PROLOGUE

Sleep, blissful sleep. Seldom did Sam Beckett start a leap dreaming a pleasant dream of images of that he could no longer identify. Even deep within his subconscious the lingering effects of his Swiss-cheesery tore at his memories ripping them to shreds and reassembling them like a puzzle dropped randomly on the floor. Sam turned over pulling at his blanket when his eyes popped open.

“Oogah! Oogah! Oogah!” sounded a claxon warning Sam of impending danger. “Oogah! Oogah! Oogah!”

Sam sat up suddenly hitting his head on the hard metal bunk above him.

”Ouch!” he yelled as men ran by him on either side while dressing in white Navy uniforms.

“Oogah! Oogah! Oogah!” the claxon continued to sound. “Battle stations! Battle Stations!” was announced over an annoyingly squeaky public address system.

Sam jumped down from his bed, pulled on a pair of pants that luckily fit him and the only pair of shoes remaining under the bunk. Sailors ran past Sam as he tried to decide which direction to go. More men were running left rather than right so Sam decided to follow them. Ducking through three separate hatches and up four steep ladders, Sam emerged on the far end of a large flat surface covered with jet planes. Dawn crept over the horizon, as it appeared to pitch and roll off the deck of a United States’ Navy aircraft carrier.

“Hey, swabbie. Get to your station, sailor!” some officer yelled to Sam as a life preserver was hastily thrown over his shoulders. Another man grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him toward a ladder. Sam climbed aboard an anti-aircraft gun station as a pair of binoculars was shoved into his hands.

Looking at the binoculars momentarily Sam craned his neck looking skyward. The ten-story tower mounted on the carrier deck loomed large above him as sailors scurried across the deck like ants. Seaward Sam saw other ships in the vicinity that thankfully appeared to be friendly.

“Number three antiaircraft position manned and ready,” called out the sailor that seemed do be in charge

“Jesus Christ, I hope we finally see some action for once!” cursed the sailor manning the gun position.

“Can the chatter, Perkins!” cried out the senior sailor who then reported something over his headphones.

Sam sheepishly peeked out over the gun and mumbled a nervous, “Oh, Boy!”

PART ONE

February 23, 1967

South China Sea, Off North Vietnam

Though not the most hazardous wartime experience I had ever leaped into, sitting in the gun mount of an attractive target in the middle of whatever ocean this was, I found the situation quite unsettling. Being something of a loner marching to my own drummer throughout my college and post-graduate years, I never really fit into any of the cookie-cutter order-following military roles I had to play. And this little nautical exercise was no exception…

“Anything at all, Watkins?” asked Perkins. “My trigger finger is itching to get me some Commies!” yelled the anxious gunner’s mate.

Sam looked around with his binoculars and shook his head in the negative.

“Stand down there, Perkins. We will not engage until a target is tracked on radar. Can’t have you shooting up one of our ships!” said the sailor in charge, a dark haired seaman with a flat Midwestern accent.

Sam just scanned the sky as it began to lighten up. Nothing out of the ordinary though Sam did not know who he was looking for. His conscience would normally never let him kill anyone though he has had to over his many leaps.

“Sam!” cried out Al over the noise made by the aircraft carrier proceeding forward at flank speed. “Sam, just look busy. Relax just a bit. Nothing is going to happen here. It was just another false sighting of a Russian MIG. We had them all the time,” Al said with a certain amount of nostalgia in his voice. “Just listen, we’ll talk later if we can find privacy on this floating cracker box. It’s good to be home again. Any sailor is home at sea. As luck would have it, you’ve leaped on my old ship, he U.S.S. Hornet CVA-12. And in cabin 23W67 sits First Leuie Albert Calavicci on his final tour of duty. The date is February 23, 1967 and we are in the South China Sea.”

Sam’s question had been answered. He knew that he was back in the Viet Nam War and a shipmate of his old friend and observer, Al.

