Theorizing that one could time-travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett led an elite group of scientists into the desert to develop a top-secret project known as Quantum Leap.  Pressured to prove his theories or lose funding, Dr. Beckett prematurely stepped into the Project Accelerator…and vanished.

 

He awoke to find himself in the past, suffering from partial amnesia and facing a mirror image that was not his own.  Fortunately, contact with his own time was maintained through brainwave transmissions with Al, the Project Observer, who appeared in the form of a hologram that only Dr. Beckett can see and hear.

 

As evil and neutral forces alike do their best to stop Dr. Beckett’s journey, his children, Dr. Samantha Josephine Fulton and Stephen Beckett, continuously strive to retrieve their time-lost father and bring him home permanently.  Despite returning home several times over the last decade, Dr. Beckett has remained lost in the time stream…his final fate no longer certain.

 

Trapped in the past and driven by an unknown force, Dr. Beckett struggles to accept his destiny as he continues to find himself leaping from life to life, putting things right that once went wrong with the hopes that his next leap…will be the final leap home.

 

PROLOGUE

Something that had changed as the leaps had gradually become tougher was that now each time when Sam returned to the captivity of the blue expanse, for a moment or so thoughts of what he had done in the leap just finished stayed with him. Most of the time it was a good feeling about the positive way he’d helped the person who had been the object of the leap. There were also other times, when a wistful sadness lingered with him—when he recalled how he had helped, but not in the way that had the highest probability of success.

And then there were the even smaller number of leap-out memories that followed Sam Beckett into the blue to nag and accuse and charge, *You failed!*

Now, another memory fragment had followed him into the endless blue expanse, nipping at his thoughts, the split-nanosecond whisper of, ***“You failed again!*** vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, vanquished by something Al had told him before:  ”Sam, you’ve got to remember that success has nothing to do with leaping.”

It was those momentary memory fragments that were the worst of all.  Without fail, whenever he answered the charge of failure with, *I did everything I possibly could,* the memory, like now, threw bitter darts of accusation.

***No you didn’t! If you had, then why are we here? It’s because you failed!***

Now another leap had ended and in a wink of bright blue light Sam was gone from the life he had impacted.  But as he once again acclimated to the blue expanse that had no beginning or end as far as he could surmise, Dr. Samuel Beckett experienced still another fiery dart of accusation from the fragment of this new memory.  As the stinging sensation of the accusation spread throughout whatever form he took in this place, it called back three or four other recent leaps in which he had taken out of those lives with him the knowledge that he had failed in them as well.

***You were supposed to prevent the child from dying, but you didn’t!***

*I did everything humanly possible,* Sam offered in his defense. *I can’t save everyone. Sometimes even when what I do succeeds it doesn’t prevent something bad from happening anyway.*

***Liar!  If you had really tried, you would have prevented that child from dying.***

*This time his parents were with Stevie when he died. They got to say goodbye.  This time…*

***Failure!*** the memory shrieked at him yet again, the stinging accusation seeping into, it seemed, Sam’s soul, adding to the heaviness that had begun accumulating there.  In the next instant, however, the memory’s accusing voice faded away, and Sam was wearily grateful for it.

Then in the next infinitesimally small instant, the draw of Sam’s next host was unmistakable and he gave himself over to it; to try and fight it was useless.  He also no longer allowed himself to linger on the question he used to ask almost as a mantra…”When can I go home?” and instead banished it. What was the use anyway?

Having ‘heard’ the Voice uttering the same frustrating and at times it seemed, amused, response of, “Soon,” the leaper had simply quit torturing himself by asking the question.  After all these years, and especially in the last few leaps, he had resigned himself that Whoever or Whatever was leaping him willy-nilly through time had gradually turned his repeated question about permanently returning home to his own time and the people whom he loved into a split-second source of amusement for Itself.  It had become little more than wishful thinking or, worse, a cruel fantasy to which Sam Beckett had finally said, “No more.”  Now when that thought flowed through his mind when lingering in the endless blue, he viewed that discarded hope as he was certain Whoever or Whatever saw it, namely as nothing more than an unreachable carrot on a stick held out before him to keep the ‘donkey’ moving forward.

**You will go home to stay, Sam,** the Voice said.

*When?* Sam asked yet again, weary of playing the controlling entity’s game but having little choice to do otherwise.  He waited for the answer he already knew. 

**Soon.**

He felt the bitter twinge in his being, whatever that was in this place.  *Yeah.*

**There is always hope, Sam,** the Voice surrounded him.  **You must never give up hope.**

*Why shouldn’t I?* he thought back.  *You have no intention of ever releasing me.*  The resignation in that thought seemed to permeate Sam’s being. *I’m nothing more to you than a lab rat trained to perform, succeeding or failing, in your neverending experiments in human nature.*

**You’re not a lab rat, Sam.**

*Call it what you will,* the leaper thought back passionately. *But however you term it, all you care about is using me for your purposes.  Forcing me to spend the rest of my life putting right what once went wrong in other peoples’ lives so they can live happily ever after.  They get to live their lives with a happier ending, but not me.  My life… my hopes and dreams… the people I love… are tossed aside. They don’t mean anything to you.  All you care about is using me to clean up other peoples’ messes.*

**Don’t you think people should be given a second chance to make the right decision the first time?**

*That’s not the issue!*

**Of course it is,** the Voice replied.  **You have a unique gift for helping people, Sam.   And when you do go home and have time to reflect on all you have accomplished, you will understand. You have done a lot of good, Sam, and you can do more.**  The words that were meant to be an assurance, or perhaps a comfort, to the leaper were anything but.

Feeling the increasing strength of the pull toward the next life into which he was being sent to fix something, Sam knew there was no sense in it, but he reached for the ‘carrot’ again anyway.

*And when will that be?*

**Soon.**

PART ONE

The blue haze of the Leap-in yielded to a swirling view of stars in an otherwise pitch-black environment.  Sam was disoriented by the sight, as well as the forward movement he felt.  After a moment, he realized he was sitting down, with a slight pressure on his lap.  Looking down, he saw a metal bar spanning his lap as well as those of the people sitting to either side of him.  In the split second before the lights went out, he realized he was seated in some sort of conveyance, which had just rattled to a stop.

His host had been gripping the lap bar and Sam’s hands tightened as he heard a voice that teased at his memory.  Filling the silence and darkness, the sharp male voice intoned, “You are about to discover what lies beyond the fifth dimension.  Beyond the deepest, darkest corner of the imagination… in the Tower of Terror.”

Before Sam could fully comprehend the implications of that ominous warning, the lights came on, and he saw a concrete wall in front of him.  Then the bottom dropped out from beneath him, and he felt himself falling.  He screamed, a short yell that ended as soon as it started.  When he reached the bottom, he breathed a sigh of relief, but it was cut short as the vehicle suddenly rocketed straight up at breathtaking speed.

When it reached the top of the tower, elevator doors opened, and Sam looked out over a panoramic view over a hundred feet down.  Before he could try to identify where he was to try to counter the panic of his fear of heights, a pit formed in his stomach as he considered the fact that what goes up… must come down. 

“Oh boy,” he muttered, clenching the lap bar with a death grip.  The car dropped a half floor, the intervening floor divider separating his view of the environment outside, and a bright light flashed before he felt himself plummeting at rapid speed.  Sam screamed (like a girl, he shamedly thought) all the way down.  When they stopped, he breathed, “Thank God that’s over,” but scarcely had the thought left his lips when the car shot back to the top floor again, to the accompaniment of Sam’s terrified shriek.  This time, the elevator doors flashed open as they had before, but not even a moment’s hesitation precipitated the drop.  Sam barely had time to draw breath for the fresh screams that echoed through the elevator shaft until the vehicle settled at the bottom.

The haunting music of the theme to The Twilight Zone suddenly began playing.  As the car rattled its way backwards out of the elevator shaft and rolled into what looked like a hotel basement complete with stored furniture and boxes, the male voice (which Sam now recognized as Rod Serling’s) gave its final narration, “A warm welcome back to those of you who made it, and a friendly word of warning; something you won’t find in any guidebook.  The next time you check into a deserted hotel on the dark side of Hollywood, make sure you know just what kind of vacancy you’re filling… or you may find yourself a permanent resident… of The Twilight Zone.”

The car came to a halt in front of another set of elevator doors.  Sam held his breath when they parted, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a young man in a maroon bellhop’s uniform trimmed in gold, with black pants bearing a maroon stripe on either side.  Somber faced, the bellhop intoned, “Welcome back.  Please gather your belongings and take small children by the hand.  Do drop in and see us again.”  The lap bars lifted and he gestured a sweeping wave of his arm to indicate they should exit.  As they rose amid nervous and exhilarated laughter--punctuated by “That was so COOL!!”--Sam became aware of two additional rows of seats behind him, as well as an almost identical seating arrangement across the small aisle that divided the car.

His pulse hadn’t settled down yet from the harrowing experience, and it certainly wasn’t calming any as he wondered who he was, and how he was supposed to identify who he was supposed to be with.  Fortunately, the guy who’d been sitting to his right clapped a hand on his shoulder as they exited the “elevator.”

“Howie.  Dude.  Do you know you scream like a girl?  And what happened to ‘no hands,’ huh?”

“Uhhh…” But he didn’t need to come up with an explanation.  Two college-age girls had dashed ahead of them and were studying a wall of screens bearing photographs of people in various states of reaction from the ride.  Pointing eagerly at a screen in the upper left hand corner, they beckoned to ‘Howie’ and the boy next to him.

“Here it is!” they shouted.  One of them was doubled over with laughter.  “We have got to buy this one!”

Even though Sam hadn't seen a mirror yet, and even though he could identify where he'd been sitting in the elevator car simply by matching up the young man standing next to him, Sam easily picked himself out.  His eyes were nearly popping out of his head and his mouth was open so wide he was surprised he hadn't dislocated his jaw.  Judging by the photograph and in spite of the near bug-eyed expression of his host, Sam decided that Howie fit the 'standard' description of a young college man; from what he could surmise because the young man was seated in the picture, Sam figured his host was of an average height, with dark blonde hair and trim of body as well as being good looking. The young man in the picture wasn't movie star handsome but good looking enough. As the sound of the girls' giggling moved closer to him, joining with that of the guy at his side, Sam thought, *Drop you on any campus in the country and you'd fit in.* The leaper was also grateful that his host had decided to wear comfortable jeans and sneakers with his... Sam glanced down at the shirt he was wearing and immediately rolled his eyes... T-shirt bearing the likeness of Jim Varney as Ernest with the phrase “KnowWhutIMean, Vern” printed on it.  "Ohh boy," he muttered under his breath. "A joker."  He winced vaguely at the light punch on the arm his ride companion gave him, when the guy crowed, "Hey, dude, you resemble that remark!"

"Gee, thanks," Sam muttered. The girls began dragging them past the wall of monitors to a room that resembled a front desk area.  The attention to detail took Sam aback.  The floor was tiled, and thick upholstered benches provided seating for those who were waiting...to receive copies of the photographs that had been snapped during the ride, Sam realized, when an attendant behind the counter waved a picture in the air and called out "Mr. Harris?"  A man in his thirties arose from his spot on one of the comfortable benches and walked past the potted plant to receive his souvenir.

The girls, meanwhile, had dashed to the nearest register and breathlessly exclaimed, "Our photo number was 18357!"  The attendant keyed in a series of strokes, calling their picture up on a computer screen embedded into the counter.  He looked down at their picture, then looked at Sam and smirked.

"You're famous, dude," his companion said.  Sam ha-ha'ed weakly and looked to his left, where the room opened out into a gift shop.  The rest of the group was discussing print options and packages with the cashier, and Sam wanted to try to get some more information about where, when, and --above all-- WHO he was.

