"All That Glitters"
by Jennifer L. Rowland
(originally written April 4, 1995)
Usual disclaimers apply---the characters of Quantum Leap and Star Trek: The Next Generation are not my creation and all copyrights remain with Universal/Belisarius/Paramount/Roddenberry
There was the sensation of floating in the bright blue-white light of what he could only term limbo. His consciousness tenuously held on to the perception of his body. Where, when, who would he end up when the limbo gave way to the reality of another time, another life far beyond the New Mexico caverns which housed Project Quantum Leap. Ever so briefly, snippets of the lives he had Leaped into to correct some error which disrupted the continuum of the-way-things-should-have-gone crossed his mind. When would he return to his own time, see himself in the mirror? When would he be able to truly interact with those in the life he used to know--the life that seemed so distant now, literally separated by time and space?
The bright light abruptly gave way to the physical sensations of being thrust into someone else's life. The answer to his questions was obviously "not yet."
Sam Beckett found himself sitting at an extremely complex panel in a chair designed both for efficiency and extreme comfort. An almost imperceptible thrum filled the air, accompanied by the melodic chirp emanating from the panel before him. Sam looked closely at the panel. It appeared to be a very sophisticated computer--perhaps even more so than Ziggy, the revolutionary computer he had designed that made Quantum Leaping possible. Ziggy was the first of its kind, created from neurocells donated by himself and his best friend and colleague, Al Calavicci. But how can I be seeing a computer more advanced than Ziggy? This technology must be decades beyond our capabilities. How can I Leap to a time after I started Leaping?
His thoughts were interrupted by the realization that he was not alone. Looking to his right Sam saw a man and a woman dressed in very close-fitting black uniforms accented with panels of blue and gold material, respectively. He looked down and saw himself dressed in an identical gold and black jumpsuit. Unfortunately, the unisex styling did not provide much help in determining whether he had Leaped into a man or a woman. Sam turned his attention to trying to figure out exactly what he was supposed to be doing at this computer.
A small screen displayed a chart of the solar system. Sam breathed a sigh of relief that he was merely dealing with astronomy, but caught himself when he realized that he had never before seen this system--and it was definitely not one that included Earth! "Zyros," he read off the screen. He spoke louder than he had intended, attracting the attention of someone behind him. The someone walked over, casting a shadow over him. Sam looked up--and up--past a massive chest clad in gold and adorned with an imposing heavy metal sash to a stern dark face. Sam blinked as he took in the face--it culminated in a menacing bony-ridged forehead. Sam swallowed hard. "Oh, boy," he whispered.
******
"What have you found?" asked the deep, gruff voice one would expect to emerge from the fierce looking being towering over Sam, who felt particularly tiny in comparison, seated as he was.
Sam decided it might be best to state the obvious. "Zyros," he repeated, pointing at the chart. Judging from the snort which greeted his response, he had obviously decided wrong. But instead of pushing the issue, the massive figure turned and went back to a station behind Sam, muttering, "Tell me something I don't know." Perhaps it had not been the wrong response, after all. It appeared that whoever he had Leaped into had a propensity for stating the obvious.
Loosed from the scrutiny of attention, Sam turned in his seat to take in the sights behind him. His jaw dropped as he saw an immense screen displaying a vast starfield dominated by a bright pink planet. With effort, Sam tore his gaze away from the hypnotic screen to acclimate himself more thoroughly to his situation. He was seated at what was obviously the back station of this lab, or whatever it was. He looked just below the viewscreen at two strategically placed stations and amended his conclusion. The stations gave the impression of driving controls; obviously, he was not anywhere stationary. Sam pulled his gaze back, dwelling briefly on the large, muscular back standing perhaps six feet away at a rail station. Sam's eyes followed the curve of the rail down, peering to see what lay below. He caught a glimpse of three heads--a dark, curly one, a bald one, and a short dark-haired one.
A clipped British accent shattered the silence. "Mr. Data, take over at Ops, please." The woman sitting at the front-left station coded a sequence into the long panel before pushing it away from her, then swiveled to the right to exit, pausing uncertainly. Her eyes flickered to the center seat. The voice spoke again, annoyed this time, "Mr. Data." As every eye stared painfully at him, Sam realized that he was "Mr. Data." Hurriedly, he jumped from his seat and strode down the ramp to his right. The woman's shoulders relaxed as he stepped onto the lower level. She glided past him and strolled up the ramp he had just left. Sam crossed to the now vacant seat, still feeling the weight of every stare on his back. He stared helplessly at the panel before him.
