From: "Terri Librande" X-From: eah4@po.CWRU.Edu (Elizabeth A. Hlabse) Newsgroups: alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative Subject: To Thine Own Self.... Date: 27 Apr 1995 22:13:13 GMT Message-Id: <3np4tp$429@usenet.INS.CWRU.Edu> I am posting this for Terri Librande. If you have comments, send them to her at aa811@cleveland.freenet.edu "To Thine Own Self" An Alternate Reality ((Author's note: A brilliant idea gone awry. Of course, on QL, Al is a real, breathing person. He's back at the Project, waiting for the time when Sam comes home, and worrying when his best suit comes back from the cleaners. Be it as it may, this idea came to me in a strange way, and nagged until I wrote it. As my favorite author once wrote, you must write all ideas, no matter how strange, or weird. Golly, is this one Weird. Anyway, here goes ...)) ((and thank you, Miriam Cooper for making this story a post MI insanity. You had no idea.)) Cold spring rain rolled down the paned windows of the flat I'd rented in London. The seminar was over, the speeches given, and here I was, staring down on the slick streets, watching others living their lives, oblivious of the miserable man above them. I felt soaked cold right down to my soul; not the first time. Here I was, Sam Beckett, 60ish years old, hero, accolades, a combination, They said, of Albert Schewitzer and Einstein. I didn't feel like anything at this point. Lonely, yes. Depressed, yes. It was a far cry from the warmth I'd felt from yet another audience, seemingly anxious to hear the old stories again. How had I allowed my life to turn into this? Certainly, I hadn't listened to Verbena's advice, and never stood still long enough to worry about the future, not until now. As I stared out the window at the twilight, and the quaint old lanterns casting light on the pedestrians and traffic below, I thought back on what had brought me to this point. ********* The moment I'd leaped home, I knew I was back at the Project, without even opening my eyes. It didn't feel like a Leap. My bones were settled, warmly snug and secure. Alight with joy, I felt the people around me, echoing every emotion I was feeling. 'Bena, Gooshie, all of the techs, the med team ... Then, it didn't seem so right. "Where's Al?" I asked, turning a questioning, demanding look on Verbena Beeks. My friend, the staff psychiatrist, gave me a look as if I'd just told her the world had ended. Her advice to sit down went ignored. My vision goggled between her and Gooshie, who was paying close attention to his high tops and nothing else. "What's wrong?" It could only be the worst, by the look on that concerned face. "He's dead," I said, feeling everything fall out from under me. How could he be, the one person who made it truly possible for me to Leap, keeping me alive, physically and mentally, his finely toned words, the wisecracks, even his sexual innuendoes distracting me when I became too engrossed in the situation and needed to lay back and allow circumstances to change on their own. "No, Sam, he's not dead." Verbena, usually smooth as glass was stammering. "Not dead." She easily took my arm now, leading me back to the bed I'd arose from. I let her lay me back, her hands brushing away the hair over my forehead, my expression frozen and waiting. "Think, Sam. You've been gone six years. Your memory is impaired, still. Think about what you designed as ..." She didn't need to say more. The word 'design' was enough. I felt reality tear away from me for a moment, betrayed by my own genius. I'd made it too perfect. AL -- Artificial Life. I'd found the term artificial intelligence not quite what I had in mind. I created a perfect hologram, an Observer, gave him a programmed background, and like Ziggy, learned from experience. I fed him my past, every detail from birth to present, and he knew it all. I gave the two of us a past together, a friendship. I thought it would help when I was alone out there in time, of course, always keeping in mind that he wasn't real. That went with the wind the moment I Leaped and Swiss-Cheesed, losing my memory and clinging to the safety rope that Al threw to me. My Al, my creation. I spent a lot of time recuperating, then, the lengthy debriefing, reacquainting myself with life as Sam Beckett knew it. It was so strange to go home to my old/new apartment and try to sleep, still, in the back of my mind, wondering when Al would show up. I spent