Stardust

by:  Jennifer Rowland 

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Chapter Ten

 

 

Thursday, May 23, 1985

 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Sam apologized when Al opened the door for him.  “I was on the phone with Donna.”

 

“Ahhh,” Al said, merriness lighting up his eyes.  “And how is she?”

 

Sam walked in and settled down in his usual spot--a folding chair next to Al’s desk.   He set down the folders he’d been carrying and leaned back in the chair.

 

“Finally settling in, I think.  She sounded cheerier than she did the last time we talked.”

 

“Three days made that much of a difference, huh?” teased Al as he sat down at the desk as well.

 

Sam laughed.  “It was great to hear her voice again.”

 

Long-distance relationships--they were full of excitement and joy and full of heartbreak at the same time.  Al thought back to the separate TDY assignments when he and Beth were newlyweds.  How much importance four-minute phone calls suddenly received.  How much more precious the kisses were when they were reunited.  He’d been convinced their love could survive any separation as smoothly as it had apparently handled those brief ones.  He’d been wrong.

 

Al pushed away the encroaching despair.  Things would work out for Sam and Donna.  He forced a smile to his face and listened as Sam went into more of their conversation.

 

“She asked how things were going here.  Asked about you and Shari.”

 

“Me?  Why would she be asking about me?  I hardly knew her.”

 

Sam shrugged.  “Well, she knows how important you are to me, and to Shari.”

 

Waving off the comment even as it touched him to the point he had to clear his throat, Al asked Sam if he’d come here to work or to moon over Donna.  Grinning, Sam opened the top folder and showed Al the schematics for his latest conception of the acceleration chamber.

 

Al scrutinized the sketches, mentally reconfiguring some of the dimensions.  He asked Sam for permission to add to the drawing.  When Sam nodded, Al took a red pencil to the picture, altering the basic form with subtle changes.

 

Propping his cheek on his fist, Sam studied the alterations.

 

“So we need to allow a few more feet right there?” he asked, pointing to where Al had scrawled the word “expand.”

 

“Only if you expect the machinery to have a chance of working and being maintained.  Otherwise, if a gear sticks or a chip needs to be replaced, you’ll have a devil of a time getting in there to fix it.”

 

Sam nodded, “Good point.”

 

“I’ve got a couple more,” Al said, using the red pencil as a pointer to go over some of the notes Sam had made on the schematic, challenging them on the basis of engineering principles and practical application.  Sam succeeded in convincing Al that some of them would work as they were, but he agreed to literally go back to the drawing board for the others.

 

They continued theorizing, debating, explaining, and sometimes outright arguing over the plans until Sam’s watch beeped an alarm.  After their first Thursday night meeting, they’d learned to have a signal prepared before it got too late.  It had been nearly three in the morning before either of them had thought to check a clock last time.

 

Sam gathered the folders together.  “Thanks for the suggestions, Al.”

 

Al raised his hand to stop his friend.  “Sam, leave the file with the general theories in it, would you?  I’d like to look over it a little more.”

 

“Sure.”  Sam passed the folder to Al.  “Getting an idea about it?”

 

“Maybe.”  Al smiled at his friend as he walked him to the door.  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah.  Oh, Shari wanted me to make sure you’d meet us for lunch.”  Sam turned in the doorway.

 

“I’ll see what I can do.  We’re supposed to be meeting with one of the Committee liaisons tomorrow.  I think it’s Gupta’s month.”

 

“Okay,” Sam nodded.  He walked into the hallway and waved.  “See ya.”

 

Al closed the door behind his friend and stretched.  Rather than changing for bed, he walked to his desk and took a seat.  He opened the folder Sam had left and skimmed its contents, refreshing himself with the basic guidelines and principles set forth. 

 

He pulled open his top desk drawer and withdrew a sheaf of stationery.  Al smoothed one sheet out on his desk and then reached for a pen.  Knowing he would have to retype whatever he wrote, Al scrawled a prospectus for Sam’s theories in his barely legible handwriting, pulling explanations directly from the file as needed.

 

He had a list of officials and scientists in his office, but he was interested in the opinion of only one.  Sam had convinced him of the ability to get this idea off the ground.  Now he wanted to do his part to help make it a reality.  In the morning, he’d type the letter and send it off.

 

Whatever response he got would let him know what kind of chance they stood.

