Chapter Ten by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

"Hey, Al?" Carlie asked after a moment, relishing in her uncle's hold on her, "If time travel's possible - then how come someone doesn't go back for you? Stop the guy who shot you, you know?"

Hearing her question, Al sighed softly. "Because leaping is dangerous. You could get yourself killed. At the very least, you might not be able to come back to the present if you don't have a working Retrieval Program." He hesitated. "And because if someone were to go back in time, it would likely be Sam and I don't want him bouncing around in the past again."

Carlie pulled away a bit, not out of spite but just contemplation. She thought about the scenarios that might be possible to fix Al's life. Turning to look at him properly, she bore into his eyes with her gaze. She was serious. "But you could walk again."

"I could I suppose. But sometimes..." He thought about his words carefully before continuing. "Sometimes things happen for a good reason, even supposedly bad things. I'm not sure our relationship would be the same if I could walk. I'm not sure I would be the same. Hell, I know I wouldn't be the same."

Carlie moved to sit in Al's wheelchair. "Well, maybe not. I like you this way, anyway. Besides, I get to borrow this." She tested the wheels on the chair, grinning at him.

Al laughed at her sitting in his chair. "Borrow is the key word, there, bambina. Just remember that I need that to wow your socks off on a daily basis."

"Pff, fine," she huffed, "I'm tired anyway. That vicodin is wowing my socks off at the moment." She stood up, awkwardly balancing on her good leg, and leaned down to kiss her uncle's cheek. "Goodnight - Uncle Al."

Al smiled lovingly up at her. "Night, Carlie. Thanks for distracting me. I'm feeling better already. Get some rest. I'll see you in the morning." When she left the room, Al sighed softly. He didn't want to admit how the pains that had forced Sam to be his elevator were becoming more and more common every day. Rubbing his face, he then sat up and started to change out of his clothes, stopping only when he heard the knock on the open door. Raising his eyes, he smiled. "Tucking me in?" he teased his friend. When he saw the concerned look, he frowned. "What's the matter?"

For a moment, Sam didn't know what to say. How could he possibly answer in a way that wouldn't make the man suspicious? He decided. "Just - making sure everything was okay with you before hitting the sack."

Al sighed and shook his head. "When are you going to realize that I can read you like a book, Sam Beckett. Spill it. I can take it."

"I heard you two talking. I won't even begin to lecture you on how telling her about the project could compromise our work," he began, taking a breath, "But she was right."

"Right about what?" Al questioned as he pulled on his pajama top.

"You wouldn't have to dress on the bed anymore," Sam said quietly, "or transfer into a wheelchair just to get to work. You wouldn't have to rely on catheters and bowel programs - God only knows how much you hate even the thought. You don't deserve this, Al."

Al had to admit that the programs weren't his favorite thing in this world that he'd been living in for the past three years. But there were good things that came from his condition. "I wouldn't be the same man, Sam," he told his friend bluntly. "Being forced to cope with being paralyzed has humbled me but it has also made me a stronger person." He took a deep breath and exhaled. "Right now, the only thing I want is for you to accept me as Carlie has. It's taken her less than six months. Why is it that three years have passed and you haven't even taken babysteps towards accepting me as I am?"

"I refuse to accept that I was a part of why you are the way you are, okay?" Sam fairly yelled, "I can't. I won't."

"You had nothing to do with it," Al retaliated. "How many times do I have to tell you? I chose to take the bullet. Me. You didn't push me in the way. I stepped in the way." He exhaled hard. "What am I doing? I might as well be talking to a brick wall, for all the good I'm doing." But as he finished his sentence, he sucked in air and closed his eyes tightly, his body suddenly tense.

"Look, I'm sorry for eavesdropping," Sam said, seeing that Al probably wasn't in the mood to talk, "I'll let you get some rest. We can talk more in the morning. Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah... whatever..." Al told him through gritted teeth before gasping. "Oh, god!" he exclaimed in a low but clearly agonized voice.

With an exasperated sigh, Sam marched over to the Admiral's side. He scanned the various bottled of medication sitting on the bedside table and grabbed a couple of which he knew would help. "You should take these and stop being stubborn. Baclofen and Gabapentin. Here." He held out the bottles for Al, "I'll get you some water."

