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 ones 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.

PREVIOUSLY ON QUANTUM LEAP

Due to shared mesons and neurons with Al, Sam has leaped outside his own lifetime and into the life of Al's mother Jillian on October 29, 1938. While dealing with Jillian's busy life, Sam nevertheless succeeds in not only saving Hetty Calhoun's life but also that of her best friend Imogene Kelley, whose accidental death when hit by a fire truck while crossing the street turned out to be one of the catalysts to Hetty's now aborted suicide. A visit with his mother in the Waiting Room allowed Al to convince his mother to quit smoking while pregnant, thus saving his unborn brother from dying of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. However, there appears to be more that's needed to be done as Sam hasn't leaped yet and the time of Orson Welles' broadcast draws nearer.

PART NINE

Walking behind Hetty and Immie, Sam was grateful that Gino insisted on giving him physical support by having Sam take his arm. Not only was it completely in his host's character to do so but it helped take the weight off of his injured knee, which definitely needed cleaning and bandaging.

While they walked, Immie excitedly told Hetty about the radio play that was going to be on CBS that night.

"You know how much I like H.G. Wells' books?" Immie stated, her tone filled with anticipation. "Well, 'The Mercury Theatre on the Air' is going to do a radio play of one of Wells' books. And guess what? It's 'The War of the Worlds'! My favorite book ever! And it's going to be on tonight! Uncle George convinced my parents to listen to it instead of Charlie McCarthy. You've got to listen to it too so that we can talk about it tomorrow."

"Oh, Immie," Hetty sighed. "You know I don't like science fiction. Besides, my parents really like 'The Chase and Sanborn Hour'. There's no way they're going to let me listen to that even if I were interested in science fiction."

"Aw, come on!" Immie pleaded. "It's gonna be aces! Besides, I've got two words for you," she said, holding up two fingers. "Orson Welles." She said the name as if they were the most important information ever conveyed.

Hetty smiled, a slight coloring coming to her face as she remembered how the radio performer sounded when he portrayed The Shadow a month and a half before. Oh, the program didn't say it was Welles performing the titular role but she'd heard his voice plenty of times before where they gave him credit. It wasn't hard for her to put two and two together. "He does have a nice voice."

"Are you kidding? It's gorgeous!" Immie exclaimed. "One day, I'm gonna marry that man."

Al, having been listening to the conversation, laughed gently. "Too late, kid. He's already married." He punched some buttons on the handlink for more information. "In a few years, he and his wife get divorced and then he marries… Rita Hayworth! Lucky dog!" His smile faded slightly. "Oh, they get divorced too and he goes on to have another wife and then a mistress while he's still married to her." He shook his head. "Glad I've got my Beth."

Hetty was chuckling at Imogene's pronouncement. "I'll see what I can do but I don't think it's gonna happen."

The handlink chirped, telling Al that Ziggy had more relevant information on the leap. Reading the latest update, Al paused in his pace to allow Sam and Gino to catch up to him. The group was nearing Immie's house.

"Sam, Ziggy says that now that Immie's told Hetty about the broadcast, the chances of her committing suicide have dropped to the low 30s. She suggests, though, that in order to get those odds down even further, Hetty and her family should listen to the broadcast in its entirety. Ziggy says if that happens, the family won't panic and the chances of Hetty committing suicide will drop to zero. She also suggests that you and Papa do the same."

Listening to Al advisement about Hetty, a soft sigh issued from Sam’s lips.

“Is your knee hurting worse?” Gino asked, interrupting the Leaper’s train of thought. “I can carry you, bellissima…”

“No, no,” Sam assured him. “It’s just…” Whatever he’d been about to say vanished as something equally important occurred to him. “Oh, my God!” he exclaimed. “The children!”

“No, no! Jillie, it’s okay!”

“No, it’s not,” Sam retorted, a thread of anxiousness in his voice. “Allie and Trudy…”

“Are fine,” Gino reassured his wife. “Lydia came out to see what was going on. She saw me running for the stairs and I asked her if she would watch the children until we got back. She said she would and went right on into our apartment.”

"It's okay, Sam," Al put in. "Lydia Marcelli is one of our neighbors. She and her brother Paul own Ricardo's two floors below us at street level."

“Okay,” Sam relented, relaxing a bit, which only served for the throbbing in his injured knee to assert itself. Sighing again, he leaned a bit against Gino, grateful for the support of his arm behind his waist.

“Jillie?” Gino questioned gently, scanning her face.

Their conversation having been interrupted by the Sam’s concerned outcry, Hetty and Imogene turned toward the couple walking a few paces behind them. Seeing Jillian leaning against her husband, the girls moved back to the couple, catching the last few words between them.

“Mrs. Calavicci?” Imogene asked. “Are you okay?” Seeing the woman wince a bit, she said, “You don’t have to come with me to explain to Ma. She’ll fuss some…”

Sam wouldn’t hear it. “We..,” he started firmly, a bit of a smile softening the insistent tone, “I want to explain, one mother to another, why you were delayed in getting back on time.”

“But your knee…” Hetty began.

“...will be fine,” he assured the man and girls collectively watching him. “After,” he enunciated the word clearly, “I am satisfied that your mother understands, then we can take care of my knee. After all, it’s only a little scrape.”

Time, Fate or Whatever was apparently on Sam’s side. Gino and the girls subsided their attempts to dissuade him and, within five or six minutes, they reached a gray two-story Victorian house midway along the block. As Imogene had expected, Mariah Kelley, stood at the top of the front steps, hands on her hips, her dark eyes fixed disapprovingly on her approaching daughter. There was no sense in trying to avoid what was coming. Starting up the steps, she opened her mouth to speak, but it was Sam who spoke first.

“Mrs. Kelley,” Sam began, then changed tactics when Al, with the handlink’s help, advised him that Mariah Kelley and Jillian were friends. “Mariah…”

Momentarily distracted, Immie’s mother shifted her gaze to the woman moving closer to her daughter. Recognizing her friend, Mariah Kelley forgot her annoyance and hurried down the steps.

“Jillian!” she exclaimed, sweeping the younger woman with a discerning expression, not missing the spot of blood on the front of Jillian’s dress near the hem. “What on Earth happened?!”

“I tripped over a jump rope on the sidewalk, but I’m fine,” Sam insisted for what seemed the umpteenth time in the past half-hour. “The reason I… we came, is to explain why Imogene is late getting back. You see…,” he began, but now that the adrenaline was fading from his system, he suddenly felt a bit lightheaded. “I… think I need to sit down,” he murmured.

“Of course, of course!” Mariah exclaimed. “Gino, bring her inside to the kitchen where I can tend to that knee.” From one minute to the next, Sam found himself swept up in Gino Calavicci’s arms, carried up the steps and into the Kelleys’ first-floor apartment and into the kitchen.

“Mariah, what’s going on in here?” a woman asked from the kitchen door.

Mariah looked up from where she was carefully drawing down the torn stocking from her friend’s leg in order to tend to Jillian’s scraped and bleeding knee.

“Oh, Lucilla,” she said. “Put the kettle on for some hot water.” Glancing at her sister, she added, “You remember Jillian, don’t you?”

Lucilla scanned the face of the woman on the chair, considered a moment then nodded. “Yes! Last Christmas wasn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s it,” Mariah agreed. “Well she’s took a spill a bit ago, and managed to scrape her knee up fair well. Hetty, Immie, go get some towels and bandages.”

With the women bustling about tending to his knee, as well as making sure his water glass remained full, for the next half hour Sam couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Only when the last strip of adhesive tape was in place on the bandage was he able to get a word in. Exercising care in his choice of words, Sam managed to retain control of explaining the cause for Imogene’s tardiness, without interruption.

“So,” he said, meeting Mariah Kelley’s intent gaze with an apologetic smile, “it was my fault that Imogene was late getting home.” He paused. “I am very sorry to have delayed her, on the other hand...”

Immie’s mother, with a dismissive flick of her hand, would have none of the apology. Rather, she moved to where Sam sat, leaned in and hugged him. Drawing back, she looked into his eyes and declared, “There’s no need for apologies, Jillian! Your mothering instincts are strong and I am thankful… for my Imogene’s sake… that you listened to them today, as I’m sure you do every day with your own bambini.” Her choice of word clarified to Sam that Mariah and her sister Lucilla were both of Italian descent, though both married outside of the ethnicity.

