An hour passed during which Sam tensed and tested the new bonds which tied
his hand behind his back. There was some slight give in the old rope,
though he could do little more than try the strands one by one, hoping for
a weakness. Winston, Peter and Egon settled themselves around the room,
weapons at ready, faces drawn and introspective. The room was quiet
until.... "Pssst. Hey, Sam?"
Sam risked a quick look at the gathered men, forcibly keeping his voice so low that only Al's neurologically enhanced contact could hear him at all. "Careful. I don*t know what those rifles are, but they might be able to hurt even you."
"Don't worry, Sam," the other returned evenly. "I'm on it -- got an instant cutoff switch wired into the handlink. Ziggy can terminate all contact before the first one of them can flick a switch." He strolled through the wall, returning after a couple of seconds. "Snow, eh? That storm you predicted hit right on schedule. Bet that gave 'cm something to think about."
Sam nodded, but his face was still creased with worry. "Even with the snow storm they're not going to let me help. Their friend is going to die while I sit here tied up like a wild animal."
"It's worse than that." Al pulled another of his ever-present cigars from his coat pocket and stuck it into his mouth, then searched vainly through each of his pockets, "Hey, Sam, got a match?" Sam had actually made an attempt to comply before this request sank in. He glared. ''Ooops, sorry. I forgot" Al smiled apologetically and seated himself on something outside of Sam's view, his smile fading away as though it'd never been. "About that bad news, Sam...."
Beckett tensed as Al lifted the flashing computer link and studied its glowing display with far more soberness than he'd hitherto displayed. "According to Ziggy, there may be some serious ramifications for us to deal with if this Stantz dies."
"Ramifications?" Sam repeated, giving his bonds a final tug.
"Yeah." The Admiral crossed his ankles comfortably but there was no lessening of the tension in his silver-clad shoulders. "According to the newspapers, the Ghostbusters broke up about a month after the kid's funeral. Spengler joined some uncle of his in a bio lab in Cleveland and Venkman took a teaching job in Princeton. Can't find Zeddemore yet, but we think he rejoined his father in the construction business. We're still checking."
"So they broke up," Sam breathed, eying his friend puzzledly. "How does that affect us?"
Al chewed his cigar for a full minute before sighing and rising to pace the room. "Either Ziggy's being real mysterious, again," he began, "or he really doesn't know. But..."
"But?" Sam prodded.
"But" Al took up a stance directly in front of the puzzled and now thoroughly alarmed quantum physicist, staring at him grimly. "All Ziggy can tell us is that, two years from now -- uh, my now... the present -- our present, that is - if there is no Ghostbusters team..." He paused. "The world ends."
Sam blinked. "The... the what?
Calavicci nodded. "You heard me right, Sam. The world ends. How or why..." He shrugged. "Whatever, Ziggy doesn't know, only that there's a..." He consulted his instrument again. "...94.6 per cent chance that no one survives the year 1998 if these guys disband."
"Oh, my gosh!" The soft voice and weak exclamation belonged to Ray Stantz. Both Sam and Al swung, startled, in his direction. "The end of... the world? Really?"
Peter roused himself from his contemplation of the ruined radio to pat the younger man's arm with his free hand. "Take it easy, Ray," he soothed, exchanging a look with Spengler, who was seated in a hard-backed chair near the stove. "Are you in pain?" He grimaced. "Sorry. Stupid question."
Ray ignored it, his fingers seeking and wrapping around Peter's wrist in return. "He said... world... end without our help," he said, between shallow breaths. "He said... we're going to break up... that you're... After I'm... dead."
Peter shifted a green-eyed glare at Sam. "Oh, is that what he said?" he purred dangerously.
"Uh-oh," Al muttered, raising his comlink again. "Maybe I should...."
"No. No, please!" Stantz raised his head, fixing Al with a pleading look. "Don't go. Tell me... what you... meant"
Peter again released the pressure on Ray's side to unclip his particle rifle, aiming it at Sam. "Get rid of your 'friend,'" he growled, powering up. Ray stopped him with a frantic gesture. "D-don't, Pete," he begged between harsh breaths. "I... he was saying...."
Venkman's jaw tightened; he freed his wrist gently but held his fire. "Is it this Al again?"
Ray nodded. "Yes. He said... the end...." His head dropped weakly back to the mattress, and he shut his eyes again. "The end... of the... world."
Spengler turned his PKE meter in Sam's direction. It chattered busily to itself for some seconds, then he redirected it, following Ray's line of sight The noise dropped to a nearly inaudible level. "Whatever it is," he reported, "its originating source is Mr. Bauer." He cocked a blond brow at Peter. "Projecting telepath?" he guessed,
Peter shrugged. "Ray?" He shook the young occultist gently. "Ray, we need you a minute, kid. Open your eyes." Stantz stirred, but he obeyed Peter's prompt and cracked his eyes open. "Good boy." Venkman smiled, though with his lips only. "Can you still see Al?" But Al Calavicci was behind Peter now. Ray shook his head, sighed again and closed his eyes.
Venkman wrapped his fingers around Ray's wrist. "He's alive," he reported. "And... cold. I think he's getting worse."
