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The blue glow and rush of the leap began to subside, but Sam Beckett was unsettled to note the uncommon white brilliance around him.  "Wha--?" he exclaimed, as off-balance, he began to slide.  Cold air bit at his cheeks and he instinctively threw out his arms to save himself.  The scenery spun and Sam dropped the poles (ski poles?) as the sickening falling sensation became worse.  "Ahgh--" Sam hit the slope in a shower of snow and slid slowly to a halt.  

The hollow clang of the imaging chamber door rang and Al stepped out, waist deep in snow and frowning at his handlink.   Taking in Sam's spread eagle position in the snow Al smiled.  "Hi, Sam."  

Sam looked up the hill, noting a brightly costumed group of skiers standing upslope as he sat up and tried to scoop snow out of the neck of his jacket.  "Al," he demanded,  "Can I ski?"

"Well, no,"  Al responded.  "But you don't have to--"

"Oh, good!"  Sam brightened.  "I'm here to help, uh, who am I?"  

"Paul Gilbert."  

"--Paul Gilbert give up skiing before he gets seriously injured, right?  Right?" 

"No, Sam,"  Al replied.  "You don't need to know how to ski because this is a beginner class.  You're---- Sam!  Look out!"

Sam twisted around and saw a girl hurtling toward him.  

"Look out!"  she echoed Al unconsciously.  "I―oh!"  

Sam buried his face in the snow again and crossed his arms protectively over his head as the girl half--hit, half--fell over him.  They both slid a few feet further down the hill. 

"Are you all right?"  the girl gasped frantically.  

She looked about fifteen or sixteen, Sam thought, and her whole face was deepening into an embarrassed blush.  "I'm so sorry--" 

"It's okay, I'm fine," Sam reassured her.  "Are you all right?"

"Aside from being stuck halfway up this stupid mountain, you mean?  No, I'm fine," she said.  

"Ah,"  Sam flopped back into the snow and raised his head to look at Al.  "I wonder what I'm doing here myself."  

"Oh,"  Al returned his gaze to the handlink.  "Well, we aren't sure."

With a swish and a professional swirl of snow, a blond woman in a fluorescent green ski jacket halted neatly beside them.  "Come on, kids, are you okay?  Yes?  Then up, up.  Paul you need to flex your knees, remember? You were doing very well until you forgot to stay loose.  Cathy, your weight is always on the inside edge of the downhill ski.  Inside edge, downhill ski.  Come on guys, collect your gear--"  she hesitated, then her attention was caught by the next skier down the slope and she pushed off to glide swiftly to him  as Sam and Cathy struggled to reorganize skis and poles lost in their respective falls.  As the remaining half dozen students straggled down the slope, she called out a constant flow of encouraging critique.

Al stared after her, "Mmm...would you look at that?  She's gorgeous, Sam." 

Sam was surreptitiously watching as Cathy fit her boot into the ski binding.  It caught with a neat click.  He picked up his own foot, feeling stiff and clumsy in the heavy boots.  The binding did not catch, and Sam fell over as the boot slid off the slippery surface of the ski.   He struggled up doggedly.  "Al, what do I do?"  he whispered.  

Al's attention was still on the blond ski instructor.  

Cathy turned, and seeing his difficulty, said helpfully, "Your binding's still closed, see?"  At Sam's blank look, she carefully fit her ski pole into a depression at the back of the binding and pressed.  The back part of the mechanism sprang out with a 'click'.   "Now try."  

Sam fit the boot in dubiously, but it caught.  He picked up the other foot, started to slide, and hastily put it back down again with only mild flailing.  Looking at Cathy, he carefully picked up his ski and turned it parallel to Cathy's before putting on the second ski. 

Cathy grinned encouragingly at him and then, obeying the instructor's gesture, followed the last student down the hill. 

"What's wrong with you?"  Sam demanded.  "Tell me what to do, Al."

Al turned back to Sam,  "What?  Oh, I don't know how to ski, Sam."

"What do you mean you don't know how to ski?  You've done everything.  Besides--" a glimmer shone in Sam's hazy memory, "you used to go off on ski weekends with, uh, what'shername."

"Marcia," Al replied with a reminiscent smile.  "But we never actually got around to doing any skiing.  The hotel had this hot tub...."

"I see."  Sam looked down at the energetic gestures of the ski instructor terrifyingly far below him.  Al punched some buttons on the handlink, and the imaging chamber door appeared.  "I think I'd better go see how Paul is doing,"  he announced.  He gave his friend a malicious grin.  "Have fun, Sam."  

Sam glared at the empty space where the hologram had disappeared.  With some trepidation he turned his skis to point downhill.  "Oh, booyyyy....!"

*

Sam hobbled across the cafeteria with stiff boots and shaking knees.  He paused halfway to drink enough cocoa to prevent it slopping over the side, then continued to sit down with Cathy and a couple of other skiers from the class. 

Cathy gave Sam a sympathetic look.  "What happened, Paul?"  she asked.  "You were doing okay until that fall."  She frowned worriedly.  "Are you sure I didn't hurt you when I fell--?"

"No, no," Sam assured her.  "Um, actually I don't really care for heights."  He sipped at a steaming cup of cocoa.   "And I guess the fall rattled me some." 

"Why are you learning to ski then?"  The solid middle-aged man next to Sam asked curiously, taking a large bite of his pizza.

Good question.   "Oh, uh, well,"  Sam began to stammer a little.  

"Your father suggested it,"  Al said behind him.  

"Agh!"  Sam yelped and half--rose, spilling cocoa down the front of his jacket in his surprise.

"What is it?"  Cathy asked, wide--eyed.  

"Hot,"  Sam gestured to the cup.  "Ah, I have to--"  He gestured toward the restrooms.  "Excuse me."  

"We'll keep an eye on your pizza for you,"  offered the young man next to Cathy.  He gave Sam's plate an exaggeratedly calculating look.  

Sam smiled.  "I'll hurry back."

There was a line at the rest room so Sam stepped outdoors instead.  "Al,"  Sam began.  "How many times have I asked you-- ah, what's the use?  Tell me why I'm here."

"Well, Ziggy was a little unclear on that--"

"Don't tell me Ziggy is unclear!  I'm out risking life and limb, hurling myself down mountains--" 

"Now, don't exaggerate, Sam.  You had a little slip on the bunny slope."

"Little slip!  I'm going to be black and blue from here,"  Sam indicated his chin, "...to, never mind."  Sam chopped off the gesture and Al grinned.  "Just tell me what it is that we do know?"  

"Okay.  The year is 1985.  Your name is Paul Gilbert, and you're a freshman college stu--"  Al slapped the handlink against his palm.  "Dent.   College student at Dartmouth.  Biology- you eventually go on to medical school.   Your parents are divorced...oh, your dad, who's living in Switzerland, wants you to visit him on his spring break.  He's an avid skier, and that's why you-- Paul--wants to learn how to ski, so you can go with him."  Al looked up.  "That's nice, Sam."

"It would be nice if I knew what I was doing here, Al. Paul isn't going to learn anything about skiing sitting in the Waiting Room.  What do I have to do to leap out of here?  Doesn't Ziggy have any idea?" 

"Oh, yeah.  Ziggy says you have to ski the summit."  

Sam looked at Al disbelievingly, then turned and looked up the slope.  Rows of ski racks lined the area in front of the lodge.  A steady stream of skiers were leaving their skis before coming in, or collecting them to join the lift lines.  Three chair lifts crawled steadily up the mountain disappearing into the far distance.  The summit was lost in a cloud of mist.  

"Al, this sounds suspiciously like 'Break Mach 3 and live' to me.  It doesn't make any sense. How does skiing the summit help anyone?" 

