POWER STAR The Imagination Anthology ISSUE 78 SEPTEMBER 1994 Jerry Seward, Editor Emeritus Kimberly Murphy, Managing Editor Monica Rose Kiesel, Production Director Rob Murphy, Layout Editor Bob Nassal, e-mail "Postmaster" Bennet Pomerantz, News Columnist J. Calvin Smith, Manuscript Editor CONTRIBUTORS: Mary J. Rudy, Shirla Turman, Holly Wolverton IN THIS ISSUE: Murphy's Musings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .3 One woman's take on network programming and viewer power. POWER STAR Shareware Distributors. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .5 Got a modem? Check out these BBSs where POWER STAR and lots of other great stuff can be found. "An Exercise In Hope", By Mary J. Rudy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .7 Our latest "Time Warp Tales" offering finds CAPTAIN SCAR- LET AND THE MYSTERONS facing off over a World Navy exer- cise in this award-winning short story. "Bringin' On The Rain", By Shirla Turman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Sing along with this filksong based on an episode of QUANTUM LEAP. "We All Live In An Alien Nation", By Shirla Turman . . . . . . . . . . . 36 Get down and funky with this ALIEN NATION filksong. "Quantum Blues", By Shirla Turman. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 Sam Beckett's got the blues from all his QUANTUM LEAPing. "New Lives", By Kimberly Murphy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Two days before Cooper and Audrey's wedding, Cooper and Diane's atention is drawn away from TWIN PEAKS by a Spo- kane bank holdup in this complete-in-this-issue tale. Media Reviews, By Kimberly Murphy And Holly Wolverton. . . . . . . . . . 65 Reviews of THE SHADOW and the 60's Japanese kids' show ULTRA 7. Comm Panel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 The ratings are in . . . "Ye Olde Collectables And Trivia Shoppe", By Bennet Pomerantz. . . . . . 71 Bennet Pomerantz's nationally-renowned column on the latest in collectables. News . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 Catch up with Jerry, Kimberly, and Bennet. Back Issues Cross-Reference. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76 Check out the past issues with subject matter in this issue. Coming Next Time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84 . . . our annual salute to Halloween. Read all about it. POWER STAR is a monthly amateur fanzine devoted to science fiction, fantasy, and horror in all media and is published by Kim- berly Murphy and Jerry Seward. Seeking material--fiction and non- fiction, prose, poetry, and artwork--on all forms of fantastic me- dia. Comments are welcome. Submission guidelines are available upon request. Issues 1-23 are no longer available. Other issues are availa- ble upon request. Shareware copies (ASCII text only), starting with issue 71, are available on several BBSs nationwide, including the official BBS of POWER STAR, The Anne Arundel Information Exchange. On your modem, dial (410) 519-0822 (8-N-1, up to 2400 baud) or (410) 519- 0467 (8-N-1, 9600 baud) and join conference #7. Comments or sub- missions may be left in the conference. A complete up-to-date (as of publication date) list of BBSs carrying POWER STAR follows the Back Issues section of this issue. BBS SysOps interested in dis- tributing POWER STAR should contact Kimberly at either the post of- fice or e-mail address below. Issues and shareware registration cost $5.00 ($7.50 in Cana- da/Mexico; $10.00 for other foreign countries) in U.S. funds. Dis- counts are available for volume purchases. Make check or money or- der payable to Kimberly Murphy. Address all correspondence to Kimberly Murphy: Regular mail: 9740-E Covered Wagon Dr./Laurel, MD 20723-1512 USA/(301) 490-3706 Primary e-mail: kamurphy@aaie.com Additional e-mail stops: kimmurphy@aol.com or kimberly@ptbbs.com or kimberly@rushnet2.com or editor@freebbs.com or pwrstr@aol.com (Information requests, please enclose SASE.) * * * * * * * * Copyright 1994, Jerry Seward/Kimberly Murphy. POWER STAR is in no way meant to infringe the rights of holders of copyrights re- ferred to in this publication. All original stories and artwork are copyrighted to the authors. Murphy's Musings Commentary By Kimberly Murphy Recently, I was at NoVaCon II in McLean, VA, and was sitting on a panel discussing the Sci-Fi Channel. The panel's topic: "If you could program the Sci-Fi Channel for a day, what would you do?" My conclusion after the participants gave their suggestions was this: Get in touch with those in charge of SFC and you really can program the Sci-Fi Channel. That's really true of TV in general. Television is a medium driven by public reaction. If you don't believe viewers have pow- er, look at the fact that such shows as TWIN PEAKS, REMINGTON STEELE, and CAGNEY AND LACEY got extended runs due to fan reaction. STAR TREK itself survived another year directly due to a write-in campaign. It may seem as if the Nielsen numbers are the only thing that influence TV shows, but that really isn't true. Viewer reac- tion matters significantly more than you might think. Part of the new future for TV has to do with the internet. Several of the networks are online with major services like America Online and CompuServe; SFC alone monitors open forums in two plac- es, AOL (internet address: maxsfc@aol.com; keyword: SciFi Chan nel) and Prodigy. On AOL, at least, SFC viewers can communicate directly with SFC's programming department, and a lot of signifi cant things have happened on SFC because of viewer input. With the advent of near-instant feedback because of computer networks, view- ers have more power than ever. So, if you see something you like or something you don't like on TV, write the networks. Write or call your local cable company. Find out what online services have open forums monitored by network personnel and get involved in them. Then, we really can program the networks for more than just a day. -- Kimberly POWER STAR The Imagination Anthology Back Issues Pricing Policy: For all issues except The POWER STAR Yearbook and Issue 50: $5.00 per single issue, $9.00 for two issues, $12.50 for three issues, $25.00 for six issues, $40.00 for twelve issues. The POWER STAR Yearbook and Issue 50 are priced at: $15.00 each, or $25.00 for both issues. (Canada/Mexico, add $2.50 in U.S. funds per order; other overseas countries, add $5.00 per order.) POWER STAR Shareware Distributors ASCII text versions of POWER STAR are available on the BBSs listed below. These issues are "shareware"; they may be registered for a "final" finished paper copy for the same price as a regular issue. Discount registrations are also available. New issues are usually uploaded by the 10th of the month. Check out these boards! BBS Name Phone number 001 Science Fiction (POWER STAR Online Bulletin) (713) 778-0239 Abacus BBS (205) 393-6312 Access CoCo Of L.A. 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Leading the fight, one man fate has made inde- structible. His name: Captain Scarlet. . . . ] An Exercise In Hope A CAPTAIN SCARLET AND THE MYSTERONS Short Story By Mary J. Rudy [EDITOR'S NOTE: This story first appeared in POWER STAR Spe- cial `91. It is an "Americanized" version (updated with details for the American audience who may not be as familiar with CAPTAIN SCARLET) of a story which won the 1991 Fanderson fiction writing contest . . . KAM] Captain Scarlet checked the time again. He had arrived for his duty watch ahead of schedule in order to work on the New York TIMES Sunday crossword in peace. But it was nearly time to go on duty, and his partner still had not shown up. This was unlike Cap- tain Blue, he thought; often he was the early one. He tapped his pencil on the table top. The officers' lounge--that was where he had last seen him. Captain Scarlet displayed that particular room on the monitor before him. Sure enough, Captain Blue was still there, playing apparently the same game of chess with Captain Magenta. Captain Blue was a good player, almost as good as Captain Scarlet, and could usually defeat Captain Magenta with little trouble. But his opponent was giving him some stiff competition this time. Only a few pieces re- mained on the board, and Captain Scarlet magnified the chessboard on the display for a closer look. Amazing how such an ancient game could still hold interest in the twenty-first century, what with all the games that had been produced since. There was, to be sure, a very popular three-dimensional version of chess, but the original was liked just as well. No wonder Captain Blue was still playing the same game. He was clearly at a disadvantage; Captain Magenta could win with one simple move. Escaping checkmate was not impossible, but it would require both skill and luck, and there was no time for either. Captain Scarlet snapped on the two-way microphone. "Well, Captain Blue?" Without looking up, Captain Blue answered, "Well what?" "How are you going to get out of this spot?" "Right now, I'm going to wait for my move." Captain Scarlet smiled. Captain Magenta obviously had not seen his advantage. Since Captain Blue was due at his station, he thought it all right to help out a little. "In that case, Captain Magenta, I suggest you move your knight." Captain Magenta did as he was told, then blinked. "Check- mate!" he cried. "Thanks, Captain Scarlet!" "Hey, no fair!" Captain Blue looked up at the monitor. "Just because I beat you twice yesterday--" "Oh, let the kid win one for a change. Besides, you're due on watch." "Sorry about that." As Captain Blue rose from his chair, there was a faint crackle of static from the loudspeakers. Expect ing to hear next the stern voice of Colonel White reprimanding him for his lateness, Captain Blue was surprised by silence. Then, the voice they all dreaded to hear, the unnaturally deep tones coming as if from the grave, boomed over the P.A. system: "This is the voice of the Mysterons. We know that you can hear us, Earthmen. We will continue to wage our `war of nerves' with the citizens of the Earth. Our next act of retaliation will be to obliterate the hope of the world. We will be avenged!" Immediately after the unexpected message, Colonel White's voice was heard: "Cloudbase is now on yellow alert. Captain Scar- let, Captain Blue, report to the control room at once." "I think we've got us a tough one," said Captain Scarlet as Captain Blue headed for the door of the lounge. Captain Blue grinned. He remembered that Captain Scarlet had picked up a newspaper before leaving the lounge, and he had seen it on the monitor. The puzzle was gray and smeared from many pencil erasures. While Captain Scarlet was an expert at the British cryp- tic style of crossword puzzle, he was no match for Captain Blue as far as the American version was concerned. "Hardly. Couldn't be any more difficult than doing the TIMES puzzle in ink." "Very funny." Commander Robert Thomas was a black U.S. naval officer of av- erage of average looks and stature, but by no means was his mentality average. This was proven first at Annapolis, where he graduated with high honors majoring in nuclear physics. Then, as a junior officer, he distinguished himself in the Atomic Wars and had a chest full of decorations to prove it. he thought to himself as the black Corvette hugged a bend in the road. A wife and children, finally in a comfortable off- base home after years of making do with less than desirable quar- ters, and this wonderful piece of machinery he was driving. And now, literally, his ship had come in. He had received his orders this morning, and he had packed right away to accept his next commission at the Norfolk naval base some 100 miles away. Imagine, chief engineer on the Navy's newest aircraft carrier! The U.S.S. JOHN BARRY was the largest carrier ever built, with a complement of planes, helicopters and crew that was the size of a small air station on the mainland. The engines could sustain a voyage twice as long as the last ship completed. The BARRY was so large, in fact, that she was too broad to pass through the Panama Canal and needed a special drydock. One couldn't get a better assignment. The ship had already gone through her sea trials and passed with flying colors. Thomas had assisted in designing some of the electronic components of the reactor and was present for most of the tests, but he had missed the sea trials due to illness. The ship would make her maiden voyage as soon as possible, and what a show that would be! That first voyage would include participating in the largest naval exercise in history. She would really be able to show what she's made of! Thomas shook his head. he thought. he thought to himself as he saw a road sign. He eased off the accelerator and merged into the right-hand lane. There was no oth- er traffic on the road at this early hour, but Thomas knew that the highway would soon narrow and go back to a two-way road. Then another car appeared from around a bend up ahead. Thomas saw it but paid no attention to it; it was just your average sedan heading the opposite way. Then it changed lanes and came at him head-on. "Stupid drunk," Thomas muttered as he leaned on the horn and swerved into the left lane. Then Thomas couldn't believe his eyes--the car went back to the lane he had just entered! He tried again, but the sedan duplicated his move and was once again coming straight at him. This time it was too late to avoid an accident. Thomas said a quick prayer and turned the wheel as far as it would go, but there was no room to maneuver, and the Corvette collided with the sedan. The impact sent the two cars tumbling down an em- bankment where they burst into flames. The last thing Thomas saw, before the collision smashed him mercifully into unconsciousness, was the ashen death-mask face of Mysteron agent Captain Black. Had there been any witnesses, they would have been confused enough by the oncoming sedan, but they would be totally befuddled by the sight of Captain Black and Commander Thomas, both unharmed, observing the inferno from the roadbed. Little would these witnesses realize that Commander Robert Thomas had been mysteron- ized. Several hours and many cups of black coffee after reporting to Colonel White, Captain Blue pushed his chair away from the table and rubbed his temples. In another corner of the officers' workroom, Captain Scarlet was busy entering data into a computer terminal. He also was visi- bly drained. The sound of the chair made him jump. "Sorry, Captain. Didn't mean to alarm you." Captain Blue ran his fingers through his blond hair. "I just need to stretch a lit- tle." "Must be too much coffee," Captain Scarlet replied. "I can use a rest myself." He rose from the chair. He was a tall man, over six feet, slightly