Date: Wed, 16 Mar 1994 17:30:56 +22305714 (HST) From: Mindy Young Subject: Parzival's Return, part 2 of 4 Message-Id: Parzival's Return, Part 2 Sam spent the rest of May 11 running over calculations with Ziggy and the programmers. While the front of his brain went through the programming changes, the back of his mind was racing through theories about why he had leaped back into himself and various Plan Bs if he couldn't leap tomorrow as he had before. He also accepted the fact that if Al from the future hadn't arrived yet, he would not be arriving at all. He had had nightmares about leaping without Al, and this was every bit as bad as the worst of them. As Sam rummaged through the loose ends in his mind, he was afraid he appeared distracted. But the familiar rhythms of the lab eventually took over and he concentrated on getting as many tests run as he possibly could; if he leaped properly tomorrow, with all the glitches ironed out, this whole dilemma would be moot anyway. Any leftover tension from the meeting dissipated during the morning of normal activity, and the staff went about their assignments as usual. At 5:00 p.m., they broke for a meeting to assess the progress. The power-saving program had been written and would be tested tomorrow; everything else had eluded them. Sam misstepped again when he asked everyone to work after dinner. Gooshie insisted they had nearly three weeks before the Pentagon deadline. Sam looked at the clock: 30 hours to go before he had -- would -- trick Gooshie into running what was supposed to be another test but what in fact was his leap. He couldn't afford to alienate Gooshie any more than he already had, so he let it drop. The others left the Bull Pen for dinner and Sam went back to the lab. As if on cue, Verbeena showed up 10 minutes after Sam arrived in the lab. He thought his work during the day had made up for the disastrous morning, but he had to stay calm and reassure her he was all right. "Why the urgency?" was her neutral question. "I just think we're really close, that's all, and if we don't lose our momentum we can just finish." She strolled over to him and in a friendly way looked over his notepad. "What do you have?" As Sam watched Verbeena watching him, a great wave of renewed admiration for her came over him. She was so good, so gentle and non-judgmental; if only she could understand. She was one of his favorite people, but he couldn't trust her now and that hurt. "We've made some progress on the communications software." Verbeena was looking over his notes, but they both knew she was really looking at him. "We've modified the program to allow voice-only contact to save energy." "Very good." She didn't glance up from the notepad. "You know why I'm here, don't you?" "I think so." "Gooshie is fond of hyperbole, but when he said 'obsessed' three times in one sentence, I knew it was time for a talk." His heart fluttered; if he fell from Gooshie's good graces, any hope of having him at the controls for his leap tomorrow would be lost. "Look," she said, "I want this to be a success almost as much as you do. I'd like you to take 24 hours off to --" "No! I can't -- " "Forty-eight." "I can't! I've got to -- " "Seventy-two." "Verbeena!" "I can keep this up as long as you can, Sam." The tenderness in her eyes had given way to steel. "The project may be your responsibility, but the staff is mine. Including you. Since last night you haven't been yourself." Sam looked away. That was true enough. "You've been disoriented, having difficulty discerning reality from imagination, and you're frightening the staff. Someone who didn't know you would probably call it a breakdown. I prefer to think of it as a mental vacation. I'm obliged to make this official, but I won't if you don't make me. I want you out of here for 48 hours. In fact, I'm going to shut down the entire project for 48 hours." "...You can't do that." "Of course I can. No one will be allowed in the control room or laboratories, and you're to have no contact with the staff. All I want is for you to have a little time away to put things in perspective. Go drive to Santa Fe. Go find that great Mexican restaurant in Old Mesilla you like so much. Get out of here and have some fun for a couple of days. You deserve it, more than you know. You're just a little too close to it. You can't see the forest because all those stupid trees are in the way." She hoped to coax a smile from him on that, but it didn't work. "I'll say it's a staff-wide shutdown to help everyone cope with the meeting. If you behave yourself, that's all it'll be. But," the edge returned to her voice to make her point, "if I hear you've tried to get into the lab or you've talked with anyone -- " "Not even Al?" She thought for a moment as she looked at the control panels, then shrugged. "He doesn't know how to run any of this. Okay. You can talk with Al. But everybody else is off limits. Even the janitorial staff. And to make sure, I'm going to put Jack Randall in charge of the shutdown. Got it?" Randall, yes, this was his doing. The guard dog was taking over the yard. There would be no way to dissuade Verbeena now. Sam didn't know how to react. Maybe this was supposed to happen. Maybe he was supposed to leap later. For all he knew she could be saving the project. But the