High Hopes

leaper1

PQL Security Staff
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Sep 1, 2002
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Bedford, England
Writer's Notes:

'High Hopes' is a Quantum Leap fan-fiction novella, and therefore owes everything to the brilliant TV series which inspired it, to Don Bellisario who created it, and to Scott Bakula and Dean Stockwell who brought it to life with such skill and warmth and character.

It is respectfully dedicated to Jill Kinmont Boothe, the subject of the 'kiss with history' within the story, and the woman who has been my role model throughout my life.
(I highly recommend the biography of her life 'A Long Way Up' by E. G. Valens, and the two biopics where she is played by Marilyn Hassett, called in England 'A Window to the Sky' and 'The Other Side of the Mountain'. [I think the US releases had different names] Warning, they are three hanky weepie films!)

This story is the sequel to my first work 'Terror Firma' which can be read at
www.fanfiction.net in the tv shows: Quantum Leap section. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2457745/1/Terror-Firma
'High Hopes' has been over ten years in the writing, partly because (as the notes at the end of 'Terror Firma' show) I was asked by the American publishers to put it on hold and work up my British story, and partly because it has taken me that long to research such things as the location for the train scene. (City Place station wasn't even built when I started, so no wonder I couldn't find it!)
It is followed by 'Run for their Lives' and 'Snake in the Grass' and concludes in a story called 'M.E. myself and Sam'. Though each of these stories (all set before the final television episode 'Mirror Image') can be read as a stand-alone, there are threads that are carried across the whole group.

Trivia: There is a flashback scene near the end, which explains how Sam got the white streak in his hair, and also possibly a comment he made to Buddy Wright as Gloria.

Writing Quantum Leap fan-fiction is not only my hobby - it is my passion.
It is not for nothing that my e-mail addresses are
Leaper1@ntlworld.com and Leaper8757@hotmail.com
It is through my involvement with Al's place, and the associated site 'The Virtual Seasons' that I have found my best friends, my confidence as a writer and as an individual, and most of the good things in my life.
(Also, as you can read in the 'Guest-vision' slot,
www.quantumleap-alsplace....eaper1.htm
researching 'Run for their Lives' led to the discovery of what ailed my father in law, and a renewal of my faith.)

I have had 3 of my stories aired so far at the Virtual Seasons, (A wonderful site which has continued the Leaps of Dr Sam Beckett through ongoing 'virtual' seasons, as if the series had never been cancelled, and is currently airing its sixth season, making 11 in all with the 5 televised seasons.) and a fourth that was co-written with my best friend Sue aired recently on March 31st 2005.
These can be found at the following urls:
Where the Buck Stops
www.quantumleap-alsplace.....html#1012
Leap to the Rescue (in three parts)
www.quantumleap-alsplace.....html#1026
(also 1027 and 1028)
Skin Deep (in two parts)
www.quantumleap-alsplace.....html#1115
(and 1116)
and:
Hair of the Dog (with Sue Johnson)
www.quantumleap-alsplace.....html#1125

In addition, I take part in two Quantum Leap Role Play games online, one where I play Verbena Beeks, and the other where I have a number of diverse roles ranging from a character called Robert Cheney (who looks like George Clooney); his wife Emma (Roxann Dawson) and a torture master at the Evil Leaper project called Jacob York (Anthony Montgomery) to the enigmatic Bartender Al himself! (played jointly with a colleague).
 
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High Hopes Prologue

Prologue​

Smiles. Laughter. Congratulatory slaps on the back. Another job well done. General celebrations of a happy ending. Sam Beckett knew all about this scene. It was one he had left behind many times. And as Bill and Cat embraced him now, he felt the familiar tingle that meant that at any moment he would be Leaping again.
He was responsible for the happy ending, his efforts had ensured it, and for once he?d been allowed to sit back and savor some of the fruits of his not inconsiderable labors. A little ?R and R?. He felt content, and profoundly grateful.
But now, he had no more time for looking backwards. With a last wistful farewell glance at the Donahue family, he surrendered himself to the limbo of blue haze that transported him to his next Leap. He began looking forward, to discover who he would become in this latest Leap, where and when he was ?landing? and most importantly, why?

?Landing? was almost right, for he Leaped-in in mid air, the body he?d invaded rigid, leaning forwards at a sharp, precise angle. He was sailing, wind whistling in his/someone?s face, taking his breath away.
It was cold. Bright. White.
There was a strong smell of pine. He was wearing goggles, a knitted hat. He had on a pair of tight fitting black trousers, a white polo neck jumper and a thick knitted red sweater. Boots strapped onto long straight aluminum skis. He was holding, in gloved hands, poles that ended in a circle quartered by a cross and centered with a sharp point. Atop his sweater was a white bib, bearing the number 25 in large black numerals.
Then he connected abruptly with thick crisp snow, and struggled to keep to his feet as he careered headlong down the steep slope of a mountain, which seemed to stretch to infinity below him.
He swerved to left and right, trying frantically to dodge red and blue flags on double poles placed in his path ? slalom, that was the word! He was in the middle of some sort of skiing competition. Except as far as he couldn?t remember, Dr Samuel Beckett had never learned how to ski!
As he hurtled drunkenly towards the distant finish line, fine snow spraying around him like the bow wave of a liner slicing through the ocean, it was at once both exhilarating and utterly terrifying. He opened his mouth wide, took a deep breath and yelled:
?Ooooooooooh, boo-oooyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?
 
High Hopes Chapter 1

Chapter One​

Spectators, sporting dumbfounded expressions, straddled the course as he approached his destination. He gestured wildly and screamed at them to get out of his path, as he weaved this way and that, amazed that he was still upright and not at all sure how much longer he could maintain his vertical status. The speed, coupled with the high altitude and thin air, had a giddying effect.
?Where the hell are the brakes on these things?? he wondered desperately, as he rapidly ran out of road ? and options. In the absence of any experience or training in the skills of skiing to call upon, he resorted to what he did know ? applying his knowledge of physical laws such as gravity and momentum and cause and effect. He shifted his body weight to counter the downward thrust, and so decelerate. Then he twisted sideways, trying to make his skis bite into the snow, to grip the mountain, at the same time digging in with his poles.
It almost worked. But his timing was just a little off. He struck the last marker with the tip of his left ski and it flipped him off balance, sending him reeling, rolling over and over until he finally came to rest sprawled face down in a jumble of limbs and skis.

For a long moment he lay still.
Dazed.
Trying to work out which way was up. Digging his fingers in and grabbing fistfuls of snow as if to confirm that he was really grounded at last. The roller-coaster ride was over, and all he had to do now was wait for his stomach to catch up with the rest of him. As far as he could tell, he?d left it somewhere halfway up the mountain. He felt like the Pope, kissing the tarmac of some foreign airport runway.
He heard the race commentator announce loudly to all:
?Skier 25 is down. Skier 25 is down. Clear the course, please.?
Then Sam began checking himself over bit-by-bit, moving each joint tentatively a fraction at a time, to see if he had sustained any injury. He felt certain that he ought to have done. He found himself parodying a famous ditty under his breath as each part of his frame checked out okay:
?The toe bone?s still connected to the foot bone, the foot bone?s still connected to the ankle bone, the ankle bone?s still connected to the ??
While he was thus engaged, a crowd was gathering around him, also wondering if he was hurt, and if so, how badly. Two young men in similar garb to his own bent down and cautiously detached his skis from his boots, then divested him of his gloves and slipped the loops of his pole straps gently over his wrists, removing the encumbrances. A third relieved him of his hat and goggles. Several voices bombarded him with questions:
- ?Are you all right, pal??
- ?Where does it hurt??
- ?Can you feel your feet??
- ?Do you need any help??
His bemused expression must have been further cause for concern.
 
High Hopes Chapter 1 cont

Sam allowed them to help him turn over and sit up, dusting the powdery snow off his clothes. He nodded to one; a thumbs up to a second; ?no bones broken, thanks.? to another.
His detailed self-examination revealed that he had nothing more to show for his tumble than a couple of superficial bruises and a twisted wrist that was unlikely to trouble him for long. The gravest wound had been to his dignity. His guardian angel was evidently working overtime again.
At this point an older man, around mid-thirties Sam judged, joined the group, bending over him. Unlike the others, his face was not registering concern. He was glowering. He too was dressed in ski pants, but he had on a black parka instead of the sweater and white bib which constituted the standard uniform.
Hank Montgomery was tall and imposing. Not exactly a giant as such, but he had a presence about him. His bearing commanded respect. You didn?t argue with this guy unless you were very sure of your facts. Sam wasn?t sure of anything at all as yet. As the fair, bearded head leant forward over him ? invading his personal space ? Sam found himself retreating, and ended up lying back again, propped up on his elbows.
?What now?? he wondered. ?What have I got into this time??
The intimidating man launched into a tirade:
?Who in the hell do you think you are, pulling a crazy stunt like that? What did you think you were playing at? Your name?s not Mad Dog Buek, you know!?

?Isn?t it?? thought Sam. ?That?s a lot of help. Now try telling me something else I don?t know, like what on earth my name is.?
Montgomery was still railing at him:
?Haven?t you learnt anything at all? Don?t you ever listen? You don?t ever take unnecessary risks like that, you hear me??
Sam nodded, head bowed meekly, looking contrite. Although from where he was sitting, any risks he may or may not have taken had been extremely necessary ones.
?Have I just been wasting my time on you these past couple of years, B-J?? Hank snorted, ?Lan? sakes, you came down that hill like you?d never set foot on a pair of skis in your life before. No style, no form, no control. A complete novice.? He made a dismissive gesture with his arms, completely exasperated.
?You noticed?? thought Sam, ?How very perceptive of you.?
?I s?pose you realise you?ve blown any chance you may have had of making the team?? the guru berated him.
?Thank God for that!? thought Sam, still amazed that he?d survived his recent adventure more or less unscathed.
Aloud, he muttered a humble ?Sorry, Coach.? hazarding an inspired guess as to who it was giving him a hard time. ?I completely lost it back there. My mind went totally blank. I don?t know what came over me. I must have looked a real klutz, but I wasn?t goofing around, honest.?
As usual, this Leap hadn?t gotten off to a very good start.
His sincerity must have sounded convincing. The tall man backed off a little, both verbally and physically.
 
