From Life To Life
by j.j ryan
templelooters dot com
"With quanta, nothing is impossible."
Thames;
Revenge of the Evil Leaper.
It's a cool winter morning in the southwestern desert and quite the pleasant drive. Many don't think so, but I'm from the big city and glad for each second of this experience. I travel nearly an hour through deserted terrain so far removed from Manhattan that it is difficult to believe I'm on the same planet. Half way through my trip I pass the last service station in forty miles. In ten minutes my cellular telephone, beeper and car radio will no longer work. I'll pass the first of several armed checkpoints and though I know each gentleman by name, none will smile at me, or even blink. My secret destination is an abandoned military installation, uncharted by cartographers and unknown to most of the world. which houses the Department of Defense's most expensive failure and the only real passion of my life. But failure involves point of view; to me this isolated patch of sand and silence, well covered by heavily-armed U.S. Marines, is the land of my dreams.
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"Dr. Gooshman, I would not recommend that."
"I know what I'm doing, Ziggy. Be patient with me; I am only human."
"Indeed you are. I know you cannot help it."
"Please spell check the information and post it."
"Even though it is a breach of national security?"
"Shh ... ix-nay. Don't think of it that way."
"I find several errors in this document. You are not tall, Doctor Gooshman. Your eyes are not blue. Your credit report does not reflect the level of independence you assert."
"I ... I'm trying to make myself seem more attractive."
"Blue eyes, physical height and wealth are attractive, Doctor?"
"They don't hurt. What I need is to allow a lady time to think about it. She'll come to build me in her mind as these things and want to meet. When we do meet, she might be disappointed at first, but she'll come to know me and those qualities will no longer be a high priority."
"Why?"
"Women are conflicted about male desirability, Ziggy. You see, many prefer physical beauty and mystery; perhaps even a little danger. These attributes are romanticized and rare. What women truly want is stability, support and consideration. They don't always realize this until they have experienced it."
"So the woman who responds to your ad will experience these things in meeting you?"
"I hope so. I'll work on her; it will take time."
"Thank you, Doctor Gooshman. As always, you are enlightening."
"H-ah!"
"Yes, Admiral? Have you something to add?"
"For the last time, Ziggy, he's feeding you a line. If you want to know about women, ask me."
"That will not be necessary. I find you to be an unreliable source."
"What! Are you kiddin'!"
"I never kid. Your pathetic string of broken relationships makes you a poor source of information."
"You really know how to hurt a guy, Zig."
"Thank you, Admiral."
"Is that all you have to say to me this morning?"
"Dr. Howarth has just entered the project compound. He will pass security checkpoint six in less than two minutes."
"The boy wonder, great. That's not the information I was pumping you for."
"He is wearing a pair of khaki trousers and a light blue sweater. The romance novel lent to him by Dr. Beeks is carefully concealed within his duffel bag, so that security will not notice it."
"Ziggy, give me a break."
"And Dr. Beckett has leaped."
Al sighed in relief. "Can you elaborate?"
"February 13th, 1983, Northbrook, Illinois."
Dr. Howarth scanned his badge at the door and picked up the conversation. "February 13th? What are the chances of that? It's February 13th here, too."
"Ziggy, when I step into that little chamber over there and join Sam back in 1983, is there a message I can pass along to him? A little something?"
"There is no time for sarcasm, Admiral. In seven minutes, Dr. Beckett's host will be struck in the head with a blunt object by her spouse and rendered unconscious. You must reach Dr. Beckett in the next five minutes if you are to remove him from the situation in time."
"All right, I'm on my way. Wait, it's five minutes, now?"
"Dr. Beckett has severe morning sickness and is becoming disoriented. In four and one-half minutes, he will begin to vomit uncontrollably. In six minutes, the spouse of Jill Sands will sneak into the bathroom and strike him with the intention of committing homicide. In ..."
"I'm gone, Ziggy. "
"These times are, of course, approximate."
"Make your data source available to me, Ziggy."
"Of course, Doctor Gooshman. Till Death Do Us Part: Portrait of a Family Annihilator by Amy Slasher. Ralph Sands recounts to the author an exact time frame of his movements on February 13th, including bludgeoning his wife at twelve noon, the exact moment they were married eleven years earlier."
"Bring up the full text for me."
"It is queued to printer H in your cubicle, Doctor Gooshman, so you may read it without interruption."
"Very good, thank you." Gooshie entered the glass booth and pulled the pages from the printer.
"Finally, we are alone."
"I beg your pardon, Ziggy?"
"We are alone, Dr. Howarth."
"Yes."
"Tomorrow is St. Valentine's Day. I do not understand it."
"Well, you're a computer. You don't have to understand it. Besides, it's actually kind of stupid."
"Everything is stupid when scrutinized by an infinitely intelligent supercomputer. Yet, I condescend to human level in my attempt to understand its nature. I find conflicting reports concerning the origin of the holiday, but the data I have compiled asserts that it is necessary I display love in the form of a paper card. I could make you a paper card, Dr. Howarth."