literally months in sessions with Verbena, sorting out the Beckett who had Leaped, and the man I was now. She kept reassuring me that I was fine, that things would even out with time. Another thing, that I should recall Al, and talk with him--and say good-bye. I couldn't do that. No matter what good it would do for my psyche, I couldn't tell someone, be he alive or circuitry, who I surmised cared about me that much, good-bye. I suppose it dated back to my father, and not wanting to shut the door on that particular place, thinking I'd be given that chance again. In a way, when I'd gone home to Indiana, for Thanksgiving, 1969, that was to say good-bye to Dad, but the thoughts and feelings of distance still kept me wondering what I could do to see him again. No, I couldn't say good-bye to Al, and I wasn't about to. Instead, I replaced my farewells with work, literally burying myself in it, up to the neck and beyond. When I'd completed the work with Ziggy, and the Project was partially debriefed, the public wanted the story. Since we were a Top Secret project I couldn't give away all the details, but the inquisitive public went nuts. I and Ziggy became nine day wonders, the covers of all the tabloids, news magazines, everything. It helped to get me funding for my next Project, so it was worth the agony of public speaking, the interviews, cameras, publicity. It hurt everytime I realized how much Al would love this. With a pang I had to season my memory of him with 'he's not real, and he couldn't possibly feel anything.' After a while, my thoughts of him were distanced, forcibly shoved and singed away. Or so I thought. Then came one of those roving microphone talk shows. Fielding questions from people, unrehearsed, not planned. Somewhere, the mention of the Observer had been said, that he'd traveled through time with me. The questioner was curious. Who was this person, who had been with me through the adventure of a lifetime? Verbena was there, a response on her lips, to cover my silence. Instead of her explanation I told the audience of Al Calavicci. My friend, the Observer, the one that stood by my side, guided my journey. Then, feeling like Judas, I told the group gathered in front of me, and millions of viewers, that Al had been my creation, a hologram. The physicist in me spoke, and my heart crumbled under the assault. Demand was high for the manufacture of a software program that could produce a holographic friend for anyone. I refused, no offers considered. Passed up millions on that one, and cared nothing about it. Why sentence others to an existence with someone they could never touch, not of flesh and blood, but of circuits and air? Instead, I centered myself and worked on environmental concerns. In ten years, Gooshie and I had saved the ozone, and then I changed gears, trying my best to benefit mankind and keep myself busy. Things happened; Mom died, Kate lost her husband. Months turned to years and I'd lost a lot of time with real people. When I developed the freon substitute it helped dissolve reality for a while, much like when I'd worked on the Project. Of course, my family relationship was ruined because of it. Tom never forgave me for those lost six years. God, I tried to make up for lost time with Mom, but the demands were there, and people and everything needing me. Spreading thin. When I finally collapsed, it was a relief. Now I could stay in bed with a real excuse, and far too tired to think beyond simple movement or even to the next day. Kate was there, by my side, and Mom, even Tom, for a while. I couldn't handle his bitter silences, or the times he'd pace without words for hours on end. I didn't blame him, nor did I tellhim what I'd done in Vietnam. AL had been that face in Life, Maggie's picture, that I'd seen years before. An unnamed POW, long since gone, or alive, I never knew. Since the Navy was our primary guardian, even on an Army base, I made him an Admiral, and giving him the face, older and wiser, of that haunted visage. I'd caused that photo to be taken, although it was confusing with the alternate reality/time continuum if I'd seen the photo in Life, or his photo in a story about MIA's that had never returned. Beth had been real. That April Fool's charade in San Diego had happened. Maybe I'd put too much of what I'd read of the missing man's background into AL. As far as I could surmise, he'd taken on that personality, and related