QUANTUM LEAP
Name of the Game
November 12th, 1982
November 9, 1982
Leaping through time and space, for Samuel Jonathan Beckett, was a lot like crawling through haystacks when he was a kid on the farm. There's darkness, and the feeling of things prickling your skin, and when you encountered the other side, a bright flash of light.
There was daylight when he emerged into another person's body, but this time there was something in front of his eyes. Something like a wrought-iron cage. There was something snugly fitting around his head. He saw another person's eyes on the other side of this cage, and they had a fiercely determined look in them. He was vaguely aware of somebody shouting something, repeating something about Omaha.
Am I in Nebraska? Sam thought, just as the voice finished with the words, "Set, HIKE!"
Suddenly, there was a flash of pain as the opposite man knocked him backwards onto the ground with his full weight crushing him.
Sam groaned and said through clenched teeth, "Oh, boy..."
The other man got up. Sam saw him wearing a football jersey and pads.
A football helmet. Sam thought. I'm in the body of a football player.
The other man extended a gloved hand to him. Sam took it, and he was hauled to his feet. "Sorry, Provoncha," the man said to Sam, "You looked like you zoned out for a second."
"I did," Sam said, covering and thinking quickly, "I'm just worried about the game."
"Hey, guy. We all are. The NFL scouts are coming. Best foot forward, yeah?"
"You got that right," Sam said as he stretched his aching spine. Apparently, it's college football I'm playing.
A shrill whistle sounded, and he heard an older man yell, "Okay, team! Hit the showers! You did good today!"
Sam struggled with his helmet clasp for a second, then figured it out and removed it. Sweat poured down his neck. He looked up at the bright sky, and the stadium he was surrounded by. There were a few people in the bleachers, but more people on the sidelines. Downfield, there were a bunch of cheerleaders in dark blue and gold, and they were chanting, "Let's Go Cal! Let's Go Bears!" while shaking pom-poms.
Sam looked around for the name of the stadium. He found it near the press box at the top of one set of bleachers. "Memorial Stadium." He couldn't place it, but remembered Cal was short for California State University in Berkeley, near San Francisco.
Somebody in a polo shirt handed him a water bottle. He took a big swig, then squoze a bit of it over his head so he could cool off. The cheerleaders broke up and headed in different directions. A particularly attractive redhead walked toward him. She said, "Hi, Mikey! How do you feel?"
Sam briefly floundered for a macho comeback, then settled on, "Unstoppable. Like I'm made out of steel."
"That's what I like to hear." She smiled coyly. "Let's get you back to your place so you can get ready."
Ah, the girlfriend, Sam thought. Mike has excellent taste, apparently. He was glad she would guide him to wherever Mike lives, but he thought he should head off whatever romantic plans she might have at the pass. "No monkey business tonight. Game coming up, remember." The thought of sexual activity while in another man's body never did sit well with him.
"I understand. Don't screw with a streak." She wiggled her eyebrows up and down, implying a double entendre. "But after we win the big bowl game, you and I are going to throw down, you dig?"
Sam smiled. "Understood."
"Something wrong?" she asked, frowning, "You don't seem like yourself."
You have no idea how right you are, Sam thought.
"Just a nasty tackle. A bit rattled," he said.
She brushed the matted hair out of his eyes. "Oh, poor baby."
:-:
In the locker room(technically speaking, since there were no closed lockers, just assigned, open spaces. He silently thanked God[or Whoever was leaping him from body to body] for not having to deal with a combination lock), Sam pulled off his pads and undergarments, threw them at the space marked Michael Provoncha, and headed for the shower. Another young man in a polo shirt threw him a towel.
On the way to the steam-laden end of the room, there was a mirror. Sam stood in front of it, and saw a twenty-something blonde man look back at him, all muscle. The image mirrored Sam's movements, something he always found creepy. Like somebody walking over your grave, Sam thought, suppressing a shudder. He marveled at how long it had been since he looked into a mirror and saw his own reflection. He wondered if he would even recognize himself.
:-:
As he got dressed and walked outside, the redhead met him, and they walked. Presumably to his place, he hoped.
