This story deals with child sexual abuse, a topic that is a great concern of mine. This story, like Street Kid, is based on actual events and real people. As the proverbial "they" used to say, "The names have been changed to protect the innocent." There is one scene of moderately graphic abuse late in the story and for that reason, Macy is rated M.

I thank the owners of Quantum Leap for allowing me to use their possessions in my stories.

Macy - Chapter One

Admiral Al Calavicci thundered down the Imaging Chamber ramp. Gooshie, Quantum Leap's resident computer genius was in for a tongue lashing, the kind that only a career military man, a three star Admiral, could deliver. Usually, the Admiral ditched the handlink on the computer console, but today he kept it. The squealing box of M&Ms was malfunctioning big time and it had to be fixed - now

Furious eyes and an index finger herded Gooshie and his team into the elevator and up to the small conference room. Dr. Verbena Beeks, the Project's Medical Director and Psychiatrist was already waiting for them. News of the Admiral's rage already spread to her office and she figured a little support for all involved wouldn't hurt. The trio sat down at the oak table and watched their leader pace the habitual four steps forward and four steps back. The handlink was tossed unceremoniously in front of them. They watched him, fearful of the chewing out they were going to receive. Most people wouldn't take seriously the ranting of a man wearing royal blue trousers, a white and silver banded-color shirt and blue suspenders studded with buttons of every color under the sun, but this group knew better. Al stopped his pacing, turned and loudly threw both hands knuckles down onto the table. He leaned into them. "Alright, who has an explanation?"

Gooshie looked at his Chief Engineer Lillian Zaeger, Lillian looked at Gooshie and then the two of them looked at Verbena. She was as lost as the Admiral was and indicated so with a shrug. Gooshie finally mumbled, "We aren't sure. I think there's a glitch in Ziggy's programming."

Al glared at him, "And who is responsible for programming Ziggy?" Gooshie wanted to slide under the table. "Gooshie, you got an answer for me?"

The frightened programmer stuttered, "Ziggy isn't like other computers, Admiral. She ... she has a mind of her own and sometimes she does things on her own."

"Meaning what?"

The programmer gulped Loud enough for the room to hear. Lillian decided to come to his aid, "Admiral, about six weeks ago, we discovered that Ziggy was programming herself. The last upgrade gave her more fuzzy logic properties than she was designed to handle and now we're having trouble reining her in."

Al wasn't sure how to receive that information. It wasn't what he expected or wanted to hear. He looked to Verbena, "Alright. Why is Ziggy's new found talent screwing up the handlink? It took me thirty five minutes to program my way out of the Imaging Chamber." Lillian and Gooshie looked blank. "Find out now." No one moved. "Do you know what 'now' means? Out!" Verbena kept her seat as Lillian and Gooshie, like a pair of whipped puppies, made their way out of the room stopping only to pick up the malfunctioning handlink. When they had left, Al turned to Verbena, "Geniuses. They're like children."

Verbena reminded him, "Admiral, I think we tested your IQ at 167, didn't we?"

Yeah, so he was smart, a genius on anyone's scale, but he didn't like people knowing. He dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. "Don't push it, Verbena." The handlink was too important. "You don't know what this means."

"Then tell me."

"If the handlink fails when I'm in the Imaging Chamber, I can't get Sam the information he needs and sometimes he needs it immediately."

"Did something happen?"

Al finally sat down and the anger that kept his adrenaline in gear for their little meeting drained itself from his body. Suddenly he looked very tired. The rush was definitely over. He shook his head and rubbed his clammy hands together, "It was close, Verbena. Another 30 seconds and Sam would have been dead. He was driving a race car. Thank God, he listens to me once in awhile. I know cars. He managed to follow my lead, but Ziggy could have helped a lot."

"You look exhausted. When did you eat last?"

Shaking his head Al answered, "Yesterday, maybe. This leap was a hard one. A lot of lives were in jeopardy. Sam would have blamed himself, even if it was all Ziggy's fault."