"Well, Ziggy's only giving it a forty--seven percent chance," Al admitted.  "But we just don't have anything else.  We're having a terrible time getting at records.    This resort dumps hard copy records at the end of the year and computer records every five years.   The only data we have is on Paul.  He's been telling us quite a lot, actually."  Al laughed.  "He's convinced he had an accident skiing and is in the hospital. Except he isn't sure if the Waiting Room is a real place or some kind of hallucination he's having in a coma."  

"Ha.  Very funny,"  Sam thought for a moment.  "You must be able to access Paul's future history." 

"Nada.  He leads a depressingly normal life.  Marries in med school, gets his medical degree.  Nothing to suggest a critical point in his life now."  

"So I'm probably here to help someone else." 

"Yeah.  Paul couldn't remember a lot of the last names of the people he's met.  With those, we can start getting personal histories of the people around you.  Oh, and you're sharing a condo with three other guys.  We'll find out about them too. "

"Okay."  

Al raised the handlink and opened the Imaging Chamber door.  "I'm outta--" 

"Hey, Mom, look at that!"  

Sam and Al turned in time to see a boy of about four ski straight into a ski rack while looking at the glowing blue door of the Imaging Chamber.  Sam winced.  "There are an awful lot of kids around here." 

"I know,"  Al said.  "I'm going to have to be more careful where I pop in."   He stepped through the door and turned.  "Have fun in your afternoon lesson, Sam." 

*

Sam walked carefully across the dining room.  His knees ached and his legs felt rubbery.  He sank gratefully onto a stool by the bar.  "I'd like a beer."  

The ski--sweater--clad kid brushed a lock of white--blond hair out of his face.  "You have some ID?" he asked. 

"ID...? Oh," Sam cursed under his breath and felt for Paul's wallet, belatedly wondering if he had any money and whether Paul was old enough to drink in New Hampshire.   "Better make it coffee."  The guy gave him a rather odd look, but nodded to one of the waitresses, who poured him a steaming mug. 
Sam forked over a bill and accepted the cup gratefully.  The familiar hollow thud sounded behind him and Sam turned to see Al stepping out of the blue--lit doorway.    Al's attention was immediately distracted by a pretty brunette approaching the bar.  

"I love ski resorts,"   Al announced.  "Such gorgeous scenery." 

Sam dropped his head and concealed his mouth with his hand.  "Al," he hissed.  

"Yeah?"  the blond kid at the bar gave Sam a funny look.  

"Uh, nothing."  Sam turned toward Al trying to attract his attention.  The object of Al's lust stopped in front of Sam.  "Hi, Paul," she said in a soft, sultry voice. 

"Oh, ah, uh...hi,"  Sam stammered.  He raised his hand and took a sip of coffee.  

Al shook his head sadly.  "You've got to do better than that, Sam."

The girl's smile dimmed.  "Don't tell me you've forgotten last night." 

"Oh, ah...how could I possibly forget last night?" Sam half--laughed uncertainly. 

"With more conviction, Sam!"  Al encouraged.  "Tell her--"

The girl's mood had gone abruptly from friendly to furious.   "You creep.  You don't even remember my name, do you?  Do you?"  Her voice rose. 

Sam's gaze drifted past Al.   Cathy and her parents were sitting at a table only a dozen feet away.  Cathy was looking toward Sam curiously.  

"Come on, Ziggy, her name...." Al muttered and banged the handlink.  "Sorry, Sam."  

Sam looked back to the brunette, barely in time to see her swing her arm and deal him a ringing slap.  Caught off--balance, Sam slid off the stool and landed on the floor with a crash.  The girl stalked away.  

The bartender came over to help Sam up.  "Are you okay?"  he asked.  Sam stared a little dizzily at the employee nametag reading "Alan" on the kid's shirt.  

"Are you all right?"  Al echoed, leaning through a chair to peer at Sam.  "She had a hell of an arm." 

"I'm fine, Al,"  Sam answered them both.  He got up slowly, feeling his pants cling soggily to his leg.  All the floors in the resort were wet with the constant influx of snow melt.  Sam reclaimed his bottle, fortunately still atop the bar, and Alan returned to his duties. 

The handlink beeped and Al looked down.  "Okay, here it is, Sam."  Al's face fell.  "Oh, no, this isn't good.  You've changed history."  

Sam ducked his head and whispered behind his hand.  "What do you mean?"  Thankfully the attention of the other patrons of the restaurant had returned to their food.  

"Ziggy says that Paul was supposed to marry, uh, Charlene... that was her.  Apparently they met yesterday, and slept together last night.  They should have been getting better acquainted today."  Al looked up.  "Except that you forgot her name, and now she's mad."  

"Al, I didn't forget!  I never knew it!"

"You know what I mean.  Go tell her you'll make it up to her.   Tonight."  Al stuck his inevitable cigar into his mouth at a jaunty angle and puffed.  

Not for the first time, Sam was grateful he couldn't smell holographic cigar smoke.  Sam tried to glare at him unobtrusively.  "What else do you know about her?" 

"Ah, well," Al took the cigar back out of his mouth and scowled, punching a few buttons on the handlink. "No, Sam, scratch that.  Don't go after her."

Sam stared.  "Are you feeling okay?" 

"No, no, I'm fine.  Sam, you, or rather Paul, have just had a very lucky escape.  That girl was a barracuda!  She stayed married to Paul for two years, then divorced him.  Took him for every penny he had.  Actually, she reminds me of my second wife, uh...."  Al snapped his fingers, trying to remember. 

"Honestly, Al, sometimes I think you're the one who has the swiss--cheesed mind, "In his exasperation, Sam let his voice rise a little.  

"Sorry?"  Alan the bartender turned around.  "Did you say ham and swiss on rye?"  

"Huh?  Oh, yeah,"  Sam recovered.  

"We're all out of rye, but the whole wheat is fresh."

"Whole wheat is fine."  

Alan turned and gave the sandwich order to a waitress.  

Sam turned back to Al and lowered his voice. "Well, at least I don't have to chase around trying to put Paul and Charlene back together."   Sam straightened as he had a great idea.  "Do you think that was what I was here to do? Prevent the marriage?" his tone was hopeful.  

Al tapped the query into the handlink, shook his head.  "Nope.  Almost certainly not.  Ziggy only gives it a 4% chance."  He frowned.  "That's weird."

"What?"  Sam craned his neck, trying to get a look at the handlink display.  

"Hi, Paul." 

Sam twisted around to see his ski instructor of the morning looking at him with a rather peculiar expression.  "Uh, hi, Liz."  

She walked a little way around him, as if to give him a wide berth.  

Al smiled at her and gave her a little wave with the handlink as she turned and spoke to Alan in a low voice.   

Sam was vaguely aware of her saying something to Alan in a low confidential tone. 

"What a fox!"  Al was staring after her.   

Sam sat back down on his stool and spoke without looking at Al.  "Great.  She already thought I was crazy, now she's sure of it.  What's weird?"  

"You mean besides us?"  Al laughed.  "No, it's just that Ziggy can't find any current records on Charlene."

There was a crash from the bar, and they both looked over to see Alan slamming a stein onto the bar and saying something to Liz in low angry tones.  She replied, her voice going higher at the end.  "I mean it, Al!"

Sam looked back at Al and tried to remember what they were talking about.  "Um, Charlene.  You mean she disappeared?"  

"No, at least I don't think so.   There was never a missing persons report filed, but it looks like- huh.  She dropped out of college.  She didn't list any next of kin, so maybe there wasn't anyone to file a report.  Or else she told a few friends she was leaving but it never made it into the records.  Remember, computerization of records was still a work in process in the 80s."

Sam paused and accepted his sandwich from the waitress.  He took an enormous bite.  All that fresh air had made him ravenous.  "So what happened?"  he mumbled.  The whole wheat was fresh.  Mm.