The clipped voice spoke again. "Mr. Data, what is the matter?"
Sam turned to face the owner of the voice, a stern yet kind-looking bald man, trim in the ubiquitous black uniform, his accented with red. To his right sat a younger, amused man with a beard dressed identically. Not quite, amended Sam. He noticed a series of pips at the collar. The stern man had four while the bearded man only had three. Great, thought Sam, the military. He prayed that Al, a retired Navy admiral, would appear and coach him through this. Judging from the number of pips and central location of the stern man, Sam concluded that he must be the leader. But what branch of the military? The title would vary, and after his last blunder, Sam did not want to attract any more attention to himself.
"Uh, my mind was somewhere else. . . sir," he replied. That was certainly true. "My apologies," he added. The answer seemed to satisfy the man. Sam relaxed, gratified that he was not the center of attention any longer. Or was he? The owner of the dark mass of curly hair, an extraordinarily beautiful woman seated to the leader's left, stared intently at him. Can she see me for who I am? thought Sam in a panic. But she was neither a small child nor an animal. Then why is she staring at me? Knowing he would not be able to get an answer, he turned once again to the complex series of lights before him. Well, I'm at my station, now what? Sam studied the panel, trying to decipher its meaning. Lacking the training of Data, whoever he was, Sam was not having much success. Even as he focused his concentration on the computer, he was still aware of the woman's intense gaze. He tried to drive her scrutiny from his mind, but could not. The cause of her focus on him remained a mystery. The mental pressure her stare placed on him led Sam to peek tentatively at her. She met his eyes boldly, almost in challenge.
If he were Al Calavicci, he would have stared back defiantly, demanding that she reveal the meaning behind her obsession. However, he was not the bold Italian, he was Sam Beckett, product of the Midwest. He turned back to the panel, fervently wishing for the hologram form of his best friend. Al, where are you?
******
by Jennifer L. Rowland
(originally written April 4, 1995)
Usual disclaimers apply---the characters of Quantum Leap and Star Trek: The Next Generation are not my creation and all copyrights remain with Universal/Belisarius/Paramount/Roddenberry
There was the sensation of floating in the bright blue-white light of what he could only term limbo. His consciousness tenuously held on to the perception of his body. Where, when, who would he end up when the limbo gave way to the reality of another time, another life far beyond the New Mexico caverns which housed Project Quantum Leap. Ever so briefly, snippets of the lives he had Leaped into to correct some error which disrupted the continuum of the-way-things-should-have-gone crossed his mind. When would he return to his own time, see himself in the mirror? When would he be able to truly interact with those in the life he used to know--the life that seemed so distant now, literally separated by time and space?
The bright light abruptly gave way to the physical sensations of being thrust into someone else's life. The answer to his questions was obviously "not yet."
Sam Beckett found himself sitting at an extremely complex panel in a chair designed both for efficiency and extreme comfort. An almost imperceptible thrum filled the air, accompanied by the melodic chirp emanating from the panel before him. Sam looked closely at the panel. It appeared to be a very sophisticated computer--perhaps even more so than Ziggy, the revolutionary computer he had designed that made Quantum Leaping possible. Ziggy was the first of its kind, created from neurocells donated by himself and his best friend and colleague, Al Calavicci. But how can I be seeing a computer more advanced than Ziggy? This technology must be decades beyond our capabilities. How can I Leap to a time after I started Leaping?
His thoughts were interrupted by the realization that he was not alone. Looking to his right Sam saw a man and a woman dressed in very close-fitting black uniforms accented with panels of blue and gold material, respectively. He looked down and saw himself dressed in an identical gold and black jumpsuit. Unfortunately, the unisex styling did not provide much help in determining whether he had Leaped into a man or a woman. Sam turned his attention to trying to figure out exactly what he was supposed to be doing at this computer.
