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Prologue
The
scent of the salt air was unmistakable. Even growing up far from the
ocean it only takes one visit to log that aroma into your memory under
unmistakable odors. The water, the salt, the fishy smell inundated the
breeze passing Sam as he leaned against the polished railing of the
promenade desk of an ocean liner. The well-worn deck creaked beneath
him as the full moon shown down. The ship rocked back and forth as it
cut a channel through the dark ocean water. No other souls lingered
around him. The cool early morning breeze was his only companion.
“Not
a bad start to another leap,” thought the time traveling Nobel Prize
wining laureate. He leaned further over and saw the ship’s wake
pushing aside the water below him.
“Whoosh!”
came another familiar sound disturbing Sam’s contemplative mood.
“Not a bad spot. Nothing like the sea air, though I would prefer it
with a little more grease in it like on the Hornet. Evening,
Sam!” said Al Calavicci dressed in his best fluorescent orange suit
and hat.
“Good
morning, Al!” said Sam quite peacefully. “So what’s new with
you, Al?”
“Me?
Well, Beth is in Boston for a medical convention, my granddaughter
Helen is starting to walk. Same old, same old. As for you let’s
see!” Al exclaimed picking up his multi-colored multi-functional
communicating device. “The date is July 23, 1956 and you are Andrew
Drummond, no make that Andrea Duncan. That can’t be right. Female
you aren’t this time! Something I would recognize immediately!
HMMM!” he said getting impatient. “Ziggy, this thing is spitting
out gibberish!” Al said giving it a good whack and then hitting it a
second time just to be sure. “There, that does it. All it takes
it’s is a few delicate adjustments. No wonder it didn’t look
right. That’s WHERE you are, not WHO you are! Your name is Stanley
Freeman, a twenty-four old drifter from East Texas.
…And you’re standing on the Andrea Doria! The what?
And it’s July 23, 1956? And that mean’s…. Sam! OH BOY!”
Finding
myself bouncing so much between one time and another my memory of
historical events has become quite scrambled. I have developed a
second sight as to on-coming disasters, but the peacefulness of the
ocean scene before me did not give me one clue of why Al had gotten so
flustered. And I needed to know…
“Al,
what’s wrong?” asked Sam as Al busily played his hand link
punching up data in a machine gun fashion.
“Yes!
No. No! Oh, no! NO! NO! NO! This time must Ziggy be totally wrong.
Please God! Sam, you may not remember, but this is a fairly famous
place and time in nautical history. Sam do you remember the Titanic?”
asked Al still busily pumping away at his favorite little tantrum
pacifier.
Sam
thought for a moment, but very little came. “A little before my
time? Right?”
“Roger that! Like the Titanic, this one and it’s also going
down. In forty-eight hours to my count. Right straight to Davy
Jones’ locker,” replied Al pointing to the deck and beyond. “And
there is still rests in the mud off of Nantucket Island.”
“And
I’m here to save the ship?” asked Sam giving the puzzled look he
usually gets early in his leap
“Doubtful.
You have a very poor record on trying to change big events in history.
Historical events are meant for a reason whether that reason can be
fathomed or not. Lord knows WHY these people have to die! With all the
people on this ship, Ziggy is trying to correlate the probabilities.
Fifty people die in the collision between this ship and the Stockholm.
You or rather Stanley Freeman is one of the survivors and that means
there is something else you need to do here. Ziggy, put your
after-burners on, we need the answer PDQ!” yelled Al barking orders
like the captain of the Andrea Doria.
“As you are well aware, Admiral, you directed me to
eradicate all my old unused data before the quarterly overhaul next
Tuesday. This process uses sixty-seven per cent of my operating memory
capacity and will degrade my computational skills by thirty-eight per
cent,” explained Ziggy rather drolly.
“Fine.
Fine. Ziggy please override my last orders,” said Al quite
exasperated.
“Please
specify. Which order requires the class one supervisor override?”
asked Ziggy with a slight snip in her almost human computer-generated
voice.
“You
know precisely what I mean you overrated transistor radio!”
said Al.
Slightly
haughtily Ziggy replied, “Very well Admiral. I will begin my
probability computations immediately. And I should note that I
haven’t a single transistor in the main cortex of my third
generational hybrid computational unit.”
“I’d
like to kick her in the middle of that big ego!” muttered Al
checking one more thing on his handlink.
“What’s
wrong?” asked Sam still leaning against the ship’s polished wood
railing.
“Nothing
too bad. Just trying to get you the answers you need. Ziggy has been a
bit vain ever since she or rather Sammy Jo’s computer division won
the Winterset account over Microsoft. Anyway, if you want to find your
cabin. One deck down, 321 on the starboard side. That’s the other
side of the boat to you land lubbers,” said Al with a touch of
endearment.
”Thanks Al,” smiled Sam. “I’m just going to enjoy the breeze
here. I take the peace and quiet where I can find it.”
“Okay,
but don’t fall overboard. We’ll try and get Ziggy to come up with
probabilities on your mission here before you can say Jiminy Cricket. Take in easy, kid,” said Al with a half wave as he
disappeared through the Imaging Chamber door.
Sam
leaned on the railing for once with nothing special to think about.
Just some thought of a girl he knew back in high school. One he
thought he knew very well, but no longer could put a name to and only
part of a face.
“Hey,
Stan old buddy. Been looking all over for you!” Sam heard as someone
slapped him hard on the back.
Sam
startled, looked toward the sound with an instant dislike of the
grating voice and saw a middle-aged American in a loud sports jacket
chomping on the end of a well-worn cigar butt.
“Come
on, buddy. The chips are hot tonight! You didn’t want to be out of
the action, did you Stan, old fellow?” he asked almost pleading with
Sam. “We need some fresh mullah in the game and I’m down a couple
of C’s.”
