Date: Wed, 16 Mar 1994 17:22:42 +22305714 (HST) From: Mindy Young Subject: Parzival's Return, part 1 of 4 Message-Id: ** For all the Sams out there ** trying to get home Parzival's Return by Melinda Young The swirling and buzzing stopped, and Sam found himself lying down in the dark. He blinked to help his eyes adjust, but the room was almost completely black. A slight move of his arm revealed he was in a bed -- alone, he thought -- yes, he moved his hands out tentatively and reached each edge of the bed unobstructed -- a nice bed, in fact, and he appreciated the comfort for a few moments. As he waited for his eyes to adjust, he listened for some tell-tale sound to give him a clue to his surroundings. No ticking alarm clock, no billow of curtains in a night breeze, no sounds of rain, traffic, nothing at all. That was odd. He sat up carefully and swung his legs off the bed to the right. He was wearing a T-shirt and boxer shorts, flannel -- he'd always loved flannel -- and set his feet on the floor. A soft rug greeted his toes, and he settled his feet in comfortably. He smiled. So far so good. Whoever he'd leaped into seemed to agree with his tastes on the little details. It was still too dark to see, and he reached out tentatively to find a light or clock or some other landmark. His hand found a table next to the bed and he inadvertently touched a button. He started when a whoosh of gently sliding metal came from the other side of the room. It was a vaguely familiar sound, and he turned. He gasped as what had been a black void was now a wall of stars -- a panorama of the Milky Way arching overhead. He stood up in amazement and approached the apparition. But it was no apparition -- it was real -- a window -- a window the size of the wall. He knew this -- he'd seen it before. The pale light revealed shapes beyond the pane -- a mesa, and mountains in the distance. The shapes were like gestalts, filling holes in his Swiss-cheesed brain. He knew this place. If he didn't know anything else, he knew this, all of it. He knew it well. He turned back to the dark room, breathless. "Light," he said, almost surprised at the sound of his voice. On command a soft light filled the room. There was everything as he had left it -- funny they had left everything exactly the same after all this time -- everything -- all these belongings he had forgotten but now he remembered more clearly than he had ever noticed anything before -- his bed, his night desk littered with notes and books, his mural-sized photo of the farm. "Time," he said and a soft blue glow appeared beside his bed: "00:53." He murmured, "Date," and above the numerals appeared "11 May." What a staggering coincidence: He'd leapt on the 12th, hadn't he? Hadn't he? How many years has it been? "Year," he said in a whisper, but the date only blinked -- it wasn't equipped for that. He searched his brain. This couldn't possibly be happening, could it? Could it? He looked at the door that could not possibly lead to his bathroom but he knew it did. He wondered as he dashed through the doorway: How many years had it been? What did he look like? Could it possibly be... There, the mirror -- he stood trembling before the mirror. For the first time since the beginning of time as he knew it he looked into his own eyes. He looked exactly the same. It was a miracle. He was home. The words caught in his throat: "...Oh, boy." In his joy, Sam gave no thought to his appearance as he dashed through the complex to the Project Quantum Leap control room. What a party they would have as soon as they saw him! He approached Ralph, the laconic Marine on night shift at the check in station, grinning ear to ear. "Ralph, is it good to see you!" he said, giving the guard a heartfelt hug. Ralph accepted the gesture stoically, eyeing Sam's attire with only a trace of a frown. "You gonna be in there long, Dr. Beckett?" he said as he signed Sam's name on the check-in log. "We might be in there all night!" Sam said as he headed for the door. "Maybe a couple of days!" Sam disappeared through the door. Ralph replied flatly, "Don't catch cold." Sam stopped with surprise when he found the control room empty and the lights dimmed. There should have been at least two technicians on duty, one at the controls and one supervising the Waiting Room. He frowned. "Ziggy, turn up the lights." The deep voice of the supercomputer whirred on with a disgruntled audio sulk. "So now I'm a maintenance unit." "Just turn them on, unless that's too much for you." The lights went on, and Sam gave the control panel a quick once-over. "Where is everyone?" "I thought you were all out licking your wounds." "What?" "And I like the fashion statement you're making. Very...comfy. Are you inviting friends over later for popcorn and ghost stories?" Sam frowned. "Aren't you at least glad to see me?" "Not after what you said about me this morning," the computer moaned. "I'm surprised you had the nerve to face me again so soon. Thanks, Dad." "This morning? What are you talking about? I just got back." "Back from where?" Sam laughed with disbelief. "...From everywhere. Ziggy, how long have I been gone?" "You last stood in the control room seven hours, six minutes, and 33 seconds ago." He frowned. "No, I mean me, now, as me." "Oh, well, aside from the pajamas, you were last in here, you, now, as you, seven hours, six minutes and 42 seconds ago." He was trying to keep his temper, but Sam was getting annoyed. "Where is everybody? Where's Al?" "I believe most of the staff are either in town getting drunk or finding other forms of distraction. Admiral Calavicci I believe is pursuing the latter option with a new hire from the clerical staff." Sam tapped his fingers on the control panel with impatience. