet. But who was the poet? What names went with those familiarvoices? Why can't I remember?

Perhaps, if he put the pieces together, slowly, logically, itwould all begin to make sense. He remembered her name... Catherine.He heard a woman's voice saying, "I love you." He was absolutelycertain those words had been directed at him, though he also had theodd feeling it had not been a happy occasion. Still, the feelings hername evoked convinced him that she was someone very special to him...a lover, a wife? Someone who loved him despite... despite what? Therewas something, and Catherine loved him in spite of it, but what wasthe barrier between them?

He felt as if his memory was a jigsaw puzzle, the pieces scrambledinto a jumbled heap, but one part, one small corner of the puzzle waspiecing itself together. He had Catherine now. If he could not seeher face, he could hear her voice. If he did not know precisely whoshe was, he knew she loved him and that he loved her. He knew... shewas gone. Another piece fell painfully into place. Lost. Taken awayfrom him. He had been searching...

He was struck by an anguished thought. What if this is the placewhere Catherine is? What if, somehow, they have forced her to betrayour secret? He was suddenly certain that there was a secret, thoughhe couldn't quite recall what it was. Heartache and fury filled him,imagining what they must have done to Catherine to force her toreveal the knowledge she had kept hidden for so long.

Agitated, he rose and began to pace. If Catherine was here, hewould find her. Somehow, he would find his way out of this room, andwhen he found her, they would never be separated again. Suddenly,Vincent whirled to face the opening door. "Sorry," Al apologizedbreezily. "We're having a little trouble getting information from NewYork. Sealed files, or something. I had to make a phone call."

He made himself comfortable in the same chair and lit anothercigar. "I gotta tell you, Vincent, you're a kick. I never thought I'dsee someone like you!"

Never thought I'd see someone like you... like you... Al's commentechoed in his ears. "Yet you do not fear me," he said slowly.Strangers usually did fear him, though the reason for their fearremained stubbornly obscure.

"If the little girl wasn't scared of you, why should I be?" Alasked easily.

Vincent shook his head in an abrupt motion of confusion. "Littlegirl? I've seen no children here."

Al waved expansively, cigar ash fluttering. "Not here. The otherplace. Where you come from. What's her name... Samantha?"

Samantha. The name evoked an image... long dark hair, expressivedark eyes... a child not of these harsh, brightly lighted whitewalls, but of another place, one dimly illuminated by candles, theiraroma faint in the air...

As he brought himself out of the memory sharply, he became awareof Al's heightened scrutiny. "How do you know of Samantha?"

"Saw her in the tunnel outside your room," Al said casually, hisgaze intent. "The guy youcall Father was tryin' to convince her thatyou're all right."

Tunnels! The word brought a flashing memory of twisting rockcorridors, connecting chambers hacked out of rock... And Father! Withthe name, he suddenly had a face, careworn and lined beneath grayingcurls.

How does this man know of that place? he wondered in suddensuspicion. I do not know him. Where could he have seen me and Fatherand Samantha?

"They should be concerned," he said reasonably, determined tolearn whatever he could from this man. "I am not there."

"They don't know that," Al said. Looking guilty, he closed hismouth abruptly.

Vincent straightened to his full height. "Tell me what ishappening," he demanded.

Al hesitated, and, across the space which separated them, Vincentcould sense genuine regret. "Sorry, Vincent. I've said too muchalready."

That avenue of questioning was obviously closed, so Vincentchanged course. "Tell me why I am here."

Al offered a wry grin. "You're waiting." He gestured with bothhands, indicating the walls that surrounded them. "The Waiting Room.Your temporary home."

Vincent glanced around the functional room cursorily. "What am Iwaiting for?"

Stubbing out what was left of his cigar, Al pushed the ashtrayaway, crossed his arms and sighed. "That's always an interestingquestion to answer. In your case, I think you're waiting for someoneto be found."

"Catherine," Vincent breathed. "Is she here?" The question wasspoken almost before it was formed; it was not a wise question to asknow, but he ached to know.

To his mild astonishment, Al shook his head. "We aren't even surewho she is, yet," he said in frustration. "Computers are wonderfulmachines when they work, Vincent, but about half the time..."

Vincent left the comment unanswered. He knew what computers were,of course, but his knowledge of them was extremely limited and hedidn't care much about Al's problems. What he wanted was..."Catherine..." Unconsciously, he breathed her name aloud.

Al's expression turned eager and he leaned forward, bracing elbowson knees. "Tell me about her, Vincent. The more I know, thebetter."

"You cannot truly think that I would provide you with informationthat would enable you to imprison her here, too," Vincent said incontempt.

Al looked surprised, almost shocked. "No, no, you have it allwrong! We're here to help!" Meeting Vincent's implacable gaze ofdisbelief, he went on, almost pleading. "She's lost, isn't she? Wethink we're supposed to find her for you."

"You think you're supposed to find her," Vincent repeated slowly.A dispassionate part of his mind observed that talking to Al was alittle like talking to Mouse and automatically he began to offer thecarefully worded questions he would have asked his strange friend."Are you with the police?"

To his surprise and consternation, Al snorted back a derisivechuckle. "Not even close," he said.

"Who is it that expects you to find her, then?"

Al gave a quick glance upward. "Good question." He didn'telaborate.

"Why must you find her?" Vincent pressed.

Al shrugged. "It's what we do now. We fix things."

That line of questioning was going nowhere. "Who is we?" Vincentinquired, changing tacks. "You and the woman I saw earlier?"

Al laughed out loud. "Yeah, me and her and about two hundred andfifty more."

"So many?" Instinctively, Vincent shrank from the idea of so manystrangers seeing him. He still didn't remember why. "What is yourjob, Albert?"

He was prepared to hear words like research scientist, oranthropologist, or even psychologist. Al's answer surprised him."Communications," he said with a cocky grin.

Vincent's brow furrowed. "I do not understand."

"It's simple, Vincent. There's someone, his name's Sam. He's theone who does most of the actual fixing... the rest of the crew isjust back-up... but someone has to communicate with him. Thatsomeone's me."

Al seemed about to elaborate when a flat plastic box shovedcarelessly into his shirt pocket beeped suddenly and began flashingcolored lights. "Hang on a sec, Vince," Al said, pulling the deviceout and punching a few buttons on its front. He frowned at it."Machines," he muttered, smacking the side of the flat box with animpatient swat. Evidently, the results of that action didn't satisfyhim, because he rose and went to the door.

"Hey, Larry!" he shouted down the corridor. "What's Ziggy tryingto tell me here? It's all futzed up!"

