From: FNYK09A@prodigy.com (Gary Himes) Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: TO FIGHT THE UNBEATABLE FOE 1/7 Date: 30 Jun 1995 18:18:55 GMT Message-Id: <3t1f6f$cjm@usenetw1.news.prodigy.com> "Villian, villian, smiling damned villian!" -Hamlet, Act III, Scene I * * * * * I've heard that a man's greatness can be measured by his enemies. Well, in all my leaping around in time I've run into some pretty tough customers--mafia hitmen, serial killers, klansmen, even the walking dead. But there is one adversary who puts them all to shame, someone who can match me quantum trick for trick and occasionally show me a few new ones as well... * * * * * There was something slightly ironic, Sam Beckett decided, about the first thing he saw after leaping in being a stopwatch. After all, who had a more intimate relationship with time than he did? Sam blinked, reading the watch's face and seeing it had already measured off almost an hour. The question that presented itself to him was, what was being timed? Looking around he saw he had leaped into what seemed to be a basement, but the type of basement a mad scientist might inhabit. Computers, chemical apparatus, electronic equipment and random notes were scattered about. Sam recognized most of the machinery present and decided that, from its relative level of sophistication, he had to be in the mid-1980s or later. "Dr. J?" a voice said from thin air. "Can I stop now?" Puzzled, Sam's head jerked around as he tried to find the source of the voice. As far as he could see he was alone in the room. A whistle directed his attention above him. There, hanging in the air about eight feet off the floor was a boy of about fifteen, floating without any visible means of support. Sam's mouth dropped open as he gaped at the amazing sight. "Oh, boy..." he muttered in near-speechless awe. * * * * * The boy, taking no notice of Sam's stunned reaction, gentled floated to the ground. "See, it's like I told you, ever since that second blast I got from the photon beam I fly -2- better than ever! Not only can I stay up longer, but now I don't even need the aerosol cans to move around!" "Uh, that's good...I guess," Sam said, then looked up again hoping to see wires or hooks or anything that would explain a levitating teenager. For the first time the youngster seemed to notice Sam's befuddled state. "Are you okay, Dr. J?" For a brief second the thought that he was a basketball player named Julius Irving passed through Sam's mind and was dimissed. "I guess I'm just tired...I guess," he said lamely. "You need to relax more, Doc; do you want to go see BATMAN with me this weekend?" The teenager glanced down at his watch. "Oh, gee, mom's gonna kill me if I don't get next door for dinner!" "I'll let you know about that movie," Sam answered, sensing the opportunity for a little breathing room. "Maybe you better run along." "Good idea; see you tomorrow!" and before Sam could reply, the boy disappeared! At least it seemed as if he disappeared. It wasn't until Sam took a second to blink and a hurricane force wind nearly bowled him over did he realize that the boy hadn't vanished, he'd just run out of the room...moving faster than the eye could follow! Sam Beckett, who in his years of quantum leaping had seen things even Ripley wouldn't believe, reached down and pinched himself to be sure he was awake. He did not find the fact that he was to be particularly reassuring. A familiar grinding sound directed his attention to a far corner of the room. He let loose a sigh of relief at the appearance of the imaging chamber door. Maybe Al could make sense of this airborne adolescent. But instead of his friend's familiar features, the face of a man with curly reddish-brown hair and popping eyes peaked around a corner timidly. Seeing Sam, he smiled and came though the door. "Dr. Beckett! How are you?" "Gushie?" the time traveller said incredulity. "What are you doing here? Where's Al?" "Admiral Calavicci sends his regrets," Gushie explained. "He's in Washington this week for the annual budget meeting with the Senate subcommittee. He said for me to tell you not to worry, that quote, 'I've got those nozzles by their mcnuggets' unquote." "Uh-huh," Sam replied dubiously. "So you got drafted in his place." He tried to keep the lack of confidence out of his voice. "Oh, I don't mind!" the programmer said brightly. "The last time I did this I didn't have much of a chance to enjoy it; this time I want to take in the whole hologram experience!" Sam raised an eyebrow quizically "The whole hologram experience'?" "Cherchez la femme," Gushie explained, blushing -3- slightly. Sam barely managed to stifle a laugh. He couldn't ever remember seeing Al blush. "Okay Gushie, just keep in mind that we're here to do a job. Speaking of