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Besides, Ziggy's voice sounded strange. He couldn't put a finger on it, but there was something odd going on here. He was afraid this was another of Gooshie's inappropriate practical jokes. "Ziggy, I want you to prepare a report for me summarizing all the data gathered during my leaps and have it ready for me as soon as possible." The computer didn't respond, and the hum in the room was odd to Sam's ears. "What's the matter, this assignment is beneath you, too?" The reply was cold but hardly mechanical: "I'm waiting for you to give me instructions I can follow." "A report. What's so difficult about that? You do them all the time." "On your leaps." "Yes." "What leaps?" Sam counted to ten. "If this is a little joke you cooked up with everyone, it's not funny. Just prepare a report." "A report on all the work this unit has performed since...when?" "Since I left." There was a moment of computation, and then Ziggy intoned: "Project Quantum Leap has performed no work in the last seven hours, eight minutes and 31 seconds." Sam was about to lose his temper when the control room door opened and the person he wanted to see most walked through the door. "Al!" Sam raced to his friend and corralled him in a monumental hug. "God, it's so good to see you!" Al took the hug with patient acceptance and patted Sam on the back. "Yeah, it's good to see you, too. You got a brainstorm?" Sam let go of Al and looked at him quizzically. "Brainstorm?" Al indicated Sam's pajamas. "Oh, well, when I realized I was back I didn't think about clothes." He laughed. "This is great! You smell like cigars and everything." Al frowned. "Since when did you start liking my cigars?" Al's lack of enthusiasm was wearing down Sam's joy, but he managed a bit of a laugh. "Well, I don't, it's just I haven't been able to smell them for, I don't know, years." "You complained about the smell yesterday at lunch." This was the last anomaly Sam could ignore. He frowned and looked at Al. Al didn't look the same. There was something missing from his eyes. That special bond, that glow of tried-and-true friendship forged through so many trials was not there. The solution hit Sam in the stomach hard, making him wince. "God, no." He turned away from Al and faced the control panel. "No. It can't be. Ziggy, what year is it?" "In Anno Domini, the Chinese Lunar Calendar, or -- " " -- Just tell me what year it is." "1995." Sam turned back and looked at Al, although he wasn't speaking to him directly. "May 11, 1995." Al gave him a "So?" shrug. Sam blinked with disbelief. "I didn't leap until tomorrow. I've come back before I leaped." Sam walked out of the control room, numb with confusion. Al watched him go, then looked up at Ziggy. "What's wrong with him?" The computer grumbled, "The meeting this morning must have been too much for him. I believe he's snapped." Sam went back to his bedroom and waited for the Al from his own time to appear. Wouldn't Al be surprised when he found him in his own backyard! After putting on his robe, Sam sat at his night desk and surveyed the clutter. A stack of computer printouts, _The Tibetan Book of the Dead_, Stephen Hawking's _A Brief History of Time_, a book on ancient Hawaiian spiritual beliefs, two of his own books on quantum physics, Wolfram von Eschenbach's _Parzival_, a "Calvin and Hobbes" collection from Al -- Sam had to smile. It was an eclectic selection to say the least. His eyes lingered on the piles. Possessions, he'd forgotten what it was like to have possessions, things that were his and not someone else's. It felt so good to be back in familiar surroundings, and yet it was disconcerting to be back like this. Even though he was back as himself, he wasn't really back. There was something to be done. But what? Whose life needed to be changed, what wrong needed to be righted? As he waited, Sam contemplated what had happened. Parts of his memory were still missing, and although he wasn't sure it seemed there were parts missing now that hadn't been missing before. He had no idea into how many lives he had leaped -- hadn't he remembered them all once? He took a mental inventory and could remember a test pilot, a beauty queen, something about a baseball player -- no, maybe two or three -- and being a magician -- not a very good