"Put a pillow under his knees," Sam ordered in his best I'm-the-medical- expert voice. "That'll help his blood management at least"
Al consulted his comlink. "You'd better do a lot better than that," he said. "According to Ziggy, the kid still dies and the world stilL." He dropped the instrument to his side as though it were distasteful, ".-you know what"
"But how?! How can I help? They don't trust me at all," Abandoning all attempts to keep Al's presence secret, Sam spoke directly, to the Ghostbusters appearing as though he were addressing the empty air.
Egon's jaw tightened, again he pointed his PKE meter at Sam. It continued to flash and whir softly. He then pointed it in the direction of Sam's invisible co-conversant and the lights and sound abruptly died. "Still only Mr. Bauer's mid-level esper registering," he reported.
Zeddemore pursed his lips. "No one else?"
"No. I'm inclined to believe this Al is either a mental construct or...." He hesitated and it was Peter who finished the statement.
"Or a figment of Ray's imagination that Bauer is using to get over on us." He shifted his gaze from the blond to the window, where the snow could be seen falling more heavily than before. "He didn't lie about the snow storm; the rescue team is going to have a hard time finding us in this."
"And that boy isn't going to last another couple of hours," Al added sadly. "Shame." He wandered the cabin for some minutes, pausing to glare occasionally at Peter or Winston as he passed them. "Sam, if we don't think of something soon it's going to be too late. Try lying to them."
Sam glared, then twitched his shoulders, the best he could manage in the way of a shrug with his hands tied behind his back. "My name really isn't Harry Bauer," he began, trying out a smile. "It's Beckett -- Sam Beckett."
"I said lie," Al moaned, throwing up his hands in disgust. "Boy scouts...." The rest degenerated into an unintelligible muttering that Sam studiously ignored.
Spengler stood, his face impassive, and approached Sam to study him thoroughly. "Very good try," he said. "Obviously, you recognized who we were... or is it only who I am?" He twitched a blond brow in Sam's direction. "As a scientist, I would, of course, be aware of Dr. Samuel Beckett, the Nobel Prize winning physicist." He leaned casually against the edge of the small dinette and folded his arm across his sling. "You would have no way of knowing that I'm acquainted with Dr. Beckett personally and know for a fact that you're not he."
Sam shut his eyes, the very picture of dispirited frustration. "I'm here working on a top secret government project...." he said, trying another route.
"Save it." Zeddemore's hoarse baritone cut through Sam's explanation brusquely. "I don't need to hear anything from some low-life scum that cooks drugs for school kids." He snorted. "Government project cooking up ice. Right."
"Do you want Ray to die?!" Sam shot back. He froze as three harsh glared turned on him.
Zeddemore made to take a furious step in his direction, then remained where he was, his jaw tight. "We don't need anything from you," was all he said, turning his back.
"Aagh." Al continued to pace, his circuit ending by Ray's bedside. The journey from the plane had been hard on the young occultist, his face had taken on a grayish tint, his consciousness coming and going sporadically. Al regarded him soberly for a full minute before speaking again. "If we can't convince them soon, it's going to be too late - and not only too late for them. Ziggy's probability quotient on this planet taking a nosedive in the next two years is holding steady at 96.6 per cent, and now he's talking about something called PKE build-up, whatever that means."
"I'm willing to listen to suggestions," Sam snapped.
Peter rolled his eyes. "You might as well cut that out, too; an insanity plea isn't going to cut it with the Federal judges."
"Any more than it is with us," Winston added, staring out the window.
Al continued standing beside Ray's cot, head bent, chewing thoughtfully on yet another of the noxious cigars he favored. He finally looked up, a hopeful light in his eye. "I got an idea Sam," he said excitedly. "Maybe Stantz is the key!"
"How do you figure that?"
Al waved his cigar. "Maybe we can get him to convince his pals that we're on the level. After all, if he can hear and see me, maybe he can see you -- the real you, I mean -- through Bauer's disgustingly rotten aura."
Sam brightened. "It's worth a try! See if you can...."
Winston left his place at the window to position himself solidly between Sam and his comrades. "Whatever it is you're planning, you can forget it" He scowled, and placed his hands on his hips. "I lost a kid brother to your kind once," he stated in a matter-of-fact voice at serious odds with his expression. "And let me make one thing clear for you." He crouched until he could regard Sam eye-to-eye. "These guys are important to me --as important to me as LeRoy ever was. If I see, hear or even suspect that you're planning anything to hurt any one of them -- especially Ray," he emphasized, "then I'll kill you."
Sam flinched, his belief clear in his eyes. "I don't want to hurt him," he stated quietly. "I wouldn't."
Winston rose from his crouch but did not remove his gaze from the bound man. "Not much you can do to convince me of that," he said in a more conversational tone. "Some people are so evil you can feel it pour off them in waves.'* He tapped Sam on the chest and added, "And you're one of them, Mr. Drug Dealer." He wandered off, leaving Sam to draw a deep breath and slump in his seat.
"Don't worry, Sam," Al said, returning to his friend's side. "I'll try to contact the kid."
"His name," Sam chided wearily, "is Ray."
Al tossed his head. "I'll try to contact Ray. Maybe he'll listen."
"If he's able," Sam muttered.
Al smiled gaily and strolled off, passing through Peter and taking up a stance at Ray's bedside. "Psst. Hey, kid... uh, Ray, can you hear me?" Ray's lashes fluttered, and Al hailed him again, louder. "Yo, Dr. Stantz! Rise and shine, babe."