Gino had, upon Mariah Kelley’s taking over the care of his wife’s injured knee and hands, glanced around the now full kitchen. Seeing her husband, Michael, and another man standing in the doorway, he made his way to them. 

Michael removed his pipe from his mouth, a grin spreading across his face. “Mariah’s always been one to size up a situation and take charge before the evenin’ mist could settle over a bog.” Pausing, he added, “You remember George Parker, don’t’cha? Mariah’s sister Lucilla’s husband.” He paused to take another puff on his pipe.

Hearing the man’s name, Gino nodded, extending his hand to the other man. “Yeah, I remember him.” Glancing back to where his wife was surrounded by the women, he added with a rueful chuckle, “I’m just wondering how long it’s going to take me get my wife home.”

Sam, from where he sat, almost dizzy with the seemingly multiple conversations going on around him, still managed to catch a word here and there from the three men’s conversation a few feet away. Hearing Gino’s comment, the Leaper seized the opportunity presented.

“Mariah,” he spoke up, a bit louder to gain attention. “Thank you so much for what you’ve done but...” It wasn’t Mariah, but Imogene, who put the brakes to the rest of whatever Sam had been about to say.

Always a quick study, Imogene crossed her fingers and took the opportunity that had suddenly appeared. “Ma,” she suggested, “perhaps the Calaviccis should stay for dinner. And Hetty too. It is getting close to dinnertime, after all."

Sam shook his head slightly. "I’ve imposed on your kindness…"

“Imposed?!” Michael Kelley exclaimed, crossing the kitchen to Sam’s side. “Tis no imposition, Jillian!” he declared kindly. “What are friends for, after all? And,” he added, turning to his wife, “I think, Mrs. Kelley, that we can find room at the supper table for three more.”

Mariah nodded, her smile widening. “As you say, Mr. Kelley!” Glancing around, she caught her daughter’s eye. “Immie, set three more places for supper.”

"I can't stay. Mama's going to worry about me," Hetty put in. "I'm supposed to help out at the potluck."

Sam’s parenting instincts were still active as he glanced up at Gino for support. “And Gino and I really need to get home to the children. We can’t impose on Lydia more than we have.” But the Kelleys wouldn’t hear of it.

“Lydia Marcelli? She's the best sitter, bar none,” Mariah declared. "No offense, Hetty. Lydia’s sat with my own children many times. Your little ones are safe as safe can be in her care. In fact…” She glanced around. “Michael, do you have fifty cents in your pocket?"

Before Sam, or Gino, could get another word out, Michael Kelley, agreeing without comment to his wife request, pulled out a small handful of coins. Selecting two quarters, he turned to his son waiting nearby.

“Terrence, you know where Mr. and Mrs. Calavicci live?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy responded.

“Take these fifty cents to their apartment and give it to Miss Marcelli. Tell her that the Calaviccis are having supper with us and that they will be home in about an hour. Maybe two.”

"Fifty cents?!" Al exclaimed. "For an adult taking care of two kids for at least two hours? What a cheap ass!" Seeing the raised eyebrows Sam was giving him, he clarified. "The Fair Labor Standards Act went into effect six days ago. Michael there wants to pay Lydia minimum wage to take care of me and Trudy. It's nice that he wants to pay for the service but… minimum wage?!"

Terrence had started towards the door to obey his father but stopped when he heard Gino protesting the offer of dinner.

“Oh, no, no. We can’t possibly…”

Michael Kelley went to the younger man. Putting a hand on Gino’s shoulder, an action which stilled the protest for a moment, he said, “I know you have to be up early for work in the mornin', but let us thank you for the concern that your wife showed today for my darlin’ Imogene. Just a bit of supper…”

"Ah, but you don't have room at your table for all nine of us," Gino protested.

Even while Michael and Mariah Kelley were trying to convince Gino that he and his wife should stay for dinner, Sam glanced at Hetty, who obviously seemed concerned about the time. Lowering his head, he covered his mouth to avoid being overheard by anyone other than his Observer. "What if Hetty stays to listen to the broadcast with the Kelleys?"

Al entered Sam’s question on the handlink; the response was almost instantaneous. He sighed, saying, “According to Ziggy’s calculations, it only improves the odds by point one three percent.”

"How can that be? She'll know the whole thing is just a play and Immie's safe, right?"

"Yeah, but the rest of her family is still going to listen to 'The Chase Sanborn Hour' and change the channel to CBS at an inopportune time. They're going to get caught up in the panic and with Hetty away from the house… Well, if it were my kid and I thought the world was coming to an end, I'm not sure how rational I would be. They aren't hurt themselves but if Hetty thinks they've been hurt… Sam, she's a very sensitive young woman."

"Then what do you suggest I do?"

"You gotta convince Hetty to convince her folks to listen to Welles' broadcast," Al told him.

"How do I do that? These people aren't letting us leave!"

Al shrugged slightly in acknowledgement of the situation. "You got me there. Some of my parents' friends, especially Mama's, did tend to be a bit too friendly and verbose." He sighed. "Until they were neither after they noticed Trudy was different," he finished with a mutter. He shook his head slightly then stopped, his eyes widening as a thought came - a possible solution to the problem at hand. "The potluck! Sam, suggest everyone goes to the potluck!"

"The potluck?" Sam queried, not realizing he'd spoken so loudly.

"That's a marvelous idea, dear!" Gino put in. "Why don’t all of you come to our neighborhood potluck? It's just starting right now." He gestured towards George and Lucilla. "You're visiting, yes? Have you ever been to our monthly potluck?" Gaining a negative response, he smiled. "Oh, it's wonderful! A time for community and friendship… and really good food. Jillian made her famous mincemeat pie for the occasion. And with tomorrow being Halloween, we've all planned some special treats for the children." He turned to Michael and Mariah. "What do you say? You know how much fun it is."

Sam took the opportunity that presented itself. "And afterwards, we can all listen to the radio together."

"Another great idea! I'm sure Paul wouldn't mind a few extra people. He's got plenty of room at Ricardo's. We can all listen to Charlie McCarthy together!"

Imogene's face dropped at the suggestion. "But we were going to listen to 'The War of the Worlds'," she protested.

"We did promise," George pointed out.

Again, Sam verbally stepped in. "How about we all listen to 'The War of the Worlds'?" he suggested, gaining a variety of reactions from the group. Imogene was clearly excited with suggestion. George and Lucilla gave smiles, agreeable to the arrangement. Hetty was still obviously worried about returning home to help her mother. The most notable reactions, however, were from Mariah, Michael, and Gino, who looked at Sam with stunned surprise.

"You want to listen to 'The War of the Worlds'?" Mariah questioned. "I didn't know you liked science fiction."

Sam bit his lip and looked to Al for guidance. The Observer gave him a smile.

"Don't worry, Sam. Mama loved fantasy and science fiction. She usually came to the movies with us when Uncle Jack came over. She'd pretend that it was just to help keep an eye on me and Trudy but that was just a cover."

"What about listening to Edgar Bergen?" Gino put in. "We always listen to Edgar Bergen."

"Exactly," Sam told him. "Why don’t we listen to something else for a change? Besides, I know for a fact that Allie will love it."

"You can bet your patooties on that," Al put in emphatically.

Sam pointed to Hetty. "Hetty, why don't you invite your family to listen as well? We can all meet at Ricardo's at…"

"7:45," Al filled in, which Sam immediately repeated. "And if you really want to convince Dad, call him Julian."

"What do you say, Julian?" Sam pressed gently. "Please." For the second time in the leap, he deployed the puppy dog eyes that he knew worked so well on Gino’s son.

Gino sighed, knowing that he'd lost the argument before it could really start. "All right, bellissima. We will listen to 'The War of the Worlds'. We'd better go and warn Paul that he's going to have a full house tonight. Can you walk, my darling?"

Sam nodded, certain that, as long as they took their time, he could make it back to the Calavicci residence without a problem.

