Quanta

Quanta

by Sean Smith


 Theorizing that one can time travel within his own lifetime, Dr.
Samuel Beckett stepped into the Quantum Leap Accelerator...and vanished.
He awoke to find himself trapped in the past, facing mirror images that
were not his own, and driven by an unknown force to change history for the
better. His only guide on this journey is Al, an observer from his time,
who appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam can see and hear. And
so Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, striving to put ri
ght what once went wrong, and hoping each time, that his next leap will be
the leap home.
 Fox Mulder is a believer, excelling enough in his work as an FBI
agent building psychological profiles for him to use his position to
investigate paranormal cases closed by the Bureau years before. He has
made powerful enemies, and few friends. His par tner, Dana Scully was
assigned to _watch_ Mulder, and report on him. She was to keep a check on
his imagination, for she does not believe. But somewhere along the way,
she learned to trust him. And for the first time, he learned to trust
somebody, too.
Perhaps more than trust. THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE.

 'Quanta' is the second installment of a trilogy. For X-Philes,
this episode takes place the night after 'Irresistible',' when Dana Scully
was kidnapped. For QLers, it takes place shortly after "The Leap Back."
Please send all comments and criticisms t o: ez042725@peseta.ucdavis.edu
And let me know if the other two episodes should be written or not.
Arigato gozaimasu!

Based on characters and situations created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen
Productions, Bellisarius Productions, Tom Clancy, and Fox. No copyright
infringement is intended. All rights reserved.


 Quanta

 by Sean Smith

 Dr. Scully leaned back into her pale gray seat as the matte black
laptop on her desk whirred away. Trying to write this report had taken
far too long, and now her eyes and back were reminding her of the price
they paid. Her attention, however, was f ocused inward. In the dead of
night, she could still ignore her bruises, yet could not fight silently
reliving her ordeal. Blinking she tried to brush aside the memories, and
found she couldn"t. And yet for all their apparent strength, they seemed
disj ointed, dislocated. They felt like the memories of a nightmare,
hovering at the edge of thought in the dark of night.
 From the moment Pfaster had run her car off the road, that night
had maintained an air of unreality. Even when she had grabbed her partner
Fox, sobbing, it had seemed like the whole situation wasn"t real, as
though she herself was not the one breaking
down in front of state troopers. Certainly the nightmarish
hallucinations that had accompanied her attack were unreal, no matter how
clear the demonic images had seemed. <I"m glad I omitted that from the
official reports,> Dr. Scully thought. she chided herself mentally.
 Leaning back, Dana ran her hands over the cotton fabric of her
slacks and surveyed her office. Despite the late hour, all her lights
were on, reflecting off the neutral colors of the Bureau walls. It even
managed to glint off the hulking black shap es of her file cabinets.
<Maybe I should repaint those... > Agent Scully thought. <Shoot, even my
potted plants look bleak. Better remember to leave the shades open more.>
 Stretching her arms over her head, Scully made a noise deep in her
throat as she tried to let herself relax. Still reclining with her arms
in the air, Scully ran her hand along the back of her upper arm over a
bruise there. She deliberately pushed her kidnapping out of her mind, and
tried to think of happier things. Certainly her family was the last thing
she wanted to think about; she hadn"t called her mother or Melissa yet.
Instead she stared at the Manatees in the poster on her wall over her
desk. She smiled, remembering that Mulder told how that manatees were
responsible for the legends of mermaids. <Well, at least the mermaids
seem calm tonight.>
 Suddenly, a frown crossed her features, and, as if in unconscious
mimicry, she crossed her arms behind her head. <Mermaids ,> she thought
<now Fo...Mulder has me thinking of mermaids! What next, island beaches?>
Before she could stop and figure out where in the world _that_ thought had
come from, a soft voice interrupted her reverie.
 "Relaxing, Scully?," came the familiar voice from the door. Dana
quickly lowered her arms and turned to face Mulder as he nudged the smooth
metal door open a foot wider and stepped sideways in.
 "Not really, but I'm trying anyway," She said with a friendly
smile, "I suppose you"re still working."
 Mulder dropped the limp mass of his charcoal black overcoat on top of
her file cabinet, nearly overturning a wilting spider fern. "No, I came by
to see how you were doing, Scully." He remained standing, awkwardly
fidgeting with his hands.
 "I"m fine Mulder. We"ve been through this before." She turned back
to her work. "What"s been keeping you here in the building all this time?"
 "Just reading this," he said as he pulled a dog-eared red paperback
out of his briefcase and tossed it onto her desk. It slid a few inches
across the faux wood veneer, coming to rest against her computer. She
tapped a manicured nail on the desktop as she read the title off its
dilapidated cover.
 "_The Hunt for Red October_?" she looked up smiling, "It's nice to
see you reading something other than one of those files in the basement."
 "Actually, this _is_ related to a couple of X-Files I'd like us to
look at. And case histories aren't all I read."
 "Let me guess, you also buy the magazines just for the articles."
 Mulder laughed silently. He was glad she felt up to her usual
banter.
 Scully continued, "You aren't serious about this novel, though,
are you?" She paused a moment, "Please, Mulder, don't tell me you think
there's a Soviet SSBN hidden in a dockyard somewhere? This is _obviously_
fiction..."
 Mulder paused a moment, baiting her. As her eyebrows started to
rise, he replied, "No I'm not looking for the _Kranzny Oktobyr_. It
sounds like you've already read the novel," He turned the other chair in
her office around and straddled it, somehow managing not to further
wrinkle his soft umber suit, "but somehow I didn't think it would be your
taste."
 "You never know what my tastes are, Mulder," Straight face, but
just enough life in the eyes to make it a joke. <Why in God's name did I
say that?> She noticed him drop his hazel eyes momentarily before he
replied, "Well, maybe California might fit y our tastes."
 Small pause, "You can't believe we're going anywhere _tonight_?
After all this, I don't really think I'm up to tearing off after anybody.
And you don't look like you've slept much either."
 "Par for the course. I want to catch an early flight to Sacramento
tomorrow. It's got a layover in Edmonton, party capitol of Canada. And
we'll still have plenty of time to sleep and pack."
 "What is this here, a vacation? You _do_ still work in Behavioral
Sciences, right?"
 His smile mirroring hers, Mulder leaned forward, "Can you blame me
if I do my job too well? There's just a serious shortage of mundane
psychopaths late...ly..." Mulder trailed off as both stopped smiling.
 "I didn't mean that-"
 "I'm fine, Mulder. It just wasn't a funny joke," she said with a
smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She turned halfway and pushed a
stray lock of red hair into place automatically. "So Mulder, what do they
have in Sacramento?"
 "Oh the usual; a second rate b-ball team, a lot of flood damage,
and a lot of tomatoes. We've received a request about the tomatoes."
 "Tomatoes? We're flying cross-country because of tomatoes?"
 "Yup. Sacramento's got the best tomatoes in the nation, and we"re
going in to check them out. Sounds juicy, doesn't it?"
 "Mulder, please tell me this is some obscure sexual innuendo. I
don't need to be known in the forensic path labs as Miss Spooky Tomato."
Her voice rose just enough to suggest that this might be an actual
concern.
 "Don't worry...it's not that bad. You remember those genetically
altered tomatoes that hit the market last year?
 "Of course."
 "Well, University of California, Davis is one of the few Federally
funded sites of agricultural research. Seems they've been looking for
ways to protect wheat from rust strains, and breeding drought resistant
corn. And doing the occasional bit of work on tomatoes."
 "Mulder, none of that is an X-file. The controlled breeding of
beneficial plants and animals has been going on since the dawn of
civilization. Genetic tailoring simply extends the premise one step. All
their work done in those labs is reviewed, and t heir papers published
publicly. Not to mention the fact that their work is entirely necessary
to your lifestyle. Without it, our wheat belt would have been decimated
years ago. ."
 "Slow down...I couldn't agree with you more Scully. But a
Professor there, by the name of Davies Holland has been working on fruits,
using similar techniques to the ones used by Genentech on their tomatoes.
According to him, his recombinant tomatoes seem to be unaffected by most
pests, but until he publishes, he's keeping his techniques under wraps."
 "That's not surprising; the competition in the field of research
can be cutthroat."
 "Nothing quite that dramatic. Holland's been working out of a
small lab north of the town, and the flooding wiped out his greenhouse,
and a couple years of plant breeding. He wants his grants increased so he
can repair the damage. The Department of Agriculture wants to know if it
was sabotage, and since his work is on Federal grounds, we get
jurisdiction."
 "Sounds like an accident, or a petty crime at best. Why not leave
this to the local police force?"
 Mulder stood up with an easy smile and picked up his jacket,
"Because it's a good excuse to see downtown Sacramento, Scully. The
flight's Northwestern 1121, and it leaves at eight-fifteen." Fox tossed
his trench coat over his arm and headed out the door.
 Dana had just turned back to put her desk in order when Fox stuck
his head in, saying, "And Scully, I wouldn't mind you as Miss Tomato."

 * * *

 A harried young flight attendant in a polyester uniform brushed
past Fox's sleeping form as Dana finished reading the rather sketchy
information the Sacramento Police Department had provided in their folder
about Dr. Holland's complaint. In reality, there was next to nothing
there. Certainly there was no reason for them to be flying in, leaving
the Bureau with uncompleted paperwork. But here they were on a plane
headed out there, and Dana couldn't figure out why. As she mulled this
thought over, her right hand crept up to remove her gold-rimmed glasses
while her left closed the manila file. Seeming to stare through the rough
cloth of the airline seat ahead of her, she narrowed her eyes and tapped
her glasses against her full lips briefly.
 <Something's not right with this. Why are Mulder and I flying to
California? Knowing him, it probably has to do with those X-Files he
mentioned, the ones connected with the book. And I can ignore this tomato
file; it's too goofy, even for him. He's got to be using this flimsy case
purely as a pretext for investigating one of his pet X-files. So I should
be looking for the link between _Red October_ and Sacramento itself.
 The town's never mentioned in the book, so it's not direct. The
only thing left would be a connection inferred, but not mentioned in the
book. But _what_? I can leave out the paranormal; if he's going to say
that US subs are skippered by psychics trained in Sacramento, he's going
too far out for me to second guess him.
 Well, Sacramento is the capitol of California, Maybe it's the
government. Is California running its own pet navy? Very Gibsonian, but
not very likely. Could the town be working on a caterpillar drive? Yeah,
a hundred miles inland. Good spot for a shipyard. Maybe I'm looking at
this from the wrong angle. What would draw Mulder out here? Maybe it
_is_ the paranormal. What, witchcraft in the Senate? Is Proposition 187
backed by demons? Okay, maybe...>
 Her train of thought was interrupted by a yawn. It occurred to
her that her hands had hit her lap, and her head had dropped back against
the headrest. <Sure Mulder, _plenty_ of time to sleep.> She sat forward,
and stretched as much as she could in the tight confines of her seat.
She'd already slipped her patent leather pumps off, and could at least
curl her toes inside her hose. She
leaned forward, stretching her back. Her lithe form had taken too much
abuse in the past day, and she was still too stiff to be comfortable.
<Maybe I like trying to guess what he's up to too much. I can try coming
to grips with paranoid fantasies as fast as he can think of them. But
trying to talk to him, or reason with him still seems impossible> A smile
flitted over her lips. <Still, I like the challenge. Maybe that's what I
like so much about working with him. Maybe. >
 She settled back into the reddish-orange upholstery of her airline
seat, and turned to look at Agent Mulder. The cabin tilted slightly to
port as Dana's ears popped. Fox remained half turned in his seat, facing
away from the aisle, with his head back against the chair. The book
_Psychosensory Processes_ lay open on his lap below his half closed hands.
Daylight streamed through the half-shaded porthole, highlighting the folds
in his somber suit, and picking out the colors in his paisley tie. It
even tipped his short hair with gold, and softened the lines of his face.
 With his eyes closed and the tension drained from him, he looked
much younger, much happier. For a moment she thought about waking him to talk about
the report, and why they were really on this flight to California. Maybe
just _talking_ with him for a change.
 She was about to turn away and take out the copy of _Exit to Eden_
she'd bought in the airport shop when the scratchy voice of the pilot
interrupted.
 "We are at twenty-thousand feet, and are descending into Edmonton's
International Airport. We'll reach the terminal on time and..." the
pilot droned on, seeming bored himself. But it was enough for Fox Mulder
to awaken and find Dana Scully watching him. He raised his head and
peered at the silhouette next to him. Backlit by the early morning sun,
she was surrounded by a corriolis of red and gold hair. He could barely
see the faint smile cross her face, but his eye caught upon the single
glimmer from her plain golden cross hanging just above the folds of her
silk blouse. He looked up and met her eyes slowly. There was a long
moment of silence that somehow was not uncomfortable.
 "Am I that fascinating, Scully, or is the flight that boring?" he
asked without moving.
 "The flight's that boring. But you woke up just in time; we'll be
landing soon." <Maybe I'll try talking with him some other time.>
 Then Fox sat up and pretended to blink sleep out of his eyes. He
glanced at his partner, and decided to reign in his thoughts.
 "I tell you what, Scully, you make sure our connecting flight isn't
leaving for a while, and I'll get a taxi to show us Edmonton's mall." He
straightened his suit, and waited to be back on solid ground.