On his feet, Vincent had already considered and discarded the ideaof escape, at least for now. Al was both a source of valuableinformation and a way out, since he had the ability to open the doorfrom the inside. Each time Al had opened the door, Vincent had seenhim press his palm against a flat gray box next to the doorknob andsurmised that it was a very sophisticated type of lock.

"...got the file!" a disembodied voice called back, answering Al'sshout. Vincent could only make out some of the words. "...rineChandler, ...tant D.A. ...sing for six months... found...apartment...murdered..."

He had been creeping closer, trying to hear. The last word,echoing clearly down the barren corridor, made him freeze in horror."No!" His whisper was one of shocked, stunned disbelief. Catherinedead!

Al whirled around at the sound, his face at once full ofcompassion and concern. "You weren't supposed to hear that," hechided gently. "I'll get the rest of the data later," he told theunseen man, and closed the door again.

Vincent forgot caution. "Catherine is dead," he said, hopingagainst hope that Al would refute his words. He had never known suchagony. A flashing image of soft, luminous green eyes smiled up at himand were just as quickly gone.

Al nodded briefly, his eyes sad. "Sit down, Vincent," he invitedkindly. "You shouldn't have heard that," he repeated. "I'msorry."

"Where? When? How?" Vincent's voice shook with barely suppressedanguish.

Al hesitated, lighting up a fresh cigar and chewing on itnervously. He didn't bother to remove it from his mouth beforeanswering the middle question. "Six years ago."

Vincent's head came up, his eyes wide. He knew that couldn't beright. "Six years?" Hope began to flow. Six years ago, he hadn't evenknown her; he was sure of it, even though part of him thought he'dknown her all his life.

"In the fall of 1989," Al continued, watching him.

"No!" Vincent whispered in a mixture of agony and confusion. "Thisis the fall of 1989..." He was suddenly sure of that, too, butallowed his voice to trail away as a nightmarish thought came to him.Rip Van Winkle slept for twenty years... is it possible I've sleptfor six? As quickly as the thought came, he dismissed it.

Al shook his head sadly. "Where you came from, it hasn't happenedyet," he explained slowly. "Gee, Vincent, I shouldn't be telling youthis. It's a big no-no on Ziggy's list. They'll have my head if theyfind out..."

"What do you mean, it hasn't happened yet?" Vincent was graspingat straws, seeking something, anything, that would mean Catherinelived. "Please, you must tell me!"

In a gesture of defeat, Al spread his hands wide and began tospeak slowly. His voice was barely audible. "You've gotten involvedwith a project called Quantum Leap. It's a time-travelexperiment."

"Are you saying I've traveled through time?" Vincent's bewildereddisbelief was growing by the second, contending with a helpless,grieving fury. He wanted to strike out at something, or throw backhis head and wail his heartache. Instead, he fought down an outragedsnarl, balling his hands into fists to control his rage. "Do youexpect me to believe it?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

Al regarded him through a haze of cigar smoke. "No, I don't guessI do," he answered finally. "But then, I have a hard time believingin you."

"Where is Catherine?" Vincent demanded with complete disregard forAl's remark.

Al sighed. "I told you. She died, six years ago. I don't have thedetails yet. Our people here are still working on that. Ziggy thinksSam's supposed to find her."

"If she is dead, how can this Sam find her?"

"You don't understand. Sam isn't here, now. He's back in your now.He's you."

That statement was absurd enough to make Vincent blink. For thefirst time, he began to wonder if this was all a fantastic dream, ornightmare. "He's me?"

"Yeah. Come here." Taking his arm fearlessly, Al pulled him aroundto face the wall behind him. A mirror, about three feet square,occupied part of it. "Look."

Vincent did, and, for the first time in his life, was utterlynonplused by what he saw. Two men stood reflected in the mirror.Groping, he tried to remember what he looked like... and swift imagesbegan to form. He recognized Al, but the other man...

Was a man. Completely human. No fur, no mane, no cleft lip orsharp teeth. And suddenly Vincent was sure he'd always had thosethings. Astonished hazel eyes peered back at him from under heavybrows. Short brown hair was highlighted at the forehead by a smallpatch of gray. Gingerly, Vincent brought his hands up to touch, andfroze, staring first at the image of his hands in the mirror, then atthe hands themselves. Like his face, they were human. Smooth handslender with long, tapering fingers ending in blunt nails, they werewithout the dense fur and wickedly sharp claws he abruptlyremembered. His eyes met Al's in the mirror. "How is this possible?"he asked hoarsely. "Am I dreaming?"

Al gave a brusque shake of his head. "Not dreaming. Come sit downand I'll try to explain."

Dazed, Vincent obeyed. "You're telling me the truth," hewhispered. "Catherine is dead."

"Now she is. Back in your time, she isn't yet. Sam's got to findher before she's killed."

Suddenly Vincent was on his feet. "No. Take me back. I must findher."

"I can't do that," Al began.

Vincent's temper snapped. "You must! Do you expect me to leaveCatherine's fate in the hands of a stranger? I can protect her!"

Al was on his feet, too. "You can't!" he shouted back. "Youdidn't! She died, Vincent! You didn't stop it!"

Helpless fury made Vincent raise one curled hand as his lip liftedin a snarl. He took a step toward Al before shocked memory remindedhim that he no longer had the claws which served as his weapons.Again, he fought down his outrage, stepping back and lowering hishand.

"Please, Albert," he said, prepared to beg if necessary. "I senseyou are a good man. You must send me back. She needs me."

Al looked uncomfortable and rubbed his eyebrow. "Even if I wantedto, I couldn't, Vincent," he tried to explain.

"Of course you can," Vincent argued forcibly. "If you brought mehere, you can send me back."

"That's the trouble. We didn't bring you here, at least, notdeliberately. We've lost control of the experiment."

A tiny part of Vincent observed again that talking to Al was a lotlike talking to Mouse. "I don't understand," he said furiously.

Al sighed and reached for another cigar. "Neither does anyoneelse. Best we can figure is some higher power has taken over and isusing Sam to correct things that once went wrong."

His rage suddenly exhausted, Vincent bowed his head. "Tell meabout Sam," he said finally, softly.

Al leaned back in his chair. "Dr. Sam Beckett. The genius behindthis project." His voice softened. "My best friend."

"He is a good man?"

"The best."

"How is it that this... experiment has gone awry?"

"Money," Al said flatly. "The government was going to halt fundingunless something happened quick, so Sam, against all advice, decidedto be the first to try it. He steps into the accelerator and poof!Next thing we know, somebody else is wearing his body." He made anall-encompassing gesture toward Vincent.