Al reached out and grabbed Sam's arm before he could leave his side. "I've... already taken both of them today..." he gasped at the pain and then looked at Sam with frightened eyes. "Sam, it's never been this bad before. Something's... something's wrong."

The agony that Al was in tore at Sam's heart. Choking back emotion, he gently took Al's hand. The last time he ever even touched the Admiral, he couldn't even remember. Three years ago. Or otherwise a brush in passing.

"I don't know what it could be, Al. SCIs are kinda complicated. It could be muscle spasms, it could nerves acting up. I'd have to examine you. And I know how you hate doctors."

"I've learned to put up with them," Al told him in a whisper, trying hard not to speak too loudly for fear of waking Carlie. The tears were beginning to show again and Al berated himself for his weakness.

Swallowing a lump that formed in his throat, Sam nodded. "Can you turn over onto your stomach? Let me take a look, okay?"

Al nodded briefly, carefully getting into the desired position. "Right now, Carlie's vicodin is looking awfully tempting."

Sam ignored his comment and proceeded to pull up the back of Al's nightshirt. Sam had never seen the scar before. His hands trembled slightly at the sight. It looked like a large dimple, far lighter than the rest of Al's olive complexion. He touched it gently.

"There's plenty more on my back than that, Sam," Al growled, closing his eyes, trying his hardest to block the growing pain. "Please, just get this over with and knock me unconscious."

Logically, the site of the bullet entry would be where the line of Al's paralysis was. So Sam tested the area carefully, gently applying pressure around the spine just above the scar, moving his fingers until he got a painful reaction from the Admiral. It was above the wound, about a half an inch.

Sam bit his lip and lowered the nightshirt, telling him he could turn over again. "Well, you should get rest. I think that's the only thing you can do right now. The Gabapentin would help with the pain. Even if you took it today, I'm allowing you to take another dose. I do have a medical doctorate, after all."

"Sounds fantastic to me," Al told him, getting into a seated position again. He swallowed tightly. "Drug me to the gills, Doc. I don't care if I sleep into the afternoon tomorrow."

The good doctor provided the medication and the water for Al, who took it without a second thought. He then said goodnight and went into the living room to sleep.

Al slept peacefully the whole night through, and most of the morning. It wasn't until noon when he got a phone call, which he gladly ignored.

But the phone rang again. Twice.

Al groaned at the insistent ringing, his hand batting at his nightstand in search of the phone. Finding it, he yanked the receiver from its cradle and put it against his ear, his head still firmly on his pillow. "Calavicci," he muttered into the mouthpiece.

"Admiral! We've been trying to get a hold of you all morning," Gooshie practically bellowed into the phone, frantic.

Al pulled the phone from his ear when it was assaulted by Gooshie's screaming. He winced for a moment at the headache that was building before putting the earpiece back against his ear. "Gooshie..." he sighed. "What's so important that you have to scream in my ear?"

"I think it's best you come to the project, Admiral. Anything I have to say can't be discussed on the phone." Gooshie was nervous. And while that might have been a natural character trait for the small programmer, the fact that it was so prominent in his voice was reason enough for anyone to worry.

It was Gooshie's nervous tone that really got Al's attention. He forced himself onto his back. "What's the matter, Goosh?" he asked with concern.

The nerve-wracked programmer took a shaky breath, trusting that all project staff phone lines were, in fact, secure. "The accelerator's been fired, sir."

If there was one thing that could bring Al completely out of a drug-induced sleep, the news that the Accelerator Chamber had been used was it. "Sam," Al said with complete assurance. "Damn it, he tricked me." He exhaled. "I'll be there within the hour."

"Yes, sir," came the short reply before Al hung up. From the living room, Carlie heard her uncle talk on the phone.

"Who was that?" She called out, nestled into Al's overstuffed arm chair with her laptop computer.

"The last person I need to hear from at this particular moment," Al called back to her, hanging up the phone and sitting up. Transferring to his wheelchair, he collected his robe, slipped it on, and wheeled into the living room. Gathering his keys and wallet, he looked towards Carlie and considered for a moment what to tell her. "Hon, I need to go to work. It's an emergency. I'm not sure how long I'll be and..."

"And you're going in your PJs?" She asked, an eyebrow raised in skepticism at his attire. She shrugged, having been known to wear pink bunny slippers to the grocery story on occasion anyway. "Where's the boy scout, anyway? Did he go back home? Not that I mind..."

