Three O'Clock in the Morning
Penelope Hill
"In a real dark night of the soul it is always three
o’clock in the morning, day after day."
Stallion’s Gate, New Mexico
March, 1995
He hadn’t been in his apartment for days, although you wouldn’t
know it from the look of everything. His cleaner kept everything just so, sweeping
dust from the floors and piling the unopened mail in the tray beside the telephone
table. He swept up the bundle of envelopes and tossed half of them into the waiting
trash bin; junk mail, circulars, and begging letters mostly. The journals went
into the action tray by his desk, the personal letters onto the desk itself. The
only thing he stopped to read was the postcard from Tommy, a souvenir of
a family jaunt signed by all the kids; a reminder of home and family, of life
outside the Project. He smiled and flipped it over, recognising the local landmark
as one he hadn’t visited in a long time; then he pinned it onto the board above
his desk, next to the drawings his nephews and nieces were always sending him,
and sat back in his swivel chair and sighed a deep-seated sigh.
He’d been working for what seemed weeks now, long hours
and snatched catnaps on the couch back in his office. The system was ready - finally
ready, untried, untested, true, but ready. He knew, deep in his heart,
that all it needed now was those last few cross-checks and the greatest adventure
ever would await him ... If anyone was going to let him try it, that was.
Nobody really believed him. He knew that too. Not Gushie, who was still
open-mouthed and floundering over Vega’s impertinent responses to his programming,
nor any other member of the technical team who had witnessed his final test of
the Imaging Chamber and recorded the moment when he had waltzed in to startle
his chosen Observer with a deliberate manifestation just as he rose to speak to
the Committee ... He wasn’t even sure if Al believed him, even if
he believed in him; the look on his Tomcat’s face had been pure poetry
when he realised that his friend had not unexpectedly joined him in DC,
but was actually standing a good mile underground somewhere in New Mexico. The
confident grin he’d subsequently thrown the Committee had looked even better.
That had been three days ago, proof positive that
the Project was on-line and on schedule. Sam had cross-checked and correlated
the data on that transmission, clarifying certain points with Vega, implementing
minor improvements and updating the project plan. Everything was ready for the
next stage; for the careful review of the Accelerator process, for the first hesitant
step back in time ...
He stifled a yawn, leaning back to stare up at the picture
that hung above the cluttered pinboard. A familiar face smiled down at him, the
image relaxed and confident. Samwise had taken the photograph himself one notable
day at StarBright, a suitable souvenir of hard work and triumphant effort. All
right - most people saw the gleaming shape of the finished satellite as
the subject of the picture, the man beside it purely there to offer a sense of
scale, but that wasn’t the reason Sam kept it above his desk. It really belonged
on the piano; the man it represented merited a place along with the other family
photographs, but putting his picture there would raise too many comments, spark
too many curious questions. Besides, Sam liked having his lover looking down at
his work, and if the man could not be there in person, then his captured smile
served as an acceptable substitute.
"I know," he laughed. "I’ve been working too hard again,
Tomcat. But you haven’t been here to distract me." He lifted his wrist
and glanced at the pattern of multi-colours that chased across the device he wore
there. "Vega?" he requested easily. "How long before Commodore Calavicci’s plane
lands?"
"Another twenty minutes, Doctor Beckett." Vega’s voice was
a rich and deep contralto, a husky sound, too smooth to belong to a man, too powerful
for a woman. Gushie called the computer ‘he’; Vernon Beeks referred to it as ‘she’;
and Alonzo changed his mind on a daily basis, sweet-talking ‘her’ like a lady
and chewing ‘him’ out with military disregard for propriety. Vega had not yet
made up his/her mind, and Sam let his child have its head, not concerned with
such binding matters as gender. She/he could be both if it wished. Both, or neither.
Sex had no impact over behaviour where Samwise was concerned, long resigned to
being out of step with the majority of the world. He had given Vega her own mind,
but a piece of his soul, fashioning her/him in his own image, stirring
in the barest hint of one they both loved beyond simple words ...
"Do you wish me to contact him once he has boarded the Project helicopter?"
"No," Sam answered wearily. "It’ll have been a long flight.
Work can keep until the morning."
"Very well." Vega’s acknowledgement was silky. "Will you
be meeting him?"
