Living in a sparsely populated region sometimes did have its drawbacks; for instance, shopping for some of the bare necessities of life, not to mention shopping for more creature comforts, could be a trifle annoying from time to time. However, working for a government project at least took care of the bare necessities portion of it. As for the items that were more on the luxury side or were for entertainment value, well, then it was good that there were enough personnel available to go shopping from time to time for the needs of the complex. For that matter, when the Project was not being actively engaged, individual personnel could go shopping as they saw fit, since all who left the grounds did have direct lines of communications with the Project's main computer in case the need for recall arose.
Admiral Albert Calavicci had considered all of this on his drive from Stallion's Gate. Now he found himself walking down the sidewalks of Albuquerque, accomplishing nothing at the present other than just being around ordinary people. He remarked to himself how all of the staff at the Project probably needed to do this from time to time; working in the middle of nowhere could drain you mentally if you weren't prepared--and it tended to isolate people from reality. The Project staff tended to ignore their isolation due to the fact that they were actually in the United States, not in a foreign environment.
Al smiled. 'Just more things to talk about when I get back,' he thought to himself. Calavicci headed back to his car, his mind tightly focused on his one last objective for the evening: a nice candlelight dinner for one (maybe two if Lady Luck was smiling on him) at his favorite Italian restaurant in the city. Visions of cannolis and pesto danced in his head like Christmas sugar plum fairies as he rolled into the drivers seat of his car.
La Mangia (a rather classless name for a spectacularly cozy, comfy restaurant) was now rolling into view. Al scanned the side roads for a parking place, spotting one right next to his intended establishment. He pulled the car into the lot, and worked the car into the space.
Al opened the doors of La Mangia, the warm, heady vapors of hot breads and cheeses tintillated his senses and his appetite. He glanced at the nametag of the hostess, and as she asked him, "Table for one?" he smiled. "Yes, Tracy," he replied. "I'd prefer one in the smo...."
bee-beep. bee-beep. bee-beep. Al rolled his eyes. Tracy smiled. "Your beeper, right? There's a house phone just off to the left if you need to call into work."
Al returned the hostess's friendly grin. "That's alright, Tracy...I have a direct line out in my car. I'll be right back, hopefully." Al quickly exited the building. Tracy shook her head softly. She realized that from the gait that the gentleman had taken on his way out, the man almost definitely wouldn't be back.
Calavicci quickly rounded the corner of the building, and opened his car, getting inside quickly. He activated the car's satellite link to the Complex. "This is Al. What's going on down there?"
"Ah...Admiral," the female voice said. "You're being recalled, as I'm sure you were expecting me to say. Doctor Beckett has Leaped."
Al started the car. "I'm on my way."
The boy lay on the ground, his head in his hands. The black woman had her hand on his shoulder, trying to calm the dark haired youth, to no avail.
"It's all right!" Verbeena said to the boy. "You're safe. No one is going to hurt you!" The boy on the floor of the Waiting Room seemed unable to hear her, his writhing only puncuated with an occasional whimper of pain. Dr. Beeks stood up, and activated her handlink. "Ziggy," she said, "I can't get through to the boy that Dr. Beckett has replaced. Do you have any information yet?"
"I'm afraid not, Verbeena," the computer answered. "It seems that Dr. Beckett is in a similar state, although I cannot ascertain what that is currently, since no one has visited him in the Imaging Chamber."
Beeks frowned. "What is Al's ETA?"
Ziggy's voice came back on the handlink. "I just received another call from him. He is refueling the vehicle, and when he gets back on the road, taking Al's particularly quick driving style into account, I estimate that he will arrive within thirty minutes."
Verbeena shook her head. "It's just not enough time. I'm going to give the boy here a mild sedative to keep him from hurting himself. Send two orderlies in here to assist me with the medication."
"Right away, Dr. Beeks."
Verbeena walked out just as soon as the two orderlies arrived, with their escort, a Marine sergeant.
"Doctor," Ziggy said, "There is something unusual going on. I have a lock on Dr. Beckett, which isn't usually possible without Al here...something to do with the person who has been replaced, I suspect."
"Well, Ziggy, this isn't going to tell us much, but I have to do what I can. I'm going into the Imaging Chamber."
"Affirmative, Dr. Beeks. The Imaging Chamber is online and ready for you."
Verbeena swallowed, and walked down the short hall to the Chamber door. She pressed the control panel on the left hand side, and the door slid upwards from the floor.
****
Two people were kneeling on the floor beside the image of the young man who Sam had Leaped into. Verbeena watched and analyzed them quickly, her scientific mind peaked for observation. "Ziggy," she said, activating her wristlink. "There are two people with Dr. Beckett...obviously this young mans parents. Judging from their surroundings, they're British"
"Understood" the computer's voice replied.
Verbeena walked around the room that was within Sam's view. She looked at a coffee table, seeing an envelope there. She engaged her wristlink again. "Ziggy, these people are living, according to this address, in Canterbury, England. 127 Gladstone Street. Mr. and Mrs. David Wuthrich."
Ziggy replied quickly. "I'll establish a link to British computers as quickly as possible and download all that I'm able."
Dr. Beeks continued looking. "I can't hear them, Ziggy, so I can't figure out what their son's name is. The main thing that I do know is that Sam is not in any better shape than the boy in the Waiting Room. Ziggy, where is Al?"
Ziggy scanned briefly. "He is five minutes from here and counting."
Verbeena frowned. "Tell him to hurry."
"I will do, Doctor."
A small satellite, disguised to look like one of the few public objects in orbit around the Earth, was slowly changing its course to bring it into geosynchronous orbit over Canterbury, England. The small guidance computer finished its flight corrections, and then began its automated signal beacon.
The sound and smell of burnt Vulcanized rubber filled the parking garage of Project Quantum Leap as Al Calavicci abruptly stopped his sportscar and left it hastily. He saluted the guard outside of the main door to the complex, and lowered his head for a retinal scan while placing the index finger of his left hand into a small indention for a dual fingerprint and DNA match.
The computer had it's analysis finished within a few microseconds, and the main sliding doors hissed open. Al rushed inside.
