Copyright and Author's Rambling
I was going to write another scene in order to finish the story in one or two more chapters, but I've decided to post what I have (got to keep the natives from revolting). I promise, there will be more action in the next chapter(s).
MASH 4077th
Ouijongbu, Korea
June 6, 1952
Sam followed Klinger to the bar. "Are we still on for tonight?" Klinger asked the bartender.
"These pockets better be full by morning," the bartender warned. "I had to cancel a date."
"You cancelled a date to play poker?" Klinger asked.
"Hey, she had a mole on her chin," the bartender said.
The cross-dresser shook his head. "Igor, Igor. What are we going to do with you?"
"How about pay your tab?" the now-identified Igor suggested. "You still owe about twenty-five from last month."
Klinger pretended to ignore him. "I'll have a scotch on the rocks." Sam had already spent over a day in the presence of the corporal, and still he couldn't get used to his outrageous attire. Right now, for example, he was dolled up in a bright pink evening gown, and matching stilettos and hat with black lace covering his eyes. For all his shenanigans (from what Al had mentioned, the man had once tried to eat a jeep), he was a hard worker.
"What do you have on tap?" the leaper asked. Igor told him. "I'll have a schooner, please."
Igor and Klinger glanced at each other, then back at Sam as if he was crazy. "You sure you don't just want a grape nehi?" Igor asked.
"Why would I want a grape nehi?" Sam wanted to know. He vaguely remembered trying the drink back at M.I.T. He and Erin Hunnicutt had gone to a local restaurant to celebrate a successful end to a difficult semester. She had been overly excited when she noticed grape nehi on the menu. "My dad's friend is nuts about this drink," she had raved. "You should try it, Sammy. I think you might like it." Yeah, right. It was the most disgusting concoction he'd ever tasted.
"It's what you always order," Klinger reminded him.
That's just great. "Well, you know – I decided to try something new for a change."
They grabbed their drinks and joined Colonel Potter and Major Winchester at a table near the jukebox. Both colonel and major were shocked by the "corporal's" choice of drink. Sam repeated his "I needed a change" excuse.
"You know something, Klinger?" Sam told the cross-dressing corpsman as he downed the rest of his drink, "If you want my opinion, start acting completely military and by-the-book, and everyone would be convinced you've gone bananas."
Klinger grinned. "Hey, kid, you're not half-bad."
Colonel Potter shook his finger at his "company clerk." "Don't give him any ideas, Corporal – or should I say Private."
"I wouldn't give him any tips if I were you," a gravelly voice warned. Sam glared at the hologram. Al ignored the looks he was receiving. "The colonel would never fall for any of those section 8 stunts anyways. You can't help him get out of here, Sam." I'd love to help everyone 'get out of here.' "Klinger marries a Korean refugee at the end of the war and – would you believe it? – Stays in Korea for nearly two years trying to search for her family."
"Sounds like you know a lot." I'm getting good at this answering multiple questions with one answer.
"For some insane reason, I seem to remember more of Erin's stories than I'd care to."
"You're darn right I do, son!" Potter's voice overlapped with Al's. "Been in this man's army for over forty years."
The admiral snorted. "Oh yeah? I've been in the Navy for …" His concentration was broken by a lusty nurse sashaying past the table. "Now those are what I call casabas!" he whistled. His friend just looked up and rolled his eyes in disgust.
"Is something the matter, Corporal?" Major Winchester inquired.
"Oh, no, of course not," Sam assured him. Sir, Al mouthed. "No, sir," he added. He glanced around the Officer's Club to see what other people were doing. A blackjack game was occurring in the corner. Several enlisted men were attempting (and failing) to pick up nurses, while their lucky counterparts were dancing to Father Mulcahy's piano-playing.
Sam approached the piano. "Mind if I do a few numbers?" he asked the chaplain.
Father Mulcahy stood up. "By all means, Radar."
His fingers flew across the keys, taking his Swiss-cheesed mind back to Carnegie Hall. He couldn't remember if the piece he was performing was Bach or Tchaichovsky; his audience's shocked faces signified it didn't matter.
"I didn't know you played," an astounded Charles gasped.
"Depends on the weather."
"Sam …" Al warned. He was about to rebuke Sam for his recent behavior, but decided against it when the hand link started flashing. He read the screen and quickly shoved the device into his pocket.
Al, what's wrong? The leaper mouthed to his ashen-faced friend. Is it Captain Pierce?
"Erin's father is keeping vigil," Al explained, temporarily quelling Sam's concerns about the ailing officer. "There's still two deaths tonight."
Sam abandoned the piano and followed his friend outside. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say someone else was occupying that boy's body," the colonel whispered to the corporal and the major. Sam bit back a laugh. You have no idea, he thought, peering around the corner to make sure nobody was in earshot.
"What do you mean, 'there's still two deaths'?" he asked. "I thought we fixed the situation with Brighton."
"Major Houlihan had a chat with her," Al told him. "The major is sending paperwork through to have the nozzle prosecuted." He looked over at the young nurse's tent and shook his head sadly. "The case never makes it to trial."
"Because she still kills Major Davis tonight." He began strolling around the perimeter of the Officer's Club. "So peaceful," he muttered, observing the mountainous scenery.
