VIRTUAL SEASONS EPISODES |
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Chapter
Ten
Thursday,
May 23, 1985
“I’m
sorry I’m late,” Sam apologized when Al opened the door for him.
“I was on the phone with Donna.” “Ahhh,”
Al said, merriness lighting up his eyes.
“And how is she?”
Sam
walked in and settled down in his usual spot--a folding chair next to
Al’s desk. He set
down the folders he’d been carrying and leaned back in the chair.
“Finally
settling in, I think. She
sounded cheerier than she did the last time we talked.”
“Three
days made that much of a difference, huh?” teased Al as he sat down at
the desk as well.
Sam
laughed. “It was great to
hear her voice again.”
Long-distance
relationships--they were full of excitement and joy and full of heartbreak
at the same time. Al thought
back to the separate TDY assignments when he and Beth were newlyweds.
How much importance four-minute phone calls suddenly received.
How much more precious the kisses were when they were reunited. He’d been convinced their love could survive any separation
as smoothly as it had apparently handled those brief ones.
He’d been wrong.
Al
pushed away the encroaching despair.
Things would work out for Sam and Donna. He forced a smile to his face and listened as Sam went into
more of their conversation.
“She
asked how things were going here. Asked
about you and Shari.”
“Me?
Why would she be asking about me?
I hardly knew her.”
Sam
shrugged. “Well, she knows
how important you are to me, and to Shari.”
Waving
off the comment even as it touched him to the point he had to clear his
throat, Al asked Sam if he’d come here to work or to moon over Donna.
Grinning, Sam opened the top folder and showed Al the schematics
for his latest conception of the acceleration chamber.
Al
scrutinized the sketches, mentally reconfiguring some of the dimensions.
He asked Sam for permission to add to the drawing.
When Sam nodded, Al took a red pencil to the picture, altering the
basic form with subtle changes.
Propping
his cheek on his fist, Sam studied the alterations.
“So
we need to allow a few more feet right there?” he asked, pointing to
where Al had scrawled the word “expand.”
“Only
if you expect the machinery to have a chance of working and being
maintained. Otherwise, if a
gear sticks or a chip needs to be replaced, you’ll have a devil of a
time getting in there to fix it.”
Sam
nodded, “Good point.”
“I’ve
got a couple more,” Al said, using the red pencil as a pointer to go
over some of the notes Sam had made on the schematic, challenging them on
the basis of engineering principles and practical application. Sam succeeded in convincing Al that some of them would work
as they were, but he agreed to literally go back to the drawing board for
the others.
They
continued theorizing, debating, explaining, and sometimes outright arguing
over the plans until Sam’s watch beeped an alarm.
After their first Thursday night meeting, they’d learned to have
a signal prepared before it got too late.
It had been nearly three in the morning before either of them had
thought to check a clock last time.
Sam
gathered the folders together. “Thanks
for the suggestions, Al.”
Al
raised his hand to stop his friend. “Sam,
leave the file with the general theories in it, would you?
I’d like to look over it a little more.”
“Sure.”
Sam passed the folder to Al. “Getting
an idea about it?”
“Maybe.”
Al smiled at his friend as he walked him to the door.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah.
Oh, Shari wanted me to make sure you’d meet us for lunch.”
Sam turned in the doorway.
“I’ll
see what I can do. We’re
supposed to be meeting with one of the Committee liaisons tomorrow. I think it’s Gupta’s month.”
“Okay,”
Sam nodded. He walked into
the hallway and waved. “See
ya.”
Al
closed the door behind his friend and stretched. Rather than changing for bed, he walked to his desk and took
a seat. He opened the folder
Sam had left and skimmed its contents, refreshing himself with the basic
guidelines and principles set forth.
He
pulled open his top desk drawer and withdrew a sheaf of stationery.
Al smoothed one sheet out on his desk and then reached for a pen.
Knowing he would have to retype whatever he wrote, Al scrawled a
prospectus for Sam’s theories in his barely legible handwriting, pulling
explanations directly from the file as needed.
He
had a list of officials and scientists in his office, but he was
interested in the opinion of only one.
Sam had convinced him of the ability to get this idea off the
ground. Now he wanted to do
his part to help make it a reality. In
the morning, he’d type the letter and send it off.