Vincent touched both hands to his chest. "This is Sam?"

"That's Sam," Al confirmed with a nod. "He's back in your time,looking like you."

Even through his bewilderment, grief and despair, Vincent was ableto find a spark of humor in that. "I can imagine his surprise."

Al grinned. "When I left him, he hadn't found a mirror yet. Hekeeps looking at his hands, though."

"How is it possible that you're able to see him?"

"I told you. I'm his link with now. We communicate through brainwave transmissions." Seeing Vincent's blank expression, he sighed."Look, it's very technical and complicated and I'm not even sure Iunderstand it completely. Sam designed it, just like he designedeverything else. We have a special room, called the imaging chamber,where I go to see him."

"Do you travel across time, as well?"

"No, I stay here. My image, my brain waves travel across time, andI appear to Sam as a hologram. He can see me and hear me, but hecan't touch me. I can see and hear him, but can't touch him oranything around him because I'm not really there, I'm still here." Hesighed. "I told you it was complicated."

For the first time, Vincent showed the ghost of a smile. "I thinkI may be starting to understand. Does your friend Sam come back hereoften?"

Al frowned. "He doesn't come back at all. We've tried, but wecan't get him back. God, or whoever it is running things now, doesn'twant to let him go just yet."

Vincent cocked his head curiously. "Why do you believe a higherpower has taken control?"

"Because whenever Sam leaps, he ends up where somebody needs help,and as soon as he helps them, he leaps again. Ziggy... Ziggy's acomputer... is pretty good at calculating why Sam is where he is, andhe says there's a 96.4 percent probability that Sam's leaped into youin order to find Catherine Chandler before she's murdered."

Vincent couldn't help a small, involuntary flinch at the harshnessof Al's statement.

Al offered a blunt apology. "Look, I'm sorry, Vincent. Fact is,you shouldn't know anything about any of this. You know what theysay... ignorance is bliss."

Vincent spoke slowly. "I have been... ignorant of Catherine's fatefor nearly six months. The pain of not knowing where she is, whetheror not she is safe, is the worst I have ever known. I do not thinkthat ignorance is bliss." The holes in his memory were fillingrapidly now. "How will your friend Sam try to find her, when I couldnot?" he asked softly.

"He probably won't," Al answered, waving his cigar. "We will."

"How?"

"With the advantage of being six years in the future. When we getthe people in New York to unlock the files, we'll find out where shedied..." again, Vincent flinched involuntarily from Al's words..."and work backwards from there."

"What do you know?" Vincent asked intensely.

Al regarded him thoughtfully for a moment before pulling thesmall, flat plastic box out of his pocket again. It beeped andflashed in response to his fingers. Al looked at it and sighed."Look, Vincent, are you sure you want to hear this?"

"Please," he said, his voice ominously quiet. "I must know."

Al sighed again. "Okay. Don't say I didn't warn you." He studiedthe flat box again. "Her body was found in her apartment, in her ownbed. The mystery of how she got there has never been cleared up." Heraised a questioning eyebrow in Vincent's direction.

"How did she die?" Clasped hands gripped between his thighs, hestared sightlessly at the floor as those wide, expressive green eyesfloated just out of reach.

Al punched some buttons and slapped the side of what Vincentfinally recognized as some sort of link with Ziggy, the maincomputer. "Morphine." He looked up. "A painless death."

"Small comfort," Vincent answered tersely. "What has she undergoneduring the past months?" It was a rhetorical question; he didn'texpect or even want an answer. Suddenly restless, he rose and beganto stride back and forth in the confines of the room. "Whatelse?"

Al spread his hands and shrugged. "Nothing yet. We're stillwaiting for somebody in New York to give us access to theirfiles."

"Will they?" Vincent asked, suddenly alarmed that someself-important bureaucrat, the kind of dogmatic paper-shufflerCatherine used to complain to him about, might delay too long.

Al appeared unconcerned. "We're a government-funded project," heexplained. "We have all the top clearances. It just takes a littletime for everything to be checked out. We should have the file by theend of the day."

"And how long does Catherine have?" Vincent asked, his borrowedvoice sounding harsh in his ears. "Will there be time?"

"Day after tomorrow she's found, your time." Al assured him. "Samhas 'til tomorrow night."

"If he is me, then there are places he cannot go safely," Vincentwarned. "He must cling to the darkness, travel the city only atnight. It is dangerous for one who is so different." Isolatedmemories of slipping silently through shadows, pressing against alleywalls to avoid being seen by casual passersby, invaded Vincent'smind. He shook them off impatiently. There would be time, later, forremembering. "He must go with care."

"Don't worry," Al said comfortingly. "He will."

The thought of someone who looked so very different venturingunknowing into the dangers of the world disturbed Vincent. "What willhappen if Sam should be injured... killed while he is there?" heasked slowly.

Al looked grim. "We don't know, exactly. Probably one of twothings. Either a leap takes place immediately and it's you that dies,or else Sam dies and you're stuck here. Forever."

Vincent was very quiet for a moment. "If a life is to be given, Iwish it to be mine. No one else should have to suffer because ofme."

"Not going to be our choice, pal, if it comes to that, which itwon't," Al said, trying to cheer him up. "Besides, if you get stuckhere, you're free! You can do whatever you want, go wherever youlike! No more hiding underground!"

The silence which ensued was uncomfortable. Head down, Vincentbrooded quietly. He could hear Al shifting nervously in his seat.

A life without Catherine... would be no life at all. A lifewithout Catherine... He could not imagine so bleak an existence.There is still time, there is still hope, he reminded himselffiercely. Al seems to place great trust in his friend. All I can dois wait.

Waiting. It wasn't something he excelled at. He wanted to bethere, taking part, using his physical gifts - his speed, agility,and strength - to assist in Catherine's rescue, and here he was,hemmed in by these four white walls.

"While we wait, what is Sam doing?" It was an innocent question,born of wanting to know, but Al looked momentarily uneasy.

"Reading," he said at last, uncomfortably.

"Reading?" Vincent questioned. It seemed a mundane occupation forone whose existence consisted, if Al could be believed, of savingothers. Al's uneasiness made him probe further. "What is hereading?"

Al actually squirmed. "A journal," he said finally, lifting hiseyebrows.

Vincent straightened slowly, his bearing regal as he gazed at theother man. "My journal?" he asked incredulously.

Al nodded gingerly.

Outrage warred with pragmatism; pragmatism won, barely. "Why?"Vincent asked faintly.

Al seemed relieved. "To learn about you. The more he knows, thebetter he'll be at being you. Besides, the information Ziggy digs upis never as good as stuff Sam gets first-hand."