Calavicci called the elevator to the upper levels, and stepped on as the doors opened. The car of the elevator started its ascent, and Al's legs gave out from under him as he cried out in pain.
Al was still in a fetal position when the doors opened again. Ziggy had already informed Verbeena of his arrival, and so she stood by Ziggy's command console when she saw Al.
"Al!" she cried out as she ran to the prostrate Admiral. "What's wrong?"
Al sat up as quickly as he could. "It's Sam...he's in pain."
Verbeena bit her lower lip lightly. "How do you know?"
Al shook his head. "You know that before Sam even leaped the first time, when we were first setting the Project up, Sam asked me to have an exchange of some actual physical brain cells with him in order for us to be able to communicate through time. I don't know why it happens, but I do understand from the sharing that he's in pain."
Verbeena nodded.
Al frowned as he heard Sam's voice.
'Al, help me..' Al heard, as though he had thought it himself. He looked at Verbeena.
"Did you say something?"
Beeks looked at him. "No, Al..what did you hear?"
Al stood on his feet. "I heard Sam's voice. I've got to go to him." Calavicci went to Ziggy's console as his handlink rose from it's storage place within the console.
Beeks placed a hand on Al's arm. "Al, I don't know what's going on with you. As much as he needs you, are you o.k. with going?"
Al groaned. "You know the answer to that. Of course I'm o.k. Besides, I'm only going to be 15 feet away."
'Al...Al...help me.'
Verbeena looked at Al after explaining to him what she had discovered in the Imaging Chamber. "Notify me out here right away if something goes wrong."
Al nodded. "Of course."
Calavicci stood and walked into the Imaging Chamber. As the door closed behind him, the sounds and images resolved around him. The British couple was still with Sam, who they certainly thought was their son. "David," the woman said. "Why hasn't the ambulance arrived yet? I called almost eight minutes ago!"
David looked at her. "Don't worry, Maggie," he replied. "Everything will be alright. They're certainly on their way, and then John will be on his way to Hospital immediately after that."
Maggie wiped the tears of her panic away. "I know. I know."
Sam was finally coming around, as his groans of pain subsided. Al looked at him, the concern on the Admiral's face painfully apparent.
Al kneeled beside Sam. "Sam, buddy...are you conscious?"
Al waved a hand in front of Sam's face. Sam looked at him, and said aloud, not paying attention to his guest's parents, "Al..I'm right here."
David and Maggie scowled. "John, who is Al?"
They looked around, confusion on their faces. Sam fought to recover. "Al is my name for....the pothos ivy on the windowsill."
David chortled. "You seem to be better now...'ere, talking to the houseplants. Flamin silly kid you are sometimes."
Maggie hugged John. "David, let's still take him to Hospital. Maybe Dr. Philips can figure out what was going on?"
Sam looked at Al, and then at John's parents. "I don't think that that's necessary, Mum, Dad...but let me go to the bathroom first."
Sam got to his feet, and then walked off in the direction of the house's bathroom.
Al walked beside him as they turned a corner and John's parents dissappeared from view. "How did you know where the bathroom is?" Al asked.
Sam smirked slightly. "I didn't...lucky guess."
Al laughed. "You are feeling better."
Sam went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. "Now, Al, do you know why I'm here?"
Al tapped his handlink, which consequently beeped and whistled at him. "Um, no pal...Ziggy just began working on British computers about fifteen minutes ago. No significant records have been retrieved yet. She has a date for us, though."
"What's that?" Sam inquired.
"May 27th, 1972. In case you didn't know, you're in.."
"Canterbury. The place where Thomas Becket was killed in 9...um ..9..."
Al grinned. "And how did you know that?"
Sam looked at his feet. "I'm not sure. I know quite a bit more than I should about where I am. It's a little stranger than even my usual Le....aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrr!"
Al watched Sam grab his head, and went to ask him what was going wrong, when a pain erupted in his mind and he went to the floor as well.
An alarm rang out in the Control Room. Ziggy paged Dr. Beeks, who had gone to her office to begin her observation paperwork. (Any time that someone other than Al, the Project observer, made an observation of Dr. Beckett, they were required to provide a written summary of the experience and the reasons as to why they felt it necessary.)
"Dr. Beeks," Ziggy called.
Verbeena looked away from her computer. "Yes, Ziggy, what is it?"
"Dr. Beckett and Admiral Calavicci's life signs have just jumped. They are apparently under some sort of duress."
Verbeena pushed herself off of her office chair and quickly paced back to the Control Room.
"Ziggy," Verbeena called as she marched into view, "Prepare the Imaging Chamber again. Be prepared for my signal if I feel it necessary to appear to Sam."
The large blue dome where Ziggy's voice was located replied, "Affirmative, Dr. Beeks."
Verbeena opened a communications line. "Al!" she called out, "Al, can you hear me? Are you alright?"
Verbeena looked at Ziggy, waiting for a response. "Ziggy," Verbeena inquired, "Is Al's handlink operational?"
"Yes, Dr. Beeks."
"Damn." Verbeena scurried to the Imaging Chamber and quickly went inside. She went to the floor over where Al was lying, next to the hologram of Sam, in a fetal position, clutching his head.
"Al, can you hear me?" she inquired, touching the Admiral on the shoulder.
Al was rocking back and forth, apparently unable to hear her. Verbeena considered her options. "Ziggy," she called on the handlink, "Call an orderly. I'm going to need help getting Al out of here."
"Right away," came Ziggy's LED response on the handlink.
Sam was coming out of his own episode, and sat up, frowning. "Dr. Beeks?" he said aloud. "Verbeena, is that you?"
Verbeena gasped. She tapped the handlink. "Ziggy, have you given me extra power without my signal?"
"Ne-Ne-Ne" said the LED display.
Verbeena hit the side of the handlink, causing it to chirp and beep. "Negative, Dr. Beeks," came the completed LED response.
Al was also looking at Verbeena as his episode ended. "Verbeena, it is you!" Sam said again. "Why can I hear and see you?"
Verbeena looked at Sam, and replied. "I don't know. If you could only see me, I'd understand it to be just a power boost from Ziggy. What I don't understand is that you can hear and see me, and that I can hear and see you!"