Al continued with his monologue, “You are First Seaman Daniel Watkins, an ammunition specialist. You get to handle the ammo this supercharged firecracker uses. I suggest extreme caution. No word yet on your mission here, sailor. Watkins makes it back to San Diego without a scratch, as does most of the rest of the crew. I’m one of the six pilots who didn’t make it home. On my last mission, I get shot down tomorrow over Sun Bin Yan Pu. How come you always end up in my life at those critical times? Anyway, right now I’m up in the briefing room with the other pilots. You just sit tight and in twelve minutes they will stand down from battle stations. Damn, it’s great to be back! I’m going to check out that briefing. Ziggy! Center me um... on me!” he called out and Al disappeared. Sam just grimaced waiting and hoping that nothing would happen.

Half an hour later Sam made it back to his bunk tired and exhausted. The sheer size of the ship overwhelmed him as he stumbled around trying to retrace his steps from his earlier frantic journey. It was harder than trying to find his Mom’s old Plymouth in the parking lot of the Hoosier Mall near his home. Pulling his tired body into the bunk Sam let out a heavenly sigh, his eyes closed as he began counting sheep. “One, two, three, four, five…”

“Watkins! Up on the deck. Six bells! You have the duty!” Sam heard later being shaken from his blissful sleep.

“Huh?” was all Sam could mutter. His previous leap was quite physically challenging and Sam was still near exhaustion.

“Watkins! Get up you lazy slacker! Get your sidearm and report to the bridge! And for the love of Mike get dressed! The old man will have your head!” exclaimed the middle-aged white-haired Chief Petty Officer.

“Yes, sir!” exclaimed Sam as he rolled off the bunk and onto the hard metal floor looking for Watkins’ locker.

The Chief Petty Officer turned quickly to Sam. “Chief! Call me, Chief, Sailor! I’m no OF-I-SER, Watkins! Get moving, NO-OO-OW!!!” The Chief stomped off visibly fuming at Sam.

“Man, you better get moving, dude. I wouldn’t worry about Gatling, it’s Chief Fountaine that’ll have your butt for dinner. Here borrow my tie. Jeez, what’s wrong Watkins? That Beer Fest was three days ago. You still soused?” asked a latter day greased-up Fonzie type wearing a pair of overalls with the name Denison stenciled across his left breast pocket.

Sam looked up and half smiled. “No, I’ll be fine.  Just a bit tired. How do I look?” he asked.

“Ship shape, but you don’t have to impress me. Go get your piece!” Denison said pushing Sam toward the hatch.

“Piece of what?” asked Sam.

“Your pea shooter? Your rod! Your firecracker! Hey, wake-up, man!” Fonzie said looking funny at Sam.

“SAM!” cried out Al as he walked through the aft bulkhead. “You need to have a PISTOL issued to you. You have the Forenoon watch on the bridge. You’re to assist the exec officer and stand like a statue till lunchtime. Come on, Popeye, follow me! I’ll show you where the armory is,” said Al shaking his head and checking the input on his handlink.

“This is new to me Al,” Sam said through his teeth as he smiled at another sailor who looked at him strangely.

“Life’s pretty tight here at sea in the Navy. You can’t hide much from your bunkmates so keep your comments to a minimum or Seaman Watkins will end up in sickbay in a padded suite. Nothing yet from Ziggy. For once you have a nice confined set of prospects to help and still Ziggy can’t come up with one new scenario. Make a right and up this ladder. Now left,” said Al pointing with his Corona Special.

Through another hatchway, Sam found a chief petty officer behind a window lined with bars.

“Watkins, you’re late. Sign here, seaman,” he grunted handing Sam a pen.

“CPO Feldman. He and I got drunk once in Tokyo and ended up in this Jap girl’s school full of schoolgirls and nuns. Bet you can’t guess which I got?” said Al looking into the distance. “But another time. Head aft, to the left, three hatches and then straight up to the bridge.”

Sam climbed what seemed like forever and found himself on the busy bridge of the Hornet.

“Stand at attention. Salute and say “Seaman Watkins relieving the executive officers’ watch!” to the Lieutenant Commander there,” said Al coaching him.

Sam complied. The officer looked a bit mad. “Didn’t think you’d make it Watkins. Take your station!”

“Yes, sir!” Sam replied as he step over to the hatchway and stood at attention. Sam stood extremely stiff with a hard expression on his face.

“Ease up a bit. You got four hours to go. This is light duty, Sam. According to the ship’s logs nothing happened that required you to play the Lone Ranger. Your immediate boss here is Lieutenant Commander Roger Gatling. The Captain is Jonathan Archer. My name is Friday,” said Al a bit flippantly. Sam rolled his eyes and then relaxed his leg and face muscles.