Whatever
response he got would let him know what kind of chance they stood. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Saturday,
June 15, 1985
“Tim,
I’m really not comfortable with this whole idea,” Al complained.
He
and Tim were standing in the foyer of the church, yards away from the
fellowship hall and the other members of the AA group.
“I
know it’s only your seventh meeting, but you’ve been doing great.
The last contributions you made during discussions were really
helpful to the others.”
“That’s
not the same as standing in front of the group.” Al shook his head and waved his hands emphatically.
“I’m not ready for this.”
“But
it’s your two-month anniversary. Two
months--eight weeks--since your last drink, Al. Even those of us who’ve been sober for years can use
encouragement like that.”
“A
double birthday,” Al murmured.
Tim
heard him despite his low pitch. “It’s
your birthday? Even more
reason to let us celebrate your accomplishment!”
“Tim,
no. I can’t.”
“If
Maureen could stand there and admit to the shameful things she did, why
can’t you get up there and talk about your own battles with drinking?
No one is going to judge you for anything you say.
You told part of it to me. Did
I judge you?”
Al
shook his head. “Tim, I was wrong to agree to this last week when you
asked me. I can’t talk
about this with . . . .”
“With
strangers, you’re about to say,” Tim said, folding his arms and
staring at Al with gentle scolding in his eyes.
“Al, try to get past that. We’re
not strangers here. We’re
all alcoholics who are struggling to make it through day by day, helping
each other along the way. Your
story might just be the very thing somebody needs to hear tonight.”
“I
can’t.”
“Eight
weeks ago you thought you couldn’t stop drinking,” argued Tim.
“But you did.”
Al
shook his head and stared at the floor.
“I haven’t even told my best friend some of this stuff.”
‘Best friend?’
He chewed his lip, realizing that Sam did indeed fall into that
category for him.
“Who’s
asking you to confess all? Al,
you don’t have to get into anything you’re not comfortable with.
Just be honest, and be yourself.
Tell them what made you change.”
“That’s
just what I’m not comfortable talking about.
It’s a . . . sensitive subject.”
Al fiddled with his cuffs.
Tim
threw his hands into the air, exasperated.
“Al, what could possibly be so bad that you couldn’t talk about
it? We’ve all been
threatened at work, by spouses. Every
one of us hit bottom at some point. What
makes you think you’re so different?
What makes you think you should have been able to handle things
differently than any of us?”
“Because
I’m a cap . . . because I’m in the military.”
“And
that’s supposed to make you invincible?”
Tim shook his head. “Al,
you’re a human being with weaknesses and faults.
One of those faults happens to be alcoholism. And it happens to be a fault we all share here.
No one’s out there to get you.
I promise you, no matter what you have to say, you won’t get
anything less than complete support from everyone.”
“I’m
not so sure about that,” Al said. He
rubbed the back of his neck. “I
don’t think I can do this.”
“Of
course you can do it. The
question boils down to this. Will
you?” Tim stared Al down,
seeing the indecision flickering in his eyes.
“Ten minutes, Al. That’s
all I’m asking of you.”
Al
chewed his bottom lip.
“I
know you can do it.” Tim
gripped Al’s forearm.
“All
right, damn you,” Al muttered, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I’m letting you talk me into this.”
“Because
you know you need it, and more than that, you know somebody in the group
needs it.” Tim slapped him
on the back. “You’ve got
five minutes before we have to get started.”
“Can
I have a drink?” snorted Al.
Tim
laughed and slapped him on the back again.
“I’ll see you in there in five minutes.”
Al
nodded and started pacing along the length of the shadowy anteroom.
“I must be nuts,” he griped to himself.
He concentrated on his breathing to calm down.
His
five minutes flew past, and reluctantly, he walked to the fellowship hall,
taking a seat in his usual place at the edge of the circle, which had
already assembled. Tim was
running through announcements. Al
tugged at the waist of his vest and adjusted his cuffs, dreading the
moment when Tim would turn things over to him.
“Albert?
Whenever you’re ready.”
Al
nodded and took a deep breath before rising and moving to stand in front
of everyone. Polite applause
greeted him, and too many pairs of eyes watched him.
He looked helplessly at Tim, who nodded encouragingly at him.
Al took another deep breath.
“My
name is Albert, and I’m . . . an alcoholic.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“How
did you get the door unlocked?” Shari whispered to Sam.
