Subj:	AG-IMF Crossover: Introduction
Date:	96-06-01 19:31:57 EDT
From:	srgrimm@teleport.com (Sister Grimm)
Sender: owner-ag-fanfic@stargame.org
To:	ag-fanfic@stargame.org

The white-haired man carefully pulled his convertible away from the
drive-through espresso stand juggling a styrofoam cylinder filled with
coffee and a bulky manila envelope.  Pulling into an empty space at a nearby
park, he tore the corner from the packet and shook out a cassette tape.  He
slipped it into his tape deck as he examined the photos and maps in the
accompanying folder.
	"Good morning, Mr. Phelps. The man you are looking at is Lucas Buck,
sheriff of Fulton County, South Carolina.  Federal authorities suspect Buck
of blatant abuses of his office, including fraud, human rights violations
and culminating in the imprisonment and sequestration of this man, Dr. Matt
Crower, in a psychiatric hospital in Trinity, the county seat.  Trinity is a
small, tight-knit community, its citizens either afraid to speak out against
this powerful oppressor to outsiders or in some way benefiting from his
totalitarian regime.
	"Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to free Dr. Crower from
Juniper House, and persuade the residents of Trinity to bring Sheriff Buck
to justice.
	"As always, if you or any member of your team is caught or killed, the
secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions.  This tape will
self-destruct in five seconds.  Good luck, Jim."
	Sipping from the coffee container, Phelps eased the convertible into
traffic as the last few wisps of smoke from the disintegrating tape curled
out of his tape deck and disappeared into the cool, morning air.

++++++++++++++++++++

Subj:	AG-Mission Impossible Crossover : Act 1
Date:	96-06-08 11:07:54 EDT
From:	srgrimm@teleport.com (Sister Grimm)
Sender: owner-ag-fanfic@stargame.org
To:	ag-fanfic@stargame.org

	It was early Friday morning, and the heat was just beginning to send the
thermometer rising when Lucas buck opened the door and strode into the
relative coolness of the Fulton County Sheriff's Department.  A woman was
standing at the counter, looking straight-laced and prim even from behind.
Ben was hunched scowling over his desk as Lucas pushed past the swinging
gate and headed for his office.
	"What happened, Ben?" He jerked his head toward the woman.  "Forget to
bring back your library books?"
	Ben's mouth hung open for a moment, the color draining out of his face.  He
bolted to his feet and pulled Lucas aside.  "She's from the State Social
Services Department, Lucas.  She's here about Caleb."  Behind him, Ben could
almost hear her lips clamping tight with disapproval.  "Mrs. Gaines, this is
Sheriff Lucas Buck."
	"That's Miss Gaines."  Lucas could have sworn the room temperature dropped
ten degrees with that frosty announcement.  He was taken aback to find a
woman of about forty wearing stiff, fussy clothing, with her mousy brown
hair pulled back into a bun so tight he imagined her follicles were
screaming.
	"You wouldn't be one of the Charleston Gaines, would you?"
	"My people are from Beaufort, Sheriff Buck.  I'm sure you're very busy, so
I won't take much of your time."  She slipped her gloved right hand into her
white handbag without looking, and precisely withdrew her South Carolina
State Employee's ID card, holding it at eye-level for Buck's benefit. 
	"Lucretia Gaines,"  he read aloud.  Her ID photo looked as if she were
ready to slap the photographer, one eyebrow slightly raised, jaw set.  He
lowered the card and looked at her again. A high collar of stiff lace
covered her long neck, her severely tailored suit hung like boxes over her
curves,  and her shapely legs ended in a pair of shoes so relentlessly
practical they looked orthopedic.  Not a speck of makeup on her face, but
her pale complexion and violet eyes reminded him of a porcelain doll.
	"Is something wrong, Sheriff?"
	"Just enjoyin' the view, ma'am."  Buck flashed her a million megawatt
smile.  "Deputy, hold all my calls."  Lucas held the swinging door open for
her and guided her to his office.  "We don't want to be disturbed." 	Ben
waved a tired acknowledgment as the switchboard lit up with the usual calls
about dogs, drunks and double-parking.
	"What brings you all the way to Trinity, Miss Gaines?"
	She primly sank into the office's guest chair, and withdrew a dog-eared
file folder.  "I've been reviewing the paperwork on Caleb Temple's case.
Are you familiar with it, Sheriff Buck?"
	"Please, call me Lucas." A pink tinge colored her face, and she lowered her
eyes to the desktop."I'm very familiar with the details of the case."  He
leaned forward in his desk chair and pulled a sorrowful face.  "That
young'un's had to grow up pretty fast."
	"Court records say that several people applied to take Caleb in.  There was
a female cousin, a medical doctor, . . ."  she flipped the page over "and
you were also willing to become Caleb's guardian.  But the judge awarded
custody to one Loris Holt?"
	"The judge passed away that very night.  You know, I often wonder if he
might not have been getting enough blood to his brain."
	"It did seem rather unusual.  That's why I thought I'd look into it.  I'm
going to be interviewing Master Caleb and Miss Holt, and some of the other
people mentioned in the court records to make sure Caleb Temple gets every
benefit from his situation.  I stopped here first because I think it would
be especially helpful to get your perspective on Caleb's situation."
	"My perspective?"
	Miss Gaines wiggled imperceptibly in her chair, tugging at her skirt, an
embarrassed smile flashing quickly before she composed her face again. "That
is to say, dealing with young boys . . . .  I think a man's perspective
would be invaluable.  As County Sheriff; who better to guide an
impressionable child in the way he ought to go?  'As the twig is bent . . .'"
	"So grows Trinity," Lucas beamed.  "You've done the right thing, Miss
Gaines, coming to me first."
	"Oh my," she fluttered, basking in Lucas's gaze, her fingers plucking
nervously at her lace collar.
	"I know a great deal about the folks nearest and dearest to Caleb Temple.
So ask away, darlin'.  You have my undivided attention."  
	Three hours later, Ben was going through his second pad of "While You Were
Out" slips when Lucas and Miss Gaines emerged from the office.
	Lucas waved him off.  "We're goin' to lunch, deputy.  Ol' Lucy here got a
hankering for some she-crab soup."  
	"Lucy?"  Ben stared at Miss Gaines, trying to reconcile the image of the
strikingly attractive, pink-cheeked woman leaning on Buck's arm with the
sour spinster who had curdled his coffee cream that morning.  "But Lucas, I
got all these messages. . . ."
	"You know where to put 'em, Ben."
	Lucy howled with laughter as they sashayed out of the Sheriff's Office, and
he helped her into his Crown Vic as if it were Cinderella's own coach.
After all, she was going to get him custody of Caleb.  After midnight?
Well, there was plenty of time to decide what part of the pumpkin patch to
leave Lucy Gaines in.
	Cinnamon reached into her handbag and activated a tiny transmitter whose
radio signal reached Rollin as he waited outside Ascension, twelve miles
from the Trinity city limits.  Tossing aside his cigarette, he jumped into
the TransAm and straightened his tie.  The tires spat gravel as he pulled
back onto the road and headed north and thought "Hello, Trinity.  It's show
time!"