PART TWO

A little after 1300 hours Sam sat in front of what passed as his lunch when Al appeared through that bright white rectangle in his full dress Navy uniform.

“Never got down here much. I’ll tell you if an admiral like me walked into the enlisted men’s galley, a lot of saluting arms would be broken,” exclaimed Al giving himself a hasty salute.

Sam looked up, quietly cocking up one eyebrow and then looked like something disagreed with his stomach.

“That bad? Well, the chow we got in the officer’s mess was only a whisker better. The good stuff we had sent from home. Beth used to pack up this freeze-dried lasagna that I used to heat up with a torch down in maintenance. The Navy never knew how to do Italian, but my Beth always did. Whoa! Now for what you’re really looking for. Ziggy has got a doozy for you. Seems there’s this guy down in your section. Pharmacist’s mate Simon Francis Wilkowski. ‘Hammerhead’ to his friends.  A second-generation Pole who has a rather large talent for handing out patent medicines. He passes out free happy-pills and other narcotics to the unsuspected raw recruits and gets them hooked. Nothing but a damn drug pusher taking advantage of my buddies that are so far from home. He never gets caught while in the service, but he confessed the whole story to a New Orleans grand jury in 1988 when he finally got caught and convicted. He’s been in the Federal Pen at Leavenworth ever since,” explained Al looking over his brightly colored information machine.

Sam listened intently as he pushed his tray away.

“To continue,” Al said “Tomorrow a seaman third-class Theodore Quentin “Sammy” Samson of Pikeville, Arkansas, disappears completely. Funny I don’t remember that, but I wasn’t involved with many people outside the officer corps. The Navy eventually listed him as AWOL though the Hornet didn’t reach port for another seven weeks. When the MP’s went through his grip they found some drug paraphernalia and added drug pusher to his dishonorable discharge. This kid was so wet behind the ears that he couldn’t have been guilty of anything except being naïve and being a long way from home.”

“And I suppose you’re an expert on that subject too?” snipped Sam to Al.

“Me? Naïve? Only up to my... um sixth, seventh… no, third grade when Nancy Lou Henderson gave me the greatest tonsillectomy any eight year old ever had. Ahhh! Well, Ziggy gives you a ninety-two percent probability that you’re here to save Seaman Samson. Not bad odds,” Al said giving just a little bit of a smirk before he took a long slow puff.

“And your date with history?” asked Sam through this teeth to avoid the appearance of talking to himself.

“OK,” said Al checking his little pinging friend. “Two percent. Not really something we want to fool around with. I’m just going to have to live with it like I did the first time around, Sam. Your job is to keep an eye on Samson. You two bunk in completely difference sections of the ship. Each section is its own small town though the pilots had a pretty good run of the entire ship. I’ll go take a look at our charge and get back to you Sam!” Al said disappearing as Sam just barely nodded to him.

Deep in the number four-maintenance bay filled with the spare parts from a half-dozen different planes types, two shadows crept between the spare aircraft engines. One man stood up straighter though actually shorter still seemed to tower over the skinny younger man.

“Come on, come on. Give me one. For the love of God, give me one!” Sammy said in a loud stage whisper. “Man, this is killing me! Give it to me!”

Hammerhead looked down at his feet. “That bad, huh?” he asked sneaking a look up at Sammy.

“Hey, man! I’m like dying here!” he quipped while jumping in one foot and then shifting to the other.

“What a shame. What a shame. Did you get me what I asked for?” Hammerhead said, stifling a grin.

“Look, I can’t get you that starter motor. It will be my head!” he gulped as another set of shivers ran down is spine.

“Then Peewee, do you have ANY money? It’s going to cost a lot this time!” he said looking up and squinting at him through bloodshot eyes.

Pulling his pockets inside out Sammy nervously cried out. “Nothing. I gave you my last fin, so...”

“So? It’s the starter motor or you get nothing,” Hammerhead said as he turned away.

“All right! All right!” yelled out Sammy. “I get the part to you somehow!”

The pusher look toward the corridor rather annoyed. “Pipe down, Peewee!”