one -- and a concert pianist, and so many others. Although he didn't remember the circumstances, he remembered killing someone, and the memory made him shudder. It seemed there were things he didn't remember, and things he once knew but didn't remember now, and times when he didn't remember what he knew now, so perhaps he should write these things down in case he lost them again. Well, there was no need for that. Ziggy would have everything...Sam sighed...in the future. After half an hour of waiting for Al to appear, Sam began to read _Parzival_; after 10 minutes of reading, he dozed off in his chair. He awoke when he heard a rustle next to him. He looked up at Al. "God, Al! Am I glad to see you! Can you believe it? I can't believe I'm back. Have you and Ziggy figured out what I'm doing here?" Al looked at him with quiet concern. "No. I saw your light was on, and since you have no social life, I decided it was okay to come in. You didn't crack up after the meeting, did you?" Sam looked at Al intensely, then reached out a finger, making contact with Al's lapel. He sighed with disappointment. Al shrugged with mock annoyance. "Thanks. I'm touched." Sam stood up agitatedly. "I'm sorry, Al, you don't understand." He paced around the room distractedly. "I guess you can't get in here -- the other you -- because it's too close and, I don't know, maybe the molecular structure of the universe can't handle having two Als in the same room at the same time." He smiled. "I can believe that. No wait -- that happened once -- " He turned back to Al, who was frowning at him. "You didn't take one of those stress pills, did you? Verbeena said you can't tolerate those." Sam smiled with recognition. "Verbeena." He shook his head. "No, of course not. Those things make me crazy." He paused, then looked at Al, making the connection. "No, I'm not crazy. Al, you're not going to believe what's happened." He sat down eagerly, signaling for Al to pull the other chair up to the desk. Sam said as Al sat down, "...Quantum Leap works." "Great!" Al was overjoyed. "Is that where you've been all evening, in reprogramming Ziggy?" "Well, no, not exactly. ...I've leaped, and I've come back." "Wow, this is incredible! Where did you go? I mean, when did you go? -- I mean, ..." Sam frowned. "It's not that simple. There's a bug in the system. I've been gone a long time -- I think at least a couple of years -- and I can't control to where and when I leap. It's hard to explain, and I probably shouldn't be telling you, but...it's too late now." Sam realized his mistake too late, but he was so used to confiding in Al that the words came out before he could stop them. Al wasn't accepting this well. "You've been gone a couple years since this afternoon? What did you do, go to Cleveland?" "Yeah, I did go to Cleveland once, but that's not what I mean. I didn't leap this afternoon. I'm going to leap in about 36 hours, and...I've come back before I left." "So," Al pondered slowly, "...if you've come back before you left, ..." He contemplated that for several moments, trying to figure out a question that would produce an answer he'd understand. "...So, if you're you from the future, how come I see you as you the way you looked this morning?" "Because you're you now, not the observer you from the future." He frowned. "Oh, yeah." He rubbed his face. "This is confusing." His eyes suddenly brightened and he looked around. "Am I here now? The me from the future?" Sam shook his head, and Al's face flashed with disappointment. "Too bad. What a kick in the butt that would be." Sam didn't know if Al truly believed him or not, but at least he seemed to be going along with him for the moment. Something strange occurred to Sam. "They must be really confused, because it's me in the Waiting Room but I don't know what's going on." He shook his head. Al gave Sam a skeptical glance. "Are they the only ones who don't know what's going on?" Sam understood his not-too-subtle message and shook his head, then smiled. "No. Not yet. You will someday." "I see. Why did you touch me with such utter disappointment?" "I was hoping you were you from the future here to tell me what I'm supposed to do." An impish smile crept across Al's face. "You mean I tell you what to do and you actually *listen* to me? I like that." He nodded with satisfaction. Sam smiled with him, then grew wistful. "Yeah. You've saved my life more times than I can count." Al contemplated this. "Well, it's too bad you couldn't have come back before the meeting this morning so you could have proved to those nozzles that they're not wasting their money on us." Sam's eyes flashed. "The meeting! Of course! Today -- this morning -- that terrible meeting with the people from the Pentagon where they threatened to cut off our money. That's why I leaped before we'd finished the final diagnostic. That's why I'm stuck. Maybe that's why I'm back here -- so I won't leap." He frowned. "That doesn't feel right." "Well, whatever. They're still going to shut us down on May 31st if we don't