Al strode down the ramp leading from the Accelerator, pointed his cigar at the main console -- a large chunky table which dominated the room -- and demanded, "Okay, what's she got on our Visitor? Anything new?"
When Ziggy had first been constructed, Sam had given it a deep baritone voice. Then the physicist had Leaped and the computer, frantic to retrieve its creator, had -- by various underhanded means which still gave Al the chills -- arranged to augment itself in an attempt to increase its computing powers beyond their already awesome limits. The attempt had backfired.
It had taken emergency surgery by the Project's chief computer architect to save the day -- and Ziggy. In the process, the computer had gained a voice that was an octave higher, and everyone, including Al, had taken to referring to the machine as "she". No matter the 'gender', Ziggy was still Ziggy--a ridiculously expensive, frequently infuriating machine.
Al strode across the blue-white chamber. At the console, Gooshie, the head programmer, cast a disapproving glance at the smoldering cigar still clutched in Al's hand. "Admiral -- "
"Don't worry, " Al said, snuffing out the stogie in the ashtray provided precisely for that purpose. "I wasn't planning to smoke around Her Delicate Metal Majesty. I just want an answer to my questions -- Any of my questions. Pick one, I don't care which."
"Uh, well..." Gooshie fumbled. "She hasn't really found anything new, sir. Not that she isn't trying! It's just that there's not a whole lot to go on and most of the records aren't computerized, I mean, it's a small town and --"
Al silenced the programmer's babbling with a look, then shot a narrow glance at the nearest computer pick up. "Since when do you need a mouthpiece, Ziggy? What's the matter, vampire bat got your tongue?"
"I have located some new data on our Visitor," the computer said petulantly.
A voice like that, Al reflected, and not for the first time, ought to belong to pouting lips, dark sultry eyes, and a body that wouldn't quit. Not to miles of copper wires and silicon chips. A machine with a voice like that.... Well, it was faintly obscene.
Al's dark eyes narrowed. "So spill it. What've you got?"
On the central console and on the walls, lights flashed in what to Al were merely meaningless patterns, but which presumably meant something to the computer. Al tapped his foot impatiently, and shot a sizzling glare at
Gooshie, who ducked his head as if dodging a physical blow. "Ziggy? Some time this Leap?"
"I am downloading the relevant data into the handlink now, Admiral," the computer responded sulkily. Al glanced at the programmer, who nodded. The 'link was slotted into its customary place in the side of the console and the information was being fed into it. More lights flashed.
"Great, Ziggy." Al headed for the exit, directly across the stark chamber from the ramp into the Accelerator. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in Dr. Beeks' office, talking to an actual human being. Something I don't get to do nearly
enough of these days."
The door snapped shut behind him.
Not taking the hint, Ziggy "followed" him out into the corridor. "I find that to be an offensive insinuation, Admiral."
"Good." Al fished in his pockets for a fresh cigar and came up empty handed. Damn. Have to stop by his own office before returning to brief Sam. If he was going to deliver more bad news, he really needed a cigar. "Find out something useful, Ziggy. Until then, go bother someone else."
The computer ignored the order. "I am perfectly capable of multitasking, as you well know, Admiral."
Al rolled his eyes. "Then go and multitask at someone else. I'm busy."
"Are you trying to get rid of me?" Ziggy demanded suspiciously.
"You really are smart, aren't you?" Al sneered, angling a look at the ceiling where one of the computer's ubiquitous sensors stared back at him with its blank electronic eye. "Now go pester Gooshie, that's what he's for. Some of us can only concentrate on one job at a time."
"Hhmph!" Ziggy's speaker clicked sharply, her signal that she was no longer speaking to him.
Al immediately regretted his snide tone. He was sure to pay for it. Ziggy in a royal snit was even worse than any of his ex-wives on the warpath. And you couldn't kiss and make up with a computer.
"Ziggy?"
The speakers remained ominously silent.
Uh-oh. Al ground his teeth, wished for a cigar, then shook his head ruefully. After five marriages, you'd think he'd have learned by now...
