A Sheep In Wolf's Clothing
CindyR
A/N Angst Warning! Be ready!
The blue light faded into that now familiar sensation of disorientation and dizziness,which invariably accompanied each leap. Sam staggered, re- righting himself immediately with the ease of long experience, then twisted his head, the better to examine his new surroundings -- not that there was much to look at. Rough wood planks made up the walls and floor of what appeared to be a rustic cabin, brightly lit by two wide windows set into opposing sides. Furniture was sparse, consisting of a cot beneath the eastern-most window, a couple of hard chairs opposing the cot and a small kitchen area occupying a nook all its own. Three doors completed the picture, one leading into the gray-green world revealed by the windows, tightly shut against the pounding rain without, another half opened to reveal a small restroom and the third featureless save for a large bolt which secured it shut
Sam sniffed deeply, savoring the smell of the fresh coffee gurgling merrily on the stove. He surveyed his new domicile for some moments, a small smile decorating his lips, "Not bad," he murmured, cocking his head, "Sounds like a generator somewhere on the grounds. Comfortable, warm, simple...."
"Boring," a gravelly voice added from behind.
Sam started, spinning on the voice, but recognition eased the surprised tension almost at once. "I happen to like boring," he retorted, running his eyes up and down the newcomer's apparel with evident disbelief. "That's ... uh ... new, isn't it?" he asked innocently.
Al Calavicci turned a slow circle, muted sunlight reflecting in little waves off of the silver and gold jacket he sported, then shimmering downward to kiss the silver hightop sneakers adorning his feet "Like it?"
Sam cleared his throat - loudly. "It's certainly different," he said at last, busying himself with rescuing the madly boiling coffee. He frowned and turned when a new thought struck him. "Hey, how come I can see the sun reflecting off your clothes? Besides the fact that it's raining, I mean."
Al waved his cigar expansively, turning one final time in place. "Blame it on a combination of your filler-inner-type imagination and those killer lights in the imaging chamber. As to the outfit." He stuck the cigar between his teeth, took a drag, then removed it. "I picked this little number up the last time I hit LA ... along with another little number named Stephanie, who...."
Beckett cut him off with a hastily raised hand. "Spare me the story, Al," he begged, glancing briefly at a small radio transceiver unit in the corner before crossing to tug at the closed door. "Do you have any idea why I'm here yet?"
"That'll work better if you unbolt it first," Calavicci pointed out, peeking over Sam's shoulder.
Beckett stopped his tugging to shoot the older man a sour look. "I can see why they made you an Admiral," he returned sarcastically. "No civilian has a chance around you, do they?"
Al looked hurt. "Not everyone can be a quantum physicist," he said, waving his cigar in a grand gesture.
Sam frowned. "But you are a quantum...." He broke off with a weary sigh. "Never mind. You want to tell me who I am?" He gave the bolt a mighty yank, nearly falling over when it slipped easily to the side.
Al waited until he'd regained his footing before consulting a flashing computer link and punching it on. "This is October 4, 1990 and your name is Harry Bauer. You were born 62 years ago in New York City and are presently in..." He gave the unit a shake. "...some valley about sixty miles from the Maine-New Hampshire boarder." He scowled and shook the unit again; it blinked a bright red then went blank. "Ziggy has no idea what you're doing here. Either that or he won't say."
Sam pulled open the heavy door, but paused to glance at his friend quickly before stepping inside and pawing for the light switch. "No idea at all?" he inquired, raising one brow. "What about a projection?"
Al studied his handlink intently for several seconds, once giving it a sound thwack with the heel of his hand for good measure. Finally, he shook his head. "Ziggy ain't sayin' nothing, Sam. Whatever it is, though, Gooshie thinks it could be big. Ziggy's been behaving really strange for the past day or two."
"Define 'strange,"' Sam muttered, adding, "Oh, wow!" when his questing fingers finally located their target, the wall switch. He pressed it, flooding the room with light "Look, Al!" he exclaimed, bounding across the threshold. "It's a full lab!"
"So I see," the other acknowledged, walking through the wall to reach his friend's side. "Working lab, too, if all this equipment is any indication."
"Wow!" Sam wandered the room eagerly, occasionally stopping to finger one of the teaming beakers, or to tap some of the state-of-the-art measuring equipment neatly lining a far side of the twelve-foot by twelve-foot room. "Wonder what they're researching here! And why choose to stick a lab all the way out here in the woods?"