A small screen displayed a chart of the solar system. Sam breathed a sigh of relief that he was merely dealing with astronomy, but caught himself when he realized that he had never before seen this system--and it was definitely not one that included Earth! "Zyros," he read off the screen. He spoke louder than he had intended, attracting the attention of someone behind him. The someone walked over, casting a shadow over him. Sam looked up--and up--past a massive chest clad in gold and adorned with an imposing heavy metal sash to a stern dark face. Sam blinked as he took in the face--it culminated in a menacing bony-ridged forehead. Sam swallowed hard. "Oh, boy," he whispered.
******
"What have you found?" asked the deep, gruff voice one would expect to emerge from the fierce looking being towering over Sam, who felt particularly tiny in comparison, seated as he was.
Sam decided it might be best to state the obvious. "Zyros," he repeated, pointing at the chart. Judging from the snort which greeted his response, he had obviously decided wrong. But instead of pushing the issue, the massive figure turned and went back to a station behind Sam, muttering, "Tell me something I don't know." Perhaps it had not been the wrong response, after all. It appeared that whoever he had Leaped into had a propensity for stating the obvious.
Loosed from the scrutiny of attention, Sam turned in his seat to take in the sights behind him. His jaw dropped as he saw an immense screen displaying a vast starfield dominated by a bright pink planet. With effort, Sam tore his gaze away from the hypnotic screen to acclimate himself more thoroughly to his situation. He was seated at what was obviously the back station of this lab, or whatever it was. He looked just below the viewscreen at two strategically placed stations and amended his conclusion. The stations gave the impression of driving controls; obviously, he was not anywhere stationary. Sam pulled his gaze back, dwelling briefly on the large, muscular back standing perhaps six feet away at a rail station. Sam's eyes followed the curve of the rail down, peering to see what lay below. He caught a glimpse of three heads--a dark, curly one, a bald one, and a short dark-haired one.
A clipped British accent shattered the silence. "Mr. Data, take over at Ops, please." The woman sitting at the front-left station coded a sequence into the long panel before pushing it away from her, then swiveled to the right to exit, pausing uncertainly. Her eyes flickered to the center seat. The voice spoke again, annoyed this time, "Mr. Data." As every eye stared painfully at him, Sam realized that he was "Mr. Data." Hurriedly, he jumped from his seat and strode down the ramp to his right. The woman's shoulders relaxed as he stepped onto the lower level. She glided past him and strolled up the ramp he had just left. Sam crossed to the now vacant seat, still feeling the weight of every stare on his back. He stared helplessly at the panel before him.
The clipped voice spoke again. "Mr. Data, what is the matter?"
Sam turned to face the owner of the voice, a stern yet kind-looking bald man, trim in the ubiquitous black uniform, his accented with red. To his right sat a younger, amused man with a beard dressed identically. Not quite, amended Sam. He noticed a series of pips at the collar. The stern man had four while the bearded man only had three. Great, thought Sam, the military. He prayed that Al, a retired Navy admiral, would appear and coach him through this. Judging from the number of pips and central location of the stern man, Sam concluded that he must be the leader. But what branch of the military? The title would vary, and after his last blunder, Sam did not want to attract any more attention to himself.
"Uh, my mind was somewhere else. . . sir," he replied. That was certainly true. "My apologies," he added. The answer seemed to satisfy the man. Sam relaxed, gratified that he was not the center of attention any longer. Or was he? The owner of the dark mass of curly hair, an extraordinarily beautiful woman seated to the leader's left, stared intently at him. Can she see me for who I am? thought Sam in a panic. But she was neither a small child nor an animal. Then why is she staring at me? Knowing he would not be able to get an answer, he turned once again to the complex series of lights before him. Well, I'm at my station, now what? Sam studied the panel, trying to decipher its meaning. Lacking the training of Data, whoever he was, Sam was not having much success. Even as he focused his concentration on the computer, he was still aware of the woman's intense gaze. He tried to drive her scrutiny from his mind, but could not. The cause of her focus on him remained a mystery. The mental pressure her stare placed on him led Sam to peek tentatively at her. She met his eyes boldly, almost in challenge.
If he were Al Calavicci, he would have stared back defiantly, demanding that she reveal the meaning behind her obsession. However, he was not the bold Italian, he was Sam Beckett, product of the Midwest. He turned back to the panel, fervently wishing for the hologram form of his best friend. Al, where are you?
******