From: Jason Eric Dzembo Date: Mon, 30 Aug 1993 07:40:04 -0400 Message-Id: <9308301140.AA27566@localhost> An explosion rocked Sam's world. He was standing on a crowded mesh catwalk, overlooking a room that appeared to be a storage facility of some sort. Much of the detail was difficult to make out through the room engulfed in flames. The air was filled with the deafening roar of the fire and the shrilling of the buildings alarms. A fifty gallon drum tipped over spilling its contents. Gasoline, Sam judged from the way the fire followed the liquid hungrily, engulfing everything in its path. The liquid began to flow under the catwalk. Sam looked towards the exit, wondering why the line wasn't moving. The door was closed, but, through the afterimages that the flames left on his retinas, he could perceive the outline of the door from the daylight beyond. It must be stuck. Everyone here was probably going to die and Sam suspected he was here to change that. Somehow. The thought gave way to more immediate concerns as the catwalk gave way underneath him. As he grasped for the railing, his "Oh, boy" was drowned out by the roar of the fire and the screams of those around him. Part V February 12, 1993 Even as Sam's hands clenched the railing, the catwalk stopped jarringly. Abruptly, the room's sprinkler system came to life and, though the people on the catwalk remained untouched by the water, the fire was quickly doused. The set of double doors across the room closed silently and a fifty gallon drum wedged between two beams in the ceiling lowered slowly to resume its previous position among the others. Sam watched with puzzled amusement, but was distracted as the catwalk was flooded with sunlight from the outside world. From a hidden loudspeaker, a female voice said, "Ladies and gentlemen, we hope you enjoyed our Backdraft demonstration. Watch your step as you exit and, on behalf of all of us at Universal Studios, have a great day." The crowd began to make its way out of the building amid awed murmurs. Sam followed, his knees weak. Outside, Sam squinted against the sun to get his bearings. He assumed he was at Universal Studios in Hollywood, rather than the one in Florida. Statistically, it seemed more likely; Universal Studios Hollywood had been around longer than Universal Studios Florida. To his left was a building that appeared to be another popular attraction, judging from the corral of people outside. To his right was a restaurant or cafeteria, with tables dotting the patio for external dining. Across the crowded street before him was a long building boasting eight or ten huge billboards depicting shows produced by Universal Studios. One on the far end caught his eye. Painted pictures of himself and Al stared back at him, far bigger than life, with the words Quantum Leap blazoned above them. That meant... "Hey, Jason? You still with us?" Sam turned to face the man that was speaking to him. He looked familiar. Twenty-something, dark hair that was balding before it turned grey, a round face and glasses, a mischevious smile. "Vivs?" Sam asked, with a start, as recognition came to him. "What are you waiting for?" Vivs asked. "I was just, uh, looking at the billboards," Sam replied, "Did you know they had one for Quantum Leap?" It seemed an appropriate response, given the conditions under which the two men had first met. "So you've pointed out," Vivs replied dryly. He smirked and said, "Twit. Come on." He led the way back to where a group of people were waiting. Some Sam recognized, some he didn't. The shorter man in the blue shirt with the mussed mat of dark hair and glasses, Sam was sure he'd never seen. The tall, broad man with the green shirt, beard and baseball cap looked vaguely familiar and in a moment Sam recognized him as Mark Baushke, the man with whom Vivs was destined to share his photographic spotlight during the fashion show. Keith Rosenblatt, who'd been posing with Miriam and someone Sam couldn't immediately remember when Sam had leaped into Elizabeth Newman. And, Sam noted with certain amusement, Miriam, wearing dark jeans and a Phantom Of The Opera sweatshirt. She looked beautiful, her straight brown hair clipped in a simple ponytail, her dark blue-grey eyes sparkling, much the way Sam remembered her from the first time he'd encountered her. He followed the group, hanging back slightly, since he had no idea where they were headed. He stayed close to Miriam, unconsciously; she was becoming his lifeline in the unstable seas of quantum leaping. Still he hardly needed such a lifeline at the moment. Rarely did he find himself among people he knew, however tentatively. They entered the building with the billboards, a sort of AT&T product center of the future, and the group dispersed. Not a moment too soon, Sam felt, as he heard the Imaging Chamber door grind open behind him. As Sam sidled towards the least occupied corner of the room, Al entered his line of sight, looking concerned. Sam glanced at his friend inquisitively and asked, "What's wrong, Al?" "Nothing. Yet," Al replied. Impulsively, Sam looked towards Miriam and asked, "What do you mean, yet?" "Sam, it's February 12, 1993, and you're in Universal City, California." Sam looked at his friend, puzzled by the seeming change in subject. Al stared at him and said, carefully, "The Second Annual Quantum Leap Convention starts tomorrow. Your name is Jason Dzembo." Al said the words with some weight, but the significance was lost on Sam. Noting his friend's puzzlement, Al sighed exasperated and said, "Sam, when you leaped into Eliz Newman, it was February 13, 1993, just about twenty-seven hours from now. Ziggy says that, unless you leap out of here before the other you leaps in, there could be...complications." "Complications?" Sam asked. Realization was dawning on him slowly. Jason Dzembo had been the other person posing for the picture Eliz had been taking when Sam leaped in. If Sam were still there as Jason Dzembo when that time came, what would happen? Would he be able to seem his other self? Would his other self see him? He didn't remember seeing his other self, but, of course, that had been before he'd leaped into Jason Dzembo and been capable of changing history. Sam's thought processes quickly became garbled at the implications. "Ziggy's not sure what would happen, but it seems communication would certainly have to be kept to a minimum. And who knows what sort of paradox we'd be unleashing if the younger you realized who you were! Our best bet is to just get you the Hell out of here." Al explained. "How do we