 * * *

 "Okay Mulder, I give up. What _do_ tomatoes, Sacramento, and a Tom
Clancy novel all have in common?" By now their rental car was cruising
south on Interstate 5 toward Sacramento and the flooded fields extended
toward the horizon on either side of the forest green Ford.
 "Very little actually."
 "Mulder..." The tone in her voice prompted a quick if bemused
reply.
 "The tomatoes are just a way to get us out here. As for the other
two; have you been keeping up on the lists of Military base closings,
lately?"
 "No. Just the usual political infighting about whose district
should take cuts."
 "Well, Sacramento has two prominent bases. One's being closed; no
real surprise there. But it turn's out that the one being kept seems to
be the superfluous one. They're dumping the one that has some seriously
unique aircraft repair facilities; the kind that keep all the big
transports and bombers in the air."
 "So you why are they abandoning this Air Force base?"
 "I think they're getting rid of it because it would be suspicious
if they kept two bases so close together. I want to know why they're
keeping this smaller base."
 "Dare I even ask what you suspect," she slowly blinked twice as she
drawled it, her eyes twinkling.
 The tires hissed along the gravel as the car rolled south toward
the rising dark mass of an impending storm. Mulder paused as the car was
buffeted by a windstorm.
 "I suspect that we're hunting the most elusive radio station known
to mankind."

 * * *

 Dana Scully keyed her password into her PowerBook's security program,
and shrugged out of her jacket while it decoded files. Standing, she
walked across the small motel room to hang it in the built in closet. Of
the many things that could be said about the house-sized motel she and
Mulder had checked into, one of the few positives was that it was close to
the campus. For two sparsely furnished singles, the shriveled woman
behind the desk had asked an exorbitant price. The excuse she'd given
while scratching a narrow wrist was that it included a parking space.
 <Look on the bright side Scully, its the Bureau that foots the
bill.> Winter light filtered through dull tan curtains, catching upon the
dust motes spinning in the air. In the semi-dark of the motel room, the
brown polyester bedspread seemed to blend into the thin carpet. She
assumed Mulder's room was just as promising.
 Returning to the small table in the corner, and the straight
backed wooden chair she"d dragged to it, Scully began her report. She
couldn"t believe that the only connection to that book was the acronym
ELF.

 "A relatively recent addition to the spate of government conspiracy
theories is known as The Hum. An unknown number of apparently unrelated
individuals nationwide have reported a loud, low-pitched, persistent
humming. Their symptoms have no observed phenomonological or
physiological causes. The obvious remaining option has been found to be
psychological treatment, a choice with which almost all physicians and
psychiatrists concur. Nonetheless, a small group, led by outspoken
sufferers who call thems elves "Listeners," disagree. They claim that
they hear this hum because they are attuned in some way to a frequency
which the rest of the populace cannot detect. Despite a total lack of
proof, and no evidence of any "physiological differences" between the
Listeners and the general populace, they continue to search for the source
of The Hum.
 The target for most of the searches is the government's Extremely
Low Frequency, or ELF, radio system. Intended to communicate with
American submarines worldwide despite their locations, the ELF
transceivers use frequencies which can penetrate ice, wate r, and even
solid rock. It is via this system that submarines receive orders,
conceivably even those to launch a nuclear strike.
 Because of its tactical importance, the number and location of the
ELF transmitters is secret, as is their budget. It is Agent Mulder's
belief that Mather AFB, located in a suburb of Sacramento, is one such
site. He also believes that it is the base's location, adjacent to the
northernmost shoots of the San Andreas fault, that permits the alleged ELF
signal to radiate away from the shoreline, and affect individuals hundreds
of miles away.
 Presently, there is no evidence of any kind to support such wild
conjecture. There is also no information as to what Agent Mulder plans to
do in order to garner such information.'

 Dana stopped typing and closed her small leather notebook. The
blue glow reflected off her pale complexion as she reread her report. She
paused a moment, then deleted the last sentence before she saved the
report to her XFile Folder. Her hand hovered briefly over the keyboard
before she decided not to send her report to Quantico via modem. <Better
wait and see what happens before I decide what Skinner hears. I wonder if
he still reads these anymore?>
 With that, Dana got ready for bed, and wondered if Mulder would be
knocking on her door later that night.

 * * *

 "Do you know how we might leave a message for Dr. Holland, then?"
Scully managed to keep her best smile on as she asked her third
undergraduate where Davies Holland was. Agent Mulder had long since
stopped smiling when he asked. Scully had seen the muscles in his jaw
work after the last young kid with acne and a sweatshirt answered 'Sorry,
I dunno.' That's when she decided that she ought to do the questioning.
 The undergraduate handed the two Federal Agents a slip of paper
and suggested that they try leaving him a note.
 "Thank you very much. By the way, when did you last see Mr.
Holland?" Dana kept smiling conversationally.
 "Oh, I almost never see him. He picks up his mail by phone, and
has his TAs teach his 123 class for him. Personally, I think he's
clutching on his thesis." Scully guessed that the department had grad
students do some of the secretarial work too.
 After filing the new information away in her head, Scully thanked
the young man and headed for the door. Mulder managed to be there ahead
of her, and held the door.
 "Thanks, Mulder."
 "Good news. We don't have to walk past that hog barn again. We've
done everything we can to locate this Holland, and left him my mobile
number. Now we've got some free time.
 "We're still working Mulder. We can't just disappear-"
 "Holland did. Why _can't_ we?" Scully's sidelong look told him
what she thought. "Come on, we can't poke around his lab without his
permission, even if we could find it. We've tried his home, his office,
his department. He has no E-mail address, and we don't know who else to
talk to. The most we could do is run around here digging up the facts old
Disappearing Davies can tell us when he comes out of his burrow."
 "You just want to go poking around the airbase, and you don't care
that its odd for this Holland to disappear all of a sudden"
 "Of course I care, Scully. Now I'll be twice as difficult when we
meet him." Fox turned as he spoke, facing Dana with an easy grin, his
black overcoat easily blending with the craggy trunk of the aging oak
behind him. "Come on, you heard him yourself ; this Davies guy is never
on time and is always missing. So we wait for him to return our calls.
We'll have our mobile phones with us, so we'll still be in contact. If he
doesn't call by tomorrow, then we look for him. Deal?"
 "Deal," Dana replied as she stepped past him and onto the street.
"But don't blame me if the airbase is boring and the good doctor is really
named Jekyll." She ended up facing Mulder across the dark, slick surface
of the car.
 "Trust me, Dana...the airbase _won't_ be boring."

 * * *

 "Mulder, I"m impressed. Is this the point where you tell me we've
run out of gas?"
 "I don't know Scully. Would it work?" Mulder finished parking the
car amidst the high grasses of a hill overlooking Mather Airbase, and
turned off the headlights. In the dim blue glow from the moon she could
see the flash of his teeth as he smiled. Dana decided to ignore him.
 "So, here we are, a mile from your airbase. Do we don camouflage,
and sneak in under the wire, or just run in with flashlights and badges?"
Dana always could miss sarcasm by inches, and still hit humor.
 Fox unzipped his soft leather hiking jacket and repositioned
himself in his seat. "I was thinking more of staking out the flights into
and out of the base. There might be unusual cargo craft coming in and out
of the base. That would be the best way to bring in parts and crew for
any large radio installation."
 "That would make sense, Mulder, but there's a couple of problems.
How do you know any shipments are being made tonight?"
 "I'm guessing."
 "We're here on a guess? I'll admit you've got a record-breaking
streak of good hunches going, but isn't this a little extreme?"
 "Well, they just had massive flooding in this area, and the Pacific
Fleet just scaled back submarine deployments..." Fox tapped the fingers of
his left hand on the rim of the steering wheel.
 "...Because they need to repair the ELF system to communicate with
them," Scully finished Mulder's thought. "Okay, that makes sense. So how
are we supposed to see these planes? Nightscopes?"
 "I stopped by the Lone Gunmen Press before coming here, and picked
up a set of low-light binoculars. That reminds me, Froehicke sends his
warmest regards."
 "I"m thrilled. Are those...people... the only ones you spend any
time with off duty?"
 "Have you checked out the club scene recently? I'll stick with the
monsters that _look_ like monsters. So, Scully, what else do you read
besides _Red October_?"
 "A lot I pick up from friends," Scully knew full well he was
switching the topic away from his private life. "I hadn't thought you'd
have had time to do a lot of leisure reading yourself."
 "I don't. I heard about the ELF bit in the book at TLG."
 "Weren't you reading it back at the Hoover Building before we
left?"
 "Just borrowed a copy to check up on what I heard from Froehicke."
 "What did you hear from him?"
 "Apart from a lot about how hot my partner was, not much." Scully
had made more of an impression with the conspiracy freaks at TLG than
she'd wanted. "Listen, why don't you break out the burgers we picked up
on the way out here."
 "This is why you were looking for the drive through."
 "No stakeout is complete without junk food. I even brought some of
my own." Dana heard the sound of a plastic bag crumple in the dark, and
recognized the sound of Mulder"s sunflower seeds. She started to reach
for the bag of food they'd bought earlier,
but stopped.
 "You know, it'll be next to impossible to tell the difference
between the cargo shipments and the planes brought in for repairs. Once
they wheel the plane into one of those hangers, they could load and unload
anything they wanted to, and we couldn't see
a thing."
 "Just one of those little hitches in an otherwise excellent
stakeout. It certainly beats the hell out of listening to wiretaps for
eight hours a day."
 Scully said nothing. She looked at Mulder for a moment, and a
flash of recognition dawned in her eyes. She realized that this stakeout
was definitely not what it appeared to be. With a thin smile, she
unbuckled her seat belt and pulled two white pape r bags up from the car
floor. While Scully began setting the fast food on the dashboard, Mulder
turned in his seat to rummage through his bag in the back seat.
 "Be careful, Mulder. If you keep bouncing, you'll lose your
shake." Despite her words, Dana sounded amused.
 Mulder sat back in his seat, placing a leather case next to him.
"Yes Mom Scully!" Even he had heard her mother's tone in her voice.
 "Try sister, Mulder. Melissa was always bouncing around and being
difficult. That and the shakes remind me of her."
 Mulder was surprised at this. Usually they didn't get into this
sort of talk. "I guess that's another thing we have in common, Scully."
Mulder sat and drank his shake quietly.
 "Somehow Mulder, I don't see a lot in common between you and my
sister." She smiled playfully and bit into her hamburger.
 Fox set his drink down on his knee, and stared at his hands, "No,
I meant you and I, Scully. My sister Samantha was difficult too." He
didn't look up. He usually didn't say much about his childhood because of
his sister's disappearance.
 Quickly, Scully swallowed her bite. She'd intended to try having
a simple conversation with her partner and her friend. She didn't
understand why his feelings were running so close to the surface tonight.
Certainly, she'd missed his meaning at first.
"I"m sorry, Mulder. You don't usually talk about her."
 "We don"t usually share milkshakes. So, Scully, what do you figure
an ELF transmitter looks like? I bet it's bigger than a breadbox." He
smiled at her, and took a bite from his sandwich.
 <Again he shuts me out. We start talking, one of us gets personal,
and then he runs and hides. Damn thing is he does it with that little kid
smile.> "Look for something Army Green."
 For a moment, they both looked through the windshield toward the
cluster of lights in the darkness that was the airfield below. The night
was so impenetrable that they could barely see the grasses around the car
sway in the wind.
 "I"ll keep that in mind."