Al was a master manipulator, but Verbena didn't want to change the subject, "Back to you, Admiral. You need some food and sleep. You're growing great big bags under your eyes and they're not attractive."

A sigh escaped from Al, "You're so good for my ego." Then he laughed. "I guess I haven't slept much during this leap."

"Then I'm prescribing bed rest and food. You're on the injured reserve list as of now. I'm Medical Director here and with medical decisions, my word supersedes yours."

Al smiled at her, "Yeah, well, that's how it works on paper, but I'm the only person who can reach Sam. That supersedes us both. From how I feel, this is going to be a short stasis period. He's going to leap within 24 hours and I have two reports to complete or our funding may be cut. Now you tell me, how can I get sleep?"

It was an old discussion, one they had time and time again. The answer seemed apparent to Verbena, "So, I'll recommend it again. Hire an assistant. Someone you can trust, certainly, but get help. You can't be all things to all people." Al shrugged. "You're not listening to me. Quite honestly, you don't look well. Your color is gray. In fact, this is a directive. You will have a physical before you go back into the Imaging Chamber. I'm pulling rank here, Admiral. In fact, Isao probably has time for you now."

The pained look on his face was almost comical. Al hated doctors, physical exams and most everything medical. "Don't do this to me. If you think I need rest, then let me go to bed. I'll even go alone" He winked and smiled knowing his last comment would annoy the psychiatrist just enough to make her blush, but not enough to make her angry.

Verbena ignored his never ending flirtations especially since he was devoted to his wife more than any many could be devoted to a wife. "A physical won't take long. I tell you what. I'll make an appointment for you in two hours. You can relax a little, get some food, take a shower, whatever your little heart desires, but at 3:30, you are at the Infirmary."

She actually expected more of a fight. This time he merely sighed and acquiesced, "Alright." He stood up and yawned, "I got to get some sleep." He left Verbena at the table and took off at a clip for his quarters.

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He arrived at the rooms in less than two minutes. He had been kicked around from one place to another most of his life; so, from his perspective getting attached to furniture was unrealistic and basically silly. Living space was never very important, but his wife and children seemed to like things homey instead of spare. Now that everyone was out east visiting Grandma Waterston, he had the place to himself and it felt incredibly empty. Beth left the refrigerator packed with instant meals. She knew her husband well. Without her being there to nag at him, eating would be considered too time consuming. There was a small container of frozen spaghetti with Bolognese sauce in the freezer. He pulled it out, left it on the counter and traipsed to the bedroom for a nap.

True to form, Al hung his clothes neatly in his closet. After his eight years in Vietnam as a prisoner, and only having his flight suit to wear for all that time, clothes were a luxury he enjoyed and cared for. The clock radio was set for 2:30 and he lay down. In less than a minute, he was asleep.

The alarm was set to wake him to music. His favorite station played oldies from the late 50's through the 60's, so it was a crapshoot as to what would greet him. Today, the radio blasted, "Like a true nature's child, we were born, born to be wild. We can fly so high. I never want to die . . ." Al slapped at the off button. "Damn, that's Loud." He muttered, "And thinking that song is too loud means I'm old. Oh well." His first waking moments were not some of his better ones, but he rolled out of bed and into the shower. His wet curly hair fell in rings as he wrapped his terry cloth robe around him and made his way to the kitchen to throw the spaghetti into the microwave. Wandering back to the bedroom, he opened the closet door and decided on something very basic - chocolate brown tweed wool suit with a waist length jacket worn over a rust colored silk t-shirt. After drying his hair, which was in need of a trim (it took far too much time to minimize the curls), he dressed and tied his two toned wingtips.

By 3:25, lunch was eaten, the dishes washed and put away. He was the ultimate neat freak. It bordered on a compulsion for him, but he figured there were worse things in life. His other compulsion was timeliness. If Admiral Calavicci was expected at 3:30 you could set your watch by his arrival.

