Date: Wed, 16 Mar 1994 17:41:39 +22305714 (HST) From: Mindy Young Subject: Parzival's Return, part 3 of 4 Message-Id: Parzival's Return, Part 3 Out of the void came a word: "Sam." Then there was silence. The word reappeared. "Sam." The silence returned, but it was less in control. He knew he was somewhere. Where this somewhere was, however, was a mystery. "Sam." There was that word again. The silence was losing its battle with this word, and he was less a prisoner of the void with every time the word reappeared. "Can you hear me?" Yes, of course he could hear the words. But why were these words being spoken? More silence. But the mists of the void were lifting. He still didn't know where he was, but he knew for certain he was definitely somewhere. The silence continued. No, he could hear a whooshing sound, rhythmic, gentle. It was a warm sound, and pleasant. It was nearby, too. Oh, yes. That was breathing. "Sam." That word. In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God. Was this God speaking? "Can you hear me?" It seemed important to acknowledge this. He tried to figure out how, but here in the void there was only thought, and thinking didn't seem to be getting through to where the words were coming from. He could make words, too, couldn't he? Yes, if only he could remember how. He heard a movement, something small passing by. He didn't know what it meant. But his concern was growing over his inability to make contact with the words. He needed to move his mouth in conjunction with his lungs, larynx and diaphragm. Yes, a body. He had a body. He wondered where it was. "Sam?" Anxiety grew. He had to reply to this word. How? He had to find the way. He had to find his body. He looked around. He couldn't see -- the void was uniformly gray. So was he. But he had to find a way to reply to the words. He had to find a way out of the void. Silence. He struggled to part the mists. He had to get out of here. "Sam." Panic brewed. He felt he would drown if he didn't get out of this void. He fought the mists. That gentle, rhythmic sound of breathing was becoming harsh and hard. "Sam. It's okay." No, it was not okay. He was surrounded by nothing, but it was closing in. He had to break through. "Sam, it's okay. It's Verbeena." Verbeena, help me, throw me a line, tell me where you are. Get me out of here. He found his body, there in the mists, and he dove in. He had to make it work. Yes, here were eyes, ears, a mouth. Where were the controls? He had to activate the systems. Wait, here. The eyes. Sam opened his eyes. Nothing -- there was nothing there -- he saw only gray. God, no, the body was supposed to save him from the void, but the void had followed him inside. "Sam, you might not be able to see right away. It's okay. Your vision will probably come back in a few days." If the eyes wouldn't work, the mouth would do something. He tried to form words, but the only sound he produced was a shuddering groan. "Sam, don't try and talk. Save your energy. Just relax. Don't worry." He gave up. Nothing worked. He blinked. It did no good -- he couldn't tell when his eyes were open or closed. "I'm going to give you something to help you sleep. Sleep will help you get your strength back." He felt movement again, but there was no sensation to go with it. Yet even as he contemplated what that meant, the void came rushing back. He fought it as long as he could, but he lost. The void parted to reveal a dream. Sam was running down the hill to his home, back in Indiana. The green corn stalks towered above him, and he dashed easily down the row. The sky was a crisp blue, and the silky, golden buds of new tassels danced in the breeze above him. He could hear the Holsteins and Guernseys calling in the next pasture. He loped down out of the corn to the road and saw the house just as it should be, clean, freshly painted, lived in and loved. A black dog barked a greeting to him in the yard. A dog -- he seemed to live here -- Sam smiled at him and the dog wagged his bushy tail. Sam skipped up onto the porch and stood before the front door. The dog followed him up. Sam looked in the door's window. His reflection -- it was him, him now, as an adult. He could hear voices inside -- happy, laughing voices -- he had to join them. He reached for the doorknob, but he couldn't grasp it. He tried again -- it slipped through his hand. He looked at the dog, who was very interested in this. He tried to push his hand through the door, but he wasn't a hologram and the door blocked his way. He tried the doorknob again, but still had no luck. He heard his mother laugh inside. "Mom!" The word dimmed the image before him. The farm vanished. Sam woke up. Sam blinked. Gray forms taunted his eyes, refusing to come into focus. "Sam?" He blinked again, searching for the origin of the word. There was a gray shape above him, to the left. He tried to speak, but all that emerged was breath. "Don't try to talk yet. Blink if you can see me." He blinked, trying to see. The gray shape metamorphosed into two connected shapes. "Can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?" Fingers? Were those fingers? "Don't worry. Your vision will