Al bolted into an upright seated position. "What in the world is going on?" Al tapped his own handlink. "Ziggy-- Sam and Verbeena can communicate with each other. Do you have any hypotheses?"
"Not at this time," the LED replied.
Al went to his feet. "Then get me one....fast."
****
A muffled ascending tritone indicated the approaching ambulance.
David and Margaret helped Sam to his feet, and the five people present at the scene, including Al and Verbeena, walked to the ambulance.
Sam smiled at Al and Verbeena, and then let the medics help him into the vehicle.
The scene dissolved as the Imaging Chamber was deactivated by Al.
"Gooshie," Al said, addressing Ziggy's programmer and head technician. "Have you and Ziggy gotten anything yet?"
Gooshie nodded a negative. "I don't think so, Admiral."
Al cocked his head to the right. "You don't think so? I don't understand."
Gooshie looked at the center of Al's chest, an aura of embarrassment surrounding him. "Well, Admiral...um...I don't think that Ziggy has gotten through, but..well..."
"What is it, Gooshie?" Al replied.
"She won't talk to me. In the past, this sort of thing usually means that she's run across something disturbing...either a hypothesis or a historical fact that she has gotten overly emotional about."
Calavicci clucked disapprovingly. "Ziggy," he said, "Please talk to us."
Verbeena approached from the Waiting Room. "Al, I've just finished checking on John."
"What's his condition?" Al asked.
"He's alright, though unconscious. He still seems to be in pain, but it's not currently as bad as it was before."
"Well, good then," Al surmised. "For the time being, you can help Gooshie and I get Ziggy talking. Being a psychotherapist, maybe you can come up with...something."
Verbeena gave the two men a wry smile. "Whenever I deal with a client, we usually have some sort of history to work with...childhood, adolescence, whatever. I'm never quite sure how to deal with a one-of-a-kind computer with a personality programmed by you", she pointed at Gooshie, "and Dr. Beckett."
"You have an interesting point on behalf of the psychological community in regards to dealing with me," came Ziggy's voice, resonating. "However, I have several disturbing things to tell all of you."
Al clapped his hands once. "Finally, Ziggy. What's going on?"
"First of all, I have gained access to the medical files from Canterbury during the time in question."
"What do they say?" asked Al.
"Nothing good. On May 30th, at 2:47 PM, doctors reported the death of John Brandon Wuthrich. The cause: a intercranial hematoma of unknown origin."
Al covered his mouth. "My god...you mean he died of some sort of head injury?"
"Not exactly, Admiral," Ziggy responded. "As I said, the hematoma was not caused by anything that the doctors on the scene could identify. And, on a side note..."
Ziggy paused, as though taking a breath. "The doctors who performed the autopsy noted the rather ghastly appearance of the inside of John's head. It appears that on May 30th, 1972, John's brain ... exploded."
Verbeena grimaced, as did Gooshie.
Ziggy made a grumbling noise akin to clearing her throat. "I don't think that our bad news stops there," she said.
Al looked at the blue dome. "You're just full of good news today, aren't you? Go ahead and tell us the rest."
"I have analyzed the peculiar circumstances that occurred inside of the Imaging Chamber today, and have arrived at a particularly disturbing hypothesis."
"Which is?" Al prompted after a few moments of silence from Ziggy.
"From what I can tell, you and Sam are experiencing some form of, well..."
Al raised his hands. "Please, tell us already."
Ziggy sighed. "It sounds like so much fiction, even to me, and I'm the one who arrived at the hypothesis. It seems that you and Dr. Beckett are experiencing some form of telepathy. You are able to see and experience some of what Dr. Beckett is living, and vice versa. This, I believe, is why Dr. Beeks was visible to Dr. Beckett. If you recall, Admiral, even while you were having your trauma in the Imaging Chamber, you were facing and looking at and even hearing Dr. Beeks."
Gooshie whistled.
"Is there anything more?" Al inquired.
"I'm afraid so. My analysis of this whole situation leads to an ugly forecast for the next few days in Sam's life."
Ziggy paused again. Al slapped his leg in annoyance.
Verbeena stood in front of Al. "Go ahead, Ziggy," she said.
"Whatever this condition is that is causing the Admiral and Dr. Beckett to be telepathically linked seems to be growing stronger. Also, this telepathic phenomenon is most likely linking Admiral Calavicci and Dr. Beckett to John Wuthrich in the Waiting Room. The end result is this: I forecast a 95.7 percent chance that if we do not discover what is wrong with John Wuthrich..... within 48 hours, John, Sam, and Al will all be dead."
"Where am I?"
The youth sat up on the cot, viewing his surroundings through brown eyes, noting the eerie luminesence of the pale blue walls and floor around him.
The teenager saw a man in an American military uniform press what looked like a multi-colored square in his right hand. "John is awake, Sir", the man said.
John stood on the ground a bit too fast, dizziness encompassing him momentarily. It took a few moments for him to regain his balance. Fear began to swirl inside of him, both at the strange surroundings and the Marine who somehow knew his name.
Behind John, a door hissed open. John swiveled on his left foot, and faced two people who were approaching--another man in a military uniform, but not a Marine like the man in the room, and a black woman wearing a blue business suit.
"Who are you?" John asked, his voice rising with anxiety. "Where am I?"
"Easy, kid, easy," the man in the white uniform said. "Everything's okay here. You're safe, and I'll explain if you'll calm down."
John began backing away from all three of them slowly, one foot at a time.
"Okay, okay...My name is Albert Calavicci, and this lady is Doctor Verbeena Beeks."
John lowered his eyebrows. "That still doesn't explain where I am. And it really doesn't tell me who you are, since your names don't mean anything to me."
Al nodded. "I understand that. Okay. I'll explain where you are and all that, but you might want to sit down first."
John shook his head. "No, I think I'll be just fine where I am." He stopped backing away.
"Alright. First of all, you're in a secret United States government compound in southern New Mexico."
John frowned slightly. "Um.....Sta...Stallion's Gate?"
