QUANTUM BEAST (Part 2)

Nov. 9, 1990

And now, another ripping installment of

Useless Stories

Stories that I dreamed up, but couldn’t possibly sell anywhere. And this week “Useless Stories” concludes–

Quantum Beast

(Recap: When we last left our time-travelling hero, Dr. Sam Beckett, he had leaped into the body of the man-monster known only as Vincent. His mission: to avert the death of the woman who is Vincent’s true love, Catherine Chandler, at the hands of the fiendish Gabriel.)

In the recess of the subway tunnel, Sam peered out from the shadows at the crowded platform. In the distance, but approaching rapidly, was an uptown Lexington Avenue train. The ground was rumbling beneath Sam’s booted feet, and rats were scurrying about to get out of the way of the train.

“You can’t be serious,” he said to Al.

Al, his holographic companion and advisor, glanced once more at the handheld computer interface unit called “Ziggy.” Al nodded briskly, taking a puff on a cigar. Al’s nonchalance was especially irritating to Sam in many instances, because it reminded him that it was always his butt on the line, not Al’s.

“I’m afraid so, Sam,” Al confirmed. “It’s definitely this Vincent guy’s M.O. That’s modus operandi–“

“I know what it is,” Sam cut him off. The train was getting closer. “You’re telling me that I’m supposed to ride to the rescue of Catherine Chandler, clinging onto the top of a subway car?”

“That’s how he always does it,” said Al.

Sam looked again at the oncoming train. He glanced up now at the girdered ceiling. It looked narrow. Too narrow. If he picked up his head at the wrong time, he’d cave in his face. Of course, he realized, glancing at his reflection in a puddle, that might be something of an improvement.

“We’re in New York, right?”

“That’s right, Sam.”

“Fine. Vincent can do things his way. I do them mine.”

“Sam!” shouted Al, and then he couldn’t hear himself as the subway ran over him. Or, more precisely, ran through him. He was, of course, utterly unharmed.

Sam, for his part, strode boldly into the subway car and sat down in an empty seat. The subway passengers glanced at him. And looked. And stared.

And then they laughed. Or shook their heads. Or made “tsk” noises. Right after that, one by one, they went back to reading newspapers, or chatting with each other. The train started and Sam still garnered an occasional glance. Otherwise, there was no particular reaction.

Al had materialized on board the train and he was looking around in amazed shock. “They’re ignoring you!” he said in astonishment.

Sam’s leonine lips drew back in amusement. “They’re New Yorkers, Al.”

“But this Vincent guy is always terrified that someone’s going to see him!”

“Beats me why,” Sam said in a low voice. “They just assume it’s a mask, Al. Or a publicity stunt or a gag.”

Al glanced over his shoulder. Seated directly across from Sam was a beefy young man sporting a pink mohawk, red fishnet stocking, white shorts that read “Home of the Big Kahuna,” and a black leather vest exposing muscular arms that had “For a good time call JAG-OFFS,” tattooed on either bicep. The young man was looking at Sam and shaking his head in disgust.

“Freak,” muttered the young man.

Al stared at him in amazement, then back at Sam. “I am in awe of you, Sam.”

“Thank you,” replied Sam.

A drunk staggered up to Sam and snarled, “Move over, Leo. I wanna siddown.” Sam obediently moved over and the drunk parked himself.

“Who’re you talkin’ to?” said the drunk.

Why not? thought Sam. “Al,” he replied. He pointed. “He’s standing right there.”

“I don’t see him,” said the drunk.

“You don’t?”

“No.” The drunk squinted. “Probably because of the two pink-and-green Sumo wrestlers standing in front of him.”

Al rolled his eyes.

—

Pain shot through Catherine Chandler, pain that was beyond belief. She clutched at her belly. Through her haze of agony, she saw the ghostly image of the man called Gabriel standing before her. He nodded briskly. “Looks like it’s time, Catherine,” he said softly. Evilly.

“Vincent,” she moaned.

For a moment– just a moment– she thought she saw a flicker of something else. A man, with short black hair and a cigar– and then he vanished.

Sam stood in front of a huge office building. “This is definitely Gabriel’s main headquarters,” said Al. “She’s up there, all right. She’s way pregnant and not in great shape. On the way down, though, I passed at least two dozen security guards, plus cameras. Place is a fortress. Getting in’s going to be dicey.”