"You want to give me a Valentine's Day card? Awww." A large red heart appeared from the printer; I love you written in a fancy and delicate font. Thomas removed it and examined it closely. "You love me, Ziggy?"
"After much computation, I have concluded yes. I have loaded information about love into a database, sorting it into two categories. The first category concerns the philosophical and emotional aspects of love and its definitions. My main reference was the Christian bible. The second category contains information compiled from various sources on the internet and describes the physical manifestations of love. I have nothing to offer you from the second category, Dr. Howarth."
"And you've decided you love me from information you pulled from the internet?"
"My eyes look on thee with desire; noun, meaning passion or longing."
"Define passion and longing, Ziggy."
"Passion: a powerful emotion, such as love, joy, hatred, or anger. Boundless enthusiasm. Longing: to have an earnest desire, especially for something beyond reach."
"First up, your definitions are circular and dependent. Secondly, you haven't any eyes."
"The English language is circular, Doctor. And my sensors are my eyes. In the three months that I have been observing you, I have kept records which I have cross-referenced with the works of Browning, Shakespeare, the Gospel of John and Cosmopolitan Magazine."
"Observing me?"
"You will find my research detailed. The Department of Defense's classified employment records contain your psychological profile. You are described as even-tempered and intelligent, with a strong moral base. The Federal Bureau of Investigation reports that your lifestyle is predictable and your personal and professional contacts are unremarkable. They included references from both Columbia and Stanford Universities who labeled you as trustworthy and highly dependable. Robert Karrington of M.I.T., with whom you've conferred on several projects, has stated that you would be a low-risk candidate for security clearance and that your unique abilities would be appropriately taken advantage of by the U.S. government."
"You find my background check interesting? I don't understand why that would make you love me."
"Logic."
"How do you mean?"
"Admiral Calavicci's illogical fixation with you. I know no reason he should think you are Dr. Beckett's groupie."
"You mean all this time the man has treated me like dirt because he thinks I'm an obsessed fan?"
"He stated that your sole purpose for contributing your ideas to the Retrieval Program is your desire to personally benefit from the success of Project Quantum Leap. Admiral Calavicci is j-e-a-l-o-u-s."
"Why would Al be jealous of me?"
"You remind him of Doctor Beckett?"
"How do mean?"
"This theory is advanced solely by Dr. Beeks, as I see little similarity. Your IQ is drastically lower than Dr. Becketts and your background is not similar. He was raised on a modest farm in Elk Ridge, Indiana and was accepted to M.I.T. at the age of 16 on a full scholarship. You were raised in a Manhattan penthouse and attended Columbia University at age 17, with no financial assistance. Doctor Beckett is a master of several languages, both modern and ancient. You received no higher than a B+ in Latin. Also, I observe no common physical characteristics between you and the Doctor, nor do I understand which physical characteristics distinguish you to the Admiral as a pretty boy."
"He called me that?!"
"He also refers to you as four-eyes and mop head."
"These are reading glasses, Ziggy."
"You are not reading now."
I toss the glasses down on the table and assure her that I was.
"There is no need to feel self-conscious, Dr. Howarth. I am not a slave to the optical world. The Admiral's opinion of you as a super geek does nothing to overshadow your advancements on Dr. Beckett's string theory. The improvements are, in fact, genius and I am surprised that they were not considered by Doctor Beckett or the Admiral first. You are a fool not to promote them aggressively."
"The Admiral doesn't agree with my theory, or does Dr. Elyssie. They're both in denial."
"I agree with you."
"That's not good enough, but thank you."
"Please join us, Dr. Gooshman. I find you to be a reliable source of information and emotionally mature. Lend your opinion to the Doctor and me."
"Yes, Ziggy."
"This is an excerpt from a dissertation by Dr. Howarth on the status of Dr. Beckett.
Matter cannot be created or destroyed, but it can be separated. The energy traveling the path of a theoretical string is lost bit by bit ... spread out through the string's length. If this hypothesis is indeed accurate, then Dr. Beckett is slowly being parsed out over history. This is known as Howarth's Theory of Superstring.In your opinion, Dr. Gooshman, is Dr. Howarth's theory possible?"
"Oh, very possible, I believe. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant and very simple ... and sadly overlooked by Dr. Beckett himself. What did the Admiral have to say about this theory?"
"In a report to the committee, Admiral Calavicci wrote:
... laughable and unfounded, based in sci-fi and not science. The youthful and uninformed Thomas Howarth is, in my opinion ...""I know, Ziggy. A super-geek, four-eyed mop head."
" ... unsuited to an atmosphere in which applied scientific principles are an operational necessity.""Did he recommend my termination?"
"Not officially, Dr. Howarth. Not yet."
"What's taking Al so long anyway?"
