PROLOGUE

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 he was 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?"

PART ONE

Project Quantum Leap

Stallion's Gate, NM

The Waiting Room

It was the weirdest thing Gary had ever experienced.  One minute he was standing a few hundred feet from the shore of Shoshone Lake with the Mandelle kid in tow, and ducking like she did when multiple lightning strikes converged on the dense stand of pines surrounding the lake, igniting the dry wood and turning the place into an instant inferno.  But he had pushed that fear aside and had led little Tonya away from the pebbled shore of the lake and a couple of hundred yards up into the trees to the Maiden’s Cup.  He needed her to get what he wanted out of it, and not even having a roaring canopy of fire above their heads was going to stop him.  It had meant ten years of waiting and careful planning for every possible contingent that might arise to prevent him from achieving his goal.  At times it had been frustrating to the nth degree but nothing was going to stop him from getting back what was now his since, Tate had been killed shortly after telling him where he’d stashed the stuff.  Now all he needed to do was to keep feeding the little girl tugging on his hand, the fairy tale Indian legend slightly embellished. Being within a couple hundred yards of achieving his goal, not even the fire roaring all around them was going to stop him. To his way of thinking, the sudden forest fire just seemed to affirm to him that he was meant to do this. 

Keeping his voice and attitude calm, the average looking man with a sandy colored hair and a narrow mustache across his upper lip, had led the child to the Maiden’s Cup, a small rock formation wedge in the apex of three of the huge, now burning, pines situated a couple of hundred feet from the shore of the lake.

Picking her up so she could see the small opening in the top of the rock, he put just enough excitement in his voice to keep little Tonya’s attention focused.  “See, there it is, honey,” Gary said to her.  “There’s the Maiden’s Cup.”  He grinned at her happy squeal as she echoed him, “There it is, Mr. Gary.  The Maiden’s Cup, just like you said.  And there’s a treasure in it, too, isn’t there?” 

        Gary chuckled softly.  “That’s right, Tonya. But remember what I told you?  The legend says that only a pretty little girl can reach into the Maiden’s Cup and get the treasure.”  The avarice that had been the sole beacon and directing force in his life since Tate McKimley, his partner in the Canadian heist, had been killed ten years before, now enabled him to laugh with genuine pleasure at her guileless exclamation of, “I’m a pretty little girl, Mr. Gary.  Mama says I’m pretty, and so does daddy.”

        “Yes you are, Tonya,” he praised her, giving her a slight hug.  “Do you still want to see if you’re the right pretty little girl to find the treasure?”

        “Oh yes, Mr. Gary!” the excited little girl exclaimed, her gaze darting from Gary to the rock and back again.  “Please, I want to try to reach the treasure.  Let me try to reach it, Mr. Gary.”

        And indeed she had.  When Gary had held her up close to the large rock in a certain way, Tonya was to reach one arm straight down into the cold water rising from an underground source to fill the large, bowl-like Maiden’s Cup through a narrow opening in the bottom of it.  A moment later he felt a rush of adrenaline at her squealed, “I feel it!” followed instantly by a high-pitched squeal as she proclaimed, “I got it! I got, Mr. Gary!  I got it!  I got it!”

        “Hold on tight to it, honey,” he admonished her gently as he took great care to lift her up and away from the rock.  The moment Tonya’s small arm emerged from the opening in the rock, her hand tightly clutching the pouch, it took every ounce of hard-learned patience not to snatch it then fling her aside.  Instead he forced himself to set her on her feet beside him and allow her to prattle excitedly about being the only one pretty enough to find the treasure. After all, it was the last thing the kid was ever going to get excited about, ever.  That thought, however, had barely crossed Gary’s mind as he reached for the pouch, when he felt himself snatched away.

        It wasn’t hands that grabbed him, nor had it felt like some animal or anything else recognizable, for that matter.  All that the man bent on getting his hands on what Tate had stashed in that damned rock sensed, and then realized, just as suddenly was that he wasn’t in Yellowstone National Park or in the middle of a forest fire.  Upon opening his eyes, he was stunned to find himself in large white room that didn’t seem to have any way in or out.  There was only one window and it was affixed about twelve feet above the floor but he couldn’t see if there was anyone in the room behind it.  And there were only two things in the room with him; a hospital bed placed in the middle of the room, and a large, rectangular table with a mirrored surface.  And then he noticed his clothes.

        “What the hell is going on?  Where am I?” he muttered, looking at the body-hugging white suit that covered him from his neck to his ankles.  He was barefoot, too.  A flash of fear ran through him like quicksilver but he stomped it down.  Wherever he was, whatever this place was, the last thing you let anybody see in you was fear.  Gary had encountered and dealt with too many unexpected variables in the years leading up to now, and he wasn’t about to let an unexpected side trip into the Twilight Zone or an encounter with ET to rattle him.

        Gary explored the room carefully, looking for anything that might clue him about where he was or help him figure out how to get out of the white room.  But he’d only been at his search for three or four minutes when he heard a whispery ‘whoosh’ behind him and he spun around to find an attractive black woman standing in the room with him.  He had been just quick enough to catch sight of a door sliding seamlessly closed behind her.

        Over the years of Dr. Beckett's leaping, Verbena had seen other wary expressions similar to the one on the face of the present Visitor, and so wasn't overly disturbed.  Instead, she put on a friendly smile as she began the initial interview.

        "Hello," she greeted the visitor, moving unhurriedly further into the room, noting his reactions.  "I'm Dr. Beeks.  I'm sure you're probably very confused by all this," she said, glancing around the room then back to him.  "However, I assure you that you are safe and will be well taken care of while you're here."  She paused to give him an opportunity to ask a question; when he didn't, Verbena continued with the interview.  "I need to ask you some questions, some of which may seem odd, but please answer them as best you can.  Alright?"  It was almost a minute before the man wearing Sam Beckett's aura decided to respond.

        "Okay," Gary said.

        Verbena acknowledged his response then asked, "What is your name?"

        "Webster," he answered after a moment, frowning at seemingly to have forgotten his name.  The frown deepened when he had to dig for his first name.  “Gary…Webster.”

        "It's alright, Mr. Webster," Verbena reassured him as she noted his reaction to his first encounter with the Swiss-cheese effect through which his exchange in time had strained his memory. "When you finally leave here, any gaps in your memory will disappear."  Allowing him another moment to digest that, she continued.  "What is the last thing you remember before arriving here?"

        But before he tried to answer her question, Gary asked one of his own. “May I have a glass of water?”

        “Certainly,” Verbena responded and started to turn away.

        “With ice,” Gary added, smiling slightly at the woman when she glanced back him.  “Lots of ice.”

Stallion's Gate, New Mexico 

Project Quantum Leap

Outside the project proper just at dawn

Being married to a doctor had its advantages as well as its disadvantages as Al Calavicci had rediscovered a few weeks ago. It had started during his yearly physical when, which much to his surprise, it was discovered that he had put on about twelve pounds.  Beth had immediately encouraged him to get started again with his daily jog in the desert surrounding the complex, pointing out that, "Not only will it get rid of that excess baggage, but it will help relieve stress."

        The jogging was something Al had started on his own about a year before when he had become bored with the predictable exercise workouts in the Project's on site physical training area.  Not even working out in the boxing ring with Grady Hanson, chief of security, could entice him.  But even the best intentions are often sidelined, and over the last three months when it seemed that Sam had continuously leaped from one seriously dangerous situation to another, even the jogging, which Al had come to enjoy, slid to the wayside.  During the spate of one right after the other leaps, he’d usually had just enough time to catch two or if he was lucky, three good nights sleep, and have more than coffee and a cigar for nourishment.  It was during that time that he steadfastly resisted Beth's nudging to exercise.  For once it appeared that Admiral Calavicci was digging his heels in against both his doctor’s and wife’s advice.  But one morning about three weeks ago during a lull between Sam’s leaps, it became starkly plain that Beth's patience with Al had finally worn out, and she pulled out the 'heavy artillery.  She resorted to blackmail.

        That morning Al had just finished toweling off from his shower when she appeared in the doorway of their bedroom with a digital camera.  He barely got his red bikini briefs pulled up before the flash went off.

        "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, putting his hands on his hips as he turned to face her.  He was both amused and annoyed when she snapped yet another picture as he reached for the trousers draped across the back of a chair and began to put them on.

        Beth didn't pull any punches.   "Blackmail," she replied succinctly as she snapped another picture.

        "Oh?" Al paused in his dressing, the dark chartreuse trousers halfway up his legs.  "Do I get to know why I'm being blackmailed?"

        "Absolutely," Beth said, lowering the camera to meet his gaze.  "If you don't get started on some kind of exercise routine within twenty-four hours, and keep at it every day," she said firmly.  "I am going to give these pictures which show off those 'love handles' and that little pot belly… and yes, you do have them - they show quite nicely, especially in those briefs…to Ziggy and have her send them to every computer in the complex."

        Al finished pulling his pants up and fastened them.  Half turning, he opened a drawer and took out a pair of socks that matched his trousers then went to sit on the side of the bed.   "You wouldn't dare!" he insisted with a chuckle, glancing at her as he put on a sock then reached for the other one.

        "Try me."

        Al paused, the second sock half on and looked up and saw that his wife’s eyes weren't twinkling.  One of the many things he’d learned in forty plus years of marriage, was that when Beth Calavicci’s eyes weren't twinkling it meant she was set on something she wasn't going to be swayed from.  The blackmail worked.

        Al had succumbed, and had taken off his trousers, donned jogging attire and running shoes and had gone for a brief jog that very morning.   Three weeks and nine pounds later, Al had to admit Beth was right. He was feeling better, and the 'love handles' were history.