have something to show for all this. Can you prove you've done anything?" In the security of familiar surroundings and in the wake of Al's confusion, Sam lost track of where he was. "Of course. I've changed history. Well, the changes won't show up really, because they've already happened. Let's see if Ziggy can figure something out." Sam and Al returned to the control room. Ziggy complained as usual at starting up after hours, but Sam didn't waste time arguing. "Ziggy, give me a status report on Michael Blake of New York City, born about 1920." Sam turned to Al. "He was this really greedy developer we Scrooged and -- " " -- He's dead," came the computer's reply. Sam was surprised. "What? When?" "1979. He jumped from Blake Plaza -- Sumito Plaza -- after his empire collapsed in 1975." Sam shook his head. "No, we turned him around..." Sam looked at Al in distress as the realization of when he was hit him. "No, I haven't gone yet, so...everything I've done -- we've done -- hasn't happened yet. No. Ziggy, give me a status report on Dr. Darlene Monte of Tupelo, Mississippi." The computer whirred for several moments as Sam held his breath. "No doctor. Housewife." "No!" Sam slapped his hand on the control panel. Ziggy purred icily, "Violence never solved anything, Dr. Beckett." Sam looked at Al, his hopes fading. "No, that means Tom's still..." He sagged against the control panel. Al was silent for a moment, then his eyes flashed with recognition. "Tom? Your brother?" Sam didn't react. "Are you trying to tell me that you kept him from dying in Vietnam?" "...Yes." Al forgot where he was and reached for a cigar. "Unbelievable." He lit his cigar and took a long, thoughtful puff. "But he's dead. I didn't do it. Coming back here's undone everything I did." He looked up. "Why? Why did You put me through all that just to bring me back?" Ziggy reacted with expected surliness: "*I* didn't do anything you didn't program me to do." Sam frowned. "I wasn't talking to you." Ziggy replied, "And tell that smokestack to take his pacifier outside. I treat my equipment with more respect than he does his." Al was formulating an appropriate response when Sam took him by the arm to lead him outside. "You should have programmed that hunk of junk to have a little more manners," Al said as he puffed deliberately on his cigar and blew the smoke over his shoulder at the closing door. "A supercomputer with a superego," Sam said with a faint smile. They stood outside by the guard's desk. "Al, come on, think. There's got to be a way to prove that I've been gone for a couple of years." The guard's ears pricked up at that, but he kept his reaction to himself. Al took another theatrical puff. "'Here, Nancy, I can prove I've been to ancient Greece. Look at this grape.'" Sam looked at Al quizzically. "Firesign Theatre?" Sam didn't understand, and Al frowned. "Private Nick Danger, Third Eye?" Sam didn't react. "It's one of your favorite albums." Sam tried hard to remember, but the reference was lost in the blur in the center of his memory. He turned away, consumed with the problem of proving his dilemma. Al watched his friend, a concerned frown deepening across his face. Sam paced around the complex, hoping to come up with something, anything, that would prove he had been gone. He noticed the various Marine sentries along the way watching him, but he gave it no thought. He often walked around at night -- he was pretty sure he did, anyway -- so that was not unusual. However, what he had forgotten in his distraction was that he had not bothered to dress and he was still in his pajamas and robe. Not only that, he had become used to thinking aloud with Al as a sounding board and without realizing what he was doing he was muttering to himself. This provided the guards with quite a sight, and each one who saw him made sure to tell the watch commander. After an hour and a few miles underfoot, Sam gave up and decided a good night's sleep -- or whatever he could gain in the few hours of darkness left -- would help refresh him. He returned to his room, only then noticing how he was attired. He chuckled to himself as he took off his robe, then crawled under the covers. He slept deeply but not long enough, and shortly before dawn he was awake and down at the complex's cafeteria. As Sam helped himself to the delightfully familiar array of breakfast cereals, Marine Major John Randall, the head of security for Project Quantum Leap, joined him. "Jack Hammer" Randall had always made Sam uncomfortable, but this early morning his hard edge sent a chill down Sam's spine. Perhaps it was the collective memory of so many military leaps, or perhaps it was something else. Randall strode up to Sam and gave him the perfunctory nod of a man who does not consider himself a subordinate but whose job forces him to play the part. "Dr. Beckett." "Major." He paused, feeling as if he needed permission from Randall to breathe. He indicated his tray and nodded towards a table. "May I?" "Of course." Sam sat at the table and Randall sat