 

 

Saturday, June 15, 1985

 

“Tim, I’m really not comfortable with this whole idea,” Al complained.

 

He and Tim were standing in the foyer of the church, yards away from the fellowship hall and the other members of the AA group.

 

“I know it’s only your seventh meeting, but you’ve been doing great.  The last contributions you made during discussions were really helpful to the others.”

 

“That’s not the same as standing in front of the group.”  Al shook his head and waved his hands emphatically.  “I’m not ready for this.”

 

“But it’s your two-month anniversary.  Two months--eight weeks--since your last drink, Al.  Even those of us who’ve been sober for years can use encouragement like that.”

 

“A double birthday,” Al murmured.

 

Tim heard him despite his low pitch.  “It’s your birthday?  Even more reason to let us celebrate your accomplishment!”

 

“Tim, no.  I can’t.”

 

“If Maureen could stand there and admit to the shameful things she did, why can’t you get up there and talk about your own battles with drinking?  No one is going to judge you for anything you say.  You told part of it to me.  Did I judge you?”

 

Al shook his head. “Tim, I was wrong to agree to this last week when you asked me.  I can’t talk about this with . . . .”

 

“With strangers, you’re about to say,” Tim said, folding his arms and staring at Al with gentle scolding in his eyes.  “Al, try to get past that.  We’re not strangers here.  We’re all alcoholics who are struggling to make it through day by day, helping each other along the way.  Your story might just be the very thing somebody needs to hear tonight.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Eight weeks ago you thought you couldn’t stop drinking,” argued Tim.  “But you did.”

 

Al shook his head and stared at the floor.  “I haven’t even told my best friend some of this stuff.”  ‘Best friend?’  He chewed his lip, realizing that Sam did indeed fall into that category for him.

 

“Who’s asking you to confess all?  Al, you don’t have to get into anything you’re not comfortable with.  Just be honest, and be yourself.  Tell them what made you change.”

 

“That’s just what I’m not comfortable talking about.  It’s a . . . sensitive subject.”  Al fiddled with his cuffs.

 

Tim threw his hands into the air, exasperated.  “Al, what could possibly be so bad that you couldn’t talk about it?  We’ve all been threatened at work, by spouses.  Every one of us hit bottom at some point.  What makes you think you’re so different?  What makes you think you should have been able to handle things differently than any of us?”

 

“Because I’m a cap . . . because I’m in the military.”

 

“And that’s supposed to make you invincible?”  Tim shook his head.  “Al, you’re a human being with weaknesses and faults.  One of those faults happens to be alcoholism.  And it happens to be a fault we all share here.  No one’s out there to get you.  I promise you, no matter what you have to say, you won’t get anything less than complete support from everyone.”

 

“I’m not so sure about that,” Al said.  He rubbed the back of his neck.  “I don’t think I can do this.”

 

“Of course you can do it.  The question boils down to this.  Will you?”  Tim stared Al down, seeing the indecision flickering in his eyes.  “Ten minutes, Al.  That’s all I’m asking of you.”

 

Al chewed his bottom lip.

 

“I know you can do it.”  Tim gripped Al’s forearm.

 

“All right, damn you,” Al muttered, shaking his head.  “I don’t know why I’m letting you talk me into this.”

 

“Because you know you need it, and more than that, you know somebody in the group needs it.”  Tim slapped him on the back.  “You’ve got five minutes before we have to get started.”

 

“Can I have a drink?” snorted Al.

 

Tim laughed and slapped him on the back again.  “I’ll see you in there in five minutes.”

 

Al nodded and started pacing along the length of the shadowy anteroom.  “I must be nuts,” he griped to himself.  He concentrated on his breathing to calm down.

 

His five minutes flew past, and reluctantly, he walked to the fellowship hall, taking a seat in his usual place at the edge of the circle, which had already assembled.  Tim was running through announcements.  Al tugged at the waist of his vest and adjusted his cuffs, dreading the moment when Tim would turn things over to him.

 

“Albert?  Whenever you’re ready.”

 

Al nodded and took a deep breath before rising and moving to stand in front of everyone.  Polite applause greeted him, and too many pairs of eyes watched him.  He looked helplessly at Tim, who nodded encouragingly at him.  Al took another deep breath.

 

“My name is Albert, and I’m . . . an alcoholic.” 

 

 

“How did you get the door unlocked?” Shari whispered to Sam.