Sam
not sure whether his host would really be involved in a card game.
Sam’s first reaction is to accept every opportunity offered to him
especially this early in his leap. Reluctantly he agreed hoping to be
up to the challenge. Two decks down in a small room filled with smoke;
alcohol, stale food and the scent of human occupation were eight men
and two women. Three of the older males were standing around with
drinks in hands watching the action. Sam was ushered to a seat next
his obnoxious friend. In front of Sam was a huge pile of chips in the
pot in the center of the table.
“Here’s
the fellow I was telling you guys about. Freeman from East Texas,”
he said announcing Sam.
Sam
barely said hi before the card players went back to their hands. The
fellow across from Sam beat three kings with a pair of threes and
fives winning the substantial pot. Raking in his chips Sam got dealt
five cards and asked for three more closing with five cards that
equaled nothing. After passing on the next two hands the crowded room
was invaded by one more occupant who walked through the cabin wall.
“Sam,
how do you get in these messes? Seems this Freeman guy is a bit of a
card player. These other
guys look like card sharks to me. Let’s see. Nope. No rap sheets on
any of them, though the fellow in the corner here Fremont is
definitely a first class gambler. Those two look like shoe salesmen
and the two women must be very bored with very rich husbands from the
number of chips in front of them. Let’s see what the old master can
do for you,” boasted Al as he surveyed the players.
Sam
just smiled at Al while motioning to his cards.
“Oh,
let’s see. There’s nothing, nothing, two with two pair, a broken
flush, two halves of a straight,” said Al looking around the table.
Sam
started to shake his head.
“You
want a card or not Freeman?” asked the shoe salesman from Missouri.
“Do
you want my advice or not?” asked Al looking quite uncomfortable
trying to decide what to tell his time leaping friend.
Sam
was in a quandary. He wanted Al’s advice from his own experience at
poker and not help by Al ‘observing’ the other players’ cards.
“Look,
you’re never going to beat the guy’s two queens unless you come up
with a 5 and 7 of hearts and the odds of that are..uh..Let me see.
34584 to 1. If you take my advice just fold,” said Al with a bit of
disgust.
“Fold,”
said Sam to the disgusted look of the dealer and his friend next to
him.
“Come
on, Stan old buddy. You got to lose some money for me,” he said
ribbing him. “I didn’t bring you in just to sit there like a Red
at the Republican Convention!”
“Guess
I just don’t feel lucky, today,” apologized Sam as he put his
cards down.
“What
about the night you out bluffed the Count of Ormandy at Monte
Carlo?” he said looking up at the rest of the players. “Without
even a pair he won over four thousand francs. And a one way ticket on
a freighter back to Marseilles!”
“Just
one of those thing. I need some air, but I will be back,” smiled Sam
standing up.
“Amateur,”
mumbled Monique Fremont. “The coast of Ormandy is the domain of a
Baron, monsieur.”
“Excuse
me. I’ll be only a minute,” said Sam as he worked his way though
the crowd and to the door where Al waited for him in the corridor in
he wee hours of the morning.
“Al,
don’t look a the other players cards. That’s dishonest!”
exclaimed Sam in a whisper.
“Well,
do you want my help or not? Besides you didn’t mind my help when you
won that pool game for my buddy, Charlie Walters” said Al. “How
about then?”
“That
was to help somebody out. It’s a big difference, Al. Does Ziggy yet
know why I’m here?” asked Sam scratching his head.
“Don’t
know yet, though Stanley Freeman does lose a whole pile of money in
today’s game. It doesn’t matter since all the player’s winnings
were lost in the ship disaster, which is only forty-two hours away.
One, no two of the people in that game don’t make it. Richard
Hampton of Sarasota Springs, New York, one of the shoe salesmen. And
Mrs. Elsie Dorchester Romaine White of Seattle, Washington. Right now
my guess is for you to go back in there and lose some money. But you
probably don’t need my help for that!” said Al sarcastically. And
then for emphasis he punched a button on his handlink making a very
obnoxious sound as Al silently disappeared.
“Funny,
but not very helpful. Tell Ziggy to hurry up or I might not have a
ship left under me to finish this leap!” said Sam shouting to the
ceiling before he went back into the game.
Sam
played longer learning more about the game of poker. He found that the
game appeared to me more one of deception rather than the cards you
have in your hand. Concentrating on the cards Sam could remember who
had what and where the cards went. Never even having been a card
counter, he quickly developed a system while figuring out the olds of
every possibility hand. Though his system was quite flawed, he was
well ahead by the time the sun was up.
“Damn
that’s a another one, Freeman. One lousy seven was all I needed!”
explained the Arkansas lumberman on his second honeymoon.
“Not
so good for me either, Freeman old buddy, old pal. Thought you’d be
my lucky charm,” said Sam’s original pal in the loud sportcoat.
“That
was quite a comeback there, Mr. Freeman. I’m down much more than I
prefer,” explained Mrs. White gently laying her cards on the table.
“Hey,
guys. It’s just a game,” said Sam uncomfortably picking up his
chips.
“Listen
boy, anybody from Texas that comes into the game late and then has the
biggest pot of the night in two hours has to been doing some kind of
shenanigans,” said the fellow from New York. He threw his cards
toward the dealer and went to get a drink.
Sam
shook his head. “Sorry, it’s just in the cards.”
“Careful,
Sam,” said Al who popped in only a moment before. “I told you to
lose. Quick. Put the money back in the pot and walk out of there very
slowly.”
“It’s
all numbers. Probability and outcome,” explained Sam to his poker
buddies.
Al
put his hands up to his head moaning. “Sam! You could end up deep
sixed in the ocean. Plenty of places to hide a body. That guy from
Sarasota Springs reminds me of a bookie I knew. A real tough guy back
in San Diego!”