 * * *

 Several hours later, the car was still. Gone were the strains of
Sheryl Crowe. Gone too the lively banter. The smell of fast food still
lingered, as did the sleeping forms of the two agents.
 Fox's head was tilted back against his headrest, the binoculars
loosely gripped in one hand. Even sleep did not deprive his face of its
marks, the worry too firmly set in his mind to be uprooted by mere
unconsciousness. His eyes flickered back and fort h behind his lids. But
whatever he saw there, it did not break him free from the little death of
sleep.
 Dana was turned in her seat, her arms fast around her. With the
hood of her jacket up, and her head nestled against the chair, she was
nearly unrecognizable. In the dark, it would have been difficult to see
her knuckles whiten as she clenched her jacket tighter.
 In her mind, she was gone. Or rather, she remembered the terror
of her abduction, and the fear of _being_ gone. Her mind replayed every
autopsy, every exhumed body, every identification by family, and numbered
her amongst the desecrated dead. Nothing left but an abused, abandoned
shell.
 She remembered nothing of her earlier kidnapping, despite the
months that had passed. But in this dream, she could replay every
scenario, imagine every extreme possibility she'd excluded from her waking
mind. And interspersed with it were images. Images of Donnie Pfaster,
the man who had nearly killed her. Images of Fox Mulder, the man who-
 Scully awoke with a small start, blues eyes staring wildly into
the depths of the night. Her breathing still quickened, Dana pushed her
hair back from her face and closed her eyes.
 Her eyes popped open. The blackness behind her eyelids was too
full, too empty. Far better to keep staring around the car. For a
moment, Dana played with the crucifix around her throat.
 That cross, however, now reminded her more of her partner than
anything. It had been his only link to her when she had been kidnapped
before, and although she now wore it again, it reminded her of how he must
have felt. Blinking slowly against her fatigue, Dana turned to look at
Mulder. He breathed softly, unaware he was being watched.
 More than anything, she wanted to wake her partner, to talk to
him. When she awoke in the hospital, months after her first
disappearance, Mulder had been haggard and drawn. He'd brushed off her
questions with his usual humor, and yet he'd seemed darker somehow.
 Her mother and sister had been there that time, and she'd talked
some with them. From them she'd heard that Fox had tracked down every
lead zealously, and treated her family well, never giving up the search.
She expected no less of him. But they too seemed to be holding back from
her. And that she hadn't expected.
 And now her experience with Donald Pfaster highlighted her own
uncertainties. When Fox had come through Pfaster's door, he did not seem
to be a caring partner, but an avenging angel. Something, somewhere, had
changed with him, and she knew not what. She prided herself on her
strength and abilities, just as her late father raised her to do. She'd
trained to deal with crises, and death. And she'd learned to how to work
well, professionally, with a partner. Now all these things seemed to hang
by the slimmest of threads. For a moment, Dana was aware of the crux she
found herself in.
 She looked at the sleeping form of her partner, Fox. <Damn him.
He catches sleep at the oddest times, and can never sleep through the
night. He calls me at midnight regularly, and the one time I want to talk
in the middle of the night, he's out like a light! Perfect.> His brow
wrinkled, and he murmured something unintelligible. <Sounds like he's got
enough of his own troubles. Whatever I feel, whatever I think, I'm not
saying anything to Mulder. And I sure as hell am not going to wake him up
to deal with my problem. Hell, I can't believe I broke down like that the
other night.>
 Mulder continued to speak softly in his sleep. <Shoot, if he wakes
up now, we'll have to talk, and I'll be upset, and he'll look at me with
puppy-dog eyes, and I'll fight with him just to keep silent and hurt him
or I'll start talking, and If I start talking I'll keep talking and I
don't think right now I want to hear what I have to say to my partner,
because I know he's hiding something, and-> Quickly, she decided to soothe
her insomniac friend.
 "It's okay Mulder, go to sleep." Her breathy voice was low and
soft. Mulder turned his head slightly. It brought his face into the
light of the moon, and she saw the pain burnt into his sleeping face as he
would never show her when he was awake.
 "Find her." Two words, barely coherent, escaped him in his sleep.
 "We'll find her, Mulder. Go to sleep. I'll help you find your
sister." She rested her head on the seat again, still speaking with Fox
soothingly.
 "Pfaster." Dana's eyes came fully open. She realized he'd been
speaking about her.
 "You found me Mulder. I'm right here. Everything's okay, Fox."
 Slowly, Mulder quieted down, like a child locked in the grip of a
dream. Now they were both face to face, and she scrutinized him while he
slept. <You shouldn't be doing this Dana... You can't go prying answers
out of someone while they're asleep. It would be...unethical. Well, not
if it was something small. I mean, I couldn't say, 'So Mulder, what
happened while I was gone?' or 'What's with you and my sister?' That would
be wrong. But if I said something about the case, and he talked in his
sleep , it wouldn't be so bad. Take 'Why did you really drag us out to
the middle of nowhere?'>
 Almost without thinking, she spoke the last aloud.
 "Time."
 Discussions of morality and ethics are a fine thing. But 'Time,'
was too much of the wrong type of answer for Scully. "What time, Mulder?
What time" She touched his arm gently.
 "With Scully."
 "Why?" Her voice was taunt.
 "Excuse."
 "An excuse? To talk to me?" It took effort to speak softly.
 "No."
 "No?" That _really_ took effort to keep her voice soft.
 "Away. From work."
 <He wants me to take a vacation with him. Oh. I guess he can't
believe I broke down the other night either. Even my partner thinks I'm
slipping. Enough for him to want me to take a _supervised_ vacation. >
 Earlier, that thought had occurred to her. The stakeout was so
flawed, that she'd wondered if the whole thing might be for her benefit.
At the time, it had seemed sweet. Now, it took on an insulting light,
<Doesn"t he trust me enough to be honest with me? I should be thankful
he didn't drive me out here early enough to watch the sunset! The whole
thing, the ELF, the genetic engineering, all of it was just to confuse me.
Make me come along, and never think that he's dragged me out here to rest.>
Dana dropped back into her seat and crossed her arms. 
 Scully was too tired to track down all the things about this she
didn't like. She tried listing them all, so she could tell them all,
loudly, to Mulder when he woke up. She was asleep before she found a
third reason.

 * * *

 The Ford's gloss green paint was transformed into a pool of
blackness, a spot darker still than it's surroundings. Both occupants
were firmly wrapped in hiking jackets and the grip of sleep. The distant
horizon to the east of the vehicle seemed perhaps a shade lighter than the
rest of the sky, and the stars there perhaps a shade less intense.
 When the cold glare of a spotlight pinned the car, and flashed
across the faces of the occupants, it caught both FBI agents completely
unawares.
 Fox Mulder's head snapped up from a vague dream about a woman he
could not quite reach. For an instant, all he could see was the blinding
light above the car. He heard Scully's voice rising above the loud hum,
yelling his name as she, too awoke. Then his surroundings seemed to fade
into a blue-white glow. For an instant, he felt his chest tighten, and
his stomach drop out from under him.
 He awoke to find himself lying on a cold metal table. His eyes
snapped open as he tried to cry out, but the name faded from his mind
before he could summon it. He pushed himself off the table, and looked
about nearly panicking. He was in a square room with three glowing white
walls, and one that glowed blue.
 <Glowing walls...I...I remember the glowing!> Fox closed his eyes,
and pounded a fist on the table. <A shape...a silhouette with red
hair...I-there was a flash of light...Dammit, I can't remember _anything_!
I don't even remember my name!> The only me mory clear to Fox came to him
in a flash; the one that had haunted him for twenty-two years.
<My...my...a figure with long hair, being carried into the light. Terror.
I was terrified, and I tried to jump up, and I couldn't. They took her
away. I...don't remember. What happened to her? Who was she? Who took
her?>
 Fox opened his eyes, and saw a face reflected in the mirror
surface of the table top. It was distorted by the tears, but it was
wearing a pure white body suit. And it had a streak of graying hair. He
looked down, and saw a face that was not his own.
 Fox cast his head back, and cried out.