High Hopes Chapter 1 cont

?You ain?t sick, are ya, B-J?? Coach Montgomery?s tone mellowed considerably. Now, he looked concerned. ?I guess I have been pushing you kinda hard lately.? He paused, and then looked at Sam as if for the first time. ?Did ya hurt yourself?? Sam looked at all the proficient skiers around him, and the peak of the mountain towering up to the sky and looming menacingly over him. He was in no hurry to go for an encore, so he decided it would be prudent to be economical with the truth.
?Nothing serious, but I think I might have sprained my wrist.? He held it supportively in the palm of his other hand and gave an exaggerated wince for effect as the Coach took a look at his ?injury?. That should be enough to keep his options open ?til he found out what he had to do. Maybe it would at least buy him some time.

Suddenly, a young girl pushed her way through the crowd which still hemmed him in, and threw herself on top of him, sobbing. She looked to be about 16 years old, and was slight of frame, but she still managed to knock the wind out of him, crushing him in a bear hug as she smothered him in kisses.
She had a round baby-face, pale complexion, contrasting with her thick ginger hair ? tied in bunches high on each side of her head ? and mass of freckles. Her eyes were the clearest, brightest green. She had delicate features; a button nose, small mouth, dimpled cheeks, a very pert expression.
?Cute kid, but a bit intense? thought Sam, as he tried to catch his breath between her frantic kisses. He was piecing together clues about ?himself? too. He now guessed that this skier he?d become ? what had the Coach called him? Beejay? What sort of a name was that? ? was also a teenager, and almost certainly this ebullient girl?s boyfriend. Definitely not her brother, that was for sure, not judging by the passion of her embrace. Hopefully, her adoration meant that he was not some geeky kid with terminal acne.
She was professing her love for him now, gushingly, repeatedly, between hugs and yet more kisses.
?Oh, Bobby-Joe, I love you, I love you, I love you ?.?
Sam was both embarrassed and uncomfortable, unable to disengage himself and get up, barely able to breathe.
?You can?t die, Bobby-Joe, you just can?t. I love you. Please tell me he?s not gonna die, Hank. I can?t bear it.?
She looked petrified.
She sounded very melodramatic.
Why would he be dying? It hadn?t been that spectacular a fall had it?
Hank pulled her off at last, firm hands taking her by the elbows and bringing her to her feet.
?He?s not gonna die, Becky-Lou,? he assured her firmly, ?He?s okay.?
?Honest? You?re sure? Bobby-Joe? Please tell me you?re alright?? She turned her attention back to Sam, who was still trying to get his breath back from her onslaught of affection.
He smiled reassuringly and rose shakily to his feet ? being careful not to put any weight on his ?sprained? wrist ? Leaping had, by virtue of necessity, turned him into quite an accomplished actor. To prove he wasn?t in imminent danger of expiring, he moved forward and tried to put a soothing arm around her shoulder.
?Still in one piece, see? You don?t get rid of me that easy, Becky-Lou.? He joked, trying to laugh her out of her fears.
It didn?t exactly have the desired effect.
 
High Hopes Chapter 1 cont

She pushed his arm away and spun round to face him full on, slapping him hard on the cheek.
Sam gasped and recoiled, his eyes wide, as much in shocked surprise as in response to the stinging pain. He felt the blood rush to the surface, sending him crimson, and when he put his hand up to rub his face; it felt hot to the touch.
?Hey, what was that for?? he asked in all innocence.
She hadn?t finished with him yet. As he backed off, she stepped closer, raising both hands this time. He thought she intended to hug him again, and was about to reciprocate when she began pummelling his chest, stamping her feet petulantly and shaking her head. She shrieked at him:
?I hate you, Bobby-Joe Parnell, do you hear me? I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.? Each word was punctuated with a hammering of her fists. He raised his ?good? hand and caught her clenched fist mid-blow, restraining her gently but firmly. For such a petite young woman, she packed quite a wallop.
?Honey, what?s wrong? What?d I do?? his bewilderment was genuine. Becky-Lou?s emotions certainly ran high; her attitude to him was ambivalent in the extreme. She was snivelling now, but still angry.
?How could you? You insensitive brute! I hate you. How dare you worry me like that? It was a beastly thing to do, letting me think that you?d been badly hurt, too.?
?Too?? thought Sam, looking around, ?who else is hurt??
Out loud he said, ?I?m sorry, I didn?t mean ?? he tried to put a comforting arm round her again.
She interrupted him, twisting out of his reach.
?Don?t you touch me, you hear? Leave me alone, Bobby-Joe. I don?t ever want to see you again.? She was wearing an eternity ring and a St Christopher medallion together on a dainty gold chain around her neck. As she spoke she grabbed them both in her hand and yanked hard on the chain so that it broke. Then she flung them in Sam?s face, turned on her heels and stormed off, sobbing her heart out.
Sam moved to follow her, distressed by her distress, but Coach Montgomery put out a hand to stop him. Then, confusingly, he heard two voices telling him:
-?Let her go, B-J.?
- ?Let her go, Sam.?
Al had arrived.
 
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High Hopes Chapter 2

Chapter Two​

There were a hundred questions on Sam?s lips ? as usual.
The one person in the crowd who may just have some answers for him was the only person he couldn?t ask in a crowd ? as usual. Sam bit back all the things he wanted to say to Al, knowing that there was no way he could mask his queries in the guise of ?normal? conversation. Nevertheless, he let his eyes and an enigmatic smile tell Al that he was pleased to see him.
Sam bent down, a little awkwardly, his recent excursion having stretched muscles he?d forgotten he possessed. He carefully picked up the ring, the lucky charm and the broken chain, shaking off the snow. Both items of jewelry were engraved, unsurprisingly, with the inscription ?To Becky-Lou, Love Always, B-J.?
It didn?t take even 1% of Dr Beckett?s off the scale IQ to work out that these two were childhood sweethearts.
Sam was somewhat alarmed to find that he more than understood the attraction; despite the abuse he?d suffered at her hands. There was something very appealing, almost irresistible about Becky-Lou, with her bright excited eyes, and perfectly proportioned figure, blatantly obvious even under the obligatory thick knitted sweater. Sam desperately hoped it was just a residual of Bobby-Joe?s emotions he was feeling. Samuel John Beckett was easily old enough to be Becky Lou?s father and he certainly wasn?t into cradle snatching. That was more Al?s department.
As if reading his friend?s mind, or maybe his body language, Al gestured towards the retreating figure with his unlit cigar and commented:
?Spunky little wench, that one. I like her style.? He grinned wickedly.
Sam glared daggers. Al had obviously witnessed her performance, and his own squirming humiliation. It was a safe bet that he had every intention of reminding Sam of it at every available opportunity, with his ?how the mighty are fallen? mocking tone. Al could be pretty insufferable at times.
Yet Sam wouldn?t have him any other way. Rough diamond he may be, but a true 24-carat gem, nonetheless, as he had proved on countless occasions.

Coach Montgomery saw Sam looking at the broken necklace, glittering with the reflection of sun on snow.
?Give her time, B-J,? he advised. ?She?s only just seen the ambulance take Jill away. She?s still in shock.?
?She?s not the only one.? Thought Sam, nodding, still suffering from what he called PLC ? Post Leap-in Confusion. He?d found out who he was this time ? a boy named Bobby-Joe Parnell, and where. Closer examination of the numbered bibs, which all the youngsters wore revealed in gold lettering that this skiing competition was taking place in ALTA, UTAH. (Somewhere east of Salt Lake City.) Okay so far. But that still left when and why. There were not many clues in the immediate environment to help him date this Leap. Except that the absence of designer ski-suits and the predominance of natural fibres over nylon and polyester suggested Early rather than Late. As to why, he wondered if this other casualty held a clue.
Who was Jill?
 
High Hopes Chapter 2 cont

Sam threw an enquiring glance at Al, whose fingers were already dancing over the buttons of his com-link, the portable interface that allowed him to access Ziggy?s vast databanks. The hologram frowned, and gave the device a hefty thump, as if that would make it yield more - or different - information.
?Meanwhile, get that wrist checked out.? ordered the Coach. ?The basement should be pretty well clear by now. Then get changed out of those damp clothes before you catch your death.?
?Yessir!? replied Sam obediently, following Hank down the last stretch of the mountain, then up a shallow slope to the basement of the Alta Lodge (largest of three) which had been commandeered as a first aid room.
It was more or less empty now, as Hank had predicted, but evidence suggested it had seen more than its fair share of activity in recent hours. Half a dozen toboggans with crumpled blankets were laid out across the floor, which was littered with oddments of bandage and discarded mitts.
The first aid team looked exhausted.
?Quite a day, huh?? Sam commented, as they bound his right wrist in a supporting bandage and slipped it into a protective sling triangulated expertly across his chest and tied firmly at the back of his neck. Luckily, they were tired enough to take his exaggerated self-diagnosis at face value, despite the absence of any discernable swelling.
?You betcha.? was all the reply forthcoming. Not many hints there. They dismissed him and set about cleaning up.
Al, as was his wont, started telling Sam what he already knew, as they made their way outside again.
?You?re Robert Joseph Parnell, Sam. Known as Bobby-Joe, or B-J. Nearly 18 years old. This guy,? he indicated Sam?s companion ?is your Coach, Hank Montgomery. All the kids in the team just call him Hank. He?s a tough task-master, but a good friend. B-J says he?s very popular, even though they are all a bit in awe of him. He took the bronze in the last Winter Olympics.
Today is Sunday, 30th January 1955 and you?ve just crashed and burned in the annual Alta Snow Cup, a giant slalom contest designed to pick out the top skiers to qualify for the Olympic try-outs.?
Sam?s face took on the whipped puppy look. In the space of just a couple of minutes he?d managed to screw up Bobby-Joe?s career big time. If there was one thing calculated to torment Dr Beckett?s tender soul, it was the thought that he had caused misfortune to another, even unwittingly. And he?d already caused a rift with B-J?s long-term girlfriend.
?Boy, I really blew it this time, didn?t I?? Sam said plaintively, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his guilt.
?Don?t be too hard on yourself, B-J,? soothed Hank, as he escorted Sam back to the team dormitories. ?It?s done now. These things happen. The pressure gets the better of all of us, one time or another.?
?He?s right, Sam. Don?t sweat it. B-J wouldn?t have made the squad anyway. He?s an also-ran. Rebecca-Louise Carter is the real rising star. Becky-Lou is the reason you?re here, Sam.?
By now, they had reached the sleeping quarters, and Montgomery opened the door ushering Sam inside. Three sets of bunk beds lined the walls. Battered suitcases and knapsacks were shoved under the beds and atop the huge wardrobe in the corner. Every available inch of space was in use. Thoughtfully, his room mates were currently absent, postponing the need for the usual mental gymnastics of chatting to close friends he?d never met.
 