“That
boy just knows his stuff. Wish I were that sure of myself.
Twenty-three years running from door-to-door just trying to sell
insurance. And he does it
using figures in his head!” he said throwing his cards down. “Damn
my feet hurt. Just can’t take the grind anymore!”
“Did
you try some new shoes?” asked Sam who was now dealing the cards.
“You
kidding? The company demands we all wear these damned Oxfords. Made by
their footwear division. At my feet’s expense,” he said. “I’ve
got to get out of the business.”
“Ever
think of not traveling door-to-door. Selling it in a store or even
doing it by phone?” asked Sam. “It would save a lot of wear and
tear on your feet!”
The
salesman kept shaking his head. “I need my commissions. Six kids at
home. And you can’t do that business person-to-person like that
Murrow show by phone. I mean people don’t want to be bothered.
It’s not like they know who’s on the other end of the phone line,
or that you can pick it up..or..or..or..Wait! Maybe that is a good
idea. Just call up people and give them the pitch not a bad idea.
Have a strong one before they have a chance to hang up! Just a
Jim dandy idea, young fellow! One card.”
“One,
please,” asked Mrs. White.
“Well,
the dealer takes two,” said Sam picking out his cards.
Al’s
hand link alarm went off. “Something happened Sam. Maybe this is it!
No this is a warning alarm that something has changed. This guy’s
name is Philips and he now will open up the world’s first phone
shopping company. What the hell is that?
Let’s see. It catches on really big in the Sixties. People
calling into your home to sell you things. Then by the eighties
twenty-eight percent of all calls are due to this new selling craze?
Sam! You just invented the biggest nuisance since the Macarena!
Telemarketing they call it now. Line congestions increased fifty per
cent! You did it again! Can’t you stop giving them ideas? Now we
have psychosis, neurosis, shop-a-holics, laws, restrictions, consumer
groups, support groups, new fortunes!
All because Sam Beckett can’t keep his trap shut! Oh Sam!
Can’t you just leave history alone?”
Sam
smiled toward him a bit nervously and threw in a couple of chips
calling the last player.
“Personally
I prefer the personal touch from the salesman when it comes to selling
me things. Call,” said Mrs. White
“They’d
only be catering to the housewives. I say that it’s an invasion of a
man’s castle if you ask me,” said Sam’s buddy who promptly
folded. “Fold!”
“All
right. Who has the best hand?” asked the guy from Sarasota Springs.
“Four
sixes, gents. All my pot. Yes sir, not a bad hand,” chuckled Sam who
raked in his winnings. He figured that this wouldn’t change history
too much if he left everything on the ship when it went down.
”That’s its for me. Good morning gentlemen,” said Mrs. White
while three of the gentlemen politely stood up as she left.
The
project handlink beeped. Al signaled to Sam. “Sam, follow her. Get
her in a conversation.”
“That’s
it for me, too. Thanks for the fun,” said Sam quickly looking around
the table.
“Yea,
when you’re winning, buddy boy. That‘s supposed to be my money
there,” said Sam’s friend throwing down his cigar butt in disgust.
“Better
luck next time,” said Sam. “I have got to get some..um..
sleep.”
“Yea,
sure. Go take a hike. Some lucky charm he turned out to be,” Sam’s
buddy mumbled to himself.
Mrs. White headed for the deck as Sam followed her. She slowly walked
down the promenade enjoying the early morning sea air. Pulling her
shawl around her shoulders she became startled when Sam suddenly
appeared.
“Mrs.
White? Finished so soon? You should have stayed. I’m sure luck of
the leprechauns would have started to look down on you,” Sam said as
she turned a sunset red.
“I
had had about even of the alcohol and the smoke. Wish this ship would
get rid of all that nasty filthy air,” said Mrs. White as she leaned
against the rail.
“Not
for about another forty years Sam. The Surgeon General’s report is
still five years off,” said Al taking a position on the railing next
to her. “Snuggle up to her Sam. Get her nice and warm and toasty.
This is the perfect setting,” said Al who appeared a bit envious.
Sam
threw Al a dirty look. “Nice out here. Reminds me of ..
Oh nothing. Sometimes my mind just goes blank. Well, it’s
nice whatever my memory was.”
“Great
opening line, my Swiss cheese empty headed friend,” gaffed Al as he
took a long slow puff and exhaled very slowly.
“My
mine goes blank sometimes too. I just don’t know what to say to my
husband sometimes. He never brings his work home. Never likes to talk
to me about business or politics like he does with his male friends.
But, brr... That breeze is a bit more than I care to take this
morning. I must go back to my cabin, I fear,” she said smiling and
then turning toward the door to the corridor. .
“Can
I make sure you’re safe back there?” asked Sam giving her a big
Beckett grin.
“Very
well, kind sir. Gallantry is not left with your generation. Not
everyone of you young people is a beatnik,” she replied blushing a
bit again. “ The air is so calm. It’s almost like the eye of a
hurricane. Like something is just over the horizon. Sometimes I have
funny feelings like that,” Mrs. White said taking one last look at
the morning light on the horizon.
A
light went off in Sam’s head “I know what you mean. Like the time
I was helping my Uncle Henry on my farm and something made me head
back to the house. Low and behold, my Mom had fallen and couldn’t get up. If I
hadn’t gone home she could have been lying there for hours.”
“Yes,
that does happen. Oh my. There’s my cabin. I am sure I to see you
again, sir,” said Mrs. White politely.
“I
am quite sure of that,” replied Sam. “Good night.”
Mrs.
White nodded her head and disappeared inside her port side cabin.
“Real
nice lady,” said Sam shaking his head and scratching his left ear.
“Yep.
Reminds me of this matron at the orphanage. Always brought us guys’
treats trying to keep us out of trouble. Too bad it never worked for
me,” said Al puffing his cigar smiling with a twist of
irony.
