AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have changed the "present" year (AKA the Project's year) to be 2006 instead of 2004, and the date--February 29 (Leap Day)--has been changed accordingly to February 28. This change was needed for something in a later part of the screenplay. This change is minor and will not change any circumstances within the story.
SPECIAL DISCLAIMER: The next scenes are BASED on the alternate ending script for "Mirror Image". I have changed some things to put the characters more... into character, and to fit the scenes to my beliefs concerning "Mirror Image".
The original alternate ending script can be found here (again, take out the spaces): http : // www . sethargabright . com / qleap / mialtend . htm
Any dialogue used from the alternate ending script was written by Donald P. Bellisario and THUS BELONGS TO DONALD P. BELLISARIO. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT IS INTENDED. As I am fully stating where the dialogue has come from, I do not believe this to be plagiarism. Furthermore, the only way the screenplay/story can be effective is as it has been written, including the scene in this Part.
DISCLAIMER:
"The Mirror Shattered" trailer and screenplay/story written by R. Joy
Helvie. "Quantum Leap", Dr. Samuel Beckett, Admiral Albert Calavicci,
Al the Bartender, and all other characters which may have appeared on
the show are property of Donald P. Bellisario, Belisarius Productions,
and Universal Studios. All other characters are property of R. Joy Helvie,
and permission must be granted by the author before the characters can be
used in any other story.
Italicized Underlines are used for emphasis.
QUESTIONS OR COMMENTS: You may reach the author by e-mail at: themirrorshattered@hotmail.com
~*~*~*~*~
QUANTUM LEAP
THE MIRROR SHATTERED
PART II
Sacrifices
FEBRUARY 28, 2006
PROJECT QUANTUM LEAP
STALLION'S GATE, NEW MEXICO
The den was cool and
comfortable. It was a classic den, leather and wood being the choice of
style. It was warm and homey, and felt like it could exist in any timeframe.
The only sign of the actual year, in fact, was the small computer terminal
nestled on the large oak desk.
Admiral Albert Calavicci
sat casually on an overstuff leather loveseat. He was smoking his ever-present
cigar and staring at a gold-framed photo in his hands. There was an empty
spot on the mantel reserved for this photo, next to a silver-framed copy
of the Calavicci family Christmas photo.
Beth gently settled
on the loveseat next to him, gathering her legs up under her and resting
her head on his shoulder. She was older, her hair longer and streaked with
silver. However, despite her age, she still radiated a youthful beauty.
She looked wistfully at the photo in her husband's hand.
"Where he's Leaped,"
Al murmured, "he's still himself."
Beth sighed, gazing
at the photo, remembering that she had been the one behind the camera.
It was at Sam and Donna's wedding reception. Posing, Sam and Al, both in
tuxes, raised their wineglasses high. As Beth had pushed the button, Donna--still
adorned in her wedding dress--had peeked over Sam's shoulder, wrapping
her arms around her newly-wed husband's waist.
Beth shook her head,
momentarily shifting her gaze to her husband. "Because his body isn't
in the Waiting Room?"
"There's no other explanation,"
came the reply with a sigh. "Ziggy's starting another nanosearch in the morning,
but I still have a feeling Sam's Leaped beyond his lifetime."
"Into the past or the
future?" Beth inquired, genuinely curious to hear her husband's theory.
"The future," Al replied
firmly. "I dunno how I know, but I've... got a gut feeling about it."
Beth smiled, remembering
how many times Al and Sam's "gut feelings" had got them out of some tough
situations.
"He's definitely in
the future," Al continued, glancing at her. "Way in the future. Way beyond
his lifetime."
"How'd he get there?"
"I dunno."
"If Sam is in the future,
Ziggy won't be able to find him."
"I know."
Beth sighed, knowing
that what she was about to say would invoke her husband's wrath more than
anything else she had ever said or done. Softly, she suggested, "What
if you Leaped?"
Al swiftly turned his
head to her. Beth lifted her head, rearing away from his fiery gaze. She
gazed back at him, her eyes blazing with determination.
