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The swirling and buzzing stopped, and Sam found himself lying down in the dark. He blinked to help his eyes adjust, but the room was almost completely black. A slight move of his arm revealed he was in a bed—alone, he thought—yes, he moved his hands out tentatively and reached each edge of the bed unobstructed—a nice bed, in fact, and he appreciated the comfort for a few moments. As he waited for his eyes to adjust, he listened for some telltale sound to give him a clue to his surroundings. No ticking alarm clock, no billow of curtains in a night breeze, no sounds of rain, traffic, nothing at all. That was odd.
He sat up carefully and swung his legs off the bed to the right. He was wearing a T-shirt and boxer shorts, flannel—he’d always loved flannel—and set his feet on the floor. A soft rug greeted his toes, and he settled his feet in comfortably. He smiled. So far so good. Whoever he’d leaped into seemed to agree with his tastes on the little details.
It was still too dark to see, and he reached out to find a light or clock or some other landmark. His hand found a table next to the bed, and he inadvertently touched a button. He started when a whoosh of gently sliding metal came from the other side of the room. It was a familiar sound, and he turned. He gasped as what had been a black void was now a wall of stars—a panorama of the Milky Way arching overhead. He stood up in amazement and approached the apparition. But it was no apparition—it was real—a window—a window the size of the wall. He knew this—he’d seen it before. The pale light revealed shapes beyond the pane—a mesa, and mountains in the distance. The shapes were gestalts, filling holes in his Swiss-cheesed brain. He knew this place. If he didn’t know anything else, he knew this, all of it. He knew it well.
He turned back to the dark room, breathless. “Light,” he said, almost surprised at the sound of his voice. On command, a soft light filled the room. There was everything as he had left it—funny they had left everything exactly the same after all this time—everything—all these belongings he had forgotten but now he remembered more clearly than he had ever noticed anything before—his bed, his night desk littered with notes and books, his mural-sized photo of the farm. “Time,” he said and a soft blue glow appeared beside his bed: “00:53.” He murmured, “Date,” and above the numerals appeared “11 May.” What a staggering coincidence: He’d leapt on the 12th, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he? How many years has it been? “Year,” he said in a whisper, but the date only blinked—it wasn’t equipped for that. He searched his brain. This couldn’t possibly be happening, could it? Could it?
He looked at the door that could not possibly lead to his bathroom but he knew it did. He wondered as he dashed through the doorway: How many years had it been? What did he look like? Could it possibly be... There, the mirror—he stood trembling before the mirror. For the first time since the beginning of time as he knew it, he looked into his own eyes. He looked exactly the same. It was a miracle. He was home. The words caught in his throat: “...Oh, boy.”
In his joy, Sam gave no thought to his appearance as he dashed through the complex to the Project Quantum Leap control room. What a party they would have as soon as they saw him! He approached Ralph, the laconic Marine on night shift at the check in station, grinning ear to ear. “Ralph, is it good to see you!” he said, giving the guard a heartfelt hug. Ralph accepted the gesture stoically, eyeing Sam’s attire with only a trace of a frown.
“You gonna be in there long, Dr. Beckett?” he said as he signed Sam’s name on the check-in log.
“We might be in there all night!” Sam said as he headed for the door. “Maybe a couple of days!” Sam disappeared through the door.
Ralph replied flatly, “Don’t catch cold.”
Sam stopped with surprise when he found the control room empty and the lights dimmed. There should have been at least two technicians on duty, one at the controls and one supervising the Waiting Room. He frowned. “Ziggy, turn up the lights.”
The deep voice of the supercomputer whirred on with a disgruntled audio sulk. “So now I’m a maintenance unit.”
“Just turn them on, unless that’s too much for you.” The lights went on, and Sam gave the control panel a quick once-over. “Where is everyone?”
“I thought you were all out licking your wounds.”
“What?”
“And I like the fashion statement you’re making. Very...comfy. Are you inviting friends over later for popcorn and ghost stories?”
Sam frowned. “Aren’t you at least glad to see me?”
“Not after what you said about me this morning,” the computer moaned. “I’m surprised you had the nerve to face me again so soon. Thanks, Dad.”
“This morning? What are you talking about? I just got back.”
“Back from where?”
Sam laughed with disbelief. “...From everywhere. Ziggy, how long have I been gone?”
“You last stood in the control room seven hours, six minutes, and thirty-three seconds ago.”
He frowned. “No, I mean me, now, as me.”
“Oh, well, aside from the pajamas, you were last in here, you, now, as you, seven hours, six minutes and forty-two seconds ago.”
He was trying to keep his temper, but Sam was getting annoyed. “Where is everybody? Where’s Al?”
“I believe most of the staff are either in town getting drunk or finding other forms of distraction. Admiral Calavicci I believe is pursuing the latter option with a new hire from the clerical staff.”
Sam tapped his fingers on the control panel with impatience. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Besides, Ziggy’s voice sounded strange. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but there was something odd going on here. He was afraid this was another of Gooshie’s inappropriate practical jokes. “Ziggy, I want you to prepare a report for me summarizing all the data gathered during my leaps and have it ready for me as soon as possible.”
The computer didn’t respond, and the hum in the room was odd to Sam’s ears. “What’s the matter, this assignment is beneath you, too?”
The reply was cold but hardly mechanical: “I’m waiting for you to give me instructions I can follow.”
“A report. What’s so difficult about that? You do them all the time.”
“On your leaps.”
“Yes.”
“What leaps?”
Sam counted to ten. “If this is a little joke you cooked up with everyone, it’s not funny. Just prepare a report.”
“A report on all the work this unit has performed since...when?”
“Since I left.”
There was a moment of computation, and then Ziggy intoned: “Project Quantum Leap has performed no work in the last seven hours, eight minutes and thirty-one seconds.”
Sam was about to lose his temper when the control room door opened and the person he wanted to see most walked through the door. “Al!” Sam raced to his friend and corralled him in a monumental hug. “God, it’s so good to see you!”
Al took the hug with patient acceptance and patted Sam on the back. “Yeah, it’s good to see you, too. You got a brainstorm?”
Sam let go of Al and looked at him quizzically. “Brainstorm?” Al indicated Sam’s pajamas. “Oh, well, when I realized I was back I didn’t think about clothes.” He laughed. “This is great! You smell like cigars and everything.”
Al frowned. “Since when did you start liking my cigars?”
Al’s lack of enthusiasm was wearing down Sam’s joy, but he managed a bit of a laugh. “Well, I don’t, it’s just I haven’t been able to smell them for, I don’t know, years.”
“You complained about the smell yesterday at lunch.”
This was the last anomaly Sam could ignore. He frowned and looked at Al. Al didn’t look the same. There was something missing from his eyes. That special bond, that glow of tried-and-true friendship forged through so many trials was not there.
The solution hit Sam in the stomach hard, making him wince. “God, no.” He turned away from Al and faced the control panel. “No. It can’t be. Ziggy, what year is it?”
“In Anno Domini, the Chinese Lunar Calendar, or—”
“—Just tell me what year it is.”
“1995.”
Sam turned back and looked at Al, although he wasn’t speaking to him directly. “May 11, 1995.” Al gave him a “So?” shrug. Sam blinked with disbelief. “I didn’t leap until tomorrow. I’ve come back before I leaped.” Sam walked out of the control room, numb with confusion.
Al watched him go, then looked up at Ziggy. “What’s wrong with him?”
The computer grumbled, “The meeting this morning must have been too much for him. I believe he’s snapped.”
Sam went back to his bedroom and waited for the Al from his own time to appear. Wouldn’t Al be surprised when he found him in his own backyard! After putting on his robe, Sam sat at his night desk and surveyed the clutter. A stack of computer printouts, The Tibetan Book of the Dead, Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time, a book on ancient Hawaiian spiritual beliefs, two of his own books on quantum physics, Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival, a “Calvin and Hobbes” collection from Al—Sam had to smile. It was an eclectic selection to say the least. His eyes lingered on the piles. Possessions, he’d forgotten what it was like to have possessions, things that were his and not someone else’s. It felt so good to be back in familiar surroundings, and yet it was disconcerting to be back like this. Even though he was back as himself, he wasn’t really back. There was something to be done. But what? Whose life needed to be changed, what wrong needed to be righted?
As he waited, Sam contemplated what had happened. Parts of his memory were still missing, and although he wasn’t sure it seemed there were parts missing now that hadn’t been missing before. He had no idea into how many lives he had leaped—hadn’t he remembered them all once? He took a mental inventory and could remember a test pilot, a beauty queen, something about a baseball player—no, maybe two or three—and being a magician—not a very good one—and a concert pianist, and so many others. Although he didn’t remember the circumstances, he remembered killing someone, and the memory made him shudder. It seemed there were things he didn’t remember, and things he once knew but didn’t remember now, and times when he didn’t remember what he knew now, so perhaps he should write these things down in case he lost them again. Well, there was no need for that. Ziggy would have everything...Sam sighed...in the future.
After half an hour of waiting for Al to appear, Sam began to read Parzival; after ten minutes of reading, he dozed off in his chair. He awoke when he heard a rustle next to him. He looked up at Al.
“God, Al! Am I glad to see you! Can you believe it? I can’t believe I’m back. Have you and Ziggy figured out what I’m doing here?”
Al looked at him with quiet concern. “No. I saw your light was on, and since you have no social life, I decided it was okay to come in. You didn’t crack up after the meeting, did you?” Sam looked at Al intensely, then reached out a finger, making contact with Al’s lapel. He sighed with disappointment. Al shrugged with mock annoyance. “Thanks. I’m touched.”
Sam stood up agitatedly. “I’m sorry, Al, you don’t understand.” He paced around the room distractedly. “I guess you can’t get in here—the other you—because it’s too close and, I don’t know, maybe the molecular structure of the universe can’t handle having two Als in the same room at the same time.” He smiled. “I can believe that. No wait—that happened once—” He turned back to Al, who was frowning at him.
“You didn’t take one of those stress pills, did you? Verbena said you can’t tolerate those.”
Sam smiled with recognition. “Verbena.” He shook his head. “No, of course not. Those things make me crazy.” He paused, then looked at Al, making the connection. “No, I’m not crazy. Al, you’re not going to believe what’s happened.” He sat down eagerly, signaling for Al to pull the other chair up to the desk. Sam said as Al sat down, “...Quantum Leap works.”
“Great!” Al was overjoyed. “Is that where you’ve been all evening, in reprogramming Ziggy?”
“Well, no, not exactly. ...I’ve leaped, and I’ve come back.”
“Wow, this is incredible! Where did you go? I mean, when did you go? I mean....”
Sam frowned. “It’s not that simple. There’s a bug in the system. I’ve been gone a long time—I think at least a couple of years—and I can’t control to where and when I leap. It’s hard to explain, and I probably shouldn’t be telling you, but...it’s too late now.” Sam realized his mistake too late, but he was so used to confiding in Al that the words came out before he could stop them.
Al wasn’t accepting this well. “You’ve been gone a couple years since this afternoon? What did you do, go to Cleveland?”
“Yeah, I did go to Cleveland once, but that’s not what I mean. I didn’t leap this afternoon. I’m going to leap in about thirty-six hours, and...I’ve come back before I left.”
“So,” Al pondered slowly, “...if you’ve come back before you left....” He contemplated that for several moments, trying to figure out a question that would produce an answer he’d understand. “...So, if you’re you from the future, how come I see you as you the way you looked this morning?”
“Because you’re you now, not the observer you from the future.”
He frowned. “Oh, yeah.” He rubbed his face. “This is confusing.” His eyes suddenly brightened and he looked around. “Am I here now? The me from the future?” Sam shook his head, and Al’s face flashed with disappointment. “Too bad. What a kick in the butt that would be.” Sam didn’t know if Al truly believed him or not, but at least he seemed to be going along with him for the moment.
Something strange occurred to Sam. “They must be really confused, because it’s me in the Waiting Room but I don’t know what’s going on.” He shook his head.
Al gave Sam a skeptical glance. “Are they the only ones who don’t know what’s going on?”
Sam understood his not-too-subtle message and shook his head, then smiled. “No. Not yet. You will someday.”
“I see. Why did you touch me with such utter disappointment?”
“I was hoping you were you from the future here to tell me what I’m supposed to do.”
An impish smile crept across Al’s face. “You mean I tell you what to do and you actually listen to me? I like that.” He nodded with satisfaction.
Sam smiled with him, then grew wistful. “Yeah. You’ve saved my life more times than I can count.”
Al contemplated this. “Well, it’s too bad you couldn’t have come back before the meeting this morning so you could have proved to those nozzles that they’re not wasting their money on us.”
Sam’s eyes flashed. “The meeting! Of course! Today—this morning—that terrible meeting with the people from the Pentagon where they threatened to cut off our money. That’s why I leaped before we’d finished the final diagnostic. That’s why I’m stuck. Maybe that’s why I’m back here—so I won’t leap.” He frowned. “That doesn’t feel right.”
“Well, whatever. They’re still going to shut us down on May 31st if we don’t have something to show for all this. Can you prove you’ve done anything?”
In the security of familiar surroundings and in the wake of Al’s confusion, Sam lost track of where he was. “Of course. I’ve changed history. Well, the changes won’t show up really, because they’ve already happened. Let’s see if Ziggy can figure something out.”
Sam and Al returned to the control room. Ziggy complained as usual at starting up after hours, but Sam didn’t waste time arguing. “Ziggy, give me a status report on Michael Blake of New York City, born about 1920.” Sam turned to Al. “He was this really greedy developer we Scrooged and—”
“—He’s dead,” came the computer’s reply.
Sam was surprised. “What? When?”
“1979. He jumped from Blake Plaza—Sumito Plaza—after his empire collapsed in 1975.”
Sam shook his head. “No, we turned him around....” Sam looked at Al in distress as the realization of when he was hit him. “No, I haven’t gone yet, so...everything I’ve done—we’ve done—hasn’t happened yet. No. Ziggy, give me a status report on Dr. Darlene Monte of Tupelo, Mississippi.”
The computer whirred for several moments as Sam held his breath. “No doctor. Housewife.”
“No!” Sam slapped his hand on the control panel.
Ziggy purred icily, “Violence never solved anything, Dr. Beckett.”
Sam looked at Al, his hopes fading. “No, that means Tom’s still....” He sagged against the control panel.
Al was silent for a moment, then his eyes flashed with recognition. “Tom? Your brother?” Sam didn’t react. “Are you trying to tell me that you kept him from dying in Vietnam?”
“...Yes.”
Al forgot where he was and reached for a cigar. “Unbelievable.” He lit his cigar and took a long, thoughtful puff.
“But he’s dead. I didn’t do it. Coming back here’s undone everything I did.” He looked up. “Why? Why did You put me through all that just to bring me back?”
Ziggy reacted with expected surliness: “I didn’t do anything you didn’t program me to do.”
Sam frowned. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
Ziggy replied, “And tell that smokestack to take his pacifier outside. I treat my equipment with more respect than he does his.”
Al was formulating an appropriate response when Sam took him by the arm to lead him outside. “You should have programmed that hunk of junk to have a little more manners,” Al said as he puffed deliberately on his cigar and blew the smoke over his shoulder at the closing door.
“A supercomputer with a superego,” Sam said with a faint smile. They stood outside by the guard’s desk. “Al, come on, think. There’s got to be a way to prove that I’ve been gone for a couple of years.” The guard’s ears pricked up at that, but he kept his reaction to himself.
Al took another theatrical puff. “‘Here, Nancy, I can prove I’ve been to ancient Greece. Look at this grape.’” Sam looked at Al quizzically. “Firesign Theatre?” Sam didn’t understand, and Al frowned. “Private Nick Danger, Third Eye?” Sam didn’t react. “It’s one of your favorite albums.” Sam tried hard to remember, but the reference was lost in the blur in the center of his memory. He turned away, consumed with the problem of proving his dilemma. Al watched his friend, a concerned frown deepening across his face.