His/her creator smiled. "Not at the landing strip, no. But
- do you really have to ask?" The question was a tease; Sam was perfectly
comfortable being honest with his creation while nobody else was there. Discretion
was not Vega’s strong point, with one definitive and precise exception;
an awareness of his/her creator’s personal privacy, and the relationship he shared
with the man they now discussed.
"Have a good evening, Doctor Beckett." Vega signed off with
a hint of amusement. Sam wondered if Al’s argument concerning not applying judgemental
censorship to her input had been an entirely good idea. The original list
of her literature had been confined to defined texts, its fictional content mainly
Shakespeare and the classics, but once Vega had been given on-line access to the
global net he’d found her devouring all sorts of things, from New Age philosophies
to hardcore pornography - on all of which topics she/he had demanded explanation
and clarification. He’d thrown up his hands in despair and left Al to tackle the
issues concerning the erotica, and he wasn’t entirely sure if that had
been a good idea, either.
Other than the fact that certain aspects of his life had
become that little bit more - entertaining - as a result.
He was sure he was developing a decidedly unhealthy addiction
to butter toffee fudge icecream.
Not to mention the chocolate sauce ...
He grinned, and clambered to his feet. Twenty minutes for
the plane to land, another half-hour for the chopper flight ... he had time
for a shower and a bite to eat. If he was quick about both of them.
He dropped the wristlink into the drawer of his desk, snatched
a hunk of cheese from his fridge, stuck a prepared something in the microwave,
and hit the shower, stripping the weight of days from his skin. He emerged to
throw on casual clothing, ate three forkfuls of the ‘something’, which seemed
to be all it consisted of, and slid out of his patio doors, locking them behind
him. Six steps and an agile leap took him over the low wall and onto the adjoining
paving; within moments he was standing in the apartment next to his own and shivering
a little with anticipation.
It was probably just as well that his very private life
had never become a public one. He and Alonzo could never live together.
Their tastes were so different, for a start. Where his apartment was subdued and
subtle, cluttered with books and strewn with casual throws, rugs and ornaments,
the one he now occupied was a perfect contrast. Simple white walls, dark
furniture sprinkled with dramatic splashes of colour; there were few decorations,
beyond stark images of starscapes and the print of the Atlantis
landing at Edwards that hung on one wall. A fur rug - white fur - nestled
in front of the fireplace, and the bookcases were lined up with military precision
along the far wall. Compared to Sam’s plant-filled, souvenir-dotted rooms, the
place was startlingly spartan - in more ways than one, Sam grinned to himself
as he crossed the main living area. Calavicci never accumulated things the way
other people tended to. He liked to keep his possessions and his surroundings
simple, the inevitable legacy of never really staying long enough in one place
to have a home he could call his own. He only had two real extravagances in his
life, one of which was his wardrobe, and there was probably very little of that
he’d regret abandoning should the need ever arise. Life had taught Al Calavicci
some hard lessons, and the fleeting worth of material possessions was one he’d
taken to heart at an early age. If he couldn’t pack it, wear it, or carry it with
him, it probably wasn’t worth hanging on to. Sam, on the other hand, collected
all kinds of things - and a great many of them were the result of Alonzo’s
other extravagance: spending his money on friends, acquaintances, and on
the man he loved ...
The scientist bent to coax the fire to life, leaving it
on its lowest setting, and paused to run a hand over the thickness of the white
fur that nestled in front of it. Fake fur, of course, just as the fire was fake,
a clever combination of energy-efficient reusable ceramics and solar-powered heating
elements beneath them. Most of the living quarters and external buildings on the
base were solar powered, the only exception being the security systems, which
drew on the Project’s fusion reactor buried deep beneath the mountain.
The feel of the rug was a soft pleasure beneath his fingers,
spurring equally pleasurable recollections of nights of celebration spent sprawled
upon it. Not just him, of course. He sighed and stood up again, wondering, not
for the first time, if his Tomcat strayed purely for the temptations of the opposite
sex, or if he felt a need to protect his reputation and reassure himself of his
own masculinity from time to time. It didn’t really matter; their relationship
was solid and secure, a certainty that the occasional affair never threatened.