Beside him, a door swooshed quietly open and a cultured voice asked, "Al? Did you want to see me?"
Abandoning glaring at the ceiling as an unproductive tactic, Al turned. Verbena Beeks stood in the open door of her office. A willowy woman with wise almond eyes and a perfect mahogany complexion, Verbena was impeccable in an orange and red silk pantsuit beneath her white lab coat. Self-lit earrings cast soft veils of color against her neck.
She led Al into her office and waved him to a chair. "So what can I do for you today, Admiral?"
While Al's office was little more than a small white room he preferred to avoid, Verbena had made hers into a welcoming space filled with warm colors, hardy succulents in Sante Fe pottery, woven rugs and wallhangings, and
large framed posters in place of windows. It was difficult to get an office with a view when you were hundreds of feet underground.
Al shifted uneasily in his chair. "I, ah, need some more information on our Visitor."
"She's sleeping more-or-less peacefully, now." She sighed, with feeling. For a time there...
"You haven't had to -- ?"
"No, no. No drugs, thank goodness." Verbena was always conscious of the danger to Sam's systems from the measures they frequently had to employ for the safety of their Visitors. It was a different Visitor, but it was always
Sam's body. "She's still extremely disoriented -- and frightened. But not to the point of hysteria."
Good news, or near enough. "Have you talked to her?"
"Briefly." She toyed with one of the files on her desk. "As I said, she's frightened. I don't know how much we're going to get out of this one. Between whatever trauma she's been through and the Swiss cheese effect..."
She let the thought trail off, and fixed Al with a sharp gaze. "Exactly what did happen to her?"
"I wish I knew."
She heard the frustration in his voice and her brows rose. "Can't Ziggy--?"
He snorted derisively. Her eyebrows rose higher. "What have you done to her this time?"
"Nothing!" Al was the picture of innocence. "You know how she is."
"I know you," she said, with a twinkle in her brown eyes. "So, what did you do?"
Al glared at her; she merely folded her arms and waited. After a moment, he surrendered.
"Okay, so I might have been a little short with her. I don't have time to mollycoddle a damn computer! I have to get back to keep an eye on Sam."
The mischief faded from her eyes. "How is he?"
"In the dark, as usual." Al sighed. "That's why I need information. What I don't need is a spoiled brat computer that won't do its job unless I treat it to the electronic equivalent of dinner and a movie."
Verbena weathered this outburst stoically, then gently observed, "We're all worried about Sam, even Ziggy. Maybe especially Ziggy."
"I know, I know." Al raised his hands, warding off the analysis. "Sam's her 'father' and, despite the fact that he gave her an ego the size of Montana, she 'needs' him. How many times have I heard that one?"
It wasn't Ziggy's fault that Sam had stepped into the Accelerator before the Retrieval Program was ready. Not that Al wouldn't love to lay the blame at the computer's feet, had it possessed any. Unfortunately, his own innate sense of fairness wouldn't let him.
Gradually, he became aware of the psychiatrist's quiet regard. She was watching him closely, watching the interplay of emotions as they passed quickly over his expressive features. Al shifted uncomfortably; he'd had more than his fill of shrinks when he'd returned from Vietnam.
"So, what do I have to do?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Do?"
"To make Ziggy happy, " he said impatiently. "She's not speaking to me."
It was Verbena's turn to sigh. "What do you think you should do?"
"Aw, no...Not shrink-speak!" Al bolted from his chair, on his feet and moving before she could react. "I'm outta here."
He made a bee-line for the door, but she dodged gracefully around her desk and headed him off before he could escape. "Admiral..."
"I didn't come in here to get my head shrunk," Al snapped, reaching around her to slap at the door controls. "I just need something -- anything -- to tell Sam."
"Here." A manila folder magically appeared in her hand, and she wafted it under his noise. "Transcripts of my conversations with the Visitor. It isn't much -- "
"I'll take it." He snatched the folder, then darted through the door as it slid open. He accelerated along the corridor, skimming the data as he went, free hand patting his pockets in a futile search for a cigar. Curiosity made
him stop by the Waiting Room but, as Verbena had said, the Visitor was sleeping.