“You just gotta help me out. These shimmies and shakes are killing me and I can’t go around like this. I’ll end up in..” Sammy yelled out even louder.

Slapping his hand over Sammy’s mouth, Hammerhead reluctantly agreed. “All right. ALL RIGHT! Here. One pill. Take it, but I want you to meet me back here at eight bells or else you can consider the soda fountain closed, pretty boy!” he sneered as he reached into his breast pocket and tossed one pill toward Sammy.

Sammy’s shaking hands reached out and missed it. The pill fell on the floor, rolled under a shelf and disappeared. Sammy gasped as he hit the floor hard, grabbed a nearby oily dipstick and shoved it around under the shelf fishing it out. Again it shot out from under the shelf and landed behind Sammy. He pulled himself across the floor, slammed his hand down on the grungy pill and swallowed it. After coughing twice some peace crossed his face.

Hammerhead shook his head wondering how these guys could get so low. “Midnight, Peewee. Midnight or else!!” he said shaking his head as Sammy lay on the floor trying to recover. His breathing became easier as he drifted off to sleep.

Al watched the whole episode with disgust “Sam, he needs your help bad. Wait a minute. Ziggy. Center me over to Sam. Now!” exclaimed Al as he disappeared.

PART THREE

Al popped back to Sam who was back in his bunk reading an old Time magazine featuring a portrait of Bobby Kennedy. “Sammy is in pretty bad shape, Sam. That nozzle is expecting payment for Sammy’s next fix. Sammy disappears tomorrow or maybe sooner. You better go help him out. He’s in maintenance bay four curled up in a ball.”

Sam threw down the magazine. “Al! Where in this giant erector set is that?”

Al pointed down the corridor with his cigar. “Follow me. How did you ever even get around Project Headquarters? Oh right. You did design the place. Anyway head for the main hanger deck. To the aft side. No, Sam right! Right! Right, you landlubber!”

Reaching the hatch leading to the main hanger deck Sam heard a sharp voice, “Halt! Where are you going?” asked a Marine guard in full military battle dress.

Al piped in with a funny look on his face. “Tell him you need a fleximjam hetrabolt!”

Sam replied sheepishly, “I need two fleximjam hetrabolts for the racket-pull-mealy mount. They are stored in the locker in maintenance bay four.”

“Um. Right! Fine! Then pass!” the jarhead said looking more than irritated.

“What’s a fleximjam hetrabolt?” asked Sam quietly.

Al shook his head. “Just a catch phrase I used for any part I couldn’t ID when I worked on my Vet. Come on and hurry!” pleaded Al. “The hatch over on the right!”

Inside the bay Sam found Sammy all in the corner rocking like a little baby. He moaned as Sam leaned over and checked his weak pulse.

“He’s alive, but his heartbeat is erratic. I’ll get him to the doctor,” said Sam as he picked up the limp body. “Good lord, he looks so young!”

“Seventeen according to his birth certificate,” remarked Al as he shook his head. “He must have lied about his age. Hmm, Ziggy says that he should be OK now. His medical records just labeled this episode as a blackout. The Navy doctors weren’t looking for drug addicts in ’67. Just like us alkies, they would rather ignore the problem rather than deal with it.”

“How can one human being do such a horrible thing to another one?” wondered Sam.

“There’s a lot of evil in the world. Some people will jump on the naivety of another. Confidence men, pushers. You name it,” lamented Al as he took a long slow puff.

Sam picked him up. “Why am I so protective of this young fellow, Al?”

Al took out his cigar, looked down and replied softly. “You lost a cousin to a drug overdose. Your mother’s brother’s son, Frank Carson in Chicago. In seventy-two when he came back from an anti-war rally he went back to his dorm room to celebrate and O.D’d on too many happy pills.”

Sam’s heart skipped a beat. ”I don’t remember him, Al.”

“Sometimes that’s for the better, kid. Your brother Tom told me about him a couple of years ago. He used to come out to your farm for the summer while you were whizzing your way though six grades in three years. He was as close to you as your brother and he was not much older than Sammy. What a waste. He didn’t have your Einstein mentality, but he was damned smart,” said Al who turned to handlink to check the time changes.

Sam turned the corner into sickbay. “Maybe...”