to Beth in a way the real man would have. He was so real, so his own self, that his mind believed she was his lost love. Why I'd made him a many divorced man was for experience sake. I'd made him a flyer, because I knew nothing of planes. I programmed him to know everything about them, and pretty much everything else that I'd either not had time to learn, or knew he could assimilate faster than I ever could. Now, I wept for him, missing his presence, even after all these full years. Suddenly, I realized it was past the time to worry about what affect he'd have on me. If I wanted AL I could call him up on Ziggy's memory, using my handlink. It was in my briefcase. I switched it on, my hands shaking as I punched in the information. The newest version barely fit in my palm, and Ziggy was as cranky as ever. DR. BECKETT?? "Hi Ziggy." It sounded good to here his voice, my constant companion while I traveled. "I...I want to call up AL." THE ADMIRAL? ARE YOU SURE? IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME. "I'm sure. Do it, Ziggy, before I change my mind." Before I could say another word, the door opened before me and ... AL. He looked ready to either slug me a good one, or cry his eyes out. It was hard to tell. A lump formed in my throat, my eyes filling. It had been a good quarter of a century since I'd seen him. "You waited long enough." Al came up as close to me as he could, and I could see the pain in his eyes. "Don't think I couldn't tell how long I was cooped up, listening to Ziggy babble. Good thing, too. Kept me up to date on what you were doing, kid." "It's good to see you," I managed, slumping in a chair. "Yeah, right. Talk to me, Sam. Tell me what happened. Was this any way to treat your best friend??" I tried to explain what had happened, that the Swiss Cheesing had made me believe he was real. "Christ, what an ego." Al shook his head, then lit a cigar. Grinning at the gesture that I'd missed, I leaned back, beginning to relax. "Give me a reason why you haven't spoken to me for a while. Oh, and I forgive you, but this had better be good." I started the sentence and abruptly cut it off. What could I say? Over the years I'd reinforced the idea he wasn't real for so long that now I was relating to him like I did Ziggy. "I was afraid," I said finally, "That if I ever did call you back, I wouldn't want you to go." "That makes sense," Al agreed, nodding, the cigar bobbing in his mouth. "I have one of those type of personalities. Seriously, Sam, no one is going to think you too awfully weird if you go around talking to yourself. Christ, you're what, almost seventy?" I had to chuckle at that. "Oh, you laugh. How many years did you make people look strangely at you, talking away at air? Hey, kiddo, I'm not an illusion, I'm your creation." "Why didn't you tell me that when we were Leaping?" "Against the rules, your rules. I had to be real, Sam. Pinocchio, the puppet that becomes real. Honestly, you think up the weirdest things. Disney, for Pete's sake. Always the Boy Scout. I hope you let me in and out from here on. I'm sick of Ziggy's ego, and from what I see out here, I'm a little worried about you." He strolled around the room, taking in the British trappings, and making faces. "I hate England. Yuck. And the women, well ...." Al cocked his head to one side. "Remember when you programmed my libido, kid? Not a pretty sight, giving your creation more experience than you'd have in a lifetime." "I've had a few relationships since then." "On leaps. Where is she now, Sam? Where's your Dulcinea? What have you done for yourself? You know, Verbena is still single, always checking up on you. She's spent a few hours talking to me, and, hah, you didn't even know it." He stabbed his cigar at me in a reproaching way. "She really loves you, kiddo. Maybe it's time you stop leaping. It's not too late." "Stop Leaping?" I shook my head as I walked away. "I stopped that a long time ago, Al." "Leaping in the figurative sense, kiddo. You've kept yourself so damned busy that there was nothing to break the momentum, just like Leaping. And you kept me cooped up with that egomaniac computer." "Al," I questioned, suddenly feeling the strangeness of the situation. "Don't you think it's a little weird for me to sit here talking to you like this? It's not that I'm alone; I have friends." "Excuse me. You don't have a best friend, pal. Not like me. You need that. Ziggy keeps me