Chapter 9
Black Tuesday

Stallion's Gate, New Mexico; summer 2000

Al sighed as he came out of the Waiting Room. "Any luck with the nanosearch, Gooshie?"

The programmer shook his head. "The host's still not talking, huh?"

"Nah; claims he's not allowed to answer any questions."

A thoughtful look settled on Gooshie's features. "Didn't Dr. Beeks say he seemed awfully calm?"

"Yeah."

"Let me give it a try; I've got a hunch."

"Be my guest," Al growled disgustedly.

One of Dr. Verbena Beeks' functions as staff psychiatrist was to deal with the various hosts who suddenly found themselves in the Waiting Room. Over the years, she had handled various reactions, from shrieking hysteria, to open hostility that could turn violent at the slightest wrong word or motion. The one thing for which her experiences at PQL had never prepared her, though, was their current guest's utter calm. His smile when she'd introduced herself had seemed like that of one who knew a secret, and his reaction to the sight of his reflection had fallen short of his actually saying I thought so—but not by much. She'd come out of the interview willing to bet her next month's pay that he knew exactly where he was and how he had gotten there.

The stranger wearing Sam's appearance turned as the door opened. "Ah, Dr. Gushmann, I presume."

"I didn't think that kid came here on his own," Gooshie said. "My guess is, there's a whole league of time travelers, and you were monitoring him. And that means you know where Dr. Beckett is. We need that information; without it, we can't contact him."

Not-Sam shook his head. "Even if I gave you his exact coordinates, you wouldn't be able to communicate with him; your equipment doesn't have the capacity. I'm sorry, but I can't explain any further. You work with sworn secrets yourself, so I'm sure you understand."

Gooshie sighed. "Al's gonna have a cow," he groaned as he left the room.

"You mind telling me how you got him to tell you even that much?" Al demanded when Gooshie relayed the information to him.

"Remember that kid I told you about, the one that showed up here just before Sam Leaped?"

"Yeah, the one Sam thought was a time traveler. He had a gizmo that interfered with the accelerator. What about him?"

"I always figured there had to be others; who's going to send a twelve-year-old through time without some kind of supervision? Well, turns out I was right. The host is one of them, and apparently they were monitoring the kid, because he recognized me. He even called me by name."

"And that's why he could talk to you, because you already know about his group," Al realized. "I wonder where they're based, that our equipment can't reach Sam there."

~oOo~

Sam looked up when the door opened to readmit the GI. "Okay, that's out of the way," the man breathed. "Sorry for the brush-off before, Dr. Beckett. My name's Will Parker; I'm a physicist like yourself. In fact, I worked for your project for a while, close to twenty years after your first Leap."

"Was I back home by then?"

"I can't answer that, because I'm not allowed to tell you anything about your own future."

"I understand."

"I managed to get the Council to adjourn until tomorrow to give you time to get up to speed—"

"Even though they know damn well I'm not…whoever I displaced?"

"His name's Nicholas Garth, professor at the Voyager Academy and Chief Elder of our governing body. Now I managed to get the rest of the Council to agree to accept you in his position for the duration of your stay, and they've granted a twenty-four-hour recess for orientation purposes. I suggest we relocate to your host's office; it's a lot more comfortable, and the materials we need are readily to hand."

Sam grinned as Will pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Looks like cell phones have gotten a lot smaller since I last saw one," he remarked.

When they walked into the office, four more people were waiting for them, and Sam nearly balked. "Why do I get the feeling I've just walked into my own inquisition?" he asked.

"Because, in a way, you have, but relax; this one's not adversarial," came from an older man who could have passed for an older version of Han Solo, his dark hair liberally frosted with gray. "I'm Ben Alvarez, director of TE—Temporal Engineering," he introduced himself. "This is Sharon Thayer, our Code Violations Prosecutor, the equivalent of a DA where you come from. Next to her is Victor Cummings, the defense attorney, and the guy who looks like he just walked off the set of an old pirate movie is Phineas Bogg, field Voyager and Jeff's dad."

Sam couldn't help grinning at the last man introduced. "For once I can honestly tell you I've heard a lot about you," he said to him as he shook hands all around.

Bogg grinned back. "You'll have to tell me later what my kid's saying about me behind my back," he teased.

"I can't do that," he shot back in mock indignation. "A Councilor cannot divulge what is told to him in confidence."

Though his voice didn't alter, the cadence of his statement was so close to Professor Garth's that Bogg was momentarily taken aback. "How'd you do that?" he demanded.