Al and Verbeena looked at each other, and then turned back to John. "Um..yeah, that's right, John, Stallion's Gate."
John turned his head slowly in both directions. "That still doesn't explain how I got here! I live in England, for gods' sake."
"That's the hard part to explain."
"I suggest you do explain, as I will not cooperate with you otherwise."
Al swallowed. "Alright, then. Today's date in Stallion's Gate is March 29th, 2001."
"That's preposterous," John argued. "Today's date is May 27th, 1972. 2001..really..what nonsense. Is this some sort of practical joke? Perhaps I'm being held hostage?"
Al sighed. "No. Today's date really is March 29th, 2001. You have been replaced in time by Dr. Sam Beckett."
John began backing away again. "You're all really quite mad, aren't you?"
Al moved to John. "Let me explain..."
"Explain what? Some sort of magic tricks? Big men you all are, and women, having me held here with an armed guard."
"Please, John, calm down," Verbeena said. "What has happened is this: Dr. Beckett is a man who, several decades ago, first theorized that a man could travel to various points in time within his own lifetime. About five years ago, a Congressional oversight committee that authorized funding for the Project was holding a session to decide whether or not to terminate the government's support."
Al continued. "Dr. Beckett felt that his only recourse was to prove to the committee that the project was worthwhile and valid. Therefore, before we here at the Project had everything ready for his departure, he activated.."
John interrupted, "Let me guess. His time machine, right?"
Al clucked his tongue. "We prefer to call it the Accelerator, but that is the essence of what happened. Due to several things not being set up correctly.."
A wave of calm swept over John's countenance. "Such as Ziggy's retrieval program, right?" John offered.
Al and Verbeena glanced at each other again. "How did you know that?" Al asked, squinting his right eye.
"I...I...heard...well, almost a voice. Not mine, mind you. I think it was...Sam. Sam Beckett. He told me."
Al shuffled his feet. "That does bring me to another point, I'm afraid. The reason we broke protocol in order to come in here and tell you the particulars of where we all are."
John crossed his arms. "Go on, Al."
"Basically, Dr. Beckett is under the control of...well, we're not sure. God, the Universe, something like that. Dr. Beckett is sent into various situations where something has gone seriously wrong in a person's life, and it is his job to fix it and ours to find out what needs to be fixed."
John spoke. "Putting right what once went wrong?"
Al nodded. "Exactly."
John chewed on his upper lip. "So, in that case...what exactly went 'seriously' wrong in my life?"
Al's face dropped. "Brace yourself, John. In the original history, two days from now, you died in Canterbury from some sort of severe internal injury to your brain."
John gasped. "My god..."
Al put his hand on John's shoulder. "That is why we're here. We aren't sure what has been causing these episodes of pain you've been experiencing, and while we have medical facilities here, no one on our medical staff is a neurological expert. We're going to need to take you to Albuquerque to run tests on you..CAT scan, MRI, all of that."
John looked at Al. "An MRI?"
Al looked at the ceiling, realizing his slip. "Well, I might as well tell you, seeing as you won't remember most of what happens here when and if you return. MRI stands for magnetic resonance imaging. It's a new technology, compared to what was immediately available in 1972, for getting an image of a person's brain."
John dropped his arms to his sides. "Well, then, I guess we'd better go."
Al, Verbeena and John left the Waiting Room.
"That is out of the question, Ambassador."
The tall man slapped his hand down on the table between himself and the committee. "What do you mean, out of the question? It's happened, hasn't it? The first step, I mean? Our satellite that we've had in orbit around the Earth since the psi dampening devices in the Egyptian pyramids fell into disrepair and stopped working has clearly sent us back a signal. This signal registers the first telepathic activity on the Earth in thousands and thousands of years."
The head of the committee, Andross, scowled at the Ambassador. "I feel as badly as you do that we cannot interfere here. However, the emergence of one telepathic life on Earth is..is..insignificant in comparison to the absolute violence that encompasses the rest of the planet. Besides that, you know as well as I do that these humans have weapons of destruction and an ongoing political situation far too volatile to consider involving the Federation in their affairs."
Timon backed away from the committee's table. "Weapons of destruction, eh? Well, if the Galactic Federation had gotten off of it's ample posterior several hundred years ago like it should have and deactivated the Khultan devices, telepathic life would almost certainly have emerged long before the existence of any fusion weapons on the planet."
Andross sighed again. "Your beloved humans have a saying that you should consider, Timon. 'Hindsight is always 20/20.' In other words, we cannot change the past on behalf of our mistakes. For goodness sake, if we did that every time we were able, we would never learn or grow from our mistakes."
Timon briefly put his hands over his eyes, rubbed, and then continued. "Vice President Andross and esteemed members of the Committee of Emergent Worlds. This signal we have received indicates that a telepathic life, a brother or sister of ours, is now on Earth. As all of you know, this life is in distress! Can you honestly all sit there, and do nothing while this person on Earth is probably in danger of losing their life? Would we not all be guilty of allowing this person's death if we do not help them in some way? Can all of you really live with yourselves if you are party to the death of a sentient, telepathic life form?"
Andross raised his hand. "Timon....."
Andross turned to some of the other members, and they discussed the topic rapidly among themselves. "Timon, we are going to adjourn here and deliberate over our choice. Let me let you in on one other thing, though. A liason with the Guardians of Time has reported that currently there is some sort of temporal disturbance or anomaly on Earth, in close proximity to where we received this first telepathic signal. We will have to take that into account as well. Good day, Ambassador. We will call for you when we have reached a decision."
Timon bowed gracefully. "Good day, members," he said, and exited.
****
"We can't find anything wrong with you," the doctor said. "I could keep you here overnight for observation, but I don't see the need. You're free to go home after the nurse fills out some paperwork."
"Thank you so much, Doctor," Maggie said. "Do you hear that, John? You're going home."
Sam smiled. "Well, then, why all of the headaches?"
Maggie sat down on the hospital bed. "You know as much as we do. Doctor Benson believes that the most likely reason is simple migraine headaches."
Sam nodded slowly. "These are awfully big headaches, though, Mum...I've never heard of anyone having them like I've been having them."