Sam liked to tease his Tomcat about such things, pretending wounded hurt and enjoying
the inevitable apologies ... Of course, Al had long ago discovered that the
reality of things was just a little different to the way his lover might depict
them. Sure of his friendship as well as his commitment, Sam had found that, far
from generating jealousy, the fact that women found his Tomcat as attractive
as he did was a positive plus to their relationship. He loved to lie beside
the man and hear the intimate details of his conquests, sharing the pleasures
of female flesh without ever feeling the desire for it ...
Best of both worlds. He savoured the thought, glancing
at the descending shuttle and knowing that its pilot was coming home.
The kitchen was as neat as the rest of the place, and he
could almost have made the coffee blindfolded. He filled the percolator and set
out the cups before making his way into the bedroom to make sure the bed was aired.
He wasn’t expecting anything tonight; Al would have had a long flight from
Washington and a longer day before it. His concern was to make sure that the man
felt welcomed and comfortable; even so, the bed was a temptation all on its own.
The bedspread was a glorious sweep of dark purple and deep blues, and the sheets
beneath were satin black; both a present from Sam himself, who’d found one in
a designer studio somewhere in the Village and the other in an outrageously expensive
store in ’Frisco. The present had been intended as a joke - publicly given and
publicly blushed over by half a dozen women at the Christmas party where Al had
unwrapped the gift. Privately appreciated though; Sam had been the first one privileged
to christen them ...
He kicked off his shoes and settled his weary frame onto
the yielding mattress. It was early yet, and a few minutes spent relaxing wouldn’t
hurt. He’d get up when the coffee was ready. He wondered, as he closed his eyes,
just why his next door neighbour’s bed always felt so much more comfortable
than his own ...
"Sam?" The voice was soft and pitched low, filled with unspecified amusement.
He stirred and woke, opening his eyes to find a familiar smile awaiting him.
"Oh - hi, Tomcat," Samwise breathed sleepily. "I didn’t hear
you come in."
"Obviously not." Al sat on the edge of his bed, regarding
its occupant with affectionate contemplation. "Been waiting long?"
"All my life," his lover replied, then laughed. "’Bout an
hour, I guess. I must have fallen asleep ..."
"Don’t get up." A hand reached out to prevent the threatened
movement. "You look exhausted."
"Yeah." Sam stifled a yawn, and returned the consideration.
The man beside him had aged well over the past nine years; the touch of grey at
his temples added a hint of distinction, and the lines on his face were those
of character, not age. He was dressed in a swirl of amber and orange beneath a
suit of darkest ochre. His jacket lay tossed over the ottoman and his vest was
open to reveal the intricate gold clasps that fastened the fabric beneath. "New
shirt?"
"Mmmhuh," Alonzo agreed. "Like it?"
"Mmmhuh," Sam echoed, reaching out to feel the fineness of
the cloth. "Silk. Expensive. Nice," he added, using the hand tangled in the sleeve
to pull the man down toward him. Al laughed and went without protest. They kissed
without noticeable passion, just an exchange of mutual affection such as longtime
lovers often share; Sam sighed contentedly and stretched with a languorous action.
"I missed you, you know."
His companion laughed a second time. "You must have done,"
he noted. "Using all that power just to scare me half to death ..."
"It worked, didn’t it?" The scientist’s words held pride
and a shy pleasure, like a little boy discovering a new toy. His chosen Observer
shook his head with resigned amusement.
"It worked," he agreed. "Not sure the Committee believed
me entirely, but ..." His smile became a positive grin. "They still authorised
the funding."
"They did?" Sam sat up with delighted reaction. "That’s wonderful!"
"Well," Al hesitated, "it is - and it isn’t. They want another
review and risk assessment before they’ll countersign it. But I’m sure that’s
just a formality."
"Another ... Oh, boy." Sam dropped back to the mattress
and stared gloomily at the ceiling. "What do they want, Al? I’ve given
them Vega and they don’t trust the system’s integrity. I’ve proved the holographic
technology and they demand more control. I’ve had to explain to Wietzman five
times why only you and I are calibrated to use the Imaging Chamber at the moment.
He seems to think just anyone ought to be able to make use of it."
"Don’t mind the Rottweiler, lover," his friend advised softly.
"He’s only growling because you actually made the external transmission work.
He’s all bark and - savage bite."