        This particular day, by Al's own unique timetable, was the beginning of the fourth week since Sam had leaped out of his last 'assignment', one of the longer stretches between leaps for several months.   He was just returning from his forty-five minute jog in the cool pre-dawn desert, the first tendrils of light beginning to creep across the horizon behind him when his wrist communicator chirped.

        Coming to a halt near the Marine guarding the eastern entrance of the Project, Al blotted his face with the small towel clipped to the waistband of his jogging shorts then pressed a button on the communicator.

        "Yeah?" he panted lightly. "What's up, Ziggy?"

        "Dr. Beckett has leaped," Ziggy replied. "And, Dr. Beeks is presently on her way to interview the visitor."

        "On my way," he said, moving past the guard into the Project.  Beth was just leaving when he arrived at their quarters.

        "Sam…."

        "Ziggy just told me," he said, brushing a kiss across her lips then turned to enter the still open door.  A firm slap on his behind followed by a light caress as Beth murmured approvingly, "Nice butt," made Al pause and turn back to face her.  Her comment, "I do like a man that keeps himself in shape," just made him roll his eyes.  He knew the little 'I told you so' digs were her way of expressing approval of his progress.

        "You W.A.V.E.S. are all alike," he said with a grin.  "All you care about is how a sailor looks in his clothes.  Can't you women remember that a guy has a mind, too?" His grin broadened at her pert response, "True.  But a girl can't handle a guy's mind."

        "I'll keep that in mind for later," he quipped, grinning as he continued into their quarters.

        After a quick shower and shave, he had barely pulled up the trousers of the painfully bright lemon yellow silk suit he had selected before going jogging, when Ziggy announced, "Dr. Beeks is approaching your front door, Admiral."

        Al frowned. "What the hell?" he muttered, slipping his arms into the sleeves of a fiery red print shirt just as he heard a sharp knock.  Leaving the bedroom, he strode to the front door and opened it.  The grim expression on Dr. Verbena Beeks' face brought him up short.

        "Don't bother with the accessories," Verbena said bluntly, stepping past Al into the living room. "Tuck your shirt tail in, get your shoes on and get to the Imagining Chamber as fast as you can."

        "Talk," he ordered, rapidly buttoning the shirt as he returned to the bedroom with her trailing him. Before Verbena could begin, Al snapped aloud, "Ziggy, tell St. John to get the Imaging Chamber online stat!  I'll be there in four minutes." 

        "The Imaging Chamber is coming online now, Admiral," Ziggy responded. Shifting his gaze back to Verbena, Al repeated his order. She complied.

        "The visitor's name is Gary Webster," she said.  "He looks to be in his mid-thirties.  He wasn't able to give me much but…"

        "Stop editorializing and spit it out," Al's tone sharpened as he re-entered his bedroom, stuffing the tail of his shirt in and fastening his trousers as he went.  Going to the suit valet near the open walk-in closet, he grabbed a narrow silver satin tie.  While he knotted it with practiced precision, Al glanced down and carefully stepped into first one then the other of the silver leather slip-ons on the shoe shelf under the valet stand. The whole process, tie, shoes, and grabbing the suit jacket from the valet hanger took just about a minute. 

        Before the psychiatrist uttered the first word, the fact of her presence in his and Beth's quarters told the Project’s Chief Observer that wherever Sam was, he was in a life and death situation.  That was even more of a certainty since he knew without a doubt that in all the years Sam had been leaping, Verbena had never come to his quarters to get him.

        "Let's go.” Al was all business as he slipped the jacket on as he marched double time out of the apartment and headed for the elevator.

        Verbena, used to all too frequent 'in transit' meetings with Al in hallways, the elevator or wherever he happened to be during a leap, did as he'd demanded, her next words confirming what instinct had already told him.

        "Three things," she began as they exited the elevator and hurried toward the Control Room. "One, the date is June 23, 1988.  Two, Sam has leaped into Yellowstone National Park near Shoshone Lake.  And third, he's trapped in the middle of a forest fire."

        Verbena waited, not blinking, when the Project Observer paused then turned to look at her as they reached the Control Room door.  She glanced again at his outfit, wincing as if the sight of it hurt her eyes.

"You really ought to hand out sunglasses when you wear that suit," she said as the Observer placed his hand on the recognition plate affixed to the wall beside the door.

Al slid a sideways look at his colleague as a soft tone sounded and the door opened, entering the Control Room without offering a word of rebuttal. 

        Going to the main control panel, he took the charged handlink offered by St. John. He started up the ramp to the Imaging Chamber just as Ziggy added some additional information.

        "Based on the information provided by Mr. Webster," the computer stated, "Dr. Beckett is approximately two hundred feet from the northernmost shore of Shoshone Lake.  The forest fire Dr. Beeks advised you of earlier, and which I have also compared and verified with records of the National Forestry Service, began on June 23, 1988, when a lightning strike ignited the stands of ancient lodge pole pines which encircle the lake."

        "How long did it take them to put the fire out?" Al asked as he stepped into the Imaging Chamber and took his place in the center of it.  Ziggy’s response didn’t ease the uneasiness already growing inside him.  It exacerbated it, but he squashed the panic attempting to take a bite out of his concentration as he waited for the sequencing to complete and initiate the neural connection search through time.

        "Approximately thirty-three days for the area surrounding Shoshone Lake," Ziggy stated.  "However, on July 25, 1988 the fire stopped short of destroying Grant’s Village, some fourteen miles from the lake, and turned northward.  As for the immediate area around the lake itself, only the lodge pole pines remained."

        The accelerator began to thrum, the power level increasing exponentially.  Within seconds the Observer was enclosed by a column of swirling images as time yielded to the chamber's power, allowing the neural link between him and his friend to connect.  To counteract a nanosecond of dizziness, Al closed his eyes and took a deep breath then opened them again when St. John announced, "We have a link.”  For a second Al froze when the Imaging Chamber door opened, staring at the conflagration confronting him.  Stepping out finally, he slowly turned a full circle.  The words, "Oh my God!" finally slipped from his lips, and it was only then that he looked around and found Sam watching him. 

PART TWO

Near Shoshone Lake, Wyoming

For a moment Sam just looked down at the little girl looking up at him.  She was wearing pink denim overalls and a short-sleeved cartoon print shirt and tennis shoes, and judging by her size, figured she was probably six or seven years old.  Probably…  Sam glanced at his hand, relaxing a bit when he saw that it was a man's hand; only then did his thought complete itself…. my daughter. But …  No, she called me Mr. Gary.  So, if I'm not her father, then who am I to her?  Glancing beyond the child to the fire towering all around them another question was added to the list. ‘And why am I in the middle of a forest fire with her?’

        "Uh…what did you say, honey?" he asked carefully, squatting down to be at eye level with her.  But before the child could answer, the familiar heavy 'whoosh' of the Imaging Chamber door opening off to his right caught his attention.  Seeing the Observer step through the silvery white rectangle of light was the best sight he'd seen in the past two minutes.

Moving closer to his friend, Al saw the mixed expression of relief and undisguised but controlled natural fear of the roaring flames surrounding him as Sam strove to stay calm. At the moment, his and the child's lives were being measured by how calm and clearheaded he could stay when the survival instinct of ‘'fight or flight' was very likely pumping adrenaline into his bloodstream in massive quantities.  The most vital attitude Sam needed to hang onto right now was calm since they apparently had nowhere to flee.  Al spared another glance at the fire as he reached Sam, his fingers flying over the buttons on the handlink as he retrieved the data Ziggy was providing.

        "What we've got is sketchy," he said as his friend stood up. “Verbena's interviewing the guy you leaped into, one Gary Webster, mid-thirties, to see what else she can get out of him."

        "Where am I?" Sam asked.  Both he and the Observer glanced down at the child when she spoke.

        "We were looking for the Maiden's Cup, Mr. Gary," the little girl said, tugging again at Sam's hand.  “And we found it.  It’s over there…see?” She added, pointing at a large boulder that was wedged tightly in a sort of triangular space at the base of three of the burning pine trees a short distance from where they were standing by the lake’s shore.

        "What's she talking about?" Al asked, puzzled.

        "You tell me," Sam replied softly, a trace of edginess in his voice. "I just arrived in Dante's 'Inferno'.  Where and when am I?" 

        "According to what Ziggy's found so far, you… uh, Gary has worked as a horseback packing and camp guide here in Yellowstone National Park for the last nine and a half years.  As for where you are at this moment… SAM…LOOK OUT!" he shouted when there were multiple deep cracking sounds behind him.  The Observer spun sharply on his heel, ducking involuntarily just as several large branches crashed to the ground, thick plumes of flames and sparks flashing out and up.  Turning back to Sam, Al's expression became grimmer when he saw how the younger man had grabbed the child close against his body, shielding her.

        "As for where you are," he continued.  "You're about a hundred yards from the shore of Lake Shoshone in Yellowstone National Park," Al replied. "Sam, I suggest you both get closer to the water.  At least water doesn't burn."

        Taking the child's hand Sam led her into the water lapping at the pebble-studded shore. "Careful, honey," he said when Tonya's footing slipped a bit, his grip on her hand tightening a bit to steady her.

        "According to the park service archives," Al continued, keeping pace with them. "The summer and early fall of 1988 was the worst fire season on record in the Yellowstone National Park system since they began keeping records on forest fires.  More than one point six million acres burned in Yellowstone National Park and the surrounding forests. It even burned the dirt."  

Sam couldn't help the feeling of dread that washed through him when the Observer looked up at him, saying, "According to the records, among the first fires of that season was the Shoshone Lake fire."

        Listening to Al talk, for a split second the moment seemed almost surreal to Sam.  There was a hypnotic and fascinating beauty and power in the towering reddish-orange flames with flashes of blue and white surrounding him.  The hot air from the massive fire swarmed and grabbed at him, engulfing him as if bent on sucking the sweet, cool life giving air from his lungs.  Yet at the same instant, he felt the soothing coolness as he stepped into the shallow water at the lake's edge, the water lapping across the top of his boots.