“She’s a prisoner there?”

“Kidnapped, yeah.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Sam. He turned and started to walk away. “You head back up, time the contractions, keep an eye on things. I’ll handle everything else.”

Al followed him, gesturing in confusion. “Sam! Sam, where’re you going?”

Sam stepped up to a pay phone. He picked up the receiver, punched in three numbers. A woman picked up on the third ring. “911,” she said.

“I want to report a kidnap victim,” said Sam briskly “Catherine Chandler. I know where she’s being held.”

—

Catherine lay back on the delivery table, gasping. Gabriel, the monster, stood by impassively, as did the nurse. The doctor who was to perform the delivery looked up. “There’s a problem,” he said.

“This is taking too long,” said Gabriel icily. “Remove the child.”

And then there was a significant look passed between Gabriel and the doctor– a look that, to Al, bespoke volumes.

Al shot out of the delivery room with lightning speed. “They’re gonna kill her, Sam!” he said urgently.

Sam looked at him. “What? Now? But the police aren’t here yet!”

“They’re going to deliver the baby via c-section, and then they’re going to kill Catherine Chandler. It’s now or never, Sam!”

With a roar of frustration, Sam charged towards the building.

The great glass doors were locked. Sam didn’t even slow down. He brought his arms up before his face for protection and barrelled through. Glass exploded into the lobby.

There was a guard sitting at a front desk, and he immediately leaped to his feet, pulling a gun. He froze as Sam rolled to his feet and faced him. “What the hëll– ?” he murmured.

“The police are on their way!” Sam informed him. “There’s a kidnapped woman upstairs! You better ask yourself whether your boss pays you enough to risk doing hard time in a federal penitentiary!” The guard brought his gun up and fired.

Sam was already in motion, dazzled at the reflexes of the great body. He hurtled forward, leaping high over the shot, and slammed into the guard, smashing him to the floor. The guard was unconscious, as Sam pulled the gun off him.

“Guess he does pay enough,” muttered Sam.

“Maybe he offers a great benefits package,” Al suggested.

Sam charged into the nearest stairwell and started up the steps.

On a landing two flights up, Al shouted down, “Sam! Two guards, right here!”

The guards didn’t hear him, of course. But they leaned forward, thinking they would have the drop on the intruder when they began firing. Instead they presented perfect targets, and Sam shot both of them with the gun he’d taken off the guard. He shot them in the legs, and they went down, writhing and screaming.

He ran up and past them, stopping only momentarily to relieve them of their machine guns. “This could get nasty, Sam,” Al told him.

“Nastier than ‘Nam?” Sam asked.

“Could be.”

“I’ll chance it.”

—

The doctor poised over Catherine Chandler, scalpel ready to slice across her stomach. Nearby was a syringe that he would administer shortly thereafter. Death would be quick and painless.

“Please– don’t–” whispered Catherine.

And suddenly a guard burst in. “Sir! We’re under attack!”

“Don’t do anything,” Gabriel ordered the doctor. “I must be here for the birth. I shall return momentarily”

Seconds later Gabriel stared at an array of television screens. He was coming. And he was–

Armed?

The beast-man looked up, as if responding to some unseen voice. Then the beast-man raised a machine gun (gun?!) and blew out the TV cameras.

From down below could be heard the sounds of sirens. “We’re leaving,” said Gabriel.

Sam burst into the delivery room, cradling an uzi. The room was empty.

“The roof, Sam!” shouted Al. “They’re on the roof!” Sam charged upstairs.

Catherine pitched forward, the pain so overwhelming that she couldn’t move her legs any more. Gabriel caught her by one arm, the doctor by the other. A guard was bringing up the rear, and a pilot was revving up the engine of a helicopter that was atop the roof. He was gesturing frantically. Far below he could see the lights of the police cars.

The guard suddenly shouted a warning, as Sam burst out onto the roof. The guard opened fire and Sam ducked behind a vent stack. Bullets pinged off it.

“Run!” shouted the guard. “Run! I’ll hold him!” and he continued firing.

Then his trigger clicked on an empty magazine. He ejected it, knowing that there was no way his target could cover the distance in the time it would take him to reload.

The beast-man leaped, arms outstretched, an uzi slung over his shoulder. He landed barely five paces from the astounded guard.