"I'll just be in there," Sam said, gesturing toward the gift shop, which was the only apparent way to exit, as evidenced by the throngs of people flowing past them, most of them laughing at the adventure they'd survived.

"Sure, Howie... we'll catch up with you," his companion said, a gleeful grin on his face as he joined the others who were still discussing how many prints they should buy.

Taking a deep breath, Sam walked into the gift shop to begin as much reconnaissance as he could manage, and praying Al would show up soon.

PART TWO

Project Quantum Leap—Admiral Calavicci’s Office

Stallions Gate, New Mexico

Monday, October 2, 2006

1845 hours

Typing the last few words of the sentence, Project Quantum Leap's Chief Observer added a period then hit save before reading again the conclusion of his report on Samuel Beckett's most recent leap.

"It is the opinion of the Chief Observer that even though the boy, Stevie Allamore, age seven years, still died, as in the original history, Dr. Beckett's leap was nonetheless a success.  In the original history, the child died alone because his parents were in the midst of a argument about the divorce that ultimately ended their relationship after the death of their son.  Dr. Beckett's presence in the life of Charles Allamore changed history since he left the argument and went to the hospital where the boy was being treated for a severe case of pneumonia.  In the original history, the mother, Jessica Allamore, didn’t go back to the hospital until the hospital called, which by then was too late for her to get there in time to see Stevie before he died.  Due to Dr. Beckett’s presence in the timeline, this time Mrs. Allamore, with her attorney in tow, followed Dr. Beckett to the hospital.  It was only upon arriving and being advised by the doctors that the child would not survive, that the mother finally realized what her husband/Dr. Beckett had been trying to make her see.  It was Dr. Beckett's intervention at this point that changed the direction of the Allamores' lives, specifically by saving their marriage. As a final note, four years later, the Allamores, who could not have any more children of their own, adopted a child, a daughter, from Korea. Three years after the adoption was final, they adopted a second child from Korea, a son.

End of Report.”

Al nodded and clicked "save" one last time before clicking "print."  His laser printer hummed into life and the pages swiftly slid into the receiving tray.  When the final page printed out a minute later, Al lifted the warm sheets of paper and tapped them against his desk on all four edges before sliding them into place in a folder labeled "Allamore, Charles" and stamped with dates corresponding both to the chronological date in history into which Sam had Leaped as well as the date at the Project.  Al lifted the file into place on top of a stack of reports which had all been completed, but not yet finalized in terms of submission or archiving. 

Al looked at the stack of file folders and sighed.  The majority of the Leaps chronicled there had been hard, painful, and wrenching.  This last Leap into Charles Allamore had been particularly painful for Al, as the sight of Stevie in the hospital bed, connected to monitoring and supporting machinery, had drawn to mind his youngest daughter, Christa, as she'd clung to life following an infection that had taken over her small body subsequent to one of the many heart surgeries she'd undergone.  But even Al's pain was nothing compared to the look on Sam's face as Stevie's life ebbed away.  Tears filled the Leaper's eyes as he looked directly into Al's.  The question in Sam's heart, Al knew, was a simple one. 

Why?  Why couldn't he have saved Stevie?

In the few moments before Stevie Allamore passed into the next world, Sam Leaped out, giving the real Charles Allamore the opportunity to be with his son for the last time.  So it was that Al was unable to let him know of the Allamores’ adoption of the two children from Korea, or about the accomplishments to society both children had made as adults.  Had Stevie lived, Colleen Choon-yei Allamore would not have been adopted, not been given the opportunity to attend Harvard, nor would her brother, Peter Joo-chan Allamore, have gone on to an exemplary military career.

Still, the silver lining didn't take the edge off of Stevie's death, not fully.  Not for him, and certainly not for Sam.  Al closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as he saw his friend's pained face in his memory once again.

A minute passed as Al sat at his desk, his eyes closed, his fingers continuing to rub almost mechanically across his forehead.  But it wasn't helping to ease the mild headache now 'in residence' between his temples, nor was it helping him to mentally close the file on what he privately dubbed a "successful failed leap".  He had come to tag Leaps, like the Allamore Leap, in such a manner because even though the overall original history was improved by Sam's presence, some factor, sometimes big, sometimes modest, had not changed.  It was those Leaps that he knew almost always tore at his best friend's heart, that one question - Why? - always asked either in a look or being verbalized. And in the last year... God, has it been that long?!... the Observer had seen and heard that question too many times... the farmer somewhere in the Carolinas that had died unnecessarily of insecticide poisoning... the never discovered assisted suicide death of the girl in the hospital....

As if a small stone had been dislodged from a dam, allowing a trickle of water to escape so did other memories of other 'successful failed' Leaps began to slip into his thoughts.  They came slowly at first but within seconds more and more appeared until Al knew he had to get a grip on the situation or it would drag him down.  And he couldn't... wouldn't let anything within his power keep him from being ready, physically as well as mentally, when that chime rang out announcing that Sam had Leaped and would need him.

Al let out a quiet groan, so quiet even Ziggy's monitors would have had to strain to pick it up.  He'd sent Verbena on vacation; she'd reluctantly agreed, the stress from her encounters with Stiles as well as Charles Allamore had worn her nerves raw.  Part of him wished he could take a vacation himself, disappear with Beth into the nearby Sangre de Cristo Mountains for a weekend away, but it was only a small part.  He couldn't let Sam down.  His friend needed him--now more than ever before.

Standing up, Al's gaze went of its own accord to the new file now resting atop the stack of files on the left corner of his desk.  Glaring at the folder, he slapped his palm on the folder and said tersely, almost as if the inanimate object might attempt to argue with him, "I'm outta here."  With those words, he locked his desk, shut down his computer and switched off the small desk lamp and exited his office without looking back.  There was no need for him to stop and lock the door; Ziggy was programmed to set the lock every time he left his office. With singlemindedness, Al made his way to his quarters, not acknowledging anyone he passed.

Al trudged into their quarters and sighed as the door closed behind him.  He could hear Beth humming to herself from their bedroom, and the soft rustling sound of fabric and the quiet thud of opened and closed doors and drawers told him she was putting away laundry.  He shut his eyes and just stood listening to the ordinary comforting sounds, hoping they would alleviate the negative thoughts swirling through his mind.

After a moment, Al opened his eyes and walked purposefully to the bookshelf in the family room.  His hand, as if of its own volition, reached for the black leather-bound Bible, and Al pulled it from the shelf, taking it with him to his armchair.  He didn’t know what he hoped to find, comfort he supposed.  He flipped halfheartedly through the thin pages, pausing on the 23^rd Psalm.

“The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want,”¹ he read.  Sighing, he closed the Bible and set it on the end table next to him.  “There’s a lot I want right now,” he said, propping his elbow on the arm of the chair and pressing his fingers into his forehead.

Beth Calavicci approached her husband from behind. She sighed, recognizing the position he was in as one he’d been assuming for the past couple of days, ever since Sam leaped out.  When she reached him, she lightly rested her hands on his shoulders.  Al’s muscles were hard as rocks.  “Honey, you need to stop beating yourself up about this,” she said, starting to knead the knots out.

Al just grunted and let his head drop forward.  Beth moved her thumbs to his neck and pressed firm circles into the stiffness.  “You did all you could.  You and Sam both.”  After a few moments, she bent and planted a light kiss on the back of his neck.  She draped her arms alongside his and moved her face to his ear.

“Are you listening to me, babe?”

“I know.  The numbers just weren’t there,” he muttered, finally.  “But the look in his eyes.”  Al shifted in his wife’s embrace so he could see her, draw strength and comfort from her.  “Beth, I was there when Sam leaped out this time.  The look in his eyes…”  He trailed off and sadly shook his head.  “It about broke my heart,” he said, so low that if Beth hadn’t been holding him in her arms she wouldn’t have heard it.

Without breaking contact, Beth moved around to the front of the short-backed armchair and settled onto Al’s lap.  She kissed his cheek and flattened her hand against his chest directly over his heart, the steady thumping resounding against her palm.  Al reached up and covered her hand with his own, closing his eyes in gratitude.

“I have you.  Who’s going to help Sam deal with this?”

“Maybe he’ll forget by the next leap.”

“Maybe,” shrugged Al, doubtful.  He leaned his head into Beth’s shoulder and just absorbed the wave of love that washed over him.  “I thank God every day for you, Beth.  I don’t know how Sam does it all alone.”

“He’s not alone—he has you,” she reminded him.

Al shook his head.  “You know what I mean.”

Beth weighed possible responses and finally opted to tenderly kiss her husband’s temple.  She caressed his cheek and said, “Just because you can’t touch each other doesn’t mean you’re not there for each other.”

Al considered her words, but anything he might have said in response was cut off by Ziggy’s announcement that Dr. Beckett had leaped.

Giving her husband a last peck, Beth stood up.  “Are you going to be okay?”

Al smiled at her, but the smile quickly faded as Ziggy’s voice broke into their quarters again.  “Admiral, I think you should get to the Imaging Chamber as soon as possible.  Dr. Beckett’s pulse has just spiked and escalated.  His adrenaline levels are on the rise as well.”

“I’ll be right there!”

“I’ll check on the visitor’s vitals,” Beth said, following him out of their quarters as they both hurried for the elevator.  As they waited for the car to arrive, Al suddenly looked at his wife, his brow knitted as he looked at her.

“Beth… Aurora’s the main doctor now.  Why are you coming along?”

“Aurora’s not feeling well today and asked if I could pinch-hit for a few hours while she rests.”

“Is something wrong?”

Beth grinned at him.  “No, Al.  Nothing’s wrong with her.  She’s just pregnant… and I know it’s been a while, honey, but I’m sure you remember some of the ‘door prizes’ that go along with that.  Tiredness… nausea… at the most inopportune moments…”

Despite his worry for Sam and impatience for the elevator to arrive, Al held his hand up and grinned at his wife.  “Okay… enough said.  I’m glad we don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

The elevator car arrived and they walked inside, all humor now set aside.  As the car moved downward toward the Control Room, Al became silent and focused, his face grim, wondering just what danger his friend had leaped into this time.  Beth didn’t say a word, just rested her hand supportively on his shoulder. 

When the elevator let him out, Al barreled forward and demanded, “Where is he?”

Dominic Lofton answered, “September 11, 1997.  He’s in Florida.”

“Hurricane season.  Did he leap into the middle of a hurricane?”  Al grabbed the handlink and headed for the Imaging Chamber.  He barely heard Dom’s “No,” and keyed the door open.  “Center me on Sam… now!” he ordered as he hurried inside.

He materialized inside a gift shop of some type.  Al blinked and hurriedly searched for signs of criminal activity.  Finding none, he turned his attention to finding Sam.  Slightly pale, the leaper was idly examining a wall of T-shirts. 

“Sam?  Pal, are you okay?”

Sam nodded, his head cocked to the side and a look of confusion on his face.  Al followed his gaze and read aloud the slogan Sam was studying.  “I Survived the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror…”

“Would it be against the rules for me to buy it?” Sam murmured.

“Well, I…” Al broke off as the lightbulb went on, and he recalled a series of commercials advertising the free-fall attraction for its West Coast debut at Disney’s California Adventure theme park just a few short years back.  “Oh, Sam… you didn’t leap in…”

“Right before the first drop.  The first of three, I might add.”

“Aw, Sam.”

“Actually, looking back on it, the first one wasn’t as bad—it was dark.  The other two….”

“Were from thirteen stories up,” Al supplied.

Sam nodded and finished, “With a panoramic view.”  Sam gestured to a shirt emblazoned with a picture of Mickey Mouse from behind, standing in front of an open elevator door with a snapped cable, an expanse laced with electric blue lightning bolts as a backdrop.  “This isn’t what I expected Disney World to be like.”