 * * *

 Dr. Sam Beckett had leaped into a lot of times, and a lot of
people. In doing so he had also managed to leap into a number of
surprising situations. Certainly, this was one.
 A bright light flared through the car windshield, and he raised
his arms to protect himself from it. He could hardly hear himself think
over the deep pounding thrum that filled the cabin <Helicopter?> A hand
touched his shoulder, and he looked over to his right. There an angry
young woman with red hair, wearing a green hiking jacket and slacks, was
drawing a large, heavy-looking pistol. <Oh, boy!>

 * * *

 Before Scully could do more than jump awake and draw her Glock, an
amplified voice rang out from the helicopter.
 "This is the Sacramento County Police Department. Drop your
weapon. Now."
 This seemed perfectly reasonable to Dr. Scully, so she did so.
Calmly. While breathing hard.
 "Now, step out of the vehicle, and place your hands on the
rooftop."
 Scully grimaced; she knew where this would go. <A police
helicopter saw a new rental car sitting in the grass in the middle of
nowhere, and dropped in to check it out. They scare me, I draw my weapon,
and now we get frisked by the locals. Terrific.>
 She was, needless to say, quite accurate.
 The Huey settled onto the grass in front of the car, seeming
almost skittish as the runners touched down. A black-clad officer hopped
out from one side, and held a service revolver trained on the two agents,
while the pilot continued to blind them with the spotlight. Scully and
Mulder both kept one hand on the car, using the other to shield their eyes
from the light and wind.
 "I"m Federal Agent Dana Scully. We're here on an investigation,"
Dana yelled in order to be heard over the roar of the helicopter. <Never
mind that it's a spurious one!>
 The officer was not convinced until she showed him her badge. And
when she went to get her badge, he became extremely alert. <And I thought
the police were cautious in DC. Crime rates must be going up around
here!>
 The officer apologized briefly, and suggested that the next time
the Feds decide to drop down and start staking out an airfield, they might
wish to inform local law enforcement officers. And, just as quickly as it
had arrived, the police helicopter lifted off.
 Dana turned toward Mulder to read him the riot act for tricking
her into coming out here, but stopped short. She was surprised to find
him reading his own FBI identification. <Later. You and me.>
 "Guess we should be glad it wasn't the military, huh Mulder?"
 "Uh, sure. Lucky." He gave her a blank look before he walked
forward toward the spot the chopper had occupied moments before. "Well,
what do you want to do now?"
 "Well, since there wasn't anything going on all night at the
airbase, and since Holland hasn't called, we ought to go back and find
him, right?" The breaking dawn just began to light up the field, and
return the color to the scene.
 Mulder paused a moment before replying, "Right. Well, then, let's
go find...Holland. Why don't you drive."
 Scully flashed him a look as he headed for the passenger"s door.
 "I"m just a little tired," he said as he dropped in and closed the
door. Scully looked around with a confused expression. <What?>

 * * *

 By the time the Ford was halfway to the motel, Dana had turned her
rearview mirror so she could watch Mulder. He'd been smiling, and asking
her about how she was doing. It was when he asked what she thought they
ought to do about their case that she got concerned.
 <I get it, now. Now I lead everything, and while I'm busy planning
the investigation, he gets to make sure I'm okay. No dice Mulder. I
don't like being dragged out into the middle of nowhere. I don't like
being frisked. And I don't like being tricked.>
 On the last leg of the car ride, Mulder simply looked out the
window. With one hand on the window ledge and his face turned away, he
looked completely different than the partner she had talked to last night.
He seemed lost.
 "Okay, Mulder, here we are at the motel. I'm going to sleep; don't
even think about getting up and investigating before I wake up." <I'll
show you who's upset and who's just fine.>
 "I don't think you have to worry about that; I'm exhausted. What
time do you want to start out tomorrow?" Mulder flashed her a friendly
smile.
 "Let's try to get going by nine," Her brows came together as she
got out of the car. She turned just as Mulder closed the passenger side
door, "What's going on? You"ve been acting different ever since we ran
into the police." <Since the other night, actually>
 "No, I'm fine," he said as he searched his pockets for his room
key, "Maybe I'll feel better in the morning. See you then, okay?"
 He looked down at the key in his hand, then headed off toward his
room. He unlocked the door and pushed it open. Then he turned, and waved
to Scully, who hadn't yet moved from the car.
 She blinked, and slung her purse over her shoulder. <Okay Dana
Scully, maybe you _don't_ know what he's up to.>

 * * *

 Adm. Al Calavicci (Ret.) was smiling as he drove. He was driving
a new, slick, beautiful sports car. Smiling would be natural in that
situation. But he was driving home after a long evening with Cynthia, and
that was a much _better_ reason in his opinion. He pulled a fresh cigar
from underneath the black lapel of his somber suit. It was drastically
different than the gaudy attire that was his trademark, but it was what
Cynthia wanted him to wear. Of course, she also wanted to call him Daddy,
so he didn't mind.
 Al chuckled to himself as he clipped the end off his cigar, and
drove one handed. The New Mexico Desert was a great place to be at night,
and the clear sky overhead was reminding him of that fact.
 His mellow mood was quickly dispelled by the ring of his phone.
He stuck the unlit cigar in his mouth, and quickly picked up the small
receiver. There was only one reason he would receive a late night call
anymore; Dr. Sam Beckett must have leaped in somewhere. And somewhen.
 "Hello. Is he okay?"
 A pause. Then he began slowly accelerating toward the project off
ramp.
 "Well, have you located Dr. Beckett.?"
 A longer pause. He brought the wheel over one-handed, and leaned
into the curve.
 "What information has Ziggy got?"
 "Al blinked several times while he listened to the voice on the
other end of the phone. His foot dropped the pedal much farther down, and
the engine revved, nearly obscuring his conversation.
 "Okay, Gooshie. I'll be there in ten minutes. Call the main gate
and tell them I'm coming through; I'm not slowing down."
 As Al's car squealed through the desert night, he wondered why a
catatonic young man sat in the waiting room, and no location for Doctor
Sam Beckett had been determined.
 "I'm coming, Sam."

 * * *

 Al could see a young man with short, light brown hair crouched in
the near corner of the waiting room. He turned away from that blank
expression, and saw Drs. Donna Alisee and Verbena Beeks still looking
through the one way window at the new arrival with concern in their eyes.
Al knew that when Sam and this man traded places, each picked up the
magnafluxed appearance of the other. Donna Alisee, Sam Beckett"s wife,
could only see her husband curled up in a fearful ball, and her eyes were
tight with emotion. Al was glad that the process that allowed him to
communicate with Sam also allowed him to see the leapee as he really was.
He just wished Donna could be spared some of the heartache.
 All three stood in the antechamber, viewing their new leapee
through the seamless window set in a marble wall. Al leaned up against
the metal plated door, and took another puff from his cigar. The lines in
his forehead had only deepened since he'd arrived.
 "I have good reason to believe that this man's condition is the
result of some kind of organic damage caused by the leaping process. But
I can't get close enough to thouroughly examine him," Dr. Beeks motioned
with one manicured hand at the unresponsive man in the other room, and
returned the group to the topic at hand, "and I don't want to try and
sedate him without first knowing the state he's in. If this is some form
of shock..." No one replied, so she continued, "But Ziggy hasn't been
able to figure out who this person is, and hasn't locked on to Sam yet.
We need more information, and I don't know if he," she gestured toward
Fox's huddled form, "is in any shape to provide it."
 "Poor kid. God knows what we leapt him out of." Al continued to
pull on his cigar. He didn't mention that Sam would have leapt _into_
whatever situation this leapee had left behind. "I'm going to have to
talk to this guy."
 "It can wait until Ziggy locks onto Sam's position. Talking to
this young man now might hurt his psyche and-"
 The retired Admiral rounded on the small doctor, cigar held at
chin height, and one eye half closed. "Not knowing where Sam is could
hurt a lot more than his psyche. We need to locate him _now_. Besides
which, if we get this kid out of here quickly, h e'll never remember any
of this. When we leap him back, it'll Swiss-cheese his memory of this
time, so it's not a problem. Right?" Al"s dark eyes burned intensely as
he said this.
 "Well, theoretically yes, but-" She was being railroaded, and she
knew she was being railroaded, but decided not to fight too much.
 "Good, then stand aside. And make sure nothing goes wrong."
 "Easy for you to say." "Bena still wasn't happy about this.
 Al picked up a small device that looked like nothing more than an
assemblage of small glowing plastic cubes, roughly the size of a pocket
calculator. He stabbed two buttons, using the same hand he held his cigar
in. Suddenly, the metal door whooshed open, and bright light spilt into
the Waiting Room.
 "Al," For the first time tonight, Dr. Donna Alisee spoke up. "be
careful with him."
 He looked at the pain in her eyes, and could only nod.

 Fox's head snapped up as the door rose. The light pouring from
the doorway pulled him from the dark place he was mired in. It was not a
warm light; it instead reminded him of what he'd hunted all his life.
<A... a shape, in the light. I saw a shape i n the light. A body... or a
figure.> He thought he could remember oppressive heat, humidity. He
blinked.
 It was then that Al Calavicci stepped through the doorway. Fox
stared at the doorway as a man became visible through the light. He was
an older man with a dark black suit hanging from square shoulders. The
short curly hair, going gray at the temples, did nothing to camouflage
the authority in his dark eyes. In one hand he carried a cigar. For a
moment, Fox recalled in perfect clarity the smell of smoke. He
remembered the men in the dark suits.
 Then he uncoiled from his crouch, driving forward to cover the
three meters between them. He completed two full sprinter's steps, his
legs driving into the floor, before he barreled into Al. It was all Al
could do to roll with the impact and turn aside. He was knocked sideways
as Fox threw himself through the still open doorway. He crashed blindly
into the far wall, and fell to the ground. Looking up, he could see two
figures, dressed in white.
 Adm. Calavicci called out as he swayed to his feet, "Donna, 'Bena,
lookout!"
 Donna took a step toward the man who looked like her husband, and
Dr. Beeks turned to grab a syringe from the dull metal case behind her.
Fox scrabbled across the floor in a blind panic and flung the door open.
Before either woman could get to him, he was out in the hallway at a dead
run. He'd never even looked over his shoulder at them.
 Al tapped his glowing handlink, and called for help, "Gooshie, our
guest just clobbered me and escaped into Project Quantum Leap. Warn
everybody and start locking down the doors!"
 "Yes, sir, but you realize the interior of the facility isn't as
secure as it's outside. He won't be able to leave, sir, but there are
some unsecured doors-"
 "Crappola! Then start gathering people in all the secure areas.
In groups Gooshie! God knows where this psycho is going."
 "Uh, Admiral Calavicci, I think I've located the psycho, sir."
 "Great. Where is the pipsqueak?" Al chewed his cigar and pulled
his coat off.
 "He's in the control room staring at me, sir. Uh, can you get here
quickly sir?" Gooshie sounded more excitable than he usually did.

 Tina, Donna, Verbena, Al, and three other members of Project
Quantum Leap met one another as they ran toward the main door of the
control room. Verbena reached the stainless steel door first, and placed
her palm against a touchpad nearby. Everybody else arrived in time to
hear the door lock blat out a negative.
 "Why the hell would Gooshie lock the door?" Donna had good reason
to sound upset.
 "Why the hell would Gooshie have had the control room doors open in
the first place?" Al was winded, and that didn't improve his mood.
 "He doesn't like to be alone at night in that big room." The crowd
turned on itself, and all eyes were on Tina as she squealed with her
high-pitched voice. "Well, it's not like _I'd_ have any reason to _know_,
but-"
 "Never mind that Tina! Just open the door!" Al was leaning over
toward her in his impatience.
 "You've got the handlink to Ziggy's main processor. You can do it
yourself." Her Bronx accent came out as she spoke in her capacity as the
System Architect.
 Al looked down at the handlink he'd forgotten, and paused. Had he
remembered, he could have had the door open before they got there.
"Right. Ziggy, open the control room!"
 The Project team stood and stared at the door for a space of a few
seconds. Al looked at Tina. She looked confused, and shrugged. Al
cursed a blue streak as he fumbled with his keychain. Shortly, he found
the right key, and opened the manual lock. He gestured for one of the
technicians to begin pumping the hydraulic handle, and waited for the door
to rise
 It rose slowly and jerkily, revealing the tableau inside. The new
leapee, still dressed in a white bodysuit, stood opposite a smaller
balding man with curly red hair and a lab coat. Both leaned on Ziggy's
brilliantly colored main control console facing one another. The entirety
of Project Quantum Leap stopped in the doorway, transfixed by the
apparent standoff.
 Gooshie, the computer programmer held out his hand, palm out. "Of
course you can go, young man. Just _please_, take your hand off that
panel."
 "I don't believe you. Where am I? Where is she?" Fox demanded.
He slapped his hand down on the table top.
 "You are in the control room of-" Gooshie's explanation was cut off
by Al"s shout from across the room.
 "No! You can"t tell him anything about the project!" He waved the
handlink in the air, venting his frustration.
 "What project? Whose?"
 "If he doesn't lift his hand soon, it won't matter!"
 Gooshie and Fox were speaking simultaneously, fighting with a
passion.
 "Admiral...that's the accelerator control panel. I had to take
Ziggy off line. Now she can't countermand his inputs. An if he keeps
playing with that...he could fire the accelerator _now_." Gooshie"s face
was flushed red up to his retreating hairline.