pit of his stomach told him otherwise. "Got it?" "Yes," he said with a lackluster nod. She held out her hand. "Your wrist link, please." Sam slowly removed his communications link to Ziggy and the staff and gave it to her. She pocketed it without satisfaction. She waited for him to leave, and when he realized this he started for the door. She eased the notepad from his hand with a knowing glance and he shrugged. She followed him out the door. Sam had something small and forgettable for dinner, then headed outside as the evening chill grew. It was another gorgeous desert night with a magnificent canopy of stars watching over him. There was a thunderhead off to the north, its urgent flashes of light darting in and out of the cloud's folds, but the storm was too far away to bother them tonight. He didn't know what to do. What would happen if he didn't leap tomorrow? What would happen if somehow he did? All he had been able to fix with the programming was mere window dressing. The real glitch in the retrieval program had eluded him. Now his hands were tied. If he did leap tomorrow, it would be with the same disadvantages with which he had leaped the first time. Would he repeat this cycle of leaping into the same sequence of lives, over and over again, repeating his efforts in an endless circle? The thought chilled him more than the desert night. He sat on a large rock about a mile and a half from the lights of the compound. A rise blocked out the manmade light, and he was alone with the stars and the silent, flashing clouds in the distance. He went over his list of options. One: attempt to leap tomorrow as he had done the first time. Advantages: few. If nothing else, if he was indeed stuck in a loop, he would be continuing on his previous path and he might come around again. Problems: He was locked out of the project for the next two days. Major Randall was Marine to the core -- he smiled at the turn of phrase -- and there's no way he could get through any sort of security net Randall would put up. Besides, Gooshie would not be amenable to persuasion this time. Probable outcome: unknown; it would be, as someone somewhere along the way had said, "a real crap shoot." Option Two: not leap tomorrow but leap later, sometime before May 31st. Advantages: He would have more time to work on the glitches, and he would have, if he could just remember everything, the knowledge gathered from all his leaps to help him. Problems: If he was on some sort of giant cosmic loop and he disrupted it at this point, he might never get back. Besides, everyone would be watching him closely and he might not be able to slip into the Accelerator if he had to. Probable outcome: unknown. Option Three: don't leap at all. Advantages: He knew what to expect. Everything, except for his little run-in with Verbeena and Major Randall, would be exactly as he left it. He and Verbeena were good friends; his little "breakdown" would be attributed to stress and all would be forgiven; as for Randall, well, at least this couldn't make his relationship with him any worse. If Project Quantum Leap failed, he could piece together something else and work on the calculations in his spare time. The nice thing about working with time travel, he thought, is there's always the option of going back later to correct your mistakes before you make them. Perhaps leaping in a year or two, or five or ten, would be the same as leaping tomorrow. Problems: This entire project defied logic in many ways -- if it was true that God or Fate or Whatever was directing his progress, and if he didn't do what he was supposed to do, such as leaping tomorrow, God or Whatever might not allow him to go back later. ...Then he would have to live with what he'd done knowing it had all been undone because of this moment of uncertainty. Or was it cowardice? Was he afraid to try again? He was being given a second chance here -- was he being selfish as he thought about staying where it was safe? There was the chance that if he did leap again he might lose Al's guidance permanently. He wouldn't last long if that happened. Here at least he knew what to do...except about this. And soon that vacillation would be over as the window of opportunity passed and he stayed. At least he'd be himself again. And maybe if he tried again in a year or two he'd get it right next time... Option Four: that Verbeena was right, this really was all a dream. No. That doubt might linger but he really was certain it wasn't a dream. He was almost entirely certain. All this speculating wasn't helping, and he was beginning to feel queasy. Thinking might not be the answer. Maybe there was someone else he could consult. He felt silly for the first few moments, but he didn't really care. "God, ...well, I don't know what to do." His eyes unconsciously drifted to the thunderhead as he spoke. "I don't know why You're making me do this, any of it. I'm not a saint, I'm not a miracle worker. I'm just someone who had a dream about traveling through time. Maybe you're punishing me for my arrogance. Tampering in Your domain. But I've felt like You've been guiding me. At least I hope it's You. "...I really need Your help." He looked up at the stars, then at the angry cloud. There was something in the cloud's energy that reminded him of Michaelangelo's God giving life to Adam on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Powerful, aloof, all-knowing, untroubled by Man's little problems. "I've always had Al and Ziggy to rely on, but this time I don't. ...I don't know what I'm supposed to do. If I leap tomorrow -- and I don't know how I'm going to do that now -- I might be stuck out there forever -- " he shuddered " -- and I couldn't face that. But if I don't go, everything I've done -- everything You had me do...wouldn't be done. And I'd know it and I'd have to live with it." He faced the heavens, hoping for a sign but ashamed to ask for one. