Quantum Leap: P.O.W.
PROLOGUE
Home. That was such a beautiful word. How he longed each moment of every life he inhabited to someday be allowed to return home and enjoy the endless possibilities of freedom. Just four simple letters yet they contained the power to give Doctor Samuel Beckett the ability to press on. Home.
Except that deep in his soul he felt that it wasn't correct; something in time was not yet complete.
He relaxed as the bluish-white electrical light swelled from his pores and enveloped his being into the position of a new assignment, in a new body and time. Sam heard the distant voice whisper in his mind in its calm yet firm tones: "Put right what once went wrong."
Sounds were near his ears, voices shouting out sentences of profanity and utterly blank confusion. Deep voices, Sam concluded. Probably men's. He wondered if the anger were directed at him and if so, was there a means of escape if the current situation became hostile.
Sam's right bicep was struck with a shooting pain as some outside pressure suddenly clenched its flesh. A hand, he concluded, had a tight grip onto his arm considering he was able to distinctly feel five separate, smaller pressures all forming one incredibly firm squeeze. Fingers, Sam knew.
"I'll teach ya to talk back to me, maggot!" a gruff voice shouted in his ear, immediately followed by a sharp, hardened point being slammed into his spinal cord. The impact caused Sam to fall to the ground in his new body. When he hit, nothing he would have optioned for broke his fall.
Oh boy, where the hell am I? he wondered.
A faint smell of urine wafted up through Sam's nostrils as he sat hunched over on his knees with both hands digging into the semi-dried mud. Lush green bushes with leaves that probably would have been more acceptable in the Prehistoric era seemed to rise an eternity on either side of him. The immensely rich blue sky held dozens of large billowy clouds which gave off a feeling of sincerity, of peace and calm. Sam wanted to be there.
The voice muttered some kind of command and Sam shook. He was utterly terrified of this assignment already. Next to the unbelievable pain, the backache and his host's weariness plus the sweat drenching his one-piece black outfit, Sam wasn't too surprised to see he was handcuffed. Two heavy iron shackles clamped around each wrist and connected them with a short, thick, rusty chain. From the center of this shorter chain, another chain led forward and captivated another black-clothed prisoner standing about five feet ahead of Sam. The man had his back to Sam but Sam noticed his head hanging so low it looked like it might just fall off. He too was connected to more prisoners in front of him. All heads were down. Each one plus two armed soldiers (soldiers?) were no doubt impatient with Sam's unsuccessful performance.
"Are ya deaf, maggot? Get up!" the angry voice shouted above and behind him. A foot landed in his behind.
Sam sucked in a lungful of fresh air and eased himself up to a standing position. The second chain, the one connecting the prisoners, was yanked behind him and he nearly fell over backward. He would have, too, if it hadn't been for that hard object being pressed into his aching back to break the fall.
"The next word out of your mouth, maggot, is gonna be your last," the angry man said. Sam noted an accent he couldn't quite place. "Now get moving."
Doctor Samuel Beckett, quantum physicist and time traveler extraordinaire, allowed himself to be led by the other prisoners. Through gaps in the bushes, Sam could see mountains on the horizon, some spitting up centuries of volcanic ash. The blue skies grew steadily darker and Sam noticed they were walking into the setting sun. The fluffy clouds overhead gave off a brilliant orange radiance with touches of yellow, blue and half a dozen shades of red. The sight made him think of Al and wonder where in heaven's name he was, anyway.
As the sun sank deeper the feeling of returning home came back to him and he was suddenly aware of a most horrible thought: he was homesick. What if he never made it home? Would God or Fate or Time or Chance or Whoever was Leaping him around be cruel enough to keep him as a prisoner of history forever? He wished desperately for at least a little bit of his own life, such as his address or maybe even a favorite food.
The clouds overhead had now turned a dark grey with the sky outlined by their presence and still Sam and his "comrades" kept walking. The weight of the shackles steadily added to his physical pain and Sam found himself leaning over more and more with each step. He felt if he didn't get rest soon, he'd probably die.
As if in answer to his prayers, the horizon revealed some lights. Oh thank you, Sam smiled as he straightened up. His muscles screamed for a nice warm bed with a deep, soft pillow. Hell, he would have settled for a hammock by this time. Anything except what he was about to end up with.
Coming closer, he saw five small bamboo-made shacks, each with a lantern inside. Sam smiled even more when they were led into one of them.
His body scolded him for his happy thoughts when there wasn't even a sheet in view. Instead the prisoners (four in all, including Sam) were forced to stop while they were unshackled and checked in. I wonder if they'll call names, Sam hoped. No such luck.
Afterwards they were led down a short flight of stairs and introduced to their rooms; the whole escapade was overseen by their captors. Sam didn't dare make any kind of a sudden move. He just wanted rest.
Right now.
Sam nearly jumped for joy when a soldier motioned him into his room. His body wanted rest so bad he had to fight to restrain his legs from moving too fast. If he hadn't seen the other prisoners duck before entering their rooms he would have slammed his head into the concrete wall.