It was a small joke, but it lifted some of the gloom from
Samwise’s face.
"He been on your case again?"
"Nothing I can’t handle. He’s just ambitious, Sam. Wants
you to screw up so that he can say ‘I told you so’. You never do, of course, so
he tries to make out I’m holding you back instead."
"That’s ridiculous. What else has he been saying?"
"Oh - nothing you need worry about." Alonzo shrugged out
of his vest and tugged the pin clasp from beneath his collar, tossing both to
join his jacket. "Some caca about you never actually activating the system.
Seems to think you’d be too scared. I said you’d implement when you were
good and ready. When we were sure it worked both ways."
"He thinks I’m scared?" The scientist lifted himself
up on one elbow and stared at his company in disbelief. "When I’ve worked half
my life to get this far? Is he crazy?"
"Probably," Al laughed. "I’m never sure about the Weitz.
One moment he’s pushing the Project for all it’s worth, and the next he’s painting
doom and gloom and trying to rein it back. I left him arguing about needing independent
confirmation of the work, would you believe? As if there were anyone other
than you who’d understand half the stuff we’ve put together."
A cold shiver ran down Sam Beckett’s spine. "Were the rest
of the Committee listening to him?" he asked quietly. His friend looked
briefly puzzled.
"I doubt it," he said after a moment. "Why? You think they
might?"
Sam dropped back to the bed and resumed his contemplation
of the ceiling. "Maybe," he admitted softly. "Al - we’re so close. Just
a few more weeks and I’m sure we can prove the whole shebang. But if they
start bringing in external consultants - that could take months. Years
maybe."
"Sam," Al warned warily, "don’t go jumping to conclusions
here. The Rottweiler has his own agenda, you know that. Don’t let him push you
into anything stupid ..."
"But they don’t understand how important this is ..."
"I understand," his lover interrupted firmly, reaching
to place a reassuring hand to his shoulder. "I also know how good a certain Sam
Beckett is at leaping in where angels fear to tread. We are close, Sam.
Damn close. And I’m not about to let anyone, let alone the Rottwieler,
take any of the credit or the results away from you. So forget about it, okay?
Before you decide to do something really stupid - like implement the Accelerator
before we’ve verified the retrieve ..."
Sam looked at him, identifying the sudden hint of anxiety
that lay behind those words. It suddenly occurred to him that - even if he
were not scared of the adventure he was making possible - then perhaps his lover
was.
"You don’t want me to use it at all, do you?" he accused,
and his answer came in the barest flicker of disconcertion that chased across
his companion’s face.
"Don’t be silly, Sam," Alonzo denied. "Of course you
have to make use of the system. Once we’re sure of everything. Certain it’s safe ..."
His words tailed off as he stared suspiciously at the man lying beside him. "Sam?
You weren’t really thinking of - it’s not ready, Sam, and you know it."
"Maybe." Sam shrugged into the pillows, discomforted by the
alarmed note in the speaker’s voice. You are scared, aren’t you, Tomcat?
Don’t you know what this means to me ...?
The grip on his shoulder tightened a little. "Don’t go doing
anything crazy, Sam," Al pleaded softly. "Wait until we’re sure. Promise
you won’t let yourself be pushed before you’re ready to jump ..."
Sam considered him apprehensively, his mind wrestling with
the instincts of his heart. He knew the system was complete, had faith
in his theories and the work he had constructed around them; he also knew that
the tight anxiety that lay behind the asked-for promise had little to do with
scientific proof or endless tests. His lover was afraid. Not of the unknown, or
even any danger, imagined or otherwise. Simply afraid of that one percent chance
that might kick in and come between them forever. He was afraid of being left
alone. Again.
I’m sorry, Tomcat. Trust me. I know everything
will work out fine. I can’t make that promise and hope to keep it, or I’ll
never Leap. Not once. You’ll never let me go ... But I will
come back. I can promise you that.
"Okay," he said lightly, trying to dismiss the matter rather
than face it. "I promise I won’t step into the Accelerator until I’m sure I know
what I’m doing. Happy?"
Al’s expression curled into a reluctant smile. "I guess,"
he sighed. "Can’t we just forget about the Committee and the Project for a while?
I haven’t seen you for three weeks - well, seen you. But not ..."