taller than Captain Blue, with about the same build. He had a thick head of hair, as black as his col- league's was blond. Captain Scarlet looked several years younger than Captain Blue although there was hardly a year's difference in their ages. He always thought that strange--with all the hardships he had faced in his life, his friend the wealthy man's son looked worse. he thought. He liked to tease Captain Blue about that, at least when they were off-duty together and less formal. "Have you come up with any ideas?" asked Captain Blue. "Nothing at all," replied Captain Scarlet. "We must have missed something. I know the Mysterons gave us a real riddle this time, but it usually doesn't take this long." "Did you see anything unusual on the nomenclature run?" "No, nothing. There's no famous person alive with either the first or last name of Hope. Now I'm checking the foreign translations of the word, although I doubt if the Mysterons'll try the same thing they did with General Tiempo." Captain Blue nodded in agreement. "We were only lucky that Captain Magenta was taking Spanish lessons, or we'd never have known what they meant by `kill time.' I don't think they'll try that for quite a while." "Well, anyway, it's got to be done. This is a good time to take a breather, because it'll take a few minutes for the program to run." Captain Blue refilled his cup and gestured with the coffee pot. "You want another?" "Thank you, no. If I have any more coffee, I won't be able to sit still. I thought I'd go round to the galley and get something to eat. Can I bring anything back?" "No, thanks. But before you go--I want to show you what I picked out for Symphony's birthday." Symphony Angel was one of Cloudbase's five female jet pilots and Captain Blue's girlfriend. Captain Blue was not sure that Colonel White would approve of the relationship, so the only other one who knew was Captain Scarlet, his best friend. "I wanted to get your opinion before I ordered it." He took a jewelry catalog from a stack of magazines on a nearby table and opened it. "Take a look at letter `M'." "An angel pin! An excellent choice, Captain Blue." Captain Scarlet looked up admiringly, but Captain Blue was not looking at him. He was staring blankly at the next page. "Captain Blue?" Still no response. he thought. "Ad- am!" The use of his first name brought Captain Blue out of his trance. He blinked and shook his head slightly. He said quietly, to no one in particular, "I think I've got it." "Got what?" "The Mysteron message! Look here, on the next page." The next page displayed gold charms. Captain Blue was point ing to a triple charm, that of a cross, an anchor, and a heart. "I still don't understand," Captain Scarlet remarked. "That's a Biblical symbol. I'm sure you've heard the expres sion `faith, hope, and charity.' Well, the heart stands for chari- ty, the cross for faith, and--" "And the anchor for hope," interrupted Captain Scarlet. "So?" "So, Captain Scarlet, the Mysterons threatened to destroy much of the `hope' in the world. What does an anchor also represent?" "Ships--" His voice trailed off. "Naval ships! By Jove, that could be it!" He darted back to the terminal, punching in da- ta before he was even seated. "Let's see what's going on with the World Navy this week; that'll be a start." "I knew you'd figure it out sooner or later. Sometimes you Limeys can be so slow." Captain Blue smiled; ribbing Captain Scar- let about his heritage and/or clipped British accent, good-natured- ly of course, was a good way to relieve the tension. But sometimes it backfired . . . and almost as soon as he made the remark, Cap- tain Blue knew this would be one of those times. "Must be that Yank education getting the better of me again," replied the West Point-trained Captain Scarlet, using that fact as he often did for the perfect comeback. The screen flickered to life. "O.K., here we are," Captain Scarlet noted. When they saw it, both men froze. "My God, Paul," murmured Captain Blue, dazed to the point of forgetting Spectrum protocol about using non-code names while on duty. "The largest war games in world history--a combined fleet exercise with amphibious landings! All those ships, all those lives--do you know what this means?" "It means," said Captain Scarlet, his brilliant blue eyes nev- er leaving the screen, "that we notify Colonel White immediately." He pressed the radio button. As always, the Mysterons had done a flawless job. Their re- creation of Commander Thomas was perfect in every detail, from his physical features and mannerisms down to the orders he carried in his briefcase as he walked to the main gate of the naval base. He had no problems getting through the gate and made his way to the massive ship at her berth. Thomas had been familiar with the of- ficer of the deck from a previous assignment and chatted with the young ensign for a few minutes before reporting to the executive officer. "Commander Robert Thomas reporting for duty, Captain," he stated to the executive officer before him. "Good morning, Commander." Captain T. J. Hawkins returned the salute and offered his hand. "Glad to have you aboard." He had a firm handshake and smiled easily, warmly. "How was your trip?" "Not great, sir. A little car trouble." "It's a pleasure to serve under you again," he added. "You were my first choice, Bob. The admiral wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for you. He figured it was the least he could do, knowing that the last ship you were assigned to was a bucket of bolts." "Thanks, sir, I'm honored." Thomas was clearly embarrassed. "How long before we get under way?" "About four hours. That will give you some time to get set- tled in and take a look around. Our first briefing will be at 1600, but it's not necessary for you if you're tied up. It's most- ly to introduce the officers. The briefing for the exercises will be tomorrow at 0900." "Thanks for the option, Captain. I definitely won't be there this afternoon, then; I want to run a few tests and make a few pre- parations on my own." "Very well, Commander. I'll let you get right to work. Carry on." "Aye-aye, sir." He saluted and left. Thomas proceeded to his quarters, shut the hatch and locked it. The room was larger than the average ship's engineer's quar ters and equipped with a personal computer. A small portrait of Commodore John Barry, the "Father of the American Navy" for whom the ship was named, hung on one wall. Thomas hung his garment bag in the closet space and sat down at the computer. He popped a disk into it and began to write a long program, hammering the keys faster than any human could ever do. But then again, Thomas was not a human any longer. He was a perfect copy of one, a robot programmed to perform exactly like the original under normal circumstances. But when doing the Mysterons' bidding, he, like all the other copies before him, became a cold, calculating machine. The program completed, Thomas cleared the screen and removed the disk, then went to the main reactor room, where he transferred the data from the disk into the reactor computer's memory. He was very furtive the whole time that he was standing there, looking constantly behind and around him for any crew member who should stumble upon his actions. When the transfer was finished, he took the disk back to the computer in his quarters and erased it, then filled it with normal information. Since the BARRY was the flagship of the war games, her ship board systems were linked with those of the other vessels. The carrier could monitor the movements of all of the ships in the force, and she could also order deployments and change their posi- tions herself if necessary. Thomas had become an expert computer programmer over the course of his Navy career, and the Mysterons used this to their advantage. What he had just done was program the main reactor to initiate a self-destruct sequence that the Navy had fitted while the ship was being built. Normally this command required authorization from three officers before it would acti vate, but he had bypassed these steps. All Thomas had to do was set the timer built into the program. While the BARRY counted down her own self-destruct, every other nuclear-powered ship in the com- bined fleet would perform the same deadly task while moving into new positions. When they had been properly relocated, all of the fuel contained in each of these vessels would simultaneously deton- ate. The resulting chain reaction would obliterate the entire com- bined task force and every living soul unfortunate enough to be within a thousand miles. For the time being, Thomas' Mysteron work was completed. He had to wait until after the next morning's briefing, when he would know the itinerary for the naval exercise, to set the timer. He had cleverly hidden the program, disguising it as a systems test, and had even made it abort-proof in case anyone should discover it, which was highly unlikely. Thomas got his belongings squared away in his quarters and went about his normal shipboard duties. With such a huge ship, there was a lot of work to be done before the morning briefing. Fleet Admiral Brian O'Hara peered at the model ships on the huge table before him. The ships were arranged in the current con- figuration of the exercise fleet. "So, Captains," he finally said, "you think my ships are in danger?" Captain Blue nodded. "We're almost positive, sir." The World Navy commander-in-chief shifted uneasily. "And just how did Spectrum make this determination?" "Well, Admiral," began Captain Scarlet, "the Mysterons, in their threat, used the word `hope.' When our computers gave us the data on World Navy activity, the name of the exercise--" "Operation World Hope," murmured O'Hara. "Precisely, sir," continued Captain Scarlet. "The size of the exercise only serves to confirm our suspicions." "Saints preserve us." The admiral removed his glasses. Tak- ing a handkerchief from his pocket, he began to polish the glasses thoughtfully. "And what is your theory of their plan of attack?" "It's got to be nuclear, sir," Captain Blue stated. "That many ships could not be destroyed otherwise." Captain Blue paused and looked at the map table. "It would have to be something big, perhaps involving the nuclear warships." "Well," commented Admiral O'Hara, "it's nearly impossible for the atomic fuel on the ships to leak. There are so many safety de- vices built into ships these days that a nuclear accident can't de- velop unnoticed." "Can a ship be destroyed from within, Admiral? I mean, can one man throw a switch and cause a ship to self-destruct? I seem to remember a newspaper article on that subject." "I know what you're talking about, Captain Blue. There was an article just recently about the U.S.S. JOHN BARRY, an aircraft car- rier on her maiden voyage in this task force. The self-destruct command was built into the systems during construction. The other ships have yet to be fitted." "Then, Admiral, the BARRY seems like a likely choice. We'll concentrate on her. I'll need to sit down with an engineer or phy- sicist who is familiar with her power plant." "The best is right here in Washington, Captain. I'll make ar- rangements to have you meet Professor Goldstein this morning." O'Hara picked up the telephone. "With your permission, sir," interrupted Captain Scarlet, "I'd best be leaving. "I'll need to check things out on the BARRY in person." "Of course, Captain. We've already made arrangements for you. My staff car is waiting outside. But I will ask you to do me a personal favor." He pulled an envelope from his briefcase. "Please deliver this letter to Rear Admiral Stankowski personally upon your arrival. I'd rather have it hand-delivered than put it in with the paperwork." "No trouble at all, Admiral." As was British military eti quette, Captain Scarlet did not salute without his headgear, but came to attention, turned and started out of the operations room. "Notify me immediately if you find anything," called Captain Blue after him. "S.I.G., Captain. Likewise." "S.I.G.?" repeated the admiral. "`Spectrum is Green,'" Captain Blue explained. "It means `ev- erything is fine,' sort of like `Roger.'" he thought. The office of Dr. Phillip Goldstein was quite interesting if not large, thought Captain Blue as he waited for the noted physi cist. Art prints and movie posters covered one wall, comic strip drawings on the opposite one. Dr. Goldstein's other hobby apparently was stamp collecting, for many books and magazines on that particular subject were in evidence around the office. Of course, there were reports and books on nuclear physics--several by the professor himself--and models of two nuclear warships, a submarine and an aircraft carrier, as well. Captain Blue noticed the enormous pile of assorted paperwork on Dr. Goldstein's desk and was sure that if he asked for a particular item from that disarray, it would be produced without difficulty. he chuckled to himself, "Sorry about that, Captain," a friendly voice said, but Cap- tain Blue was so deep in thought that it startled him. He spun around, his right hand going to the holster at his hip instinctive- ly, all in one fluid movement. He stopped himself but not before the professor noticed his action. "Whoa, pardner," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I'm not going to slap leather with you." Captain Blue looked at him in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Doc- tor. Reflex action." "I see you've watched some westerns. That's a nice move." The ice broken, Captain Blue gave the professor a broad grin. "Well, I do like Gary Cooper movies." He added, a little apologet ically, "This naval exercise is so big that I'm on edge about it." "If it weren't for all this, Captain," replied Dr. Goldstein, sweeping his hand across the small office in a wide arc, "I'd pro- bably have pulled the trigger if I were in your boots." "I doubt that, Doctor. I think you'd be able to control your actions." "You have a great deal of self-control, considering the diffi- cult job you Spectrum people have. I admire that." "We're very carefully screened for just such an attribute." "Well, anyway," Goldstein said, changing the subject, "I'm sure you're a very busy man, so let's see what questions I can an- swer for you." He gestured to a chair. "Well, Doctor," began Captain Blue, "Spectrum feels that the nuclear ships are involved in the Mysterons' threat to destroy a good part of the World Navy. Specifically, the JOHN BARRY, being the largest and newest and therefore being filled with fuel, would be the most likely starting point. Could an explosion on board the BARRY cause a chain reaction with the other atomic ships?" The professor stroked his gray beard