Chapter 18

A very angry Admiral Albert Calavicci - retired - entered the room. "What the hell are you doing in Sam's office, Jack?"

Ziggy spoke up. "I convinced the Captain to enter, Admiral."

"It was the only way to get your attention off of the hocus pocus, apparently," Jack said, lying to cover up the note in his pocket. "You're so concerned about your superstitious nature that you didn't even stop and consider that maybe the person you call your best friend actually needs you."

"I've always been there for Sam. Nothing will change that, Jack." Al looked up to Ziggy. "What's this all about, you bucket of bolts? You know I don't allow anyone in this office. I don't care what harebrained scheme you have up your circuit boards."

"The Captain's presence in the office was necessary to gain your attention, Admiral, as Captain Harkness explained. There is a letter in your office from Dr. Beckett."

"Sam left me a letter? When? Before he leapt? Why?"

"He mailed the letter in the year 1986," Ziggy stated bluntly.

"Which time? He's been back there at least a half dozen times."

"My father's exact instructions were to inform you of this letter once he met the Doctor."

"Oh," Al said. "So you're saying he just mailed it." Taking a breath, he asked, "So where is this letter, Ziggy?"

"In your Naval Academy yearbook, Admiral. Page 27 to be exact."

Jack grinned slightly. "Boys in uniform. My kind of book."

Ziggy dryly added, "That's good to know. Never know when finding a gift you'd like would come in handy."

"Planning on bribing me some day?" the Captain returned, his grin broadening.

"With a book? Oh, Captain, if I were to bribe you, I'd use something other than that. There's so much data to choose from."

"I just bet there is, darling."

Al's eyes narrowed. "Would you two stop it! I swear, Jack. The fact you'd flirt with Ziggy just boggles my mind." He then stated to the computer, "And, Ziggy, you don't bite the hand that feeds you. Literally."

"Why would I bite the Captain's hand? That is, unless he wanted me to, which I would have to calculate the possibility as being high. However, given that I do not have a mouth to bite with..."

Al cut her off. "Stop it!"

Jack smiled. "You're no fun."

Al looked at his boss. "That's enough, Jack." He paused. "If Sam wanted me to know about this letter, don't you think that should be the top priority?"

Jack nodded his agreement. "You're right. As pleasant as this conversation was, we're getting a little sidetracked."

The two left the office, locking the door behind them. A few minutes later, they were in Al's office. The Admiral went to his yearbook and pulled out an envelope which was still sealed and addressed to him. There were instructions written on that envelope that stated, "Al, do not to open this until I am with the Doctor and the 'ghosts' are trying to talk to us. And don't get all freaked out." There was also a small note written below that instruction, written in a different color ink. Jack's lips turned up as he read it over Al's shoulder, "'Thanks, Al, for everything. Sam.'"

Al examined the envelope closely, looking at the unmistakable writing that showed the letter was, in fact, from Sam. His eyes filled as he read the note on the outside. "How?" he questioned, his voice gravelly with emotion as he pushed the tears away. Before the inquiry could be answered, he added, "When?"

Ziggy's voice entered the room. "It was delivered to Dr. Beckett in 1999 during the time he was back at the project."

Al's voice cracked. "Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?"

Ziggy continued. "This leap began as no other. I felt it was wise to wait until I was absolutely sure the Captain was not an unknown factor and that you would be open to the contents of the letter, seeing as you do not trust the Doctor."

"Why should I trust him? This guy is a bigger whack job than... Moe Stein!"

Jack pointed a finger at Al and vehemently claimed, "The Doctor is not a whack job."

"That's what you say. I still have my doubts."

"I believe Captain Harkness' assessment of the Doctor is correct, Admiral," Ziggy stated firmly.

"Et tu, Brute?" Al said, looking up to the ceiling.

Jack pointed to the envelope. "How about we just open the letter and see what Dr. Beckett has to say to you?"

Al frowned but then nodded. "Yeah." He took a letter opener off his desk and slid it down the top of the old yellowed envelope. Pulling a single sheet of paper covered with Sam's handwriting, he scanned it. "I don't believe this."

"What does it say?"

"Sam says I have to come back into the Imaging Chamber... that somehow, the mental field created when I'm with the two of them allows the ghosts to speak."

"Well, then, I think you should go back in," Jack replied. Seeing Al's hesitation, he paused. "What else does it say?"

"Jack, didn't you hear me? If I go in there, the ghosts are going to speak. Ghosts! Ghosts mean afterlife, no matter what Sam and the Doctor say. I'm not going in there without protection."

Jack shook his head slightly, amazed by the older man's irrational behavior. "Albert... there are no such things as ghosts." He reached out a hand. "Let me read it." He scanned the letter when the older man handed to him. 'Al, if you are reading this, then you have met the Doctor and are aware of our current situation. I know you're not especially happy with this man but you need to know I believe him and I need you to believe me. In this time, you've just left the Imaging Chamber out of concern about the house being haunted. The Doctor has assured me that this is not the case, that the ghosts we have been encountering are not spirits. And apparently, we are unable to communicate with them without your presence. The Doctor says that there is a telepathic field that asserts itself when you are with us, and it is this mental field that allows the "ghosts" to communicate through the psychic paper. The Doctor also believes that whatever the "ghosts" want to tell us, it is related directly to "Godzilla in the cellar," which the Doctor has identified as a Dragon. This is a matter of life and death, Al. Go back into the Imaging Chamber immediately. Trust me. Sam.'

