“Sorry I’m late,” Al said as he strode into the Imaging Chamber, eyes studying the handlink. “It was a kick in the butt trying to find you, Sam. Ziggy nearly fried herself running through models with the timer data, and…”
Al trailed off as he looked up and realised he was in the middle of a crowded lecture hall, making eye contact with an extremely startled, extremely young Sam Beckett.
“Oh boy…”
This had never happened during leaps; Ziggy had always been able to zero in on the right Sam’s brainwaves, even though there was a younger version of him in the past. But since this parallel world nonsense got mixed up with leaping, nothing had been going their way.
The younger Sam, aged somewhere in his twenties, was rubbing his eyes, and glancing around the hall, trying to figure out if he was the only one to see this apparition. The other students, and lecturer, who was droning on about something called ‘Transmission Control Protocol,’ had definitely not picked up on Al’s entrance, though with his loud electric blue patterned shirt and yellow trousers, Al would have to assume that all eyes would have been on him if they had indeed been able to see him.
He raised a finger to his lips as he maintained eye contact with Sam, whose face conveyed mounting alarm.
“Sorry to freak you out, kid. Nobody else can see me. Pretend I’m not here and for the love of Ziggy, don’t make a scene.”
Al knew such a request was futile. Knowing Sam, he’d draw attention to himself no matter what.
Sam tugged on the sleeve of the student sitting next to him, a guy who looked some years younger than him.
“Hey, I don’t suppose you see a guy standing right there?” he whispered, pointing towards Al.
The classmate followed his finger, and then looked back at him.
“No…” he whispered back, giving him a funny look. “You drop acid before class, man?”
“Just tell him you did!” Al barked. “I told you not to make a scene.”
“Uh… yeah, I guess… I guess I did,” Sam said. The classmate gave him a smile that Al thought looked like he was impressed.
“Square Sam’s letting his hair down? Right on, man. Seize the day.”
The kid leaned in further. “Don’t let the Prof catch on, whatever you do.”
Sam smiled awkwardly, and returned his eyes to Al as his expression turned grave and his face began to pale.
“Listen, kid,” Al said, “I’m going to walk through that wall now; just letting you know so you don’t freak out. Hopefully this is the last you’ll have to see of my mug for at least five or six years, but if it’s not, I apologise.”
He walked to the nearest wall, and passed through it, feeling the younger Sam’s eyes burning into him until he got all the way through. He found himself outside, standing on a sunny patch of grass.
He breathed, then yelled into the chamber at the top of his lungs: “Ziggy, centre me on the right Sam for Pete’s sake!”
“I’m sorry Admiral, but I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” Ziggy’s smooth, sultry voice echoed.
“And why the hell not?!” Al was seething now.
“Unfortunately, you appear to be connected to the brain waves of the alternate universe Sam Beckett, which is not something I’m currently able to alter due to the remote nature of the parallel universe. This has left your focal location at the alternate Sam Beckett, currently in Los Angeles, too far from our Doctor Beckett’s geographic location for me to centre you on him. My sincerest apologies, Admiral.”
Ziggy’s ‘sincerest apologies’ tended not to have any sincerity at all.
Oh, for the love of…
“So I’m stuck with the half-baked version of Sam for now?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Do you have any data on our Sam’s whereabouts?”
“I do, Al.”
Al stiffened at her using his first name. He’d told her to just use their short form names for brevity some time ago, but it still somehow felt weird.
“Which is?”
“The anachronistic appearance of an AI-controlled, late 1990s vehicle in 1978 was what allowed me to zero-in on the correct date. I cross-referenced this with hotel records and found a Doctor Sam Beckett staying at the Dominion Hotel of downtown San Francisco, along with four others.”
“Okay, so I just have to gain the trust of half-baked Sam and get him to call the hotel.”
“It may be prudent to convince this alternate to travel to San Francisco so that I’m able to centre you on the correct Doctor Beckett.”
Al raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You’re not worried that’ll mess up history?”
“Preserving the history of a parallel world in which I do not reside is outside my parameters. I’m frankly unconcerned with what happens in such a timeline. Furthermore, I cannot reliably calculate odds for a universe not my own.”
Damn, that’s cold, Al thought. Then again, having an unrestrained Ziggy was a little exciting, in an anxiety-ridden sort of way.
Al moved towards the entrance of the lecture hall, where he awaited Half-Baked’s eventual departure. This proved fruitful after about 20 minutes of waiting.
Students poured out of the double doors, and soon enough the youthful Sam exited, his eyes on his feet, and a hefty stack of textbooks nestled in his arms. He didn’t look to be in the mood for more chitchat from Al, but he was going to get some anyway.
“Hey there, Sam. Sorry to butt in again, but I’ve got a favour to ask.”
Sam gave a harrowing glance at him, and returned his gaze to the floor, doing his best to pretend he hadn’t seen him.
“That’s okay, kid,” Al said, walking beside him, his body passing through the crowds of students. “It’s a good idea to act like I’m not here. Let’s go somewhere a little more private.”
Sam veered away from the thoroughfare, and ducked behind a building to a secluded part of the campus.
Atta boy.
He leaned against the brick wall, and slid down it until he was sitting on the grass.
“Okay,” he muttered, “I’m having some kind of psychotic break, right? Katy told me I was gonna go nuts if I took on this triple workload, but…”
Al looked on with pity.
“Aw, jeez, Sam. I’m sorry to put you in this position.” He sat down beside the nervous kid. “You may be relieved to know that I’m not a hallucination.”
“Sounds like something a hallucination would say.”
“Well, there’s not a lot I can do to prove I’m not, but how’s this: There’s a man staying in the Dominion Hotel in San Francisco who has the exact same name as you. Call the hotel and leave him your number, along with the name Al. That’s me, by the way.”
Half-Baked Sam squinted at him with suspicion.
“Trust me,” Al continued, “you’ll get a call back. And all will be revealed.”
He bit his lip. “I hope.”