The brown eyes opened again. "Who...?"
"It's okay, son." Al bent closer to the rough cot, forcing a smile of his own. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help."
"He's... here to help," Ray dutifully reported.
"Who is?" Egon demanded, immediately on guard.
Ray licked his lips. "Him... from before. He's here to... help."
Peter placed a protective arm across Ray's chest and swung his particle rifle in a 90-degree arc. It passed through Al's thigh, affecting the ex- astronaut not at all. "Help who?" was his sullen if nervous response.
"Help you, ya nozzle!" Al snapped back, ignoring the weapon completely.
Ray's lips twitched at that. "Who... are you?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly. "Why... the world...?"
Al stooped by the bedside, ignoring both Peter's nervous glare and the PKE meter Egon waved around in ever increasing arcs. "My name is Al Calavicci. I came to help you out of this jam you're in."
"Cala-?"
"Calavicci," Al supplied. "Don't try and pronounce it, it's not all that important. Just call me Al."
Ray shook his head. "Calavicci," he repeated weakly. "Know you... and... him." He raised one hand toward the motionless form of Bauer/Beckett, his brow furrowed in the effort at recall. "Can't remember...."
"Ray," Sam called in sudden inspiration. "Describe me to your friends."
Stantz turned his head and, after a moment. Peter moved aside, giving him an unoccluded view of the prisoner. Ray squinted his eyes in concentration. "You're... Peter's age," he said .at last. "Brown hair with a... white streak. Al is wearing... silver."
"My age?" Peter turned on Sam with a start "But..?"
"Calavicci!" Winston's triumphant yelp startled both men. "Of course -- Admiral Albert Calavicci! That's who he's trying for."
"The astronaut?" Egon asked, patent disbelief on his face. "What would an astronaut ... an invisible astronaut be doing in the woods of New Hampshire with a drug dealer that may or may not be a Nobel Prize winning physicist? And why can Ray see him when we can*t?"
"Because he's dying," Sam spoke up, evidently having decided to plunge in with both feet. "We found that only certain people can see Al when he's in this form -- kids, the mentally deficient and the . dying."
"And Ray qualifies on all counts," Peter quipped, but there was no trace of humor in the look he turned on his youngest colleague.
Ray smiled up at him, the very picture of trust "Don't worry. Peter," he said encouragingly. "I'll be... fine. Really. Don't... don't worry about me."
Peter lifted his shoulder in a casual gesture. "Who says I'm worried?" he retorted. "I'm just getting a bit tired of you bleeding all over my hand is all."
Sam, however, treated the statement seriously. "I really am a surgeon involved in a top secret government project" Winston sniffed his disdain at that, but Sam rushed on. "Your friend needs my help if he's going to survive until you're rescued," he urged, practically jumping with excitement "And Al -- Admiral Calavicci - is here because I need help convincing you of that fact." He met each man's eyes, the new doubt touching the dissimilar faces. "How can I convince you that I really am what I say?"
"We're willing to listen to your side," Egon stated fairly. "Starting with why your appearance is different for Ray than it is to us."
"You mean you ... don't see him... like I do?" Ray asked, gazing blearily from Peter to Sam to Al, who was pacing agitatedly.
"They can't see me at all," the Admiral said, flashing him a grin. "And after I bought a new suit and all."
"Why... can't they... see you?" Ray asked, innocently unaware of his companions' sharp looks turned in his direction.
Al, however, was not unaware. "You want to field that one first, Sam? Another minute and Venkman is going to go for his blaster again."
"Why can't we see Admiral Calavicci?" Egon asked, stopping Peter, who was doing exactly that, with a gesture.
Sam shifted in his chair until he could address the blond physicist directly. "Al is present only as a neurological hologram, a visible - to me -- construct of my own mental perceptions of him induced by para-telepathic contact."
Peter looked interested at that. "Why did Ray describe you differently than we're seeing you?"
Sam took a deep breath. "What you're seeing is an illusion -- the form of the man who originally inhabited this time line. We've theorized that the replaced person's physical aura is being projected through me via engram stimulation...."
"Energized psions?" Peter guessed. "Artificially enhancing your own latent esper abilities as an originating source?"
Sam nodded eagerly. "Yes, exactly."
Al stopped his pacing to stare at the brown haired man, impressed. "Well, well, well, looks like Doctor Venkman earned his Ph.d. after all. That's a real snarker, ain't it, Sam?" Beckett wisely refrained from answering that, despite the little chuckle Ray managed. Then the occultist's eyes closed again, and he lay quiet.
Egon's sky blue eyes pierced Sam in a single sweeping look, then turned to Peter, neither doubt nor acceptance visible in his expression. "What do you think. Peter? Do you believe him?"
Peter spared his friend a worried look and bit his lip. "Not for a minute," he answered, shaking his head. "At a guess I'd say we're dealing with a projecting telepath with a possible MPD. Multiple Personality Disorder," he explained to Winston's questioning look. "He may actually believe he's Calavicci and Beckett"
He turned back to Sam, his brows drawn together in a frown. "But we may not have any choice but to use him," he said quietly. "Ray isn't going to last much longer like this." He lifted the hand that had been steadily supplying pressure on the wound for the last thirty-five minutes. His fingers were red stained and he wiggled them carefully, wincing when the muscles cramped on him in return. "He's not bleeding as fast outside," he said, staring helplessly at Egon, "but I think he's still bleeding inside. His stomach feels...."