Al shrugged,  "Probably she married some other poor slob, somewhere where the back records aren't computerized.  At any rate, it doesn't look like it has anything to do with you." 

Sam munched steadily.  There was something about that statement that bothered him.  

"Hey, Paul!"

Sam mumbled something through a mouthful of ham sandwich.  Fortunately the guy took it for a greeting.  "I thought you were seeing Charlene again tonight?"  The guy turned to the bartender.  "Hey, Al.  I'd like a pack of the usual."  He passed over a couple of folded bills and received a pack of cigarettes, turning back to Sam.  "She's outside with Charlie.  What happened?" 

"Charlie's one of your roommates,"  Al said quietly.  "This kid must be too.  He's either Fred or Carl."

Sam shrugged and swallowed.  "Not my type." 

"Not your type!  That's not what you said last night!"  He looked incredulous.  

"Then he should have remembered her name,"  Al and Alan spoke together with identical sly looks.  

Al did a classic double take and peered suspiciously at the bartender.  

Sam glowered at them both impartially.  

Alan grinned at him, slung his towel under the counter and exchanged nods with another fresh--faced college--age kid who took his place behind the bar as he left.  

"Ohhh.  I see."  Fred--or--Carl grinned.  "Hey, we're headed out for a drink.  You coming?" 

"No."  Sam shook his head.  He could hardly stand after falling all over the mountain.  And these kids wanted to go out drinking.  Sam felt old. 

"No?"  Well, we'll be down at the Alpenstein if you change your mind." Fred--or--Carl walked away with a bounce in his step.  

Sam shuddered.  So much energy.  He got up from the stool and moaned under his breath.  It seemed like every muscle he had was stiffening.  His thighs felt like lead.  "I need a hot shower."  

Al looked sympathetic.  "Not a shower, Sam.  Take a swim.  There's a pool in the next building.  If you stop moving you'll stiffen up.

"Take a swim?"  Sam said, a little dubiously.   Swimming in a heated pool actually sounded pretty good, now that he thought about it.  

"Oh, are you going swimming too?"  That was Cathy's voice behind him.  Sam thought she couldn't have seen the scene with Charlene.

"Ah, yes."  Sam replied.  "I need to keep moving or I'll stiffen up." 

Al grinned, and, after looking around for small children, gave Sam a small wave, poked a button on the link, and disappeared.  

"Can I walk with you then?"  

"Hmm?"  Sam looked puzzled.  

"I left my suit in the condo."  Cathy gave him a puzzled look.  "And you're right next door, aren't you?" 

"Suit? Oh, bathing suit, right."  Sam looked at Cathy's expression and added hastily.  "I-- uh----I'm trying to remember if I brought it.  But I'll go see."  As Cathy preceded him to the door, Sam groped through his pockets.  Condo key?  Yes, here was a key tagged with the name of the resort.  No number though.  Sam looked up and breathed a silent thank you for the kind providence that had let Cathy know where he was staying.  

At the door Cathy turned toward the condos that Sam had spotted earlier on the east slope.  It was snowing a little, and, as they turned onto the pedestrian path up, the snow became deeper underfoot.  Sam was glad Paul had rented a ski locker.  He  had checked his cumbersome ski boots with his skis and found a pair of worn but comfortable hiking boots.    He cursed softly as he turned his ankle in an unseen depression.  The lighting was very dim.  Cathy stopped and turned toward him, only the reflection off the snow allowing Sam to see the pale glimmer of her face.  "Are you okay?"   

"Fine,"  Sam said.  He smiled at the girl.  It was nice be somewhere he didn't have to pretend to know what he was doing for a change.  "My legs are just tired."  

She giggled.  "Me, too.  I mean, I think it will be fun when I'm a little better, but right now--  "  

She gave a little hop, and Sam felt old again.  Or perhaps still. 

Cathy looked at the sky.  "They said it wasn't supposed to snow tonight, but it smells like snow now.  I wouldn't be surprised if it gets going early."  

"Are we supposed to get much?"  Sam asked. 

She gave him a startled look.  "Oh, yes.  Haven't you heard the report?  It could be a real blizzard.   They're saying at least a foot."  She sounded rather enthused.  

"Oh, good,"  Sam a little weakly.  He heard something and stopped.  "Do you hear something?"  Sam tried to pin down the noise that had caught his attention.  A rustle?  A third plume of steam faintly rising in the dimness?  Sam moved to the side of the path, listening.  

"Watch out!"  Cathy said.  "There's a--" 

"Agh!"  Sam yelped as he slid.  "A ditch.  I found it."  Ice stabbed at his calves and enveloped his feet.   "And it's filled with water."  

Cathy giggled, coming closer.  "Do you need a hand out?"  

"No, I--"  Sam froze.   Was that something bumping his leg?  He reached down, taking off his glove, touched a slippery ski jacket.  "Cathy!"  His tone was urgent.  "There's someone down here."  

"What?!"  Cathy peered down.  

Sam groped, straining to see in the dark.   He felt up the arm to a face, still warm, tried to find a pulse.  A woman, he noted absently.  Pulse-- none.  "She's not breathing," he called.  He sloshed around in the ditch, trying to get a firm grip on the woman.  He hated to move her without knowing her injury, but he couldn't do CPR in the ditch, and anyway, the hypothermia would kill her if nothing else did.   "You'd better go--"  he broke off. 

The hollow clang of the Imaging Chamber door rang.  "Don't do that, Sam." 

Sam's hand had found something hard, at the center of her chest----a knife, sunk to the hilt just below the breastbone, at a slight angle.  

"Just hang on.  I'll get help."  Cathy said.  

"Don't let her go, Sam,"  Al repeated.  "If you do, she's going to die." 

"No!"  Sam stood, feeling stickiness on his hand.  

"What?"  

"She's dead."   Sam whispered.  Then more loudly, "She's dead, murdered.   I'll go with you." 

"But--"  Cathy's tone was a mixture of fascination and horror.  "Shouldn't someone stay with the-- body?"

Sam's tone became firmer.  "Not with a killer running around loose.  Let's go."  Sam wiped his hand in the snow and scrambled up the slope.  The icy load of water in his boots felt like knives.  Sam shivered and followed Cathy down the path.  "Who is she, Al?"  he muttered.  

"I don't know, Sam."  Al whacked the handlink and it squealed protestingly.  "This is changing again."  Al punched some more buttons.  "I need to talk to Gushie.  I'll be back."  The Imaging Chamber door closed behind him. 

*

"This way,"  Sam had wrung out his socks at the lodge but his feet were clammy and increasingly numb.  

The resort security man swore under his breath as he followed Sam up the slippery path.  "Why'd you come this way?"  His powerful flashlight illuminated the trees and falling snow. 

"I was going up to the condos,"  Sam waved vaguely in what he hoped was the right direction.  "Here."  Sam pointed.  "You can see where I slid over the edge."  

"Hmm,"  the security guard looked down and shone the light on the woman's body.  Her face was not visible, but the fluorescent green ski jacket struck a faint chord of memory.  

"It's Charlene, Sam,"  Al said beside him.  

"Ah," Sam yelped.  

"What?!"  the security guard demanded, flashing the light around.  

"Sorry, I'm a little jumpy,"  Sam apologized.  

"I'll say,"  Al looked at Sam, who was shivering violently and wondering how soon he could find some dry socks.  

The security guard was flashing the light around, but not leaving the path.  "Are you sure she's dead?" 

"Yes, I'm sure,"  Sam replied. 

"The police will be here any minute," the guard looked disapprovingly at Sam.  "They're not going to be happy with you trampling all over the evidence."

"Yeah, bozo?"  Al said belligerently.  "If Sam hadn't fallen over the body for you, you wouldn't have found it until spring.  And by then it would have been five miles downriver." 

"Really?"  Sam asked.  "What happens now?" 

