PREVIOUSLY ON QUANTUM LEAP

As Welsh student Dai Evans, Sam leapt into a cave in the Ozarks just as a cave in killed his three companions, and seriously injured the leaper. He thought that ‘all’ he had to do was get to the exit and save the rescue team who all originally perished in a second cave-in. Having spent a painful night dragging a broken leg through bat-droppings, he is devastated when Al tells him that Ziggy insists he has more to do, but won’t commit to what. Recovering in hospital, he finally gets a clue as to what that something may be…

PART TWELVE

Professor Dominic Lofton sat uncomfortably in a big leather chair in the office of the Dean of Faculty with his head in his hands.

For the forth or fifth time, Dean Joshua Richardson – furious at being recalled from his vacation - was telling him how disappointed he was in him.

Dom was somewhat disappointed in himself; allowing things to get so bad, what had he been thinking? His career was in ruins, as were his prospects, and Aurora’s. He knew he should be most worried about those things. Yet other thoughts kept dominating his mind. Thoughts that made him believe he was losing it. He shuffled awkwardly in the chair, willing the Dean to be done with him so that he could sort out his thoughts, and work out a way to find out whether or not he was crazy.

Before Al could glean all the details from Ziggy and pass on the dire predictions, the nurse came in, right on schedule for his quarter hourly observation. It was the rumor-monger, Kirsty, and she looked nervous to be alone with him.

She got through her allotted tasks as quickly as she could, topping up his medication through the cannular as per instructions, marking it on his chart, checking the level of the fluid in the IV bag. All the time she kept one wary eye on Sam, as if she expected him to leap up and slash her throat with a meat cleaver at any moment.

When he asked her for water, her eyes widened in terror, but she complied, trying hard to disguise the trembling of her hand.

When he had supped his fill, she bolted for the door, without waiting to ask if he had any other needs.

Sam felt that he should perhaps have said something to reassure her, but he doubted she would have believed him in any case. He was glad she had not tarried; he wanted answers, although he was sure he wasn’t going to like what he heard.

When they were sure they were once more alone, Sam looked at Al, and sighed.

“Ok, let’s hear it, Al. What does Madame Ziggy predict their futures hold? I’m betting nothing good.”

“You’d win that one, I’m afraid buddy,” Al confirmed. “All the kids get expelled from the University. Dai goes back to Wales. He is working as a laborer on a sheep farm.”

“Claire French has got a job in a typing pool, Jenna Blakeney – oh!”

“What?” Sam was instantly alarmed.

“It gets worse, Sam, Jenna is a lap dancer, and Travis is on the streets, playing guitar outside cafes and stations for loose change.”

A frown creased Sam’s brow, and he drew a sharp breath.

Al ploughed on:  “Gian Franco Palmiero gets deported. He is back in Naples/Italy delivering pizzas.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably in the bed.

“Ex-Nurse Chloe Benedict works in a convenience store.”

Sam said nothing, but small noises emanated from the back of his throat.

        “Her brother Joseph and Matt Roebuck get Court Marshaled for stealing the helicopter…”

”They STOLE the helicopter?” Sam interrupted incredulously. He winced.

“What did you expect, Sam? Trainees aren’t normally given the keys to huge bits of powerful expensive equipment. It was only the fact that they brought it back in one piece that kept their sentences to a few months.”

“P-prison?” Sam was fidgeting more and more. Al knew he was taking this hard.

“And what about after…?” Sam hardly dared to ask. His breathing was getting increasingly labored.

“They get jobs as close to planes as they get. With lousy references and prison records, that happens to be working as janitors, cleaning the toilets at the airport.”

“Oh, God, no!” Sam gasped.

“As for the professor and the doc,” concluded Al, “They get married, and go to live in Puerto Rico. She works in a drug store, he’s a jobbing gardener.”

“All, ah, all because of m-me.” Sam looked crestfallen. He also looked very pale. He was starting to sweat.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sam.” Al looked at his friend, worried. Sam was taking this personally, as he knew he would. “They did it for Dai. They did the same thing first time round, remember?”

“Jenna was the sole survivor that time. She told the authorities all she knew from their radio conversations. When you leaped in, you must have stopped running, cos Dai was originally right next to Cliff when the first cave-in struck. He was buried like you, and injured, though his injuries were different. He barely managed to wriggle out enough to grab the radio. When the others got to the cave, they had to move a load of rocks and stuff from off his back, and then they were just putting him on the stretcher when…”

“Don’t say it, Al.” begged Sam. “I get the aah, the picture.”

“I’m sorry pal. We’ll work something out. You got ‘em back alive and you’re still here, so there has to be a chance we can turn things around.” He smiled encouragingly at his friend.

Sam did not smile back. In fact he grimaced.

“We just have to work out how we can get the authorities to drop the charges, Sam. It shouldn’t be that hard, if we put our heads together.”

        ”Gnah!”

“What d’ya say?”

“Gmmnnnnnnnn.”

Al looked closer at his friend, frowning. Something beyond the dismal projections was worrying him.

“What’s wrong, buddy?”

“Its aah, n-nothing, Al,” Sam lied. “Any ideas?”

“Not a one,” confessed Al.

Sam squirmed in the bed again, his hand subconsciously moving to his ribcage.

“Out with it, Sam. You look awful. What’s going on?”

“J-just, aahh, painkiller bit slow to t-take effect this time. I’ll be fine in gnah, in a minute.”

He wasn’t. Three or four minutes passed, and Sam was showing signs of being progressively more distressed. His face kept contorting with pain, and small grunts and moans escaped his lips.

“Something’s not right, Sam,” Al stated the obvious. “This is no guilt reaction or anything, is it? You’re in real pain here.”

“Nothing like, gnah, before, in c-cave.” Sam felt he had no right to complain. Al was right though, he was in far greater pain than he should have been. It was more than uncomfortable to breathe, and his leg was throbbing. His bruised and battered body ached all over.

Sam gritted his teeth and waited for a couple more minutes for the drugs to do their work. Finally, he concluded that it just wasn’t gonna happen. The pain was making him sweat quite freely now, and his head was pounding like a big base drum in a labor-day parade.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

“It’s no good, Al,” he admitted. “It’s getting worse.”

Reaching for the red emergency button, Sam summoned aid.

Nurse Kirsty soon appeared, with Doctor Mellors in tow.

“What seems to be the problem, Mr. Evans?” the doctor sounded annoyed, but again Sam assumed he was just overworked. He hated to be a bother when they were busy, he told them, but the meds weren’t working, he was in considerable pain.

One good look told the doctor that his patient was not making a fuss about nothing. His pulse was rapid, blood pressure elevated, he was perspiring and his breath was ragged.

Dr. Mellors checked the equipment for any sign of a blockage or an air bubble, as he asked the nurse to confirm she had administered the due medication. Offended to be accused of inefficiency, she said of course she had, and handed him the chart to show she had marked it.

“Stupid girl!” barked the doctor, as he read it, “No wonder the poor young man is in agony!”

Backing away a couple of steps in fear, Kirsty asked what she was supposed to have done wrong. The doctor flung the chart at her, and proceeded to give Sam more of the painkilling drug.

“Milligrams girl - not micrograms! M-i-l-l-i-grams! Can’t you nurses read?”

“I – I – I’m sorry,” Kirsty stammered, “I must have misread it.”

“There is NO excuse for such ineptitude.” Snapped the doctor; reducing Kirsty to tears. “I do apologize, Mr. Evans, I assure you this young lady will be severely dealt with.”

“It could have, aah, been worse,” Sam said in her defense, “She could have… given me, uh, overdose.”

 “True,” conceded the medic, then rounded on her again, “She obviously cannot be trusted. What were you thinking? About your boyfriend probably. You young nurses; all the damned same.”

Kirsty was shaking her head, and the rest of her was none too steady.

Sam took pity on her.

“To be f-fair,” he began, “I think I gnn, m-make her… nervous. She heard a …rumor that I’m… a m-murderer.”

“What are you doing, Sam? She screwed up, and you’re suffering for it. Why are you sticking up for her?” Al should have known better than to question his friend’s boy-scout tendencies.

“Is this true?” the doctor enquired, looking at Kirsty. She merely nodded, eyes darting between doctor and patient as she tried to decide which one she was most afraid of.

“I swear… to God, gnmm, I didn’t k-kill… ahh, anyone,” Sam said sincerely, though he still felt culpable for not having saved them.

“That’s good enough for me.” The doctor glared at Kirsty, who nodded, though she was biting her lip.

Doctor Mellors took the patient’s pulse again, and was pleased to note it was returning more or less to normal.

“That should be starting to work now,” he announced, and Sam confirmed with a swallow and a nod that the pains were easing at last.

“Good, good. My apologies once again, Mr. Evans, this should never have happened. You, girl, my office, now!” Doctor Mellors pointed toward the door. Head bowed, fingers twisting in trepidation, Kirsty moved to obey.

“D-don’t be too… h-hard on her,” pleaded Sam, “Everyone… sh-should be allowed… one m-mistake.”

Both the doctor and the nurse looked at him in amazement.

“I must say, you are far more understanding than I would be in your position young man.” Sam didn’t doubt it. Understanding was not a quality he would attribute to the medic in any great amount - nor tolerance, nor compassion…

Kirsty just stared at him, open mouthed, unable to believe that he should be in her corner when he was – literally – the injured party.

He managed a feeble smile in her direction.

“I won’t… be suing the… the hospital, nor m-making… a f-formal… complaint,” Sam assured the irascible doctor, “It’s d-done now, and I’ll… b-be f-fine. No lasting… damage. So l-let th-this… be a… a warning. I th-think she’s… uh learned h-her… lesson.”

Kirsty nodded enthusiastically.  “Oh, thank you! I really am sorry, Mr. Evans. I promise I’ll be more careful in the future. It won’t ever happen again.”

Doctor Mellors glowered, as if disappointed to have been robbed of a chance to unleash a tirade on the young nurse.

“Just you make sure it doesn’t, Nurse Fletcher. I shall have my eye on you.” He told her in no uncertain terms, with a warning wag of his finger, determined she should not escape scot-free.

Sam could see there was also relief in the man’s body language at his assurance that he would not be suing, as many people would have done in this liturgical age, and with a good chance of being awarded some outrageous sum for his pain and suffering. Sam just wanted to put the whole unpleasant experience behind him. He was tired again, dreadfully tired, and there was still the little matter of ten people’s careers to save.

The doctor huffed his shoulders and marched out, trying to look self-important and in control.

Kirsty moved to follow him, her body language far more subdued.

“Nurse… uh Fletcher?” Sam sought confirmation that he had correctly heard her name, as he called her back.

“Yes, Mr. Evans?” She turned back toward him, suddenly afraid that his friendly act had been just that, an act to lull her into a sense of false security. Was he about to make her pay for her mistake?

Sam saw the look in her eyes, and smiled reassuringly.

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “You’re forgiven.”

She still looked skeptical, but relaxed a little.