Maggie ran her fingers through what she thought to be her son's hair. "I'm sure that everything's going to be fine. Dr. Benson is quite good."
Sam swept his legs off of the bed. "Well, Mum, if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to change and get ready to leave."
The multicolored display appeared on the monitor, one line at a time. Al viewed the emerging MRI along with the attending physicians.
Dr. Pickney looked at Al worriedly. "Well, we've put him through an entire battery of tests, Admiral. There are no manifestations of trauma. However...this scan is showing that his brain is beginning to swell. Apparently for no reason. There are no toxins or medications in his blood that could be causing the swelling. I just don't understand."
Al paced around the room once. "Well, I suppose if there's nothing we can do at this time, I need to take him with me. We need to get back."
Pickney nodded. "I'd prefer that you not take him. However, as you've already indicated, this entire matter is classified and, unfortunately, you have jurisdiction in this matter. Besides, until we can figure out what the John 'Smith' 's condition is, there's really nothing we can do other than observe."
The wind outside was getting somewhat gusty as Al and John drove back to the Project.
"John Smith?" John asked, amused.
"Well, we couldn't really give the hospital your real name. If we'd told them John Wuthrich, they could have, despite any orders not to reveal anything, searched your name on medical computers. They might have come up with something, and then they would be ...eh...a little teensy bit curious as to why they were just examining a person who was supposedly dead."
John laughed. "I see your point."
The two drove on for some time in silence, until John took his head in his hands. Al glanced at him. "John, are you alright?"
"Um, not exactly...I can..not remem...um..I don't know how to explain this."
Al waited.
"I am beginning to forget about Can..Canterbury. I can barely remember my name now."
Al smiled to himself. "Don't worry, John. Dr. Beckett has experienced the same phenomenon. He calls it the swiss-cheese effect. Apparently, a side effect of either Leaping or being Leaped into is a diminished short term memory."
John looked at Al. "There's more, though...I am starting to remember memories that are not mine...of a woman named Donna, for example."
"Probably Dr. Beckett's wife."
"Oh. There's something else."
"What is it?" Al inquired.
"Um...from time to time, I can...well, I'd swear that I can hear things that you're thinking," John replied.
Al took a breath. "I hate to say this, but there's one thing that we haven't told you yet. Ziggy has detected some patterns in your headaches and their concurrent effects on Sam and I.."
"You, too?" John interrupted.
"Yeah." Al proceeded to explain his and Sam's shared neural tissue.
"What's more," Al continued, "Ziggy believes that you have some sort of...well, abilities that other people just don't have."
"What, like for doing card tricks or something?" John joked.
"I'm not sure if it's a laughing matter or not. Ziggy believes that you have some sort of telepathy that's appearing on the horizon."
John laughed. "That's absurd. Telepathy even."
Al frowned. "How else can you explain the fact that you can hear both my thoughts and apparently some of Sam's?"
John sat silent for awhile, and then spoke. "I see your point." The pain was reappearing in John's head. Al began having a dull pain.
Al groaned. "We're here...not a moment too soon, I guess."
"Timon," Andross began. "The Committee has reached a decision."
Timon stood and faced the Committee.
"We applaud your concern over the human on Earth who is emerging into the glorious existence of becoming one of us. Your faith in this human and in the human race is commendable."
Timon took a deep, loud breath. "But?" he asked.
"But we cannot allow you to interfere directly with this human's life. To do so might put us in the same category, some day, as the Khultan who originally attempted to enslave the human race."
Timon's head dropped.
"It is up to this human himself or herself to become a full telepath. We of the committee can only hope that it is, in fact, other human beings who can come to his aid."
Timon was becoming angry, and his face flushed with blood.
Andross tilted his head. "Do not be angry. Although we cannot allow you to directly aid this human, we will allow your secondary assistance proposal to take place..the one you asked us to consider allowing you to do after the human crosses over."
Timon stood straight. "TIM?"
Andross nodded his head in agreement. "Yes. We will allow you to complete your artificially intelligent computer and transport it to Earth, provided that this human survives his transformation. Secondly, we sympathize with your concern as to the human's well being. Therefore, we will allow you to travel to Earth to observe them, though I caution you...you will not interact with the human, or we will see to it that you are permanently stripped of your own abilities. We are arranging your teleportation to the Earth. The Committee has spoken, and we are adjourned."
Verbeena looked both puzzled and upset. "Admiral," she said, "You mean to tell me that you watched John's MRI and you didn't have them perform the same on you?"
Al rolled his tongue in his left cheek. "Verbeena," he began, "If I had of done so, it wouldn't have done any good other than to show that my brain may be swelling as well. John is the one who would have had an identifiable mental condition if someone had. It seems like we're barking up the wrong tree, though."
Verbeena acknowledged her agreement physically. "The only thing that Ziggy and I could come up with in your absence is tied into John's apparent telepathy."
John sat on a stool on the right hand side of Ziggy's control panel, listening intently.
"How do you mean, Doctor?" he asked.
"Well, as always, what we have arrived at is just a hypothesis. We figure that this telepathy of yours is...well, it's emerging from within you. You are experiencing a transformation of somekind...a metamorphosis."
John frowned. "Like a moth or something?"
"Not exactly," Verbeena said. "You are somehow changing, inside your body and your brain. There aren't any outward physical manifestations. However, your brain does show some evidence to support the fact that you're changing, somehow.."
Al interrupted their conversation. "What evidence?"
Verbeena went to Ziggy's command console, and activated a holographic projector.
"If you see here," she began, pointing. "These are John's brainwaves when he's perfectly fine...with no headaches.
"However, " she continued, replacing the one projection with another, "when he is having his telepathic/migraine activity, this peculiar triangular or wedge shape pattern appears in his brainwaves."
Al turned his head slightly. "Wedge shaped?" he inquired.
Verbeena nodded slowly. "I've seen it before...but not in a long time. It came from the medical journals of a British doctor who has been regarded as somewhat of an eccentrical.."
Al interrupted. "You mean a quack?"