 "This is some government project, isn't it? You're in charge here,
aren't you?" Fox pushed away from the control panel, and came to bear on
Al. "Where is she? What did you do with her?"
 Behind Fox, Gooshie began frantically typing commands into the
Project Control panel. He figured he had less than a minute to spin the
accelerator down, and begin discharging the main capacitors. He was
afraid the power surge from the shutdown could cripple the project.
Certainly it could destroy the New Mexico Central Power Grid.
 "Look kid, we don't know who you're talking about. You're gonna"
be okay. If we can get our computer back on line," Al gestured to
Gooshie, who was typing with sweat running down his face. "then we can
try and help you. But you've gotta help us."
 "What the hell did you do to my mind? I don't remember _anything_!
I just want her back _now_!" There was stark fear in his voice.
 "I know this is hard for you, but you're going to have to trust
me."
 While Al tried to talk to Fox, the rest of the researchers began
working frantically to reconnect Ziggy and power down the Project
reactors. Fox slowly backed away from the people milling about him, a
trickle of sweat visible at his temple.
 "Kid, don't go anywhere, okay" Al"s brow knit in frustration as Fox
continued to back toward the Accelerator room.
 "NO! Don"t-" Al"s yell was enough to spook Fox, and he bolted.
 He ran up the ramp toward the accelerator, and the lights in the
hallway came up. As Fox pounded on the steel door to the Acceleration
Chamber, Adm. Calavicci cried out.
 "DON'T GO IN THERE! The Accelerator"ll fire, dammit!" The handlink
dropped from Al"s hand, forgotten.
 The door to the Chamber came up, and Fox ran through in a blind
panic. He stopped short, finding himself in a darkened area.
 "Tina," Gooshie yelled across the control room, "Get Ziggy back on
line...the accelerator is counting down to fire in thirty seconds!"
 Al ran toward the Acceleration Chamber, but Donna sprinted by him.
She skidded to a halt in the doorway of the Acceleration Chamber, and
locked the door open. Faintly, she heard Al yelling at her, and the calls
from the Project crew counting down the time to firing. But her
attention was focused on the young man trapped in the darkness of the
accelerator. The man who might be the key to getting her husband back.
 Fox saw nothing but the dark, cold walls around him, and the metal
grating below him. Instinctively, he felt a presence behind him, and spun
around. He was crouched low, and the fear dripping off him seemed in
ghoulish contrast to the sheen of his white jumpsuit. Fox was distracted
as the very grating beneath his feet began to glow blue-white. He raised
his eyes from the pulsing glow of the floor grating, and saw a figure
outlined in the light of the doorway.
 She wore a pantsuit, and he could see from where she stood in the
doorway that she was much shorter than he. The radiance behind her
obscured her face, and tinged the halo of hair about her head with red.
Quickly she held out a hand and called to him.
 "Come on, we don't have time." Her voice rose at the last.
 In the midst of his panic, her words cut through the noise blaring
in the control room. Then a constant rush of wind blew white smoke up
through the floor, almost blinding him. He threw his arms up, trying to
shield his eyes.
 "Ten."
 "Please"
 "Nine."
 "Trust me..." Blue light glinted of the necklace at her throat.
 "Eight."
 Somewhere, deep inside, Mulder felt a memory snap into place, and
he nearly fell from the impact upon his psyche.
 "Seven."
 He remembered being...what?
 "Six."
 That figure, who was she?
 "Five."
 He shook his head, confused by the images of...hope?
 "Four."
 Suddenly weary, Fox ran to the door, and the woman standing there.
He gathered her in his arms, and started to run from the gathering light
in the room behind him.
 "Three."
 She stopped him, and pulled him down to her shoulder.
 "Two."
 Keeping one arm around Fox, she palmed the control to drop the
door.
 "One."
 She put her hand over his eyes as the corridor lights flared to
brilliance.
 Fox felt a subaural hum, and then silence. Suddenly, voices
sprung up all about him, but he was miles away. He felt the soft cotton,
and the thin body underneath. He buried his head in her hair, and smelled
flowers.
 Agent Fox Mulder never felt the injection that rendered him
unconscious.

 * * *

 The next morning Sam Beckett looked through the subdued suits
Agent Mulder had hung in his closet. The shirts were plain enough, but
the ties were varied and vibrant. Finding the most neutral one he could,
Sam looped the tie around his neck, and turned
to the bathroom mirror to knot it. He nearly jumped through the roof of
the motel room when he saw the black-clad form standing behind him, cigar
smoldering in his hand.
 "Al! Jeez, don't sneak up on me like that."
 "It"s kinda hard not to sneak when your a hologram, Sam."
 "Never mind that, what took you so long? I've got a lot of news
for you!"
 "That"s good, cause Ziggy's still drawing a blank about why you've
leapt back to..." Al consulted his handlink, "January fifteenth, 1995."
 "Yeah, well, I think I know why."
 "Really." Al drawled the syllables out.
 "Really. I've leapt into Samantha Mulder's brother, Fox this time.
And he grew up to be an FBI Agent." Sam smiled at the shocked look on Al's
face as he held up Mulder"s badge.
 "I'm here to solve Fox's case. Ha, I stumped you _and_ Ziggy, Al!"
 "That"s not such a good thing. Ziggy's had a hard time locating
you. It seems she's run into some kind of interference in some
Zeta-whatzit, or something. And I've got bad news about Fox."
 "Oh, no Al," Sam leaned forward earnestly, "Fox was such a good
kid...I thought he was going to be okay after I leapt out of there."
 "Yeah, well he flipped out when he leaped, and had to be sedated.
We didn't know who he was "til you told us. He's been mumbling something
about a "light" and "Scully" since he came around."
 "I leapt in as a police helicopter was shining a light on us in the
car. And Dana Scully is his partner."
 "The redhead getting dressed next door?" Al smirked and pulled on
his cigar.
 "Yes, she has red hair. And why were you watching her get
dressed?" Sam stopped dressing long enough to shoot Al an aggrieved look.
 "You know...doing a little research on Federal procedures...
figures...that kind of thing." His smirk grew wider, and an impudent spark
lit his eyes.
 "Al, that's terrible!"
 "Yeah mister goody-goody? Well, now I know why they were out in
the dark together. I remember getting caught by the fuzz with Eileen
once. Or was it Irene?" He was almost instantly lost in thought.
 "Nonsense. According to Dana, they were staking out the military
base." Sam fought for a moment, trying to fit the shoulder rig for
Mulder's pistol to his own broad frame.
 "Oh, "staking out the base." Is that what it"s called these days?"
Now Al laughed at the pained expression on Sam's face. "Um, Sam, I've
gotta go...Dr. A-" Al caught himself, as he nearly said the name of Sam's
wife. The leaps had holed Dr. Beckett's memory, and so he knew nothing of
the personal life he'd abandoned in the future. "Uh, Dr. Beeks just called
for me. You just be careful Sam, we'll try and figure out what you have
to fix before you can leap."
 Adm. Calavicci tapped his handlink, and glowing portal snapped
into existence behind him. He took a step backward, through the doorway,
and it closed, leaving no trace anything had been there. Once again, Dr.
Sam Beckett found himself alone in the motel room, and he knew no
more than he had the night before.

 * * *

 Al jogged through the halls of the Project, heading back to the
Waiting room. Donna and "Bena were taking care of Fox, and Ziggy had some
new data about the history of the leapee. And Al had the sneaking
suspicion that things would move fast from here.
 Al slowed as he entered the Antechamber. His inauspicious
introduction to this poor guy still rang in his head. Especially where it
hit the floor. Touching the door panel, he called out to Verbena on the
other side.
 "Hey there, baby. Can I come in now?" He mixed good helpings of
flirting with respect. He figured it would help her bad mood. She waved
at the one-way mirror, gesturing him in.
 Fox was lying in the bed under a large knit shawl, and Donna
leaned over him, stroking his hair. Dr. Beeks turned away from them to
face Al as he entered. Before he walked far into the room, "Bena came up
to him, intercepting him before he could cross to the bed.
 "He's asleep now. Don't disturb him. I just wanted you here so
you could talk to Ziggy." There seemed to be a cloud across Verbena's
normally smiling face.
 "Okay, what's up here? I presume you heard this guy is that kid
Sam saved before?"
 "Yes, we were listening. And Ziggy finally came up with some data
on him. If you don't get over to her soon, she'll get herself in a snit."
 "Great. A computer prima donna! What next?"
 "Well, I called you back to drop the other shoe. What we've
recovered of his memory suggests a lot of suspicion in his background.
And it seems well founded. He wouldn't trust anybody here normally. Lord
knows about a situation like this."
 "Great." Al looked around, desperately searching for a solution.
 "It gets better. Fox here has _already_ had his memory
swiss-cheesed."
 "No kidding, Verbena. We leaped him in, and his mind goes Ca-Ca."
 "Admiral, somehow his mind was blanked before we touched him.
Trying to get information from him for Sam to use fixing the past, I found
some things. A period right after Sam leapt out of him was erased,
twenty-two years ago. As were several more recent periods." She looked
worriedly back at the prostrate figure, and the woman stroking his head.
 "Amnesia?"
 "I don"t think so. He has specific patterns of permenantly damaged
neurons and synapses whose damaging effects may have been...enhanced...by
the Leap. However, it's the initial injuries that trouble me."
 " "Bena, honey, what?" Al's smile seemed a little forced.
 "They all match the effects of Project Quantum Leap exactly."