“I do uh, think you… owe me… a favor, though?”

“What would you like me to do?” Kirsty wanted to believe he was the good guy he seemed; yet he seemed too good to be true. She wanted to make amends, but she was reluctant to tell him she’d do anything, in case his response was that he wanted her to drop dead. She’d seen enough movies to know how easy it was to damn yourself with a careless word.

“Just uh, try to curb the… gossip. Don’t be… so quick… t-to believe… the… the worst of people.”

Her relieved sigh said ‘Oh is that all!’ Then, thinking about it, she realized he was asking something big after all. She had been so used to the gossip; it would be no easy thing to give it up. To change her ways, to look at people differently, it was quite an undertaking.

It would be easy to make the promise and then forget all about it. The patient wouldn’t be on the ward more than a few weeks at most, and she could prevail on friends to juggle shifts so she never had to see him again.

Yet she looked into his eyes, and saw his sincerity, and truly appreciated the magnitude of trouble he had spared her from with his magnanimous words. So she looked inside her heart, and saw there a side of herself she suddenly didn’t like very much.

Kirsty made Sam her promise to try what he had asked, and he could tell that she meant it.

After she had left, Al looked at his prostrate friend, and shook his head again in wonder.

“You just can’t help it, can ya buddy? You have to take every little opportunity to do the noble thing, saving the whole human race a soul at a time. Do you even realize you’re doing it?”

“What?” Sam looked genuinely perplexed, and Al shrugged and made a dismissive ‘aw, forget it’ gesture with his hand. Sam was Sam, and would be Sam, whoever he looked like, wherever and whenever he was. And Al wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Go to sleep, you… you white knight, you. I’ll see what we can come up with to improve the gang’s prospects. Catch you later, pal.”

In a flash of light, Al was gone, leaving Sam bemused, but too weary to bother thinking about it. He was soon sleeping again, conserving energy while his body worked at healing itself.

PART THIRTEEN

A full twenty-four hours passed, and neither Sam nor Al was closer to a solution to their problem. Al checked in with the Leaper every few hours, but the visits were brief and fruitless. Al had nothing to report, and Sam had only the visit of the local constabulary, accompanied by a representative of Missouri’s finest, to break the monotony.

It had not been a pleasant encounter.

They repeated Al’s assurance that it was just routine, that they had to look into any suspicious death, particularly when there were no bodies to examine, but they gave him an intense grilling nonetheless, until even he started to believe in his guilt. The doctors had given him the option to continue postponing the interrogation, but he had decided it was best to get it over with, especially since he had nothing else to work on.

He was sure they thought he was being evasive and uncooperative, but he kept assuring them he could remember nothing prior to the initial cave in. Of course, he couldn’t tell them that he hadn’t been there then, that he had only just leaped in, and bumped Dai out into the future. So he blamed it on his concussion, the shock that the doctors would confirm he had been suffering from. They asked him the same questions, over and over again, in the same words, and then phrased differently to try and trick him. He would admit to nothing, for he had nothing to admit to.

He challenged them to suggest a motive for his supposed homicides, and they were unable to arrive at one, which made any kind of sense. They may be able to concoct some lover’s triangle or such like to explain the students, but it didn’t make sense that he would do it when the professor was around, necessitating his elimination as a potential witness. Nor did it make sense that he would put himself in such grave peril, and the officers had to concede that they could not dispute the evidence of the medics, who attested that his injuries were real and severe, and almost impossible to have been sustained in an altercation.

Finally, the Missouri cop startled him by taking on a whole new line of questioning. He asked what the group had been doing, and why they were there. Sam knew from Al that the whole sorry story had already come out, and there was no point claiming they had merely got lost and wound up taking shelter unknowingly in the forbidden caves. He confessed that they had pursued the Myotis bechsteinii to the cave in question, despite not having permission to explore there.

“It was more than not having permission, though, wasn’t it, Mr. Evans? Wasn’t it?” the cop badgered him, leaning forward, invading his personal space, being extremely intimidating.

“I – I guess so,” Sam retreated into the pillows.

“The Rangers expressly forbade your group from going to those caves, did they not?”

“I – I don’t remember.” Sam was sincere, for he hadn’t been there, but the cops weren’t buying it.

“Didn’t it occur to any of you to wonder why the Rangers didn’t want you there?”

“I – I- I don’t know.”

Then came the stinger, rising up from nowhere, catching him unawares.

“Well, it occurred to me,” the cop was thorough.

“I asked them why, when they had been so obliging elsewhere, they objected to you exploring that particular cluster of caves. If they approved your motives and your methods, what possible objection could they have? Do you know what they told me? Do you?”

Sam felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach.

“N-n-no…”

“They told me it was for your own safety. That the caves were newly discovered, and preliminary reports suggested that they were unsound. They didn’t want anybody going into them until the geologists and the engineers had made a proper assessment, and the necessary ‘shoring up’ precautions.”

The look of shock and horror on Sam’s face was entirely genuine.  “Oh dear God, no!” he whispered, a lump rising in his throat fit to choke him. “Why? Why d-didn’t… they explain? Oh God! Why? Why did they have to die? I don’t understand why they had to die.”

He turned his head away, his breath racked with sobs, salt tears stinging his cheeks.

It took this unmistakably sincere outpouring of grief to finally convince the officers of his innocence. The hard-nosed visiting cop even softened a little, and apologized for having subjected him to such harsh questioning. It was just that they had to be sure.

Sam wasn’t listening; he was too busy drowning in misery.

When Al dropped by an hour or so later, Sam was still inconsolable. The Observer really wished he had some positive news to lift the leaper’s spirits, but they kept coming up empty.

“I’ve got everyone working round the clock, Sam,” Al assured him, and the bags under the Admiral’s eyes suggested he was working the hardest of all. “The problem is we’re dealing with several different, high powered authorities, and in truth, they all have justification for the punishments they’ve inflicted. We’re going round in circles, tearing our hair out. But we’re not giving up, buddy. There’s an answer out there somewhere, and one way or another, we’re gonna find it.”

“Damn right we are.” Sam’s tone was laden with despondency and determination in equal measure. “These people are not gonna spend their lives miserably paying for one mistake - for being good Samaritans in some cases. We’re gonna make it right, Al. We have to.”

Next morning, Kirsty came in to give Sam his bed-bath.

His odd sleep pattern and her shift work had meant he’d seen little of her since the incident with the medication, but what he had seen he’d been impressed with. She had assured him she was being good, and he believed her.

This morning, however, she seemed agitated, on edge, and it clearly had nothing to do with the intimacy of her task. That was part of her job and she was used to it. Sam, on the other hand, was not used to his personal needs being taken care of by other people, and hated every minute of it.

He asked her what was wrong.

“I’m trying, really I am. I haven’t gossiped about anything since… well, you know…” she didn’t specify what they both preferred to forget.

“And it hasn’t been too hard. Not really. Not as bad as I thought it would be. Until now, that is. I’ve just spotted a picture in the morning paper, and I recognize her. It’s a National scandal, and I can’t tell anybody about it, because I promised you. And I’m bursting to tell somebody what I know, and it’s just killing me…” As the words tumbled from her mouth, she applied the sponge rather more vigorously than was strictly necessary to Sam’s right arm.

Al materialized in the middle of this little speech, and raised his eyebrows at the activity Kirsty was currently engaged in. Sam gave his friend a warning glare not to make any lewd or lascivious comments at his expense, at which Al looked crestfallen. ‘Aww and I was gonna ask if it was a private bed-bath or if anyone could join in,’ thought Al.

Before he could sneak in a quick barb, or berate Sam for being a spoilsport, they were both startled by a squeal from the handlink, and the sudden apparition of Ziggy’s head and shoulders hovering over the bed.

She took in the scene at a glance, and satisfied herself with a single raised eyebrow and a cheeky grin. It was almost as annoying as Al’s quips could be. Sam was starting to feel very much on show, and very uncomfortable. If it hadn’t been that Kirsty would have flipped at him talking to the air, he’d have made his own caustic comment about selling tickets.

“Why Mr. Evans, you’re blushing!” Nurse Fletcher smiled, making Sam cringe even more.

Sam looked at Ziggy, his eyes demanding that she better have some important reason for being there, or he would have Stephen take her apart, pixel by pixel.

“Dr. Beckett,” she began, “I am unable to ascertain why, but my scanners indicate it would be advantageous for our preferred timeline to discover the nature of the scandal to which Nurse Fletcher is referring.”

Sam looked at her quizzically. He couldn’t see how the two things could possibly be related, but after the long frustrating wait, he was willing to try anything.

Now, how to do so without sounding hypocritical, and without Kirsty falling back into bad habits?

Nurse Fletcher was now applying her sponge with some intensity to his un-plastered left inner thigh. It was not really painful, though the leg bore the marks of his ordeal, but her frustration was lending her movements a less than relaxing feel.

Sam reached down with his left hand and gently took hold of her wrist, stopping her scrubbing motion, just as she started to rise alarmingly high.

“Oh, sorry, did I hurt you?” she asked, alarmed that she may have done something else to this patient that she could live to regret. Now that she had accepted that he was neither dangerous nor crazy, she quite liked the beefy, muscular rugby player. In fact, she was enjoying her task a little more than could be construed as job satisfaction.

“No, no,” Sam reassured her, “but you can’t function at peak efficiency when you’re this distracted. Listen, I’ll tell you what. Just this once, to get it out of your system, tell me what you are so excited about. I promise I won’t tell a soul…” he winked at her mischievously, and she giggled.

“It really is something so big, you can’t imagine!” She bubbled enthusiastically; though she did have the decency to look guiltily over her shoulder, to be sure nobody overheard them. “There’s a picture in the paper this morning of Senator Heath and his daughter…”

Al pressed one of the new buttons on his handlink, and next to Ziggy appeared a holographic projection of the article in question. It was one of those, ‘caught in an unguarded moment’ shots of them getting out of a car, to attend a function at the young lady’s school, and the Senator looked none to happy to have had his privacy invaded.

Sam shrugged, “So?”

“So,” Kirsty repeated. “I recognize her.” She leaned forward conspiratorially.  “It says in the article her name is Luella Heath, and she is sixteen. Yet she was checked in to this very hospital six months ago as Helena Litchfield, aged nineteen.”

“Lots of famous people don’t use their real names,” reasoned Sam, though alarm bells were ringing. Why add three years to her age?

“I know, I know,” agreed Kirsty, “but the thing is - Helena Litchfield was in for an abortion!”

Again Sam was unsure of the magnitude of this revelation, though he was horrified of the thought of a presumably healthy life being terminated.

“She was supposed to have been raped, but none of us believed it, she didn’t seem – well, upset enough, if you know what I mean.” Kirsty confided. “I thought there was something strange at the time, cos she was supposed to be some poor student, but all her medical bills were taken care of by some anonymous donor, and she had a private room, and the best of everything. And come to think of it, Doctor Baum who attended her left a couple of weeks later. She got some job in a swanky private hospital.”