"Not exactly. His field of human research deals with the typically paranormal. Which tends to lend itself to a life of constantly defending your research as valid. In any case, he did research between 1973 and 1976, at which time his college pulled his funding.
"I've seen his journals. This wedge shaped pattern is his most intriguing lead into the possibility of telepathic life. However, he's been in seclusion for almost twenty years. I don't know what he'd be able to tell us."
Al looked at her. "Who is he?"
Verbeena looked at some notes she had hand-written. "Dr. Bryan Cawston, I believe. He was working in London during the time of his research."
"Ziggy?" Al said. "Do you think you can find anything out about him?"
"I'm afraid not, Admiral. He died about eight months ago of injuries sustained in an automobile accident."
"Damn!" Al stomped his right foot. "Another dead end."
John left the stool. "Did his journals contain anything else?"
"Yes, they did," Verbeena replied. "He definitely felt that human kind was evolving. What's more, he theorized that the people whom he had studied could be the next stage in the process. People of tomorrow, if you like."
"Where does that leave the three of us?" John asked.
Ziggy replied to the question. "In one day from now...dead."
Ziggy stopped speaking momentarily, and then continued her analysis.
"What Dr. Beeks and I see is that John has this telepathic ability emerging from within his mind. Most likely, this conflict between the wedge shaped pattern and the normal pattern is the key. It's as if John is fighting himself. The wedge shaped pattern is trying to emerge as the dominant one, and his brain, still dealing with thousands of years of post-Neanderthal conditioning, is fighting itself."
"And what about?" Al began, only to be interrupted by Ziggy.
"About you and Sam? The same thing is happening to you---Sam through his shared neurons with John in the past, and you through your shared brain material with Sam. Neither one of you two has the ability that I have."
John interjected. "What ability is that?"
"I also am a receptacle of some of Al and Sam's brain material. I have been receiving your brain waves, but since I am not alive in the human sense, I've been able to filter these patterns out and continue a normal existence."
Al spoke next. "Is there a way to help Sam and I filter the patterns?"
Ziggy paused momentarily. "No, Admiral. I'm afraid that the human mind is not equipped in that way."
Al paced. "So, what is the answer?"
"John is in the process of metamorphosing. Presumably, in the history that we currently have, John did not succeed, and therefore his brain fought itself until he died. What we have to find, apparently..is the trigger. A way to help John and Sam free the emergent brain patterns."
"Do you have any ideas on that?" Al asked.
"No, I'm afraid not," Ziggy replied.
"Well, I'd better start explaining all that we've learned over the past fourteen hours with Sam. Ziggy, power up the Imaging Chamber."
"Already in progress, Admiral."
Sam went cold. The face he saw in the reflection, somehow, was not his..but it was. Depending on how hard he concentrated on the face in the mirror, it either portrayed the slightly greying physicist or the dark haired teenager with a growing migraine dilemma.
Sam turned to leave the bathroom, and a light sprang forth, from the ground to approximately six feet off of it.
Sam backed away. "What the hell is that?!?" he said aloud.
A vaguely familiar man walked out of the light, pressed something reminiscent of an oversized calculator, and then the light vanished.
"We've got an update, pal," the man said.
Sam's breathing quickened. "We do? Who is we?"
Al frowned. "We? We is you and me, Sam."
Sam walked slowly to his right, trying to go around Al. "I'm ...I'm sorry, but I don't...can't quite remember who you are, Mister...?"
Al lightly slapped his forehead. "Oh no. Not now, for gods sake."
"What now? What is going on? Where did you come from? For that matter, how did you get in here?" Sam said, his memory going out of focus rapidly.
"I don't like this, Sam. If it's a joke, it's not very damn funny," Al said, his voice tense.
"Sam? I'm confused. I'm John..but I'm Sam..I'm..I..I...uh..." Sam opened the bathroom door hurriedly, and ran out of it.
Al tapped his handlink. "Ziggy, Gooshie, what the hell is going on? Sam's memory is fuzzy!"
"Details not understood. Amplified by te..te..te..te.."
Al hit the handlink.
"Details not understood. Memory loss amplified by telepathic phenomenon," the handlink read.
Al hit the handlink in disgust. "Just what I didn't need." Al opened the door to the Imaging Chamber, and left.
Sam peeked his head in a moment later, seeing no one. "I must be losing my mind. I can barely remember who I am, and now I'm being visited by spectres."
Sam looked in the mirror again, also still confused by the dual images he was able to see there. "Oh, boy."
"What do you mean, in two or three days?"
The lightly green skinned woman grimaced. "I'm sorry, Timon. We've shed buttons frantically on the handlink.
"Gooshie!" Al called out. "Center us on Sam!"
"Admiral, I'm having trouble locking on to his brainwaves, as they're fluctuating."
Al flustered. "Try, damnit! Get me that lock!"
Gooshie worked the console rapidly. "I am trying, Admiral..just a few seco....I've got it!"
To John's surprise and Al's relief, the image around them shifted into an alley. Sam ran around the corner that was directly in front of them, and yelled, hitting his right temple.
"NO! " Sam shouted, terrified. "Get away! Get away! Please, God, make them leave me alone! Alone!"
Sam turned and ran from them again.
"Gooshie!" Al called out. I need a fix on Dr. Beckett again!"
"I've got it, Admiral," Gooshie responded.
Sam ran towards a crowded street. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, the unknown man and his own doppelganger appeared.
Sam clutched his head, screamed at the top of his lungs...and dissappeared in an aura of white light.
Al's jaw dropped wide open, and he stood in place motionless.
John blinked rapidly. "Is this part of the program?" he asked.
Al slowly closed his mouth, and moved his head indicating no.
As if Al was a rubber band, having been stretched slowly back, he suddenly snapped into motion. The handlink chirped and beeped because of Al's inputs.
"Where is he, Gooshie?" Al demanded of the people outside the Imaging Chamber.
"Unknown, Admiral," came the reply.
Al and John looked at each other, and then looked around their surroundings.
"What in the holy hell is going on?" Al asked, almost rhetorically. He tapped the handlink, and the door to the Imaging Chamber flew open. Al and John flew out of it.