+++++++++++++++++++++

Subj:	Mission: Trinity Act One, Scene 2
Date:	96-06-08 09:55:30 EDT
From:	srgrimm@teleport.com (Sister Grimm)
Sender: owner-ag-fanfic@stargame.org
To:	ag-fanfic@stargame.org

				Act One: Scene 2

	The black TransAm glided quietly through the streets of Trinity like a
panther pacing its lair.  Ben had gotten calls from every "concerned
citizen," busybody and snoop in town.
	"That's right, Mr. Calhoun.  Last time I looked, it wasn't against the law
to drive a car in Trinity.  No. Lucas isn't here right now.  Yes, I'll be
sure to tell him."  When it cruised past the Sheriff's Office, he stuck his
head out the door to catch a glimpse of the driver, but the windows were so
darkly tinted the front seat looked empty; a Flying Dutchman with Illinois
plates.  Deputies up and down the street followed the car, watching for the
tiniest infraction, the least show of speed, the slightest probable cause:
Trinity's finest just itched to show this big city feller some Southern
hospitality.
	When the car finally stopped in front of the barroom and its driver
casually unfolded himself from behind the steering wheel and disappeared
through the front door the town as a whole seemed to relax.
	If Lucas were here, he'd already be leaning on the bar and sizing the
stranger up.  Hell, Ben would be surprised if Lucas didn't pop up in the
man's back seat, given his knack for turning up without warning.  Lucas and
his new friend were having a leisurely lunch and God knows what else while
ol' Ben held down the fort.  Not that Ben wasn't burning up with curiosity,
mind.  He just preferred to wait for a crime to occur instead of going out
and instigating one, as he sometimes suspected Lucas did.  Ben took another
call about stray dogs knocking over trash cans, content to see what would
happen when Lucas returned from lunch.
	In the darkest corner of the dark little bar, the stranger had taken over a
cracked leatherette booth, and savored the atmosphere.  A lazy overhead fan
pushed the cool air around the empty room with an inaudible whoosh.
Cradling the brandy snifter between his fingers, he listened as the jukebox
played one of the only selections he could find that wasn't country and
western.  Surrounded by the moaning sax and insistent horns of a low, bluesy
jazz number, he waited.
	The front door let in a blast of heat and light from the afternoon outside.
With it came a lithe, almost feral young woman who raised her sun glasses to
peer around the room while her eyes adjusted to the dark. 
	"Where's Chuck?"
	The stranger watched her through heavy-lidded eyes, taking a drag on his
cigarette before responding.
	"Who's Chuck?"
	"He's the owner."
	"He went out."  
	"When'll he be back?"
	"Dunno."
	"He left you here alone?"
	"Yeah."
	Selena slinked over to his table and leaned forward, appraising him.  He
was tall and slender, his thick black hair had a hint of gray at the
temples, and his olive complexion was marred only by an old scar that sliced
through his right cheek.  "Chuck must know you pretty well, then."
	"I inspire trust in people."  His voice was smooth and low. He sipped at
his brandy as Selena walked toward the bar, slightly swaying to the music.
	"Well, before you got Chuck all inspired, did he mention where he left his
donation to the school lunch program?"
	His hand slid into his jacket pocket and retrieved an alligator wallet.  "I
guess he left it with me."  He extracted four crisp bills and slid them to
the end of the table.  He left his fingers resting on the money, and Selena
noticed his hands were strong and smooth, with long, supple fingers and
well-manicured nails.
	Their hands met when she took the money, an electric touch.  Selena stood
her ground.  "Chuck's always been a generous man," she purred, waving the
five-hundred- dollar bills in the humid air before slipping them into her
purse and strolling toward the door. "You stayin' here long?"
	"It's business.  Family business."
	"I'll bet you're real good at it."  She replaced her sunglasses and braced
herself to return to the light and heat on the other side of the door.
	"Yeah."  His eyes followed her out the door, and he went back to waiting.