across from him. Even sitting, Sam thought, this man was at attention. The major watched Sam pour milk on his cereal. There was something of a good bird dog in this soldier, a pointer whose unflinching gaze helped train the guns on the prey. Sam cleared his throat. "Can I help you, Major?" "I understand you had a restless night last night." "Well, yeah. I had a lot on my mind." Randall said nothing, and Sam tried to eat under the Marine's scrutiny. It wasn't easy. The milk seemed to be curdling before it got to his stomach. "Anything else?" "Would you consider a project staff member who suddenly developed strange behavior patterns to be a security risk?" The question felt more like a poke in the ribs than an inquiry. "How do you mean?" "Inappropriate attire, bizarre conduct, apparent disconnection from surroundings." Sam was certain Randall was referring to him, but he had no idea what Randall was talking about. However, he did know he had to be careful with this. One misstep here might do a lot of damage. "Look, if it's about last night, it was a long and difficult day yesterday and I just needed to unwind. Walking helps me think." Randall said nothing. Sam could feel his laser eyes dissecting him, waiting for a crack to develop. Sam had faced the electric chair; this wasn't much better. "Anything else?" The Marine did not flinch. "No, sir. Not at this time." He stood abruptly and left. Sam blew out a sigh. He didn't know if he'd passed the test or not. He looked at the bowl of cereal and decided he would need something more substantial this morning. It was still too early for the cook to be on duty, so he let himself into the kitchen and found the fixings for a Mom Beckett breakfast. As he stirred the water into the pancake mix, he smiled to himself. The familiar rhythms of life put the soul at ease somehow. "Enjoying yourself?" He looked up with surprise at the sound of that familiar voice. Dr. Verbeena Beeks stood in the kitchen doorway smiling at him. Sam had to fight his delight in seeing her again. "'Morning, Verbeena." She ambled over to him and looked at the array of ingredients on the counter. "There's such a thing as frozen microwave pancakes, you know. They make life a lot simpler." He flashed her a frown of playful disdain. "Frozen? *Frozen?* Maybe people from Philadelphia use microwave pancakes, but nobody uses them in Elk Ridge, Indiana." She laughed. "That's why they're still down on the farm." The psychologist watched him as he stirred the last of the lumps out of the batter. An alarm should have been going off in Sam's brain, but in his long absence he had forgotten that Verbeena was not a morning person and seeing her up and about before 8:00 a.m. was a rare sight indeed. She helped him make his farm breakfast, and they enjoyed their feast out in the quiet dining room as a beautiful New Mexico dawn unfolded outside the picture window. He smiled at the sight of pinks and oranges streaking across the clouds. A memory stirred -- was it his past or was it from a leap? -- it didn't matter, really -- he was eating breakfast in another cafeteria somewhere, reading the section describing heaven in Milton's _Paradise Lost_ as a magnificent sunrise echoed the beauties in the text. It was a sweet memory, and it made him feel at home for a moment. Verbeena saw his smile and inquired, "Yes?" He flashed with embarrassment at drifting away. "Nothing. Sorry." She shook her head. "You Midwesterners. Always apologizing." Sam chuckled. "Especially when you haven't done anything wrong. Maybe someday I'll understand it." He watched the sunrise for a few more moments and didn't hear the practiced aloofness in Verbeena's voice as she said, "I hear you were up late last night." Sam smiled. "Yeah. I had kind of a...breakthrough." She nodded. "Great. Can you explain it to a non- physicist so she'd understand?" Her calm detachment caught his ear, and he replied with guarded enthusiasm. "Well, I can't prove it, but I know Quantum Leap works." She smiled, but he thought there was something a bit too professional about the smile. "Great. What happened?" Despite her best efforts, there was an unmistakable business- like edge to her question that escaped neither of them. Sam looked at his breakfast, then at Verbeena. "This is a professional visit, isn't it?" She didn't reply, but a flicker in her tender brown eyes gave her away. "Who talked to you? Al? Randall? Randall probably. It's a little early for Al." A moment of silence ensued as Verbeena weighed her options, then she gave up. "All right, I never could fool you. Yes, Major Randall insisted I talk with you this morning. I called Al before I came. He didn't mind me waking him up. He's a little worried -- in a friend kind of way." "He told you what I said to him?" She nodded. "I'm not sure I understand it, but yes, he said that you've been gone for a couple of years and that you've come back." "Yeah, and I can't prove it because everything I've done hasn't happened yet." She ate in silence as Sam looked at his half-eaten