thoughtfully. "It could, but the ships are placed far enough apart in the formation for that reason. There's really no fear of that any more, because the com- puters give warnings if the ships get too close to each other in dangerous situations." He paused, thinking, and then continued, "Perhaps the Mysterons only want to destroy one ship." "No, our opinion is that they're after the whole navy. What if the impossible did occur, and there was such an explosion? Would it wipe out a fleet of this size?" "Not only would it sink all of the ships and annihilate every person on board them, marine life in that area of ocean would cease to exist. I mean fish, shellfish, seaweed, EVERYTHING. And both the air and water would become fatally contaminated." "My God." "I think you get the picture." Captain Blue thought for a moment. "Admiral O'Hara mentioned a self-destruct mechanism on the BARRY. What can you tell me about it?" "The BARRY can be scuttled, if captured by the enemy, with ei- ther a conventional or nuclear explosion. This can be done hours or even days after the crew leaves, by means of a special program in the ship's reactor computer. It's a complicated thing to do; it involves three or four officers. I don't really know that much about it except that it can be set like a time bomb for a certain time and day. This capability was built into the BARRY when her systems were programmed, but I'm pretty sure that no other atomic- powered vessel has been programmed with it yet." "Three or four officers, huh?" "Yes, Captain. Safety precaution." The conversation went on with Captain Blue furiously scrib bling notes. He had some knowledge in physics, but not enough to comprehend the situation fully. It soon became clear to him that if the BARRY was destroyed, she was centrally located in the fleet and could "take out" a lot of the other ships with her. Still, with the Mysterons' penchant for wreaking havoc on a grand scale, he didn't think they would stop there. he thought, Then--"Don't forget to check the battle computer." "What?" Captain Blue looked up from his notepad. The professor sat back, stroking his beard again. "You did say that the BARRY is the flagship of the task force, didn't you?" "Yes, Doctor, that's right." "Are you aware that the entire battle plan would be entered into the flagship's main computer? All the movements of the other ships, aircraft deployments, the whole ball game?" "No, we weren't, but Captain Scarlet is en route to the carri- er right now. He's much better on computers than I am." "I don't know much about them myself except how to catalog my stamp collection," he said with a smile, "but I do know that the reactors are on one system and navigation is on another, and that when the ship is in motion both systems are interconnected." "Captain Scarlet said he'd go over the computer system with the skipper when he's on board ship, probably to see if the battle plan has been altered." "Make sure, Captain Blue, that he checks over the other ships' movements. The BARRY can order them to move as well." Captain Blue sprang from the chair. "Thanks a lot, Dr. Goldstein," he said with a quick handshake. "I have to get back to Admiral O'Hara immediately. You've been a big help." Grabbing his notepad and uniform cap, he half-ran out of the office and down the hall. "But what did I say?" called Dr. Goldstein, his hands in the air. Captain Blue called from the end of the corridor, "If you'll pardon the pun, you solved the theory of the big bang. I just hope you're right." He turned around and went out the door, leaving the physicist standing in front of his office with a puzzled look on his face. On the way back to the Pentagon, Captain Blue attempted to ra- dio Captain Scarlet, but he was too far away by this time. There was another way, however. The frame of his cap visor dropped down before his face and he spoke into the small microphone on the end of the wire. "Captain Blue to Cloudbase." A momentary pause. "Lieutenant Green here, Captain." "Please relay this message to Captain Scarlet. He is out of my radio range. Tell him to check positioning of other nuclear- powered warships in the exercise fleet, confirm and report any po- sition changes. I will wait for acknowledgement." A long pause followed. Captain Blue drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, wondering what was taking so long. As he steered the sleek red Spectrum patrol car around a curve, his epaulets flashed and the mike dropped again. "Well, Lieutenant?" "Heavy radio interference in that area, Captain. Apparently a bad electrical storm. Message not received." "Then relay message to the U.S.S. JOHN BARRY and Captain Scar- let will receive it when he arrives." "I tried that too, sir. That was the reason for my delay. All radio traffic is breaking up in the storm. I'll keep trying." "S.I.G., Lieutenant Green. I am en route to the Pentagon, and after making my report I will fly out to the fleet myself. Try for another hour, and if you still can't get through, I should be with- in maximum radio range by that time." "Understood, Captain Blue. Out." Admiral O'Hara's arrangements called for Captain Scarlet to fly out to the carrier in the normal fashion, that being on a cou- rier aircraft. That was not to be, however, as the one at the na- val air station was grounded for repairs. The only other craft that would make it through the vicious nor'easter between him and the fleet was an all-weather rescue helicopter. It would be a slow, bumpy trip, but it would get him there. During the long and turbulent helicopter ride through the storm, Captain Scarlet became increasingly glad he was a Spectrum jet pilot. Not only were their transports and Angel jets much faster, they afforded one a much smoother flight at a much higher altitude, therefore flying above the largest clouds with ease. He had actually flown the helicopter part of the way to help out the pilot who had become violently ill from the wild ride. He felt sorry for the ensign; he showed promise as a pilot and was flying the machine like a veteran. This was undoubtedly the worst storm Captain Scarlet had ever experienced, and a less competent aviator caught in it might have lost control of the helicopter. The kid was good. "Jeez, Captain, this is embarrassing," said the pilot as he closed another paper bag and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. "I'm really giving the Navy a bad name." His face was very red, more from shame than vomiting, Captain Scarlet figured. "Nonsense. Look at the conditions under which you're flying. I think you're doing a smashing job, better than most Spectrum pi- lots." "Thank you, sir, but I think you're just saying that." "I mean it, Ensign. I don't lie." "I can't help but notice that you're taking this very well." "On the contrary, I may be sick yet if we don't get there soon. How much further?" "We're about fifteen minutes out, Captain. The worst of the storm is behind us according to these weather instruments." The weather did in fact improve as they approached the BARRY. thought Captain Scarlet as he looked out the window. As the pilot guided the helicopter in to land, Captain Scarlet noticed he was getting a headache. It seemed to get worse as they touched down on the deck. Perhaps it was from the nausea, but he often felt the same way whenever danger was near. He had been in the hands of the Mysterons himself--killed in a car crash, then re- created as a Mysteron assassin--but when Captain Blue shot him and he fell 800 feet from the London Car-Vu, somehow the Mysteron spell was broken and he returned to his old self . . . with two excepti- ons. The first was that his recreated body retained the Mysteron power of "retro-metabolism", which meant that no matter how seriously he was injured, he would always recover without a scratch. The second were these headaches, which often indicated the Mysterons' presence. Bidding the ensign farewell, Captain Scarlet stepped out of the helicopter onto the deck. A black officer with commander's in- signia and an older chief petty officer were waiting there and both saluted; the commander then boarded the helicopter and it took off. The petty officer shook hands with Captain Scarlet and intro duced himself. "I'm Chief Petty Officer Burton, Captain Scarlet," he shouted above the rotor noise in a very pronounced Southern drawl. "I've been ordered to get you settled in, to see you around the ship and get you whatever you need." "Ah, my official babysitter," Captain Scarlet remarked. "I suppose I need one on a ship of this size." The chief grinned and motioned toward the island. "Our first stop is the bridge. The captain wanted to see you as soon as you arrived." "I thought Admiral Stankowski was in command, Chief. I have a letter to deliver to him." "Oh, sorry. It is Admiral Stankowski, but the commanding of- ficer of a ship is referred to as the `captain'. I have to remem ber that you're not Navy." "S.I.G.," returned Captain Scarlet with a wry smile. When the chief gave him the confused look he was expecting, he quickly add- ed, "That means `Roger'. Now we're even." The chief laughed. "Have pity on me, Chief," Captain Scarlet warned, "because if you don't, I'll give you some British armed forces lingo." "I can see we'll get along right well, sir." The two men began walking toward the island in the middle of the carrier. Although the BARRY was a huge ship, Captain Scarlet could still feel the flight deck pitching and rolling. She was heading into the storm, and also into the wind at this moment because the last of her short-range aircraft were being retrieved. It had been an unseasonably warm early spring day, but the temperature had dropped rapidly with the wind and a chill rain began to fall. Even with his battery-heated coat, the Spectrum officer shivered in the cold and tried to think of the time that Captain Blue, some of the Angels and he had practiced takeoffs and landings on an aircraft carrier prior to being stationed on Cloudbase. The Spectrum head- quarters was in effect also an aircraft carrier, only hovering in the sky instead of floating on the seas, and the effects of atmo spheric turbulence were similar to those of ocean waves. The training exercise had been in the tropics in perfect weather, and he smiled to himself when he recalled that the other officers had teased them about having taken a paid holiday . . . Suddenly, it began to rain much harder, and the two of them ran the last few yards to the island, with Chief Burton opening the hatch for him. The tropical memories would wait for another time. It was at this time that Captain Scarlet realized his split ting headache had disappeared. Things happened quickly in the first moments on the bridge. Within seconds, Captain Scarlet's soaked overcoat was removed and he was swathed in a blanket. One sailor gave him a towel to dry himself, and another handed him a steaming mug of coffee. Chief Burton in the meantime had removed his foul-weather gear, and Captain Scarlet noted with surprise that the old salt was a small, slight man. Burton was speaking to Admiral Stankowski, who good-naturedly scolded him for "not bringing the good Captain in from the rain." The chief introduced Captain Scarlet, who at- tempted to stand but was so thoroughly wrapped in the blanked that he could hardly move. "Don't get up, Captain," the admiral said quickly, smiling congenially. "My boys seem to be taking good care of you." "Quite, sir. A little too well, actually." He struggled to his feet and rearranged the blanket so that he could move more freely. He then saluted crisply. The admiral did not return the salute casually, as was the privilege of his rank, but snapped to attention and "presented arms" with Naval Academy precision. "It is I who should salute you, Captain Scarlet," he said, "since you are in essence taking command of my ship during this emergency. Your reputation has also preceded you here." "Sir?" "Don't be modest, Captain. We've all seen the news and read the papers. It's said you don't know the meaning of the word `fear'." Captain Scarlet's face reddened and he looked down into his coffee cup. "I know for a fact that Fleet Admiral O'Hara is one of your biggest admirers," Admiral Stankowski continued. "Oh, yes. Admiral O'Hara. I have a note to deliver to you from him." Breathing a sigh of relief, he fished the envelope from his vest pocket. Hopefully, that would change the subject. Cap- tain Scarlet always was embarrassed when it came to receiving med- als, awards or recognition of any kind, which was often. It was true that he did things that not too many would even consider do- ing, but it was of course thanks to the new life he had received from the Mysterons. One good thing about being a Spectrum agent was that he was usually too busy to attend medal presentations. Just then a sailor handed Captain Scarlet a radio message. "This just came for you, sir. From your headquarters." Captain Scarlet quickly scanned the sheet. "Admiral," he said, "Captain Blue may have found something. I'll need a printout of the complete plans for the exercises from the battle computer." "That will take a long time, Captain." Captain Scarlet nodded. "It must include all orders for ship movements issued recently. If any unauthorized position changes have been ordered, or if anything at all unusual turns up, let me know right away." "Yes, Captain. I'll get my men right on it. In the meantime, Chief Burton will show you to your quarters. You might as well get a chance to get cleaned up while that is printing. If we still have time, I hope you'll accept an invitation to have a quick din- ner with me." "It'd be an honor, Admiral." Captain Scarlet saluted again and strode out the hatch behind Chief Burton. Chief Petty Officer Terence M. Burton had been in the U.S. Na- vy just short of thirty years. During that time, he had accumulat- ed the Navy Cross twice, a number of campaign ribbons, a few tat- toos, and more stories about Navy life both on board ship and in port than would fit into a book. He was a scrappy little fellow, a "redneck" from the South who once had hair the same color. He was one who was not afraid to speak his mind, and this often got him into trouble with the Navy, with its strict adherence to chain of command, early in his career. Later on, however, he grew to be respected for his candor and common sense suggestions. Although the "brass" refused to make him an officer, many officers afforded him the same courtesy as they did their peers. Consequently, over time he began to understand their way of thinking and could tell when something was amiss. This was exactly what Burton noticed in Admiral William Stan- kowski after he returned from escorting Captain