        The spell of the fire was broken when the little girl cried out, her exclamation tinged with the mixture of impatient excitement natural to most children when fascinated by something, jerked him back into the moment. For as much as he wanted to give his full attention to her, even more Sam knew that focusing on Al and what he was telling him very well could literally mean the difference between life and death for both of them.  And at that moment, though an optimist, Sam couldn't help but feel that the latter was the most imminent.  The Observer's expression didn't do a lot to reassure him when he asked, "How much time do we have?"

        If ever there was a time that he needed information on the person in the Waiting Room immediately, Al knew this was the time.  He didn't need to look at the conflagration encircling Sam and the little girl to answer Sam's question realistically. However, the words "not much" were not an option; that fact was redundant.  Instead, the Observer's fingers skimmed over the buttons of the handlink, praying that the memory of the visitor in the Waiting Room wasn't too Swiss-cheesed or that he was too frightened to think clearly.  Right now, more than at any other time in all of Sam's leaps, time was literally of the essence.

        "What's her name?"  Al asked, indicating the child with a slight nod of his head in her direction, watching and listening closely as Sam gained the little girl's attention and asked her name.  Fortunately for both of them she didn't seem to wonder why the man with her was asking her name.  The instant that the girl uttered, "My name is Tonya Mandelle.  You know that, Mr. Gary," Al tapped the information into the handlink.  A few seconds later information began to scroll across the tiny screen. A frown line creased his forehead as he scanned the information; it was both good and bad news.  The question became which to give Sam first.  He opted to go with the good news.

        Sparing a moment to glance up at his friend the Observer told him, "Well it's good news and bad news."  The look in Sam's eyes was enough to hurry him to explain.  "Okay, here it is.  According to what Ziggy could find, in the original history it was assumed that Tonya died in this forest fire.”  He saw the question in Sam’s eyes and answered it.  “Originally her body was never found, so when you leaped in, you saved her life."

        It was good news.  But at the moment, surrounded on all sides by roaring flames, Sam was hard put to see how that was a good thing at the moment.

        "Would you mind telling me just exactly how that's a good thing?" he asked softly in order to keep the child from hearing.  "I mean," he looked around then back to the Observer.  "If we don't get out of here, even though I've changed history and saved her life, she's just going to die in the fire again.  All that I will have changed is when she dies." There was no need to voice something he hadn’t said….’And I’ll die here, too.’  The answer that Al gave him was even more depressing.

        While Sam was speaking, Al continued to review the information that continued to scroll across the hand link’s tiny screen. "As I said before," Al told him, "That was the good news.  The bad news," he emphasized the last two words, "is that as soon as you leap out, Tonya still dies.  Only this time," Al paused to glance down again at the little girl then back up to his friend's eyes.  "This time," he said softly, "the body of Tonya Mandelle, age five, is her body is found by one of the park rangers.”  He paused then added somberly, “She drowned."

        The Observer's response startled Sam.  For a moment he looked closely at Al, wondering if he hadn't heard him correctly.  But the hologram's expression remained the same.  Glancing around at the lake behind them, Sam looked again to Al.  "Here?" he whispered.  Looking down at Tonya, he smiled softly, reaching to put his arm around her shoulders and draw her close to him in a protective gesture.  He couldn't help the suddenness of his reaction when Al replied, his tone grim, "Well, not in the lake."  Seeing the impatient look come over Sam the Observer finished what he was about to say.  Glancing around at the lake and shore behind his friend, Al's gaze lingered on the little girl before he looked at Sam again.

"According to Ziggy, even though you saved her life when you leaped in, when you leap out, according to the new history, when the fire crews eventually get into this area, they find her body inside a rock formation close to the shore..."

        "What?"  Sam asked.

        Al nodded as he glanced at his friend's face then to the handlink again.  "According to the police report, the charred remains of six-year-old Tonya Mandelle was discovered head down inside a rock formation known locally as the Maiden's Cup.  It's a couple of hundred feet from the shore and is surrounded by three pine trees…” In one accord, hologram and leaper both looked back at the large rock about four feet in diameter and about as high to which Tonya had pointed a couple of minutes before. Sam’s gaze lifted to the massive columns of fire roaring upward through those pines He paused to scan the area now brightly lit by the roaring flames. 

        Glancing at the child, Al noted the direction, which Tonya was looking and did likewise.  Sighting his objective, the Observer pointed to a boulder

        “There,” he said, waiting for Sam to see it.  “The ‘cup’ is in the top of the rock and is approximately…twelve inches deep.  It supposed to have water in it; probably fed in by some sort of underground source.  Supposedly, according to an old local Indian legend, if an unmarried girl dips her hand in and is able to get some water out of the Maiden's Cup and drink it, she will marry within the year."

"What's that got to do..." Sam began. 

Al’s response to the half-asked question answered it too plainly.  “Her hands were bound behind her back.  According to the coroner's report…oh geez,” Al muttered, his stomach twitching at what he was reading.

        “What?” Sam demanded.

The observer shuddered involuntarily as he met Sam’s gaze again; Sam noted a slight greenish-tinge in the Observer’s face.  “Well, when they found her…her body was charred, almost to the bones.  But… But because her head was wedged down inside the…” he glanced back to the boulder wedged between the three trees then back to Sam.  “…cup, plus the fact that the water filling it was so cold… remember, it’s probably fed from an underground spring….”

        “Al,” Sam said impatiently.

        Al got a grip on his personal reactions.  “Because of those two things,” he said.  “When they were able to move her body, her head was totally intact; flesh, skin, hair…eyes.   Water logged but…still all there.”  He swallowed a couple of times, watching as his friend now squatted beside the child and took her in his arms and hugged her reassuringly.  When Sam finally looked up at him he added, "As for you... Gary Webster... his body was never found." The Observer's gaze was steady as Sam slowly stood up to face him.

        Keeping his voice low he asked, "So you're saying that I've leaped in to save her life just so she can die again when I leap out?"  He watched the Observer nod in acknowledgement.  "That can't be right, Al," Sam said softly.  Glancing down at Tonya, he said, "I mean… I leap into the man who killed her in the original history…”

        “No, no, Sam,” Al interrupted him.  “We don’t know that for sure.  Remember, in the original history her body was never recovered.  Neither was this guy, Webster, for that matter.”

        “Whether or not either one of them was found, is beside the point,” Sam responded more than a little sharply. “Based on what you just said, I’d say the odds are pretty darned high that this guy killed her.  And now you’re telling me that I’ve leaped in just so that he can do it again when I leap out?  That doesn’t even begin to make sense."  Returning his gaze to the hologram, Sam told him, "Go talk to this Gary Webster."  He wanted to add more but didn't.    Seeing Al hesitate, he ordered, "Go on.  We don't have time to waste."  Drawing the child closer against him, Sam assured him, " we will be okay until you get back."  He watched silently as the Observer summoned the Imaging Chamber door.  Only when Al stepped through the door did Sam whisper, "Hurry, Al."

PART THREE

Project Quantum Leap

Spring 2005

Through the years of Sam's leaping, Al had witnessed his friend in many hair raising and frightening situations.  But in spite of all those times, together, leaper and hologram had been able to get Sam through safely.  Occasionally a situation was life threatening, but still they always managed to pull Sam back from the edge of danger.  But as Al emerged from the Imaging Chamber, he knew that even the leap that had landed him in the electric chair within seconds of the switch being thrown didn't begin to come close to the very real fear that had sprung up in him when the Imaging Chamber door had opened and he saw where his friend had landed this time.  Pausing at the main control panel to return the handlink to St. John, he couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness.  At least in the prison situation when Sam was nearly electrocuted, he could talk and attempt to sway those in authority around him.  Convincing a prison warden not to throw the switch was at least a possibility.  At this moment he didn't have even that; fire bargains with no one.  And unless the man in the Waiting Room was able to supply further information, Al couldn't shake or deny the feeling of dread that this leap could very well be the last leap Samuel Beckett ever took.

        Without looking back, Al headed out of the Control Room and headed for the Waiting Room.  As he walked he said aloud, "Ziggy, where is Doctor Beeks?"

        "Doctor Beeks is presently in her office, Admiral," Ziggy's voice even contralto voice filled the corridor.

        Al altered direction and headed for the chief psychiatrist's office.  It only took a couple of minutes to reach Verbena's office.  Knocking lightly, he opened the door at the same moment that he heard her call out, " Enter."

        Closing the door, he went to sit in one of the chairs before her desk.  For a moment he just looked at her.  As usual she was busy with paperwork, a seemingly never-ending commodity of a top-secret government project.  Today, she was dressed in a long sleeved dress with a dark-red/dark-green tropical plant pattern that complemented the warm tones of her dark skin and hair.  A pair of bi-focal reading glasses was perched on the end of her nose as she read from the open file folder on the desk.  Al didn't waste time with small talk. 

        "So what else have you found out about this Gary Webster?" he asked coming immediately to the point.

        Glancing over the top of her glasses, Verbena gave him a considering look.  She looked down on be file again before answering.

        "Well," she began, "what he remembers is on a par for most visitors.  With a little prompting, he was able to remember that he was leading a family on a horseback camping vacation outing..."

        "For how long?"  Al asked.

        Verbena checked her notes then shook her head.  "He couldn’t remember."

        "What about the family’s name?"

        Verbena glanced at the file again, once more shaking her slightly.  "Nope.  All he could remember was that the family consisted of the parents, an older boy and a little girl, but no names."  She looked up at the Observer again and asked, "Is there a problem with the family?"

        Al sighed before answering.  "There's a little girl with Sam," he began, pausing as he nodded in response to Verbena's, "Oh Lord!"