High Hopes Chapter 2 cont

?Do you need any help getting changed?? Hank asked, inclining his head to indicate Sam?s sling.
?No thanks, Coach. I?m sure I can manage.?
?Okay, take it easy. I?ll catch you downstairs later, at dinner. And don?t worry about Becky. She?ll come around when she?s had a chance to calm down.? He gave Sam a paternal pat on the shoulder.
?I sure hope so.? Said Sam sincerely, rubbing his chest in remembered pain, as Hank closed the door behind him.

?Alone at last,? sighed Sam, sitting down on the nearest bunk.
Al grinned, ?Oh? And what am I then? Chopped salami??
Sam looked askance at him, and grinned back. ?You know perfectly well what I meant, Al. Now, what?s it all about? What?s your old vade-mecum got to tell me this time??
?My old WHAT?? Al hated it when Sam inadvertently made him feel ignorant. He?d long ago accepted that his friend, Dr Samuel John Beckett - scholar of six doctorates and an IQ higher than the Empire State Building ? was smarter than even his closest contemporaries, and a good deal of his conversation often went over Everyone?s heads. At least when he recalled all he?d learnt in his vastly accelerated studies. In the days before Leaping had magnafoozled his brain, a fellow scientist had once teased Sam that he must have been the inspiration for Douglas Adams? character of Marvin, the paranoid android.
?You know, Sam, ?Here I am ? brain the size of a planet. It gives me a headache just talking down to your level.? It?s you to a T!?
Sam had not been amused. It wasn?t as if he enjoyed showing off. And he tried his best to be patient when others took forever to grasp what to him were obvious concepts. But he had to admit that being so different from his peers had been a mixed blessing at best. It could be lonely at the top.
Sam and Al had been close friends long enough that they had found a comfortable level of common ground. And it was not as if the Admiral was a slug mentally either ? he was way smarter than the average bear. It was only once in a while, like now, when he was caught off guard that Al felt embarrassed by the need to ask for explanations.
Sam had slipped off his sling, and was deftly unlacing his boots with both hands. He looked up and pointed at Al?s com-link, which was beeping and flashing true to form.
?Vade-mecum,? Sam repeated, in his best schoolmaster?s voice, ?Through French from the Latin, ?go with me.? It means a handbook or OTHER source of information to which constant reference is made. So refer already.?
This last with an affected Yiddish accent and a shaking of upturned palms.
Al chuckled. It was certainly an apt definition.
?Okay, professor, keep your shirt on,? he teased in return, deliberately turning his back to give Sam privacy while he changed, and to emphasize the double meaning of his quip. He obediently fiddled with Ziggy?s handset, assimilating the data that it fed him.
 
High Hopes Chapter 2 cont

Sam had rifled through the room just enough to locate B-J?s bunk and knapsack. He?d found a pair of green corduroy trousers, a casual green open-neck shirt and a clean woolen sweater ? green and white fairisle with stylized pine trees and snowflakes alternating round the yoke. A pair of tennis shoes completed the sporty outfit. B-J was obviously heavily into the so-called chlorophyll craze, which had permeated all aspects of consumerism in the early to mid 50?s. From clothes to chewing gum to deodorants, green was the color, long before it became synonymous with ecological sympathizers.
?Very natty, Sam. A trifle OTT, but definitely you.? Al commented, sarcastically, surveying the results. (Al, of course, was a true ?Green,? he cared passionately about the pollution of the planet.)
Sam rounded on him, looking him up and down incredulously,
?You can?t be serious! Over the top? That?s rich, coming from you. Have you taken a good look in the mirror lately??
Al was renowned for his eccentric taste in apparel. Today, he was sporting ? that was the only word for it ? a set of jockey silks. The shirt, high collared, had a scarlet background, and was ablaze with purple and blue five pointed stars, outlined in gold, in assorted sizes. The sleeves were blue and purple quartered, split with gold piping, and red cuffs. The jodhpurs were midnight blue, but shimmered purple as the light caught them. It was so loud as to be incalculable in terms of decibels.
?That get-up is a tad outrageous even by your standards, Al.? pronounced Sam.
?What? This modest little ensemble?? Al protested innocently, giving a twirl, ?This is nothing. I just threw this on earlier when Tina and I were horsing around.? He smirked, obviously enjoying the memory even more than the corny joke.
Sam balled the numbered bib and tossed it at him. Naturally, it passed straight through, unhindered by any hint of contact with the insubstantial hologram.
?I cannot believe you just said that, Al. You?re incorrigible.? They both laughed briefly, and then by unspoken agreement returned to the matter in hand. Al consulted his ?vade-mecum? again.
?You said I was here for Becky-Lou, Al. It?s not to improve her right hook, so what?s the problem??
Al sniggered, remembering the spectacle of Sam laid low by the diminutive young woman in question.
?No, Sam. She certainly doesn?t need any help in that department. Ziggy says that all the signs pointed to her becoming Olympic Champion by the ?60 Winter Games, but she just drops out. After today?s race ? in which she came a respectable 4th by the way ? she never skis again. You?ve got to find out why, and get her back on track, or she?ll spend the rest of her life miserable and unfulfilled.?
?I thought you said this was?55. I am not going to be stuck here for the next 5 years!? he swallowed convulsively at the very thought, ?Please tell me I?m not, Al.? The average Leap lasted a matter of days, weeks at the most.
?Don?t panic, kiddo. Ziggy says that won?t be necessary. This is a turning point in her life, that?s all. Get her straight now and the rest will follow.?
Sam was busying himself checking through Bobby-Joe?s possessions, trying to build up a picture of his personality. He?d found the lad?s diary and was scanning it idly, easily able to give his attention to both that and Al simultaneously. (Once upon a time, Sam would have been appalled at the very suggestion that he could be involved in such an invasion of privacy. Yet Leaping had forced many things upon Sam, and he?d long since learned not to waste his energies feeling guilty about the necessary evils.)
Now Sam slammed the diary shut and stared at Al.
?I hope you?re not going to tell me she?s hung up her skis because of my little exhibition back there? She seemed pretty rattled.? Sam looked horrified at the mere possibility.
 
High Hopes Chapter 2 cont

?Get real, Sam. She?d decided to quit before you Leaped in, remember??
Sam relaxed a little. He sometimes had a tendency to get carried away. Over-react. It was hard to keep a sense of perspective when you are being bounced around in time, switching from life to life across all sorts of cultural and social and sexual barriers in the blink of a cosmic clock. He was a living embodiment of the condition described as job related stress.
Now he became business-like again, examining what else they had to go on. He had learned to view every snippet of information as a potential clue. It was all filed away in his photographic memory, stored until it was needed or could be discarded. Or until he Leaped and his memory got Swiss-cheesed again.
?What about this Jill then? Is she part of our team??
Al planted his cigar firmly in the corner of his mouth and punched a series of buttons on his com-link.
?No, Sam, she?s not. Your group ? two girls and five boys - including Becky-Lou and you, uh Bobby-Joe, are from a little place called Beersheba Springs, Tennessee. Southern tip of the Appalachian Mountains.?
?Oh, terrific,? interjected Sam, ?I?m a redneck hick from the sticks!?
?What d?you expect, with a name like Bobby-Joe?? teased Al, casting a sideways glance at his friend. ?If it makes you feel any better take a look in the mirror.?
He indicated the wardrobe, which Sam opened to reveal a large mirror on the inside of the door. He studied the reflection pensively. Anyone who didn?t know Dr Samuel Beckett would accuse him of extreme narcissism. Indeed, at times, his compulsion to find a mirror and look at ?himself? bordered on obsession. Conversely, anyone who did know Sam would tell you that nothing could be further from the truth. To Sam, mirror gazing was a surreal experience.
?You?re terminally handsome,? Al was telling him, ?and if you weren?t so faithful to the lovely Becky-Lou, you could have your pick, you lucky dog. It seems the girls all think you?re some sort of James Dean or something. Next to this ski ace Buek from Soda Springs, who thrills the chicks with his crazy stunts both on the piste and in his Piper Cub, you ? Mr. Adonis Parnell - are the numero uno attraction.? Al jabbed at his buddy with his cigar and smirked. Some classical allusions were familiar even to him.
The face looking back at Sam bore an embarrassed expression to which it was obviously unaccustomed. Dr Beckett?s thoughtful gaze furrowed the brow. Bobby-Joe was almost certainly far more carefree and @#%$-sure of himself than the older but more bashful man who currently wore his aura. The fresh-faced adolescent certainly had classic good looks. Thick, jet-black hair was slicked back with Jeri?s antiseptic hair tonic (as endorsed by one Ronald Reagan ?for greaseless good grooming and healthier, handsomer hair.?) in a DA style reminiscent of early Presley. (Now why should that ring bells?) The flawless skin was tanned. Deep set, blue eyes sat astride the fine straight nose. The cheekbones were high, the jaw angular. The teeth were even and very white, the chin strong. A noble face, somehow; open and honest and trustworthy. It was not a prerequisite for Sam to like the people he Leapt into, indeed there had been times when he?d been positively appalled to find himself a lecherous old drunk, or even a mass murderer holding innocent hostages. Yet undeniably it helped if he felt ?simpatico? as Al put it. This face led him to hope that his current host was one of the good guys.
Bobby-Joe was tall and lean, but not scrawny - fit and agile if not overly muscular. The long musicians fingers fitted logically with the presence of the guitar stashed beneath his bunk.
 