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do here. ...Please help me. ...Tell me what You want me to do." He waited and looked, but nothing happened. The night was beautiful and silent, watching him as much as he was watching it. The thunderhead continued its trek north, untroubled by Sam's little problems. The echo of a coyote call drifted from the direction of the mountains, and he smiled wanly to himself. "I know how you feel." He waited another 15 minutes under the New Mexico sky, and then he went back to the compound. Sam had hoped for a good night's sleep to refresh him, and possibly an illuminating dream to show him the way, but he was disappointed on both counts. His rest was fitful at best and his dreams were an unending stream of jumbled details of leaps in dreadful counterpoint: shooting Jimmy LaMotta above a cliff, telling Beth Calavicci that Al was alive only to see her abducted by men in a van, going 15 rounds in the boxing ring with Tom and watching him die of heart failure, and endless rounds of shock treatment. As he tried to shave in the morning, he concluded that he would have done better to stay awake all night. He dutifully talked with no one at breakfast, and he tolerated the surreptitious glances from the others in the cafeteria. Al was nowhere to be seen -- he usually spent his nights in his outside apartment -- and Sam was sorry for that. He needed a friend. He couldn't stand to watch the hours tick away in the helplessness of his room, so he drove until he found a familiar town and a familiar cafe. It was a funky old-style diner, complete with juke boxes in each booth that played no tunes later than 1970. He drank too much coffee in a window booth in the empty time between the breakfast and lunch crowds and wondered what was going to happen. He felt a restless impatience, but he didn't know what it was he was supposed to do. He wasn't surprised somehow when Al's red Corvette -- his day car --pulled up out front. "How'd you find me?" Sam asked as Al sat across from him. "You told me about this place last week, remember?" he replied as he signaled the waitress behind the counter to bring him a cup of coffee. Sam shook his head noncommittally. "I guess I forgot." "When I came in this morning and you weren't there, I figured I should track you down." They sat in silence while the waitress deposited Al's cup. He took an appreciative sip of his coffee before he said, "I heard." "Yeah, I bet everybody did." Al shook his head. "Verbeena's keeping a lid on it. The official story is it's a staff-wide cooling-off period. She's worried about you." "I know. She just wants to help." "We all do." "Why don't you believe me?" Al blew out a thoughtful sigh. "Well, it's kind of hard to swallow. I mean, one minute you're you, and the next you're you from the future. That's kind of a lot to ask." Sam swirled the last two sips in his cup. "I guess." "But..." Sam glanced up. "What?" Al didn't really want to say this, but he owed his friend something. "Well, you seem different." "How?" "...Less sure of yourself. Now, I'm saying this friend to friend..." Sam shrugged, giving Al permission to speak freely. "You always have an answer, or you can figure out the answer. But I don't see that now. Maybe the meeting did this to you, I don't know." A group came in for lunch, and Sam looked at the clock above the counter. It was 11:30. He had less than 12 hours to go. It would be over soon, and then at least he would no longer have to worry about Option One. "If you want to go with me to the game tonight, the offer's still open. The tickets are center court, second row." Sam smiled distantly. "Thanks. Maybe another time." Al gave up. There was no way to talk around it, so he might as well face it head-on. "So what were you hoping to do before the lockout?" "I guess leap again like I did the first time." "How'd you do it?" "I spent all day on the 12th running tests on Ziggy, and I thought I had it. But the team decided to do a last thorough diagnostic before a practice run, so they quit for the night. I couldn't wait, so after dinner I talked Gooshie into activating the Accelerator for me in a test run, only I'd taken the controls off the diagnostic settings and I leaped." "Well, it's a sure bet you're not going to do a rerun of that. We're locked out and Gooshie's afraid to talk with you." "Yeah," Sam said as he absently pulled a menu out of the napkin holder at the table, "I've been running that one over and it doesn't feel right." "That's the second time you've said that." "What?" "'It doesn't feel right.'" "So?" "I've never heard you say that before." Sam chuckled. "No, really, Sam. You never talk about how you