meal, no longer hungry. She said, "Al only told me a few things. I'd like to ask you some questions about your leaps, if that's okay." "Sure." "I need you to be honest and tell me everything, all right?" "Of course." "I just want to help." Sam thought the lady was protesting too much, but he kept it to himself. "I know." "First of all, did the different leaps have anything in common?" "Yes. I went into a situation where there was something that needed to be changed. Something bad was going to happen, and I arrived at a time where I could change things for the better." Verbeena nodded. "How did you know this?" "Al was always there to tell me what Ziggy had figured out." "He was part of the situation?" "No, he was a non-interactive observer, the way the program was designed." "So Al would tell you what needed to be done, and you'd do it." "Yeah. But sometimes he was wrong. He and Ziggy." "Ziggy's predictions would be incorrect?" "Sometimes I felt that I had to do something else, and usually when I disagreed with Ziggy I was right." Sam quickly added, "But usually Al and Ziggy were right. He saved my life dozens of times." "How many times did you leap?" "I don't know. Hundreds, maybe. Leaping affects my memory. Al calls it 'Swiss-cheesing.' I mean, the first time I leaped I didn't recognize him when he showed up. I couldn't even remember my name." "What happened?" "I was a test pilot -- I think -- I'm pretty sure that was the first one. I was there to keep the test pilot's wife from miscarrying her baby. I thought I was there to break Mach 3, but that wasn't really it." "How do you know if you've done what you were supposed to do?" "I leap." "What happens if you don't do what you're supposed to do?" "Sometimes I leap anyway," he said, thinking of mob hitman Frankie LaPalma, but jumbled images of Lee Harvey Oswald began to creep into his memory and he had to fight the shiver up his spine, "but it can get really bad." "Where did you go after you were the test pilot?" "I was a player on a minor league baseball team." "What did you have to do?" Sam smiled. "I had to score the winning runs in the bottom of the ninth so our team wouldn't end the season in last place." Verbeena smiled. "Did you do it?" He nodded. "Yeah. I thought I was supposed to hit a home run, but, well, baseball was never my game. My third strike was a wild pitch, and Al told me to run, and two throwing errors later I was safe at home." He smiled. "And we won the game." She smiled and leaned in comfortably. "Tell me about some of your other leaps." In varying detail, Sam told Verbeena about being a fashion photographer, a divorced mother, a high school football star, a horror novelist, a vampire, and then a teenaged Sam and a Navy SEAL. She listened with interest, giving no reactions in particular. Some stories were fuzzy at best, and he knew there were a number of leaps that he couldn't remember at all. There were also a few details he didn't want to tell her. He wanted to play it safe. But he told her more than he thought he did. Her ease drew him out beyond where he would have gone consciously. Stripped of the armor of pretending to be someone else, he had forgotten how to protect himself. When he finished, he shrugged. "Pretty amazing, huh?" She smiled. "Very. What was your favorite leap?" "It was very interesting being my great-grandfather." Her eyes flashed at that. "How did you manage that?" He crossed his arms with a twinkle in his eye. "If I knew how I did any of this, I wouldn't be here." She acknowledged him with a wry smile. "But I think my favorite person was Jimmy." "Tell me about him." "Jimmy LaMotta. He had Down's Syndrome, but he could do simple manual labor. He had such a wonderful, loving family." Suddenly out of the fog bank in his mind flashed the memory of his first encounter with Alia, and he shuddered. "What's the matter?" He looked at the psychologist and decided she wouldn't understand. "Just something that happened." She nodded, and took a last bite of her breakfast. "Sam, as doctor to doctor, I would like you to put aside all of the feelings you have right now and listen to a theory as objectively as possible." He nodded, but she looked at him until he said, "Okay." "Something else your leaps have in common is the fact that you save the day, you rescue people in trouble or in danger, and you're a hero. You may not see yourself that way, but that's what you are. "Sam, you're used to success. You've accomplished more so far in your life than 20 people in their whole lifetimes. There have been bad things in your life, but most of them have been beyond your control. The things within your power have been astonishing. You've been a wunderkind, 'the next Einstein.' This project is your baby, from the word go. The whole thing rests on your shoulders. "Now you face the greatest challenge of your professional life. This project, on which you're staking your entire career, isn't going right. There are problems you can't solve. There are people you can't control. You're about to