        "I was able to get her name... Tonya Mandelle," he said, seeing in his mind's eye again the little girl with blond pigtails, apparently oblivious to the forest fire that was threatening both her life and Sam's life.  But in the next instant Sam's face came before his mind eye and the momentary lapse of urgency vanished.

        “Ziggy, locate all the information you can on the Mandelle family that booked a camping outing in Yellowstone National Park in June 1988,” Al said aloud as he stood up and started for the door.

        “Where are you going?” Verbina asked.

        Al paused to look back at her as he opened the door.  “To talk to the visitor.”

        “But I just told you…”

        “Verbina,” Al said, his tone blunt and direct.  “We usually don’t have a lot of time to figure out the ‘who-what-when-where-and-why’ during any of Sam’s leaps.  And right now, we’ve got even less time than that.  At this moment, Sam is literally surrounded by a forest fire and, as far as I could see, no way out.  So unless there’s an unexpected deluge in that area in damned short order…”

        “There was no precipitation of any sort in that area for two or more months from mid-summer to early autumn,” Ziggy interjected smoothly.

        Al paused only long enough to listen to the computer’s input before finishing his thought to Dr. Beeks.  “Sam and that little girl are going to burn to death if we don’t do everything we and Mr. Webster can to help him.”  That said, the Observer exited the office and headed for the Waiting Room.

        Five minutes later, he paused just long enough for the two Marines stationed outside the Waiting Room to allow him to step up close to a small panel affixed on the wall beside the door for a retinal identification scan to be done before he was permitted access into the Waiting Room.  So accustomed to the sound, Al took no notice as the door closed behind him.  Instead, he stood for a moment, studying the average looking man with sandy hair and a narrow mustache adorning his upper lip, who stood across the large white room studying him.

        It occurred to Al that Gary Webster was handling his present situation with a high degree of calm.  That notion, however, was dismissed.  The Observer knew that some of the people Sam temporarily displaced handled the switch in time better than others.  Apparently, this Gary Webster was one of those few.

        “Mr. Webster,” Al began after tucking his silent musings aside as he approached the visitor.  “My name is Al; I’m an associate of Dr. Beeks.  I know she asked you some questions and that your memory is a bit sketchy.  But I need to ask you a few more questions.”

        “Since I can’t seem to remember a whole lot, what’s the point?” Gary asked carefully, shifting his stance a bit to lean back against the edge of the mirrored table.  “And for that matter, I’ve got some questions of my own.” Not giving Al a chance to respond, he glanced down at the mirrored table surface then back to Al.  “For starters, who’s that?” he asked, inclining his head slightly at the table, never taking his eyes from the other man.  “I may have trouble with my memory, but not my eyes.  And that’s not me.  Who is it?”

        It was a variation of a common question asked by many visitors, and Al gave the response that special situations occasionally forced him to give. Now was one of those times.   Moving slowly closer to the visitor, Al told him, “His name is Sam, and he’s a scientist.  As for why you see his reflection instead of yours, well, the truth is that you’re now a temporary part of a top secret scientific experiment.”  He paused to take a breath then finished.  “For a brief time, he has switched places with you in your life.”  To the man’s alternately startled then suspicious expressions, Al added, “Before you ask, yes, I know exactly how that sounds, and I assure you that it is true.”

        “What is this place?  And for that matter, where is this place? Where am I?”

        Under ‘normal’ leap situations Al wouldn’t have minded answering the standard “who, what and where” questions.  But at the moment, he didn’t have the luxury of even a few extra minutes to add extra reassurance to the visitor’s concerns.

        “Mr. Webster,” Al kept his tone even but firm.  “That information is classified but I assure you, as Dr. Beeks did, that you are safe. Now, Dr. Beeks said that you work as a horseback camping guide in Yellowstone National Park?”  Gary nodded and he went on.  “Who are the Mandelles?”

        The name was like a rough brush over his mind, causing Gary to hesitate, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead.  He squinted then closed his eyes, trying to catch hold of why the name seemed familiar.  It took a moment but he finally said, “They’re…a package trip…a three day horseback camping trip. Why?”  Al countered with another question.

        “Near Shoshone Lake?”

        Once again the visitor closed his eyes, another frown creasing his forehead, only this time used it in order not to let his suspicions show in his eyes as he knew it would.  ‘Why’s he asking about the lake?’ Gary wondered, feeling his anger starting to rise.  But just in the next moment he shut it down, heeding his instincts to use the odd but handy excuse of a jumbled memory to not answer.  Pursing his lips, he frowned a bit more before opening his eyes, nodding slowly.  “Yeah.  The people…the husband…wanted to try some fishing there.  I was….” Once more Gary hesitated a few seconds before adding, “I was down there checking…. Damn!” he swore before shaking his head again as he met Al’s gaze.  “I can’t remember.”

        Al posed another question.  “How long ago did the fire start?”

        Gary didn’t try to avoid that question but still frowned for a second then took care in how he answered.  “Maybe twenty minutes.” He noticed the way the older man in the bright yellow suit pursed his lips thoughtfully as he listened.  “And if you’ve got some cock-eyed idea that I started that fire, you’re wrong,” he said, his tone now defensive.  “The park’s dry as a tinderbox.  Been under drought condition warnings since the middle of May.” Straightening up to his full height, the visitor looked straight into Al’s eyes.  “But for the record,” he said plainly. “It was lightning striking the trees that started it.  I don’t know where ‘here’ is,” he said, glancing around the room then back to Al.  “But for damned sure, I ain’t sorry to be outta there.  Anything caught in that fire, if it don’t have wings, is gonna burn.”

        Al digested everything Gary had said, not letting his thoughts show in his eyes or expression.  Experience with other visitors was reminding him that the man could only tell him what he remembered, which was apparently not much where the Mandelle family was concerned.  Still, the Observer’s own instincts were telling him that there was something more that the visitor wasn’t saying.  It was just a feeling, but since surviving Vietnam, one thing, if nothing else he’d learned to do was trust his instincts.  He decided to try another tack.

        “What’s at Shoshone Lake?” Al asked.

        Something about this person who called himself Al was making the visitor more and more wary of him as the minutes passed.  Still, he decided to continue to play the situation…carefully. “Fishing,” he said. “Sometimes people find arrowheads on the shore.  Other than that, just a whole lot of trees and mountains wherever you look.”

        “Is it easy to get to?”

        Gary’s dislike of Al continued to grow with each succeeding question, no matter how reasonable they were.  “What’s with the inquisition?” he asked, moving a couple of steps closer.

        The silent sizing up that had been going on between the Observer and the visitor had steadily been acquiring an edge to it.  It didn’t bother Al; he’d squared off with others worse than this Gary Webster.  But with Sam trapped in the middle of the fire now almost literally ringing the lake, he checked the inclination to bark. Antagonizing the visitor wasn’t the answer.  Sam and the little girl’s chances of survival mostly probably would depend on something this guy might know, so for the moment, he went with a certain measure of the truth.

        “For the reason you just pointed out,” Al responded, not giving an inch when the visitor moved closer, not crowding him but definitely angling to intimidate.  “If Sam doesn’t find a way out of there, he will very likely die.”

        Gary crossed his arms slowly over his chest as he studied the older man’s face.  Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Better him than me.”

        The itch to grab Gary by the throat and choke out the information was ignored.  Instead, the Observer started to ask another question but was interrupted when the sound of the Waiting Room door opening caught his attention as well as that of the visitor.  In the few minutes he had been in the Waiting Room, Al had noticed that the man was good at veiling his eyes quickly, but not quickly enough this time.

        “There are two armed Marine guards outside that door,” he warned, “And they answer only to me.”  There was no mistaking the look in Gary Webster’s eyes.  “And there’s nothing you can say or do that will get you past them.”  He held the man’s gaze for a moment then turned toward the door and saw Verbena standing there with a glass of water; she answered before he could ask.

        “Mr. Webster had asked for a glass of water earlier,” she said moving toward Al. “I just remembered and was bringing it to him.”  At a subtle nod of his head as an answer, Verbena stepped past Al and handed the glass to the visitor. “With plenty of ice, as you requested, Mr. Webster,” she said with a smile.

        “Thanks,” Gary replied with a like smile to her then took his time in draining the glass.  As he drank, he kept tabs on Al.  “Ahhh,” he sighed appreciatively.  “Nothing like ice cold water on a hot day.”  Holding the glass up he studied the glistening ice cubes, his smile reappeared for a moment before returning the disposable glass to the woman.

        Verbena wanted to linger and listen to Al’s conversation with the visitor, but experience told her that it was time to leave.

        The Waiting Room door hadn’t even finished closing before Al turned to confront the visitor.  He didn’t waste any time with trying to reason with the man.  With every minute that ticked by, it was another minute Sam and little Tonya Mandelle were closer to dying.  It occurred to him that maybe Gary had forgotten about the child.

        “What about the girl?” he asked straight out.

        “What about her?” Gary said his attention instantly riveted on Al.  “Is she okay?” he demanded.

        “For the moment, she and Sam are okay…” Al started to point out.

        “Look, Al, or whoever you are.  I don’t give a flying rat’s ass about this Sam Whoever or Whatever-he-is,” Gary snapped.  “He can fry for all I care. But you gotta get the kid outta there…now!”

        “Why?” Al demanded.  “What’s she to you?  She’s not your kid.”

        In the space of time it had taken for Al to ask, “What about the girl?” Gary suddenly saw in his mind’s eye what he had been so close to before finding himself in a huge white room with only one way out that he couldn’t get through, and having to deal with this Al.

As Al threw the last question in his face, all Gary could see was the goal he’d planned and worked toward for the last ten years, slipping out of his hands if the kid was burned up in the fire.