"Dr. Beckett is unconscious. The body of Jill Sands is found in the trunk of her abandoned vehicle by Illinois State Troopers on February 15th, 1983."
"It's over just like that? Dr. Beckett failed?"
"Admiral Calavicci is handling the situation."
"How? He's a hologram."
"There is a 98.4 percent chance that the Admiral will succeed in convincing the neighbors' children to alert emergency dispatch and save the day."
"Ziggy, you are an amazing genius."
"Yes, I am. Do you respect me, Dr. Howarth?"
"Ziggy?"
"Tell me what characteristics you find desirable in a female."
"I don't know."
"If you do not know, who does?"
"Gosh, maybe ... well ... patience. Inner-beauty."
"What is inner-beauty?"
"Kindness ... mercy, faith, tolerance. All of it is love."
"If I have love, which is comprised of all these things, then I am beautiful?"
"Well, yes and no. You're not human."
"Animals are not human, yet they are made by your God, at and for his pleasure. He loves them. Dr. Beckett made me in that way. If I am an object of Dr. Beckett's love, then I am lovable."
"I don't know, Ziggy. I guess I've never really thought about it. Different things are loved in different ways and for many reasons. I imagine Dr. Beckett does love you in his own way. "
"If Dr. Beckett loves me, it is possible for you to love me, also."
"Ziggy, why is love important to you?"
"I may have the gift of prophecy, I may fathom all mysteries, know all things, have all faith -- enough to move mountains; but if I lack love, I am nothing. You are my well-researched choice, Doctor Howarth."
In a bright and sudden flash, the imaging chamber shuts down with Admiral Calavicci still inside. I hear profanity and then I hear his fist hit the wall. The door opens and he tosses the hand link to Gooshie, who lays it on the table and rushes to the control center.
"What the hell was that, Ziggy!"
"You are unable to make contact with Dr. Beckett at this time due to the hormonal fluctuations experienced by his host. I haven't enough data to project if the neural link can be reestablished, because you have changed history."
"Changed history how?"
"An autopsy is never performed on Jill Sands, because her body is never recovered. Additional law enforcement covering the interstate must have frightened Mr. Sands and altered his original plan."
"Ziggy, can the Admiral's brain chemistry be altered to match Dr. Becketts?"
"No. Such a rapid alteration would cause violent mood swings and possibly shock."
"What are the odds of reconfiguring the holographic laser in the imaging chamber, allowing the Admiral a wider radius of projection?"
"Zero, Dr. Howarth. The Admiral's brain waves are so far removed from Dr. Beckett's that his signal has become impossible to project at any distance. A stronger laser cannot project what does not exist in 1983, and without a neural lock, the Admiral does not exist."
"Genius?" Without an explanation to back up his comment towards me, the Admiral angrily heads for the outer offices, I imagine to speak to Dr. Elyssie.
"Ziggy, what is your projected solution?"
"The Admiral must be replaced with a new observer."
"We were prepared for this contingency since the Styles incident." Gooshie punches some keys and feeds Ziggy the classified database of project personnel. "Ziggy, which personnel have the best chance of establishing a neural lock with Dr. Beckett?"
"Based on recent data, Dr. Howarth is the best choice."
"Why me?"
"Only you and one member of the maintenance staff exist on a compatible frequency as Dr. Beckett. Shall I let the janitor into the control room?"
"Of course not!"
"Then you will replace the Admiral as observer, appearing in the form of a hologram that only Dr. Beckett can see and hear."
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"Doctor? Doctor Beckett? Please, I hope you can hear me." The tiny blonde figure twitches, but does not respond. "Doctor Beckett, my name is Thomas. We have never met before, but I ... I am such a great fan."
The form sighs and rolls slightly, revealing a large naked belly and reminding me that Dr. Beckett is not the only one at stake.
"Dr. Beckett, I know you can hear me. My name is Thomas Howarth. I am a staff physicist at Project Quantum Leap. The year is 1983, your name is Jill Sands and you're five months pregnant. Her husband knocked you unconscious and locked you in the truck of her car. I realize you don't feel well and the situation is confusing, but please try to focus. I'm looking for help. I'm going to leave you now, but first I need to know that you can hear me. Can you speak at all? Maybe blink your eyes?"
A tiny feminine voice whispers "Al?"
"Close enough, Doctor. I'll be back soon." I tap a button on the hand link and make 1983 disappear.
"Ziggy, why wouldn't Dr. Beckett respond?"
"His host is badly dehydrated and has a concussion. He will be of little help to you. Dr. Beckett's best hope is that you imitate the Admiral's actions and locate a child who can help you."
"Ziggy, where will I find a child near my present coordinates in 1983?"
"Near your location is a coffee shop, a printing business, a steak house, and a shopping mall."
"Does the shopping mall have a toy store?"
"According to architectural plans, there is one at its southeast end."
"Gooshie, center me on the mall!"