**********************************************************************
	Barney emerged from the plane at the Trinity airfield with an aluminum
briefcase and a sealed cardboard box marked "biological hazard" which had
guaranteed him a row of seats all to himself on the flight from Atlanta. 
	"Dr. Paulin?"  
	Barney looked down the landing ramp at a tall, fresh-faced young man with
shaggy blonde hair and a ready smile.  "I'm Stan Paulin.  Dr. Peele?"
	"Billy." He bounded up the steps and they shook hands.  "They'll have your
baggage unloaded in a few minutes.  We can drop your stuff off at Holt House
on the way to the hospital.  I know you'll want to get started right away."
	"As soon as possible," Barney agreed.
	There was plenty to be done.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Subj:	Mission: Trinity Act One, Scene 3
Date:	96-06-08 10:35:29 EDT
From:	srgrimm@teleport.com (Sister Grimm)
Sender: owner-ag-fanfic@stargame.org
To:	ag-fanfic@stargame.org


				Act One, Scene 3:  Enter Barney

	" . . .And then the camel driver said, 'Yeah, but you already paid for the
second night!"  Dr. Billy Peele opened the office door and sat a box of
equipment from the Center for Disease Control in an empty corner in the
dusty little room. His visitor followed suit.
	"I'll bet you were glad to get back to Atlanta after that." 
	"What, to Gordimer's interminable lectures?"
	"Who listens?"  They both chuckled. 
	"Now, Billy, what do I need to know before I get started here?"
	Peele dropped into the desk chair , his smile fading instantly.  "The
plague epidemic.  It was the damnedest thing I ever saw.  I flew out of
Atlanta on a packet jet with a shipment of whole blood. Walking into the
Trinity Hospital was like Bosnia after mortar shelling, or Zaire during the
Lhaza fever epidemic."  He shook his head at the memory.  "People were
bleeding to death in the hallways.  It was like a circle of hell here for a
few days.  Then it was gone."
	"There's been no recurrence of symptoms, no new cases?"
	"Nothing."
	"The survivors fully recovered?"
	"Emphasis on the 'survivors' part, Stan.  With one notable exception, the
affected folks who didn't kill themselves are right as rain."
	"You know what the Director used to say, 'look for similarities in the
differences.'  Tell me about your exception."
	"Right.  A white male, early thirties, widowed, good health, recovering
alcoholic, high stress job."
	"Sales?  Finance?"
	"Medicine.  This was his office."
	Barney nodded.  He'd noticed the dusty stack of classical CDs sitting atop
the miniature stereo system behind Billy, whom he'd pegged as a Beach
Boys/Ladysmith Black Mombazo listener.  A cardboard carton nearby bristled
with framed diplomas, Harvard Medical School uppermost.
	"Where is he now?"
	"Fulton County's contract for forensic psychiatric care belongs to Juniper
House.  He's in maximum security, sometimes in restraints."
	"Do you think he's still a threat?"  Barney looked at a small framed
photograph propped up on a desk corner: a smiling woman hugged a grinning
little girl.  He fought the urge to pick up the frame, wipe the dust from
the faces.
	"Stan, Trinity isn't particularly liberal. You can only shoot at the
sheriff once."
	"Billy, you'd said that the other murder-suicides all had domestic
relationships.  Was there some history between this doctor and the sheriff?"
	"Not like that, Stan, but good point.  Those two were on opposite sides of
a every fence in town, but no violence between them.  The same couldn't be
said for me and Sheriff Buck."
	Barney leaned forward in his chair.  "Billy, is there anything else I need
to know?"
	Dr. Peele looked into those serious brown eyes, looking for clues to
proceed and finding none.  "I don't get you, Stan."
	"We both know some things don't show up in the reports.  You want to
connect the dots for me?"
	Uneasy, Billy looked at his watch.  "I gotta check on a few patients.  This
carton has all the patient charts you asked for.  Late lunch okay for you?"
	"I ate breakfast on the plane."
	"Yummy."  Billy walked to the office door.  "How do you feel about grits?"
	"Better than beetle larvae." 
	"Point taken.  After lunch, I'll take you down to pathology and you can see
the tissue samples and slides.  See ya 'round 1:30."
	Barney spent a few minutes looking through the bulging files in the box
before he found what he needed and tossed it aside on the desk blotter.  The
histories detailed a sudden onset and rapid progression of physical symptoms
culminating in massive generalized hemorrhaging.  What presumed to claim the
interest of neurologist Stan Paulin of the CDC were the extreme symptoms of
mental disturbance in  which some victims became fixated, almost consumed,
by maniacal religious fervor.  For a moment, Barney wished Dr. Paulin, an
excellent doctor and good friend, had come to Trinity to help Dr. Peele.
Barney had a far different goal to achieve, and he quietly moved about the
small office in pursuit of it:  noting the placement of outlets and
switches, where the air ducts and heating grates led, and how shadows
crossed the desk when the sun angled across the room from the large,
double-hung windows.  He removed several small boxes from his briefcase,
pushed them to the back of the top desk drawer, and wondered what was for
lunch.