“Bribed
the janitor,” he answered.
The
two of them were standing by the desk in Al’s completely dark room, a
cake with three candles waiting for the proper moment to be lit on the
desk in front of them. Sam
checked his glow-in-the-dark watch. Al
was due back from his meeting soon.
“It
shouldn’t be long now,” he told Shari.
She
giggled quietly. “Do you
think he’ll be surprised?”
“He’ll
be surprised all right. The
question is whether or not he kills us afterward,” Sam grinned. Their eyes had adjusted to the dark enough that Shari saw the
grin and returned it.
“Shhh,”
Sam said, as he heard footsteps approaching, halting in front of the door.
While keys rattled in the lock, he lit the three candles on the
cake. The door swung open and
Al stepped inside. Before he
could reach for the light switch, Shari and Sam stepped forward with the
cake in their hands, launching into “Happy Birthday to You.”
“What
is this?”
“Make
a wish!” Shari exclaimed.
Al
obediently closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before blowing out the
candles. The small spot of
light faded to black and the light from the hallway provided the only
illumination in the room. Sam
passed the cake to Shari and turned on the lights before closing the door.
“Happy
Birthday, Al,” he said.
“How
did you find out?” Al asked, shaking his head.
“And how did you get in here?
I know I locked the door.” He
craned his head to study the doorknob.
“You
did lock the door,” Sam assured him.
“I got in through rather nefarious ways.”
“Nefarious?
You?” Al started
laughing.
“You’d
be surprised just how sneaky he can be,” Shari answered, taking the cake
back to the desk to cut it.
“You
two didn’t answer my question,” Al said as he followed her to the rear
of the room. “How did you
know today was my birthday?”
Shari
blushed as she attacked the cake. “Um,
that was my sneakiness. I had
to deliver something to the administrative offices yesterday, and I saw it
marked on Ms. Wilkes’ calendar.”
“Then
she clued me in and we decided to surprise you,” Sam added.
Al
smiled and sat down on the edge of his bed.
“Yeah, Annalise has the birthdays for the entire staff marked on
her calendar. Sends everyone
a card, too.”
Shari
passed Al a fork and a slice of cake on a paper plate.
“Have you had a good birthday so far?”
“This
is the best part of it,” he smiled.
He ate a forkful of cake and “mmm”-ed appropriately. “Did you guys make this?”
“Shari
did,” Sam answered, biting into his own piece of cake.
“You
did a great job, honey,” Al complimented her.
She colored with pride. He
gestured at the cake with his fork. “Why
only three candles?”
“We,
uh, we weren’t sure exactly how old you are today,” she answered.
“The three candles are for your past, your present, and your
future.”
“A
string theory cake,” Al said, winking at Sam, who laughed heartily.
Shari
was lost. “String
theory?”
“I’ll
explain it to you later,” Sam told her.
She
shrugged it off and set her plate aside.
“When you’re finished with your cake, we have something for
you,” she said impishly to Al.
He
responded just as impishly, a devilish twinkle in his eye.
“Something to unwrap, maybe?”
He eyed Shari and winked.
“You
know, it wouldn’t be that hard for me to shove you in there and stick
you under a cold shower,” she shot back, thumbing in the direction of
the bathroom behind her.
Al
raised his hands in surrender. He
ate the last bite of cake and set his empty plate on the desk.
“I
cleaned my plate, ma’am.”
“Very
good.” Shari lifted a
small, gift wrapped package from its hiding place on the floor behind the
desk and handed it to him.
“What
is it?” he asked as he loosened the ribbon.
“Open
it and see.”
Al
slowly tore the overlapping paper apart and slid out a little burgundy
gift box. He lifted the lid
and revealed a small golden disk on a keychain.
The
words engraved on the disk read: June
15, 1985, Eight weeks.
Al
dropped the box in his lap and set the small circle in his palm.
He didn’t say anything, just stared at it.
“I-I
had that made earlier,” Shari stammered, nervousness overcoming her due
to his silence, “b-before I knew today was also your birthday.
Did I do something wrong?”
“No,
no, honey, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Al quickly said.
He raised his head and smiled at her.
“Thank you.”
Shari
came over and gave him a hug. “I’m
so proud of you,” she whispered in his ear as they embraced.
Al
replaced the gift in the box when they broke apart, quietly clearing his
throat.