“Now
what is going to happen to such a nice lady, Al?” asked Sam fearing
he was going to hear the worst.
“Well,”
Al hesitated, “She doesn’t make it. Somehow while ninety-three
percent of the passengers and crew survive the accident, Mrs. Elsie
White does not make it. We have no information on her whereabouts when
the ship was hit. So we’re going to have to keep a close watch on
her.”
“What
about the other passengers that don’t make it?” asked Sam sounding
more concerned. “Why Elsie White?”
“It’s
really her husband that concerns Ziggy. Harold Thomas White. There’s
a seventy-eight percent probability that he needs his wife to prevent
the biggest mistake in his life. He’s a newspaper tycoon back in the
soggy city of Seattle who must have a bit of a Napoleon complex. He
helps finance a coup in Rhodesia to get into the copper business and
it all goes to hell. In 1958 the native rebels round up all these
white workers at a copper mine making demands for better working
conditions and to end discrimination. The British colonial government
botches the rescue attempt and 170 people are slaughtered. Harold
White is caught and spends the rest of his life in a federal prison.
Elsie here has always had a calming influence over her husband’s
more maniacal tendencies. But this time she wasn’t there,” sighed
Al finishing the story from his handlink. “According to Ziggy,
that’s how you save the most people on this leap.”
“And
again we’re playing mystical roulette with people’s lives. I just
don’t like the position I’m put in at times, Al. “He” has a
funny sense of justice,” exclaimed Sam pointing toward the sky.
“I’m going to head to bed. Can you take the early watch on Mrs.
White?” asked Sam yawning.
“Well
do, Sam old boy. We have a LOT of work cut out for us the next couple
of days. And don’t let the job get you down. Remember we’re the
good guys. Bye, Sam,” said Al as he began a patrol of the ship and
keeping an eye on Mrs. White’s cabin wondering when he and Beth
could get away to a cruise someday.
Next
morning as the breeze was blowing across the deck; Sam began a
complicated game of high-and-seek with Mrs. White. Not knowing what
the real Mr. Freeman should be doing on an ocean crossing, he hung
around the corner from wherever Mrs. White was. Breakfast, deck
sports, sunning in the lounges. Sam was there like the guardian angel
as he had been for countless other innocents throughout his cosmic
travels. Al was usually nearby though the crowd kept them from
conversing much with Sam. Al didn’t mind providing his own running
commentary on the passers-by. Or the ladies in those new bathing suits
named after an atomic bomb test site in the South Pacific.
“Thirty-two
hours to go Sam. Keep an eye on her since we really don’t know where
she was when this ship turns into the Edmund Fitzgerald,”
explained Al checking on his little friend. “And also.. Wow! Look at
that French bikini over there. They knew how to put a little style in
them back then. Of course that little senorita could make a gunnysack
look good. And the way
she throws around her meatballs, WOW!” exclaimed Al who just stood
there momentarily stupefied.
Sam
threw Al a dirty look trying to keep an eye on the destiny of Mrs.
White.
“Look
Sam. Your job is to keep an eye on your charge while mine is to watch
your back and the lay of the land around you. Which is full of
potholes and forks in the road and hills, and valleys and creases and
cleavage and uh..uh. Is it getting warm in here? I don’t know.
Things are just a little classier here. Now take that raven-haired gal
over there,” said Al pointing with his cigar.
Sam
looked around and saw her and gave Al a nod of acknowledgment.
Al
looked up from his handlink. “Ruth Roman of Hollywood, California. A
genuine Hollywood starlet. Ever see her in Strangers on a Train?
She did that flick with Hitchcock and got great reviews. Well, you
can’t remember last week’s Fraiser episode. Anyway
she is a major star with obvious talent and lots of other obvious
assets. She survives and still goes into television in the Sixties.
She is traveling home on vacation with her son, Richard. Most everyone
here does go on with his or her lives. But we have to worry about
Elsie.”
Sam
turned to Al to give him a nonverbal acknowledgement, but when he
turned back around Mrs. White vanished.
“What
the hell?” asked Sam.
“Now
what? Where did she go? St. John center me on Mrs. White,” Al called
out, disappeared and appeared right behind Sam. “Found her Sam!”
he said a bit sheepishly.
Sam
turned around with an embarrassed look on his face.
“Mr.
Freeman?” Mrs. White said quite stiffly. A scowl crossed her
well-wrinkled forehead.
“Yes
mam, Mrs. White?” Sam said politely.
“I
remember quite well losing a good deal of money to you. I will put
myself quite bluntly. Why are you following me around? And don’t
deny it. The Andrea Doria is not that big of an ocean liner,”
she said sounding like one of Sam’s elementary school teachers.
“And
if it is that small of a ship, then running into each other may just
be a big coincidence, “ said Sam shrugging his shoulders.
“Nonsense
and poppycock. You are always about thirty feet from me anywhere I go.
Around the corner, in a chair, at the other end of the bar. It’s
been very clear ever since the game last night. What are your
intentions?” she asked narrowing her eyes behind her old-fashioned
granny glasses.
”Hold it Sam. You don’t want to end up in front of the captain
heading for the brig or worst a wedding!” winched Al. “Oh, the
problems that would cause the timeline!”
“I
don’t have a good answer,” replied Sam trying to stay out of
trouble.
“And
your constant gazes on me? I would remind you that MR. WHITE, my
husband, is a man of influence back in Seattle! He would not take any
advances lightly, young man!” she said glaring at Sam.
“At
least he THINKS he important,” said Al to Sam.
“Mam,
I apologize and will try and steer clear of you in the future. I do
not mean to trouble you, Mrs. White,” apologized Sam backing away
from her.
“Then
do so or I WILL report you to the captain, Mr. Freeman. Good day,
sir!” she said walking off with a battleship-size chip on her frigid
shoulder.
