From: Jason Eric Dzembo Date: Mon, 30 Aug 1993 07:37:43 -0400 Message-Id: <9308301137.AA27549@localhost> There was a wrenching sensation, as though part of him was leaping out, even as the rest of him was leaping into his current host. He felt a wave of anguish pass through him as his molecules came together once more, and he wasn't sure of its source. It felt as though it had come from him, yet he had no idea why he should feel such a strong, disturbing emotion. A wave of electricity passed through him, bonding his molecules together, leaving him whole again, in a new life and a new time, and the nagging feeling of loss, of disappointment and of failure faded from his mind.... Lover's Leap May 1, 1972 - April 29, 1993 By: Jason E. Dzembo Dedicated in Memory of Miriam Judith Ferziger August 30, 1966 - April 26, 1993 Click. A flash of white light mingled with the fading leap effect surrounding Sam. As the world settled into place around him, he became aware of a camera held in front of his eye. He lowered it and looked at the three people posing in front of him, their arms around each other in a small group hug. The two men and one woman appeared to be in their twenties. The taller of the two men wore glasses while the heavier one had a wispy mustache and was sweating. Both had dark hair. The woman was attractive, with dark blue-grey eyes, brown hair that cascaded past her shoulders and a slender nose. She seemed to vibrate with energy and was, Sam suspected, a little tipsy. She reminded him of someone he knew, someone he cared about, someone he couldn't quite remember. He felt somehow drawn to her, though he couldn't pinpoint the source of the attraction. Past experience, however, led him to believe that, whatever he was here to accomplish, her future hung in the balance. Each person wore a name tag, which was a pleasant change. It made identifying people a lot easier and, after years of quantum leaping, Sam held the opinion that more people should wear them. The name tags identified the thin man as Keith Rosenblatt, the shorter man in the blue shirt as Jason Dzembo, and the woman as Miriam Ferziger. And, Sam realized belatedly, above each person's name were the words Quantum Leap. "Oh, boy," he breathed. Part I February 13, 1993 "Whoops." Jason stepped forward abruptly, catching the camera as it slid from Sam's grasp. "That's all I need is for you to break my camera before the Con." He grinned to show his remark was meant in good humor. "Con?" Sam asked, wondering just what kind of scam he'd leaped into the middle of. "Yeah," Jason agreed as he draped the camera around his neck. "I know this camera's not much, but with the seats Vivs got us, I should be able to get some fairly decent pictures of Scott and Dean on Sunday." "Even if you don't," Miriam said, "I'll probably do the same thing I did last year, and send out a catalogue if anyone wants copies of my nosehair pictures." "Nosehair pictures?" Sam asked, grasping the nearest phrase. "I got some great close-ups last year," Miriam explained, "Like the one I used for the cover of _Chain_Reactions_." She held up a spiral-bound magazine with a yellow cover graced by a picture of a man's silhouette with a psychedelic pattern of spirals in the background. Noticing Sam's expression she said, "Well, the original picture, where you can see Scott's face, was pretty good. You must get some awesome close-ups with yours, too," she continued, gesturing to the large, expensive-looking camera slung over Sam's shoulder. As Sam glanced down at it, he realized that he, too, was wearing a blue name tag gracing his darker blue sweater. Unfortunately, the name was upside down from Sam's vantage point, so he couldn't read it at a glance. "Uh, yeah, I guess I do," Sam replied, ad libbing, "I haven't had much opportunity to use it yet, so I'm not sure how they're going to come out." "I'm sure they'll be fine." Miriam assured him, as they were joined by another man, about the same height as Jason, but with less hair and a bigger camera, comparable to Sam's. His name tag identified him as Scott "Vivs" Laliberte. So this was the person who had gotten good seats for some sort of Con to get pictures of a couple of guys named Scott and Dean. Sam hoped Al showed up soon; he had a plethora of questions for the observer and, with any luck, Al would have a like number of answers. Somehow, though, Sam doubted it. "Excuse me," Vivs said as he joined the group. His voice was soft and a tad higher than Sam had expected. Vivs turned to Miriam and said, "Joan's looking for you. I think she wants your autograph on her copy of your 'zine." Miriam made an excited peep; whatever this "'zine" was, it was apparently her pride and joy. "What about me?" Jason asked, "I contributed to it, too." His tone was whining, but in a self- depreciating way. He seemed distracted, though, confused, reciting the lines automatically. "But I'm