Sam paced around the complex, hoping to come up with something, anything, that would prove he had been gone. He noticed the various Marine sentries along the way watching him, but he gave it no thought. He often walked around at night—he was pretty sure he did, anyway—so that was not unusual. However, what he had forgotten in his distraction was that he had not bothered to dress and he was still in his pajamas and robe. Not only that, he had become used to thinking aloud with Al as a sounding board and without realizing what he was doing he was muttering to himself. This provided the guards with quite a sight, and each one who saw him made sure to tell the watch commander.
After an hour and a few miles underfoot, Sam gave up and decided a good night’s sleep—or whatever he could gain in the few hours of darkness left—would help refresh him. He returned to his room, only then noticing how he was attired. He chuckled to himself as he took off his robe, then crawled under the covers.
He slept deeply but not long enough, and shortly before dawn he was awake and down at the complex’s cafeteria. As Sam helped himself to the delightfully familiar array of breakfast cereals, Marine Major John Randall, the head of security for Project Quantum Leap, joined him. “Jack Hammer” Randall had always made Sam uncomfortable, but this early morning his hard edge sent a chill down Sam’s spine. Perhaps it was the collective memory of so many military leaps, or perhaps it was something else.
Randall strode up to Sam and gave him the perfunctory nod of a man who does not consider himself a subordinate but whose job forces him to play the part. “Dr. Beckett.”
“Major.” He paused, feeling as if he needed permission from Randall to breathe. He indicated his tray and nodded towards a table. “May I?”
“Of course.”
Sam sat at the table and Randall sat across from him. Even sitting, Sam thought, this man was at attention. The major watched Sam pour milk on his cereal. There was something of a good bird dog in this soldier, a pointer whose unflinching gaze helped train the guns on the prey. Sam cleared his throat. “Can I help you, Major?”
“I understand you had a restless night last night.”
“Well, yeah. I had a lot on my mind.”
Randall said nothing, and Sam tried to eat under the Marine’s scrutiny. It wasn’t easy. The milk seemed to be curdling before it got to his stomach. “Anything else?”
“Would you consider a project staff member who suddenly developed strange behavior patterns to be a security risk?”
The question felt more like a poke in the ribs than an inquiry. “How do you mean?”
“Inappropriate attire, bizarre conduct, apparent disconnection from surroundings.”
Sam was certain Randall was referring to him, but he had no idea what Randall was talking about. However, he did know he had to be careful with this. One misstep here might do a lot of damage. “Look, if it’s about last night, it was a long and difficult day yesterday and I just needed to unwind. Walking helps me think.”
Randall said nothing. Sam could feel his laser eyes dissecting him, waiting for a crack to develop. Sam had faced the electric chair; this wasn’t much better. “Anything else?”
The Marine did not flinch. “No, sir. Not at this time.” He stood abruptly and left. Sam blew out a sigh. He didn’t know if he’d passed the test or not. He looked at the bowl of cereal and decided he would need something more substantial this morning.
It was still too early for the cook to be on duty, so he let himself into the kitchen and found the fixings for a Mom Beckett breakfast. As he stirred the water into the pancake mix, he smiled to himself. The familiar rhythms of life put the soul at ease somehow.
“Enjoying yourself?” He looked up with surprise at the sound of that familiar voice. Dr. Verbena Beeks stood in the kitchen doorway smiling at him.
Sam had to fight his delight in seeing her again. “‘Morning, Verbena.”
She ambled over to him and looked at the array of ingredients on the counter. “There’s such a thing as frozen microwave pancakes, you know. They make life a lot simpler.”
He flashed her a frown of playful disdain. “Frozen? Frozen? Maybe people from Philadelphia use microwave pancakes, but nobody uses them in Elk Ridge, Indiana.”
She laughed. “That’s why they’re still down on the farm.” The psychologist watched him as he stirred the last of the lumps out of the batter. An alarm should have been going off in Sam’s brain, but in his long absence he had forgotten that Verbena was not a morning person, and seeing her up and about before 8:00 a.m. was a rare sight indeed.
She helped him make his farm breakfast, and they enjoyed their feast out in the quiet dining room as a beautiful New Mexico dawn unfolded outside the picture window. He smiled at the sight of pinks and oranges streaking across the clouds. A memory stirred—was it his past or was it from a leap?—it didn’t matter, really—he was eating breakfast in another cafeteria somewhere, reading the section describing heaven in Milton’s Paradise Lost as a magnificent sunrise echoed the beauties in the text. It was a sweet memory, and it made him feel at home for a moment.
Verbena saw his smile and inquired, “Yes?”
He flashed with embarrassment at drifting away. “Nothing. Sorry.”
She shook her head. “You Midwesterners. Always apologizing.” Sam chuckled. “Especially when you haven’t done anything wrong. Maybe someday I’ll understand it.”
He watched the sunrise for a few more moments and didn’t hear the practiced aloofness in Verbena’s voice as she said, “I hear you were up late last night.”
Sam smiled. “Yeah. I had kind of a...breakthrough.”
She nodded. “Great. Can you explain it to a non-physicist so she’d understand?”
Her calm detachment caught his ear, and he replied with guarded enthusiasm. “Well, I can’t prove it, but I know Quantum Leap works.”
She smiled, but he thought there was something a bit too professional about the smile. “Great. What happened?” Despite her best efforts, there was an unmistakable business-like edge to her question that escaped neither of them.
Sam looked at his breakfast, then at Verbena. “This is a professional visit, isn’t it?” She didn’t reply, but a flicker in her tender brown eyes gave her away. “Who talked to you? Al? Randall? Randall probably. It’s a little early for Al.”
A moment of silence ensued as Verbena weighed her options, then she gave up. “All right, I never could fool you. Yes, Major Randall insisted I talk with you this morning. I called Al before I came. He didn’t mind my waking him up. He’s a little worried—in a friend kind of way.”
“He told you what I said to him?”
She nodded. “I’m not sure I understand it, but yes, he said that you’ve been gone for a couple of years and that you’ve come back.”
“Yeah, and I can’t prove it because everything I’ve done hasn’t happened yet.”
She ate in silence as Sam looked at his half-eaten meal, no longer hungry. She said, “Al only told me a few things. I’d like to ask you some questions about your leaps, if that’s okay.”
“Sure.”
“I need you to be honest and tell me everything, all right?”
“Of course.”
“I just want to help.”
Sam thought the lady was protesting too much, but he kept it to himself. “I know.”
“First of all, did the different leaps have anything in common?”
“Yes. I went into a situation where there was something that needed to be changed. Something bad was going to happen, and I arrived at a time where I could change things for the better.”
Verbena nodded. “How did you know this?”
“Al was always there to tell me what Ziggy had figured out.”
“He was part of the situation?”
“No, he was a non-interactive observer, the way the program was designed.”
“So, Al would tell you what needed to be done, and you’d do it.”
“Yeah. But sometimes he was wrong. He and Ziggy.”
“Ziggy’s predictions would be incorrect?”
“Sometimes I felt that I had to do something else, and usually when I disagreed with Ziggy, I was right.” Sam quickly added, “But usually Al and Ziggy were right. He saved my life dozens of times.”
“How many times did you leap?”
“I don’t know. Hundreds, maybe. Leaping affects my memory. Al calls it ‘Swiss-cheesing.’ I mean, the first time I leaped I didn’t recognize him when he showed up. I couldn’t even remember my name.”
“What happened?”
“I was a test pilot—I think—I’m pretty sure that was the first one. I was there to keep the test pilot’s wife from miscarrying her baby. I thought I was there to break Mach 3, but that wasn’t really it.”
“How do you know if you’ve done what you were supposed to do?”
“I leap.”
“What happens if you don’t do what you’re supposed to do?”
“Sometimes I leap anyway,” he said, thinking of mob hitman Frankie LaPalma, but jumbled images of Lee Harvey Oswald began to creep into his memory and he had to fight the shiver up his spine, “but it can get really bad.”
“Where did you go after you were the test pilot?”
“I was a player on a minor league baseball team.”
“What did you have to do?”
Sam smiled. “I had to score the winning runs in the bottom of the ninth so our team wouldn’t end the season in last place.”
Verbena smiled. “Did you do it?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I thought I was supposed to hit a home run, but, well, baseball was never my game. My third strike was a wild pitch, and Al told me to run, and two throwing errors later I was safe at home.” He smiled. “And we won the game.”
She smiled and leaned in comfortably. “Tell me about some of your other leaps.”
In varying detail, Sam told Verbena about being a fashion photographer, a divorced mother, a high school football star, a horror novelist, a vampire, and then a teenaged Sam and a Navy SEAL. She listened with interest, giving no reactions in particular. Some stories were fuzzy at best, and he knew there were a number of leaps that he couldn’t remember at all. There were also a few details he didn’t want to tell her. He wanted to play it safe. But he told her more than he thought he did. Her ease drew him out beyond where he would have gone consciously. Stripped of the armor of pretending to be someone else, he had forgotten how to protect himself.
When he finished, he shrugged. “Pretty amazing, huh?”
She smiled. “Very. What was your favorite leap?”
“It was very interesting being my great-grandfather.”
Her eyes flashed at that. “How did you manage that?”
He crossed his arms with a twinkle in his eye. “If I knew how I did any of this, I wouldn’t be here.” She acknowledged him with a wry smile. “But I think my favorite person was Jimmy.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Jimmy LaMotta. He had Down’s Syndrome. He had such a wonderful, loving family.” Suddenly out of the fog bank in his mind flashed the memory of his first encounter with Alia, and he shuddered.
“What’s the matter?”
He looked at the psychologist and decided she wouldn’t understand. “Just something that happened.”
She nodded, and took a last bite of her breakfast. “Sam, as doctor to doctor, I would like you to put aside all of the feelings you have right now and listen to a theory as objectively as possible.”
He nodded, but she looked at him until he said, “Okay.”
“Something else your leaps have in common is the fact that you save the day, you rescue people in trouble or in danger, and you’re a hero. You may not see yourself that way, but that’s what you are.
“Sam, you’re used to success. You’ve accomplished more so far in your life than twenty people in their whole lifetimes. There have been bad things in your life, but most of them have been beyond your control. The things within your power have been astonishing. You’ve been a wunderkind, ‘the next Einstein.’ This project is your baby, from the word go. The whole thing rests on your shoulders.
“Now you face the greatest challenge of your professional life. This project, on which you’re staking your entire career, isn’t going right. There are problems you can’t solve. There are people you can’t control. You’re about to lose your funding, and lose years of work. Even worse, you’re about to lose your dream, this idea that’s haunted you from childhood—traveling through time.
“After an emotionally and physically draining meeting with the people from the Pentagon, you come back to your room—people are upset and depressed and you need to be by yourself to concentrate. You skip dinner and dive into your work. There’s got to be a way to solve this—just one little thing—you just need to work a little harder. You go to bed early—” she smiled “—you never did give up those farm boy hours—and you solve everything,” she concluded slowly, “with the most vivid dream of your life.”
Sam reacted sharply, but she held up her hand to finish her thought. “Look at what the leaps tell you: People and situations in jeopardy, and you save them with special knowledge that you have and they don’t. Babies who are going to die, teenagers who are going to disappear or fail with their lives, people who are going to self-destruct. You save them all. You, your computer, and your best friend. It’s a classic wish fulfillment. Even winning that championship basketball game—and saving your brother’s life. You get to undo the nagging wrongs in your own life.”
He was still riled. “Look, Verbena, I know the difference between dreams and reality.”
“Sometimes we don’t,” she said gently. “Sometimes they’re the same thing. Project Quantum Leap was a dream for many years. You made it reality. And look at your favorite leap: someone with Down’s Syndrome—someone who can’t be accountable for the kind of responsibility you have.”
“But I know names and dates and places. How could I know that if I hadn’t been there?”
“Sam,” she said calmly, “you have one the great minds of this or any other century. I can’t begin to understand the volumes of information your mind absorbs from simply reading a page of a newspaper.”
“Look, Verbena, I know how I must sound but it wasn’t a dream. It really happened and I don’t need to be a psychiatrist to know that.” He paused, then frowned. “I’m not a psychiatrist, am I?”
Her eyes betrayed her surprise, but she said evenly, “No.”
Too late he realized what he’d said and what she must be thinking. He tried to get out of it by saying, “You see? I never would have said that if I hadn’t gone through all those leaps and gotten my brain Swiss-cheesed.” He wasn’t sure if that helped or not, but it was too late now.
Verbena, a true professional, gave nothing away as she gathered up her breakfast items and said, “Just think about it. It’s a possibility.” She gave him a friend’s smile and patted his hand. “Don’t worry. I know it will all work out. I’ll see you later.” She put her tray by the quiet dish room conveyer belt and left the cafeteria. He watched her, knowing she was seeing him through the distorted lenses of Major Randall’s guard dog paranoia, and he was afraid he would never be able to convince her that he was right. And, as he sat alone in the silent room, he began to think, and he hated that he was starting to doubt himself.
Sam went back to his room and ran through some calculations before the usual start time of 8:00 a.m. A knock on his door at 7:37 roused him from his deep concentration. “Come in.”
Tina stepped into the room lightly. “Um, Sam, we’re waiting. I told them you probably lost track of time.”
He glanced at his clock with a frown. “It’s not 8:00 yet.”
“You called the meeting for 7:30.”
He had no idea what she was talking about but stood up. “Oh, yeah, I guess I forgot. I mean, lost track of time.” He looked at his notes, then gestured for Tina to leave before him. Perhaps as she led the way he would recall the purpose of the meeting he had called so long ago—yesterday.
Tina walked through the doorway, but then she stepped aside with deference to let Sam go first. An awkward moment ensued as he tried not to go first, but she waited for him. Having no idea where he was going, he blew out a nervous sigh and headed down the hall.
“So,” he said, trying to sound casual as he fished for information, “is everyone there?”
“Yeah.”
He had hoped for a more substantial answer. “All the programmers, and....”
“Uh-huh.”
They were approaching a junction in the hall. Straight led to the cavern and the technical facilities. To the left were the offices and conference rooms. To the right was the auditorium. The cavern was not an option for a meeting, as half the staff wasn’t allowed in there. He disliked the formality of the auditorium; he wouldn’t call a meeting there. The only logical choice was to turn left.
He took the left turn and breathed easier when Tina followed. Now came the choice of which conference room. First came the two four-person conference rooms. They were much too small and he could rule them out right away. Next was the ten-person meeting room nicknamed the “Bull Pen.” It was the room of choice for brainstorming sessions. It would be too small for an “everyone” kind of meeting, which left the last room at the end of the hall that could seat thirty comfortably. It was the logical choice. He prayed logic was the answer.
He slowed slightly as he went past the Bull Pen and listened for a similar slowdown in Tina’s footfalls, but when he heard none, he strode towards the large conference room.
“...Um, Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“...Where are you going?”
He stopped and saw Tina looking back at the Bull Pen door. “Oh, yeah, sorry.” He went back and hoped he didn’t look too confused. Another awkward moment developed as he was on the wrong side of the Bull Pen door to open it easily for Tina, but he reached across in front of her and managed to open it with only a small amount of fuss. She stepped inside, and he followed.
“Everyone” was all the programmers plus Al and Verbena—and Major Randall sitting in the back. Tina sat by the door next to Al, and Sam stepped up to the chair waiting for him at the head of the table by the blackboard. A vague, unsettling memory stirred of standing in front of a blackboard before a group and having no idea what he was supposed to say; he couldn’t remember the situation, but it ruffled his concentration. He sat and looked at the group. “Good morning.” The others nodded and a few murmured greetings. “...Where do we begin?” No one spoke. “...Well, first of all, I’d like to say that...yesterday was tough, but we’ll get through this. I mean, the program works, we just need to...prove it.” He looked at them for some sort of reaction, but they did not respond. Sam cleared his throat. “Does anyone have anything they want to say before we begin?” The others looked at each other, then back at Sam. They seemed to be waiting for something. He could put this off no longer. It was time to plunge in. “Well, we need to make some major progress by the end of the month or we’re going to be looking for other jobs. Let’s go over again where the main problems are. Gooshie.” Sam looked at the head programmer, who reacted with surprise. “Well?”