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Captain Isao Watanabe, MD put Al through the drill. Every imaginable test was given. Never the best patient, after Isao sucked up a third vial of blood Al snapped, "What are you, a vampire?"

Al didn't hear Verbena enter the room behind him.

"There aren't any vampires in Japan. We have Godzilla." Isao smiled. In the Infirmary, he was in control of the Admiral and he enjoyed it. Isao place a band-aid on the needle site and said, "Step on the scale, please." Al didn't bother to kick off his shoes. He wanted the extra few ounces they added. It took a little bit of fussing with the counter weights. Isao expected Al to tip the scales at 142 pounds as he had two months earlier, but Al dropped some much needed muscle mass. "Admiral, you've lost seven pounds. 135 pounds is not enough for a man your height and frame." Then he looked down, "and I should take a couple of pounds off for your clothes and shoes."

Al tried to cover, "Less stress on the heart and, as you so often remind me, I'm over 60."

"You have to supplement your regular diet and not forget to eat."

"I ate before I got here." He was ready to blow the joint, "Are we done? I have things to do."

Verbena decided to speak up, "How is he, Isao?"

The physician started talking about Al as if he wasn't there, "Basically, he's in good shape. I don't have the results of the blood work yet, but all in all he looks okay. I think what we got going on here is exhaustion and if he keeps it up, he could end up with big trouble."

"Like what?"

Al knew the conversation was a performance, but he let them continue. "Take your pick, Verbena. Impaired immunity, fatigue. He's bordering on that now, I think. Then there's decreased libido."

Now he had to stop it, "Alright, alright. Stop the tap dance. I get the hint. Eat more, sleep more, work less. Fine. Now which one of you is going to write my reports? Verbena, do you want to work on the system upgrades for Ziggy? I mean I'd be happy to let you, but only Sam and I neurologically interface with her."

Verbena shook her head, "Al, no one is telling you to stop working. You just need help on the administrative end. Your time is too important to be spending it writing reports. Get an assistant. You've managed to get extra help for every department here. Why not administration? With an aide, you can spend the time you need with Sam and Ziggy and have the time you need to take care of yourself."

Al had been balled out by the best, (Reverend Mother Theodora came to mind) but it had been years. He knew Verbena spoke sense. The problem was finding someone he trusted, someone who knew the machinations of Washington, and someone who could clear the intense security Project Quantum Leap demanded. "Okay. I'll start looking for an aide. If I'm through here, I can make a couple of calls now."

Isao raised his eyebrows, "I'm done. There's no need for you to wait for the results of the blood work. I can let you know when it comes back. Should be a couple of hours."

He took his jacket off its hanger and slipped it on, "Good. I'll be in my office." They glared at him. With as much sarcasm as he could muster he added, "Eating chocolates and napping. Good-bye." He stepped quickly out of the Infirmary and practically bolted to his office. Once an idea crossed his mind, he had to act on it. There was a kid, well he wouldn't be a kid anymore, someone who fit the bill and last he heard he was not connected to much - Jude Brandeis. It would only take a few phone calls to clear him. Yeah, Brandeis was a good kid, the perfect man for the job.

The first call confirmed that Brandeis had maintained top security clearance. He was now a Captain stationed in Houston, working with NASA. The second call to Houston gave Al more information. Jude was recently divorced. His only child, a son, was an ensign stationed in Hawaii and the Captain wanted out of NASA since his ex also worked there. It was almost too good to be true. Al decided to skip the rest of the regular channels for his information and talk to the source. He found the phone number, but it was only 5:45. Chances were better that Jude would be home in an hour or more. That would give Al time to finish those waiting reports. He flipped on his computer terminal, loaded the documents and started to write.

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Lillian and Gooshie had the handlink in pieces on the console in the Command Room. Lillian was examining hardware circuits. "Gooshie, everything is fine here. The architecture is not the problem. It has to be the programming." She started to reassemble the unit.