****************************************************************

	To say the cafeteria was a madhouse at noon wasn't far from wrong.  At
Juniper House, patients at all levels of mental illness and debilitation
socialized over trays of institutional creamed chicken, mashed potatoes, and
rubbery green beans.  The chronic ward, where they tube-fed nutrients to
bodies now absent of will, was quieter --  but hardly pleasant.  Between
those extremes, a muscular man in a crisp new attendant's uniform stood
outside the barred doors of a cell in the maximum security wing and watched
Dr. Matt Crower listlessly push the creamed chicken around his plate with a
plastic spoon.  
	Willy watched, and worried about what he saw.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Subj:	Mission: Trinity Act One, Scene Four
Date:	96-06-10 02:25:23 EDT
From:	srgrimm@teleport.com (Sister Grimm)
Sender: owner-ag-fanfic@stargame.org
To:	ag-fanfic@stargame.org

				Act One, Scene 4: Enter Willy

	With a sigh, Matt Crower dropped the spoon into the cold gravy and slid the
tray through the gap at the bottom of his cell door.  Almost instantly, the
tray was picked up, and Matt looked up into the compassionate gaze of the
new security wing attendant.
	"C'mon, Doc."  Willy said quietly.  "Gotta keep your strength up."
	Matt regarded the bulk of the man's arms, the width of his neck and
shoulders.
	"You look like you have enough strength for both of us, Mr. Womack."
	"Call me Bob."  Willy looked at the food congealing on the battered plastic
tray.  "Maybe I can get the dietitian to let me make up something better for
you for lunch.  I make a mean protein shake."
	Matt smiled sadly.  "Don't put yourself out on my account, Bob.  I'm doing
okay."
	"Womack!"  Stop screwing around and get a move-on, boy."  Ellis Starke was
an expert at making things unpleasant, for staff as well as inmates. It was
a fact Lucas Buck had no doubt taken into account when he gave Ellis his
highest recommendation at the hiring interview for Chief Attendant on the
security wing.
	Willy grinned apologetically and returned the tray to the food cart.  "Take
care, Doc.  I'll see you later."
	Ellis lingered behind, pressing his face between the cell bars.  "See ya
later, sugar."  He blew a kiss across the cell and leered.  "We'll have lots
of time to get to know each other better."  He took Matt's chart from the
hook and made a few notes.  "You're gonna be here a long, long time."
	Matt wanted to curl up on his cot, hugging his knees in his arms, gently
rocking.  He fought the urge, and leaned back against the wall instead.  He
had to keep going, but wondered what would be left for him when this
nightmare ended.
	"So what's the story, Starke?  Guy seems pretty well-oriented and laid back
to me."  Willy pushed the food cart into the hallway outside the maximum
security ward and Ellis reactivated the electronic door locks.
	"Well, I hate to disappoint you, Doctor Womack, but you wasn't hired as an
advocate for the patients.  You're here to keep them loony tunes in line,
and that Crower feller is one of the looniest.  Busted into the Sheriff's
office in broad daylight and tried to shoot Sheriff Buck cold-blooded in
front of witnesses."
	"How come?" Willy unlocked the attendant's office and Ellis made a bee-line
for the bourbon bottle hidden in the desk drawer.  
	"Jeez, Womack.  I hope you ain't gonna be this nosy with ever' patient on
the ward.  I tole you, he's nuts!  They brung him in, quotin' the Bible,
yakking about evil spirits and devils."  Starke gulped the cheap booze, not
bothering to offer the bottle to Willy, and a cruel smirk twisted his
brutish face.  "Doctors thought he might get better, that it might be a
symptom of that plague goin' round."
	Starke leaned over the desk, and breathed his bourbon breath into Willy's
impassive face.  "A real shame, that is.  He ain't gonna git better.
Quieter, mebbe, but not better.  No sir.  Juniper House's got plans for
Doctor Crower, Womack."  He tapped the top page on a clipboard, and angled
it around so Willy could see it.  It was a ward schedule with Matt Crower's
name on it, and as Willy read the page heading , ice-water ran through his
veins.  
	"Electroconvulsive shock therapy, Womack.  Do all your visitin' with Crower
now, cause when the sparks stop flyin', he ain't gonna be talkin' worth
spit."

****************************************************************

	Inspired by Miss Coombs retelling of "The Jumping Frog of Calaveras
County,"  Caleb downed his peanut butter sandwich quickly and slipped out of
the schoolyard, headed for Bullfrog Heaven, known to generations of
Trinity's boys as the Mother of All Frog Ponds.  He'd been disappointed
Boone wouldn't come with him, but figured it would be Boone's loss when he
came back from lunch with a big ol' frog. 
         He sat down on a rock near the water's edge, took off his shoes and
socks, and rolled up his pant legs. Yep, Miss Coombs would open the shoe
box, and see that frog, and gather the other kids around to admire it.  He
could see her face, feel how happy that slow smile of her made him feel.
She'd give him an "A" for the day, heck, the whole week!  That's how good a
frog he was gonna bring back.  He quietly waded into the warm water,
enjoying the squish of mud between his toes, and began looking for his
trophy, shoe box at the ready.  
	Caleb was so intent on his quarry he  didn't see a shadow that dipped down
from behind the nearest tree, nor hear the rustle of the tall grasses behind
him.
	"Don't move." 
	Caleb's head jerked up in shock as a tall man with hair so blonde it was
nearly white clamped a strong hand onto his shoulder and he straightened
with a gasp when he noticed the gun the man was pointing at him.
	"Merlyn!  Merlyn!  Help!"