“I
have something for you, too,” Sam said, pulling a larger box from the
same hiding place.
“You
guys shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble over me,” Al said as he
carefully tore open Sam’s gift. He
froze when he lifted the lid.
An
intricate model of an A-4 rested within the tissue paper.
“How
did you--? Where did you find
this?” Al asked, gingerly lifting the plane and running a finger along
the length of it.
“I
noticed that was one of the models that . . . was lost from your office.
So I found you a replacement,” Sam answered.
“Thank
you.” Al set the plane on
his desk. “Thank you
both.”
Shari
gathered up the trash and set about cleaning everything up.
When Al started to help, she pushed him back down to his seat on
the bed. “You just sit back
and relax, Birthday Boy. We
can take care of this, right, Beckett?”
Chuckling,
Al did as she demanded. When
the two of them finished cleaning everything up, they settled into the
chairs around Al’s desk.
“Thanks
for the surprise,” Al said. He
took hold of Shari’s hand and squeezed it, then reached across to pat
Sam on the shoulder. “It
means a lot to me.” He
sighed. ‘Damn
AA meeting’s got me all sentimental.’
Sam
carefully watched Al’s expression as they sat there, feeling that
something was bothering him. A
slight crease in his brow, a shadow in the midst of the brightness filling
his eyes, these were but a couple of the small hints that things were not
all well in Al’s world. He
wasn’t going to bring anything up while Shari was around, though.
No matter how much she cared about Al, no matter how much Al might
care in return, Shari wouldn’t be welcomed in a deep, emotional
conversation. Sam himself was
barely welcome.
“I
still can’t believe we pulled it off,” Shari was saying.
“I almost told you Happy Birthday twice today when I saw you.”
“I
wouldn’t have seen this coming, anyway,” Al responded, smiling at her.
Shari
glanced over Al’s shoulder at his alarm clock and gasped.
“Oh my! It’s
getting late. I’ve got
early morning Mass.” She
jumped to her feet and bent to embrace Al.
“Happy Birthday, Al,” she said, kissing him square on the lips.
Al’s
eyes widened in surprise for a split-second, then he responded, kissing
back gently and tenderly. “Wow,
my wish came true,” he teased when they broke apart, rising to walk
Shari to the door. “Thank
you again, sweetheart.”
“You’re
welcome,” she said, wishing him and Sam goodnight.
“You
two are something else,” Al said when she was gone.
“Who
me?” Sam asked, innocently. “Happy
Birthday.”
“Yeah,
yeah,” he answered, waving his hand in the air. “Want some more cake?”
“Sure.”
Sam waited until Al served them each another piece before treading
into dangerous territory. “How was your meeting tonight?”
Al
sighed. He picked up
Shari’s gift and lifted the lid again, tilting the box so the light
glinted off the keychain. “I
couldn’t get out of having to talk.”
“And?”
He
shrugged. “I’ve been
through worse.” He closed
the gift box again and faced Sam. “Tim
talked me into it,” he said by way of explanation.
Sam
leaned forward. “That
couldn’t have been easy for you.”
“It
wasn’t,” agreed Al. “I’d
rather face a firing squad than do something like that again.”
“Did
someone give you a hard time?” gasped Sam.
“No.
Everyone was very supportive, actually.
Tim told me they would be.”
He sighed. “I dunno,
maybe that’s part of what made it so hard.”
Sam
just nodded.
“I
don’t like opening up to people, you know?”
‘Believe
me, Al, I know,’
thought Sam. He kept his
silence, though.
“A
couple of people thanked me for talking at the end. They said it helped them.”
“I’m
sure it did.”
Al
shrugged. “I guess so.”
He opened the gift box once more, removing the keychain this time.
“Eight weeks.” He
threaded the fob onto his keys.
“I
knew you could do it.”
“You
had more faith in me than I did, then,” Al muttered, dropping his keys
on the desk. He shook his
head. “They’re just
waiting for me to slip up again.”
“The
Committee?” Sam touched his
friend’s arm. Al shivered
at the contact and pulled away as he nodded.
“But, Al, you’re not going to.
This is the first milestone in a series of milestones.
One day we’ll be celebrating eight years
of sobriety.”
“God,
I hope you’re right. Because
sometimes I’m not so sure I’m going to make it.”
Al rubbed his forehead and forced a smile to his face.