Scarlet to his quarters. He saw the admiral sitting at the map table poring over two sheets of paper, looking very troubled. "Is anything wrong, Admiral?" he asked. "I just can't believe it," Stankowski murmured. "What is it, sir?" The admiral looked up. "I just opened that letter from Admir- al O'Hara. It was a letter of condolence. One of our officers is dead. One of the Navy's best. I knew him from way back." "Who, sir?" "I think you might know him, Chief. Our chief engineer, Com- mander Robert Thomas." Burton's jaw dropped. "But--" "Quite a shock, isn't it? Such a great man, Chief; even saved my butt once. He had a wonderful family too. It's a real shame." "There must be some mistake, Admiral--" "No mistake, Chief. I have the confirmation right here from Norfolk." He handed Burton a printout. "He was killed in a car wreck about five miles off base. The body was positively identi fied." "But--" Burton tried to interrupt again. "Probably driving that damn Corvette too fast again. And I have to be the one to break it to his wife--" "Admiral, listen to me!" Burton shouted. "I've been trying to tell you that I just saw Commander Thomas leave on that chopper that brought Captain Scarlet!" Stankowski sat up with a start. "Are you sure, Terry? I mean, with the storm and all--" "I'm positive, Admiral. I was talking sports with him right before he left." "You'd better get Captain Scarlet. He wanted to know if we found anything unusual. This certainly falls under that category." "Yes, sir." Captain Scarlet stood before the mirror and spread shaving cream on his face slowly. he thought. A shower on a naval ship, even in this modern age, left a lot to be desired. One still had to use the water supply spar- ingly, so long, soothing hot showers were out of the question. He stopped and looked at himself. Captain Scarlet's muscles rippled on his hairless chest as he picked up the razor and shaved absent-mindedly. His body was lean and well-muscled. He took pride in staying in shape and made it a point to exercise in some form daily. With duty watches and varia- tions in sleeping and eating habits, not to mention jet lag, one had to be very careful. However, Captain Scarlet was thinking more about the mission than his physical condition. He still wasn't completely positive that the Mysterons intended to use the BARRY for carrying out their threat. The message relayed from Captain Blue was a big help, but they had no black and white proof yet, such as who or what had been Mysteronized. The Mysterons wouldn't wait forever, so the pieces had better fall into place soon. It was then that he heard the knock on the door. "Captain?" Burton's voice called from the other side. "Yes, Chief?" "Admiral Stankowski wants you on the bridge right away. He thinks we've found something." "O.K., on my way." He toweled off the remaining lather and threw on his clothes, fastening them as he went. "I don't understand, Captain. Are you trying to tell me that Bob Thomas is a traitor?" "Not at all, Admiral." Captain Scarlet scratched at the stub- ble on the unshaven portion of his face. "Your friend was killed in the crash. He's dead." "Then why do Captain Hawkins and Chief Burton each insist that they spoke to him on separate occasions if he's not alive? I'm sure that both of them weren't seeing things." "The Commander Thomas they spoke to is an impostor. He is a Mysteron copy. The Mysterons killed the `real' Commander Thomas with an accident, and then they recreated an exact clone of him to do their bidding. Our experience has shown that this clone will walk, talk, and behave just like the original person except that it follows the Mysterons' instructions." "Is there any way we can tell if he is a Mysteron? A physical examination or scientific analysis, perhaps?" "Well--no." Captain Scarlet hesitated slightly. He had al- most said "x-rays," because x-raying a Mysteron operative would produce a regular photograph as opposed to normal humans' skeletal pictures. However, since his own Mysteron episode, Captain Scar- let's x-rays had yielded the same results. He thought better of bringing up the idea because there would be too much explaining to do. "What should we do then, Captain?" "Well, we'll just have to keep searching what we have." "I'll have the Marines search Thomas' quarters." "He'll be on to us if he finds the Marines in there, Admiral. There'll be even bigger trouble." "Don't worry about that, Captain," Chief Burton chimed in. "He's off the ship." Captain Scarlet looked over at him. "What?" "He left on that chopper that brought you, sir. That's when I ran into him." Captain Scarlet remembered the headache and that it had disap- peared only after the helicopter took off. "Did he say why he was leaving?" "Just to pick up some computer equipment from the mainland, sir. He said he'd be back first thing tomorrow." "Computers?" Captain Scarlet's eyes widened. "Yes, sir," continued the chief. "Commander Thomas is a whiz with them. He's created a lot of the Navy's engineering software, and also a lot of the new programs for the ship all by himself. Stuff like the new damage control system, the self-destruct mode--" "Uh-oh," muttered Captain Hawkins. He checked the status of the self-destruct sequence, and the look he gave Admiral Stankowski said it all. "When, T.J.?" the admiral asked, not at all sure he wanted to hear the answer. "0600, Admiral." "Damn." Captain Scarlet looked at the screen. "Try to disable it and see what you get." Hawkins tapped the keys. "Nothing at all, Captain." "That means this is going to be a rough one. Get me the best programmer you have on the ship. I want a complete diagnostic check, and fast!" There was no need to give Chief Burton the or- der; he was on the telephone before Captain Scarlet had finished the sentence. "Admiral," Captain Scarlet continued, "I recommend that you give the order to abandon ship. We don't want to risk lives unne- cessarily." "Right, Captain, but you'll need some of my people, at least to disable the computers." "If Commander Thomas knows how to design programs, he probably has put in some safety so that we either won't find the program or that we won't be able to abort it. We may have to blow up the ship to stop it." "Scuttle her?" Captain Scarlet nodded. "Sorry, Admiral." "You're the boss, Captain. I'll get you two groups of volun teers." He nodded to the executive officer, who proceeded to broadcast the message. A sailor brought over a thick pile of computer paper and set it on the table. Admiral Stankowski and Captain Scarlet began to look through it. After a few pages, the admiral stopped and stared. "Oh, my God." Stankowski pointed to the list of ships which had been ordered by the BARRY to change course. "All these ships are atomic," he said slowly, running his finger down the column. "The letter `N' in their pennant number stands for `nuclear'." "That's bad," Captain Scarlet murmured. Stankowski turned to the executive officer. "T.J., display both old and new ships' positions for me, will you please?" Seconds later, the map table showed how the nuclear vessels had moved according to the BARRY's orders. "They're all heading this way!" exclaimed Chief Burton. "What does that mean?" "They're closing the distance so that when this ship blows up, it will set them all off," explained Captain Scarlet. Burton whistled. "And right now, there isn't a damn thing we can do about it," added Stankowski. Some time later, Captain Scarlet's cap-microphone lowered and he heard Captain Blue's New England-accented voice. "I am now on the bridge of the U.S.S. ISAAC HULL. What's the latest?" "Mysteron agent has been identified as chief engineer of U.S.S. JOHN BARRY. The carrier has been programmed to self-de struct at approximately 0600 hours." "That doesn't give us much time." There was a short pause. "Captain Scarlet, Commodore Cox has just now informed me that the HULL has automatically changed course, based on headings transmit ted by the flagship's battle computer, and is now headed on a col- lision course with the BARRY." Chief Burton pointed to another aircraft carrier on the table, the closest nuclear ship to their own. "S.I.G., Captain Blue," Captain Scarlet replied. "This is part of the program that the Mysteron agent entered. All nuclear- powered ships are following similar instructions." Now Captain Blue's voice changed. His colleague noticed that it became more excited, more worried. "Is there any way you can stop the self-destruct sequence, Captain Scarlet?" "We are attempting to shut down the main computer system at this time. If that doesn't work, the alternative is to set conven tional demolition charges and sink the ship. Admiral Stankowski has already given the order to abandon ship. Only a data-process ing team and a demolition team, plus the admiral, my aide and my- self, are still aboard." "S.I.G. Please advise if you need further assistance." "Will do. Out." Captain Scarlet turned to the leader of the computer team, a tall red-haired youth with thick glasses. "Any new developments?" "It's no good, Captain," replied the sailor as the screen flashed another error message. "After we found the actual program, it's been all uphill. These codes just can't be broken. I've tried every trick in the book, plus a couple that aren't in it, and nothing works." He pointed to the command he just entered. "This is our last chance. After that, there's a complete overhaul, but there's no way that we have enough time for that." "Quite." The same message flashed again. "Sorry, Captain." "Don't worry about it, sailor," said Captain Scarlet, putting his hand on the youth's shoulder. "After all, this program was de- vised by a non-human being. I'm sure you did all you could." "Johnson did more than anyone else would have, Captain," in- terjected the admiral. "He's the second-best programmer in the Na- vy." "The best being Thomas, I take it." Stankowski nodded, then turned to the young programmer. "Your team can leave now, Johnson, or stay behind and help set the charg- es. I won't force you to stay." "We've already discussed it, skipper," replied Johnson. "We're here for the duration." "Thank you, gentlemen. We can use all the help we can get. See what the chief wants you to do." Johnson nodded, then gestured for his team to follow him off the bridge. "That's what I call loyalty, Admiral," commented Captain Scar- let after they had left. "Let me put it this way, Captain. Would you rather be busy on the ship or in the rear area chewing on your fingernails?" "I think you know my answer by now, sir." "Exactly." Captain Scarlet glanced at his watch. "Well, Admiral, I guess there's only one thing left to do. We'd best get cracking. The question is, will we have enough time?" "We'll have enough time, Captain. I just hope it works." It took several hours to set the explosives in strategic plac- es around the ship, but the job went smoothly. By the time the last charge was placed, some of the men were ready to fall asleep standing up. It had been a long night. As the first suggestion of daylight came creeping over the horizon, the men were dismissed and told to board the lifeboats. They waited while Admiral Stankowski and Chief Burton stood on the flight deck with Captain Scarlet. The sailors could not hear the conversation, but they could tell that the skipper was arguing with the Spectrum officer. "I'm not leaving, Captain Scarlet," Stankowski insisted. "Haven't you ever heard of the captain going down with his ship?" "Yes, and I think it's a ruddy waste, if you'll pardon me," Captain Scarlet replied in his typical down-to-earth fashion. "Be- sides, it rarely happens nowadays." "Still, I'd like to be the one to throw the switch." "I understand your feelings, Admiral, but that's out of the question. It has to be a very short fuse in case Commander Thomas should return in time. I'll just be able to make it to the helicopter on the flight deck." "Helicopter?" exclaimed Burton. "A fighter's much faster." "I know, but someone would have to work the catapult, wouldn't they, Chief?" Captain Scarlet pointed out. "I'll stay and work it, Captain--" Stankowski interrupted, "Don't be a fool, Terry. If I'm not staying, I won't allow you to commit suicide. I've already got one letter to write." Captain Scarlet added, "I appreciate the offer, Chief, but the helicopter will probably be more controllable. It'll suffice." "I think you're cutting it too close, Captain," Stankowski stated. "Aren't you afraid of getting killed?" Captain Scarlet turned and looked the admiral right in the eye. "If I were, sir, I'd never have joined Spectrum." He moti- oned toward the boats full of sailors, now becoming restless. "Now please, sir. Go with the chief and the rest of the men. I'll be along presently." Admiral Stankowski sighed heavily and held out his hand. "Very well, Captain, you win. Good luck, and I'll see you on the HULL in a short time." Chief Burton stepped forward and shook hands as well. "If this works, Captain," he said, clapping him on the back, "I'll buy you a drink back on the mainland." "What do you mean, if?" retorted Stankowski. The chief blanched at his slip of the tongue. Captain Scarlet smiled and replied, "I'll accept the offer, Chief, when I'm off duty. Now shove off, the lot of you." "Aye-aye, Captain," said the Admiral, and both Navy men salut- ed. As if on a hidden signal, all the sailors did the same. Captain Scarlet returned their salutes and walked across the flight deck. Two boats sped away from the carrier--the admiral's personal launch, which held him and most of the emergency crew, and a small- er boat holding Chief Burton and the rest of the sailors. The small boat was much faster than the launch and shot ahead. About halfway between the BARRY and the HULL, they saw another boat of the same size with one occupant sailing back toward their ship. The other men paid no attention, but Burton wondered what idiot was going back into the "danger zone" and looked back. His eyes widened as he did. "Turn her about," he snapped. "What? Why?" The helmsman just stared at him. "I said come about!" Burton shoved the sailor aside and steered the vessel into a tight 180-degree turn, nearly capsizing the tiny boat in her own wake. He pushed the throttle to full speed. "Chief, what the Hell's got into you?" asked the sailor he had nearly thrown overboard. "We have to go back to the carrier!" he shouted over the mo- tor. "When I get out, you take off like a bat!" "Why? She's gonna blow any minute!" "That was Commander Thomas on that boat. If somebody doesn't stop him, Captain Scarlet is dead and so is the rest of the fleet!" Captain Scarlet had instructed the demolition crew to hook up the detonator close to the outside hatch. When