come back. You're doing just fine." "...'Beena..." "Yes, Sam." "...'Sorry..." "Don't apologize. Don't worry. Everything's okay." "...I..." Frustration was turning into anger. Why couldn't he talk? "Relax. We think you're experiencing a time coefficient anomaly. Only part of you is here. Most of you was lost in the Accelerator. Eventually you'll replace the missing energy, but it will take a while. You'll have to be patient." A time coefficient anomaly -- she thinks. He tried to remember, but he regretted it as soon as he attempted to think. A battle ensued, a struggle of images, calculations, emotions, sensations. It was as if he had two cantankerous brains, each with its own definite idea of reality -- and he wasn't connected to either very well. Yes, he would have to be patient. "Is there anyone you want to see?" "...Al." "Okay. For a few minutes." The gray shape departed. He blinked and tried to focus on the ceiling. A gray shape appeared. "Hey, Rip Van Winkle, so you finally woke up." God, Al's voice -- an anchor he could cling to. If only he could see his face. With a surge of strength he moved his hand towards the shape, and he felt a strong hand take his. "I'm here." It took a moment for Sam to regroup enough strength to say, "Al...I'm sorry..." "Sorry? You don't have any reason to be sorry. You did great." Sam wondered why he was apologizing, and when he tried to remember the battle of the brains began again. One brain thought everything had gone wrong, and the other was merely confused. But apologizing still seemed necessary. Must be that Midwestern upbringing. "Sorry." "Stop it. Everything's fine. You have absolutely no reason to apologize." "The leap..." he paused to breathe "...I tried...to leave you..." "It's okay." The gray shape that was Al moved, then leaned in slightly. He said in a whisper, "Do you know what year you're in?" The two brains had a discussion, then an argument. One said 1995, the other said 2001, 1862, 1978, 1998, 1953. As they fought it out, Sam looked at the gray figure. It was almost a distinct outline now. He squinted. "Ah..." "Never mind. It doesn't matter. Just get some rest. Every time you sleep you get a little stronger. I'll be here for you." The two brains were still locking horns, so Sam left them alone. Be here for me. He'd heard that before. He liked it. Sleep. He liked that, too. What year... He drifted away. Sam was standing outside. It was beautiful and clear, and he took a deep breath under a canopy of sky. There were clouds, shapes he could remember learning from his father. Cirrus, stratus, strato-cumulus. The sky was light, but he could not see the sun. The air was cool, and it felt good to suck it in between his lips. The taste was sweet, sweet as good water. He heard the sounds of children playing, and he turned to find them. He pulled back with surprise. By his feet was standing -- swaying, actually, on untrustworthy legs -- a toddler, a boy not more than a year old, looking up at him. He bent to smile at the child, who smiled back. He tried to speak, but only silence came forth. The toddler didn't seem to mind. He heard a little girl call, and a blonde girl about seven appeared and took the toddler's hand. The boy continued to look at Sam, and she frowned at him. "What are you looking at?" She picked him up and headed back to the others. The toddler turned to look at Sam, and then he was gone with her. Sam smiled at the sight. He never realized how much he loved and missed children until that moment. He tried to follow them, but something behind him seemed to be calling to him. He wanted to go where he heard the children playing, just out of sight, but the beckoning behind him grew stronger. With a last, longing look towards the children, Sam heeded the call. He turned, and the familiar buzz of molecular metamorphosis surged through him. He leaped. The swirling and buzzing stopped, and Sam found himself lying down in the dark. He blinked to help his eyes adjust, but the room was almost completely black. A slight move of his arm revealed he was in a bed -- alone, he thought -- yes, he moved his hands out tentatively and reached each edge of the bed unobstructed -- a nice bed, in fact, and he appreciated the comfort for a few moments. As he waited for his eyes to adjust, he listened for some tell-tale sound to give him a clue to his surroundings. No ticking alarm clock, no billow of curtains in a night breeze, no sounds of rain, traffic, nothing at all. That was odd. He tried to sit up, but he was as weak as a new kitten. The leap must have taken something out of him. He managed to sit up and swing his legs off the bed to the right. He was wearing pajamas, flannel -- he'd always loved flannel -- and set his feet on the floor. A soft rug greeted his toes, and he settled his feet in comfortably. He smiled. Whoever he'd leaped into seemed to agree with his tastes on the little details. It was still too dark to see, and he reached out tentatively to find a light or clock or landmark. His arm felt like lead -- what was going on? He felt a hundred years old. His hand found a table next to the bed and he inadvertently touched a button. He