His fingers drifted from Sam’s shoulder to tangle about the top button of the
casual sports shirt. Sam let out the anxious breath he hadn’t realised he’d been
holding and relaxed into a knowing smile.
"I made coffee," he offered in non-serious protest.
"I noticed," Alonzo growled. "It got cold. Besides - when
a man comes home to find the perfect present lying on his bed, what else is he
supposed to do but unwrap it?"
"Check the gift tag?" Sam suggested lazily, lifting his arms
to tuck his hands behind his head. Al grinned and undid the button with a flick
of his fingers.
"Idiot," he noted with affection. "I already know
who this came from ..." His hand slid down the texture of the fabric and
then worked its way beneath it, seeking the smoothness of concealed skin. Sam
squirmed into the contact with pleasured reaction, shuffling across until his
hip touched that of his company.
"I thought that you’d be tired after the flight," he said,
closing his eyes with relish as practised fingers teased across his stomach with
lingering deliberateness. Al’s answering chuckle was pitched low.
"Are you kidding, kid? All I did was sleep. I’d already seen
the movie ..." Strong hands manoeuvred the looseness of the shirt up and
over his head, and Sam slipped free of the fabric to settle back against the sensuous
kiss of satin.
"You mean you didn’t persuade a gorgeous stewardess to attend
to your every need?"
"Oh no." The denial was amused. "I gave up the mile high
club years ago. Bad for the back ..." The man’s hand slid down to unclip
the waiting buckle and slide the belt it secured free. Sam waited until the leather
hit the floor, grinned wickedly, tightened his stomach muscles to pull his torso
upright and attacked; his intended target was caught completely off balance, just
as he’d hoped. The throw was hardly a classic of any discipline, but it tumbled
its victim in the desired direction; straight over his attacker’s hip and flat
to his back on the mattress. Sam twisted to follow its impetus and applied weight
to pin his partner down; Al squirmed away from him with a snort of protesting
laughter.
"Saaam ..."
They wrestled together with mock aggression as each fought
to be master of the situation, a good-natured tussle with more intimate undertones.
It was a game they played from time to time, a decidedly masculine interaction
that counterpointed the more tender moments of their relationship, although it
was never intended seriously, and neither man ever brought to it more than a token
of his full strength. Samwise had the advantage of weight, reach, and intensive
training, but he fought with a wily Tomcat who’d learned most of his tricks. Alonzo
didn’t always let him win ...
On this occasion he surrendered, or as good as did, anyway;
Sam twisted over one last time to pin his opponent to the satin surface, and Al
let out a quiet sigh, yielding completely as he did so. "Point to me?" the victor
demanded with a laugh. The vanquished grinned.
"Guess so," he growled, his face barely inches below that
of his conqueror. Sam dipped his head lower, demanding the usual victory prize,
and Al’s hand slid up the curve of his back to pull him into the kiss. This time
it held much more than mere affection. Their combat became one of lips and tongues
directed with passion; they scarcely parted for breath before desire returned
them to the conflict. Sam’s hand shifted to fumble down the line of gold clasps
that pressed into his chest and stomach, then lower still, releasing mutual heat
to his touch.
"I missed you," he breathed between fervent kisses.
"And I want you," he added with force, and went on to prove just how much
he meant it ...
It was late. Samwise lay in the dark and listened to the slow reassurance of his
lover’s breath, one arm curled protectively around the man’s sleeping form. He
lifted his free hand to gently brush the close-cropped hair, and then softly caressed
the curve of neck beneath it. Alonzo stirred and settled again, his head tucked
against a supportive shoulder, his arm curving across his partner’s hip and stomach
in reciprocal embrace.
It had been a long three weeks without him.
Three weeks of waiting, of planning, of preparation:
preparation for the moment that hovered, anxiously, just ahead of him. In all
that time he had looked no further than this night, hoping that the news
his lover brought would be encouraging and knowing, deep in his heart, that it
would not be so.
Al had left for Washington with a jaunty step and confident
words; he’d fought and cajoled and bullied the Committee with his usual determination,
while Sam had stayed behind to work, driven by a sense of urgency he couldn’t
quite explain, even to himself. He knew what he had to do, had seen the
inevitable crystallising alongside the realisation of his schemes. The moment
of truth awaited him; he had put it off, ignored it, delayed it, even denied it
- but it had never gone away.