A man wolf-whistled and yelled, "Jenny! Looking good, mama!"
The redhead looked at him sternly and said, "Mike's standing right here, Carl! Don't say anything he'll make you regret!"
Jennifer, Sam thought. That's the girl's name. Good to know.
As they got to his door at the dorms, she kissed him and said, "Get something good to eat. See you later?"
Sam nodded, not knowing what she was talking about, then entered the dorm and sat down on the bed. The place was a mess.
A clunk and a swoosh heralded the entrance of the cranky and craggy visage of his time travel science experiment partner Al Calavicci, in holographic form, hailing from the future. "Sam! What a story I have for you!"
"Let me guess, Al. I'm Mike Provoncha, a football player at Cal State Berkeley, got a girlfriend named Jennifer, and there's an important game coming up."
Al slapped his hand-held interface into submission, and it squawked as the invisible door slammed shut. "Well, hell, Sam, what do you need me for?"
"Just tell me what I'm doing here. I'm not the quarterback again, am I?"
A puff of holographic smoke from Al's cigar made Sam glad(once again) that he couldn't inhale it. Al tapped at the box. "Nope, you're just a simple cornerback this time. You're on the defense. Today is November 8th, and your important game is on the 12th.
"Why am I here?"
Another squawk. "You're here for the Bears' star wide receiver. He's under some pressure to perform for the scouts, and he's screwing up his chance."
Sam frowned. "And how's he doing that?"
"By screwing himself up."
Sam stood up and looked at his friend. "What?"
"Steroids, Sam. He needs to be off them during the next game, or he'll never be off them. Not only does he need to make his big moment clean, Ziggy posits a 92% chance he'll be killed in a road rage incident next month if he doesn't stop using them."
As a medical doctor as well as a physicist, Sam knew about the dangers of steroid use, and why athletes indulged in them. Make yourself stronger, make yourself perform better. It was a shortcut to a dream come true, but altering body chemistry carried numerous and substantial health risks.
Al continued, " But if he does get off them, he'll have a great NFL career, and eventually he'll be elected to the Senate."
"What's this guy's name?"
"Will... William..." Another slap and another bleep. "Willard Burtenshaw. Black hair, five foot nine and 170 pounds. He's a bit of a wallflower."
:-:
November 10, 1982
The next day, Sam walked into the weight room and looked for somebody who fit Willard's description.
There were several players at various machines and barbell sets, just pumping away. Grunts could be heard, red faces could be seen, all under the strain of gravity vs. heavy iron.
Sam walked over to the hand weights and started doing some curls at what was nicknamed "the preacher podium" that made sure you used your elbows and not your shoulders. He was twelve reps in when a man walked in who looked like Willard.
A player at the bench press looked up and yelled, "Will! Gimme a spot!"
That's our boy, Sam thought.
Will walked past Sam, and Sam could hear the tinkling of glass items touching each other in the right pocket of his sweatpants.
And there's the contraband. Now how do I make it look like I discovered it?
Sam put his weights down and then laid back at the full-horizontal bench press next to Will and the other player. It was already loaded with big weights on the long barbell. He worried that he might not be able to lift it, but if not, that would actually fit nicely with his plan.
He hefted the barbell, then let it sink to his chest rapidly. "Will!" he called, "Help!"
Will ran over, grabbed the barbell, and put it back on the rack.
Sam heaved a fake sigh of relief and let his hands fall from the handle, grazing Will's pockets on the way down. He got poked by something sharp.
"Ow!" Sam bolted upright and turned around, facing Will. "What did you just stab me with? What's in your pocket?"
"Sssshhh!" Will hissed as everybody turned to look at them. He pulled Sam into the corner by the currently unused lunge machine. He spoke in a whisper. "Sorry. I didn't close my pocket knife all the way shut."
"That's not a knife," Sam said, "You've got a needle in there." He grabbed Will by the arm and looked at the inside of his forearm. "You'd better not be jeopardizing our championship by shooting heroin!"