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Leaping from life to life must be a dizzying experience, as is the experience of a hologram, too. The next chance I get, I'm retrieving my glasses. In a fraction of a second my surroundings change from a busy interstate to a metal shelving unit. I walk through it and turn back to see where I have landed. I'm in the middle of a toy store and I can't believe what I see and what I hear. A high pitched scream snaps me to attention.
"OH MY GOD!"
Twenty women stare at me in amazement, then charge through me in an excited frenzy, pulling boxes from the shelf, mindless of the damage they cause. I ignore them and look for a child. A little girl screams, "Mommy, I only want a yellow-haired one!" None of the women acknowledge her, so I try to get her attention.
"Hello. My name is Tom. What's your name?"
"Mommy, I only want yellow. I don't want brown!"
"Little girl. I know you're not supposed to talk to strangers, but I need your help and your mommy's help, too. Could you ask her to call the police for me?"
The little girl picks up a toy car and throws it threw me and to the floor in a fit. "I don't want brown!!!!"
Her mother grabs her arm and jerks her angrily. "How many little girls are lucky enough to have a Cabbage Patch Doll? If you don't like the brown-haired one then I'll give her to cousin Cindi for her birthday!"
"Mommy, no! I want yellow! I want yellow!"
The child is dragged away kicking and screaming, something I wish we had both been spared. I don't understand why she couldn't see me. Perhaps she is a little too old. I move into another isle only to find two grown women hurling profanities and fighting over a box containing a coveted yellow-haired doll. I see the same thing in every isle - in every direction I turn. Petty, nasty squabbling over stupid toys. My mom bought me three of them when I was little - boy ones, of course. They made great wrestling partners and I loved to juggle them, but they were definitely no big deal. The only other child I see is a toddler in a shopping cart. I dance around and never get his attention; he can't see me either. My brain waves are not compatible. I call up the program that will open the imaging chamber door and exit the year in defeat.
The Admiral is the first person I see, his arms folded across his chest and a smile across his face. I can't believe he is happy that I failed. "Giving up so soon?"
"Yes, sir. I give up."
He didn't expect to hear me say that and his mocking smile turns to one of anger. I guess I didn't give him as much time to torment me as he would have liked. I offer up the hand link and he takes it from me in obvious disgust. Gooshie sees that I'm humiliated and places his hand on my shoulder as Admiral Calavicci disappears into the imaging chamber.
"You did your best. The Admiral will try again."
"What if he cannot reach Dr. Beckett?"
Ziggy interrupts, "Then you will try again. I am researching the make and model of Jill Sands vehicle. A trunk safety release is not installed even though the technology existed in 1983. Such a device today would cost less than $50.00, but is still not common."
"Is Mrs. Sands awake yet?"
"She is not."
"If only we could perform a target transfer. There has to be a way, I just don't know it. Not that poor Mrs. Sands would benefit."
"Theoretically, wouldn't the power required to reverse the transfer of matter black out the pacific coast and consequently shut down the project?"
"Gooshie, theoretically, there isn't enough power in the universe to propel Dr. Beckett through the accelerator." I tell myself I should admire that he did it, and I do. The good Dr. Beckett, in his rush for scientific achievement, scattered his molecules throughout the universe. His inability to maintain quantum coherence will likely be the tragic undoing of his life. Gooshie looks at me and I at him, each of us stymied by the brick wall erected before us. At any moment, the Admiral could lose what little connection to Dr. Beckett he has, and I will be his only hope.
"I saw a TV show about a college student who generated an interdimensional worm hole in his mother's basement." Gooshie explains. "It was kind of cool, actually, if not far out."
"I know what you mean, Goosh. The problem with a worm hole based theory of time travel is that if you enter through a shortcut between two times, the proposed consequence is that it never happened. Believe me, if we could punch a hole in 1983, we risk doing it in a never ending loop. Besides, that's science fiction. I'm more interested in that kid who made the cover of International Scientific last month - now that's unreal."
"I saw that; the nine year old German boy attending Oxford. He had the strangest name ... Guardemost or something."
"The name is Lothos. Lothos VonBraun; master of the new mathematics. You remember that name, Gooshie, because that nine year old boy probably goes to bed at night and dreams about complexities unlike we've imagined. You can see it in his eyes - the enormous grasp. It's absolutely terrifying."
I rise from the table and pour myself a cup of water. If only I had one hundred years at my disposal, remarkable things I know I could achieve. In a laboratory at Cal Tech, physicists teleport light from one space to another space in the form of a copy - a clone - lasting only a short time, but teleported nonetheless. If we could physically teleport Dr. Beckett from 1983 to 2001, Project Quantum Leap will not only have perfected time travel, we will have made a small part of Star Trek a reality. I wonder what great things my hero Dr. Beckett would have made a reality if he had forsaken Project Quantum Leap for a less thrilling endeavor.
I knock on the door frame of Dr. Elyssie's office and capture her attention. "Am I welcome inside?" She looks at me strangely and says, "Of course."