 * * *

 "Hello Admiral Calavicci. Did you find out what you were looking
for with Dr. Verbena Beeks?"
 "Sort of. She's still trying to put Fox back together again. But
I've still got some questions for you." Al always had trouble with Ziggy.
It wasn't the disembodied voice floating down from the glowing sphere in
the roof of the Control Room. It wasn't that she was a sentient machine.
It was the way she saw right through him; he felt like he was twelve
again.
 "There is only a twelve percent chance your first question will be
about the results of my search." Her soft voice seemed somehow
inappropriate to her precise delivery.
 "Ziggy, I want-" Al was cut off.
 "To know why Dr. Gooshie disconnected me from the main controls
last night."
 "_Yes_." She got under his skin just like his third wife.
 "I activated the Accelerator for our guest."
 "WHAT! Why in the blue, bleeding-" Al could feel the veins in his
temple pound.
 "Admiral Calavicci, nothing is bleeding, unless your heart rate
continues to increase. Due to your...lifestyle... you have a three
percent chance of a myocardial infarction within the next ten-point-five-"
 "Ziggy. The accelerator." His tone brooked no delay.
 "The zeta-interferon patterns I had detected in my attempt to
locate Doctor Beckett matched the residual trail of the only other leaper
we've encountered."
 "Do you mean there's another leaper back there with Sam?"
 "There is only a one-point-two percent chance of that. There was a
thirty-two percent chance that our visitor is the origin of the pattern.
With Dr. Beeks' information, that has changed to a sixty-eight percent
chance." She sounded proud of herself.
 "So why in the name of God-"
 "Would I activate the Accelerator? The individual displayed a
great degree of curiosity. I estimated a seventy-percent chance he would
enter the chamber. If he was in fact the source of the emissions, then
micro-leaping him one minute back into himself would more than likely
have cleared up the interference obscuring a positive lock on the location
of Doctor Beckett.
 There is also a chance that it would restore some or all of his
memory, and cure him of the potentially fatal damage Dr. Beeks detected.
There was also a chance that recovering his memory would calm him
considerably."
 "What were the odds of success?"
 She sounded sheepish, "Thirty-one percent."
 "Then why-"
 "Would I take such an extreme measure? There was little chance of
getting the leapee back into the control room at a later date. We need to
know what is going on in Sacramento at January fifteenth, 1995. I located
a picture in a database of the woman
Doctor Beckett is with."
 "And..."
 "And her unidentified body was found January sixteenth 1995."

 * * *


 Dana slipped the cream colored blouse on over her head, and paused
to fluff out her hair with her fingers. Her body running on automatic,
she began buttoning the sleeves while she thought.
 <Maybe I'm being too hard on him. We've never really talked about
everything that's happened lately, and he's not to good at talking things
out. I've always wanted for him to open up a little; maybe this is the
only way he can.> She decided to put her navy blue pants back in her bag.
She instead put on a dusty rose skirt, and grabbed a matching blazer.
 <Some friend I'd be if the one time Mulder seriously tries to reach
out, I bite his head off.> She smiled at the image. Dana laid the jacket
on the bed, and pulled on her shoulder holster. She put on the
jacket, and straightened the shoulders.
 She smiled ruefully at her image in the mirror, and headed out the
door.

 * * *

 Sam sipped his coffee, and had another spoonful of his oatmeal.
Dana was recapping the case, and pointing out possible avenues of
investigation over a late breakfast in the local diner. They were sitting
across from one another in a claustrophobic little booth under the dirty
windows. Dana warmed her hands with her cup of coffee as she spoke about
genetic engineering. Her perspective was markedly different than his own,
often referring to th perils inherent in tampering with genetic material.
Sam would have found this far more interesting if it weren't for the
feeling that Scully was eying him oddly.
 "Mulder, when did you start eating something other than orange juice
and croissants for breakfast?" Her eyes flicked back and forth between
the bowl and Sam's startled face.
 "Just thought I'd try something different today. So, why don't we
check out um, the Davies house?"
 "I just called and there's no answer." she paused, looking around
before continuing, "Look, Mulder, can we talk?"
 Sam had the sinking feeling that he was about to walk naked into
the line of fire in a very old war. "Sure, Dana, shoot. I mean, go
ahead." He flushed.
 "I know why we're here, Mulder." She gazed at him levelly.
 "Sure, we're looking for Davies Holland." Of all the things to
follow, 'can we talk,' this was not what Doctor Beckett had thought of.
 "Mulder, it's no use. You talked in your sleep the other night."
<Please, just admit to me what this is all about.> She silently pleaded.
 Sam started thinking, and fast. It sounded like Al might have
been right about Dana and Fox; apparently they _were_ doing much more than
just sitting around in that car the other night. He had to come up with
the right answers for Dana, and fast. Otherwise, she might find out he
wasn't Fox Mulder, and he'd be stuck.
 "So, um, what do you think, Dana?" Good, noncommittal response, he
thought.
 "I'm not sure what to think. I want to be angry with you, for
dragging out here on a moments notice for a bogus investigation. I want to
be mad at you for tricking me into coming here with you. But I know why
you did it." Her blue eyes intently searched his hazel ones. His
eyebrows came together. He was still trying to understand the part about
the bogus investigation.
 "You do?"
 "Yes. Mulder, talk to me. I know Pfaster hurt you...as much as he
hurt me." Her eyes dropped to the table, and the line of her mouth spoke
volumes about how much that admission cost her. Sam didn't know what any
of this was about, but he reached out and took her hand, sympathy and care
in his eyes.
 He then heard the hiss-clang of the imaging chamber door, and knew
Al was walking up behind him. Al leaned over between Sam and Dana, and
looked worriedly at Sam.
 "Bad news. We have to talk, pronto." He fidgeted with his cigar.
 "Not now ." Sam murmured under his breath to Al.
 "Not _now_?" Dana Scully gaped at her friend and partner. "How
could you say that, Mulder?" She pulled her hand away.
 "No! No, not you Dana. Um, my pager...it went off. It's, not a
good time for somebody to call me, see, so I said 'Not now." Sweating,
Sam tried to appease his partner.
 "When did you get a pager? And why don't I have the number?" Her
look laid more blame than her words.
 "I just got it...from the Bureau. It's...its how I got them to go
along with the bogus investigation."
 "You mean Director Skinner is calling? And he knows why we're
here?" The thought of her emotional state being the subject of office
gossip paled her. God forbid, it linked her and Mulder.
 "No, its not like that. I've got to go, and, um, call in." He
stood up, and smiled his apology.
 "Mulder, you've got a mobile phone."
 "Right," He patted the bulge in Fox's jacket that he"d forgotten,
"But, I can't call this number using a mobile phone."
 "You haven't even looked at the pager, yet."
 "I have to go, I'll be right back." Sam nearly ran getting out of
the diner, and down the street. Scully looked around in confusion. She
didn't know what just happened, but it felt like she'd just been jilted.
She let out her breath explosively, and tossed her napkin onto her plate.
 Outside, Sam rounded a corner and ducked behind an unhealthy
looking tree. With a small pop, Al appeared next to Sam, multicolored
handlink flashing softly. Sam ran a hand through his hair, and opened his
coat.
 "Whew, Al." Beckett looked around to see if anybody was watching
him. They would only see him conversing with empty air, and he didn't
want to attract attention.
 "Nice save in there, Sam. I could teach you how to date women
yet!"
 "Al...tell me you've got a reason for pulling me out of there. I
just made Fox's relationship a living hell." Sam gestured toward the diner
one-handed, and leaned into Al to make his point.
 "Better than a dying hell, Sam." Calavicci was subdued.
 "What?"
 "I"m sorry Sam. We just found out. Dana's naked body turns up in
a field nearby, at noon, January Sixteenth. Tomorrow." he wished he could
at least touch Sam's shoulder; the immediate sag of shoulders said the kid
could use it. "Sam, she wasn't ID'ed until Ziggy matched the picture to
the ones I took of Scully."
 "You what?" Sam's pain shifted to anger quickly.
 "Purely for research purposes. It just turned out that they're
useful."
 Sam paused, pain returning to his eyes. He looked at the ground
for a moment before gazing at his friend. "Al, what happens to Fox?"
 "We don"t know, Sam." He spoke softly, with regret.
 "What do you mean, you don't know? Ziggy"s plugged into every
database around. There has to be some record of him somewhere. FBI
agents don't just vanish." Sam was mad, and hurt by the loss of someone
whose hand he'd been holding not a minute before . The idea that he
couldn't help infuriated him.
 "I'm sorry Sam. These two do. The FBI has no records. There are
no birth certificates, nothing." Al waved his cigar as he talked.
 "How can that be? When I leapt into Fox"s family twenty-two years
ago, there were records for him then."
 "Sometime between now and then, you changed history."
 "What? I haven't done anything...except maybe sleep."
 "Ziggy thinks something you've done altered history, and now all
records of these two people are gone. And in," Al tapped his handlink,
"twenty-six hours, her dead body will be found in a field ten-point-two
miles from here."
 "Oh, boy."

 * * *

 Fox walked slowly to the nearest wall, and rested his forehead
against the smooth, glowing surface. Despite the light, it felt cool to
the touch. Nonetheless, the deep blue glow hurt his eyes, and he brought
both hands up cover his tired eyes. "Okay,
Doctor. Now your turn. Where am I?"
 "That's a little complicated. I-"
 "Try me." he turned around like a hunting cat; deceptively slow and
completely dangerous.
 Dr. Beeks sat in a straight backed chair in the middle of the
Waiting Room, and Donna sat on the table. Both seemed very serious.
Surprisingly, it was Donna who answered him.
 "Fox, what goes on here affects many people. Several of them are
in danger now, and we need to talk to you about what you know. It could
save lives, Fox." She talked softly but earnestly. "If you can sit down we
can try the hypnosis again."
 "I don't have to say or do anything. And I don't have a clue what
you're talking about, what "people" are in danger. All I know is that you
want me to start talking about some government cases. If I'm working for
the government, then I shouldn't be telling you a damn thing. Case closed.
And stop calling me Fox." He rubbed at the persistant headache he felt in
his temples.
 Donna drew a breath and slipped down off the table. They'd done
their best to use conventional techniques to restore his memory, and help
him through the pain of his neural damage, but they weren't enough. And
there simply wasn't time for any more arguements or therapies. There was
one last procedure she and Verbena had discussed before, but hadn't wanted
to try. However, two people were running out of time four years ago, and
they needed to know what was going on.
 Donna took a deep breath. "Mulder, some time in your past
somebody used a device on your mind. They made you forget things-"
 "Like you've done now." There was enough venom behind his words for
the accusation to sting both physicians.
 "No, not like this. We need for you to remember your past. What
happened to you recently may have weakened the...damage...done to you
before."
 Dr. Beeks interrupted, "There is a chance that you can now
remember what happened to you before. If you can do this, it might be
enough for you to remember the rest of your life. We might be able to
repair the damage done to you. That headache of yours, Mulder, it's a
symptom."
 Mulder drew a deep breath, and watched the ceiling. Thankfully,
it was not glowing. "Why should I trust you?" He _wanted_ to remember,
and this dragged him in.
 "Because we trust you." And Dr. Beeks walked to the door of the
Waiting Room and opened it.
 Slowly almost stiltedly, Fox walked to the door. Eying "Bena
warily, he stepped through, and looked around the Antechamber. He palmed
the control pad to open the door, and when it responded, he looked back
over his shoulder at Donna. She nodded to him . He stepped through, and
into the halls of Project Quantum Leap.
 Fox paused only momentarily to gain his bearings. Then he set
off, heading straight for the control room. The two doctors followed him
along, but neither spoke.
 When he arrived at the doorway, he found it once again open. He
stepped through, examining the room as though entering for the first time.
He gaped in awe.
 It was a large room, with one full wall devoted to giant windows
overlooking a beautiful desert plain. The other three walls shimmered, as
though made of water. Within them, a moir pattern played, looking for
all the world like the dance of static. A translucent control panel stood
to one side, composed of red, yellow, green, and blue blocks. Perhaps
it would have appeared to be a child's toy, were it not for the play of lights
below its surface. The ramp Fox had mounted the day before, and its
attached corridor, were now dark, and quiet. Overhead, a hemisphere
of shimmering lights seemed to reflect swirling water from deep within.
All in all, there was no single item he could point to and say to himself,
"I understand that." Now more than ever he felt uncertain and out of place.
 Gooshie and Tina looked up to face their new guest uncertainly.
There was a moment of quiet in the control room. The ripple pattern on
the hemisphere over Fox"s head shifted, and a contralto voice floated
down.
 "Hello Agent Fox Mulder. Can you provide me with the information
the project needs? No record of you or your partner, Agent Dana Scully,
can be found in any database. With the obvious exception of a photo
confirming her imminent death."
 Fox found himself staring dully at the sphere, as he realized it
was a computer. And not just any, but an artificial intelligence. He
knew it could be done. He knew he'd been looking for something like this.
He just couldn't remember _why_.
 "Agent Mulder, there is a sixty-seven percent chance your increase
in respiration and heart rates are due to surprise. There is a thirty
percent chance they are due to a recovered memory."
 " Death? Recovered memory?" He remembered a girl with dark hair and
eyes.
 "A phenomenon wherein individuals experiencing trauma suppress or
"forget" memories they no longer are capable of consciously tolerating.
These memories later surface, as the individual is reminded of them, or is
once again capable of dealing with them. I am going to remind you of as
much as possible while stimulating your neurons, in a blatantly
_un_scientific attempt to shock your human brain into remembering as much
as possible about your past. Your partner's life, and your own is at
risk, unless you can provide enough information to determine who is
attempting to kill her. Is this clear?
 "Uh, no..." Fox was starting to get scared by the overwhelming
presence of what all this represented.
 "Recovered memory is a phenomenon wherein individuals
experiencing-" Ziggy started to repeat her spiel.
 "No, no. I mean, what partner? How is somebody trying to her?
Why? And how do you know they will if it hasn't happened yet?" He found
his voice, and tried to present confidence he didn't feel.
 "This is your partner, Dana Scully," Ziggy projected an image Al
took of her with his handlink on one of the shimmering walls. It showed
her sitting, having breakfast. "There is no one trying to kill her here.
However "here" is several years after her
death. I"m afraid we've pulled you out of your normal time frame, and
into this project. The risk is of her demise in the past. Where a
researcher named Samuel Beckett is taking your place."
 "This place...its a time machine?"
 "That is an inaccurate way to describe the situation...but yes."
 "How can he be taking my place?"
 "You have already noticed that you no longer see yourself in the
mirror. The image you see is Dr. Beckett's. That is what everyone else
sees. And in your time, everyone sees Dr. Beckett as you. It is a side
effect of the process.
 "How-"
 "Although your questions are incredibly fascinating for a computer
that can do a billion floating-point calculations while assessing the
works of Mozart, we are short on time. May we proceed?" The disembodied
voice sounded sarcastic.
 Mulder was a beleiver, and all he had heard simply felt right to
him. He thought a moment. "Alright, what do I have to do?"