which, I know I've got a swiss cheese memory, but Superboy was just a television character, right?" "I'm afraid I don't watch too much television," Gushie replied apologetically. "But I remember him from the comic books when I was growing up. Why do you ask?" "I know this is going to sound crazy, but when I leaped in there was a boy flying around the room and then he ran off...faster than a speeding bullet." "O-kay," Gushie answered after a pause, then studied the handlink nervously. "He wasn't wearing blue tights and a cape, was he?" "No, he wasn't wearing blue tights and a cape!" Sam shot back testily. "Help me out here!" The little man took a sharp breath. "I wish I could, but Ziggy hasn't been able to find any negative occurance scenarios in any of the propability matrices of the people you're likely to come in contact with." "English, Gushie, not computerese." "Nobody around here has any problems." Sam felt himself loosing patience. "What about this person I've leapt into...?" "Dr. Benjamin Jeffcoate," he replied, reading the name from the handlink. "He's a private researcher with a number of important patents to his name, including a water filtration system we use here at the project." "Well, maybe I'm here to help him complete some experiment...maybe involving that flying boy," Sam reasoned. Gushie shook his head, "I don't believe so, Dr. Beckett; apparently his current work is in the area of adapting a superconductor to use in refrigerators. And listen to this-- in 1997 he wins the Nobel Prize for his research into the ionic stimulation of plant growth!" Impressed, Sam looked around the room until he found a small mirror hanging from a ceiling beam. It reflected the image of a squat, nebbishy man in his mid-thirties with a receding hairline. "Maybe I'm here to help him with his social life," Sam offered. "Again, probably not. In 1993 he marries his next door neighbor, a widow named Stephanie Clemens with two children, and apparently they're very happy together. Say, Ziggy says her oldest boy, Andrew, is currently fifteen. Maybe he's the one you saw earlier," Gushie added helpfully. "Probably...he did say his mother was expecting him next door," the scientist mused. "By the way, where and when am I?" Sam felt vaguely irritated at having to ask for information Al usually provided right off the bat. "Oh, right!" Gushie quickly consulted the handlink. "It's June 28, 1989 and you're in a town called Briarwood, a suburb of Ontario...say, I believe this is the first time you've ever leaped into Canada! And I got to be here for it!" "I'm very happy for you," Sam said dryly. "Now why don't you go back, consult with Ziggy, and find out why I'm here, all right?" "Right away Dr. Beckett," Gushie answered obediantly. "And let me say how honored I am to serve as your aide de camp on this occasion." "That's fine Gushie," Sam answered absently, shooing Gushie towards the imaging chamber door. "But answers...Ziggy...this year?" "On my way!" his voice full of boyish enthusiasm Gushie stepped through the door. "Toodle-oo!" "Toodle-oo?" Sam echoed perplexedly, shaking his head. For all of Al's occasional off color reminiscences, at that moment he would've been willing to leap into the Elephant Man to trade him for Gushie. Oh well, he thought, maybe this would turn out to be an easy leap and he could make it through despite the programmer's dizzy enthusiasm. Sam stole another look into the mirror. "I hate to violate the privacy of another member of the Nobel fraternity," he said to the reflection, "but a good scientist would be sure to keep notes on something as remarkable as a flying boy and I'm afraid I'm going to have to see them." With apologies made Sam began his search of the laboratory. * * * * * Andrew Clemens, a.k.a. Ultraman, laid back on his bed and enjoyed the latest issue of X-Men. Other collectors, he thought, read the comics just for the sheer pleasure of it, but for him it was the superhero equivalent of doing homework. After all, where else was a fledgling crimefighter supposed to pick up pointers? Still, he had to admit he envied the camraderie of the X-Men at times. Neat as it was to be invulnerable, super fast, super strong and able to fly, sometimes it was lonely, too. Great a partner as Dr. J was (despite his worrying that Andrew would misuse his powers or be exposed) he occasionally wished there was someone else to talk to about how it felt to soar over the roof tops or the sensation of bullets bouncing off human flesh. Suddenly an idea struck him. Maybe he could talk Dr. Jeffcoate into using the photon beam that gave him his powers on other people! Now there was an idea--a whole superteam with him as leader, maybe calling themselves the "Photon Force" or something like that. Andrew sighed mentally. There