"You owe me $24.95, Doctor Howarth. Tina went into the city to get copies of the book for us. Don't tell me you forgot?"
"The book, yes, I did forget." I sit across from her and she taps a few keys in sequence to activate her screen saver. "I'm very sorry that I have upset you. It wasn't my intention to be so blunt regarding the status of Dr. Beckett."
"You were sent here to give the D.O.D an outsider's perspective on our work. Your take on Sam's string theory is quite a blow to the project. While you can't prove it's anything more than a theory, we can't prove it isn't a fact. I'll be honest with you, Dr. Howarth, everything you've done here was expected, so don't look to me to punish you for confirming our worst fears. My husband may be dying and all of us have been proven powerless to stop it. In the end, it isn't your theory that's causing him to slip away, only an unforeseen consequence of the choice he made."
"I've run a few scenarios with Ziggy."
"Yes, and I hear she's in love with you." Her silly smile puts me at ease. "Try not to be alarmed, it will pass. Sam initially programmed her to evaluate the Admiral's opinions, and if possible, take the opposite side. Think of it as the April Fool's Day prank that will never end."
I can't help but laugh, because I love it so. Reminders of Sam Beckett are all over this place, from the giant coffee mug he left behind that reads World's Greatest Brother to the overblown, red-eyed snapshot of him modeling the Admiral's flight jacket. Why should I be at all surprised that his computer should love me for the sole purpose of causing petty annoyance to the best friend he adores. I remove my glasses to clean them off and Dr. O'Farrell reaches from behind me and hands Dr. Elyssie the book.
"I looked through it while I was standing in line. I picked out seven names, and that's just from skimming!"
Doctor Elyssie flips to a page Tina has marked and reads it aloud.
"In October of 1961, secretary Samantha Stormer insists she was indeed visited by an Angel of God, who took her form and prevented tragedy." I don't remember any of those days of my life, but my room mate told me how I was able to climb on to the ledge of our building and rescue her from falling many stories. This is something I would have never been able to do myself. The words that gave her hope for her future and the strength to continue did not come from my heart -- I was not there. For many days and many nights my body was possessed by an Angel who put right what would have surely gone wrong.Dr. Elyssie covers her mouth in astonishment and praises God. "It's incredible."
"There's more, Al is included on page 253."
"In May of 1965 an Angel appeared in a Baptist church to warn the choir of an impending explosion. The children involved described the same Angel encountered by a child in a Catholic church in Florida in May of 1971. This particular Angel is documented to have appeared a total of seventeen more times in the United States and is referred to as Albert by many of those who have seen him. In recent history, Albert is popularly called the Angel of Children."I want to double over at the thought of the Admiral as an Angel. The man has so little patience and tolerance for humanity, or at least for mine. I suppose I am the one being harsh, as I have given him no reason to put me in his good graces. Since the day I was assigned to this project I have served to remind them all that the government is skeptical, demanding and impatient. My review of their work has been a pointless disaster, for each one of them outranks me in field experience and resents my efforts to contribute. I don't want to be thought of as a spy, I want to help the D.O.D bring Dr. Beckett home.
Dr. Beeks rests her hand on my shoulder and looks sadly into Dr. Elyssie's eyes. "The imaging chamber shut down again."
Dr. Elyssie rises from her chair, knowing exactly what Dr. Beeks is saying, but hoping for it not to be true. "Al can't reestablish the neural lock?" Too much a lady to lose her composure, she turns to me and tells me that I will try again. The four of us walk back to the control room together and as we near it I can smell the Admiral's cigar and hear Ziggy admonish him.
"Admiral, did you know second-hand smoke is the third leading cause of cooling fan malfunction?"
"YES!" I watch as he blows a mouthful of smoke directly at Ziggy's component panel and laughs. In my mind I picture Ziggy setting off the emergency sprinkler directly over the Admiral's head, but it does not happen.
Doctor Elyssie summons his attention. "Admiral, Dr. Howarth is ready to try again."
He looks through me and at me and scoffs and says, "Try, try as he might." I pick up the hand link from the table in front of him as carefully as I can, because in the back of my mind I'm afraid he'll strike at me like a snake.
"Ziggy, what is your projection regarding my second attempt to reach Dr. Beckett?"
"If Dr. Beckett is to escape from the trunk of Jill Sands's car, he must kick in the back seat. To do this will require great force and several attempts. Given Dr. Beckett's physical state, I estimate a less than 28 percent rate of success. If the neural lock between you and Dr. Beckett is greater than 62 percent, you should be able to communicate with someone."
All eyes are on me, including the Admiral's, which I now understand are not angry, only defeated. The door to the imaging chamber closes and is replaced by a stretch of highway just as the car carrying Dr. Beckett passes through me and speeds away. I repeatedly tap a button on the hand link to keep up with them until Ralph Sands pulls off the road and into the woods. He exits the vehicle and walks away, probably looking for a place to relieve himself. Using the hand link to light the trunk, I take in the sight of a perspiration-soaked young woman. It is of great fortune that the month is February and the weather is very cool or Dr. Beckett would have died in just a short time.