"He went and did the most stupid thing he could ever do... AGAIN!" Al growled. "I can't believe this. It's 1989 all over again." Getting a confused look from Carlie, he made his decision concerning her. "Grab a couple of days worth of clothes and anything you want to keep yourself entertained. You're coming with me."

"What?" She exclaimed, but Al's expression told her not to argue. "This is serious, isn't it?" She stood and grabbed her crutches.

Al nodded, his face somber. "Hurry up. We don't have a lot of time."

"Okay, okay, yeesh." She hobbled as fast as she could, stuffing clothes into her backpack with her computer. They were off on the road in less than ten minutes. When they entered the project, avoiding security flak due to Al's authority, Carlie was in awe.

"Holy shit, you weren't kidding!" She said, hobbling along next to her uncle.

"Well, I figured since I told you about it anyway, it wouldn't hurt to have you staying here with me rather than have me drive back and forth and only give you a couple of hours, if you're luck, of my time." He gestured a guard over to him. "Please escort Miss Amorello to my quarters, Corporal." He looked at her pointedly, an unspoken warning in his eyes before he gave her a little smile. "I'll see you later. Hopefully this isn't as disastrous as my insides are telling me."

Unsure but willing to be obedient, Carlie nodded and said, "Okay, Al. See you later. And try not to give yourself a stroke or anything, okay? I still need a guardian for at least three years."

Al waited until Carlie was well on her way before wheeling to the elevator and going down to the Control Room. What he saw was a sight he wished he didn't ever have to see again. The Control Room was bustling with activity. An ensign brought him a cup of hot coffee without his asking for it, apparently having been informed of Al's preferences from the 'good old days' of Quantum Leap. Al tasted the coffee and grimaced slightly. No one could make a decent cup of coffee in this complex, it seemed to him.

"Gooshie," Al called out. "Talk to me."

The control room had been given an enormous face lift after the explosion. Everything was more in a chromatic tone rather than juju bee rainbows. Subtle and smoother, sleeker. Ziggy's control panel was even designed to be lower - just for the Admiral. Gooshie was working frantically over the console when Al came in and demanded an explanation.

Gooshie swallowed. "Admiral. Dr. Beckett leaped." It was quite possibly the dumbest thing he could have said, but his panic of the situation didn't help him to be very articulate.

"No shinola! Who else would be stupid enough to use that damned thing without a test run?" Al commented, drinking the coffee again before deciding that maybe coffee wasn't the best idea at the moment. Gesturing the ensign who gave it to him over, he handed it back, indicating that he should take it away. "Got anything that I don't already know?" he asked as he returned his attention to the nervous programmer.

Taking another breath, Gooshie pressed several buttons on the multitouch screen console. There was an image coming in of where Sam landed, with a scrolling list of information on the side of the screen. "He's landed. 1984. A man named David Sheldon and - oh, dear..."

"Oh, dear, what?" Al demanded. It IS 8 years ago again. Terrific.

Gooshie looked up from the screen to the Admiral. "It should be right up your alley, sir. The man he leaped into is a paraplegic."

"Well, at least I won't have to look up to look into Sam's eyes," Al teased, trying to find a silver lining in the situation. "Handlink?" Receiving the small device from Gooshie, Al looked at it for a long moment, deja vu coming over him. Tucking the handlink under his leg, he pushed himself towards the Imaging Chamber door. "Okay. Start her up."

When Sam leaped into his new host, he was in an awkward position. Well, maybe not awkward rather than really uncomfortable. A woman was watching him intently, leaning on the wall of what seemed like a stripped examination room. The wheelchair Sam was in didn't make him feel better. It was no hospital issued scrap metal - it was a sleek, aerodynamic tool. With suspension. It was permanent.

"Well?" asked the woman, "Does it feel alright to you?"

Sam panicked for a moment before nodding, "Y-Yeah. Fine." At that moment, the imaging chamber door opened.

Sam had a million questions for the observer, a lot of which revolved around why he, too, was in a wheelchair. Nervously, he looked to the woman and asked, "Could I be alone for a minute? I want - to - you know, test it out."

The woman smiled. "Sure. I'll be outside." Once she was gone, Sam stood up quickly from the chair.