And now decisions made by others were forcing it upon him;
were forcing to accept what he had to do.
"I love you, Tomcat," Sam whispered softly. He couldn’t sleep.
Thoughts were chasing round his head with determined insistence, thoughts of faceless,
uninspired men who dictated the limits of his life and chained his dreams. Thoughts,
too, of the man in his arms, who had believed in him, supported and encouraged
him, despite his lingering fear of what they pursued. Not of the unknown - never
that, Sam comprehended, smiling down at the quiet face with affection - but of
the consequences of pursuing it.
I have to do this. I have to. All my life, working
to this point, and they will try and take it all away from me ...
He sighed. If only life were as easy as simple mathematics.
Reality made it much more complex than the quantum physics which he had studied
with such determination. So many mistakes over the years, so many missed opportunities,
so much pain ... and so much to be thankful for, he told himself, bending
his head to brush his cheek against the dark silk of his lover’s hair.
I dreamed the impossible dream, he realised. Made
it possible. Now all I have to do is make it happen ...
The night was a silent expectation about him. The sense
of impending import was almost tangible. In his mind the past lay spread out before
him, each moment crystal clear and impossibly beyond his reach. He had always
possessed that perfect recall, could mentally lift a book he had not seen for
years and still turn over each and every page, reading the words with certain
clarity. Ghosts haunted him because of it - images of his sister before the war
that took her forever; memories of his mother and her slow decline from sturdy
independence to a mere shadow of herself; even echoes of Chelsea and the generosity
with which he had taught him how to love ...
A love his heart had no wish to betray, and yet his sense
of destiny was ordering him to do that one small thing ...
I can’t, he told himself, the inner cry tearing at
the decision that was slowly growing inside him. I promised ...
Promised what? Not to act until he was sure of it? But he
was sure. Sure now, not months hence when others would be ready
to seize his prize and make it their own. They would try to ferret out all his
tricks and secrets, seek to make the past their own playground, when all
he wanted to do was be the first ... He had never pursued this
course for any purpose other than the need to make it happen. He’d never given
one thought to practical application, beyond the spinoffs and the supporting work
that made it all possible. He’d given the world their voice recognition systems,
their clean power, and their neural networking; he’d created AI capable of independent
thought and learning, and he’d enabled a means of communication that had more
in common with telepathy than the telephone. Wasn’t that enough? The past
was his, had always been his, the goal toward which his work had taken
him.
The goal that might now take him away. Perhaps forever.
No matter how certain his theories, no matter how careful his equations, he could
not be sure that anything was possible until he took that final step. As
for the retrieve - there was the conundrum he had not been able to solve,
despite long examination of the concepts. Since nothing had ever Leaped back,
he could not confirm the viability of even a one-way ticket. He had never admitted,
never dared admit to anyone that, due to the nature of the forces with
which he played, before the first step was taken, the return journey was actually
impossible ...
They’ll find that out. I know that once the barrier
is broken the way back becomes feasible, but they won’t see it that way. The figures
make it paradoxical; until I Leap I can’t come home, and without surety of that
they will never let me go. You would never let me go, Tomcat.
He caressed the sleeping man’s shoulder with gentle fingers,
feeling the texture of his skin and the warmth of his life beneath his hand.
You believe all the things I’ve told you, and everything
I’ve told you has been a lie. I’ve set all these rules, about not making changes,
about keeping time a constant by not referring to the future beyond vague
conceptions while I’m in the past - and the only way I can return is if I transform
the world from which I Leap. I don’t even know how it will happen. I just know
it has to. Like not seeing the colours in white light until you break it, at which
point it is no longer white ...
He smiled at the simile, identifying its source and his
long association with that particular work. Samwise, his mother had named him,
a faithful, dependable kind of guy, prepared to stay loyal to the end; except
that, if anything, he was more Frodo than Samwise, seeking his own destiny while
those who loved him trusted him to make the right choices. Trusted him.
He glanced down as his companion stirred a second time, shifting slightly to allow
the sleeping figure to assume a more comfortable position.
Al was probably more elf than hobbit, but no less loyal,
and no less fierce if aroused to his defence. He’d helped his lover pursue his
dream, had fought and worked to the same end with dedicated determination. All
for one purpose.