Sam, of course, had a private room because the police had deemed him to be a potential danger to the public.

“Wow, Sam! Do you realize what this means?”

Sam shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

Al and Kirsty spelt it out to him in stereo.

Senator Heath had been elected to represent Illinois primarily on his stance against abortion. He was a major pro-life advocate, and that had made him popular in a State where the overwhelming majority of voters (a large proportion of whom were female) felt strongly about the sanctity of life.

If it were revealed that his own sixteen-year-old daughter had secretly undergone an abortion, his political career would be over before the ink was dry on the tabloids.

“Are you absolutely sure it was the same girl?” Sam asked the Nurse. Kirsty nodded vehemently. Ziggy confirmed it.

“I can see why this was hard for you, Nurse Fletcher,” Sam began sympathetically. This was the stuff a gossip’s dreams were made of.

“Oh, Kirsty, please! Nurse Fletcher sounds so stuffy!”

She had finished the ablutions by this time, much to Sam’s relief, and was clearing away. She was obviously more in control now and at ease with her routine. It had helped to get her secret off her chest.

“Kirsty, then. You did well not to spread this round the hospital, good girl. Let’s just keep it between the two of us for now, okay?”

“Anything you say, Mr. Evans.” It was strange. The University student was more or less the same age as her, yet she felt his interest in her was more fatherly somehow. And in return, though she found him physically attractive, despite the bruises marring his tanned flesh, she felt a sort of deference toward him that was not entirely due to the debt she owed for his not having had her summarily dismissed. She wanted to please him, to earn his approbation, as she had wanted – and never received – from her own father. “Catch ya later!” she smiled cheerily at him as she departed for her next patient.

“I’ll be here,” Sam responded philosophically.

Al was virtually shooing her out of the room, bouncing up and down with enthusiasm. Ziggy was looking smug. Sam was confused.

“All right, spill, Al. How is this going to help us with our problem?”

“Oh come on, you’re joking ain’t ya buddy? You don’t see it?”

“See what?”

“I believe Dr. Beckett’s concussion must be interfering with his intuitiveness,” offered Ziggy.

“Will one of you just put me out of my misery? Please?” begged Sam.

“Its perfecto buddy.” Al enthused, “We need to get lots of important people to ‘see our point of view’, right?”

“Ye-ess.”

 “SOOOOOOO, who can influence an Army Court Marshal committee, a Hospital Director, a University Dean, the Immigration department and the Missouri Park Commission?”

Sam looked blank.

Ziggy looked disappointed.

Al looked incredulous.

“How about a Senator, Sam?”

“But…?”

“Doctor Beckett, Admiral Calavicci is suggesting that we ‘persuade’ the Senator to put pressure on the relevant individuals to ensure that those people you are concerned with are not punished for rescuing you.”

“You mean, blackmail?” Sam suddenly saw what they were proposing, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. He was not entirely sure that the Senator shouldn’t be exposed for his hypocrisy, though he had some sympathy for the feelings of a naïve daughter who would have her sordid private life plastered all over the papers and the television screens of the Nation, if not the world.

Al knew his friend would find the suggestion distasteful, but countered, “Do you have a better idea?”

He knew, of course, that Sam did not. It would not be the first time he had had to do the ‘wrong thing’ for the right reasons. Unfortunately, when it came to Leaping, sometimes the end had to justify the means. Sam knew it, and though he didn’t have to like it, he knew he would have to do it.

That left the how.

“The hospital will have records of Miss “Litchfield”, though I suspect they will be well hidden. We need to obtain them, so that we can convince the Senator of our sincerity.”

“What’s with the ‘we’, Zig?” quipped Al.

“You wish to undertake this without my assistance?” Ziggy challenged.

“Now stop right there,” commanded Sam wearily. “I am not putting up with that nonsense from you two again. Understand?”

Al and Ziggy glared at each other, and then nodded their compliance to Sam.

“Right, that’s better. Let me know when…”

“I have something!” interrupted Ziggy, with the expression of a cat that has not so much got the cream but the whole dairy.

Even Al looked impressed.

“I have accessed the hospital database, and ascertained that the records required are in a filing cabinet in the basement of the hospital. Someone will have to go and determine their precise location, and remove them.”

“Why can’t we just print them off from the database?” queried Sam, wishing that just for once they could do things the easy way.

“They have been rather too thorough covering their tracks for that Dr. Beckett. Only tiny fragments of the file can be recovered from their shredding process. It was only by using my vastly superior processing power that I was able to follow the damaged trail to the hard copy’s location. Someone in your timeframe needs to obtain them.”

“By someone, I suppose you mean me,” Sam sighed. “Can I at least get myself a wheelchair this time, or do I have to go all the way on my butt again?” with a resigned shrug, he started to pull back the sheet Kirsty had so recently arranged over him.

“Not now, Sam!” Al waved a hand at him. “What are you thinking? You’ll have to wait ‘til the middle of the night, when they are down to a skeleton crew and you stand more chance of getting in and out undetected.”

“Right.” Sam couldn’t say what he had been thinking. He had a headache, and he wanted this leap resolved. He was just getting impatient, he supposed.

Al was about to tell him to get some sleep and conserve his energy, and that he would be back at the optimum time to give his usual guidance and lookout services, when Sam received a visitor.

PART FOURTEEN

Once he had been dismissed, Dom decided that a direct confrontation was the only sure way to resolve his confusion. With some trepidation, he made his way to Memorial hospital, not to pick up his girlfriend for a date as usual, but to see someone altogether more disturbing: someone with an identity that was causing Dom a crisis.

Sam hoped it would be a friendlier encounter than the one with the police officers, and seeing that it was Professor Lofton entering his room, his hopes were high.

He hadn’t the slightest idea how strange it was about to become.

Dom looked in as if checking he had the right room. He looked at Sam, paused and looked again. Then he turned around and carefully shut the door behind him.

“How are you feeling?” the Professor enquired of his student, smiling a little awkwardly. Sam assumed he was feeling the negative effects of having been fired, and had probably been sent, as his last official duty, to inform Dai of his expulsion from the University. Why couldn’t he just get grapes and sympathy like other patients?

“Getting there,” he replied stoically, motioning to the Professor to take a seat.

Before he did so, the Professor looked around the room, and his gaze rested an inordinately long time on the spot currently unoccupied by Al and the now inactive handlink.

The air was thick with tension, the silence palpable.

“I’m sorry,” Sam offered. “For all the trouble…”
        Dom put up a hand to stop him.

He looked down into his lap for a moment, and then looked Sam right in the eye, a deep penetrating look.

He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and closed it again, giving Sam another quizzical look. Sam was beginning to find it unnerving.

“Thank you, for saving my life, sir,” he offered sincerely. “I really thought I was going to die in there.”

Dom made a dismissive gesture.

“Look, if it makes it any easier on you, Professor, I know I’m expelled, okay? You don’t have to worry about how to break it to me. And I know they let you go too. I’m sorry.”

A dark cloud crossed the African-American academic’s face, an expression of great sadness.  “I made a bad judgment call. I’m paying the price. It’s something I’ll just have to learn to live with.”

“Not if I can help it,” muttered Sam under his breath.

The Professor looked up, and again met his eyes.

“I knew it!” Dom whispered back.

“Sir?”

The Professor drew a deep breath and let it go slowly.

“Okay. I can deal with all of this, given time,” he began, “except the thought that I’ve gone totally out of my mind.”

It was Sam’s turn to search the Professor’s face.

“Uh, there’s no easy way to do this, so I’m just gonna come out and say it. If I’m wrong, you’re going to go back to Wales thinking I’m a crazy Yank. If not, well…”

Sam and Al exchanged glances.

“Whereabouts in Wales are you from, Dai?” Dom emphasized the name.

Al made a hasty enquiry.

“Ffestiniog,” Sam sounded as if he were stammering as he tried to pronounce the strange place name.

“Oh, you two are good!”

“Two?” chorused the pair of perplexed listeners.

“Okay. You aren’t really Dai Evans, are you? You’re Doctor Sam Beckett.”

Al’s jaw hit the floor, then bounced back up and all but knocked his eyes from their sockets.

“You, I don’t know.” Dom addressed the Observer, “But I’m assuming that this has something to do with the experiment you were working on, Sam. You did say I could call you Sam, didn’t you, last time we met?”

“Y-y-yes, sh-sure.” Sam really was stammering now. The recognition had been mutual.

Once they had established that Dom’s almost as high as Sam’s IQ was responsible for his seeing through the aura, they introduced Al and gave him the Dick and Jane explanation of what he needed to know about what they were doing there.

 “I guess you are living proof of your affirmation in that lecture, Sam,” he told the Leaper.

“Huh?” Al queried.

“That God and Science can be seen to work together rather than contradict each other.”

“I’ll never understand why He couldn’t have let me save all the others, though,” Sam replied softly.

“Hey, just cos He picked you as His instrument to carry out the miracles, it’s still His prerogative to decide what they should be.”

“I guess so,” conceded Sam, though his tone was still tinged with sadness.

“You saved nine of us, Sam, including Dai. That’s no mean achievement.” He looked at the events with his new perspective, and he looked at Sam.

“Are all your ‘assignments’ that tough?”

“They can be…” Sam paused, “shall we say, challenging.”

“Now I think you’re being modest. It isn’t many people who’d put themselves through a night of hell like you did, for complete strangers.”

Sam squirmed, embarrassed.  “To be fair, there was an element of self-preservation, too.”

“Even that wouldn’t be enough for most to endure what you did. You’re a brave man, Sam Beckett, but I guess that’s why He chose you.”

Sam flushed.  “I do what needs to be done,” he said, with a self-deprecating shrug.

“That reminds me. You saved us, which you said was why you were here. How come you’re still here, do you have to stay ’til you’ve recovered?”

“No, it doesn’t usually work that way. Somehow, when I Leap, any injuries are healed before I reach the next one. And by the way, once Dai comes back, the doctors are going to be talking miracle cures!”

They explained their plan to get the survivors ‘off the hook’, and Dom’s eyes brightened. He asked them to spell out the bleak prospects they all faced, and agreed with Al that a little blackmail would be worth it to prevent some of the dire predictions. He attested that personally, as long as he and Aurora were together, he could make the best of any situation, but didn’t deny that a rosier future would be preferable. The fates of some of the others bothered him more.

“Even so, I can’t in all conscience let you do this, Sam. You are in no condition to go wandering round, breaking and entering hospital records. It’s too much to ask.”

“It’s what I do,” Sam replied simply. “I can’t let…”

“I’m not suggesting we do,” interrupted Dom, “I said I couldn’t let you do it, not that it shouldn’t be done. I’ve got as big a stake in this as anyone, and no disrespect, but a bigger one than you Sam. I’ll go.”

“What if you’re caught?” Sam wasn’t happy at the idea of ducking what he saw as his responsibility, though the thought that he could be spared the ordeal it would undoubtedly entail was appealing.