"No!" Will protested, "I would never do that!" He held up both forearms. "See? No track marks!" He put his arms down, then reached into his pocket. "What I'm doing is actually helping the team." He turned into the corner's shadows and showed Sam a vial of anabolic steroids.
"Steroids?" Sam said, hoping he was acting with appropriate shock, "These are illegal."
"Nobody has arrested me yet."
"You think it's not a crime unless you get caught?"
"Nobody's getting hurt."
"There are such things as victimless crimes."
"Oh, so you're a lawyer, now, Mikey?" Will held out his hands, wrists together. "Are you gonna slap the cuffs on me, copper?"
"Are you aware of the health risks?"
"We've got a big game coming up! The NFL scouts are coming! We need to impress them, big time!"
"You don't care about consequences?"
"The only one I care about is not getting picked on Draft Day!"
"Will, you're crazy talented!" Sam said, essentially trusting what Al told him, "You don't need them! You'll do great without them!"
"I'm still trying to psych myself out of my fear of needles. I might have somebody else do it, but since they're illegal, you're the only one who knows about it, and I'd appreciate it if it stayed that way."
Sam watched him stalk off.
There has to be some way of talking sense into him, he thought.
:-:
After the workout, Sam went to the office suite of the dean of Cal Berkeley's school of medicine. The secretary greeted him with the reverence of college sports pride and asked, "What can I do for one of our football program's finest?"
"Let's say I know somebody who is contemplating using steroids. Purely conjectural. Would you have any literature or video that might show the negative consequences?"
"Video? You mean like a filmstrip?"
Gotta keep reminding myself I'm in the early '80s, Sam thought, mentally kicking himself.
"Yeah, something like that."
She looked at him skeptically over her glasses and spoke flatly. "Steroids are illegal. What kind of friend are we talking about?"
She must be referring to what the police refer to as the "mysterious dude defense," meaning am I really asking for myself?
"Purely conjectural," he repeated.
She walked from behind the desk and across the room to their exclusive library. "Okay, for your purely conjectural friend, we have illustrated books, a film series..."
"What if he has questions?" Sam asked.
She turned back around and faced him. "Would you like to talk to one of our students or instructors? How about somebody who is actually suffering the consequences?"
Sam stopped short. "Can you do that?"
"With us being a primarily scientific college, I'm sure something can be arranged."
:-:
At 6:30, Jennifer showed up in an emerald green strapless dress and saw Sam in a black T-shirt and jeans. She frowned at him and said, "I told you this was a formal dance! Get into your tuxedo now!"
Sam rooted around in Mike's closet and found, all the way to the left, a black tuxedo with an emerald green bow tie and cummerbund. The white shirt looked ridiculous with the green ruffles accompanying the buttons, but he put it on and they both hurried across campus at about ten to seven.
As they arrived in the ballroom, the disc jockey was playing "Cars" by Gary Numan. Definitely in the early '80s, Sam thought. He saw the oversized bear costume of the team mascot in the center of the dance floor making a scene of himself with outrageous dance moves.
As they made their way to the table with Jennifer looking for the placeholders of their assigned seating, Sam craned his neck around, looking for Willard.
"Here we are," Jennifer said, then noticed Sam wasn't looking at her. "Who are you looking for?"
"I'm looking for Will," Sam said, "Do you know if he's here tonight?"
"From what I've heard, he wasn't able to find a date. If he is coming, he's probably stag. But look! He's on the table next to ours. He has a plus one next to him if he does find a date, but there's no name on it."
The emcee called everyone to their tables and announced that the first course was ready to serve. Various speeches were made from the sports program's sponsors, and Sam's mind wandered toward his mission in this time period. He hoped that Willard wasn't experimenting with his steroids while he wasn't here at the function.
Movement at the table next to him brought Sam out of his reverie. It was Willard, and he apparently managed to find a date. She wasn't the best-looking girl in the room with her short stature and large, coke-bottle glasses. Her dress looked like it was rented from the dress store after all of the flattering dresses were gone.
Jennifer leaned over. "Looks like Will's here. He's with a girl from the phlebotomy program. She lives a few doors down from me in the dorms."