he set the charge, all he had to do was make a 50-yard dash to the helicopter sitting on the flight deck. He climbed into the cockpit of the helicopter and started the engine. he thought; then, all he'd have to do would be to start the rotor and hit the controls. He went back inside to connect a few wires to the detonator and set the fuse. Then his head began to bother him again. he thought, surmising that Thomas had returned to the ship to at- tend to unfinished business. Captain Scarlet reached down to his holster and released the safety catch on his pistol. He connected the last wire, set the timer and was about to start it when he heard footsteps outside of the hatch. He started to pull the gun from the holster but only got it out halfway, for at that instant the Mysteronized Commander Thomas kicked the hatch open and shot Captain Scarlet in the chest at point-blank range. The bullet hit Captain Scarlet in the left side a mere fracti- on of an inch from his heart. The shot dropped him to the deck and he lay there bleeding profusely, the blood dark compared to the vivid red of his Spectrum uniform vest. His gun clattered to the deck and he struggled to reach it as Thomas crossed the room toward the detonator. Thomas saw Captain Scarlet's movements and aimed the gun at his head. Just then, a bullet cracked against the bulkhead inches away from Thomas, spoiling his aim so that his shot hit Captain Scarlet in the left shoulder. Chief Burton had made it, but seconds too late. Thomas spun around at the gunshot and fired at Burton, hitting him in the leg. The interruption gave Captain Scarlet the opportunity to get his own gun. He dropped Thomas with the first shot, even in his weakened condition. The effort was too much for him and he col lapsed on the deck. The old chief limped toward Captain Scarlet and helped him to a sitting position gingerly, gritting his teeth against his own se- vere pain. The captain was weak from loss of blood but surprisingly was still coherent. "Where in blazes did you come from, Chief?" "I saw him coming, sir. I knew you'd need help." "I've set the timer. Start it and go yourself; I can't make it." "You can make it, Captain. We'll just help each other out. Remember, you're driving." He assisted the captain to his feet and helped him to the console. Captain Scarlet hit the "start" button. "Right. Let's go." They hobbled out to the helicopter. Burton helped Captain Scarlet into the cockpit and then got himself in, buckling the safety harnesses while the captain took off. Captain Scarlet shoved the throttle to maximum and pounded it with his fist to get even more speed. They were barely out of range when the charges went off. A conventional explosion; the rest of the fleet was safe! Burton let out a loud whoop of triumph. "We did it, Captain! And no one was killed!" Then the shock wave of the explosion hit, slamming into the helicopter. They were thrown about violently, the helicopter threatening to turn upside down as pieces of debris flew about and battered the craft incessantly. "Let's get to the HULL first," Captain Scarlet murmured. Captain Blue stood at the railing outside the bridge of the carrier ISAAC HULL with Commodore James Cox, the ship's captain. He was not so much interested in the commodore's conversation as he was worried about his best friend. Was Captain Scarlet able to stop the self-destruct program? If not, would his plan of scuttl- ing the ship conventionally work? And, if that did indeed work, would he make it off the ship in time? It was true that Captain Scarlet could recover from fatal injuries, but no one knew if the same would happen if his body were not recovered intact. That was one question Captain Blue did not want to ponder. he thought to himself . . . "Captain Blue, I don't think you heard a word I said." The commodore was staring at him. Captain Blue turned away in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, sir. I--" "No need for that, son," said Commodore Cox. He was a stern- looking officer of about 55, with silver-gray hair and brown eyes. He turned those eyes to the horizon and Captain Blue noticed the crows'-feet. The commodore had heavy ones, carved by years of searching the skies for planes and pilots that didn't always come back. "I was saying that it was too bad that we had to lose the BARRY." "Yes, Commodore, it is. But if everything goes according to plan and the ship is destroyed, the fleet will be safe. The missi- on will be a success." "It won't be a complete success until our men come back un- harmed, Captain. Destroying an atomic ship is a tricky matter." A sailor appeared, came to attention and handed Cox a message. "Reconnaissance reports that the carrier BARRY is going down, Com- modore. Conventional explosion broke her back. At about the same time, our navigation computer stopped receiving course change in- structions." "Good, good. Any sign of the demolition party?" "Admiral Stankowski's launch just came aside, sir. The other boat's just behind." "And the helicopter?" "Nothing yet, sir. Still out of range." Captain Blue frowned and looked at his watch. Captain Scarlet was overdue. The helicopter should have appeared on the radar by now. Something must have happened. He looked down at the deck. The commodore apparently shared his thoughts. "Sometimes, Captain, especially in bad weather areas like we just went through, long-range radar suffers from interference. If your friend is down close to the water, we may not spot him until he is a little clos- er." Captain Blue nodded, barely hearing. Captain Scarlet had been in many of these situations before, but this time it felt differ ent. Something was definitely wrong. He tried the RadioCap but all he got was static; he quickly reminded himself, however, that Captain Scarlet might not have the cap. All he could do was wait. "Admiral on the bridge!" someone shouted, and everyone jumped to attention. Admiral Stankowski nodded at them to carry on and approached Captain Blue who saluted. The admiral returned it and shook hands. "I suppose congratulations are in order, Captain," he said. "You Spectrum people are very efficient." "Thanks, Admiral," Captain Blue replied. "Sorry about your ship." "Oh, the taxpayers'll buy me another," he said jokingly. "I have to hand it to your Captain Scarlet. He was the one who fig- ured out the whole thing. I hate to think of what would have hap- pened if we hadn't identified Thomas as the Mysteron." "Bob Thomas?" repeated Cox in disbelief. "Yes, Jim, I'm afraid the Mysterons killed Thomas and duplicated him. Then my chief--" He stopped and turned to the sailor from the BARRY who had accompanied him as his aide. "Where's Burton? I thought he was on the second boat." "He was, skipper, but we turned around and let him off back at the ship." "Why? Your orders were--" "But Admiral," the sailor interrupted, "Chief Burton saw Com- mander Thomas heading for the ship!" "Thomas?" Stankowski, Cox, and Captain Blue said in unison. "Yes, sir. Chief Burton said he had to stop him." Stankowski slowly shook his head. he thought. "Well, let's hope both of them make it back," he said. "Amen," agreed Captain Blue. Captain Scarlet was rapidly losing control of the battered he- licopter. In addition to his own deteriorating physical condition, the shock wave had apparently damaged the control cables. He could not hold the helicopter on a steady course for more than a few sec- onds. They were also very close to the surface, even grazing the wave tops from time to time. The ISAAC HULL finally appeared on the horizon and swelled in size. "It's no good, Captain," said Chief Burton excitedly. With Captain Scarlet rapidly weakening, he had learned quickly how to fly the helicopter, although he had never sat in the cockpit of one before. "We can't hold her up any longer. We'll have to ditch." "We'll try to get closer, Chief. If we bail out now, we'll die of hypothermia before a lifeboat gets here. Raise the HULL and tell the captain we need assistance." Burton attempted, but there was no response. "The radio's dead too, Captain." Soon they were less than a mile from the carrier, and the he- licopter was nearly impossible to handle. "Well," sighed the old chief, "there's no other choice. Undo your seat belts and I'll help you out." He opened the side door. Captain Scarlet struggled frantically to get out of the har- ness. The release was stuck, jammed. The concussion of the shock wave had smashed some piece of equipment into it. Burton released his own belts and tried to extricate him, but his efforts were fu- tile. "I can't get out, Chief," Captain Scarlet said weakly. "Just save yourself and I'll try to make the deck." "No, sir," said Burton emphatically. "If you go, I'm going with you." He reached for his belt to strap himself back into the seat. Captain Scarlet hauled the control stick over so that the he- licopter tipped, spilling Chief Burton out the open door and into the ocean. "Sorry about that, Chief," he said behind him. "You'll have a better chance this way, and so will I. Lighter weight means more altitude." The HULL's radar picked up the helicopter, much to Captain Blue's relief, a good distance away. It was a very erratic signal, which meant that the helicopter was maintaining an extremely low altitude. Soon it would come over the horizon, and Captain Blue, Admiral Stankowski and Commodore Cox watched carefully from the bridge. "There he is!" cried Captain Blue, peering through high-pow- ered binoculars. His enthusiasm quickly ebbed when he took a clos- er look at the machine. It was very badly damaged, with a tail section obviously bent out of shape even at this distance. "Oh, my God," gasped Cox. "How the Hell is he keeping that thing in the air?" "I told you, the man is incredible," said Stankowski. Then, to a junior officer, "Get on the horn to that chopper. Tell Cap- tain Scarlet to bail out into the drink and we'll pick him up." "Sorry, Admiral," replied the lieutenant after several tries, "but we get no response. His radio must be dead." "Send out a lifeboat so he will get the idea." "Aye, sir." "Let's hope we can get to him in time." "Them, Admiral." Captain Blue squinted through the powerful lenses again. "There are two people aboard the helicopter. Looks like your chief made it also." "Thank God." Suddenly the helicopter lurched and heaved over onto its side. The three officers saw a body fall into the water and come to the surface. A lifeboat picked up the swimmer within seconds. "One down, one to go," said Commodore Cox. "But why isn't the other one jumping? That chopper could splash any minute!" Stankowski was on the telephone and held up his hand at Cox's comment. "Thanks," he said into the phone and hung up. He turned to the other two. "They just picked up Burton. He says that Cap- tain Scarlet is badly wounded and can't release his safety belts." Captain Blue just stared at him. "He can't put down in the water because the chopper's full of holes and it will sink like a rock," the admiral continued. "He's going to try and land on the deck." "He'll never make it!" exclaimed Cox. "Jim, it's the only way," Stankowski told him. "Clear the flight deck except for crash personnel. That helicopter could go in any direction." Cox nodded to the flight deck officer and alarms sounded. "Is there anything I can do, sir?" asked Captain Blue. "No, Captain, I won't have you on deck. I'm not going to lose both of you. You'll just have to watch from here, I'm afraid." Captain Blue felt helpless just standing there, but he dared not disobey the admiral's order. His hands gripped the railing so tightly that his knuckles were white. The helicopter, now almost totally out of control, approached the carrier, weaving back and forth and very low, and Captain Blue couldn't help but think of those old World War II newsreels of the kamikaze planes dodging anti-aircraft fire while on their attack runs. Now Captain Blue could see that the helicopter was definite- ly coming in too low. "Pull up, Paul; come on, pull up!" he found himself shouting. Many of the sailors from both the HULL and the BARRY were watching also, some doing the same, a few shaking their fists. Almost as if Captain Scarlet had heard them, the stricken he- licopter rose within seconds of impact. Captain Blue watched in horror as the edge of the deck sheared off the struts and the heli- copter landed belly-up like a disabled airplane. It skidded crazi- ly along the deck, seemingly in slow motion, screeching horribly and throwing off a huge trail of sparks. The mangled hulk tore ef- fortlessly through the emergency net and finally came to a stop af- ter slamming into a blast deflector, a shield raised behind launch ing aircraft, and bursting into flames. The emergency crew, howev- er, was there at once, dousing the fire and wrenching open the cockpit. Captain Blue took off at a gallop for the stairs leading to the flight deck. A half-dozen steps from the deck, a fireman in a metallic suit stopped him. "He's alive, Captain, just barely. I don't know if he's going to pull through, because he's badly burned--" Not waiting for the fireman to finish, Captain Blue vaulted over the railing to the deck. He sprinted to the wreckage, where Captain Scarlet was being placed gently on a stretcher. Luckily for him, he was unconscious. What was left of his uniform vest was soaked with blood. He was indeed severely burned, and Captain Blue turned away at the horrible sight. "We had to cut the belts to get him out, sir," said one of the medics. "He did the right thing by heading for the ship; he would have drowned trying to release his harness. Then again, maybe it would have been better for him; you know, his suffering would have been over fast." "Thanks. Take good care of him, fellows," said Captain Blue softly. Chief Burton put down the magazine and reached automatically to scratch his right leg. The plaster wasn't even dry and already the dadburn thing was beginning to itch. he cursed to himself. It was strange that he didn't even know the leg was broken until the ship's doctor x-rayed it. Now they had him in traction, his leg supported in mid-air by pulleys and ropes, reminding him of a place-kicker. The pain was awful. Fortunately, he was assured that he'd be in this position only a short time. Oh, well, he thought, as the Navy saying goes, "A sailor isn't happy unless he's griping." If that were the case, Burton was in heaven. He picked up the magazine again and tried to concentrate on the article he had been reading. Even with his broken leg, Burton realized that this was only a scratch compared to what had happened to Captain Scarlet. He hadn't seen the crash, but they had all heard the terrible sound of the impact and the chopper sliding across the deck. The pharma- cist's mate who wrapped his leg had described it to him, and it was unbelievable that the captain survived the crash at all. Scuttle butt had it that he was in a deep coma and would probably die. If not, he'd definitely be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. he mused, A familiar voice asked, "When do I get to sign the cast, Chief?" Burton looked up and smiled at Admiral Stankowski. "As soon as it's dry, sir, you'll be the first." "Actually, I just stopped in to see how you were getting along before I left." "You're leaving, sir?" "Yes, I have to turn in my report and the ship's logs. Since I don't have a ship any more, there's no reason for me to stay." "No, Admiral, just that I figured the report and logs would go back Stateside by courier." "You could say I'm the courier. Admiral O'Hara requested that I deliver them to him myself for some unknown reason." "Makes you feel like a fish out of water, I reckon, losing your ship like that." "That it does, Chief," Stankowski nodded sadly. "But at least we have the satisfaction of knowing that the old lady--belay that, young lady--died with her boots on." "Will you keep me in mind when you get your next command?" "You don't even have to ask. I'm sure the topic will come up with O'Hara. He already mentioned putting you in for a medal." Burton looked at him. "You're a hero, Terry," Stankowski continued. "If it weren't for you, this whole fleet would be history. I still don't under stand why you went back." "I don't know why either, Admiral. I just reacted." He paused, then added, "Don't forget Captain Scarlet when you talk to Admiral O'Hara, sir. He figured it all out. It's too bad I could- n't do more for him." "Don't worry about it. You did everything you could. It's difficult to believe he survived that landing." "How is he? Does he have any chance?" "Dr. Katz's preliminary report was not promising. But he nev- er got to make another one. Captain Scarlet was taken off the ship ten or fifteen minutes ago, by Captain Blue's orders." "What?" Burton sat up, forgetting about the leg in traction. He grunted in pain, flopping back onto the bed. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed the aching thigh. "You mean you let him travel? In that condition?" he said through clenched teeth. "I'm not the skipper here, remember? Besides, the commodore had no choice. Captain Blue commandeered a helicopter. He said that `Spectrum takes care of its own,' that he was taking Captain Scarlet back to their headquarters." "Doesn't sound too neighborly." "On the contrary, Chief. Captain Blue was extremely polite the whole time. He explained that Spectrum headquarters is equipped with an excellent medical facility and one of the best doctors available. Captain Scarlet apparently has an unusual medi- cal condition that they are used to handling. The flight surgeon is going with them, per my orders." "Didn't Captain Blue know Captain Scarlet was dying?" "I'm sure he did. But what can I say, Terry? When Spectrum is involved, what they say goes." Burton sighed. "Anyway, Admiral, Captain Scarlet is the one who should get a medal more than me, even if it's posthumous." "I agree that he should be recognized, but he's not an Ameri can and not in the World Navy. I don't know what I can do." "Why don't you mention that technicality to Admiral O'Hara? Those Pentagon guys have friends in the World Congress. Imagine how the folks back home would react if the whole plot went as the Mysterons had planned it." "Good idea, Chief. It would definitely be unfair if the only thing keeping us from awarding Captain Scarlet a decoration is his nationality." Stankowski stood up. "Well, I've got to go. I told the pilot to be ready in a few minutes. Take care of yourself, Terry." He patted him on the shoulder. "Have a good flight, Admiral." As he waited for the door to open, Chief Burton stood and smoothed his dress uniform. For the tenth time, he checked his ap- pearance. From his white hat to the tips of his shoes, everything looked perfect. Every uniform crease was razor-sharp, every piece of brass mirror-polished. Also for the tenth time, he approved his appearance and wished they would tell him what was going on. He stroked the Congressional Medal of Honor hanging at his throat, the five-pointed star sparkling in the early morning sun. He had grown to like the medal over the past couple of months, af- ter first being embarrassed at accepting it. With the United States' highest honor came also a degree of respect and awe unlike anything else. He noticed, just as someone had told him, that ev- eryone knowing the significance of this pointed piece of bronze ac- ted differently around him. There was really no concrete way to describe it; all he knew was that he liked it. Perhaps what made him feel best was a rather small thing. Burton had been clumping along, still with his cast and crutches, down Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington right after receiving the Medal of Honor from the President. Strolling the other way was a very old man, and he had noticed that the man was staring at him. He looked up at Burton with a tear running down his cheek, with that admiring look that the old salt had seen many times since. The old gent then snapped a salute at Burton that startled him, and without saying a word, continued on his way. That small gesture affected Burton more than all the pageantry that preceded or followed it. It had been three months since the BARRY had been sent to the bottom of the Atlantic. Burton was finally out of the cast, but he was advised to use a cane for at least a few more weeks until he got the strength back in his leg. He leaned on the cane now as he thought of what had transpired in these months. He had testified at several boards of inquiry, always a frustrating and tedious af- fair. Although he wasn't told why he had been brought to Spectrum headquarters, he assumed it was for yet more questions. Hopefully this would be the last time he would have to rehash the whole sto- ry. But, he reminded himself, he must ask what became of Captain Scarlet. He assumed that the captain had not survived. Perhaps, once he retired from the Navy, he would pay his survivors a visit. He owed at least that much to him. The door opened and a young black man in a green and black uniform greeted him. "Welcome to Cloudbase, Chief Burton. It's an honor to have you here." Burton noted, as usual, that gleaming Me- dal-of-Honor look in the man's eyes. "Thank you, er--Captain?" Burton responded, not quite knowing how to address the young man, for he remembered that Spectrum uni- forms had no rank insignia. "I'm Lieutenant Green, Chief, but thank you for the promo tion," he said with a lilting West Indies accent, smiling. "Colo nel White will see you now." He motioned through the doorway. Burton entered the control room behind the lieutenant. A short passageway led to the commander's console. The right side of the passageway was lined with every piece of up-to-date electronic equipment imaginable. The left side was a wall of windows with a view of the clouds--hence the name of the base--and the Earth be- low. Burton strode confidently toward the console, using the cane lightly. Lieutenant Green introduced the chief to Colonel White, then sat in a chair before the computers. A moving floor positioned the chair at the controls he needed. Colonel White was a distinguished-looking man, a few years older than Burton, with snow-white hair. He reminded the chief of the captain of a ship, which one could say he was based on the con- figuration of the Spectrum base. The colonel pressed a button on his desk and a stool rose from the floor. "Please have a seat, Chief Burton. You must be weary after your journey to our base," the colonel said in a refined Eng- lish accent. Burton sat down with a sigh. Colonel White then nodded to the tall blond-haired man seated next to Burton and continued, "May I introduce Captain Blue. He was Captain Scarlet's partner during the Mysteron attack on your ship." Burton and Captain Blue exchanged greetings. thought Burton. Like all the other Spec- trum officers, Captain Blue wore a vest and high boots, in the col- or of his code name, over a black shirt and trousers. He appeared to be a tough-looking officer, yet very intelligent. he mused, except that the latter had somewhat softer, more youthful features. "It is my great pleasure, Chief," said Colonel White, "to wel- come you officially to Spectrum headquarters. We thought a man willing to risk his own life for one of our officers should be per- mitted to visit our secret base." The colonel went on to describe the capabilities of Cloudbase--that it hovered in mid-air at a high altitude in classified locations and was currently 40,000 feet over the North Atlantic, that it could change position at any time and could reach any part of the world in a day or less, and so on. All of this information was interesting to Chief Burton, but it could not possibly be the reason he was summoned to Cloudbase in his dress uniform. This seemed more like a social call. He sat and listened patiently, but soon he got his answer. "I'm sure you're wondering by now why you are here, Chief," Colonel White said. Burton sat a little straighter. "The thought did cross my mind, Colonel. I was expecting another hearing, a board of in quiry." "Not at all, my good man. As commanding officer of the Spec- trum organization, I wish to extend my sincerest gratitude to you for your brave acts of three months ago. I have met with Admirals O'Hara and Stankowski and some of your shipmates aboard the JOHN BARRY, as well as medical personnel from the ISAAC HULL, and my de- cision is to change Spectrum policy. Normally our highest decoration, the Spectrum Cross, is only awarded to our own members. Today, however, I have made an amendment to that, and it is with pride that Spectrum gives this award to Chief Petty Officer Terence M. Burton, United States Navy." Colonel White, Captain Blue, and Lieutenant Green all rose, and Burton followed suit. The colonel produced a black velvet box with the Spectrum in- signia on the lid from a compartment in the desk. Smiling, he opened the box but was startled. The box was empty. "Captain Blue, is this some sort of joke?" the colonel snapped. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir." Captain Blue blushed. "We forgot to tell you." "`We'? Who's `we'?" "The lieutenant and I decided to make a slight change." Cap- tain Blue grinned broadly. "We felt that there was a more quali fied person to pin it on." Colonel White gave Captain Blue a stern look. "This had bet- ter be good, Captain." Captain Blue turned to the colonel's aide. "Is everything ready, Lieutenant Green?" "S.I.G., Captain." "Go ahead, then." The lieutenant moved his chair to the other end of his console and pressed a button. The door on the side of the control room opened, and Captain Scarlet strode through the door and stood in front of the old chief. Burton rubbed his eyes. Surely he was seeing things. The captain was in perfect health! "What the . . . ?" Burton began. "I was very lucky, Chief," interrupted Captain Scarlet. "I'll say! The last time I heard, you were dying!" "Well, thanks to medical science, I made it." Captain Scarlet added to himself. "I couldn't believe you survived that landing. From what I heard, you didn't have any room to spare. Another inch lower and I hate to think of what would have happened." "Now you know why I dumped you out of the helicopter. Not carrying your weight gave me those few inches I needed. I knew I had to reach the ship for any chance of survival, and I also saw the lifeboat which was waiting to pick you up." "I guess I owe you my life, Captain." Captain Scarlet smiled. "I'll settle for that drink you pro- mised me a while ago, Chief." Colonel White cleared his throat. " . . . when I'm off-duty, of course," Captain Scarlet added quickly. Colonel White nodded. Captain Scarlet turned to Lieutenant Green, who took out an- other black velvet box from its concealment and handed it to him. He opened the box and took out the medal. "The Spectrum Cross is hereby awarded to Chief Petty Officer Terence M. Burton, United States Navy, for bravery well above and beyond the call of duty during the recent World Navy combined exercise `Operation World Hope'. Congratulations, Chief." He hung a silver cross, with the Spectrum insignia in the center and strung on a rainbow-colored ribbon, around Burton's neck and snapped to attention. They ex- changed salutes and then handshakes, each clapping the other on the back. The other three Spectrum officers then congratulated the old salt, each with a handshake and a few kind words. The last was Colonel White, who clasped Burton's hand and said, "You may turn in your application any time, Chief." T H E E N D Bringin' On The Rain A QUANTUM LEAP Filksong By Shirla Turman (To The Tune Of "Singin' In The Rain") I'm bringin' on the rain? I'm bringin' on the rain? What a horrible feeling-- I'm scamming again! They're hoping for clouds So dark up above . . . The sun's in their eyes, But it's their money I love. Let the sunny skies chase Everyone from the place. Come on with the rain! Hey--I've got to save face! I'll run down the lane, I'm heading for the rain. They think I'm Bringin' on the rain! We All Live In An Alien Nation An ALIEN NATION Filksong By Shirla Turman (To The Tune Of "Rhythm Nation" By Janet Jackson) Newcomers are all fine Let's connect those spotted lines They want to work together To improve their way of life They raise their voices in protest Say their lives are in distress A generation full of courage and some doubt, indeed CHORUS: They all landed here looking for a better way of life (sing!) We're all a part of an Alien Nation (woo!) They all landed here looking for a better way of life (sing it up, now!) We're all a part of an Alien Nation Businesses are tough And neighborhoods are rough And what they have to struggle through-- Isn't prejudice enough? Things could get worse-- We have to make them better . . . It's time to give a damn We've got to work together (people, come on, now) (Repeat chorus) Say it for the Newcomers Say it for the humans Say it for equality Say it for the Newcomers Say it for the humans Say it for equality--Alien! (Repeat chorus) Say it for the Newcomers Say it for the humans Say it for equality Say it for the Newcomers Say it for the humans Say it for equality A--li--en Na--tion . . . We're all a part of an Alien Nation Quantum Blues A QUANTUM LEAP Filksong By Shirla Turman (To The Tune Of "Smuggler's Blues" By Glenn Frey) There's trouble with the project-- I can feel it in my