started when a whoosh of gently sliding metal came from the other side of the room. It was a vaguely familiar sound, and he turned. He gasped as what had been a black void was now a wall of stars -- a panorama of the Milky Way arching overhead. He stood up to go to the stars, but his knees gave way beneath him and he tumbled to the floor. He landed hard, and he groaned. From the carpet he looked up at the stars. This was all so familiar, and yet it wasn't. What was going on? The door opened and a shaft of light cut diagonally across the room. "Sam!" Al's voice. Thank God, that anchor was here. "Light," said Al's voice. The room lights came up softly. From his skewed vantage point Sam looked at his surroundings. He knew this place. There was his night desk by the window, his bed, the door to the bathroom. This was his room? Al came over and with a great effort pulled Sam onto the bed. "Are you hurt? Did you hit anything?" Sam looked at him. "...Al." "Yeah." "...I'm still here." "Don't worry, you're okay." He groaned, "God, I didn't leap." Sam let himself be tucked into his bed as his mind swirled. Still here! What did that mean? He looked around the room. It didn't look quite right, but he couldn't figure out why. Had they painted it? Changed the carpeting? Al pulled up the chair from the night desk and sat next to Sam. "How are you feeling?" "Pretty bad." "I can imagine. But don't tell Verbeena about this, will you? Getting you out of the infirmary was my idea." "Okay." Wait, he remembered. A time coefficient anomaly. Most of him had been lost in the Accelerator. That led to the question of how much of him was here. He looked around the room. It still didn't look right. He looked across at the dresser and its collection of family photos, and then he did a double take. In the photo gallery was one framed image shimmering uncertainly -- as if he were seeing it with only one eye. He squinted. It was too far away to make out the figures with his underpowered vision. But it was definitely taken at the farm. It looked familiar, and yet it didn't. He concentrated on it, but it was not entirely there. Al watched this. "How are your eyes?" After a struggle, he managed to sit up. "A time coefficient anomaly." "That's right." "You asked me what year I thought I was in." Al looked back at the door. "Don't say that too loudly. I wasn't supposed to ask that." Sam was staring at the photo. No matter how hard he focused, it refused to be entirely there. "What year am I in, Al?" Al looked at the dresser, then at Sam. "You're home. It's 2001." Sam blinked with amazement. In his left ear he heard sharply, "*1995*." He couldn't believe it. "I did leap." "Yeah." In his left ear: "*No*." He shook his head. "I'm back." Al nodded. "Yeah." His left ear insisted: "*No*." This was very strange. That voice in his ear was his voice, but it disagreed with what he was thinking. He continued to stare at the tantalizingly elusive photo. He gasped when it hit him. "They shut off the power while I was leaping." Al nodded. "So only part of me leaped." Al nodded again. "The rest of you was lost in the Accelerator." "*No, it wasn't*." Sam looked at Al with a vague smile. "No, it wasn't." Al frowned. "Verbeena said when we pulled you out of the Accelerator that all of your cells had only about 20 percent of their original energy level. The rest was gone. She was afraid for a while there you weren't going to make it." Sam looked around the room to see if there were other objects that were only half there. On his night desk was a pile of books that flickered in the half-reality. "Wow." He gestured toward the photo on the dresser. "Do you see that photo with the brown frame in the middle?" Al regarded it seriously. "Yeah." Sam nodded at his night desk. "Do you see those books?" Al looked at the desk with a frown. "There aren't any books on the table." Sam looked more closely at the desk. There was a stack of computer printouts, _The Tibetan Book of the Dead_, Stephen Hawking's _A Brief History of Time_, a book on ancient Hawaiian spiritual beliefs, two of his own books on quantum physics, Wolfram von Eschenbach's _Parzival_, a "Calvin and Hobbes" collection. He laughed. "This is amazing!" He indicated the books. "My books. The ones I left on my desk before I leaped. They're right there. Can't you see them?" Al looked at the desk. "No." "_Parzival_." "What?" "Remember when we talked about _Parzival_? I said it was on my desk. It's right there." Al looked at the desk, then shook his head. "Why don't you rest some more? Every nap helps -- " Sam looked at his hands. They were all there. He looked at the bed, the curtains, the dresser and night desk. They were all there. The curtains, however, were an uncertain color. Hadn't they been off-white before? They seemed to be a muddled light green. He looked at Al. To his surprise, Al was only mostly there. He looked at the other objects that shimmered in half-reality, then looked back at Al. Al was more there than the others. Perhaps it was because he was alive. Sam smiled. Yes, of course. His cells were constantly renewing themselves, unlike the static objects. That would explain