"Too complicated to explain," Will interrupted. "Trust me, Dr. Beckett; he's no scientist. Phin, let's just say it's part and parcel of the process that brought him here. I'll try to explain it later when we have more time."

"Okay, so if you two," Sam indicated Sharon and Victor, "are lawyers, then my first impression was right, and it was a trial I Leaped into the middle of?"

"Yes," Victor said. "The defendant is a juvenile, accused of security violations, theft, destruction of technical equipment, and blackmail, among other things."

Ben passed him a folder. "The boy's name is Tony Ingram; you'll find all his background information in this file. And this," he handed him a second file, "is the record on another boy involved in the case, Ray Swirski. It includes the statement he gave to Professor Garth—to you, as it were—when he turned himself in. I understand such physical cues can aid you in accessing the host's memories."

Sam nodded as he quickly scanned the files. "I get the feeling that, according to your procedures, Jeff wasn't actually supposed to end up in my Control Room."

"We didn't plan it that way, no," Will confirmed. "See, there are two types of Omnis. There are the field Omnis, which you've already seen." He touched the one on his belt. "Then there are school Omnis. Those have slightly different interior workings; we can program them to send an individual to a specific time and place. There's more to it, but I'm not sure…"

"A simulator," Sam said. "You started talking about 'school Omnis,' and it just popped into my head."

"Yeah. He was never supposed to end up in the field at all, but do a simulated assignment alone as a sort of initiation."

After a moment of obvious deep concentration, Sam said, "You call it the 'dare,'" he said. "I seem to have a recollection of a rather amusing conversation with you about that."

Will grinned. "You recall correctly," he said. "For the most part, we Voyagers can be a pretty playful bunch."

"But you do have your curmudgeons."

"Don't we ever. Essentially, it breaks down to a difference of opinion in how much latitude can be allowed with regard to bending rules. The majority tend to believe that rules are rules, period, while the rest believe that, especially in fieldwork, a wide range of allowances have to be made. It all kind of came to a head when a corrupt Voyager started manipulating the ones who advocated rigid adherence."

Sam whistled as he "recalled" those events, as well. "And he's still at large in the time stream?"

"Afraid so," Will confirmed. "And that situation is what's behind any attempts at sidelining you may run into."

"I can see I'm going to have a lot on my hands, then. Now I'm getting the impression that this case that's being tried is directly related to how Jeffrey ended up at PQL."

~oOo~

Tony expected the trial to resume with the Deputy Chief in the first chair, in which case his prospects had just taken a turn for the worse. Councilor Fenton Morse was firmly in what was still referred to as "Drake's camp;" without Professor Garth to provide balance, the Council was likely to sentence him to the maximum penalty allowed for his age.

Contrary to what was rumored among the pages, no one was ever sent back where he had come from, his lawyer had explained, unless it was found that he'd been picked up by mistake. If they decided on the maximum, he would be consigned to an orphanage somewhere in a time other than his own, a stable green zone that his presence wouldn't alter.

With those thoughts preying on his mind, he didn't know whether to be relieved or even more concerned when the stranger, now wearing Council robes, took Professor Garth's place at the head of the table.

The verdict was not in question. With Ray's statement in evidence, Cummings had told him, his only real option was to admit his guilt and try for a lighter sentence. He couldn't help cringing when the lawyer recommended a period of counseling. He was thoroughly convinced it was a lot of baloney…until they got to the hearing.

In view of the seriousness of the charges, the prosecution requested, and was granted, a thorough examination of the charges. It was a process identical to a trial in form, if not in purpose. Since pages did not carry Omnis, there was no recording to reference, so the hearing more closely resembled something familiar to Tony, as witnesses were questioned by both sides. Dr. Frank Giordano was currently being questioned by the prosecution.

"Dr. Giordano," Thayer began, "when was the last time you saw the defendant?"

"About a week ago," Giordano replied.

"And what is your assessment of him?"

"He's a deeply troubled young man who hasn't yet fully adjusted to his new situation. He's only been here for a year, so that's not out of line. However, he exhibits hostility toward several of his peers who are successfully adjusting; the more successful they are, the more aggressive toward them he is. He's been responsible for several cruel pranks played on them, some of them dangerous; he's been sent to me several times between scheduled visits because of them."

"Would you say you've seen him more often than is usual for a recruit of his age?"

"Yes."

"You say some of the pranks he's played in the past have been dangerous. Would you say he is capable of the things he is now accused of?"