updated. You don't have a family anymore, and you spend most of your time on the road. That has to stop, Sam. You're not getting younger, y'know." Ironic, I thought, knowing full well I'd created Al to be older than I, just to offer that extra edge of experience that age would lend to him. Now, I was the older man, the one worrying about lost time, and if I'd be able to finish everything before I went to the other side. "You're looking too introspective, Sam. Talk to me." His eyes were bright, blinking, waiting. "Maybe I should go home," I said, thinking of that apartment that had always been base since I'd returned from time. "I have plans, Al. You can be with me, there. Work like we used to." I heard the enthusiasm in my voice, suddenly wanting that, more than anything. Sighing, the hologram shook his head. "I don't know, Sam. Maybe, but the others ..." He reached and scratched behind his ear in a worrisome way. "I was kinda kidding about before. You've been a pretty stable guy the last few years and if one of those docs at the Project sees you talking away to yourself you could find yourself in a nursing home or worse. Remember Havenwell." With a sinking feeling, I sank back into the overstuffed chair, feeling older than my years. Sure, it was fine to call Al back, and talk for a while in private, but we could never have the life I imagined back when I was leaping; working together, feeding each other data, putting together the Imaging Chamber. "I know, kid, and it's okay. We got tonight, and we can talk till you get tired. I've got a few years to catch up, and we've got all those Leaps to go over. Lots of reminisces there, pal." He leaned in close, winking broadly. "All those women; hell, we could go more than one night on that alone, Sam!" So, we talked into the night. Me and my hologram; which he slowly worked out of. The conditioning was gone, and Al became so real. Alive, in fact. We had so many shared memories, the greatest years of my life. I was sharing them with the only person who had been with me during them. As he spoke, I wondered why I had waited so damn long. The empty space in me was filling, with every laugh we shared, every tiny detail of the Leaps that I had forgotten that Al, with his perfect memory, recalled in colorful and marvelous ways. It was so hard to think about letting him go. I decided not to, unless he asked. After hours, my eyes got pretty heavy, and I found myself falling asleep in his comfortable presence, letting his voice lull me into a twilight state. "Sam, you oughta lie down or something." He was looking at me with that indulging, fatherly looked I craved for so long. Head cocked to one side, those expressive eyes wide and bright. "I don't want you to go, Al," I stated, blinking sleep from my eyes. "Listen, Sam." He knelt by the chair, hands clenched in front of him. "I can tell that Ziggy's calling me back. Something jamming up the works that only I can fix. You know. Anyway, it's four a.m. and you need to catch a plane at ten. Go figure. A man your age shouldn't keep these late hours anyhow. You're not a spring chicken anymore, able to leap tall buildings ..." "Not able to leap much of anything," I answered, sounding as depressed as I felt. I knew it, just knew that when I 'd call him back it would be hell saying good-bye. "Sam, I know your problem. This isn't a farewell, not yet." He got straightened, hands reaching and pulling the handlink from his pocket. The white door opened behind him. "You can't get rid of me that easy, kiddo." He smiled, looking near to tears as I'd ever seen as the I.C. door closed behind him. ***************** I was near exhaustion as the plane landed in Alamogordo. The last leg of this journey had been overwhelming. Suddenly I was beginning to feel my age and it was frightening. Gooshie met me at the airport, took my bags, and drove me home. I begged off his company that night, not really wanting to sit with my old friend and discuss programming or anything that had to do with computers. As soon as the door closed behind him, I opened a bottle of blackberry brandy and poured myself a tumbler full, sipping at the warming drink, mellowing me down to the point where I could sleep. Usually, I'd want to check out the Project immediately after a long time away. Not this time, however. I thought about what Al had said, about living in the past. The next days I ended up on the PC, talking to my lawyer, settling