Homeward Bound
This dream was sweet. He was flying at nearly mach 3, soaring through the air faster than the speed of sound … watching the clouds pass by like the kind of cotton candy he got when he lived at the circus. Swerving his plane, he dodged through the white puffs with a yelp through his facemask.
It was freeing … invigorating.
Al, despite a sharp nudge in the rib cage, was hesitant to wake until the poking became more persistent. With one eye, he noted Beth leaning over him.
Her voice trembled with emotion; she'd never sounded so excited and terrified in her life.
"Al, they found him!"
Suddenly his eyes shot open with a flash and he sat up in bed, staring into the darkness. He didn't need to ask who "him" was or what they'd actually located; it was evident in everything and everyway she said those words. Beth meant they'd discovered the whereabouts of Dr. Sam Beckett. After ten long years of waiting, hoping and praying, this was it. Finally!
Springing to his feet, he wrapped his robe around him, kissed his wife with a frantic goodbye, and ran to his car. It never really mattered what he was wearing, or not wearing … especially not now. They'd found him; his friend for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime had a real shot at coming home.
The admiral made a beeline to his red convertible, the one his wife begged him not to buy, looked in the mirror and decided he had no one to impress. After all, Sam had seen him wearing more robes than a geisha girl at a teahouse full of tourists.
"Hello, Admiral Calavicci," said the seductive voice of Ziggy as he sped down the New Mexico highway.
"Ziggy, you got a lock on Sam!"
"Of course. There's not need to raise your voice to me," she said, temperamentally. "You know it makes me nervous."
Al smirked. It was times like these that he regretted Sam programming the good-for-nothing mega computer with a personality. She – Ziggy was definitely female – was a real pain in the keister, spewing her brand of logic with the same bad manners he imagined one of the Gabor sisters had. But, unlike the Gabor sisters, Ziggy wasn't sexy, she … it … was a pile of wires, cable connections and electronic parts. Nothing attractive about that – at least not to the admiral. What Sam thought was a different story … he loved that kinda stuff.
"Sorry. You know how much I've been looking forward to this," Al said, cooing to it like he would a woman.
Gooshie broke though the line, "Al, you've gotta get here quick! The connection is only good for another ten minutes!"
"Ziggy, how much time do I have!" Al said, his hands gripping the steering wheel.
"You're yelling again, Admiral," she said as if pouting.
He sighed and then conjuring up the most soothing, melodic notes he could settle on, he asked again. "I'm sorry. How many minutes?"
"At your current rate of speed, you'll be here in another 11.5 minutes," she said.
Al's foot smashed on the accelerator, zooming past the 100 mph speed limit he'd set for himself (since the last traffic ticket) and pushing his car near the fastest he'd ever driven – 110, 115 ….
"Careful, Admiral. There's a speed trap up ahead," Ziggy said.
Swallowing hard, he zipped through, surprised not to see red and blue lights in his rear view mirror.
"You've got 8 minutes!" Gooshie yelled.
"You'll be here in 7.23 minutes," Ziggy said. "Now it's 7.20 …."
Bracing himself, his right foot touched the floor as he realized he was traveling at easily 150 mph. Whining, his engine struggled against the speed its owner insisted on and finally zoomed into the parking structure with a chug and a clunk. Parking haphazardly the car moaned, sputtered and then gave up. He leapt from his vehicle, ran into the facility, past the guards (who were used to this entry) and into the main area – one room away from the imagining chamber.
"What took you so long?" Ziggy asked.
Gooshie ran over and put the handheld into Al's grip. "He's English …."
"The imaging chamber? You mean, there's someone in there?" Al asked. After ten years of being completely vacant, the admiral was floored by the answer.
"Yes."
It'd been empty for so long they'd stopped ventilating it – to save money and ensure the project stayed around long enough for them to find Sam trapped in time. Since the bizarre circumstances ten years ago when his body and spirit were sucked out of the imagining chamber, and Al finally found him in a tiny town in Pennsylvania, the entire staff had done everything within their means to ensure the program ran so that Sam could make it home.
But, hell – ten years was a long time and the government sure as hell didn't make it easy. Reducing the grant money to a mere pittance, some of the staff (for economic reasons) had to leave the project. Reputations, mostly Al's, were nearly shot; the admiral was afforded fewer and fewer privileges, even with his command experience and background. Gooshie was laughed out of the scientific community, which was a small consolation to his relationship with Tina. And luckily, Beth had stood behind her husband; their marriage and family life were the only support, other than the immediate team, he got.