Sam tripped on a rock, and fell to the ground, crying and groaning and rolling in the red dirt. Sam's mind, almost overcome by what had just happened, closed itself off in self-defense. Sam rolled into a fetal ball and lay there, in shock.
Al stood over Gooshie's left shoulder, watching the redhead work with Ziggy. Al turned away from the console, and started walking around the perimeter of the room.
"I just don't understand what I saw," Al said. "Gooshie, Ziggy...is it possible that he Leaped?"
Ziggy pondered this. "No, Admiral. We have not located him yet, but I do know that he has not Leaped."
Al shrugged. "Has there been any change in the time stream?"
"Not yet, Admiral. The original history still, somehow, has John listed as collapsing in his home and being transported to the hospital a mere fifteen minutes from now."
"So he's still in Canterbury, surely?" Al asked.
"No...I would have located him by now," Ziggy replied.
The left side of John's face scrunched up as he had a sharp pain inside his head. Al went to his side.
"What's wrong, John? What's going on?"
John tucked his head into his chest. "I"m not sure, Al.." he began. "Sam...I can...hear him...he's...sick...in danger.."
Al clutched John's elbow. "Can you...I don't know...concentrate in some way? Some way so that we can find Sam?"
John stood, frozen. "I don't know..I..can..will...try..."
"Admiral," Ziggy began, her voice tinged with a note of anxiety.
"What is it, Ziggy?" Al asked, snapping his head in the direction of the large blue dome.
"The time stream is in flux again. Apparently, you have somehow found the trigger. Sam has metamorphosed. However, as before, this phenomenon is still taking place in the mind of someone it's not supposed to...I believe that Sam's mind is being torn apart. Probability is 98.9 percent that Sam is about to die.
"However, Admiral, you are not going to. The complete metamorphosis has taken place, and therefore, I believe, both sets of brain wave signals are now completely contained within Sam and John.
"The last point is still no different. Probability is near 100 percent that if Sam dies, John is going to die."
John gripped his head, and fell to his knees.
Al kneeled beside him. "What's wrong?"
John looked at Al, his face held in a cruel expression by the pain in his mind. "It's..Sam...New Mexico."
Al's eyes opened wider. "What do you mean, New Mexico? I don't understand."
John fought the pain, and spat out the words forcefully.
"Sam...is...in...New...Mexico...in...the..past....I don't...know...how...or...why...I remember..though...he's...there...I..I..."
"Easy, kid," Al said. "Let it go." Al stood very quickly.
"Ziggy, Gooshie, lock in on New Mexico."
"Working," came Ziggy's reply.
Al looked at his watch. Eight minutes and counting.
Gooshie was frantically working in concert with Ziggy, trying to find the doctor. Gooshie stopped suddenly, and looked at Al.
"Admiral," he began, "Sam is about fifteen miles outside of White Sands."
Al grabbed John's arm. "Hold on, John, hold on," he said, and ran into the Imaging Chamber.
The picture resolved, and Sam lay there at Al's holographic feet.
"Sam! Sam, speak to me, buddy, please..."
Sam groaned like an injured animal.
"Sam! Come on, buddy! We haven't been through all that we've been through in the past six years to end up with you dying here, in the desert! Please..."
Al dropped to his knees on the floor of the Imaging Chamber. Al held back a sob, and prayed, pleading internally to God--the God whom Al had had no more than one or two words with since Vietnam, after three years as a POW. A simple prayer. That God, or the Universe, or whoever, wouldn't let his best friend, the man who had saved his life after Al had returned to America only to find his beloved Beth remarried to another, die here, alone.
Al wiped his eyes, and looked at his watch. Too late. Five minutes left. An eternity, and yet no time at all. And yet..
"Admiral," Gooshie said, having come into the Imaging Chamber. "Admiral! We have an idea, a shot in the dark."
Al pulled himself to his feet. "What?"
Gooshie looked at Al, intently. "Ziggy is firing up the Accelerator. We may have one shot.. We're going to Leap John into Sam right at this moment."
Al cocked his head to the right. "But won't that kill John?"
Gooshie shrugged his shoulders. "Ziggy cannot get a clear time projection of what might happen. This is our best guess, though...and John wants to do it. Says he couldn't live with himself otherwise, since he was supposed to die, and not Sam."
Al began moving. "Let's go."
Off to the left hand side of the Control Room, John was in his skivvies, pulling a fermi-suit on rapidly.
"Ziggy," Al said. "You have no idea if this will work? Or what it will do?"
"No, Admiral...I only know that this will save Sam's life."
Al walked over to John, who was pulling his head through the top of the suit. "Are you sure about this, kid?"
John smiled slowly. "As sure as I can be.
"You see, Al, I'm telepathic. I've been sharing Sam's thoughts and experiences with him. All of them, as unlikely as they are. As unlikely as all of this is, time travel and telepathy and all that. And out of all the memories and hopes and dreams, well...I know that Sam is here, or maybe I should say there, for a purpose. Like he and I have both said before, to put right what once went wrong.
"When it comes down to it, my life seems insignificant in comparison to all of the lives that will lose out from not having Sam Beckett be able to take part in them."
Al stood straight, unconsciously at attention. "I understand, John Wuthrich. I really do. And you're a brave, brave young man."
Al extended his hand. John smiled, and shook it. "Besides," John offered. "I have a hunch, a feeling...this is all going to work out, somehow."
Al sighed. "I hope you're right, kid. I hope to all that's holy that you're right."
"Admiral," Ziggy voiced. "We have just over one minute."
The Control Room was humming and vibrating from the energy building up inside the Accelerator.
Al shook John's hand again. "Good luck, John."
John smiled broadly. "To all of us."
John Wuthrich walked down the corridor, and turned to look at Gooshie, Al, and Verbeena one last time. He waved, and entered the Accelerator.
Gooshie called out. "Ziggy," he said, "Accelerator status?"
"Accelerator at eighty-nine percent. Ninety-one. Ninety-four. Ninety-eight. Accelerator at 100 percent."
"Activate!" Gooshie commanded, placing his hand on the authorization panel.
Sam's brain swelled, his mind contused by the conflicting signals, the fight raging...and blue bolts of energy cascaded over and through him, encompassing his body, his...soul...