Winston sighed. "If only we could be sure that you're really telling the truth about being able to help," he stated, fatigue dragging his shoulders into a slump. "I've lost too many of my friends to drug dealers like Bauer." He ran a hand across his face, then knuckled his red eyes. "I'm not going to risk Ray's life to one of them."
"He's a goner any way," Al snapped angrily. His annoyed expression transmuted into apology when Ray opened his eyes and stared at him, dismayed.
"I'm really going to - die?" the younger man asked in a small voice. "I knew... but Peter said...."
Al ducked his head. "Aww, , kid, I didn't mean to say that. If your friends let Sam take care of you, you'll be good as new."
"And... if not..?" Ray persisted, his voice growing weaker by the second.
Peter cast Beckett a glare, then replaced his palm on Ray's side. "Don't listen to him, Ray," he said firmly. "You will be fine, I promise." His glare became a suspicious frown. "A functional telepath would have the ability to mentally coerce us into going along with him, believing him -- even against our better judgment." He looked down at Ray, then settled again on Sam's face, his expression more thoughtful. "And an accomplished telepath would have no problem at all in projecting a full delusion into a sick or weakened man's mind."
"Just what I was saying all along, brothers," Zeddemore interjected, all doubt vanishing from his face. "You can't trust anyone associated with this game. Everyone of 'em'll slash your throat as fast as look at you."
"But without help," Peter went on, perversely changing sides, "Ray's going to... not do too well."
"I wish these nozzles would make up their minds," Al complained, again sticking his head through the wall to check the weather. "It's kind of like watching a tennis match -- from the ball's point of view. Snowing harder, too," he added, reentering the room.
"There is one way we can be sure." Spengler's rumble captured the attention of his fellows. "Well, theoretically, anyway. We could use the ecto- visors."
Zeddemore frowned. "How are they going to help us? Sure, they let us see beings from other dimensions, but these guys... guy." he corrected himself firmly, "is claiming that he's human, just in disguise. "
"It's the energized psion angle, isn't it?" Peter asked excitedly.
Egon nodded. "The visors work because they can filter certain ecto- radiation spectra into perceptible images. If I set the polarization to block energized psions, we should -- and I repeat, should -- get a clear view of the real man beneath the illusion."
"Provided that is an illusion," Winston pointed out harshly.
Peter considered this, his lips a thin white line. "I don't see that it matters much," he remarked, wrapping his fingers around Ray's throat at the pulse point. "We either let Mr. Bauer or Beckett or whatever his name is work on Ray or we get help immediately." He didn't mention the third possibility, that of doing nothing at all, a sure death certificate for Stantz.
Winston sighed. "I'm going to try to walk out of here," he stated flatly. "There's no sense holding off about it. If I can reach a road or town...."
"We're fifteen miles from the nearest highway," Sam informed him, "and I don't know which direction. You'd have trouble finding it in the snow anyway."
Winston swung on him. "At least Ray'll have a chance," he spat, hatred brightening his eyes.
"He'll have a chance if this guy really is a doctor," Peter returned, flaring up himself. "And I'm not going to let anyone cheat Ray out of any chance there is of making it out of here."
"This pusher will kill him personally!" Winston snapped back. "Then he'll have no chance at all!" He and Peter stared at each other, each taking the other's measure, their shoulders tense, fists clenched. The air crackled with tension, both street-tough men willing to enforce their stand physically if necessary. Neither flinched from the impending possibility of combat, friendship fleeing before the winner's prize: saving the life of their youngest friend. Winston bared his teeth. "I'm not going to let some drug pusher...."
"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Egon roared, silencing them both through the sheer unexpectedness of his intervention. He stepped between the two, turning his back on a smoldering Venkman to address Winston first. "We may not have a choice," he began in a reasonable tone. "Time is growing critical, and with the storm blowing harder maybe Dr.... uh, Bauer is Ray's best chance at the moment But-" He raised a hand, forestalling the black man*s protest before it could be uttered. "I'll collect the ecto-visors first, give him an opportunity to prove his claim. If they don't substantiate what Dr. Bauer is saying, then we'll keep him tied up and think things through again. With the plane only across the rise, we won't lose more than a quarter of an hour or so in making the attempt. Fair?"
Zeddemore subsided, chewing his thumbnail. "Fair," he admitted. "But I'm the one that's going back to the plane, not you." He hefted his proton rifle to chin level. "Naggaoth is still out there and I'm sure he'd love the opportunity to catch one of us alone. With a broken wrist, you'd be a sitting duck in an attack."
"What about you?" the blond protested. "You'll be facing a Class 8 nether- lord without back-up. Perhaps the both of us...."
"Uh-unh, no way you're gonna leave Peter and Ray here unguarded." Zeddemore rose decidedly. "I can handle Naggaoth. You just make sure you're alert if he decides to stage another attack here, understand?"
Spengler nodded and settled himself more comfortably in his chair, his broken wrist in his lap, his thrower braced against his knee. "Don't forget to bring back some traps. We can't hold Naggaoth without them."