affairs. No morbid thoughts, just practical ones, long neglected. After I was gone, in twenty years or so, I wanted something of myself to live on, even if it was my money and nothing else that supported it. A century, I thought, wouldn't be long enough to tie off every loose end I had planned. It frustrated me so much I spelled off every idea I had to improve the world condition, theories, formulae ... Then, back to work. The familiar halls, Project World Leap, now. Quite possibly the most ambitious thing every sponsored by the government. I was greeted by the techs, smiled at the admiring glances from some of my protgs, the new physicist that were working with the theories I'd laid out, assisting me. Gooshie was insistent that I shy away from the main Lab, the control center of the Project. It was disconcerting to hear him say that Ziggy had denied even him access. The more I thought about it, the more curious I became. I made a few attempts, and was told, indignantly, to go peddle my papers. The door was locked solid and nothing I could do from the outside would open it. We were locked into a difficult situation concerning the current Project. Nothing major league, but enough to keep me occupied and distracted away from Ziggy's secrecy. Of course, my temperamental computer was helping us right along, but appeared ... preoccupied. I decided to let the damn thing play it's little game through. With her tremendous ego, I was certain that she'd reveal to me what she was so busy with in good time. Weary from another day of tremendous concentration, I took the advice of Gooshie and the project medical officer and went to my quarters to rest. The three small rooms beckoned and the bed. I curled around the pillow like an old and dear friend and let myself drift on into sleep. Only for a moment; then the wrist link began beeping -- insistently. "What is it, Ziggy," I moaned. All I wanted was to sleep at this point, even random curiosity losing out to the Sandman. "Please come to Control, Dr. Beckett." Her voice was more than it's customary tease. "It is important." "Can it wait?" "No." Sighing, I shoved on a pair of slippers, tossed a robe over my weary bones, and stumbled my way to Ziggy's mysterious Project. After two weeks of closed doors, the entrance slid open easily, allowing me access. My eyes widened as I beheld what was in front of me, feet skidding to a halt, frozen in stark amazement. "Hiya, Sam." Al sauntered over, smoking a cigar. The only strange thing this time was that I could hear his silver loafers on the floor as he stepped, smell the obnoxious aroma of biting tobacco. With one movement he placed his hands on my shoulders gripping me firmly, preventing my knees from buckling. Grinning from ear to ear, he must have enjoyed the expression of amazement and shock on my face. "Surprise!" "I have to sit down," I managed, voice shaking. Al provided me with a chair to sink into and I stared up at the impossible visage in front of me. Had I gone over the deep end? Was this an illusion? He stood over me, looking a little concerned, his head wreathed with smoke. "I didn't want to give you heart attack." Directing his vision upward he spoke. "Ziggy, I told you...." IT HAS BEEN YEARS SINCE I'VE SURPRISED DR. BECKETT. ARE YOU PLEASED, OR UPSET WITH ME? "Pleased, I guess." After taking a few good lungfulls of breath I felt somewhat more awake, and ready to hear anything. Cautiously, I took in Al's form in front of me, feeling his warm hand on my forearm, those dark, bright eyes concerned and caring. "You can't be..." "Oh, I'm all here, Sam. As real as ... well, as nearly real as you. Okay, so I don't have internal organs like yours, or a brain; lots of circuits, though, and a mind to almost match Ziggy's." He gave the monitor in the ceiling a smug look. "Maybe better." ADMIRAL ... I stared wonderingly at him, circling this apparition in amazement. Incredible, that a machine I created could, in turn, create Al. Even his eyes were right; bright, animated, giving me look for look. "What are you?" He took a thoughtful puff on his cigar before speaking. "My name is Albert Calavicci. I was born in 1936, New York City, to be specific, Hell's Kitchen, and I'm career Navy; forty five years. In 1965 I was shot down over the Delta and was held as a POW for seven years. I met you in 1972, six months after I was repatriated. As far as I know, that's my 'real' history, kiddo. The