        “She’s a kid, for God’s sake!” Gary shot back.  Seeing the way Al cocked his head to one side slightly, his gaze narrowing, never leaving his face, the visitor spoke again.  “Look, if that little girl dies, it’ll be your fault, and your friend’s fault, and fault of everybody in this place,” he snapped, moving forward to jab a finger sharply at his inquisitor.  “*I* didn’t have a say in all this,” he stepped back, waving one arm expansively to indicate the room.  Fixing Al with a hard look, Gary advanced toward him again until he was where the majority of the personnel in the project wouldn’t have gone even on sure bet – into the Observer’s personal space and in his face.

        “If you and your…friend hadn’t interfered with your experiment, I’d have been able to get that little girl outta there…alive,” Gary lied with aggressive fervency.  “But, I’m not.  I’m here.  And since I’m guessing that your scientist buddy doesn’t know squat about backwoods camping or hiking in Yellowstone, he’s gonna get that little girl killed.  And from where I stand, that’s as good as murder.”  Recognizing the signs of defensiveness that suddenly came over the other man, Gary pressed his point.  “So why don’t you do that little girl a favor and put an end to your experiment and put me back the same way you got me here, so I can save her life.”

        In the face of the verbal attack he was getting from Gary Webster at that moment, if it had been possible to make a deal with the devil, Al Calavicci might have considered it.   He understood the man’s frustration about being out of control of his life while a stranger was.  He could understand Gary’s anger about the grim situation that the leap had placed little Tonya Mandelle and Sam in.  There was no question in his mind that if he could, he would do just as the angry man was demanding; stopping the experiment and allowing the experienced trail guide to use his skills to, hopefully, get both the girl and Sam away from certain death.  But he couldn’t, and neither could anyone in the project.

        “It’s not that simple,” he finally responded, his voice level and calm.  Losing his cool now wasn’t the answer.

        “Why the hell not?” Gary demanded.  “Are you as cold-blooded as your pal?” he spat.  “Is that little girl just another guinea pig to you, too?”  With that accusation, Gary Webster crossed the line in the sand.  He didn’t know how Al managed to get two handfuls of the form fitting white bodysuit he was wearing, all he knew was that suddenly he was literally nose to nose with barely restrained fury in the form of Al Calavicci.

        “Look,” Al barked sharply, giving the visitor a hard shake before pinning him with a stare.  “Understand this, Mr. Webster, and understand it well.  If we could end this experiment right now, we would, but it’s not that simple. In fact, it’s too damned complicated to get into at this moment, which by the way, neither that little girl nor my friend has to spare. The truth of the matter is that if you don’t start co-operating, Tonya *and* my friend are going to die.  And if my friend dies, Mr. Webster,” the Observer’s voice acquired a darker tone to match the look in his eyes. “Not only will you never get back to your life, but you’ll spend whatever lifetime you have, here - right here – three hundred feet underground in a ten by ten foot cell guarded twenty-four seven by a couple of buddies of those Marines outside that door over there until the day you die.  Right here, inside this project that is so top secret that the majority of the people in this country don’t even know it exists.”  Tightening his grip on the Fermi suit the man was wearing, Al stared, unblinking, into his eyes.  “What’s it going to be Mr. Webster?”

        Gary didn’t get a chance to answer the question.  Just as he started to open his mouth, the Waiting Room door opened again.  Not loosening his grip in the least and keeping his eyes fixed on the visitor’s face, he called impatiently, “Yeah? What is it?”

        “Sir,” the senior of the two Marine guards spoke from the doorway.  “You are needed in control.”

        “On my way,” Al responded crisply then released his grip on the Fermi suit, stepped back from Gary and executed a sharp turn and marched out of the still open door.

PART FOUR

On the shore of Shoshone Lake

Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

For a moment after he watched the Imaging Chamber door close, Sam just stood where he was, knee-deep in water near the pebbled shore of Shoshone Lake and stared at the fire before him.  Even this far from the leading edge of line of trees some two feet from the water, the massive heat pouring from the towering, roaring inferno surrounded him and the little girl beside him, his arm still protectively around her shoulder.

        “Mr. Gary…can we go now?”  The soft, fearfully whispered question did what all of the Leaper’s intellect and logic hadn’t, jolting him into action.  Shaking his head softly, Sam knew he couldn’t…wouldn’t just stand in the shallow water of the lake and wait for the fire to creep down to the water’s edge and leave them with absolutely no way out.

        Looking down at Tonya, her blue eyes that had sparkled with excitement when he had leaped in were now wide and fearful as she looked up at him, scared at last by the danger that had at last seized her attention.

        Sam made himself smile reassuringly at her.  “Sure, honey,” he told her, reaching to take her free hand but saw she was holding something tightly in her hand.  He was about to ask what it was when he remembered the small bag of rocks she had been clutching when he had leaped in.  “Um… could you put that in your pocket, Tonya?”

        “Okay,” the child answered, stuffing the small, wet bag into the pocket of her overalls then offered her hand to Sam.

“Just keep hold of my hand,” Sam told her quietly.  Seeing her nod, he led her from the water and onto the obsidian-pebbled shore of the lake.  Once on the shore, though it seemed pointless at first glance, Sam looked along the shore to his left, then right. In both directions the fire roared heavenward, as well as casting fierce tongues of flame toward the lake as it fed on the drought raved trees and vegetation.  Only the very rocks and stones under their feet and the water were impervious to the deadly, greedy element.

“Tonya…”

        “Yes, Mr. Gary?” The child hugged Mr. Rags, her now bedraggled and wet teddy bear, closer under her chin as she looked up at Sam.

        “Do you…do you remember which direction we were walking?”

        The question went unanswered when one of the trees a few hundred yards off to their right crashed to the ground, sending billows of smoke and ash hurtling in every direction.  The fire had decided the direction for him.

        Tightening his hold on the girl’s hand, Sam immediately turned left and started walking.  Beside him, Tonya strove to keep up but stumbled a couple of times.   After the second time, Sam knew that they would travel faster if he carried the child.  So he carefully picked up Tonya and with her arms securely wrapped around his neck, her small cheek close to his, he started walking faster.

“I’m scared,” Tonya whimpered after a couple of minutes.  “Where’s my mommy?  I want my daddy.” 

        “Well…that’s where we’re going,” he told her, mentally crossing his fingers for the little white lie.

        Praying to divert the little girl from her fear, Sam cast about in his mind for something to talk about.  But what?  It was the sound of the soles of his waterlogged boots on the gravel underfoot that gave him an idea.

        “Tonya, do you like collecting rocks?” he asked, shifting her slightly in his arms.  Feeling her soft little cheek rub against his when she nodded her head, Sam smiled.  “I did, too, when I was a little boy.”  Puffing slightly, the superheated air around them drying his nose and throat as he breathed, Sam realized that Tonya would be affected by it much more quickly that he would, and stopped.  Setting her on her feet again, he searched the pockets of his jeans.

        “What are you looking for in your pockets, Mr. Gary?” Tonya asked, her fear momentarily diverted by curiosity.

        “I…uh, I was looking for a...handkerchief,” Sam mumbled as he patted his pockets again, still to no avail.  “But, I don’t seem to have one.”

        “What about the blue one around your neck?” Tonya asked guilelessly.

        “Around my n…” Sam repeated as he raised his hands to his throat then managed a chuckle as he felt the knot of the bandana.  “Guess I forgot I had it on,” he said as he loosened the knot and pulled the bandana off then turned toward the water.

        “Honey,” he said to Tonya when she scuttled close to him as he started to leave her. “I’m just going to dip this…” he showed her the bandana. “…in the water.  I’ll just be a minute.  You stay here and watch me, okay?”  But the little girl refused to be convinced and finally Sam led her to the water’s edge where he dipped the cloth in water then wrung it lightly, leaving it sopping.  Showing the child how to hold it close to her mouth and nose, he picked her up and started walking again, quickly resuming the topic of rock collecting with the little girl he prayed he wasn’t carrying deeper into an inferno.

        “What…kind of rocks do you like to collect, Tonya?” he asked.

        “Pretty ones,” was the prompt reply.

        Sam chuckled at that, even hugging her a bit.  “Did you find some pretty rocks on the shore back there?” he asked.

        “No.”

        Sam’s brow knitted vaguely, puzzled by her answer.  “But you have some in the little bag in your pocket…”

        Now it was Tonya who giggled from behind the wet bandana she held over the lower half of her face.  “That’s not rocks, Mr. Gary.”

        “That’s not?  I mean…they’re not?”  Sam looked into Tonya’s blue eyes as they twinkled at him above the bandana.  “Then what do you have in your pocket?”

        “You know,” she prattled at him.  “It’s the ice…from the Maiden’s Cup.”

        The innocent answer floored Sam into stopping, fixing his gaze on her.  “Ice?” Sam repeated the word.  “Ice…from the Maiden’s Cup?” he repeated, his brows arched slightly as he looked into her eyes, expecting to see laughter there because she was teasing as children with vivid imaginations were sometimes wont to do.  But all he saw was innocent honesty as she bobbed her head.

        “What kind of…ice?”

        “The kind that only a pretty little girl…the prettiest little girl in the whole world… could get out of the Maiden’s Cup without it melting. “  Importantly, Tonya lifted her chin slightly as she added, “You said it was there, and it was, and I got it out. Remember, you held me up so I could reach in the cup and get it.”  Seeing Mr. Gary nodding his head very slowly, she released her right hand and reached down to pat the obvious small lump in the pocket of her overalls.

        ‘Ice that doesn’t melt?’ Sam wondered, searching his mind for information on some form of ice that didn’t melt even in the presence of a forest fire.  But nothing logical sprang to mind so he did the next best thing.

        “May I see the ice…treasure again?” he amended his question hastily.

        Tonya thought over the request for a moment.  “Okay,” she said, and reached into her pocket to carefully pull out the small sealed bag of clear heavy plastic.  “See?” she said excited all over again as she looked at the twinkling treasure from the Maiden’s Cup.  “Ice that doesn’t melt.”