High Hopes Chapter 2 cont

Sam looked hard at Bobby-Joe, and remembered Becky-Lou?s passionate affirmation of love. He decided that he was not going to enjoy being a sex symbol and vowed to make his peace with the young lady at the earliest opportunity. A monogamous relationship was infinitely preferable to being a free agent and consequently fair game for every eligible maiden in the vicinity. Well, it was if your name was Sam Beckett, though he knew Al Calavicci would have felt entirely different about the possibilities.
?We digress.? Sam announced to Al, deliberately turning his back on the figure in the mirror. ?If this Jill?s not on our squad, what is her connection with Becky-Lou? Who is she, a relative? And why is she in hospital??
Al cleared his throat. He shifted nervously from one foot to the other.
?According to Ziggy, she?s a top skier from Bishop, California. 18 years old. Made the front cover of Sports Illustrated this month. Seems she?s Becky-Lou?s idol. A sort of role model. B-J tells us she was more thrilled at the prospect of meeting Jill Kinmont than she was at being picked to take part in the race herself.?
B-J?s frown deepened as something stirred deep in Sam?s brain. All trace of his recent jocularity evaporated. Suddenly, his photographic memory snapped into focus, triggered by the name Al had used. He almost yelled at his friend, hardly able to credit the implications.
?Did you say Jill Kinmont? The Jill Kinmont??

?You telling me you?ve heard of her, buddy?? Al was taken aback; he hadn?t anticipated that particular possibility.
Sam struggled to make some order of the jumble of memories that crowded in on him.
?Must have read about her, I guess.? He thought aloud. ?As far as I recall, she was L.A. Woman of the Year some time in the sixties. Not as an Olympic skiing champion though.? He paused, forehead creased in consternation, chewing his lip pensively. ?My God, Al. She was paralyzed. A quadriplegic. And the accident happened?.? His voice trailed off with a sharp intake of breath.
Al saw the mental process registering on Sam?s face. He had also been fed the information from Ziggy. He finished what Sam couldn?t bring himself to vocalize.
?That?s right, Sam. Today. January 30th 1955. She wiped out earlier this afternoon. Miss-timed a pre-jump at Corkscrew gully and crashed headlong down the hill at 40mph. She broke her neck, Sam.? He spoke very softly, his voice full of regret. He?d hoped to break it to Sam more gently than this, but his friend?s unpredictable photographic memory had forced the pace.
Sam had sunk back down onto B-J?s bunk. He leant forward, elbows on knees and buried his head in his hands, looking utterly dejected. His companion knew exactly what he was going to say even before he spoke, and looked on sympathetically, knowing he could offer no solace for what ailed Sam.
?Why, Al?? whispered Sam, shaking his head slowly and almost choking on the words, ?Why am I too late ? again??
 
High Hopes Chapter 2 cont

Dr Beckett, temporal wanderer, had come to accept that God or Fate or Whoever or Whatever was pulling his strings, Leaping him around in Time, putting him in situations where he could right a wrong, make the World a better place. Though it was fraught with many difficulties, even dangers; frequently frustrating and though he often yearned to be free to go Home and be himself it was, for the most part, an existence which offered considerable job satisfaction. He?d helped a great many people; done a lot of good; saved a number of lives; made a difference. Yet it was only a drop in the ocean. If there was indeed a caring deity or such-like presiding over his good deeds, how could ?It? keep plaguing him with near misses like this? Why hadn?t ?It? brought him here in time to prevent Jill Kinmont?s accident? Surely this was exactly the sort of tragic and unnecessary occurrence that cried out to be remedied? Wasn?t this precisely what Leaping was all about?
Al could read all these thoughts in Sam, even without looking at the forlorn expression, the dispirited air. He?d seen it coming. As soon as Ziggy had fed him the data on the Kinmont girl out on the slope Al had known Sam would take it hard. Damned hard. He always did. He couldn?t turn his caring on and off like a tap. And Dr Beckett?s capacity for caring ran deep. Too deep for his own good. Which was why Albert Calavicci hadn?t been in any hurry to acquaint him with the facts. Even a cynical pragmatist such as himself baulked at putting his best friend through Hell.
?It?s not fair, Al.? Muttered Sam implacably, punching the bed frame with his ?damaged? hand, welcoming the momentary distraction of the pain. Then he sprang to his feet and began pacing the floor, burning off nervous energy, trying to release pent up anger and a strong sense of injustice that had nowhere to go.
Al instinctively stepped back to give him room, but before he could open his mouth to speak Sam put up a restraining hand and snapped at him, his tone laden with bitterness:
?And don?t you dare bother giving me that old line about ?some things just aren?t meant to be changed?. It?s wearing a bit thin, Al.?
He was grinding his fist into the palm of his other hand; fingers wrapped round knuckles, jaw set tight.
Al didn?t think this was the time to remind Sam of all the good Jill Kinmont-Boothe had done in her life, like teaching Indian kids on the Bishop reservation, when nobody else gave damn about them, a career she would almost certainly never have considered had her profession as a skier not been cut short. That could come later, when he?d calmed down, and could accept the truth of it.
?I?d let you deck me if I thought it would help.? Al told him, deliberately stepping back into his path and squaring up, pointing to his chin by way of invitation. For a moment, it looked as if Sam would take him up on his offer. He drew back his arm.
?That?s right, strike down the messenger for being the bearer of bad tidings, oh mighty emperor!? deadpan face; toe-to-toe with his friend; unwavering, Al challenged Sam. Their eyes met and locked for a long moment. Al didn?t need to say anymore. He shrugged, eyebrows raised. Sam lowered his hand to his side and laughed mirthlessly.
?Thanks, Al. I deserved that.?
The mood was broken. Time traveler bomb diffused.
 
High Hopes Chapter 3

Chapter Three​
Becky-Lou Carter stumbled through the crowds, blinded by tears of rage and sorrow and a whole confusion of emotions that defied description. She had no idea where she was going, only that she wanted to get away - from everyone and everything. She was sure people were laughing at her behind her back as she passed.
She had to escape, run, flee.
She couldn?t stand the derision, or the patronizing sympathy, or the questions or the looks. Most of all she couldn?t cope with the tangle of emotions that engulfed her. Yet no matter how fast or how far she ran, she couldn?t seem to shake them off. They swept her back up the mountainside.
As she ran, slipping and sliding on the fine, powdery snow which whipped up around her ankles like a cloud of talcum, her arms flailed wildly at her sides, trying to fight off both real and imagined pursuers.
"Leave me alone, all of you, just leave me Alone!"
she cried, as friends tried to comfort her, reaching out to console her.
From time to time her head swung around, bunches bobbing over her shoulder, to see if she had evaded her tormentors.
At last she was the only person around, having struck out away from the course.
She found herself blundering through a grove of pine trees, where every shadow was reaching out, trying to pull her body this way and that, just as her thoughts were pulling her mind in different directions.
She had finally stopped running, panting; her face flushed beetroot to the tips of her ears. She clutched her sides and doubled over, gasping as a sharp stitch cramped her abdominal muscles. Her pulse was racing and she could hear her heart pounding in the still woods. Then she sank, exhausted, to the forest floor and sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve for want of a handkerchief. She was all cried out. She hugged up to the trunk of the nearest tree and buried her head in her lap. Still she could not shut out the memories.
Yesterday, she had been the happiest girl in the world.
Yesterday, all her dreams were coming true?

Their plane had landed at Salt Lake City airport early on Saturday morning, but her feet had not touched the ground all day. Firstly, there had been the thrill of having been invited to take part in the Snow Cup. It had been her best season yet, and Hank said she was showing real promise. Coming from Coach Montgomery, that was very encouraging. He didn?t squander his praise.
 
High Hopes Chapter 3 cont

Then, when they got to the Lodge, Bobby-Joe had presented her with an eternity ring to go with the St Christopher he?d bought her three Christmas?s ago. And he?d hinted that if her Daddy didn?t object, he?d be getting her a real engagement ring for her 17th birthday in the summer. Her future looked bright and exciting and was heading in exactly the right directions.
Best of all, just after lunch, they had been walking past the Peruvian Lodge when Jill Kinmont herself had come out, with the rest of the Bishop skiers, heading for the Germania Pass. Becky-Lou had been rooted to the spot, speechless with admiration for the older girl, whom she considered to be the best skier she?d ever seen, and as pretty as she wished she could be, and whose career she had followed closely. Becky-Lou had been clutching her newly purchased, but already thrice read, copy of ?Sport?s Illustrated? with Jill?s color photo emblazoned on the cover, and a three page fully illustrated article inside on her success at the Sun Valley training camp. Becky- Lou had never been this close to anybody famous before, let alone someone as special as Jill, and she was completely awe-struck.
Then Jill was walking towards her, resplendent in her home knitted sunshine yellow jumper, and all she could do was grin like an idiot. Her best friend, Tammy Nelson, had nudged her, tried to push her forwards, "Go on, talk to her."
But her feet wouldn?t respond.
Besides, she didn?t know what to say. Her normally sharp brain turned to mush. It had been Bobby-Joe who?d stepped in and made her dearest wish come true. He?d gone right up to Miss Kinmont bold as brass, and pointed Becky-Lou out to her as if it was his girlfriend who was the celebrity.
He explained to Jill how Becky-Lou had been the one who?d written countless letters to her over the last few months. He?d told Jill how much Becky-Lou admired her and respected her and tried to emulate her. Jill had lowered her eyes coyly and blushed. Then, incredibly, wonderfully, she had grinned broadly and come right on over to Becky-Lou. She?d even spoken to her, thanking her for the letters, which she?d obviously bothered to read, and sounding genuinely sorry that her training schedule had prevented her from having time to send a personal response. She?d chatted amiably; as if Becky-Lou were an old school friend she hadn?t seen in a while.
At first, Becky-Lou?s mouth had opened and closed wordlessly like a fish out of water, but Jill had soon put her at her ease and before long she was answering Jill?s questions, and asking many more of her own. Jill had even given her tips on how to improve her technique, and invited her to watch them practice that afternoon. And finally, magically, B-J had asked what she dared not, and Jill had autographed her treasured magazine. Becky-Lou had thought Bobby-Joe the most wonderful, thoughtful, amazing guy in the world, the best thing since the newly invented non-stick pan her widowed father kept enthusing about. She had thought herself the luckiest girl in the world, that he had chosen her when there were dozens of prettier girls around willing and eager to take her place.
By nine pm when Hank called curfew and they climbed into their bunks to try and get some sleep before the big race, Becky-Lou felt as if she had known Jill all her life. And having watched her on the slopes, copying the way she moved her shoulders as she turned, seeming to flow effortlessly down the hill, she was more confident about her own chances of qualifying for the try-outs too. She?d been far too hyped up to sleep, and had whispered excitedly to Tammy for well over an hour, reliving every brilliant moment of the day, before finally drifting off into a world of blissful dreams.
But that had been yesterday.
Today, her world had fallen apart.
 