“Geez, listen to me. This
is supposed to be a party!”
Sam
wasn’t going to let the subject slide that easily.
“What
aren’t you telling me?”
“About
what?”
“Something’s
bothering you, and it’s more than just having to speak at the meeting
tonight.”
“I
don’t know what you’re talking about,” evaded Al.
“Does
it have anything to do with the rumors?”
“Which
rumors would those be?” Al asked. “And
since when did you ever know which rumors were going around, anyway?”
“Even
I can’t miss these,” said Sam, dropping his plate into the trash can.
“There are rumors floating around that things aren’t going well
for Starbright.”
Al
swore under his breath. “Rachelle,”
he muttered.
“You
do know something.”
“Nothing
concrete. And nothing I can
share with you right now, Sam.”
“What
can you tell me?”
“I
can tell you that the administrative secretary has a big mouth,” snapped
Al. “Just try not to pay
any attention to the rumors. Don’t
concern yourself about it.”
Sam
frowned. “While you stress
out over it? Something’s
going on, isn’t it?”
“I
can handle it, Sam.”
“You
just worried that you couldn’t,” he argued.
“Dammit,
Sam, just drop it for now. Please,
just drop it.” Al stood up
and started wiping invisible crumbs from the desktop.
“Okay,”
Sam whispered, subdued. “I’m
sorry.”
Al
stiffened. “No, I’m sorry, Sam. It’s
just . . . I can’t talk about it with you right now.
Everything that’s going on is very hush-hush, and I could get in
a heap of trouble for even hinting at any of it with you.” He laughed. “Well,
maybe now Bob’ll have a reason to do something about Rachelle and her
big yap.”
Sam
smiled half-heartedly.
“Thanks
again for the party.”
Sam
took that as his sign to leave. He
rose and quickly hugged his friend. Al,
momentarily stunned, returned the hug, paternally slapping Sam’s back.
“Happy
Birthday, Al.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Monday,
July 1, 1985
“It’s
official, folks,” announced Bob Jansen.
He, Al, Annalise, and Walter were meeting in a small conference
room in the administration wing.
“How
long?” Walter asked.
“Six
months. We’re to be shut
down by New Year’s.”
Al
clenched a fist under the table. “What
reason did they give?”
“We’re
too far behind schedule and Congress refuses to grant any more of the
taxpayer’s money to support a ‘failed endeavor,’” Bob replied,
quoting from the Committee letter.
“And
the Committee just let this happen? They
didn’t stand up for us? Why
didn’t they have us testify?”
“Al,
these things happen. We’ll
all be compensated.”
Al’s
eyes blazed. “You think
it’s the money I care about? What
about what we’ve been trying to do here?
All of a sudden that doesn’t matter anymore, huh?”
Annalise
touched his arm. “Al, we
knew this was coming.”
He
refused to accept that. “We
should’ve gone to Washington, instead of leaving everything to the
Committee. Nothing was
written in stone. It was just
rumblings.”
“Until
now,” Bob cut in. “There’s
no point in hashing over would’ve-could’ve-should’ves.
The fact of the matter is Starbright is a doomed project with six
months to live.”
“If
we get back on schedule in those six months, what are the chances
they’ll change their mind?” Al persisted.
Bob
shook his head. “Not a
snowball’s chance in hell. Any
progress we make will just go into the annals of history, be made
available to subsequent projects, but it won’t revive the funding.”
He gave them all some time to absorb that. “We’ve got to make an announcement to the staff by the
end of the week to allow them time to make arrangements for January.
The government’s authorized generous severance packages, so no
one should have to worry about anything until this time next year.”
“With
the quality of people we have, I don’t imagine too many of them will
have worries,” commented Walter. Annalise
nodded her accord.
“Precisely,”
Bob agreed. “Everyone
should be able to find placements with universities or industry.
Who knows, another project may be right on the heels of this one.
The word’ll spread and I’m sure our scientists will be snatched
up very quickly.”
“What
about the next six months? What
are our plans?” asked Al.
“We’ll
be on borrowed time, Al. Those
who find placements before January will be free to leave at any time, of
course. And other than that,
we’ll just wind things down,” said Bob.
“Winding
things down? Not trying to
step things up and solve some of the problems we’ve encountered?”
“We’re
not going to have much time to try new things.