lose your funding, and lose years of work. Even worse, you're about to lose your dream, this idea that's haunted you from childhood_traveling through time. "After an emotionally and physically draining meeting with the people from the Pentagon, you come back to your room_people are upset and depressed and you need to be by yourself to concentrate. You skip dinner and dive into your work. There's got to be a way to solve this -- just one little thing -- you just need to work a little harder. You go to bed early -- " she smiled " -- your never did give up those farm boy hours -- and you solve everything," she concluded slowly, "with the most vivid dream of your life." Sam reacted sharply, but she held up her hand to finish her thought. "Look at what the leaps tell you: People and situations in jeopardy, and you save them with special knowledge that you have and they don't. Babies who are going to die, teenagers who are going to disappear or fail with their lives, people who are going to self-destruct. You save them all. You, your computer, and your best friend. It's a classic wish fulfillment. Even winning that championship basketball game -- and saving your brother's life. You get to undo the nagging wrongs in your own life." He was still riled. "Look, Verbeena, I know the difference between dreams and reality." "Sometimes we don't," she said gently. "Sometimes they're the same thing. Project Quantum Leap was a dream for many years. You made it reality. And look at your favorite leap: someone with Down's Syndrome -- someone who can't be accountable for the kind of responsibility you have." "But I know names and dates and places. How could I know that if I hadn't been there?" "Sam," she said calmly, "you have one the great minds of this or any other century. I can't begin to understand the volumes of information your mind absorbs from simply reading a page of a newspaper." "Look, Verbeena, I know how I must sound but it wasn't a dream. It really happened and I don't need to be a psychiatrist to know that." He paused, then frowned. "I'm not a psychiatrist, am I?" Her eyes betrayed her surprise, but she said evenly, "No." Too late he realized what he'd said and what she must be thinking. He tried to get out of it by saying, "You see? I never would have said that if I hadn't gone through all those leaps and gotten my brain Swiss-cheesed." He wasn't sure if that helped or not, but it was too late now. Verbeena, a true professional, gave nothing away as she gathered up her breakfast items and said, "Just think about it. It's a possibility." She gave him a friend's smile and patted his hand. "Don't worry. I know it will all work out. I'll see you later." She put her tray by the quiet dishroom conveyer belt and left the cafeteria. He watched her, knowing she was seeing him through the distorted lenses of Major Randall's guard dog paranoia, and he was afraid he would never be able to convince her that he was right. And, as he sat alone in the silent room, he began to think and he hated that he was starting to doubt himself. Sam went back to his room and ran through some calculations before the usual start time of 8:00 a.m. A knock on his door at 7:37 roused him from his deep concentration. "Come in." Tina stepped into the room lightly. "Um, Sam, we're waiting. I told them you probably lost track of time." He glanced at his clock with a frown. "It's not 8:00 yet." "You called the meeting for 7:30." He had no idea what she was talking about but stood up. "Oh, yeah, I guess I forgot. I mean, lost track of time." He looked at his notes, then gestured for Tina to leave before him. Perhaps as she led the way he would recall the purpose of the meeting he had called so long ago -- yesterday. Tina walked through the doorway, but then she stepped aside with deference to let Sam go first. An awkward moment ensued as he tried not to go first, but she waited for him. Having no idea where he was going, he blew out a nervous sigh and headed down the hall. "So," he said, trying to sound casual as he fished for information, "is everyone there?" "Yeah." He had hoped for a more substantial answer. "All the programmers, and..." "Uh-huh." They were approaching a junction in the hall. Straight led to the cavern and the technical facilities. To the left were the offices and conference rooms. To the right was the auditorium. The cavern was not an option for a meeting, as half the staff wasn't allowed in there. He disliked the formality of the auditorium; he wouldn't call a meeting there. The only logical choice was to turn left. He took the left turn and breathed easier when Tina followed. Now came the choice of which conference room. First came the two four-person conference rooms. They were much too small and he could rule them out right away. Next was the 10-person meeting room nicknamed the "Bull Pen." It was the room of choice for brainstorming sessions. It would be too small for an "everyone" kind of meeting, which left the last room at the end of the hall that could seat 30 comfortably. It