Al was busily punching the handlink.  "In the original history, Sam, they didn't find the body until spring and it was never identified.  And to make things worse, Charlene wasn't--" 

"Hey, what's going on?"  Sam, Al, and the guard all turned toward the new arrival.  Her approach had been nearly silent, muffled by the falling snow.  Startled, Sam recognized Liz, the long--suffering ski instructor who had taught his beginner class.  "Jimmy?"  she called out to the security guard, "--And who's that-- oh, Paul and-- what is going on?" 

"We're waiting for the police,"  Jimmy told her curtly.  "We have a corpse."  He flashed the light briefly into the ditch.  "You'd better go back down to the main lodge." 

"Okay--"  She took it in stride.  

"I'll go with you,"  Sam turned away from the body, dropping back to let the girl precede him.  Al?"  Sam whispered.  "Was this why I was here? I couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes-- I was too late!"

"No, Sam, this wasn't your fault.  You had no way of knowing.  Besides, this can't be why you were here.  Originally, Charlene wasn't the one who died-- she married Paul, remember?"  

"But if I hadn't stood her up, she'd have been with Paul, wouldn't she?  She wouldn't be dead if I hadn't leaped in,"  Sam whispered harshly. 

"No, it would have been someone else,"  Al said matter--of--factly.  

"What?"

"Originally,"  Al waved his cigar at the woman ahead of them, "Liz was the one who died."  

Sam stopped dead.  "What?" he repeated.

"That could have been why you were here, Sam.  To save Liz."  

"By letting someone else die in her place?"  Sam shook his head.  "Charlene was supposed to spend the night with me, and when I changed that--"

"She ran into the murderer before Liz did.  And you came along and found the body before the snow buried her."  Al motioned at the snow, which was becoming heavier.   "This is going to be a helluva storm, Sam.  It starts tonight, and will drop twenty--two inches over most of the White Mountains.   It won't stop until sometime tomorrow.  Liz originally wasn't discovered until spring thaw.  Maybe the body washed downriver, may be the murderer moved it.  When you changed that, Charlene wasn't discovered either-- it was only when you fell in the ditch and found the body that the change appeared in the data banks."

Sam looked after Liz's vanished figure and began walking again. "Are you sure I wasn't here to prevent this, Al?  If only I had been here a little sooner--"

"You couldn't have known."  Al's tone was certain.  "But with this new information, Ziggy says you're here to catch the killer."  

"The killer was never caught then?"  Sam trudged forward steadily.  He frowned.  "If so, that's bad.  I mean, if he was there to kill someone, we could be talking serial killer.  Any chance that this could be the work of someone who gets caught later, but is never associated with Liz's-- now Charlene's-- death?  Or are there other murders that could be part of a pattern?"  

Al was nearing the wall of the Imaging Chamber and had to reverse the direction of the hologram before he could continue to walk with Sam. "As far was we know at the moment, he was never caught" Al said.  "Look, Sam, I'll have Ziggy pull the police records of the investigation, and check on your other ideas."  He opened the door.  "I'll let you know what we find." 

The dim glow of light ahead had to be the lodge door.  The snow was getting even heavier.  Sam yanked open the heavy door and shouldered in.  The heavy snow was sticky, and started to melt in the heat of the lodge.  Sam brushed himself off, and detoured by his locker for the remembered dry socks before going to the security office.  He found Cathy and Liz; Cathy on the phone, evidently with her parents, and Liz pouring out the last cup of coffee.  Liz looked at Sam's wet clothes and noticeable shivering, wordlessly passed it to him, and turned to reset the coffee machine.  "We're going to need more of this."  

As she spoke, Al popped in beside Sam.  "Oh...cutie."  Al crooned.  "You can warm my pot anytime."

Sam suppressed a grimace, then stared as Liz spun around and glared at Al.  "I beg your pardon?" 

"Uh,"  Al looked stunned.  "You can see me?" 

"What kind of a question is that?"  Liz snapped.  "Of course I can see you.  And I know who you are. You're the creep who's been leering at me all day." 

Sam looked around ostentatiously and coughed gently.  "See who, Liz?" 

Cathy had put down the phone and was looking at Liz with a puzzled expression.  

"Him!"  Liz pointed.  

"But there isn't anyone there," Cathy pointed out. 

Liz looked from one to the other.  "This is some kind of practical joke, right?" 

Sam and Cathy looked blank. 

Al smirked.  "Not really."  He blithely ignored Sam's alarmed look and subtle attempt to motion him away.  Strolling over to the desk, he walked into it, and waved a hand, complete with cigar, through a stack of papers for good measure.   "Like I said, most people can't see me." 

Liz sank slowly into a chair as if her legs were having trouble holding her.

"Cathy!"  The door opened and Cathy's parents appeared.  Cathy jumped up and ran to them.   

Sam leaned over and gently shut the door behind her. 

Liz was staring at Al.  "What are you?" 

"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I told you I was an angel?"  Al asked with a hopeful expression. 

"No." 

"Pity."  Al sighed.  "It works great with kids."

"Kids see you, too." 

"Oh, sure.  Young kids, animals, and nutcases." 

Liz was silent a moment.  "I guess if I was crazy, that could explain this." 

"Al,"  Sam spoke up.  "Quit fooling around and get out of that desk.  You're scaring her." 

Liz turned slowly to look at Sam.  "You do see it, don't you?" 

"Hey, I'm a him, not an it!"  Al objected vigorously.

"Yes, I do."  Sam replied.  

"Are you a ghost?"  Liz looked back at Al.  

Al moved out of the desk looking horrified.  "Of course I'm not a ghost!  Do I look dead to you?"

Sam shook his head.  "Al."  He gave Al a pointed look.  "I think you owe Liz an apology.  Or even two." 

Liz looked from one to the other.  "This is completely crazy." 

Al met Sam's clear gaze for a moment, then went over to Liz.  "I apologize for scaring you," he said seriously.  "And for my, ah--" 

"Crude and uncouth?"  suggested Sam. 

Al spared Sam an exasperated glance.  "My crude and uncouth comment when I came in."  He gave Liz his most charming smile.  "Please say you'll forgive me?"  

Liz looked at him uncertainly.  "I guess so."  She half--smiled.   "But if you aren't a ghost, then what?" 

Sam and Al exchanged another speaking glance.  Sam said, "More to the point, why can she see you?" 

Al pulled out his handlink.  "Good question."  He punched some buttons.  

"Great!"  Liz muttered.  "Ghosts with glowing calculators." 

"You would think it could add,"  Al said dryly.  "But, no, it's one of the few things---- oh, yeah, here it is.  She's like that guy Blakowski, remember him, S-- Paul?  Her mesons are on a frequency close enough to yours that she can see me too.  In fact," Al looked up.  "They're so close we can't even do a phase shift so she can't see me." 

Sam could barely remember the Scrooge-like executive, but he did remember that the man had been able to see Al.  

"Phase shift?  Mesons?"  Liz was going from bewildered to baffled.  "Who are you guys?  The Mad Scientists' Club on vacation?  Or wait--"  She scowled at them both.  "Is this where you try to sell me stock in your company exploiting this great new--"

"Liz."  Sam leaned forward with his most sincere expression.  "This is not a joke, and it's not a con game.  It's just an experiment with a new form of communication.  It's government--sponsored research project we've been working on at Dartmouth, and it's classified."  Sam shot a pointed look at Al, wondering why Al hadn't just popped out the way he had when Michael Blakowski had seen him.  

Then he saw the sheen of light off Liz's blond hair.  Who was he kidding?  Al had been wishing that beautiful women could see him ever since Sam had started leaping.  Sam turned back to Liz and smiled.  "You're not supposed to see Al.  And if you try to tell anyone about this, they'll think you're crazy.  And if you try to get me to corroborate this, I'll agree with them." 