“I stand a better chance of avoiding capture than a guy with a cast on his leg!” chuckled Dom, “besides, I’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

“Let him do it, Sam.” Al nodded in the Professor’s direction. “You deserve a rest for a change. He can see me, so I can go and stand lookout for him.” He explained to Dom that as long as Sam was there, and awake, they could lock Al’s signal onto his brainwave patterns, and that enabled them to center him on those Sam interacted with, as long as they were within a certain radius.

Sam had to admit the plan had merit, particularly when Dom realized that Aurora would have access codes to the security doors, making the task more straightforward. He was sure he could convince her to help, and without giving away the secret of Sam’s presence.

“Are you sure you understand what you’re taking on?” Sam was not used to delegating either responsibility or risk.

“Sam! You aren’t the only genius in this room, you know!” Dom teased him.

“No, Al’s pretty smart too!” Sam teased back.

Al preened himself.

“No arguments,” insisted Dom. “You get as much sleep as you can today, rest up. Don’t worry. I’ll come back tonight; wake you up so we can get the lock. We’ll sneak in, get the necessary and be away before anyone is the wiser. QED.”

“Huh?” Al looked puzzled.

“Quod erat demonstrandum–Latin,” supplied Professor Lofton, “that ‘which was to be demonstrated’, but more commonly -” both Dom and Sam finished in chorus – “Quite Easily Done!”

Sam sincerely hoped so, but had a bad feeling that things seldom proved so convenient.

It was clear that Dom was adamant, so Sam finally agreed to put him up to bat. They fixed a few details, such as best timing, and having exhorted Al to make sure he kept a close eye on things, the group split up, leaving Sam to ‘rest up’.

]He went to the room the nurse had directed him to, and peeked inside, hoping to see his student, Dai Evans.

As he’d expected, the figure in the bed looked familiar, yet at the same time strangely different. Nervously gulping a deep breath, he shut the door and went in, opening with small talk.

He didn’t want to believe he could be seeing what he was seeing, and couldn’t bring himself to voice his concerns.

Dai was talking like Dai; the Welsh accent, though never strong, was discernable.

As the awkward conversation progressed, however, Dom became more convinced that he was not crazy after all. He had to be sure, so he risked broaching the subject. First, he set up a test…

“Whereabouts in Wales are you from, Da?”

He got the right answer, but the strange man who seemed to hover like a guardian angel - there and yet not there - had prompted it.

“Oh, you two are good!” he told them.

“Two?”

“Okay. You aren’t really Dai Evans, are you? You’re Doctor Sam Beckett.”

There, it was out, he had said it.

He had no idea why he was the only one amongst the rescue party who had spotted the deception, and seemingly the only one who had seen the strange man in the loud clothes, but he recognized the scientist from a fascinating lecture he’d attended.

They didn’t deny his challenge; in fact they explained how his highly developed brainwaves were on a similar wavelength to Sam’s, and for some reason that allowed him to penetrate the ‘aura’ that surrounded Sam when he ‘Leaped’, and to see his Observer’s hologram.

Dom was astounded to learn that he should have been dead, though in retrospect he could well believe how it could have happened.  He was likewise amazed that the Scientist, who had already earned his respect and admiration on an academic level, was responsible for literally giving him back his life, along with the rest of the group, through his own heroic efforts.

Like Sam and Al, Dom was convinced that a higher power had a hand in the events, and he offered a silent prayer of thanks that He had thought his life worth saving, and that Sam had displayed the courage to achieve it. Suddenly, his depression at losing his job seemed unwarranted. For one thing, Al seemed to think they could get Senator Heath to get them all off the hook, which cheered him enormously, but beyond that, he felt that compared to Sam, he had little to complain of. He was horrified to think that Sam was even contemplating getting up out of bed to go for the evidence they needed. He’d seen how badly injured the time traveler was up on the mountainside, Sam had done more than enough. Dom volunteered without hesitation to deputize for him.

 He had thought Sam would have welcomed the offer with open arms, but he’d actually taken some convincing.

For a genius, the guy was a bit slow to see common sense.

‘Guess he’s not used to having anybody in the know as to what is going on, nobody but himself to rely on. Must be a lonely existence - bet he’s glad to have Al’s support.’

Having finally convinced the invalid to let him help, Dom went to find Aurora, to enlist her aid. He already felt guilty that he had talked her into actions that had lost her her own job. He realized with a shock that were it not for Sam, he would have taken her to her death. It was a scary thought, and one that made him appreciate fully how much he cared for the dusky beauty. No, how much he loved her!

It was clear she loved him too, and fiercely, by how readily she allowed herself to be talked into yet another half-baked scheme.

Sleep did not come as easily as it should have, and Sam spent the best part of the long day fretting, though from time to time he managed to snatch some much needed minutes in the company of Morpheus. Still, he was far from rested and relaxed when Dom sneaked back into his room shortly before his now hourly obs visit scheduled for 1am.

He had been dozing, but soon awoke, rubbing his eyes to force them into focus in the dim glow of light from the corridor, where Aurora waited, looking around nervously and still not sure why Dom had felt it necessary to disturb the young man.

No sooner had he fully surfaced, than Al appeared at their side, and after a hasty “Good luck” from Sam, they were on their way.

Sam laid staring at the clock on his wall, which he could barely make out, and worrying.

After nearly ten anxious minutes, a nurse crept in to check on him, and he feigned sleep, lest she suggest some medication to help him. He could not afford to sleep just now; he had to keep his brainwaves active so that Ziggy could anchor Al to him. Overactive was more like it, as his genius mental capacity was able to conjure up several undesirable scenarios all at once.

He itched to know what was going on. Though common sense told him they needed plenty of time to get all the way down there, and then locate the right files, and photocopy them, then replace them to make it look as if they had not been accessed, still it seemed to him - lying there with nothing to do but wait - that they were taking forever.

“Come on, Al where are you?” he wondered under his breath, though he knew it was far too soon for them to have accomplished their mission.

“Ach!” Sam was startled as his friend popped out of nowhere to stand right by his bed, so that Sam found himself staring at a holographic midriff. “What the…?”

Al put his finger to his mouth, as if afraid that Sam’s outburst would bring the recently departed nurse scuttling back.

Al looked extremely tense, on edge, and Sam just knew something had gone terribly, horribly wrong.

“You let them get caught, didn’t you?” he accused through gritted teeth.

“Not yet; but there’s a danger. We got a problem, Sam.” Al ignored the implication that he had somehow been negligent. He was too anxious to prevent that very outcome. He also avoided looking Sam in the eye. He was shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Tell me,” ordered Sam wearily, and even as Al began to speak, Sam was already hauling himself into a sitting position. He instinctively knew that whatever it was, it was going to mean him getting up to deal with it. Al wouldn’t be there otherwise.

It turned out that the problem was the fact that the basement records office doubled as a bomb shelter, and had some pretty hefty lead lining its thick concrete walls. It was interfering with Ziggy’s sensors, making it hard to maintain Al’s centering on Dom and Aurora at this distance. She was sure a lock could be re-established, but only if Sam’s brainwaves were closer to boost the signal. Since they had to be working brainwaves, and therefore part of his conscious body, Sam had no alternative but to go walkabout.

By the time Al had explained this, Sam had somehow made it to the closet in his room, which Al had indicated contained a crutch. It would have to do until the hologram could track down the nearest available wheelchair.

Thus far, Sam had availed himself of the drip stand to assist his passage, an ungainly mixture of hopping and shuffling and sliding, with much grunting and panting to mark his painfully slow progress.

He leaned now on the closet door, trying to get his breath back, and waiting for the dizziness and nausea his rising to the vertical had induced to recede.

“I hate to have to do this, Sam, but you need to hurry. They’re on their own down there.”

“I know Al. I’m trying.” He yanked open the closet door, and grabbed for the crutch.

“Lead on,” he commanded his guide, grasping the crutch firmly in his aching left arm, and hobbling painfully from the comfort of his room.

It was a far from elegant gait – lead with the crutch, hop on the left leg, swing the cast and slide the stand, not too far, wobble and dip as he tried to keep his leg up, wincing at the strain on his hip joint.

He sighed because he knew the process would have to be repeated at least a few dozen times more.

The agony he felt with just this first step made his heart pound and he didn't know what state he would be in by the time he reached his goal, he eagerly looked around for a wheelchair but no-one had obligingly left one lying about.

Sam kept close to the wall, to minimize risk of detection, and to lend him support should he stumble, which he did at frequent intervals, trying to keep the weight from his broken leg, but having to touch down with it every now and then when he almost lost his balance.

Before long, the strain on his left leg, and both arms already impaired by mistreatment from the cave in, and overworked by his escape mere days before, was making his muscles ache and tremble with intensity beyond endurance. He yearned to rest, yet still he forced himself onward, keeping to the shadows, biting back the cries of pain that sought to be sung at the top of his laboring lungs.

“Are we…”

“Nearly there yet?” finished Al, with a sense of déjà vu. The method of perambulation may be different, but this agonizingly slow amble was too much of an echo of that earlier journey. It wasn’t fair that Sam had to go through this again, and so soon. Every few paces, Al ducked his head through a wall to look for a wheelchair, but none were forthcoming.

Al summoned Ziggy.

“Zig, the instant we’re close enough for you to get a lock, center me back on Professor Lofton.”

“Naturally,” came the haughty response.

Al guided Sam down one seemingly endless corridor after another, urging him onward though it galled him to have to hurry and harry the invalid to such extremes.

Sam’s head was swimming with the effort of staying upright. His lungs burned and his ribs ached. His broken leg throbbed abominably, and the rest of him was a mass of quivering soreness.

It was taking every ounce of strength he didn’t have to keep him going.

“How… much… further…?” panted Sam forlornly, “Exhausted… Al… can’t…”

“I know buddy, we must be in range soon. Keep at it, won’t be much…” with which the Observer vanished unceremoniously.

Sam staggered a couple of paces further, and then collapsed into the wall, leaning hard against it to keep from sliding to the ground.

He squared himself off so that it supported his back, and he could tilt his head to gain the stability it offered. He balanced precariously there, breathing hard and trying not to pass out. If his brainwaves entered the alpha phase of unconsciousness, his journey would prove worse than unnecessary.

His chest heaved with great gulping breaths, eyes screwed up and glistening in pain, as he offered a silent plea to his departed friend:  ’Please… hurry…’

PART FIFTEEN

Sam had no idea how long he leant there, trying to still the thudding of his heart, shifting about on one weary leg to relieve the strain on the plastered one, gripping both crutch and drip stand with white knuckled intensity, and feeling the chill of the wall against skin peeking out from between the ties of a hospital gown, which was all he had to cover his modesty.

If such a thing were possible, and it certainly beggared belief that it could be, it was an even greater strain keeping still than it had been trudging down the corridors.

The physical tension was more than matched by the emotional stress of waiting and not knowing.