Gooshie turned to the computer, "Ziggy, what happened today? Why couldn't the Admiral get out of the Imaging Chamber?" The computer didn't answer. "Ziggy, tell me what happened?"

In a wooden voice Ziggy responded, "Admiral Calavicci did not input the proper sequence for egress. Until the proper code is input into the handlink, I cannot allow anyone in or out of the Imaging Chamber."

The engineers looked at each other. Lillian spoke, "She doesn't sound like our Ziggy. What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know." He turned his attention to the computer again, "Ziggy, what was wrong with the Admiral's code?"

"Admiral Calavicci was unable to complete the code according to his own predetermined sequencing. It is my responsibility to maintain the security of the Project."

In a weary voice Lillian answered, "But it was the Admiral. He has top security clearance."

"Security must be maintained regardless the level of clearance."

A million questions and concerns flashed into Lillian's and Gooshie's minds. Ziggy was not acting right at all.

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Al's reports to the Pentagon were complete. As he ran a spell check on the documents, he decided to try Brandeis. They met years earlier when Al had returned from Vietnam. Jude accompanied the injured pilot from Japan to San Diego. The young, naive Ensign befriended the battered Lieutenant and small acts of kindness were never forgotten by the grateful former prisoner of war. The phone was dialed and after two rings a voice said, "Hello?"

"Jude? This is Al Calavicci."

Jude Brandeis was surprised and pleased to hear the graveled voice. He liked Al Calavicci the first instant they met and since then, the superior officer was always there to provide a boost to the younger man's career. "Admiral, it's good to hear from you. How are you doing? I hear you got another star."

"Yeah, you'd think they'd learn. Hey, I heard you got divorced. Sorry, kid."

The Admiral still called him "kid" and it seemed right coming from him. "Yeah, the second time. I don't know how and Dr. Calavicci do it."

Al laughed, "You got to remember to have fun, lots and lots of fun."

"Fun is a good thing. I haven't had much lately."

"I know, kid, I know." They spent about fifteen minutes telling tales of their current lives, though Al had to be spare in details. Finally he got around to the point of his call, "Listen, I'd like to talk with you in person when you have the chance. I have an idea I'd like you to consider."

"Sure, Admiral."

"Are you ever going to call me Al?"

Jude laughed at the reference. "Oh, I doubt it, Admiral." For years Al had tried to get the lower ranking officer to call him by his first name, but protocol was ingrained in career military types to the point where Jude probably considered "Admiral" Al's true first name.

"Figures," Al bemoaned. "Jude, I need you here at my project. You willing to be transferred out of NASA?"

Jude thought for a moment, "Considering I share office space with my ex, I think a transfer would be a good thing."

"I want you here tomorrow. I'll call the SecNav and have you transferred immediately."

Jude had forgotten how much he liked Al. The three star Vice Admiral had no concerns about dealing with authority. It often made Jude wonder how he made Admiral. "Immediately?"

"Yeah. Pack a suitcase and we'll have your house packed up and brought over."

"Damn, Admiral. You packing that kind of clout now?"

"Always did, Jude."

The two passed a few more pleasantries and then said goodbye. Al was happy to hear the eagerness in Jude's voice. He had always liked the kid who was one of the few good things to greet him when he returned from Vietnam in 1975. Back during that terrible and wonderful March, in a few days, in a few brief meetings, they formed a bond of friendship and trust.

Al checked the time - 8:15. It was time for more food. He felt hungry. The commissary would be open as it always was. The Project kept odd hours and food was a necessity throughout the days and nights. Before Al left his office, he gave the computer commands to print out a hard copy for him and email copies to the appropriate Washington offices. Before he left the spare looking office, he grabbed a maintenance report to read, turned out the lights and made his way toward the plastic food waiting for him at the commissary.