Al shook his head. “Sam, you can’t fix something that happens three years from now and twelve thousand miles away. Maybe we can help this guy.  Even if he’s drummed out of the service, at least he’ll be alive.”

Sam turned Sammy over to the pharmacist’s mate just telling him he’d found him unconscious under a stairwell. Sammy was put to bed never stirring from his slumber. Sam headed back to his bunk for a few hours of sleep.

”Well, what about you, Al? The younger “you,” that is. You’re heading for a life changing event tomorrow,” sighed Sam sounding very tired.

Al thought for a moment and then replied, “That’s just the point, Sam. As bad as the experience was and as much as I’d like to avoid it that is a large part of who I am NOW. Take that away and I’ll follow some other course that will most likely lead me away from you and Project Quantum Leap. I might go home earlier to Beth; we’ll have a completely different set of children. I’ll probably get assigned to some lousy desk job and end up by now retired on some orange farm in Palo Alto, California.”

“You, Al?” asked Sam throwing him a wink.

“Well, that’s one scenario of millions. Then there’s the one where I end up spending my golden years on a beach with Raquel Welch in her little fur bikini. Remember One Million Years B.C? Probably not! The point is the timeline will be altered. If you’re to continue doing good, then you must leave “us” alone,” sighed Al. “Don’t you think I’d love to avoid five months of solitary confinement? Those were not good years. All that waiting for Beth. Wondering if I’d ever return. All the time spent in that deep dark damp cell. Weekly beatings. Seeing my fellow servicemen dropping like flies. God, it was horrible,” moaned Al trying to catch his breath. “Damn! I wish I could save all of my brothers. All those lost years! Waiting, just waiting. I wish. Sam, if I could I would, but the world will be better off if we leave things as they are.”

“Maybe, may not,” said Sam quietly. Al had done enough for him over the years, thought Sam.

One Navy officer caused a lot of commotion at a late night crap game with some other slightly less ambulatory patients.

“Damn! I need a six. Yes! OK, my good buddy,” the happy officer called out. “Come to papa!” He grinned as the other players looked on unhappily.

“What the…? Who’s the officer?” asked Sam.

Without misusing a beat Al replied. “First Leuie Mark Brooks, my best buddy from the time I left flight school in Pensacola. Normally he was my wingman on combat missions, but he pulled a hamstring on a pushup bet and was laid up. He didn’t make my last mission and I could have used him. Hmm!”  Al said, “Firefly loved the thrill of the ladies and the thrill of a bet.”

“Firefly?" asked Sam quietly.

“Yea, we were flying back from bombing near Da Nang. He took a bad hit in his left engine, but he still nursed it all the way back to the Hornet. Landing at night no less, he looked like a firefly. Or so the landing deck officer claimed, so Firefly stuck. He hated that name but mine wasn’t even any better,” winced Al.

Looking both ways Sam whispered to Al “Wasn’t your nickname Bingo?”

"Not to Mr. Vegas over there. He called me Benny Calavicci. Julius Caesar, another Italian I might add, once wrote ‘Veni, vidi, vici.’ I came, I saw, I conquered. Firefly back at Pensacola caught me one time with this gorgeous redheaded nurse. We were both in the supply closet in the middle of a spectacular intimate rendezvous. Firefly always liked his Latin and pinged me later. ‘Veni, vidi, Calavicci.!’ which he roughly translated as ‘He came, he saw, he pounced.’ And until I bailed out over Sun Bin Yan Pu, I was Veni Vidi Calavicci or Benny Calavicci for short. He never ceased to embarrass me at Navy functions afterwards with that story, but believe me when I say that the redheaded nurse was worth every bit of it. Whoa!” exclaimed Al who smiled from ear to ear.

Sam disturbed Al who was lost in a beautiful memory. “Al keep an eye on seaman Sammy.”

“What? Oh, yea. Sure, Sam. I’m on it,” said Al as the smile slowly slipped from his face.

PART FOUR

Sam who had started to learn his way around the Hornet went up the stern ladder coming out on the main deck. The moon was barely a crescent though the ocean sparkled with what light shone through the clouds. Even an Indiana farm boy knew the salty scent of the ocean. Sam breathed in the salt air as he wandered the deck. Looking up he watched a cloud pass in front of the moon as he suddenly bumped into someone or something.