feel. You always say, 'I don't think so,' or 'That doesn't make sense.'" This struck something in Sam, and he felt a twinge in his stomach. He started slowly, "Al, through all my leaps, we've always looked at how I was going to help other people, and how I was going to be changing things for them. ...We never thought about how this would change me." Al didn't understand entirely, but he knew this was important. "So what are you saying?" "_Parzival_." "What?" "_Parzival_ by Wolfram von Eschenbach. It's on my desk. When I saw it there I thought it was strange but now I think I know why it's there." "Why?" "It's the story about a man -- a kid, really -- who was born to be the greatest knight who ever lived but he made a simple mistake through ignorance that banished him from his home and his destiny. And he spent five years traveling all over trying to get back home, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get there..." They looked at each other. "Maybe it really was a dream." "No, no. So after five years...he stopped blaming everyone else...and he repented what he'd done...and God changed His mind...and Parzival could go home." "Well, I don't know how you're going to do the God changed His mind part." Sam couldn't talk fast enough: "According to all kinds of native religions, if there's something wrong around you it's because there's something wrong inside you." Al frowned at that. "Like a medicine man who cures his patients by looking inside himself to see what's wrong inside him that's showing up as a disease in this other person." "'Doctor, heal thyself.'" "Exactly." It was all so stunningly clear now, Sam couldn't believe it. "Wow." Al arched an eyebrow. "That would certainly put the A.M.A. out of business in a hurry. So now what?" "I need to look at what the leaps have done to me. Or for me." He pondered this as he looked at Al. "Well, ...I lost a lot of my memory." "That's not good." "No. But it taught me to rely on other parts of my...well, me, that I'd never used before." "Like your feelings?" "Intuition," Sam almost whispered. He looked at Al. "Would you describe me before as being intuitive?" "Never." "Okay, that's one. Two..." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's been very humbling. My life's been easy. I never went hungry, I never had to worry about having a roof over my head. My family loved me and supported me. I had good friends and a good life. There were bad things...but you keep going. And then I went off to M.I.T. and everybody told me how smart I was," he smiled slightly, "a wunderkind, I was *the* young Turk of quantum physics. I collected Ph.D.s the way some people collect baseball cards. ...I have seven, right?" Frowning, Al nodded. "And I got what I wanted ...professionally, anyway..." "Donna?" Al asked softly. Sam nodded. "What was that scene in the Bull Pen about?" "I think in the time where I'm supposed to be she's there." Al's eyes flashed. "You mean she came back?" "I don't think she left me." "You changed your own history? When? How? When did -- when will -- " Al shook his head. "I mean ...I don't know what I mean. What happened?" "I don't know. I don't remember. ...Like I said, this has been very hard." "Okay, so you got intuition and humility. Anything else?" "I've never been a 'stop and smell the roses' kind of person, have I?" "No." Sam smiled wanly. "That's right. You called me a 'mega-nerd.'" Al was taken aback. "I'd never call you a name like that." "No, you weren't calling me names. You were just telling me what I was like." Al contemplated that as Sam's attention drifted away. A moment from one of the leaps came to him. He didn't remember where or when, but in one of the leaps he realized his father was still alive at that time and, even though he knew he shouldn't have, he called him just to hear his voice again. The rush of emotions surprised him and he had to snap out of it before he began to cry. "You all right?" Sam nodded, trying to mask his reaction with an overdone rub of his eyes. "Yeah. I took everything for granted, didn't I? Did I start out that way? How did it happen?" "Most of us go through life with blinders on when it comes to the important things, and by the time you realize you're wearing them it's too late." "My blinders are gone." "That's three. Anything else?" "I guess I've learned patience, a little. Timing is very important, and I've always tried to make things happen when I wanted them to happen." Al nodded. "Like leaping when I did. I had almost three weeks to go, but I couldn't wait. And look where it got me." Al nodded again thoughtfully, and Sam smiled. "You're a good friend, Al." "What do you mean?" "You don't believe me for a minute, but you're not letting on." Al shrugged noncommittally. "Let's just say I'm hedging my bets." "I wish I could have returned the favor." Sam felt a pang of regret over not being able to change Al's destiny with Beth, and his eyes drifted to the booth's juke box. His eyes flashed with surprise: Selection E3 was "Georgia" by Ray Charles. The universe was really rubbing it in. Al saw his reaction. "What?" Sam quickly looked away from the juke box, but Al scanned the list of songs. He paused when he saw E3, then he looked at Sam intently. "'Georgia,' is that it?" Sam didn't reply. "How do you know about