Far less time had elapsed than he realized when the intrepid trio rounded the corner and smiled at him, Dom waving a handful of documents in the air. With Al and Ziggy to assist them, they had soon located the files, and had come up to find a working photocopier. While Aurora let them into an office to perform the necessary replication, Al slipped back over to check on the Leaper, who was looking very grey and gaunt.

“How you holding up, pal?” he asked, punning again without meaning to.

“Sheer… will… p-power…” responded Sam thinly, then offered an unintentional play on words of his own, “Can’t… st-stand… much… more… Al.”

“We’re winning; buddy, just a little longer,” Al encouraged.

At that moment they heard footsteps approaching. Sam looked in alarm from Al to the door through which the others had vanished.

Al took the hint and popped out, to reappear inside the room, warning Dom that they should stay put and hide in the shadows. Sam took a deep breath, and prepared to bluff his way out of his strange out of place appearance.

The first thing he noticed were the ‘sensible’ shoes, it was a nurse.

He lifted his weary head to answer the challenge he knew was about to come, and recognized:  “Kirsty!”

“There you are, Mr. Evans! I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing out of bed?”

“Uh, would… you… believe… s-sleep… walking?” he asked lamely, grimacing with pain.

“Oh you poor man, you look awful.” She didn’t let on whether she believed him or not. “Hang on, I’ll be back in two minutes!”

He opened his mouth to stop her from bringing reinforcements, but she had scurried off before he could draw breath.

True to her word, well within the promised time she had returned, with the item he and Al had found so elusive – a wheelchair!

With professional aplomb, Kirsty helped him to lower himself into it, with the minimum amount of strain on his fragile leg, which she elevated and supported with the adjustable frame of the chair.

Once seated, Sam sobbed with relief. “Ahhh, God bless… y-you, Kirsty,” he said, when he could speak again.  “Th-thank you.”

Al’s head protruded from the office wall like an aristocrat’s from the guillotine block. He smiled when he saw who had ‘caught’ Sam, and the Leaper surreptitiously waved him out.

“Kirsty,” he lightly touched her arm, and she looked down into his serious eyes. “You have… to help me… keep a secret.”

“Not so long ago, I’m the last person you’d have said that to!” Kirsty laughed softly. Sam smiled back. She was right.

Al took the cue, and motioned to Dom to come out.

They emerged, and handed Sam the copies they had made, which he tucked down the side of the wheelchair out of sight. Kirsty gawped open mouthed at the sight of the suspended Doctor Gonzales sneaking round in the middle of the night, but she waited for the explanation Sam promised she would get if she helped.

Dom and Aurora then headed back down to the basement to return the originals, though not until the Doctor had ordered ‘chicitito’ back to bed “immediately and no arguments”. She seemed to think that he had been their lookout, and neither he nor Dom corrected her assumption. She insisted that the hard part was done now, and he should be resting. He couldn’t argue with that part of her assessment. He was bone weary.

“Go on Sam,” Al shooed him, “I’ll check back with you in the morning. Sleep well.”

Sam felt uneasy at deserting his post before the task was complete, but Kirsty had already begun pushing the chair gently back down the long route to his room. With the IV stand in tow, it was a cumbersome process, and they made slow progress. Sam just hoped that his brainwaves could broadcast loud and long enough to keep Al there until they were safely away.

Getting him back to bed without anyone else discovering his absence was no easy matter, but Kirsty managed it. On the way, she told him she had started her early shift with the task of making his 2am observation, and had been horrified to find his bed empty. For one dreadful moment she thought that his head injury had caused fatal complications, until she realized that had he died, the bed would not have been in disarray, and his chart would have been removed.

He was touched by her concern, and assured her that he was very much alive; he had the agony to prove it!

He in turn told her as much as she needed to know about how her secret scandal was going to get them all, including ‘himself’ and his fellow students, out of trouble.  She, like Aurora, assumed he’d gone AWOL to stand lookout, and though both ladies thought the patient mad to do it, and the Professor mad to ask it of him, in the absence or a more rational, or in this case more incredible but true, explanation, they accepted it at face value. It was amazing how people could accept the most ridiculous premise, rather than consider an alternative that didn’t fit in with their rigid ideas of ‘normal’ behavior.

Finally, after a slight detour to avoid a stern looking doctor who made Mellors look like Ronald McDonald, they regained Sam’s room undetected. Kirsty got him inside, and with a dexterity that belied her slight frame, got him back into the bed without even a hint of him winding up in an undignified heap on the floor. It helped that he was able to do a lot of the maneuvering himself, but he certainly couldn’t have achieved it alone without considerable detriment to his health, and he thanked her for her efforts. She acknowledged with a smile, self consciously straightening her hair, which had come awry in the jostle.

Sam realized they had not determined who was to present the ‘evidence’ to the Senator, and so he asked Kirsty to hide the papers in his bedside table, with the maps and other personal belongings from the backpack, until he could work out with Al what happened next. She made sure they were well disguised, and seemed to be in her element being involved in the intrigue.

That done, she made Sam as comfortable as possible: mopping his brow and getting him a drink; and checking that the line was still in correctly following his exertions. Once she was sure he had no further immediate needs, she told him she would be back in an hour and he had “better be there and fast asleep!”

“Yes ma’am,” rejoined Sam, and smiled as she left. She was going to have a fine career as a nurse.

Sam had soon drifted off into an exhausted sleep, worn out by his physical and emotional exertions, and though he had not slept all that long, he awoke feeling much refreshed. A senior nurse roused him at 6am for his observation, taking his pulse and blood pressure and removing the IV now that he was capable of coping with oral medication and re-hydration. She made a note that his obs could be reduced to four times a day, and  - grateful not to be so frequently disturbed - he'd soon drifted back to sleep. He stirred a little before eight, and was now looking forward to tying up the loose ends and leaping out well before lunchtime.

“You’re looking chipper this morning, Sam,” Al greeted him.

“Any reason why I shouldn’t?” Sam retorted, not expecting a serious answer.

Unfortunately, he got one.

Al hummed and hawed until Sam’s cheerful disposition had completely evaporated.

“What went wrong, exactly?” Sam wanted to know.

“Three words Sam,” admitted Al despondently.

Sam said them with him.  “They got caught. Damn,” Added the Leaper, cursing himself for allowing a couple of cute careers to bully him back to bed before the job was done.

“Why didn’t you wake me, Al?” accused Sam.

“To do what, exactly?” countered Al. Sam had no answer.

“It’s not that serious, Sam, really,” Offered the Observer, which earned him a disbelieving scowl.

“No, really, think about it. They were already in trouble. Trouble that our little ‘conversation’ with Senator is supposed to fix. Ziggy is still putting odds of 93% that it will by the way. In all cases, Sam.  Just cos they are a bit deeper in trouble than before, doesn’t mean the Senator’s influence can’t sweep it under the carpet. He’s a sneaky one, he can pull it off.” Al almost sounded like he admired the man – almost.

Sam tried hard to feel convinced that Al was right, but a nagging voice somewhere deep inside kept telling him that every time this leap looked like being successfully concluded, it threw him another curve. He wouldn’t believe it was over ‘til the blue haze express had dumped him at his next destination.

“Even if you’re right,” he challenged Al, “that still leaves us with a problem.”

Al tilted his head to one side and furrowed his eyebrows, “What’s that, Sam?”

Sam rapped lightly on his cast with his knuckles, and indicated his general condition.

“Even assuming a Welsh student could get to make an appointment with an American Senator, I’m not exactly in the best position to keep it, am I?” His eyes searched Al’s face questioningly. He’d get up and hitchhike the entire way if necessary, but he certainly hoped he wouldn’t have to. Though his strength was returning with each passing day, he was still in need of time and rest in order to recuperate fully.

Al didn’t answer immediately, nor did he seek Ziggy’s opinion on the matter.

“With Dom out of the picture, even temporarily, how are we gonna carry out your little scheme, Al?”

“I’ve been thinking about that, pal. No problemo. I’ll do it!”

Sam looked at his insubstantial friend as if he had lost his marbles.

“You?” he gestured deliberately so that his hand passed through Al’s torso. “Just because Dom can see you…”

Al held up a hand to silence his friend’s objection.

“Not me, -me” Al pointed to himself, and smiled at Sam’s obvious confusion, “Me!” He gestured over his shoulder as if someone were standing behind him.

“Huh?” Sam didn’t even try to pretend he understood what Al was ranting about.

“What year are you in, Sam?”

Sam frowned. If Al had told him, he had no recollection of it. He knew from the medical advances such as the inflatable splint that it was recent rather than early, but beyond that, it hadn’t seemed relevant so he hadn’t bothered to think about it. Doing so now was bringing back his headache.

“Quit the games and cut to the chase, Al, will ya?”

Al looked disappointed that Sam was curtailing his little guessing game. He liked to build up to the climax. He decided it would be cruel to pursue it though, when he saw his friend rub his forehead wearily.

“Okay, buddy, keep your hair on. It is the spring of 2001 for Dai and co. At that time, you were Leaping and I was Observing, right?”

Sam’s expression clearly asked ‘so what’?

“So you know exactly how to reach me. The old me - Or rather the younger me…” Al rubbed his own head.

“Remember how we sent Gooshie a letter once before?”

Sam shook his head, the details of that brief return home having fallen through the holes in his Swiss cheese memory, perhaps mercifully.

“Never mind. Trust me, we did. And it was far more complicated then. This time, you just pop the incriminating evidence in the post, marked for my personal attention. I take it to the Senator, and batta-bing, we’re home free!”

“How will ‘old’ Al know what we need?” Sam didn’t think his friend had thought this through. The letter would arrive long before Al or Ziggy had any knowledge of the current leap, which was still several years in their future.

“Duh! You put in a covering letter Sam. Get ‘me’ to phone Dai here at the hospital if he has any doubts. I’ll, er, he’ll recognize your writing. It’ll get my er his oh whatever, attention. You can easily convince me/him to do the necessary.”

Both their heads were pounding with the effort of keeping it straight in their minds, but Sam was starting to believe that it might just work. As a retired Rear Admiral, Al had quite a bit of clout of his own, and should have no bother getting in to see the Senator. He had appointments with high-powered government representatives all the time.

One thing bothered him, though.

“What if ‘old’ Sam needs you while you’re gone, Al?”

The fleeting look on the Observer’s face, soon masked by a jovial grin, suggested he had not thought of that particular thorny possibility.

“Have I ever let you down, pal?” was the only answer Sam could get.

The practicalities of their latest plan were taken care of soon after, when Kirsty came in to give Sam another bed-bath.

“You’re working long shifts!” Sam commented conversationally, though he was relieved to have her rather than a strange nurse perform the embarrassing procedure.

“Don’t get me started!” she replied. “What with being short staffed after Chloe was suspended, oh sorry,” she suddenly realized the tactlessness of that statement, but Sam dismissed her guilt with a gesture, “and several nurses have called in sick, so the rest of us are on massive overtime, and extra shifts, and split shifts, and I dunno what else. Most of us don’t know if we’re coming or going. It’s playing havoc with our sleep patterns – and our biorhythms, not to mention our social lives! Not that we have the energy to have social lives!” She laughed, and raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“You’re doing a grand job,” Sam assured her.