was no way in the world he could ever talk his mentor into making more superheros. Heck, if he could find a way Dr. J would erase Andrew's powers tomorrow and leave Ultraman only a fantasy. That thought made him wince in memory of an encounter with an X- ray machine in his dentist's office a few months earlier that had left him drained of his powers. Andrew had been horrified the loss was permanent, but Dr. Jeffcoate had seemed relieved. Thank goodness the effect was only temporary. It still bothered him at times to think the thing that made him special could be cancelled so suddenly, but in the end Andrew had decided that every superhero worth his cape had to have a weakness. After all, Superman had kryptonite, didn't he? Besides, there was another good reason why the photon beam would never be used on another person. So far Andrew knew he had managed the power pretty well, except for the occasional slip like using it to become a track star (though in the end he'd realized it wasn't fair to the other runners and gone back to being water boy). He didn't want to get rich or take over the world with his abilities; all Andrew really wanted out of life was to emulate the four color adventurers who dashed across the comics page. But he knew that not everyone's ambitions were as innocent as his were. If they gave the wrong person a taste of the photon beam they could turn loose on the world a villian worse than Dr. Doom or Trigon ever dreamed of being. Still, there was an up side to that, Andrew realized. In a world where there were no supervillians a superhero could do no end of good. Heck, that was probably the reason the superheros in the comics never really succeeded in getting rid of crime or poverty--they were too busy fighting their arch enemies to ever get around to it. With no master criminals around, maybe Ultraman would have the time and opportunity to wipe out all the evil in the world! As the vision of an earth turned comic book-paradise swam through his mind, Andrew felt a sudden tingle pass through his body, like static electricity running from his hair to his toes. He thought he saw a strange scarlet haze swim before his eyes, but before he could react to it the whole world around him seemed to turn red. And then...he was gone. After a moment of disorientation the figure reclining on the bed (who looked like Andrew Clemens but definitly wasn't) tossed the comic book in their hands disdainfully to the floor. Rising from the the bed they made their way to the dresser, looking with undisguised contempt and a touch of amusement at the posters of comic book characters adorning the walls. The individual with Andrew Clemen's face studied themselves in the mirror above the dresser, then smiled wickedly at the sight of the teenager's reflection. "Well darling, you're a bit younger than my usual tastes," said Zoey to her host's mirror image. "But then a girl must leave herself open to new experiences, n'est pas?" * * * * * Dr. Sam Beckett ran his hands along the long, slender tube of the photon beam, letting loose a whistle of appreciation. Such a simple looking thing, resembling a telescope on a camera tripod more than anything, and yet it had changed a normal teenage boy into the most powerful creature on earth. The physicist felt a sensation of respect for Dr. Benjamin Jeffcoate; though his surroundings were far more modest than Project: Quantum Leap, working on his own the scientist had discovered something nearly as wonderous as Sam's own crowning achievement of time travel. What made Sam particularly envious was that the beam worked on principles Sam understood perfectly, he had just never considered the result of applying focused photon energy in this particular fashion to organic molecules. He could already see where it would eventually lead to the breakthrough in stimulating plant evolution that would win Jeffcoate the Nobel prize in '97. "Well, good for you Ben Jeffcoate," Sam said at last. He might feel a twinge of envy at his fellow scientist's achievement, but having himself felt the excitement of making a major scientific breakthrough, Sam Beckett could not begrudge another the same thrill of discovery. Besides, from what he had read Benjamin Jeffcoate was basically a very decent man. It had taken over an hour to find hidden in the bottom of a file cabinet the journal labeled TEST SUBJECT/PHOTON BEAM: ANDREW CLEMENS. Sam had spent the rest of the night being fascinated by the story it told, of how his neighbor's son had stumbled in front of the beam during an experiment in stimulating plant growth and been shocked senseless, only to wake up possessing powers previously existing only in the realm of heroic fantasy. That, more than anything had convinced Sam of Jeffcoate's basic decency. Instead of