However, Luciilla Parker was having none of it. "Nonsense. We have a perfectly good automobile that will fit all of us. Don't you agree, George?"

"Absolutely!" George agreed. "As long as Terence sits between us, that won't be a problem at all."

"You've got a car that'll hold nine?" Sam questioned with a frown. He couldn't remember much about motor vehicles from the 1930s but he knew there was no such thing as a station wagon in this time.

"It's right out front. I'm surprised you didn't see it."

The Leaper gave him weak smile. "I was a little preoccupied at the time," he replied, pointing out his bandaged knee.

"Well, then, it's settled," Michael put in with a smile. "Mariah, why don't you and Immie put dinner into something portable and we'll share it at the potluck. While you do that, we'll help Mrs. Calavicci to the car and get everyone else settled in." Gaining a positive response from his wife, he led the remainder of the group outside, stopping only briefly to retrieve the fifty cents he'd given Terrence, much to the boy's disappointment - he'd hoped to keep the money since it wasn't going to Lydia Marcelli. Gino again gave Sam the physical support needed to go down the front stairs of the brownstone.

PART TEN

The moment Al cast his eyes on George Parker's car, his mouth dropped in awe. "Sam, it's a 1928 Pierce-Arrow Model 36 sedan! Seven passenger seating, hydraulic tappets, power braking, power steering, light alloy construction… It's a thing of beauty! When I was a kid, there were two things I said I'd buy when I got enough money: a biplane and a Pierce-Arrow sedan. But then the company went out of business so there went my chances. Earlier this year, I think. As for the biplane... well, being able to fly a fighter jet beats that."

"Looks expensive," Sam murmured, inadvertently being overheard by Gino.

"Now, beloved, you know what the good book says about coveting," he told him quietly, making sure that no one else could hear them. "Jealousy doesn't suit you."

"Isn't it beautiful?" Immie was exclaiming to Hetty, who couldn't help but agree. "Uncle George bought it when I was eight, just before the stock market crashed. This is the only car Uncle George was able to keep. Dad himself lost a lot of money. Had to move his store here to keep it going."

The handlink chirped as she spoke, drawing Al's attention from the car. "Ziggy says that, before the Crash, George Parker owned three cars, all of them high-end like this Pierce-Arrow. He'd made his money making some pretty serious investments in the stock market and was able to save a lot of it - enough to not have to worry about money - but he still lost a chunk when the stocks fell. The Kelleys owned a hardware store in Greenwich Village but, after the Crash, moved to East Harlem with their business. In about two years, he makes enough to move his store back to Greenwich Village and the company just keeps growing from there."

While the Parker's Pierce-Arrow sedan looked spacious, Sam still wasn’t convinced that they were all going to fit inside it. However, looks can be, and often are, deceiving. So it was, some fifteen minutes later, that he found himself shoulder to shoulder between Gino and Michael Kelley, a plate of fragrant hot biscuits wrapped in a tea towel, balanced on his lap.

“Everyone settled?” George asked.

Terrence, sitting between his uncle and aunt in the front seat muttered, not quite under his breath, “Can’t be anything else. I feel like a sardine in a can.” Laughter erupted from the others, and the boy’s ears turned red with embarrassment.

“That’s m’boy!” Michael Kelley declared, laughing heartily. Reaching forward to pat his son’s shoulder, he added, “Just be thankful, young sardine, that the Calaviccis home, and the potluck, are only three blocks from here!”

“And away we go!” George declared with a chuckle. Most of the occupants laughed as well. Putting the car in gear, he pulled away from the curb and, less than ten minutes later, he carefully parked in front of Ricardo’s Restaurant.

Gino’s focus was on getting his wife safely out of the car, heeding without comment her instructions of “Don’t drop them” when handed the plate of biscuits. Glancing around, Gino handed the plate to Terrence, who had just descended from the car. Turning back to his wife, Gino stepped closer to the car and leaned forward, reaching for his wife’s hand. “Here, take my hand, Jillie.”

“No,” Sam responded, his tone and expression equally gentle but firm. “I’m going to ride with Hetty.” Gino’s not so subtle sigh, nor the way his eyes narrowed minutely, didn’t faze the Leaper’s determination. “Jillian…”

Al, who’d had Ziggy keep him apace with the car on the three-block jaunt between the Kelleys’ home and the Calaviccis’ residence, hadn’t uttered a word. Rather, he’d enjoyed the ‘ride’ in the car that had been a dream of his childhood. Moving away from the vehicle, he remained silent. But that silence vanished the instant he heard his father’s tone of voice.

Moving close to the car again, Al warned, “Uh, Sam, you sure you want to do that?” Dividing a look between his best friend and his father, he added, “It’s been over sixty years since I last heard that tone, but take my word, Gino is starting to get really annoyed with your stubbornness and he's within a hair’s width of…” Sam acknowledged the warning with a vague nod. 

“Gino, I am going to ride with Hetty to her home,” Sam began, his tone as firm as the level gaze he fixed on Gino’s face. “To personally ask them to stay and listen to the radio with us after supper.”

“I’m sure Hetty is more than capable of making such a request of her parents.” Gino responded, his words a bit clipped as his Italian temper edged closer to ‘thinner’.

Sam didn’t budge, physically or from his intention. “Of that I don’t have slightest doubt,” he agreed. “But I want to invite them,” he insisted. “They... their whole family are some of our dearest friends, Gino,” he said, “and I want to invite them to sit with us to listen to the radio.” He paused for a breath. “Please, Gino,” he wheedled, though not employing ‘the look’. “Come with us…. you invite them and I promise…” He hesitated then in the next instant something occurred to him. Leaning slightly toward Al’s father, he reached out, laying his hand on Gino’s arm nearest him. “I promise that I will accept their decision on the invitation, whatever it may be.”

The first time he’d seen Jillian Stanislaus eight years earlier, then a pretty girl of twenty-one years, arriving at church with her family one summer morning, Gino Calavicci was smitten. He’d managed to be waiting outside the front door at the end of the service, hoping to be able to catch her eye. As luck, or Cupid, would have it, as the pretty brown-eyed brunette waited behind her parents while they spoke with other parishioners, someone bumped into her and her prayer book slipped from her hands, sending it tumbling down several of the church steps.

“I’ll get it for you, miss,” he said and darted down the steps. Retrieving the slim prayer book, he brushed away any dust from the book’s cover, then went back up to where the girl waited.

“Here it is, Miss…” he said, his smile warm, his attitude respectful as he returned the prayer book to her.

“Stanislaus,” she responded, returning his smile as she looked up at him. “Thank you most kindly, Mister…”

“Calavicci,” he said promptly. “Julian Calavicci.” 

The warmth in the girl’s brown eyes then was the same as the look in her eyes that held gazes with him now. 

Gino sighed. “All right, but,” he conceded, his tone not brooking any further discussion. “When we get back, before we go to supper, you need to change your skirt.”

Sam acquiesced. “You’re right, and I will,” he agreed.

The next thirty minutes were a minor whirlwind for all caught up in it. While the Kelleys and company carried their contribution to the potluck around the building to the gathering place, George Parker drove the half a block - as he insisted that neither Hetty nor Sam should have to walk - to the Calhoun home. As it turned out, Fiona and Sean Calhoun were easily persuaded to both come to the supper and to stay to listen to the radio afterward. Their sons were more excited about getting to hear the radio than anything else, especially after they learned what they were going to listen to. So, once more the Pierce-Arrow was crammed with people and food to share as it made the return trip to the Calavicci abode. 

Al, having instructed Ziggy to keep him close to Sam through all of it, had remained silent. The only time he offered any comment was when Sam, with Fiona Calhoun’s assistance, changed out of the bloodstained skirt. “The blue print skirt, Sam,” he said, pointing to the garment hanging in the closet. With the change of clothes accomplished, all there was to do was to get the mincemeat pie from the kitchen counter, and the Calavicci family went downstairs to join the potluck gathering. Lydia Marcelli, when she saw that “Jillian” had been hurt, agreed to continue to watch over Trudy – for free – so that Sam could enjoy the potluck without having to worry about Trudy’s well-being. She came down with the girl for the potluck as well, knowing that the child would enjoy the sights and sounds even at her young age.