The rest? Bupkus.
Al had no regrets; Sam would've done the same for him.
Synching the belt on his robe tight, he forced his fingertips against the blinking lights of his handheld and stepped into the imaging chamber. The man inside stunned Al – he looked a hell of a lot like Sam: same skunk stripe at the forehead, same eyes, same cleft in the chin. The only difference, maybe, is that the guy in front of him looked older.
About ten years older, he thought. That spooked him.
"My name is Al Calavicci," Al said.
The man, stunned stared around the room and it was only a matter of time before the four or five questions that everyone always asked came out of his mouth. Al knew the drill by heart, but after ten years decided to implement some changes. If they were going to get a lock on Sam, they needed every piece of information they could get. Al would worry about the repercussions later.
"You're in New Mexico – in the future. I know you don't understand that, but … it's an experiment. The project is called Quantum Leap."
"Quantum?" the man asked. "I teach Quantum Physics at …."
Al could tell he didn't remember.
"It's okay, just relax – it'll come to you. Time traveling has a way of Swiss-cheesing people's memories."
"Swiss cheese?" he asked.
"Full of holes."
"Why am I here?" the man asked.
"That's what I'm hear to find out." Giving his handheld a thwack, he asked a question to the room. "Gooshie, you found him yet?"
The handheld blinked and squawked, indicating they were close.
"Almost, Admiral! We only have one minute …!"
-------
Sam stared into space. It was difficult to tell where he was or what he was doing. He couldn't even tell how he got here or why. For that matter, he couldn't even determine who he was. Looking around the room he could tell it was a posh flat.
"Posh?" he asked himself. That didn't sound like him – whoever him was.
Curled up in feather bed, he lay under mounds of covers. Glancing under the covers he drew a sigh of relief; he was wearing a pair of blue pajamas with red piping down the legs – the kind he remembered seeing in Rock Hudson movies.
Rock Hudson. Funny I remember that name and not my own.
Turning his head slightly, he heard the water in the bathroom shut off. A woman, a very attractive brunette in her early twenties, sauntered out in a silky pink nightgown. She looked familiar to him, as if he'd seen her before, but couldn't quite place where or when. For a moment, Sam felt his face slope up and then something guilty crossed his mind like this wasn't right or wasn't meant to be.
"I hope you didn't mind waiting," she said in a light English accent.
"Uhm, no … no." His voice trembled.
Slipping under the covers, she said words that were supposed to be comforting. "I'm glad you canceled class."
So I'm a teacher!
Her hand traveled across his chest and began unbuttoning his top. Deciding he could try and hold her off a little, he began a conversation, buttoning everything she'd managed to unbutton.
"You know, maybe … maybe … maybe we should just talk for a second," he said, stammering.
Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I know this is our first, but …."
Oh, boy.
"No, you look great and …," on hearing she looked great, she let her fingers roam along his chest hair. His voice cracked as he explained, "It's just …."
"You think you're too old?"
He took advantage of it. "Well …."
"You're only forty-three. That's hardly old."
Forty-three?
"Then it's because I'm a student?"
"You're my student?" he asked, more to himself than anyone.
Although she wrinkled her nose at him, she seemed determined, as if maybe he was teasing her.
"I'm more than your student, I'm your assistant."
"Of course you are."
"But, I think you have a lot to teach me right now," she said.
Without warning, her lips found his and she began to slip out of her nightgown, despite his protestations.
"Listen," he whispered, holding her hands. "It's just … it doesn't seem right."
"Samuel," she began.
Samuel … that sounds familiar. Is that my name?
"I know you're nervous about presenting your paper tomorrow on quantum physics, but … I think today we should just focus on us."
"My paper?"
"Yes, on time travel. Are you feeling okay?"
"I think … I might be a bit under the weather." Too many things seemed familiar … he had a feeling he was a scientist who knew something about quantum physics. To test his brain, he reeled through what he knew to be the basics when he was at MIT.
MIT?
As his lips whipped out a few theorems, the girl found herself riveted.
"I've always been impressed by you and your knowledge. Some day, I'd like to travel through time," she whispered.
The words "wouldn't everyone" almost came to his lips, but he realized it'd be a lie. He had nothing to base it off of other than a feeling, a prickling one that ran across his neck – something that told him no one would want that.
"Samuel," she whispered. "It is the symposium, isn't it?"