“Ziggy
says you don’t want to be in the brig at the time of the collision.
It filled up with water pretty quickly,” explained Al. “Doing your
guardian angel stuff might be a cause for a stalking charge in this
day and age. I’ll keep an eye on her for a while. She you later
Sam,” he said headed off in Mrs. White direction walking through the
bulkhead and heading toward the casino.
“Fine
Al, but now what am I supposed to do here?” asked Sam to the sky.
”Hey, buddy boy!” exclaimed a familiar voice. There’s a hot game
down in 412. How about another round?”
Sam
took another look back up at the clouds, mouthed a ‘thanks a lot’
and headed back to the gaming table.
Sleep
was something Sam could not do. Whether it was a test in high school
physics or some big event in his life just over the horizon, Sam would
lie all night staring at the ceiling counting the cracks in it. Like
the approach of Hurricane Camille he had witnessed many years and
countless leaps before, it was the calm before the storm. An
approaching storm named Stockholm.
Around three a.m. Sam found himself again pacing the decks having lost
all of his calmness from when he first appeared on the deck of the
ill-fated ship. The sea was glassy though a light haze hid the stars.
Only the milky light of the moon shown through it. He picked up his
pace rounding the bow of the ship when a ghost walked through the
nearest bulkhead startling Sam.
”Must you always do that?” screamed Sam cutting though the early
morning silence.
“Sorry
Sam, but its second nature. Where I am I just walked thirty feet
through a bunch of holographic images that have no substance. No mass.
No..” explained Al waving his cigar about wildly.
“All
right Al. I know how the system works. Or at least have some idea
left. Anything to report?” he asked a bit wearily.
“Report?
She snores. I don’t know how her husband puts up with it. Or
Beth,” said Al chomping on his cigar.
“Beth?”
asked Sam.
Al
looked up quite annoyed. “My wife! The love of my life. One of your
best friends. She claims I have a touch of the same problem, but
I’ve never heard myself do it!” he said sounding a bit like
Groucho Marx.
“And
now how is she?” asked Sam pointing toward Mrs. White’s portside
cabin.
“Sleeping
quietly. All you have to do is get her out of wherever she is at 2230
hours tonight and then get her and yourself into a lifeboat. The odds
of surviving, following the right procedure, is very high. Nearly
100%. Just keep those Beckett baby blues on her, kid!” exclaimed Al
with full confidence in Sam.
“And
don’t scare her off,” commented Sam without the same confidence.
“That’s
your job, Clarence, my little guardian angel. Save her without being
too annoying. Think of yourself as a policeman on an undercover
assignment,” suggested Al..
“Admiral?”
asked Ziggy through the handlink speaker.
“What’s
up, Einstein?” asked Al punching a button on his colorful handlink.
“I’m
sorry, but you made two incorrect statements,” replied Ziggy a bit
smug.
“Oh,
really?” replied Al quite sarcastically.
“First
Mrs. White has awaken and is heading for the Pirate’s Cove Bar,”
said Ziggy.
“OK,
Sam. Your turn to watch her, I’m beat,” he said sweating a bit.
“Oh, and the second thing, sweetheart?”
“In
your office, during your catnaps, I have heard you snore!” Ziggy
said with just a hint of whimsy.
“Funny!
You’re a regular Bob Hope! Sam, I’ll be in my office, NOT SNORING!
Despite what this overgrown palm pilot says. Later, Sam,” Al said as
Sam went back to the cabin to change and head for the bar.
Inside
the bar Elsie White was nursing a drink at a corner table.
“Mr.
Freeman, you again?” Mrs. White said indignantly nearly dropping her
martini. “Is this another of your supposed coincidences?”
“Well,
I just couldn’t sleep. All that motion on the ocean; like being on
the roller coaster at Coney Island. How about you?” asked Sam taking
a seat next to her.
”If it’s any of your business, I don’t usually nap much when
there is so much to do. That’s what dry land is for. Besides you
meet some interesting people on these steamers. Present company
excluded,” she said not turning from her drink.
“Well,”
Sam said looking down. “I try to find something interesting in
everyone.”
“And
what is your fascination with me?” she asked looking coldly at Sam
with steel-blue eyes.
“Well,”
he said getting caught. “Here you are traveling alone across the
ocean. That is a bit unusual.”
“It’s
the only civilized way to travel. Strapped into one of those new jets
hurling through air never knowing where you are. That does not appeal
to me. I don’t suppose you know how that feels being a man!” Mrs.
White said abruptly.
Sam
laughed a bit. “You’d be surprised. Constant acceleration through
space is almost second nature to me, Mrs. White!” Sam said chuckling
to himself.
“What
are you talking about, young man!” she huffed turning to Sam looking
flushed.
“It
means that the feeling or rush of going forward is something I have
had a bit of experience with. In cars. I’ve been in a few drag races
in my time,” Sam said trying to empathize with her to get her
confidence.
“I
see. I just don’t like the feeling of helplessness. Some pilot I
never heard of has his hands on my destiny. I prefer to be in
control,” she said tapping her finger on the table.
”Boy, someone else guiding my destiny. That is another thing that
I..” started Sam.
Still
indignant she shot back “Are you just trying to make a fool out of
me young man?” she asked.
“No
mam. I’m not claiming that we’re soul mates, um.. We’re just
passing time to New York. I just find you a bit interesting. Now what
is your husband in?” asked Sam trying to continue the conversation.
After
an hour of cocktail party talk, Sam was able to at least leave with a
friendly ‘bon voyage’ from Mrs. White. He only hoped that she had
his confidence when the time came.
Without being too obnoxious Sam watched her the rest of the day.
Being in an earlier era Sam diddled around playing shuffleboard
and walking the deck. No one seemed connected to him and he was alone
with Al who kept the vigil with Sam.