All for a lie.
That wouldn’t be a lie once it had become a reality.
But to do that, Sam would have to take the one in
a million chance. He would have to Leap. And maybe he was wrong, after
all.
Maybe he’d never come home ...
I can’t, his soul repeated with heightened pain. I
can’t leave him. Not alone.
But if Weitzman was threatening to bring in a second opinion,
if learned minds examined the theories and told them it would never work; told
his backers, his team, his Tomcat about the lie, told them he’d be unreachable
in the past, unretrievable ...
Time travel is impossible, he had concluded early
in his figuring. Until someone actually travels in time ...
Once he had Leaped, the equations would change, make
it possible, invalidate the lie. Not a lie at all. Just a major sleight-of-hand
that would become the most obvious trick in the book.
He hoped.
No. He had to believe. Or else his whole existence
would be a lie, and the betrayal he contemplated tonight overshadowed by a far
worse one. This was the purpose to whose pursuit he had dedicated his life,
had committed himself to and demanded the efforts of so many others to make it
succeed. He did not want to take that step and leave his lover to face a world
without him - but not to take it would be wrong. A betrayal of the faith
that Al and so many others had in his abilities, the trust they had all
placed in his hands. And if he didn’t go soon, he might never go at all ...
He never should have waited. He should have gone the very
moment the issue of the funding arose, at the point when he had recognised the
inevitable pattern of event and circumstance forming around him. Yet how could
he have left without a chance to say goodbye?
Please god, he prayed, let him understand. I have
to do this. This is what I have worked for, what we have worked for. He
gave me the strength to follow my dream, made this moment possible ... I
will do whatever you ask of me, if you just keep him safe, and let me come home
again. I love him, lord. I don’t want to hurt him. But I have other promises to
keep, other purposes to fulfil. You made me what I am, gave me my skill and my
ability; you brought him to me when I needed him most. Don’t let all this be for
nothing.
Don’t let me be the lie ...
He slid away from the warmth of his company, carefully,
lest he should disturb him. Alonzo protested vaguely but did not wake; Sam gently
tucked the sheet around him and bent to place one last kiss on his sleeping forehead.
"I love you, Tomcat. Remember that. Hang on to it until I
come home. And come see me soon. I’ll wait for you - whenever I might be ..."
"Commodore Calavicci? Commodore, are you awake?"
The insistent voice penetrated through the miasma of sleep,
and Al reacted with a protesting groan.
"Who ...? What ...?" He forced himself awake and
stared blearily at the bedside clock. It was three o’clock in the morning; he
was alone, and the desert outside was lit up like a Christmas tree.
"It’s Doctor Beckett, Commodore." The voice on the intercom
was that of Gushie, the Project programmer, and he sounded distinctly scared.
"Sam?" The question was directed both at the speaker on the
intercom and the absence of the man who should have been right beside him.
"He’s activated the Accelerator, Commodore. Vega said no,
but he’s Leaping. Right now. He’s Leaping!"
He went cold all over. For one brief second he couldn’t
even breathe. No, his heart demanded.
Noooo!
"I’ll be right with you," he somehow managed to say. "Activate
the location monitor. Put Vega in control."
"Right away." The intercom went dead. His soul followed suit.
It isn’t ready. How could he do this? Why?
No answers came out of the night - only a sense of loss
that speared his heart with savage certainty. He was alone. He knew he
was alone. No-one could stop the process of a Leap once it had begun. No-one could
prevent the impact of forces that were designed to rip a living being out of now
and throw it, propel it into the past. There would have been no time to
set the parameters, no chance to direct the measure of that first, impossible
step ...
The indent of his lover’s body still curved the empty space
beside him. The echo of his warmth remained, his scent still lingered in the air.
But he was gone. Utterly gone. And in the darkness of a long night that
had only just begun, an abandoned Tomcat put back his head and howled with uncomprehending
pain.
"Saaammm ..."
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Disclaimer:This story has been written for love rather than profit and is not intended to violate any copyrights held by Donald P Bellasario, Bellasarius Productions, or any other holders of Quantum Leap trademarks or copyrights.
© 1994 by AAA Press. Written and reproduced by Penelope Hill. Artwork by Joan Jobson