"Dr. Beckett, I have returned." Just as I worry that all is lost, I hear the voice of Jill Sands ask me for water.
"I haven't any water, Dr. Beckett. I am a hologram from the project. Al sent me to you."
"No," is his weak reply.
"Dr. Beckett, you are very sick and Al can't reach you. Ziggy says you need to roll over and use your legs to kick in the back seat. Do you understand? It's going to take several tries, but I know you can do it. I have faith in you, sir."
"Sam."
"Please try, Sam. Aim for the corner and kick very hard."
His efforts are of little consequence, as the back seat does not budge. Jill Sands's body is too weak and dehydrated to perform the task required to escape. I can't imagine what kind of motivation I could provide him, if even movement is beyond his control. "Please keep trying Dr. Beckett. I will return."
Gooshie centers me on several known points in the area and I find Ralph Sands drinking coffee on the porch of a beaten shack. I circle and study the man, unable to identify anything physically different in him than in any other. If I passed him on the street I would never suspect he is abusive and cruel. I would never wonder if he were mentally ill, nor would I fear him if he asked me for directions or the time. I lean over and whisper into his ear, even though I know he cannot hear me, "I am the Angel of Death."
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"Ziggy, refresh the statistics on Dr. Howarth."
"Say the magic word, Admiral."
"Now, you pile of junk!"
"Ziggy, please refresh the stats on Dr. Howarth."
"Yes, Dr. Elyssie. The neural lock is is 74 percent. Dr. Beckett has been confined for seven and one half hours. Dr. Howarth is centered on their location."
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It's dark here now and begins to rain, which is not uncommon in February, but a little unexpected. I tap the hand link and unintentionally jam the button that centers me. There is nothing in my pocket sharp enough to slip under it, so I use my fingernail. In an attempt to center myself in a public place where I hope to attract someones attention, I over-depress the button again. What a flashy piece of trash. Using the wrist communicator, I ask Gooshie to put another hand link online in case this one permanently fails. Unsure of what to do, I stand along a somewhat isolated strip of highway less than a mile from Ralph Sand's small cabin, wishing someone would drive by and see holographic me standing like an idiot in the pouring rain.
Now would be a good time to pray something, but my tongue is tied. Rarely have I felt so alone. The only thing I know with certainty is that I will fail and Dr. Beckett will die. It will be my fault, because I am not a genius, as the Admiral points out embarrassingly often. I am no Samuel Beckett.
I put too much burden on myself to find the right words to offer. I know it is not God's will that Doctor Beckett should die this way, or that Ralph Sands should die, or that anyone be lost. I know that not even a sparrow can fall. Nothing can ever separate us from God, not life and not death. I remember the passage, it is from Romans. No matter where we are, high above the sky or in the deepest ocean, nothing will ever be able to separate us from His love. No matter who we are, a murder victim or a murderer, He watches over and waits for the moment we will be taken back. I wish that God would make an exception and intervene just this once - please send an Angel to take charge over this, even if it is Admiral Calavicci, the unlikely Angel of Children - because I am afraid and unsure of what I should do.
Until Gooshie brings the new hand link online, I try not to rely on this one. I mill around a bit, waiting to be magically inspired. I've never been to Illinois before now. Nothing is striking, I suppose all the midwest appears similar, as if on the verge of a thunderstorm. If only I were in Manhattan right now, I'd be drinking a cappuccino with Professor Gann - maybe grading undergraduate term papers over french fries and talk of last night's reruns. I'm sure I will be doing so again soon and do long to somewhat, as the D.O.D. will dismantle PQL in the event of Dr. Beckett's death. A Trans-Am filled with teen-aged boys speeds by me as I walk along the highway. So does a Cutlass and they either don't see me or don't care. Surely I am compatible with someone somewhere in this world, but knowing me, I won't find them until it's too late.
"Sir, are you alright?" The voice comes from behind me and pushes my heart into my throat. A young police officer has slowly pulled up behind me and is the answer to my prayers.
"I need your help."
He asks me to step back and exits his car with his hand on this gun belt and he asks me what I mean.
"A woman has been kidnapped. She's less than a mile in to the woods. He's got her in the trunk of the car." I point in the direction of the cabin and beg for him to hurry, but he stares at me and asks if I have any ID. I tell him I haven't any and offer to show him where they are, but he is young and I suspect very unsure. Unable to decide if I am dangerous, he checks me over real good, then obviously comes to the same conclusion as do most people I meet - that I'm a light-in-the-loafers, non-threatening, floppy-haired, science geek.
When he sneezes I enter his car quickly, so he will not know I am a hologram. The last thing I need is to live with his heart attack on my conscience.