was the logical choice. He prayed logic was the answer. He slowed slightly as he went past the Bull Pen and listened for a similar slowdown in Tina's footfalls, but when he heard none he strode towards the large conference room. "...Um, Sam?" "Yeah?" "...Where are you going?" He stopped and saw Tina looking back at the Bull Pen door. "Oh, yeah, sorry." He went back and hoped he didn't look too confused. Another awkward moment developed as he was on the wrong side of the Bull Pen door to open it easily for Tina, but he reached across in front of her and managed to open it with only a small amount of fuss. She stepped inside, and he followed. "Everyone" was all the programmers plus Al and Verbeena -- and Major Randall sitting in the back. Tina sat by the door next to Al, and Sam stepped up to the chair waiting for him at the head of the table by the blackboard. A vague, unsettling memory stirred of standing in front of a blackboard before a group and having no idea what he was supposed to say; he couldn't remember the situation, but it ruffled his concentration. He sat and looked at the group. "Good morning." The others nodded and a few murmured greetings. "...Where do we begin?" No one spoke. "...Well, first of all, I'd like to say that...yesterday was tough, but we'll get through this. I mean, the program works, we just need to...prove it." He looked at them for some sort of reaction, but they did not respond. Sam cleared his throat. "Does anyone have anything they want to say before we begin?" The others looked at each other, then back at Sam. They seemed to be waiting for something. He could put this off no longer. It was time to plunge in. "Well, we need to make some major progress by the end of the month or we're going to be looking for other jobs. Let's go over again where the main problems are. Gooshie." Sam looked at the head programmer, who reacted with surprise. "Well?" "Ah, Dr. Beckett, I thought you were going to tell us." Sam wrestled with the fog in the middle of his memory. This was sounding familiar. That last meeting before he leaped. If only he could remember! "Yes, well, I didn't want to discount suggestions from anyone else. So. The Initializer. We need to rewrite the sequencing program." Gooshie began to take notes, and Sam felt a moment of relief. "I'd also like to see some power-saving modifications so even if we're down to 50 percent on the generator we can still communicate with the leaper. Voice-only should do." Gooshie continued to write, as did several of the other programmers. So far so good. "And the retrieval program. We've got to make it less context-dependant." Gooshie asked, "How do you mean?" "Well, I think we'll have a problem with the leaper's return being hampered if people in the time period know about him." A few puzzled looks were shared. "But," Gooshie said hesitantly, "the leaper is supposed to be hidden by the host. The people in the time period won't be aware of him being somebody else." "It's designed that way," Sam recovered quickly, "but we have to consider the possibility that, say, children or animals might be aware. People who live in a natural alpha state. It's possible these people might even be aware of the observer. If they're aware of what's going on, we might have problems retrieving the leaper. I mean, me." Gooshie nodded, and resumed his notetaking. Another small victory for Sam, and he began to relax. "I want you to work with Donna on the retrieval program. Make that your top priority today." Gooshie looked up with a frown. "Who?" "Dr. Alessi." Sam became aware of what he had said, and another piece of his memory dropped into place. He shuddered as if hit with pain. "Donna." She was supposed to be here -- or she had been -- or will be -- or -- oh, God, why was this happening? The realization that he had lost her again cut through him like a knife. He had to find her again. He had to leap tomorrow no matter what. He came back to himself and saw everyone staring at him. Verbeena said gently, "You all right, Sam?" He tried to shake it off, but his concentration was gone. "Ah, yeah, just remembering something. It's all right." He glanced up to gather his thoughts, but what composure he had was shattered by those laser eyes of John Randall. Sam could feel the guns coming to bear on him, following the gaze of those bird-dog eyes. He had to shake his head to break their spell. "Well, um, I think we have enough to work on today, let's meet again at 5:00 and see where we are." He gestured for them to go, but only after a few moments did the group respond slowly. Sam couldn't fool himself. This had been a disaster. He looked over at Al, who was gazing at him with sad concern. He looked at Verbeena, but she had already headed for the door and he couldn't see her face. A disaster. Why was it so much easier to convince strangers he was someone else than to be himself in front of his friends? He stood up and followed the programmers out the door, hoping a quiet, productive day in the lab would smooth things over.