Sometimes, the Visitor was coherent enough to be helpful. At other times, the "Swiss cheese effect" of Leaping left them with almost as many holes in their memories as Sam.
Some believed they had been abducted by aliens, some that they were dead, or dreaming. "Abductees" were usually cooperative, though not always the easiest to deal with. 'Take me to your leader,' and all that nonsense. Al snorted under his breath.
Still, they were easier to handle than the "deceased," who tended to retreat into catatonia, becoming totally unresponsive. The "dreamers" were the simplest to deal with. To them, it was all harmless fantasy.
The point was that every Leapee was affected differently, every Leap was different, and you couldn't predict how the Visitor would react until they were actually in the Waiting Room.
Al studied the still form on the hospital bed, his worried eyes automatically tracking vital signs across the ranks of monitors clustered around it. He was no doctor, but after so many Leaps, he'd learned enough to know when
there was cause for alarm. For now, everything seemed all right. Everything except the mind inhabiting the body lying on the bed.
He left the silent Waiting Room and returned to the Control Center. Along with the ever-anxious Gooshie, Tina was there. When she saw Al, she smiled and handed him a small bundle which crackled promisingly beneath his fingers.
He grinned his thanks, and slipped the gift into his jacket. Thus armored, he turned to face the flickering console at the center of the room. Time to bite the bullet. "Ziggy."
The console's lights flashed faster, reds predominating; otherwise, the computer didn't deign to respond. Taking a deep breath, Al tried again. "All right, Ziggy, I'm sorry. Okay?"
The only response was more sulky silence.
Gooshie exchanged furtive glances with Tina. The redhead frowned and gestured encouragingly at Al, who gritted his teeth and counted to ten. It wouldn't do anyone any good if he blew up at the damn machine again. No
matter how it provoked him. "Ziggy, I said I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you. You're a wonderful, brilliant, splendid computer. Okay?"
"You don't sound like you mean it."
Al's dark gaze snapped around the room, daring anyone to comment. He clamped down firmly on the urge to tell Ziggy exactly what he really meant; he could call her names later. In a studiously calm voice, he said, "Ziggy,
I've already apologized. Now, can we get back to helping Sam? You remember him, don't you? The reason we're all here?"
Gooshie groaned and rolled his eyes ceilingward. Beside him, Tina glared a warning at Al; he was coming perilously close to alienating the temperamental parallel, hybrid computer again.
"I am always thinking about Dr. Beckett," Ziggy said nastily, her tone implying that Al was less than diligent in that regard. "There is nothing more important to me than the well-being of my father."
It wasn't often that the computer got to him, but hearing the strain in its artificial voice as it mentioned its creator was enough to soften his irritation. Relenting, Al said, "I know, Ziggy. So let's get back to work and see what we can do to ensure his well-being, okay?"
"All available data has been downloaded into the handlink, Admiral," the computer said briskly, and Al knew he'd been forgiven. Taking that as his cue, Gooshie retrieved the device, which blinked to life as he handed it to Al.
The Observer eyed the thing warily. "Is it too much to hope for something useful this time?"
Gooshie shrugged, glanced cautiously at the spinning sphere above the console, and shrugged again.
"That's what I figured," Al muttered. With the link firmly in hand, he turned on his heel and strode briskly up the ramp to the Accelerator. "All right, people, let's earn our paychecks. You too, Ziggy."
He palmed the scanner beside the door and it slid aside, admitting him into the inner sanctum of the torus-shaped Accelerator, and from there, into the Imaging Chamber. The door hissed as it sealed behind him, and Al was alone in the cool, blue-white stillness -- alone, except for Ziggy, who said, "I have locked on to Dr. Beckett, Admiral. Are you ready?"
"Whenever you are, Ziggy." Al straightened his lapels, squared his shoulders, took a deep breath -- and, in a nausea-inducing tornado of images, plunged into the past.