Sam couldn't have been any more disappointed when the iron bars slammed him home. The only light was the moonlight and looking up he saw he had no roof. Just bars. Hunching over, Sam observed the concrete cell to be no more than five feet tall and not nearly wide enough to stretch his screaming muscles without hitting the walls. And the cell was bone-dry of any type of bed.
"Oh, great," he concluded.
With his back screaming in agony and dripping in his own sweat from the heat/humidity of this wild jungle, he sat-squeezed into one of the corners. He pleaded with Sir Time over and over to please oh please be removed from this Leap. He didn't even want to find out what needed to be done and do it so he could Leap then.
He wanted out now.
Right now.
As his weary mind eventually drifted him off to sleep, he wondered where Al was and what the hell was taking him so long anyway.
CHAPTER ONE
A single, young, attractive woman glided over Al's vision. Big kazooms; no husband; no trouble. None whatsoever. She was his.
All his.
"Admiral," she spoke in culinary tones. Sexy, yet strangely familiar.
"Admiral," she spoke to him again.
No, he would not listen; didn't want to. It was the voice of trouble. Memories from past experiences told him so.
"Admiral!" The voice was growing impatient now, demanding his attention.
Albert Calavicci slowly opened his eyes in a dark place. For a few moments he feared he was still missing in action in Vietnam, locked in a cage like some kind of wild animal too small to stand up in and too narrow to spread his arms apart like a free bird without touching the cold, damp walls. His heart raced as he feared that the last thirty years may have only been a longing dream for freedom, a desperate plea to someday return to the arms of his one true love. The only thing in the entire world that had kept him alive and sane in that personal hell.
Beth was his sole reason for fighting to survive in Vietnam.
He was back in Vietnam, tortured and beaten by his captors for six eternal years, being forced to live on weevil-infested rice and rainwater. The fading images of his wife Beth called to him night after endless night, beckoning for him to come home.
"Admiral."
But he wasn't an admiral yet; only a lieutenant, crash-landing his A-4 after being shot down somewhere over the highlands of Vietnam. He was kept as a prisoner of this dreaded war for six years, tortured and…
"Admiral Calavicci!"
The sultry voice of Ziggy brought him back to reality. Good ol', faithful, sometimes annoying Ziggy.
As Al reached over and flipped on the night lamp, memories came flooding back into his consciousness. He was Albert Calavicci, two-star rear admiral for the United States Navy, assigned on a voluntary basis to receive funding for Project Quantum Leap. It wasn't easy, considering he'd have to book a flight back to Washington every year and occasionally more, but at least he had a lot of connections with a lot of important people.
Sam Beckett had discovered a great person in him.
Al wanted to return the favor.
Quantum Leap was Sam's dream, his brainchild. He wasn't able to receive any fundable support to make it a reality. Al saw his chance.
He had leaped at the opportunity.
Now, appearing to his friend in various situations in the past as a hologram, he steadily grew tired of seeing Sam fixing so many lives. It wasn't as though he were selfish, no. Sam's helped to change many, many lives for the better. Al just wanted Sam home. He wanted to shake his friend's hand, smile and say, "Well done, Sam." He longed for that day, pleaded with some unseen force that it would be in his lifetime. Surely Father Time had to relent to that someday.
As soon as he had regained full consciousness, Al glanced at the ceiling and asked Ziggy what the matter was.
"Dr. Beckett has leaped into a new assignment," was her reply.
"Oky doke," he said, running a hand across his sweaty face and getting to his feet.
"Admiral?" the ceiling asked.
"Ye-es?" Al responded, sliding his eyes upward.
"Dr. Beeks has requested a private meeting with you in her office."
Al suddenly felt like a schoolboy who has just gotten called to the principal's office. "Oh goody, there's good news," he responded with a little too much sarcasm in his voice. He walked over to his closet while glancing at the empty space in his bed where Tina had been less than an hour ago. Love Satisfier, Pulse Communications Technician, Ultimate Goddess. Was there anything she didn't do?
Al slid the closet open and saw a rainbow of colors. His outfits had a tendency to clash with the background of Sam's leaps. Red suspenders, blue slacks, yellow slacks, purple slacks, navy blue silk shirts inlaid with silver threading, silver jackets to name a few. There was even a pair of red silk pajamas for those "special nights." Then his eyes fell on his most prized suit, his own pride and joy.
A memory of Vietnam suddenly resurfaced: the physical pain of being beaten to a state of total numbness; the emotional agony of finally returning home to the woman who had called to him for so long only to discover she had gotten remarried. And to a nozzle lawyer!
Beth had had her husband declared dead and married a man named Dirk Simon.
He had only been a lieutenant then; any other rank above him was a horse's ass.
Al was an admiral now and yet he didn't quite feel like a horse's ass. Instead he felt sort of important. Though he didn't think any of his ex-wives would agree.
"Women," he said with a chuckle. Oh well.
Al stared at his favorite outfit, a bleached white Naval Officer's uniform with its array of medals and honors amidst a box of Crayolas.
"Admiral Calavicci, that's me," he added with a slight nod and decided that's what he should wear. After changing he headed off to the Control Room and his first holographic meeting with Sam.
Following his physical meeting with the Project's own principal.
He prayed this one would be faster.