"Al! What the hell is going on? What . . . what . . ." he couldn't seem to find the word, but kept indicating the chair the admiral was sitting in.

Al raised his eyebrow at Sam's demand, seeing the confused look on his face. "It's a wheelchair, Sam. For people like me and David, it's a means of transportation from one end of the room to the other."

"People like . . . Al, what the hell happened to you?" There was a strain in Sam's voice that the doctor didn't expect. The question itself was incredulous and so full of confusion and concern.

Al frowned at Sam's words, thinking on them before he exhaled slowly. "You mean you don't remember," he stated more than asked. "Sam... what's the last thing you DO remember?"

Sam paced a bit, thinking really hard. He scratched at his head, looking down at the floor. "I don't know. I can't even remember my last leap. . . Wait. You were shot."

"Your last leap..." Al murmured under his breath to Sam's words. He took a breath and exhaled loudly. "Do you remember... coming home?"

"Home? No," Sam nearly cried, "I came home? And I can't remember. I remember you were shot . . . by Leon Stiles. But I thought you were okay..."

Al's eyes widened. "Stiles! Aww, shit!" He ran his hand over his face. "This isn't happening. It isn't."

"Al, please," Sam pleaded desperately, kneeling before his holographic friend, "Tell me what's going on?"

Al opened his mouth to answer but then closed it again and looked away. How could he tell his best friend that he'd just lost three years of memories? That he'd come home and had only now gone into the Accelerator again on some damned fool mission? The only thing he could do was tell a truth. "Stiles didn't do this to me, Sam. Someone else did."

Despite the change in offender, it still tore at Sam's heart. There were tears in his eyes, and frustration clenched his jaw, "Who? God, it doesn't matter, does it?" He moved away from the Admiral, turned away from him and facing the wall. "I help so many people, and I can't help my best friend. It's so unfair."

Al watched his friend move away, listened to his words. Why can't Sam just accept things as they are? Why did he had to be a perpetual Boy Scout? "I don't think it's unfair, Sam. I deliberately took a bullet to save a good man. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I wish you stop beating yourself up over it."

There was a knock at the door, and the woman on the other side said, "Is everything alright in there?" Again, Sam had the feeling of alarm creep into his brain. He looked at Al, and panicked.

"Sit in the chair and tell her everything's fine," Al instructed. When Sam didn't move right away, Al pressed the point harder. "David Sheldon is a paraplegic, Sam. If the therapist sees you walking around on thin air, she's going to freak. Now, just go along and follow my lead until we can get somewhere more private."

Reluctantly, Sam did as he was told, just in time. The woman came in the moment his rear was in the seat. She smiled. "Alright, David, I guess all the adjustments are made. You can take it home today. We'll recycle your old chair."

"O-Okay," stammered Sam, again feeling very uncomfortable with the chair he was using.

"I'll call you later this week to see how things are with it. And don't be afraid to call me if you have any problems alright?" She led him out the door, letting Sam push himself through the lobby of the clinic and out the automatic doors. "See you soon!"

Outside, Sam was totally lost. Did he drive? Did he take other transportation, or did he just - wheel - everywhere. The clinic was in an outdoor strip mall, so anywhere besides right in front of it was good enough for now. He rolled down the sidewalk and stopped.

"I don't feel right about this," he said.

Al followed him down the sidewalk, stopping when he did. "About what, Sam? About using a wheelchair? This isn't the first time you've leaped into a paraplegic, you know."

"I remember," Sam snapped. He stopped, brows furrowed, "I think. Al, I don't know. I just don't know. Ten minutes, and I already don't like this leap."

Al's frustration that had started literally the moment he woke up came to a head at Sam's comment. "Well, then you shouldn't have gotten into the damned Accelerator in the first place!" he told him harshly.

At first, Sam didn't understand. The harshness of Al's words stunned him into silence. He was hurt, probably far deeper than he understood. "I'm - sorry. I didn't want us to get shut down. You know that, Al. Right?"

Al exhaled slowly, forcing himself to remember that, to Sam, he'd never stopped leaping. He'd never come home. "I know," he whispered, not looking at the physicist. "I know that, Sam. I'm sorry. It's just..." He laughed sickly. "It's been a hell of a day."

"Why am I here, Al?" Sam finally asked, "Let's just get this over with, okay?"