"Hang tough, m'man," Peter added, tossing him a sloppy salute.
Winston smiled. "Always do, brother," he said, heading for the door. "I always do."
***
Sam risked a quick look at the gathered men, forcibly keeping his voice so low that only Al's neurologically enhanced contact could hear him at all. "Careful. I don*t know what those rifles are, but they might be able to hurt even you."
"Don't worry, Sam," the other returned evenly. "I'm on it -- got an instant cutoff switch wired into the handlink. Ziggy can terminate all contact before the first one of them can flick a switch." He strolled through the wall, returning after a couple of seconds. "Snow, eh? That storm you predicted hit right on schedule. Bet that gave 'cm something to think about."
Sam nodded, but his face was still creased with worry. "Even with the snow storm they're not going to let me help. Their friend is going to die while I sit here tied up like a wild animal."
"It's worse than that." Al pulled another of his ever-present cigars from his coat pocket and stuck it into his mouth, then searched vainly through each of his pockets, "Hey, Sam, got a match?" Sam had actually made an attempt to comply before this request sank in. He glared. ''Ooops, sorry. I forgot" Al smiled apologetically and seated himself on something outside of Sam's view, his smile fading away as though it'd never been. "About that bad news, Sam...."
Beckett tensed as Al lifted the flashing computer link and studied its glowing display with far more soberness than he'd hitherto displayed. "According to Ziggy, there may be some serious ramifications for us to deal with if this Stantz dies."
"Ramifications?" Sam repeated, giving his bonds a final tug.
"Yeah." The Admiral crossed his ankles comfortably but there was no lessening of the tension in his silver-clad shoulders. "According to the newspapers, the Ghostbusters broke up about a month after the kid's funeral. Spengler joined some uncle of his in a bio lab in Cleveland and Venkman took a teaching job in Princeton. Can't find Zeddemore yet, but we think he rejoined his father in the construction business. We're still checking."
"So they broke up," Sam breathed, eying his friend puzzledly. "How does that affect us?"
Al chewed his cigar for a full minute before sighing and rising to pace the room. "Either Ziggy's being real mysterious, again," he began, "or he really doesn't know. But..."
"But?" Sam prodded.
"But" Al took up a stance directly in front of the puzzled and now thoroughly alarmed quantum physicist, staring at him grimly. "All Ziggy can tell us is that, two years from now -- uh, my now... the present -- our present, that is - if there is no Ghostbusters team..." He paused. "The world ends."
Sam blinked. "The... the what?
Calavicci nodded. "You heard me right, Sam. The world ends. How or why..." He shrugged. "Whatever, Ziggy doesn't know, only that there's a..." He consulted his instrument again. "...94.6 per cent chance that no one survives the year 1998 if these guys disband."
"Oh, my gosh!" The soft voice and weak exclamation belonged to Ray Stantz. Both Sam and Al swung, startled, in his direction. "The end of... the world? Really?"
Peter roused himself from his contemplation of the ruined radio to pat the younger man's arm with his free hand. "Take it easy, Ray," he soothed, exchanging a look with Spengler, who was seated in a hard-backed chair near the stove. "Are you in pain?" He grimaced. "Sorry. Stupid question."
Ray ignored it, his fingers seeking and wrapping around Peter's wrist in return. "He said... world... end without our help," he said, between shallow breaths. "He said... we're going to break up... that you're... After I'm... dead."
Peter shifted a green-eyed glare at Sam. "Oh, is that what he said?" he purred dangerously.
"Uh-oh," Al muttered, raising his comlink again. "Maybe I should...."
"No. No, please!" Stantz raised his head, fixing Al with a pleading look. "Don't go. Tell me... what you... meant"
Peter again released the pressure on Ray's side to unclip his particle rifle, aiming it at Sam. "Get rid of your 'friend,'" he growled, powering up. Ray stopped him with a frantic gesture. "D-don't, Pete," he begged between harsh breaths. "I... he was saying...."
Venkman's jaw tightened; he freed his wrist gently but held his fire. "Is it this Al again?"
Ray nodded. "Yes. He said... the end...." His head dropped weakly back to the mattress, and he shut his eyes again. "The end... of the... world."
Spengler turned his PKE meter in Sam's direction. It chattered busily to itself for some seconds, then he redirected it, following Ray's line of sight The noise dropped to a nearly inaudible level. "Whatever it is," he reported, "its originating source is Mr. Bauer." He cocked a blond brow at Peter. "Projecting telepath?" he guessed,
Peter shrugged. "Ray?" He shook the young occultist gently. "Ray, we need you a minute, kid. Open your eyes." Stantz stirred, but he obeyed Peter's prompt and cracked his eyes open. "Good boy." Venkman smiled, though with his lips only. "Can you still see Al?" But Al Calavicci was behind Peter now. Ray shook his head, sighed again and closed his eyes.
Venkman wrapped his fingers around Ray's wrist. "He's alive," he reported. "And... cold. I think he's getting worse."
"Put a pillow under his knees," Sam ordered in his best I'm-the-medical- expert voice. "That'll help his blood management at least"
Al consulted his comlink. "You'd better do a lot better than that," he said. "According to Ziggy, the kid still dies and the world stilL." He dropped the instrument to his side as though it were distasteful, ".-you know what"
"But how?! How can I help? They don't trust me at all," Abandoning all attempts to keep Al's presence secret, Sam spoke directly, to the Ghostbusters appearing as though he were addressing the empty air.