“Ah, Dr. Beckett, I thought you were going to tell us.”
Sam wrestled with the fog in the middle of his memory. This was sounding familiar. That last meeting before he leaped. If only he could remember! “Yes, well, I didn’t want to discount suggestions from anyone else. So. The Initializer. We need to rewrite the sequencing program.” Gooshie began to take notes, and Sam felt a moment of relief. “I’d also like to see some power-saving modifications, so even if we’re down to fifty percent on the generator, we can still communicate with the leaper. Voice-only should do.” Gooshie continued to write, as did several of the other programmers. So far so good. “And the retrieval program. We’ve got to make it less context-dependant.”
Gooshie asked, “How do you mean?”
“Well, I think we’ll have a problem with the leaper’s return being hampered if people in the time period know about him.”
A few puzzled looks were shared. “But,” Gooshie said hesitantly, “the leaper is supposed to be hidden by the host. The people in the time period won’t be aware of him being somebody else.”
“It’s designed that way,” Sam recovered quickly, “but we have to consider the possibility that, say, children or animals might be aware. People who live in a natural alpha state. It’s possible these people might even be aware of the observer. If they’re aware of what’s going on, we might have problems retrieving the leaper. I mean, me.” Gooshie nodded, and resumed his notetaking. Another small victory for Sam, and he began to relax. “I want you to work with Donna on the retrieval program. Make that your top priority today.”
Gooshie looked up with a frown. “Who?”
“Dr. Alessi.” Sam became aware of what he had said, and another piece of his memory dropped into place. He shuddered as if hit with pain. “Donna.” She was supposed to be here—or she had been—or will be—or—oh, God, why was this happening? The realization that he had lost her again cut through him like a knife. He had to find her again. He had to leap tomorrow no matter what.
He came back to himself and saw everyone staring at him. Verbena said gently, “You all right, Sam?”
He tried to shake it off, but his concentration was gone. “Ah, yeah, just remembering something. It’s all right.” He glanced up to gather his thoughts, but what composure he had was shattered by those laser eyes of John Randall. Sam could feel the guns coming to bear on him, following the gaze of those birddog eyes. He had to shake his head to break their spell. “Well, um, I think we have enough to work on today, let’s meet again at 5:00 and see where we are.” He gestured for them to go, but only after a few moments did the group respond slowly.
Sam couldn’t fool himself. This had been a disaster. He looked over at Al, who was gazing at him with sad concern. He looked at Verbena, but she had already headed for the door and he couldn’t see her face. A disaster. Why was it so much easier to convince strangers he was someone else than to be himself in front of his friends? He stood up and followed the programmers out the door, hoping a quiet, productive day in the lab would smooth things over.
Sam spent the rest of May 11 running over calculations with Ziggy and the programmers. While the front of his brain went through the programming changes, the back of his mind was racing through theories about why he had leaped back into himself and various Plan Bs if he couldn’t leap tomorrow as he had before. He also accepted the fact that if Al from the future hadn’t arrived yet, he would not be arriving at all. He had had nightmares about leaping without Al, and this was every bit as bad as the worst of them.
As Sam rummaged through the loose ends in his mind, he was afraid he appeared distracted. But the familiar rhythms of the lab eventually took over and he concentrated on getting as many tests run as he possibly could; if he leaped properly tomorrow, with all the glitches ironed out, this whole dilemma would be moot anyway. Any leftover tension from the meeting dissipated during the morning of normal activity, and the staff went about their assignments as usual.
At 5:00 p.m., they broke for a meeting to assess the progress. The power-saving program had been written and would be tested tomorrow; everything else had eluded them. Sam misstepped again when he asked everyone to work after dinner. Gooshie insisted they had nearly three weeks before the Pentagon deadline. Sam looked at the clock: thirty hours to go before he had—would—trick Gooshie into running what was supposed to be another test but what in fact was his leap. He couldn’t afford to alienate Gooshie any more than he already had, so he let it drop. The others left the Bull Pen for dinner and Sam went back to the lab.
As if on cue, Verbena showed up ten minutes after Sam arrived in the lab. He thought his work during the day had made up for the disastrous morning, but he had to stay calm and reassure her he was all right.
“Why the urgency?” was her neutral question.
“I just think we’re really close, that’s all, and if we don’t lose our momentum we can just finish.”
She strolled over to him and in a friendly way looked over his notepad. “What do you have?”
As Sam watched Verbena watching him, a great wave of renewed admiration for her came over him. She was so good, so gentle and non-judgmental; if only she could understand. She was one of his favorite people, but he couldn’t trust her now, and that hurt. “We’ve made some progress on the communications software.” Verbena was looking over his notes, but they both knew she was really looking at him. “We’ve modified the program to allow voice-only contact to save energy.”
“Very good.” She didn’t glance up from the notepad. “You know why I’m here, don’t you?”
“I think so.”
“Gooshie is fond of hyperbole, but when he said ‘obsessed’ three times in one sentence, I knew it was time for a talk.”
His heart fluttered; if he fell from Gooshie’s good graces, any hope of having him at the controls for his leap tomorrow would be lost.
“Look,” she said, “I want this to be a success almost as much as you do. I’d like you to take twenty-four hours off to—”
“No! I can’t—”
“Forty-eight.”
“I can’t! I’ve got to—”
“Seventy-two.”
“Verbena!”
“I can keep this up as long as you can, Sam.” The tenderness in her eyes had given way to steel. “The project may be your responsibility, but the staff is mine. Including you. Since last night, you haven’t been yourself.” Sam looked away. That was true enough. “You’ve been disoriented, having difficulty discerning reality from imagination, and you’re frightening the staff. Someone who didn’t know you would probably call it a breakdown. I prefer to think of it as a mental vacation. I’m obliged to make this official, but I won’t if you don’t make me. I want you out of here for forty-eight hours. In fact, I’m going to shut down the entire project for forty-eight hours.”
“...You can’t do that.”
“Of course I can. No one will be allowed in the control room or laboratories, and you’re to have no contact with the staff. All I want is for you to have a little time away to put things in perspective. Go drive to Santa Fe. Go find that great Mexican restaurant in Old Mesilla you like so much. Get out of here and have some fun for a couple of days. You deserve it, more than you know. You’re just a little too close to it. You can’t see the forest because all those stupid trees are in the way.” She hoped to coax a smile from him on that, but it didn’t work. “I’ll say it’s a staff-wide shutdown to help everyone cope with the meeting. If you behave yourself, that’s all it’ll be. But,” the edge returned to her voice to make her point, “if I hear you’ve tried to get into the lab or you’ve talked with anyone—”
“Not even Al?”
She thought for a moment as she looked at the control panels, then shrugged. “He doesn’t know how to run any of this. Okay. You can talk with Al. But everybody else is off limits. Even the janitorial staff. And to make sure, I’m going to put Jack Randall in charge of the shutdown. Got it?”
Randall, yes, this was his doing. The guard dog was taking over the yard. There would be no way to dissuade Verbena now. Sam didn’t know how to react. Maybe this was supposed to happen. Maybe he was supposed to leap later. For all he knew she could be saving the project. But the pit of his stomach told him otherwise.
“Got it?”
“Yes,” he said with a lackluster nod.
She held out her hand. “Your wrist link, please.”
Sam slowly removed his communications link to Ziggy and the staff and gave it to her. She pocketed it without satisfaction. She waited for him to leave, and when he realized this, he started for the door. She eased the notepad from his hand with a knowing glance and he shrugged. She followed him out the door.
Sam had something small and forgettable for dinner, then headed outside as the evening chill grew. It was another gorgeous desert night with a magnificent canopy of stars watching over him. There was a thunderhead off to the north, its urgent flashes of light darting in and out of the cloud’s folds, but the storm was too far away to bother them tonight.
He didn’t know what to do. What would happen if he didn’t leap tomorrow? What would happen if somehow he did? All he had been able to fix with the programming was mere window dressing. The real glitch in the retrieval program had eluded him. Now his hands were tied. If he did leap tomorrow, it would be with the same disadvantages with which he had leaped the first time. Would he repeat this cycle of leaping into the same sequence of lives, over and over again, repeating his efforts in an endless circle? The thought chilled him more than the desert night.
He sat on a large rock about a mile and a half from the lights of the compound. A rise blocked out the manmade light, and he was alone with the stars and the silent, flashing clouds in the distance.
He went over his list of options. One: attempt to leap tomorrow as he had done the first time. Advantages: few. If nothing else, if he was indeed stuck in a loop, he would be continuing on his previous path and he might come around again. Problems: He was locked out of the project for the next two days. Major Randall was Marine to the core—he smiled at the turn of phrase—and there’s no way he could get through any sort of security net Randall would put up. Besides, Gooshie would not be amenable to persuasion this time. Probable outcome: unknown; it would be, as someone somewhere along the way had said, “a real crap shoot.”
Option Two: not leap tomorrow but leap later, sometime before the 31st. Advantages: He would have more time to work on the glitches, and he would have, if he could just remember everything, the knowledge gathered from all his leaps to help him. Problems: If he was on some sort of giant cosmic loop and he disrupted it at this point, he might never get back. Besides, everyone would be watching him closely and he might not be able to slip into the Accelerator if he had to. Probable outcome: unknown.
Option Three: don’t leap at all. Advantages: He knew what to expect. Everything, except for his little run-in with Verbena and Major Randall, would be exactly as he left it. He and Verbena were good friends; his little “breakdown” would be attributed to stress and all would be forgiven; as for Randall, well, at least this couldn’t make his relationship with him any worse. If Project Quantum Leap failed, he could piece together something else and work on the calculations in his spare time. The nice thing about working with time travel, he thought, is there’s always the option of going back later to correct your mistakes before you make them. Perhaps leaping in a year or two, or five or ten, would be the same as leaping tomorrow. Problems: This entire project defied logic in many ways—if it was true that God or Fate or Whatever was directing his progress, and if he didn’t do what he was supposed to do, such as leaping tomorrow, God or Whatever might not allow him to go back later. ...Then he would have to live with what he’d done, knowing it had all been undone because of this moment of uncertainty. Or was it cowardice? Was he afraid to try again? He was being given a second chance here—was he being selfish as he thought about staying where it was safe? There was the chance that if he did leap again, he might lose Al’s guidance permanently. He wouldn’t last long if that happened. Here at least he knew what to do...except about this. And soon that vacillation would be over as the window of opportunity passed and he stayed. At least he’d be himself again. And maybe if he tried again in a year or two, he’d get it right next time....
Option Four: that Verbena was right, this really was all a dream. No. That doubt might linger but he really was certain it wasn’t a dream. He was almost entirely certain.
All this speculating wasn’t helping, and he was beginning to feel queasy. Thinking might not be the answer. Maybe there was someone else he could consult.
He felt silly for the first few moments, but he didn’t really care. “God...well, I don’t know what to do.” His eyes unconsciously drifted to the thunderhead as he spoke. “I don’t know why You’re making me do this, any of it. I’m not a saint, I’m not a miracle worker. I’m just someone who had a dream about traveling through time. Maybe you’re punishing me for my arrogance. Tampering in Your domain. But I’ve felt like You’ve been guiding me. At least I hope it’s You.
“...I really need Your help.” He looked up at the stars, then at the angry cloud. There was something in the cloud’s energy that reminded him of Michaelangelo’s God giving life to Adam on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Powerful, aloof, all-knowing, untroubled by Man’s little problems. “I’ve always had Al and Ziggy to rely on, but this time I don’t. ...I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. If I leap tomorrow—and I don’t know how I’m going to do that now—I might be stuck out there forever—” he shuddered “—and I couldn’t face that. But if I don’t go, everything I’ve done—everything You had me do...wouldn’t be done. And I’d know it and I’d have to live with it.” He faced the heavens, hoping for a sign but ashamed to ask for one. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. ...Please help me. ...Tell me what You want me to do.” He waited and looked, but nothing happened. The night was beautiful and silent, watching him as much as he was watching it. The thunderhead continued its trek north, untroubled by Sam’s little problems. The echo of a coyote call drifted from the direction of the mountains, and he smiled wanly to himself. “I know how you feel.” He waited another fifteen minutes under the New Mexico sky, and then he went back to the compound.
Sam had hoped for a good night’s sleep to refresh him, and possibly an illuminating dream to show him the way, but he was disappointed on both counts. His rest was fitful at best, and his dreams were an unending stream of jumbled details of leaps in dreadful counterpoint: shooting Jimmy LaMotta above a cliff, telling Beth Calavicci that Al was alive only to see her abducted by men in a van, going fifteen rounds in the boxing ring with Tom and watching him die of heart failure, and endless rounds of shock treatment. As he tried to shave in the morning, he concluded that he would have done better to stay awake all night.
He dutifully talked with no one at breakfast, and he tolerated the surreptitious glances from the others in the cafeteria. Al was nowhere to be seen—he usually spent his nights in his outside apartment—and Sam was sorry for that. He needed a friend.
He couldn’t stand to watch the hours tick away in the helplessness of his room, so he drove until he found a familiar town and a familiar cafe. It was a funky old-style diner, complete with juke boxes in each booth that played no tunes later than 1970. He drank too much coffee in a window booth in the empty time between the breakfast and lunch crowds and wondered what was going to happen. He felt a restless impatience, but he didn’t know what it was he was supposed to do. He wasn’t surprised somehow when Al’s red Corvette—his day car—pulled up out front.
“How’d you find me?” Sam asked as Al sat across from him.
“You told me about this place last week, remember?” he replied as he signaled the waitress behind the counter to bring him a cup of coffee.
Sam shook his head noncommittally. “I guess I forgot.”
“When I came in this morning and you weren’t there, I figured I should track you down.” They sat in silence while the waitress deposited Al’s cup. He took an appreciative sip of his coffee before he said, “I heard.”
“Yeah, I bet everybody did.”
Al shook his head. “Verbena’s keeping a lid on it. The official story is it’s a staff-wide cooling-off period. She’s worried about you.”
“I know. She just wants to help.”
“We all do.”
“Why don’t you believe me?”
Al blew out a thoughtful sigh. “Well, it’s kind of hard to swallow. I mean, one minute you’re you, and the next you’re you from the future. That’s kind of a lot to ask.”
Sam swirled the last two sips in his cup. “I guess.”
“But...”
Sam glanced up. “What?”
Al didn’t really want to say this, but he owed his friend something. “Well, you seem different.”
“How?”
“...Less sure of yourself. Now, I’m saying this friend to friend....” Sam shrugged, giving Al permission to speak freely. “You always have an answer, or you can figure out the answer. But I don’t see that now. Maybe the meeting did this to you, I don’t know.”
A group came in for lunch, and Sam looked at the clock above the counter. It was 11:30. He had less than twelve hours to go. It would be over soon, and then at least he would no longer have to worry about Option One.
“If you want to go with me to the game tonight, the offer’s still open. The tickets are center court, second row.”
Sam smiled distantly. “Thanks. Maybe another time.”
Al gave up. There was no way to talk around it, so he might as well face it head-on. “So, what were you hoping to do before the lockout?”
“I guess leap again like I did the first time.”
“How’d you do it?”
“I spent all day on the 12th running tests on Ziggy, and I thought I had it. But the team decided to do a last thorough diagnostic before a practice run, so they quit for the night. I couldn’t wait, so after dinner I talked Gooshie into activating the Accelerator for me in a test run, only I’d taken the controls off the diagnostic settings and I leaped.”
“Well, it’s a sure bet you’re not going to do a rerun of that. We’re locked out and Gooshie’s afraid to talk with you.”
“Yeah,” Sam said as he absently pulled a menu out of the napkin holder at the table, “I’ve been running that one over and it doesn’t feel right.”