 * * *

 Sam tried to walk slowly back to the diner. He put Fox's black
trenchcoat on, and scanned the street around him. The idea that someone
could kill two FBI agents, and then destroy all records, even the Federal
ones, shocked him. He doubted that even the best criminal conspiracy could
do that. Heck, he thought, _Ziggy_ probably couldn't do that!
 As he rounded the corner, Sam made up his mind. Whatever was
threatening them was too big to face blind. He decided to leave town, and
change history. If the threat was local, it would disappear. If not...
Well if not, then they might gain enough time to avert this tragedy. The
biggest problem was only knowing the date Dana was found. There was no
information as to the time of the actual killing, which could be anytime
between now and then.
 Sam entered the diner, so warm compared to the cold winter day
outside. Suddenly, he realized that Scully was nowhere to be found, and a
waitress was clearing the table. He ran over to the young woman, and
touched her arm.
 "Excuse me, but did you see where my part...er, my friend went?"
Sam tried to smile calmly, but looked a little too intense.
 "Isn't that her?" The waitress turned back to the table before Sam
could respond.
 Sam spun, and the trenchcoat flared about him. Across the diner,
Dana was emerging from the bathroom. The moment she saw the anxiety on
Sam's face, the hard look in her eyes melted. They met one another in the
middle of the room.
 "Mulder, what's wrong? What did you hear?" She barely stood as
tall as his shoulder, and she stood close enough to him that she had to
turn her face up to speak with him.
 He couldn't let on that he knew the future, and so couldn't tell
her what was going to happen. However, he doubted that he could deceive
her; there was just too much he didn't know.
 "Dana, there's a problem. I can't tell you the reason, or how I
know, but we have to leave. Now." He put his hands on her shoulders as
he spoke, and earnestly hoped she would listen to him.
 "Mulder, we can't leave." Her eyes scanned his face incredulously,
her whole posture stiffening up. <Is he dodging me?> "We're-" She
stepped back, so she could see him better.
 "Please. If you trust me at all, trust me on this. I need you to
help me, and we need to leave now." If there was more than a partnership
between these two, this might work.
 Scully blinked several times and looked into his eyes. <Whatever
was going on before, something's really shaken him.> "Alright, let me get
my things." She brushed past him toward the door.
 As they stepped into the blustery cold, Sam spoke up. "I'm going
with you." He sounded almost timid over the noise of the wind.
 "I think I can handle a suitcase by myself." Emergency or not,
this seemed ridiculous. She wanted him to know this.
 "Please."
 She shook her head and headed to her room. He had no trouble
keeping up, but decided to follow slightly behind her as they crossed the
parking lot. Sam was looking around for suspicious people, and therefore
nearly ran into Dana when she came to a sudden halt. She pointed at her
room, where the door hung off its hinges, before turning to look at Sam.
Blank shock covered her for a moment, replaced in seconds by a
professional calm.
 Scully drew her gun and moved in toward the room. Sam watched
her, shocked for a moment. After a moment, he drew his semi-automatic
awkwardly, and followed her. They crept toward the room, hugging the wall
until they were at the door frame. Dana looked back at Beckett, and
counted down from five with her fingers. On zero, she sprang around the
corner, and dropped to a crouch. Sam followed her, standing in the empty
doorway with his gun drawn.
 No one was in the room, though this was hard to tell with all the
debris littering the floor. The drawer were pulled out, their contents
spread about the floor. Dana's bags were ripped and overturned, and the
bed had been slashed, its' stuffing removed . <Nice, professional job.
Mulder wasn't just dodging me.>
 "Okay, Mulder, now I believe you. I think we'd better hurry."
Scully's face mirrored the worry in Sam's.
 Moving quickly, Dana got ready. She grabbed a few articles of
clothes off the ground, and tossed them into the overnight bag. She
noticed her portable computer was gone, and with it notes on all their
cases. She headed out, leaving the door open. <No
use crying over spilt milk.>
 Sam came out of Fox's room, similarly carrying only a fraction of
his clothes in a small suitcase. He stopped suddenly, and stared at the
dark green car Scully was headed for.
 "Come on Mulder, we've got to go." She fumbled though her purse
for the keys.
 "No! Wait! Don't unlock the door!" Sam ran forward, dropping his
bag.
 "What? You don't think..." She trailed off, looking down at the
car before her. She had stopped with her keys an inch away from the door
lock. "A bomb?"
 "It would fit well with the ransacked rooms, and I don't want to
take any chances. We'll rent another one, and get out of here." He took
her arm at the biceps, and they headed back to grab his bag.
 "Wait. What aren't you telling me?" She planted her feet firmly,
and squared her shoulders. "Mulder, you're running scared. Now I need to
know why." Her head tilted slightly as she looked deeply at him.
 "Not now. There's no time for this, Scully." Sam was looking
about the parking lot, examining every passing pedestrian, every car.
 "Okay, but we get back to this later. For now, how do we get to a
rental office." She looked alarmed, but her worried gaze was locked on
Sam. His actions were begining to scare her. "We need a car without a
bomb, right?"
 It was then that Sam Beckett spotted the college students pedaling
along on ten-speeds.

 * * *

 Al stopped Fox as he walked up the ramp toward the Imaging
Chamber. Both men eyed one another warily, looking for all the world like
nothing so much as Old Wolf and Young Pup.
 "Kid, the holograms we've pulled from our database'll seem so real,
you'll think you're there. Be careful; it can make you sick if you're not
used to it. Add to that the whole bit about getting memories back...just
be careful."
 "Sam and Dana are running out of time, right? Then I've got some
things to remember. I'll be as careful as we can afford." He glanced
around at the people assembled in the Control Room. His gaze lingered on
Donna. "If this doesn't work, say good-bye
to Donna for me. She- she was there for me. Understand?" Fox's eyes
were intense.
 Al could only nod as Fox turned and entered the Imaging Chamber.
Lights flooded the room with incandescent brilliance, and then were
suddenly replaced by a rushing kaleidoscope of images. Images Al had
captured in a previous leap, twenty-two years ago.
Images of his family home. And his sister.

 * * *

 Sam and Dana whirred through the narrow streets on two dilapidated
bikes. Each puffed along, with their bags lashed to the rack on Sam's
rust-red ten-speed. They were making much better time than they could on
foot, but that was scarce consolation for them. The cold wind numbed their
fingers quickly, and blew their heavy overcoats away from them. Both were
freezing in no time. All in all, they made quite a sight as they breezed through
the sleepy downtown.
 "Mulder, how much farther "til we reach the car rental agency. My
skirt isn"t doing much for the wind or the pedaling." She sounded more
aggravated than suffering, so Sam didn't worry too much. Not since he
already had an overwhelming worry on his mind.
 "Not much farther. Um...Scully... we're being followed by a brown
car."
 Dana turned to look, and her rickety bike wobbled profoundly. She
regained her balance and turned forward, but not before spotting the sedan
closing in.
 "Quick! Head into that park on the right." She swung her bike over
hard, and bounced as she climbed a ramp in the sidewalk. Hunched over the
handlebars, she barreled down the sidewalk into the park. Sam turned too
late, and saw that he was heading directly into a curb. In a rush to
avoid loosing Dana, Sam yanked his front wheel skyward, to leap the curb.
He bounced as he climbed the edge, but the impact jarred loose the ties
holding their luggage on. Sam heard his suitcase explode on the sidewalk
behind him, but kept pedaling furiously after Dana.

 * * *

 Now, images of Dana and the Hoover building swirled around Fox.
For all their apparent solidity, he could touch nothing. And as each
image disappeared, it swam about him, like water funneling down a basin.
He'd long before dropped to his knees under the mental onslaught. But he
resolutely held himself upright as his mind tried to once again discover
itself.
 "Agent Mulder...are you okay?" He could faintly hear Gooshie
calling to him from down the hallway. But he couldn't drag himself to
answer.
 "Are you all right?" Now Gooshie sounded worried. He continued to
see the images of his partner, his workplace, and Washington flash by.
 "Mulder!" Donna called out to him, "Dammit Mulder, answer me if you
can!"
 Fox heard her calling, and was watching Dana's picture as he fell
forward. He was far more aware of the pounding of his own heart in his
ears. Then he was vaguely aware of the door sliding open, then nothing.