Leaning into him, she smoothed his hair as she must've done a thousand times before, but this time felt new. More than her fingers on his chest, this felt comfortable and a lopsided grin wormed across his face.
"Your faithful teaching assistant Alia won't let you down," she whispered, spreading kisses across his forehead.
"Alia?"
"What?" she asked.
Her name is Alia.
The name rang a bell. Her name, her face … she seemed very familiar. As she crawled across his lap and kissed his lips, he noticed even that felt familiar. Well, why shouldn't it; he'd probably kissed her a million times. But, if that were true – why did it, paradoxically, feel so new?
"I won't do anything if you tell me to stop," she said, seductively.
"What?" he whispered.
"I know how you feel. I won't do anything you don't want me to."
Goose bumps sprang up on his skin and his brain raced at exactly how to extract himself from this situation. And yet, for some reason, his mind kept telling him not to panic or distress her -- Alia. Baffled, he tried to work through it: she felt familiar and kissing her felt good, but a small part of him wondered if it was the right thing to do.
"Samuel, make love to me," she whispered. "We've wanted each other for a while. Meeting you here was your idea. We can worry about the symposium later."
-----
"It's too late," Gooshie said through the speaker over head. "The connection is broken."
Al wasn't ready to give up, but sighed anyway. "I can't believe we got so close."
One more thing bothered the admiral, the man in front of him was still there. Something … or someone … Him … wanted them to find Sam this time.
"What's your name?" Al asked the professor.
"Samuel …. That's odd. I know it's Samuel, but I can't remember what my last name is."
"What year is it?" Al asked.
Samuel stared into space and finally, smiled. "It's 1976."
Bingo!
Al was beginning to form a picture. From his years in the military, the admiral knew a few things about scientific programs at colleges. There was only one college in England, in the 70s that would've hired someone with a specialty in quantum physics.
"You're from Oxford, aren't you?" Al asked.
The man produced a strange smile. "Yes. I teach at Oxford."
Al nodded. "Sit tight. I'll be right back."
Exiting the imaging chamber, he grinned at Gooshie. "Ziggy, find me a Samuel at Oxford in around 1976. Professor of Physics."
"Is that an order, Admiral?" the machine asked.
Al rolled his eyes, deciding not to answer.
Tina flitted in wearing a purple, glitter cocktail dress. Al couldn't help looking at her legs, despite being happily married as Gooshie smiled at his girlfriend.
"What took you so long, Tina?"
"I was at a party," she said. The shrill voice and strong New Jersey accent hung in the air.
Al looked at his watch: 3:00 a.m. At least the woman knew how to have a good time, and although being a family man, somehow he always admired those who did.
"Anything, Ziggy?" he asked.
"I found something. There are three Samuels who teach in the physics department. Samuel Westing, Samuel Johnson and Samuel Bracket."
Al stared up at the sphere above his head – Ziggy – and frowned. Samuel Bracket?
Something in his gut told him that was the one. Heading back into the imaging chamber, he delivered the question almost as if it were a statement.
"Your name is Samuel Bracket."
"Yes," the man said. "How did you know?"
This is getting weird!
"Do you ring my assistant: Al?"
Holy smokes!
----
The woman in front of him was an onslaught of lips. Her hands had managed to wind in his hair and she'd cajoled his pajama top from him. As he felt her hands skim his stomach, something forced him to grab her hand.
"You're right. It's the symposium," Sam chortled.
"You seem like you don't have a problem," she said. She smiled seductively.
He jumped out of bed and worked his fingers over the button of his pajamas, buttoning his top. Instead of worrying about upsetting her, he decided to tell her the truth.
"Alia, I can't remember what my paper is about."
Sticking out her lower lip, she shook her head. "You're teasing me."
"I'm telling you, I can't remember my presentation, the paper … anything."
"You've practiced your presentation twice last night."
"I can't even remember practicing."
With a little more panic, she continued. "You just gave your presentation last week to graduate students. Samuel, what's going on?" she asked.
"I don't know."
"If you're saying you don't want to go to bed with me, I think you could make a better excuse. Pulling up the straps to her negligee, her lips drew into a frown.
Sam worked his eyes to the ceiling and hoped … prayed … the information would come to him. Quickly.
"There is something wrong, isn't there?"
His voice was hoarse. "I'm telling you the truth. I can't remember much of anything."
"What can you remember?" she asked.
He sighed. "I remember I went to MIT."