 

“Bribed the janitor,” he answered.

 

The two of them were standing by the desk in Al’s completely dark room, a cake with three candles waiting for the proper moment to be lit on the desk in front of them.  Sam checked his glow-in-the-dark watch.  Al was due back from his meeting soon.

 

“It shouldn’t be long now,” he told Shari.

 

She giggled quietly.  “Do you think he’ll be surprised?”

 

“He’ll be surprised all right.  The question is whether or not he kills us afterward,” Sam grinned.  Their eyes had adjusted to the dark enough that Shari saw the grin and returned it.

 

“Shhh,” Sam said, as he heard footsteps approaching, halting in front of the door.  While keys rattled in the lock, he lit the three candles on the cake.  The door swung open and Al stepped inside.  Before he could reach for the light switch, Shari and Sam stepped forward with the cake in their hands, launching into “Happy Birthday to You.”

 

“What is this?”

 

“Make a wish!” Shari exclaimed.

 

Al obediently closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before blowing out the candles.  The small spot of light faded to black and the light from the hallway provided the only illumination in the room.  Sam passed the cake to Shari and turned on the lights before closing the door.

 

“Happy Birthday, Al,” he said.

 

“How did you find out?” Al asked, shaking his head.  “And how did you get in here?  I know I locked the door.”  He craned his head to study the doorknob.

 

“You did lock the door,” Sam assured him.  “I got in through rather nefarious ways.”

 

“Nefarious?  You?”  Al started laughing.

 

“You’d be surprised just how sneaky he can be,” Shari answered, taking the cake back to the desk to cut it.

 

“You two didn’t answer my question,” Al said as he followed her to the rear of the room.  “How did you know today was my birthday?”

 

Shari blushed as she attacked the cake.  “Um, that was my sneakiness.  I had to deliver something to the administrative offices yesterday, and I saw it marked on Ms. Wilkes’ calendar.”

 

“Then she clued me in and we decided to surprise you,” Sam added.

 

Al smiled and sat down on the edge of his bed.  “Yeah, Annalise has the birthdays for the entire staff marked on her calendar.  Sends everyone a card, too.”

 

Shari passed Al a fork and a slice of cake on a paper plate.  “Have you had a good birthday so far?”

 

“This is the best part of it,” he smiled.  He ate a forkful of cake and “mmm”-ed appropriately.  “Did you guys make this?”

 

“Shari did,” Sam answered, biting into his own piece of cake.

 

“You did a great job, honey,” Al complimented her.  She colored with pride.  He gestured at the cake with his fork.  “Why only three candles?”

 

“We, uh, we weren’t sure exactly how old you are today,” she answered.  “The three candles are for your past, your present, and your future.”

 

“A string theory cake,” Al said, winking at Sam, who laughed heartily.

 

Shari was lost.  “String theory?”

 

“I’ll explain it to you later,” Sam told her.

 

She shrugged it off and set her plate aside.  “When you’re finished with your cake, we have something for you,” she said impishly to Al.

 

He responded just as impishly, a devilish twinkle in his eye.  “Something to unwrap, maybe?”  He eyed Shari and winked. 

 

“You know, it wouldn’t be that hard for me to shove you in there and stick you under a cold shower,” she shot back, thumbing in the direction of the bathroom behind her.

 

Al raised his hands in surrender.  He ate the last bite of cake and set his empty plate on the desk.

 

“I cleaned my plate, ma’am.”

 

“Very good.”  Shari lifted a small, gift wrapped package from its hiding place on the floor behind the desk and handed it to him.

 

“What is it?” he asked as he loosened the ribbon.

 

“Open it and see.”

 

Al slowly tore the overlapping paper apart and slid out a little burgundy gift box.  He lifted the lid and revealed a small golden disk on a keychain.

 

The words engraved on the disk read: June 15, 1985, Eight weeks.

 

Al dropped the box in his lap and set the small circle in his palm.  He didn’t say anything, just stared at it.

 

“I-I had that made earlier,” Shari stammered, nervousness overcoming her due to his silence, “b-before I knew today was also your birthday.  Did I do something wrong?”

 

“No, no, honey, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Al quickly said.  He raised his head and smiled at her.  “Thank you.”

 

Shari came over and gave him a hug.  “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered in his ear as they embraced.

 

Al replaced the gift in the box when they broke apart, quietly clearing his throat.