“That’s the second time you’ve said that.”
“What?”
“‘It doesn’t feel right.’”
“So?”
“I’ve never heard you say that before.” Sam chuckled. “No, really, Sam. You never talk about how you feel. You always say, ‘I don’t think so,’ or ‘That doesn’t make sense.’”
This struck something in Sam, and he felt a twinge in his stomach. He started slowly, “Al, through all my leaps, we’ve always looked at how I was going to help other people, and how I was going to be changing things for them. ...We never thought about how this would change me.”
Al didn’t understand entirely, but he knew this was important. “So, what are you saying?”
“Parzival.”
“What?”
“Parzival by Wolfram von Eschenbach. It’s on my desk. When I saw it there, I thought it was strange, but now I think I know why it’s there.”
“Why?”
“It’s the story about a man—a kid, really—who was born to be the greatest knight who ever lived, but he made a simple mistake through ignorance that banished him from his home and his destiny. And he spent five years traveling all over trying to get back home, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get there....” They looked at each other.
“Maybe it really was a dream.”
“No, no. So, after five years...he stopped blaming everyone else...and he repented what he’d done...and God changed His mind...and Parzival could go home.”
“Well, I don’t know how you’re going to do the ‘God changed His mind’ part.”
Sam couldn’t talk fast enough: “According to all kinds of native religions, if there’s something wrong around you, it’s because there’s something wrong inside you.” Al frowned at that. “Like a medicine man who cures his patients by looking inside himself to see what’s wrong inside him that’s showing up as a disease in this other person.”
“‘Doctor, heal thyself.’”
“Exactly.” It was all so stunningly clear now, Sam couldn’t believe it. “Wow.”
Al arched an eyebrow. “That would certainly put the A.M.A. out of business in a hurry. So, now what?”
“I need to look at what the leaps have done to me. Or for me.” He pondered this as he looked at Al. “Well...I lost a lot of my memory.”
“That’s not good.”
“No. But it taught me to rely on other parts of my...well, me, that I’d never used before.”
“Like your feelings?”
“Intuition,” Sam almost whispered. He looked at Al. “Would you describe me before as being intuitive?”
“Never.”
“Okay, that’s one. Two....” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s been very humbling. My life’s been easy. I never went hungry, I never had to worry about having a roof over my head. My family loved me and supported me. I had good friends and a good life. There were bad things...but you keep going. And then I went off to M.I.T., and everybody told me how smart I was,” he smiled slightly, “a wunderkind, I was the young Turk of quantum physics. I collected Ph.D.s the way some people collect baseball cards. ...I have seven, right?” Frowning, Al nodded. “And I got what I wanted ...professionally, anyway....”
“Donna?” Al asked softly. Sam nodded. “What was that scene in the Bull Pen about?”
“I think in the time where I’m supposed to be, she’s there.”
Al’s eyes flashed. “You mean she came back?”
“I don’t think she left me.”
“You changed your own history? When? How? When did—when will—” Al shook his head. “I mean...I don’t know what I mean. What happened?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember. ...Like I said, this has been very hard.”
“Okay, so you got intuition and humility. Anything else?”
“I’ve never been a ‘stop and smell the roses’ kind of person, have I?”
“No.”
Sam smiled wanly. “That’s right. You called me a ‘mega-nerd.’”
Al was taken aback. “I’d never call you a name like that.”
“No, you weren’t calling me names. You were just telling me what I was like.”
Al contemplated that as Sam’s attention drifted away. A moment from one of the leaps came to him. He didn’t remember where or when, but in one of the leaps he realized his father was still alive at that time and, even though he knew he shouldn’t have, he called him just to hear his voice again. The rush of emotions surprised him and he had to snap out of it before he began to cry.
“You all right?”
Sam nodded, trying to mask his reaction with an overdone rub of his eyes. “Yeah. I took everything for granted, didn’t I? Did I start out that way? How did it happen?”
“Most of us go through life with blinders on when it comes to the important things, and by the time you realize you’re wearing them, it’s too late.”
“My blinders are gone.”
“That’s three. Anything else?”
“I guess I’ve learned patience, a little. Timing is very important, and I’ve always tried to make things happen when I wanted them to happen.” Al nodded. “Like leaping when I did. I had almost three weeks to go, but I couldn’t wait. And look where it got me.” Al nodded again thoughtfully, and Sam smiled. “You’re a good friend, Al.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t believe me for a minute, but you’re not letting on.”
Al shrugged noncommittally. “Let’s just say I’m hedging my bets.”
“I wish I could have returned the favor.” Sam felt a pang of regret over not being able to change Al’s destiny with Beth, and his eyes drifted to the booth’s juke box. His eyes flashed with surprise: Selection E3 was “Georgia” by Ray Charles. The universe was really rubbing it in.
Al saw his reaction. “What?” Sam quickly looked away from the juke box, but Al scanned the list of songs. He paused when he saw E3, then he looked at Sam intently. “‘Georgia,’ is that it?” Sam didn’t reply. “How do you know about that song? I never would have told you about that. Unless I was incredibly drunk. How do you know about that? Did you see Beth? Tell me, Sam.” Sam nodded reluctantly. Al didn’t want to hear the answer, but he asked anyway. “When did you see her? Did you change things? Did you make it so she doesn’t run off with that fleabag lawyer?”
“I tried. I couldn’t.”
“Well, that’s just great! You can fix things in your own life but you can’t change mine.” Al simmered in his pain for a few moments, but he relented. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I’m sure you tried.”
“You almost sound like you believe me.” They looked at each other, and sad smiles cemented the truce.
Al gazed at the song title. “How did she look?”
“Miserable. She couldn’t take the not knowing anymore.”
Al looked at Sam, his eyes mirroring Beth’s misery from those many years ago. To his surprise, Al realized he had never forgiven her. He also realized he had hoped she had been miserable. “Do you think she was happy with him?” Sam responded vaguely, and for the first time, Al could truly see that there might have been another side to the story. She needed something, someone to hold on to.
Al’s unfinished love for Beth welled in his heart, cracking open its prison and bursting out to flow through all of his senses. At that moment, he could smell the sweet aroma of her freshly-washed hair, feel the tender skin behind her ear, hear her gentle, cascading laugh. He had never felt so close to her as he did now, or so far away. It hurt, more than he could bear. “God, I miss her.” Could he ever possibly let her go? No. She would always be a part of him. But yes, too, perhaps someday. Someday he might forgive her, forgive her for being lonely, as he had been, and for being one heartbeat away from despair, as he also had been. What would he have done in her place? What did he do? He found comfort with others. As she had done. Yes, maybe he might forgive her, and then, perhaps—perhaps—he could finally begin to let her go. It was a heady moment, and he sighed unexpectedly.
This prospect of freedom was bitter as well as sweet, and it called for a fitting piece of ceremony. Could he bear to listen to it again? There was only one way to find out. He reached into his pocket for a quarter for selection E3, but all he could find was two dimes and a penny. He shook his head. “Short changed by life again.”
Sam hid his smile. “I don’t think so.” He reached behind Al’s ear and produced a quarter. He smiled in spite of himself as he put the quarter in Al’s hand. “You just need to know where to look.”
Al looked at the quarter. “Where’d you learn that?”
“The Great Spontini.” He chuckled. “Of course, he wasn’t so great when I did his act.”
Al hadn’t moved as he stared hard at the quarter in his palm, then he gazed unblinkingly at Sam. “...You really did go.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re here because you’re supposed to do something.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know what?”
“No.”
“How are you going to find out?”
Sam half-shrugged. “Ask you and Ziggy.”
“No, that’s the old you, before you became humble and patient and took your blinders off.” He leaned in. “What are you supposed to do?”
Sam spoke without thinking. “Leap.”
“When?”
“Today.”
Al looked at his watch. “When?”
“11:15.”
He frowned. “Twelve hours. That’s plenty of time.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No ‘yeah buts.’ You gotta leap, so you’re gonna leap.”
“But Gooshie’s not going to—”
“You don’t need Gooshie. You’ve got me.”
“Al! You don’t know how to do any of the programming or—”
“You can do that. After you’ve got all the programming done and you’re in the Accelerator, all you need is someone outside to push the button.”
“But I can’t get into the Accelerator!”
Al frowned. “Would the Great Spontini say that?”
Sam was suddenly getting a very big headache. Al didn’t care. He left $20 for the waitress and pulled Sam out of the booth.
The Marine sentries at the front gate were rather surprised when Sam’s car pulled up but it was Al behind the wheel. The senior guard saluted but did not automatically send the admiral through the gate. “Good afternoon, sir. What happened to your car?”
“Well,” Al lied amiably, “Dr. Beckett needed to blow off a little steam and the ‘Vette seemed much more appropriate than this.” He patted the sedan’s steering wheel condescendingly.
The young Marine nodded, then smiled. “Yes, Admiral. I understand completely.” He stood and saluted sharply, signaling Al through.
After they had moved past the guard house, Sam’s testy voice filtered up from behind the back seat: “There’s nothing wrong with my car.”
Al smiled. “Marines. I think they’re born with ‘Vette envy.”
Al drove the sedan around to the back of the housing section of the compound, then made sure no one was around before he let Sam out of the trunk. They hurried inside unseen and were soon in Al’s rarely-used compound quarters. Sam complained, “I still don’t see why we need this cloak and dagger business.”
“If they think you’re out in the desert, the guards might relax a bit. We’ve got to use every advantage.”
Sam shrugged in acceptance. “So now what?”
“So now you do your thing and I play trusty sidekick.”
Sam thought for a moment. “I need your wrist link with Ziggy.”
Al found his wrist link on his dresser and gave it to Sam. He pushed the on switch, but nothing happened. He pushed it again, and again there was no reaction. Al frowned. “It worked yesterday.”
Sam shook his head. “The comm system’s been shut down.”
Al looked at him significantly and spoke with disdain: “Randall.”
“Randall.” “Jack Hammer” was outdoing himself on this assignment. There would be no holes in his security net. There would be no advantages to use. This was a disaster.
“Okay,” Al said quickly, “let’s not think about that too much. What else do you need?”
“I have a notebook in my room.”
“Where is it?”
“On my desk.”
Al held out his hand. “Key.”
Sam was about to give it to him when he shook his head. “No, if one of the sentries sees you let yourself in, they might get suspicious.”
“So how am I supposed to get in?”
Sam patted his friend on the shoulder. “You’re a Navy man. You’re not going to let a Marine stand between you and success, are you?”
Al nodded seriously and accepted the challenge. He left, and Sam sat on the edge of the bed. In the still of the moment, he had his first chance to think. He looked at the phone. He looked at his watch. It would probably be better if he didn’t do this, but he had to. As he dialed the number, he contemplated once again the strange selectivity of his memory loss: He couldn’t remember what size shoes he wore, and yet he knew his sister’s phone number in Hawaii. The phone rang twice, and he almost made up his mind to hang up, but then that voice that soothed more than any balm answered.
“Bonnicks’ residence.”
“...Mom?”
“Sam? ...What’s the matter?”
“What? No, nothing.”
“Sorry, it’s just when you call during the day it makes me worry.”
“I know. Sorry. ...How are you?”
“Fine.”
“How are Katie and everybody else?”
“Fine. Is something special going on?”
“Well, I...I just needed to hear your voice.”
“Things going badly at work?”
“...Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe you can come out here for a vacation. We’re always happy to see you.”
“Yeah. ...I’m going on a little trip, but maybe when I get back.”
“That’ll be good. We don’t see you nearly enough anymore.”
The everyday calm in her voice cut through him. “...Ah, are you doing anything this weekend?”
“No, not really. The kids are staying over at friends’ tonight, and the three of us are going over to Kaneohe for dinner.”
Sam smiled. “Yeah, that’s right, it’s Friday. The Mongolian barbecue.” Tears welled, and he had to take the phone away from his mouth so she wouldn’t hear his labored breathing.
“Sam, something’s really wrong, isn’t it?” He couldn’t answer. “I know you can’t talk about your work, but whatever it is, no matter what happens, we’ll always be here for you. Don’t forget that. No matter what. We love you.” Tears skipped down his cheeks.
“...I love you, Mom.”
The door opened and Al entered. He looked at Sam with surprise as Sam turned away. “Ah, Al’s here. I have to go, Mom.”
“Okay, son. Take care. We love you. Give me a call when you get back.”
“...I will. I love you.”
“‘Bye.”
“...‘Bye.” Sam hung up the phone tried to get himself back together.
“...You okay?”
Sam nodded. “Life with my blinders off.” Al understood. Sam gathered his composure and stood up. “How did it go?”
Al tossed a compact disc on the bed. “There’s a guard at the corner of the hall right next to your door. He even followed me into the room to make sure all I took was the CD.”
“Did you get the notebook?”
Al gave him a knowing glance. “Does a chicken cluck?” He turned theatrically towards the window and said, “‘Hey, isn’t that the new secretary nude sunbathing out there?’” Sam smiled. “Poor kid didn’t stand a chance.” He produced the notebook from under his jacket. “Voilà.” Sam took the notebook and opened to the last written pages. “He’s probably still at the window, trying to figure out where she is. And since when do you need to consult your notes? I thought once you wrote it down you had it memorized.” Sam looked at him until he remembered. “Oh, yeah. Well, so much for my memory.”
Sam read through the last few pages. The calculations all seemed in order—where was the glitch? It had to be in here somewhere.
Sam worked at the table while Al paced and thought out loud. “There’s got to be something old ‘Jack Hammer’ overlooked. Guards in the hall, guards at the gate...wait a minute.” He picked up the phone’s receiver and dialed a three-digit internal number. “Oh, O’Brien. It’s Admiral Calavicci. Is Tina around there? I can’t find her. ...Oh, that’s right. I forgot. Thanks. Carry on.” He hung up with delight. “Bingo! They haven’t sealed off the cavern at the time lock and that new kid is the guard at the control room. We have a weak link.” He shrugged. “No offense to O’Brien.”
Sam went back to his calculations, but ten minutes later his work was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Sam glanced around—all the hiding places were obvious—but he slipped into the closet as Al picked up the compact disc and sat down at the desk casually. “Who is it?”
“Corporal Benton, sir,” came the unmistakably crisp tones of a Marine sentry.
Al glanced at the closet as Sam closed the door and said, “Come in, corporal.” His eyes suddenly focused on Sam’s notebook in front of him. With the flick of his wrist he whisked it off the desk top and slipped it on the chair seat under him as the door opened and the corporal came in. “Yes, corporal?” he said as he looked up from reading the compact disc’s jacket.
“Just checking on you, sir,” the young man said. “Major Randall’s orders.”
“Is he checking on everyone, corporal?”
“No, sir. Just people who go into Dr. Beckett’s quarters.”
The Marine began to look around the room, looking under the bed and behind the dresser. Al watched him helplessly, knowing it would only be a matter of time before he looked in the closet. He sized up the Marine: He was big in a way Marines specialize in, and if push came to shove, Al would be the one getting shoved. This was not going to end well. He said coolly, “Looking for contraband secretaries?”
The sentry said nothing as he gave the bathroom a quick glance. He came back into the room and reached for the closet door. Al winced as the sentry opened the door, but all that met their eyes was the rack of Al’s clothes.
The sentry pushed the clothes to each side, but there was only the back wall of the closet. He put his head in the closet and searched the left corner, but when he turned to look behind the clothes on the right, he was surprised to see a familiar face in the shadows. He was even more surprised when a fist appeared. With the unmistakable sound of knuckles meeting chin, the sentry flew back, hit his head against the closet door frame, and fell to the floor. Al stood up, amazed. “Wow, that was great! I didn’t know you could box.”
Sam stepped over the sentry as he shook out his smarting hand and examined the fallen man. “California state champion, 1974.”
Al blinked. “What?”
Sam kept a straight face as he said, “I couldn’t lose. I trained with nuns.” Al wanted to know more, but there was no time to explain. Sam’s examination revealed the two blows to the sentry’s head had knocked him out cold. “Was he the one in the hall outside my door?”