using this incredible discovery for profit, or exploiting Andrew for the undoubtable sensation he would cause in the scientific world and the acclaim he would bring, Ben Jeffcoate had written extensively about his fears for Andrew, the potential dangers the photon exposure presented to Andrew's health and, when those worries proved thankfully unfounded, how the public reaction to the boy's powers could permanently alienate him from society. A strong undercurrent of affection ran through the various entries, leading Sam to realize that the scientist and the teenager were more than just experimenter and subject; apparently the socially-inept Jeffcoate saw Andrew Clemens as his closest friend. A wistful smile crossed Sam's face. Two men, one a brilliant scientist with poor social skills, the other an adventurous, impetuous flyboy with the raging hormones of a teenager. Friends despite, or possibly because of their differences. Heck, even the age difference was about the same as between him and Al. It was almost as if someone had taken the two men's basic characteristics, mixed them up, and produced two new individuals with the same relationship. Sam finished scanning the journal's last entry, dealing with events from a few days past in which Andrew had once again been accidentily been exposed to the photon beam a second time. Not only had it increased his existing powers, but super strength had also been added to the super speed, invulnerability and capability for flight he already possessed. Once again Sam felt a stab of envy. As a boy he, too, had gone through his comic book phase, dreaming of racing a light beam like the Flash or battling the evil Dr. Paradox alongside Captain Galaxy. Of course, Sam had started reading them a little earlier than Andrew--he remembered getting into Tom's comic collection when he was around three years old. Such were the interests of a prepubescent genuis. But all of his snooping had still failed to discern any reason for this leap. If Gushie was on the mark (which knowing Gushie was unlikely, the time traveler had to admit) then no major crisis loomed for Ben Jeffcoate or Andrew Clemens. Of course the problem could lie with one of Andrew's schoolmates, a neighbor or some other nearby person who simply hadn't been investigated yet. There had been a few leaps where the person he became and the person he was there to aid had only the most distant connection. Still, that little intuitive voice he had developed through his years of leaping kept bringing his thoughts back to Dr. Jeffcoate's young friend. His writing had disclosed Andrew wanted to use his incredible abilities to fight crime and injustice, to be "Ultraman", a real-life superhuman crimefighter and champion or the oppressed. Andrew's heart was in the right place, it seemed, even though his ideas were a bit naive. Sam, who had spent the last few years fighting his own quixotic battles putting right what was wrong, felt a certain kinship for Andrew's good intentions. And certainly he himself had been accused of naivete on more than one occasion. Andrew had apparently already begun his crimefighting career. In the months following his metamorphosis he had protected a witness protection program member from a hitman, exposed a company dumping toxic waste, and busted up a Chinese street gang. "Ultraman" was making good on his vow to fight for justice, and Sam realized that if he could do this much as a high school student, who knew how much Andrew could accomplish when he grew up? Perhaps that was why he was here, to give a little inspiration to the teenaged superhero. Dr. Jeffcoate had written time and again of his attempts to discourage Andrew from using his powers. Most of the time he barely managed to restrain Andrew from one wild idea or another. He had barely managed to talk the boy out of making himself a pair of purple leotards, mask and cape to wear while in action. Sam realized the importance of a stable childhood, something Andrew would never have if his secret was made public, but he also knew that when young Mr. Clemens developed the maturity to deal with his gift intelligently he could change the whole world for the better. Sam was still musing on the potential benefits of a photon-powered hero to the world when he heard the sound of the imaging chamber door open. He laid the journal down on to the desk next to the photon gun and turned, hoping that Al was already back from Washington. Instead he was rewarded by Gushie's contrite features emerging from the rectangle of light. "Good evening Dr. Beckett," he said, a familiar nervous tone in his voice. Sam had heard it every time Gushie owned up to making some silly mistake a sensible ten-year-old could have avoided. "I'm afraid there's been...a slight miscalculation."