They had almost gotten away with it, despite the problems they’d had keeping Al centered on them, and the resulting great personal cost to poor Sam’s health.

Once Al had joined them, their slow methodical search had soon become a swift retrieval.

When they had dashed up in the elevator to get the photocopies, Dom had been as shocked as Doctor Gonzales at the state of the patient. He looked dreadful, pale and grey and exhausted and in obvious agony. Dom could not imagine how he’d had the strength or courage to make it that far, and he’d wholeheartedly endorsed her instruction for him to go straight back to bed.

As a devout Christian Scientist himself, Dom wished he could do more to aid Sam in his given mission, not just on this personal Leap, but in general. Though Sam wasn’t complaining, it seemed so unfair that he had to bear the burden alone.

He hadn’t worried for a moment about finishing the task without Sam and Al’s assistance, as the hologram faded out on them. They knew where to put it back; it would only take a couple of minutes.

Unfortunately, it was a couple of minutes too long, and they’d been spotted going back into the basement.

Thus, Dom found himself once more sitting in an office, being told that his career was in ruins. This time, Aurora was there too, holding his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. She amazed him. Her career was in ruins too, and they could both well be looking at custodial sentences, yet she was not screaming blame at him, she was supporting him.

At least they had smuggled the copies to Sam undetected. He could get the others in the clear. It would be worth it for that. Dom kept telling himself that however bleak it seemed, at least they were alive, and for that he was thankful. They had a second chance, and there was plenty of time for things to get better.

PART SIXTEEN

Kirsty had quickly worked through the preliminaries, and had carefully lowered his broken leg from its cradle so that he could roll himself over onto his side, amid his assurances that there were certain areas he was more than capable of managing unassisted. He asked her to get him a pen and paper, and a large envelope, so that he could write a letter to go with the documents he had to send.

Kirsty smirked at his coyness, and promised to let him take care of business just as soon as she made sure he was not developing any bedsores. She would be remiss in her duty if she did not give him a pressure massage to prevent any possible outbreak of decubitus ulcers. He had to admit that was one complication he could well do without.

She tutted at the state of his rib bindings:  “Your little ‘somnambulation’ has made them all sweaty.” She dusted them with talc.

She proceeded to wash down the back of his left leg, and then to give his buttocks a vigorous rub with the sponge, followed by a brisk toweling off, and more talc, which she worked in to his gluteus maximus muscles like she was kneading bread dough, muttering under her breath the observation, ‘nice buns!’

Sam tried hard not to squirm, and bore the indignity as best he could, though he felt she had gone too far when she finished with a hearty slap on each southern cheek. “Gotta keep the circulation going,” she insisted.

Had Al been there, which Sam was exceedingly grateful he was not; he would no doubt have expressed a desire to return the favor as he watched Kirsty sashay out the door to fetch the requested items.

Once alone, Sam hastily washed and dried his most private parts, and by the time Kirsty came back, he had wriggled his way back into the relative propriety of a clean hospital gown that the nurse had previously brought in on her trolley. He had also eased himself back into a more comfortable lying position, though he relied on Kirsty on her return to re-elevate his injured leg.

Sam quickly wrote Al a letter outlining the group’s predicament, and signed it Dai Evans, giving details of how and where he could be contacted.

He put it with the evidence in the large brown envelope Kirsty had got him, and marked it Private and Confidential for the personal attention of his friend Al Calavicci. He hoped his Observer would be observant enough to pick up the clues he had woven into his text.

Once it was finished, Kirsty took hold of the package, and the money Sam told her to help herself to from Dai’s wallet to cover the delivery charge, and promised it would be Fed-Exed as soon as she went off duty.

Having nothing else to do, Sam spent the rest of the long, boring, frustrating day dozing and fretting and feeling sore. His restlessness kept him shuffling about in the bed, and his shuffling made his injuries uncomfortable. The minutes felt like hours, and the hours like days. He didn’t even have periodic visits from Al as on previous days to break the monotony, and the absence of his observer caused him to worry more.

He ate when the nurses brought food, though he had little appetite and took his meds like a dutiful patient, and let them do what they had to do, all the while feeling miserable and disheartened. Al had been so sure his plan would work, and the Leaper had every confidence in the competence of the Admiral, but until it was done and dusted, he couldn’t help imagining all the things that could possibly go wrong, and convince himself that if they could, they probably would.

The rational side of him tried to sweep it away as the legacy of his concussion – known to cause depression for some time in the majority of sufferers. Still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of doom and gloom.

Late in the evening, Al finally made an appearance, looking almost as haggard as the invalid.

He justified his absence by saying he had nothing new to impart to make it worth his having visited, and excused it by reminding Sam that they were short staffed. He’d hardly seen Beth in days, he told the Leaper, cos without Tyler as her second in command she’d had to cope more or less single handed with the outbreak of heatstroke that had struck a large percentage of personnel when the air-con failed yet again.

Al said it was getting to be a regular occurrence, and he reckoned that it was Ziggy having hot flashes – he put it down to her age!

At the mention of Tyler’s name, Sam had the vague stirring of a memory, of having met the young man, although he had not been taken on until well after Sam began leaping. Tyler – Tyler and a car and…

“St. John? Tyler was with St. John?” he thought aloud.

Al frowned, annoyed with himself for awakening memories in Sam’s Swiss cheese brain that were best left dormant.

“Yeah, they took off together, left us in the lurch.” Al hoped that Sam would accept the half-truth, and not probe any deeper. He was still struggling to come to terms with his failure to save Cliff, Lizzie and Professor Cooper. Sam didn’t need to be reminded that he’d been forced to trade the lives of Edward St. John Vl and Tyler for those of the rest of the Project personnel, himself and his beloved Beth included.

Al hastily changed the subject, and after a little inconsequential small talk, he made his excuses and left Sam once more alone and unhappy.

At a little after eleven the next morning, the nurse Kirsty had called Michelle brought in a small trolley with a telephone on it, and plugged it in by his bed, telling Sam he had a call from someone who sounded very distinguished and important.

Sam’s eyes lit up, and he hefted himself into a more upright position, taking the phone eagerly from her hand.

It was Al, the contemporary Al, and he had an inkling that he was not talking to the real Dai Evans - more than an inkling. He realized that Sam was not free to talk openly though, and chortled when he was told that for company Dai had a cute nurse that Al would love to see. Michelle blushed.

It was a fairly brief and slightly awkward call, but it established all that Al needed to know, and lifted Sam’s spirits enormously to have been able to speak to Al in the Observer’s own time. It was strange that such a simple thing should mean so much, he talked to Al every day, yet somehow knowing it was the flesh and blood Al at the end of the phone made him feel that much closer to home. He asked to be remembered to everyone there, and the irony of the request was not lost on either of them.

The memory of his brief conversation; the sound of Al’s voice without the hollow timbre the Imaging Chamber leaned it, was enough to keep Sam in better spirits as he waited out this day. He was still restless, and so still subject to some discomfort, particularly from his tender ribs, but he remained more up beat than he had been the day before.

Sam assumed that once Al had ‘convinced’ the Senator to help them, he would feel the familiar tingle and simply fade out of Illinois. With no disrespect intended to that fair State, it could not be a moment too soon for him.

As it turned out, Sam was absolutely delighted that it did not happen that way.

PQL Spring 2001

Rear-Admiral Albert Calavicci (Retired) stepped out of the Imaging Chamber with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. Sam was hard at work picking fruit in Oklahoma in ‘93, in no immediate danger and in reasonable spirits. He’d told his Observer to take some down time, and Al intended to spend every last minute of it in the company of his delectable wife Beth. He was about to ask Gooshie where she could be located, when the diminutive technician with halitosis informed him that a package had been brought in from the P O box in Albuquerque marked Urgent and for his personal attention. It had been signed for on his behalf, and awaited him in his office.

“More red tape from the bigwigs I guess,” sighed Al, metaphorically waving goodbye to his R and R.

“I – I don’t think so, Admiral,” ventured Gooshie. “You may find the handwriting – interesting.” Gooshie was positively beaming, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Al cocked his head to one side inquisitively, but Gooshie would give no more away.

His curiosity aroused, despite his disappointment at being sidetracked, Al hastened to his office to check out the aforementioned article.

“I assume this has passed the scans, Zig?” he enquired, even as he itched to open it.

“Naturally,” came the icy reply. It was standard procedure to assess the risk that packages, especially ones marked private and confidential, did not contain explosives or biohazards. Ziggy performed the task routinely, and resented the implication that she could have let something dangerous through.

 "Sam, you little devil!" Al smirked quirkily with the recognition of the handwriting and with a roguish grin added, "So what have you gotten yourself into this timeline?"

Al ripped open the package and scanned the contents.

Within minutes, he was on the phone to a hospital in Illinois.

Soon after that he was in his quarters changing from his garish “uncoordinated” outfit, as Sam had just described it, into his best dress whites, complete with medals, even as Ziggy was hacking into Senator Heath’s electronic diary, inserting an appointment none of his staff would remember making. At the same time, another part of her vast processing capacity was engaged in arranging a flight from New Mexico to Illinois, and a car to meet Al at the other end.

It was not the down-time he’d looked forward to, but Al embarked on the quest with enthusiasm nonetheless. He loved nailing nozzles, and if it helped Sam in the process, then so much the better. As a man of action, he sometimes got frustrated at being relegated to the role of mere Observer. Here was a chance to be the one in the thick of it for a change, and Al intended to savor every second of it.

Sam awoke from a catnap at around seven that evening: surprised, and yet not at all surprised to find that he was still Dai Evans, still in hospital, and still nursing his broken bones.

With a sigh, he began to wonder what had gone wrong this time, and what he was going to have to do to put it right.

He reached over to the bedside cabinet, and got himself a glass of water, the stretch causing him to wince a little at the strain on his ribs.

His back was turned toward the door.

“You want me to get that for ya, kid?” a rasping voice asked him.

In his haste to turn around and confirm what he couldn’t believe, Sam dropped the tumbler, splashing water everywhere though mercifully it didn’t break.

“Al?” he queried, then recognition lit up his face, beyond doubt: “Al!”

The Admiral in the dress whites beamed from ear to ear.

“Right here and IN the flesh, kiddo!” came the laughing reply as he slapped at his chest. He strode into the room, rounded the bed, and replenished the glass for his friend, who didn’t look anything like his friend, but whom he would have known anywhere, even without the Imaging Chamber to configure his brainwaves.

He held out the glass, and Sam reached to take it, his hand freezing part way as the enormity of the gesture struck him. Al was there, really there, in the flesh as he said. After all these years, they were finally in the same room together, and although it was Dai Evans’ aura, it was him, Sam, heart soul and mind, who wanted to jump up and take his old friend in his arms and hug him for all he was worth.