        Sam kept a calm expression on his face as he listened to Tonya’s childish prattle.  Inside, however, his stomach tightened as he brought one hand up to cup her hand that held the small packet containing what he guessed to be about a cupful of small, probably uncut, diamonds.  For some people…someone like his host…the small fortune now in the possession of an innocent child was more than enough reason to kill her without a second thought.

“Okay put the…treasure back in your pocket, sweetie,” Sam said gently.  He watched to be sure that the packet was secure in Tonya’s pocket before continuing at a quickened pace along the shore.

        ‘But how do I keep him from killing her a second time?’  The thought looped through Sam’s mind ceaselessly.  Only the forest fire beginning to creep slowly down the slightly sloping ground toward the water kept him from fixating on that thought. Then another thought joined that question…. ‘Al, where are you?’

Project Quantum Leap

Once in the hall outside the Waiting Room, the Observer expected to find Verbena or possibly even Sammi Jo waiting for him with the reason he had been summoned, but there was no one.  Turning back to the two guards, he questioned the one who had delivered the message.  He listened as the Marine repeated verbatim the message he had delivered a couple of minutes earlier.

        “Thank you, lieutenant,” he said then headed to the Control Room.  As he entered the room, he saw Sammi Jo and Verbena near one of the satellite control panels situated around the perimeter of the room.  Heading for them, he asked, “Okay, what is it that couldn’t wait?”

        Sammi Jo looked around at the sound of Admiral Calavicci’s voice, but it was Verbena who spoke up.

        “I had you called out,” she told him.

        “Okay, I’m here.  So tell me, what’s the emergency?” Al demanded. “And don’t bother with the ‘wherefores’ and the ‘whereases’; just cut to the chase.”   The switch up came so fast it made Al’s head spin, and it was Ziggy delivering the one-two punch.

        “The man in the Waiting Room is not Gary Webster,” the computer interjected herself into the discussion.

        Al didn’t say anything for a second as the words finished sinking in, then, “What do you mean, the guy isn't who he says he is?  How do you know that?  Didn’t his social security number check out?”

        “His subterfuge was not discovered because of his Social Security number,” Ziggy prompted him.  “The visitor couldn’t recall his Social Security number.”

        With precious minutes that Sam didn’t have to spare, Al was decidedly not in the mood for a game of 20 Questions.  “Then how do you know that the guy’s not who he says he is? Look, we don’t have time for speculation, people.  Sam and that little girl are this close to becoming worse than toast.  So somebody better start talking in a straight line.”

        “As is required,” Ziggy informed her favorite human sparring partner. “I have recorded the visitor’s actions and comments since he arrived.  During your interview with him, Admiral Calavicci,” she informed him. “It was apparent that you were having suspicions about Mr. Webster.”

        “Ziggy,” Al demanded impatiently. “Get to the point of this, if there is, in fact, a point.”

        “If you will allow me to finish, Admiral,” the computer rebutted.  She didn’t give him time to respond.  “While you were talking with the visitor, I requested Dr. Beeks to bring the glass Mr. Webster drank from to the lab where three clear fingerprints were lifted from it.”

        Hearing the word ‘fingerprints’ definitely got Al’s attention.  “And?”

        “A search of the national criminal information databases found a match,” Ziggy informed him.  “The visitor is one Jeremy Don Webster…”

        Al frowned.  “What is he? The real Gary Webster’s brother or something?”

        “Yes.”

        Al looked to Verbena and Sammi Jo. By the way they were nodding in agreement, he knew he hadn’t misunderstood.  “So what…they’re identical twins or something?”

        “No, Admiral.  The real Gary Edwin Webster is dead.  He died in a drowning accident at the age of seventeen.”

        Al had hoped that the reason he was called out was good news; what he was hearing definitely was not.  Neither did he need it spelled out that the man in the Waiting Room had something to hide, and whatever that something was, was reason enough for him to have killed little Tonya Mandelle in the original history.

        Glancing at watch and seeing that nearly forty minutes had elapsed since he had contacted Sam, the Observer was reminded again that his best friend’s time was running out.

        “Ziggy, what’s the bottom line on this Jeremy Webster?  Who is he?”  The computer’s bare bones response of, “Jeremy Don Webster, born in Wheeling, West Virginia on January 25, 1954, is wanted in Montreal, Canada in connection with a break-in at Trepanier’s Jewelers that was robbed of a quantity of small, uncut diamonds valued at approximately four hundred thousand dollars.  Mr. Webster’s partner in the hold-up, Tate McKimley, was killed in a traffic accident in Wyoming several weeks after fleeing Canada.   Jeremy Webster is also wanted for murder in the shooting of Henri Trepanier, one of the store’s owners,” was enough to send him heading back to the Waiting Room.

        Gary hadn’t cared what the reason was that got the man called Al out of the room, he was just glad he was gone. He paced round and round the room, occasionally stopping to gaze down at the reflection in the mirrored tabletop.  But his reprieve from the man with eyes piercing enough to look a hole through a wall was short-lived, and he turned suddenly to face the only door into the room when he heard it open again.  Seeing Al there, his instincts went on high and he prepared for whatever was coming.

        During the brief walk from the Control Room to the Waiting Room, Al had considered several scenarios of how to deal with the visitor for who he really was.  The couple he personally opted to use were discarded, as were a couple of others.  That left him with the one he hoped would get him what he wanted, namely Sam and the little girl out of danger.  What happened to Jeremy Don Webster once he was back in his own life, at the moment, the Chief Observer didn’t care.  Stepping into the Waiting Room once the retinal scan to open the door was confirmed, he wasn’t all that surprised to find the visitor already watching for him.

        “Mr. Webster,” Al began, keeping his tone business-like as he walked slowly toward the man standing with his arms folded tightly against his chest, his feet planted in a wide stance and his gaze fixed on him.  “When my friend replaced you in your life, you were on the shore of Shoshone Lake.”

        The visitor saw no harm in acknowledging, again what had already been established.  “That’s right,” he responded.

        “You were there to…check out the fishing for the man in the camping party you were leading.”  He noted the man’s careful if suspicious nod of acknowledgement.

        “That area also a popular hiking and walking area isn’t it?”  He received another affirmative nod though it was clear the visitor’s suspicions were rising with every question.

        “What’s the shortest way back to a main road from the lake?”

        Gary’s hackles went on full alert.  “Why?” he demanded.  “With that fire going like it is, your friend isn’t going anywhere.  Besides, why should I tell you anything?  Not that I can remember all that much anyway.”

        “Humor me,” Al said tersely.  “Besides, if you recall, I told you that if my friend doesn’t get out of there, you’re staying right here.  In fact,” Al paused as if considering what he was about to say. “That cell I promised you is being readied at this moment.”

        “You can’t keep me here!” Gary protested angrily, dropping his arms to his sides as he marched at Al.

        “Of course, I can…Jeremy,” Al shot back, not showing any reaction when the visitor jerked to a startled halt at the sound of a name he hadn’t used in over ten years.  “Back in your time, ‘Jeremy Webster’ had disappeared.  And if Sam dies in that forest fire, then ‘Gary’ Webster will be written off as an unfortunate victim of it.”  He stared unblinkingly at the visitor’s startled, uncertain expression.  “So you see, nobody is going to wonder about either Jeremy Webster or Gary Webster ever again.”  Al watched the man he now knew to be Jeremy Webster lick his lips nervously, his eyes darting toward the door then back to him.

        “All you have to do is remember where the shortest trail is that leads away from the lake to a road,” Al told him.  “Once you do that, this part of the…experiment will be finished and you’ll go back to your own life.”

        “What about the fire?” Jeremy demanded.  “And…other things?”  He was reluctant to ask about the diamonds the kid had been able to retrieve from the unique hiding place Tate had found, though he had the strong suspicion that this Al already knew about them.  But that didn’t mean he had to come out and admit it.

        “I’m giving you a choice, Jeremy,” Al stated bluntly.  “Take your chances with that fire or me.”  Now he moved a few paces closer to the visitor.  “You decide which one is going to give you the best chance at freedom.”

        Jeremy Webster didn’t need long to decide; about the length of two heartbeats, coerced with the way the older man was staring at him as if he was hoping for the latter of the two choices.  Licking his lips again, he opened his mouth to speak, swallowed then spoke.

        “From what I remember before I …got here,” he told Al.  “I was about a half mile west of the Dogshead Trail.  But the way that fire was taking off before….” He glanced around then back to Al, “…the trail is probably impassable.”  To the terse one-word question, “Why?” Jeremy said, “Because it goes through a heavy stand of trees.  The whole damn place is nothing but a tinderbox.”

        Al brushed away the mental image that tried to set in his mind.  “How long is the trail?”

        “Three…maybe four miles.  The trailhead comes out on the road between West Thumb Junction and Old Faithful.”

        “What’s the nearest place he could get help?”

        “Uh…ummm….” He knew the name, he did but it was just beyond his reach.  Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut, his brow furrowing as he mentally scrabbled about for the just out of reach answer, but it wouldn’t come.  “I…can’t remember.”  Opening his eyes he saw the closed and, he was learning, unbending expression on Al’s face.  “I swear!” he declared.  “It’s…west… No, no!  It’s east of the trailhead about…six…no, seven miles.”

        Time for Sam at this point was more precious than ever, but Al let a long, tense moment of it slip away before he finally said, “If you hope to get out of here, Mr. Webster,” he told him.  “You had better be right.”  Raking the nervous visitor with a look that had frozen more men under his command in his active Navy years than he could count, the Observer turned on his heel and exited the Waiting Room.

        As he marched quickly toward the Control Room, Al said aloud, “Ziggy, was he telling the truth?”  It heartened him to hear the computer’s answer as he entered the Control Room a moment later.