it. "Al, I wasn't lost in the Accelerator. Only part of me leaped...but the rest of me stayed in 1995." Al frowned pointedly at that. "What?" He blinked as the full realization hit him. "Or, ...I seem to have brought 1995 with me." Al was left behind on that one. "You brought it with you?" "I can see the books I left on my desk, but they're only partly there. You can't see them because they're in 1995. That photo on my dresser is in 2001, and you can see it, but to me it's only partly there because it wasn't there before I leaped. Al," his enthusiasm flooded over, "do you understand what that means? Somehow I've bent the parallel dimensions so now they intersect in me. I'm in both 1995 and 2001 at the same time!" Al decided this was confusion left over from the disrupted leap, and it showed on his face. Sam didn't care. "What color are the curtains?" "Sam, it doesn't -- " "What color are they?" Al didn't reply. "They're green to you, right? But part of me sees them as cream-colored, the color they were before I leaped." Sam reveled in his discovery. He wondered how long this would last. If his strength was coming back, as Al said, that meant more and more of him was coming into 2001, and eventually his connection to 1995 would fade. He looked at Al, but his friend's glower caught him by surprise. "Those curtains are nearly eight years old. They're the originals you chose when the complex was built. And that photo was taken in 1991. It's been there for as long as you've lived here." It was Sam's turn to frown. No, that wasn't right. He definitely could see cream in the color of the curtains along with the green, and they weren't blended -- it was as if they were taking turns in his eyes. He looked at the photo. He didn't remember it, but as he looked at it, it did begin to seem familiar. A graduation photo...wasn't it? Who'd graduated in 1991? None of Katie's kids was old enough. And besides, his parents had long since lost the farm by then. ...But he seemed to remember going back for a Fourth of July celebration there...when was it?...not too long before he'd leaped. No, that wasn't right at all. He looked at Al. "I think I'm confused." "I think you're right." "It's sort of like _Through the Looking Glass_. Things look the same, but they're not." Pockets of Sam's memory still had holes, but one hole filled abruptly. "Al, I left you! I left you when I leaped. What happened to you?" Al glanced away. "It's not important. I'll tell you when you -- " "You were court-martialed!" Sam seemed to remember, but not really. "Weren't you?" Why couldn't he remember the result? "What happened?" "I beat the rap. I told you I would. I had some heavy hitters in my corner. Besides, there was no way they could convict me. The rules covering Verbeena's authority over the staff were a little vague when it came to me. She could veto activity by the staff, but she couldn't control the project. That meant when I, as co-founder of Quantum Leap -- thanks to you -- decided the project had to do something, she couldn't veto me doing something. It was a real gray area, and Verbeena felt bad about the whole thing anyway, and they were getting a lot of bad press, so they dropped the charges." "Bad press? How did anybody find out?" "Are you kidding? It's not everyday an admiral, who just happens to be a former astronaut and P.O.W., gets court- martialed. I was front page news around the world." Al leaned back with no small satisfaction. Only then did Sam notice Al's wedding ring. "You got married?" He couldn't believe his eyes. He tried to dredge the details up from the part of his brain that was in the present, but he dredged up only a blank. "Tina? Did you realize how much you needed her and tie the knot?" Al smiled fondly. "Tina." There was a distant look in his eyes that surprised Sam. "She was a good kid. No, she's been gone since the court-martial." Al looked at his friend significantly, then turned his wedding ring on his finger. "No. Not Tina." That part of Sam's mind that seemed to know the unknown prompted him to speak: "Beth." Al nodded. "I always thought it was strange she never found out about me being alive, what with all the publicity when the P.O.W.s came back. You know where she was? Brunei! Can you believe it? That...," he left out the adjective, "...lawyer she married went to work for the Sultan of Brunei. Some sort of legal advisor. They lived there for 15 years. That's why she never saw Maggie Dawson's photo, or heard any of the reports from when I came back. That's why the Navy couldn't find her when..." The memory of his futile search for her cut through him for a moment, but he could let it go. "So, she moved to Seattle in '86 and she was here to hear the news about my court-martial. She showed up on the last day of the trial." "What about her husband?" "He died in '85. That's why she moved back. She had three girls to raise alone, and she wanted to do that back home." "So she showed up at your court-martial." Al smiled wistfully. "We cried for a week. And then we got married." Sam smiled at the image, sorry he had missed the wedding. "And her girls are great." He added reluctantly, "I guess