As the group, including Allie who held tight to his father’s hand, went downstairs and entered the communal courtyard that was bounded on all sides by other houses, the aroma of good food, laughter and talking swept over all like a reassuring touch.

It pleased Al to see the fuss made over Sam, as the Kelley and Calhoun women found him a chair. When one of them asked what he wanted to eat, the Leaper’s persisted in his protests. “I’m fine ….” he started.

“Sam,” Al interjected with gentle good humor. “Let them take care of you.”

The Leaper cast a look up at the Observer. “Al,” he said, almost under his breath. “I’m more than capable...”

It was a younger voice that cut Sam off. “Sa… I mean… Mama!”

Sam vaguely heard one of the women close to him say something, but that was forgotten as he looked around to see Allie walking toward him, carefully carrying a plate of food. Nor did he miss the fact that Gino was following a couple of steps behind his son.

Allie, now proudly wearing an orange harlequin mask such as several other children were wearing, smiled a smile that even at this young age, was the same as would cross his face innumerable times throughout his coming life.

“Here, Mama,” he said with an air of importance, holding the plate out to Sam. “Papa let me bring you some supper ‘cause he said you hurt your knee and that we need to take care of you.”

“Thank you, so much, Allie,” Sam replied, taking the plate, as he looked into the little boy’s beaming face.

“You’re welcome, Mama. I love you.” Then, before Sam could move, Allie moved to his side and slipped his little arms around the Leaper’s waist and hugged him. Leaning close so only ‘Mama’ could hear, he whispered, “I love you, too, Sam.”

Gino, clearly pleased that his son had delivered the meal to his mother properly, allowed his attention to become distracted and was laughing at the antics of a couple of the neighbors who were attempting to do a festive dance to the jazz music that came from a radio situated in a nearby window, though the sound was too weak to fill the courtyard.

Sam felt a lump come up in his throat upon Allie’s statement, which got a bit bigger when the boy stage whispered, “Don’t cry, Sam. I will always help Papa take care of Mama. And Trudy, too.”

Managing the plate with one hand, Sam slipped his free arm around the slender little boy’s waist and hugged him close. Blinking rapidly to prevent a couple of tears threatening to fall, he put his lips close to the child’s ear, whispering softly, “I know you will, Allie. I know you will.”

From his vantage point behind Sam’s chair, the Observer hadn’t missed a word of the exchange between his best friend and his younger self. The child’s promise sent a warm feeling through him. It was only lessened, bitter sweetly as foreknowledge often does, by the knowledge of the path which his family was destined to travel in the not so distant future from this moment.

Al’s pondering was interrupted by a slight movement caught by his peripheral vision. Turning toward it, he found his younger self standing more or less in front of him. Several seconds passed between them before he realized what the child wanted. Squatting down, retired Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci had the unique experience of looking into his own, albeit younger, eyes. He waited; it wasn’t a long wait.

“Al,” Allie finally spoke, keeping his voice low.

Crouching down to be at eye level with the boy, Al replied, “Yes, sir?” He smiled to himself at his younger self’s reaction to being addressed as ‘sir’.

“I like Sam.”

Al chuckled, never breaking eye contact. “So do I, Allie. In fact, Sam is my best friend.”

“In the whole wide world?”

Once more Al answered, “Yes, sir. In the whole wide world.”

Allie nodded, his expression becoming thoughtful in the next moment. “Can I ask you a question, Al?”

“Sure.”

Allie studied the older man’s face a long moment before glancing back to where Sam sat. His eyes widened a bit when he saw the Leaper watching him. It was seeing the man pretending to be his mother nod his head just the least little bit that let him know it was okay to go on. Lifting his chin, the boy returned his attention to his older self.

“Do you think Sam would be my best friend in the whole wide world, too?”

Now it was the Observer who had to deal with some tightness in his throat as he looked at the earnest expression of his child self. Clearing his throat a bit, he smiled and said, “Yes, I do, Allie. I really do, but why don’t you ask him?”

“Okay, I will!” The happiness that spread across the child’s face as he flung himself toward the Observer was unmistakable. It never occurred to Allie that as he, ostensibly, wrapped his arms around a man who wasn’t really present, before running back to where Sam sat, how his actions would be accepted. It was, however, a moment that was instantly and indelibly imprinted in retired Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci’s and Dr. Samuel Beckett’s memories.

Running back to where Sam sat, watching something even his genius would never have entertained as being remotely possible, Allie got close to him. Standing on tiptoe, the little boy leaned up and whispered in his ear, “Sam, would you be my best friend in the whole wide world?”

Slipping an arm around Allie’s waist, Sam hugged him tight for a moment before leaning back so he could look into the innocent brown eyes fixed on him. “Yes, I will, Allie,” he whispered back. Giving the boy another quick hug, he added, “I promise… we will be best friends forever.”

“Yay!” Allie enthused, before coming back to the moment. “I’m hungry. May I have some mincemeat pie, now… Mama?”

Straightening up, Al chuckled and told his young self, “Only after you have some meat and vegetables, first.”

Gino’s attention had returned to his son and wife, wondering what they were whispering about. He sided with his unseen and unheard adult son.

“Mincemeat pie is for dessert, bambino,” he said firmly, holding out his hand to his son. “Now, let’s go get you something to eat.”

In the ensuing couple of hours, Sam was able to relax and enjoy the experience of the large gathering. His stomach, still synced with Jillian’s newest pregnancy, didn’t allow him to eat much more than a few bites of a tasty chicken soup brought to the potluck.

While the mood, and the percentage for Hetty surviving the ‘War of the Worlds’ broadcast was steadily edging higher and higher, the Observer’s focus was on his best friend. He, of all people, knew Sam’s capability of multi-tasking but even that was starting to appear a bit strained as the evening wore on. That focus sharpened even more when, about seven-fifteen, Paul Marcelli, picked up his glass and tapped it with a fork until most of the talking and laughter subsided.

“The program starts in about forty-five minutes, so why don’t we all pitch in and get things cleared up. Then we can all go inside and listen to the radio!” he called out. “By special request, and because tomorrow is Halloween, we won’t be listening to Charlie McCarthy tonight. Instead, we’ll be listening to an adaptation of the book ‘The War of the Worlds’ by H. G. Wells.”

Al saw an increment of anxiousness come over Sam’s face, even as his friend started to get up to help. “Sam…” he began but was interrupted by Fiona Calhoun. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Fiona admonished her young friend kindly. “You just sit still, Jillian.”

“But…” Sam tried to protest then stopped when the older woman placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Tut, tut!” Mariah Kelley said, even as she was starting to wrap up the few remaining pieces of fried chicken on the platter she’d borrowed from her mother earlier. “We’ve more than enough ladies here to have everything picked up and packed up before you know it!”

Sam was determined but he was deftly outmaneuvered before he could get out another, “But…”

Knowing from previous experience about her friend’s stubbornness, Mariah looked around, searching the group of people nearby. Spying two particular people she called out, “Imogene! Hetty! Come here. I need you.”

“Yes, ma’am! Coming!” the two girls responded in near unison, hurrying to where their mothers stood beside Jillian Calavicci. Imogene, having been called first, said, “Yes, Ma?”

Mariah glanced between the girls, saying, “Since Mrs. Calavicci hurt her knee this afternoon, I want you girls to escort her around front and take her inside the restaurant.”

“Yes, ma’am!” the girls responded brightly, moving to either side of the chair where Sam sat. Dividing a patient ‘this really isn’t necessary’ look between the two women and the girls, he sighed and acquiesced.  

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, accepting the girls’ assistance to stand before allowing them to guide him away from the bustling busyness around them.

“And see that you find her a nice seat close to the radio,” Fiona called out after them before returning her attention to helping clear the table nearest where she stood.

Having been gently helped into the restaurant, and limping slightly the entire way, Sam took the seat offered by Imogene while Hetty proactively insured that there were two additional chairs placed near him, one for Gino and one for Allie. Then, when Paul Marcelli came in followed by his sister carrying Trudy, they allowed themselves to be recruited into rearranging the furniture to allow all of the chairs and tables to be strategically placed so that everyone would be able to hear the radio and still enjoy a drink. Lydia found a seat close enough to Sam in case Trudy wanted her mother but also close enough to the back rooms, and a set of stairs up to the third floor and thus the Calaviccis' apartment, in case Trudy started to fuss too much and needed to be removed from the main restaurant.