do that?" Sam asked. "We aren't sure yet; Ziggy's still working on it. She's having trouble though; since you're so close to where you were as Eliz Newman, she's having trouble running scenario projections. They keep going kablooey when they reach the time that you leaped into Elizabeth." Al said. He wiped his forehead on the back of his blue silk sleeve, an indication of just how concerned he was. As Sam's group made their way out of the building, Miriam announced, "Look, it's the Joe-Cam!" Sam followed her pointing finger to a tall, blonde man with a camcorder raised to his eye, aimed at a tall, dark haired man in a grey sweatshirt and a shorter blonde woman. "And Eliz and Warren," Miriam added as Sam recognized the woman as a past/future host. Miriam sounded excited to see them, but Sam was less enthusiastic, knowing his proximity to Eliz was just too close for comfort. The group joined the threesome and introductions were made to those that needed them; fortunately, Jason was among that number and Sam was introduced to Joe Smith, with his "surgically attached camcorder," and Warren Madden, who Miriam referred to as the "net.hunk." Sam wasn't quite sure what the term implied, but he shook the man's hand anyway. As Eliz was being introduced, she looked at Sam and said with a smile, "We've already met." Sam froze; she couldn't recognize him. Could she? "Uh, we have?" he asked. "Sure, don't you remember?" Eliz asked, "The Leap-a-thon at my house last spring? You and Vivs and Keith came." She nodded towards the two men in question. "Oh, yeah. Right. The Leap-a-thon." Sam had no clue what that was, but at least it meant she didn't recognize him for who he really was. "Twit," Vivs murmured in his ear. "Where's Sally?" Mark asked. "She's back at the hotel, helping Joyce set up," Joe responded. Sally, Sam suspected, was his wife. At the very least, the man was married, as Sam determined with a casual glance at the man's camcorder hand. "Sorry we missed you guys at the gate this morning," Joe added. "Well, we're all together now," Miriam said and there was a murmur of agreement. Sam spent the next several hours following the group, making polite conversation and sticking close to Miriam. At one point, they stopped on the Starway to get a group picture taken by a Clark Gable impersonator, and Sam took advantage of the pause to take a picture of Miriam. He knew he couldn't bring it with him, but suspected, after Miriam's death - assuming Sam was unable to prevent it - the picture would be an additional comfort to his host. Even though there was no indication why he was there, Sam suspected it had something to do with Miriam, and he wanted to be as close as possible in case immediate action was called for. He doubted she was in any danger, since she'd been sandwiched between Keith and Jason for the photograph. But Sam's precense at any given location in space and time often had unanticipated side effects and he wanted to make sure Miriam didn't get caught up in anything that would put her life in more danger than it already was. At least, that's how Sam rationalized his proximity to her. As the afternoon drew to a close, the man Sam hadn't recognized looked at his watch and commented, "It's almost 5:30. We ought to head back if we're going to make that screening." "Screening?" Warren asked, saving Sam from a possible blunder. He'd been about to ask the same thing, forgetting that, as Jason, he should already know about it. "We're going to see a taping of Flying Blind," Mark explained, "The bus leaves at 5:30." "Sounds like fun," Warren commented. "Why don't you join us?" Miriam offered and, with a shrug, Warren accepted the invitation. "If you guys don't mind, I'm going to skip this one," Vivs said tentatively, "I went to a screening last year." There was token protest, but in the end, Vivs returned to the hotel, and, in due course, the remaining seven found themselves shuttled to the set of Flying Blind. On the bus, Sam tried to get a seat near Miriam, but, by design or coincidence, he ended up several seats away. He started to protest, but realized it would just lead to the wrong impression. From what he'd garnered from the conversations of the day, his host had an attraction towards Miriam, an attraction which he'd never mentioned, knowing that she had a boyfriend, but which also seemed to be general knowledge. His host, it appeared, had a speckled reputation when it came to women and members of his party seemed to think he wanted to speckle it further, with Miriam's help. So Sam sat silently, several seats away, hoping that she'd be alright during their time apart. He got some small revenge when they reached the studio, finding himself seated between Miriam and Warren. She seemed indifferent to his presence and, in an effort to disprove the lecherous feelings that he was suspected of, Sam turned his attention to Warren instead. Sam couldn't help it, he liked the man. He was laid back, easy and fun to talk to, and had a sense of humor that reminded him superficially of Al. At one point, before the filming began, two young women entered the studio audience, wearing tight white sweaters and Warren drew them to Sam's attention with a nudge, a nod and a wink, and Sam smiled in spite of himself. Maybe the resemblance wasn't that superficial. The filming was longer than Sam anticipated, about four hours for a half hour television show. Though he couldn't remember the series itself, the episode had its moments when he laughed along with the rest of the audience, even on the second or third takes. Between scenes, a rather lukewarm comedian tried to keep the audience entertained with trivia, jokes and an impromptu talent contest. It wasn't a bad experience, but Sam was glad when it was over. They returned by bus to Universal Studios and, from there, it was a short walk back to the Universal Hilton where Mark, Miriam, Keith and Jason were evidently staying, and where the convention would be held the following two days. Keith and Jason were sharing the room a room with Vivs, while Miriam and Mark were sharing a room with another woman right next door. Sam felt a pang of jealousy as the four of them parted ways, but knew it was unfounded. Although Miriam's boyfriend's name was Mark, it was a different Mark, not the man with whom they'd spent the afternoon. Mark Baushke was a close friend of Miriam's, though, and Sam had noticed that, throughout the day, he'd run a subtle interference, keeping Sam, or rather Jason, at a "safe" distance. The watch dog attitude nettled Sam, since his