Phlebotomy program. Sam thought. Just great. She knows her way around needles. I'd better move up my timetable before he convinces her to inject him.
Dinner ended quickly for Sam because his mind was elsewhere, and the speeches were finally done. The band started up with a few swing standards. Jennifer grabbed his hand and led him reluctantly to the dance floor. Sam wanted to keep an eye on Willard, but was basically dragged there.
"Come on, Mikey!" Jennifer urged, smiling widely. "Dance!" She grabbed his hands and moved them. "Spin me!"
Because of how great she looked in that dress, maybe even all the cloying body heat in the room, the seven-course meal, and the sea of moving bodies she pulled him into, Sam got caught up in the moment and lost his focus on the mission by dancing the night away.
:-:
November 11
Sam knocked on Willard's door the next morning, standing next to a gaunt, bald man.
Will answered and said, "What's this, Mikey? Who's your friend?"
"He's not my friend. Well, not exactly, anyway. I brought him here to tell you something. Please listen to what he has to say."
Will ushered them inside and they sat down on the sofa and chair. Sam said, "This is Fred. I sought him out to show you what the side effects of using steroids are."
Will stood up abruptly. "If you're here to change my mind-"
Sam spoke sharply. "Will, this is serious. You don't know what you're getting yourself into. You're so caught up in the positive aspects of steroid use, you're ignoring the negative ones. Please, just listen to him. It will only take a few minutes."
Will crossed his arms and remained standing.
Sam looked at the other man. "Go ahead, Fred."
Fred looked uncomfortable, but he fought his inner demons and started speaking. "One of the main side effects is increased aggression. I started taking them to help with a career in baseball. After a while of regular use, I started fighting with my wife. The slightest thing would set me off."
"I don't believe that," Will said.
"I didn't either," Fred replied, "but there are some things you're forced to learn the hard way." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "We were trying to have a baby at the time, but we weren't getting pregnant. I learned that was also a side effect, but I didn't find out until much later. This only contributed to my aggressive behavior, and we eventually divorced." A tear fell from his eye.
Will walked to the back of his chair. "I'll watch my moods."
Sam waved a hand invitingly. "There's more."
Fred continued. "I lost my hair, got some really ugly acne, and I eventually had a heart attack. All of this is from the steroids." He looked nervously at Sam.
Sam said, in a soothing voice, "It's OK, Fred. Go ahead and show him."
Fred paused for a just a second, collecting himself, then unbuttoned his shirt.
Will stared in shock at what was underneath. "Is that what I think it is?"
Fred shed another tear. "It's for men, but yes, it's a bra. Because of the steroids, I literally developed a pair of-"
"WHAT?!" Will walked back around his chair and sat down. "That's seriously even possible?!" Fred buttoned his shirt back up as Will continued. "I'm risking all of this... just because I want to be better at football?"
Sam looked at Will. "All this and more. Fred just barely escaped needing kidney dialysis. He quit steroids just in time."
Willard fingered the glass vials in his pocket, making a clinking sound.
Sam said, "Do you want me to get rid of those for you?
"No, I'll do it," Will said, staring into the middle distance between him and Sam's chest.
"Okay," Sam conceded, "but I'm trusting you to do it. Don't disappoint me."
:-:
November 12
Finally, the day of the big game, thought Sam as he entered the weight room.
Will walked by, and Sam could still hear the clinking of the glass vials in his pocket as a familiar clunk sounded in his mind, preceding the arrival of Al. Sam grabbed Will's arm and said in a warning tone of voice, "I thought you were getting rid of those. Sounds like you haven't."
Will took a long look at the hand encircling his arm as if he were contemplating breaking it off at the wrist. "You have a free pass for today, Michael," adding particular emphasis to Mikey's full name, "but if I don't make it to the draft after this game, I WILL kill you."
Sam released his arm as he stared at him in shock.
Will then stalked off, keeping a level gaze locked with Sam's eyes for long moment.