We’ll be stretched too thin.”
Al
wasn’t backing down. “What
about the improvements Sam Beckett got approval for?
They’ve already started the installations. You’re saying they’ll just have to shut down and finalize
their reports?”
“They’ll
have to do the best they can with what they have right now.
I can’t authorize any further improvements if we’re going to be
closing.”
“Bull.
You don’t want to authorize them. Because
you don’t want to use up any more of your attention on Starbright.
You’re already looking ahead to your next project, aren’t
you?”
Annalise
and Walter turned their heads back and forth from Al to Bob, as the
argument was volleyed from one to the other.
Bob’s
nostrils flared. “Are you
questioning my devotion to Starbright?”
Al
leaned forward almost menacingly. “That’s
exactly what I’m doing. So
we only have six months. I
have more faith in our scientists than to give up on ‘em just because of
that. Give ‘em a deadline
and they’ll meet it. So
what if this is the last big hurrah for them?
I’m willing to bet if you ask a handful of them, they’d rather
go out in the proverbial blaze of glory than spend their last six months
working up reports and pricing the equipment for resale!”
“You’re
overstepping the line, Captain.”
“No,
sir,” Al spat the words out,
“I’m not. I say we keep
working until we absolutely have to stop.
Otherwise, we really are wasting the taxpayer’s money.”
His eyes narrowed as he regarded the director.
“Why are you so opposed to the idea?”
“You
have no idea how much red tape’s involved in winding this down,” Bob
said, avoiding the question entirely.
“It’ll
still be there whether we move forward or not.
Why not try to have something to show for our efforts at the
end?” Al turned to Annalise
and Walter. “You two
haven’t said anything. What
do you think we should do?”
Bob
faced them as well, waiting expectantly for their answers.
Annalise’s
face took on an expression not unlike that of a panicked rabbit staring at
the business end of a rifle. She
swallowed before speaking. “I
agree with Al. I don’t see
any reason not to continue working to get on schedule.
At the very least, some other project might gain something from
what we’ve learned. To me,
that alone is worth the cost of proceeding.”
Al
chuffed in pleasure at the affirmation. “Walter?”
Walter
shrugged. “There’s
something to be said for both sides.
Obviously we’ll need to wind things down and fill out all the
reports, and,” he grinned at Al despite the gravity of the situation,
“price the equipment for resale, as you put it.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m
sorry, Bob, but I’m with Al, too. There’s
no reason not to keep moving forward at the same time.
Six months is six months. Who
knows what we can accomplish in that time?”
“Eddison
isn’t going to be happy about this,” Bob replied.
Al
pounced as soon as the words left Bob’s mouth.
“That’s what it boils down to, isn’t it? He wants us to stop
working. Why?”
“I’m
not at liberty to say.”
Walter
joined the attack. “Bob,
that’s a load of crap. Level
with us. What’s going
on?”
Bob
sighed. “Eddison’s got a
new pet project in the works.”
“And
he wants you to be in charge of it,” Al concluded.
Bob
nodded. “The government
won’t allow us to preside over two projects at once because of a
conflict of interests, and since Starbright hasn’t been producing . .
.” he trailed off.
“You
sold us out,” Annalise gasped. “You
sold us out for your own career.”
“No,
I didn’t. I swear I
didn’t. We all know things
weren’t keeping on schedule and there were too many bugs.
We were due to be shut down anyway.
If anything, Eddison only upped the timeframe by three months.”
“He’s
right,” Al reluctantly admitted. Walter
and Annalise whirled on him in shock.
“We haven’t been making enough headway.
But,” he rose in his chair and gestured emphatically at Bob,
“we’re not going to roll on our backs and die.
You can tell Eddison I
said that!”
Pale,
Bob nodded.
“We’ve
got a majority decision here to keep moving forward, Mr. Jansen,” Al
snapped. “Do you plan on
trying to overrule us?”
“No,”
Bob said, defeated. “I’ll,
uh, I’ll inform the Committee of our decision.”
“You
do that. We’ll be planning
how to proceed over the next six months.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sam
gaped over his dinner at Al. “The
rumors were true?”
Al
sighed and nodded. “Yes,
I’m sorry to say they were. We’ll
be making an official announcement to the staff Wednesday or Thursday,
once we’ve had a chance to make a plan of action.”