"Right."  Liz looked puzzled, but calmer.  "Why are you doing your experiment here?"  

Sam looked at Al.  Al shrugged.  "Why not here?  The kid--" he indicated Sam "wants to learn to ski so he can take a vacation with his dad. And we could test this-- " he waved the handlink-- "anywhere." 

"But you're not really here." 

"No, I'm--"

"Al!"

"Somewhere else, with a room full of equipment."  Al grinned.  "All this is a hologram to me.  And I'm a hologram to you." 

"Hologram.  So why can't anyone else see you?" 

Why indeed?  Sam couldn't help wondering if there was a reason she could see Al.  Because he'd been doing this long enough to realize that coincidences usually weren't.   

"Because that's the way it's supposed to work."  Sam cut off Al's explanation.  He never thought he'd see the day where he had to remind the Admiral about security regulations. 

Both Al and Liz gave him indignant looks.  "We do have something more important to worry about,"  Sam reminded them.  "Murder." 

The door opened to admit a policeman.  "Paul Gilbert?"  

Sam stood up.  

"You found the body?"  

Sam nodded.  

"Will you come with me, please?" 

*

Sam was awakened by a heavy pounding on his door.  "Go 'way," he mumbled.  Whoever it was kept pounding.  Sam raised his head and focused blearily. He felt like he'd barely slept a few hours--He had only had to try his key in six doors before he figured out which was his condo.   It had been past midnight before they had finished questioning him.  The police had been thorough and very skeptical.  "Yes," he had admitted.  "I knew the dead girl.  Yes, we slept together.  No, I wasn't angry.  She was angry.  Uh--"  

It was very fortunate that Cathy could vouch for his whereabouts, Sam had reflected morosely.   About the only thing he hadn't done wrong yet was get arrested for murder.  After a brief search, that had mercifully not awoken any of his roommates, he had crawled into bed and immediately fallen asleep.  

It seemed like he had barely closed his eyes when he heard a noise like thumping.  The pounding abated, then resumed more forcefully.  Sam managed to crack an eyelid.  It was light out, so he must have slept, though he certainly didn't feel like it.  Sam dragged a blanket around himself and tried to get out of bed.  His muscles were so stiff  he nearly fell.  Supported by furniture, he made his way around the other bed, occupied by a still--slumbering Fred--or--Carl and opened the door.  A cup of  coffee appeared.  Sam seized it gratefully.  After a long swallow, he looked up at Liz.  

"Well?" she asked.  "Are you going to let me in?" 

Sam opened the door wider and admitted her to the living room, grabbing his sliding blanket.  "Uh, give me a minute?"  he asked.  Why was she here?

"Sure."  she said, looking around the condo.  

In daylight, the place was not very prepossessing.  It was furnished in cheap battered furniture, draped with brightly colored ski gear, spread out to dry.  There was a tangle of clothes at the door to Sam's bedroom where he'd shed them last night, a pair of underwear on the arm of the couch, and two unmatched crumpled socks sticking out from under the coffee table.  Empty beer cans adorned several of the tables, and Sam realized with distaste there was the end of a joint in the ashtray on the counter of the kitchenette.  Empty pizza boxes completed the picture of collegian dissipation.  Sam would have tried to shuffle some of the worst bits out of sight, but that would have lost him his blanket.  He opted to retain the blanket.  

Sam winced and said in a low voice.  "I'm afraid it's kind of a mess.  And my roommates are still sleeping."

Liz moved a ski jacket and goggles from the chair to the couch and replied in similarly muted tones, "Don't worry.  It reminds me of my brother's place.  I can wait." 

After a hot shower and three doughtnuts supplied by Liz, Sam was feeling much more human.  "Al was right,"  Liz said.   "You aren't a morning person." 

"Al?"  Sam asked cautiously.  "What else has he told you?" 

"Not much,"  Liz smiled.  "He's pretty nice when you get to know him.  Even if he's not really here." 

Sam smothered a chuckle.  Being a hologram obviously wasn't cramping Al's style.  "How long did you talk last night?" 

"Oh, a while,"  Liz jumped up. "Let's go."

"Huh?" Sam wasn't quite defogged yet, despite the coffee.  How she could be so chipper on obviously even less sleep than he'd had, he wasn't sure.  "Why are you here?"  he asked plaintively. 

"You're scheduled for a private lesson today," she reminded him. 

Sam gave her an incredulous look.  "And the wake--up call is part of the service?" 

She grinned. "Besides, I want to know what happened last night.  The resort is agog."   

"May be I should skip the lesson."  Sam muttered, surreptitiously trying to stretch protesting muscles as he moved toward his room.  

"Nonsense.  Do you good.  Besides, it's already paid for."  

Sam looked over at Fred--or--Carl, who was still deeply asleep, oblivious to the visitor and the conversation, snug in his bed.   Then he considered that there was still a killer on the loose, and at the moment Liz looked like being the only one he could question.  "I'm going to regret this."  Sam reached for his ski pants. 

*

The fresh powder on the slopes almost hid his skis as he poled awkwardly to the lift.  It was snowing steadily, if not as hard as the night before, but that didn't seem to be discouraging anyone-- if anything it was giving the ski resort a holiday atmosphere.  The people in front of him pushed forward  and waited for the lift to scoop them up on its steady trek uphill and then he and Liz were moving forward.  

The ski lift hit Sam in the back of the legs, and he sat down so suddenly that he almost fell off the chair.  Liz grabbed him by the shoulder of his jacket with one hand and slammed the safety bar down with the other.   Sam tried not to drop his poles, thinking this had looked deceptively easier than the J--bar that had dragged him repeatedly up the bunny slope the day before.  But then the J―bar hadn't looked all the scary either the first time he'd tried it.  He'd followed a brightly clad moppet of perhaps six, who had expertly held his poles in one hand while skiing into the path of the lift.  He'd leaned against the dangling bar and let the lift tug him uphill, his skis tracing the well-marked track of other skiers that had gone before him.  Sam had discovered the child's grace was deceptive when his turn had come.  He'd made his first grab for the bar and managed to get it behind his thighs as it went by.   It was on some kind of spring, he thought, because it pulled only gently at first.  Then the bar stopped its extension and the sudden sharp tug as the towrope jerked him uphill distracted him so much he let the tips of his skis cross, with predictable results.  

Of course the trio of blond children who derisively screamed, "Face plant!" as they went by, hadn't done anything for his dignity.  

At least he hadn't fallen off again, Sam thought.   His attention was now taken by a worry he had managed to overlook, as the ground dropped away beneath his skis.   Sam fastened a death grip on the safety rail while trying to hold onto his ski poles and not look down.  

Liz took  his poles and stuffed them under her leg with her own.  "What's the matter?" she asked.  

"I don't like heights."  The lift was swaying gently as it rose higher.  

"Don't look down,"  Liz advised helpfully.  "Tell me about Charlene.  Someone said you knew her?" 

"Uh, yeah."  Sam couldn't take his eyes off the swaying landscape.  There was now twenty feet of air beneath the chair.   "Um, did you?"

"Oh, yes.  All the instructors know each other,"  Liz said.  "Not that we hung out much.  She was kind of a partier."

"Liked to drink?"  Sam said, fixing his eyes on a snow--covered tree ahead as they glided up the mountain.

Liz wrinkled her nose.  "More that she liked her entertainment sniffed, though that's just a rumor.   She was certainly, uh, friendly."    She gave Sam a sideways dubious look, as if she had just remembered what Paul's relationship to the deceased was.  "I'd have thought you were a little young for her." 

"I'm―eighteen,"  Sam protested, only just remembering his host's age.  

"Exactly,"  Liz nodded.  She managed to look superior in the manner of  a big sister- she couldn't have been more than in her late twenties herself.   She had a brother, Sam remembered.  