"Absolutely. Jeffrey Bogg has had a spectacular transition and some extremely good fortune; what the defendant is accused of doing is proportional to that, on the scale of things he's done in the past."
"Thank you, Doctor; no further questions."

Cummings rose and walked toward the Omni memory reader; after putting his own Omni into the receptacle, he approached the witness. "Dr. Giordano, I'd like you to recall the way the defendant looked as the charges were being read." Obligingly, the memory reader began replaying the opening moments of the trial; there on the screen for all to see was the increasing shock on Tony's face. "In your expert opinion, what do the defendant's reactions mean?"

"I would say he's either a consummate actor or didn't realize the gravity of his crimes until that moment—or at least, none of this seemed real to him until then."

"Do you see remorse in his reactions?"

After a moment's thought, Giordano said, "That's a good bit harder to determine. He's certainly afraid of what may happen to him, which in and of itself can lead to remorse."

Tony couldn't call it baloney anymore; too much of what Giordano had just said had been uncannily accurate.

The long wait while the Council deliberated on his sentence was arguably more wearing on Tony's nerves than the hearing itself had been. Finally, however, they filed back into the room and took their seats. Professor Parker was not with the stranger this time; he resumed his place in Professor Garth's chair, and the look he fixed on Tony was anything but reassuring. "Mr. Ingram, these are all grave offenses, and this court did briefly entertain the notion of dismissing you altogether, but it has been decided to give you a second chance. There is a price, however. You are being put back into the Orientation program on a probationary basis for a period of one year. You will continue your studies there, and you will see your counselor every week without fail, instead of the bimonthly schedule you have been on. During your probation, you will be relieved of your page duties, and you will remain in the Orientation section. Your friends may visit you there, but you are not to leave. At the end of the year, your counselor will submit an evaluation. You may be reinstated, your probation may be extended, or you may be dismissed, depending on his findings. If at any time you violate the terms of this probation, you will be immediately dismissed.

"Second, and finally—There was a saying in the late twentieth century: Be careful what you wish for; you may get it. You are being sent into the field to complete an assignment. Professor Franklin will prepare you, in addition to your regular studies.

"This court is adjourned."

Arlington, Virginia; September 11, 2001

Tony instantly recognized the five-sided building down the road from where he landed. It hadn't existed yet in his own time, but he'd seen enough pictures of it since coming to VHQ. Most of the people walking in the area were in uniform, and he realized that he must have been set down within the confines of the military installation on which the Pentagon was built. The green light chimed at him when he opened his Omni, and he wondered what kind of joke they were playing on him. Everybody knew a green light meant history was proceeding as it should; why had they sent him here? Then he recognized the date, and a sick feeling rose in his stomach. This was one of those dates that remained burned in every American's memory from the time he first studied history, like October 12, 1492; July 4, 1776; or December 7, 1941. Like the second and third dates, it heralded the beginning of a war.

The screaming of jet engines caught his attention; along with the rest of the pedestrians, he whirled toward it. A plane larger than any he had ever seen, or even imagined, was flying far too low and still descending. He could only watch helplessly as it slammed into one of those five walls, exploding on impact with a force that shook the ground. The tremendous heat from the ensuing fire reached him even where he stood, and he knew there was no way rescuers would be able to reach any survivors trapped in that inferno.

He suddenly understood the full meaning of that saying the stranger had quoted. Swallowing bile, he Omni'ed out.

New York City

He didn't need to consult his Omni to determine his geographic location; downtown Manhattan had a certain ambiance that made it impossible to mistake, even without the sight of the Brooklyn Bridge's unique architecture in the distance. Once more he faced a set of buildings that had not existed in his time; the gigantic towers rising on the other side of the street told him he was in the late twentieth century or early—very early—twenty-first. Had this been the first stop on his assignment, he might have ignored the sound of jet engines; Ray had once told him it was a common occurrence with two major airports located only a thirty-minute drive away, barring traffic. But after what he had just seen, he looked up, and froze to see another large aircraft heading straight for one of those towers. He ducked behind a parked car, hunkered down with his arms folded protectively over his head; the vehicle shielded him from the worst of the falling debris when the collision occurred.

Then he heard a familiar voice cry out. It was a cry he'd sometimes heard in the middle of the night when his roommate awoke from a nightmare he steadfastly refused to discuss. His eyes found the source of the cry just as Ray and another boy who could have been his identical twin vanished in a downpour of shattered glass, chunks of concrete and steel, and other debris, some of it in flames. "Ray!" he cried and ran toward the pair. Barely had he reached them, however, when they both vanished in a flash of blue-white light. So that was how Ray had been recruited. But who was the other kid?