“Ah, so you know where you are!”

Sam looked askance at him and nodded around the gift shop.  “It wasn’t hard to figure out once I got in here.”  He glanced back toward the corridor leading into the shop and hurriedly said, “It won’t be long til they get the prints of that picture.  When am I and what am I here to do?”

Al pulled out the handlink and began mashing keys.  “I don’t have much for you, buddy.  Ziggy rushed me in here when your vitals started going crazy.  I can tell you you’re at the Disney-MGM Studios theme park at Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida, and it’s September 11, 1997, a Thursday.  You’ve leaped into…”

Patting his back pocket to indicate he’d already checked the driver’s license.  “Howie Lockwood.  No clue what I’m here for?”

“Not yet.  I’ll go back and see what they’ve got for us, now that I know you’re all right.  In the meantime, relax!  You’re on vacation!”

Disney-MGM Studios Theme Park

Walt Disney World

Thursday, September 11, 1997

2:38 PM

It wasn’t long after Al left that the small troupe Sam was vacationing with entered the gift shop, a paper folder held triumphantly aloft.

“Howie, I hope you’re ready to be front and center on the Student Center bulletin board when we get back,” crowed the young man Sam had been sitting next to on the ride.

“Skip, that’s so cold!” chastened one of the girls, a green-eyed blonde, even as she couldn’t help giggling at the idea.

Smirking, Skip passed the folder to Sam, who obediently opened it.  Despite himself, Sam had to laugh—easy to do now that he was on solid ground!  “I’m surprised my hair isn’t standing on end,” Sam said, handing the photograph back.

“Yeah, well weren’t you the one who kept saying, ‘Oh, it isn’t that bad, really,’” piped up another girl, this one with dark hair and eyes.  “Come on… the next Indiana Jones stunt show is around 3 PM, and didn’t you say that if we get a seat near the front row we stand a better chance of getting picked as extras?”

“Juanita’s right,” said the blonde.  “C’mon, Howie, lead the way.”

‘Lead the way?’  Sam gulped.  “I, uh, I…”

Fortunately, Juanita cut in, “Oh, I think I saw a shortcut on the map.  Mind if we try it?”

“Sure,” Sam eagerly agreed.

With Juanita at the front, they all marched out together.  Once they were outside, the sound of screams from above periodically punctuated the air.  Sam took a look back at the Tower of Terror and was surprised to see that it looked like a real hotel, damaged by lightning.  He glanced to his right as they exited and admired the courtyard gardens that served as the outdoor queuing area.  He wished that if he’d had to endure the Tower, he’d at least have been able to enjoy the theming.  They continued past the Tower of Terror and veered to the left, heading down what looked like a Hollywood street, complete with palm trees.  As they passed a stand selling hats, the other young man in the group called out, “I need to get one of these… y’all go on ahead.  I’ll catch up.”

Sam was glad not to have to be in charge of navigation for the moment, though it seemed that his host was the tour guide.  He made a mental note to be sure and study the guidemaps, committing them to his photographic memory in order to be up to the task.  In the meantime, he just followed the able leadership of Juanita, and allowed himself to admire the attention to detail in the Disney park.

As they neared a large open area, Juanita pointed to the far end.  “Indiana Jones is that way… I think we can shave a bit of time off if we head this way.”  Without waiting for a consensus, she started walking.  As Sam made to follow, the young man caught up with them and jammed something that felt like a ball cap on Sam’s head.  Instinctively, Sam reached up to identify it, and was surprised to feel a round plastic knob on the bill of the cap.  He removed it and almost dropped it when he saw the face of Goofy staring back at him.  The black ball cap had Goofy’s eyes imprinted on the upright portion, while floppy cloth ears dangled off the sides.  But it was the bill that truly added to the garishness of the hat.  A plastic oval sphere obtruded from the end of the bill, which was decorated to look like Goofy’s long nose, complete with buck teeth hanging down in the front.

Sam looked curiously at his companion, who just grinned insouciantly.  Skip turned and laughed when he saw the hat.  “Good one, Russ!  Maybe Howie’ll make sure to go hands free like the rest of us next time!”

PART THREE

Project Quantum Leap

Stallion’s Gate, New Mexico

Monday, October 2, 2006

1938 hours

Beth was waiting for Al when he emerged from the Imaging Chamber.  “How’s our guest?” he asked her.

"This one's certainly different."

"How so?"

Beth gave him a significant look. "Well, for one thing, he asked for a Bible to read."

Al’s eyebrows lifted.  “That’s a first,” he commented, adding, “especially for one that’s not a man of the cloth.” 

She nodded.  “I hope you don’t mind, honey, but I gave him ours to use.  I couldn’t think of where else to find one.”

Hopefully the Visitor would get more comfort out of it than he himself had, Al thought as he told Beth that was fine.  “How’s he doing?”

“Fine.  He thought for a moment that he ‘really had gone into the Twilight Zone,’ to use his exact words.”  Beth’s expression showed that she hadn’t understood the comment and had filed the words away as further evidence of this Visitor’s peculiarity.

Al chuckled.  “Howie was riding the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror at Disney World when Sam Leaped in,” he explained. 

Amusement flitted across Beth’s face for a moment.  “He remembers that he was at Disney World,” she confirmed.  “And, Al… he’s unusually calm about the whole thing.  I’ve never seen a reaction like this before.”

“So I take it that I don’t have to wait for a sedative to wear off for a change.”

“I didn’t even have to reach for the syringe once,” said Beth.  She watched him for a moment as he considered what she had just said. 

His eyes darted toward the Waiting Room doors then back to her before he finally said, “Okay.  Sounds good to me.  I better get in there and meet our latest guest.”

Al hesitated after entering the Waiting Room.  The young man occupying Sam’s aura was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, the Calaviccis’ Bible open in his lap.  His lips moved as he repeated a verse to himself under his breath.  Al almost hated to disturb him, but he had to find out more about him.

As his footfalls approached, Howie looked up from his reading and greeted the admiral with a broad grin.  The young man's grin was so infectious, Al found himself returning it without thinking twice.

As Al drew closer, he cocked his head to the side and asked, "I'm not underground, am I?  And you're not a Cast Member, either, right?"

"Underground?" Al asked, confused.  He wanted to ask about the Cast Member thing, as well, but decided to get the most confusing aspect of the statement out of the way first.

"Yeah... isn't there like this great catacombs or something underneath the parks where all the behind the scenes stuff happens?  But somehow, I don't think that's where I am..."

Al looked closely at the young man, for a moment entertaining the notion that perhaps the visitor was pulling his chain. He shook his head slightly. "Catacombs? No, there aren't any catacombs here."

"Where's here?" the young man asked, looking up at the older man with interest not in the least tainted with fear or apprehension.

Al couldn't help smiling as he said, "Well, let's just say that I'm positive we're not in Rome or in Florida."  The answer drew a bit of a puzzled reaction from the young man.

"Rome?" he questioned. "Disney hasn't added a park in Italy... that I know of."

The Observer couldn't not have laughed even if he'd wanted to try. He gazed down at the younger man and started to answer, then changed his mind and squatted on his haunches to be at eye level with him.

"How about we back up to square one and start over again?" he suggested lightly then did something he rarely did with any visitor, extending his hand. "My name's Al."

Howie had started to wonder about the odd conversation, but the more it went on, he hadn't felt any inclination toward fear. Rather, he felt inside that this stranger was worthy of his trust.

"Howie Lockwood, sir," he responded, clasping Al's hand in a firm handshake.

"You can dispense with the sir," Al said, grinning.  "You'll make me feel like an old man.  You're among friends here.  Are you comfortable?"

"Oh, yes, s--.  Yes, the lady who was in here earlier was really quick about bringing me this Bible."

Al's grin spread.  "Yes, that would have been my wife."

Howie lifted the Bible from his lap and inserted his finger to hold his place, turning the leather cover to the imprinted gold letters that read "Calavicci."  "Is this your Bible then?"

Al nodded and Howie thanked him for the loan of it.  As Al noted how Howie held his place, he asked, "What were you reading?"

"Psalm 121," Howie answered promptly.  While he hadn't seemed stressed, he seemed to relax as he apparently drew his mind back to the words he'd been reading.

"Which one is that?" Al asked.

Without hesitation, Howie recited, "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.  My help cometh from the Lord which made heaven and earth."²

Glancing down at the obviously well-used Bible in his lap, he ran his thumb over the bottom corner of the cover then back to Al. "It's the first verse that comes to mind whenever things get..."

"A little odd?" Al suggested.

Howie grinned, chuckling lightly. "I was going to say 'wild and hairy' but 'odd' works, too."  Meeting Al's eyes again, he said, "I'll admit that I was a little wierded out when I realized I wasn't feeling like I was falling down a bottomless pit, but this...," he laid his free hand on the Bible, "this just reminded me and I'm okay now."

Noticing how Al had shifted his weight a bit caused Howie to get a good look at the other man, realizing instantly that he was older than his attitude suggested.  Laying the Bible carefully aside, he quickly shifted to get to his feet, offering his hand to Al.  "I'm sorry. We can stand if you like, si-- Al."

Al brushed away the proffered helping hand, but did get to his feet, stifling a groan as his knees lodged their protest.  Al hated any reminders of his age and he solidly refused to show any signs of discomfort.  He turned to Howie and asked, "What do you remember before you found yourself here?"

Howie shrugged.  "I'd just gotten on the Tower.  We practically had to drag..." he paused and his brow furrowed as he tried to remember a name.  "I can picture her face, but her name isn't coming to me," he complained, making the first frown Al had yet to see on him.

"It's okay," Al assured him.  "Minor holes in your memory are perfectly normal.  Don't focus on what you can't remember, but on what you can, okay?"

Howie nodded, but Al could tell he wasn't thrilled about the discovery of the Swiss Cheese Effect.  The young man closed his eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath and continued, "Okay, so we convinced her to get on the Tower with us, and we'd just gone up a few floors, and then... here I was."  He looked around the room again and then he suddenly said, "Juanita!"

"I'm sorry?" Al asked, confused.

"That's her name.  Juanita," grinned Howie.  "Thanks, Lord.  That would've driven me nuts trying to remember!"

As Howie Lockwood talked, Al's experienced eye kept scanning his face, his body language, looking for signs that perhaps the other man was trying to cover up a case of nerves. But there wasn't any such sign to see, and for the first time in a long time, the Observer took what he was seeing on face value and relaxed.

"Okay," he affirmed the last comment. "That's good. Now, I've got a few more questions to ask you. They might seem...."

"Wild and hairy?" Howie suggested, the cheeky yet relaxed grin sliding effortlessly into place and even managing to send a gleam to his green eyes.

"I was about to say 'odd'," Al responded in a like manner. Glancing around he said, mostly to himself, "I'll have a couple of chairs brought in. But how about we sit on the bed?"

Howie nodded and followed Al, waiting until his new friend was seated before he dropped onto the foot of the bed. Drawing one knee up casually, Howie got comfortable.  "So, what's the first question?"

As he waited for the visitor to get settled, Al didn't have to look or check to know that everything going on in the Waiting Room was being recorded.  It was a rare occasion when he and Beth and Verbena, or some combination thereof, weren't doing whatever it took to calm and reassure bewildered and often frightened visitors. It was, he was discovering, almost… no, it was refreshing that this visitor was one who fell into that rare category of those who handled their switch in time and brief stay in the Waiting Room with calm acceptance, as if it weren’t that big a deal.

"All right. First question: What's today's date?"

"September 11th," Howie responded.

A chill ran down Al's spine as the date was uttered.  Years of training kept him from reacting, because for Howie that infamous day had yet to take place.  "And the year?" he calmly prompted.