High Hopes Chapter 3 cont

Okay, so she?d come fourth in the women?s heats, behind top skiers Andrea Mead-Lawrence, Katy Rodolph and Skeeter Warner. That was better than she?d dared hope for.
But it should have been fifth at least.
She?d finished her run, and knew it was the best she?d ever skied. B-J had met her at the finish with a kiss and told her how proud he was of her, before heading for the ski room to wax his skis one last time and get ready for the men?s race. Becky-Lou had made him rub her St Christopher for luck as they parted, and promised she?d be waiting to return the kiss when he?d made his run. Then she?d gone to find herself a good spot to watch the ?real? skiers take their turns. It should have been Andy and Skeeter next, but they had been late getting to the start so that Becky-Lou had only just got to her vantage point when Jill came hurtling out of the starting gate with a surge of power.
Jill had begun well; the snow was really fast. She looked set for a record-breaking run, but then Jill hadn?t checked at the left turn just above the Corkscrew, and the snow seemed to be running away with her. Instead of pre-jumping the four foot high knoll, she was two or three seconds late.
Jill appeared to be flying then, out of control, heading for the trees. She?d covered her face, narrowly missing the trunks and tumbling instead into a group of spectators, knocking them down like nine-pins, and dragging one with her. It had seemed to Becky-Lou as if Jill would be tumbling and sliding down the mountain for ever but at last she had stopped, with the spectator sprawled on top of her.
Becky-Lou had tried to get closer to find out what was going on, but the whole crowd was surging forward and it was impossible to see what was happening.
She heard someone shout for splints and a litter. By the time Becky-Lou had followed the anxious group down the mountain, Jill had been put in temporary traction. She?d been taken gently down the mountain and into the Alta Lodge basement to wait for the ambulance. Becky-Lou had not even noticed when Andy and Skeeter and the others had made their runs, and the winners had been declared. She didn?t register when her own name was pronounced fourth. She?d been too busy hovering outside the first-aid room, hoping to hear that Jill had just broken a leg or something. The mumblings she had overheard made her afraid that things were far more serious than that. Becky-Lou vowed then and there that she would not set foot on the piste again herself until Jill was back in competition.

To make matters worse, apparently not only were there traffic jams, but also a nasty car accident on the narrow road. It was ages before the ambulance had been able to get in. By which time everyone had been sent away, so as not to hinder the new casualties, which had begun piling into the basement, including Kenny Lloyd from Bishop, who had broken his arm. Becky-Lou had wandered dejectedly towards the finish line as Tammy had come running up to inform her that B-J was making his run. She?d looked up just in time to see him thundering down the course, completely uncontrolled. He had a wild, crazy, frightened look on his face, so that Becky-Lou had hardly recognized him.
She had stood; stunned, as the only other racer she really cared about looked set to repeat Jill?s catastrophic performance. When he?d fallen face down in the snow, she?d been too scared to join the throng, which had rushed to his assistance. Too terrified that he wasn?t ever going to get up again.
Then, after what seemed an eternity, the uncertainty became unbearable. She knew Hank was on the scene and went to seek him out. Suddenly, she had to know for sure, however dreadful the news.
 
High Hopes Chapter 3 cont

It hadn?t been bad news at all of course, and she should have been relieved, overjoyed. But Bobby-Joe had marred her happiness by showing a degree of insensitivity of which she would not have believed him to be capable. How could he have laughed at her fears like that? He wouldn?t have seen Jill?s accident, but he must have heard about it. He should have known how upset she?d be by it. He knew how she felt about Jill - had once joked that if it had been Buddy Werner or Dick Buek she?d admired that intensely he might have been insanely jealous. He should have been more sympathetic, more supportive, more understanding.
Instead, he?d been a pig. That sort of jollying along might work for some girls, but not for her. Never for her.
She thought he knew her better than that. She thought she knew him better. She was so confused. And to add insult to injury, he hadn?t even tried to stop her running off when she?d gotten justifiably upset. He hadn?t attempted to come after her and apologize. Didn?t he care at all?
It was so out of character for him, he was usually so attentive. Could she have done something to hurt him, to cause this change in him? She didn?t think so. She kept trying to think of an explanation or excuse for his behavior, but the more she thought about it, the more callous it seemed, and the more betrayed she felt.
If he could behave like that, she was better off without him. She had meant it when she said she hated him and didn?t want to see him again. So how come it hurt so much that he had taken her at her word? Why was it that even while she was despising him for his actions, she was longing for the comforting embrace of his arms, the reassurance of his familiar smile?
For as long as she could remember, whenever she had been upset or frightened, Bobby-Joe had always been there for her. Older and wiser, calm, confident, in charge.
At first, he?d been like a big brother to her, watching out for her as they grew up together on the same block, at the same school. Then as they got older, their relationship had blossomed into something deeper, more romantic, without them even really being aware of the transition. B-J had always made things better, showed her how to cope, stopped her from panicking, especially when her condition had first been diagnosed, and she?d despaired of ever being able to lead a normal life. How was she supposed to cope now, without him? How could she expect him to cure the problem this time when he was the problem? Still, Becky-Lou wanted him to come and sweep her up in his arms and tell her that everything was all right. She wanted most of all for him to turn back the clock so that they could go back to yesterday.
Yesterday, when she had been the happiest girl in the world.
Yesterday, when she had been the luckiest girl in the world.
Yesterday, when all her dreams were coming true.
But that was yesterday.
Today was a nightmare.
Today, she thought she could never be happy again.
Today, she clung to a tree trunk, and to a vain hope that none of the day?s events were real, and that she would soon wake up.
 
High Hopes Chapter 3 cont

She sobbed quietly to herself.
Eventually, the chill in the air and the lengthening of the shadows made her aware that it was getting late. She really should head back to the Lodge; her hunger told her it must be time for supper. Yet the last thing she felt like was eating. She thought that any attempt to consume food would simply choke her; that dinner would be harder to swallow than her wounded pride. Yet she knew what would happen if she started skipping meals.
She got up stiffly and began trudging back down the mountain. She was dragging her heels, head bowed. Even as the last shred of rational thought told her she had to go eat, the lost, frightened, hurt little girl in her whispered of revenge.
?Don?t bother, Becky-Lou.? Her inner voice wheedled. ?What does it matter if you don?t eat? What?s the point of it? Think how Bobby-Joe will feel if you get sick. That?d show him. That?d take the wind out of his sails. Then he?d know how it felt to worry about someone.?
For a while as she walked, rigid as an automaton, common sense wrestled within her with the urge to punish: - Bobby-Joe, herself, the world. Then, as she neared the dining room, the sounds of carefree laughter mixed with the clink of cutlery on china and common sense went out the window. She wasn?t to blame. It was all Bobby-Joe?s fault. If only he hadn?t been so horrid. If only he?d bothered to try and put things right.
But it was too late now. Her mind was made up. It would be easy, and painless.
B-J would be the one to suffer, watching her die. She wouldn?t feel much at all.
She was already getting a little faint, and her palms were sweating, but before it got too alarming she would be comatose. Then all her worries would be over, and nothing else would be able to hurt her ever again. She nodded to herself in satisfaction at the simplicity of her plan and detoured to the ski room, where she was sure Bobby-Joe would find her, but not too soon.
 
High Hopes Chapter 4

Chapter Four​

Once he?d reassured himself that Sam was sufficiently out of the doldrums, Al had imparted all available knowledge - such as it was ? and bowed out.
Now he stepped out of the Imaging Chamber and carelessly tossed aside the com-link, which Gushie fumbled after and somehow managed to catch just before it clattered to the floor. The little man tucked it carefully into the pocket of his grubby white lab-coat, which he then patted protectively, and frowned at his superior. He was not accustomed to seeing delicate and vital equipment treated with such disrespect, especially by someone as acutely aware of its importance as the Project Observer, who would have chewed out any underling who?d dared display so little regard for both property and protocol.
?Problems, Admiral?? he asked, wondering if he was about to put in yet another all-nighter trying to correct the latest glitch in the system.
Al gave him a wide berth, leaning back out of range of the rancid breath, which was Gushie?s predominant feature.
?Nothing Sam can?t handle,? he responded curtly.
Not being disposed to engage in further conversation, Al by-passed the octagonal door that led to the Waiting Room. B-J would keep. Instead, he went back to his quarters and changed into a tamer (for him) outfit ? to whit one turquoise three-piece suit, with moir? waistcoat and tie, which perfectly complemented the shirt, two shades darker and purest silk. A handkerchief, the same tone as the shirt, was folded neatly, peeping out of the breast jacket pocket. When he had completed the new image, Al stopped by his office to pick up some paperwork, which he could no longer afford to ignore. The atmosphere there, though offering him privacy and freedom from distractions was somehow not conducive to his mood, so he headed for the Project cafeteria to get himself a dose of strong black coffee, folders tucked briskly under his arm.
It was a Common Room that only rarely served for social gatherings, and although not entirely deserted, Al was able to find the solitude he sought within its walls. One look at his dour expression warned his colleagues not to pester him with petty complaints or inconsequential pleasantries. Al filled his favorite mug with steaming hot black coffee. It was a chunky white china mug with a single line of a musical score dancing around it. Sam had spotted it in a department store in Washington and declared it to be perfect for his nautical friend. He?d been unable to resist buying it and teased Al for an interminably long time before allowing him to unwrap it, revealing that the tune depicted was ?Anchor?s Aweigh?.
Al settled himself at a vacant table, where he buried his nose in requisitions and reports, and muttered inaudibly about the annoying need to keep Weitzman off all their backs, and how he?d like to lure him into a dark theatre and assist him in the ultimate emulation of his idol.