Vincent lowered himself carefully into a chair. "Why did you notsimply ask me what you want to know?"

The look Al bestowed upon him was one of rueful amusement. "Youcan't imagine how different you are from most of the people who gothrough this room."

"Can't I?"

Al snorted. "Not that kind of different. I mean you talk. Youremember. Most people who come here have swiss cheese forbrains."

"Swiss cheese?" Vincent questioned the analogy.

"You know... full of holes. Leaping through time does that,apparently. You don't seem to have any holes."

Many things were beginning to make sense. "The holes are there,"he assured Al. "Not so many now as when I first arrived, but thereare many things, simple things, I cannot remember."

"Really?" Al was interested. "Like what?"

"At the moment, I'd like to recall who wrote a sonnet that ends'...for thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings, that then Iscorn to change my state with kings.'" Vincent's comment was wry.

"Beats me," Al said. "'There was a young man of Eau Claire,enjoying his girl on the stair; On the forty-fourth stroke, thebanister broke, and he finished her off in mid-air...'" Al quotedwith a cheerful leer. "That's all the poetry I know. You could checkout the bookshelves later, though. Might be something there. Whatelse can't you remember? We like to keep track of this stuff."

"Silly things," Vincent admitted, eyeing Al dubiously. "How old Iam. My brother's name. The kinds of food I like to eat." His voicebecame soft, pensive. "Catherine's face..."

There was a light tap on the door and Al got up to answer it.After speaking briefly with the person outside, he turned to Vincent."Our medical team needs to come in and run some tests and the shrinkwants to ask some questions," he said. "Don't worry, they aren'tgoing to hurt you."

Vincent's instinctive surge of alarm must have shown.

"Don't worry, Vincent," Al repeated. "Remember, they see you asSam."

Even though the door to freedom stood open, Vincent made no movetoward it, and he wondered exactly when his disbelief had turned totrust.

"I've got things to do," Al went on, oblivious. "I'll be backlater."

Three white-coated technicians entered the room. One was the womanVincent had growled at when he had first arrived, and all threeapproached him warily.

Fighting his natural aversion to inspection, he allowed himself tobe coaxed to a chair, where he sat rigidly while the two medicaltechnicians took his pulse, temperature, blood pressure, and checkedreflexes and pupil reactions. A shudder swept him as another,fragmented, memory presented itself.

Strapped to a table... bright light shining in his eyes... a manpoised above him, holding a syringe.... Lying on the floor of a cage,weak, desolate, alone.

"Are you experiencing any dizziness?" The question brought Vincentback to awareness sharply. "Any instances of blurred vision...?Difficulty hearing...? Ringing in your ears...? Do you feeldisoriented...? Weak...? Lightheaded...? Any pain, especially in yourhead...?"

Guardedly, he answered the questions about his physical state ofbeing, always aware of the third person, the woman who'd come inoriginally, perched on the end of the sofa taking notes.

When the medical techs were finished, they packed up theirinstruments and exited quietly, leaving the woman behind. She lookednervous. Vincent, remembering how he had growled at her, andcompassionate as always, felt the need to reassure her.

"Don't be afraid," he said quietly. "I will not harm you."

She peered at him over pink plastic designer glasses perchedprecariously on the end of her nose and offered him a weak smile."I'm Dr. Verbena Beeks," she said. "I have just a few questions toask you."

Vincent nodded apprehensively.

"What is the last thing you remember before you leaped?"

Rising, he began to stray restively from place to place about theroom. "I remember walking... searching..."

"Searching for what?"

When he answered, his voice was edged with frustration. "I don'tremember."

"Do you remember your name?"

He looked at her. "Vincent."

"Do you know what year it is?"

Vincent looked up warily, remembering what Al had told him."...1989," he answered cautiously.

"Good! Who's president?"

"Of the United States? George Bush."

"Where do you live?"

"...the City of New York." He braced himself, waiting for the nextquestion.

"Often, people who have made these leaps find them disquieting.Would you mind sharing your feelings with me?"

Relieved that they centered on his present state of being and didnot touch upon his home, Vincent answered her questions patiently.Perhaps she, like Al, assumed he could not remember. Whatever thereason, she was satisfied.

When he was finally alone again, Vincent began to pace restlessly.Fraught with concern, frustrated by his helplessness, he traveled theshort distance between door and opposite wall over and over, his mindseething with questions and half-remembered answers. Catherine neededhim desperately, and everything he was urged him to rush to her aid.He moved faster and faster until, suddenly furious, he turned andslammed his hand into the wall, welcoming the distraction ofpain.

He stood still for a moment, cradling his hand and breathingheavily. Feeling more calm, he began to roam the room again.Attracted to the shelves of books, he went for a closer look. All thebooks were classics; none of the editions had been published laterthan 1950. He reached for a fat volume and tugged it from thetightly-packed shelf. "Shakespeare," he murmured, turning a fewpages.

Well-known words and phrases leaped up at him. He readShakespeare, and frequently, judging from the number of passages herecognized. Occasionally, he stopped to read a familiar section,smiling. At the back of the book were Shakespeare's sonnets, all 154of them.

He skimmed slowly, stopping now and then to read a line, acouplet, or an entire sonnet. The opening lines of Number 3 made himsmile.

'Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest,

Now is the time that face should form another...'

Appropriate, he thought, touching the unfamiliar planes of hisface with one hand. Following Shakespeare's advice, he set the bookaside, moving to the mirror to view himself dispassionately. IfCatherine could see me now, what would she think? he wondered. If Ilooked like this for always, would I be able to find the courage tomove past my fears? He experienced a sudden, frighteningly vividflash-memory of himself on the dusty floor of a darkened cave, lockedin a torrid embrace with a woman. (Catherine!?) Alarmed, he shook itoff. He and Catherine had never been intimate, he was sure... yet theintensity of the memory pervaded his thoughts. Could he have imaginedit all?

Troubled, he returned to his inspection. Leaning closer to themirror for a better look, he traced his nose slowly. It felt strangeunder his fingers, not flat and furry, but high-bridged and smooth.He tried a smile and the face in the mirror smiled back. It was afriendly smile, full of charm and good humor.

Al's friend Sam. He had a nice face, a nice smile. A good man, Alhad said. A man who helped others, a man who would soon be riskinghis life to help a woman he had never met. Vincent smiled again, andthis time the smile was for Sam.

Sam smiled back at him, and Vincent took a sudden, startled stepbackwards, alarmed by the abrupt certainty that someone was standinginches away, on the other side of the mirror. Armed with suspicion,he examined the mirror carefully. It did seem to have a certain smokyquality, but it was the strong sense of another's presence thatconvinced him that this was something he had only read about - atwo-way mirror. Someone on the other side was watching him.