bones-- I had a premonition That he should not leap alone. Ziggy was downloaded, It was gonna be such a thrill-- Everything exploded And then time began to spill. So, judge, here is your folder, You can see all our plans-- We're doing just what we promised Except one tiny little jam. Give us another 2 mil, And get him back we will . . . I'm sorry it went down like this, But someone had to choose-- It's the nature of time travelin' . . . It's the Quantum Blues. Quantum Blues . . . A sailor, a pilot, an attorney-at-law, A cowboy, a magician doing things nobody saw. Don't matter if it's cheating, killing, or white lies-- Sam can undo it `cause of all the time he buys. There's lots of shady characters, Lots of dirty deals, His name's always an alias In case he accidentally squeals . . . It's the lure of helping out, It's got a very strong appeal . . . Perhaps you'd understand it better Standing in his shoes-- It's the nature of time travelin' . . . It's the Quantum Blues. Quantum Blues . . . Oh . . . He's changing all the headlines, They're changing everyday, He says he's gonna stop it, But he doesn't go away. I can see him in the chamber, And I can hear him, too-- I seem to walk right through walls Just right out of the blue. I'm hitting up the government It's the good ol' U.S. of A. You ask any of our congressmen, They'll say "There's nothing we can do." From the office of the President Right down to me and you . . . Me and you . . . I guess Sam will never be leaping home But still you can't refuse-- Watching him change history . . . It's the Quantum Blues. Quantum Blues . . . New Lives A TWIN PEAKS Short Story by Kimberly Murphy Author's note: It's 31 August 1989, two days before F.B.I. Special Agent Dale Cooper and Horne Enterprises heiress Audrey Horne are due to tie the knot. Unfortunately, crime recognizes no special occasions-- and a bank holdup in downtown Spokane turns tense quickly as the F.B.I. moves in to handle the situation. Welcome to the latest installment of the POWER STAR version of the TWIN PEAKS universe, where Diane is a real person (Cooper's fraternal twin, Special Agent Diana Lee Cooper-Wilkins), BOB is long gone (courtesy of "Bridge Between Worlds", my cliffhanger re- solution story), and true love conquers all (as evidenced by Dale and Audrey's impending nuptials, as well as Diane's upcoming wed- ding to Sheriff Harry S. Truman). And now, the story. Enjoy! Cast Of Characters [(*) = Kimberly's characters and casting] Kyle MacLachlan. . . . . . . . F.B.I. Special Agent Dale Bartholomew Cooper Michael Ontkean. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Sheriff Harry S. Truman Susan Anton (*). . . . . . . .F.B.I. Special Agent Diana Lee Cooper-Wilkins Sherilyn Fenn. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Audrey Horne Royce D. Applegate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Father Clarence Brocklehurst Robert Bauer . . . . . . . . . . . . Benjamin Jonathan ("Johnny") Horne III Richard Beymer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Benjamin Jonathan Horne, Jr. Jan D'Arcy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sylvia Horne Morgan Fairchild (*) . . . . . . . . . . Kathleen "Shamrock" Gardner Cooper Warren Frost . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Dr. William Hayward Jami Gertz (*) . . . . . . . . . . . . . .F.B.I. Special Agent Kerry Thorne Hal Holbrook (*) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Lee Cooper David Patrick Kelly. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jeremy "Jerry" Horne Piper Laurie . . . . . . . . . . .Catherine Packard Martell/Sunsei Tojomura James B. Sikking (*) . . . . . . . . .F.B.I. Special Agent Bryce D. Griffin Daniel J. Travanti (*) . . . . . . . . . F.B.I. Special Agent Rex P. Caliph New Lives A TWIN PEAKS Short Story by Kimberly Murphy The mid-morning sun shone brightly against the eastward-facing facade of the F.B.I. Regional Office in Spokane, Washington. F.B.I. Special Agent Diane Cooper-Wilkins leaned back in her office chair and bathed her face in the beams streams through the slats of the mini-blinds in her fourth-floor office. she thought. The whir of the laser printer behind her ceased, indicating her printout was ready. She lifted the paper off the face-down tray and looked at it, then rose from her desk and strode across the room to her partner's desk. "For your signature," Diane said as she handed her partner and brother, F.B.I. Special Agent Dale Cooper, the memo she'd been typ- ing all morning. "Thank you," Dale said as he took it from her. He looked it over carefully and shook his head. "Enforced desk duty. I always hated it." "Every agent does." "Unfortunately, it's the rule. Pregnant agents have to be re- moved from life-threatening positions until their pregnancy is over." "It's not fair. Only women have to follow that rule. Expec tant fathers should be forced to step aside as well. They're usu- ally so excited, they're almost dangerous." "But expectant fathers aren't carrying another life inside them." He looked at her and smiled gently. "How are you feeling this morning?" "Little tired . . . little nervous." She shook her head and smiled. "I can't believe I'm pregnant." "Doc Hayward can probably explain how that happens." She grimaced. He laughed as he signed the memo. "Harry going to make an honest woman out of you right away? Or are you going to wait a month for your already-scheduled date?" "I wouldn't talk. It only took us two months of trying. You'd think you and Audrey would have had a litter by now." "It takes nine months to have a baby. Audrey and I have only been physically involved for four. Have you told Harry yet?" She shook her head. "I just found out for sure yesterday. I wanted to make all the work-related arrangements first. Besides, I wouldn't want to steal the thunder two days before your wedding." "You'd better tell him soon. Once I send this memo to Rex for his initials, there won't be many people who won't know." "Dale, I'm only four weeks pregnant. It's not as if I'll be showing any time soon. I wouldn't even have known if I hadn't tak- en a blood test during my annual physical." "I'd guessed something was up." She looked at him oddly. "How?" "Your period, Diane, is like clockwork. I always know what week of the month it is because every twenty-eight days, you spend two solid days pontificating on the notion that every man should have to suffer through a menstrual cycle just once to see what pain is really like. Last week, I realized your monthly speech was late." She grimaced again. "You're pushing your luck, Agent Cooper. But don't worry. I have ways of getting even." "How?" "Well, they have something called an empathy belly at most childbirth classes. It's a prosthetic pregnant abdomen they strap onto a man, then load it down with weights and make him wear it for a while. I intend to make sure you are attending my childbirth class that day." "Wouldn't miss it. Harry should look adorable in it." Diane smacked him with a folder as they both laughed. Dale took her right hand. Their pinkies intertwined, joining their rings. "The point is, Diane, now we both know you're preg nant. It's a big change for both of us . . . your child, my niece or nephew, the next generation of Coopers. It's a lot of responsi bility. And I intend to do whatever it takes to make sure nothing happens to you or your baby. You remember how much trouble Mom said she had when she was expecting us." "That's because she was carrying twins. I'll be fine." "I know you'll be fine. And I'm going to make sure of that." She smiled, then began to laugh nervously. "I'm going to have a baby," she said, wonder in her voice. He beamed with the joy they both shared. "I'm so happy for you," he replied in the same manner. "And Harry's going to be, too." "I hope so. We hadn't planned on children this soon." "A love as strong as yours and Harry's should be shared with children." "I know. He keeps saying he wants children." She rested a hand on her abdomen. "I just hope he's still eager after he finds out he's going to have one sooner than he expected." "I wouldn't worry, Diane. If I know Harry Truman like I think I do, he'll be absolutely thrilled . . . and a wonderful father." She smiled wryly. "Should I tell Dad?" Dale thought for a moment. "Not right away," he replied. "I don't think tonight would be a good night to spring this kind of news on Dad. He'll be really tired from the flight." "Good point. What time's he get in?" Dale looked at his desk calendar. "Six-fifteen. When's Harry coming down?" "Five. He said he'd bring Audrey with him." "I hope she's finished with her meetings by then. Ben's got her seeing bankers today for the new Horne's Department Store he wants to put into the mall they're building outside of town. As if she doesn't have enough to do with last-minute wedding arrangements and packing up her belongings to move out of her old room and into our house." "You're already saying `our'." He shook his head and smiled. "I know. We've been married in our hearts since the first night we slept together. But we're fi- nally going to make it official . . . to start our new lives to- gether." She smiled at him. "Nervous?" "Not yet," he grinned. "Give me a couple of days." Diane laughed. "In a couple of days, it'll all be over." He shook his head and smiled. "It'll just be starting." A knock at their office door interrupted their conversation. They broke their link. "Come," Dale called. Violent Crimes division Chief Rex Caliph opened the door and looked inside at them. "Morning, Coopers," he said. "Sorry to barge in, but bad news already this morning. Hostage situation down at Spokane Federal Savings, on Hamilton at Illinois. All hands on deck." "We're on our way," Diane promised. "Thanks." Rex left hurriedly. "What do you mean `we'?" Dale said, rising to his feet. "You're assigned desk duty." "Says you," Diane replied, snatching the memo off his desk. "Hey!" Dale protested, lunging for the memo. Diane quickly shoved it into a desk drawer and locked her desk. "Only you and I know that memo exists. Let's keep it that way until this is over." "Diane . . . " "Is there a problem, Agent Cooper?" "Damn straight, Agent Cooper-Wilkins. You are pregnant. And Bureau regulations state . . . " "I know what the regs state. But I also know that until a work center chief signs that memo and a key component chief initi- als it, it isn't binding. I only got the signature." "Don't play games with me, Diane. There's more at stake than a minor technicality." "I know. But I have a job to do. And we're wasting time ar- guing." He looked her in the eye. "Promise me you'll stay well out of the line of fire." She raised her right hand. "Promise," she swore. "Then let's go." They both checked their guns, then gathered their suit jackets and headed out the door. A swarm of black-suited F.B.I. agents joined the mass of Spo- kane City Police officers, including sharpshooters, outside the Spokane Federal Savings Bank, housed in the bottom floor of a glass office tower. A wall of police cars blocked off the perimeter and provided a rampart for the officers. Dale, Diane, Rex, and Violent Crimes division Deputy Chief Bryce Griffin quickly joined Police Captain Mark Tyler, whose men had their guns trained on the front door of the bank. "What's the status?" Rex asked. "We think there's a security guard dead inside the door," Tyl- er replied. "They won't let anyone near. There's probably a dozen or so employees and about half that many customers inside. There are three gunmen . . . they were unable to get out when the police and building security people arrived." "Any demands?" Bryce queried. "None. We think it was just a robbery gone bad." "Law enforcement support?" Dale asked. "Sharpshooters around all sides. Surrounding area's been evacuated. But we couldn't get anyone in to get the rest of the people in that office building out." "Anyone got a layout of that building?" Diane asked. "Should be coming anytime." A police car screeched to a halt nearby, its siren dying as the engine shut off. An officer hurried up to the senior Feds and Tyler with a set of blueprints in hand. "Got `em," he said, hand- ing Tyler the roll. "O.K.," Tyler replied, spreading them out across the hood of one of the police cars. He and the quartet of F.B.I. agents looked them over carefully. "Looks like there's a fire door in the back," he said, pointing to a marking on the street-level drawing, "and one on the roof," he continued indicating a marking on the roof- level sketches. "Can we get a helicopter to get some men up there?" Bryce asked. "Just give the word," Tyler answered. "What about that door?" Diane indicated, pointing to a marking on the street-level drawing indicating a side door. Tyler looked up to get his bearings on the building's front, then back at the drawing. "Probably belongs to that florist shar- ing the bottom floor," he replied. "A delivery door," Dale mused. "And a place they wouldn't expect to see police entering," Rex agreed. He turned around and beckoned his team closer. "All right," Rex said when most of his agents had gathered around. "Here's the situation. There are at least three armed men holding approximately eighteen hostages inside that bank, and there are ten floors full of office workers above them. The trick will be to get inside without getting everyone in there killed. Hum- phrey, take Fay, Carlson, and Todd around the back to this door." He indicated the drawing. "Dalton, get Lee and Sewall and go with one of Tyler's men to get a police chopper--I want you coming in through the fire door on the roof. Beck, I want you, David, and Maureen to follow them on the next chopper run--it'll be your job to secure that stairwell in case our friends in there try to make a break for it. Diane, take Kerry and Price and get in through that florist's delivery door." Dale and Diane looked at each other quickly. This was exactly what they both had hoped would not happen. "I'll take the flo rist's entrance," Dale volunteered. "No," Rex stated firmly. "You're my best shot. I need you up front in case they try to make it out with human shields." "Diane's your second best . . . " "Which is why I need her spearheading the team on the side en- trance." Diane thought quickly. She could tell Rex the truth . . . but it would leave her team short-handed. Besides, she could still stay out of the line of fire by offering to bring up the rear when they went in the side entrance and still be effective. "He's right, Dale," she finally stated aloud. "You're more effective up front." She turned to Tyler. "We'll need flak jackets, if you've got any spares." Tyler gestured toward a police van parked nearby. "You can have what's