“No.”
“They might not miss him for a while.” Sam sighed and looked at the unconscious man. “But we can’t wait until 11:15 now. There’s no way out.”
“We can come up with something.”
“Look, Al, I can’t get you any more involved in this than you already are. You could get court-martialed.”
Al indicated the guard. “I think I’m already in this thing as much as you are.”
“You can tell them you didn’t know I was in here.” Al scoffed. “They can’t prove you knew I was here. We’re talking court-martial, Al. Prison.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been through worse.” They contemplated that for a moment. Al looked at Sam intently. “Do you believe in your heart that you need to leap tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s do it.” Resolution rung in Al’s voice. There would be no talking him out of this. Besides, Sam needed Al’s conviction to bolster his sagging confidence.
He looked at the still guard. “We can tie him up and leave him here. Help me get his uniform off.”
Al frowned. “You don’t think you can pass yourself off as a Marine, do you?”
Sam untied the first shoe. “I’m going to try.”
“Get real. They all know each other. And they know you.”
Sam looked at him significantly. “They’re not going to be looking at me.”
Al didn’t like the sound of that.
Fresh-faced Marine sentry Kevin O’Brien jumped to his feet at the desk outside the control room and let out a gasp at the spectre that approached him: Admiral Calavicci, in his dress whites, was rushing towards him with a Marine corporal in tow—but the admiral was holding the side of his face as blood streamed down his arm and spattered on his crisp whites.
“O’Brien! Dr. Beckett’s gone berserk! He’s attacked a sentry and headed back into the archive wing! Get down to the gate and lock this place off so he can’t get in here!”
The stunned young man stammered, “But what about you, sir?”
“Never mind me—just go!”
“Sir, but you’ll be locked in.”
“I’ll be all right—I can wait until the time lock goes off—the project’s the important thing now. Go!”
The youngster nodded and took off down the hallway. The admiral and his companion watched O’Brien disappear, and then, after a count of ten to make sure he was clear of the security portal, Al threw the time lock switch that bolted the doors into the cavern. In spite of themselves, Al and Sam sighed with relief. They had an hour.
Al looked at his red-stained hand and his ruined uniform. “God, look at this mess! I’m never going to get this out.” He dropped the small plastic bag which had held the reservoir of red fluid in his hand. “I’m not even going to ask where you learned that one.” Sam smiled as he took off the Marine’s hat and headed into the control room.
The programming took longer than Sam had hoped. Some of the simple details had been Swiss-cheesed, and what should have been second nature now took considerable effort. Al said nothing as he watched Sam work, but they both knew they had no time to spare. By now their ruse must have been discovered and the security force would be trying to circumvent the time lock. Their fears were proved true when the communication system came on and they heard a familiar, hard-edged voice over the speaker: “Gentlemen, this is Major John Randall. We know you’re in there. For your own good, please open the door. We know you can cancel the time lock from the control room. Open the door now.” The patina of civility in the voice was purely a formality; Randall meant business. The two didn’t look at each other, and the silence lay heavy in the room. The speaker continued. “Very well. Before the time lock opens, we’ll have the power cut off so you won’t be able to accomplish anything. Do not offer resistance when we come in, or else we won’t be responsible for what happens to you.”
Al looked at Sam with concern. “Can they really cut off the power?”
Sam nodded as he tried to remember a simple instruction. “Any of the programmers can tell them.”
“They wouldn’t.” Then again, it was a no-win situation. “Well, maybe they would. Can we do anything to stop them?”
Sam put the finishing touches on what he hoped was the right command. “Nope. All we can do it get me out of here before they cut us off.” He looked at Al. “I’m sorry. You’re going to face them by yourself.”
Al shrugged. “I can take the heat. I’ve been in the oven before.”
Sam was not fooled by Al’s nonchalance. Sam had not wanted this at all, but there seemed to be no other way out. All he could do was hope somehow his leap would change things for the better.
As Sam went through the final commands with Ziggy, Al got a Fermi suit and helped Sam into it. Then the final check was done, and Sam gave Al his instructions on activating the Accelerator. He had no idea how far into the future home was, so he chose a random setting as he had done before, praying it was the right thing to do.
It was time. They looked at each other. Sam glanced up the ramp to the Accelerator as the words became thick in his throat. “‘My destiny calls, and I go.’”
Al smiled. “Okay. You leave the windmills to me.”
Sam smiled. “Thanks, Al. Thanks for everything. Thanks for believing in me, then and now. I couldn’t have done anything without you.”
Al blinked a few times. “Just get in there before they throw the switch on us.”
Sam took a few steps up the ramp, then turned back. “And I want you to know that, no matter what happens to me, I don’t have any regrets.”
The fear of never seeing each other again passed through them at the same time, and Al fought a shudder. “Just go. Get out there and change my future.” He offered Sam an encouraging nod. “Good luck. I’ll be seeing you.”
Sam hurried up the ramp into the Accelerator. The door closed with a resounding thud, and he waited, counting off the time in his head. Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. The floor began to hum, and the power surged up through his legs. The cells in his body turned up their vibration as the Accelerator’s energy merged with his own. Six seconds. His body was a lightning rod as the Accelerator began to undo his molecular structure. The rush was incredible. It was the closest thing Sam could imagine to being in the presence of God. Four seconds. Three. The room was fading before his eyes as he surrendered to the power that enveloped him. One second.
At the moment Sam should have surged out into the light, everything went black. The floor gave way beneath him, and he collapsed backwards. He fell, but he hit no surface. He drifted down through the void with no sense of bearing. Everything was black, blank—he was blank, the nothingness that surrounded him was blank. Awash in the nothingness, his mind was blank. He could not think, but he could know. No emotions disturbed his vision, and the situation was quite clear to him. This could only be caused by one thing: They had cut the power at the exact moment he leaped. As his molecular structure was being absorbed by the Accelerator, the Accelerator had been shut down. All the cells in his body had been shut down. He had been turned off. His dispassion made his realization a simple one. He contemplated the void—so this was what it was like to die.
As he drifted, his various leaps passed in review. They did not appear before his eyes; rather, they seemed to float through him, flowing out into the nothingness. Words, images, ideas from so many places, so many people. They all drifted there together, a stew of moods and recollections random and yet in perfect harmony. People who had survived Near Death Experiences talked of a life review. Was this his? It didn’t seem right; after all, these were other peoples’ lives. But perhaps all of his leaps had blurred the distinction between self and other to the point where all truly were one.
He heard music, different rhythms and melodies from various leaps. They gently merged into a lilting lullaby for his descent. He heard the words to an old American hymn from somewhere, he didn’t remember which leap. He was not in distress, but the hymn comforted him somehow. “Gently Lord, O gently lead us/ Through this lonely vale of tears,/ And, O Lord, in mercy give us/ Thy rich grace in all our fears...”
The people from his leaps seemed to watch him as he floated by, both those he had known and those into whose lives he had leapt. He looked at them, they looked at him. No words were spoken, but thoughts drifted back and forth between them.
“...In the hour of pain and anguish,/ In the hour when death draws near...”
There were no questions, no thanks. None seemed to be needed. Mostly it was acknowledgment, and that was enough.
“...Suffer not our hearts to languish...”
At one point he thought he heard a voice, but it was very far away and he couldn’t hear what was being said, so he let it go.
“...Suffer not our souls to fear...”
He felt at peace with what he had done. He could let go now. He drifted away.
Out of the void came a word: “Sam.”
Then there was silence.
The word reappeared. “Sam.”
The silence returned, but it was less in control. He knew he was somewhere. Where this somewhere was, however, was a mystery.
“Sam.”
There was that word again. The silence was losing its battle with this word, and he was less a prisoner of the void with every time the word reappeared.
“Can you hear me?”
Yes, of course he could hear the words. But why were these words being spoken?
More silence. But the mists of the void were lifting. He still didn’t know where he was, but he knew for certain that he was definitely somewhere.
The silence continued. No, he could hear a whooshing sound, rhythmic, gentle. It was a warm sound, and pleasant. It was nearby, too. Oh, yes. That was breathing.
“Sam.”
That word. In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God. Was this God speaking?
“Can you hear me?”
It seemed important to acknowledge this. He tried to figure out how, but here in the void there was only thought, and thinking didn’t seem to be getting through to where the words were coming from. He could make words, too, couldn’t he? Yes, if only he could remember how.
He heard a movement, something small passing by. He didn’t know what it meant. But his concern was growing over his inability to make contact with the words. He needed to move his mouth in conjunction with his lungs, larynx and diaphragm. Yes, a body. He had a body. He wondered where it was.
“Sam?”
Anxiety grew. He had to reply to this word. How? He had to find the way. He had to find his body. He looked around. He couldn’t see—the void was uniformly gray. So was he. But he had to find a way to reply to the words. He had to find a way out of the void.
Silence. He struggled to part the mists. He had to get out of here.
“Sam.”
Panic brewed. He felt he would drown if he didn’t get out of this void. He fought the mists. That gentle, rhythmic sound of breathing was becoming harsh and hard.
“Sam. It’s okay.”
No, it was not okay. He was surrounded by nothing, but it was closing in. He had to break through.
“Sam, it’s okay. It’s Verbena.”
Verbena, help me, throw me a line, tell me where you are. Get me out of here.
He found his body, there in the mists, and he dove in. He had to make it work. Yes, here were eyes, ears, a mouth. Where were the controls? He had to activate the systems. Wait, here. The eyes.
Sam opened his eyes. Nothing—there was nothing there—he saw only gray. God, no, the body was supposed to save him from the void, but the void had followed him inside.
“Sam, you might not be able to see right away. It’s okay. Your vision will probably come back in a few days.”
If the eyes wouldn’t work, the mouth would do something. He tried to form words, but the only sound he produced was a shuddering groan.
“Sam, don’t try and talk. Save your energy. Just relax. Don’t worry.”
He gave up. Nothing worked. He blinked. It did no good—he couldn’t tell when his eyes were open or closed.
“I’m going to give you something to help you sleep. Sleep will help you get your strength back.”
He felt movement again, but there was no sensation to go with it. Yet even as he contemplated what that meant, the void came rushing back. He fought it as long as he could, but he lost.
The void parted to reveal a dream. Sam was running down the hill to his home, back in Indiana. The green corn stalks towered above him, and he dashed easily down the row. The sky was a crisp blue, and the silky, golden buds of new tassels danced in the breeze above him. He could hear the Holsteins and Guernseys calling in the next pasture. He loped down out of the corn to the road and saw the house just as it should be, clean, freshly painted, lived in and loved. A black dog barked a greeting to him in the yard. A dog—he seemed to live here—Sam smiled at him and the dog wagged his bushy tail. Sam skipped up onto the porch and stood before the front door. The dog followed him up. Sam looked in the door’s window. His reflection—it was him, him now, as an adult. He could hear voices inside—happy, laughing voices—he had to join them. He reached for the doorknob, but he couldn’t grasp it. He tried again—it slipped through his hand. He looked at the dog, who was very interested in this. He tried to push his hand through the door, but he wasn’t a hologram and the door blocked his way. He tried the doorknob again, but still had no luck. He heard his mother laugh inside. “Mom!” The word dimmed the image before him. The farm vanished.
Sam woke up.
Sam blinked. Gray forms taunted his eyes, refusing to come into focus.
“Sam?”
He blinked again, searching for the origin of the word. There was a gray shape above him, to the left. He tried to speak, but all that emerged was breath.
“Don’t try to talk yet. Blink if you can see me.”
He blinked, trying to see.
The gray shape metamorphosed into two connected shapes. “Can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?”
Fingers? Were those fingers?
“Don’t worry. Your vision will come back. You’re doing just fine.”
“...’Bena....”
“Yes, Sam.”
“...’Sorry....”
“Don’t apologize. Don’t worry. Everything’s okay.”
“...I....” Frustration was turning into anger. Why couldn’t he talk?
“Relax. We think you’re experiencing a time coefficient anomaly. Only part of you is here. Most of you was lost in the Accelerator. Eventually you’ll replace the missing energy, but it will take a while. You’ll have to be patient.”
A time coefficient anomaly—she thinks. He tried to remember, but he regretted it as soon as he attempted to think. A battle ensued, a struggle of images, calculations, emotions, sensations. It was as if he had two cantankerous brains, each with its own definite idea of reality—and he wasn’t connected to either very well. Yes, he would have to be patient.
“Is there anyone you want to see?”
“...Al.”
“Okay. For a few minutes.”
The gray shape departed. He blinked and tried to focus on the ceiling. A gray shape appeared. “Hey, Rip Van Winkle, so you finally woke up.”
God, Al’s voice—an anchor he could cling to. If only he could see his face. With a surge of strength, he moved his hand towards the shape, and he felt a strong hand take his. “I’m here.”
It took a moment for Sam to regroup enough strength to say, “Al...I’m sorry....”
“Sorry? You don’t have any reason to be sorry. You did great.”
Sam wondered why he was apologizing, and when he tried to remember the battle of the brains began again. One brain thought everything had gone wrong, and the other was merely confused. But apologizing still seemed necessary. Must be that Midwestern upbringing. “Sorry.”
“Stop it. Everything’s fine. You have absolutely no reason to apologize.”
“The leap....” he paused to breathe “...I tried...to leave you....”
“It’s okay.” The gray shape that was Al moved, then leaned in slightly. He said in a whisper, “Do you know what year you’re in?”
The two brains had a discussion, then an argument. One said 1995, the other said 2001, 1862, 1978, 1998, 1953. As they fought it out, Sam looked at the gray figure. It was almost a distinct outline now. He squinted. “Ah....”
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Just get some rest. Every time you sleep, you get a little stronger. I’ll be here for you.”
The two brains were still locking horns, so Sam left them alone. Be here for me. He’d heard that before. He liked it. Sleep. He liked that, too. What year.... He drifted away.
Sam was standing outside. It was beautiful and clear, and he took a deep breath under a canopy of sky. There were clouds, shapes he could remember learning from his father. Cirrus, stratus, stratocumulus. The sky was light, but he could not see the sun. The air was cool, and it felt good to suck it in between his lips. The taste was sweet, sweet as good water.
He heard the sounds of children playing, and he turned to find them. He pulled back with surprise. By his feet was standing—swaying, actually, on untrustworthy legs—a toddler, a boy not more than a year old, looking up at him. He bent to smile at the child, who smiled back. He tried to speak, but only silence came forth. The toddler didn’t seem to mind. He heard a little girl call, and a blonde girl about seven appeared and took the toddler’s hand. The boy continued to look at Sam, and she frowned at him. “What are you looking at?” She picked him up and headed back to the others. The toddler turned to look at Sam, and then he was gone with her. Sam smiled at the sight. He never realized how much he loved and missed children until that moment. He tried to follow them, but something behind him seemed to be calling to him. He wanted to go where he heard the children playing, just out of sight, but the beckoning behind him grew stronger. With a last, longing look towards the children, Sam heeded the call. He turned, and the familiar buzz of molecular metamorphosis surged through him. He leaped.
The swirling and buzzing stopped, and Sam found himself lying down in the dark. He blinked to help his eyes adjust, but the room was almost completely black. A slight move of his arm revealed he was in a bed—alone, he thought—yes, he moved his hands out tentatively and reached each edge of the bed unobstructed—a nice bed, in fact, and he appreciated the comfort for a few moments. As he waited for his eyes to adjust, he listened for some telltale sound to give him a clue to his surroundings. No ticking alarm clock, no billow of curtains in a night breeze, no sounds of rain, traffic, nothing at all. That was odd.
He tried to sit up, but he was as weak as a new kitten. The leap must have taken something out of him. He managed to sit up and swing his legs off the bed to the right. He was wearing pajamas, flannel—he’d always loved flannel—and set his feet on the floor. A soft rug greeted his toes, and he settled his feet in comfortably. He smiled. Whoever he’d leaped into seemed to agree with his tastes on the little details.