He summed up the general consensus of the meeting.
“Six
months,” mused Sam. “Not
an unreasonable amount of time to work with.”
“I
figured you’d feel that way,” grinned Al.
“But you didn’t hear this from me.”
“Hear
what? I won’t know anything
official until midweek.”
“Thanks.”
Al dragged a fork through his mashed potatoes and chuckled
bitterly. “It’s ironic,
isn’t it?”
“What?”
Al
met his friend’s eyes. “Your
saving my life and my career only to have it taken away anyway.”
“It’s
not being taken away, Al. It’s
just . . . this part of it is coming to an end.”
“What’s
the difference?” He waved
his fork dismissingly.
Sam
would have grabbed hold of Al’s arms if they were anywhere other than
the cafeteria. He pounded on
the table to get his friend’s attention, instead.
It worked. Al jumped,
his fork clattering to the plate, and his eyes bugged out in shock at
Sam’s actions.
“There’s
a big difference,” Sam said firmly.
“You’re not alone this time.
The entire project is facing this together.
And we’re all going to get through it.”
Al
grimaced. “Well, you’ll
certainly have more free time to work on the string theory come
January.”
“I
guess so,” Sam said. He
speared a forkful of green beans and chewed them thoughtfully. “Doesn’t that mean you will, too?”
“I
. . .” Al wasn’t prepared
for Sam’s offer. “I
imagine I’ll have to spend some time in D.C. after this, to make the
Pentagon happy.”
“Uh-huh,”
Sam nodded. “And that keeps
you from working with me, how exactly?”
He
didn’t have an answer for that.
“It
doesn’t,” Sam answered for him. “Unless
I’m assuming too much . . .”
“No.
You’re not,” Al said. He
smiled at his friend. “To
the string theory,” he said, raising his glass of Coke.
“To
our partnership,” Sam countered, raising his own glass and toasting with
his friend. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Thursday,
August 1, 1985
Al
checked his watch again.
“Sam,
where are you?” he asked aloud. Tucking
his hands behind his back, he started an anxious pace.
An
eager rapping at his door halted him.
“It’s
about time,” he muttered, striding to the door and flinging it open.
“Where have you been?”
Sam
flinched. “I was . . .”
“On
the phone with Donna,” Al finished for him.
He shook his head. “Come
in and sit down.”
Eyes
wide, Sam obeyed, making a beeline for his chair as if he feared Al would
strike him.
“I
have a confession to make,” Al said, standing in front of his friend.
Sam
licked his lips, his color fading. The
look in his eyes told Al he thought the captain was about to confess to
falling off the wagon. Al
couldn’t do anything to change the only-natural assumption, so he
continued.
“I
did something behind your back several weeks ago.”
“Oh?”
Sam squeaked the syllable out.
“Yeah,”
Al affirmed. “I wrote a
letter to the chair of the National Science Foundation, outlining the
barest bones of the string theory and some of your ideas about it.
Now, I promise you, Sam, I didn’t go into anything that could
possibly be stolen by anyone. I
just was interested in his response to the concept.”
Sam
was breathless. “And?”
Al
opened his desk drawer and handed him a letter. “He thinks it stands a chance at getting funded.”
“What?”
Sam rapidly absorbed the letter, then read it again a second and
third time.
He
gingerly laid the letter on Al’s desk and smoothed it out as if it were
a piece of fine linen. When
he looked up at his friend, gratitude brightened his entire face and his
eyes glistened.
“Al,
thank you. That’s the best
thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“It
doesn’t even come close to what you did for me,” Al quietly answered,
coughing to disguise a voice that was about to break.
Sam
flattened his hands over the folders that contained his life’s dream.
“It’s going to happen one day, I just know it.
We can do it, Al. Together,
we can make it happen.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Epilogue
Wednesday,
January 1, 1986
The
annual New Year’s Eve party had taken on a melancholy tone that was
absolutely unavoidable given the fact that everyone would be packing up to
leave in the days to follow, gradually leaving Project Starbright yet
another abandoned facility waiting to be reclaimed and remodeled under
someone else’s aegis. Tears
flowed even more freely than the champagne.
Farewell kisses were given and received liberally at midnight,
regardless of whether or not the parties had even known each other or had
a passable relationship previously.