intentions were innocent enough, but he admired the man's subtlety and grace. On the whole, Sam felt Miriam was lucky to have friends like him. Vivs was already asleep when Sam and Keith entered the room. Sam noticed there were two beds. Although, under the conditions, he had no qualms about sharing his bed with another man, Sam prefered to have a bed to himself whenever possible. He decided to let the cards fall where they would, but was relieved when Keith stripped to his shorts and got into the bed beside the sleeping man. Behind him, Sam heard the Imaging Chamber door open and, with a quiet "good night" to Keith, he made his way into the bathroom. As he removed a polo shirt that he could only describe as leap blue, he whispered, "Any progress?" He glanced at the mirror, studying his host's reflection. Jason was a bit overweight, a little under six feet tall, and had dark hair and eyes and a wispy mustache that looked greenish in the bathroom's flourescent lights. "Some," Al replied, hesitantly. "You might want to sit down." Sam glanced at the toilet, lowered the lid and sat, looking at Al expectantly. Al began to pace as he studied the handlink. It was a nervous reaction, though, Sam suspected; Al typically had a grasp on the situation prior to entering the Imaging Chamber. "Ziggy's been trying to cut through the interference she's getting from your previous leap into Los Angeles, circa February 13, 1993, and she's determined that the two leaps may not be completely independent of each other." "How do you mean?" Sam asked. "You remember that list of objectives Ziggy formulated when you leaped into Eliz?" Sam nodded. "Well, after accounting for interference and overlap between that leap and this one, Ziggy came up with an almost identical list. The only explanation we can come up with is that you leaped out of Eliz prematurely, leaving part of your goal there incomplete. It seems you're here to finish the job." "That shouldn't be too difficult," Sam commented. "It could be harder than you think, Sam," Al said, warningly, "There are four things you need to accomplish, but Ziggy says that, once the first task is done, there's a 15% chance that you'll leap out again, and the probability doubles each time you do one of the other things on the list." "So," Sam said, calculating in his head, "if I complete two goals, there's a 30% chance I'll leap and, if I complete three, there's a 60% chance?" "You've got it," Al agreed, "Ziggy's given me the order that you should do these things in to minimize your risk of leaping too soon, but those are still the best odds we can give you. And, to make matters worse, Ziggy says, if you leap before performing each of the four tasks on the list, there's a 49% chance that you'll leap back here a third time to finish the job. And, if that happens, there's a 92.3% chance that we'll lose contact with you for good." _______________________________________ It was the next morning. Sam had spent most the night tossing and turning and, when he finally did sleep, he was haunted by dreams he couldn't remember, but which left impressions of urgency, failure and tremendous loss weighing on him when morning came. Al hadn't been able to provide much more information. Per Ziggy's instructions, Al could only relate one mission to Sam at a time, for fear that learning of tasks further down the list might compel Sam to perform the tasks out of order, increasing his chances of leaping prematurely. The first task was laughably easy, but Al assured him it would have significant impact further down the road. As he rounded a corner of the first floor hallway, pandemonium ensued. The hall was packed with people, most of them in their twneties or thirties, waiting in a broad line stretching along the corridor and out of sight around the corner. It wasn't until he actually saw the mass of people that he realized how popular the convention, and the show it was dedicated to, really were. He made his way slowly along the line, looking for familiar faces. Vivs had come down about an hour earlier to help set up, thus bypassing the line, but not before informing Sam that Jason's nametag was sitting on the desk; on his return to the hotel the night before, Vivs had stopped to picked up some plastic badge holders for the blue nametags he'd made for the people from the newsgroup. Keith had followed Vivs downstairs shortly afterwards, and Sam had lagged behind, still tired from his sleepless night. Keith was standing with Mark and Miriam and a shorter young woman with short black hair that Sam didn't recognize. She was wearing a blue nametag, similar to the ones being worn by people connected with the newsgroup, and it identified her as Katriena Knights. In her hand was a thin bound stack of papers with a plasticized yellow cover that Sam recognized as a copy of _Chain_Reactions_, the fanzine that Miriam had been proudly possessing when they first met. Which brought him back to the task at hand. After the initial pleasantries had been exchanged, Sam asked, "Has anyone seen Miriam?" "You rang?" Sam turned with a start at the sound of Miriam's voice. His breath caught as he saw her. It was nothing he could put his finger on but, somehow, she seemed particularly attractive. His opinion was partially biased, probably, but that didn't detract from the effect. "I, uh." In his moment of distraction, he'd forgotten why he was looking for her. Miriam turned to Mark and asked, "Have you seen Sally anywhere?" "I believe she's helping Joyce in the ballroom," Mark replied. "Thanks," Miriam responded, flashing a quick smile. As she turned to leave, Sam said, "Uh, Miriam?" She spun again to face him. "I was wondering about getting my contributor's copy of the 'zine," he said, providing the stimulus that Al had supplied. "You didn't get yours yet?" she asked, her brow furrowing. Sam shook his head. Miriam glanced at the double set of wooden doors, another entrance to the convention room, and back at Sam, saying hurriedly, "Alright, come on." Following her along the line, Sam was surprised to see two other people wearing yellow fedoras. He'd found one packed with Jason's clothes and recognized it as similar to one Al wore on occasion. In a frivalous moment, he'd decided to wear the hat to the convention, figuring it would go with the territory. Evidently the idea hadn't been as original as it had seemed. They rounded the corner and Sam realized the line wasn't as long as he'd thought. There were maybe thirty people hidden from view behind the wall. A velvet rope separated the line from the