Upon finishing the letter, Jack looked up at Al with cold eyes. "You're going back in."

"I'll go back in, but I'm getting a few things first," said Al with equal firmness.

"Huh? What the hell could you possibly need? You have the handlink."

"I'm not going in there without protection."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "What kind of protection do you need? You're a freaking hologram!"

"Just because I'm a hologram to Sam and the others doesn't mean I'll be a hologram to Godzilla and his merry ghosts."

Realizing he wouldn't change his partner's mind, Jack gave in. "Fine, make it quick. Maybe you don't realize just how dangerous it is that this Dragon back there is entering 1986. Personally, the end of the world isn't something I want to see again anytime soon. Once was quite enough." He could still see in his mind the sight of the Earth after the Daleks had wiped out three-fourths of the population before being miraculously defeated. The last thing he had known before seeing the decimated Earth was that he himself had been killed by the Daleks and the Doctor had abandoned him on Gamestation. It wasn't a memory he particularly enjoyed.

Al narrowed his eyes before going back to his apartment. Within five minutes, he was back at the Control Room with a string of garlic around his neck and bulging pockets showing that he was carrying other paraphernalia designed to ward off any supernatural effects.

Jack looked him over carefully, amusement in his eyes despite his attempts to be firm. "Who are you supposed to be? Peter Vincent, the Great Vampire Killer?"

Al reached into his pocket, pulling out a mirror and a stake. "I'm ready for that if need be, yes."

Jack rolled his eyes. "How are you going to kill a hologram, Sherlock?" He shook his head again. "Just... get in there before I tell Beth on you."

"Shows what you know. Beth helped me get all this together."

"Probably under duress," Jack muttered, watching the Admiral walk up the ramp to the Imaging Chamber door.

Al ignored Jack's cut and turned to Gooshie. "Fire her up." He grabbed the handlink and marched into the Imaging Chamber, his hand firmly gripping a crucifix.

DWQLTWDWQLTW

The Doctor and Sam located a postbox on the other side of a local park, across the street from the inn. The letter had been dropped in the post and... nothing happened.

"It was supposed to be instantaneous," the Doctor commented, looking at the mail drop as if it were personally responsible for things not happening as expected. "Are you sure you gave the proper instructions on that?"

Sam also gazed at the mail drop trying to figure out why this wasn't working as planned. "I don't get it. Based on what I wrote, we shouldn't even be at this juncture right now."

"In other words, it isn't working and you haven't the foggiest idea why," the Doctor translated.

Sam took a breath. "I don't understand why it wouldn't. It did last time."

The Time Lord didn't say a word as he quickly turned and walked from the mailbox, his overcoat trailing behind him like a cape. The expression on his face left no doubts that he wasn't happy.

Sam walked quickly to catch up, a little run in his step. "There's got to be a reason why Al's not here." He stopped suddenly, a thought coming to the fore and worrying him greatly. "Unless, he's not there anymore..."

The words caused the Gallifreyan to slow down in his step before turning towards Sam. He took a deep breath. "You're right. There must be a reason. Probably that the annoying little man is too afraid of ghosts." When Sam glared at him, he waved him off. "But until we find the real reason, we must act on the fact that we are currently in the dark. That means returning to the house and preparing for a battle of great odds. And, unfortunately, I don't recall having a Vorpal sword in the TARDIS."

"Um... what exactly is a Vorpal sword... and does it really go 'snicker-snack?'"

A slight grin crossed the Time Lord's features as he started walking again. Sensing Sam hurrying to catch up to him once more, he started. "A Vorpal sword, Samuel, is exactly what it sounds like. It's a sword but it isn't made of steel and iron. It's a highly energetic blue energy mitomic." He paused, thinking. "And yes, you could say it makes that sound although I'd say it's more like zicccccer-snnnnatck."

"Mitomic? What's that?" the human asked, confusion on his face. Before the Doctor could answer, he also made a request, "And please don't call me Samuel."

The Gallifreyan stopped in his walk, looking at Sam with questioning. "What's wrong with Samuel? It's a marvelous, traditional, Biblical name. I know quite a few brilliant lads named Samuel... Samuel Clemens, Samuel Houston, Samuel Adams..."

"Samual Adams? The guy who made the beer?"

The Time Lord gave him a confused look. "No! The 18th century American statesman. One of the signers of the Declaration of Independence." His face grew a broad grin. "I dumped tea with him at the Boston Tea Party," he stated with obvious pride.

"You were at the Boston Tea Party?" the physicist asked wide eyed. "I always thought that would be a really cool time to observe but it was outside my lifetime."

"Well, we could visit it if you want but we'd have to watch from a distance. Not a good idea for me to be in two places at the same time - quite literally. What's wrong with being called Samuel, anyway?" he questioned, getting back the the issue they had started with.