Egon's jaw tightened, again he pointed his PKE meter at Sam. It continued to flash and whir softly. He then pointed it in the direction of Sam's invisible co-conversant and the lights and sound abruptly died. "Still only Mr. Bauer's mid-level esper registering," he reported.
Zeddemore pursed his lips. "No one else?"
"No. I'm inclined to believe this Al is either a mental construct or...." He hesitated and it was Peter who finished the statement.
"Or a figment of Ray's imagination that Bauer is using to get over on us." He shifted his gaze from the blond to the window, where the snow could be seen falling more heavily than before. "He didn't lie about the snow storm; the rescue team is going to have a hard time finding us in this."
"And that boy isn't going to last another couple of hours," Al added sadly. "Shame." He wandered the cabin for some minutes, pausing to glare occasionally at Peter or Winston as he passed them. "Sam, if we don't think of something soon it's going to be too late. Try lying to them."
Sam glared, then twitched his shoulders, the best he could manage in the way of a shrug with his hands tied behind his back. "My name really isn't Harry Bauer," he began, trying out a smile. "It's Beckett -- Sam Beckett."
"I said lie," Al moaned, throwing up his hands in disgust. "Boy scouts...." The rest degenerated into an unintelligible muttering that Sam studiously ignored.
Spengler stood, his face impassive, and approached Sam to study him thoroughly. "Very good try," he said. "Obviously, you recognized who we were... or is it only who I am?" He twitched a blond brow in Sam's direction. "As a scientist, I would, of course, be aware of Dr. Samuel Beckett, the Nobel Prize winning physicist." He leaned casually against the edge of the small dinette and folded his arm across his sling. "You would have no way of knowing that I'm acquainted with Dr. Beckett personally and know for a fact that you're not he."
Sam shut his eyes, the very picture of dispirited frustration. "I'm here working on a top secret government project...." he said, trying another route.
"Save it." Zeddemore's hoarse baritone cut through Sam's explanation brusquely. "I don't need to hear anything from some low-life scum that cooks drugs for school kids." He snorted. "Government project cooking up ice. Right."
"Do you want Ray to die?!" Sam shot back. He froze as three harsh glared turned on him.
Zeddemore made to take a furious step in his direction, then remained where he was, his jaw tight. "We don't need anything from you," was all he said, turning his back.
"Aagh." Al continued to pace, his circuit ending by Ray's bedside. The journey from the plane had been hard on the young occultist, his face had taken on a grayish tint, his consciousness coming and going sporadically. Al regarded him soberly for a full minute before speaking again. "If we can't convince them soon, it's going to be too late - and not only too late for them. Ziggy's probability quotient on this planet taking a nosedive in the next two years is holding steady at 96.6 per cent, and now he's talking about something called PKE build-up, whatever that means."
"I'm willing to listen to suggestions," Sam snapped.
Peter rolled his eyes. "You might as well cut that out, too; an insanity plea isn't going to cut it with the Federal judges."
"Any more than it is with us," Winston added, staring out the window.
Al continued standing beside Ray's cot, head bent, chewing thoughtfully on yet another of the noxious cigars he favored. He finally looked up, a hopeful light in his eye. "I got an idea Sam," he said excitedly. "Maybe Stantz is the key!"
"How do you figure that?"
Al waved his cigar. "Maybe we can get him to convince his pals that we're on the level. After all, if he can hear and see me, maybe he can see you -- the real you, I mean -- through Bauer's disgustingly rotten aura."
Sam brightened. "It's worth a try! See if you can...."
Winston left his place at the window to position himself solidly between Sam and his comrades. "Whatever it is you're planning, you can forget it" He scowled, and placed his hands on his hips. "I lost a kid brother to your kind once," he stated in a matter-of-fact voice at serious odds with his expression. "And let me make one thing clear for you." He crouched until he could regard Sam eye-to-eye. "These guys are important to me --as important to me as LeRoy ever was. If I see, hear or even suspect that you're planning anything to hurt any one of them -- especially Ray," he emphasized, "then I'll kill you."
Sam flinched, his belief clear in his eyes. "I don't want to hurt him," he stated quietly. "I wouldn't."
Winston rose from his crouch but did not remove his gaze from the bound man. "Not much you can do to convince me of that," he said in a more conversational tone. "Some people are so evil you can feel it pour off them in waves.'* He tapped Sam on the chest and added, "And you're one of them, Mr. Drug Dealer." He wandered off, leaving Sam to draw a deep breath and slump in his seat.
"Don't worry, Sam," Al said, returning to his friend's side. "I'll try to contact the kid."
"His name," Sam chided wearily, "is Ray."
Al tossed his head. "I'll try to contact Ray. Maybe he'll listen."
"If he's able," Sam muttered.
Al smiled gaily and strolled off, passing through Peter and taking up a stance at Ray's bedside. "Psst. Hey, kid... uh, Ray, can you hear me?" Ray's lashes fluttered, and Al hailed him again, louder. "Yo, Dr. Stantz! Rise and shine, babe."
The brown eyes opened again. "Who...?"