that guy she married wasn't so bad after all." He cocked his head for an impish shrug. "I'm a grandfather." Sam laughed. "Congratulations." "All the fun and none of the work. And to top it off, Beth's youngest daughter, Alice, changed her name to Calavicci. And she calls me 'Big Al' and she calls herself 'Little Al.'" He smiled and looked at his friend significantly. "I'm the reason you leaped back." "You were supposed to be the one who pushed the button." Al nodded. "Thanks." They shared the moment. "You're welcome." He looked around the room. "Where is everyone?" "Verbeena decided to keep your contact with the present to a minimum. Whoever you asked to see first would be your only contact until she thinks you can handle it." Sam looked at the pile of books shimmering on the desk. They seemed a bit fainter than before. He knew eventually he would lose touch with the dimension that was 1995, but he still tried to hold on to the memories of how things had been before he leaped. Particularly appealing to him was the fact that he could remember -- sort of -- two sets of leaps: those on the timeline extending from his first leap, with Gooshie at the button, and the timeline extending from the leap with Al at the controls. They actually were the same with only minor details being different -- no, mostly it was Al who was different. One set had Al giving him straightforward, occasionally amusing guidance, the other was filled with Al's distracting, sometimes disorienting observations in his old, rambunctious manner. He smiled. What a blessing -- he could see both how things had been before he changed history and how things had unfolded after his leaps. Talk about having your cake and eating it, too. Wait -- so that was it -- why he didn't remember the photo on the dresser. It may have been from 1991, but it wasn't the 1991 he had lived through before he leaped... Oh, God. Fuzzy though they were, he had three distinct sets of memories -- before he leaped, after he leaped the first time with Gooshie, and after he leaped the second time with Al. Three separate realities, "parallel" dimensions, were intersecting in his brain -- three at least. Al saw him lost in thought and stood up. "Take a nap. I'll be here if you need me." "No, don't go yet. Did you know where I was during the last leap?" "Of course. It was you in the Waiting Room." "But why didn't you show up?" Al shook his head. "Ziggy locked up. She went through the regular search, and we think she found you but she just locked up. Wouldn't say a word. Zippo. And she shut down the Imaging Chamber. I mean, I knew exactly where you were when I saw you in the Waiting Room because I remembered what happened six years ago when you'd leaped in before you leaped out, but with Ziggy in mental gridlock there was no way for me to contact you." Al chuckled. "What a hoot. The you in the Waiting Room was a real kick in the butt. It was almost better than meeting me as a kid." "What do you mean?" "Well, I'd kind of forgotten what you were like when your brain was intact. You were all excited and you were spewing theories, and you wanted me to explain everything to you, which of course I couldn't do, and you were absolutely convinced it was a dream." Sam frowned. "...It was a dream." His eyes flashed. "Al! That's why I leaped the first time! I had this really incredible dream that Quantum Leap worked, and I had leaped and I was..." They eyed each other as they realized what he was saying. "Whoa, that's too weird." "Wow." Sam thought about fulfilling his own prophetic dream, then laughed. "Well, I was right." Al shook his head. "Too weird." Sam smiled. "And I know why Ziggy locked up." "Why?" His smile grew, then he chuckled. "She couldn't handle what she saw when she found me. She was, well, very different." Al frowned. "She wasn't a she." Al's eyebrows shot up. "No wonder she shut down the Imaging Chamber. How embarrassing." Al shot a disparaging glance in the direction of the cavern. "Her little ego crisis almost killed you. I was going crazy. I wanted to help you." Sam smiled knowingly. "You did." Al smiled, then shrugged. "Just returning the favor." Sam nodded with appreciation, then yawned. His energy tide was going out, and he was going with it. "I want a tape recorder and a stack of cassettes." "We use compact discs now. But we'll get you everything in the morning." Sam was sliding down under the covers when he remembered something. "How come you were right in here when I fell?" Al smiled slightly and opened the door, revealing a chair in the hallway. "My 'quarters' until you're back on your feet." Sam felt terrible for being responsible for Al's discomfort, and it showed on his face. "Nah, it's not that bad. It's just the price I get to pay for being first on your list." Al went out and closed the door behind him. Sam stretched out on the bed. He sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Light." The lights obediently went out. He rolled over to face the window and watched the stars brighten as his eyes adjusted. He looked at the pile of books on his desk, shimmering in the pale starlight, and smiled. He glanced over at the glistening