 

“I have something for you, too,” Sam said, pulling a larger box from the same hiding place.

 

“You guys shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble over me,” Al said as he carefully tore open Sam’s gift.  He froze when he lifted the lid.

 

An intricate model of an A-4 rested within the tissue paper.

 

“How did you--?  Where did you find this?” Al asked, gingerly lifting the plane and running a finger along the length of it.

 

“I noticed that was one of the models that . . . was lost from your office.  So I found you a replacement,” Sam answered. 

 

“Thank you.”  Al set the plane on his desk.  “Thank you both.”

 

Shari gathered up the trash and set about cleaning everything up.  When Al started to help, she pushed him back down to his seat on the bed.  “You just sit back and relax, Birthday Boy.  We can take care of this, right, Beckett?”

 

Chuckling, Al did as she demanded.  When the two of them finished cleaning everything up, they settled into the chairs around Al’s desk.

 

“Thanks for the surprise,” Al said.  He took hold of Shari’s hand and squeezed it, then reached across to pat Sam on the shoulder.  “It means a lot to me.”  He sighed.  ‘Damn AA meeting’s got me all sentimental.’

 

Sam carefully watched Al’s expression as they sat there, feeling that something was bothering him.  A slight crease in his brow, a shadow in the midst of the brightness filling his eyes, these were but a couple of the small hints that things were not all well in Al’s world.  He wasn’t going to bring anything up while Shari was around, though.  No matter how much she cared about Al, no matter how much Al might care in return, Shari wouldn’t be welcomed in a deep, emotional conversation.  Sam himself was barely welcome.

 

“I still can’t believe we pulled it off,” Shari was saying.  “I almost told you Happy Birthday twice today when I saw you.”

 

“I wouldn’t have seen this coming, anyway,” Al responded, smiling at her.

 

Shari glanced over Al’s shoulder at his alarm clock and gasped.  “Oh my!  It’s getting late.  I’ve got early morning Mass.”  She jumped to her feet and bent to embrace Al.  “Happy Birthday, Al,” she said, kissing him square on the lips.

 

Al’s eyes widened in surprise for a split-second, then he responded, kissing back gently and tenderly.  “Wow, my wish came true,” he teased when they broke apart, rising to walk Shari to the door.  “Thank you again, sweetheart.”

 

“You’re welcome,” she said, wishing him and Sam goodnight.

 

“You two are something else,” Al said when she was gone.

 

“Who me?” Sam asked, innocently.  “Happy Birthday.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he answered, waving his hand in the air.  “Want some more cake?”

 

“Sure.”  Sam waited until Al served them each another piece before treading into dangerous territory.  “How was your meeting tonight?”

 

Al sighed.  He picked up Shari’s gift and lifted the lid again, tilting the box so the light glinted off the keychain.  “I couldn’t get out of having to talk.”

 

“And?”

 

He shrugged.  “I’ve been through worse.”  He closed the gift box again and faced Sam.  “Tim talked me into it,” he said by way of explanation.

 

Sam leaned forward.  “That couldn’t have been easy for you.”

 

“It wasn’t,” agreed Al.  “I’d rather face a firing squad than do something like that again.”

 

“Did someone give you a hard time?” gasped Sam.

 

“No.  Everyone was very supportive, actually.  Tim told me they would be.”  He sighed.  “I dunno, maybe that’s part of what made it so hard.”

 

Sam just nodded.

 

“I don’t like opening up to people, you know?”

 

‘Believe me, Al, I know,’ thought Sam.  He kept his silence, though.

 

“A couple of people thanked me for talking at the end.  They said it helped them.”

 

“I’m sure it did.”

 

Al shrugged.  “I guess so.”  He opened the gift box once more, removing the keychain this time.  “Eight weeks.”  He threaded the fob onto his keys.

 

“I knew you could do it.”

 

“You had more faith in me than I did, then,” Al muttered, dropping his keys on the desk.  He shook his head.  “They’re just waiting for me to slip up again.”

 

“The Committee?”  Sam touched his friend’s arm.  Al shivered at the contact and pulled away as he nodded.  “But, Al, you’re not going to.  This is the first milestone in a series of milestones.  One day we’ll be celebrating eight years of sobriety.”

 

“God, I hope you’re right.  Because sometimes I’m not so sure I’m going to make it.”  Al rubbed his forehead and forced a smile to his face.  “Geez, listen to me.  This is supposed to be a party!”