Al nodded slightly at his questions. "Right," he murmured. Raising the handlink, he hit a couple of buttons and frowned. The frown turned into a growl and he hit the side of it with frustration. "Three years and you couldn't make this thing work properly?" he complained without realizing his words.

A sinking feeling intruded Sam's insides. He felt himself grow stiff and cold as a painful realization finally dawned on him. "Three years," he whispered, "What do you mean - three years? I was . . . I was home. For three years?"

"Umm..." Al started, choosing to focus on the handlink. "Your car is a blue Chevy Malibu convertible, converted so that David can drive it. It's..."

Distracted for the moment, Sam nodded. Then he inwardly groaned. "Oh, boy - Al. Converted meaning hand controls to drive it?"

"Yeah. So?" Al questioned with a raised eyebrow. "I'll show you how to drive it."

Sam looked at Al suspiciously. "How long have you been - like that?"

"Umm... a while."

Taking a breath, Sam looked for the vehicle in question. Getting into was a whole different story, which Al had to walk him through. Driving it took getting used to, but once they arrived at Sheldon's apartment, Sam let out a huge sigh of relief.

He tossed the keys onto a small table near the door. The moment the door closed, Sam leapt up and stretched. "That is the most uncomfortable thing I've ever sat in..."

"Really," Al said with a frown. "Well, at least you can feel it under your legs."

Sam turned. "You can't feel?"

"Sure I can. From the base of my spine up," Al told him, looking around the apartment. "Nice place. Roomy. Hasn't been converted yet, though. Wonder if he's going to or if he's just planning on moving elsewhere."

Getting back to the leap at hand, Sam looked around too. "How long have I - has Sheldon - been paralyzed?"

Al raised the handlink and pushed a few buttons. "About six months. Must have been the easiest patient in the world for his therapists to get his own chair so soon. I was a pain in the butt."

Trying to ignore Al was like trying to ignore a Mack Truck headon collision. "Al, this is too weird. I leap into this guy, and then I see you in that thing. It doesn't make sense. It's too coincidental. I mean, what could I possibly be here for? I can't help Sheldon get over this disability if I AM him. Only he can do that..." Then a thought occurred to him. He looked at Al, "You can."

Al leaned back in his chair. "And what makes you think that you're here to help David 'get over' his disability? You talk about it as if it were a plague or something, not an adjustment to a different way of life."

Sam's face twisted in confusion. He went over to the couch and fell into it.

Sam's face twisted in confusion. He went over to the couch and fell into it. "Why can't I remember?" He said, mostly to himself, "If it's not for him to get over his disability, then what? Have you asked Ziggy yet?"

Al exhaled slowly, raising the handlink again. "She says that you're here..." His eyebrow went up at what he was reading. "You're here to get your head on straight?" To Sam's startled expression, Al shrugged. "Her choice of words, Sam, not mine."

"What the heck does that mean?" The confused Beckett was just turning question marks over in his head by the dozens, "Get my head on straight? As in me? Sam?"

"As in you, Sam Beckett, quantum physicist and terminally gorgeous Boy Scout." Getting another look from Sam, Al lowered his eyelids. "Hey, I'm not the one who programmed her."

"This is great. Just great," Sam was about to get up to pace again, but something stopped him. No emotional inference, just something physical. He let out a breath of frustration. "I don't get it. If I'm not here to help David Sheldon then . . . " He tried to get up again, but didn't budge, "What the hell...?"

"What's the matter?" Al asked, looking at him with concern.

"I'm stuck." Sam said, absolutely confused beyond comprehension. He looked at Al, hoping that his friend would have an answer for him.

Al raised his eyebrows and looked at the handlink, trying to find out what exactly was going on. What he got, however, sent a chill down his spine. "Uh... Sam? Try moving your legs," he suggested. When nothing happened and he saw the growing panic in Sam's eyes, he sighed. "That's what I thought."

"Oh, my god. Don't tell me that I'm . . ." Sam was through being in control, cordial and polite. "Are you telling me that I'm . . . What the hell? What's He thinking! GodFateTime . . . This is one huge, cruel, sick joke!"

"A cruel sick joke?" Al questioned, his eyes growing dark from Sam's words. "Is that what you think about my condition?" He was quiet for a moment. "You know what? I think that He's teaching you a lesson, Sam."