Shari
Washington, quite easily the friendliest person on staff, cried non-stop
the entire evening. Her tears
still poured down her cheeks the next day as she carted boxes to her car,
until her quarters were nothing but bare, expressionless cinder block and
the standard-issue furniture. She’d
made a special stop by Sam’s quarters to say goodbye and exchange
contact information. She did
the same at Al’s before leaving. Her
vision obscured by tears, Shari gave Project Starbright one last look
before getting into her car and driving off.
The
parking lot continually and steadily emptied as the day wore on.
Sam finished boxing up his belongings and stacked them in the
lobby, each marked for mailing to Hawaii, where he’d spend some time
visiting with his sister, brother-in-law, and mother before moving on to
UCLA to spend a brief period teaching physics. The shuttle wouldn’t pick him up for another thirty
minutes. He had plenty of
time to say goodbye to Al.
Sam
walked toward his friend’s quarters.
He’d put this off all day. ‘Buck
up, Sam, it’s not like you’ll never see him again.’
Al had agreed to come out to Hawaii for a couple of weeks
before moving on to the Pentagon for the assignment he’d accurately
predicted he’d get.
Pausing
before the door, Sam took a deep breath and knocked.
“Come
in,” came the gravelly voice, sounding distracted.
Sam
turned the knob and walked in. Al’s
back was to him as he loaded a stack of books into a cardboard box and
strapped it shut with packing tape.
“Hi,
Al.”
Al
craned his head to peek under his arm at Sam.
“Hi, Sam. Have a
seat . . . if you can find one.” Nearly
every available surface was strewn with items needing to be packed, or
cardboard boxes already filled to capacity.
“I
came to say goodbye,” Sam said, fighting down a lump of sorrow.
Al
rested his elbow on the box as he faced his friend. “When does your flight leave?”
“A
couple of hours. When are you
leaving?”
Al
gestured around the room. “At
the rate I’m packing? Next
month.” He chuckled. “We’ve got a couple of final meetings before we can
leave. I should be outta here
by Friday.”
“Did
you call Tim?”
“Yes,
mother,” Al grinned and sighed. “I
may as well finish out the year’s worth, even though it’s not exactly
required anymore. He’s
gonna keep in touch and recommend a group I can meet with in D.C.”
He spread his arms wide. “Between
the two of you, what was I gonna do?
It’s only a few more months.”
Sam
smirked at his friend. “When
should we expect you in Hawaii?”
“Late
next week. I’ve got to get
settled in Washington first.”
“Okay.”
Sam sighed. “Opposite
coasts. Not the most ideal
working situation.”
“Trust
me, you’ll be making many a trip to Washington while we try to get the
time travel project off the ground. And
at least you’ll be closer to Donna,” Al pointed out.
“That’s
true. She can’t get away to
come to Hawaii, but we’ll get together in California when I get back.”
“I
expect to hear all about it.”
“You
may regret you said that afterwards,” Sam teased.
“I
wasn’t making a request, I was stating the obvious,” Al tossed back.
Sam
laughed, then glanced at his watch and sobered.
“I
have to go, Al.”
“I’ll
see you next week, kiddo,” Al said, smiling at Sam and giving half a
wave.
“Next
week,” Sam nodded. He
turned to go, and stopped. “Al
. . .”
He
crossed the room and grabbed the older man in a tight bear hug.
Al returned it fiercely. Both
blinked away tears they were too embarrassed to let drop and cleared their
throats when they pulled apart.
“Thanks
for everything, Sam. I’m .
. . glad I met you.”
“Me,
too,” Sam said, not trusting his voice to say more. He pursed his lips. “I
hate goodbyes.”
“It’s
not a goodbye, not really,” Al said, his own voice getting husky.
“Til
next week, then,” Sam said. He
waved and walked out of the room before he embarrassed them both by
grabbing Al in a hug again.
Tears
finally glistened on his lashes when he reached the lobby again.
He scrubbed them away as he joined the other scientists taking the
shuttle to the airport. Sam
glanced back at the facility, and thought he saw Al watching the parking
lot from his window, but just then the sun came out from behind a cloud
and glinted off the glass, blocking his view.
He wasn’t even sure if that had been Al’s window he was looking
at.
Sam
filed onto the shuttle with the others and, as they drove off, watched as
Project Starbright faded into the horizon, into the past. He turned in his seat to face the front and the future that awaited him.
The End... |