Al shrugged. "Got me. If it's some kind of government research, then it's so hush-hush that even Ziggy can't find out what it is. Looks like a chem lab, though."
Sam studied a bank of chemical supplies, then turned and made his way back to the door. "I recognize the chemicals stored here but not the application. I'll look around a bit more; if it's a research lab I should be able to find some notes... or at least a computer terminal," he finished, giving the room a final puzzled glance before quitting it.
He closed and secured the door, then made his ritual search for a mirror, finding one hanging forlornly on the back of the outside door. "So that's what I look like," he murmured, studying the reflection. Instead of Sam's own youthful features, a withered head returned his scrutiny from atop a gangly, stoop-shouldered body. Lines of cruelty and dissipation were etched deeply around the chin and mouth, and Sam tried a smile, grimacing at the effect the broken teeth added to that less-than-pleasant appearance. What caught and held his attention, however were the black eyes, which stared back at him from the elderly face - cold eyes, as hard as marbles. Unaccountably, Sam shuddered. "I'm only 62?" he said aloud, aligning the battered fishing hat more securely on his apparently balding pate.
"Harry is only 62," Al corrected him patiently. "You are never gonna see 62 unless you get off your duff and...." He stopped abruptly, his ear cocked. "Listen."
Beckett tilled his head obediently. "The rain's stopped," he remarked, lifting one shoulder. "So?"
The other shushed him with a gesture. "Not the rain, Sam," he said. "An airplane - and it's in trouble."
"But I don't hear any engines," Sam protested, allowing himself to be hustled out the front door into a pleasant little clearing, still sparkling with drops from the recent rain.
"That's why it's in trouble," the older man retorted impatiently. "Look! Over there!" Sam looked just as a battered, silver winged commuter streaked by overhead. The nose rose barely in time to avoid the first row of trees and then she was down, a loud crash heralding her impact. Al punched several numbers into his hand-link, vanished for an instant and then reappeared, waving frantically. "This way, Sam!" he hailed, gesticulating with both hands. "There's a clearing over here. 'Bout half a mile!"
Sam took off at a run, Al popping up every few minutes to offer course corrections and encouragement "Maybe this has something to do with the reason I'm here?" Sam wondered aloud, increasing his speed to keep up with his friend.
But for that, naturally, there was no answer to be had at all. Not yet.
***
CindyR
A/N Angst Warning! Be ready!
The blue light faded into that now familiar sensation of disorientation and dizziness,which invariably accompanied each leap. Sam staggered, re- righting himself immediately with the ease of long experience, then twisted his head, the better to examine his new surroundings -- not that there was much to look at. Rough wood planks made up the walls and floor of what appeared to be a rustic cabin, brightly lit by two wide windows set into opposing sides. Furniture was sparse, consisting of a cot beneath the eastern-most window, a couple of hard chairs opposing the cot and a small kitchen area occupying a nook all its own. Three doors completed the picture, one leading into the gray-green world revealed by the windows, tightly shut against the pounding rain without, another half opened to reveal a small restroom and the third featureless save for a large bolt which secured it shut
Sam sniffed deeply, savoring the smell of the fresh coffee gurgling merrily on the stove. He surveyed his new domicile for some moments, a small smile decorating his lips, "Not bad," he murmured, cocking his head, "Sounds like a generator somewhere on the grounds. Comfortable, warm, simple...."
"Boring," a gravelly voice added from behind.
Sam started, spinning on the voice, but recognition eased the surprised tension almost at once. "I happen to like boring," he retorted, running his eyes up and down the newcomer's apparel with evident disbelief. "That's ... uh ... new, isn't it?" he asked innocently.
Al Calavicci turned a slow circle, muted sunlight reflecting in little waves off of the silver and gold jacket he sported, then shimmering downward to kiss the silver hightop sneakers adorning his feet "Like it?"
Sam cleared his throat - loudly. "It's certainly different," he said at last, busying himself with rescuing the madly boiling coffee. He frowned and turned when a new thought struck him. "Hey, how come I can see the sun reflecting off your clothes? Besides the fact that it's raining, I mean."
Al waved his cigar expansively, turning one final time in place. "Blame it on a combination of your filler-inner-type imagination and those killer lights in the imaging chamber. As to the outfit." He stuck the cigar between his teeth, took a drag, then removed it. "I picked this little number up the last time I hit LA ... along with another little number named Stephanie, who...."
Beckett cut him off with a hastily raised hand. "Spare me the story, Al," he begged, glancing briefly at a small radio transceiver unit in the corner before crossing to tug at the closed door. "Do you have any idea why I'm here yet?"