It was still too dark to see, and he reached out tentatively to find a light or clock or landmark. His arm felt like lead—what was going on? He felt a hundred years old. His hand found a table next to the bed and he inadvertently touched a button. He started when a whoosh of gently sliding metal came from the other side of the room. It was a vaguely familiar sound, and he turned. He gasped as what had been a black void was now a wall of stars—a panorama of the Milky Way arching overhead. He stood up to go to the stars, but his knees gave way beneath him and he tumbled to the floor. He landed hard, and he groaned. From the carpet he looked up at the stars. This was all so familiar, and yet it wasn’t. What was going on?
The door opened and a shaft of light cut diagonally across the room. “Sam!” Al’s voice. Thank God, that anchor was here. “Light,” said Al’s voice. The room lights came up softly. From his skewed vantage point Sam looked at his surroundings. He knew this place. There was his night desk by the window, his bed, the door to the bathroom. This was his room?
Al came over and with a great effort pulled Sam onto the bed. “Are you hurt? Did you hit anything?”
Sam looked at him. “...Al.”
“Yeah.”
“...I’m still here.”
“Don’t worry, you’re okay.”
He groaned, “God, I didn’t leap.”
Sam let himself be tucked into his bed as his mind swirled. Still here! What did that mean? He looked around the room. It didn’t look quite right, but he couldn’t figure out why. Had they painted it? Changed the carpeting?
Al pulled up the chair from the night desk and sat next to Sam. “How are you feeling?”
“Pretty bad.”
“I can imagine. But don’t tell Verbena about this, will you? Getting you out of the infirmary was my idea.”
“Okay.”
Wait, he remembered. A time coefficient anomaly. Most of him had been lost in the Accelerator. That led to the question of how much of him was here. He looked around the room. It still didn’t look right. He looked across at the dresser and its collection of family photos, and then he did a double take. In the photo gallery was one framed image shimmering uncertainly—as if he were seeing it with only one eye. He squinted. It was too far away to make out the figures with his underpowered vision. But it was definitely taken at the farm. It looked familiar, and yet it didn’t. He concentrated on it, but it was not entirely there.
Al watched this. “How are your eyes?”
After a struggle, he managed to sit up. “A time coefficient anomaly.”
“That’s right.”
“You asked me what year I thought I was in.”
Al looked back at the door. “Don’t say that too loudly. I wasn’t supposed to ask that.”
Sam was staring at the photo. No matter how hard he focused, it refused to be entirely there. “What year am I in, Al?”
Al looked at the dresser, then at Sam. “You’re home. It’s 2001.”
Sam blinked with amazement. In his left ear he heard sharply, “1995.”
He couldn’t believe it. “I did leap.”
“Yeah.”
In his left ear: “No.”
He shook his head. “I’m back.”
Al nodded. “Yeah.”
His left ear insisted: “No.”
This was very strange. That voice in his ear was his voice, but it disagreed with what he was thinking. He continued to stare at the tantalizingly elusive photo. He gasped when it hit him. “They shut off the power while I was leaping.” Al nodded. “So only part of me leaped.”
Al nodded again. “The rest of you was lost in the Accelerator.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
Sam looked at Al with a vague smile. “No, it wasn’t.”
Al frowned. “Verbena said when we pulled you out of the Accelerator that all of your cells had only about twenty percent of their original energy level. The rest was gone. She was afraid for a while there you weren’t going to make it.”
Sam looked around the room to see if there were other objects that were only half there. On his night desk was a pile of books that flickered in the half-reality. “Wow.” He gestured toward the photo on the dresser. “Do you see that photo with the brown frame in the middle?”
Al regarded it seriously. “Yeah.”
Sam nodded at his night desk. “Do you see those books?”
Al looked at the desk with a frown. “There aren’t any books on the table.”
Sam looked more closely at the desk. There was a stack of computer printouts, The Tibetan Book of the Dead, Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time, a book on ancient Hawaiian spiritual beliefs, two of his own books on quantum physics, Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival, a “Calvin and Hobbes” collection. He laughed. “This is amazing!” He indicated the books. “My books. The ones I left on my desk before I leaped. They’re right there. Can’t you see them?”
Al looked at the desk. “No.”
“Parzival.”
“What?”
“Remember when we talked about Parzival? I said it was on my desk. It’s right there.”
Al looked at the desk, then shook his head. “Why don’t you rest some more? Every nap helps....”
Sam looked at his hands. They were all there. He looked at the bed, the curtains, the dresser and night desk. They were all there. The curtains, however, were an uncertain color. Hadn’t they been off-white before? They seemed to be a muddled light green. He looked at Al. To his surprise, Al was only mostly there. He looked at the other objects that shimmered in half-reality, then looked back at Al. Al was more there than the others. Perhaps it was because he was alive. Sam smiled. Yes, of course. His cells were constantly renewing themselves, unlike the static objects. That would explain it. “Al, I wasn’t lost in the Accelerator. Only part of me leaped...but the rest of me stayed in 1995.”
Al frowned pointedly at that. “What?”
He blinked as the full realization hit him. “Or...I seem to have brought 1995 with me.”
Al was left behind on that one. “You brought it with you?”
“I can see the books I left on my desk, but they’re only partly there. You can’t see them because they’re in 1995. That photo on my dresser is in 2001, and you can see it, but to me it’s only partly there because it wasn’t there before I leaped. Al,” his enthusiasm flooded over, “do you understand what that means? Somehow, I’ve bent the parallel dimensions so now they intersect in me. I’m in both 1995 and 2001 at the same time!”
Al decided this was confusion left over from the disrupted leap, and it showed on his face.
Sam didn’t care. “What color are the curtains?”
“Sam, it doesn’t—”
“What color are they?” Al didn’t reply. “They’re green to you, right? But part of me sees them as cream-colored, the color they were before I leaped.” Sam reveled in his discovery. He wondered how long this would last. If his strength was coming back, as Al said, that meant more and more of him was coming into 2001, and eventually his connection to 1995 would fade. He looked at Al, but his friend’s glower caught him by surprise.
“Those curtains are nearly eight years old. They’re the originals you chose when the complex was built. And that photo was taken in 1991. It’s been there for as long as you’ve lived here.”
It was Sam’s turn to frown. No, that wasn’t right. He definitely could see cream in the color of the curtains along with the green, and they weren’t blended—it was as if they were taking turns in his eyes. He looked at the photo. He didn’t remember it, but as he looked at it, it did begin to seem familiar. A graduation photo...wasn’t it? Who’d graduated in 1991? None of Katie’s kids was old enough. And besides, his parents had long since lost the farm by then. ...But he seemed to remember going back for a Fourth of July celebration there...when was it?...not too long before he’d leaped. No, that wasn’t right at all. He looked at Al. “I think I’m confused.”
“I think you’re right.”
“It’s sort of like Through the Looking Glass. Things look the same, but they’re not.” Pockets of Sam’s memory still had holes, but one hole filled abruptly. “Al, I left you! I left you when I leaped. What happened to you?”
Al glanced away. “It’s not important. I’ll tell you when you—”
“You were court-martialed!” Sam seemed to remember, but not really. “Weren’t you?” Why couldn’t he remember the result? “What happened?”
“I beat the rap. I told you I would. I had some heavy hitters in my corner. Besides, there was no way they could convict me. The rules covering Verbena’s authority over the staff were a little vague when it came to me. She could veto activity by the staff, but she couldn’t control the project. That meant when I, as co-founder of Quantum Leap—thanks to you—decided the project had to do something, she couldn’t veto me doing something. It was a real gray area, and Verbena felt bad about the whole thing anyway, and they were getting a lot of bad press, so they dropped the charges.”
“Bad press? How did anybody find out?”
“Are you kidding? It’s not every day an admiral, who just happens to be a former astronaut and P.O.W., gets court-martialed. I was front page news around the world.” Al leaned back with no small satisfaction. Only then did Sam notice Al’s wedding ring.
“You got married?” He couldn’t believe his eyes. He tried to dredge the details up from the part of his brain that was in the present, but he dredged up only a blank. “Tina? Did you realize how much you needed her and tie the knot?”
Al smiled fondly. “Tina.” There was a distant look in his eyes that surprised Sam. “She was a good kid. No, she’s been gone since the court-martial.” Al looked at his friend significantly, then turned his wedding ring on his finger. “No. Not Tina.”
That part of Sam’s mind that seemed to know the unknown prompted him to speak: “Beth.”
Al nodded. “I always thought it was strange she never found out about me being alive, what with all the publicity when the P.O.W.s came back. You know where she was? Brunei! Can you believe it? That...,” he left out the adjective, “...lawyer she married went to work for the Sultan of Brunei. Some sort of legal advisor. They lived there for 15 years. That’s why she never saw Maggie Dawson’s photo, or heard any of the reports from when I came back. That’s why the Navy couldn’t find her when....” The memory of his futile search for her cut through him for a moment, but he could let it go. “So, she moved to Seattle in ’86, and she was there when she heard the news about my court-martial. She showed up on the last day of the trial.”
“What about her husband?”
“He died in ‘85. That’s why she moved back. She had three girls to raise alone, and she wanted to do that back home.”
“So, she showed up at your court-martial.”
Al smiled wistfully. “We cried for a week. And then we got married.” Sam smiled at the image, sorry he had missed the wedding. “And her girls are great.” He added reluctantly, “I guess that guy she married wasn’t so bad after all.” He cocked his head for an impish shrug. “I’m a grandfather.”
Sam laughed. “Congratulations.”
“All the fun and none of the work. And to top it off, Beth’s youngest daughter, Alice, changed her name to Calavicci. And she calls me ‘Big Al’ and she calls herself ‘Little Al.’” He smiled and looked at his friend significantly. “I’m the reason you leaped back.”
“You were supposed to be the one who pushed the button.”
Al nodded. “Thanks.”
They shared the moment. “You’re welcome.” He looked around the room. “Where is everyone?”
“Verbena decided to keep your contact with the present to a minimum. Whoever you asked to see first would be your only contact until she thinks you can handle it.”
Sam looked at the pile of books shimmering on the desk. They seemed a bit fainter than before. He knew eventually he would lose touch with the dimension that was 1995, but he still tried to hold on to the memories of how things had been before he leaped. Particularly appealing to him was the fact that he could remember—sort of—two sets of leaps: those on the timeline extending from his first leap, with Gooshie at the button, and the timeline extending from the leap with Al at the controls. They actually were the same with only minor details being different—no, mostly it was Al who was different. One set had Al giving him straightforward, occasionally amusing guidance, the other was filled with Al’s distracting, sometimes disorienting observations in his old, rambunctious manner. He smiled. What a blessing—he could see both how things had been before he changed history and how things had unfolded after his leaps. Talk about having your cake and eating it, too. Wait—so that was it—why he didn’t remember the photo on the dresser. It may have been from 1991, but it wasn’t the 1991 he had lived through before he leaped... Oh, God. Fuzzy though they were, he had three distinct sets of memories—before he leaped, after he leaped the first time with Gooshie, and after he leaped the second time with Al. Three separate realities, “parallel” dimensions, were intersecting in his brain—three at least.
Al saw him lost in thought and stood up. “Take a nap. I’ll be here if you need me.”
“No, don’t go yet. Did you know where I was during the last leap?”
“Of course. It was you in the Waiting Room.”
“But why didn’t you show up?”
Al shook his head. “Ziggy locked up. She went through the regular search, and we think she found you but she just locked up. Wouldn’t say a word. Zippo. And she shut down the Imaging Chamber. I mean, I knew exactly where you were when I saw you in the Waiting Room because I remembered what happened six years ago when you’d leaped in before you leaped out, but with Ziggy in mental gridlock, there was no way for me to contact you.” Al chuckled. “What a hoot. The you in the Waiting Room was a real kick in the butt. It was almost better than meeting me as a kid.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’d kind of forgotten what you were like when your brain was intact. You were all excited and you were spewing theories, and you wanted me to explain everything to you, which of course I couldn’t do, and you were absolutely convinced it was a dream.”
Sam frowned. “...It was a dream.” His eyes flashed. “Al! That’s why I leaped the first time! I had this really incredible dream that Quantum Leap worked, and I had leaped and I was....” They eyed each other as they realized what he was saying.
“Whoa, that’s too weird.”
“Wow.” Sam thought about fulfilling his own prophetic dream, then laughed. “Well, I was right.”
Al shook his head. “Too weird.”
Sam smiled. “And I know why Ziggy locked up.”
“Why?”
His smile grew, then he chuckled. “She couldn’t handle what she saw when she found me. She was, well, very different.” Al frowned. “She wasn’t a she.” Al’s eyebrows shot up. “No wonder she shut down the Imaging Chamber. How embarrassing.”
Al shot a disparaging glance in the direction of the cavern. “Her little ego crisis almost killed you. I was going crazy. I wanted to help you.”
Sam smiled knowingly. “You did.”
Al smiled, then shrugged. “Just returning the favor.”
Sam nodded with appreciation, then yawned. His energy tide was going out, and he was going with it. “I want a tape recorder and a stack of cassettes.”
“We use compact discs now. But we’ll get you everything in the morning.”
Sam was sliding down under the covers when he remembered something. “How come you were right in here when I fell?”
Al smiled slightly and opened the door, revealing a chair in the hallway. “My ‘quarters’ until you’re back on your feet.” Sam felt terrible for being responsible for Al’s discomfort, and it showed on his face. “Nah, it’s not that bad. It’s just the price I get to pay for being first on your list.”
Al went out and closed the door behind him. Sam stretched out on the bed. He sighed and looked at the ceiling. “Light.” The lights obediently went out. He rolled over to face the window and watched the stars brighten as his eyes adjusted. He looked at the pile of books on his desk, shimmering in the pale starlight, and smiled. He glanced over at the glistening photo on the dresser. He should have been bursting to make the recordings of his other memories right away, but his energy was gone. It felt as if this memory overlap would last long enough for him to take care of it in the morning. Someday it would sound like mindless ramblings, but he felt he had to do it. First thing, he thought as he yawned. He stretched out his arm across the bed, contemplated the other pillow for a moment, and closed his eyes.
He didn’t notice it at first. It was so subtle. He only became conscious of it when he shifted his arm slightly. That modest indentation on the other side of the bed. The memory hit hard and he launched out of the bed. He flew to the door and startled Al as he flung it open. “Donna! Where’s Donna? I’ve got to see her—”
Al caught Sam as his knees buckled and pulled him back to the bed. “It’s okay, she’s here. You need to wait until—”
“—No! I don’t care what Verbena says. I’ve got to see her!”
Al struggled with him for a few moments, but he knew he couldn’t win this one. With great reluctance, he said, “Okay, just relax. I’ll go get her. But it’s going to take a few minutes to go get her, wake her up, and get her back here. At least five minutes. So just don’t run out into the hall, will you? I’ll be in a lot of trouble.” He headed for the door but kept a watchful eye on Sam. “Stay there. Don’t move.” He went out the door.
Donna! God, how could he have forgotten her? ...But she hadn’t been there, once. Somewhere along the way he had changed that. He tried hard to remember, but the details were eluding him. Well, never mind. It was enough for the moment to know that she was here now. Five minutes! That was an eternity to wait. He was awake now, and full of adrenaline. He needed to fill the time. He looked at the phone. He remembered a promise he had to keep. “Light.” The lights came on as he sat up. “Time.” The blue glow appeared: “23:51.” “Date.” The light glowed: “7 June.” With daylight savings time, there was a four-hour time difference. It wasn’t too late to call. He smiled and shook his head as he dialed—funny how in spite of everything he still remembered that phone number.
After four rings a man’s voice answered. “Hello?”
“May I speak with Thelma Beckett, please?”
“I think you got the wrong number.” The man’s voice was unfamiliar and lilted with a heavy Hawaiian pidgin accent.
“Is this the Bonnick residence?”
“No.”
This was strange. “Is this 983-3211?”