It was almost ten til when everyone who wanted to listen to the radio was in the restaurant. Paul was fidgeting with the large radio that sat against a wall near the bar, locating the correct channel to listen to the radio play that was about to begin. His one employee, Anthony, was already tending the bar, filling alcoholic - and non alcoholic - orders so that everyone would be settled into their seats in plenty of time.

Allie had insisted on sitting next to "Mama" as he and his father approached Sam. Sam gave Gino a smile as the Italian man sat next to Allie. Turning his head towards Al, Sam noted that the Observer had brought the Imaging Chamber chair to Sam's other side and was sitting beside him. He had a smile that clearly showed anticipation.

"How can you be so calm?" Sam whispered tensely at him. "What about Hetty?"

"Sam, relax. With every passing minute, Hetty's chances of survival keep going up. As long as she and her family are here listening to the radio play, everything will be fine." He raised the handlink to verify his words to Sam. "In fact, the odds of her committing suicide are down to only twenty-one percent."

"Then why am I still here?" 

"Well, for one, you have to make sure, at the appropriate times, that everyone understands this is just a radio play, especially when the Secretary of the Interior comes on. Remember, the actor imitates FDR for the scene and that's one of the big triggers for the panic. I'm not saying people here are going to think it is FDR but it's always good to keep things on the cautious side in this case," Al pointed out.

"For another?" Sam questioned, hearing the stipulation in his friend's tone.

"For another," Al repeated him as he again consulted the handlink, "if you leap out now, my mother will leap in. She'll hear that broadcast and the chances of my little brother's survival goes from eighty-nine point five seven percent down to sixteen point five three eight. So you have to stay through at least the radio play, Sam. I don't want to lose Nicky."

"Nicky?" the Leaper questioned softly.

"That's my little brother's name. Nicholas Jude Giovanni Calavicci. At least that's the name my parents gave him."

Sam was prevented from responding when a loud voice filled the room, being for attention.

"Shh, everyone!" Paul called out, having found CBS and achieved a good signal. "It's on!"

PART ELEVEN

"We know now that in the early years of the twentieth century this world was being watched closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own. We know now that as human beings busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinized and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinize the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite complacence people went to and fro over the earth about their little affairs, serene in the assurance of their dominion over this small spinning fragment of solar driftwood which by chance or design man has inherited out of the dark mystery of Time and Space. Yet across an immense ethereal gulf, minds that to our minds as ours are to the beasts in the jungle, intellects vast, cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes and slowly and surely drew their plans against us. In the thirty-ninth year of the twentieth century came the great disillusionment.

It was near the end of October. Business was better. The war scare was over. More men were back at work. Sales were picking up. On this particular evening, October 30, the Crosley service estimated that thirty-two million people were listening in on radios."_a

Immediately, everyone in the restaurant focused with rapt attention on what was being broadcast over the airway. The story of what, according to the play, was happening that very night one year in the future caused several people to lean forward in their seats, especially Imogene and Allie and several other kids, who had given up sitting beside their parents and had moved as close to the radio as possible without blocking it. Everyone was fairly quiet, with only an occasional comment now and then, until the "Secretary of the Interior" came on to address listeners:

"Citizens of the nation: I shall not try to conceal the gravity of the situation that confronts the country, nor the concern of your government in protecting the lives and property of its people. However, I wish to impress upon you -- private citizens and public officials, all of you -- the urgent need of calm and resourceful action. Fortunately, this formidable enemy is still confined to a comparatively small area, and we may place our faith in the military forces to keep them there. In the meantime placing our faith in God we must continue the performance of our duties each and every one of us, so that we may confront this destructive adversary with a nation united, courageous, and consecrated to the preservation of human supremacy on this earth. I thank you."_b

"That sounds like the President," Fiona Calhoun commented with concern. "Was the channel changed? Or the program interrupted for an announcement?"

Her husband Sean took her hand and patted it gently. "Now, Fiona, the radio said that it was the Secretary of the Interior. It's all part of the program."

"Then why does he sound like Roosevelt?"

Al had the answer to the question and relayed it to Sam. "The script originally had the President giving that address but the CBS executives said that they couldn't do that so the script was changed for it to be the Secretary of the Interior at the last minute. The guy who did the role was already going to do his impersonation of Roosevelt and didn't know what voice to do instead so Welles told him not to change it."

"Maybe," Sam put in to forward Al's explanation. "Maybe the person playing the Secretary of the Interior didn't know how else to do the role. Like it was supposed to be the President but they changed it at the last minute."

"So that isn't the President after all?" another person asked.

Sam shook his head. "No, it isn't. I mean, listen." He paused so the others could hear the radio. "We're still listening to the play."

Fiona huffed slightly. "Well, it's a nasty trick to play on us, I tell you. Someone should call the station and complain."

"Someone is," Al commented. "CBS just started getting phone calls about what aired, asking if that really was Roosevelt and what was going on. The police are starting to get calls as well. It's only going to get worse from here." He checked the handlink. "On the plus side, Hetty's chances of committing suicide just dropped to the low teens. Looks like you did it, Sam. Hetty's going to be just fine. And Ziggy says that if you finish listening to the broadcast, her chances of survival go to one hundred percent as do Nicky's."

"That's great, Al," the Leaper whispered back with a grin. 

The play progressed after a station break that reassured everyone that they were indeed still listening to "The War of the Worlds". The younger people were still quite glued to what was coming from the radio. Trudy had fallen asleep despite the ruckus sounds of the aliens' heat ray and the cries of supposed terror and pain. Some of the adults had decided they weren't interested in what was on the radio anymore and had asked Paul to change the channel but the restaurant owner refused, himself very interested in listening to the rest of the story. A small few decided to leave for the night, saying their quick goodbyes before heading home.

As the play became more quiet, with the character of Professor Pierson voiced by Welles relaying the events after the attack, the remaining listeners relaxed, unaware of the panic that was filling the streets. Al himself had a reminiscent expression on his face.

"The first time I encountered this story was when the movie came out. Not the most recent one. The one with Gene Barry. I absolutely loved it. And then a local radio station aired the 1938 broadcast for its twentieth anniversary. Some small radio station was playing it. Chip, TomTom and I stayed up and listened ito it. After that, I just really wanted to go out in space and explore what's out there, to find out what exactly Mars was like. It was that movie and this radio play that influenced me to become an astronaut." He glanced towards his younger self who was still staring at the radio with rapt attention. "Looks like my interest in outer space just got a leg up."

Sam only nodded in agreement as he too saw how intent the future Navy officer was on the radio play.

At last, with the last line of the play being said, Orson Welles had one more thing to say in response to the plethora of calls CBS and the police had been receiving:

"This is Orson Welles, ladies and gentlemen, out of character to assure you that 'The War of The Worlds' has no further significance than as the holiday offering it was intended to be. 'The Mercury Theatre's' own radio version of dressing up in a sheet and jumping out of a bush and saying Boo! Starting now, we couldn't soap all your windows and steal all your garden gates by tomorrow night... so we did the best next thing. We annihilated the world before your very ears, and utterly destroyed the CBS. You will be relieved, I hope, to learn that we didn't mean it, and that both institutions are still open for business. So goodbye, everybody, and remember the terrible lesson you learned tonight. That grinning, glowing, globular invader of your living room is an inhabitant of the pumpkin patch, and if your doorbell rings and nobody's there, that was no Martian... it's Hallowe'en."_c

The sound of the theme to "The Mercury Theatre on the Air" played, along with one last announcement of what they had listened to as well as what was going to air next week. With the broadcast done, Paul turned off the radio. 

"Well, now, that was quite a story," he commented.

Immie was practically beside herself with excitement. "That was great! Don't you think so, Hetty?"

Hetty could almost feel the blood thrumming through her veins as she gasped, “Oh my! Yes, I do!” she exclaimed. “It was... so REAL!” She caught a breath and added, “And Mr. Welles’ voice just gave me goosebumps!” 