Al consulted his readout as he appeared next to Sam. "He's not kidding, Sam. If you lose the game today, he will murder Mike Provoncha with an overdose of that human growth hormone in his pocket, then he will start using it himself until his untimely death." He looked up at Sam. "You seriously didn't take it from him? I would have done something smarter."
"Don't hold back, Al. Give it to me straight," Sam said with a humorless grin.
Al ignored him by giving his device a dial tweak, then said, "Ziggy says you will win today, barring any screwups on Will's or your part."
"How will it go down?"
Al typed on the device, then slapped it, resulting in an electronic squawk. "Gooshie won't tell me. He wants it to happen as naturally as possible, without you awkwardly trying to engineer it, but he says it will be one the fans will be talking about for months."
:-:
On just about all the radios in the Bay Area, the color announcers were broadcasting, "If you're just joining us, it's the final minutes of the fourth quarter here at Cal Berkeley Memorial Stadium. The score between the Golden Bears and the Stanford Cardinal is tied at 28. Star wide receiver Willard Burtenshaw made three touchdowns today, and the fans have been going crazy! We seem to be on the verge of seeing yet another spectacular catch as the home team's line of scrimmage is at the 47 yard line on the second down. If Cal wins this game, it could mean a bowl game for Berkeley at the end of the season."
On the field, Sam watched from the sidelines as the ball was snapped. Will ran down the field in a zigzag pattern, then turned around at the 5 yard line, with a member of the opposite team following him. The quarterback faked a throw to his right, then threw straight to Will.
In Will's view, time seemed to slow down as he focused on the ball. He marveled at the nice, tight spiral as it arced straight for him. He raised his arms, and the ball sailed straight into them. Just at the last second, he noticed the gloves on those hands. They were red, not dark blue and gold.
"HOLY COW! IT'S AN INTERCEPTION!" came the shout over the broadcast.
Will tackled the interceptor and brought him down at the 1-yard line.
"Defense, MOVE OUT!" came the call from one of the coaches.
As Sam put on his helmet and moved onto the field, holographic Al beside him, he caught Will's eyes. A glare of daggers, followed by two fingers pointing at his own eyes, then rotated to point at Sam's. A wordless reminder of a murderous promise.
Al broke the moment by saying, "Sam, this game does not need to go into overtime. I promise you, Cal will lose the game, followed by Mike's death."
"Yeah, no pressure," Sam replied dryly.
He got to the 1-yard line and bent down in front of his opponent, a very large lineman. Sam stole a look at the clock and saw that just over one minute was left in the game.
The lineman snarled at him and said, "Yer goin' DOWN, Bear!"
The ball was snapped, and Sam tried to move past the guy, but it was like pushing a statue. One motion from the lineman, and Sam was deposited on his backside.
The play ended, and as Sam stood up, Al said, "Nice job by the defense, Sam. They stopped the quarterback from pushing through. Message from Ziggy. They will punt on the fourth down. If that happens, Cal will definitely lose the game."
The next play was sounded by the quarterback, and Sam felt himself on the ground again.
The quarterback threw the ball right through Al's holographic head. He looked up from his handheld in indignation and yelled, "I'm tryin' to work here!"
As Sam got up again, Al continued. "I saw the play, Sam. The long bomb was incomplete." He put a hand over his eyes, shielding them from the sunlight as he looked downfield. "Something needs to happen on this very play, or I can't guarantee your safety!"
Both men then sharply looked at each other and simultaneously shouted, "SAFETY!"
Al typed on his device and said, "If a defensive lineman tackles the quarterback in the end zone, it's three points!"
Sam looked down at what part of the end zone he could see at his feet, then looked at his immovable opponent getting back into position. Then Sam heard the cheerleaders chanting, "HOLD THAT LINE! HOLD THAT LINE!"
Sam then remembered snippets of the night of the dance. A beautiful face, a luminous smile under bright red hair, giggling the words, "Dance! Spin me!"
Sam then looked at Al and said, "I got an idea."
"It better be a good one," came the reply.
Sam hunkered down next to his opponent again. The quarterback's call was made. "Down! Set, HIKE!"