Meanwhile, unnoticed by the Project Observer, Ike Bettenhoff sat at a corner table canoodling with his latest conquest, a cute wisp of a thing called Miranda who worked in coding. Project personnel tended to live a rather cloistered ? but far from monastic ? existence. Circumstances meant that internal relationships, both transitory and of the more permanent variety were rife. Most still had homes to go to in what they referred to as the Outside World, or sometimes the Real World, but the vast majority tended to live on-site for much of the time. Shift work, security ratings, and the isolated location of the Project Headquarters all conspired to make nipping home in the lunch hour something less than a practical option. Such excursions were generally reserved for periods of annual leave, when folks went home for the holidays. It was a lifestyle that wouldn?t have suited everybody, and for obvious reasons most employees had been appointed partly because they didn?t have family ties.
 
High Hopes Chapter 4 cont

Project living quarters were fairly Spartan, as budget constraints demanded, but they were comfortable and more than adequate for the most part. Personally speaking, Admiral Calavicci found that they suited him very well. When Sam had first begun Leaping, he?d still commuted a good deal of the time. But an increase in alimony payments, coupled with an antisocial neighbor with a penchant for late-night car maintenance, not to mention the fact that he had to be ?on call? for Sam 24-7, soon convinced him that it would be prudent to sell up and move lock, stock and cigar box to the ?Quantum Leap Motel?. His needs were few, and he felt at ease in an environment that reminded him of the military.
Certainly, the rooms were eminently suitable for the particular leisure activity that Ike was currently suggesting to a giggling Miranda (who was known as Randy to her friends ? especially the close ones.). The lovebirds slid across the bench and went slinking off in search of greater privacy, fielding good-natured nudge-nudge comments from friends at another table on the way out.
Watching them go, Brenda shook her head and tutted in mock disapproval. Then she flicked her flaming red hair over her shoulder and laughed.
?We don?t need a decoder to work out what those two are up to!? She commented in a stage whisper behind her hand to her friend Lucille, who sniggered. As one of the earlier notches on Ike?s bedpost, Lucille could have drawn diagrams, if so required. She felt no rancor toward Randy for having replaced her in Ike?s affections. For one thing, there had been countless others in the interim, and for another the relationship had ? as so many did in this environment ? simply run its course. Couples tended to part amicably on the whole, and whilst egos inevitably got bruised, and tempers occasionally frayed, it remained a remarkably harmonious team. Of course, Dr Verbena Beeks could claim more than a little credit for this happy state of affairs (as she liked to call it, being - like Al - enormously fond of puns).
Though he wouldn?t dream of admitting as much to her face, Admiral Calavicci privately considered that she was worth twice her weight in gold (given that her tall, slender frame had earned her the affectionate nickname of Beanpole). She could be agony aunt and Earth Mother, big sister and best friend. She combined the Wisdom of Solomon with the patience of Job and kept an unfailing sense of humor throughout. And all this wrapped up in one incredible knockout package. Al had frequently speculated that in the unlikely event that Verbena ever succumbed to a bout of PMS or a fit of depression herself, the place would literally fall apart at the seams.
Just at present, things seemed to be ticking along very nicely in the personal relationship department. Even Al himself was currently enjoying a period of comparative stability in his on/off relationship with the sometimes-volatile Tina. This happy circumstance could be accredited to Ziggy, who had subtly reminded Al of the recent anniversary of some minor milestone in the couple?s liaison, allowing him to surprise (not to mention amaze) the young lady in question with a suitably romantic gift. Days later Al was still basking in her gratitude and delight.
Although at this precise moment in time, the rosiness of his garden of lust was far from the Admiral?s mind. He was concentrating intently on Project accounts, trying as ever to equate immense expenditure (would you just look at that electricity bill!) with woefully inadequate income, and wondering how on earth he would manage to continue paying Paul, since they had already robbed Peter of all but the clothes he stood up in!
 
High Hopes Chapter 4 cont

It was a good job that none of the workers were the bolshi, militant type. Al Calavicci daren?t begin to imagine the ramifications if any of the ?essential? crew to which they had been reduced decided to go on all out strike for higher pay. He shook his head and huffed his shoulders. It just didn?t bear thinking about. So he didn?t. He pored over the books again, a deep frown furrowing his brow. He sighed irritably as he was distracted by a noise from across the cafeteria.
Brenda and Lucille had been joined by two more of their friends ? Patti, a dumpy little blonde who worked alongside Brenda and Miranda in coding, and her boyfriend Rusty from Security. He had brought in a 14? portable color television, which he placed on the table so that they could all see it. The quartet huddled round; chatting excitedly as they eagerly awaited the start of the programme they?d looked forward to all week. Patti?s sister Robyn had made it to the grand final of the year?s hottest, not to mention wildest, new game show, and tonight she would be competing for the Star Prize, which included $100,000 (tax free), a brand spanking new top of the range sports car and an ?out of this world? holiday experience.
The basic premise of the show involved getting members of the public paired up with a celebrity ?alien?, who had supposedly landed in their back yard (shades of ET). Being from ?outer space? the alleged alien life form had no concept of the uses of everyday objects, nor did they have the benefit of Star Trek?s universal translators, making earthly languages unintelligible to them.
Consequently, it was up to the participants to demonstrate in mime etc what given objects were and how they are normally used. Points were awarded not only for each article correctly identified by the guest (in a language which naturally only the host could interpret) but also for the most original and entertaining improvisations from the contestants.
The weird and wonderful antics of the selected candidates, coupled with the reactions of the famous stars ? which had thus far included such big names as actors Jeff Goldblum and Will Smith, veteran space explorer Leonard Nimoy former child actor McCauley Caulkin, continually rising star Haley Joel Osment and the effervescent young stand-up comedian Tab Chattaway ? made for compulsive viewing. The whole nation was hyped up for the finale (with the exception of the irascible Admiral), which promised to be a riot, particularly since the astronomically talented entertainer Robin Williams had agreed to take part.
Recent re-runs of old Mork and Mindy episodes bore ample witness to his credibility as an alien. He had been paired up with the irrepressible Robyn, whose extrovert personality and offbeat sense of humor had already won through in four previous rounds. She was now up for Champion of Champions, and all set to see off her last challenger, a gangly fellow called Clyde with matted dreadlocks and a swagger that made you seasick to watch. His prestigious partner was to be the deaf teenage actress Sami Kreiger, who had shot to fame as a child when she captured the hearts of millions on Lord Attenborough?s knee in the remake of ?Miracle of 34th Street?. Since then she had starred in numerous big screen features and won world wide acclaim for her portrayal of the young Evelyn Glennie in the biopic of that talented lady?s life.
As the game progressed, the shrieks of laughter from the growing group around the table rose in pitch, as did the raucous commentary and cheers of encouragement with each successive point that Robyn and Robin won.
Al became increasingly irritated at each break in his concentration, until at last he conceded defeat and gathered up his papers so that he could adjourn to somewhere quieter. He was loathe to complain - after all, they were off duty, and heaven knew they earned their downtime, so he didn?t even glower over his shoulder at them as he left.
Had he done so, a sudden change in the broadcast would have stirred a far stronger reaction in him. He would have noticed the program being interrupted to bring a news flash. Late breaking news informed the nation that there had been a train-wreck, and had Al been looking, one of the victims being carefully stretchered from the scene of carnage would have been alarmingly familiar to him.
 
High Hopes Chapter 5

Chapter Five​

Sam didn?t feel much like eating, and he certainly didn?t feel like socializing with unknown friends. He knew he had agreed to meet the Coach at dinner, but decided that if Hank wanted to chew him out some more he could always come find him.
Al may have managed to lift the worst of his depression, but he was still on a downer, feeling frustrated and full of pity ? mostly for Jill Kinmont of course, but more than a little for himself. He guessed that deep down he liked being the guy in the white hat, the knight in shining armor, the gallant hero. And he was used to winning. All his life, success had followed him in all his endeavors; studies; theorems, experiments, Leaps. Okay, so maybe his relationships had not always been so easy to manage, but didn?t everyone have problems there? His experiences over the past few years of Leaping suggested that marriages seldom ran as smoothly as his parents? seemed to have done; that parenthood was a minefield and friendships complex in the extreme, while the dating game seemed to have an ever changing set of rules that were impossible to keep track of.
Yet, on the whole, for Sam failure was seldom an option. Now, though, he couldn?t help thinking that it would be easier to swallow than being denied the opportunity to try.
A loud, insistent hammering on the dormitory door abruptly interrupted his introspection.
?Oh, boy!? He sighed as he rose to answer it, ?Guess Hank is about to lay into me again for something.?
He was therefore taken aback when he opened the door to reveal an attractive teenage girl, with a clear complexion, big brown eyes and thick brown hair in a neat short bob. She was taller than Becky-Lou, and though slender, she was equally blessed with womanly charms, neatly packaged in a pair of pedal pushers and a tight fitting sweater. Not standing on ceremony, she pushed past him into the boys? dormitory, craning her head to left and right as if searching for something.
?Can I help you?? Sam enquired, politely, following her back into the room.
?Don?t flatter yourself, B-J!? she retorted haughtily, giving him a playful punch on the arm. ?Be-sides,? she looked at him coyly; head tilted on one side, her hands behind her back, one foot twisting back and forward, ?Becky would never forgive me if I made a move on her ?dreamboat?!?
So, she must be one of their team from back ?home? in Beersheba Springs. Since Al had told him there were only two girls on the team, she had to be Becky?s best friend, Tammy.
?Where is she, then?? suddenly Tammy was brusque again, all hint of flirting gone.
?Who??
?Becky-Lou, dummy. Or do you have another girl in here?? Tammy frowned at him with a look that clearly said, ?You?d better not have, buster, or I?ll set Becky-Lou on you again.? as she checked beneath the bunks and in the wardrobe for signs of life.
 