After an eternal moment, Al told him, “Either drink this or shut your mouth, buddy, before you start catching flies!”

Sam shook himself from his astonished reverie, and beamed before taking the glass from Al’s hand, downing the cool clear liquid in a single quaff.

“Al!” was all he could manage, still incredulous. How many times had he longed for this very moment? Could this really be happening? Tears of joy pricked at his eyes. He was trembling with emotion.

“You better lie back down, kiddo, you look pretty rough.”

Sam obeyed automatically, though he countered:  “You should have seen me a few nights ago. That is you will, at least you have, oh, you know what I mean.” His mind was racing at a mile a minute. There were so many things he wanted to say, to ask, to tell. He couldn’t get his tongue around a single one of them.

“I know, Sam. I know,” Al said quietly, lest he be overheard by one of the delightful angels in the corridor.

Hearing his own name on his friend’s lips, the tears broke free and trickled down his cheeks.

“Oh, Al!”

“Is that all you got to say? If you don’t feel like talking I can always leave.” Al took a spurious step toward the door. 

“No, Al! Please don’t go,” begged Sam. He looked down at himself, then at his friend.

“You don’t see me, do you?” he asked, a little sadly.

“I see Dai Evans, big beefy rugby player, but when I look in his eyes, I can tell it’s you buddy.”

“How…. Uh… what…” Sam stuttered.

Al returned and drew up a chair by his bedside, swinging it back to front and sitting astride it, arms folded casually across the back.

“Mission accomplished pizano. The Senator was remarkably uh receptive to my request for help, as I knew he would be.” The solid Al winked.

“I reckoned he’d probably have to get the various authorities to actually agree to drop charges before you could leap, so I thought while I was in the area, I’d see if you were still around.”

“Glad you did, Al,” Sam told him simply. He was looking his friend up and down, drinking in every detail of him, thinking how much younger he looked than his holographic counterpart even though only a couple of years separated them. He vowed to try to be less of a burden to his Observer, if he could only remember his vow once he leaped.

“Hey, watcha gawping at with that goofball expression?” Al pretended to check himself to see if he had grown an extra head, or stained his whites with something unsavory. “It’s not like you don’t see me every day.”

“See you, yes.” Sam drew in a deep breath, regretted the strain it put on his ribs, let out a shuddering sigh.

While Al had always been reticent to indulge in effusive emotional displays, (except with his wife) Sam was of a more demonstrative nature. He could hold back no longer. He needed to hug his friend, and he needed it now, as much as he needed his next breath. Yet he was sensitive to his friend’s finer feelings, and didn’t want to embarrass him. He couldn’t just ask.

He cast a sideways glance at the water jug on the bedside cabinet, easing himself into a more upright position. Ever Observant, Al noticed, and immediately stood up to tend to the unspoken request, as Sam hoped he would. He poured more water, and approached the bed to hand it over.

“You okay, kid?” Al kept his tone light and casual, but the Welsh student was still looking at him oddly, his face pale beneath the grazes and bruises which marred his features. He was concerned for the time traveler’s welfare.

Without replying, Sam took the tumbler, sipped the water and handed it back. Then, before the Admiral could move away, he reached out and gently grabbed his wrist. It may have been a dirty trick to maneuver the man into range, but it had worked and he wasn’t going to miss his chance.

“Come here, you big lug!” he commanded the officer, tugging on his arm so that the man almost fell on top of him. Sam opened his arms and swallowed up his companion, squeezing him in a tight embrace, the tears streaming unchecked down his face. “Damn, it’s so good to have you here, Al,” he whispered.

Al returned the embrace, patting Sam on the back, letting his feelings of camaraderie toward the long lost traveler outweigh his repressed emotions.

“Back at ya, pal!” he muttered.

Anyone looking in would have marveled at the strange sight, but just at that moment neither of them cared. Time seemed to stand still. Sam didn’t want it to move on. It was the closest he had felt to home in a long, long time and he didn’t want to let it go. He had been a whole lot closer on a very recent leap of course, but all recollection of that ‘flying visit’ had been erased from his memory by the inter-Leap haze.

As it happened Sam was the first to loosen the grip. A small grunt escaped his lips, as he gently pushed his friend away.

“What is it, Sam?” queried Al, frowning in consternation as he backed off and watched as Sam collapsed back on the bed, wheezing.

“I- I’m… okay,” he panted, “You… were just… crushing… m-my ribs… a bit.”  Sam rubbed gingerly at the affected area. “Don’t… k-know yer-own… s-strength.” He smiled at Al even as he sought to get his breath back.

Al put his hands up in a gesture that suggested ‘Don’t blame me, it was your idea!’

“Maybe I should go, Sam. You look like you need to rest. It’s been a tough one, huh?”

“And then some!” confessed Sam, “but don’t leave yet. Who knows when we’ll be together again?” A look of great sadness and longing crossed Sam’s face, but he banished it.

So they chatted for a while, not saying any of the things that were most important to them, since Sam could not let Al know anything of his] future (remembering that this Al still had Gooshie, though not for long, was a wrench for Sam), and Al could say nothing of Sam’s life waiting for him back at the project; his wife, his children.

All too soon, Al glanced at his watch.

“I gotta get going pal.” He stood up, and before Sam could open his mouth to protest, he explained, “I got an older Sam, uh a younger Sam, well another Sam that needs looking in on.”

Sam held out his arm, and this time settled for a handshake.

“Thanks, Al. I’m sure I don’t say it enough. Thanks for everything.”

“Awww, now don’t go getting all mushy on me.” Al colored, and turned so that Sam could not see the moisture forming in the corner of his eye.

“Take care, kiddo.” He waved lightly, and walked briskly away, leaving Sam looking at his retreating figure with a curious mixture of elation and sadness.

Far from having had the rest ‘his’ Sam had suggested, Al was somewhat jetlagged by the time he got back to the Control Room. He wouldn’t have had it any other way, though, and he wouldn’t let on when he got back to the Imaging Chamber, he could hardly admit what he’d been up to, much less who he’d been chatting to. He was busy inventing ribald comments of imaginary exploits with Beth to embarrass Sam with, when Ziggy sounded an alarm. Suddenly all business, Al grabbed the handlink and headed up the slope to the past. ‘Looks like I got back in the nick of time!’ he sighed….

….”Hey kid, what the hell’s going on? Ziggy thought you were havin’ a coronary. Your vitals are off the chart.” He looked around him, “Okay Sam, you want to tell me what happened?”

Sam held up his hand while he got his breathing under control. “I found him Al.”

“Who?” Al stared at his friend.

“Steven Hunter…”

PART SEVENTEEN

Alone again, Sam relaxed into the bed, reliving and replaying the incredible encounter he’d just enjoyed. He tried to burn every miniscule detail onto the pictorial plates of his photographic memory, lest the leaping process wipe it from his mind like a snapshot spoiled by too long immersion in the developing fluid.

After a while, cosseted by the warm feelings his thoughts aroused, Sam drifted off to sleep.

Before he knew it, morning had rolled around once more, and he was being subjected to yet another of Kirsty’s rigorous bed-baths, complete with pressure massage.

The thought fleetingly crossed his mind that some cosmic power with a cruel sense of humor was keeping him from leaping just to see how much humiliation he could take before he snapped.

Kirsty commented on his scowl, but he attributed it to the fact that his leg was itching fit to drive him crazy, which was true; it was crying out to be scratched but the cast was in the way. He knew it was a sign that the bones were healing well, but it was irritating as hell nonetheless.

Compensation for the embarrassment came soon after, in the form of a delicious breakfast, followed mid morning by more visitors.

Dom Lofton and Aurora Gonzales came in smiling from ear to ear like a pair of Cheshire cats.

Sam smiled back. It seemed like he might be getting good news for a change. He motioned them to sit, which they did.

At that moment a third visitor arrived, though only one of the pair realized it. Al took up a discreet position standing beside Dom.

Dom was obviously bursting to say things he couldn’t have explained to Aurora. He wondered how Sam managed – discussing game plans and exchanging essential information with Al when he had to keep his identity secret. He wished again that there were some way he could help.

Aurora was looking Sam over with professional concern.

“How is my chicitito this fine day?” she asked, with a wink, brushing his forehead lightly with the back of her fingers.

“On the mend, thank you.”

“Hey, now,” interjected Dom, with mock disapproval, “I’m starting to wonder if I should be marrying you, Doctor, if you are going to flirt so outrageously with all your patients!”

Aurora pretended to be offended:  “Not all, Dominico! Chicitito here, he is special!” patting the back of Sam’s hand, she laughed her rich lovely laugh, and Dom reached over and hugged her.

“You’re one lucky dog, buddy, I wouldn’t mind being on her rounds!” Dom shot a warning look across his bow, and Al pretended to defend himself from an impending blow. “Don’t mind me,” Al reassured the Professor, “I’m happily married; I just like to yank Sam’s chain.”

Sam glowered at his ethereal friend, but something serious beneath Al’s banter set his genius brain to pondering. As his synapses fired with inspiration, a contingency plan began hatching in the incubator of his grey matter.

In the meantime, the full meaning of the Professor’s earlier words finally penetrated Sam’s brain,

“Hey, does this mean congratulations are in order?” he asked.

“All this trouble made me realize how much Aurora means to me,” explained Dom. “I decided I had to make sure she didn’t get away.”

“And I decided that he needed somebody to keep him out of more trouble!” Aurora tossed her head playfully, and put her hand in Dom’s. Sam thought that they certainly made a lovely couple.

“So am I to understand the trouble is finally over?” Sam dared to ask, hopefully. He even went so far as to cross his fingers beneath the sheet.

The couple exchanged glances, before Dom assured him, “The Senator was most ‘persuasive’, it seems. Not only has the Court Marshal been cancelled, but Matt and Joey are to get commendations for their handling of the chopper.”

“Quite right, too,” applauded Sam, thinking how much worse he would have suffered if he’d had to endure the long drive back. The boy’s control of the big beastie had been masterful.

“Senator Heath is also personally sponsoring Gian Franco Palmiero’s application for citizenship,” put in Aurora, “In recognition of his efforts in the rescue.”

“He gets to keep his job?” Sam queried.

Al nodded, and Dom confirmed it, “… Chloe too.”

“And you and your friends are to be permitted to conclude your studies.” Aurora smiled and patted Sam’s hand again.

Sam was about to rejoice, when he registered:  “That just leaves you two…?”  He looked at Al, challenging him with his eyes as if to say, if they won’t tell me, you’d better come clean.

“We’re fine,” declared Dom, “all charges dropped.”

“But…” pressed Sam, he could sense it was not that clear cut.

“We’ll, we had to agree to a couple of conditions, but it’s no biggie. We got off light.”

“Conditions?” Sam shifted in the bed. Aurora instinctively got up and adjusted his pillows for maximum support.

“We just have to put in for transfers out of state, where nobody knows us. We have each other, it’ll be fine.”

Dom smiled, but Sam could tell that there was some regret. They had both loved their jobs, and were well placed. It would be hard to get such prestigious positions elsewhere.