 

Sam wasn’t going to let the subject slide that easily.

 

“What aren’t you telling me?”

 

“About what?”

 

“Something’s bothering you, and it’s more than just having to speak at the meeting tonight.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” evaded Al.

 

“Does it have anything to do with the rumors?”

 

“Which rumors would those be?” Al asked.  “And since when did you ever know which rumors were going around, anyway?”

 

“Even I can’t miss these,” said Sam, dropping his plate into the trash can.  “There are rumors floating around that things aren’t going well for Starbright.”

 

Al swore under his breath.  “Rachelle,” he muttered. 

 

“You do know something.”

 

“Nothing concrete.  And nothing I can share with you right now, Sam.”

 

“What can you tell me?”

 

“I can tell you that the administrative secretary has a big mouth,” snapped Al.  “Just try not to pay any attention to the rumors.  Don’t concern yourself about it.”

 

Sam frowned.  “While you stress out over it?  Something’s going on, isn’t it?”

 

“I can handle it, Sam.”

 

“You just worried that you couldn’t,” he argued.

 

“Dammit, Sam, just drop it for now.  Please, just drop it.”  Al stood up and started wiping invisible crumbs from the desktop.

 

“Okay,” Sam whispered, subdued.  “I’m sorry.”

 

Al stiffened.  “No, I’m sorry, Sam.  It’s just . . . I can’t talk about it with you right now.  Everything that’s going on is very hush-hush, and I could get in a heap of trouble for even hinting at any of it with you.”  He laughed.  “Well, maybe now Bob’ll have a reason to do something about Rachelle and her big yap.”

 

Sam smiled half-heartedly.

 

“Thanks again for the party.”

 

Sam took that as his sign to leave.  He rose and quickly hugged his friend.  Al, momentarily stunned, returned the hug, paternally slapping Sam’s back.

 

“Happy Birthday, Al.”

 

 

Monday, July 1, 1985

 

“It’s official, folks,” announced Bob Jansen.  He, Al, Annalise, and Walter were meeting in a small conference room in the administration wing. 

 

“How long?” Walter asked.

 

“Six months.  We’re to be shut down by New Year’s.”

 

Al clenched a fist under the table.  “What reason did they give?”

 

“We’re too far behind schedule and Congress refuses to grant any more of the taxpayer’s money to support a ‘failed endeavor,’” Bob replied, quoting from the Committee letter.

 

“And the Committee just let this happen?  They didn’t stand up for us?  Why didn’t they have us testify?”

 

“Al, these things happen.  We’ll all be compensated.”

 

Al’s eyes blazed.  “You think it’s the money I care about?  What about what we’ve been trying to do here?  All of a sudden that doesn’t matter anymore, huh?”

 

Annalise touched his arm.  “Al, we knew this was coming.”

 

He refused to accept that.  “We should’ve gone to Washington, instead of leaving everything to the Committee.  Nothing was written in stone.  It was just rumblings.”

 

“Until now,” Bob cut in.  “There’s no point in hashing over would’ve-could’ve-should’ves.  The fact of the matter is Starbright is a doomed project with six months to live.”

 

“If we get back on schedule in those six months, what are the chances they’ll change their mind?” Al persisted.

 

Bob shook his head.  “Not a snowball’s chance in hell.  Any progress we make will just go into the annals of history, be made available to subsequent projects, but it won’t revive the funding.”  He gave them all some time to absorb that.  “We’ve got to make an announcement to the staff by the end of the week to allow them time to make arrangements for January.  The government’s authorized generous severance packages, so no one should have to worry about anything until this time next year.”

 

“With the quality of people we have, I don’t imagine too many of them will have worries,” commented Walter.  Annalise nodded her accord.

 

“Precisely,” Bob agreed.  “Everyone should be able to find placements with universities or industry.  Who knows, another project may be right on the heels of this one.  The word’ll spread and I’m sure our scientists will be snatched up very quickly.”

 

“What about the next six months?  What are our plans?” asked Al.

 

“We’ll be on borrowed time, Al.  Those who find placements before January will be free to leave at any time, of course.  And other than that, we’ll just wind things down,” said Bob.

 

“Winding things down?  Not trying to step things up and solve some of the problems we’ve encountered?”

 

“We’re not going to have much time to try new things.  We’ll be stretched too thin.”