remainder of the hallway where several tables had been set up, selling a limited variety of merchandise. Miriam stopped at a table set up on the wrong side of the rope and gestured to a tall blonde man with glasses behind the table. "This is Jim Rondeau," Miriam announced, "He was kind enough to help me get _Chain_Reactions_ out in time for the Con." She gestured to Sam and said, "This is Jason Dzembo. He needs a contributor's copy." Sam shook hands with the man. "Nice to meet you," Jim remarked and Sam returned the sentiment while Miriam stooped by a box behind the table and drew out another copy of the 'zine. She handed it to Sam as Jim looked down a list of names. He put a check by Jason's name and commented to Miriam, "You wouldn't believe how quickly these are selling. We're going to sell out." Miriam responded with a beaming smile. She noticed a woman standing behind Jim and nudged Sam a step towards the woman saying, "Julie? This is Jason Dzembo." To Sam she commented, "This is Julie Barrett." The short, blonde woman glanced at Miriam and then at Sam, smiling in recognition. "So, you're Jason!" she said. "Apparently," Sam agreed, shaking the woman's hand as well. "Great to meet you," Julie responded, "I've been meaning to get back to you. I know you sent me a story - I can't think of the title offhand," She hesitated, but Sam was unable to provide the detail she needed and remained silent, so she continued, "I haven't had a chance to look at it yet, but soon." "Whenever you get a chance," Sam demured. "I'll see you guys later," Miriam announced, "I've got to go find Sally." She took off, stepping over the velvet rope and walking quickly down the hall, towards an open set of double doors at the far end. Sam made some brief small talk with the two publishers and excused himself. As he was returning to his group's place in line, the Imaging Chamber door opened directly in front of him and Al stepped in, stepping through Sam in the process. Sam jumped back, startled, and exclaimed, "Watch it, Al!" "Great," Al said, "You're still here." Trying to ignore the number of snickers from the people in line who'd overheard his comment, Sam wandered to a secluded part of the hallway with a jerk of his head, and Al followed. "Yes, I'm still here," Sam whispered, "Now what?" "Well, Jason gets Miriam to autograph his 'zine and it's an additional comfort to him after she dies. In addition, prompted by his previous literary achievements, he writes a rather lengthy short story in Miriam's memory after her death and gets it published with Jim Rondeau's help. Between that and another story he gets published in a zine by Julie Bar-" Al stopped, frowned and whacked the handlink. "-ret, he has the springboard he needs to become a professional writer a few years down the road." Sam frowned and asked, "So, if I were to prevent Miriam's death, he might not become a writer?" Al glanced at his friend with a hint of disapproval and replied, "Ziggy says there's still a 60% chance that he'd become a writer anyway, but it would take him a lot longer. But, Sam, the point is moot. You've got to be very careful here. You can't start changing things that aren't ready to be changed, including Miriam's death. Otherwise, you may leap and we may lose you for good." Sam nodded with a mute frown, finally asking, "So what do I do now?" Al clamped his cigar between his teeth and fiddled with the handlink for a moment. "Well, according to Ziggy, you've got to..." He paused, arching his eyebrows. He shook the handlink, whacking it sharply. It emitted a feeble squawk and Al continued, slowly, "humiliate...the...emcee...." Sam blinked at stared at Al. "Are you serious?" he asked, "That doesn't make much sense." "Well, maybe it does," Al said, studying the handlink. "Ziggy says that a lot of the fans were discouraged by the past and present performance of the company that's putting on this shindig, and the emcee is apparently the guy that runs the company. He's probably here to make sure that everything runs as smoothly as he wants it to. They tend to cram too many activites together into too little time and adhere to a strict and virtually impossible schedule, doing everything they can to squeeze the fun out of the convention. Ziggy says the general populace would consider public humiliation of the emcee a justified attack on the money grubbing company." Sam frowned, displeased by the thought, but resigned to the fact that he really had very little choice. "But, how do I go about doing that? I mean, am I supposed to be some sort of heckler? I could get thrown out of here, and, then where will the success of this leap be? I don't even know the guy's name!" "Oh, that's easy," Al replied, consulting the handlink, "His name is Ad." He blinked and shook the handlink, smacking it again with no response. "That's weird," Al murmured, "Not a squeal, not a beep, not a whine." He shook the dark and silent handlink again and finally turned it over. Popping open a cover on back, he removed a pair of AA batteries and exchanged glances with Sam. "Guess you're on your own for a little while, kid," he said, "I'll be back." He turned, took a step and encountered an invisible barrier. "Gooshie!" he shouted, "Open the door!" The Imaging Chamber door ground open in front of him and the hologram beat a hasty retreat. The door ground shut behind him. The convention started late, as any function involving mass numbers of people tends to do, but Sam suspected more would have to be done if he were to upset the convention company's plans and complete his unsual assignment. He found himself seated momentarily between Vivs and Keith, one row up from Katriena. During the course of the convention, though, the four of them were hardly seated at the same time. The convention consisted of a lot of speakers from various aspects of production, alternating between presentations and question and answer segments, with a couple of music videos thrown in for good measure. All too soon, Sam began to understand what made the emcee so unappealing to the assembled guests. For starters the man just looked sleazy, reminding Sam very much of a weasel. He tried to make jokes from time to time, and failed miserably in spite of the occasional courtesy laugh. His introductions sounded forced, and it was obvious that he was trying to generate interest in an audience that already had more interest in the subject than he did. The man had an arrogant, untrustworthy air about him and when, at the conclusion of one of the introductions, Vivs muttered under his