Work Text:
November 14, 2021
The blue light extended its energy around him, signaling it was time. He gave little resistance, feeling its tendrils infiltrate into his cells. When his entire body vibrated with the energy, everything suddenly stopped, and he jumped in time.
Sam was especially disorientated for a few moments before realizing he had leapt into a moving car. He steadied himself against the back seat, noticing at the same time the dark naval uniform of the driver. He looked down at his own clothes. He was wearing the same uniform, but with an anchor and three stars on his shoulder insignia. The stripes on his cuffs confirmed he was an admiral.
The passing scenery outside grabbed his attention next, revealing a sunny day with palm trees lining the streets.
"Sir, we're almost there," the lieutenant in the driver's seat said to him. "ETA is two minutes."
Sam turned to acknowledge him in the rearview mirror, and glimpsed just a sliver of his reflection. The dark brown eyes of an African American man stared back at him in surprise. He couldn't remember the last time he leapt into another person. He had been leaping as himself for decades.
Sam stared into the mirror again. He had seen those eyes before. He adjusted himself and tried to catch the rest of his host's features, but the mirror was too small to get a good look.
The car took a left turn and he glimpsed the words "Los Angeles National Cemetery" on the passing sign. Rows upon rows of neatly spaced white headstones dotted both sides of the cemetery road. Up ahead, a long line of cars were parked.
"It looks like we'll have to stop here, Sir," said the lieutenant. "I don't think I can get through ahead."
"It's fine," said Sam. The lieutenant parked quickly and exited the driver's side to open his door. Sam picked up the white naval cap on the seat next to him and exited the car. He was surprised to feel a cool breeze on his face, signaling fall in Los Angeles.
"Should I stay with the car, Sir?"
Sam nodded at the lieutenant. He secured his cap, surveyed his surroundings, and began following the mass of military uniforms walking towards the top of a small hill. As he walked, he discreetly checked his pockets for any hints of identification. The first item he pulled out was a smartphone the size of his palm. Sam stared down at the device. His last leap was in 2002, where he had a flip phone that could barely send text messages. This one was the most advanced version he'd ever seen.
Two captains passed him and he quickly put the phone away, aware of its impropriety at a funeral. He crested the hill and was met with countless rows of seats, mostly filled with officers in dress blues, but also those of other branches of the military, and civilians in suits.
He looked beyond the seats to a casket draped in an American flag. Next to it was a large photo of the deceased, framed with white calla lilies.
Sam froze in place. He blinked as he felt the blood rapidly drain from his face. The photo was a portrait of Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci.
. . .
The air involuntarily exited his lungs as his legs gave way. He caught himself with the palms of his hands on the grass beneath him, feeling for a long moment that he might pass out. He looked up at the photo again, trying to grasp what it signified. Bile rose up in his throat.
"Sir," an unfamiliar voice sounded above him. A strong pair of hands helped him up. "Are you alright, Sir?"
Sam tried to focus on the unfamiliar man wearing another navy uniform. He didn't think he could feel his legs. If not for the other man propping him up, he would be back down on the ground. After a few moments, he finally swallowed and nodded.
The man was unassured. "Are you sure?"
Sam made a sound with his throat that sounded almost intelligible.
Did you know the Admiral well?" the man asked.
Sam didn't know how to answer the question. "I—" he cleared his throat, willfully commanding himself to take a breath. "I'm okay," he finally said shakily. "Please, go on ahead."
The other man wasn't convinced with his answer, but the stripes on his shoulders designated him a subordinate, and he took the words as a command.
Sam stood where he was, afraid to move. More people streamed past him as they took their seats. He wasn't sure if he wanted to sit down or run the other way. Finally, still feeling as nauseous as he looked, he willed himself to take a seat in the back row.
A numbness spread into his body as the ceremony began. A lineup of highly decorated admirals and naval officers spoke about Al's service over his highly accredited career. They spoke of his achievements as a naval pilot, a prisoner of war in Vietnam, and an astronaut. They smiled as they captured Al's rambunctious, fun-loving, and loyal personality. They praised him as a leader, friend, and family man. There was no mention of the project, as if it and Sam had never existed.
The sounds of the three-volley salute snapped Sam back to reality. Seconds later, four fighter jets flew overhead in formation. The ceremony ended, and he couldn't bring himself to look up at Al's photo. People passed him as they made their way to pay their last respects. He couldn't move. This couldn't be his goodbye. He needed to see Al again, alive.
Four shadows came into view as he sat with his head bowed, staring at the ground beneath him.
"Magic, we've been texting you. We couldn't find you in the crowd."
Sam looked up at the voice. It belonged to an Asian woman, much younger than himself, dressed in a black suit. Two men, both appearing to be in their thirties, along with another woman in an army uniform completed the group.
"I'm sorry," he replied. "I must've turned my phone off."
The woman who spoke saw through his veneer immediately. "Are you okay?" she asked gently.
Again, Sam didn't know how to respond. His brain felt like it was shutting down. He simply shook his head.
"Al was a great man," said the man with the round glasses and perfectly shaped eyebrows. "You were a great friend."
Sam looked up into his eyes. They were bright and full of sincerity. "And…I think we may have had some divine intervention from him today."
"What do you mean?" said Sam.
"Magic, we finally cracked the handshake code. We linked to Ziggy this morning."
"What?" Sam said in surprise, thinking he misheard.
"It's insane, I know."
"Did you say 'Ziggy'"? Sam asked.
"We've been working on it for so long," the man continued. I mean, you and Al started this years ago and now—"
"Wait a minute," Sam signaled with his hand. The dizziness from earlier had returned as his mind raced to understand what was happening. "Magic." The name was so familiar. He searched his memory. Then, cursing himself for not thinking of it earlier, looked down at his name plate. "Williams." Something clicked in his mind as Al's voice reached him from almost thirty years ago. "You are Signalman Second Class Herbert Williams, but your buddies all call you—."
"Magic."
He was Magic Williams again. And somehow, Magic and Al were…
"You're restarting Quantum Leap?" Sam said incredulously.
The four members of the group exchanged worried looks.
"I mean…we're restarting Quantum Leap. And now with Ziggy…"
"This was the big first hurdle," said the second man. "Now we can ask Ziggy to start tracking Sam so Addison can—"
"Magic, are you sure you're okay?" the Asian woman said again, her words laced with deeper concern.
For the second time in as many hours, Sam felt like he couldn't breathe. "You're trying to bring Sam home," he whispered. After decades without contact, he had given up. But Al…he shut his eyes as he felt a lump form in his throat. Al had never given up on him.
"Yeah, and we just have to figure out how to talk to Ziggy. The handshake is one thing. She knows we're here, but she's been asleep for almost thirty years, written with code back then. Preliminary reports indicate at least half of her base operating software is incompatible with our software today."
"She was built for that," said Sam. "Once she's online again, her maintenance core was designed to search archived code from each year that's passed and slowly upgrade her own code so it wouldn't be overwhelming or unintelligible to the base code. It'll take some time, but—"
"How do you know that?" said the first man, who Sam assumed to be the programmer.
Sam paused, realizing he had revealed too much.
"Magic," the second man interjected excitedly, "if that's true, then you just saved us years. Literally, years. We could be leaping by this time next year."
Sam looked up at him with a dozen questions running through his mind, but a strong pull of energy suddenly surged through him. He didn't have a chance to reply, as the blue light encompassed everything around him, and he leaped.