 

Al wasn’t backing down.  “What about the improvements Sam Beckett got approval for?  They’ve already started the installations.  You’re saying they’ll just have to shut down and finalize their reports?”

 

“They’ll have to do the best they can with what they have right now.  I can’t authorize any further improvements if we’re going to be closing.”

 

“Bull.  You don’t want to authorize them.  Because you don’t want to use up any more of your attention on Starbright.  You’re already looking ahead to your next project, aren’t you?”

 

Annalise and Walter turned their heads back and forth from Al to Bob, as the argument was volleyed from one to the other.

 

Bob’s nostrils flared.  “Are you questioning my devotion to Starbright?”

 

Al leaned forward almost menacingly.  “That’s exactly what I’m doing.  So we only have six months.  I have more faith in our scientists than to give up on ‘em just because of that.  Give ‘em a deadline and they’ll meet it.  So what if this is the last big hurrah for them?  I’m willing to bet if you ask a handful of them, they’d rather go out in the proverbial blaze of glory than spend their last six months working up reports and pricing the equipment for resale!”

 

“You’re overstepping the line, Captain.”

 

“No, sir,” Al spat the words out, “I’m not.  I say we keep working until we absolutely have to stop.  Otherwise, we really are wasting the taxpayer’s money.”  His eyes narrowed as he regarded the director.  “Why are you so opposed to the idea?”

 

“You have no idea how much red tape’s involved in winding this down,” Bob said, avoiding the question entirely.

 

“It’ll still be there whether we move forward or not.  Why not try to have something to show for our efforts at the end?”  Al turned to Annalise and Walter.  “You two haven’t said anything.  What do you think we should do?”

 

Bob faced them as well, waiting expectantly for their answers.

 

Annalise’s face took on an expression not unlike that of a panicked rabbit staring at the business end of a rifle.  She swallowed before speaking.  “I agree with Al.  I don’t see any reason not to continue working to get on schedule.  At the very least, some other project might gain something from what we’ve learned.  To me, that alone is worth the cost of proceeding.”

 

Al chuffed in pleasure at the affirmation.  “Walter?”

 

Walter shrugged.  “There’s something to be said for both sides.  Obviously we’ll need to wind things down and fill out all the reports, and,” he grinned at Al despite the gravity of the situation, “price the equipment for resale, as you put it.”  He cleared his throat.  “I’m sorry, Bob, but I’m with Al, too.  There’s no reason not to keep moving forward at the same time.  Six months is six months.  Who knows what we can accomplish in that time?”

 

“Eddison isn’t going to be happy about this,” Bob replied.

 

Al pounced as soon as the words left Bob’s mouth.  “That’s what it boils down to, isn’t it?  He wants us to stop working.  Why?”

 

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

 

Walter joined the attack.  “Bob, that’s a load of crap.  Level with us.  What’s going on?”

 

Bob sighed.  “Eddison’s got a new pet project in the works.”

 

“And he wants you to be in charge of it,” Al concluded.

 

Bob nodded.  “The government won’t allow us to preside over two projects at once because of a conflict of interests, and since Starbright hasn’t been producing . . .” he trailed off.

 

“You sold us out,” Annalise gasped.  “You sold us out for your own career.”

 

“No, I didn’t.  I swear I didn’t.  We all know things weren’t keeping on schedule and there were too many bugs.  We were due to be shut down anyway.  If anything, Eddison only upped the timeframe by three months.”

 

“He’s right,” Al reluctantly admitted.  Walter and Annalise whirled on him in shock.  “We haven’t been making enough headway.  But,” he rose in his chair and gestured emphatically at Bob, “we’re not going to roll on our backs and die.  You can tell Eddison I said that!”

 

Pale, Bob nodded.

 

“We’ve got a majority decision here to keep moving forward, Mr. Jansen,” Al snapped.  “Do you plan on trying to overrule us?”

 

“No,” Bob said, defeated.  “I’ll, uh, I’ll inform the Committee of our decision.”

 

“You do that.  We’ll be planning how to proceed over the next six months.”

 

 

Sam gaped over his dinner at Al.  “The rumors were true?”

 

Al sighed and nodded.  “Yes, I’m sorry to say they were.  We’ll be making an official announcement to the staff Wednesday or Thursday, once we’ve had a chance to make a plan of action.”  He summed up the general consensus of the meeting.