The concept of being watched made his skin crawl and he foughtdown an involuntary growl. Succumbing to rage would not accomplishanything. Forcing himself to retreat, he moved slowly to stand bracedagainst the wall where he could not be seen. Gradually the sensationof being observed faded, and he knew that whoever had been behind themirror was gone.

When the door opened, he did not look up. He knew without lookingthat his visitor was Al.

"They're watching me," Vincent observed, almostdispassionately.

Al didn't look surprised. "I know. I'm sorry. I can't do anythingabout that." He dropped into a chair. "How did you know?"

Vincent shrugged, his shoulders barely moving. "I knew."

Al seemed momentarily uncomfortable and held out a slim bluefolder. "For you, Vincent."

The hand holding the folder did not waver, and Vincent movedslowly forward to take it. Opening it, he allowed the few curling,shiny-soft sheets of thin paper to slide into his hand."I got anewspaper in New York to fax these to us," Al said, his voice only adim buzz, half-incomprehensible to Vincent, who was staring at thegrainy, oddly textured reproduction of a photograph.

"You said you couldn't remember her face."

Vincent touched the paper lightly. How could he not haveremembered this face when each feature was so indelibly imprinted onhis mind? There were the eyes that had followed him so elusively thepast hours. The angle of jaw, the nose, the soft mouth, all were asintimately familiar to him as his own hand.

"Which you weren't able to remember either," Al said,sardonically.

Vincent wasn't aware of having voiced his thoughts aloud until Alspoke. "Still, how could I have forgotten?" he murmured in reply.

"You really love her, don't you, Vincent?"

"She is my heart."

"She feels that way about you, too?" Al's question bordered ontentative. He did not meet Vincent's eyes.

"Yes." It was as much a question as a reply, but Al did not answerit.

"Listen, it's getting late and we can't do anything untiltomorrow. Why don't you try to get some sleep?"

Vincent did not miss the trace of uncertainty. "Has somethinghappened, Albert?"

"No, of course not. We're still working on the information we'regetting from New York," Al explained too effusively, tugging on hisear. "Nothing will happen until tomorrow."

"Are you certain?" Vincent had the sudden, uncomfortableconviction that Al was hiding something.

"Absolutely," Al said brightly. "I'll see you in the morning,Vincent. Try to sleep."

Sleep. First Father, now Albert. They do not understand that Icannot rest while Catherine is in danger. Even now, when I amhelpless... Vincent turned from his weary contemplation of the neatlymade bed.

A tray of food, delivered moments after Al left the room, satuntouched, cooling on a table. Eat, he thought morosely. That is asimpossible as resting. Restlessly he began to pace. Albert is hidingsomething from me. He has learned something that distresses him, anddoes not wish to share it.

Vincent sighed and stopped pacing. Do I trust Albert, or not? Hegave the question the careful consideration it deserved. Do I believein time travel?

He smiled, remembering how he and Devin had read H.G. Wellstogether and had tried to build their own time machine out ofcardboard boxes, pop bottles, a discarded steering wheel from a 1949Studebaker and miles of insulated wiring Devin had scavenged >froma junkyard. They'd stocked it with old wall calendars, broken alarmclocks, a world atlas, and enough food for a week. The machine hadn'tworked, but had provided hours of imaginative fun.

There have probably been significant technological advances sincethen, he thought in amusement. What was impossible for us may well bepossible now. So do I trust Albert? he asked himself again.

I do trust him, he finally decided. He is hiding something, but Ican believe him when he says it is nothing that will change what isto happen. I must believe him.

Sinking into a chair, he rested his forehead against his hand.Whatever Al did or did not know was immaterial. For now, there werethe long hours until dawn, empty hours, waiting to be filled.

The volume of Shakespeare still lay open on the table beside himand he reached for it automatically. Words printed on pages had longbeen both comfort and escape for him and even now, in a strangeplace, under uncomfortable circumstances, taut with fear forCatherine, the words maintained their bewitching power. All hisconcerns faded, for the moment, beneath the beauty of Shakespeare'spoetry.

And then he came to the twenty-ninth sonnet. With the openingwords, he knew this was the poem that had been fluttering on the edgeof his memory all day, the poem that wanted so badly to beremembered. He read slowly, cherishing the feelings brought forth,knowing, without remembering clearly, that Catherine had understood,and had treasured this sonnet as much as he did. Gloriously, he losthimself in almost-remembering.

Morning brought another meal to be ignored as Vincent waitedimpatiently for Al to put in an appearance. The observers were backbehind the two-way mirror. He could sense their presence but chose toignore them. As time passed, his restless impatience grew and hebegan to pace the room, stalking >from one end to the other andback again.

Eventually the presence behind the mirror disappeared, and whenthe door finally swung open, Vincent whirled.

"I've been waiting for you," he told Al, trying, without muchsuccess, not to sound accusing.

"Sorry," Al said, not at all contrite. "I had to talk to Sam, tellhim what we know."

"You've seen him? This morning?"

"Yeah." Al grinned. "He finally found a place where he could seehimself."

Vincent paused. "What does he think... of himself?"

Al sobered. "I think he's really sorry he's not going to get tomeet you. Your journals must be powerful stuff." He eyed Vincentspeculatively.

"Your Catherine, she wasn't seeing anybody before she disappeared,was she?"

"Seeing anyone?"

"You know, dating. A man."

Vincent shook his head slowly. "No one."

"Except you."

"Yes. Except me."

Al sighed. "That's what Sam says. That you love her. That..."

"What is it, Albert?" Vincent prompted gently.

"She really loves you, doesn't she?"

"You asked that last night," Vincent said slowly. "Am I soterrifying to look upon that you cannot believe that anyone couldcare for me as Catherine does?"

"Sam thinks love conquers all, too," Al said, obviously tornbetween fascination and doubt. "I have to tell you something,Vincent."

"Something you've learned about Catherine?"

Al nodded. "Yeah. Something you'll need to know when you leap backhome, so you won't be too startled."

"What is it, Albert?"

Al shifted from foot to foot, looking like a penitent schoolboy."Maybe you'd better sit down, Vincent."

Bewildered, Vincent complied.

"You and Catherine, you spent a lot of time together, right?"

Vincent nodded apprehensively.

"And... and she was in love with you?"

Vincent exhaled sharply. "Albert, what are you trying to say?"

"Just... she's pregnant, Vincent. Sam thinks the baby'syours."

Again came the sharply defined memory of himself and (Catherine?)on the floor of the cavern, even as he shook his head in shockeddenial. "No."