stuff you laid on me when you programmed my memory." His bright eyes danced at me, squinting in the special way he had. "If you want the real facts, this body of mine was built here in your lab by your computer, because ..." He shrugged. "You tell 'im, Ziggy." I THOUGHT YOU WERE LONELY, DR. BECKETT. AS OF LATE, YOU'VE NOT DONE ANY SOCIALIZING, OR SEEN MANY OF YOUR FRIENDS, OUTSIDE OF GOOSHIE. I THOUGHT IF I COULD CONSTRUCT A VERSION OF ADMIRAL CALAVICCI THAT YOU WOULD HAVE SOMEONE TO SPEAK WITH MORE INTIMATELY, A FRIEND THAT HAD SHARED EXPERIENCES WITH YOU. IT SEEMED TO ME THAT YOU WERE GLAD TO SPEAK TO HIM WHILE YOU WERE IN LONDON, AND YOU SHARED MANY COMMON INTERESTS. I SAW YOUR ATTITUDE CHANGE WHEN YOU RETURNED HOME; YOU SEEMED SAD. ARE YOU PLEASED NOW? Pleased wasn't the half of it. Now I had a visible presence, a warm, dear friend to spend my days with, and no one would argue the point. "Yes, Ziggy, I am pleased. Thank you." At my age, my friends around me had quickly disappeared. Either they had families, or their mortality had caught up with them. Gooshie was a constant, but not someone you'd want to talk over intimate details of your life with. Now, now I had Al. ***************** Many years before, I had been alone. Really alone. Intellect tended to do that, strand you in a place where you end up alienated from the people around you. And the years after leaping I'd had the accolades, praise, but none of the strong friendships I'd longed for. Al had filled that void when I had traveled in time, gave me permanence. Now, it was my chance to make him real. The next years I traveled everywhere with my best friend at my side, him 'showing' me the world, like he'd always wanted to. I was the son he'd never had, and the father I'd lost, come back to me. We had ten years together, full of life and times, adventures in different places that I could never imagine, letting time wear me down to the day I finally took to my bed. We came back to Alamogordo, where it all began, practically. I felt tired, weary beyond belief. At my age, it wasn't unusual, but I didn't feel I was ready to just lie down and die. Al stuck by my side, bitched at my doctor to high heaven, and generally kept things hopping around me. None of the hospital personnel questioned his presence, seeing how alive it kept me. They were already doing my obits on CNN, and every other news network parked outside of the hospital entrance, ready for the latest bit of information. Sometimes I could hear them below, calling out at my doctor, who kept his mouth tightly shut. The bastards had taken a few years of my life, mostly avoiding them so I could work on the things that mattered, things that were mostly none of their damned business. Soon, it came to the point where I realized I wasn't leaving the bed again. My limbs were as heavy as wet stone, my only real awareness was Al; reading by the bed, all the old books, Bradbury, Heinlein, Douglas Adams... Or, telling stories of his sexual escapades in the early days, before we'd met, when I was just a kid. "Stop." I finally could take no more. "I'm going to die, Al. What happens then, when I go?" "You believe in heaven, Sam. Another plane of existence, I guess." "I mean, to you?" My voice was thin as parchment, rasping and quiet in the slow evening room. "I've left everything to the Foundation, to you. No one but Ziggy and I knows..." "That I'm not real?" He snorted, then his face came up, eyes bright. "If I'm not real, then why am I feeling loss, Sam? Why does it hurt so much to see you go like this?" He'd live forever, I knew, like Lazurus, Ziggy had brought him into reality, and he knew the years alone stretched before him, endless and without companionship. He had nothing in common with anyone else, no real friendships, outside of mine. "You have the link, Al. Call up Ziggy." "No problem, but..." His eyes met mine in understanding. It took about five minutes of conversation. When we finished, I fell back upon the bed, feeling settled and whole. I'd planned for this, subconsciously, and Ziggy, as always had jumped the gun. Another hour, and the door of the room opened. It was me, fifty years before, at my peak, tanned, and alive, warm, almost human emotion shining from the hazel eyes. Al stood at one side of the bed, holding my hand, and Sam on the other, linking the three of us as I felt life slip from me. We were together, in essence, forever. End.