"I just don't like it. My Aunt Tilly was the last person I tolerated calling me that."

"Oh," the Doctor stated quickly. "Sorry." He returned to his discussion about the weapon. "So... Sam... It takes a skilled swordsman to handle a Vorpal sword, especially against a Dragon. Their skin and scales are extremely tolerant against standard class energy weapons. Which means that in order to kill a Dragon, you have to get close to him and force the sword into his chest before activating the mitomic..."

"Like St. George."

The Doctor nodded slightly. "Right. Well... not quite. I don't think that George actually killed a real Dragon with a Vorpal sword." He paused again. "Although, he did handle a sword very well. Nearly even got the best of me." He started to walk again. "Anyway, you force the sword into the Dragon's chest and activate the mitomic..."

"Yeah, you said that before. What's a mitomic?"

"Are you going to interrupt me all the time?" the Doctor questioned, turning his head without stopping his forward momentum. "A Mitomic, Samu... Sam, is like a rotating laser only with multiple focused beams."

"That sounds, um, like a very efficient weapon."

"A little too efficient, if you ask me," the Doctor commented darkly. "Like the Gatling gun, it was supposed to be such a horrifying weapon that it would end all wars for the people who created it. Instead, all it has done was make killing more efficient."

"Yeah," Sam commented, his mind returning suddenly to the time he'd found himself in the American Civil War, seeing and living the horror of death around him. "Killing should never be so efficient."

"Unfortunately, a Vorpal sword is the best way to kill a Dragon. They're a very resilient race. Human projectile weapons won't be able to stop Krazan for long. Bit hard to take down an intelligent flying creature with extreme maneuverability. At least not unless you somehow found a way to clip his wings. Which also means that, in order to defeat him, we need to keep him in a confined area. That will be the key because once he's taken flight even a British battalion would have problems confining him."

"Then how about an American battalion?" Sam questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"Hold on!" the Doctor suddenly exclaimed, ignoring Sam's patriotic outburst. "Tsch, tsch, tsch, tsch..."

"What?" the leaper asked, head tilted.

"Lewis Carroll wrote about the Jabberwock, which we've already agreed was really a Dragon. But he also wrote about the Vorpal sword. That means there had to have been one on Earth! And it may still be here!" His face dropped. "And we're in Chicago. Carroll lived his entire life in England. Oh, we're screwed!" the Time Lord bemoaned.

Sam's face had brightened slightly as the Doctor had seemed to have developed a plan only to have his visage drop as the Gallifreyan pointed out the geographic difficulties. "You can say that again. Couldn't get there and back fast enough, not to mention where the hell in England a Vorpal sword would be hidden. I doubt it would be sitting out in plain sight."

"Even if we took the TARDIS, it would take several days scouring England to find it, assuming it was even there," the Doctor agreed, growing increasingly morose about the situation.

As they walked across the park towards the inn, the enormity of the situation suddenly hit Sam like a ton of bricks. He sat down heavily on a nearby park bench and sighed. "Can't we just build one?"

"Far too complicated," the Gallifreyan replied, stopping as he watched Sam sit. "I don't carry materials to build weapons and Earth materials are so primitive." He frowned for a moment, tilting his head. "What is that?" he finally asked. Dropping to his hands and knees, he peeked under the park bench.

"What are you doing?" asked Sam. "Do you have any idea how many pigeons have been under this bench? Not to mention dogs, ducks, squirrels... Yuck!"

"I've been in contact with much worse. After all, I did just taste Dragon's secretion only yesterday." Pausing, he reached under the bench, just under Sam's legs.

"Yeah. And we know just how brilliant that was. Besides, crawling around in the muck doesn't..." he started before noticing the alien's actions. "What are you doing?"

"Picking up this paper," he told him as he got back to his feet, said piece of paper in his hand. "I've seen this message before."

"What message?"

"Bad Wolf." He was staring at the words on the paper, wondering what it could mean this time. The last time, it was a message from Rose to herself to show her the way to save his life, which consequently led to him doing the same for her. Whatever the words meant, they couldn't be good. Was it somehow related to their current dilemma?

"Bad Wolf?"

"Yeah." He turned the paper so that Sam could see the words.

"I still don't see why you'd crawl under a park bench. It's just two words. Probably the name of a punk band or some..."

For a long moment, the Doctor didn't speak, his eyebrows rising as he noticed what was on the other side of the paper. Cutting the leaper's words off, he asked, "Do you believe in coincidences, Sam?"

"I guess coincidences happen. I mean, I think things sometimes happen for a reason and certainly, since starting to leap, I've had more than my fair share of..."

"Apparently, the Chicago Museum of Science and Technology is having an exhibition," the Doctor interrupted again. He folded the paper and tucked it into his coat pocket. "Care to join me for a museum tour?"

"The Earth is about to be destroyed by a creature we can't stop and you want to go museum hopping?"

"Quite educational," the Doctor told him with a grin. "There's always time to learn something."

The confused leaper wasn't sure why the Doctor had suddenly decided to go off on what appeared to be a totally bizarre tangent. However, one thing he'd learned since he'd met the alien was sometimes it was just better not to ask. "Hold on. I'm coming."