that song? I never would have told you about that. Unless I was incredibly drunk. How do you know about that? Did you see Beth? Tell me, Sam." Sam nodded reluctantly. Al didn't want to hear the answer, but he asked anyway. "When did you see her? Did you change things? Did you make it so she doesn't run off with that fleabag lawyer?" "I tried. I couldn't." "Well, that's just great! You can fix things in your own life but you can't change mine." Al simmered in his pain for a few moments, but he relented. "I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. I'm sure you tried." "You almost sound like you believe me." They looked at each other, and sad smiles cemented the truce. Al gazed at the song title. "How did she look?" "Miserable. She couldn't take the not knowing anymore." Al looked at Sam, his eyes mirroring Beth's misery from those many years ago. To his surprise he realized he had never forgiven her. He also realized he had hoped she had been miserable. "Do you think she was happy with him?" Sam responded vaguely, and for the first time Al could truly see that there might have been another side to the story. She needed something, someone to hold on to. His unfinished love for her welled in his heart, cracking open its prison and bursting out to flow through all of his senses. At that moment he could smell the sweet aroma of her freshly-washed hair, feel the tender skin behind her ear, hear her gentle, cascading laugh. He had never felt so close to her as he did now, or so far away. It hurt, more than he could bear. "God, I miss her." Could he ever possibly let her go? No. She would always be a part of him. But yes, too, perhaps someday. Someday he might forgive her, forgive her for being lonely, as he had been, and for being one heartbeat beyond despair, as he also had been. What would he have done in her place? What did he do? He found comfort with others. As she had done. Yes, maybe he might forgive her, and then, perhaps -- perhaps -- he could finally begin to let her go. It was a heady moment, and he sighed unexpectedly. This prospect of freedom was bitter as well as sweet, and it called for a fitting piece of ceremony. Could he bear to listen to it again? There was only one way to find out. He reached into his pocket for a quarter for selection E3, but all he could find was two dimes and a penny. He shook his head. "Short changed by life again." Sam hid his smile. "I don't think so." He reached behind Al's ear and produced a quarter. He smiled in spite of himself as he put the quarter in Al's hand. "You just need to know where to look." Al looked at the quarter. "Where'd you learn that?" "The Great Spontini." He chuckled. "Of course he wasn't so great when I did his act." Al hadn't moved as he stared hard at the quarter in his palm, then he gazed unblinkingly at Sam. "...You really did go." "Yes." "And you're here because you're supposed to do something." "Yeah." "Do you know what?" "No." "How are you going to find out?" Sam half-shrugged. "Ask you and Ziggy." "No, that's the old you, before you became humble and patient and took your blinders off." He leaned in. "What are you supposed to do?" Sam spoke without thinking. "Leap." "When?" "Today." Al looked at his watch. "When?" "11:15." He frowned. "Twelve hours. That's plenty of time." "Yeah, but -- " "No 'yeah buts.' You gotta leap, so you're gonna leap." "But Gooshie's not going to -- " "You don't need Gooshie. You've got me." "Al! You don't know how to do any of the programming or -- " "You can do that. After you've got all the programming done and you're in the Accelerator, all you need is someone outside to push the button." "But I can't get into the Accelerator!" Al frowned. "Would the Great Spontini say that?" Sam was suddenly getting a very big headache. Al didn't care. He left $20 for the waitress and pulled Sam out of the booth. The Marine sentries at the front gate were rather surprised when Sam's car pulled up but it was Al behind the wheel. The senior guard saluted but did not automatically send the admiral through the gate. "Good afternoon, sir. What happened to your car?" "Well," Al lied amiably, "Dr. Beckett needed to blow off a little steam and the 'Vette seemed much more appropriate than this." He patted the sedan's steering wheel condescendingly. The young Marine nodded, then smiled. "Yes, Admiral. I understand completely." He stood and saluted sharply, signaling Al through. After they had moved past the guard house, Sam's testy voice filtered up from behind the back seat: "There's nothing wrong with my car." Al smiled. "Marines. I think they're born with 'Vette envy." Al drove the sedan around to the back of the housing section of the compound, then made sure no one was around before he let Sam out of the trunk. They hurried inside unseen and were soon in Al's rarely-used compound quarters. Sam complained, "I still don't see why we need this cloak and dagger business." "If they think you're out in the desert, the guards might relax a bit. We've got to use every advantage." Sam shrugged in acceptance. "So now what?" "So now you do your thing and I play trusty sidekick." Sam thought for a moment. "I need your wrist link with Ziggy." Al found his wrist link on his dresser and gave it to Sam. He pushed the on switch, but nothing happened. He