photo on the dresser. He should have been bursting to make the recordings of his other memories right away, but his energy was gone. It felt as if this memory overlap would last long enough for him to take care of it in the morning. Someday it would sound like mindless ramblings, but he felt he had to do it. First thing, he thought as he yawned. He stretched out his arm across the bed, contemplated the other pillow for a moment, and closed his eyes. He didn't notice it at first. It was so subtle. He only became conscious of it when he shifted his arm slightly. That modest indentation on the other side of the bed. The memory hit hard and he launched out of the bed. He flew to the door and startled Al as he flung it open. "Donna! Where's Donna? I've got to see her -- " Al caught Sam as his knees buckled and pulled him back to the bed. "It's okay, she's here. You need to wait until -- " " -- No! I don't care what Verbeena says. I've got to see her!" Al struggled with him for a few moments, but he knew he couldn't win this one. With great reluctance, he said, "Okay, just relax. I'll go get her. But it's going to take a few minutes to go get her, wake her up, and get her back here. At least five minutes. So just don't run out into the hall, will you? I'll be in a lot of trouble." He headed for the door but kept a watchful eye on Sam. "Stay there. Don't move." He went out the door. Donna! God, how could he have forgotten her? ...But she hadn't been there, once. Somewhere along the way he had changed that. He tried hard to remember, but the details were eluding him. Well, never mind. It was enough for the moment to know that she was here now. Five minutes! That was an eternity to wait. He was awake now, and full of adrenaline. He needed to fill the time. He looked at the phone. He remembered a promise he had to keep. "Light." The lights came on as he sat up. "Time." The blue glow appeared: "23:51." "Date." The light glowed: "7 June." With daylight savings time, there was a four-hour time difference. It wasn't too late to call. He smiled and shook his head as he dialed -- funny how in spite of everything he still remembered that phone number. After four rings a man's voice answered. "Hello?" "May I speak with Thelma Beckett, please?" "I think you got the wrong number." The man's voice was unfamiliar and lilted with a heavy Hawaiian pidgin accent. "Is this the Bonnick residence?" "No." This was strange. "Is this 983-3211?" "Yeah, but there's no one here named Thelma." Sam was confused. "Sorry." He hung up and wondered what had happened. It seems he'd changed his family's history, but he couldn't remember anything other than Katie, Jim and his mom living in Hawaii. His stomach knotted. He had no idea where they were. He had lost his family. But there was no time to dwell on this as the door opened and like a magnet Donna shot into his arms. They clung to each other, as if trying to absorb each other's essence and merge. Even as he held her Sam knew he was responsible for this, and that made the moment all the sweeter. "Thank You, God," she murmured into his shoulder. They lingered for a few moments longer, then he twisted and rolled her over onto the bed and they laughed together. "Score two points for a takedown," she said to complete their old joke. His eyes devoured her face, her hair, her eyes -- he couldn't take in enough of her. Al's voice came from the doorway, "Well, at least you haven't forgotten *that* part." They laughed and settled into a comfortable embrace sitting against the headboard facing Al as Donna nestled into Sam's shoulder. "Donna, I'm so sorry I forgot you. I don't know how..." She pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. "It's okay. It wasn't your fault. You remember me now, that's the important thing." "Where are Mom and Katie and everyone else?" Donna glanced at Al. "Am I allowed to tell him?" Al grimaced and gestured vaguely with an unlit cigar. "The shrink police say no." Sam frowned. "Why not?" "It's that pesky time whatever anomaly. Too much too soon could blow a gasket or something. I don't know. I'm just the looks of the operation." Sam smiled. He asked Donna quietly, "Are they all right?" "Yeah." "I bet they've been wondering what happened to me. They must be pretty worried." Donna whispered, "We told them." He did a double take. "We had to tell them something. You were gone for six years." "What did you tell them?" "As much as they'd understand. We left out details. They took it pretty well." She sighed. "They've been a real source of strength for me." He gave her a squeeze. "Me, too." His mind drifted for a moment, and a memory floated in -- he had other family here -- Sammy Jo Fuller. Oh, God, he had a grown daughter here on the staff. He shuddered at the surprise. He remembered Al saying no one knew Sammy Jo was his daughter, but he knew. Donna reacted to his shudder. "What's the matter?" How was he supposed to tell Donna he had a child -- who was nearly their age? Despite her protestations, he knew this would hurt her. "I...just remembered something." He glanced at Al. "Is Sammy Jo here?" Al had been looking at something just beyond