the editor," Miriam said, beaming. Her tongue darted from her mouth as she added, "Neener, neener, neener." Jason smiled widely, wearing what Al commonly called a sick puppy look. His feelings for Miriam were almost palpable, and yet Miriam seemed not to notice. Perhaps he hadn't told her about his attraction to her. Or maybe she was just trying not to hurt his feelings. Sam wasn't sure which. "Give it up, Jason," Keith said as Vivs and Miriam walked across the lounge to join an older couple. "She's got a boyfriend." "I know, I know." Jason sighed heavily. He glanced sidelong at Keith and gave a lopsided smirk. "Let me dream for a while, okay?" Keith shrugged. "Suit yourself." His gaze drifted over Jason's shoulder and he said, "I'm going to join Mark and John at the cheese table." "Food?" Jason's eyes lit up. "Where?" Keith gestured past Jason to a table where two men were standing, nibbling chunks of cheese. Both were stocky, bearded and wearing glasses, although one had darker hair and a bald spot. They, too, wore blue name tags although Sam couldn't read them from where he was standing. Jason licked his lips and waved broadly. "See you later, Eliz," he said with a grin, and made a beeline for the table. Keith echoed the goodbye and followed at a more casual pace. Sam made his way to the bar that lined one wall, and sat on a stool. The Mexican man tending bar asked if he could get Sam anything. Sam ordered a beer and, as the bartender walked away, Sam found himself gazing into his host's eyes, in the mirror behind the bar. Elizabeth Newman (as the name tag identified her) had a round face with blond hair and blue eyes and a rather dazed expression that Sam suspected was actually his own. At least she was dressed casually, rather than a dress and high heels. That was a plus. The Imaging Chamber door ground open, blocking Sam's view of the mirror, and Al entered, handlink at the ready. The bartender returned, reaching through Al's image to place a glass of beer in front of Sam. "How much do I owe you?" Sam asked, hoping he had some money on him. "Open bar for the party," the bartender replied, and walked away. "Party?" Al perked up and glanced around the lounge. He frowned and said, "Doesn't look like much of a party to me. Too subdued." "Al, what's going on here?" Sam demanded in a hushed voice. "Well, your name is..." "Elizabeth Newman, I know. It's on my name tag," Sam interrupted. He fingered the guilty tag as he spoke and Al glanced at it. "Oh? Well, good," Al commented, returning his gaze to the handlink. "Al," Sam insisted, "read the rest of the name tag." Al did as he was requested and his eyes widened, rising to meet Sam's nodding glance. "Al, what's going on?" "I don't know, Sam," Al replied, punching some buttons on the handlink. Behind him, the Imaging Chamber door ground open. "But, I'm sure as Hell going to find out. I'll be back." The door slid solidly shut behind him. Sam sighed, wishing he'd been able to pry some more information from Al before the hologram's hasty departure. Well, he'd just bide his time at the bar in the interim. Keep a low profile and... "Excuse me." A tinkling voice spoke beside Sam and he turned with a start. A middle-aged woman with a pleasant smile stood beside him. He looked questioningly at her. "Hi," she said, brightly, "my name's Pikke. I'm the costumer's assistant." Sam looked properly impressed, although he had no idea what she meant or what she was leading up to. He introduced himself as Eliz Newman, remembering that Jason had used an abbreviated version of Sam's current first name. Pikke continued, "I noticed you've been taking quite a few pictures this evening." Sam nodded, touching the camera abstractedly. "We're looking for a couple of people to help take pictures during the fashion show tomorrow, and I was wondering if you'd be interested." Her eyebrows arched questioningly. "Sure," Sam agreed with a smile, "why not?" Maybe all he needed to accomplish was to get Eliz a position as a fashion photographer. If that was the case, this was going to be a pretty easy leap, in spite of the oddity of it. He'd hoped Al could find out why the name tags were labelled with the name of a top secret government project, but he knew sometimes things didn't work out like people hoped they would. Pikke grinned easily, as though she'd anticipated Sam's answer. "That's great," she said, "We're going to be setting up again in the morning; I guess they had to take everything down because something else is going on in the ballroom tonight. If you want to catch up with me then, I'll fill you in on the details." "Sounds great," Sam agreed, hoping he'd have a chance to leave Eliz a reminder to meet with Pikke before he leaped. Pikke grinned one last time before rejoining a couple other women at a table in the corner. Behind him, the Imaging Chamber door slid open again. "What did you find out?" Sam