pushed it again, and again there was no reaction. Al frowned. "It worked yesterday." Sam shook his head. "The comm system's been shut down." Al looked at him significantly and spoke with disdain: "Randall." "Randall." "Jack Hammer" was outdoing himself on this assignment. There would be no holes in his security net. There would be no advantages to use. This was a disaster. "Okay," Al said quickly, "let's not think about that too much. What else do you need?" "I have a notebook in my room." "Where is it?" "On my desk." Al held out his hand. "Key." Sam was about to give it to him when he shook his head. "No, if one of the sentries sees you let yourself in, they might get suspicious." "So how am I supposed to get in?" Sam patted his friend on the shoulder. "You're a Navy man. You're not going to let a Marine stand between you and success, are you?" Al nodded seriously and accepted the challenge. He left, and Sam sat on the edge of the bed. In the still of the moment, he had his first chance to think. He looked at the phone. He looked at his watch. It would probably be better if he didn't do this, but he had to. As he dialed the number, he contemplated once again the strange selectivity of his memory loss: He couldn't remember what size shoes he wore, and yet he knew his sister's phone number in Hawaii. The phone rang twice and he almost made up his mind to hang up, but then that voice that soothed more than any balm answered. "Bonnicks' residence." "...Mom?" "Sam? ...What's the matter?" "What? No, nothing." "Sorry, it's just when you call during the day it makes me worry." "I know. Sorry. ...How are you?" "Fine." "How are Katie and everybody else?" "Fine. Is something special going on?" "Well, I...I just needed to hear your voice." "Things going badly at work?" "...Yeah." "I'm sorry. Maybe you can come out here for a vacation. We're always happy to see you." "Yeah. ...I'm going on a little trip, but maybe when I get back." "That'll be good. We don't see you nearly enough anymore." The everyday calm in her voice cut through him. "...Ah, are you doing anything this weekend?" "No, not really. The kids are staying over at friends' tonight, and the three of us are going over to Kaneohe for dinner." Sam smiled. "Yeah, that's right, it's Friday. The Mongolian barbecue." Tears welled, and he had to take the phone away from his mouth so she wouldn't hear his labored breathing. "Sam, something's really wrong, isn't it?" He couldn't answer. "I know you can't talk about your work, but whatever it is, no matter what happens, we'll always be here for you. Don't forget that. No matter what. We love you." Tears skipped down his cheeks. "...I love you, Mom." The door opened and Al entered. He looked at Sam with surprise as Sam turned away. "Ah, Al's here, I have to go." "Okay, son. Take care. We love you. Give me a call when you get back." "...I will. I love you." "'Bye." "...'Bye." Sam hung up the phone tried to get himself back together. "...You okay?" Sam nodded. "Life with my blinders off." Al understood. Sam gathered his composure and stood up. "How did it go?" Al tossed a compact disc on the bed. "There's a guard at the corner of the hall right next to your door. He even followed me into the room to make sure all I took was the CD." "Did you get the notebook?" Al gave him a knowing glance. "Does a chicken cluck?" He turned theatrically towards the window and said, "'Hey, isn't that the new secretary nude sunbathing out there?'" Sam smiled. "Poor kid didn't stand a chance." He produced the notebook from under his jacket. "Voila." Sam took the notebook and opened to the last written pages. "He's probably still at the window, trying to figure out where she is. And since when do you need to consult your notes? I thought once you wrote it down you had it memorized." Sam looked at him until he remembered. "Oh, yeah. Well, so much for my memory." Sam read through the last few pages. The calculations all seemed in order_where was the glitch? It had to be in here somewhere. Sam worked at the table while Al paced and thought out loud. "There's got to be something old 'Jack Hammer' overlooked. Guards in the hall, guards at the gate...wait a minute." He picked up the phone's receiver and dialed a three-digit internal number. "Oh, O'Brien. It's Admiral Calavicci. Is Tina around there? I can't find her. ...Oh, that's right. I forgot. Thanks. Carry on." He hung up with delight. "Bingo! They haven't sealed off the cavern at the time lock *and* that new kid is the guard at the control room. We have a weak link." He shrugged. "No offense to O'Brien." Sam went back to his calculations, but 10 minutes later his work was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Sam glanced around -- all the hiding places were obvious -- but he slipped into the closet as Al picked up the compact disc and sat down at the desk casually. "Who is it?" "Corporal Benton, sir," came the unmistakably crisp tones of a Marine sentry. Al glanced at the closet as Sam closed the door and said, "Come in, corporal." His eyes suddenly focused on Sam's notebook in front of him. With the flick of his wrist he whisked it off the desk top and slipped it on the chair seat under him as the door opened and the corporal came in. "Yes, corporal?" he said as he looked up from reading