the doorframe and looked back at Sam. "Who?" "Sammy Jo. Fuller." Al frowned. "Who's that?" Sam frowned at him. "Sammy Jo. Abigail's daughter." "Abigail who?" Sam didn't appreciate this. "Abigail Fuller. From wherever, that small town in Louisiana." Al pulled his handlink from his pocket and pushed a few buttons. He looked at the readout. "Oh, yeah, her. The girl down the well one." He pushed another button. "She doesn't have any daughters." "What?" "No, she and her husband Will -- ex-husband -- have three boys." Sam said emphatically, "Al, you told me about her. You said she was on the staff here. You said no one knew who she was." The urgency in Sam's voice did not escape Donna. She sat up and looked at him. "Who is she?" Sam struggled with the right words for his answer, but Al settled it before he could speak: "There's no Sammy Jo Fuller on this staff, and Abigail Kinman never had a daughter." Sam was sure Al had told him, he remembered seeing her as a child when he went back... Donna repeated her question. "Who is she?" He didn't know how to answer. "Well, I thought, she..." He looked at Al again. "You're sure you've never heard of Samantha Josephine Fuller?" Al shook his head. "Nope." His heart sank. Where had she gone? It wasn't just that she didn't work on the project; she didn't seem to exist. A strange thought occurred to Donna as she read the grief in his eyes, and she blinked and looked at her husband. "Are you trying to say you have a daughter?" She looked at him with more surprise than anger or hurt. He looked at her, then glanced at Al. "I thought I did." Al shrugged. "It would be a miracle if you did. You never slept with Abigail. At least not that I know of." Sam fought to remember. That night, before they tried to lynch her, they had...or had they? When it came into focus, Sam gasped -- the two leap timelines disagreed on what happened: In the Gooshie-start leap, Sam had slept with Abigail, but in the Al-start leap he had not. How could that be? Of course -- when he and Al had switched places, he had picked up some of Al's energy along with neurons and mesons -- and in the Gooshie leap it was the energy of a restless bachelor, but in the Al leap it was the energy of a blissfully married man. From his dual-focused vantage point, Sam could see that according to the timeline he was now in he had resisted his attraction to Abigail...and there was no Sammy Jo. How could that be? How could she not exist? He had talked with her, held her...but she'd never been born. His sense of loss overwhelmed him. As much as he worried about Donna's reaction, he had wanted that daughter, that child of his own. But she didn't exist... Al and Donna watched Sam wrestle with the sudden emptiness in his heart. Donna said hesitantly, "Are you saying you had a daughter in the other reality?" Sam embraced her both as an apology and for the reassurance of her touch. "Yeah." Sam didn't see her glance at Al. "You wanted a child, didn't you?" He looked at his wife. "I'm okay with our decision." She glanced at Al again, and this time Sam saw it. "...Well, Sam, deciding and doing are two different things." He caught her meaning and blinked with astonishment. No, wait, he didn't remember them having children. He squinted to pop the right timeline into his brain, and he was right. "We didn't have any kids." She looked at Al, who was smiling. "Do you remember when you came back two years ago?" "Yeah." "Well, in our haste, ..." Sam's mouth fell open. "Yeah. It was quite a surprise." She looked at Al. "I don't care what the shrink police say." Al smiled and reached behind the doorframe. When he reappeared in his arms was a placid little boy about a year old. Sam beheld the sight in wonder as Al handed him his son. Sam stood the boy in his lap and gazed at him in amazement. Strange, he'd seen this boy before. The toddler smiled at him. He smiled. "What's your name?" Donna answered, "John Samuel Albert Alessi Beckett." Sam reacted with surprise, then laughed. He looked pointedly at Al, who gestured vaguely with that unlit cigar. Sam admired his son. "That's a lot of name for a little kid. And you named him after my dad." She set a firm gaze on him, but a twinkle in her eye gave her away. "*My* dad." They eyed each other in a visual tug of war, but growing smiles gave way to laughter. "Okay. Your dad." He looked at Al. "What about him?" "Well," she said, "he was born on Al's birthday. Besides, if it hadn't been for Al, he wouldn't have been born." Sam looked at Al as the significance of that statement sunk in, and Al gave him an "it's nothing" shrug. Sam eyed the child. "If I ever catch you smoking cigars..." Wait -- now he remembered where he had seen the boy before. He looked at Donna. "Who's the little blond girl, about seven, who takes care of him?" The others reacted with surprise. "That's Laurie," Al answered, "my granddaughter. How on earth do you know about her?" Sam looked at John. "I thought it was a dream." The boy smiled at him, and he laughed. "But you knew better, didn't you?" He looked at Al to explain, but he noticed for the first time that Al had a hand hidden by the doorframe; there seemed to