'Hey. Sam. Hey. C'mon.'

In front of him, something red. The glow of embers, a campfire just right for toasting marshmallows. No. An LED, the flickering interface of QL hardware. No. It really was an ember. It moved, danced through the darkness. Al's cigar.

'Al.'

'Welcome back. I was worried. You know it's impossible to do CPR on a hologram.'

Sam brushed the sand off his face. 'Do you even know CPR?'

Al shrugged. 'I've performed variations of the kiss of life.'

'I just bet you have.' Sam pushed himself up on his hands and knees, happy to be on solid ground again. He was hot and thirsty and tired and sore but he was alive. 'So where am I? What's this place called?'

'I did.' Al looked offended. 'I used to date this lifeguard.' He drew a long, slow drag on the cigar, staring off into the middle distance. 'Maaaaan, could she fill a swimsuit.'

'Al. Where am I?' Sam slumped, sitting on the sand, too tired to get up.

'The middle of nowhere.'

'Al!'

Al shrugged. 'This island doesn't have a name. I think you're the first person who's ever been here.'

'I have to get the guy in the waiting room rescued.'

Al shook his head. In the dim glow of his cigar his face was composed, serious. 'Odds are down to thirty seven percent.'

'Well what then?'

Al shrugged. 'Your guess is as good as mine. Checked things out for you while you were…' He waved his cigar over Sam's long, bare legs. '…out. Cheez, what the hell are you wearing? Have some consideration.'

The ragged old boxers left a great deal to be desired and not much for the imagination. A few molecules of underpants surrounded the holes out of which they were mostly composed.

'I'm sorry. Next time I'll put in a request to leap into someone who puts some real effort into choosing their underwear.'

'Well, if we're doing requests, I'd like something in red lace panties and a matching bra. Say a 34D.'

Sam pushed himself to a standing position, took two uncertain steps, then fell back onto the sand. He looked at Al, upside down. 'What? You want me to leap into a transvestite?'

'You want me to kick sand in your face?'

'Do I look like a ninety three pound weakling?'

'No. You look like a sea-turtle that's about to have something very bad happen to it. Oh yeah. You're in luck. You got water on this island.' The ember of Al's cigar swung through an arc, indicating off to Sam's left. 'I had a look around while you were indisposed. You got water, coconuts, bananas, breadfruit and mangoes.'

'And alllllll the seafood I can eat.'

'Paradise,' said Al.

Sam thought he meant it, too. He got to his feet again, paused while his equilibrium established itself, then began the slow wander along the beach toward where Al had promised water. 'I used to know this girl who made the best coconut cream pies. They were all sort of fluffy on top. Don't think she could cook anything else.'

'Was her name Mary Ann?'

'As a matter of fact, I think it was. Yeah. Mary Ann. Can't remember her surname.'

'Cheez, Sam.'

'What?'

'Swiss cheese.' Al pointed his cigar at Sam's head.

'What?' Now it was just getting exasperating.

'Or maybe just dehydration. The water's this way.'

Sam had wandered down the beach instead of along. He followed Al's lead up towards a cluster of palms and mangrove. 'How come you know Mary Ann?'

'Because like every red-blooded American boy I've sat in front of the TV watching Gilligan's Island and imagined a threesome with Mary Ann and Ginger.'

'TV show?'

'You're remembering a TV show and for all the wrong reasons.'

'Oh. I guess that's why I couldn't remember what the coconut cream pie tasted like.'

Al shook his head in dismay. 'I bet you used to watch it just to see what the Professor could invent out of coconut shells that week.' He stopped and looked down. 'Here, don't fall in. There's your fresh water.'

He stood by and watched as Sam knelt down by the creek, not bothering to cup the water in his hands, but put his face into it, drawing down slow, grateful draughts past his split lips.

It felt so good. The water was cold and sweet. He could feel thick, dead layers of skin peeling off the inside of his mouth, flushed away by the wonderful water. It filled the empty places in his belly, washed the salt and sun out of his skin, cooled the heat out of his hands and neck and face. He lay in it, immersing himself, letting it run through his hair and swallowing, swallowing, swallowing it down.

'Hey.'

He looked up into Al's concerned face.

'Don't drink too much all at once or you'll give yourself the heave-hos.'

'I know.' Sam had to force himself to stop, though he was worried he might have been a little too late. He'd done enough throwing up for one day.

'You okay?'

It was so tempting to just stay there in the water. One more mouthful. No. He would wait, then have some more. Yeah, wait, and then have some more. He climbed out of the creek and sat on the sandy bank beside Al, their faces lit by Ziggy's handlink. 'Sure. Of course. So come on, you haven't told me anything about this leap. When are we and what do I need to do to get out of here?'

Al scratched his head, tapped at the keypad in an unconvincing way and then bashed it until it squawked at him. The lights on the handlink went out. Al threatened it with a fist and the lights came back on again. 'Uh, Ziggy's still working on that. Tell you what, why don't you get some sleep and we'll see what he's got for us.'

'Sleep?' Sam stared into the darkness. He ached all over. Despite the water he'd just drunk, he was still thirsty and the dehydration made him feel ill, slow and dizzy. He'd been lying on that box in salt water for the best part of the day and it had made him chafe where it wasn't polite to scratch. Sleep would be nice but in the gathering gloom there was nothing but the threatening shapes of palm trees looming over him and a lot of sand.

'Sure. Sleep. Pull up a palm leaf, make yourself a nest in the sand.' Al's hand dug invisible nests in the air. 'You know they say sleeping on sand is the most comfortable thing you can do. It conforms to the shape of the body. It's why people are so rested after a beach holiday.'

Sam didn't believe a word of it.

'You'll be fine, kid.' Al punched the door up and it appeared around him, a white rectangle that he stepped into and then it vanished.

With Al gone, Sam was left with a terrible sense of loss. He was also a little bit scared. Nobody lived on this island, that's what Al had said, and from what he'd seen in the brief time he'd already been there, he was inclined to agree. The thing was, with nobody around to help, why had he leapt? What was it that he needed to put right this time?

Aside from saving the life of the man he'd leapt into, simply by surviving, he could see no point to this leap, and that's what frightened him. He had to have a reason for being there. He had to have a purpose. There was always a beginning and an end to these things, but he could see no end. What if there was no higher power moving him through time? What if it was just human nature, his ability to see patterns, that had helped him up until now? What if this whole thing was just a pointless glitch in the machine he'd built? What if the island was an error and he was going to be stuck there forever, a hopeless, lonely Robinson Crusoe?

It was pointless dwelling on these problems. They wouldn't get him off the island or help with how he felt. What he needed to do right now was take care of himself so that he'd be able to do whatever was required of him, whenever it was. He just had to trust it would all happen soon.

He knelt back down by the water and drank as much as he could hold. His head was aching and he knew that was only going to get worse as the dehydration really set in. Back on the bank he kicked at the dry sand, wishing for somewhere a lot more comfortable to sleep. The night was warm, at least he had that, only the lightest breeze stirred the palm trees. In the gathering gloom of night he looked down at the sand to see how high up the tide came. He had no intention of getting wet again tonight. Not with salt water, anyway. He made a scrape in the sand and lined it with fallen fronds. He eased himself into the hip-hole and made a sand pillow. The fronds were soft beneath him and he was tired enough to fall asleep at once, but his night was restive. The sound of the surf crashing against the reef gave him dream-filled images of water and that tilting horizon that haunted him through the three or maybe four times that he got up to drink from the creek and to pee a little. He was glad when the last time he woke the sky was filled with pink and orange clouds and it was light enough to see. He was hungry.