"Oh, 1997.  Is this a test of my sanity?  Some kind of psych test?"  Howie's eyes widened and he looked around the sterile environment again.  "Is this one of Professor Hopkins' experiments?"

Al laughed out loud. "No, Howie. This isn't one of Professor Hopkins' experiments. But, I did say the questions would seem a little odd." He waited until Howie nodded his acceptance and then continued with the next question,  "Tell me, how do you think you got here?"

Howie met Al's steady gaze again, pursing his lips in an exaggerated manner and narrowing his gaze as if considering the question deeply.  Finally he answered with a shrug of his shoulders and shaking his head slowly, said, "Beats the dickens outta me."  Fixing the Observer with another somewhat narrow-eyed look, the Visitor asked again, "You're *absolutely sure* this isn't some new psych test dreamed up by Professor Hopkins?  Because he's famous for doing that."

Al smiled.  "I can say with one-hundred percent certainty, this isn't any experiment of Professor Hopkins."

Something about the way Al said it clicked with Howie, and he tilted his head to the side for a moment before saying, "But you didn't say it wasn't anyone else's experiment, did you?"  He glanced down at the white Fermi suit he was wearing and crinkled his brow in thought.  "I *know* I don't have any clothes like this...” He looked back at the blue room and surveyed it from one end to the other, his sight pausing at the security camera nearly indecipherable from the walls.  Howie's surveying look froze for moment and he looked back at Al.  "It is an experiment of some kind, isn't it?"

Observing, by this point in the project's history, was almost an instinctive habit with Al. He had watched the young man scanning the room, and in the same instant that Howie had frozen, Al had tracked the young man's gaze to the security camera and understood.

"Yes, Howie," Al reassured the Visitor yet again.  "I give you my word that this is an experiment you're now a temporary part of.  And before you ask, I assure you that you’re safe and the only thing expected of you is to relax and answer some questions."  He saw in the young man's green eyes that he was close to accepting his explanation.  He toyed with the idea of coming straight out with the explanation sometimes given to Visitors in special situations but decided to refrain for the moment.  "This experiment does not harm anyone involved with it in any way, no matter how small or... brief their participation may be."

Despite Al's assurances, a small edge of unease entered Howie's eyes at the word "harm."  The slightest edge of nervousness was in his tone when he said, "You know, up til now, I didn't even really stop to think what kind of experiment this might be.  What are you going to do to me?"

"Ask you some questions, give you some refreshments, talk with you a bit," explained Al, patiently.  "In very rare cases we've had to draw a blood sample, but I assure you, that won't be necessary this time."

"Okay," said Howie, relaxing again.  "I trust you, Al."

Al blinked at Howie's words as they simultaneously warmed and surprised him.  The only thing he could think to say was, "Thank you."

After a moment, Howie, more reassured than a moment ago, looked down again at the form-fitting white Fermi suit and his bare feet, then looked at Al again. "So who's in my shoes... and jeans and T-shirt, if I'm wearing his... whatever this is?  What are these?  Longjohns?"

Al's mouth dropped open despite all his training and control as Howie made his joke.

"What?" Howie asked, concerned about the older man's health and reaching a hand out to his arm.  "What's wrong?"

Al shook his head and closed his mouth.  He warred with himself for a moment about whether or not to give Howie an abbreviated explanation.  Again the young man's words rang in his head, "I trust you, Al."  Al came to a decision.

"Howie... you're closer to the truth than you know," he said.  "You've traded places, as it were, with my friend--a scientist.  You're here... and he's in your shoes, and clothes.  In your life, you might say."

Howie Lockwood's reaction was anything but fearful as he laughed and exclaimed, "Cool!  Who would've dreamed such a thing was possible?"  He thought about it for a moment and the more he thought about it, the more he seemed to be intrigued by the idea.  "So I'm here... and he's there.  Lucky guy."

"Why?" asked Al.  "Where are you?" Seeing a gleam come into the young man's eyes, Al nipped the smart-aleck answer he knew was coming as well as he knew his own name. "And I mean where you were before you were here."

Howie's laughter filled the Waiting Room for a moment before he said, "You're too quick. I usually can slip one like that past the Skipper twice a day and three times on Sunday." Chuckling again, he said, "I was in Florida... Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida to be exact."  Settling in a bit more on the bed, he waited for another question. "Too bad Professor Hopkins' experiments aren’t always this easy."

Setting aside his intended formulaic question, Al latched onto one of Howie's comments.  "Who's the Skipper?"

Howie flashed a toothy grin.  "Skip Lagerman.  He's my roommate.  Captain of the football team.  I couldn't resist the nickname."

Al figured there were a lot of things Howie couldn't resist.  He drew himself back to the business at hand.  "Do you remember who you were with?  I know you said that you'd just talked Juanita onto the ride."

Howie sat up a bit, growing serious now as he thought back to his friends.  "There are... six of us, counting me.  Juanita, Skip, uh... Karen, um... Ginger, and, oh how could I forget, Russ!  His dad paid to put us up in the Contemporary, in the tower, no less!  Talk about a primo view!"

"And why are you all at Disney World, in September?  Aren't you in college?  Labor Day's past."

Howie looked up at the ceiling as he accessed his memory, dodging past holes to draw up the information.  "Nights of Joy.  We're just down for the weekend.  Okay, yeah, we're skipping a couple days of classes, but our profs are okay with it."

Something Al had learned to appreciate over these years of Sam's leaping was when a visitor seemed to be able to draw back all, or at least a lot, of the information about their lives before becoming part of a leap. He wasn't sure why, beyond the obvious, but as he listened to Howie talking, he felt a sense of gratitude.

"I wish the profs at Annapolis would've been okay with us skipping a class here and there," he commented offhand.  He just nodded when Howie said, "Annapolis? You're in the Navy?"

"Yeah. Made a career out of it," Al responded then moved quickly to his next question.  "Other than college, what's going on in your life right now?"  Al watched Howie closely. It was a broadcast question meant to snag some bit of information that could help Sam successfully complete his leap.  At least, Al always hoped that it would.  "Any problems..."

"Problems?  None I can't handle.  Just the usual... how to get spending money, to find time to study."  A glint came into his eye, "You're serious, this isn't a psych test?"

"No, it's not," Al said, utterly serious, and quashing the playfulness as he tried to get down to brass tacks.  "Okay, tell me what you remember about these Nights of Joy.  What is that?"

"Well, every year Disney World hosts a concert series after the parks close--the parks close early for this, too.  Some of the really big names in contemporary Christian music come.  Like this year, Jars of Clay, Anointed, and Steven Curtis Chapman are supposed to be there!”  Howie paused and then added, "You'd be surprised at how many people attend the Nights of Joy," he said, warming to the subject in a quiet but serious way.  "It's like... it's like it was meant to be a booster shot of fellowship and praise.  And, I've seen so many kids who wanted nothing to do with 'religion' come in with a closed mind and go out... dancing on the mountain tops!" Looking into Al's eyes, he added, "It's not like... a revival or anything. It's like... the music gives a joy that just soaks into a person's soul and fills a lot of empty spaces with something only God can give."

Al was about comment on that when he saw a fleeting glimmer of something in the young man's eyes.  The hint of wistfulness that disappeared almost as fast was noted, too.

"What?" he prompted.

Howie looked down for a moment and shook his head.  "I'm not sure, exactly," he said thoughtfully.  He raised his head and met Al's gaze.  "Well, it's something that's been bothering me for a while.  I dunno, maybe that's why I can remember it so strongly.  It's Russ.  I can't put my finger on it, but lately...” He spread his hands, palm upwards.  "I can't get past the feeling, it's hard to put into words."

Al filed the name away, certain that the recording would prompt Ziggy, Dom, and the others to start researching, but wanting to do his own checking.  He'd see if Sam noticed anything.  In the meantime, he decided to chase the rabbit at hand.

"Tell me more about Russ."

Howie sighed.  "He's hard to get to know.  I mean, don't get me wrong, he's a great guy!  Nice as you could ever ask a guy to be.  And he talked his dad into paying so we could stay on property.  But, I dunno, there's something...” He sighed again, frustrated.  "I don't know how to explain it."

Al pondered, turning over and examining closely what it was he was getting from what the visitor wasn't saying. Not because he got the idea Howie was trying to cover or hide something. It was more like the times when he'd had to read between the lines on some of Sam's leaps, collecting snippets of information that individually didn't add up but when put together, like that leap into the reporter in New Mexico, would light up the light bulb so that the bits and snippets jelled into solid information.

"Is Russ having trouble with his classes?" Al ventured. Howie shook his head. "How about in church or with his family?" He noted how the frown still lining Howie's forehead eased a bit.

"Well, in the last few days he has seemed... a little distant," Howie said slowly, gazing at nothing almost as if it would help him catch by the tail the thought that was at the edges of his attention.  "I remember Karen mentioning... something about how Russ seemed..." He paused, closing his eyes and waited for the rest of thought to pop up out of one of the holes in his temporarily Swiss-cheesed memory, but it wouldn't come. Opening his eyes, he said, "I'm sorry. I can't get a hold of it."

"It's all right, don't force it," Al said, but internally he was frustrated that Howie had been able to recall the name of a friend that eluded him, but couldn’t connect with the rest of his thought about his friend Russ.  His gut told him this Leap very well would have something to do with Russ, and anything Howie could remember would be beneficial.  He just hoped that Karen might mention something to Sam until the information returned to Howie.  Al held out hope.  He'd never seen a visitor regain a piece of lost information as quickly as Howie had, so maybe... just maybe... that bit regarding Russ would come back.  Grasping at straws, Al asked, "Can you remember Russ' last name?"

Howie thought hard, horizontal lines forming across his brow, vertical ones forming above the bridge of his nose.  "Hurston... Lovet-Hurston, actually."  Relief flooded across his expression at his ability to recall that piece of information.

Al smiled, "Good."  Then, deciding not to rely wholly on his gut instincts, Al asked, "What about the rest of your friends?  Anything you think they might be going through?"

The frown lines of concentration deepened for a split second before disappearing as Howie stood up from the bed and stretched his arms over his head for a minute.  "Well, Skip's supposed to lead try outs for the football team, and he's gotta see his counselor about straightening out something to do with his scholarship qualifications for this year. And... Karen... no, can't think of anything. Ginger's signed up to be a tutor this year for Chemistry II." He grinned. "You can bet your socks that Skip'll be one of her students. He and chemistry... the kind taught out of books, that is... seem to have the mutual ‘I'll leave you alone, if you leave me alones.’ But he's gotta have the credit."

Al waited, listening to what Howie could remember about his other friends, noting how Russ seemed to have found a special niche in his thoughts, evidenced by his ending his comments with, "And Russ..." and just shaking his head slowly.  The vague troubled expression reappeared on the young man's face, seeming to sink down into Howie's mind.

Talking about his friends drew each of their faces before Howie Lockwood's mind's eye as he mentioned each. Only Russ' face lingered there, refusing to move on to allow another thought to take its place.  And as the classic prep boy good looks of his friend looked back at him, Howie felt a stirring inside that was familiar.

"Excuse me, Al," he said quietly then walked back to where the Calavicci Bible lay on the floor near the wall, sat down and picked it up.  Bowing his head without hesitation, he whispered a prayer and then opened the Bible and began to turn pages. It was clear to anyone watching Howie that there was something within the pages that he needed and he knew where to go to find it.

Al hadn't moved when Howie politely excused himself before returning to the place where he had been sitting when he entered the Waiting Room. Now, though previous experience with leapees told him to follow the other man, something else told him to just be still and wait and watch.