"No, she's not pregnant, or no, the baby isn't yours?" Al cockedhis head inquisitively.

Vincent was on his feet, his thoughts spinning, unable to keepstill. "No."

Al allowed him to pace for a moment before interrupting. "She ispregnant, Vincent. The autopsy report..."

He paused as Vincent stopped, every muscle taut.

"Look, I'm sorry, Vincent, but for now, she's dead, okay? Theautopsy report says she had a baby just before she died. That part'sreal. I don't know who the father is. Nobody does. Sam says it'syou."

Vincent's voice, when he finally spoke, was low and harsh. "Whereis Catherine's child now... your now?"

"I don't know, Vincent. The baby disappeared and was neverfound."

Vincent felt as if he could not get enough air. "The person who...caused her death...?"

"Gabriel. He's dead. Found in a room with an empty crib. Shot inthe heart." Al paused. "Funny thing. He had three parallel slashesacross his cheek. Like he'd been mauled."

Vincent's head came up quickly as he dared to hope.

"Maybe you were there, Vincent," Al said quietly. "Maybe thebaby's with you."

"And maybe not. Maybe Catherine's child is forever lost to me.Perhaps I do not even know of its existence." As he spoke, the hopein Vincent's heart flickered and died. "Perhaps I now havenothing."

Al leaned forward. "That's why you're not supposed to know any ofthis, Vincent. Because it might not happen that way. We know whereshe is now and we have schematics of the building. We're going to gether out."

Hope was rekindled. "Where is she?"

"In a building at 53rd and Sixth," Al said. "There's a room on thesixty-fourth floor."

"I've passed that building a dozen times during the past months,"Vincent said softly. "How could I have been so near and notknown?"

This was a day of waiting. Vincent sensed the occasional presenceof watchers behind the mirror, and Dr. Beeks came to talk to himbriefly, but he was largely left alone. Al was working with othermembers of the Quantum Leap team, preparing for the evening's rescue.These were, he had told Vincent firmly, preparations he could notassist with.

Vincent hardly noticed his absence. He was lost in his ownthoughts which swung from one extreme to the other. Catherine was tohave a child.

Whose child? he wondered in agony. Mine? Inwardly, he cursed thegaps in his memory that would not allow him to remember clearly. Withthe exception of that all too brief half-memory of the dark cavern,what Vincent could recall seemed to deny an intimate relationshipwith Catherine.

But if the child is not mine, then whose? He was certain that shewould not have gone willingly with another man, and the mere idea ofher having been - forced - made him feel ill. Whose child?

Vincent sat motionless, staring fixedly at the wall clock. Timewas not a concept of great importance in his world, but now, in thesenew surroundings, he was strangely engrossed by the slow sweep of thesecond hand. Each revolution brought Catherine's life closer to itsend.

His thoughts were interrupted when Al put in a reappearance. "Comeon, Vincent," he said cheerfully, holding the door wide.

Vincent regarded him warily.

"Come on!" Al urged again. "As long as I'm doing things I'm notsupposed to do, I might as well keep going."

"Where are you taking me?" Vincent asked faintly, approaching butnot going through the open door.

"A surprise. I want to show you something. Hurry up beforesomebody sees us!"

Al's intent was vague, but his feelings were of excitement andanticipation, not betrayal, so Vincent stepped out of the WaitingRoom for the first time. Al led Vincent cautiously down along,white-painted corridor whose walls were punctuated with only a fewgray metal doors. A solid steel door sealed the end of the hallwayand Al pressed his palm against the flat gray panel beside the latch.Silently, the door slid open and Al pulled Vincent through it.

"Here," he whispered, handing Vincent a laminated card thatdangled from a small metal clasp.

"What is it?" Vincent whispered back, wondering at the air ofsecrecy Al carried with him.

"It's an I.D. - Sam's I.D. Put it on!"

Vincent's fingers fumbled with the unfamiliar clasp before hesucceeded in suspending it from the pocket of the white jumpsuit hewore. Al pulled another card out of his pocket and fastened it to thelapel of his own jacket.

"Why do we need these here and not back there?" Vincent asked asAl started down another long corridor.

"That's the inner circle," Al explained. "Only a select few haveclearance and we all know each other by sight. This pin," hedisplayed a metal insignia on his collar, "is the official clearancefor that area, but anyone who saw you there would have recognized Samand known something was up. There are a lot more people out here inthe secondary area and all you need is an I.D. card."

A stranger was walking toward them and Vincent hesitated, fightingthe instinctive urge to hide his face.

"It's okay, Vincent," Al said patiently. "You look like Sam,remember?"

"It is hard to break the habits of a lifetime," Vincent said,feeling a little sheepish. They were passed by several others and hefought hard not to shy away, finding that it became easier withpractice.

"You still haven't told me where we're going," he said when hefelt less awkward. "Does it have something to do with Catherine?"

"No. It has to do with I've seen where you live and how you live."Al stopped in front of a set of heavy steel doors and nodded to auniformed guard. "When was the last time you stood outside in thesunshine, Vincent?"

Vincent's eyes widened. "Never."

Al grinned. "That's what I thought. Come on." He pushed the dooropen and stepped outside.

The sun was bright, blazing out of a crystal clear blue sky. Theday was warm, but not uncomfortably so, for it was early spring.Vincent hesitated on the threshold and Al reached for his arm,pulling him forward.

Beyond the compound lay the desert, stark and barren. "It's verybeautiful," Vincent said slowly, his voice as bleak as the landscape.He began to walk, his pace measured and steady.

Making his way across rocky, arid ground, he altered course nowand then to avoid clumps of mesquite or cactus. He finally stoppedbeside a small rocky outcropping and seemed aware, for the firsttime, that Al had accompanied him.

"Thank you," he said.

Al sank down on a rock. "I was starting to think you were tryingto go home!"

Vincent smiled faintly, taking a seat on another small boulder."No," he said, almost wistfully. "Only walking."

Al pointed back the way they had just traveled. "Look how farwe've come."

Vincent looked. The compound was small in the distance. "A mile?"he asked. "Two?"

Al snorted. "A mile, maybe, stretching it."

Vincent gave a small, bashful grin. "I am not accustomed to beingable to see so far."

"No, I guess not," Al answered. He hesitated. "You know, Vincent,I only brought you out here so you could have a chance to see thegreat outdoors. I figured you'd never have another opportunity tovisit a real desert."

"With real mountains on the horizon," Vincent said, pointing to abarely discernible, jagged purple line to the west.

"Yeah. And the cactus and mesquite are blooming, but you've hardlylooked at anything. What's wrong?"