“Fog’s
coming in,” commented Al looking over his handlink. “You’re not
far from the Gulf Stream. New York Harbor is less than a day away.”
“And
this ship gets lost in it?” asked Sam.
“No,
the Stockholm thinks it’s on course and is actually on a
direct line with this lovely old ship. Um..” he said checking his
handlink.
“..her
captain thinks she’s on course, but she should be south of this
position. THAT’S WHY Ziggy only gives you a two per cent chance to
save her,” said Al sadly. “Nothing is more precious to a sailor
than a beautiful ship unless it is his own magnificent vessel. Look at
those sleek lines. No wonder they call her the Grand Dame of the
Sea.”
“Two
per cent is something!” said Sam, “I’m willing to take a gamble.
Been doing that a lot lately.”
Al
took a long slow contemplative puff. “Yea, but Captain Calamai
probably is not. In this fog, he’ll want to play I by the book. Even
with all the radar and sonar gadgets they had in 1956, that other
bastard still hits her!”
“Easy,
Al,” Sam said a little louder than he should. A young honeymoon
couple looked up at him, turned, and quickly walked away.
“Yea,
I know. Beth is always telling me to watch my blood pressure ever
since my heart attack. Hey, I’m an old salt. Hate to see such a
beautiful sleek vessel end up a home for the sea crabs and manta rays.
If there were anyway you could save her, I’d say, do it. Save her
and the fifty people that lost their lives!” said Al looking out
toward the fog. “God, you could slice through it with a steak
knife.”
Sam
disagreed. “Look Al, I’m here to save people and why not at least
try for all of them?”
”No, Sam. As I mentioned before if you get too obnoxious you could
end up in the brig at the wrong time. It’s Mrs. White you’re here
to save. Even more lives at a later date are at stake, Sam,” said Al
looking down and rolling his cigar in his hand.
“More
lives? Not the kind of crapshoot I really like to play Al. Save two
for thousand or forty for hundred. Percentages here, odds there.
Who’s worth saving, who’s not? I don’t like playing God with
people’s lives, Al. It’s against everything I was taught,”
lamented Sam
pounding
on the wooden railing.
Al
took a long slow puff looking out toward the horizon. “Yea, I know
how you feel. You know, when we’re out at war, officers have the
same problem. Who do you send out into the war? Who’s the best
qualified? And who’s going to come back? Who’s going to be leaving
widows and children? Sam we all have to do our job and if you don’t
do it, then you’re stuck here. Lousy as they are, that’s the rules
of leaping through the cosmos!”
“And
someone else is stuck in the waiting room. How’s your guest?”
asked Sam.
“Fair
to middling. He’s following the alien syndrome and is convince
he’s heading to Mars in a UFO. Guess he saw War Of The Worlds too
many times. About par for the course, Sam,” Al said shrugging his
shoulders nonchalantly.
“Guess
I better go back and play God,” Sam said shaking his head and
walking back inside.
“I
need a bit of sleep see you later, Sam,” said Al as he punched up
the door and walked out of the Imaging Chamber.
Nine
thirty and Sam was still within sight of Mrs. White. She had been
playing roulette for the last forty-five minutes and she did not
appear to be happy. Sam approached her hoping to stick with her until
his final task was done.
Smiling
Sam inquired, “Mrs. White. You look well. How are you feeling?”
”Not a bit good. Fourteen straight spins and not one winner,” she
said unhappily. “Tonight is not my night!”
“Well,
it’s the last night out. Kind of sad with the voyage ending. How
about a nightcap? Down in our favorite bar?” asked Sam offering her
his arm.
“Our
favorite bar? You are spooky Mr. Freeman. You don’t seem to be
trying to make a pass. You’re just always there like my shadow,”
she said looking at him slyly.
“Shadow?
Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?” That kind?” asked
Sam.
Elsie
White shook her head quietly. “Not Lamont Cranston. No, just there.
Not a bad guy. Just there. But the dice are cold and I could use an
invitation like that. Yes, Mr. Freeman I would love a drink, but I’m
buying!”
A
short time later Al was pacing up and down in the Pirate’s Cove Bar.
“Thirty minutes Sam. You’re at the far end of the ship for the
collision. Not a bad place according to Ziggy. Don’t go for any
moonlight strolls!” Al said looking a bit nervous.
“Now
tell me the truth. And don’t lie to me. What is your fascination
with a middle-aged housewife from Seattle? You must be twenty years my
junior. Well, ten at least!” she laughed sipping her martini. “And
I’ll have you know that I am very much in love with my husband.”
“That’s
great. Even after all those years. Just looking for a friend on board.
Been kind of lonely myself. I just don’t get to know many people in
my line of work. At least not for very long,” Sam explained sadly.
“Somehow
you look like you always are lonely and always looking in at the
world,” replied Mrs. White sipping another drink.
Sam
looked up at her. “You are very perceptive.”
“How
about all those nice young ladies on board. They would love to have
you as an escort. A fine young man like you. I saw the pretty brunette
giving you the eye more than once since we sat down,” she said with
a slightly crocked smile.
“Well,
like I said, it’s the last night and I like where I am just fine,”
said Sam glancing over at the cute brunette who smiled at him for the
third time.
Sam
let Mrs. White talk more about the boorish French and the vibrant
exciting Italians she had met while Al kept giving Sam a count down.
“Okay
Sam, THIS IS IT. How does one survive the Titanic? The Andrea
Doria is going to
lurch to the left! Get ready for the turn!” yelled Al as he held his
ears.
Sam
felt the ship first gently turn and then he grabbed Mrs. White as the
shipped was jolted and the floor began to tilt.
”Hold on!” Sam said gently.
“Please,
Mr. Freeman. I haven’t had that much to drink!” exclaimed Mrs.