"Hard to believe this is a war zone," Al agreed. "You changed history, Sam. Davis finds out Brighton 'ratted him out' as the saying goes – so he gives her the beating of a lifetime. I've gotta pick another word besides 'nozzle,'" he grunted. "This son-of-a-bitch doesn't deserve it."
"How's Hawkeye?" Maybe I'll hear some good news in this department. No such luck – the captain was in critical condition, and expected to take a turn for the worse sometime around quarter to one. "When does the major attack the nurse?" I'll take care of one situation, then rush off to the next. He tried to mentally plan his solutions, but was cut short by the hologram's answer. "What do you mean, 'in the vicinity of oh-thirty and oh-one-hundred hours'? That time frame is too close." Oh, boy.
* * *
Project Quantum Leap
Stallions Gate, New Mexico
February 12, 2002
"Your father?" Radar echoed. Erin nodded. "Gee … that's … oh gosh …" The lieutenant colonel bit her lip to keep from laughing at the young man's shocked expression. "Why'd you say you were cousins?"
"When you first arrived in the Waiting Room, you thought you were still in 1952," Erin explained.
"… I thought I was still in 1952," Radar said at the same time. "What?" he asked in response to her grin.
"Oh, nothing. Why am I explaining this to you? You already know what I'm going to say." I never thought I'd be so happy to hear Uncle Radar's "radar."
"But if you aren't thinking it, then I can't hear it. You know, your dad … he's one swell doctor. And he talks about you all the time. You're – you were – a very beautiful baby."
"When he came home from the war, he refused to let me out of his sight," Erin reminisced. "He was afraid to fall asleep. Thought the peace treaty was a dream he didn't want to end, and if he closed his eyes, he'd wake up back in Korea."
Radar's eyes grew big. "You mean the war ends?"
"Yes it does, believe it or not." I hope Al doesn't rail into me for giving too much information. Nah, maybe he'll make an exception. We don't get many leapees like Radar in here. Come to think of it, maybe I should give the Radar in this time a call. She knew that any phone calls would have to wait until after Dr. Beckett Leaped. The last few hours in a Leap were always the most crucial; the Project staff had to keep on their toes.
"Anything I can do?" the clairvoyant man asked for the umpteenth time.
Erin didn't have to be a mind reader to know how frustrating it was to have a friend's life in danger and not being able to do anything about it. There were times she wanted to enter the Accelerator Chamber and help Sam get out of whatever fix he was in, and this was no exception. Yeah, Hunnicutt, that would go over real well with Calavicci. "Can you be in two places at once?" Radar shook his head. "That's what I thought," she sighed. "What about telling me which surgeon – or nurse – is most likely to listen to 'you'."
"Any doctor who takes medical advice from a 'nearsighted, uneducated country boy company clerk' ain't playin' with a full deck." Erin winced at his quoting of Ferret Face. "Gee, golly wiz, I don't know. I'd forget about Major Winchester. Captain Hunnicutt might listen to your friend – he'd do anything to save Hawkeye. Klinger'd probably break Major Davis' neck if you're not careful," he warned.
"Aren't you supposed to wait until I 'think it' before you 'read it'?" she asked as she exited the Waiting Room.
"You've been thinking about Baby all along," he called after her. "Between Klinger and Dr. Beckett, she's gonna be just fine."
She smiled. "Thanks, kid."
As she entered the Control Room, she could hear what appeared to be an intense disagreement between Dr. Jon Gooshman and Ziggy. "What's the problem this time, Gooshie?"
"And don't you even think about downloading that music until you give me those results!" The Chief Programmer turned away from the parallel hybrid computer's main terminal and faced the Chief Surgeon. "She's being temperamental."
"What else is new?" she muttered.
The computer humphed. "Onion-Breath erased my Mozart."
"It was an accident," Gooshie apologized. "And if you want to get it back, I'd suggest you quit the name-calling."
She couldn't figure out why she found the interactions between Gooshie and Ziggy so amusing. There were times when she – no, all of the Quantum Leap staff – ceased to remember that Ziggy was no more than a highly advanced piece of technology. Gooshie especially. She wondered if the red-headed scientist ever had any friends growing up; Ziggy was the only one he confided in and he was the only one who stood up for her to the admiral's abuse. He was pleading with her now, almost to the point of getting on his hands and knees.
"If you don't produce those reports, a lot of people's lives could be in danger." That's it, Doc. Try to reason with a stubborn "bucket of bolts."
"Not until you 'produce' my Mozart," Ziggy retorted. "And for your information, there are only two lives in danger on this Leap … with a possible third."
"A third?" Erin asked.
"Dr. Beckett's life will be in jeopardy if his plan backfires."
Gooshie pressed his hands on Ziggy's Rubik cube-like mainframe. "Ziggy, if you don't start cooperating, I swear I will hand Al a hammer and ask him to smash you to smithereens (and don't believe for a moment that he won't do it)."
Now would be a good time to step in, the lieutenant colonel told herself. "If I can obtain you another Mozart compilation, will you report the figures to Gooshie?"
The lights in the blue sphere that acted as the supercomputer's "brain" flickered for a moment, then: "Alright, sounds reasonable enough to me."
" 'Reasonable'?" grumbled the chief programmer. "She's one to talk."
Erin shook her head at the absurdity of the situation. It's not every assignment that you can witness an admiral in the U.S. Navy and top-tier scientists argue with a piece of technology. If Sidney could see me now …