The ball was snapped, and time slowed down in Sam's vision as he focused.
The lineman straightened and leaned forward.
Sam feinted to his right.
His opponent followed.
Sam then spun clockwise as the guy came past.
When Sam completed his turn, there was a huge opening in front of him, and the lineman hit the ground to his right.
The quarterback was running straight into Sam's path.
Sam ran and brought him down in the end zone with all of his weight.
Time snapped back to normal speed, and the crowd burst to their feet, erupting in cheers. Ten seconds were left on the clock as the referee announced a completed safety.
The team burst onto the field and ran toward Sam as the scoreboard showed VISITOR 28 and HOME 31. As they hoisted him onto their shoulders, the gun sounded, signaling the end of the game.
Sam craned his neck from his supine position, looking for Will. Jennifer cam into his vision, throwing her pom-poms down and jumping up and down. Will stepped next to her, smiling brightly. He gave Sam a thumbs-up.
As the team threw him up and down on their shoulders, Al shouted over the cheers. "You did it, Sam! Will is going to be recruited by the Denver Broncos! After a great career, he'll run for Senate and draft legislation important to the future we have seen! Mikey and Jennifer get married and have six kids! All redheads! Mikey will graduate with honors..."
What Al had to say next faded out as a bright light appeared, and Sam leapt yet again.
:-:
More skin prickling as Sam leapt through time and space. The light faded, and Sam found himself in a dark room. Faint twilight filtered through a window, and the television was on. Sam found the remote control next to him on the seat and accidentally hit a button. A menu came up on the screen and said, "Star Trek: Enterprise, Season 1, Episode 20: 'Detained'"
He saw a red button marked POWER and pressed it. It apparently didn't switch off the TV, as some sort of standby screen appeared. He didn't see another remote, so he got up and unplugged the TV.
Jazz music wafted through the window, and Sam got up to close it. He saw a bunch of people dancing down the street, all dressed in black and carrying open umbrellas when it wasn't raining. Is that a Second Line funeral procession? I must be in New Orleans.
Sam closed the curtains and looked at the clock. 9:00pm. He wondered if anything needed his attention, but this body he leapt into felt tired. Sam glanced toward the heavens and softly said, "Thank you."
He walked toward the bed and sat down. On the pillow was a book, titled Tom Clancy's Netforce with a bookmark halfway through. He placed it on the nightstand, then got under the covers and promptly fell asleep.
A swoosh and a clunk awakened him. Sam glanced at the clock and saw he'd been asleep for only three hours. Al excitedly yelled, "Sam! Sam! You won't believe this!"
"I knew simply getting some sleep was too good to be true, Al. It seems to always be the case with this job. What do you have for me? Whose body am I in now?"
Al said, "Walk to the mirror!"
"Slow down, Al. What's got you so excited?"
"Look in the mirror!"
Sam found a lightswitch and turned it on. He saw a large mirror three feet away and walked toward it.
What he saw stunned him. At first, he thought it was a mirage or some other illusion, but he actually recognized what he saw. It was his own reflection looking back at him, minus the gray skunk stripe on the side. He touched his face with his hand. "Al! Am I back in my own body? Is it all over?!"
"Sorry, Sam. You're in the body of NCIS Special Agent Dwayne Cassius Pride, and the year is 2014. You've leapt into the future!"
"And this Navy agent looks exactly like me?"
"I tried to explain the whole leaping thing to him like I do with everybody else who leaps into your body. When I showed him a mirror, he said it was his own reflection! He's proof of the theory that there are at least eight people in the world who could be your doppelganger!" Al stopped when he saw that Sam was staring at a newspaper article taped to the mirror. "What are you looking at?"
"Here's further proof, Al. Look at this."
Al moved in closer and read the headline: Navy Federal Investigator Seeks Patriarch of New Orleans Crime Family. He looked at the black-and-white picture and saw that this crime boss looked exactly like Al.
They both looked at each other and simultaneously said, "Oh, boy."
And off in the distance, at exactly the stroke of midnight, a brief flash of light preceded the boom of a sizable explosion...