        “Yes.  The Dogshead Trailhead is where Mr. Webster stated,” Ziggy announced.  “And he was correct in that Grant’s Village is approximately seven point two miles east of the trailhead.”

        Darting a look at St. John, taking the charged handlink he was offering he just nodded to the head programmer’s advisement, “The Imaging Chamber is online, Admiral.”  Without another word, Al marched up the ramp and into the Imaging Chamber.  However as he stepped into place as the door sealed, Al posed another question to Ziggy.

        “What are the chances that Sam and the little girl will be able to get up the trail to the road, Ziggy?”

        “According to the wind speed and direction on June 23, 1988, as well as the density of the forestation at that location,” the computer stated.  “Barring accidents…such as a tree falling across the trail, I calculate a seventy point one percent probability of success.”

        As the power began to thrum to life and the tornado of time past started to swirl about him, Al wished the percentage was higher, but given the size of the fire, he knew those were damned good odds.  But he wasn’t allowed to dwell on that positive point long.

        “If Dr. Beckett leaps immediately upon reaching the trailhead, Admiral Calavicci,” the computer’s voice easily overcame the sound emitted by the vortex of past years that surrounded the Observer. “There is a ninety-seven point six three percent probability that Jeremy Webster will kill the child, Tonya Mandelle, and escape.”

        As important, if depressing, that information was, it didn’t compare to when St. John announced, “We have a lock,” and the Imaging Chamber door slid open before him.  He stepped out and closed the door, for a moment watching his friend walking steadily toward him, carrying Tonya.  It could have been a scene out of Dante’s Inferno for the way the monstrous fire raged to his right.

        “Sam!” he called, hurrying to meet his friend then falling into step beside him.

For Sam, seeing and hearing the Imaging Chamber door opening a short distance ahead of him on the path, was a relief, momentarily putting to rest his natural instincts to panic as it seemed the world around him was nothing more than a massive wall of flame bent on his destruction.

        He never slowed down when the hologram reached him.  Stopping now, even for a moment, was no longer an option.

        “How you doing?”  As soon as the question was out of his mouth, Al dismissed it with a short wave of his hand as he read his friend’s eyes.  “Never mind.  I can see for myself.”

Glancing at the child in Sam’s arms, her bandana-shrouded face nestled close to Sam’s neck, he asked with his eyes about her.

“She’s okay,” Sam said softly so as not to panic the little girl.  “Just scared.”  There was no need for him to add that he was, too.

        “That’s the understatement of the decade,” Al responded then dismissed any more small talk.  Instead he raised the handlink and rapidly pressed the buttons to summon the information Sam needed.

“Sorry it took so long, but the guy in the Waiting Room needed some convincing,” he began.  At the look that got him, he added, “Don’t ask,” then hurried on.  “Okay, you’re headed in the right direction…”

        “To where?” Sam asked.  “I haven’t seen anything but fire and the lake since you left.”

        Al nodded as Sam spoke then told him, “From where you were when you leaped in, the this guy Webster said it was about a quarter of a mile to the trail that leads to the Dogshead Trailhead.”  Punching in a question on the handlink, he said, “Looks like you’ve gone about three hundred feet past it.  Turn around Sam and go back.”

        The Leaper stopped and just looked at his friend’s earnest expression then did as told without a word.  As he turned, Sam shifted the child to his other arm to protect her as best he could from the massive heat of the fire.  He retraced his steps until Al spoke again.

        “Okay, this is it, Sam,” Al said, confirming Ziggy’s co-ordinates before he looked in the direction Sam had to go.  “Ziggy says it will probably take you about a half hour to reach the road at the trailhead.”  He felt his heart clutch in his chest as he looked at the well-worn trail that led up and away from the lake, over-shrouded by a canopy of roaring, crackling flames as the fire ravenously consumed the tree tops.  He didn’t have to check the handlink’s screen a second time when he heard Sam whisper, “Are you sure about this, Al?  I mean, once I start up…”

        “Yeah, Sam,” he answered soberly, giving a slight nod as he met Sam’s eyes.  “Ziggy says you’ve got about a seventy percent chance of reaching the trailhead.”

        “How far is it?”

        “Webster said it’s about three miles.”

        For a         second the Leaper just stood and stared at the path that sloped slightly up and away from the lake and into the maw of the fire. ‘Three miles? He thought.  ‘Three *miles*?  Then without a word, he turned and walked down to the lake again.

        “Sam, what are you doing?” Al demanded.  “You can’t just get in the lake and wait this out.  Ziggy says that this area burned for over a month…”

        “I don’t intend to, Al,” Sam said as he reached the water’s edge and carefully stepped into the water and began wading out.  “We don’t have any protection against the fire,” he explained then paused to reassure Tonya when she gasped as the cool water, now about hip deep on Sam, enveloped her feet and legs.  “It’s okay, honey,” he assured her.  “We’re just going to get wet so the fire can’t hurt us.”

        Sam’s simple explanation to the child answered Al’s perplexed question.  The hologram watched as his friend carefully dipped down in the water several times.  It amazed him when he heard Tonya giggle as she obeyed Sam and pinched her nose and closed her eyes before man and child disappeared under the water for a moment.

        ‘I don’t know why little kids make you nervous, pal,’ he thought as he watched the pair repeat the dunking a couple of more times before Sam returned to the shore. ‘You’re a natural with them.’

        “Let’s do this,” was all Sam said as he looked across the narrow shoreline and path to the trail into the maw in the wall of flame.   As he walked steadfastly to the edge of the trail then started up it, Tonya, as if sensing the gravity of the situation, had nestled her head under Sam’s chin, her face pressed against his chest, the whole of her wet head covered over with the dripping wet bandana.

        As he marched resolutely up the trail, Sam caught the hologram’s attention with, “I know why he…did it.”  Sliding a look at his friend, he answered the question he saw in those dark brown eyes.

        “Remember when you first showed up, and she was talking about the Maiden’s Cup.”

        “Yeah?”

        Sam didn’t bother with reciting the conversation he’d had with the child.  “He needed her to get a small packet of diamonds out of that rock formation.” He hesitated a moment.  “That’s why….”  Neither man spoke as Sam continued in his attempt to save his and Tonya’s lives.

        In the best of situations…no child to carry and no forest fire that could burn him to a cinder, to consider…Sam’s long, easy stride would have enabled him to cover the three miles in about twenty minutes.  But he did have a child in his arms, and every second that ticked by he knew the fire was another increment closer to consuming them, all of which added extra minutes to the time it would take them to, hopefully, reach the relative safety of the trailhead.  It was the longest thirty minutes of his life before he heard Al saying, “You’re almost there, Sam!  A couple hundred yards ahead is the road.  Ziggy says there’s a ranger’s truck is coming this way. Should get to you a couple of minutes after you get to the road.”

        Not allowing himself even so much as a whispered, “Thank, God,” Sam hugged the little girl in his arms a bit closer, as he asked loudly to be heard over the roar of the fire, “What happens to her, Al?”

          Feeling better than he had since this leap had begun little more than an hour before, Al pulled the handlink from his jacket pocket and put the question to Ziggy. His good feeling disappeared as he read the percentage of success the hybrid parallel super computer had calculated earlier.  Taking a quick breath, he gave it to his friend straight and hard.  “Ziggy has calculated it to a ninety-seven point six three percent probability that Jeremy Webster will kill her and escape right after you leap out.”

        “But…”

        Al waved Sam’s brief protest of disbelief.  “She says that just as that truck that’s headed this way comes in sight of the sign marking the trailhead, that you’ll probably leap.”  He paused to take a breath before finishing the grim recitation. “Webster leaps back and snaps her neck, gets the diamonds and tosses her body into the underbrush.  The ranger reaches him and gives him a lift to safety and the bastard gets away with the diamonds and Tonya’s murder.”

        The relief he’d felt when Al told him how close they were to the trailhead, melted in the face of the new probabilities for Tonya’s survival, and Sam stopped in his steps, the sign marking the Delacy Creek/Dogshead Trailhead visible some hundred feet or so from where he stood.  In those seconds, he refused to admit defeat and turned the logic that was as natural as breathing to him loose on the untenable outcome now waiting for the little girl nestled against his heart.  The answer that the logic presented him a minute later sent a shudder through him but…. “It’s the only way,” he whispered to himself before lifting his eyes to the hologram standing in front of him.

        “Exactly how long till that truck reaches the trailhead, Al?” he asked.  “Not comes in sight of it but actually reaches it?”

        Punching in another sequence on the handlink, the hologram disappeared then reappeared an instant later.  “At the speed he’s driving,” Al said, “about two minutes.”  He watched as Sam whispered to the little girl as he carefully set her on her feet.  “Sam, what are you up to?” he demanded when the Leaper straightened up again, now holding Tonya by one hand.

        “I can’t leap out and let him…” Sam glanced down at the child then back to Al, dropping his voice to a whisper. “…kill her.  I’ve got to stop him.”

        “How?” Al demanded, the returned tension to the situation making his tone sharper than he intended.  “Soon as you leap…”  His mouth went dry when he heard Sam’s plan.

        Sam took a deep breath and blew it out slowly as he held the Observer’s gaze. “I’m going to throw myself in front of the truck.”

        “Are you out of your mind?!” Al demanded.  “You’ll be killed!”

        “Not if my timing is right,” Sam replied steadily.  “But you’ve got to help me….”

        “Get yourself killed?  Count me out!” Al rebutted sharply.

        “Then you’re going to help Webster to kill her, Al,” Sam came back stubbornly.  “I don’t like this any better than you do, but…” He glanced down at the little girl now pressing against his leg, clutching her waterlogged teddy bear, then back to the hologram. “It’s the only way she’ll have a chance to survive.”