He remained silent and still, seated at the foot of the bed, as Howie stopped turning pages, and traced his finger along the thin paper, pausing at a line of text.  Howie read it, his lips moving as he whispered the verse, then he closed his eyes and lifted his head heavenward.  Though he didn't make a sound or move his lips, Al knew with certainty that the young man was praying again.  Howie's quiet "Amen" didn't just cement Al's certainty, it appeared to give the visitor a renewed sense of peace, and he opened his eyes to look at the Observer.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude," Howie smiled, not moving from his spot seated with the Bible in his lap.

"Not at all," Al assured him, touched by the faith and compassion in the leapee.  He was positive that whatever Sam was there to do, it had to do with Russ.  He also knew that Ziggy had started an exhaustive search the moment Howie had told him the last name.  Without more to go on than a feeling or a name, though, it could take hours.  Perhaps he should go and tell Sam the name now, but Al set that idea aside.  He didn't know anything more, and he decided to let the Leaper enjoy the vacation he'd been temporarily granted.

He remained seated on the bed for another moment or so before deciding that it might be a good idea to go and do a little research of his own.  No matter that Ziggy could scour entire libraries at the speed of light and recite facts and probabilities percentages and scenarios for hours on end if need be.  Sometimes it was good old-fashioned seat of the pants experience and knowledge gleaned from years of living that helped the Observer to many times find a piece of information that the computer might dismiss as inconsequential. 

Seeing Al stand up from the bed, Howie started to get up then stopped when Al said, "Don't get up on my account. I've got some things to check into, but I'll be back later. I was thinking we could talk some more."

Howie smiled and nodded. "I'd like that, Al."

Al returned the smile and without looking back once, exited the Waiting Room and headed for his office.

PART FOUR

Disney-MGM Studios Theme Park

Walt Disney World

Thursday, September 11, 1997

3:30 PM

After the Indiana Jones Stunt Spectacular came to its literally explosive ending, the group hung around as the set was restored to its original design of a dark cavernous chamber.  The girls hung towards the front, hoping that the handsome man playing the part of "Harrison Ford's stunt double" would come around to work the crowd.

"I wish Julie would come around," grinned Skip, referring to the equally attractive woman who'd demonstrated what was involved in being Karen Allen's stunt double for Raiders of the Lost Ark.  After several minutes, when it was apparent neither stunt performer was going to come forward and the amphitheatre had nearly emptied, the group climbed the steps and proceeded out the exit to their left.  They followed the path to an Indiana Jones themed gift shop.

For Sam, the last several hours had been the most carefree and unstressful period of time that he could recall--as far as that was possible.  In the gift shop, on a whim he was the first one to grab a fedora and do his best impression of Harrison Ford, which only resulted in Ginger dissolving in fits of giggles and declaring, "You are so far from even a good imitation of Harrison Ford, Howie, it's not funny!"

Sam feigned hurt feelings even though his eyes were gleaming as he said, "Oh yeah? Then why are you giggling like a monkey chewing on a feather duster?"

All that did was to invoke even wilder antics from Skip.  It was only after the patient proprietor of the gift shop caught their eyes and gave the group a significant but telling look that the antics subsided. As it turned out, Ginger and Karen each bought a fedora and wore them out of the shop.

Once outside, maps were once more pulled out, and though he could have recited everything on the maps (having memorized them while waiting for the Indiana Jones show to start) Sam let the genial mood pull him along as he became the center of the group. However, it only took a moment for a consensus to be reached that Star Tours was their next focus of attention.

Glancing at Ginger who was standing beside him, Sam flicked a glance at her fedora worn at a rakish angle, and said, "Well, 'Indy', since you got us safely through that hazard, you lead the way."  Hearing Skip make a crack, Sam grinned wider. Looking around and seeing Russ lingering at the outside edge of their little group, he wiggled his way from the center to the young man and declared, "Russ and I will bring up the rear. Sort of a 'rear' guard."

Karen snorted. "Uh huh. Right, Howie." She fixed him with a look then wagged a finger at him.  "I know a scheming look when I see one, and it's allll over you right now!"

"What?" Sam protested then turned to Russ. "I ask you... do I look like a schemer? A practical joker?"

Russ' lips curved into a slight grin. "Howie, when you were born, your parents put ‘Joker’ down as your middle name!"

On that note, they joined the busy, chattering throng of park visitors, blending with the flow that took them shortly to the end of the line for Star Tours. The girls seemed, for a moment, uncertain, but Sam wasn't about to not wait for a turn.

Juanita looked up uncertainly at the giant AT-AT Walker from the Star Wars movies that loomed over the attraction, its head turning from side to side periodically and its turrets spraying mists of water to the authentic movie sound effects of shooting lasers.  "Uhhhh, are you sure this one's not bad?" she nervously asked.  "After the Tower of Terror, I'm not so sure."

"It's a simulator, Juanita," Skip patiently said.  "If you get scared all you have to do is close your eyes and you'll just feel a little tilting and shaking."

"I don't know," she said, opening the park map and reading the description aloud, "STAR TOURS:  Blast your starspeeder through the ultimate Star Wars thrill ride."  She looked the boys in the eye.  "It's the 'thrill ride' part that I'm nervous about."

"Come, come, Princess, I'll protect you," Sam said in another bad Harrison Ford impression.  He aimed a pretend blaster at the AT-AT and made "pfew pfew" noises.  Looking back at Juanita, he reiterated what Skip had said (hoping the words were correct), "You can just close your eyes."

Fortunately, the Cast Member clad in an orange and blue flight suit standing post at the entrance heard their conversation and assured Juanita that she could indeed close her eyes and that as long as she didn't suffer from motion sickness or any of the other prohibited conditions, she would be fine.  Nodding, Juanita followed the group underneath the gigantic movie prop, barely stopping long enough to admire the Ewok village to the right.

When they entered the queuing area inside the building, they were instantly immersed into the Star Wars world, as the Imagineers had themed the building with audioanimatronic figures of the Mon Calamari species in a control room.  Once they made it a bit further inside, they were able to see R2D2 and C3PO to the right, apparently involved in making repairs to a shuttlepod. Both chatted to each other periodically to provide further entertainment for the queue.

For Sam it was a step back to a simpler time as his gaze roved over every possible inch of the displays and animatronics available.  Without even realizing he was doing it, his natural ability to understand the dynamics of what was so fascinatingly displayed, he began pointing out little things that he'd always found special about the technology.  It was only after he caught Juanita just standing and staring at him like he suddenly resembled one of the alien creatures that Sam realized what he'd been doing.

"Well, it sounds plausible to me," he hastily tried to cover, then monitored his comments as the group inched along with the near capacity throng of other Star Wars enthusiasts.

Project Quantum Leap

Stallion’s Gate, New Mexico

Monday, October 2, 2006

2010 hours

Leaving the Waiting Room, Al paused outside the secure, Marine-guarded door for a moment, reviewing in his mind the encounter he'd just had with the current visitor.

"He is unique," he finally murmured to himself, glanced at one of the Marines then headed off for the Control Room.  Once inside the always-busy 'heart' of the complex, he looked around and saw Dom discussing something with one of the senior research technicians at one of the smaller 'satellite' computer terminals that were interspersed along one wall of the Control Room.

"What's up?" Al called out as he headed toward them.

Dom looked over and sighed.  "Problems, Al."

Al rolled his eyes heavenward as if to say 'what else is new?' and asked, "Specifically?"

The researcher took a step back, clearly wanting Dom to field this question.  Sighing again, Dom said, "We ran a check on Lovet-Hurston, based on what Mr. Lockwood told you.  We found reservation records for two rooms at the Contemporary Resort from September 11, 1997, checking out on Sunday the 14th."

Al didn't see what the problem was, and as Dom paused, he impatiently gestured for Dom to continue.

"Well," Dom hesitated again.  "We can't find any records for Russell Lovet-Hurston, Jr. after September 14th, when the reservation ended; it's like he vanished off the face of the earth.  You see, we're running up against double problems.  The first is Russ' family.  The Lovet-Hurstons have their records sealed tight.   The second is Disney.  It's next to impossible to find something out.  It was easier to hack into the Pentagon!"

"I'm not even going to begin to comment on how scary that thought is," muttered Al.  "So what are you doing about it?"

"We're trying to calculate a logarithm that can break past the Disney firewalls and then decrypt their security coding.  And then, hopefully, we can find the record."

"And then, hopefully," Al sarcastically said, "it won't be too late for Sam to affect things!"

It had been a good time past since Dominic Lofton had received his baptism of fire under the pressure of a leap, so Al's sarcasm, for the most part, didn't rattle him.  Turning to the researcher waiting a couple of steps away, he said, "Okay, Brad, go back and review everything we've gotten so far on the Lovet-Hurston family. Dig back a generation and then work forward. But make Russell Jr. your focal point as you come forward. Anything, no matter if it seems trivial, check it out."  Returning his attention to Al, Dominic said the words that he knew Al didn't like hearing.  "It's going to take some time, Admiral."

"How much time?" Al came back more than a bit sharply. "Even though Sam's hop-scotching around in it, when it comes a leap, we never know how long he's got."  Seeing Dominic Lofton's usually even-tempered expression become somewhat irritated, Al sighed.  "I'm sorry, Dom. It's just that there's something about this leap..."

"You say that about every leap, Admiral," Ziggy's throaty contralto voice purred to life.

"Maybe I do, you pile of circuitry, but I mean it this time.  Do I need to remind you--any of you--what Sam's been through recently?  The longer we go without helpful information means it's that much longer that Sam has to operate off of sheer instinct.  And that makes the possibility of failure that much greater.  Or makes what might have been an easy success that much harder!"  Al drew in a breath.  "I won't have Sam go through that again.  I won't, and that's all there is to it.  So you do whatever you have to to get that information, you hear me?"  Without giving Dom a chance to respond, Al turned on his heel and stalked to his office, blinking away a tear that had sprung to his eye as soon as he'd reached the isolated hallway.  He opened the door to his office and saw the reports he'd been working on earlier stacked on his desk.

He sighed and rested his hand on the pile of folders.  "Oh, Sam..."

Just laying a hand on the shortest of the two stacks of files on his desk was almost like a direct line back to the worst moments his friend had faced in the last handful of leaps.  Closing his eyes a moment, Al wished for the umpteenth time in more years than he wanted to think about that in those worst moments that he could have been more there for his best friend than just as a hologram with only words to aid or comfort him.

Knowing he'd wish he hadn't done it, still Al pulled a certain file from the stack and opened it. One word jumped out at him... suicide... and again he felt the icy fear that had flooded his heart at the sight of all that blood and.…

"No," he muttered tightly, dropping the file onto the stack again. "That was that leap. It's not this one. This one he's going to succeed."  But his gaze slowly went to the file again and he felt it again.

"Stop it, Calavicci," he said loudly, shaking himself then moving around his desk to sit in the leather chair that fit him like a comfortable pair of slippers.  However, instead of reaching for one of the files, Al swiveled his chair around to the computer desk situated behind the larger desk and booted up his computer. After entering his DOD Umbra number and password, he typed in: “Current available information concerning Dr. Beckett's present leap," then hit the return key and waited, watching as the requested information flowed across the screen.

Al swore as what he would have preferred to see scrolling past several screens only required him to scroll up once.  There wasn't much he didn't already know.  Sam had leaped into Howie Lockwood, a junior drama major at Ohio State University.  He now had full names for everyone in the group: Skip Lagerman (Al was surprised that was actually the young man's given name), Russell Lovet-Hurston, Jr., Karen Mason, Ginger St. Germain, and Juanita Campanella.  Al reviewed the majors of the various young people, and still couldn't see anything that would trigger any sort of epiphany to help Sam out. 

He scrolled down and swore again when he reached the end of the information Ziggy had available.  Apparently either the logarithm was taking longer to compute or Disney's security system was that well prepared for a possible hack.  Either way, it didn't give them anything concrete to work with save the knowledge that after the resort stay was ended, Russell Lovet-Hurston, Jr. had apparently vanished into thin air.