Immie beamed at the enthusiasm in her best friend’s voice. “I know!” She threw her arms around Hetty and hugged her. Leaning back after a moment, she insisted, “Aren’t you glad now that you listened?”

Hetty laughed aloud. “To what? You… or the program?”

“Both!” Immie came back promptly.

The girls’ shared laughter seemed the catalyst that eased the last vestiges of dramatic tension in the area near where they sat. Even Fiona Calhoun could be heard proclaiming to several people, “I declare that was the most exciting program I’ve heard in I can’t remember how long! Truth be told, I was so on the edge of my chair, if Sean hadn’t taken hold of my hand, I might’ve ended up on the floor!”

Glancing around as her husband and two or three others laughed at the comment, she noted Jillian Calavicci seemingly watching her. Hearing the younger woman declare softly, “Great!”, she demanded, “And what is it you’re thinking is so great, Jillian?” Her stern tone was belied by the smile playing about her lips.

Sam had remained seated at the conclusion of the play, quietly scanning the gathering, enjoying listening to the variety of comments on the evening’s entertainment. Even more than having the unique pleasure of being present, in a manner of speaking, at the original airing of "The War of the Worlds”, Sam was happy when Al uttered a phrase that the Leaper had heard the countless times, though not every time, he completed leap. 

“You did it, Sam,” Al pronounced, manipulating the buttons of the handlink as he reviewed the new history information Ziggy was sending to him. “Ziggy says that it’s now a one hundred percent certainty that Hetty doesn’t commit suicide.” 

“That’s great!” Sam enthused softly, then was immediately startled at Fiona’s question. “What?”

“Yes,” Gino agreed with Fiona, having moved to assist his wife to stand up. “Ever since the program ended you’ve looked very pleased about something.” Sliding one arm behind her back for better support, he cocked his head slightly and added, “Come on, now. Out with it, bellissima.”

Al chuckled, enjoying the levity which the perfect achievement of Sam’s mission had brought with it. He didn’t comment as his best friend deftly handled the moment.

Sam started to answer but paused when Lydia Marcelli, with a sleeping Trudy cradled in her arms, came to his side. “I’m just going to take the baby upstairs and put her to bed. Bless her," she said softly, “I’ve not the first clue how she managed to sleep through all that, but she did.”

“Thank you so much, Lydia,” Sam whispered. “You’re a treasure!”

Leaning in, Sam gently kissed the sleeping baby’s hair then watched as the woman departed toward the doorway that led to the stairway to the upper floors. Turning back, he found Gino, Fiona, Sean, and a couple of others still waiting for his answer to the question that had been posed to him. Even Immie and Hetty had come to join the small group. Sam pondered a moment, then, focusing on the young woman whose original fate had brought him to this time, he spoke.

“What I think is great,” he responded, “is that it’s been a great evening!”

“Is that all?” Fiona began.

“It’s been a great evening for gathering with friends," he began, looking into each person’s eyes. “To share good food and conversation.” He paused then went on, this time his gaze moving down to Allie’s upturned face, those brown eyes fixed on his "Mama" and future best friend. “It’s been a great evening to share the fun and excitement of hearing a story about fantastical beings brought to life so vividly by actors in a radio play.”

“And scary… a bit,” Fiona allowed. Her only reaction to her husband’s chuckle was to nudge an elbow against his ribs. “That’ll do, Mr. Calhoun,” she admonished primly.

“And it was a great evening… because for some of us here tonight, our way of thinking, has altered for the better. Perhaps someone’s future path has taken a turn to a different direction.” He glanced down at the little boy beside him. “Who knows, maybe there might even be a trip to the moon somewhere down the road.”

“Can I go to the moon, Mama?!” Allie burst out, his eyes bright with excitement. “Can I?”

Sam laughed and bent down to look into Allie’s bright eyes. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised, Allie. I think… no, I know you’re going to do great things throughout your life.”

“Yes!” Allie exulted and, unbeknownst to him, executed a perfect fist pump in unison with his older self at that moment.

"I didn't get to walk on the moon but it sure was a pretty sight from my capsule," Al commented with a smile.

Straightening up, Sam paused a moment then went to Hetty and Imogene. Dividing a look between the girls, he concluded, “And it’s been a great evening for just listening,” he emphasized, his tone calm but clear. “In my opinion, listening may be one of the best demonstrations of caring one person can give another. Letting that person know that we care enough to give them one of the most precious things each of us has… our time... to really listen to what they are saying, even when it may seem to that person that the whole world doesn’t care.”

For Hetty, there was something in Jillian Calavicci’s voice, the look in her eyes as she spoke that seemed as if there wasn’t anyone else in the room with them. But it was what Jillian was saying which she would come to realize later was instantly and indelibly impressed into her memory. 

The Observer was in his element as he, like the others, listened to what Sam was saying. However, just then the handlink chirped and he pulled it from his coat pocket. Punching in the code to receive the information being transmitted, he skimmed it quickly.

“Hey, Sam, here’s some more great news,” he said. “According to Ziggy, your comment to Hetty just now made a real impression on her.” From his position just behind Immie and Hetty, he glanced up, meeting Sam’s gaze. Seeing the questioning quirk of the Leaper’s eyebrows, he filled in the blanks. “Since Hetty now has a future, and based on how she took what you just said, she now goes to college. Not right away, of course. It takes her four years of working two jobs to save enough money to cover her first two years of tuition and room and board, but she did it. Anyway, she goes on to get her Master’s degree in psychology."

Listening to Al’s recitation of Hetty’s new future, Sam felt a satisfying glow in his heart. A question popped into his head, and he made the excuse of needing to sit down again.

“You okay, bellissima?” Gino asked as he assisted his ‘wife’ back to her chair.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Sam assured him with a confident smile. “I just want to sit a moment before we start upstairs.”

“You’re sure?” Gino said, squatting down to be at eye level with his wife.

“Absolutely,” Sam reiterated with a smile. “In fact, why don’t you take Allie upstairs so perhaps Lydia could get him into his pajamas?” The Leaper turned his head slightly to look just behind Gino, his smile widening a bit then nodded. Gino turned to look behind him, grinning at his little son’s big yawn.

“Judging from that yawn,” he said softly, turning back to his wife. “I’d say you’re right.” He paused, searching Jillian’s face then agreed with her. “Okay, I’ll take Allie upstairs, and be back in five minutes.”

“I promise not to move from this chair until you get back,” Sam assured Gino.

PART TWELVE

Al moved to Sam’s side, a tender expression on his face as he watched his father pick up his child self, cradling him against one shoulder. Then, moving carefully amongst the few remaining people, Gino exited the restaurant, using the same path that Lydia Marcelli had a few minutes earlier with Trudy. Even as Gino left, the remaining neighbors said their good nights and left the restaurant so that only Sam and Paul - and a holographic Observer - remained. Paul was tending to rearranging the furniture to where it had been before in preparation for the next day's business.

“So?” Sam questioned once he knew he couldn't be overheard.

The question stirred Al from his momentary reverie. “What?” he asked. 

Glancing down at his belly then back up at the Observer, Sam whispered under his breath, “What about Nicky?” He frowned, saddened by the expression on his friend's face. "He doesn't make it." he presumed.

"What?!" Al exclaimed at Sam's words. "No, that's not it!" he corrected him when he realized what Sam had supposed. "Thanks to me and Aurora having a talk with Mama, she gave up smoking entirely and Nicky was born a healthy baby boy on May 5th, 1939. Seven pounds, eleven ounces. And thanks to my mom giving up smoking, he didn't die of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome either."

"But that's great!" Sam exclaimed, now confused by the look he'd seen on Al's face. "Your parents?"

Al exhaled slowly. "My mother still leaves my father a little under two years from now. But she didn't take Nicky with her. I don't know what it was but something - maybe it was seeing me in the Waiting Room or something said between her and Aurora - made her change her mind. She sent me to play with Tony at the Calhoun's and left Trudy and Nicky with our neighbor Jan. My dad raised us three kids on his own with some help from the neighbors who didn't reject our family outright, what with Trudy having Down Syndrome and Papa being a single parent. When it was clear that Jillian wasn't coming back, my father had the marriage annulled on grounds of abandonment and started dating again, though nothing ever got really serious. When he went to Saudi Arabia for work, he put Trudy in a mental institution and me and Nicky in an orphanage."