Vincent looked down at his outstretched legs and feet, studyingthe white leather and rubber of the shoes he wore, thinking distantlythat he hadn't worn sneakers since he was ten years old.

"Today is the first day since Catherine disappeared that I havenot searched for her," he said quietly. "The first day that I havenot directed all my energies toward finding her. I feel guilt forthat." He sighed. "It does not help to know that in this time, inthis now, she is beyond my reach."

Al watched him closely, head tilted a little to one side. "Youknow, Vincent," he said suddenly, "Maybe you're placing too muchemphasis on this one woman. I mean, take me, for example. I've beenmarried five times... and then there's Tina, and Brenda, andMarguerite..."

Vincent looked up, allowing Al's words to draw him out ofintrospection. "For me there is only Catherine," he said. "Of all thewomen you have known, have you never loved deeply?"

"Aw, sure," Al said, waving his hands. "I loved all of 'em while Iwas with 'em." He paused, returning Vincent's patient look. "Therewas one... my first wife...." He turned his gaze to the desert. "Hername was Beth," he finished softly.

"You love her still," Vincent observed.

Al continued to stare, unseeing, at the mesquite. "It was a longtime ago." He bent to scoop up a small handful of pebbles and debrisand began tossing the larger bits at a nearby cactus." Can you notlove that way again?"

Al's voice turned sharp. "Could you? If Sam fails tonight, willyou find someone else?"

Vincent bowed his head. "For me, there is still hope, still apossibility...."

"And if the possibility is gone?"

"I do not know. I cannot think beyond the hope."

Al sighed. "Yeah. Well, I guess I understand that. I lived on hopefor a long time, myself."

Vincent scuffed a line through the dust on the desert floor."Albert," he asked, tentatively. "How great is the possibility thatSam will fail?"

Al put a strong hand on Vincent's shoulder. "He's never failedbefore."

Vincent met his eyes gratefully and stretched his legs, leaningback in the bright sunshine. "Tell me, Albert, about your time. Whatis happening in the world now?"

"Cars are faster, women are faster, and everything costs more. TheCleveland Indians still haven't won a World Series and the DenverBroncos just lost their seventh Super Bowl," Al said breezily,grinning. "On the plus side, we're finally recycling more aluminumthan we throw away every year, and plastic bags are a big no-no!"

"Is that good?"

"Whaddaya mean, is that good? People are finally becomingenvironmentally conscious. Where have you been?"

Vincent ducked his head to hide a small grin at Al's vehemency. "Ihave been occupied with more immediate concerns."

"Oh, yeah."

"And you still haven't told me of your world today."

"Vincent, you know I can't do that. All that stuff'srestricted."

"Okay, okay," Al went on, wilting visibly under Vincent's amuseddisbelief. "So I've gone way, way out on a limb already. I haven'ttold you anything that could get you into trouble. After all, you gohome and start telling stories about traveling through time, they'lllock you up!"

"I doubt that," Vincent said, shifting to a more comfortableposition. "And you've told me many things already."

"Nothing that you won't either know yourself tomorrow, or thatwon't be changed by then," Al answered. "Come on, Vincent. Knowingthe future would be like knowing what your presents are before youopen them. Takes all the fun out of it."

Vincent considered that and nodded slowly. "Still, it is difficultto know that I am in another place and time and not be curious." Helooked out across the stark grandeur of the desert and thesurrounding hills. "It is truly beautiful," he said. "I once thoughtI would never see beyond New York, never stand in the sunlight." Hepaused. "Catherine has opened more doors for me than either of uscould ever have imagined."

He paused again. "Al, what will happen to me, to my world,now?"

Al raised an eyebrow. "That depends on whether Sam gets Catherineor not."

Vincent shook his head. "No, I mean now. Your now. What willhappen to my world now that you know of its existence? When I goback, will there be only six years left of my world? Of me?"

"Five and a half years," Al corrected. "It's fall in your time.Here, it's spring." He leaned back on a casual elbow. "You'rewondering if a horde of scientists is going to descend on thetunnels," he continued.

"You know our secret now," Vincent said softly. "The lives of manygood people are in your hands."

"You know, I already thought of that," Al said slowly. "But whatthose scientists know is what I tell them and what Ziggy tells them.And they're just a small horde, anyway. Besides, they can't see backthere. Ziggy's a computer, so what does he know? He tells them thatSam is in Manhattan, or, more precisely, below it, but they don'tknow where, and they don't know other people live there. As far asthey know, Sam's all by himself, living in a subway tunnel."

"But Sam has been there. You have seen."

"Yeah. And we like what we saw. You, Vincent, you're special. Howcould we rat on you?" He shifted positions, squinting at the sun,which was low in the sky. "Don't worry, Vincent. Your secret issafe." Getting to his feet, he brushed loose sand from his trousers."Come on, we need to get back. Sam'll need me soon."

The sun was dipping below the faraway line of mountains as Al andVincent re-entered the building. The guard behind the desk tookcareful note of their I.D. tags and let them pass. Many of those whoworked there had left for the day and the halls were largelyempty.

Vincent dogged Al's steps, thinking that these long, intersectinghallways, despite drastic differences in color and lighting, were notunlike the passages of the world below. As they came to yet anotherturn, Al stopped.

"Get back!" he hissed.

Bewildered, Vincent stepped back, instinct taking over as heflattened himself in a doorway. "What is it?"

"It's Bartles!" Al hissed again. His expression altered to one ofpleased animation. "Hi,there!" he called to someone out of Vincent'ssight.

"Oh, Al," the someone called back. "Wait right there. I need totalk to you a moment."

"Sure thing!" Al's tone was a little too chipper.

"Who is it?" Vincent asked.

"He's one of the committee members," Al whispered rapidly, frombehind an artificial smile. "He knows Sam! If he sees you, my gooseis cooked!"

Vincent couldn't help a small, silent chuckle over Al's franticdespair even as an idea came to him. "I can find my own way back tothe Waiting Room," he said softly.

Al brightened momentarily. "That'd be great... the doors..." Hehesitated. "They'll open for you!" he said in astonishment, after amoment's thought. "You're Sam!"

"The gray plates on the walls? Sam can open them?"

"Sure! They're keyed to all of us authorized for the inner circle.Sam too." Al was effusive in his relief.

"You mean I could have gotten out of the Waiting Room at anytime?" Vincent asked softly.

Al grimaced, amused. "Yeah. Guess that's something we'll have tofix." His gaze moved down the intersecting corridor. "Yes, what can Ido for you?"

"I just have a question about..."