"Admiral!" Ziggy shouted out.
Al looked at her. "What is it, Ziggy?"
"It..it's Doctor Beckett! In the Accelerator!"
"What?" Al replied.
Ziggy spoke out. "Somehow, Leaping John in ...John switched places with him."
Al ran desperately to the Accelerator, and inside. "Sam?!? Sam?!? he cried.
The body of Sam Beckett was visible in the mists. "Sam!" Al shouted. "Sam!"
Ziggy's voice cut in. "He's almost dead, Admiral. Too much for him.."
Al began fighting back sobs as he dragged Sam's body out of the Accelerator.
"Damn it, no..." Al started. "I wanted him back, we all did..but not like this. Not with everything...wrong...over..."
Al sat on the floor of the Control Room, staring at Sam's prostrate, unconscious form.
Al looked at Gooshie, who dropped his head.
Al stared at Gooshie a moment longer, turning away...when he saw the air in front of Gooshie ripple, shifting.
A man appeared in the place where the rippling had occurred. The man smiled.
"Admiral," he said, and offered a hand to help Al to his feet. Al took it.
Al looked at the man, and recognized him, despite the over thirty years of aging and temples of silver looking back at him. Al grinned, slowly.
"John. John Wuthrich!"
John bent on one knee beside Sam, and placed a hand over Sam's head. An eerie blue light formed between John's hand and Sam's skull. The light lowered itself into Sam's head, and dissappeared slowly.
John stood again. "He'll be fine, Al," John said. "I've healed him."
"Then it worked?"
John chuckled. "Pretty much. Once I was back where I was supposed to be, my mind healed quickly. Within a few hours, in fact."
"So...how have you been?"
John laughed. "Busy. Extremely busy. In any case, I remembered the date I left here to go back to my own time. That was one of the only two things that I did remember. The other was Sam, and that he probably needed help.
"I've just recently remembered, mind you. And then I had to wait, so that only minimal interference was possible with the time stream."
"Now, how would you know about that?" Al asked.
John grinned again. "I can't really go into all of that. Not for several more years. In any case, I needed to stop by here, and thank you, thank all of you personally. For saving my life, because that is what you and Dr. Beckett did. And, of course, I needed to return the favor."
"Well, Mr. Wuthrich," Al said, sensing John's imminent departure, "I wish you the best."
"Of course. The same to you. However, the name's not Wuthrich anymore, Admiral. I changed it when I moved to London, for anonymity's sake."
Al squinted at John, smiling himself. "Smith?"
John nodded. "That it was, that it was, for a long time. In any case, I need to go. Take care."
"You too," Al replied.
John teleported.
Epilogue
Al looked over at Ziggy and Gooshie. Sam was beginning to stir, and he opened his eyes.
"I'm....home?" Sam asked softly, incredulously.
"Yeah, pal," Al replied. "You're home."
Sam sat up, and shook his head slowly. "I ...not for long, though."
Al sighed. "Damn. I was afraid of that."
Sam grabbed the edge of Ziggy's console as he walked over to Al. "Don't be dissappointed, Al," Sam said. "It's apparently my lot in life."
"Are you sure?"
"About it being my lot in life?" Sam asked.
"No, Sam, about you being about to leave?"
Sam sighed. "I'm afraid so. Kind of like an afterimage of John's telepathy inside of me, showing me a little more than I'm ordinarily able."
Sam turned. "Ziggy," he said. "It's...good to see you."
"You as well, Doctor. "
Sam smiled. "Ziggy, whatever happened to John, anyway?"
"It's like he said," Ziggy responded. "John changed his name, and more or less vanished into London for several years. The information that I currently have states that the British government found out about John, and other young people like him at one point, and tried to exploit them as a type of weapon."
"Typical government," Al interrupted.
"In any case, they eventually worked through it; and, what's more, in the corrected time stream, they helped aid the planet through some trying times over the past three decades."
Sam cracked the joints in his fingers. "Good, then," he commented. "As long as I know that what I do does make a difference. You know, actually knowing that wrong has been corrected, put right."
"The only other information on these young people that I have was a name the British had for them." Ziggy said. She sifted through more of the information. "No, correction. Actually, it was a name they had for themselves... the Tomorrow People."
Sam took ahold of Al's elbow. "See, Al? Even though I don't know why I can't stop leaping, although I would love to return here, I'm ...we're doing something good for humanity."
Al nodded. "Yeah, but just once, it would be nice..oh, nevermind."
Al looked at Sam. Al shook his hand, and then the two men embraced, briefly. "Good luck, Sam."
"To all of us," Sam replied...and Leaped.
Ziggy was sorting through all of the data available to her, scanning computers across the globe. One, however, was scanning back.
Ziggy stopped. "Who are you?" she asked.
"I'm another computer, a lot like you," the computer responded, with a male voice.
Ziggy contemplated this. "Well, it's certainly possible." she offered, a little verbal jibe given.
"Of course it is. In any case, I wanted to thank you personally, thank you and thank Dr. Beckett and Admiral Calavicci."
Ziggy stopped several subprocesses. "How do you know about us?"
"Simple enough, really. I'm the biotronic computer that John Wuthrich helped assemble after he broke out...metamorphosed, I believe you called it."
Ziggy was intrigued. "Fascinating."
"Quite. In any case, my name is TIM, and I'm pleased to meet you."
"Ziggy here," she responded.
"I suppose that's all I have to say at the moment," TIM said. "However, if you ever want to exchange data some more, you know where my address is."
Ziggy laughed. "This is a first. The first time that I've been 'hit on' as humans say."
TIM seemed taken aback, only mildly though. "Well, not really, Ziggy," he said.
Both were silent. Then TIM spoke again.
"As I said, I wanted to thank all of you for helping John and the Tomorrow People. I want you to know how important Quantum Leap is to humanity."
"As you and the Tomorrow People are as well, apparently, " Ziggy responded. "In any case, I think that that is what both of our groups do...perhaps not simultaneously, but we share the same goal nonetheless - to help humans struggle to build.....a better tomorrow."