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Subj:	Mission: Trinity Act One, Scene 5
Date:	96-06-13 01:33:34 EDT
From:	srgrimm@teleport.com (Sister Grimm)
Sender: owner-ag-fanfic@stargame.org
To:	ag-fanfic@stargame.org


			Act One, Scene 5: Jim Enters

	As Caleb stood frozen in terror, Jim fired three shots into the marshy
ground near Caleb's feet.  Picking a branch up from the ground nearby, Jim
tossed the writhing snake carcass onto the bank.
	"Now you can move.  Get your little fanny out of there.  You're
trespassing."
	Caleb frowned.  "This is Mr. And Mrs. Weller's place.  He always let us
catch frogs here."
	Jim slipped the automatic back into his shoulder holster.  "Do you know Mr.
Weller died?"
	"Heck, yes.  I found his skeleton under the porch at my old house."
	"Oh, so you're the Temple boy."
	"Yessir.  Caleb."
	"Well, Caleb Temple, shouldn't you head back to school before the truant
officer comes looking for you?"
	Caleb thought about what Lucas would do if he caught him playing hooky, and
though he decided that Lucas would likely help him catch that frog, h knew
the man wouldn't want to hear that.  He looked at the shoe box, sinking in
the pond where he'd dropped it, sighed, and scrambled up the bank to put on
his socks and shoes.
	"What kind of snake was that?"  he asked, brushing the dried grass from his
pants and unrolling his pant legs.  "Would it have bit me?"
	"I don't know, Caleb.  I didn't think I should wait to find out.  Now
scoot."
	He watched Caleb retrace his steps through the cattails and tall grass,
disappearing back toward the school yard.  Turning back to the Weller house,
he walked to the storage shed,  rolling up his sleeves. Selecting a shovel
from a row of tools learning against the shed's wall, he proceeded to dig a
hole in the Weller's sandy yard: a hole six feet long, three feet wide, and
deep as a grave.

				END ACT ONE

Subj:	Mission: Trinity ACT TWO, Scene 1
Date:	96-06-14 01:01:34 EDT
From:	srgrimm@teleport.com (Sister Grimm)
Sender: owner-ag-fanfic@stargame.org
To:	ag-fanfic@stargame.org

				ACT TWO, Scene 1

	When Lucas stepped back into the Sheriff's office, he could feel the
vibrations.  Ben was looking at him like the cat who swallowed the canary.
	"Careful you don't choke on them feathers, Ben."
	Ben didn't understand, but didn't feel like admitting to it either.
"Where's Miss -- uh -- Gaines, Lucas?"
`	"Mite too much brandy in Miss Lucy's brandy sauce.  She's having herself a
little lie-down back at her hotel room," Lucas grinned, moving through the
doorway toward his office.
	Ben followed.  "So you're back to do some work, then?"
	"Something you and Floyd couldn't handle while I was gone, Ben?"  Lucas
dropped into his chair and leaned back, thumbs in his belt loops.
	"Nothing anybody'd let us handle, Lucas."  Ben dropped the stack of message
slips onto the sheriff's desk.  "Seems a lot of tongues in Trinity only want
to wag in your ear."
	"You know, Ben, developin' contacts is a big part of the sheriffin' trade.
You oughta work harder at it."  Lucas could almost see the steam coming out
of Ben's ears.  "Well, I figger I got an hour or two before Miss Lucy wakes
up.  I'll see what I can take off your hands in the meantime."
	"You're planning on leaving again?"
	"Ol' Lucy allowed as how it might be helpful for me to accompany her on her
interviews, reviewing Caleb's custody and all.  Seeing as how I know
everybody, thought my being there might help folks to, you know, open up."
	"Sure thing, Lucas," Ben snorted as he left for his long-delayed lunch.
	Three phone calls later, Lucas was piecing together a puzzle in his head.
First off, Chuck was missing.  Landlady said he'd left for the bar that
morning, but folks were calling to say he surely wasn't there now, and some
stranger was minding the place.  A visit to the bar was definitely in order.
	One of the nurses at the hospital reported the arrival of another Center
for Disease Control hotshot.  Lucas pursed his lips thoughtfully.  If this
one didn't learn anything new about the plague either, and how the hell
could he, maybe he'd take Billy Peale back to Atlanta with him.
	He smiled when he saw the cryptic note from Ellis Starke at Juniper House:
"Fireworks as scheduled."  So, thanks to Starke's imaginative documentation
of Matt Crower's continual "disciplinary problems," the shrinks had finally
agreed to try a few rounds of shock therapy to improve his "constant
clinical depression."  Lucas preferred Crower not be released after his
ninety day observation, as required by state law.  Not only would it set a
bad example for anyone else with a hankering to come after him, but Harvard
needed to be put in his place, and a padded cell did the job quite nicely.
He knew the doctors wouldn't allow anything harmful to happen to one of
their own.  At least, not intentionally, and nothing permanent.  With
equipment as decrepit as Juniper House's, however, accidents could happen.
Lucas wondered if it would be out of line for him to be present during the
treatments.  "For security purposes."
	The last message in the heap surprised him.  Someone reported hearing
gunshots at the Weller place.  Betty Weller was staying in Columbia, helping
out while her brother was on disability leave from the State Police.  It was
funny to Lucas that a man who faced death every day for years as a law
enforcement official could have his nerves ruined by a few hours in a box
with a thousand beetles.  He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, nostrils
flaring.  The smell of death was absent in Trinity today, only the usual
sourness of failed dreams and disappointment was in the air.  The Weller
place could wait.  
	"Radio me when Miss Lucy wakes up.  I'm going to check on Chuck."  He was
out the door before Ben could unwrap his sandwich. As the Crown Vic spun
around and headed to the back end of Trinity, Ben took a bite of his ham and
cheese, and resentfully fielded another call from the switchboard.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Subj:	Mission Trinity, Act Two, Scene 2
Date:	96-06-17 18:53:12 EDT
From:	srgrimm@teleport.com (Sister Grimm)
Sender: owner-ag-fanfic@stargame.org
To:	ag-fanfic@stargame.org