White as she struggled in his arms. “Kindly let go of..”
And
then the Stockholm hit. Sam and Mrs. White were knocked off
their bar stools as the ship shook and the deck tilted until it
reached a five degree angle.
“What
that hell!” a suddenly sober Mrs. White called out over the sounds
of bending and twisting metal. “We hit an iceberg! We’re going
down!”
“I
don’t think so. Too warm for them here in the Gulf Stream. The ship
is still afloat. It’s
going to be okay,” said Sam helping her back to her feet.
“No,
it’s not,” she cried panicking. “My mother hand a friend who was
on the Titanic. That’s the same sound. I’m sure of it!
We’re going down!” she yelled as everyone in the bar turned toward
her.
”Careful Sam. She’s having a panic attack. Breathe. Get her to
breathe deeply. Trudy used to have the same problem,” exclaimed Al
quickly motioning with his hands.
“Listen.
Listen. We don’t know what’s happened! Everything is going to be
fine. Now take a couple of deep breaths,” said Sam gently until the
ship began to list more.
“See?
We’re going down,” she cried heading toward the corridor.
“We’re all going to die!”
“My
baby!” cried out another woman two booths behind them. The
atmosphere in the bar began to break down.
“WE
have to get out of here!” cried an older woman.
“Head
for the lifeboats!” exclaimed an older man in a white dinner jacket.
“No,
no! The bow. Head for the bow of the ship. It’s safer there!”
screamed another man.
“No!
NO! Settle down!” Sam called to everyone in the room. “Please
everyone calm down!”
Grabbing
Mrs. White’s hand Sam said, “Mrs. White. Elsie. Take it easy or
we’re going to have a riot in here. Settle down. I’m here! I will
take care of you! Let’s get up on deck. Where is your lifeboat
station?”
“I
don’t know. I don’t remember!” she said screaming again as an
explosion could be heard far away. “We’re going to die. I know
we’re going to die!” she balled falling into Sam’s arms.
“Sam,
do something fast. The other folks in the bar are looking panicky.
Quick, uh. Give her a good slap. Now!” exclaimed Al pointing with
his cigar.
Sam looked at Al in disgust. “Please, Elsie. You can get through
this,” he said rubbing her arm then her back. “Let’s just keep
our heads. Please? I’ll get you to safety. We can both get through
this alive together.”
“Well
that’s what Sister Mary Godzilla used to do to us. Pow! Right across
the cheek,” Al said to himself in his own defense.
Sam
kept trying to reassure her and held her tight. As she started balling
like a baby. “Come on its going to be all right. Let’s go get your
life jacket. Come on everyone follow me! We have to get to where
it’s safe!” Sam
yelled out as the daze people followed Sam from the bar. Elsie
continued to cry, but Sam never let her leave his side.
Al
was left behind in the bar. “That’s my boy!” said Al looking
around at the bar at chairs and glasses thrown right and left. “Yep!
Gene Hackman couldn’t have done better. Head for the propeller
shaft. No wait, Sam, head up hill!’ called out Al as he pushed a
button on his handlink and disappeared.
As
midnight approached and the crowd of nearly panicked people on the
port side of the ship leaned against the bulkhead as the deck listed
at a 22 degree angle, Mrs. White was almost comatose as she shook in
Sam’s arms. Each of them had acquired a life jacket and sat curled
up under a blanket.
Al
stood off to the side checking on situation. “She must have fallen
apart and have gotten lost in the confusion, Sam. Traveling alone
there was no one to look after her. I guess that is where you came in.
The guys down in the engine room are trying to save the ship, but like
the Titanic more than two bulkheads have been breached and the
seawater is filling up the empty fuel tanks.”
Sam
had been watching the crew trying to push out the lifeboats, but the
cant of the deck made them too heavy to move. Neither the winch motors
nor the human muscle available could push the huge lifeboats uphill
and over the side of the ship. Nothing could be seen beyond the
activity as the fog thickened and the sea air turned damp and cold.
“You’ll
do better on the downhill side Sam. The captain isn’t letting the
passengers over there just yet. Once the boats are lowered into the
water you can climb down the side of the ship. That’s how most of
the passengers and crew were saved. Just stay put for a little while.
She stays afloat until 1030 hours tomorrow. By the time all the rescue
ships reach here it’ll look like Times Square on New Year’s
Eve!” exclaimed Al trying to sound cheerful.
“Ummm!
Ummm! Ummm! Ummm! Ummm! Ummm! Ummm!” went the deep steam whistle of Andrea
Doria followed by one long blast.
Everyone
on the deck looked up toward the whistle including Al not knowing what
next to expect. “Oh, God! That was the ‘abandon ship’ signal.
Just wait and listen Sam. This may not sound good, but don’t worry a
whole flotilla of ships are on their way. Two passenger ships, a
freighter, Coast Guard cutters. Even my old outfit, the United States
Navy!”
Waiting
for help for quite awhile the crowd remained quiet except for an
occasional whimpering. No
news from the crew. One child near Sam actually looked excited, as
this may have been a game he had never played before. Mrs. White shook
for about an hour and then finally settled to sleep.
Al
looked down and smiled. “Everything’s going to be all right. The
lifeboats will be here shortly.”
Around
one-thirty an announcement was finally made for all passengers to head
for the starboard side. Walking up a forty-degree incline was not
easy; however the people were remarkably calm. Sam helped Mrs. White
pull herself up with the ship’s railing.
Three
ships could be seen in the disbursing fog all lit up like Christmas
trees. Small boats were heading for them. Help was finally on the way.
Sam
turned his charge toward the approaching lifeboats. “Look, Elsie.
See? We’re finally being rescued! They’re coming from
everywhere!”
”Oh, no. It’s hard to believe. We’re going to be safe and
sound!” she cried shedding tears of joy.