"It's okay, son." Al bent closer to the rough cot, forcing a smile of his own. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help."
"He's... here to help," Ray dutifully reported.
"Who is?" Egon demanded, immediately on guard.
Ray licked his lips. "Him... from before. He's here to... help."
Peter placed a protective arm across Ray's chest and swung his particle rifle in a 90-degree arc. It passed through Al's thigh, affecting the ex- astronaut not at all. "Help who?" was his sullen if nervous response.
"Help you, ya nozzle!" Al snapped back, ignoring the weapon completely.
Ray's lips twitched at that. "Who... are you?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly. "Why... the world...?"
Al stooped by the bedside, ignoring both Peter's nervous glare and the PKE meter Egon waved around in ever increasing arcs. "My name is Al Calavicci. I came to help you out of this jam you're in."
"Cala-?"
"Calavicci," Al supplied. "Don't try and pronounce it, it's not all that important. Just call me Al."
Ray shook his head. "Calavicci," he repeated weakly. "Know you... and... him." He raised one hand toward the motionless form of Bauer/Beckett, his brow furrowed in the effort at recall. "Can't remember...."
"Ray," Sam called in sudden inspiration. "Describe me to your friends."
Stantz turned his head and, after a moment. Peter moved aside, giving him an unoccluded view of the prisoner. Ray squinted his eyes in concentration. "You're... Peter's age," he said .at last. "Brown hair with a... white streak. Al is wearing... silver."
"My age?" Peter turned on Sam with a start "But..?"
"Calavicci!" Winston's triumphant yelp startled both men. "Of course -- Admiral Albert Calavicci! That's who he's trying for."
"The astronaut?" Egon asked, patent disbelief on his face. "What would an astronaut ... an invisible astronaut be doing in the woods of New Hampshire with a drug dealer that may or may not be a Nobel Prize winning physicist? And why can Ray see him when we can*t?"
"Because he's dying," Sam spoke up, evidently having decided to plunge in with both feet. "We found that only certain people can see Al when he's in this form -- kids, the mentally deficient and the . dying."
"And Ray qualifies on all counts," Peter quipped, but there was no trace of humor in the look he turned on his youngest colleague.
Ray smiled up at him, the very picture of trust "Don't worry. Peter," he said encouragingly. "I'll be... fine. Really. Don't... don't worry about me."
Peter lifted his shoulder in a casual gesture. "Who says I'm worried?" he retorted. "I'm just getting a bit tired of you bleeding all over my hand is all."
Sam, however, treated the statement seriously. "I really am a surgeon involved in a top secret government project" Winston sniffed his disdain at that, but Sam rushed on. "Your friend needs my help if he's going to survive until you're rescued," he urged, practically jumping with excitement "And Al -- Admiral Calavicci - is here because I need help convincing you of that fact." He met each man's eyes, the new doubt touching the dissimilar faces. "How can I convince you that I really am what I say?"
"We're willing to listen to your side," Egon stated fairly. "Starting with why your appearance is different for Ray than it is to us."
"You mean you ... don't see him... like I do?" Ray asked, gazing blearily from Peter to Sam to Al, who was pacing agitatedly.
"They can't see me at all," the Admiral said, flashing him a grin. "And after I bought a new suit and all."
"Why... can't they... see you?" Ray asked, innocently unaware of his companions' sharp looks turned in his direction.
Al, however, was not unaware. "You want to field that one first, Sam? Another minute and Venkman is going to go for his blaster again."
"Why can't we see Admiral Calavicci?" Egon asked, stopping Peter, who was doing exactly that, with a gesture.
Sam shifted in his chair until he could address the blond physicist directly. "Al is present only as a neurological hologram, a visible - to me -- construct of my own mental perceptions of him induced by para-telepathic contact."
Peter looked interested at that. "Why did Ray describe you differently than we're seeing you?"
Sam took a deep breath. "What you're seeing is an illusion -- the form of the man who originally inhabited this time line. We've theorized that the replaced person's physical aura is being projected through me via engram stimulation...."
"Energized psions?" Peter guessed. "Artificially enhancing your own latent esper abilities as an originating source?"
Sam nodded eagerly. "Yes, exactly."
Al stopped his pacing to stare at the brown haired man, impressed. "Well, well, well, looks like Doctor Venkman earned his Ph.d. after all. That's a real snarker, ain't it, Sam?" Beckett wisely refrained from answering that, despite the little chuckle Ray managed. Then the occultist's eyes closed again, and he lay quiet.
Egon's sky blue eyes pierced Sam in a single sweeping look, then turned to Peter, neither doubt nor acceptance visible in his expression. "What do you think. Peter? Do you believe him?"
Peter spared his friend a worried look and bit his lip. "Not for a minute," he answered, shaking his head. "At a guess I'd say we're dealing with a projecting telepath with a possible MPD. Multiple Personality Disorder," he explained to Winston's questioning look. "He may actually believe he's Calavicci and Beckett"
He turned back to Sam, his brows drawn together in a frown. "But we may not have any choice but to use him," he said quietly. "Ray isn't going to last much longer like this." He lifted the hand that had been steadily supplying pressure on the wound for the last thirty-five minutes. His fingers were red stained and he wiggled them carefully, wincing when the muscles cramped on him in return. "He's not bleeding as fast outside," he said, staring helplessly at Egon, "but I think he's still bleeding inside. His stomach feels...."