High Hopes Chapter 5 cont

Not wishing to be on the receiving end of another of Becky?s temper tantrums, Sam hastened to reassure Tammy that he had been completely alone until she had shown up. As Al had long since departed, he said it with a clear conscience.
Tammy did not seem pleased to hear it. ?I?m worried about Becky-Lou, are you sure she isn?t here with you?? They both knew it was against the rules, but then teenagers seldom let details like that stand in their way.
?Nope, I haven?t seen her since she stormed off. Hank said to let her cool down, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.? Seeing the concern in Tammy?s eyes, he was no longer so sure of that.
?She?s not been back to our dorm. She didn?t show for dinner either, and you know how particular she is about meals.?
Sam didn?t, and Becky-Lou?s svelte figure didn?t suggest that she was inclined toward gluttony, but as Tammy knew her better, he took her word for it.
?Oh no! B-J, she wouldn?t be that stupid, would she? Are you thinking what I?m thinking?? suddenly the look of concern escalated to one of panic, and she grabbed him by the arm, dragging him to the door.
Sam hadn?t been, but he was starting to. Alarm bells rang in his brain as he put two and two together, mentally sifting through comments B-J had made in his diary, and the clues Tammy had just given him.
?First stop, the canteen. We?re going to need some food.? He was thinking aloud as they raced through deserted corridors, Sam allowing Tammy to take the lead, as she knew the way. ?Oranges would be good, for vitamin C, and American cheese if they have any ? rich in Chromium 3. Then candy of course, and fruit juice, or even better nettle tea, but I don?t suppose they?ll have that.? He muttered his shopping list, at the same time praying they reached her while she was still conscious enough to ingest it.

The canteen had just closed; they were informed in loud impatient tones when they hammered on the doors, but when Sam explained the situation in panting breaths, they allowed the teenagers access to stock up with the requested items, and wished them well.
?How are we gonna find her, B-J? She could be anywhere.? Tammy didn?t seem to have thought this far ahead. Sam had. Giving her half the supplies, he instructed her to seek out Hank, rounding up anyone she could find on the way.
?Just in case, get him to organize a search party up the mountain. I think she was headed toward the pine groves, but she wouldn?t have gone far. I?m betting she came back and is around here somewhere, so I?ll start by searching the Lodges and around the camp. If you find Ritchie and the others (he recalled one of the names Al had briefed him on), send them to join me. Don?t worry, Tammy, we?ll find her.? Silently he added, ?I only hope to God we find her in time.?

?Ad-mi-ral?? a soft seductive voice broke Al?s concentration once more.
He grunted in response.
?Admiral!? the voice repeated, more insistently.
 
High Hopes Chapter 5 cont

Al threw down his pen with an exasperated sigh, and rubbed his forehead. He was tired, more tired than he cared to admit.
?What is it now, Ziggy?? he snapped.
?I am aware that you wished to remain undisturbed, Admiral, but I have been monitoring Dr Beckett?s vital signs??
?Sam!? Al was instantly alert, pushing himself up from his chair and heading for the Imaging Chamber. ?What?s wrong, Zig? Is he hurt??
?There is no need to panic, Admiral. As far as I can ascertain, Dr Beckett is uninjured. However, his pulse and blood pressure are both elevated, as is his adrenalin level, and he appears to be somewhat stressed. I felt you might wish to - what is it you say? -?Touch base? with Dr Beckett, in case he had need of your assistance.?
?Damn right, I do! Thanks Zig.? Al hurried on with a sigh, wondering why it seemed that he couldn?t turn his back on his friend for five minutes without the scientist getting himself into trouble of one sort or another.
By the time he got to the Control Room, the ever vigilant Gushie was holding the hand link out ready for him to grab without breaking stride, and the Imaging Chamber door was sliding up to admit him. He ducked under before it was fully raised.
?Gushie?? he instructed?
?Centre me on Sam? Gushie finished with him.

Al materialized in an apparently empty hallway.
?Sam?? he called.
?Aarrhh!? yelled Sam, right in his ear, as he came up behind him. ?Don?t do that, Al!? instinctively, the Leaper had skidded to a halt to avoid the collision that would not have occurred.
?You want I should go?? Al affected a Yiddish accent, complete with obligatory hand gestures, just as Sam had done earlier, and with equal aplomb.
?No. NO.? replied Sam emphatically. ?It?s just a bit unnerving when I wish you?d show up and? he snapped his fingers to indicate the immediacy of the response, ?you appear right in front of me like a genii from a bottle.?
?You wished me here? Neat trick, Sam.? Al grinned. ?What can I do for you, O Lord and Master?? he folded his arms; palms flat, across his chest, and bowed.
?We haven?t time for your nonsense, Al? cut in Sam, curtly.
?Zig wasn?t kidding when she said you were stressed, sheesh.? Al retorted. ?What?s up, buddy??
?I?ll explain later. We need to find Becky-Lou, and fast. Can you have Gushie centre you in on her??
?If she?s within range, yeah. What?s the problem??
?Later, Al. Just find her.?
Obediently, Al passed his request to Gushie, and popped out of sight.
Sam looked around, uncertain whether to resume his own search, or wait where he was for his friend?s return.
He didn?t have long to ponder his dilemma. Al re-appeared almost immediately, and his face broadcast the fact that he now understood Sam?s concern.
 
High Hopes Chapter 5 cont

?This way, Sam, she?s in the ski room.? He began leading his friend by the shortest route, as fed to him by Ziggy. ?She doesn?t look too good, buddy. What?s...??
?Is she conscious?? Sam interrupted, picking up his pace still further.
?I think so, but barely. She?s pale and sweating and she?s got the shakes. She looks confused, well out of it. You?d better hurry, buddy.?

Sam already felt like he was going to break Bannister?s recent record, but he somehow found his second wind and sprinted after his spirit guide. Finally, when Sam felt that in another minute his lungs would burst, and every muscle ached from his mini marathon, he arrived at the ski room and dashed in to find Becky-Lou slumped on one of the benches.
Sam practically collapsed next to her, panting hard. He gently eased her back into a sitting position, feeling her pulse and not liking how it felt.
Her hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, and he brushed it back, noting the distant look in her eyes.
?Becky-Lou, can you? hear me?? he asked softly, between labored breaths.
He received no reply. She seemed unaware of his presence.
Sam took her trembling shoulders, and shook her very gently, then cupped her face in his hands and tried to make her focus on his own.
?Becky-Lou? Talk to me, honey.? Remembering that though he was really there as her physician right now, she needed to see him as B-J.
?Huh?? she mumbled, uncomprehendingly.
?Drink this, hon.? He coaxed, offering the fruit juice he had procured up to her lips.
He held her head firmly but gently, and tilted it ever so slightly so that he could trickle a little of the liquid into her mouth without choking her.
She still appeared distant and unaware, but she was conscious. Just.
?C?mon honey, swallow for me.? He encouraged, ?you have to swallow.?
Reflexively, she obeyed. Then she coughed, a feeble cough, which suddenly became a jerky spasm of her whole body. Sam held her close while they rode it out.
?That?s my girl. It?s okay.? Sam intoned. ?A little more now.? He held the drink to her lips once more.
Suddenly, she seemed to see him, as if for the first time, and her brow furrowed in confusion, as if unsure who he was or why he was there.
?Huh?? she mumbled again.
?Try to eat a little something, hon.? Sam whispered persuasively. ?You need to eat something now.?
He forced open the orange with his nails, squirting juice into the air, and ripping a segment from inside. He stroked her lower lip with it. ?Come on Becky, open up, there?s a good girl.?
?Nah-uh,? a slight shake of her head said ?I don?t want it?. Somewhere in the back of her confused brain, a hint of defiance remained.
?Don?t leave me, Becky-Lou. Stay with me, darling?? pleaded Sam, hugging her and giving her arm an affectionate rub.
That seemed to penetrate a little, and a hint of a smile creased the corner of her mouth.
?Atta girl, c?mon now. Eat something, just for me, eh?? wheedled her ?dreamboat?.
She took the slice of orange and chewed it half-heartedly. Then another and a third. Gradually she became a little more focused.
Finally, she spoke:
?Headache? she complained.
 
High Hopes Chapter 5 cont

?I know, honey.? Sympathized Sam, offering her some cheese.
?Dizzy? she pronounced, her hand going up to her head, as she leaned into his shoulder.
?I?m not surprised,? there was just an edge of criticism in his voice, as much as to say, ?what do you expect, you silly girl?.
?Scared? she sobbed softly, then suddenly the tap turned on, and the tears flowed freely again. Sam cuddled her, and reassured her, and did his best to dry her tears.

?What were you thinking?? chided Sam a few minutes later, when she had eaten enough to raise her blood sugar level and was more coherent. ?What were you trying to do??
?Punish you, pig.? Her voice was matter-of-fact, bereft of emotion.
?By deliberately getting yourself hypoglycemic? Becky-Lou, sweetheart, you could have died.? Sam ignored the insult. Whether or not it had been unwittingly earned, it was all water under the bridge now.
?Guess I wasn?t thinking straight.? She conceded. ?I thought it would be easy. That I?d just slip off to sleep and not wake up. But then I started feeling weird, and I got frightened and confused and I was so alone, and I felt so weak and I couldn?t move or cry for help or anything and I? I?? she finally paused for breath, whereupon she immediately broke down in tears again.
?Its okay, Becky-Lou. I?m here now, honey. It?s all over now. It?s gonna be okay. You?ll be fine. I?m gonna take care of you.?
?Promise?? she looked up at him with huge shiny bright tear filled eyes. ?Promise you?ll always take care of me.?
?I?ll be here for you as long as you need me.? As Sam said the words, he had the strangest feeling he?d told another girl the same thing. For some reason, the thought gave him a chill, and he shuddered. He hated making promises he was not sure he would be around to keep, and was even less sure those he?d replaced would honor. He tried to avoid making rash promises whenever possible, especially far-reaching ones, but whenever he was cornered into one, he tended to make it as ambiguous as possible. Sam Beckett did not believe in making and breaking promises lightly, as many men did. To him, they were a sacred duty. ?Don?t say it if you don?t mean it? his parents taught him, and it was a lesson he took to heart.

?Bobby-Joe?? she looked at him questioningly as he tucked her into bed sometime later, having made sure she had eaten a proper meal, and was completely stabilized.
?What is it, honey??
?You saved my life, didn?t you?? After a brief bout of lingering petulance, he had been forgiven his earlier transgressions, and was once more her hero.
?I suppose I did.?
?Was I very close to dying??
 