 

“Six months,” mused Sam.  “Not an unreasonable amount of time to work with.”

 

“I figured you’d feel that way,” grinned Al.  “But you didn’t hear this from me.”

 

“Hear what?  I won’t know anything official until midweek.”

 

“Thanks.”  Al dragged a fork through his mashed potatoes and chuckled bitterly.  “It’s ironic, isn’t it?”

 

“What?”

 

Al met his friend’s eyes.  “Your saving my life and my career only to have it taken away anyway.”

 

“It’s not being taken away, Al.  It’s just . . . this part of it is coming to an end.”

 

“What’s the difference?”  He waved his fork dismissingly.

 

Sam would have grabbed hold of Al’s arms if they were anywhere other than the cafeteria.  He pounded on the table to get his friend’s attention, instead.  It worked.  Al jumped, his fork clattering to the plate, and his eyes bugged out in shock at Sam’s actions.

 

“There’s a big difference,” Sam said firmly.  “You’re not alone this time.  The entire project is facing this together.  And we’re all going to get through it.”

 

Al grimaced.  “Well, you’ll certainly have more free time to work on the string theory come January.”

 

“I guess so,” Sam said.  He speared a forkful of green beans and chewed them thoughtfully.  “Doesn’t that mean you will, too?”

 

“I . . .”  Al wasn’t prepared for Sam’s offer.  “I imagine I’ll have to spend some time in D.C. after this, to make the Pentagon happy.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Sam nodded.  “And that keeps you from working with me, how exactly?”

 

He didn’t have an answer for that. 

 

“It doesn’t,” Sam answered for him.  “Unless I’m assuming too much . . .”

 

“No.  You’re not,” Al said.  He smiled at his friend.  “To the string theory,” he said, raising his glass of Coke.

 

“To our partnership,” Sam countered, raising his own glass and toasting with his friend.

 

 

Thursday, August 1, 1985

 

Al checked his watch again.

 

“Sam, where are you?” he asked aloud.  Tucking his hands behind his back, he started an anxious pace.

 

An eager rapping at his door halted him.

 

“It’s about time,” he muttered, striding to the door and flinging it open.  “Where have you been?”

 

Sam flinched.  “I was . . .”

 

“On the phone with Donna,” Al finished for him.  He shook his head.  “Come in and sit down.”

 

Eyes wide, Sam obeyed, making a beeline for his chair as if he feared Al would strike him.

 

“I have a confession to make,” Al said, standing in front of his friend.

 

Sam licked his lips, his color fading.  The look in his eyes told Al he thought the captain was about to confess to falling off the wagon.  Al couldn’t do anything to change the only-natural assumption, so he continued.

 

“I did something behind your back several weeks ago.”

 

“Oh?” Sam squeaked the syllable out.

 

“Yeah,” Al affirmed.  “I wrote a letter to the chair of the National Science Foundation, outlining the barest bones of the string theory and some of your ideas about it.  Now, I promise you, Sam, I didn’t go into anything that could possibly be stolen by anyone.  I just was interested in his response to the concept.”

 

Sam was breathless.  “And?”

 

Al opened his desk drawer and handed him a letter.  “He thinks it stands a chance at getting funded.”

 

“What?”  Sam rapidly absorbed the letter, then read it again a second and third time.

 

He gingerly laid the letter on Al’s desk and smoothed it out as if it were a piece of fine linen.  When he looked up at his friend, gratitude brightened his entire face and his eyes glistened.

 

“Al, thank you.  That’s the best thing anyone has ever done for me.”

 

“It doesn’t even come close to what you did for me,” Al quietly answered, coughing to disguise a voice that was about to break.

 

Sam flattened his hands over the folders that contained his life’s dream.  “It’s going to happen one day, I just know it.  We can do it, Al.  Together, we can make it happen.”

 

 

Epilogue

Wednesday, January 1, 1986

 

The annual New Year’s Eve party had taken on a melancholy tone that was absolutely unavoidable given the fact that everyone would be packing up to leave in the days to follow, gradually leaving Project Starbright yet another abandoned facility waiting to be reclaimed and remodeled under someone else’s aegis.  Tears flowed even more freely than the champagne.  Farewell kisses were given and received liberally at midnight, regardless of whether or not the parties had even known each other or had a passable relationship previously.