The scene was made even more surreal by the fact that it next started raining paper—although perhaps "raining" wasn't the right word, as the stuff floated down in a manner more akin to snow. He looked up, momentarily entranced by the resemblance to grotesque snowflakes, until the dark-red flames and jet-black smoke registered. Rooted to the spot in shock, he noted people leaning out of windows, seeking breathable air in a vain attempt to prolong their lives. Moments later, the first jumper plummeted to the ground, though it seemed to Tony as if the woman fell in slow motion as he wondered what kind of hell it must be up there to have driven her to forsake any hope in such a fall. She landed on the roof of a parked car; the impact produced a report that sounded like a gunshot. He turned away and began to heave. The hands that gently gripped his shoulders seemed to be touching someone else; the voice speaking meaningless words, to come from somewhere far away. In a daze, he allowed himself to be led away as a second report heralded the end of another poor slob. The sound was followed in short order by another.

The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the rear bumper of an ambulance. He was facing the inferno, now three blocks away, and found some cause for joy at the sight of the steady stream of people pouring out the doors of both towers, firemen and police helping a few of them, even as more of their fellows rushed past the mass exodus, in the opposite direction. The small comfort afforded him by the sight of so many survivors died when another plane crashed into the second tower, and the nightmare began again, even as the first continued to play out.

Another period of time vanished into a shock-induced haze; it was a deep rumbling sound that brought him out of it this time, and he looked up as the first tower seemed to shudder and then slowly, almost majestically, began to collapse in on itself. A seemingly solid cloud of dust and debris appeared to boil outward from the base, then started to roil up the street toward him. People began to run northward, though not in the panic-stricken mass that movies liked to depict. Someone grabbed him and hustled him into a nearby store, then toward the back, away from the windows. It broke his stunned state, and he carefully separated himself from the others huddled in the tiny apartment behind the store. After carefully making sure no one was touching him, he triggered his Omni once more.

Midair over Shanksville, Pennsylvania

It was whisper-quiet where next he landed; he was surprised no one noticed the sound of his arrival. But then, why would anyone pay any attention to someone falling on his butt in the tail end of a plane when there was something far more interesting going on up front? It was too far for him to see, but he thought he heard the sounds of a fight. Most of the passengers, he realized, were out of their seats and moving forward; those remaining were either talking on phones just like the ones at VHQ, or obviously praying. Oh, no, he groaned to himself. Not Flight Ninety-Three! If he remembered correctly, from this point less than a minute remained. The sound of a thin metal door slamming open told him the passengers had gained the cockpit; seconds later, with a sickening lurch, the aircraft pitched forward into a sharp descent. Tony stumbled, and the Omni slipped from his grasp; he dove after it as it slid down the aisle.

He would never know how close to the ground the airliner was when he Omni'ed out, nor would he learn, until years later, that he had never been in any of those places at all. When he vanished, so did the surrounding scene, dissolving to reveal only a small, empty room, its walls, ceiling, and floor crosshatched with image-generator strips.

Voyager Headquarters; Training Control Center

It was Jeffrey's hand that reached out to help him up when he landed. Unshed tears glimmered in the younger boy's eyes. Could you Omni out and let the Titanic sink? Billy Schaeffer's words rang in Tony's head. Or keep your mouth shut about Pearl Harbor if you got there a day early?

He hadn't had time to act on what he knew; he'd landed just in time to witness each attack, with the gut-wrenching sight of the green light telling him that it was right.

He was glad the light had been green in that last time zone; he didn't know if he could have stirred the passengers to attack the hijackers. It didn't matter that they would have died whether or not they had fought; he only knew that, had he had to spur them on, he would have felt responsible for their deaths.

He looked at the kid whose hand was still gripping his arm supportively and saw complete understanding in the wide dark eyes. In that instant, he finally knew what Billy had meant when he'd said that anybody Jeffrey's age who could do the hard stuff deserved the title. "Thanks…Voyager," he said.

Just then, something popped loudly, and all the lights went out. In the dead silence that ensued, Professor Parker's voice sounded in the darkness, "And that, folks, was the mother of all quantum effects."

Long moments later, the lights came back on, and there was a collective gasp as they saw Professor Garth standing next to the stranger, looking a little dazed, but none the worse for wear.