"A lesson?" Sam asked, hurt. He shook his head. "For what? I know about paraplegia. I'm a medical doctor. What kind of lesson?" He looked at Al this time, really looked at him and asked quietly, again, "What kind of lesson?"

Al hesitated only a moment to think of the right words to use. "A lesson in respect." Getting a confused look from Sam, Al continued. "That bullet that I took? I took it to save your life, Sam. And ever since I became paralyzed, you've belittled my sacrifice every time we've been even near each other. You haven't been treating me fairly, Sam. Not for a very long time." Seeing the hurt in his friend's eyes, it hurt more to continue but he knew he had to. "In your eyes I either didn't exist or I was incapable of helping myself. You avoided being near me as if paralysis was a deadly contagious disease." He exhaled. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"No. No, I refuse to believe that," Sam pleaded, "I would never do that to you. I couldn't. How could I? You're - you're my best friend, Al. My god, how . . ." He swallowed, still having to face his predicament from getting off the couch. "If I'm merging with Sheldon . . . then I have to figure out how to get off this couch first."

"Well, in this case, you fall off the couch, Sam," Al told him plainly, getting a shocked look from him. "You left the wheelchair by the front door. You're going to have to crawl over to it to get into it."

Sam's jaw hit the floor. "Al. I'm not sure about this. Are you comfortable with it? I can't even begin to imagine how you feel."

"What I feel... is sorry for you, Sam," he told his friend gently. "This isn't going to be easy for you and that's what hurts me."

Moving as best as he could, which wasn't all to much, Sam managed to pull himself to the edge of the couch and fall to the floor. More like crumple to the floor. His legs, which he couldn't feel at that moment, twisted underneath him. He saw Al watching him, and knife pierced his heart for reasons he couldn't explain. He was breathing heavily.

"What now?" He panted.

"You need to straighten your legs behind you and then use your arms to crawl over to the chair," Al told him softly before he closed his eyes. He couldn't watch his friend struggle like that. Al was used to having to do whatever it took to get something done, even if it meant a little bit of humiliation. Sam wasn't.

It was hard. For both of them. Sam did as he was instructed, taking his time to get across the floor to the chair he had so quickly vacated. From his position, it suddenly looked huge and ominous. Again, under the guidance of his friend, Sam managed - after several tries - to get into the wheelchair. Once he was in, he straightened himself out and leaned over his knees.

"My god, I never knew - it was so hard." Sam panted. It felt like the most rigorous exercise he'd ever undertaken in his life, and all he did was crawl across the floor to sit in a chair.

"Builds a strong upper body," Al told him with a hint of a smile. "It gets easier over time."

Sam wiped the sweat from his brow, rubbing his temples. It was so frustrating just to be there. He couldn't move without the chair now. Then a thought occurred to him. "Oh, my god," Sam said, horrified.

"What is it, Sam?" Al asked gently.

Sam gave Al a look of absolute terror. "I think . . . I have to go to the bathroom."

Al couldn't help it. He started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked, panicked.

"You crawl across the floor, fight to get into a wheelchair... and you're worried about going to the bathroom?"

Sam let out a heavy breath, looking at Al seriously. "Okay. I get it. I know how it works. You can come back when I'm done, alright?"

Seeing the offended look on Sam's face, Al raised his hand in truce. "I'm sorry. You're right. This is a really serious issue." He forced himself not to laugh at the look on Sam's face. "There are two options. You can either slide your trousers off and transfer onto a toilet or you can use a..."

Again, Sam gave Al a hard look. "I got it. Maybe you should take this time to go check on Carlie." Sam straightened, confused. "Who's Carlie?"

Al looked at Sam with a smile. "She's my niece. And you're right. I should check on her. But I just want to make sure that you can handle yourself alone for a little while." Getting a glare from Sam, Al raised a hand. "Hey, this is your first time, Sam. Even I needed help my first time... you know..."

"I think I can handle it. Or at the very least, figure it out. I'll be careful. Really." Sam nodded. "Go on. I won't be going very far for a while."

Al gave him a little nod. "Okay." He raised the handlink and inputted the exit sequence. Dropping the handlink in his lap, he gave Sam a little smile. "I'll be back in ten minutes to see how you handled it."

"Great." Sam said without enthusiasm, and watched the observer leave through the bright imaging chamber door.

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