 

Shari Washington, quite easily the friendliest person on staff, cried non-stop the entire evening.  Her tears still poured down her cheeks the next day as she carted boxes to her car, until her quarters were nothing but bare, expressionless cinder block and the standard-issue furniture.  She’d made a special stop by Sam’s quarters to say goodbye and exchange contact information.  She did the same at Al’s before leaving.  Her vision obscured by tears, Shari gave Project Starbright one last look before getting into her car and driving off.

 

The parking lot continually and steadily emptied as the day wore on.  Sam finished boxing up his belongings and stacked them in the lobby, each marked for mailing to Hawaii, where he’d spend some time visiting with his sister, brother-in-law, and mother before moving on to UCLA to spend a brief period teaching physics.  The shuttle wouldn’t pick him up for another thirty minutes.  He had plenty of time to say goodbye to Al.

 

Sam walked toward his friend’s quarters.  He’d put this off all day.  ‘Buck up, Sam, it’s not like you’ll never see him again.’  Al had agreed to come out to Hawaii for a couple of weeks before moving on to the Pentagon for the assignment he’d accurately predicted he’d get.

 

Pausing before the door, Sam took a deep breath and knocked.

 

“Come in,” came the gravelly voice, sounding distracted.

 

Sam turned the knob and walked in.  Al’s back was to him as he loaded a stack of books into a cardboard box and strapped it shut with packing tape.

 

“Hi, Al.”

 

Al craned his head to peek under his arm at Sam.  “Hi, Sam.  Have a seat . . . if you can find one.”  Nearly every available surface was strewn with items needing to be packed, or cardboard boxes already filled to capacity.

 

“I came to say goodbye,” Sam said, fighting down a lump of sorrow.

 

Al rested his elbow on the box as he faced his friend.  “When does your flight leave?”

 

“A couple of hours.  When are you leaving?”

 

Al gestured around the room.  “At the rate I’m packing?  Next month.”  He chuckled.  “We’ve got a couple of final meetings before we can leave.  I should be outta here by Friday.”

 

“Did you call Tim?”

 

“Yes, mother,” Al grinned and sighed.  “I may as well finish out the year’s worth, even though it’s not exactly required anymore.  He’s gonna keep in touch and recommend a group I can meet with in D.C.”  He spread his arms wide.  “Between the two of you, what was I gonna do?  It’s only a few more months.”

 

Sam smirked at his friend.  “When should we expect you in Hawaii?”

 

“Late next week.  I’ve got to get settled in Washington first.”

 

“Okay.”  Sam sighed.  “Opposite coasts.  Not the most ideal working situation.”

 

“Trust me, you’ll be making many a trip to Washington while we try to get the time travel project off the ground.  And at least you’ll be closer to Donna,” Al pointed out.

 

“That’s true.  She can’t get away to come to Hawaii, but we’ll get together in California when I get back.”

 

“I expect to hear all about it.”

 

“You may regret you said that afterwards,” Sam teased. 

 

“I wasn’t making a request, I was stating the obvious,” Al tossed back.

 

Sam laughed, then glanced at his watch and sobered.

 

“I have to go, Al.”

 

“I’ll see you next week, kiddo,” Al said, smiling at Sam and giving half a wave.

 

“Next week,” Sam nodded.  He turned to go, and stopped.  “Al . . .” 

 

He crossed the room and grabbed the older man in a tight bear hug.  Al returned it fiercely.  Both blinked away tears they were too embarrassed to let drop and cleared their throats when they pulled apart.

 

“Thanks for everything, Sam.  I’m . . . glad I met you.”

 

“Me, too,” Sam said, not trusting his voice to say more.  He pursed his lips.  “I hate goodbyes.”

 

“It’s not a goodbye, not really,” Al said, his own voice getting husky.

 

“Til next week, then,” Sam said.  He waved and walked out of the room before he embarrassed them both by grabbing Al in a hug again.

 

Tears finally glistened on his lashes when he reached the lobby again.  He scrubbed them away as he joined the other scientists taking the shuttle to the airport.  Sam glanced back at the facility, and thought he saw Al watching the parking lot from his window, but just then the sun came out from behind a cloud and glinted off the glass, blocking his view.  He wasn’t even sure if that had been Al’s window he was looking at.

 

Sam filed onto the shuttle with the others and, as they drove off, watched as Project Starbright faded into the horizon, into the past.

 

He turned in his seat to face the front and the future that awaited him.

 

The End...

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