	"You got some explaining to do, slick."
	Rollin looked up, startled by the voice across the table, but didn't
flinch.  Standing before him, easily recognizable from the photos in the
background file, stood Lucas Buck.
Rollin bared his teeth in a slow, dangerous smile, deepening the scar on his
cheek.
	"Let me see your ID." His hand hovered casually near the butt of his
service revolver. "Slowly."
	Lucas watched warily as Rollin held open his jacket, withdrew his wallet
with the tips of two fingers, and slid his license across the table.
	"Don't get carded much anymore."
	"Says here you're Anthony Vincenzo Forenzi.  That right. slick?"
	Rollin nodded, barely.
	"What happened to Chuck?"
	Rollin's eyebrows arched, almost imperceptibly. "Something happened?"
	Lucas leaned forward, staring icily into Rollin's eyes.  "You tell me.
Where is he?"
	"Said he had to go out.  Didn't say where.  I said I'd watch the place for
him."
	Lucas straightened.  "Yeah, right.  I'm arresting you for breaking and
entering.  On your feet."
	"He left me the keys."  Rollin pointed at the key ring in the table's
ashtray.
	Lucas shrugged.  "Robbery, then."
	"Money's in the till.  Dunno where the safe is, but you probably do.  Check
it."
	"I'm running the investigation here, slick.  You're comin' with me as a
person of interest in the disappearance of Charles Murtagh."
	Rollin eased himself out of the booth as Lucas pushed him over the table
none too gently and handcuffed him, then patted him down.
	"Just one thing, Sheriff.  Don't forget to lock the place up."
	
	For Lucas' money, wasn't a better way to separate the amateurs from the
pros than being booked into the Fulton County Jail.  Forenzi took it all in
stride, right down to the body cavity search.  When the computer coughed up
Forenzi's record, he knew why.  No wants or warrants, but nearly eight pages
listing an impressive series of arrests and charges dropped or cases
dismissed.  The words  "homicide", "assault," and "intimidation" jumped off
the screen like fleas, and his list of known associates read like the
Organized Crime Commission's report.  Yet there he sat, cool and collected
in Lucas' holding cell, quiet as Matt Crower had been. 
	He narrowed his eyes when the thought struck him.  Forenzi hadn't asked to
make a phone call, hadn't mentioned his lawyer.  
	"Okay, slick.  We gotta talk."  Lucas unlocked the cell door and hustled
Rollin into an interrogation room, pushing him into a wooden chair.  
	"What brings a man of your talents to Trinity, Tony?  Business or pleasure?"
	"A little of both, Sheriff."  Rollin stretched his long legs, tilting his
chair back.
	"Don't keep me in suspense."  Lucas Buck's foot lashed out, and as Rollin
crashed to the floor, he knelt over him, jaw set.  "Who hired you?"
	"You wouldn't know the name."  Rollin braced himself for a blow, eyes
blazing with defiance.
	Lucas towered over him.  "Who you lookin' for?"
	The thin smile returned to Rollin's lips.  "That name, you might know.
Earl Holden."
	"Nope."
	"Maybe you met his associates: Lowell, Barrett, and Eddy?  They were
traveling together, last I heard."  Tired of looking up at Lucas, Rollin
started to sit up.  Lucas put a booted foot on his chest, pushing him back.
	"The brothers from Flint, huh?  Their stay was short and tragic, Tony, and
their pals didn't hang around."  Lucas leaned forward, bringing more weight
down on Rollin's ribs.  "Neither should you."
	Rollin shook his head.  "I heard bad things about those boys.  They lacked
discipline and restraint, and their friend Eddy had some regrettable
weaknesses.  Earl Holden has a family concerned with his well being.  I'm
here for them."
	"Is that what this's all about?  To find out if Earl Holden was here?  Why
the hell didn't you just ask one of my deputies?"
	"I wanted to talk to you first.  Privately, as a courtesy."
	"And Chuck?"
	"He'll be back tomorrow."
	Lucas walked to the interrogation room door, then turned.  "What was all
that cruisin' around town in your car?"
	"Everyone knows I'm here.  They'll know you've brought me in, talked to me.
When I'm released the people who respect your authority will think I have
your approval.  Your enemies will think I've put one over on you.  Makes a
great ice-breaker in a small town.  I'll have their ears and attention."
	"Thanks to me."
	"Couldn't have done it without you, Sheriff.  Can I go now?"  Rollin smiled
and extended his hand for Lucas to help him out of the overturned chair.
	"Sure thing, slick.  Soon as Chuck turns up okay." Lucas leaned out the
door and hollered down the hallway.  "Floyd, take him back to his cell.  See
if you can get him to sit up straight."
	"Mille grazi, Sheriff Buck."  Rollin called after him.
	Lucas stuck his head back into the room.  "Sorry, slick.  Don't know her
either."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Subj:	Mission: Trinity Act Two, Scene Three
Date:	96-06-21 03:03:53 EDT
From:	srgrimm@teleport.com (Sister Grimm)
Sender: owner-ag-fanfic@stargame.org
To:	ag-fanfic@stargame.org, superula@oz.net