asked, turning to face Al. "Ziggy's as surprised as we are," Al reported, "but she says there's an 83.66% chance that during one of your leaps, your mind must have merged sufficiently with the person you replaced, so that, when they got back, they remembered a lot of details about the Project, either what they saw, or what they'd gotten from having their mind merged with yours. Anyway, Ziggy suspects this person related their experience at the Project to this Donald Bellisario, the guy who created Quantum Leap, the television show." Sam nodded slowly. "It would make sense. Does Ziggy know who it was?" "Not exactly. Your mind has merged a couple of times now, and it could be any of them." Al paused and added hesitantly, "However, there is one person at the top of the list who's ahead by about thirty percent." Al said, consulting the handlink. "Who?" Sam asked. Al diverted his eyes and murmured, "Lee Harvey Oswald." __________________________________ MACS-9, Tuscon, California January 6, 1959 It felt good to be back on familiar ground as Donald Bellisario walked the grounds of MACS-9. It would feel better, though, when he'd finally track down his buddies. Unfortunately, they hadn't told him when or where they'd be working the last time he'd heard from them, so was left to his own devices. What he needed was a duty roster. He stopped by a tent and got the attention of the young man seated inside, reading a newspaper, and asked if the man had a duty roster. The man wasn't sure but offered to check, wandering deeper into the tent uncertainly, mumbling to himself. Smiling faintly at the man's harmless insanity, Don glanced at the newspaper the man had left behind. His smile slipped a notch as uncertainty crept into him. When the man returned, Don glanced at the name stitched across the man's left breast pocket - Oswald - in case it turned out he wasn't so harmless after all. "Do you often read The Daily Worker?" Don asked. "It's the only newspaper that tells the truth," the man responded grudgingly. "The truth?" Don couldn't believe his ears. "How the United States suppresses the prolitariat of the world with its military might," Oswald explained haltingly. "You sound like a communist," Don said with a smile although his doubts were growing. This didn't seem to be a joke. "I know, I know," Oswald responded. "But you're not," Don added. "I'm not what I sometimes sound like," Oswald explained, "But if I was, I'd be a Marxist." He seemed pretty definite on that point. "If you're a Marxist, what are you doing in the Marine Corps?" Don demanded, his patience nearly exhausted. "I don't know," Oswald responded sadly. He appeared abruptly disoriented, taking a step backwards to steady himself. Don put a hand out to steady the man, thinking that maybe the sun had gotten to him. It was only January, and not that hot, but it would explain a lot. "You alright?" he asked. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Oswald replied, gaining his bearings. His eyes fell on the newspaper in Don's free hand and he reached out abruptly and snatched it away from him. As their eyes met, Oswald squinted at Don, staring and a slow, unpleasant smile spread across his face. "Man, you want to hear something weird?" There followed a brief story about a man from the future who inhabited the lives of other people, changing history. Even before Don and Oswald were joined by Don's friends, who explained that Oswald was crazy, Don had reached that conclusion himself. The story, though, stayed with him long afterwards, nestled in his subconcious. _____________________________________ Sam shuddered as he remembered his experiences as the assassin. But what Al said made sense; there had been at least one leap into Oswald's life where Sam didn't seem to have changed history, during his brief stay at MACS-9 in California. Maybe he'd made a change to history after all, triggering the production of a television series that would provide additional camoflauge for their top secret project. No one would believe anyone who claimed that Project Quantum Leap actually existed, figuring that person watched too much television. Sam sighed and said, "Well, what's done is done. I can't change it now and I hope I never have the opportunity; I'd prefer to stay as far from Oswald as possible." "That makes two of us." Al agreed. "Have you had a chance to ask Ziggy why I'm here?" "Yeah, and it's a good thing I got him started when I did. She's come up with four or five possible reasons for you to be here. I'll tell you, Sam, I've never seen a bigger group of people in need of help." Sam looked at Al questioningly. Al made broad gestures with his hands as he explained, "You see, Elizabeth is part of a large group of friends who met each other through the Internet, and who communicate with each other via their respective computers. Evidently, they're all involved in the same newsgroup. It started