"Liz!  Look out!"  As Al appeared in the air in front of them, there was a loud bang.  Then Liz slid silently out beneath the safety bar and fell, the two sets of poles going down after her.  Sam belatedly grabbed for her, but he couldn't get a hold on her slippery jacket.    The chair moved steadily through Al's image, swaying wildly with the loss of Liz's weight.  Sam clutched the bar for dear life.  

"Sam!"  Al said, still hovering in the air behind him.  "You've got to get down!"  

A second shot punched a hole in the plastic seat cover of the chair beside Sam's shoulder.  

"HOW?!"  

"Jump.  JUMP!"  Al yelled as Sam threw up the safety bar and hesitated.  A third shot hit the metal seat and ricocheted.  The chair swung, and Sam half--jumped, half fell.  Both ski bindings sprang open as he landed in the deep fresh snow under the lift.  Sam didn't stop to put the skis back on,but slid and floundered through the snow down to where Liz was lying.  

Al was standing beside her yelling, "C'mon, Sam, get over here!" 

Sam swiftly took inventory.  Liz was unconscious.   One ski binding had released.  The other leg was bent awkwardly beneath her.  There was a bullet wound bleeding profusely in her shoulder, but no arteries were hit. 

Now that Sam was looking after Liz, Al started pushing buttons furiously on the handlink.  "The shooter!  GUSHIE-- Center me on the shooter!"  Al yelled.  The handlink squawked and he said, "I don't care!  Try!  His image blanked out. 

Sam put pressure on the bleeding shoulder and started looking around for help.  They were out early, but there ought to be a few other skiers out.  Sam caught a flicker of motion further up the mountain.  He thought it had the red jacket of a patroller, but he was so far up.  Too far, he thought.   Obviously, Sam had underestimated how fast a good skier could descend a slope.   The figure turned toward him and started descending at amazing speed.

Al's image popped back in.  "Couldn't find him," he reported.  "How's Liz?"  Al's voice went up as he took in Sam's anxious expression.  

"Not too bad,"  Sam replied.  "We need to get her off the mountain though." 

"Hey there!"  Sam looked up to see a familiar red ski patrol jacket.  "Is there a problem?"   

*

Sam was facing the same sandy--haired police officer who had questioned him the night before.  

"You were riding up the lift and someone shot at you?"  he said skeptically.   He was looking consideringly at Sam as though trying to decide what kind of threat he might pose.

"That's what I said,"  Sam said, trying to stay calm. 

"Do you own a gun?"  

"No!"  Sam sat up straight and fastened an indignant gaze on the detective.  "How on Earth am I supposed to have shot her sitting on a ski lift, for heaven's sake?" 

"You shoot her, you drop the gun in the snow,"  the officer asked.  "We're looking for it now.  And when we find it--" 

"You won't find it under the lift.  The shooter was in the brush between this trail and the next one over,"  Sam said curtly, and relaxed back into his chair.  "And anyway, even if I shot her with a handgun at that range, there would have been powder burns on her jacket, and there weren't." 

"You see a lot of gunshot victims?"  The detective's expression remained impassive.  

"No, I watch TV."  

Sam's flippant answer didn't impress the officer much.  He had a lot more questions, most of which Sam had answered the night before.  How long had Sam been here, what were his roommates' names and addresses.  Sam bluffed his way through on the meager information Al had given him.  Al had gone with Liz to the emergency room.  As he finished his questions the resort security guard came in.  

"When they put Ms. Laurence into the ambulance, she asked for someone named--"  the detective consulted his notebook.  "--Al.  Would you know who that is?" 

Sam froze and then looked blank. "Sorry, no idea."

The policeman looked at Sam for a long moment.  "That's it for now, Mr. Gilbert.  You'll be in town if we need you."  It wasn't a question. 

"Of course."  Sam nodded politely, and rose.  

Outside, Sam wondered if he could find a ride out to the hospital where they had taken Liz.  

At that moment Al popped in.  "She's awake and resting comfortably with a police guard."  Al reported cheerfully.  "No visitors, though.  Except me, of course." 

"Of course."  Sam echoed.  He turned toward the lodge.  "Look, Liz must be the target, right? She was the one killed the first time, and she and the victim both wore those green instructor's jackets."  He wondered why he hadn't thought of that before-- Liz and the victim had both been blond, both similar build-- in the dark, the green jackets and glint of blond hair must have deceived the killer into thinking Charlene was Liz.

"True.  Liz told the police that path where Charlene was murdered was her usual shortcut." Al agreed.  "So the police are working on the same idea." 

"But they don't catch the killer."  Sam looked enquiringly at Al.  "You're the one who sat up talking to Liz half the night." 

"We didn't really talk about the murder. After all, we hadn't guessed Liz was the target then."  Al frowned and punched his handlink.  "Her parents are dead.  Her half--brother and a couple of cousins are all the family she has."   Al continued looking at his screen.  "There's no money.  She told me she doesn't have a boyfriend." 

"Former boyfriends?  Does she owe anyone money?"  

"Not as far as we know." 

"Did she tell the police about any one who might want to harm her?"  

Al looked up.  "She didn't know why anyone would try to kill her, Sam." 

"Why don't you ask her about old boyfriends and coworkers?"  Sam suggested.  "And ask Ziggy to run down anything you can about her.  Call her up and ask her in your time if you have to." 

Al looked interested.  "Now there's an idea.  I had thought of giving her my phone number in this time--" 

"Al!  Go talk to Liz."  

"Sure."  Al looked up.  "Gushie!  Center me on Liz."  

Sam turned back to the lodge.  If he ate fast, he could still make his afternoon ski lesson.  Perhaps the instructor could tell him who Liz's friends were.  

*

Al didn't show up all afternoon.   Sam went to the afternoon lesson with the hastily scheduled replacement instructor.   The instructor was a part--timer who hardly knew Liz.  None of the other students seemed to have known Liz or Charlene except as students.  Sam gritted his teeth and endured the chair lift rides and slowly gained skill on the down slopes.  To his surprise, he found it was easier to stay in control as he picked up a little speed, and his confidence increased.  It seemed like no time at all, and it was four and the lifts were closing.  His legs were shaky again this evening, but he wasn't nearly as tired as he had been the day before.  He skied smoothly down the gentle slope to his condo and stopped with a sideways swish.   There were no tracks in the several inches of fresh snow.   Sam found himself grinning as he stepped out of his skis and leaned them against the rack outside the door.  "Not bad,"  he murmured as he thrust the key into the lock. 

His room was the same as he had left it, from the rumpled blankets on his bed to the tousled head of his roommate in the other.  Sam frowned and stuck his head into the other room.  No sign of the other two, Charlie, and Carl--or--Fred.  Frowning, Sam walked over to the bed and checked the tag on the kid's suitcase before shaking him gently.  "Hey, Fred."  Fred didn't respond.  Sam shook a little harder, then froze.  Fred was unnaturally cold.  Sam felt for a pulse.  Nothing.  Worse than nothing.  This kid had been dead for hours.  

Sam lifted the blanket gently, and found Fred had acquired a knife of his own.  Straight up under the ribs and into the heart, just like Charlene.  And the knife was still there, so there was very little blood.  Someone had killed Fred, probably before Sam had even gotten in the night before.  Probably while the police had been milling around the crime scene earlier.   The killer was either reckless or very, very confident.  Sam had stumbled in in the dark and out again in the morning without ever noticing he was dead. 

He gently dropped the blanket back down over the boy's shoulder.   He was already under suspicion for finding Charlene and being present when Liz was shot.  If the police found out about this now, chances were he was going to wind up in jail until it was too late to save Liz or catch the real killer. 