“Umph? You OK, sailor?” asked the rough voice of a man puffing on a Cuban cigar.

Sam held his breath as he let out an unexpected sigh. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t watching where I was… Al!” exclaimed Sam looking into the face of Albert Calavicci from forty years earlier. “I mean, Bingo, Benny, um..um..”

Al gave him a set of beady eyes. “Try Lieutenant! You’re getting awfully familiar there, sailor. Do I know you from somewhere, um, um?” said Al snapping his fingers trying to come up with a name for the unknown sailor.

“Watkins. And no, we haven’t formally met,” said Sam saluting him stiffly. “I’ve just seen you around the ship, sir.”

“Hey, this is my evening constitution and not the parade ground at San Diego. You gave me quite a list of names meaning that you knew me more than I knew you. Why is that, sailor?” Al asked a bit suspiciously looking over his Cuban special.

“No, sir. Just scuttlebutt I heard around the...  um... boat, sir,” explained Sam still stiffly.

“Well, I’d appreciate you not spreading around my current list of nom-da-plumes. They’re really just for those in our own little pilot fraternity, Watkins. Do you understand?” the Lieutenant asked a bit with more feeling.

“Understood, sir. Going out tomorrow, sir?” asked Sam trying to continue the conversation with this earlier version of his friend and observer.

“Now you know that that would be classified. How do I know you’re not a Commie spy? Though with that big Boy Scout expression on your face, I can trust you enough to tell you I do come out here at night before a mission just to watch the ocean. Something calming about it. Must be a Navy issued trait,” sighed the Lieutenant. “And you?”

“Yes sir. When I have something important to do, I like to calm my nerves. It is quite peaceful out here on the deck. Ever worry about your missions?” asked Sam.

“Worry? It’s the fool who never worries. Sure, I know I might not come back, but bad things can happen anywhere. There’s no way to go back and fix them. That’s life. Take it as it comes. I just hope and pray to get home the next time. I’ve always made it back,” said Al quietly. “And I’ll make it back this time, too,” he said louder with greater confidence.

“Though it would be nice to be able to fix things that had gone wrong, wouldn’t it?” asked Sam to the younger Al.

“Wouldn’t that be a kick in the pants? Well, this is the real world not some science fiction show, sailor. And I have a job to do just like the rest of us. And I must get back to by cabin. Good night, sailor,” said Al as he tossed his cigar over the side.

“Good night, sir,” said Sam as Al headed for the tower. “Godspeed, old friend!”

PART FIVE

From Sam’s peaceful sleep once again a loud voice woke him up. Not hitting his head this time Sam looked over and saw Al waving his hands frantically since he could not shake Sam awake. “Sam, he’s gone!’

“Sammy? Why weren’t you watching him?” asked Sam yawning and then quickly waking up.

Al nervously played with his hands. “Sammy had been sound asleep for hours and Ziggy’s odds were rising every minute. I just popped out to check on my younger self and then Sammy must have bolted before I got back.”

Sam looked unhappy and asked “Or was kidnapped? Have Ziggy locate Sammy and…”

“He’s somewhere down on deck seven. Ziggy is having a problem getting a lock with her locating circuits. The Imaging Chambers techs were having this party and tried to locate Tyra Banks while in the shower and that’s when she blew a…” exclaimed Al speaking very quickly.

“Al!” cried out Sam looking around hoping no one heard him.

“Right! Back through three hatches and keep going down the ladders. I’ll meet you get to deck 7!” exclaimed Al as he pushed a button on his handlink and disappeared.

On deck seven, Sam found Al frantically pointing down a side corridor. “I found him, Sam. Hurry!”

Sam ran down the corridor as Al appeared again pointing toward a hatch on the aft side of the ship. The hatch was a maintenance closet that had access to the air recirculation system. Inside was Hammerhead holding an unconscious Seaman Sammy.

Al quickly read an urgent message from his handlink. “Sam. Ziggy says that that air duct goes down three decks and empties out the side of the ship. Nice way to get rid of a body.”

“What the hell? Watkins, is it? Get lost. I have no beef with you. This is between me and the kid. Scram, sailor!” snapped Hammerhead as he tried to stand Sammy up.