Immediately understanding the significance of what had just happened, Will signaled Dr. Giordano to take Tony elsewhere.

Quickly recovering, Garth held out a hand once the pair were out of the room. "Welcome to Voyager Headquarters, Dr. Beckett."

Accepting the hand of the man whose form he'd been wearing for the past few days—maybe the Voyagers hadn't seen it, but he'd been painfully aware of it every time he'd looked in a mirror—Sam breathed incredulously, "I'm still here. How am I still here?"

Will looked up from his remote, a thoroughly perplexed look on his face. "We're picking up some kind of signal," he announced, his tone one of confusion. "It's weak, almost as if it's trying to scan multiple timelines at once."

"That's probably Al," Sam murmured.

"Bring it in," Garth instructed.

Project Quantum Leap

"Anything yet, Gooshie?"

"I'm not sure."

"Whaddaya mean, you're not sure? Either you've got something, or you don't!"

"Ziggy says she's reading Sam, but impossibly far away, like not even on this planet. And as for when, she says it's like he's in all times at once, and in none of them; she can't lock in."

"That does it," Al snarled. "I'm getting some answers from that nozzle if I have to resort to…to…Chinese water torture!" He stormed through the door to the Waiting Room; a second later, a frustrated howl issued from behind that door, then Al emerged, his face pale. "He's gone!"

"I've got a lock!" Gooshie whooped at the same time, and Al bolted for the imaging chamber.

Voyager Headquarters

Sam whirled suddenly to stare at blank space. "Al! What took you so long?" he demanded.

Will rapidly turned his back to Sam; he did something with his remote, and the hologram suddenly became visible and audible to all of them.

"…got a problem, Sam," the observer was saying. "The host is missing."

"Yeah; he's right here," Sam replied, directing Al's gaze to Professor Garth.

Al stared for a moment, dismay written across his face. "But Sam, without the host here, in our Waiting Room, you can't Leap!"

Sam was silent for a long moment, obviously deep in thought. Then, his voice a little unsteady, he said, "I…I don't think I'm supposed to."

"What are you saying?" Al asked very quietly.

"Right after you left me at Al's Place, the bartender came outside and said something about a difficult new assignment.(1) I think this is it."

"Sam, are you telling me you're going PCS(2) on me?"

Wordlessly, Sam nodded.

Al reached a trembling hand toward his best friend, then swore when it passed through him.

Will was punching keys furiously. "Hang on, guys; I think I can fix that," he said.

Al looked at the—GI, he supposed; all he could see was the back of his uniform—and the device he was holding. It was different from the one he used, which looked more like a multicolored collection of dice randomly glued together, but he still recognized the earlier version, the one that looked like a calculator, and his jaw dropped open. "Sonuvabitch! Sam, that's a handlink!" Forgetting himself, he grabbed at Sam's arm with one hand and pointed, almost accusingly, with the other.

Then, feeling actual physical contact for the first time in several years, both men froze and stared at each other.

"What did he just do? I can touch you!" Al blurted; then he and Sam fell into an embrace that employed none of the usual backslapping. "Oh, my God, I can touch you." Al's voice had dropped to a whisper.

"Al, promise me something."

"Anything, Sam; you know that."

"Keep the Project going. No matter what it takes. Go private—hell, go underground if you have to, but keep it going."

The observer's eyes strayed to Will's handlink once more, and he nodded. "I think I understand."

"Make it quick, guys; I'm losing the signal," Will warned them.

"Al, you're the best friend I've ever had. And tell Donna…" The holographic image vanished, and Sam sagged visibly. "…I'll always love her," he finished, wiping at his eyes.

He wasn't the only one.

Clearing his throat, Will called Receiving.

"Receiving; Mitchell."

"This is Parker in TCC. Got a new recruit for you."

There was a pause, presumably while Dave Mitchell checked his status boards. "I'm not showing anybody in any of the chambers."

"That's because he didn't come in through the Leapgate—at least, not through our Leapgate."

This drew a derisive snort. "Then whose Leapgate did he come through?" came the sarcastic question. "The Founder's?"

"Mitch, he is the Founder."

The director's voice was desert-dry. "Right," he drawled. "Parker, if this is another one of your gags, it isn't funny."

"No joke, man. Remember the briefing Ben gave us all a few weeks ago? Professor Garth is on his way over there with him right now. Stan Massey'll be there shortly to take him off your hands."

Notes

1 Quantum Leap: "Mirror, Mirror."

2 "Permanent change of station," a military expression for a transfer.