			Act Two, Scene Three

	It only took a few moments when the lab clerks stepped out for a quick
smoke.  Barney attached the thin transparencies to the bottom of the tissue
slides Dr. Peele had pulled for him, and surreptitiously replaced the
eyepieces of the lab microscopes with his own, "improved" models, containing
radio-controlled subminiature halogen-lamp projectors.  When Billy Peele
checked in on "Dr. Paulin" that afternoon, the stage was set.
	Billy found Barney hunched over the pathology lab's most powerful
microscope, scribbling furiously.  "Any luck, Stan?"
	"Could be, Billy. Let's go back to Parasitology 101; the bite of the
Anopheles mosquito."
	"Primary transmitter of malarial infection.  Stan, Trinity hasn't seen a
documented case of malaria since the mosquito eradication programs the Board
of Health implemented in the '50's."
	"Researchers from Washington University in St. Louis have been using patch
clamping to track the feeding habits of the malaria parasite, right?"
	"As the parasite enter a red blood cell it forms a membrane through which
it draws nutrients from the cell's cytoplasm.  Patch clamping measures the
flow of ions in and out of the cells.  So?"
	Barney indicated an instrument on the lab counter before him.  "I have a
gut feeling we might be dealing with something similar.  I took a couple of
tissue samples and examined them for anything unusual."
	Billy smarted at the suggestion that he had missed something.  "Yeah, and
there was nothing there, right?"
	"See for yourself."  Barney slid off the stool and offered the eyepiece to
Dr. Peele.  
Billy carefully focused on the sample.  "Brain tissue.  Normal.  Right?"  
	Billy agreed.
	"I'm adding a peptide solution to dislodge any parasite cells from the
blood vessels.  Now look."  Barney withdrew the pipette and stepped back,
pressing the control in the pocket of his lab coat.   Soundlessly, the
halogen seed lamp switched on inside the eyepiece, and he heard Billy
whistle.  "Ion channels."
	"Proteins similar in form to those sprouted by Plasmodium falciparum, but
not content."  
	Billy looked up.  "But where's the microbe itself?"
	"Strange, isn't it?  Anything that leaves a trail that hot shouldn't be
hard to miss, but we're missing it.  I need to test the survivors for
antibody production.  Can you arrange that?"  Barney looked blandly at the
excited medico.
	"Sure thing.  We can start seeing people here first thing tomorrow.  I'll
have my nurse start phoning."
	Barney frowned.  "I don't know, Billy.  Calling people in on Saturday might
cause a panic."
	"No problem, Stan.  There is one advantage to practicing in a little ol'
Southern town.  Nobody thinks twice about doctors making house calls."
Billy grinned widely.  "Say, can I take this slide with me?"  
	Barney handed him one of the prepared slides instead.  "Take this one, the
peptide solution's already dry."
	"Thanks.  I'm ready to call it a day, Stan."  Billy looked at his watch.
"Still enough time to make dinner at Holt House if I get you there quick."
	Barney shut the slide case and picked up his leather bag.  "And if you
don't?"
	"Loris will hand me my head.  As the newest border, you're the guest of
honor, and there's no greater sin than missing one of Loris Holt's chicken
dinners."
	Barney shrugged out of his lab coat, pocketing the remote device as they
walked through the basement hallway to the stairwell.  "Any chance of making
our first house call tonight after supper?"  He caught Billy's quizzical
look.  "I'm thinking of Matt Crower.  As the only survivor still suffering
neurological symptoms, I wonder if there isn't something still active in his
system.  If this is an isolated outbreak, or some type of anomaly, I might
not get this chance again."
	"An evening at Juniper House?"  Billy made a face.  "Sounds grand.  Now,
let's hit the road, Stan.  I hear biscuits calling!"

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Subj:	Mission: Trinity Act Two, Scene Three
Date:	96-06-30 02:15:34 EDT
From:	srgrimm@teleport.com (Sister Grimm)
Sender: owner-ag-fanfic@stargame.org
To:	ag-fanfic@stargame.org

	Jim Phelps felt him, like a cloud passing in front of the sun.  He tilted
the straw hat away from his eyes to take in the sight of Sheriff Lucas Buck
watching him as he dozed in the Weller's backyard hammock.  
	Jim grinned and heartily extended a hand.  "Howdy.  You must be one of the
neighbors."
	Lucas didn't budge.  "Who the hell are you?"
	Flustered, Jim tried to sit up in the hammock, but Lucas pointed sharply at
him.  "Stay right where you are.  I'm the Sheriff, I'm investigating a
report of shots fired, and you're trespassing."
	Jim held up his empty hands.  "Take it easy, Sheriff.  I can explain."  He
pointed to the table at his elbow.  Beside a tall, sweating can of beer lay
a wallet and a smaller leather pouch.  "I'm Lt. Frank Tomasik, State Police."