Sam
looked down the tilted side of the ship. “Not yet. You still have to
get down there.”
Waiting
in line for half an hour Sam and Mrs. White reached the railing of
boat. Helped over the railing Sam and Mrs. White started to climb down
two ropes hanging over the side. Using the rope as a guide, the now
wide-awake Mrs. White slid down the tiled hull of the Andrea Doria
beside Sam on her backside until the rope ended fifteen feet from the
ocean waves. Elsie’s eyes suddenly opened wide with fear.
”Hey, it’s not far,” Sam said. “Just like in the gym back
home. And those sailors will be right there to pull you in.”
“No
it’s too far,” she screamed, as her panic attack seemed to return.
“No, I can’t. I can’t,” she screamed as her grip began to
loosen on the rope.
“Sam!”
cried out Al. “Sam, get her to jump in the boat!”
Several
arms reached up toward them. “Madame, down please!” called out a
sailor in heavy accented English.
“Come
on, Elsie. Let’s jump.
I’m not going without you. We haven’t come this far to stop
now!” said Sam over the sound of the waves crashing onto the ship.
Elsie
White looked down at the commotion and then over at Sam who was
holding on with one hand reaching toward her.
“Come
on Elsie. On the count of three grab my hand and jump. We HAVE to do
this together,” he said trying to smile in the noisy confusion.
Elsie
looked down one more time, looked up at the crowd trying to get over
the side and decided down was the only way to go. “All right,” she
cried to Sam. “One, two, three!” One hand let go and she grasped
Sam’s hand tightly. Flying through what seemed like miles of air
they landed in the arms of the sailors that had reached up to help
them.
“Welcome
aboard, Madame. Monsieur,” one of the sailors said helping them into
the middle of the boat and handing them a blanket. The sailor smiled
to the startled Mrs. White who smiled back. She snuggled up to Sam,
thanked him barely audibly and closed her tired eyes.
The
boat filled up with more passengers for total of 80 survivors. The
boat pushed away as Mrs. White smiled at Sam and then went to sleep,
as did many of the exhausted passengers and crewmen. Sam looked
around. Several of the people from the bar had followed him clear to
the lifeboat. In another corner Ruth Roman and her son lay fast
asleep.
The
lifeboat pulled away from the Andrea Doria while it’s upper
decks and smoke stack loomed overhead. The sky was still dark as it
pulled up to the passenger liner Ile de France all bright and
shiny, a safe as a haven for all the survivors of the Andrea Doria.
Al was gliding alone the sea as Sam looked up at him. On Sam’s face
was the “my job is done here” expression. He knew very soon he was
heading off into the sunset.
Al
finally looked at peace himself until he realized Sam was looking at
him for something. “Oh, right. Let me see here. Everything works
out. Mrs. White returns to Seattle. She keeps her husband’s business
dealings centered in Seattle and he doesn’t help finance that coup
in Rhodesia. He doesn’t go into prison. No massacre occurs and
Rhodesia fairly peacefully joins the free nations of the world as
Zambia. Hmm. Now Mr. White does have a heart attack in 1960, but his
wife is there to lovingly nurse him for the next fifteen years. Always
knew she was a nice lady. She
certainly qualifies for the title of
‘Grand Dame of the Sea.’ Oh and you did decrease the loss
of life by seven people. All were people in the bar including Elsie.
Good going, Sam. See you did make a difference.”
Sam
smiled and looked up, as his body became a mass of electric blue
speckles. His last thought was that Al was right. He had made a
difference.
Epilogue
Near
Shoshone Lake, Wyoming
Yellowstone
National Park
June
23, 1988
Sam had been
leaping so long that with each new situation leapt into he was able
to, usually, get an idea of where I am by just looking around…a
college classroom or a baseball field or a glimpse out a porthole.
Occasionally it was a sound…applause in a concert hall or gunshots
in an alley …that gave him a clue. But as he felt the brief
interlude since his last leap ending, time seemed to slow as he
reached his new assignment. Even before the leaping effect had totally
faded away, it was a scent, a familiar acrid smell borne on a blast of
hot air that gave him an idea of where he was,
as did an equally familiar sound.
The
sound was that of water running or lapping, like in a lake.
But was the smell of wood burning and an almost suffocating
level of heat that set off a warning alarm in his head, telling him
that he was too darned close to it. Hearing something crackle in front
of him, Sam opened his eyes and stared at the sight before him.
Not even the sudden sound of a little girl's pleased,
high-pitched squeal of, "You were right, Mr. Gary!" could
have torn his gaze away from the sight of a wall of fire greedily
consuming a stand of lofty-topped pines a couple of hundred yards
away. All he could see
for as far as he could see to the right or left was a roaring wall of
flames. Forest fires in Indiana were rare but Sam knew that they
occasionally occurred. But
what was facing him at that moment wasn't just a forest fire. This
looked like what he had always imagined the pits of hell to resemble,
and that alone told the leaper that he was nowhere near Indiana.
A ripping,
crackling sound that mushroomed, reverberating through the air, made
him duck his head involuntarily, his eyes squeezed shut. The sound of
a lightning strike was recognizable anywhere in the world.
Yet even before the sound was consumed, it seemed, by the fire
raging around Sam, he felt something small, cold and wet slip into his
hand. Opening his eyes, Sam looked down into the blue eyes of a little
girl with dark blonde pigtails and clutching what appeared to be a
clear plastic pouch of clear rocks, or perhaps marbles.
"Ohhh
boy," was all that came out of his mouth when she, apparently
oblivious to the danger surrounding them, held up the pouch, dripping
with water for him to see, saying, "You were right, Mr. Gary.
They were there, just like you said they would be."
"Al,"
he muttered under his breath. "Where in this hell are you?" |