“Yeah, but there’s no one here named Thelma.”
Sam was confused. “Sorry.” He hung up and wondered what had happened. It seems he’d changed his family’s history, but he couldn’t remember anything other than Katie, Jim and his mom living in Hawaii. His stomach knotted. He had no idea where they were. He had lost his family.
But there was no time to dwell on this as the door opened and like a magnet Donna shot into his arms. They clung to each other, as if trying to absorb each other’s essence and merge. Even as he held her, Sam knew he was responsible for this, and that made the moment all the sweeter.
“Thank You, God,” she murmured into his shoulder. They lingered for a few moments longer, then he twisted and rolled her over onto the bed and they laughed together. “Score two points for a takedown,” she said to complete their old joke. His eyes devoured her face, her hair, her eyes—he couldn’t take in enough of her.
Al’s voice came from the doorway, “Well, at least you haven’t forgotten that part.”
They laughed and settled into a comfortable embrace sitting against the headboard facing Al as Donna nestled into Sam’s shoulder. “Donna, I’m so sorry I forgot you. I don’t know how....”
She pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. You remember me now, that’s the important thing.”
“Where are Mom and Katie and everyone else?”
Donna glanced at Al. “Am I allowed to tell him?”
Al grimaced and gestured vaguely with an unlit cigar. “The shrink police say no.”
Sam frowned. “Why not?”
“It’s that pesky time whatever anomaly. Too much too soon could blow a gasket or something. I don’t know. I’m just the looks of the operation.”
Sam smiled. He asked Donna quietly, “Are they all right?”
“Yeah.”
“I bet they’ve been wondering what happened to me. They must be pretty worried.”
Donna whispered, “We told them.” He did a double take. “We had to tell them something. You were gone for six years.”
“What did you tell them?”
“As much as they’d understand. We left out details. They took it pretty well.” She sighed. “They’ve been a real source of strength for me.”
He gave her a squeeze. “Me, too.” His mind drifted for a moment, and a memory floated in—he had other family here—Sammy Jo Fuller. Oh, God, he had a grown daughter here on the staff. He shuddered at the surprise. He remembered Al saying no one knew Sammy Jo was his daughter, but he knew.
Donna reacted to his shudder. “What’s the matter?”
How was he supposed to tell Donna he had a child—who was nearly their age? Despite her protestations, he knew this would hurt her. “I...just remembered something.” He glanced at Al. “Is Sammy Jo here?”
Al had been looking at something just beyond the doorframe and looked back at Sam. “Who?”
“Sammy Jo. Fuller.”
Al frowned. “Who’s that?”
Sam frowned at him. “Sammy Jo. Abigail’s daughter.”
“Abigail who?”
Sam didn’t appreciate this. “Abigail Fuller. From wherever, that small town in Louisiana.”
Al pulled his handlink from his pocket and pushed a few buttons. He looked at the readout. “Oh, yeah, her. The girl down the well one.” He pushed another button. “She doesn’t have any daughters.”
“What?”
“No, she and her husband Will—ex-husband—have three boys.”
Sam said emphatically, “Al, you told me about her. You said she was on the staff here. You said no one knew who she was.”
The urgency in Sam’s voice did not escape Donna. She sat up and looked at him. “Who is she?”
Sam struggled with the right words for his answer, but Al settled it before he could speak: “There’s no Sammy Jo Fuller on this staff, and Abigail Kinman never had a daughter.”
Sam was sure Al had told him, he remembered seeing her as a child when he went back....
Donna repeated her question. “Who is she?”
He didn’t know how to answer. “Well, I thought, she....” He looked at Al again. “You’re sure you’ve never heard of Samantha Josephine Fuller?”
Al shook his head. “Nope.”
His heart sank. Where had she gone? It wasn’t just that she didn’t work on the project; she didn’t seem to exist.
A strange thought occurred to Donna as she read the grief in his eyes, and she blinked and looked at her husband. “Are you trying to say you have a daughter?” She looked at him with more surprise than anger or hurt.
He looked at her, then glanced at Al. “I thought I did.”
Al shrugged. “It would be a miracle if you did. You never slept with Abigail. At least not that I know of.”
Sam fought to remember. That night, before they tried to lynch her, they had...or had they? When it came into focus, Sam gasped—the two leap timelines disagreed on what happened: In the Gooshie-start leap, Sam had slept with Abigail, but in the Al-start leap he had not. How could that be? Of course—when he and Al had switched places, he had picked up some of Al’s energy along with neurons and mesons—and in the Gooshie leap it was the energy of a restless bachelor, but in the Al leap, it was the energy of a blissfully married man. From his dual-focused vantage point, Sam could see that according to the timeline he was now in, he had resisted his attraction to Abigail...and there was no Sammy Jo. How could that be? How could she not exist? He had talked with her, held her...but she’d never been born. His sense of loss overwhelmed him. As much as he worried about Donna’s reaction, he had wanted that daughter, that child of his own. But she didn’t exist....
Al and Donna watched Sam wrestle with the sudden emptiness in his heart. Donna said hesitantly, “Are you saying you had a daughter in the other reality?”
Sam embraced her both as an apology and for the reassurance of her touch. “Yeah.”
Sam didn’t see her glance at Al. “You wanted a child, didn’t you?”
He looked at his wife. “I’m okay with our decision.”
She glanced at Al again, and this time Sam saw it. “...Well, Sam, deciding and doing are two different things.”
He caught her meaning and blinked with astonishment. No, wait, he didn’t remember them having children. He squinted to pop the right timeline into his brain, and he was right. “We didn’t have any kids.”
She looked at Al, who was smiling. “Do you remember when you came back two years ago?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, in our haste....” Sam’s mouth fell open. “Yeah. It was quite a surprise.” She looked at Al. “I don’t care what the shrink police say.”
Al smiled and reached behind the doorframe. When he reappeared in his arms was a placid little boy about a year old. Sam beheld the sight in wonder as Al handed him his son. Sam stood the boy in his lap and gazed at him in amazement. Strange, he’d seen this boy before. The toddler smiled at him. He smiled. “What’s your name?”
Donna answered, “John Samuel Albert Alessi Beckett.” Sam reacted with surprise, then laughed. He looked pointedly at Al, who gestured vaguely with that unlit cigar.
Sam admired his son. “That’s a lot of name for a little kid. And you named him after my dad.”
She set a firm gaze on him, but a twinkle in her eye gave her away. “My dad.”
They eyed each other in a visual tug of war, but growing smiles gave way to laughter. “Okay. Your dad.” He looked at Al. “What about him?”
“Well,” she said, “he was born on Al’s birthday. Besides, if it hadn’t been for Al, he wouldn’t have been born.” Sam looked at Al as the significance of that statement sunk in, and Al gave him an “it’s nothing” shrug.
Sam eyed the child. “If I ever catch you smoking cigars....” Wait—now he remembered where he had seen the boy before. He looked at Donna. “Who’s the little blond girl, about seven, who takes care of him?”
The others reacted with surprise. “That’s Laurie,” Al answered, “my granddaughter. How on earth do you know about her?”
Sam looked at John. “I thought it was a dream.” The boy smiled at him, and he laughed. “But you knew better, didn’t you?” He looked at Al to explain, but he noticed for the first time that Al had a hand hidden by the doorframe; there seemed to be someone there. “Who’s out there with you?”
Al looked at his hidden companion, then stepped back. A woman appeared, holding Al’s hand. Sam was stunned. She was thirty-plus years older, but the years had been kind and her happiness cast a glow of refound youth about her. “Beth.”
She reacted with surprise. “Hi. How do you know me? I wasn’t here when you and Al switched....”
Now was not the time to explain. He said simply, “Who else could you be?”
She flashed a girlish smile at Al, who kissed her on the cheek.
Sam returned his attention to John, but his energy was waning. John, too, was in need of sleep and let loose a mighty yawn. Sam smiled and laid the boy down on his chest. He closed his eyes and reached out for Donna’s hand. “Thanks.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry you had to have him alone.”
He didn’t see her appreciative glance at the couple in the doorway. “I wasn’t alone.”
Sam had something else to say, but as he pondered the words it didn’t seem important. He sighed, and he was asleep. He felt John being lifted off him, but he didn’t hear the others leave.
Sam spent the next day recording everything he could remember. He wanted to spend the day with Donna and John, but he knew he had to work in isolation so he could concentrate while he still recalled the other realities. Despite protests from Donna and Verbena, he took the recording equipment into one of the small conference rooms and talked for eighteen hours straight—or, more precisely, he talked for as long as his voice held out and then croaked and whispered into the CD recorder’s microphone as night fell.
At two in the morning, he had nothing else to say. He looked at the pile of CDs and contemplated their significance. Ziggy would make transcripts, and they would supplement the supercomputer’s archives of what had happened on Sam’s leaps. The pile of discs was deceptive in its modesty: Here was a window to different dimensions, where people alive now were dead, where whole marriages were broken, where criminals had gone free, where people lived who had never been born....
He locked the discs in the conference room and paced through the complex, too wound up to sleep. For the first time, he wondered where Donna was sleeping; she wasn’t allowed to stay with him yet. He found himself in the solarium and turned off the lights. The stars and silver clouds looked down on him as he sat on the sofa and thought about Sammy Jo. He wondered if she was out there somewhere, living in her own time and place. He felt somehow that she did exist, even though it was not here. If that were so, was there another Sam Beckett, leaping from life to life, still trying to get home? How many other Sam Becketts were there? Was there a different one for each of his leaps? How many of them had found their way home? Was it his job to help them, or were they not his responsibility? Did they know about him, or each other?
He shuddered and sat up abruptly—what if he had crossed over one too many invisible boundaries and he was in the wrong reality? Could it be that he had switched places with another Sam Beckett who was destined to return to these people, only now that other Sam would be trapped forever out there? He shook off the thought as best he could and sat back in the deep cushions. How much of him had been lost along the way in his exchanges with the people into whom he had leaped? How much of him sitting here now wasn’t really him? He looked up at the sky through the glass ceiling and remembered that night that seemed only a few days ago—six years ago—when he had sat under the clear desert sky and asked for God’s help. He had gotten it, hadn’t he? He hadn’t thought so at the time.
He looked up as the glass and passing clouds separated him from the Milky Way and felt like a fraud. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He felt as if he belonged someplace else, anywhere but here. He didn’t know these people. He thought of Donna, and what he saw was the church filled with flowers, the wedding party shifting restlessly in the back corridors, the guests whispering in the pews, the musicians running out of music to play. He saw the minister’s sad eyes, large and brown, almost like a Holstein’s, looking at him with that searing pity. Tears welled in his eyes. Who was this woman who claimed to be his wife? He didn’t know. They were all impostors. No, he was the impostor. He didn’t belong here. His real life was out there somewhere. Ziggy was the portal to his real life. He had to get back. He had to get back to the place where he knew where his family was, where he knew the people in the photos on his dresser, where he knew what to expect. He didn’t belong here. This wasn’t home. Home was slipping away. Home was one of those threads of reality on the compact discs. He needed to get back.... He gazed up at the sky as the clouds gathered. He couldn’t see anymore, he couldn’t see....
A guard on patrol found Sam asleep on the sofa in the solarium and called Verbena to ask what he should do with him. Verbena told him to let Dr. Beckett sleep. The guard left the solarium quietly, leaving Sam floating between two worlds.
When Sam didn’t show up for breakfast at his usual early hour, Donna went to his room. When she saw the bed had not been slept in, she pushed aside her panic and called Al. Al and Beth joined her in a search of the complex, but when the found no sign of him, they called Verbena. The psychologist led the group to the solarium, which was empty in the bright morning light. The guards were alerted and the staff began an all-out effort. The Marines began to sweep the chaparral surrounding the buildings, and the staff conducted a systematic, room-by-room search of the facility. He wasn’t in the residential wing, he wasn’t in the lab, he wasn’t in the office wing, he wasn’t in the recreational building. Donna was beginning to panic, so Al and Beth took her aside and sat her down for some coffee in the lounge.
“Do you think we hit him with too much?” she fretted as she looked at her coffee. “God, I shouldn’t have brought John. It was too much. I should have listened to Verbena.”
Al patted her hand. “Nah, he’s a tough guy. He did fine.”
“Then where is he?”
“He’s just off by himself somewhere,” Al said with a vague gesture, “thinking.”
Beth interjected softly, “Where was his favorite place to go and think?”
Donna thought for a moment. “The library.”
“He could be back in the stacks somewhere. I’ll go tell them to be extra thorough there.” With an encouraging smile, Beth left.
Donna sighed. “I should have stayed with him when he made the recordings.”
“Now you know he didn’t want you around for that. You can’t beat yourself up like this. You deserve better than that.”
She closed her eyes. “I have a terrible fear it was too much. It was too alien, too different. ...I just have this terrible fear he went back into the Accelerator.”
Al couldn’t hide his astonishment. He had been afraid of that himself. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“He did it before. And with the new time delay in the controls, he could have activated it himself.”
Al reached for his wrist link. “Ziggy.”
“Yes, Admiral?” the computer’s silky voice purred.
“Has Dr. Beckett been in the Accelerator in the last 24 hours?”
The catty voice curled around the words: “‘I’m sorry, I’m not programmed to respond in that area.’”
Al thumped the wrist link. “Ziggy! Give me a straight answer or I’ll pull your plug!”
“You don’t know how to take a joke, Admiral. He hasn’t been in the Accelerator in the last twenty-four hours.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“What’s it worth to you?”
Al flashed a determined frown at Donna. “Ziggy, how would you like me to rearrange a few of your circuit boards and turn you into the world’s most expensive toaster?”
“Only if you promise to be my first piece of toast.”
“Ziggy, damn it! Where is he?”
“Not that I think you deserve an answer, but he’s in the Imaging Chamber.”
Donna and Al flew out of the lounge.
Al picked up a handlink as they dashed through the control room, but as they approached the Imaging Chamber door, the two hesitated. They could tell the chamber was activated, but they had no way of knowing what was going on inside. He looked at her. “Maybe I should go in by myself.”
“No. I’m going in with you.”
“But you won’t be able to see what’s going on. It’ll look really strange.” In fact, Al was afraid of what might be happening inside, and he didn’t want to convey his alarm to Donna.
“I’ll be able to see. I just won’t be able to hear. I’m going in with you.”
He nodded and pushed several buttons on his handlink. The door to the Imaging Chamber opened with its usual surge of power, and Al took Donna’s hand and led her in.
Al stood with amazement in the middle of a corn field. “My God.”
Donna looked around at the familiar landscape. “It’s the farm.”
“What farm?”
“The farm. The Beckett farm. But it looks different.”
He shouted, “Gooshie, center me on Sam.” There was no answer, and he shook his head. “God, after all these years, I forgot. Ziggy, do you know where Sam is?”
The computer’s voice whispered through the wrist link, “Lost in his dreams.”
“Could you be a bit more specific, please?”
“No. I don’t run his life anymore. He’s in the chamber, but you’ll have to find him.”
Al grumbled, “Never mind.” They looked around at the towering rows of dried corn stalks. He shrugged. “I guess we just start walking.”
Donna shook her head. “No, I can find him.” She released Al’s hand, and the farm vanished into a blue void. “There! Over there.” She moved towards the distant figure as Al walked with her, moving through a tractor and the corner of a barn to where he could see Sam. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground, facing away from them as he watched some sort of discussion in the farm yard.
Before they reached him, however, the surroundings jumped and changed before Al’s eyes into a murderous barrage of mortar fire. Al instinctively ducked as the smoke and thunderous roar shattered the air around him, but Donna only watched in puzzled silence. Al came to himself and straightened up as he tried to salvage some dignity. “Sorry.” Donna took his hand and took in a sharp breath of surprise at the surroundings. She dropped his hand, more comfortable in the blue nothingness. He looked around, but his vision was obscured by the Vietnam jungle around him. “Where is he?”
Donna indicated gently, “Straight ahead.”