breath, "Twit," Sam had to agree. All that was well and good, but he still didn't see how he could publicly humiliate the man. There was a video playing on the dual screens at the front of the room and Vivs and Keith had taken advantage of the lapse in speakers to check out the merchandise in the hall outside. Sam had hung back to chat with Katriena, who several people were refering to as "Threena." He liked her; she had pretty eyes and a quick, dry wit that made Sam smile, and she used the humor to its fullest potential, in spite of the fact that she was feeling ill. "She's preggers, Sam," Al commented, appearing after their conversation. "That's why she's not feeling well. On October ninth, she gives birth to a baby girl, five pounds, seven ounces, named Alyssa Miriam." Al blinked, countering Sam's startled stare with a shrug, unable to answer Sam's silent question. "At least I can give you the name of the emcee now," Al continued after a moment. "It's Ad-" "Oh, that's easy," Al replied, consulting the handlink, "His name is Ad." He blinked and shook the handlink, smacking it again with no response. "That's weird," Al murmured, "Not a squeal, not a beep, not a whine." He shook the dark and silent handlink again and finally turned it over. Popping open a cover on back, he removed a pair of AA batteries and exchanged glances with Sam. "Guess you're on your own for a little while, kid," he said, "I'll be back." He turned, took a step and encountered an invisible barrier. "Gooshie!" he shouted, "Open the door!" The Imaging Chamber door ground open in front of him and the hologram beat a hasty retreat. The door ground shut behind him. The convention started late, as any function involving mass numbers of people tends to do, but Sam suspected more would have to be done if he were to upset the convention company's plans and complete his unsual assignment. He found himself seated momentarily between Vivs and Keith, one row up from Katriena. During the course of the convention, though, the four of them were hardly seated at the same time. The convention consisted of a lot of speakers from various aspects of production, alternating between presentations and question and answer segments, with a couple of music videos thrown in for good measure. All too soon, Sam began to understand what made the emcee so unappealing to the assembled guests. For starters the man just looked sleazy, reminding Sam very much of a weasel. He tried to make jokes from time to time, and failed miserably in spite of the occasional courtesy laugh. His introductions sounded forced, and it was obvious that he was trying to generate interest in an audience that already had more interest in the subject than he did. The man had an arrogant, untrustworthy air about him and when, at the conclusion of one of the introductions, Vivs muttered under his breath, "Twit," Sam had to agree. All that was well and good, but he still didn't see how he could publicly humiliate the man. There was a video playing on the dual screens at the front of the room and Vivs and Keith had taken advantage of the lapse in speakers to check out the merchandise in the hall outside. Sam had hung back to chat with Katriena, who several people were refering to as "Threena." He liked her; she had pretty eyes and a quick, dry wit that made Sam smile, and she used the humor to its fullest potential, in spite of the fact that she was feeling ill. "She's preggers, Sam," Al commented, appearing after their conversation. "That's why she's not feeling well. On October ninth, she gives birth to a baby girl, five pounds, seven ounces, named Alyssa Miriam." Al blinked, countering Sam's startled stare with a shrug, unable to answer Sam's silent question. "At least I can give you the name of the emcee now," Al continued after a moment. "It's Ad-" "Jason?" Sam looked up. Standing in the aisle beside him was Eliz Newman, wearing the dark blue sweater she would be wearing that evening when Sam leaped in. He'd been trying to avoid her as much as he could without being rude. Though he was sure there wouldn't be any interference caused by her precense, he didn't like to take chances. "Uh, hi, Eliz," he replied, "What's up?" "We can't find Warren, and I was wondering if you wanted to help us run the mikes." During the question and answer segments, three people - Eliz, a large black woman named Joyce, and a big furry man that had been identified as John "Eoin" Snyder, and who Sam recognized vaguely from his first leap into the Con - had been scurrying around the large convention hall with cordless microphones to amplify the audience's questions. Warren had been sitting at a discreet table near the stage, turning the microphones on and off on cue to prevent them from interfering noisily with each other. Warren's seat at the table was vacant and, when the video ended and the next segment began immediately, they would need someone to activate the mikes. Apparently Eliz was offering Sam that job. He noticed that the emcee was sitting beside Warren's empty seat. "Oh, go for it, Sam!" Al said excitedly, also noting the emcee's proximity. "Sure," Sam agreed. "Great! Come on!" Eliz grabbed his arm and Sam flinched momentarily, remembering his physical contact with Alia. It occured to him that she had managed to occupy two places at one time and even interact with herself without difficulty. But, on the same token, only one Alia had still been connected with the evil counterpart to Project Quantum Leap, so maybe there'd been nothing to interfere with in her situation. He suffered himself to be led towards the table, but Eliz paused, making a detour. "Have you met Sally yet?" Sam glanced at Al, who checked the handlink. The information was ready, the new batteries evidently doing a superlative job. "She means Sally Smith, Sam," Al replied, "The driving force behind the newsgroup where the core group of friends met. Apparently she's a sort of legend in her own time, having friends in high places on the Quantum Leap production staff, including the executive producer himself. She's probably the person most involved with the show who's not actually on Universal Studio's payroll." After a pause he added, "And, no, Jason hasn't met her yet." "Not yet," Sam replied. Eliz led him towards the main doors of the convention hall, to a petite woman, about thirty, with a pair of glasses that seemed a tad too large. Eliz introduced them and Sally hugged Sam briefly, catching him offguard. As he stammered for things to say, Eliz glanced at her watch and explained that Sam needed a quick lesson in