High Hopes Chapter 5 cont

?Don?t worry your pretty little head. It doesn?t matter now.?
?No, tell me. I was, wasn?t I??
?Let?s just say I wouldn?t have wanted to cut it any finer. Why??
?Cos I thought I saw an angel, telling me to hold on, that you would be right with me. Only he was dressed funny - in a loud turquoise suit. Do guardian angels dress funny??
?You bet they do, honey - almost always.? Sam laughed and shot his friend a beaming smile. Al looked uncomfortable, then offended.
?What d?you mean, funny? There?s nothing wrong with this suit.? He gestured up and down the length of his body.
?It was weird.? Becky-Lou continued. ?When I first saw you in there, just for a few moments, you were different, older - like I was seeing you years in the future. As if I?d died and you?d gone on without me.?
?How could I go on without you, honey?? It was Sam?s turn to look uncomfortable, and he tried to steer the conversation away from her disturbing revelation.
She smiled at his declaration, appeased.
?You really should get some sleep now, honey.? He leaned over and kissed her forehead. ?Tomorrow, it?ll all seem like a bad dream.?
?Who are you calling a bad dream!? snorted Al, indignantly.
Sam let a slight jerk of his head tell Al that they would talk in a minute, in private.
?G?night, B-J. I love you.? She reached out and held his hand, as if to stop him leaving.
?Good night, Becky, love you.? He returned, easing his hand free and blowing her a kiss. ?You sleep well, now, you hear??
?Mm-hmm? she snuggled down, weary from the day?s dramas, and was asleep by the time they had retreated through the dorm door, leaving Tammy to watch over her.

?She saw us, Sam!? blurted Al, when they were alone once more. ?She saw both of us,? he moved his hand to indicate first himself, then Sam, and then himself again, ?as us!? he began pacing nervously, fingers subconsciously playing on the keys of the hand link.
?Would you calm down?? Sam replied evenly.
?But?but??
?But nothing, Al. I admit I was a bit shocked too at first. But she said it was just for a few moments, and she obviously couldn?t see or hear you just now.? Sam was reasoning it out to himself as he spoke. ?She said it herself, she was dying. Uh, isn?t it true that people on the point of death have seen us before?? He frowned, trying to tie down the specifics of that vague recollection.
Al did remember, all too clearly: Maggie looking up at him, recognizing the prisoner she had just photographed, only older. He was troubled by the memory, and had no wish to trouble Sam with it. Sometimes, a memory like Swiss cheese could be a blessing in disguise.
?Yeah, right.? Though still inwardly rattled, both by Becky-Lou and by thoughts of Maggie, Al shrugged his shoulders and pretended to be up beat again.
After Sam?s earlier bout of despondency, the last thing he needed was to feel anew the guilt of Maggie?s death, and Al?s own extended incarceration. Sam the super genius was good at many, many things - not least of which was beating himself up over things he could not help.
Al cast around for a way to change the subject.
?Wish it had been that Tammy seeing me, she?s a bit of alright?? when in doubt, resort to sexual innuendo. He?d lost track of the times it had succeeded in distracting Sam, even if it did usually earn him a disapproving look or a lecture on morality.
?Al!? Sam responded predictably.
Al smiled, accepting the rebuke with raised hands in a gesture of surrender.
 
High Hopes Chapter 6

Chapter Six​

Patti was initially irritated that the newsflash had taken her sister's triumphant performance off the air. She was so close to winning, and it was frustrating that the show had been pushed aside.
As they watched, however, all thoughts of their previous trivial amusement disappeared. They sat, spellbound, as the tragedy unfolded before them:

".initial, unconfirmed reports claim 20 dead, over 130 injured here at City Place Station in downtown Dallas, Texas"" The reporter was saying for the umpteenth time.
"potentially many, many more"

The reporter was one of many standing at the ground level entrance to the station, their smart clothes tarnished with the dust from the debris, their microphones displaying a whole alphabet of News channels.

" including a party of disabled children"

"My God, how awful!" commented Brenda, her hand flying to her mouth, as they looked at the casualties being taken out of the rubble and into the waiting ambulances.
Rusty was squeezing Patti's hand reassuringly, noticing an empathic tear forming in her eye. It was a truly harrowing scene, but they were mesmerized, unable to turn away.

".coming to you live from City Place Station, where the latest information just in, tell us that the extremist faction calling themselves the Fifth Reich are claiming responsibility for the catastrophic events here today"

"How can anybody boast about causing so much death and destruction?" asked Lucille incredulously, of nobody in particular.

"allege to have placed a bomb just inside the north tunnel, which was triggered by the incoming train"

"Surely station security would have seen them in a restricted area?" Rusty gave his professional opinion, as he was wont to do. The ladies just shrugged, they didn't think of such things, assuming that there must be ways around security - after all, there always were in the movies.
By this time, all those who were still in the cafeteria had gathered around the quartet, crowding round to see what was going on.
Nobody bothered calling the Admiral back, of course. None of them linked the woman on the stretcher with their employer - there was no reason why they should. So they didn't see the need, or the desirability, to call his attention to the disaster, especially given the mood he'd been in.
 
High Hopes Chapter 6 cont

?? numbers showing on your screen now, if you suspect a relative could be involved in this tragedy??

A crisis centre had been set up, and volunteers were manning phones, taking details from concerned friends and frantic relatives.
As the live coverage continued, it was becoming apparent that a great many more people were trapped in the rubble, where the tri-level station had collapsed in upon itself. The terrorists had obviously chosen their location for maximum destructive impact, and they were surely not disappointed in their results.

?Not since 9/11 has there been such a tragedy on our shores??

The assembled viewers began the inevitable debate on terrorism, and how to counter it ? most of the men taking the macho stance, and spouting on patriotism and threats of retribution, most of the women more interested in the humanistic side, concerned with the immediate victims, and with their own feelings of insecurity in the face of such a daring strike in the heart of their homeland.
Rusty tried to reassure them by pointing out that they, at least, were probably in one of the safest places in the country ? not least because he personally was responsible to no small degree for their security. Patti hugged him tight at that and kissed him and called him her own private bodyguard, which raised a few nervous giggles from the other women. Each was trying to cope in his or her own way with the horror of what they were witnessing.

Library footage was being shown of the station?s grand opening, just less than eight years before. The glass ?inclinators? (inclined elevators), which were such a showpiece when they were installed, were now no more than a mass of twisted metal and broken glass. The 138-foot escalator, boasted as the longest west of the Mississippi, did not seem like so splendid a feature now that it stood between the victims and their would-be rescuers. And that only took them as far as the mid-level ticketing area. There was still the lower level to negotiate.

One enterprising reporter had managed to get close to a conference that was taking place in a sheltered corner to the side of the entrance. The rescue coordinator was pouring over maps and diagrams with a representative of S A Healy of McCook, Illinois: the company who had originally excavated the tunnels. He was explaining the geological composition of the area, which was principally 80 million-year-old Austin chalk, and the best equipment to use in order to penetrate through to those trapped.
The announcer was relaying the information he overheard to the listening millions, who were hanging on every word coming from the scene, no matter how banal.
Though none of those watching at Project Quantum Leap were the ghoulish type, they could not deny that it was compulsive viewing. They were not enjoying it, not on any level, but they had to watch and listen, and soak up every detail. It was only human nature.
 
High Hopes Chapter 6 cont

Some news bulletins, you could shut out as background noise as you chatted about your day at work over the evening meal. It may be dreadful, tragic, earth shattering to those involved, but it didn?t really involve or affect the majority of those watching. Sad to say, a whole generation had grown up so used to seeing these things on the news every day, that if not hardened, then they were certainly desensitized to a great deal of what they saw. Something of this magnitude, however, put normal life on hold, across the country ? across the world. It touched each and every viewer in a deep and personal way, whether or not they knew anyone actually at the site.

??it now seems likely that the disabled group may have been the primary targets for the faction??

The reporter put his hand to his ear, reseating his earpiece as he listened to the feed from his anchorman.
He passed on details, already known by most who followed world events, of the Fifth Reich?s manifesto of anti-Semitism, and reminded viewers at length of earlier atrocities committed in their name against Jewish communities in Atlanta, Boise and Cleveland over the past year. Once again, library footage was used to show the other events ? currently the bomb in the synagogue at Boise. Whilst all three attacks had been major news events, and the death toll significant, none had been on the scale of this new bombing in Dallas.
?Oh dear God, they?re working their way all over the country alphabetically!? observed Brenda, sparking a new debate ? where would they strike next? Why had the authorities not made this same connection, or if they had, why had the media not covered it?
?To avoid panic, presumably,? reasoned Rusty. ?Though if we can work it out, so can anybody else. They can?t keep a lid on it forever.?

??holiday arranged by the Jewish Women?s International organization (formerly known as B?nai B?rith Women) for a group of thirty-two disabled Jewish children aged between six and sixteen??

At the back of the group, a late arrival to the cafeteria stiffened at the mention of this organization, and shook his head sadly. No, it couldn?t be her. Not in Dallas. Could it?

?The cowardly bastards! Targeting little children. How low can they go?? Lucille was flushed with righteous indignation. She squirmed in her seat, as if itching to find the culprits and give them a piece of her mind. Several others concurred with her assessment.
It was all very well to have strong political beliefs, and to fight for them, but this was something else. This was bigotry aspiring to genocide and terrorism of the worst sort. The Fifth Reich had not one single supporter in that cafeteria hidden beneath the New Mexican desert.

On the screen they could see that more victims were being carried out of the rubble, all grey, dust-covered, with blood red highlights, some in obvious pain, some beyond all further hurt, and shrouded in once white sheets.

??death toll now stands at twenty-seven, including at least five of the disabled children from the Jewish group, and one of the four adults accompanying them??

This moved everyone listening, but against all odds, in addition to Al, one other in particular of those assembled would ultimately be profoundly affected on a very personal level in a way he was only just beginning to suspect.

More rescue workers were arriving all the time; from further and further afield as news spread of the people trapped ten stories below ground. Brave men and women who didn?t hesitate to walk into the jaws of death to bring out the dead and the dying, in the hopes that some, however few, could be saved.

The reluctant voyeurs sat awestruck, in eerie silence, as the tragedy continued to unfold before their horrified eyes; though each time a survivor emerged, there was a collective sigh of relief, or a muted cheer. After a little while, it was not merely those who were romantically entangled who clung to those closest to them ? almost everyone was seeking comfort from the nearest hand. Everyone but the lone figure at the rear of the group, that is, who looked on in solitary dread.