Look to this day,

For yesterday is but a dream

And tomorrow's but a vision;

But today well lived makes every yesterday a dream of happiness,

And every tomorrow a vision of hope.

- Face, "Family Reunion"


On the wheel of life we all go around we are many people at many times.

- Jack Kerouac, "Rebel Without a Clue"

Prologue

A brilliant blue-white light filled the area, yet went unseen by the others nearby. The nimbus of electrical energy faded from around his body. He instinctively looked around, hoping that he would see some clues that might help him figure out who he was or why he had Leaped into his current host.

His name was Sam Beckett, holder of seven doctorates, winner of a Nobel Prize, and creator of the top secret project named Quantum Leap. He had been pressured to prove that his theories in time travel worked or lose funding, so he prematurely stepped into the Accelerator. Even though he was successful, the program intended to bring him back to his own time had not been completed. Plus something had gone wrong . . . instead of Leaping into his own life as he had hoped would have happened, he was Leaping into the lives of others, limited by his own lifetime.

If there was one thing that he dreaded about Leaping about in time, it was the beginning of a Leap. It was at that point when he knew nothing about who his host was or why he was there. What made it worse was when others were around him, capable of tripping him up with a simple question, or he found himself in the middle of an undesirable situation.

The memory of one such occasion came to the front of his mind . . . a Leap when a little boy was eager to go buy some candy at the local pharmacy and had asked Sam for permission to go. That same boy, who found himself in the right place at the wrong time, witnessed a murder and almost became the next victim. Sam pushed that terrifying recollection out of his mind, trying to focus on the task at hand.

He was within a vehicle . . . a van, from all appearances, with a light gray interior. A CB radio was mounted overhead in between the two front seats, and a car phone was built into the main console near the AM/FM cassette radio. He was sitting in a comfortable cabin seat on the passenger side in the back, and couldn't help but to notice the three other occupants.

The person in the seat to his left wore a brown bomber jacket with a tiger on the back, tan slacks, a bright blue shirt with a red arrow pointing upward and some lettering on it, a checkered red flannel shirt that was unbuttoned but tucked in around the belt, and a dark blue baseball cap. His brown hair was somewhat thin, although stretched down to the nape of his neck. He kept shifting between leaning forward and then sitting back in his seat, almost as if he was either excited or anxious.

The man in the seat in front of him wore a light tan jacket, black jeans, and a light blue shirt. He had black leather gloves on and held a cigar in one of his hands. He hadn't seen the person's face yet, but if it wasn't for the silver-white hair and the conservative clothing, Sam probably would have thought that it was Al.

The driver of the van was perhaps the most bizarre. He was a big African American male who boasted a mohawk with a beard and mustache. Just the sight of his build alone was enough to practically strike terror within anyone who saw him. The thing that sold it was the bib overall jeans, the red tank top worn underneath, and the mass of gold chains dangling from around his neck.

Sam looked down at his own clothing . . . a brown two-piece suit with a white shirt and matching brown tie. Even the shoes looked to be fairly expensive and well polished. He wasn't in a position to where he could see a mirror and look at the reflection in it . . . the face of the individual he had Leaped into. Until that opportunity came about, he would have to ride it out for now.

From the sound of the engine as well as the whir from the tires, the time traveler could tell that the van was traveling at a high rate of speed even without having to look out the front windshield. The wail of sirens from behind him indicated that they were being chased . . . but why?

"Man, the Army must be gettin' better drivers. They're stickin' to us like glue," the driver said in a gruff tone, almost allowing a crack of worry seep into his voice.

"Decker certainly tries. You have to give him that much," the male in the tan jacket noted, adding a touch of a laugh on the end.

He raised his eyebrow curiously, wondering why the white-haired individual took what appeared to be a serious situation lightly. The quantum physicist didn't know who these individuals were, but they were being chased . . . for God knew what, and were probably going to be captured. Yet the older male seemed to be entertained by that idea.

The eyes of the male in the bomber jacket almost seemed to light up as he leaned forward, but the driver just shook his head ominously as he mumbled, "He's on the Jazz again."

All the Nobel Prize winner could sputter was, "Oh, boy."