As Vincent watched from his place in the doorway, a tall, grayingman came into sight and put a confiding arm around Al's shoulders,turning him away from Vincent. They walked off, talkingenergetically.

Vincent let them get halfway down the hallway before slippingaround the corner. His memory for twisting, turning passages servedhim well, allowing him to retrace the path to the inner circlewithout hesitation. At one point, a woman came out of a room and heflinched inwardly, but she merely smiled and nodded without breakingstride.

Reaching the gray steel door to the inner circle, he placed hispalm against the flat gray box as he'd seen Al do, and the door slidopen.

This would be the most difficult part, because Al had said thateveryone authorized for this part of the building knew each other bysight. If anyone saw him, they would recognize Sam and know somethingwas wrong. Hugging the walls, ears straining for the slightest sound,he slipped toward the Waiting Room.

Once voices warned him of someone approaching. To his relief, hediscovered that Sam's hand would open all the doors on this level,and he slipped inside an empty office until the voices' owners passedsafely.

It was not that he feared for himself, he thought when he finallyreached the sanctuary of the Waiting Room. Anyone finding him roamingthe halls would probably march him straight back here anyway, but itwas very important to Vincent that Al not suffer because of hiskindness.

It was another ten minutes before Al put in an appearance.

"You made it," he said in relief. "I wasn't sure. It's easy to getlost in this place."

"Not for me," Vincent said.

"No, I suppose not. Sam's having a heckuva time at your place,though. Good thing that kid, Rat, is guiding him tonight."

"Rat? You mean Mouse?"

"Yeah, that's him. Strange kid, but knows his way around."

"Mouse knows a great deal more than that," Vincent said. "Youwould be wise not to underestimate him."

"Aw, he's Sam's to deal with," Al said, dismissing Mouse with awave of his hand. "Listen, Vincent, I don't have much time. I'm sureSam's wondering where I am. The leap will probably take place as soonas she's safe, and since I don't know when that will be..."

"We may not see each other again?"

"Well, not anytime soon," Al said. "Who knows, I may come visitthe next time I'm in the Big Apple."

Vincent regarded him solemnly. "You will always be welcome in myhome, Albert."

Al was suspiciously misty-eyed. "Yeah, well, I may just take youup on that."

Feeling a genuine sadness at the impending loss of this new-foundfriend, Vincent opened his arms.

After sharing a brief, hard hug, Al backed away, dashing at hiseyes. "I don't go in much for this hugging stuff," he said gruffly."Unless, of course, it's a beautiful dame."

"You've been a good friend to me, Albert. I thank you."

"You've been an experience, Vincent. I won't forget you."

"Good-bye, my friend."

As the door closed behind Al for perhaps the last time, Vincentfound himself once more waiting. Right now... six years ago... andyet right now, Sam and Al and perhaps Mouse are making their way tothe tunnels beneath the building where Catherine is being held.

Unable to help himself, he began to pace. In his mind, he tracedeach part of the journey, knowing the path Mouse would take. "Surelythey are inside by now," he murmured restlessly. His feet continuedto carry him relentlessly back and forth. After a while, he began towonder if he would wear a path in the carpet.

The click of the door startled him and he whirled.

"We did it! We did it! Aw, Vincent, it was great! You should abeen there! Sam was great! Roaring and everything! He's got her,Vincent, and they're on their way down the stairs, and I gotta getback in case they need me, but I had to tell you! Oh, and Vincent, Ialmost forgot! It is your baby! She told Sam!" Al was almostunintelligible in his breathless excitement, bombarding Vincent withrapid-fire facts.

"My child?" he asked in wonder.

"Yeah, she said so! I think she was scared to tell Sam... I meanyou..."

"Frightened of what I would think? Did Sam reassure her?"

"I guess. He said something mushy about love making everythingpossible and she smiled. Boy, but she was awfully glad to seeyou!"

"She believes Sam is me?" Oddly, Vincent was a little disappointedthat Catherine did not immediately sense the difference, though hisprimary emotion was joy. Catherine, safe! he thought ecstatically."Will I leap now?"

"Doubt it, since you haven't yet," Al said. "Probably becausethey're still in the building. I've got to go!" He turned andcollided with the closed door. "I forgot," he mumbled, embarrassed."I'm not a hologram here."

More waiting. Elation battled with concern as he alternatelyrejoiced in Catherine's rescue and worried over possible dangerslurking between her and the safety of the tunnels. The blue folder,lying on a table, drew him and he opened it to gaze at her face. I'llsee you very soon, my love, he promised. You'll be safe in myarms.

"What's taking so long?" he asked of no one. He began to paceagain, waiting, anticipating the rushing sound and the tuggingsensation that would herald his leap home, to Catherine.

The door flew open again. "She's in labor," Al gasped out."They're resting, so I have a minute."

Vincent moved toward him quickly. "Is she well?"

Al waved his hands. "Seems okay. So far, she's walked down fortyflights of stairs without trouble. Don't worry, Vincent. Sam's adoctor. He's taking real good care of her. Treats her like she's madeof glass. Which reminds me," he said, leaping to another subject."You're going to have some explaining to do.

"On the way up, Sam knocked out a few guards and tied them up," Alwent on. "She seems to think that's strange. The one he clawed updidn't bother her, though." Reaching for the door handle this time,he paused and turned back. "I gotta tell you, Vincent, you've gotgreat taste in women. She's gorgeous!" The door slammed on thatparting shot.

More waiting and pacing. Vincent was beginning to think that hewould spend the rest of his life going back and forth across thissmall stretch of tan carpeting when the door burst open for the lasttime.

"We did it! They're in the tunnels and you'll be leaping anysecond, so I gotta talk fast!" Al had his computer link in his handand punched some keys.

"By the way, Vincent, Sam's carrying her, so don't drop her whenyou leap back in," he warned, watching the box in his hand beep andblink.

"Yeah! Right now, in 1995, Catherine Chandler is chief deputy toDistrict Attorney Joe Maxwell. Her testimony helped indict andconvict former D.A. John Moreno, and also took down the man known asGabriel. She lives in a small townhouse on the Upper West Sidewith..."he grinned and glanced at Vincent, "her children."

"Children?" The air around Vincent was beginning to buzz.

"Yeah, two of 'em. A three-year-old girl and afive-and-a-half-year-old boy."

The buzzing was louder, and Vincent felt a mild tugging. Al'svoice was fading.

"Their names are... Samantha and..." In a gesture Vincent had seenhim use before, Al smacked the side of his computer link. He wasfading from sight, his voice growing dim, but Vincent could hear hisstartled yelp. "...Albert!"

THE END