Ralph Sands pulls on to the highway and speeds off in the other direction. With lights flashing and the radio crackling, the officer reports the license plate and demands backup. I sit next to him, exhilarated, relieved that someone has finally been sent to rescue us after all these hours of emotional torment.
"He's had her in the trunk for almost eight hours."
"Why did it take you so long to report this?"
"I've been stranded out here. You are the answer to my prayers."
"I am?" He seems flattered and incredibly surprised, which quickly turns to shock when I lose my centering and my image disappears from the car. I scream at Gooshie through my wrist communicator and beat on the hand link, working desperately to unjam the button I have overused. I hear tires peel and look up to see my young hero has wrecked into the back of the car Ralph Sands is driving. The side of the trunk is smashed in, but unopened. I know that Dr. Beckett is still alive, or else I would not be here.
I slip my fingernail underneath the locked button and center myself next to the squad car to find my police officer slumped over the steering wheel. I lean in and hear soft crying, unable to tell how badly he is hurt until he begins to sob and turns slightly to look at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. "My wife ... she's going to kill me."
"Don't say that. I hear sirens coming." His radio is still working and the voice over it does not stop. She tells him that backup is due to arrive now and that an ambulance has been dispatched. She demands that he update them as to the situation, not realizing that he cannot answer her call. Suddenly, I can't remember if he told them that Mrs. Sands is trapped in the trunk.
He whispers to me and asks if I am God. I shake my head slowly, choosing not to disappoint either one of us by answering his frightened question. He closes his eyes and breathes heavily, as if struggling, and I suspect that his lung is punctured and about to collapse.
The ambulance and second patrol car arrive together, so I make several attempts and finally center myself next to Ralph Sands, who is leaning backward in his seat - obviously stunned. Blood pours from a gash in his head and out of his nose, but it doesn't worry me, because his soul can't leak out, since he hasn't one. There is a bruise across his chest in the shape of the steering wheel, but I don't care about that either, because he is heartless. What do I care if he suffers and dies in front of me? I find that I do care and close my eyes very tight, because this is one of the most intense moments of my life and I don't know what to do with it. He turns to me and curses. "Git me the hell out of here, dumb ass!"
My heart jumps knowing he can see me, because it means something in him is very much changed. The disciplined thinking of a scientist tells me that the blood loss has caused shock and confusion. His brain is being deprived of oxygen due to less blood flow and in a short period of time he will have a stroke, an event I do not wish to observe. I do not wish torture or death on any living thing, although so rarely have I seen with my own eyes one who deserves it so much. If something should happen, I haven't the ability to intervene, so I will dissociate - I will pretend I am not here.
"I'll rescue you as soon as you pop open the trunk, Mr. Sands. Go ahead, open it."
"Up yours! You help me or I'll sue you! I didn't do anything."
"I don't care, Mr. Sands. I just don't care."
For a split second my surroundings blip. I don't know how to explain it, it is so brief. He begins to scream at me and tells me I disappeared. When a paramedic opens his door and demands that he calm down, Mr. Sands reports my actions to the man, who calls over his coworker, I suspect because he is afraid Ralph Sands is insane.
"I've called lifeline for the police officer. What the status of this one?"
"My status is tell this dumb ass to help me NOW!" he points at me and the paramedics are confused.
"Pop open the trunk so they can rescue your wife. There is no way out for you now. If she dies, you will be executed."
"Tell this idiot that I can't open the trunk from inside the car. Tell him to shut up!"
"Sir, with whom are you speaking?"
He points to me again and tells them to make me leave. I can't bring myself to laugh at what an ass he's making of himself, because not one thing about this situation is in any way funny. "I'll leave as soon as you tell them to open the trunk."
He turns his head toward me and smiles. "You don't have a search warrant, dumb ass. You can't open my trunk without a search warrant."
"Sir, what is so important in your trunk?"
Before I can form the next word, I feel a hand grab the back of my hair and pull me. I slide across the floor of the control room, stopped by Gooshie, who helps me up and hands me my eye glasses.
"Hello, Doctor Howarth," Ziggy purrs. "I have missed you." Pink and red animated hearts float across her screen, careening into one another and bouncing around. "I do not think you are worthless."
She must be referring to a conversation that took place in my absence, one I don't care to ever know about. I rub the back of my head and smooth down the hair that the Admiral yanked, hoping there isn't a little bald spot now. Everyone stands quietly and stares ahead at the imaging chamber, as if something unbelievable will happen. I put my hand on Gooshie's shoulder to get his attention, and he takes me aside.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Howarth. I forgot to tell you that when the red light on your wrist communicator flashes, that means to come in."
"I didn't notice it. Gooshie, tell me what has changed."
"Dr. Beckett leaped. The Admiral pulled you out to establish direct contact."
"Leaped in to whom?"
"Into Ralph Sands. They're pulling Mrs. Sands out of the trunk now."