operating the sound box, and the two of them excused themselves and made their way to the table. The was back on the stage, making another lame joke and preparing to introduce the next panel. He returned to the table as Sam and Eliz reached it. This didn't signify any rush for the microphones; the people on stage would talk a bit first before taking questions. Sam glanced at Eliz expectantly, hoping to finally learn the emcee's name. Al was hovering nearby, but wasn't commenting. Unfortunately, Eliz didn't seem to hold the man in any higher regard than the rest of the fans and ignored the emcee completely. Instead, she started showing Sam how to operate the sound box. It was relatively simple; there were three toggle switches, labelled A, B & C. Eliz was A, John was B and Joyce - "Can you two keep it down?" the emcee whispered harshly. Sam hadn't thought they were talking that loudly, but kept his mouth shut, shooting the man an irritated glance. "It'll just be a minute," Eliz responded, her voice carefully neutral, "I need to show him how to run the sound box." "Warren's running the sound box," the man responded, matter of factly. His tone implied that, since he said so, it must be gospel. "Warren's not here," Sam responded, allowing his own coldness to seep through. The task of embarassing the man seemed more appealing all the time. "Unless you want people to shout their questions, I think it's probably best that I learn how to turn the mikes on." The truth was he already understood enough of the operations to get by, but the man was rubbing him the wrong way, stimulating Sam's stubborn streak. "I'll run it myself," the emcee responded. He glanced at Eliz and demanded, "You want to tell your friend to get back to his seat?" "I-" Sam cut her off, asking with a caluclated amount of sarcarsm, "How are you going to run the microphones and still watch the clock to make sure everyone's off the stage at the exact second you want them to be?" Eliz stared at Sam in disbelief and said, "Jason, maybe -" "Listen, pal, don't make me get the security team over here." the emcee said, trying to look menacing. He only made himself look foolish. He obviously wasn't used to having people countermand him and wasn't sure how to respond. Sam found it difficult to believe that people obeyed this man, although a person could accomplish a lot with the right attitude. And, while the man's attitude was primarily arrogance and ignorance in equal measures, there was more than enough of it to go around. Sam noticed that their disagreement had been growing gradually louder and people in the nearby chairs and standing along the wall were glancing curiously in their direction. "Look, I-" "Quick," Eliz cut in abruptly, "Turn Joyce's mike on!" During the conversation, the question and answer segment had begun and Joyce was standing in the middle of the room holding a disabled microphone in front of a young man. Joyce was waving frantically directing the attention of the people on stage and much of the audience towards the table. "Get out of the way," the emcee said, brushing past Sam to flip one of the switches. A faint hum emitted from the speakers and the young man in the audience spoke into the microphone. His question was still inaudible. "That's the wrong switch," Sam said as the realization hit him. He reached to turn the B switch off and turn on Joyce's, but the emcee pushed his hand away. "I told you to get out of the way." He flipped on the first switch, and the hum got louder. A faint whistle of static resonanted through the speakers and the young man repeated his question with no effect. Desperately, the emcee flipped on the third switch. A shrill squeal blared from the speakers sending up a murmur of surprise and displeasure from the audience. They shot angered glances at the emcee. At that moment, Warren ran up, panting, "Sorry I took so long; I thought I'd be back sooner. He stepped between Sam and the emcee, switched off the first two switches and pointed a finger at Joyce as the squealing faded into silence. He exchanged a glance and a smile with Eliz and Sam and the three of them looked at the emcee, who tried his best to ignore them. In his silence, he admitted his defeat. "I don't believe it," Al breathed, looking at the handlink. He glanced at Sam and said, "Hey, get this, Sam. Now, this nozzle's company refuses to sponsor the convention in 1994, and the fans end up running it themselves." Sam looked shocked and Al shook his head saying, "No, Sam, that's good. The core group of fans from the Quantum Leap newsgroup run the bulk of it and it's a whopping success, going over better than the first two did when they were run by that company! In fact, even though the show gets cancelled later this year, the conventions are still going on today." Sam smiled, sharing the look of pleasure with Eliz and Warren. He felt a faint wrenching sensation and his smile faded. If he leaped now, too soon... "No," he whispered, "Not yet." The speakers emitted a momentary burst of electrical static and the sensation faded. Al glanced at Sam, realizing what had happened. "That was close, kid," he commented. Sam nodded his agreement. "Anyway, you're halfway there. You've got five and a half hours before your leap into Eliz. Ziggy says that, for your next trick, you've got to help the newsgroup's most eligible bachelor find true love." Sam glanced curiously at Al. In response, Al clarified, "I think she's talking about the net.hunk." He gestured with his cigar, pointing at Warren. "Warren?" Sam asked. "Hmmm?" Warren replied, glancing at Sam quickly, his attention focused primarily on the three microphone people. Eliz, once Warren had returned, had joined the throng in the audience, looking for people with questions. "You still here?" the emcee asked sullenly, glaring at Sam. "Uh, I need to talk to you," Sam told Warren, ignoring the weasly emcee. "Later," the emcee said firmly, "Warren's busy." Unfortunately, Sam couldn't argue with that. Civilly, he agreed, "Later." Warren nodded acknowledgement and Sam returned to his seat. The first day of the convention ended a few hours later, at four o'clock precisely, but Sam lost track of Warren in the crowd. The crowds would be worse on the following day, when Scott Bakula and Dean Stockwell, the show's stars, were in attendance. Sam hoped he wouldn't be there as well, knowing things were getting pretty tight. There was less than an hour and a half remaining before his leap into Eliz. Once that happened, he wasn't sure what would happen. At the least, he'd have