in there," he offered. "We'll pick some up when we get the copter," Agent Frank Dal- ton added. "Then let's get moving," Rex ordered. Dale and Diane looked at each other. When they became perma nent partners two years ago, both had sworn to be agents first and siblings last while on duty. It was times like this that put that oath to the test. Both knew the stakes involved--lives inside the bank, and the new life inside Diane, all of which needed to be pro- tected at all costs. But orders had been given. And now it was time to follow them. "Good luck," Dale said, offering a handshake. "I'll need it," Diane replied, accepting it. Their pinkies intertwined briefly. Then, they broke the link and the handshake. Diane headed off toward the police van, where the members of her team and the squad that was going to storm the rear entrance were already waiting. One of the local officers pulled out the three jackets he had in the van. "This is all we've got," he apologized. "One really small . . . " "Looks like my size," petite Agent Fay Wade piped up. The officer handed it to her, then looked at the next one. "One really big . . . " "Mine," Agent Todd Woodson, a tall, husky young man, request- ed. The officer handed off the jacket and looked at the last one. "And an average sized one." The remaining agents--Humphrey Mar, Craig Carlson, Kerry Thorne, Nick Price, and Diane--looked at the jacket. "Not my size," Humphrey, another husky agent, indicated. "Mine, either," tall, thin Craig stated. "Not really mine, either," Diane noted. "Kerry . . . Nick . . . which one of you wants it?" "It'll probably fit Nick better," Kerry said, looking at her feminine curves. "I'm not exactly shaped for a flak jacket." "I'll say," Nick joked, taking the jacket and strapping it on. Then, he looked at the straining straps. "Looks like I was wrong," he remarked, then removed the jacket. "Have a vest, Kerry," he said, handing it to her. "Looks like my chest's bigger than yours." "That'll do," Diane said in a warning tone, then turned back to the local officer at the van. "I need two squad cars running silent up to that corner to drop us off so we won't be noticed ap- proaching." "Can do," he said, then glanced behind him. "Charlie? Reg- gie?" Two uniformed Spokane policemen turned around. "Go with them," the officer at the van indicated. "They'll take you where you want to go." "Thanks," Diane said, then turned to her agents. "Let's go." The pair of Spokane squad cars stopped at a corner near an al- ley several blocks away from the front entrance of the bank. The seven agents climbed out of the cars and split into their teams. Agents Mar, Woodson, Carlson and Wade headed off toward the rear entrance; Agents Price, Thorne and Cooper-Wilkins headed toward the side of the building. Kerry checked her revolver and adjusted the fit of her vest, Nick primed the police-issue shotgun one of the officers had given him, and Diane slapped a fresh cartridge into her 9-millimeter pistol as they moved toward the delivery door. Diane flanked one side of the florist's door, and Nick and Kerry flanked the other. Diane nodded to Nick, who rapped on the door with the butt of his gun. "F.B.I.--open up!" he called. There was no response. "Blast it open," Diane ordered. Nick fired a round into the door, blowing away the lock. He then inserted the tip of the shotgun into the hole in the door and whipped the door open. Kerry led the way in, Nick and Diane covering her. They found themselves inside the back room of the flower shop, which appeared to be deserted. Kerry reached the door leading to the shop's showroom and quickly flanked the doorway. She beckoned with her head for some- one to take the lead. Diane nodded, then gestured with her head toward Nick. He got the message and poked the barrel of the shotgun into the shop. When that drew no response, he headed out into the shop itself, quickly followed by his partners. They quickly looked around the shop--and saw that it was em- pty. They also saw that the walls of the shop were plate-glass windows--and that they were completely exposed. One of the glass panes shattered as the sound of gunfire filled the air. Diane dove for cover behind a display of potted plants, then looked where she had stood moments ago. Nick Price lay in a crumpled heap on the floor of the flower shop. "You idiot!" she heard a man's voice yell. "You shot a cop!" Diane thought. It occurred to her that she had no idea where Kerry had ended up. Kerry Thorne was a relative rookie, a young agent from Blue Creek with limited experience in the field of Violent Crimes. Di- ane admired the agent's analytical skills and enthusiasm; she'd of- ten remarked to Dale that Kerry reminded her of herself as a rookie agent. But skill and poise in the office was different than grace under fire--and this was Kerry's first hostage/rescue situation, an experience that often terrified veteran Feds. Quietly, she eased out from behind the display to find her missing team member. "Drop it, lady," she heard a man's voice order in a cold tone. Diane turned with her gun drawn--and saw a tall, dark man with his arm wrapped around Kerry's neck and his free hand holding a gun to her head. Kerry's revolver lay on the floor behind them. Diane held her aim firm. she thought . . . The cold shaft of a gun in her back halted her planning. "He said, drop it," the man behind her ordered. Diane's mind raced. If she fought back, Kerry was dead. And she did not like the idea of being on the wrong end of a two-on-one fight. As much as she hated to surrender, it was better to save three lives--Kerry's, hers, and the baby she carried within her-- than to lose three lives. Kerry watched her supervisor drop her gun to the floor. "Good girl," the man whose gun was in the middle of Diane's back stated. He then pushed her forward with the gun. "Now, move it." Diane lurched forward, then began moving slowly and cautiously toward the lobby. The other gunman dragged Kerry in the same di- rection. "Where are you taking us?" Kerry whispered. "Shut up!" her captor snapped. It soon became obvious where they were going. The main lobby entrance of the Spokane Federal Savings Bank loomed in front of them. And the dead security guard lay near the door. "You wanted in here?" the gunman prodding Diane along taunted. "Well, you made it. Now--get in there!" Diane and Kerry stumbled through the entrance into the bank lobby, where the employees and customers were lying face down on the floor. An additional gunman, armed with an Uzi, was watching over them. "What the Hell is this?" the third man snapped. "Couple of lady cops, Sarge," the thug who had been holding Kerry replied. "Found `em in the flower shop. You were right-- they did try breaking in that way." "Good thing we moved those people from the shop in here," the other gunman added. "Shut up," Sarge said irritatedly. "Bad enough you shot a rent-a-cop--but those two are Feds! What the Hell was all the shooting about over there?" The two gunmen looked at each other sheepishly. "We shot their partner," one of them said. "He had a shotgun," the other added. Sarge pounded his fist into a nearby desk. "All right. Dam- age's been done. Let's see what we can salvage. Slick, get their badges. M, get those cops out there on the phone." Diane held as still as she could as the one called Slick yanked her badge off her gun belt and shoved her backwards. She forced her rising fear back down and tried to remain calm. she thought. "Cooper?" Dale heard Rex's voice ask. Dale blinked, then looked over at his supervisor. "You O.K.?" Rex asked. Dale hesitated with his answer. He could sense Diane's dan- ger, feeling her rising fear through the power of their emotional bond. But there was something more. It was almost as if he could hear her calling out to him--just as he'd been able to hear her near the end of his ordeal with the mind-enhancing drug that had been accidentally injected into his bloodstream a few months ago. "There's too much street noise out here," Dale said aloud. "With all that glass, the copter overhead, and the traffic, we'd never know if anything went wrong. And I can't shake the feeling that something's gone very wrong." "Cop's intuition?" Rex asked. Dale nodded. "I wish I had it as sharp as you do," Bryce noted, then turned to Tyler. "Get your man in the copter on the horn and find out what's going on." "Gotcha." Tyler reached into one of the police cars and grabbed the radio microphone. "Tyler to Copter One, Tyler to Cop- ter One--come in, Copter One," he said into the mike. "Copter One--go ahead," came the reply. "What's going on up there?" Tyler asked. "Is the first team in yet?" "Negative," the chopper pilot replied. "They can't get past the fire door. They're trying to break it in. I was about to go back for a fire axe to help them break it down." "Jesus," Rex said. "What about the other teams?" "Copter One," Tyler asked, "what's the status of the other teams?" "Team at the rear's having the same problems," answered the chopper pilot. "Let me swing around and check the side." There was a long, uncomfortable pause before the reply came. "Looks like they made it in," the pilot said. "The side door's standing open." "They're in there alone," Dale said, the realization hitting him. "No backup." "Base to Tyler," another voice interjected over the police ra- dio. "This is Tyler," the captain said. "Come in, Base." "There's a call for you. The man says he's one of the gunmen inside the bank." Tyler, Rex, Bryce and Dale all looked at one another. Each man's expression reflected the horrifying thought that they dared not voice--the idea that some of their own might be hostages. "Put it through," Tyler finally said into the microphone. There was a long pause. "Is anyone there?" the voice of the man called M said over the radio. "This is Captain Tyler of the Spokane Police Department," Tyl- er replied. "Who is this?" There was another long pause. The sound of rustling as a phone receiver changed hands could be heard. "Let me talk to one of the Feds out there," Sarge's voice said. Rex took the microphone. "This is Special Agent Rex Caliph," he said. "Who is this?" "Never mind that," Sarge replied. "We found a couple of your men in here . . . or should I say, a couple of your women. Kerry Thorne . . . Diana Cooper-Wilkins . . . not bad lookers." Dale's heart skipped a beat. It took every ounce of self-con- trol he had not to bolt toward the bank to rescue Diane. Rex's expression hardened. "What's their condition?" "Does it really matter?" Sarge replied. "You're going to rush the place anyway, right? Does it matter if they're dead now or if we kill them before you get in here?" "We're not dealing with sane men here," Bryce noted. We've got to keep him talking while we figure out how to get everybody out of there." Rex nodded, then returned to the radio conversation. "How many others do you have in there?" he asked. "Other what?" Sarge retorted. "Cops?" "Cut the crap!" Rex snapped irritatedly. "You know what I mean. How many other hostages do you have?" "Oh . . . probably twenty-one or so, mostly women. Had to clear out the flower shop--we had a feeling you clowns would try to come in that way. Of course, I didn't expect you to send a couple of broads . . . " "What do you want?" Rex interrupted. "To get out with our haul. That's it. Nothing more." "No deal. Let your hostages go and then we'll talk." "No deal." There was a click, then a dial tone over the po- lice radio. Rex tossed the microphone back toward the car angrily, then composed himself and turned toward Dale and Bryce. "Any ideas?" "I don't like the fact that we can't hear anything that could be going on in there," Bryce noted. "Cooper's right--with all that glass and the rest of the street noise, we'd never know if they shot any of their hostages." "Plus, they were smart enough to secure the florist's," Dale pointed out. "They could have more men in there we don't know about. This could be a full-scale hostage crisis, not just a rob- bery gone awry." "We've got to get those other teams in there," Rex agreed. "But going in that side door is suicide," Tyler interjected. "It's obvious they had it staked out. They probably still do." "Which means we've got to get fire axes to the teams at the fire doors. Tyler, check on the status of your chopper and find out if he's gotten anything to help them out." "Gotcha," Tyler said, turning to his car to retrieve the mi- crophone. "But the side door may not be a bad idea," Dale noted. "Now that we know they're there, a properly-armed team should have no trouble getting past any resistance. Let me take Beck's squad and . . . " "Absolutely not," Rex interrupted. "Even if you get past the resistance, there's no guarantee they won't turn that bank lobby into a morgue." "Rex, they've already shot one of our agents . . . " "How do you know?" "By the very fact that they didn't mention Nick Price was one of their hostages--which probably means he's lying on the floor of the flower shop just like that security guard who's lying face down in the lobby. Rex, they've shot a Fed. They have absolutely no- thing to lose. That bank's going to turn into a morgue if we don't get in there!" "I know that, Cooper . . . " "Then do something! Don't just stand here waiting for them to kill another one!" "Like your sister?" Dale's expression hardened. "Like my partner." "Who happens to be your sister. I was never comfortable with that combination. But Gordon Cole authorized it . . . because he said you could be trusted to be partners first and foremost." Dale took a deep breath to regain his composure, then beckoned Rex off to the side. The pair stepped away from the others. Dale looked Rex in the eye. "What would you do if that were your partner in there being held hostage by a group of crazed gun- men who don't care about anything except getting out of there with their lives?" he asked coolly. Rex looked away. "What did you do in San Diego, Rex?" Dale continued. "Did you panic? Did you wait too long to make the right decision--making the wrong one by default?" He paused dramatically. "Did you watch them bring your partner out in a body bag?" "That was a long time ago," Rex snapped angrily. "Was it? Or does it seem like just yesterday in your mind? That's why you transferred to San Francisco in 1979, right? To get away from that incident? But it's happening again, ten years lat- er. Only this time, it isn't your partner in there. It's a rookie and one of your top cops. And you're afraid of making the same mistake twice." He looked Rex in the eye. "I know all about mak- ing the same mistake twice, Rex. It's Hell. It's also human. But you have the chance to avoid falling into the trap I did. Fo