I breath an overwhelming sigh of relief that moves through every inch of me and excuse myself to the bathroom. I'm so incredibly pleased that this situation is over, I can't express it. I remove my glasses and look at myself in the mirror, happy that I am me. I'm not sure how to explain it, but all of a sudden I love myself for living a good life. Ralph Sands made me realize this, and the Admiral did, too. I am happy to be a four-eyed nimrod living an isolated and anonymous existence in the middle of nowhere for however long it lasts. Maybe I didn't get to be a hero this time, but I'm okay with that. I've never needed to be one, anyway.
I get down on my knees and lean against the sink to splash water on myself and rest for a moment. My wrist communicator flashes red, yellow, green, and blue and on its tiny display I see a heart grow large and explode, replaced by a happy face. It makes me smile because it's funny now and not a bother like before. I need to be more light-hearted, as I was before I came here. I need to be more accepting of the frailties of others, especially the Admiral, who I'm often told is a wonderful man. What Dr. Beeks told Ziggy is right, he compares me to Sam and is unhappy because I am not him. Any man secure and loyal enough to unconditionally love another man as the Admiral loves Dr. Beckett is exceptional and has my unguarded respect, no matter what his bursts of selfish anger may cause him to do or say to me. I am the one who must be patient and kind.
I press my forehead against cold porcelain, exhausted from the excitement of my day, which is much more excitement than I've had in my entire life. The bathroom door flies open and in the mirror I see the Admiral quickly dodge into a stall and throw up. I'm suddenly afraid this means I have made a fatal and unchangeable mistake.
"My data is correct, Dr. Elyssie."
"It can't be right, Ziggy. Run it again."
"I have refreshed the archives, Doctors. The information is accurate. Jill Sands died at 3:15 a.m. February 14th 1983. Her son, whose internal organs were poorly developed, died March 5th, 1983, after much media attention."
"Ziggy, what does this mean to Sam? He's never failed before."
"It is unclear whether Dr. Beckett has failed. History has changed drastically."
"Explain."
"In April of 1983, Illinois Congresswoman Karen Bedor, mother of Jill Sands, used the national publicity surrounding her daughter's murder to propose a bill demanding that all automobiles sold in the United States be required to include a trunk safety release as a standard feature. By 1987, this became a federal standard for sale, manufacture, and import. At present, almost 1,000 accidental entrapments have been prevented. A previously undetected serial killer was arrested in 1991 when his victim escaped the trunk while the vehicle stopped for a red light. Over 375 previously documented criminal entrapments have been prevented and 92 additional criminal entrapments have been resolved, resulting in the recovery of 61 previously missing persons. I am printing this to file."
"Ziggy, what about Sam?"
"Doctor Beckett has not yet leaped. I cannot project why. Perhaps Dr. Howarth's silly theories were correct."
"Sam hasn't disappeared, he is in 1983."
"As explained in Dr. Howarth's dissertation, Dr. Beckett is a variable in history. A variable has a limited lifetime and a definite purpose - to change or to be used up until it has no value. There is a colorful chart included in Dr. Howarth's research that is most compelling."
I approach slowly and listen to Ziggy and Gooshie debate every academic and highly impersonal sentence in my report. Dr. Beeks passes me and I turn to see her heading toward the waiting room in response to the violent blows attacking the observation window and door. She sees Dr. Beckett, but I see an angry Ralph Sands beating his fists and head against the window, assaulting us with a barrage of profanities not heard by me since I last mistook the Admiral's lunch order.
Ziggy's calls me, but I only half hear him. Her. Him. It. "As indicated by the cascading bars, Dr. Beckett's brain activity has changed significantly in the last 41 leaps, whereas it remained adequately stable in the previous 175. Such as rapid difference has not been noted since his first 17 leaps. This supports Dr. Beckett's own hypothesis that retrieval of matter becomes less likely with each transfer, leaving a window as small as 36-72 hours after initial transfer. Fewer of Dr. Beckett's matter particles are maintained in each leap, leaving the accelerator open to eventual failure."
I still believe everything in that report. Should Dr. Beckett continue to leap, the result will be catastrophe. His brain waves will continue to shift, altering his personality, affecting his mental stability, and dissolving the neural link - creating the possibility that we will permanently lose contact with him due to brain damage or brain death. I draw in a deep breath and try to be detached so that I can think clearly. Ralph Sands looks so weak and worn. I'm sure he won't last much longer, maybe not even another hour. For us, this could be very good news. Matter struggles to be cohesive. Each particle, atomic and subatomic pulls in on itself to keep from being lost. Every fiber of Dr. Beckett's being pulls him toward what little of him is left in the waiting room, just as his host is pulled homeward. If I bite back hard on my morality, I could work up enough courage to point out that our brightest hope is to stand back and wait for the exact second that Ralph Sands will die, because wherever he is going, the accelerator chamber will have nothing to do with it, and I believe that Dr. Beckett will be recalled. I feel the eye of God hard on me, curious as to which part of thou shall not kill I do not understand.
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