the compact disc's jacket. "Just checking on you, sir," the young man said. "Major Randall's orders." "Is he checking on everyone, corporal?" "No, sir. Just people who go into Dr. Beckett's quarters." The Marine began to look around the room, looking under the bed and behind the dresser. Al watched him helplessly, knowing it would only be a matter of time before he looked in the closet. He sized up the Marine: He was big in a way Marines specialize in, and if push came to shove Al would be the one getting shoved. This was not going to end well. He said coolly, "Looking for contraband secretaries?" The sentry said nothing as he gave the bathroom a quick glance. He came back into the room and reached for the closet door. Al winced as the sentry opened the door, but all that met their eyes was the rack of Al's clothes. The sentry pushed the clothes to each side, but there was only the back wall of the closet. He put his head in the closet and searched the left corner, but when he turned to look behind the clothes on the right he was surprised to see a familiar face in the shadows. He was even more surprised when a fist appeared. With the unmistakable sound of knuckles meeting chin, the sentry flew back, hit his head against the closet door frame, and fell to the floor. Al stood up, amazed. "Wow, that was great! I didn't know you could box." Sam stepped over the sentry as he shook out his smarting hand and examined the fallen man. "California state champion, 1974." Al blinked. "What?" Sam kept a straight face as he said, "I couldn't lose. I trained with nuns." Al wanted to know more, but there was no time to explain. Sam's examination revealed the two blows to the sentry's head had knocked him out cold. "Was he the one in the hall outside my door?" "No." "They might not miss him for a while." Sam sighed and looked at the unconscious man. "But we can't wait until 11:15 now. There's no way out." "We can come up with something." "Look, Al, I can't get you any more involved in this than you already are. You could get court-martialed." Al indicated the guard. "I think I'm already in this thing as much as you are." "You can tell them you didn't know I was in here." Al scoffed. "They can't prove you knew I was here. We're talking court-martial, Al. Prison." He shrugged. "I've been through worse." They contemplated that for a moment. Al looked at Sam intently. "Do you believe in your heart that you need to leap tonight?" "Yes." "Then let's do it." Resolution rung in Al's voice. There would be no talking him out of this. Besides, Sam needed Al's conviction to bolster his sagging confidence. He looked at the still guard. "We can tie him up and leave him here. Help me get his uniform off." Al frowned. "You don't think you can pass yourself off as a Marine, do you?" Sam untied the first shoe. "I'm going to try." "Get real. They all know each other. And they know you." Sam looked at him significantly. "They're not going to be looking at me." Al didn't like the sound of that. Fresh-faced Marine sentry Kevin O'Brien jumped to his feet at the desk outside the control room and let out a gasp at the spectre that approached him: Admiral Calavicci, in his dress whites, was rushing towards him with a Marine corporal in tow -- but the admiral was holding the side of his face as blood streamed down his arm and spattered on his crisp whites. "O'Brien! Dr. Beckett's gone berserk! He's attacked a sentry and headed back into the archive wing! Get down to the gate and lock this place off so he can't get in here!" The stunned young man stammered, "But what about you, sir?" "Never mind me -- just go!" "Sir, but you'll be locked in." "I'll be all right -- I can wait until the time lock goes off -- the project's the important thing now. Go!" The youngster nodded and took off down the hallway. The admiral and his companion watched O'Brien disappear, and then after a count of ten to make sure he was clear of the security portal Al threw the time lock switch that bolted the doors into the cavern. In spite of themselves, Al and Sam sighed with relief. They had an hour. Al looked at his red-stained hand and his ruined uniform. "God, look at this mess! I'm never going to get this out." He dropped the small plastic bag which had held the reservoir of red fluid in his hand. "I'm not even going to ask where you learned that one." Sam smiled as he took off the Marine's hat and headed into the control room. The programming took longer than Sam had hoped. Some of the simple details had been Swiss-cheesed, and what should have been second nature now took considerable effort. Al said nothing as he watched Sam work, but they both knew they had no time to spare. By now their ruse must have been discovered and the security force would be trying to circumvent the time lock. Their fears were proved true when the communication system came on and they heard a familiar, hard-edged voice over the speaker: "Gentlemen, this is Major John Randall. We know you're in there. For your own good, please open the door. We know you can cancel the time lock from the control room. Open the door now." The patina of civility in the voice was purely a formality; Randall meant business. The two didn't look at each other, and the silence lay heavy in the room. The speaker continued. "Very