Exhaling roughly, Al turned away from the computer and dug a cigar out of his pocket, shoving it into his mouth and lighting it in one tense movement.  He leaned his head back against his chair and drew a long pull on the tobacco.  Closing his eyes, Al concentrated only on the unique fragrant taste of the Chivello, inhaling the smoke and then exhaling smoothly. Just the act of smoking, tasting the cigar, seemed to help him focus and slowly he allowed a fragment of a thought about what he'd read on the computer to take center stage in his mind. Then he let another bit of a thought join that one and then another and another until he opened his eyes again and stared at the computer screen.

"Ziggy," he called out.

"Yes?"

Al ignored the computer's tone and got down to what he wanted done.  "Russ' family may have their personal family records sealed, but public records are another thing.  Dig into their credit card records."

"Time frame for the search?"

Al pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment. "Six months prior to the leap date and then four... no six weeks afterward.”

"Anything else, Admiral?" Ziggy inquired.

Al leaned back in his chair again and took another long slow pull off the cigar then exhaled a smooth stream of smoke. "Yeah. Check all of the cemetery records in Russ' hometown." He started to take another puff then stopped, adding, "And check all of the cemeteries where any of his relatives live."  Glancing at the computer screen again he said, "Even the Lovet-Hurstons can't sequester graves registration, I don't care how much money or clout they've got."

"Yes, Admiral," Ziggy said, withdrawing into silence.

Al returned his attention to the computer now, and scrolled back to the top of the information listed, re-reading it.  The knowledge that Russ had vanished combined with Howie's concern gave Al all the ammunition he needed to go full-force after his gut instinct that this leap centered on the young man.  Once more, he was beyond frustrated that while the goal could be that apparent in terms of who, that the what, when, and why were proving so elusive.

Not in the mood for Ziggy's petulant tones, Al now typed into the computer: "Current status of Dr. Beckett."  He smiled as the screen gave him the following information:

Dr. Beckett is currently seated in an amphitheatre in the Disney-MGM Studios Theme Park at Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida.  His pulse, temperature, and bodily functions are normal.

*Sam, I hope you're having a good time, buddy.  God knows you deserve to.*

A short time later, Al looked up and around when there was a knock on his door.

"Enter," he called out, still reclined comfortably in his chair, his relaxed posture in direct juxtaposition to the speed at which his thoughts were moving as he continued examining everything he knew about Sam's companions.

"Hi there," Beth said as she came in and shut the door. "I figured you'd be here," she added, crossing the room then circling the desk.  Leaning down, she touched a kiss to her husband's forehead then straightened.  "So what's the verdict?  Anything new?"

Taking the cigar from his mouth, Al huffed a short breath. "In a word... no."

Beth's hopeful demeanor faded.  She sat on the edge of the desk and touched his cheek.  "That bad, huh?"

Dropping his cigar into an ashtray, Al filled Beth in on what they did--and didn't--know.  He concluded with his certainty that Sam was there to help Russ Lovet-Hurston.  "But I don't know how," he finished.  "And if we don't figure it out... if Sam fails--or even feels he's failed..."

Beth leaned forward and laid a finger across Al's lips.  "Shhh," she said.  "I know you don't want to fail anyone either.  And you won't, honey.  You won't."  She got up from the desk and sat in his lap again, duplicating her soothing position prior to Sam's leap-in.  "You know the leap centers around Russ.  So you don't know yet when he disappears.  That's okay.  You and Sam can figure out enough to help him."

"Can we?" Al muttered, dropping his forehead against Beth's shoulder.

"Did you find anything out from talking with Howie?" Beth asked, reaching to stroke his head.

Al lifted his head and regarded her.  "Only that he's got a worry for Russ that carried through the Swiss-cheese effect."

She nodded thoughtfully.  "Well, if his concern is that great...maybe something else will come through if you talk to him again."

"Maybe..."

Al blew out a weary sigh after a moment then leaned his head against his wife's shoulder again, slipped an arm around her and gave her a quick hug then a pat on her hip.  "Let me up," he said.

Beth obliged, stepping back to give him room to stand. "Where are you going?"

He gave her a small smile. "To take your advice." At her vaguely puzzled look, he leaned over and kissed her softly then said, "I'm going to go talk to Howie some more." Moving slightly past her, he reached to catch her hand and they left his office together.  At the end of the hall they parted; she to return to their quarters, and Al to Waiting Room.

Al was lost in thought on his way back, and so was slightly startled when he found himself in front of the guards.  His double take apparently concerned the Marine on the left, because the young man questioned him.  "Sir?  Is something wrong?"

"No," Al waved him off.  "Just thinking about my next set of questions, that's all."

The guard nodded and resumed his professional stance, settling down from his ready-to-pounce mode.  Al keyed his way into the Waiting Room and, after the door swooshed open, belatedly knocked politely on the bulkhead.

Howie was perched at the head of the bed, his foot tapping and fingers snapping as he sang, but he stopped in mid-phrase as the admiral entered the room.  A broad grin spread across his face as he said, "Al!  Hey there!"

Al couldn't not have grinned in response if he'd even wanted to try. There was something infectious about Howie Lockwood. Not just his expression or his attitude but... the young man as a whole.  Advancing into the room, he said, "Whatever it was you were singing must be good. It's not often we have a one-man band enjoying himself in here like you."

Moving around the bed, Al perched on it at the foot of it. He noticed that not once had Howie's foot stopped tapping on one of lower rails of the bed as they had greeted each other. When the young man started humming, he told him, "If you want to sing, don't let me stop you. But just don't expect me to join in." He chuckled. "My wife says the only places I should sing are in the shower or in a rainstorm."

"Why?" Howie grinned. From the first moment he'd laid eyes on Al, he had taken an instant liking to him. That was proven out, at least to one degree, when he threw his head back and howled when Al said, "Because they’re the only places I can be drowned out without causing bodily harm to anyone's ears."

Al grinned as Howie was consumed by laughter.

"It... hee-hee... it can't be THAT bad, can it?" the young man squeaked out around peals of laughter.

"Let me just put it this way--one night I sang in my sleep and Beth gave me a cracked rib from elbowing me to try to wake me up and put a stop to it," Al said.

Howie doubled over, hooting.  "Okay, I believe you."  He sat up and wiped at his eyes.  "Hoo-boy, that must've been really bad."

"Okay, you don't have to rub it in now," Al teased.  The grin still hadn't left his face.  He waited for Howie to gain control of himself, but the fits of humor had put a stop to the toe tapping.  Al watched the young man for a moment, and then asked, "How are you holding up?  I know this has got to be pretty strange."

Howie chuckled once more as he turned to look at Al. "Yeah," he said, nodding his head. "On a scale of one to ten for weird, I'd say getting on the Tower of Terror and expecting to leave my stomach at the top of it, only to find myself here," he said, glancing around the room, even sparing a glance up at the observation window situated some fifteen feet high on the wall opposite the double doors. "I'd say this rates about a seven."

The answer caught Al a bit surprised. "Only a seven?" He thought about it for moment. "I'd dare to say that yours is one of the most surprising... arrivals to this room."

That caught Howie's attention. "Why surprising, Al?" he asked. Shifting a bit, he leaned back, braced on his hands.

Al almost didn't say it but did. "Primarily because from the moment you've been here, you haven't shown the least sign of fear."

Howie scanned his new friend's face. "Should I be?  Afraid, that is.”

That caught Al off-guard a bit.  "Well, you don't have anything to fear here.  I told you before, you're among friends.  It's just that most people... finding themselves suddenly in an unfamiliar place...” He spread his hands wide.  "You see why your reaction's a bit... unusual."

Howie raised his eyebrows at that and leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand.  "I guess...” He suddenly sat up and regarded Al intently.  "Wait a minute," he said, "I'm not the first person to have been here, then, am I?"

Al took in a breath, slightly bit his lower lip, then released both and shook his head.  "No, you're not."  He studied Howie for a moment, judging the calm and mature (despite a definite devil-may-care attitude) demeanor.  “Why do you think you’re here?”

For a minute or two Howie studied the older man's face, looked into his eyes then shifted his gaze as if looking off in the distance, pondering the question.

"Well," he began thoughtfully, still gazing away from Al. "You said that I'm part of a top secret experiment." He paused. "And that your friend is now in my life and I'm here... wherever... and whenever here is."

Al waited, wondering.  The young man was so different that the majority of visitors that had inhabited the Waiting Room over the last decade, and yet he was just a regular guy.

"And?" he prompted after Howie was silent again for a couple of more minutes.  The answer that he got wasn't what he was used to hearing.

"God," Howie finally said with casual confidence.

It took the Observer a full minute to get his tongue to work. "Did you say... God?"

"Numero Uno," Howie grinned.

Al blinked.  "That's what I thought you said."  Setting aside his own beliefs, let alone Sam's as well as the others as to Who actually wielded control of their Project, to hear the words uttered by Howie Lockwood stunned him.  He smiled encouragingly, disarmingly at Howie and asked, "Would you care to elaborate on that?"

"Sure.  You see, there isn't anywhere I can go or anything I can do that God's not in control of.  So... if I'm here, then God must have a reason for it.  I may not ever be able to figure it out, but that's okay.  I'll have a whole eternity to ask Him about it."  Howie leveled his gaze at Al.  "That's not the answer you expected either, was it?"

A not quite sheepish grin crept across Al's face as he reached a hand up to scratch the back of his neck as he held Howie's gaze.  "Uh… to be honest... no," he admitted. Tilting his head slightly he said, "I believe I can honestly say that you are the first... visitor to this room who hasn't explained their arrival here as either compliments of some government plot to kidnap people, aliens, or that they've died."

Howie's infectious grin just seemed to intensify at Al's explanation. "Well, even if I might have thought that, it still wouldn’t be any reason to be afraid." Seeing the vague look of skepticism come over Al's expression, he said, "Like I just told you, Al. If I'm here, no matter how I got here, it's by His hand that I'm here. Besides, if God is with me, who can be against me?  He knew I would come here, so I'll just hang onto the memories of this experience and wait till I can get the answers from Him."

"What makes you so sure that He'll give you the answers to all this?" Al asked, his gaze sweeping around the room then back to the visitor.

"I don't know necessarily that he'll give me all the answers," Howie said, sincerely.  "But He'll give me answers enough to get by on.  It's like the verse...'Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.'³  Have you ever walked on a completely dark path, Al?  Like when you're camping and trying to find your way to the outhouse in the middle of the night, and all you have to see by is a small lantern?  There's just enough light to make out the next step, and then the one after that.  Just enough light to take small steps forward on the journey."  He smiled at the Observer and finished, "So long as God's got hold of the lantern, I know I can take each step with complete faith."

The analogy of the lantern lighting a dark path, along with Howie's question about a completely dark path, struck an all too familiar chord within the Observer. The memories that rose up caused him to look down at one of his hands, a small hairline scar across his knuckles taking him back for a split second to the darkest time of his life.

He couldn't lift his eyes to look at the boy -- the difference in their ages was such that to Al, Howie was still a boy, even in his early twenties -- as he thought back to that time. *I wasn't too much older than you when I went down...* he thought to the visitor though still unable to look at him. Al continued to study the hairline scar on his knuckles, remembered how….

"Sometimes there are dark paths where there is no light," he said quietly.  "So dark that it makes you wonder if there really is any light at all." He exhaled a soft breath. "So dark you wonder if anybody cares if you ever get out of it." His words, meant only as a passing thought, stirred him inside, and he was silent for a few minutes. As his eyes continued to trace back and forth along that hairline scar on his knuckles, Al said, "That kind of dark..." He slowly shook his head. "That kind of dark can make a man think that there's no light and even ... no God."
 