He looked around the room.  Two of the three ski jackets were gone.  Otherwise the place still looked like a hurricane had hit it, though at least someone had emptied the ash tray.  

The hollow clunk of the Imaging Chamber Door warned him of Al's appearance.   "Al!"  Sam said in relief.  "Listen I've got a problem-- "

"Sam!"  Al broke over him.  "Listen, you've got to go to Liz."  

"In the hospital?"  Sam said, then shook his head.  "Al--".  

"No, they discharged her!"  the exasperation was clear in Al's voice.  "And she didn't tell the police she was going. She came back to the resort.  She has quarters at the lodge."  

Sam was already moving toward the door and his skis.  There had to be a car around here somewhere, be he had no idea where the keys were, and the lodge was just a few minutes downslope.  He dropped the skis and locked the ski bindings in place.   A glimpse of movement caught his eye.  There was a police cruiser-- no, two cruisers, driving up the road toward his condo.  They didn't have their blue lights on, but the lights caught a faint wink of blue from the roof lights, which were just high enough to be seen over the snow banks, even through the light snow.

Sam pushed off for the lodge.   Ashtray, he thought.  Someone-- probably one of his absent roommates-- had found Fred and called it in.  Or-- a more sinister thought-- the killer had.  He was setting Paul up for murder. 

In the dark, Sam couldn't see the contours of the snow, and he kept hitting ridges that jolted his skis but he stayed on his feet.  On the rise above the lodge, Al was already waiting for him. "Sam!  There are police cars back at your condo--" 

"Yes," Sam said.  "Probably because of the body."  

"Body?!"  Al punched his handlink frantically.  "Oh, for-- Frederick Mason, Age 19."  He stared at Sam.  "They're going to think you did it."  

"No,"  Sam said, "They're going to think Paul did it.   And Liz too, if we don't find her before the killer does.  And if we had a moment, I'd ask you to go back and talk to Paul again because somehow, Fred had to be mixed up in this.  But right now, Al, please go find Liz and tell her to stay put until I get there!"  

 Al popped out again, and Sam pushed off more confidently for the main lodge, still several hundred feet below.  A faint glow behind him told Sam that all the lights of his condo had been turned on, but Sam was far out of range, his dark jacket lost in the growing dusk.  

"Sam!"  Al appeared beside him, wearing a concerned expression.   "He's got her,"  he said.  "She's unconscious.  They're headed outside."

"Into the snow?"  Sam asked.  "She'll die!  Which way?"

"This way!"  Al made a sweeping motion with the handlink, and Sam pushed off.   He should have asked who had her, he realized.   

It was slightly downhill, so he stayed on his skis.  The snow was heavier now, and once they left the lighted area around the lodge, everything was a grayish blur. 

Sam navigated by the dark shadows of the snowy trees at the side of the trail and Al's shouted directions.  As he skied into the area next to the gondola, he was surprised to see it start up, the jerk making all the cars sway on the cable.  The ones further up the mountain were swaying already---- the wind was stronger as they rose higher.  Sam could see only three before they were lost in the blowing snow, but they swung in ever--increasing arcs.

"They're getting on the gondola, Sam," Al called.  

Now the killer's plan was making sense.  With the snow worsening, there'd be a whole mountain to hide a body on.  Sam gritted his teeth and followed.  The cars opened automatically, but without the attendant helping to put skis on the outside rack, it took excellent coordination to get the skis into the rack and scramble into the gondola car, particularly in the clumsy ski boots.  Sam didn't bother to try.  He tossed the skis and poles into the cab and stumbled clumsily after the gondola, finally grasping the edge of the door and falling on the floor in a heap.  He had to lever the doors back open to extricate the left ski boot. 

The night was filled with the sound of the cables running over the brackets, the wind whistling around the gondola and the creaking of the car as it swayed sickeningly on the cable.  Even so, Sam's weight was stabilizing it.  He could barely see the car ahead, and it was swinging even more wildly.   Mercifully, the sight of the ground below was lost in the whirling snow.  

Al  couldn't call above the wind and apparently Gushie was having trouble keeping him centered on the swinging gondola.  He couldn't get more than a couple of words out as the gondola swung wildly through his body.  Sam found the enclosed gondola less frightening than the open chair lifts,  the swinging motion was not filling him with confidence.   He could see a darker space looming up ahead.  That must be the summit terminus of the gondola.   He stripped off his gloves and tucked them in a pocket. 

As they entered the shadow of the summit, the swinging stabilized and Al managed to keep his head in the cab.  "He's taking her out of the cab at the top, Sam.  I think he means to take her outside and kill her.  The storm will wipe out any evidence."  

Sam braced himself as the gondola lurched up onto the track and slowed.  "Tell me where they are, Al,"  he asked. 

Al moved through the side of the gondola.  "He's got her out of the car, Sam.   She's on the floor.  If we can stop him seeing you----"    Al turned to Liz.  "Liz, honey, you've got to wake up!  Wake up now!"  

Sam braced himself as the doors opened.   Unlike the open lifts, the gondola station at the summit was an enclosed shelter, with openings for the cables and gondola cars to pass through.  He was in plain sight if anyone was looking, but the man had his back to the gondola car and all his attention on Liz, who was trying to get to her feet.  

Sam launched himself out of the gondola.  It swung back as he pushed off, robbing him of some of his momentum, but he still crashed into the man's back, knocking him flat beside Liz, who scrambled away.  

The man was wearing a black face--covering ski mask, but it seemed to be interfering with his vision a bit, for which Sam could only be grateful. His opponent squirmed like an eel, and rolled away from Sam, clawing frantically at his pocket.   

Al shouted, "Sam, look out, he's got a gun!"

Sam saw the outline of something hard and pistol--like and grabbed him around the knees, driving a fist into his kidney.  

"Umgh!"  the man grunted.  He abandoned the pocket and drove an elbow into the side of Sam's jaw hard enough to make him see stars.  

"Ooh, don't take that, Sam.  Hit him!"  Al encouraged, practically hopping up and down.  

Sam fell backward. The man kicked, but Sam blocked and turned it into a sweep that took his opponent's legs out from under him.  The man fell hard, his head inches from where the gondolas accelerated into their descent.  Sam started to scramble to his feet, but the stiff ski boots hampered him.  The other man was faster.  He pushed Sam, who was still on all fours into the path of the oncoming gondola.  Sam fell flat on his rear and tried to scramble forward, the masked man kicking him viciously back into the path of the cable car.  

"Liz, on the wall-"  Al was still shouting but Sam didn't have time to look in his direction.  The gondola was moving quickly toward him and he was way too close to the edge of the shelter.  If he were knocked into the pile of soft snow under the gondola, he'd be hopelessly mired, an easy target for a gun shot.  

The car brushed him gently, and then swung back.  An instant later the masked man turned to look at Liz who was shakily clinging to a rough beam in the wall of the shelter, her hand still on the emergency stop button of the lift.  

Sam's assailant hesitated, startled, then reached for his pocket.  Sam threw himself forward off his knees crashing into the figure at hip-height and bringing him to the floor.   He grabbed for the ski mask and tugged, revealing a vaguely familiar blond head.  

At the side of the room, Liz shrieked, "Al!"  

Sam turned involuntarily to look, and the man threw him off and scrambled back.  Sam looked back and recognized the bartender from the lodge.   

"Sam!"  Al said from the sidelines, but Sam didn't need the warning to see that Alan was going for the gun again.  This time, he threw himself forward with all his weight behind a driving punch to the side of Alan's jaw.   The wet crunch of breaking bone told him he'd done serious damage, even before Alan collapsed bonelessly to the floor.    Sam wasn't in a mood to take any chances, though.  He collected the gun and stripped a cord from the bottom of Alan's jacket to bind his hands.  Only then did he look at Alan's jaw.  Broken, as he'd thought.  He'd be drinking meals through a straw, his first few months in jail. 