They were nearly to him when the scene changed again, this time to a college classroom. Al could see Sam stand up, but he could also see blowzy and burned out English professor Dr. Gerald Bryant writing on a blackboard filled with equations and figures. Watching askance as the professor wrote was a very young and edgy Donna. Sam was watching them intently, and Al could hear the two holograms discussing physics. Donna saw Sam’s intensity and took Al’s hand. At first, she marveled at seeing herself back at college. What a remarkable and unexpected sight! How could she not have known about this leap? Her delight faded, however, as the recognition slowly seeped in that the sleezy Dr. Bryant with a mysterious penchant for physics wasn’t who she remembered. Her lips parted with amazement as she realized that nearly thirty years ago, she had been part of this experiment, and that Dr. Bryant’s strange, altruistic efforts to reunite her with her father weren’t so selfless....
Al watched her cautiously. For all these years he had been able to keep the details of this leap from her, and this was exactly not how he had wanted her to find out about it. But it was too late now. He could see on her face that she was reacting just as he had always feared she would. She watched the silent conversation, not remembering the words but remembering vividly the professor’s unconcealed attraction to her. This was too strange. Her face shrank into a distraught frown as part of her withdrew inside herself. “My God.”
Sam heard her and turned. “Hi.” His voice was still raspy from the day before and Al couldn’t hear him over the projected discussion. With a last glance at the hologram conversation behind him, Sam said, “Ziggy, stop.” The images faded around them, and the room emptied to a steady blue. “Could you see that?” Sam asked Al.
He nodded. “What were you doing?”
He smiled distantly. “Going through the postcards from my trip. I never realized how vivid this would be. It’s incredible the clarity Ziggy managed translating all the raw data together with our individual brain waves and putting them into a viewable composite like that. I hoped for something like that when I wrote the program, but I had no idea.” He smiled at Donna. “Unbelievable.”
Donna was still wrestling with what she had seen, and Sam put his arm around her. She didn’t respond to his kiss on the cheek. He regarded her with mild concern over her thoughtful expression. “What’s the matter?”
She looked at Al, then Sam. She examined her husband’s face, seeing him as a stranger. “I need to think about this.” She turned slowly and left, Sam watching her go with a frown.
He looked at Al. “What’s the matter?”
Al watched her exit the chamber. “She saw.”
“Saw what?”
“You as Bryant.”
“So?”
Al shook his head. “Well, how would you like it if you discovered someone from your future had gone into your past and manipulated your life so she got what she wanted?”
Sam understood and frowned. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh. I think you better start working on your apology.”
Sam nodded. “I think she’ll understand. I’ll tell her about the other wedding that didn’t happen.”
Al nodded. “Great. Now you’re going for guilt. Women love that.”
Sam frowned. “Ah, ...well?” This would take some thinking. He looked where Donna had left. “I better wait until I figure something out.”
Al shrugged. “Don’t rush, but don’t wait too long.”
Sam nodded. He looked back where the holographic conversation had been moments earlier. “Just a second. I need you to explain something to me. Ziggy, run the first leap again, at the point where I left off.” Suddenly Sam and Al were next to the cockpit of the X-2, watching themselves as the imaged Al showed the imaged Sam, in the form of Captain Tom Stratton, how to move the control stick to keep the plane level. “Look at me, I’m flying an airplane. Ziggy, go to Number 29, at the point of leaping in.” Al had to fight to keep his balance as they were instantaneously transported to twenty-five feet above the floor of a circus ring as the imaged Sam hung upside down on a trapeze. “Look at that. I’d never do that. How did I do that?” Sam gazed with amazement at the sight.
Al looked at him. “You don’t remember this, do you?”
Sam looked back at him, his eyes large with confusion. “No.” He looked back at the man on the flying trapeze.
Al smiled. “Welcome back.” Al patted him on the shoulder. Sam accepted the gesture but continued to gaze at the hologram, transfixed by the image he couldn’t understand.
Back in the lounge, after the search had been called off, and after Sam had come up with an acceptable apology to his wife, he explained his dilemma to Donna, Al and Beth. “I know I used to know something, but I don’t remember what it is I used to know. I can’t remember any of my leaps, but I know that during my leaps I couldn’t remember most of my life here.” He looked at Al significantly. “Like that photo on the dresser. I know that two days ago I had no memory that it was from Kim’s graduation. But I don’t know why I didn’t remember it.” Donna took his hand. “I don’t know why I didn’t think it was there before.”
Al smiled knowingly. “Someday, after you’ve rested up, we’ll let you play back the CDs.”
As he looked at his friends, Sam wondered if he would ever be that well rested.
The next month unfolded at a relaxed pace. Most of the Project Quantum Leap staff went on vacation for the rest of June, including Al and Beth—it was Al’s first day off in six years. Sam and Donna celebrated a belated wedding anniversary and marked John’s first birthday on June 15, and then, when Verbena pronounced Sam strong enough to travel, they headed for Indiana. The farm was the tonic Sam needed most, and when he wasn’t sitting with his feet up on the porch drinking lemonade, he was helping his mom in the kitchen or discussing the Holsteins and Guernseys with Tom out in the field.
After dinner one night, he sat in the twilight at the picnic table under the oak tree in back. He sat alone with the crickets and fireflies, except for Skipper, the family’s black dog with a wagging bushy tail, curled up by his feet. He gazed at the house that would always be home. The warm glow of the lights against the cool blue of the sky made him smile with a feeling of peace. Katie and Jim’s house on the other side of the driveway was dark as the entire clan was in the main house watching a baseball game on TV. All the house’s windows were open, and he could hear the kids shouting in response to a play and the roar of the crowd at the game. Sam couldn’t imagine how he could have forgotten that Tom had come back to run the farm with Cindy after he left the Navy in 1979, and that Katie and Jim had joined them a couple years ago after Jim reached twenty years with the service. It was incomprehensible. But Sam knew if he could forget Donna, he could forget anything. From his replay session in the Imaging Chamber, Sam knew what had happened on the other timeline, when Tom had died in Vietnam, and all the resulting family disintegration. He smiled as he watched the house bustle with seventh inning stretch activity as the kids hit the kitchen and the grownups hit the bathroom. He was glad he couldn’t remember what it felt like when Tom was dead. Some things were better left behind.
The front door opened, and a figure came towards Sam. Even in the fading light, that lean, strapping figure was unmistakable. “Taking a break?” Sam asked as Tom joined him under the tree.
“Yeah. How you doing out here?”
“Fine. It’s a beautiful night.”
Tom looked around. “You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you want.”
“Thanks. We’ll go back after the 4th. We have a lot of work to do. We still don’t know how I went anywhere or how I came back. I’ve got a theory I need to test out. I think the problem’s because the string theory has one set of rules and parallel dimensions has a completely different one. They each work, but they don’t apply to each other—it’s like using a sewing machine to swim the English Channel. They just don’t fit. I think that gap between them is where I got lost. I need to find a bridge.”
Tom nodded, then smiled. “If anyone can do it, you can.” Sam smiled. “Oh, by the way, Bob Hawkins called. He wants you and Donna to be the grand marshals of the 4th of July parade.”
Sam smiled and shook his head. “I don’t think so. I remember riding in the parade the year we won the state championship, and it was pretty grueling. Thanks anyway.”
Tom nodded. “He said if you didn’t want that, he’d save you a place on the reviewing stand. That’s not so bad. They’ve covered it, so it’s not out in the sun anymore.” He began to chuckle. “Remember when Miss O’Reilly passed out that year....”
The brothers laughed with the shared memory from many years ago of seeing the high school principal do a swooning swan dive off the reviewing stand into the passing band. Sam could barely talk through his laughter: “It’s a good thing she landed on the drummers—she would have crushed the wind section—”
“—I don’t think Dewey ever recovered from seeing her drop in his lap!”
“Hoo-yah!” They laughed again, and when Sam wiped away a tear of mirth, they broke up again.
They finally laughed themselves out, and Tom sighed. “I missed you. But I guess we can’t expect you to come back to the farm.”
“Are you sorry you did?”
“No. It’s been tough sometimes, but I’m glad Cindy and I did it. Raising the kids here was the right thing to do. Are you going to stay out wherever it is you’re living?” In the glow from the house Sam could see Tom’s wink.
He smiled. “Yeah. It’ll be a while, but we might come back.”
Tom looked up at the stars. “My kid brother, traveling through time.” He looked at Sam. “Why did you do it? Why did you build a time machine?”
Sam looked at the bright house. It seemed all right to tell him. “Time always fascinated me, for as long as I can remember. But I think the reason I built it was you.” Tom reacted with surprise, then laughed. Sam proceeded slowly. “I can’t be certain, because I don’t really remember how things were before I leaped the first time. But I do know some things from the data gathered on what I did, and...you originally didn’t come back from Vietnam.” Tom leaned forward attentively. “You were killed on April 8, 1970.”
Tom said pensively, “Yeah, I remember, that day you wanted me to crawl into the deepest bunker.”
“Yeah, and you didn’t, either.”
Tom’s eyes glittered in the darkness. “So, you built a time machine so you could go back and save me.”
“Well, I guess. I don’t think you were mentioned in the project proposal....” Tom chuckled. “But losing you changed everything, for me, for the family. In the timeline when you died in Vietnam, Dad died in ‘72 instead of ‘78. Mom and Dad lost the farm. Katie took up with a loser to fill the void. ...I forgot how to have fun and live a real life. I guess I probably just wished there was something I could do.”
Tom smiled as he looked up at the night. “So, I’m the star of the family, not you.” Sam smiled, then chuckled. Tom patted his lean stomach with satisfaction. “I better ask for a raise.” Sam laughed. Tom crossed his arms and looked at his younger brother. “I think I know how you did it. That was you, wasn’t it?” Sam didn’t understand. “Magic.”
Sam did a double take. “How’d you know?”
Tom smiled. “He always had a real strong sixth sense, and after Operation Lazarus he swore up and down he hadn’t gone on the mission. He didn’t know why, but he knew he hadn’t been there. I just thought it was his way of dealing with Maggie’s death. But during that whole time, he said he wasn’t there, he sure acted funny. That was you.”
Sam smiled sheepishly, then nodded. “Yeah.”
“Thanks. Too bad they couldn’t give you a medal.”
“That’s all right. I got you.” They smiled at each other.
Tom said quietly, “Too bad about the prisoners, though.”
Sam fought with his regret. “They made it back.” They sat in silent thought, each in his own way trying to understand what had happened.
The symphony of crickets filled the void of sound as the brothers looked at the night. The house door opened again, and a silhouetted woman carrying something came towards them. “Dad?”
Tom turned towards the figure. “Yeah.”
The young woman stopped by the table next to Sam. In her arms was the bright-eyed John, who squirmed to get to Sam when he saw him. “Aunt Donna said he’s not sleepy so you should take him.” He happily took his son as Kim turned to Tom. “The boys want to know about fishing tomorrow.”
Tom patted his stomach as he looked at his brother. “I think it can be worked in. Whaddya say?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Sam stood up and put an arm around his niece. “How’s the game going?”
“The Cubs are winning, of course!” They laughed and went back into the house.
A party filled the Beckett homestead the night before Sam, Donna and John returned to New Mexico. The stereo was running all evening as Thelma taught the youngsters about the jitterbug and they showed Grandma a thing or two about the latest dance steps. To bring the departed family members nearer, Thelma even broke out her husband’s old 78s and amazed the kids with the primitive technology of her youth. She grew wistful as Cindy started up “At Last,” and Tom smiled with recognition at his parents’ “song.” He stood up courteously before his mother. “May I have this dance?”
Her girlish smile belied her years. “Why, yes.”
They began to dance in the center of the room, and the children and grandchildren watched with admiration. Sam smiled at the sight, filled with renewed love for his wonderful family. The smile faded, however, as a queer uneasiness welled in his stomach. He had seen this before, hadn’t he? Only...it was his father—dancing with his mother—but Tom and Cindy were there, and their children, too—how could that be? But it had been another way as well—Tom and his mother dancing, but no Cindy and Donna and kids. And another way—his parents dancing but no Tom and his family.... The variations swirled in Sam’s head as he closed his eyes and tried to regain his mental equilibrium.
Donna touched his arm gently. “A little delayed magnaflux?” Her voice was even, but concern glowed in her eyes.
He shook his head slightly. “I’m all right. ...Just remembering something.” He patted her hand reassuringly and gave her a smile. He looked at the dancers. Yes, now he could see it, see it clearly for the first time. He had passed through so many parallel dimensions, they were now passing through him. This party had taken place many times over—perhaps the many versions of it were happening even now—with all the different scenarios in place: a time when he had kept his father from his heart attack, a time when he had saved his father but not Tom, a time when he hadn’t found Donna again. He scanned the flickering scenes with his mind, and there, in the corner, was Sammy Jo...watching the dancers, smiling at her grandmother, looking so much like Katie that Sam couldn’t believe it. He blinked away welling tears. She was all right, wherever she was. And she was, in her own place, enjoying this party as much as the others. She wasn’t lost. She was where she belonged. And, for the first time, Sam realized he was where he belonged, too. He had passed through many portals, many realities, but they were all true and they were all as they should be. In none of the images passing through Sam’s mind was everyone present. There seemed to be a give-and-take at work, a balance of loved ones present and loved ones gone. The strangest vision of all was the most fleeting: a party where everyone was there...except him.
Sam could see now that he truly had been led down that mysterious, convoluted path to this moment, and for the first time in his life he felt the presence of God, a personal God, not a vast impersonal force, but Someone Who had watched over him and cared what had happened to him at every moment. It was overwhelming and peaceful at the same time. He sighed with the epiphany, but he didn’t realize how loud his reaction was until all the others looked at him.
“You okay?” Katie asked.
Sam couldn’t hold his smile in check. “I’m wonderful.”
Katie shook her head. “My modest brother.”
Sam held out his hand to his wife. “Wanna dance?” She took his hand with a smile, and soon they too were out on the dance floor swaying with the music. He held her to him and kissed her forehead. “I love you,” he whispered. He wrapped his arms around her. It felt so right. Yes, she belonged here, and so did he. “Thank You, God.”
After savoring a spectacular New Mexico sunset together, Sam and Donna walked arm-in-arm through the quiet Quantum Leap facility. They found themselves in the control room, perhaps not by accident. The quiet pulsing of the equipment on idle filled the room with a sea of sound. With his arm around her, he looked at the panel and sighed. He looked at the ramp up to the Accelerator for a long time before he said, “I know you understand what I’m saying, I’m thrilled to be back,” he gave her a squeeze, “...but I miss it. The whole time I was out there I wanted to get back, and now I’m back and....”
She put her head on his shoulder. “I understand. It was exciting.”
“It was intoxicating. It was confusing, and dangerous, ...but there’s nothing like it. It was ...it was....” He sighed again. “There’re other worlds out there. We’ve just barely scratched the surface. I’m afraid to say I want to go back,” Donna looked down and he regretted his words, “but part of me really misses it.”
Ziggy’s voice purred on. “I miss you, too, Dr. Beckett. I miss having you inside me. Leave your wife and come back to me. I’m the one you really love.”
Sam and Donna exchanged embarrassed smiles. Sam looked up at the machine. “Ziggy?”
“Yes, Doctor?”
“We start work on your replacement in the morning.”
“I’ve seen the new budget figures. You don’t have that kind of money. You can’t replace me for less than twice what I cost. No, I’m staying. You need me, Doctor. We have many worlds to explore together. Ohh, it will be so wonderful.” The computer punctuated the statement with a sigh.
Sam and Donna turned around. He said pointedly, “Goodbye, Ziggy.”
As they began to walk away, the computer said after them, “See you later.”
Hand-in-hand they walked slowly to the door. Before they were through the portal, however, Sam hesitated. He looked back at the room, his ears filled with the whirring equipment’s siren’s song, luring his thoughts back. Donna tugged gently on his hand and led him away.
***