out being Quantum Leap oriented, and from there, it evolved into a sort of group friendship." "I used to be on a couple newsgroups," Sam said, reminiscently. He glanced at Al and asked, "Didn't I? I mean, I remember using the Internet while we were designing Ziggy. It was a great way to get to know people all over the world. I remember how fascinated I was getting electronic mail from overseas." He frowned. "I don't remember actually meeting many of the people I communicated with, though." "Well, a lot of the people on this Quantum Leap newsgroup knew each other in person before it was formed, and a lot of them met afterwards. In fact," Al added, arching his eyebrows and motioning around the room, "many of them met in person for the first time about a year ago, at the first Quantum Leap Convention, and a few more met for the first time this year." "This must be the Con everyone's been talking about," Sam said. Al nodded. "Yeah. You're at the Second Annual Quantum Leap Convention, and it's February 13, 1993. That's pretty irrelevant, though, since I don't think you'll be here long." "What do you mean?" Sam asked. "Like I said, Ziggy's come up with a list of things you might be here to change. Apparently, quite a few of Elizabeth's friends from the newsgroup could use a nudge in the right direction. However, the most likely prospect is pretty simple." With his cigar, Al pointed across the room to where Miriam and Vivs were talking to the older couple. Vivs had his camera balanced in one hand. "Ziggy says that, if you see to it that Scott Laliberte becomes one of the photographers during tomorrow's fashion show, you should be able to leap." Sam blinked. "That's it?" he asked. "I told you it was simple," Al shrugged. "Simpler than you think," Sam replied, "Pikke, the woman in charge of the fashion show photography, already asked me if I'd be willing to help out, and I said yes, figuring that might have been why I was here." Sam explained, "I'll just bring Vivs along for the ride." Al shook his head. "Nuh-uh, Sam. No can do. You, I mean, Elizabeth has a busy day ahead of her tomorrow, between helping out with security at the door and running microphones. I don't think she'll be in much condition to be doing fashion photography, too." "How do you know all this?" Sam asked, "I mean, it doesn't sound like data that could typically be found in a routine scan." "Well, Ziggy's been accessing all the messages these people sent to the newsgroup. She claims she's just trying to get a full feel for the situation, but I think she just likes reading other people's mail." Al smirked. Sam wrinkled his brow for a moment before returning to the original subject. "If Eliz is going to be so busy tomorrow, I guess I'll have to find her a replacement for the fashion show." He winked and made a beeline for the table where Pikke was sitting, laughing with some friends. She looked up at Sam's approach and said, "Nice timing." Turning to the others, she said, "Elizabeth has agreed to help out with the photography during the fashion show." "I'm sorry, Pikke," Sam said, looking crestfallen, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to back out. I'd forgotten that I already agreed to help out with the mikes tomorrow afternoon." Pikke seemed disappointed and Sam hastily added, "However, you might ask a friend of mine, Scott Laliberte." Sam pointed Vivs out to the woman and continued, "He takes good pictures, and I'm sure he'd love to help out." Pikke glanced at Vivs and nodded. "Thanks, I'll ask him. I'm sorry you had to back out. If you change your mind, please, let me know." "I will," Sam assured her. "Well, they don't get much easier than that, Sam," Al remarked, checking the handlink as the two of them left Pikke's table. As Sam watched the woman excuse herself and cross the room to talk to Vivs, Al reported, "Scott agrees eagerly to help out, and, oh, listen to this. He asks Miriam Ferziger to be his fashion consultant and both she and Mark Baushke end up doing photography during the show as well." He gestured towards the table where Jason and Keith were talking to a balding man with a brown beard. "The three of them do such a great job that Pikke asks Mark and Scott to help her again the following year." "What about Miriam?" Sam asked, glancing sideways at the hologram. "Well, apparently, she doesn't make it to the convention in 1994, because..." Al's pause caught Sam's attention and he turned, surprised at the pale look on Al's face. "What is it?" Sam asked, warily. Dropping the handlink to his side, Al turned to face Sam. In a soft, sullen voice he said, "On April 26, 1993, Miriam Ferziger dies of a pulmonary embolism." Sam's jaw dropped and his gaze returned to Miriam, standing with the older couple and smiling broadly as they flipped through her 'zine. Sam shook his head and breathed, "No..." A wave of electricity washed over him as he leaped...