be someone there. "Who's out there with you?" Al looked at his hidden companion, then stepped back. A woman appeared, holding Al's hand. Sam was stunned. She was thirty-plus years older, but the years had been kind and her happiness cast a glow of refound youth about her. "Beth." She reacted with surprise. "Hi. How do you know me? I wasn't here when you and Al switched..." Now was not the time to explain. He said simply, "Who else could you be?" She flashed a girlish smile at Al, who kissed her on the cheek. Sam returned his attention to John, but his energy was waning. John, too, was in need of sleep and let loose a mighty yawn. Sam smiled and laid the boy down on his chest. He closed his eyes and reached out for Donna's hand. "Thanks." She squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry you had to have him alone." He didn't see her appreciative glance at the couple in the doorway. "I wasn't alone." Sam had something else to say, but as he pondered the words it didn't seem important. He sighed, and he was asleep. He felt John being lifted off him, but he didn't hear the others leave. Sam spent the next day recording everything he could remember. He wanted to spend the day with Donna and John, but he knew he had to work in isolation so he could concentrate while he still recalled the other realities. Despite protests from Donna and Verbeena, he took the recording equipment into one of the small conference rooms and talked for eighteen hours straight -- or, more precisely, he talked for as long as his voice held out and then croaked and whispered into the CD recorder's microphone as night fell. At two in the morning, he had nothing else to say. He looked at the pile of CDs and contemplated their significance. Ziggy would make transcripts, and they would supplement the supercomputer's archives of what had happened on Sam's leaps. The pile of discs was deceptive in its modesty: Here was a window to different dimensions, where people alive now were dead, where whole marriages were broken, where criminals had gone free, where people lived who had never been born... He locked the discs in the conference room and paced through the complex, too wound up to sleep. For the first time he wondered where Donna was sleeping; she wasn't allowed to stay with him yet. He found himself in the solarium and turned off the lights. The stars and silver clouds looked down on him as he sat on the sofa and thought about Sammy Jo. He wondered if she was out there somewhere, living in her own time and place. He felt somehow that she did exist, even though it was not here. If that were so, was there another Sam Beckett, leaping from life to life, still trying to get home? How many other Sam Becketts were there? Was there a different one for each of his leaps? How many of them had found their way home? Was it his job to help them, or were they not his responsibility? Did they know about him, or each other? He shuddered and sat up abruptly -- what if he had crossed over one too many invisible boundaries and he was in the wrong reality? Could it be that he had switched places with another Sam Beckett who was destined to return to these people, only now that other Sam would be trapped forever out there? He shook off the thought as best he could and sat back in the deep cushions. How much of him had been lost along the way in his exchanges with the people into whom he had leaped? How much of him sitting here now wasn't really him? He looked up at the sky through the glass ceiling and remembered that night that seemed only a few days ago -- six years ago -- when he had sat under the clear desert sky and asked for God's help. He had gotten it, hadn't he? He hadn't thought so at the time. He looked up as the glass and passing clouds separated him from the Milky Way and felt like a fraud. He wasn't supposed to be here. He felt as if he belonged someplace else, anywhere but here. He didn't know these people. He thought of Donna, and what he saw was the church filled with flowers, the wedding party shifting restlessly in the back corridors, the guests whispering in the pews, the musicians running out of music to play. He saw the minister's sad eyes, large and brown, almost like a Holstein's, looking at him with that searing pity. Tears welled in his eyes. Who was this woman who claimed to be his wife? He didn't know. They were all impostors. No, he was the impostor. He didn't belong here. His real life was out there somewhere. Ziggy was the portal to his real life. He had to get back. He had to get back to the place where he knew where his family was, where he knew the people in the photos on his dresser, where he knew what to expect. He didn't belong here. This wasn't home. Home was slipping away. Home was one of those threads of reality on the compact discs. He needed to get back... He gazed up at the sky as the clouds gathered. He couldn't see anymore, he couldn't see... A guard on patrol found Sam asleep on the sofa in the solarium and called Verbeena to ask what he should do with him. Verbeena told him to let Dr. Beckett sleep. The guard left the solarium quietly, leaving Sam floating between two worlds.