	Lucas flipped open the ID case and looked disinterestedly at the shield.
"You don't suppose this gives you a license to trespass, do you, Mr.
Tomasik?  Where's your sidearm?"
	Jim nodded at a lawn chair nearby.  His jacket hung from one side of the
chair back, his shoulder holster from the other.  Without turning his back,
Lucas edged to the chair and pulled the gun from its holster.  "This place
may seem pretty remote by State Police standards, but it's a piss poor place
for target practice."  He checked the safety and tucked the gun into his
waistband.
	Jim agreed, nervously.  "Found a kid by the creek this afternoon, inches
from a copperhead.  I blew his head off."
	Lucas looked at him.
	"The snake's, I mean."
	"Glad you cleared that up for me, Lieutenant.  Now suppose you get your
butt out of that sling and show me just where this epic battle took place."
	Jim led the way to the back of the yard.  "You know Betty Weller, Sheriff?"
	"The Widow Weller, you mean?"  Lucas asked pointedly.
	"I used to work with Betty's brother, Ed.  She offered me the run of this
place while she's staying with Ed and his missus.  I told her I'd do some
yard work, get the house fixed up to sell."
	"Betty's fixin' to move?"
	"She told me about the money you gave her.  She's real grateful for your
generosity, Sheriff, but Trinity has some unpleasant memories for her."
	Jim thought he heard Lucas say something under his breath, something that
sounded like "quitting while she's ahead."  Pausing by the creek bed, Jim
pointed out the remains of the snake still writhing among the weeds.
	Lucas looked on the ground, then held out his hand.  "Give me your brass."
	Jim took the cartridges from his pocket.
	"Three shots,"  Lucas scoffed.  "I've seen caterpillars longer than this
thing.  Why in hell didn't you call in the riot squad for back up, or were
you afraid the snake was gonna take hostages, maybe shoot back?"  Lucas
headed back toward the house, shaking his head.  "Waste of ammo.  Should've
used this."  Lucas pulled a clay-streaked shovel from the patch of freshly
turned soil nearby and glanced casually at the blade.  "Gettin' an early
start on your gardening chores, Tomasik?"
	Jim froze and gulped a few rapid, shallow breaths, knowing it would make
him look guilty.  He rubbed a grime-streaked handkerchief across his brow,
wiping away imaginary sweat before answering Lucas, eyes averted.  "Planned
to do some fishing, dig up some worms."
	Lucas leaned toward him, effortlessly balancing the shovel in his hand as
if it were a baton.  "Give you a neighborly tip, Tomasik.  This layer of
clay here,"  he held the shovel up to Jim's face, "only shows up at depths
of six feet or more in these parts.  Only things buried that deep in Trinity
come in a pine boxes.  We don't need nobody diggin' 'em up."  Jim cringed as
Lucas raised the shovel high overhead and drove the blade deep into the
hardening soil with one hand.  "You got a number for the Widow Weller so I
can check out your story?"
	"Yeah."  He licked his lips nervously and gave Lucas a number with a
Charleston dialing prefix.  "That's Ed Drey's place.  Check with her, you'll
see."
	"I'll do that, Tomasik."  Lucas turned to leave.
	"Sheriff?  Can I have my gun back?"
	"I'm impounding it until I check you out, Mr. Tomasik.  If I don't collect
you for trespassing tonight, you can pick it up from my office tomorrow."  
	Lucas walked back to the Crown Vic, shaking his head.  Too many people
coming into Trinity these days, every damn one of them seemed to get in his
way.  He picked up the radio mike  "Hey, Floyd."
	"Yeah, Lucas?"
	"I'm lookin' to talk to Betty Weller or Ed Drey at this Charleston number.
Dial it for me and patch the call through."
	"Sure thing, Sheriff."
	Lucas closed his eyes for a moment, sending himself through the loosened,
sun-warmed dirt to a place dark, cool and six feet deep.  He was alone
there.  The crackle of the radio brought him back to the car.  
	"Go ahead, Lucas."
	"Hello?"  A woman's voice -- flat, nasal, crass -- filled the car.
	"Hello, is this Betty Weller?"
	"No, this is her sister-in-law, Juanita.  She's visitin' her brother at the
rehab center.  Want me to have her call ya back?"
	"Ma'am, am I speaking with Mrs. Drey?"
	"Sure are."  
	Lucas could hear the unfiltered cigarettes in her lungs, smell the bottle
of rotgut hidden in the towel closet, see the torn, yellowing underwear in
her dresser drawers.  He smiled in spite of himself.  "Well, I want to say
that Lt. Drey is mighty lucky to have two strong women helping him on the
road to recovery, ma'am.  Oh, you know a fella name of Tomasik?  Says he's a
friend of your husband's?"
	"Ed said he got somebody to go down and do some work on Betty's place while
she was gone.  Didn't ask which of his worthless friends it was."
	"Thanks for your time, Mrs. Drey.  Say hello to the Lieutenant and Betty
for me."
	Lucas hung up the mike and pulled out of the Weller driveway, smiling at
the thought of Lt. Drey-With-An-E in the saddle with that sorry old cow.
	Cinnamon hung up the phone and switched off the voice modulator on Barney's
phone intercept unit.  She wrapped her hair into a French braid with a few,
wispy strands framing her face, checked her watch and dialed the hotel room
phone.  
	"Is Lucas Buck there?  Tell him Lucy's ready for him."  

++++++++++++++++++++++++