“Watch yourself, Sam,” warned Al as he walked behind Hammerhead and Sammy. “In his current homicidal state, who knows what he’ll do.”

”That man is unconscious. He needs a doctor,” exclaimed Sam pointing toward Sickbay.

“And you’ll need one too if you don’t make like a tree and leave. Just a little drunk. I’ll take care of him! My old buddy here,” Hammerhead said patting Sammy on the back.

“Ziggy says Sammy’s out because he’s higher than the Empire State Building, Sam,” said Al looking closely at Sammy’s face. “Hammerhead must have drugged him up.”

“You weren’t so complementary about him a moment ago. Let’s get him to Sickbay,” exclaimed Sam reaching for Sammy.

Hammerhead swatted Sam’s hands away. “This guy owes me. Now get away before I have to take care of you too!” Hammerhead said snarling.

Al wiped his forehead. “Sam, you need the Marines. Ziggy just gave me a fifty-seven percent probability that you both disappear now!”

Hammerhead reached down, picked up a hammer and swung at Sam while dropping poor Sammy onto the steel deck plate.

“Call for help!” called out Sam.

“How? I can’t talk to anyone!” cried out Al. “No one there listens to holographs!”

Hammerhead took another swing at Sam that grazed him since Sam could barely step back inside the crammed room.

“Damn meddling stinkbug. You’re going to get yours. Just like he deserves his. Now!” cried out Hammerhead as he charged Sam Beckett.

Sam had no room to use his Taws Kwan Doe so he reached up and grabbed the hammer. Hammerhead tried to push Sam’s face away, but Sam tripped him and caused him to fall down. He grabbed Sam’s leg causing Sam to drop the hammer hitting his assailant in the head. His opponent moaned and then fell limp.

“A little ironic justice there, Hammerhead. Jeez. Check on, Sammy,” said Al checking his handlink. “Methinks Sammy there is going to be all right.“

“His breathing is a bit irregular, but I’ll get him back to Sickbay,” said Sam with a sigh of relief.

“Don’t worry about Hammerhead, the Marines are on the way. They must have heard something. Good work Sam,” exclaimed Al, checking on some more off the changes to the space-time continuum.

Finishing with the NCIS officer in Sickbay, Sam tried to explain how he got involved with this drug pusher. Finally Sam left the matter as his own wild hunch and the NCIS officer took him at his word due to the early hour. 

“Well, that wraps up another one. I think you did a good job Sam. You should be leaping very soon,” explained Al as he punched his colorful little friend.

“That’s great. What about Sammy?” asked Sam.

“He was never really permanently hooked. The Navy did give him a medical discharge not mentioning anything about the drugs. He went back to Arkansas and went to college getting a degree in medicine. He was the first male nurse in southwest Arkansas where he still resides. Hammerhead got sent to prison sooner than in the original history and is still there. Good riddance. He won’t see another free sunrise, Sam!” said Al looking a bit pleased with himself.

 “Sunrise? Wait a minute! I have got to go!” called out Sam as he jumped up.

“Sam? What do you...? No, no Sam. Don’t do this Sam. I appreciate it, but it’s not a good idea. SAM!” cried Al as Sam raced for the open hatchway.

“Al, I’m here for a reason,” Sam said through his lips and then took off for the flight deck.

The sky was dark blue to the west and a golden yellow to the east as Sam popped out of the tower of the Hornet. Looking right and left, Sam heard an approaching jet that zoomed pass knocking him to the deck.

ZOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

“Sailor! Off the deck before I call the safety officer!” yelled the maintenance CPO.

”Wait!” called out Sam as he stood up. “Where’s Calavicci? Has he taken off yet?” The officer ignored him and ran off to get help to extricate Sam.

Al popped in beside him. “Sam. That’s my bird!” he said pointing toward the next A-4 in line. “See? It’s too late to stop me. Someone like fate or God probably made it that way. Now watch. The deckman motions me over, calls the signal, and see the clown over there on the crutches? Firefly was there to wave me off. No good luck from my buddy this time.  Two thumbs up from Firefly. The safety officer gives me the signal. I give Firefly a thumbs-up, an Ace of Spades signal. One of our old poker signs. And I’m off! Played that last scenario over in my head 10,000 times down there in the bowels of the Hanoi Hilton!”