Sam’s plan was starting to show signs of increasing merit.

“Yeah? Where do you guys see yourselves in 2-3 years?” Sam again held Al with a look.

“Married with a couple of rugrats and an outsized mortgage, and happy as Larry!” sniggered Dom, squeezing Aurora’s hand.

“Who is this Larry?” Aurora queried, and they all laughed.

Sam didn’t laugh for long though. He wanted his answer.

Al finally gave it.

“Good news is buddy, Aurora is still doctoring, and Dom is still lecturing…”

Dom looked at Sam as much as to say “Told you not to worry,” but Sam was too in tune with his Observer to have missed the subtlety of his wording.

“But the bad news is…?” he asked out of the side of his mouth, so Aurora shouldn’t hear.

Al shrugged resignedly; he knew deep down he wouldn’t be able to keep the truth from the Leaper.

“They’re in some backwater, lousy conditions, pay to match, little or no prospects of improving. They have enough to live on, and to raise a family, and they are making the best of it, but it’s not what they deserve, Sam.”

“It’s not good enough,” Sam declared firmly, deciding that his contingency plan had just been elevated to plan A.

“What is wrong, chicitito?”

“You got a vacancy, right Al?”

“Not for a little over four years, their time, Sam.” Al countered, “Though I’d take her like a shot. Beth could use someone of her caliber and no mistake.”

Aurora heard Dai talking to his backpack again, and was on instant alert. Had his head injury caused some sort of brain damage they had not suspected? She stood, bent over him, and gently delved into the pools of his eyes.

“At the Project?” Dom was getting confused by the turn this conversation was taking, and forgot his good intentions of keeping Aurora out of the loop.

“Yeah,” Al confirmed, “We got two vacancies as it happens, and one of them is for a senior physician. My wife Beth is chief medic, but she just lost her second in command and is rushed off her feet…”

Sam interrupted him, brushing aside Aurora’s ministrations.

“Al! Of course, it’d be perfect…”

“Huh?” chorused all three.

“Dom, how would you feel about a radical career change?”

Dom decided that Aurora’s temporary confusion was something they would just have to deal with. He wasn’t well rehearsed enough in doublespeak to handle something like this.

“What are you talking about, Sam?”

“Would somebody please tell me what is going on, am I going loco?” Aurora looked at the two men she could see, and threw her arms in the air.

“I’ll explain in a minute, honey,” Dom promised her, “As soon as I’m sure I understand myself.”

Al was also looking quizzically at his friend, wondering what Sam was plotting.

“You said you’d be happy no matter what, even as a gardener, as long as you were with Aurora. Did you mean that, Dom?”

Dom smiled at his fiancée and nodded, “Damn straight I meant it.”

She beamed back at him.

“Sam? Where you going with this, buddy?” Al thought he had a clue, but it was kinda off the wall. Professor Lofton was a wildlife ecologist, a far cry from the qualifications needed to fill St. John’s shoes. Though he could be useful if they had a recurrence of the recent snake problem! Al shuddered at the memory. He’d had more than enough of the reptiles to last several lifetimes.

“Al, correct me if I’m wrong, but I am still technically in charge of the Project, aren’t I? So I can hire whomever I please?”

“Sure.”

“Then I propose, if he’s agreeable, that Dom spend the next four years retraining. It shouldn’t be hard with his brains. What’ll he need, Al? Quantum mechanics; programming in several computer languages; practical technical skills in computer maintenance…?” Sam was ticking them off on his fingers.

“That’ll do for starters!” Al sniggered.

“How about it, Professor Lofton, you up for it?” Sam tilted his head to one side.

Dom nodded enthusiastically, “You betcha!” Sam had given him his life back and Aurora’s too: a second chance. He’d wished for a way to repay the Leaper and here it was being handed to him – along with an opportunity to be involved in a real and practical way. He wouldn’t miss it for the world!

“Then I guess everybody’s happy. As far as Al’s concerned, his staff shortage is instantly cured, and you guys have worthwhile jobs lined up for the future. Can Dr Gonzales support them while Dom trains, Al?”

Al consulted his oracle.

“Not in luxury, but they do okay, Sam. Ziggy says their contracts are being drawn up as we speak. Welcome aboard. And may I say, Professor, I think I’m gonna get along with you a lot better than I did with the last guy!”

Since the contemporary Project staff could know nothing of these impending additions to the payroll, Al explained to Dom all he needed to know about his new career as Ziggy’s minder, while Sam attempted to explain to Aurora that he really wasn’t a crazy delusional Welsh student. She accepted it all remarkably calmly.

“I told you this one was special, Dominico! Whoever you are, Doctor Beckett, and however you look,” she told him coolly, when he had finished, “to me you will always be my ‘chicitito!”

She leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead. At first Sam thought it was that which had made him tingle inside, but then he realized, it was the Leap reaching out to take him.

“Goodbye, Dom; Aurora. Save me some wedding ca….”

Sam Beckett had left the building.

EPILOGUE

Portland, Oregon

November 12, 1989

        Immediately upon leaping into his new host, Sam felt woozy and dizzy. This was not a terrible surprise; the leaping process often caused a myriad of physical effects of some kind to happen to poor Sam. He knew he should just hold on and ride the wave out; very often it took just a couple of minutes for everything to become clear again. So he waited, hoping the time would pass soon.

        Sam’s world was moving; everything seemed to be a blur. He couldn’t see clearly at all. Yet he could make out that he was in a dining room of a small house or maybe apartment. It was sparsely decorated with furniture, a table and two barstools. A big man stood in the kitchen and was frantically waving some sort of blue blur at the ceiling. Sam did not immediately understand what the big man was doing or why.

        The world kept moving quickly. Suddenly, Sam worried that he was caught up in an earthquake. Somewhere in the recesses of his Swiss-cheesed brain, Sam remembered a few basic survival skills. He dropped to the floor and rolled under the table. He covered his head with both his hands and arms, determined to wait out the earthquake. Yet something was not quite right; the floor was not shaking, swaying or moving at all. In fact, Sam could not verify that he had ever felt it move.

Sam lifted his head out of the shelter of his hands and arms and looked around quickly. Nothing seemed to be moving except for the big man in the kitchen who was frantically waving a blue towel at a fire alarm on the ceiling. Faintly, Sam could make out the dinging sound of the alarm. His hands shot to his ears to cover them. A searing pain shot through his head – well, his whole body really, centering inside his head. The pain reminded Sam of the time when the dentist had begun to drill without enough Novocain being administered. Tears were streaming down from his eyes.

The pain was so intense that Sam began rocking back and forth. Strangely, that helped a little, but the pain was still incredible. His eyes were squinted closed, so tight that he saw a collection of white dots bounce against a dark background. What could make the pain go away? Sam was getting desperate. Wouldn’t this pain ever stop?  In his rocking motion, Sam accidentally hit his head against the leg of the table he was under. That had helped. In fact, that had helped a lot. He hit his head again and again. Then, realizing that he could get at a broader surface that he imagined would be even better, he began to hit his head on the underside of the table.

The pain began to subside at last. The more Sam continued to hit his head against the table, the better he felt. A wave of euphoria was slowly replacing the pain. Sam pounded away at the table with his head.

Sam had no idea how much time had passed. None whatsoever. Yet he felt something come in between his head and the table.

Slowly, Sam unclenched his eyes and the wave of euphoria was sliding away. Sam tried hurtling his head harder and faster into the table to stem the receding tide of euphoria to no avail. Whatever was between his head and the table was cushioning the blow to the point that the euphoria was dissipating.

Sam opened his eyes to see the big man kneeling next to him under the table, holding a pillow between Sam’s head and the table’s underside. Sam took a swipe at knocking away the pillow, but the big man was too strong, his arms too big, and his grip on the pillow too powerful.

“Nicholas, it’s all right. It’s all right. Listen, the sound is gone. Listen, the sound is gone.” The big man was very animated as he spoke to Sam using his free hand and arm to make a different gesture with every word he said. Sam tried to listen but found he could not concentrate past two or three seconds. The sound did appear to be gone as was the searing pain in his head.

Yet the world seemed to sway back and forth.

Sam felt the pressure of two hands being placed on his shoulders. He didn’t like the touch and immediately bristled at it straightening out like a board, which stopped his rocking back and forth, and the world stopped swaying.

“Why don’t you come out of there, buddy?” said the big man as he showed Sam how to crawl out from under the table. Hesitantly, Sam followed, mimicking the big man in every way.

“Go sit on the couch,” the big man said, making a grand gesture with his arms to show Sam the direction he needed to go. Sam crawled in that direction.

“You can stand up now Nicholas, if you want to?” the big man said as he stood up himself and walked into the kitchen.

Sam picked himself up off the floor and walked gingerly to the couch. Methodically, he dropped down into it. The couch was big and fluffy, and Sam immediately felt good in all the places that the couch touched him. He moved to the corner of the couch so his one side could be touched by it too.

The big man came back with two glasses of ice-cold water that he placed on the wooden coffee table. “Here buddy, this will make you feel better.” In the corner of the dining/family room, the big man picked up a beanbag chair and placed it carefully onto Sam. It felt great – really great.

“Time to play hot dog!” the big man said with a smile and rolled the beanbag chair across Sam’s exposed body. Again, Sam did not know how long this actually lasted, but it could have lasted forever, because it felt so good.

The big man left after some time and went back into the kitchen and got a bowl of popcorn. “Well, there is some left. I removed all the burnt pieces.” He placed the bowl of popcorn in the middle of the coffee table. The beanbag chair covered Sam so that only his head was exposed. He really wanted some popcorn yet didn’t want to move to reach any. Yet after a while, the smell was too intoxicating, and a hand snaked out from under the beanbag chair to get at the popcorn. The big man brought the bowl right next to Sam’s hand, and Sam reached in and got a fistful.

The big man made sure that the beanbag chair stayed on Sam and didn’t slip off as he was reaching his fist to his mouth. Sam crunched down on the popcorn, listening intently to the sound the popcorn made as it was crunched in between his teeth. Fascinating!

“How do you feel, Nicholas?” the big man said. Sam’s mind didn’t register the question immediately; it heard the words but was too preoccupied with the sound of crunching popcorn. Sam’s eyes wandered everywhere, not focusing on any one thing for longer than five to ten seconds.

A hand came to Sam’s chin directing his head and vision to where he was looking directly at the big man.

“How are you feeling, Nicholas?” the big man asked very slowly.

Sam smiled, wanting to acknowledge the consideration of this man and that he felt good. Sam opened his mouth to speak. “French Toast.”

“Really?” the big man asked with a smile.

“French toast,” Sam replied back with a smile, with visions passing through his head of every time he had ever eaten French toast back on his boyhood farm in Indiana.

As the vision finally came to an end, he realized that the big man was talking to him again. “That’s great, buddy.”

Sam looked at the big man and smiled. Loudly in his head, he could hear his own thoughts saying, ‘OH BOY.’