"You never went to MIT."
"There's more – I think my name is Sam," he said. The words sprang into the air as it was a revelation.
"You've never gone by Sam."
He shrugged. She narrowed her eyes – somewhere in between fear and suspicion.
"Are you pulling one over on me?" she asked.
"No."
"Well, you're frightening me. I wish you'd stop it, Samuel."
"You … you haven't noticed anything different about me?" he asked.
"Of course not. Other than you luring me here, canceling your class and then getting cold feet."
There was a knock on the door and Alia got out of the bed, wrapped a robe around her and opened it. Champagne and fruit was delivered by the a man in what looked like a bellhop uniform.
"Mr. Bracket, you wanted me bring it about now?"
"Uhm, yeah. I guess." He furrowed his brow.
The woman shook her head and wagged her finger. "You almost got me."
He gave a lopsided smile. As he crossed over to accept and sign for the bill, he passed a mirror and stared into it. What was odd was the creature looking back at him seemed oddly familiar. Dark hair with a white stripe at his forehead, green eyes that reflected tiny speckles of amber, a prominent nose and a cleft in his chin. What seemed odd were the crow's feet and lines that hung around his eyes and under his bangs.
Glancing behind him, he heard Alia sign the bill and excuse the young man who delivered everything.
She said, pointing to the mirror, "You're a handsome man, but not the type to let it get to your head. Don't start now."
Turning slowly to her, he watched her open what was being chilled.
"What's my paper called?" he asked.
"You're joking again, right?"
"What's my paper called?" he asked more earnestly.
"It's called Time Isn't Linear."
"No, time isn't linear. It's like a balled up piece of string," he mumbled.
"That's not exactly how you tell it, but that may make more sense. Are you thinking of adding that in?"
"Am I married?" he asked.
It seemed like an of question to ask the woman he was about to sleep with, but he had to know what the hell was going on. His brain was lighting up like a Christmas tree, buzzing with catch phrases and words: time, string theory ….
She furrowed her brow almost in anger, which he took to mean he wasn't.
"I mean, was I married?"
"Samuel, stop it."
Sam took a deep breath. "I was married to a woman named Donna."
"You told me the two of you divorced five years ago."
He frowned.
"What's going on?"
In a flash, he remembered his life. Everything – Indiana, the farm, his father, Tom, MIT, his father's heart attack, starting a project called Starbrite with a quirky guy named Al, the imaging chamber ….. Staggering back, he knocked the dresser and stared into her eyes.
"I don't know," he whispered. "But, I do know I need your help."
-------
For some reason, Al was always a superstitious man. He sometimes chalked that up to have a Russian mother – as if it were in his genes. Samuel Bracket, his looks, quantum physics and an assistant named Al … it was getting more than a little weird.
Instead of staying, he left the imaging chamber to light up a stogie and puff on it. Although Beth wanted him to give up smoking, which he mostly had, he sometimes had to have a cigar to think … at least that's what he told himself.
"You know I hate when you smoke," Ziggy said.
He ignored her.
"There sure are a lot of coincidences," Gooshie said.
"Too many!" Al agreed. "And, I don't think they're coincidences."
"Whaddaya mean, Al?" Tina asked.
"I think He," Al pointed up at the ceiling, "wants us to find Sam."
The curly-haired man with the googly eyes and moustache reminded Al of something he'd nearly forgotten.
"Admiral, we have a meeting with Senator Bostock in five hours."
Great timing!
Senator Bostock was investigating small projects the government was funding and determining whether to continue to invest in them or to recommend those projects ended. Rumor had it, he'd recommended quite a few projects stop. Congress loved him because he was able to save money – especially during a budget crunch – which meant he was a serious threat to Al.
Worse, Senators had absolutely no regard for reputations, the military or science. They were only interested in whether their constituents would care about the project. One top-secret program that involved time travel developed on a string-theory probably didn't qualify as interesting to the public sector. In fact, Al who'd had a lot of street smarts could guarantee – your average John or Jane Doe didn't give a shit.
"Do you want me to wake up the rest of the team?" Gooshie asked.
Al gave a brief nod and headed back into the chamber. Muttering under his breath, he hoped for the best.
"I hope You do want us to find him," he said to the ceiling.
As the door opened, Samuel stood and gave Al the kinda news he'd been waiting for.
"I have a symposium tomorrow in which I'm the speaker."
"Where are speaking?" Al asked.
"New Mexico."
TBC