        It had been a while since Al and Sam had butted heads about anything.  But Al knew that this time, like so many other close calls during the years of leaping his best friend had endured, that much as he didn’t want to, he had to trust Sam.  He had to trust his friend’s logic that had found the solution. Trust that Whoever or Whatever was leaping him around, wasn’t about to snuff out his friend’s life.  So, he looked long and deeply into Sam’s green eyes before nodding.  “Okay,” was all he said as he entered the information into the handlink to get Ziggy’s calculations.  The response was instantaneous.  “Get ready,” he said tersely.  “The truck will be here in sixty-two seconds.”

        Squatting down on his haunches beside Tonya, Sam put his arms around her and hugged for a moment.  Releasing her, he smiled at her as he said, “It’s going to be okay, Tonya.  See up there?” He pointed at the sign by the road.  Seeing her nod, he told her, “In just a minute, a truck is going to come by that sign.”

        “How do you know?” Tonya asked timidly.

        Sam glanced up at Al then back to the little girl.  “I’ve got an invisible friend who told me,” he answered.  “Now, I need you to do something for me.”

        “What?”

        “How high can you count?”

        Tonya smiled brightly.  “I can count to a hundred,” she told Sam proudly.

        “That’s great!” Sam praised her then hurried on when Al said behind him, “Forty-five seconds.”

        Gently he turned the little girl to face back down the trail, away from the road.  Seeing the fear in her eyes, he said, “I want you to close your eyes and count to one hundred for me.  Can you do that?”

        “Why?”

        ‘Please, God’ Sam implored silently at the one question guaranteed to be most frustrating and delaying when asked by a small child.

        “Tell her that you need to….you know,” Al suggested quietly.  At the look he got for the suggestion he shot back, “Sam, you’ve got about thirty seconds and counting if you intend to make this work.”

        Not having time to fumble for words, reluctantly Sam had to agree.  Turning back to the little girl, he smiled sheepishly as he said, “Well…I have to…”

        “Go behind a tree?” Tonya asked forthrightly.

        Sam blushed to his hairline when Al chuckled as he said, “Uh huh.”

        “My big brother makes me count, too, when he has to go behind a tree when Mommy and Daddy take us camping sometimes,” the child offered simply, then closed her eyes and started to count.

        “Twenty seconds,” Al admonished tersely.  “Get ready, Sam.”

        With the sound of Tonya’s counting in his ears, Sam rose to his feet and turned to face the road. He took a breath, blew it out and started walking rapidly toward it, this time listening only to the cadence of the hologram’s voice as he counted down the seconds.

        “….fourteen...thirteen...twelve…eleven…ten…nine…”

        When he heard Al say ‘nine’, Sam broke into a hard, steady run, striving to gauge his speed to the seconds remaining.  It was going to be close.

        “…eight…seven…six…five…four… three…two…one…Go for it, Sam!” Al shouted then watched, his heart in his throat as he watched his best friend launch himself directly into the path of the truck with the logo of the Yellowstone National Park Ranger Service on it’s side.  Behind him, the reason for Sam’s dangerous act continued to count toward one hundred.

The instant the call had come in about a lightning strike in the vicinity of Shoshone Lake, Park Ranger, Rick Summerville, was about twenty miles west of Old Faithful.  Acknowledging the call, he stepped on the gas and headed for the trouble spot. In truth, he didn’t have to actually wait to get to the Delacy Trailhead to see confirm the call.  Already he could see a huge ball of smoke billowing high into the bright blue sky above the country’s largest national park.

        Pressing the gas pedal of the Ford F-150 almost to the floor and headed east.  Because of the drought conditions, park usage in the area around Old Faithful and Shoshone Lake was almost non-existent and as such, he didn’t see another vehicle on the road as he went along.  Then as he came upon the sign marking the head of the Delacy Creek Trailhead, all he could do was stomp on the brakes and brace himself even as he shouted at the top of his lungs, “LOOK OUT!” as he saw the man running madly from the trail then fling himself in front of his truck.  But the only response was a hard, sickening thud as the front of his truck impacted against the man’s body.

Adrenaline poured into Rick’s veins as he struggled to keep the truck upright as he brought it to a screeching, skidding halt.  Leaping from the truck he ran back to the still form that lay in the middle of the road.  Even before he put a hand on the man’s neck to feel for a pulse, the ranger of twelve years knew there was none.  The blood already beginning to puddle on the hot asphalt roadway under the man’s head was evidence enough that he was dead.

        “Oh, God, why?” he muttered, as he knelt on one knee beside the body.  “Why?”

        Ranger Summerville had no way of knowing that the unexpected sound of a small child’s voice calling out, “One hundred!” from somewhere just down the trail was the answer to his despairing question.  Standing up, he rushed toward the trailhead and then stopped at the sight of a little girl, dressed in dirty, wet pink overalls and clutching an equally sodden teddy bear looking up at him.

        For a second time in less than five minutes, Rick heard the words, “Oh, God,” fall from his lips as he hurried to the little girl.  “It’s okay, sweetie,” he reassured her as he picked her up and started back to the road.  “You’re safe now.  What’s your name?”

        “Tonya Mandelle,” the child repeated carefully.  “Did you see Mr. Gary?  He said he had to go behind a tree.”

        With a sinking heart, he knew he couldn’t let the child see the man in the road that he was certain was the ‘Mr. Gary’ she had asked about.  As he carried her in one arm, Rick reached for the mobile radio clipped to his belt.  Keying it, he waited for a response before speaking quietly into it.  “This is Ranger Summerville.  I’m at the Delacy Creek Trailhead.  I need assistance immediately.  There’s been an accident.”

        “Bad?”

        “Yeah,” Rick said as he paused to urge the little girl to lay her head on his shoulder and close her eyes before walking quickly past the body on the road to sit her in the driver’s side seat of his truck.

        Keying the radio again, he added,   “I also found a little girl that appears to have been abandoned.”

        “Roger that,” the voice at the other end responded.  “I’m notifying the state police now.”

EPILOGUE

        As he walked out of the Imagining Chamber, what Al couldn’t get out of his mind        was the slow motion sight of Sam flinging himself in front of the pickup truck as if he were a baseball player sliding for home plate.  The only thing that comforted him had been the sudden flash of blue light engulfing his best friend in the world in that same instant.  He was distracted from further replays of the scene by Ziggy.

        “Admiral, did you wish to know about the child’s new history?”

        Returning the handlink to St. John, Al sighed as he leaned his forearms on the front of the main control panel.  “What happened to her?”  As he waited for a response, he looked around at the feel of a hand lightly touching his back.  Seeing Verbena there, he managed an exhausted sort of smile.  “That was too close,” he murmured to her.

        “Come see me later if you want to talk,” she said softly.  Watching the psychiatrist head for the door of the Control Room, the Observer refocused his attention on what Ziggy was saying.

        “Jeremy Don Webster, also known as Gary Edwin Webster, was struck by a pickup truck and killed near Shoshone Lake in Yellowstone National Park on June 23, 1988,” the super hybrid computer recited.  “The child, Tonya Mandelle, was safely reunited with her family but not before the Wyoming State Police took possession of the packet of stolen diamonds found in her pocket.  The gems were later confirmed as those stolen from Trepanier’s Jewelers ten years before.”

        “How’s she doing now?” Al asked.

        “Tonya Mandelle grew up and went on to attend Texas State University.  After graduating college, she became a firefighter.”

        “That’s great,” Al said sincerely when Ziggy finished then announced as he headed for the door, “I’ll be in my quarters.”

        As he walked slowly down the hall, the last second of Sam’s leap …and what he could have sworn was a fraction of a second’s sharp cry of pain from within the blue haze… began again to loop through his mind.

        ‘Please, please…don’t let him have been hurt,’ Al prayed silently as he stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the living quarters level.

The pain followed Sam into blue haze, clinging to him for several seconds...or was it forever?  Yet for as long as it lasted, just that fast it was then gone.  Whatever he was when he was in this place, just now he was grateful.  Here he could rest and heal and sometimes think.  It was both a comforting cocoon from the inevitable pain that each new leap presented for him to get through, as well as a prison with limitless boundaries that he could never escape.

        ‘A day off.’ The thought or notion or whatever it was seemed to suspend near him, brushing against him as he waited.  ‘Just some time to rest.’

        That thought or notion or whatever it was faded into nothing as Samuel Beckett once more recognized the familiar shift and pull in the blueness that surrounded him that he seemed to become a part of each time a leap ended.  The speed at which he was moving slowed and the inevitable pull into the next life captured him.  He felt his body begin to take form at the same moment that his mind began to recognize sounds and smells.  They were familiar and, he realized, not threatening even though he hadn't opened his eyes yet.

        His entry into his new assignment was almost easy.  Blinking slowly, Sam opened his eyes, squinted against the dappled sunlight that was playing peek-a-boo through the rustling treetop above his head.  Then he looked around.

        The sun was shining and from somewhere nearby, the Indiana farm boy in him recognized the gentle babbling of a brook.

        "Hey...yoo-hoo," a feminine voice with laughter in it said to him.  "Are you going to help me spread out the blanket or pose for your statute for the town square?"  The musings faded from Sam's thoughts as he looked around quickly up and saw the lovely woman standing there holding two corners of a blanket in her hands and grinning at him.

        "Uh... um...oh yeah, sure," Sam babbled.  But as he helped her spread the heavy dark-red and blue blanket on the grass at their feet, one of his knee-jerk questions popped into his head.  ‘Al....where are you?’  But even that was brushed aside as the woman spoke again.

        "It's so beautiful out here," she said softly, taking a deep breath of the soft country air.  "And there's nobody else around."  Walking around the blanket to Sam she slipped her arms around his waist and looked up into his eyes.  "It's just you and me, babe.  Nobody knows where we are."  Glancing at her companion's lips then back to his eyes, she added meaningfully, "We can do whatever we want," then raised slightly up on her tiptoes to kiss Sam.

        ‘Ohhh boy!’