"So nothing really changed except Nicky was now involved."

"Up to a point," the Observer stated.

"Up to a point?" 

Al took a slow breath and then licked his lips before explaining, "While Nicky and I were in the orphanage, the nuns kept us in different rooms because of our age difference. Nicky's five years younger than me so he got put in with the younger kids. Whenever I did see him, I kept reminding him that we weren't orphans, that Papa was going to come back for us just as soon as he made enough money in the Middle East. I even found a world map and showed him on it where Papa had gone. I guess, after a few weeks, he got tired of waiting.

"I woke up one morning to find out that he'd run away the night before. I think he just wanted to find Papa. The nuns didn't even wake me up while they searched for him. They only searched two blocks before they called the police and gave them his name and a general description of him. But how are the police going to find one frightened four-year-old kid in the middle of New York City when there are so many homeless kids on the street?

"When I found out that Nicky had gone missing, I did everything I could to find him. I snuck out at night to go look for him but I always went back to the orphanage because I wanted to make sure that I was there when my dad came back to get me. But no matter where I looked or how many people I asked, I couldn't find him. I never saw him again."

"Oh, Al," Sam murmured, wanting to hug the pain in his friend's eyes away.

"My dad was furious when he got home," Al continued. "Not with me. With the orphanage for losing Nicky. Papa got me out of the orphanage and Trudy out of the hospital and spent the rest of his short life looking for Nicky. I promised Papa before he died that I'd take care of Trudy and I'd find my little brother. I've had a few leads in the last seventy years but nothing ever came of them. I gave up a couple of times, I'll admit. I mean, how long can someone keep up with wild goose chases? Both Bobby and I picked up the search after I told him and Mama about what had happened but that fizzled out after a few more dead ends." He took a slow breath. "To be honest, I don't think I'll ever find him."

"You're giving up?" Sam questioned, a little surprised by his friend's attitude.

Al looked into the Leaper's eyes solemnly. "It's been over sixty years, Sam. And I've exhausted all my resources. At this point, I don't know what else I can do."

Sam sighed, shaking his head in sympathy. "I'm sorry, Al. I should've..."

"Should've what?" the older man questioned gently.

"I don't know. Maybe... maybe if I'd kept your mom from leaving..." 

"Then Bobby would've never been born. As much as I wish I could've had Nicky in my life, I wouldn't give up Bobby, his wife Denise, and my nephews. And even if you did keep my mother from leaving, who's to say she would've stayed for long?" He shook his head. "For whatever reason, Nicky wasn't meant to be in my life for long but at least I had him for four years."

Anything that Sam might have said faded from his mind as Gino returned to the restaurant and approached him.  

"Are you ready, love?" the Italian man questioned, touching Sam's shoulder.

Sam kept his eyes on Al, covering his sympathy for his friend's loss even as he replied to Gino's question. "I'm ready," he stated, allowing himself to be helped to his feet. Even as he stood, quantum energies surrounded him, sending him on to his next assignment.

Al stood in the Imaging Chamber for a long moment, letting the rest of his changed history filter into his mind. As it did so, he couldn't help but smile at the new memories of his little brother and the fun that he'd had with him.

Nicholas Calavicci had been curious child, a natural explorer if there ever was one. He'd follow his older brother almost everywhere and was eager to learn as much as possible. Just like his older brother, he doted on his older sister Trudy, quickly finding her to be a worthy playmate. Trudy herself adored the boy, playing peek-a-boo with him often once she figured out how to do it. Al, for his part, felt immensely responsible in his role as big brother to his siblings. While Gino did his best to ensure that his children were well cared for, there was only so much he could do on his own. Al decided to help by bringing what he learned at school home and teaching it to his siblings. Trudy, of course, had some difficulty learning what Al taught whereas Nicky practically absorbed the information. By the time Gino had been forced to find employment outside of the country, Al had taught both Trudy and Nicky how to read simple words (dog, cat, et cetera), how to write their names (though sloppily for them both), and how to count to ten.

Even those fond new memories were tainted with the loss of Nicky, however. He remembered the night before his disappearance, how the young boy had snuck into the "big boy" area to ask Al, "When is Papa coming back?" Despite being very tired, Al had given his usual response of, "Just as soon as he gets enough money, Nicky. He has to have enough to take care of us." He'd then sent him away, thinking that the boy would go back to bed in the younger boys' room. Had he known that Len Gervaise had taunted Nicky earlier, telling him that his dad had abandoned him and wasn't ever coming back, Al would've had Nicky sleep in his bed that night, regardless of the rules the nuns put in place. He did give Len a few bruises, including a black eye, the next day when he'd found out what he'd said to Nicky.

Sighing, Al finally left the Imaging Chamber. He handed the handlink over to Dom, who gave him an appreciative smile before running the diagnostic he always gave the handheld device after each leap. Al didn't have to tell him to get some rest. He knew the programmer would finish the diagnostic quickly enough before going to his quarters to be with his wife and young daughter. Al himself had plans to locate Beth, get a meal with her, and then crawl into bed with her. It was still fairly early in the evening which meant that they could even possibly go off campus to their favorite restaurant.

"Have a good night, Dom," Al called to his friend as he headed towards the Control Room exit. "Don't worry about the reports for now. We'll take care of them tomorrow."

"Night, Al. See you tomorrow," Dom replied, temporarily stopping his diagnosis to do so. He pointed towards him, obviously remembering something that he needed to say. "Ziggy printed up something and had me put it on your desk. I think it's important."

"What was it?" the admiral questioned, his interest piqued.

"I don't know. I didn't look. But I got the impression that it was personal." 

Al considered his words for a moment, wondering what Ziggy could have for him, before giving a slight nod. "Thanks, Dom. Don't stay down here too long. You don't want to encounter Aurora's temper again." Gaining a chuckle in response, he left the Control Room and headed for his office, hoping that whatever Ziggy had for him wouldn't take too long; he was really looking forward to dinner with Beth.

Entering the office, he saw the document that Dom had been referring to sitting in the middle of his desk. It was like any other document Ziggy might print up, white sheets of paper stapled in three places on the left side with a front and back cover of a different color. However, instead of the usual title page that would be there, indicating what lay beyond the cover, there was only a sheet that read, "EYES ONLY: ADMIRAL A. CALAVICCI". It was so almost cloak and dagger, Al couldn't help but frown slightly.

Sitting down at his desk, he regarded the packet for a moment. It wasn't very big, only four or five pages, he guessed by the thickness, which made Al think that, whatever it was, it couldn't possibly be a government document. If there was one thing Al knew from experience, government documents were rarely small. A small part of his mind made him grateful that it was definitely not divorce papers, though why he briefly thought they might be didn't make any sense to him as he and Beth were most distinctly never going to go that route.

Curiosity finally got the better of him and he turned the first page to see a bibliographical profile:

Name: Nicholas Llewellyn Hearns             

Date of birth: unknown, estimate 1939

Place of birth: unknown, presumed Manhattan, New York (according to Nicholas)

Mother's name: unknown

Father's name: unknown

Adoptive mother’s name: Philippina Anne Jefferies Hearns

Adoptive father’s name: John Allan Hearns

Date of adoption: August 17, 1943

Age at time of adoption: 4 years (according to Nicholas)

Date of death: August 17, 1972

Cause of death: homicide

Nicholas Llewellyn Hearns was the adopted son of notable philanthropist John Allan Hearns, whose "rags-to-riches" story is well-known.

Born of Irish immigrants, John Hearns grew up as a gypsy, traveling with his family throughout the United States and earning money doing various musical performances. Tired of being a wanderer, John settled in New York City when he was sixteen years old and found work in a local department story as a stock boy. He worked his way up through the proverbial rank-and-file, eventually earning enough to purchase the store during the Great Depression when the original owners were forced to go into bankruptcy. After purchasing the store, John restructured it to focus strictly on affordable men's clothing. The enterprise eventually grew to the point where John was able to refocus again to serve more distinctive clientele, becoming as notable as Armani and Brooks Brothers.