Howie pressed his lips together as he watched the man before him become lost in a reverie and suddenly, he knew--he knew as surely as he knew the sun would arise the next morning--that Al spoke from personal experience.  He hesitantly reached out and touched the hand the admiral couldn't take his eyes off.
 
"But the light did come, didn't it, Al?  After all the darkness," he paused, chewing his lip before continuing.  He looked down at the hand and the thin white scar running crosswise across the knuckles.  "After all the pain, the light did come."
 
Al closed his eyes and inhaled a ragged breath.  "I guess it did at that.  But it didn't make the dark any easier to take."  He gently pulled his hand free of Howie's and massaged it with his left hand, as if rubbing away phantom pain from the scar.  "It didn't make the pain any easier to bear.  Or the years pass by any quicker."
 
The lightheartedness of the moments before melted before the unexpected turn for Howie Lockwood. Looking at Al's slightly downcast head, watching him rubbing at the scar, Howie felt compelled to reach out and again place a hand over the scarred knuckles.
 
Al swallowed tightly, wondering how all of a sudden the room was so full of oppression. He started to move his hand again from Howie's touch but stopped when the younger hand gently squeezed. He licked his lips and closed his eyes and drew in another ragged breath and blew it out.
 
*Come on, Calavicci. This isn't the time or place for this.*

Glancing at his watch, Al quickly stood up from the bed and moved toward the door. Pausing a few feet from the door, he looked back at the now clearly confused young man. Swallowing, he said, "I've got to go check... on something. But I'll be back later." He offered Howie Lockwood a smile he hoped was convincing, then hurried out of the Waiting Room.

Once outside in the hall, he didn't pause as he usually did, instead marching at a quick clip away from the Waiting Room and, he hoped, the memories.

PART FIVE

Disney-MGM Studios Theme Park

Walt Disney World

Thursday, September 11, 1997

4:45 PM

They had just entered the next display area and almost immediately felt a collective tighter squeezing together with everyone else.  From somewhere behind them, he heard a woman say, "Now I know what the sardines in a can feel like!"  Laughter bubbled up at that, then got a little louder, when the voice of an older gentlemen called out, "This reminds me of my college days when we used to see how many people we could get in a phone booth!"

Sam was laughing gleefully along with the crowd and almost missed a familiar craggy voice muttering just behind him and to the left, "You want tight? Try finding twelve inches of space to sleep in with thirty men in a room designed for only ten."

Sam's instinct was to whirl to find his Observer but not only was it difficult to do in the crowded queue, it would certainly have called attention to himself.  Therefore, he slowly pivoted to face Al, pretending to follow the path of a tray of spare parts being conveyored around the room as part of the maintenance bay theming.  He lowered his gaze to look at the older man's face.  Al’s comment had not just alerted Sam to his presence, but also pricked Sam’s worry; thoughts of Vietnam were obviously foremost in Al’s mind for some reason.

Al, who was hovering at Sam's height over the themed area to Sam's half of the divided queue, met Sam's eyes and saw the concern there.  Hastily, he grinned and said, "Star Wars.  You must be loving this, Sam!"

Sam smiled back and nodded.  Behind him, Ginger asked, "What are you nodding about, Howie?"

Turning to face her, Sam said, "I was just wondering to myself if the next tray to pass by would have a widget it in, and sure enough it did."

"Oh-kay," Ginger said, rolling her eyes at him.

Sam returned his attention to the Observer and casually said, "I wonder how much longer we'll be here."  He meaningfully raised his eyebrows to signify that he meant for Al to let him know if they'd learned anything more back at the Project.

Al didn't pick up on his meaning immediately, his attention deflected to Ginger and the fedora cocked on her head.  He glanced down at his attire, dark brown slacks and a mottled brown and green shirt with copper buttons and remarked, "Now that's what I should've added to this look.  I'm glad to see the girl's got style... and knows how to wear a fedora."  He looked back at Sam, who was now tilting his head to the side and slightly bugging his eyes out as he silently demanded information.

Ginger poked him in the back.  "Howie, the line just moved forward about five steps... do you mind?"

All too familiar with how quickly Sam could pick up on things unsaid, the Observer played along with Ginger.  "Come on, Sam, move it. Otherwise the natives just might hustle you to the end of the line and make you walk all the way through again!"

"I doubt that," Sam whispered.

"Well, if you don't believe me, Mr. Know-It-All-About-Stars-Wars technology," Ginger poked Sam in the ribs again then gave him a mock push, "turn around and see for yourself."  Seeing Howie's head snap around, followed by his hasty advance to close the gap, she just shook her head. Catching up behind him, she put her hands on his waist, stating, "Looks like the pilot of this shuttle has gone to sleep, so I'll just backseat drive until we clear the launch bay."

That brought peals of laughter from several other visitors, and even Al joined in as he watched his best friend basically, but good-naturedly, man... or rather, woman-handled on through the rest of the queue, Ginger releasing him only when they all took their seats in the “shuttlepod” and fastened their safety belts.

Once the simulated ride (in which Sam got to experience his dream of flying through the Death Star) ended and the group was outside again, Sam wiggled free of Ginger's fingers that had suddenly discovered the ticklish spots just below his ribs.

"Okay, the 'pilot's' back on duty now, thank you very much," he insisted, though he spent the next couple of minutes fighting off Karen and Juanita's attempts to get at those spots.

Al chuckled as he watched Sam struggling with the girls.  "That's how roughhousing sessions often ended with mine," he grinned.  "Jacqueline would go after my feet while Elizabeth and Victoria attacked my ribs."  He laughed as Sam finally broke free, and said, "Then, of course, it was payback when they let me up.  You should've seen it.  Shrieking girls dashing every which way around the living room.  I usually caught the twins first."

A smirk crossed Sam's face, and he suddenly lunged forward, snagging each girl around the waist and tickling them in "payback."

"Truce!  Truce!" the girls screamed, convulsing with laughter.  Sam let them go, playfully knocking the brim of each of their fedoras.

Skip reached to snag the Goofy cap from Sam's back pocket, where he'd stuck it while playing with the fedoras in the Indy gift shop.  He dropped it on Sam's head, tugging the brim down to Sam's nose, and then saying, "I'm hungry.  Let's grab a bite to eat somewhere."

"Oh, let's try the Prime Time!" Karen said.  She pointed at the Indiana Jones amphitheatre that was just visible from their position.  "I think it's on the other side of that lake."

The group was amenable to that, so they began walking, skirting the edge of Echo Lake and admiring the large green dinosaur statue that doubled as an ice cream stand--honoring Gertie the Dinosaur, Winsor McKay's pioneering animated vaudeville act from 1914.  As they rounded the edge of the lake, Al noticed Russ starting to hang back. 

"Sam, slow up a bit," said Al, his attention never having left the young man who, it was becoming more and more apparent, was the focus of this Leap.

Sam did, letting the group surge ahead, but still keeping pace with them.  "What is it?" he quietly asked.

"I'll tell you when we can talk freely," Al said, gesturing at Russ, who'd stopped at the edge of the manmade lake.

Sam followed slowly after the group, which was now, late in the day, starting to straggle slightly.  Neither his nor Russ' lagging was either noticed or commented on.  The girls spoke with the Cast Member at the entrance to the Fifties Prime Time Cafe, and though advised that the wait would be over half an hour due to their lack of a Priority Seating, decided to wait.  While the three girls and Skip went inside the restaurant to wait in the kitschy themed living room, Sam followed Al to a park bench just nearby, where he settled and asked, "Okay, what do you know?"

"Just a feeling mostly," Al said.  He pointed at Russ, who was staring across the lake at Gertie.  "My gut tells me you're here for that kid."  He picked up the handlink, but to his disappointment, no additional information was forthcoming.  "All we know is that subsequent to the group checking out on Sunday the 14th, Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr. was never heard from again."

The sparse information was more than enough to put a damper on the relaxed carefreeness which had enveloped the leaper for the greater part of the afternoon since his near heart-stopping leap-in.  Following the Observer's nod toward the lake, Sam easily picked Russ out from the handful of other people, an older couple and some other college age kids, also near the shore of Echo Lake.

"What about his family?" Sam asked as the mantle of responsibility settled figuratively but no less literally over his shoulders as he studied the handsome young man standing motionless by the water. Shifting his gaze back to his Observer he asked, "What did Ziggy find in the local newspapers?"

Al just shook his head. "Ziggy ran a search on the local newspapers, even did a nationwide search, but she didn't find so much as a single line of print about Russ.  And we haven’t figured out how to hack past Disney’s firewall yet." Meeting his friend's thoughtful gaze, he said, "It's like he just vanished off the face of the Earth." 

"Al," Sam said, a flavor of annoyance at the phrase coloring his tone. "People don't just vanish out of existence."

"Yeah?" Al quipped back. "Then where's Jimmy Hoffa?"

"Al!"

The moment of levity lingered a moment longer then gently faded as leaper and hologram turned their gazes and thoughts to the young man with, from their vantage point, a melancholy expression.  It seemed as if Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr., though surrounded by acres of entertainment and hundreds of people enjoying the gifts that had been born and come to fruition out of the imagination and determination of one man, was completely alone.

"What about the kid in the Waiting Room?" Sam finally asked softly as he stood up from the bench. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he took a couple of steps toward the lake then stopped and looked back to his friend. "Has he been able to tell you anything?"

Al studied the intermittently flashing lights on the handlink rather than look up immediately to his friend.  *More than I expected,* he thought, but said, "The only thing Howie can remember, if you can call it that, is that he says that he's been getting... a feeling for a while that something's not quite right with Russ."

"Is he in some sort of trouble at home?" Sam asked, returning to stand in front of the hologram.

Al shook his head. "It's not that kind of trouble."

"What kind of trouble is it, then?" Sam pressed.

Al sighed a bit shortly then thought to take a deep breath and let it out before he answered.  "All Howie has said, and keeps saying, is that he's got a... a burden for Russ."

"A what?"

"A burden," Al repeated.  He shrugged.  "Sam, have you wondered at all why these kids are at Disney World when they should be in class?  It's only the second week of September."

Sam's expression revealed that only as the Observer had uttered the words had the thought crossed his mind. 

Al pressed a button on the handlink, calling up the transcript of his conversation with Howie so he could be sure to get the information correct.  "Tomorrow night, the Magic Kingdom is going to close early for a special event.  It's called the Nights of Joy.  It's a Christian concert series, and you all traveled down here to experience it.  As Howie put it, it's 'joy that just soaks into a person's soul and fills a lot of empty spaces with something only God can give.'"  He looked at Sam and raised an eyebrow.  "You've leaped into a kid with a lot of faith, Sam.  He asked Beth for a Bible, and he was reading it when I went to speak to him the first time."

Sam looked uncertainly at Al.  "Al, my parents brought me up in church, but apart from the occasions I've attended as part of a Leap, it's been years since I darkened the doorstep of a church."

Al scanned his friend's face closely in the gentle light of the first hints of the approaching sunset. He 'tasted' the words that came into his mind at the word 'darkened' before actually saying them.

"Up 'til Vietnam," he admitted, "I was pretty much the same way." There was more that he could have said but he shook it off, shifting emotional gears with the ease of years of practice where his friend was concerned. "Anyway, Howie, while having the earmarks of a class clown, is also one of the most settled in his faith people I've ever met in my life, Sam," Al said with quiet earnestness. "There's no shaking him. And, I believe him, what he's feeling about Russ."

Sam wasn't quite sure how he felt about the unusual turn that had brought him this information. Still, Al, when it got down to brass tacks, was always on the up and up with him.

"Well, go back and talk to Howie some more," he said, just as he saw Russ turn and start in his direction.  Spinning quickly on his heel, Sam hurried several feet toward the restaurant then slowed to an amble.  A moment later he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned toward its owner.

