December 25, 1997

It was Christmas again.

The fourth since I first entered that wormhole in Quinn Mallory's basement, and my second in this world.

It was good to spend it with people I knew in my own right.

I was at the Mallory home of this dimension, of course.

We had more guests, though.

One of them was the fifth slider native to this world, the Air Force Captain Maggie Beckett.

Our other guest was the Air Force Colonel Angus Rickman, who was the military liaison attached to the project at Yerba Buena.

We sat down in the dining room, with turkey and stuffing and some hors d'ouerves and some red wine. A Christmas tree was in the corner. I did of course talk about some of my experiences sliding with my Quinn. Rickman spoke of his experiences, beginning with his service as a young second lieutenant during the Vietnam War (which happened more or less the same in my world). Beckett also talked about her first experiences as a slider.

"The worst part was quarantine," she said. "I had to stay in this hospital for two weeks, looked over by doctors. I did make suggestions on making conditions more comfortable. It shouldn't be like Air Force boot camp."

"Or the Marines," said Rickman. "I remember doing Platoon Leaders Class for the Marine Corps way back in 1970. I barely failed. I suppose I'm glad I found a place good old United States Air Force."

We talked some more, and chatted. I said something technical about transdimensional residue from the old sliding generator that this world's Quinn built.

I dared not tell her that we were trying to find a way to find her son. I couldn't get her hopes up just yet; there were still a few holes we had to plug before we could even try.

That night, I heard from Marc LeBeau in a dream.

He told me that my Quinn spent Christmas with his alternate self and family in San Francisco.