In 1938, John married Philippina Jefferies. Due to a childhood illness, Philippina was unable to bear children and so the couple decided to adopt. They adopted Nicholas, their only child, on August 17, 1943. Nick, as he preferred to be called, had been found on the street near John's haberdashery. After several attempts to find the boy's parents, John and Philippina took him into their home, finalizing adoption two months later.

Nick was somewhat a rebel growing up. Although he greatly loved and admired his adoptive parents, there seemed to be a wanderlust personality in his soul and, at the age of nineteen, he left his parents' house to explore the world on his own. His father provided for him a regular allowance for his travels but the young man, nonetheless, often found himself on the wrong end of the law, building up a long police record that mostly consisted of minor infractions. There is, however, some evidence that Nick may have enacted various ill-gotten enterprises, usually conning large portions of proceeds from wealthy women, in order to supplement his extravagant lifestyle. He was very much known for being, one might call, a ladies' man.

Nick Hearns was murdered at The Diogenes Club in Las Vegas, Nevada, on August 17, 1972, officially his thirty-third birthday. Witnesses stated that he came in with a beautiful brunette who left on her own less than half an hour later. After the woman left, Nick ordered several drinks but remained in his booth the rest of the night. No one saw anyone approach him, though the club was very busy and it is highly possible that someone came to his booth without being noticed. When the club closed for the evening, the owner came to ask him to leave only to discover that he was dead, having been shot at the base of his skull with a small caliber pistol, very likely a Derringer.

The profile had obviously been collated by Ziggy, based on the style of writing. While the artificial intelligence was a computer, she had a very distinctive way of communicating with others. Also based on her report, Nick Hearns' murder remained unsolved, though police strongly believed that there was some sort of mob connection. For a moment, Al wondered why Ziggy had given him information on one of the most famous unsolved murders of the 1970s. Al himself had been in Vietnam at the time of the murder and even though he never learned about the details of the case, it had crept up as often as Jimmy Hoffa, the Lindbergh baby, Bob Crane, and JonBonet Ramsey.

His curiosity further piqued, he flipped through the next couple of pages, which he found was a dossier covering every legal infraction Nick Hearns ever performed as well as a list of his possible con victims, though none had ever come forward to press charges. The last few pages were articles from various newspapers that documented the murder of Nick Hearns, each with their own photographs of the murdered man. He was sure that, at some time in his life, he'd seen the photos but had never really paid attention to them, sort of the way you see a picture of any celebrity but wouldn't be able to identify them on the street if they were right in front of you. Now, as he looked at them, he was struck with a strong sense of deja vu.

Nick Hearns hadn't been a tall man. Based on his height next to the drop-dead gorgeous woman who shared the photograph with him, he was only a couple of inches taller than Al. He had curly brown hair and a wardrobe that reflected the upper class fashion sense of the early seventies. But it was the face that really caught Al's attention. Staring at that face, Al mentally put on a couple of layers of wear and tear, the kind a man gets from working in the sun and wind every day, on the picture. When he did that, he could've sworn that Nick Hearns was a dead ringer for... A moment later, he leaned back, startled by the revelation that came to him.

"Ziggy?" he called out, knowing that the hybrid computer was always listening to be of service to the project's personnel.

"Yes, Admiral Calavicci?" came the melodic response.

"Are... are you saying that Nick Hearns... one of the most famous murder victims of all time... was my little brother Nicky? He looks almost exactly like my dad."

There was a slight pause before Ziggy answered the inquiry. "Based on the evidence available, there is a ninty-two point four seven percent chance that Nicholas Llewellyn Hearns was born Nicholas Jude Giovanni Calavicci," she stated somberly. "My condolences for your loss, Admiral. I had hoped to uncover a more positive outcome." 

Al exhaled slowly, pursing his lips before answering. "Thank you, Ziggy. At least... at least I know what happened to him." He paused for a moment, deciding what to do under the circumstances. He knew that he needed to contact Bobby to let him know what had been discovered but he, Denise and the kids were on a family trip and wouldn't be home for another couple of days. He could call him now on his cell phone but it didn't seem right to bust in on the family time with such news. They both had been searching for a long time; a couple of days more wouldn't make that much of a difference, Al decided.

Picking up the report, Al secured it in his desk, making sure to lock the drawer to protect the precious proof of his little brother's fate. He still had an appointment with his wife to make and he knew that Beth would be the best comforter for his soul and, eventually when he allowed himself to actually truly let the news filter into his heart, a shoulder to cry on.

EPILOGUE

His senses were not quite attuned when a locker slammed in front of his face. Through the remnants of the familiar quantum blue energy, Sam saw a teenaged boy giving him a pointed look.  As the boy leaned forward and clapped him on the shoulder, Sam caught a whiff of cigarette smoke and made a face. The boy cocked his head and perked an eyebrow.

“You okay, Chad?”

The quantum blue faded away and the rest of his senses returned to him, creeping through his body in a fashion akin to circulation returning to his limbs. He was in a corridor of an outdoor high school campus. The quad was across from the lockers where Sam and the boy stood. There
was a small concrete stage in the center, where groups of students sat, talking and laughing. The back of the stage was graced with the painting of the school’s mascot, a bulldog. The stage looked as though it had been recently painted, in bright blue and white. Past the stage was, what appeared to Sam to be, the gym.

The boy repeated himself twice more before Sam responded. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m good.” He shifted the heavy black backpack slung over his shoulder. He was wearing a white hat with an American flag emblem on the front, faded red short-sleeve shirt, jeans, and sneakers. The
underarms of his shirt were soaked in sweat.

“I don’t know, bro. It seemed like you were a million miles away.” He shouldered his red backpack and nudged Sam on the shoulder. “Okay, so what did you have to tell me that was so important?” When Sam only shook his head, the boy said, “C’mon, let’s get outta here.” Sam’s
“friend” tossed a few glances at him, each time his curiosity growing.

As they walked, Sam paid close attention to his surroundings, a skill he refined throughout the years spent as a Leaper. Often, he was able to figure out which decade he had Leaped to, based off things like technology and fashion. He noticed first the bright and vivid clothing many of the teens wore and then the Walkmans on their waistbands. They passed by a classroom with the door opened and Sam saw a young teacher sitting at her desk, her blond hair curly and bouffant. Foggy memories drifted through the holes of his Swiss-cheesed mind and Sam, lucky this time, was able to snag a couple of them. He smiled fondly and said, “The eighties.”

“The what?”

Sam turned to his friend. Obviously, he heard what Sam had said. He didn’t need an Observer to tell him that this kid was already suspicious of “Chad”, so the best response was no response. Luckily, his friend filled in the blanks. “Hey, bro, I get it. You’ve got a lot going on… y’know, with your folks not gettin’ along and now all this drama with Ashley.”

They were at the parking lot behind the school where four school buses were parked alongside the curb. All of them were packed. Teens gathered around their cars and some of them, Sam noticed with a frown, were smoking. He followed his friend over to a two-door red Toyota truck parked next to the exit. The doors were unlocked. As Sam sat in the passenger seat, he placed the backpack at his feet while his friend shoved his behind the driver seat. His friend started the truck, shifted it into gear, and drove off.

“You think that’s why she wasn’t at school today?” The boy said as he sped through a yellow light. He smirked when he saw Sam shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Ashley?” Sam asked. The boy gave him an ‘uh, yeah’ look. “I wouldn’t know. I can find out tonight. I can call her.”

“I thought you said you spoke to her last night. You said she called you. Crying over the phone. Said she had to talk to you.”

Again, Sam decided to not respond. Until Al showed up to give him the details, he didn’t want to raise anymore suspicions. The truck barreled through another yellow light, right as it was turning red. A car on Sam’s side screeched its tires and blared its horn. Sam said, “You might want
to slow down. That man almost drove into us.”

“Forget him, Chad. You’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

"Such as…”

“You’re freaked out, pregnant girlfriend.”

Sam exhaled slowly, leaned his head back against the seat, and said, “Oh boy.”