"What?!" Al exclaimed,
shock at her words evident in his eyes.
"If you Leaped, the
entity Leaping Sam may feel your desire and Leap you to him."
"And what if it doesn't?
What if I get lost in time, too? What then?"
"You won't."
"And how do you know
that?"
Beth smiled. "I have
a gut feeling."
Al flashed a quick,
unhappy smile. A look of acceptance fell over his features. "Seriously,
Beth. I might never come back."
"You will. Anyone who
came back from that hellhole called 'Nam can come back from anywhere."
Al shook his head gently,
smiling. "Forty-five years and you still amaze me."
He pulled her into
his arms, slowly bestowing a passionate kiss. Blood rushed to her ears,
and her mind swam. She knew she had to be right, but what if he didn't
make it back? She quickly broke contact and pushed Al to stand, trying to
get him out of the room before she changed her mind.
Al was out of his chair
and gone in a matter of seconds. As Beth watched the door slide shut, she
said to thin air, "So do you."
~*~*~*~*~
AUGUST
8, 1953
AL'S PLACE
COKEBURG, PENNSYLVANIA
In the
backroom of a small bar in Cokeburg, Pennsylvania, an old Philco radio
loudly conveyed to those in range the latest words from announcer Rosey
Rosewell.
"Here's
the windup, and the pitch." The crack of a bat and the roar of the crowd
provided the background. "It's a long fly ball to left field." Excitedly,
Rosewell exclaimed, "Open the window, Aunt Minnie, here she comes!"
Ghee stood
next to the Philco, leaning slightly and taking a sip of beer. The miners
at the bar boisterously celebrated then turned their attention back to the
radio as the sound effect for a Pirate home run--the crash of broken glass--played
continuously.
"Do you
believe this!" Ghee exclaimed. "They trade Kiner and now half the team's
hitting home runs."
Al the
Bartender--who was usually just called Bartender--smiled and slid a draft
to the miner Ziggy, then picked up Mutta's glass to refill it.
"Nobody
on the Pirates will ever break as many window cane as Ralph Kiner did,"
Ziggy stated.
Mutta
rolled his eyes. "Panes, not cane. Window panes."
"I said
panes."
"No, you
said canes."
A blue
light materialized next to Ziggy, coalesced with electricity, arced into
Al and dissipated. Mutta and Ziggy continued to argue, seemingly oblivious
to Al's sudden appearance. Mutta turned to Al.
"Didn't
Ziggy say canes? Window canes?"
Al looked
at him, confused. "I don't remember what she said."
"She?"
"Ziggy."
"You must
be a friend of Sam's," said Ziggy, leaning forward. To Mutta, he explained,
"Sam knows a Ziggy who's a woman, an ugly woman."
Ghee walked
over, his interest in the conversation overwhelming his desire to listen
to the baseball game. "He must have seen you in your dress at the Beer Barrel
Reunion."
Al looked
at Ziggy suspiciously. "You cross-dress?"
"Cross-dress?"
asked Ziggy in confusion.
"Dress
like the opposite sex."
"My Aunt
Anna does that," Ghee informed them.
"Dresses
like a man?" Al wondered if it could get any stranger.
"No, like
a woman."
Ghee slapped
the bar and, laughing at having put one over on Al, moved off with Mutta
and Ziggy. Bartender wiped the counter in front of Al, who was now slightly
isolated from the miners.
"What'll
it be?" asked Bartender, a smile on his face.
"I...
I'm not sure." Al silently cursed the Swiss-Cheese Effect. "What d'ya
have?"
"Schlitz...
and information." Bartender raised an eyebrow.
Al grinned
at his fortune. "Information? What kind of information?"
"The kind
of information you came here for."
"Which
means you have info on Sam, right? Have you seen him? Those other guys
seem to know him. Was he here?"
"For a
short time."
"Is he
still here somewhere?"
"No, he
isn't here anymore. He's on the job."
"In the
future, right?"
"Right."
"Without
me!" Al huffed.
"We didn't
think you were needed."
"What
do you mean you? Who are you? And who is we?"