well. Before the time lock opens, we'll have the power cut off so you won't be able to accomplish anything. Do not offer resistance when we come in or else we won't be responsible for what happens to you." Al looked at Sam with concern. "Can they really cut off the power?" Sam nodded as he tried to remember a simple instruction. "Any of the programmers can tell them." "They wouldn't." Then again, it was a no-win situation. "Well, maybe they would. Can we do anything to stop them?" Sam put the finishing touches on what he hoped was the right command. "Nope. All we can do it get me out of here before they cut us off." He looked at Al. "I'm sorry. You're going to face them by yourself." Al shrugged. "I can take the heat. I've been in the oven before." Sam was not fooled by Al's nonchalance. Sam had not wanted this at all, but there seemed to be no other way out. All he could do was hope somehow his leap would change things for the better. As Sam went through the final commands with Ziggy, Al got a Fermi suit and helped Sam into it. Then the final check was done, and Sam gave Al his instructions on activating the Accelerator. He had no idea how far into the future home was, so he chose a random setting as he had done before, praying it was the right thing to do. It was time. They looked at each other. Sam glanced up the ramp to the Accelerator as the words became thick in his throat. "'My destiny calls, and I go.'" Al smiled. "Okay. You leave the windmills to me." Sam smiled. "Thanks, Al. Thanks for everything. Thanks for believing in me, then and now. I couldn't have done anything without you." Al blinked a few times. "Just get in there before they throw the switch on us." Sam took a few steps up the ramp, then turned back. "And I want you to know that, no matter what happens to me, I don't have any regrets." The fear of never seeing each other again passed through them at the same time, and Al fought a shudder. "Just go. Get out there and change my future." He offered Sam an encouraging nod. "Good luck. I'll be seeing you." Sam hurried up the ramp into the Accelerator. The door closed with a resounding thud, and he waited, counting off the time in his head. Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. The floor began to hum, and the power surged up through his legs. The cells in his body turned up their vibration as the Accelerator's energy merged with his own. Six seconds. His body was a lightning rod as the Accelerator began to undo his molecular structure. The rush was incredible. It was the closest thing Sam could imagine to being in the presence of God. Four seconds. Three. The room was fading before his eyes as he surrendered to the power that enveloped him. One second. At the moment Sam should have surged out into the light, everything went black. The floor gave way beneath him, and he collapsed backwards. He fell, but he hit no surface. He drifted down through the void with no sense of bearing. Everything was black, blank -- he was blank, the nothingness that surrounded him was blank. Awash in the nothingness, his mind was blank. He could not think, but he could know. No emotions disturbed his vision, and the situation was quite clear to him. This could only be caused by one thing: They had cut the power at the exact moment he leaped. As his molecular structure was being absorbed by the Accelerator, the Accelerator had been shut down. All the cells in his body had been shut down. He had been turned off. His dispassion made his realization a simple one. He contemplated the void -- so this was what it was like to die. As he drifted, his various leaps passed in review. They did not appear before his eyes; rather, they seemed to float through him, flowing out into the nothingness. Words, images, ideas from so many places, so many people. They all drifted there together, a stew of moods and recollections random and yet in perfect harmony. People who had survived Near Death Experiences talked of a life review. Was this his? It didn't seem right; after all, these were other peoples' lives. But perhaps all of his leaps had blurred the distinction between self and other to the point where all truly were one. He heard music, different rhythms and melodies from various leaps. They gently merged into a lilting lullaby for his descent. He heard the words to an old American hymn from somewhere, he didn't remember which leap. He was not in distress, but the hymn comforted him somehow. "*Gently Lord, O gently lead us/ Through this lonely vale of tears,/ And, O Lord, in mercy give us/ Thy rich grace in all our fears...*" The people from his leaps seemed to watch him as he floated by, both those he had known and those into whose lives he had leapt. He looked at them, they looked at him. No words were spoken, but thoughts drifted back and forth between them. "*...In the hour of pain and anguish,/ In the hour when death draws near...*" There were no questions, no thanks. None seemed to be needed. Mostly it was acknowledgment, and that was enough. "*...Suffer not our hearts to languish...*" At one point he thought he heard a voice, but it was very far away and he couldn't hear what was being said, so he let it go. "*...Suffer not our souls to fear...*" He felt at peace with what he had done. He could let go now. He drifted away.