"Are you okay?"  Al was the first to ask Liz, as Sam turned back toward her.  The woman's fair hair glimmered faintly in the dim light of the shelter and Sam suddenly made a connection he should have seen before.

Liz let go of the beam and slid back down to the floor, her right hand cradling her wounded shoulder.  She looked from Al to Alan and her eyes filled with tears.  "Oh, Al." 

Sam slumped back against the wall, pointing the gun vaguely in Alan's direction, and asked tiredly, "Why did your brother want to kill you, Liz?"  

*

"I knew I was dumb not to tell you about him,"  Liz admitted later to Sam and to the detective.  Alan had been handcuffed and removed.  Al was hovering solicitously  beside her.  "--but I just couldn't believe Alan would hurt me.  He's my brother."  She looked away and blinked furiously for a minute, looked back.  "Half-brother.  I went by his room, to look for some gloves I'd lent him.  And I found this bag---- a little pot, and some white powder.  It didn't seem like a lot.  But I was furious.  I mean, he's smarter than that.  And so I flushed it down the toilet."  

"You should have called the police, miss,"  the detective said.  

She flushed.  "I suppose I'll be in trouble for that.  But he's my brother...." 

"That white powder was probably worth several thousand dollars,"  the man said.  "Especially if he hadn't cut it yet. Cocaine is a big problem."  He glanced at Sam.  "College kids think it's no worse than a joint, and then they're hooked." 

Sam looked calmly back.  Al had already had Paul Gilbert drug--tested and found he was clean.  And of course it was really Sam's body here in at the resort so even if the police tested him, he'd be clean.   "I expect that my so--called buddies figured I'd be a convenient scapegoat for them if something went wrong."  Al had already told him that his two former roommates had fled after finding their friend's body.   "But why kill Fred?"  

The officer ignored the question and asked Liz if she'd ever known her brother to use before.  She was rather distracted when Al appeared behind the officer.  "Actually it seems that Brother Alan was in a real financial pickle losing that coke.   He appears to have killed Fred to get the drugs he was distributing, along with whatever cash the boy had.  He figured he'd frame you and Liz" he nodded to Liz, "for the murder, kill you and hide the bodies, and by the time anyone figured out you hadn't run away, he'd have paid off his supplier and long since disappeared."  

Liz faltered to a halt.  

The detective followed her gaze to the empty space where Al was standing and his brow furrowed.  

Sam gave her a sympathetic look.  The police officer spoke to them both.  "I'll need you both to make statements."  

"Of course,"  Sam answered.  

Liz just nodded. 

*

The next morning dawned sunny and clear.  In addition to sore muscles from skiing yesterday, Sam had various aches and pains from the struggle with Alan at the gondola, and a seriously black eye.  Sam had expected to leap shortly after making his statement, but nothing happened.   Wearily, he wondered what else he needed to do.  It wouldn't be the first leap where he'd needed to do more than one thing.  Unless,  of course, he was just being allowed a good night's sleep. He shook his head.  He was never that lucky.  He was in a room the resort had found  for him at the lodge, since his condo was still sealed off as a crime scene.    

He anticipated leaping at any moment as he showered, shaved and dressed.   When he was ready to go, he paused at the door.  Nothing.  So he headed down to the restaurant.    Now that he thought about it, he was starving.  Probably because he'd missed dinner last night.    

Sam was just swallowing his last mouthful of breakfast when Al appeared.  

"Good morning, Sam.  Nice shiner."  

"Good morning,"  Sam echoed.  "Why haven't I leaped?" 

"Well,"  Al fidgeted with the handlink. 

"Al?"  

"Ziggy says you have to ski the summit."  

"What?!"  Sam put his cup down hard enough to slosh coffee onto the tablecloth.  "I thought Ziggy only gave that a 47% chance."  

"She's giving it a 98% chance now,"  Al met Sam's accusing glance with a helpless shrug.  "Maybe if Paul can ski the mountain, it will build up his confidence enough to keep at it, which in turn will lead to a better relationship with his father." 

"But how can Paul's skiing benefit?"  Sam demanded.  "He's been stuck in the Waiting Room for the better part of three days.  He hasn't even had one full lesson." 

"Oh, well, Ira, up in Imaging Control, is an enthusiastic skier.  And he's had Paul on his downhill ski machine, watching ski videos, studying technique." 

"A downhill ski machine?"  Sam said dubiously. 

"Ira swears it's very realistic.  C'mon, Sam, give it a try.  If you don't leap, we'll try something else."

"If I'm alive to try anything else," Sam muttered as he got up resignedly.  

He went out to the rack to pick up his skis.

"Hi, Paul,"  Cathy glided up next to him and greeted him cheerily.  "Wow, what happened to you?" she asked, looking at the bruises on his face. 

"It's a long story,"  Sam said.  He laid his skis down.  "How's the snow?"  

"Deep!"  she laughed.  "I fell twice, and had trouble getting up, but it's so soft it doesn't even hurt."  She pointed upslope.  "Want to go try the intermediate trail?" 

"Actually,"  Sam said, "I thought I'd try the one down from the summit."  

"The summit!"  Cathy looked intimidated.  

"It's an intermediate trail too,"  Sam said.  "I figured I'd just take it slow."  

"That's the spirit!"  Al said.  

Sam tried to glare at him unobtrusively.

She looked thoughtful.  "I didn't think of that.  I mean---- it's just longer, right?"  

"Why don't you come along?"  Sam suggested.  He could use the distraction anyway.  

He put on his skis and they took the short transverse trail that led to the gondola base and joined the short line.  As people disappeared inside, Sam and Cathy shuffled forward in the line, and Sam told Cathy briefly about Alan's arrest.

Al tagged along, reading the revised history on his handlink.  "Hey, Sam.  The police pick up your other two roommates, and they're charged with selling illegal narcotics."  

Sam nodded abstractedly as he listened to Cathy start a rather rambling tale about a kid in her school who she thought used drugs.  He fit his skis into the outside rack beside Cathy's and hopped into the gondola.  It pulled away with Al punching buttons furiously on the handlink.  Al's head bobbed twice through the cab in a most disconcerting way before Ziggy managed to match Al's motion with that of the gondola.  He still had a tendency to rise and fall relative to the floor as the gondola went over the cable support towers, but at least his head stayed inside.  He continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.  "And Alan is convicted.  He gets thirty years.  He's still in prison now." 

"Good,"  Sam murmured.  He was ignoring the view outside the gondola.   This was definitely better than the open chairs. 

Al punched a few more buttons and gaped.  Then, "Sam.  You'll never guess who Paul marries?"  

"Oh?"  Sam was trying to attend to two conversations at once.  

Al grinned and gestured to the girl beside him.  

Sam controlled his expression of astonishment and glanced at Cathy.  

"Not for another six years, though, until Cathy gets out of college, and Paul is in medical school."

Sam turned to face forward again as the gondola slowed and the doors opened.  Cathy fell silent except for a softly breathed, "Oh."  The early morning sunlight was lighting the back side of the mountain, turning snow--covered peaks and evergreens into a glittering fairy landscape.  

Sam and Cathy could hardly bear to look away long enough to put on their skis and glide toward the eastern trail down. Sam stopped at the brink of the slope.  It looked much higher than the beginner slope.  He glanced back at Al, who waved encouragingly from his place outside the gondola hut.  Cathy pushed off, and he turned to see her taking one turn, then another.  She nearly overbalanced, but recovered and halted at the junction of the next trail. 

Sam pointed his skis downhill in her wake, making two cautious turns, and then straightening out for the scary rush onto the flat.  He grinned in triumph as he made it standing up, then felt his balance begin to go as he was enveloped in a shower of snow that somehow became a blue rush and crackle...as Sam Beckett leaped.