Sam sounded desperate. “Al!”

“No, you’ll just ruin Watkin’s life if you run over there. Let me go, Sam. You might get killed, old buddy,” said Al sadly. “Don’t try to change anything.”

Sam’s heart broke as he looked over at Al in the early morning sunlight, “But...”

Al shook his head. “No! Let me go, Sam.” As Al’s engines revved up the noise became unbearable, the plane shook from the vibrations until it was shot down the deck. ZOOOOOOOOOOOOM! Lieutenant Albert Calavicci was sent off at 200 mph passed Sam blowing exhaust in his face. Al wished he could have felt it while watching Lieutenant Calavicci and his plane leave on their last mission.

“Good luck, Al!” sighed Sam as he leaped disappearing into the early morning sunlight.

“Take it easy, Bingo,” sighed Al as his plane disappeared in the sunrise and the image of the Hornet faded leaving only the blank walls of the Imaging Chamber.

Al lit a fresh cigar. ‘At least everything will be the same when I get home,’ thought Al blowing out the match. “But then I will always wonder about what it might had been like. Yeah, I really wonder what might have been.”

Al left the Imaging Chamber as the door descended closing behind him. 

EPILOGUE

The blue resonating light of the leap began to fade leaving a confused Quantum Physicist in its place. He was dizzy, his brain still foggy from the leap in. His eyes blinked almost lazily as he stumbled slightly back into a cabinet, his pelvis coming in contact, bumping and then leaned back against it for support. He continued to try to get his bearings, but it was even more difficult than he realized.

He became aware of something in his hand - and that it was against his neck. His hand moved slightly and the object slowly moved with it. He rapidly began to blink as he began to feel something moving down his throat. He moved his hand back away from his throat and peered at the article in his hand... and stopped short.

It wasn't enough that he had a large sharpened butcher knife in his hand that had startled him. It was the blood that was staining it that made his breathing sharp, his blood run cold.

He swallowed and prayed that he had been cutting meat - something that would make sense to him and glanced around the room to see nothing of the sort. He raised his left hand and touched his neck. The wet sticky sensation that he felt didn't calm his now racing nerves. Turning, he quickly grabbed at the counter; the large butcher knife clattering to the floor beside him - the sound loud and thick in his ears. He glanced down and saw the blood beginning to seep into his shirt - not just a little, but an ungodly amount. Glancing back at the counter, he saw a dishtowel lying on the counter. Grabbing it, he placed it against his neck and put as much pressure there as he could as he turned and started out of the kitchen.

The room was spinning and he felt his strength seeping from him. Entering the living area, he saw the cordless phone sitting on the table and stumbled over to it. Grabbing it up, he focused his thoughts as he dialed 9-1-1.

The operator that answered the phone sounded pleasant and calm as she asked, "9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

Sam tried to lower himself to the floor, but his equilibrium was thrown off and his elbow landed smartly on the coffee table, causing him to cry out in pain.

The operator's tone quickly went from pleasant and calm to direct and urgent. She began to talk over Sam's attempts to catch his breath and he only heard bits and pieces of what she was saying. "... someone is ... way.... stay .... for as long... possible... talk to me... what's wrong..."

"Please..." he managed to get out as he finally got a breathe in. He lay back on the floor and looked up at the rotating blades of the ceiling fan above him and wondered what had happened in this person's life that was enough for them to go to this measure. He never understood the reasoning behind suicide, and this just proved it to his morals even more so. "Please... help me."

"The ambulance is on its way. Talk to me. Don't hang up. Okay? Tell me what's going on..."

Even as Sam heard the ambulance sirens from some blocks away drawing nearer, he took a deep breath and glanced back into the kitchen where the large silver blade laid... the blood lightly dripping from the edge of the knife. He blinked at the surreal feeling that was engulfing him. The pressure that he had been putting on his throat was slowly lessening and he could feel his spirit wanting release. He took in another breath and let it out as he heard the door being broken into.

"Oooh boy," were the only words that he could sum up as his eyes slowly closed. The last sensations that he felt before he succumbed to the darkness were hands on him and people calling a name that didn't belong to him.