"That'll work better if you unbolt it first," Calavicci pointed out, peeking over Sam's shoulder.
Beckett stopped his tugging to shoot the older man a sour look. "I can see why they made you an Admiral," he returned sarcastically. "No civilian has a chance around you, do they?"
Al looked hurt. "Not everyone can be a quantum physicist," he said, waving his cigar in a grand gesture.
Sam frowned. "But you are a quantum...." He broke off with a weary sigh. "Never mind. You want to tell me who I am?" He gave the bolt a mighty yank, nearly falling over when it slipped easily to the side.
Al waited until he'd regained his footing before consulting a flashing computer link and punching it on. "This is October 4, 1990 and your name is Harry Bauer. You were born 62 years ago in New York City and are presently in..." He gave the unit a shake. "...some valley about sixty miles from the Maine-New Hampshire boarder." He scowled and shook the unit again; it blinked a bright red then went blank. "Ziggy has no idea what you're doing here. Either that or he won't say."
Sam pulled open the heavy door, but paused to glance at his friend quickly before stepping inside and pawing for the light switch. "No idea at all?" he inquired, raising one brow. "What about a projection?"
Al studied his handlink intently for several seconds, once giving it a sound thwack with the heel of his hand for good measure. Finally, he shook his head. "Ziggy ain't sayin' nothing, Sam. Whatever it is, though, Gooshie thinks it could be big. Ziggy's been behaving really strange for the past day or two."
"Define 'strange,"' Sam muttered, adding, "Oh, wow!" when his questing fingers finally located their target, the wall switch. He pressed it, flooding the room with light "Look, Al!" he exclaimed, bounding across the threshold. "It's a full lab!"
"So I see," the other acknowledged, walking through the wall to reach his friend's side. "Working lab, too, if all this equipment is any indication."
"Wow!" Sam wandered the room eagerly, occasionally stopping to finger one of the teaming beakers, or to tap some of the state-of-the-art measuring equipment neatly lining a far side of the twelve-foot by twelve-foot room. "Wonder what they're researching here! And why choose to stick a lab all the way out here in the woods?"
Al shrugged. "Got me. If it's some kind of government research, then it's so hush-hush that even Ziggy can't find out what it is. Looks like a chem lab, though."
Sam studied a bank of chemical supplies, then turned and made his way back to the door. "I recognize the chemicals stored here but not the application. I'll look around a bit more; if it's a research lab I should be able to find some notes... or at least a computer terminal," he finished, giving the room a final puzzled glance before quitting it.
He closed and secured the door, then made his ritual search for a mirror, finding one hanging forlornly on the back of the outside door. "So that's what I look like," he murmured, studying the reflection. Instead of Sam's own youthful features, a withered head returned his scrutiny from atop a gangly, stoop-shouldered body. Lines of cruelty and dissipation were etched deeply around the chin and mouth, and Sam tried a smile, grimacing at the effect the broken teeth added to that less-than-pleasant appearance. What caught and held his attention, however were the black eyes, which stared back at him from the elderly face - cold eyes, as hard as marbles. Unaccountably, Sam shuddered. "I'm only 62?" he said aloud, aligning the battered fishing hat more securely on his apparently balding pate.
"Harry is only 62," Al corrected him patiently. "You are never gonna see 62 unless you get off your duff and...." He stopped abruptly, his ear cocked. "Listen."
Beckett tilled his head obediently. "The rain's stopped," he remarked, lifting one shoulder. "So?"
The other shushed him with a gesture. "Not the rain, Sam," he said. "An airplane - and it's in trouble."
"But I don't hear any engines," Sam protested, allowing himself to be hustled out the front door into a pleasant little clearing, still sparkling with drops from the recent rain.
"That's why it's in trouble," the older man retorted impatiently. "Look! Over there!" Sam looked just as a battered, silver winged commuter streaked by overhead. The nose rose barely in time to avoid the first row of trees and then she was down, a loud crash heralding her impact. Al punched several numbers into his hand-link, vanished for an instant and then reappeared, waving frantically. "This way, Sam!" he hailed, gesticulating with both hands. "There's a clearing over here. 'Bout half a mile!"
Sam took off at a run, Al popping up every few minutes to offer course corrections and encouragement "Maybe this has something to do with the reason I'm here?" Sam wondered aloud, increasing his speed to keep up with his friend.
But for that, naturally, there was no answer to be had at all. Not yet.
***