to work through his last chore without Al's assistance, since communication would be prohibitively difficult with two Sam's there. He wondered briefly if his presence would cancel out Al's visits to Sam during his first leap to the Con and hoped, once more, that he wouldn't be around to find out. He returned to his room, joined by Vivs and Keith, so he could get a change of clothes. He knew from his leap into Eliz that he wasn't wearing the same clothes that Jason had been wearing when posing for the picture and, though he doubted such a small change would have consequence, bigger disasters had been caused by smaller discrepancies before. As he changed, he tried to find out where people would be getting together for dinner. He knew, though, that he had to be in Club 555, the hotel's bar, by 5:30 to get his picture taken. The last thing he needed was his other self leaping into the middle of a paradox. As it turned out, Vivs and Keith were unsure of the others' plans for the night, so Sam suggested they take a walk past Club 555 and see who was there. The two couldn't think of a reason not to, and agreed. As they entered the bar, Sam felt experienced a sharp, lingering sensation of deja vu, a sensation which was easily justified by the fact that he had, in fact, been here before. There was a crowd at the bar, centered on a handsome, casually dressed black man. Sam recognized most of the members in the crowd as people from the newsgroup, including Miriam, Warren, Sally and Mark. He joined them with Vivs and Keith, sidling closer to Warren. "Who's that?" he asked, as he came up behind the net.hunk. Warren glanced at him and answered, "Charles Floyd Johnson, one of the producers." Sam nodded. That would explain the hubbub. He hung back, keeping quiet. Time was short, but it didn't seem an appropriate time to discuss Warren's potential love life. He listened to the conversation between Charles Johnson and members of his adoring public absent-mindedly. They were talking about the panel of guest stars tomorrow and when Charles mentioned that he needed to return to the office so he could sort out which stars were from which episode for the presentation on the following day, Sam found himself abruptly drawn into the conversation. "It just so happens," Mark commented, "that Jason maintains an Episode Guide on the net. There are a couple other files as well, but I think the Guide would work best if you're arranging the guest stars by order of episode." He nodded towards Sam, focusing Charles attention on him. "I think I've got a hardcopy up in my room." "Really?" Charles asked, glancing between Mark and Sam. "That sounds like a lot of work," he commented to Sam. "Well," Sam replied, off guard, "You know. You have to love what you do." Charles smiled and turned back to Mark. "If you've got those, that would be great. It would save me a trip back to the office." "I'll go check," Mark said, leaving the room. The conversation drifted away from Sam again. Someone got the idea to start taking pictures and, one by one, the ladies began posing with Charles while others took pictures. Sam took a couple with Jason's camera, figuring the man deserved some sort of momento from the convention he'd been unintentionally whisked away from. Miriam stood beside him taking a few pictures as well. Mark returned, presenting Charles with a sheaf of paper. Charles eyes widened in surprise, but he glanced through it approvingly and nodded. "This'll work great," he agreed. He exchanged glances with Mark and Jason and said, "You guys don't know how much trouble you just saved me." "Always glad to help," Sam assured the man. Mark agreed. Charles glanced at his watch and said, "I suppose I ought to be getting home, then, to look through this. I'll see you all tomorrow." He made his leave and the group drifted apart. Sam glanced around, spotted Warren sitting down at the bar and joined him as he ordered a beer. "Make it two," Sam told the Mexican waiter as he joined Warren. They talked for a few minutes about this and that. Beyond Warren, Sam noticed that Miriam had sat at the bar as well, sipping a white wine and talking with Sally and Vivs. "She's got a boyfriend, Jason," Warren murmured, noting the direction of Sam's gaze. "I know," Sam agreed, remembering Jason's response when Keith had made a similar comment. "Let me dream for a while, okay?" Warren turned to face him and smiled with comradery. He raised his glass. "To women. Can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em." Sam smirked, raised his own glass in response and they took long draughts of their beers. "That's a bit out of character for a net.hunk, don't you think?" Sam asked, placing his bottle on a napkin. Warren shrugged and replied, "To be honest, I'm still trying to get the hang of this net.hunk thing. I'm really not used to it. I mean, I'm from Dayton, not exactly the hot spot of the social scene, but even there, I don't have women falling all over me." "Then how'd you get to be net.hunk in the first place, then?" Sam asked. "I'm not really sure," Warren shrugged, "Someone on the list nominated me and it was overwhelmingly seconded." He smirked and added, "Mostly by the women, most of whom hadn't even met me yet." He sighed and said, "To be honest, Jason, I don't feel very comfortable around women usually. Any other arena, sure, I've got all the confidence I need. But all that just abandons me when it comes to women. It's like being at the top of a diving board and not knowing if you're going to score a perfect ten or do a bellyflop. That doubt makes you pretty hesitant to leap in with both feet, you know what I mean?" "I think so," Sam replied, smiling obliquely, "I've leaped like that myself." "How'd it turn out?" Warren asked, glancing in Sam's direction. Sam frowned. "I don't know yet." Warren nodded and returned to his beer, and Sam continued, "Still, it's better to take your chances and risk rejection than to spend the rest of your life alone. You've got to live your life to its fullest. It could be shorter than you think." As he spoke, he glanced past Warren to where Miriam was studying Vivs' tie critically and shaking her head. The bartender refilled her glass. "That's pretty morbid," Warren commented. "Unfortunately, it's also true," Sam agreed, "Who knows. Any of us could go at any moment." As he spoke, he remembered something Al had once told him and he relayed it to Warren. "A wise man once said, 'Let me regret the things I do, and not the things I don't.' All I'm saying is don't miss your opportunity with Miss Right