The dinner choices were pretty sad. After looking over the options, he decided on something that on a better day might have passed for a turkey burger. He sat down, opened the report and started in on the dry reading and dryer bread. After two bites, he threw out the pasty sandwich. The rest of dinner - a piece of limp lettuce, two slices of under ripe tomato and a sorry piece of watermelon - remained on his plate looking very sad.

The Admiral's ability to focus was legendary. When he read, almost nothing could distract him. He liked reading things in totality at one sitting. Verbena challenged his retention, once. While not photographic like his pal Sam, Al's superior memory was well in keeping with his superior mind.

Verbena knew interrupting Al in the middle of his reading was not the sort of thing he enjoyed, but she had to see him and you got Al when you found Al. She pulled out the chair across from him. "It's good to see you eating. I'm very proud of you."

Al gave her a comical sneer and certainly did not admit to throwing away three fourths of his food, "Don't be cute. To what do I owe the honor of your company? I can't imagine that you're here for dinner this late."

A bag of lemon drops was pulled from her soft-sided briefcase. "These are for you." He looked at her not having to use words to ask the question. "Because we got the results of your blood work. You're hypoglycemic and it's bordering on the dangerous level."

A little shrug and an "Okay," was the only response he gave.

"That's it? Okay? Don't you want to know the particulars?"

"Low blood sugar. Eat lemon drops when I feel tired."

"It's more than that, Admiral. Hypoglycemia can be very dangerous, as in life threatening. You need to learn about the symptoms and what to do." She pulled a book from the same briefcase the candy came from. "You want to hear?" The disinterest on his face was evident, but she turned to the page marked with a torn slip of paper. "Here are some of the things you can look forward to if you're not careful. Sweating, nervousness, tremors, fainting, heart palpitations, confusion, visual disturbances, stupor, coma and seizures." Verbena wasn't sure Al was listening. "Al, look at me. You have to pay attention to this. This is serious. Sometimes you're in the Imaging Chamber 12 or 14 hours. That's when you'll have to be especially careful. I want to put juice boxes and some good carbohydrates in there. We can put them in the cabinet in the washroom. Okay?"

Al took a bite of tomato. He barely reacted. A simple, "Okay," was all he gave her.

"That's it?"

"Yeah, it's not that big a deal, Verbena. I drink juice. I eat crackers. I carry lemon drops. So? What's the big concern? It's something I can control."

Verbena was getting angry now, "Isao wants you back at the Infirmary tomorrow morning. He has to figure out why you're hypoglycemic. There are more tests in store for you." She got a reaction from him. "I thought that might get a rise out of you. He wants to do some screening."

"For what?"

"Some nasty things. Are you going to listen this time?" He sighed. "I'll take that as a yes. Sometimes no cause can be found, but it could be the result of benign tumors, liver disease, autoimmune system problems and the worst possible scenario, cancer." His eyes ultimately met hers. "Finally, I have your attention. The chances of cancer are very small. Isao thinks it's idiopathic, that he'll find no reason except your lifestyle and eating habits, but he has to check."

Al had to take a deep breath. He recalled his years of alcohol abuse. "Liver disease or cancer. Well, you've made my evening."

"Really, the chances are very small that Isao will come up with anything. I just wanted you to recognize that hypoglycemia can be dangerous. You have to watch your diet carefully. You have to eat regular meals with plenty of carbohydrates and unlike the rest of us you should eat some sugar every day. Isao can give you better instructions on diet."

There are things no one ever needs to hear in his life. Being hypoglycemic wasn't the end of the world, but it was just one more thing to contend with. He picked up the bag of lemon drops, "So I eat one of these when I feel light-headed, right?"

"No, you eat more like four or five. Maybe even a couple more. Another option is to carry sugar cubes and chomp on some of those."

Al grimaced, "That sounds tooth destroying."

"So, brush your teeth."

He finally laughed, "I knew there was a reason I liked you," and he slipped the lemon drops into his pocket.

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