Winston sighed. "If only we could be sure that you're really telling the truth about being able to help," he stated, fatigue dragging his shoulders into a slump. "I've lost too many of my friends to drug dealers like Bauer." He ran a hand across his face, then knuckled his red eyes. "I'm not going to risk Ray's life to one of them."
"He's a goner any way," Al snapped angrily. His annoyed expression transmuted into apology when Ray opened his eyes and stared at him, dismayed.
"I'm really going to - die?" the younger man asked in a small voice. "I knew... but Peter said...."
Al ducked his head. "Aww, , kid, I didn't mean to say that. If your friends let Sam take care of you, you'll be good as new."
"And... if not..?" Ray persisted, his voice growing weaker by the second.
Peter cast Beckett a glare, then replaced his palm on Ray's side. "Don't listen to him, Ray," he said firmly. "You will be fine, I promise." His glare became a suspicious frown. "A functional telepath would have the ability to mentally coerce us into going along with him, believing him -- even against our better judgment." He looked down at Ray, then settled again on Sam's face, his expression more thoughtful. "And an accomplished telepath would have no problem at all in projecting a full delusion into a sick or weakened man's mind."
"Just what I was saying all along, brothers," Zeddemore interjected, all doubt vanishing from his face. "You can't trust anyone associated with this game. Everyone of 'em'll slash your throat as fast as look at you."
"But without help," Peter went on, perversely changing sides, "Ray's going to... not do too well."
"I wish these nozzles would make up their minds," Al complained, again sticking his head through the wall to check the weather. "It's kind of like watching a tennis match -- from the ball's point of view. Snowing harder, too," he added, reentering the room.
"There is one way we can be sure." Spengler's rumble captured the attention of his fellows. "Well, theoretically, anyway. We could use the ecto- visors."
Zeddemore frowned. "How are they going to help us? Sure, they let us see beings from other dimensions, but these guys... guy." he corrected himself firmly, "is claiming that he's human, just in disguise. "
"It's the energized psion angle, isn't it?" Peter asked excitedly.
Egon nodded. "The visors work because they can filter certain ecto- radiation spectra into perceptible images. If I set the polarization to block energized psions, we should -- and I repeat, should -- get a clear view of the real man beneath the illusion."
"Provided that is an illusion," Winston pointed out harshly.
Peter considered this, his lips a thin white line. "I don't see that it matters much," he remarked, wrapping his fingers around Ray's throat at the pulse point. "We either let Mr. Bauer or Beckett or whatever his name is work on Ray or we get help immediately." He didn't mention the third possibility, that of doing nothing at all, a sure death certificate for Stantz.
Winston sighed. "I'm going to try to walk out of here," he stated flatly. "There's no sense holding off about it. If I can reach a road or town...."
"We're fifteen miles from the nearest highway," Sam informed him, "and I don't know which direction. You'd have trouble finding it in the snow anyway."
Winston swung on him. "At least Ray'll have a chance," he spat, hatred brightening his eyes.
"He'll have a chance if this guy really is a doctor," Peter returned, flaring up himself. "And I'm not going to let anyone cheat Ray out of any chance there is of making it out of here."
"This pusher will kill him personally!" Winston snapped back. "Then he'll have no chance at all!" He and Peter stared at each other, each taking the other's measure, their shoulders tense, fists clenched. The air crackled with tension, both street-tough men willing to enforce their stand physically if necessary. Neither flinched from the impending possibility of combat, friendship fleeing before the winner's prize: saving the life of their youngest friend. Winston bared his teeth. "I'm not going to let some drug pusher...."
"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Egon roared, silencing them both through the sheer unexpectedness of his intervention. He stepped between the two, turning his back on a smoldering Venkman to address Winston first. "We may not have a choice," he began in a reasonable tone. "Time is growing critical, and with the storm blowing harder maybe Dr.... uh, Bauer is Ray's best chance at the moment But-" He raised a hand, forestalling the black man*s protest before it could be uttered. "I'll collect the ecto-visors first, give him an opportunity to prove his claim. If they don't substantiate what Dr. Bauer is saying, then we'll keep him tied up and think things through again. With the plane only across the rise, we won't lose more than a quarter of an hour or so in making the attempt. Fair?"
Zeddemore subsided, chewing his thumbnail. "Fair," he admitted. "But I'm the one that's going back to the plane, not you." He hefted his proton rifle to chin level. "Naggaoth is still out there and I'm sure he'd love the opportunity to catch one of us alone. With a broken wrist, you'd be a sitting duck in an attack."
"What about you?" the blond protested. "You'll be facing a Class 8 nether- lord without back-up. Perhaps the both of us...."
"Uh-unh, no way you're gonna leave Peter and Ray here unguarded." Zeddemore rose decidedly. "I can handle Naggaoth. You just make sure you're alert if he decides to stage another attack here, understand?"
Spengler nodded and settled himself more comfortably in his chair, his broken wrist in his lap, his thrower braced against his knee. "Don't forget to bring back some traps. We can't hold Naggaoth without them."
"Hang tough, m'man," Peter added, tossing him a sloppy salute.
Winston smiled. "Always do, brother," he said, heading for the door. "I always do."
***