when it comes along, or you may regret it for the rest of your life." Warren looked thoughtful for a moment and said, "I never thought of it that way before." He drained his beer and said, "Thanks, Jason." "Sam!" It was Al, appearing behind him. He must have entered the Imaging Chamber before the hologram was complete, since Sam hadn't heard the door open. "Things are getting close here. Too close. Ziggy says you're changing history, but not the right way. You've got to get your picture taken by Eliz, with Miriam and Keith, in five minutes; otherwise, you could cause a paradox when your other self leaps in and you don't need that. Ziggy has decreed that, after 5:30 your time, we can't communicate with you at all until your other self leaps out again an hour later, so you're going to be on your own for an hour. She says to stay as far from Eliz as you can once she becomes you so that you don't alert the other you to your presence." Sam nodded vaguely, taking this all in. He had to get ready to have his picture taken, but it sounded like things wouldn't be too bad when the leaps overlapped after all. "No problem," Sam answered Warren. He glanced again at Miriam, who was swirling her glass of wine, staring at it curiously. Sam noticed it was full. Still or again, he wasn't sure. "Great, Sam," Al said, hurriedly, "Warren has an interesting encounter with a woman named Susan Griffith tomorrow night; I guess she was a guest star in one of the episodes. Nothing comes of it, but, a couple of months later, he meets the girl of his dreams." Al frowned and said, "They spend a few intense months together before they decide to go their separate ways." "Will you excuse me?" Sam asked, standing, "I think I'm going to take a chance myself." He nodded meaningfully towards Miriam. It was a vast stretching of the truth; he knew Miriam had a boyfriend, the one Al had said she would have married if she'd lived long enough, and Sam had no intention of jeopardizing that. He did, however, need to get history back on track and get Miriam, Keith and himself in front of his camera, in Eliz's hands in about two and a half minutes. Warren smirked and said, "Never stop trying, right?" Sam nodded and walked towards Miriam as Al paced him, continuing, "Warren does eventually find the right woman. They get married in January of 1995 during one of the worst snowstorms of the decade and live happily ever after." He paused and studied Sam, saying, "I hope this doesn't mean you're going to leap now." That brought Sam up short just as he reached Miriam. She glanced up incuriously from her glass and said, softly, "The bartender keeps filling my glass. I think he's trying to get me drunk." If she hadn't had enough already, Sam suspected she was close. "So stop drinking," he suggested. He didn't feel the tingle of an oncoming leap, but decided not to tempt Fate. He needed to get everything set up properly for Eliz's departure. "Why don't you come over here, and we'll get Eliz to take a picture of Keith and us." Miriam shrugged, standing up. She put an arm around Sam's shoulders, leaning against him heavily and Sam put an arm around her waist to steady her. Her purple sweater was soft against his hand and he had to quell the thought before it went any further. He spotted Keith talking to Eliz a few feet from the cold cuts table where Mark was nibbling some cheese and talking with Threena. As Sam led the way to Eliz and Keith, a voice spoke in his ear. "A little QLMC note." He paused and turned to face the voice. Beside him, Eoin was standing, hand in hand with a young woman with a vast amount of long black hair. Her name tag identified her as Christina Hill and, Sam suspected, the two of them were close in more than just proximity. "QLMC?" he asked, trying to mask his impatience. Al glanced over his shoulder and said, "Sam, Ziggy says you've got a minute left; he wants me out of here ASAP." "Yup," Eoin agreed, glancing at Chris. He leaned forward and said, in a stage whisper, "Miriam gets very flirtatious when she drinks." Chris jabbed Eoin in the ribs playfully and Miriam giggled, touselling Sam's hair. Sam nodded, smiling weakly and said, "Believe me, that's the furthest thing from my mind." "Uh huh," Chris replied, grinning widely. "Sam!" Al groaned, "Come on!" "Will you excuse us?" Sam asked. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled Miriam the rest of the way to Eliz and Keith. Keith saw them coming and nodded at them as Eliz turned to watch their approach. "How cute," she remarked. She held up her camera and said, "Come here, I'll take your picture." "Great," Sam said. Technically she was supposed to take the picture with Jason's camera but at this stage, Sam felt a picture was a picture. "Look, Sam, Ziggy says I have to get out here now, so I can't beat around the bush. You've got one more thing to do and, according to Ziggy, if you can't find a way to do it during this leap, you might not get another chance!" "Hey, Keith," Sam said, grabbing Keith's arm as the man moved to get out of the picture. "Give me a hand here? She's getting kind of heavy." Miriam giggled again. Keith shrugged and stood on the other side of Miriam, who put her other arm over his shoulder. Sam turned to face the camera and smiled. The flash went off as Eliz took the picture and failed to leap. Sam glanced at Al, but the hologram hadn't noticed anything amiss, his attention focused on the message he was about to deliver. Left to his own devices, Sam wrenched the camera from around his neck and thrust it at Eliz. "How about one for me, too?" he asked, hoping his desperation didn't sound too obviously. Eliz accepted the camera. "Sure." Al cleared his throat and said, hurriedly, "Sam, Ziggy says the last thing you need to accomplish here...is to make sure that Miriam doesn't die on April 26, 1993!" Sam looked at the hologram, in surprise, but Al had already disappeared; Ziggy shut down the Imaging Chamber the moment the vital message was delivered. "Say cheese," Eliz said, holding up the camera. Sam turned his attention back to her and, as she depressed the button, he felt a wrenching sensation. Even as Eliz was bathed in an electrical blue glow, Sam realized that, even if he could coexist with himself in two leaps in the same time, the proximity of Eliz and Jason was too much for whatever force was leaping him to handle. As Sam leaped into Eliz, he was forced out of Jason. As he leaped, a wave of disappointment, dread and loss filled his soul. His one and only chance to save Miriam. Gone in a flash of blue light....