"Hey, where are the others?" Russ asked, a perfect, relaxed smile crossing his face as he fell into step beside his friend.

"Inside," Sam said.  Covering for his presence outside, he added, "I was hanging around out here so you'd know where we all were."

"Cool, thanks," Russ said.  "Shall we?"  He gestured toward the restaurant, and they entered. 

"Yo, Howie!  Russ!" Skip called, waving from a plastic covered floral couch in a living room to their left.  Clips from classic Fifties TV shows played in a loop on the vintage sets in the room. Sam and Russ made for a nearby bench, when an older gentleman dressed in slacks and an oxford shirt with a letterman's sweater entered the room and shouted, "Mason family!  Dinnertime for the Mason family!"

"Oh, that's us!" Karen said.  "They used my name."  Rising, they followed the Cast Member into a room themed like a Fifties kitchen, complete with Formica tabletops and linoleum flooring, the ubiquitous vintage TVs and sitcom clips continuing their loop.

Throughout the relaxed and fun dinner, where their "older sister" waited on them, scolding them to keep their elbows off the table, Sam watched Russ for any signs of trouble, but the young man held his own throughout the dinner, even grinning good-naturedly when the Bobbysox-costumed server fed him the last broccoli on his plate, making the entire room contribute with the "annnnnnnnnn" sounds of an airplane coming in for a landing. 

Still, Sam knew if not only from his own observations of Russ' expression and posture earlier, but also from Al's reaction and his assessment of Howie, that something beneath the surface rode heavily on Russ Lovet-Hurston, Jr..  He only hoped that he could identify it and affect it for Russ' benefit before he went the way of Jimmy Hoffa.

When Russ had finished the last bite of his broccoli like a good boy and the bill had been paid, Sam and the others made their way outside, making room for another group of visitors to have their turn at dinner with "big sister" watching over them.

Patting his stomach exaggeratedly, Skip declared, "That was some mighty fine vittles! Now all I need is a hammock and a little breeze..."

Juanita piped in, "That may be what you want, but what you get, Mr. Two Helpings of Everything, is a brisk walk with me to the MuppetVision3D." She grinned impishly, reaching to give his middle a pat.

"Oh not that!" Skip groaned.  "I'd rather..."

Sam, who had subtly moved out of the line fire between the two friends, had been scanning the area, and listening to bits of conversation as other park visitors passed by them.

"Hey, Skip," Sam called. "The Great Movie Ride is an option.  That is, if you're not into talking frogs and prima donna piggies."

"Hmmm, that's not a bad idea," Skip said, whipping the guide map out of his back pocket and skimming the description.  "Classic movie scenes.  And you know the animatronics are top-notch.  All right, who's with me?"

Juanita pouted.  "Now that's not fair, I went on the Tower when I didn't want to.  I don't want to do the Muppets by myself!"

"I'll go with you," said Karen.

"So will I," added Sam, figuring that MuppetVision3D had to be safer than The Great Movie Ride.  However, when Russ and Ginger opted to go with Skip, Sam stifled a sigh that he wouldn't be able to observe him. 

"Okay, we'll meet back at Echo Lake by the dinosaur when we're done," suggested Skip.

"Sounds good to me," said Sam, pleased to see Juanita's grin and glad to escape anything that had the word "ride" in the name for a while, no matter how enjoyable he'd found the "space flight" in Star Tours.

Having deftly sidestepped another ride, Sam, full of a good meal and feeling better than he had for a good while, he was getting the impression, gallantly offered an arm to Karen and Juanita. 

"At least there's one gentlemen in the lot," Karen teased, tossing her hair, and grinning.

As the threesome passed Skip, he let Sam know what he thought of that move, and began making loud kissy noises.  When Sam stopped and half turned, Skip just grinned wider, then tossed him a cocky salute and turned to Russ and Ginger. "C'mon troops. Let’s ride them thar movie rails!"

In the quickly lowering evening light, Sam and the girls made their way to the MuppetVision3D.  Though the evening crowds had thinned considerably from the high volume of the day, it took them a good ten minutes; but instead of a long line, it was almost a snap getting inside, where they were entertained by a video of the Muppets that literally spanned three television screens.  Sam chuckled at one visual gag involving Gonzo, then nearly laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes as Sam Eagle gave his instructions, interrupted briefly by Rizzo the Rat impersonating Mickey Mouse and defending himself by declaring, “They’re tourists, what do they know?”

After an admonition to refrain from eating, drinking, and flash photography, the automatic doors opened and the pre-show area emptied into the auditorium for the 3-D experience.  Most of the theater was full when Sam and the girls found some seats, and spent the next few moments chatting and laughing with some other patrons.  At last the show began, and though he hadn't spent much time watching the Muppets in his youth, Sam found the innocent fun put on by the lovable characters more relaxing than anything that he might have thought of if he'd wanted to try to think of something.  As it was, it was he who wound up wearing a sheepish grin, his cheeks flushing a rosy pink when the lights came up and he blurted out, "It's over?  Already?"

Looking quizzically at him through the purple-framed 3-D glasses she'd not yet removed, Juanita said, "Howie, I didn't know you were such a Muppets fan."

Before Sam could say anything, Karen broke in, "You didn't?  Juanita, honey... the man longs to BE Fozzie Bear.  With a better sense of humor though, right, Howie?"

"Uh, right," said Sam, grinning back.  "Wocka wocka wocka!"

The girls giggled, and they all rose and removed their 3-D glasses, following the exiting crowd to the right while a new crowd left the pre-show area and filed in to take their seats, filling those recently vacated as the theatre restored its luster.  No signs of the Swedish Chef's cannonfire remained.

As they passed outside, they discarded the glasses in the receptacles and emerged into a courtyard.  At Karen's urging, they paused at the fountain in the center, Miss Piggy oscillating and spritzing water from the crown on her head, while Fozzie filmed and Gonzo and Kermit directed.  Karen made Sam pose with Fozzie and snapped a picture with her disposable camera.

Happier than he'd been in longer than he cared to admit, Sam allowed the girls to drag him into the gift shop, where he was cajoled into buying a small Fozzie Bear keychain.  *Sorry, Howie,* Sam apologized, hoping that his host did indeed like Fozzie Bear and wasn't just made the further victim of his friends' humor.  Come to think of it, he hoped Howie didn't have an aversion to Goofy, either.

Fifteen minutes or so passed and then Sam, having been keeping an eye on his watch, got to play 'big brother' to the girls as he began nudging them to make up their minds then make their purchases.

"We just got here," Karen protested.  "Besides, I think you need a Fozzie T-shirt to go along with that key chain."

"I'll do my best to muddle along without one, thank you very much," Sam responded lightly. Lightly he waved his hands in front of him and at the girls in a shooing motion.  "Come on. The checkout is over there."

"But..."

Sam put his foot down.  Taking the Goofy cap off his head, he divided a mock look of impatience between the girls.  "The last one out of the gift shop has to wear this all the way back to the resort." 

He chuckled at the way Karen returned the look, saying, "You wouldn't dare!"

Strolling the few steps closer to her, Sam gave her a look that would have made Ginger proud. "Oh no?" he said, his eyes dancing.  "Maybe you should talk to my little sister and ask her if ‘I wouldn't dare!’"

Karen narrowed her eyes at him.  "I thought you were the baby in your family, Howie."

*Oops.* Without missing a beat, Sam said, "I rest my case."  He held the hat ominously over her head.  Karen defiantly snatched it out of his hand and jammed it on her head, resolutely slowing down and flipping through a rack of T-shirts.

Sam let out a long-suffering sigh.  "Fine.  Have it your way.  I'm going back to the lake.  Juanita?"

Juanita hesitated.  "Uh, I'm going to stay with Karen.  You know she's got no sense of direction.  She'll never find her way alone."  She looked apologetically at him.

"Girls," Sam muttered.  "I should've known... can't even go to the bathroom alone!"

After paying for his key chain, Sam left the gift shop and went outside. For a moment he just stood, enjoying the soft night air and the sense of peacefulness that had somehow wrapped itself around him. Even his mind was moving at a slower pace.

Scanning the area, he consulted the map in his head and without hesitation, set off in the direction of the lake. The walk back didn't seem to take quite as long, and soon he caught a glimpse of points of light sparkling on the surface of Echo Lake and turned toward it.

It was easy enough for Sam to find the bench where he'd sat and talked with Al earlier, as well as getting his first good look at the young man the Observer had pegged as the reason for his leap into the life of Howie Lockwood. It would, if luck or whatever was on his side, give him an another opportunity to get some further clue as to what might be eating at Russ with such relentless intent that the young man felt compelled to keep it hidden from his friends.  A ‘something’ that would, unless he was able to change the original history, lead to Russell Lovet-Hurston, Jr., as Al had put it, ‘vanishing from the face of the Earth.’

***Unless you fail again.***

The mean little whispering voice, however, ran up against the Beckett stubbornness as the leaper banished it from his mind nearly as fast as it had sneaked in.

Dropping down on the bench, Sam spread his arms out along the back of it, stretched his legs out before him and took in a breath of the cool air.  His gaze wandered idly to the water and then to the people nearby. As it was, he almost missed Russ, standing in a patch of partial shadow a short distance away.  Once more, though he couldn't see the other man's face as clearly as he had earlier in the day at this same place, there was something in Russ' stance that told the leaper that he was again lost in thought.

Sam was just about to get up and make his way over to Russ with the idea of trying to talk to him, when he jerked back as suddenly something both white and brightly colored furled down before his eyes practically at the end of his nose.

"What the heck?!"  It took a couple of seconds for him to refocus his eyes for the so up close proximity of the object before he realized that what he was looking at was a T-shirt with a large picture of Fozzie Bear on it with "wocka, wocka, wocka" everywhere that Fozzie's likeness wasn't.

Grabbing the shirt from the hands that were dangling it before his face, Sam rolled his eyes, and half spun around on the bench and scowled, albeit good-naturedly, at Karen and Juanita who were all but falling on the ground in fits of giggles.

"You HAD to have it, Howie!" Karen giggled.  "I mean, after all... you ARE Fozzie!"

"Thanks a bunch!" he muttered then wadded the shirt and pitched at the girls.

"Hey!" Juanita shrieked.  The shirt had landed on her head and draped over her face.  She yanked it down, mussing her hair so that several dark strands now stood straight out thanks to the static electricity.  "What kind of thanks is that for a gift."

Sam stood and sketched a deep, flourishing bow.  "My esteemed and deepest gratitude for such a kind, generous, and purely heartfelt gift," he said sarcastically.

"Wocka, wocka, wocka!" said Karen when he popped back up.  She shoved the shirt back in the Disney shopping bag from whence it had come and tucked it under her arm. "Don't worry, we won't pull a 'Goofy hat' on you with this.  We won't even make you carry it."  She exchanged a wicked look with Juanita, who was smoothing her errant hairs down.  "But you will wear it on the plane ride back!"

"Fine," Sam said, praying that he wouldn't be there when the group headed for home, but that Howie would.  He spared a glance back at the lake, and Russ, who was once again jovial as Ginger and Skip rejoined him and they all caught sight of Sam and the other two.  *And hopefully you will be too, Russ.*

To Be Continued

===================

1—Psalm 23:1

2—Psalm 121:1-2

3—Psalm 119:105

If you’ve never been to Walt Disney World, short video clips of some of the attractions featured in this episode are available for viewing at http://www.go2orlando.com/attractions/go2-mm-ridesvideo-teaser,0,937431.teaser   

Simply select Walt Disney World from the index page, and on the page of clips you can access footage of The Tower of Terror, The Great Movie Ride, and Star Tours.  Each clip is approximately thirty seconds to one-minute in length and may be identified by hovering your mouse over the thumbnail for a drop-down title before clicking.