Sam swung an arm up with blinding speed and slarnmed aside the barrel. His leg lashed out and smashed the guard onto his back. He tried to get back up, and Sam whirled, a sharp kick to the head knocking the guard flat. The guard slipped into unconsciousness.

“Vincent!” came the scream.

Sam spun. The helicopter was lifting off. Catherine Chandler was being hauled into the cockpit by a vampiric-looking man who had to be Gabriel. Catherine was fighting back as best she could, her gown billowing around her.

With a roar, Sam charged forward and leaped. His right hand snagged one of the main landing supports. With his free hand he unslung the uzi.

Gabriel’s foot lashed out, trying to kick Sam loose. “You can’t have it!” shouted Gabriel over the noise of the rotor blades. “It’s mine!”

The heel of Gabriel’s boot came down again and again on Sam’s hand. Al was screaming something and Sam couldn’t make it out. Then he realized. The helicopter had swirled sideways and was over the street. He was dangling thousands of feet up.

In the cockpit, Catherine gathered her strength and lunged forward, screaming “Vincent!” Her body hit lengthwise across Gabriel’s, blocking Sam who had had, momentarily, a clear shot at Gabriel with the machine gun.

With an animalistic snarl, Gabriel kicked at the uzi, shoving the barrel away. Reflexively Sam’s finger closed on the trigger, and a stream of bullets tore into the upper rotor, shredding it.

The helicopter lurched wildly and Catherine tumbled out.

Sam reached out desperately and snagged her wrist just as she fell past. The helicopter skewed, out of control, back toward the roof from which it had come. As they hurtled by, Sam released his grip and he gathered Catherine in his arms, as the helicopter lurched wildly past the roof and kept on going.

Sam landed, absorbing the impact with his powerful legs. He caught a brief glimpse of the helicopter, as it spiralled away and down, down towards the street below.

There were alarmed shouts and then an explosive crashing of metal and a fireball that seemed to leap upward from the street level, as if the gates of hëll had opened to receive one of their own.

Sam lay Catherine down on the roof. “Vincent,” she gasped. “I knew you’d come. I was not afraid to die, my love, for death shall have– no dominion–“

“No one’s dying,” said Sam briskly, and he quickly examined her. The baby had to be delivered almost immediately, or he was going to lose both of them. “Breech birth,” he muttered. “Ðámņ. Have to do a c-section.”

No time. He needed a scalpel to remove the baby, and she wasn’t going to make it back down to the delivery room. No time. He needed something sharp–

Something sharp–

He extended a finger. A razor-sharp claw glistened in the moonlight.

—

Below the city streets, Sam looked around in wonderment at the assortment of people around him. The underground people, Al had called him. There was the one called Father and a blind woman and an odd young man with blonde hair– all of them, smiling.

And the one with the widest smile, beaming, radiant, was Catherine. She stood next to Sam, leaning against him, cradling her– their– son in her arms.

The bearded man was intoning something about naming. Sam was paying attention as best he could, and then Catherine said to him in a low voice, “Who are you?”

He looked at her in astonishment. “But I’m–” Then he saw the look in her eyes, and he replied softly, “Don’t worry. Vincent will be back with you in just a moment, I’m sure. Don’t ask me to explain. I barely understand it myself.”

“Just tell me your name.”

“Sam.”

And the old man, Father, was just saying, “–and so, we welcome into our community–”

“Sam,” Catherine said loudly.

The others looked at her oddly. “You want to name the child Sam?” asked Father.

She looked up at him, smiling, grateful to be alive. “I can’t think of a better one,” she said.

And then a world of blue seemed to leap out of Catherine’s eyes and surround him, and Sam leaped–

There was a droning in his head. Numbers. “Ten– nine– eight–“

Reality spiralled back around him. Sam stood, confused as always. He glanced around.

He was in some sort of control room. Over on the far side of the room were six people. They were wearing silver jumpsuits, looking like giant frozen dinners, and were in suspended animation inside of tubes.

“– seven– six– five–“

Sam looked down at himself. He was wearing some sort of uniform. There was a nameplate on it: Dr. Z. Smith.

The ground rumbled beneath him as a voice said, “Four– three– two. . . “

“Ooohhhh, boy,” said Sam.

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