 * * *

 Dana's tires skittered across the gravel lining the walkway as she
raced along ahead of her partner. She'd lost her scarf a ways back, but
was moving too fast to care. Her breath came in short pants as she
pedaled, and her thighs burned from the strain . Distantly, she heard car
tires screeching, and wondered if that was the sound of the men following
them. A neon pink Frisbee tossed by a young college student whizzed by,
inches above her head. <Don't these idiots know it's too cold to be out
doing th at!>
 "Dana, stop here!" Mulder sounded more winded than she did. <Funny,
you'd think all his running would have helped.>
 She slowed her bike, and hopped off before it had stopped
completely. Sam slid his to a halt next to her, and lifted himself off
the seat. Both agents leaned forward, breathing hard.
 "Why did you stop?" Dana gasped between breaths. She leaned
forward to help breath, and her dun overcoat hung about her.
 "We"re in the middle. Of the park. They'll have to come on foot.
To get here. Then we'll be even." He looked up from where he was leaned
over, with a pained expression on his face. But when their eyes met, they
shared a smile.
 Their moment was shattered by the sound of screams off to their
left. The cries were quickly followed by the sound of an engine growling.
Suddenly, a brown sedan burst through the undergrowth at the top of the
next hill over. It paused for a moment.
 "Dana, go. I'll slow them down" Sam dropped his bike and stood
between her and the car. "I"ll meet you at Davies office." He'd heard her
mention it's location earlier. "Get out of here"
 "Mulder..." The indecision in her voice echoed the look in her
eyes. The one that told him she wasn't about to leave.
 "Scully, they can't follow both of us at the same time. Now go!"
 The car began squealing down the hill, toward the two FBI Agents.
"Good luck, Mulder!" Quickly she hopped on her bike and began pedaling
away. <You better get there safe, Fox.>
 Dana heard the sound of gunshots behind her, and prayed.

 * * *

 Donna Alisee and Al Calavicci walked out of the Imaging Chamber,
carrying a semi-conscious Fox Mulder between them. As they laid him out
on the floor, Donna felt his forehead, and checked his pulse.
 ""Bena, his skin's clammy, and his pulse is arhythmic." She was
hurried, but unpanicked as checked his vital signs.
 Dr. Beeks dropped down next to her, and examined him, attempting
to dilate his pupils. "He's gone into shock. Gooshie, Tina find some
blankets!" We need to keep his temperature up." She turned to find an IM
needle in her medkit.
 Tina came running back, carrying an arm load of blankets. All
were soft pink cotton, trimmed in satin. Donna and Verbena lifted Fox
onto his side, and Tina slid the blanket under him. Letting him back
down, the three quickly had him wrapped in blankets.
 While Verbena prepared a shot for Fox, Al ran for the Imaging
chamber. He had a sneaking suspicion that Sam was getting himself in
trouble.
 "Gooshie, reset the chamber, and center me on Sam, now!" There was
nothing Al could do about Fox, and the idea of sitting around uselessly
galled him.
 Al went through the doorway, and found himself on a yellowed
grassy slope in the middle of a park. He ducked as gunshots rang out,
standing only after he realized that holographic bullets couldn't hit him.
Looking around, he spotted Sam, hiding behind a fallen log, sliding a
new clip into his gun.
 "Sam, quick, move around to your left! They'll have a harder time
driving across the slope. And remember to grab the empty clip." Al's
instincts kicked in as he waved Sam on.
 "Nice timing, Al." Sam looked genuinely relieved. He no longer had
to face a professional killer alone. Crouching down, he did as
instructed, flinching as bullets plucked the bark from the trees around
him. The gunfire drove him further and further a way from where his
bicycle lay.
 "Sam, there's at least two men in that car. Don't bother with this
John Wayne malarkey. Head out down that dirt trail. They won't be able
to see you as they come around.
 As the car tried to come about on the wet upslope, it began
skidding sideways. The rear tires tore gouges out of the turf as the rear
end swung about, Finally, it slid to a stop, pointing back in the
direction Sam had fired from. Mud and grass sprayed the side of the car
as it dove down the hill after Sam.
 He looked back in time to see the car bottom out, and the front
suspension blast a tremendous divot of grass forward. The man leaning out
one window to fire dropped the gun in his hand, and the black sunglasses
he wore fell away. Then Sam was too busy sprinting to watch as the man
ducked back into the car, covering his face.
 The car fishtailed past the place where Al was standing, and the
rear end swept through the space he occupied, leaving him undisturbed.
His handlink began squawking, and he rapped it repeatedly. Opening up a
doorway, Al ran through and disappeared.
 He ran out of the Imaging chamber and into the control room.
There, the Quantum Leap staff was either clustered about the fallen form
of the FBI agent, or working feverishly at the controls.
 "What is going on! There's somebody shooting at Sam, in there!"
Donna's head snapped up at the mention of her husband's name.
 Ziggy spoke up, "Admiral, those individual are exhibiting faint
traces of radium contamination."
 "So? I gotta get back and help Sam!" He turned to reenter the down
brilliantly lit corridor.
 "Tell him that there is a seventy-four percent chance of another
Quantum Leap Accelerator within fifty miles of his present location." She
sounded smug.
 "How do you know that?" Ziggy's words stopped him cold.
 "The radium signatures on the attackers match our Accelerator. It
is unlikely they had been inside the Control Room here within an hour of
attacking Doctor Beckett, therefore-"
 "It's gotta be nearby! Thanks! You're one in a billion!" Al
smiled evilly as he headed back into the imaging chamber.
 Ziggy pouted briefly. "One in a billion? Is that all?"

 * * *

 Samuel Beckett had always wondered how fast he was. In the past
few years he'd been chased, and given chase, many times. But those were
fleeting, ephemeral things, subject to the speed and luck of another
person. Measuring yourself against a cargo train, on the other hand, was
quite different.
 Sam had been running for ten minutes, and from the pain in his
side, he knew he couldn't keep running. He'd dived through every back
alley, circled back over his own path twice, and done everything he could
think of to make up for the gross speed advant age the killers possessed.
But it wasn't enough, and he'd run out of room to maneuver. Thus it was
that when he saw the cargo train some hundred yards away, he thought up a
desperate plan.
 The train was crossing an open area, at a right angle to his own
course. If he could beat both the train and the car to the intersection,
they'd be trapped on opposite sides of the track by the long, monstrous
vehicle. It was a ridiculous idea, but it was the best option open.
 Sam started sprinting. His long legs ate up ground, although the
black leather dress shoes he wore sent the force of each footfall coursing
painfully up to his knees. He focused his eyes on the crossroads, trying
to ignore the clanging, rattling mass of the train. It wasn't too hard;
his chest felt like a great weight was pressing him down, and his
peripheral vision was fading out.
 When the bullets started kicking up dirt around him, Sam lost his
rhythm, and faltered. He nearly fell, but kept going, his trenchcoat
flying about him like dark wings. Every breath was painful, every
exhalation creating puffs of steam in the air behi nd him. As his sight
grew dimmer, Sam pushed himself. He didn't need to look back to know the
car was gaining, and the killers' aim was improving.
 His left foot came down on the gravel of the track bed. The noise
of the onrushing train was deafening, threatening to paralyze him. His
right foot came forward, but his toe caught the far track. Sam flew
forward, and the blast of wind that marked the train's passing tossed him
off the track completely, and onto the road on the other side.
 Sam slid along the ground, nearly unconscious from lack of oxygen.
His breath came in great, painful gasps. Through the black blur of the
train's spinning wheels, he saw the dark car skid to a halt before turning
around. As Sam rolled over to try and force some air into his chest, he
saw a pair of dark trousers come into view. They stood in front of the radiator
of a large car. Wheezing, Sam watched as a single, heavy raindrop hit the
dirt in front of his eyes.
Then he passed out.

 * * *

 Dana spun her bike down an alley behind an Mexican restaurant and
bar. She was breathing hard, and sweating despite the chill winter air.
Working quickly, she leapt from the oversized bike, and ran to one of the
foul smelling brown dumpsters behind the restaurant. She tossed back
the heavy plastic lid, and dragged the bike up to the rusted wall of the
dumpster. Grimacing with the effort, she grabbed the frame of her ten-speed,
and hefted up to her diminutive shoulder. Working furiously, she managed
to get the bike up and into the dumpster before closing the lid on it.
 <Well, they can"t track me by looking for the bike, at least. Now
to fix the rest. Too bad I can't afford the risk of using credit cards.
That would lead people straight to me.>
 Checking the heavy steel door leading into the back of the brick
restaurant, Scully found it unlocked. She looked up and down the alley,
her blue eyes bright and wide with the adrenaline flooding her. Trying to
slow her breathing, she slipped into the restaurant, and found herself in
a dark hallway connecting the kitchen and the dining room. Scully
straightened her posture, and calmly walked to the restroom.
 Once inside the pale, tile room, Dana quickly set about hiding
herself. She pushed open all the stall doors, looking for people. Then
she headed to the mirror. She cleaned her face and clothing as best as
she could. She would need the trenchcoat still
to hide her wet clothes, despite the fact that it would be an obvious way
to track her visually. She knew that the tears in the tights she used
instead of hose would draw too much attention. Quickly, she reached up
under her skirt, and pulled them away . Putting her shoes back on, she
tossed her once white tights in a nearby trash can. Within a few minutes,
she figured she would attract no more undue attention. All she neded now
was a hat to cover her flaming red hair, and she could disappear into the
crowd.
 She pulled her cellular phone out, and looked at it appraisingly.
She had no idea who was chasing her, but scanning cellular calls wasn't
difficult, especially in a small town. She decided it was too risky to
call anyone with it. She slid it back into her bag as a young woman
entered the rest room, and quietly slipped out the door. Heading for the
nearest payphone, she searched her pockets for some change.

 * * *

 "Fox, can you hear me. Fox! You've got to wake up soon. Fox, we
don't have any more time." Donna stopped speaking, and bowed her head over
Fox. One by one her tears dropped to the folds of the blanket wrapped
about him.
 They hadn't moved Fox because of the shock to his system. Instead
Verbena and Donna were taking care of him in the middle of the Control
Room. Donna was afraid that in this man were locked the secrets that
could save her husband. And she couldn't help him.
 Verbena reached out to touch Donna on the shoulder. "It's not
over. Al and Sam can handle this on their own." She'd known Sam since her
residency, and was worried as well. Nevertheless, she reassured Donna as
well as she could.
 "Well maybe I don't want him to handle it on his own! I'm tired of
it. I want to do more than work every day for years trying futilely to
get my husband back!" All the anger she'd held onto for years leaped out
suddenly. "I'm not going to let Sam die
because we don"t know what happened years ago." She looked down at Fox,
and shook him, "Dammit Fox, wake up."
 Verbena pulled her away gently. Fox's skin was still sickly and
waxen, and she didn't want him hurt now while he was so vulnerable.
Verbena pulled Donna close, and whispered in her ear, "It'll be okay. Sam
will pull through this." Remarkably, Ziggy k ept her comments to herself.
 It was as the two doctors were standing up that Fox's eyes
flickered open.
 "What...what happened to me?" Fox tried to push himself upright,
but fell back against the floor. Then he smiled to himself. "I
remember." His eyes were dull, and he barely looked around, but his faint
smile remained.
 "Thank God!" It was all Donna could manage. Her husband had a
chance.
 "Doctor Alisee, I had a very direct role in Agent Mulder's recovery
of memory." Ziggy sounded like an upset child. "You could at least thank
me, too."
 Dr. Beeks dropped down next to Mulder, and felt his chest. He was
still clammy, and frightfully cold, but his breathing was strong and
regular. She felt his chest for a heartbeat, and found it to be too fast,
but strong enough. She knew he would recover, and she smiled at him.
 "Doctor, nice to meet you like this. Did you know you have cold
hands?" His humor and rough