"I'm what
you could call a... messenger. And 'we' is my Boss and I."
"A messenger?
Like, from God?"
"You could
say that. I'm here to steer you in the right direction."
Al crossed
his arms. "And in what direction would that happen to be?"
Bartender
picked up a glass and began cleaning it with his white cloth. "It depends
on what you desire.
"I desire
to see Sam!" Al was nearly ready to grab this man's collar and demand
to be taken to Sam.
"He doesn't
need you," was Bartender's cool reply.
That was
the final straw. Al jumped up from the stool and leaned close to the counter,
bring his face just inches from Bartender's. Bartender simply blinked.
"He doesn't
need me?! What do you mean, he doesn't need
me? Who flew the X-2 for him? Me! Who taught him Elvis' moves? Me! Who
showed him how to box, shoot pool, draw a six-gun... kiss the girl?!"
With an
amused smile, Bartender replied, "You."
"You're
damn right, me!" Al winced and quickly amended his statement. "If you're
a messenger from God... excuse the language."
"You're
excused." Bartender smiled slyly.
Al noticed
this and figured that perhaps this man was telling him he was truly a
messenger from God. Al wanted to ask, but felt he should continue his defense.
"Sam wouldn't have righted a single wrong if it wasn't for me."
"Well..."
Bartender gave him a correctional glance.
"Okay,
maybe one or two, but he needs me. And more important... I need him."
Bartender
looked like he'd been waiting for the admiral to say just that. "What
about Beth? Don't you need her more than Sam? Do you realize what Sam has
done for you? Do you realize that what you have just said is closer to
the truth than you will ever know?"
Al didn't
like the look on Bartender's face. It made him feel that the man knew
more than he was telling. "What did he do for me? That is, not including
the times he saved my life."
"You have
four daughters, correct?"
"Yeah,
so?" Al didn't like the idea of his daughters being brought into this.
He was angrier than he had thought he could ever be with a stranger. "What
does that have to do with anything?"
"It has
everything to do with anything. If it weren't for Sam, you
wouldn't be here right now. You--"
Not being
able to stand the bartender's consistent vagueness, Al interrupted, "Where
am I, anyway?"
"A place
between asleep and awake."
Al sighed
in disbelief at this man's unwavering urge to be metaphorical. "You sound
like Tinkerbell."
Bartender
chuckled. "That's what you get in a fantasy."
"Is that
what this is? You mean, this isn't real?"
"From
a certain point of view," Bartender stated, shrugging.
Infuriated,
Al glanced heavenward and muttered, "Great. Now he's quoting Star Wars."
He looked back at heavyset man and inched himself closer to him. "Look,
are you gonna make sure I get sent to Sam or not?"
"You'd
no longer enjoy the safety of being hologram."
Ha! Al
thought. The man was desparately trying to discourage him. Well, it wasn't
going to happen. "So what? I still want to join him."
Bartender
sighed. "That's all it takes."
"What
do you mean?" Al was tired of the beating around the bush.
"You just
have to desire for it to happen, and my... Boss will take care of the rest."
Bartender
smirked, and stepped aside. Al looked into the mirror; his eyes went wide
with shock.
Reflected
in the mirror, Al could see that everything had changed. The bar, the
miners, all had Leaped far into the future and were enjoying their free
time at a space station bar. The inhabitants' clothes looked lik pilot uniforms
from "Star Trek."
The biggest
shock of all, however, was Al himself. He had Leaped into an extremely
curvaceous, knockout redhead in an outrageously designed outfit that was
quite lacking in material. Al crossed his arms trying to cover himself
as he spun around on the stool to get a better look at his surroundings.
He found
himself face to face with Ghee, who was also sporting a space pilot uniform.
Ghee grinned lecherously, and leaned in next to Al.
"I've
been in a hundred rec bars from here to the Magellic Clouds," Ghee smoothly
whispered near Al's ear, "and believe me, you've got the greatest set
of kasabas I've ever targeted."
Al rolled
his eyes in despair and cried out, "Oh, boy."
