6.14  ·  Green Is Stop

The LED lights on the security cameras shone red as a small group convened in the common room.

Quinn sat on the arm of a couch, head down, as John feverishly tapped out a message to Al to update him on the situation.

“How are the new memories coming along?” Maggie asked, as she sat beside him. He gave her an unreadable look.

“Ever seen Titanic?”

Maggie stared at him a moment. “Like, the ship?”

“The movie.”

Quinn stifled a laugh. “I’m extremely curious as to why that was your answer to Maggie’s question.”

John’s cheeks went red. “Uh, never mind about that. Have you come up with any ideas about our ‘friend’ upstairs?”

“Well,” Quinn said, rising from the couch and pacing, “When Sam leaped into Maggie, it seemed like entering the vortex triggered a leap, but it pulled their quantum photon forms in with it. If there hadn’t already been a version of Maggie in there, I think it would have spat us all out on the other side with the two of them separated. So if we just send him for a slide, maybe it’ll sort itself out.”

Maggie tilted her head. “Didn’t you give away the timer?”

Quinn laughed.

“You think I wouldn’t build a new sliding machine in all these years?” He winked. “We had to get back home eventually, when all this was done. It’s ready when we are.”

He turned back to John. “Think it’s worth a shot?”

“It’s a sound theory,” John said, squinting as he processed the information. “But, don’t forget that your standard wormhole ejected you into 1978, and you know how much of a pain it was to get you back to your time.”

Quinn bowed his head. “Yeah, that’d be less than ideal, and there could be further factors we haven’t taken into account.”

Maggie turned to John. “How do you target the time for Sherri?”

John laughed nervously. “With extremely complex calculations based on Sherri’s chrono-biological cell data. Higgins does most of the work, but the data comes from extensive scans, which we don’t have for Rembrandt or Thames.”

Quinn ran a hand through his hair. “And there’s that other element I know we all love to talk about, right?”

John sighed. “Yeah. But we can’t rely on whatever’s going on there. I mean, he took off with two of my best friends to who-knows-where. I don’t know what the guy’s thinking.”

Quinn flopped back onto the couch arm. “And I suppose Ziggy’s too busy to run models, right?”

John huffed. “If we don’t do something soon…”

“I know, man,” Quinn said.

In his periphery, Quinn sensed the lights on the cameras flick to green. The three of them clammed up for a moment, before John stood.

“Look, I’m going to head to Stallions Gate,” he said. “Need to see how everything’s coming along from their perspective, not just my unstable memories of the situation.”

Quinn nodded. “Let my counterpart know what’s going on too, would you? I bet he’s getting tense.”

“Sure,” John agreed. Maggie stood, and gave him a hug.

“See you round, Uncle Sam.”

“Why do you like Sam so much?” came Tom’s voice, who was now standing in the doorway. “My Maggie… Sherri… was so affectionate to Sam, then cold to me.”

John looked between them awkwardly. “Uh, I’m not qualified to participate in this conversation, so see you later…”

Tom stepped aside as John moved out of the door, turning back for a moment to place a hand on Tom’s shoulder.

“I still owe you some quality time,” he said, “but it’ll have to wait until this crisis simmers down, huh?”

Tom nodded. “Yeah. Call me later.”

They exchanged a smile, before John disappeared from view.

Quinn made himself scarce as Tom closed the door, and turned his attention back to Maggie. Maggie had returned to her seated position, looking up at him.

“My view of the situation was that you were affectionate to Uncle Sam, and cold to me,” she explained. “And you know Sam, right? He’s a lovable guy. Every version I’ve met, anyway; and that’s three so far.”

Tom considered her words as he crossed to the other couch, and took a seat.

“Yeah, that seems like a universal truth, right there,” he admitted. “What is it about him?”

“Why does everyone like Superman?” Quinn interjected, unable to help himself. “Because he always tries to do the right thing. Even saving a cat from a tree. Doesn’t matter who it is, he wants to help if he can. If they’ll let him. Just look at Alia.”

Tom looked at him with a smirk. “You’re comparing my little brother to Superman?”

Quinn shrugged. “You don’t agree?”

“Well… don’t tell him I said it, but I guess it’s not completely off-base, when you put it like that.”

“See, look at that,” said Maggie, “the way you undermined your compliment. I never got straightforward praise when I was a kid. You spoil your approval with criticism, every time.”

“I don’t want Sam getting a big ego…”

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Sam? He’d just get embarrassed and come up with reasons why you’re wrong. Besides, there’s a stark difference between a brother and your own daughter.”

“Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it?” said Tom. “How old did you say she was?”

“Well in John’s time she’d be… 48, I think?” Maggie squinted, and looked up at Quinn. “Did I get that math right?”

Maggie’s birthday is October 27th, 1971. We met Sherri in early May of 1999, and then we went to late November of 1978. Her last leap was in early February of 1998. That’s effectively 19 years on top of Maggie’s age. But are we going by precise time spent alive, or number of birthdays experienced? Because it’ll be different.

After some mental calculations, he answered. “Assuming you have the same birthday, she’d be 46, if we’re basing it on her body’s age,” he said. “And today I think she’d be 51, and with an adjusted ‘birthday’ in August, she’ll be 52.”

Quinn carefully skirted around the admission that the possibility of her being alive in 2003 was still an ongoing question.

“Thank you, Quinn,” Maggie said. “You didn’t need to be that precise, but it was an impressive display.” Quinn sent a crooked grin back to her.

“Oh my god.” Tom put a hand to his cheek. “I’m 52.”

“Well then,” said Maggie, “maybe if you ever get a chance to see her again, you can treat her as an equal.”

Tom sat, shaking his head in disbelief. After a moment, he met Maggie’s eye. “It’s been nice to talk to you,” he said softly. Maggie nodded back.

“Yeah. Likewise.”

Tom stood, turning to Quinn. “How’s your guest doing? Have you gagged him yet?”

Quinn frowned as he thought about Remy. “No, but it may happen some time. I’m hearing he has quite the mouth on him.”

“You haven’t seen him?”

Quinn and Maggie exchanged looks.

“No…” he admitted.

While he’d dealt with all kinds of doubles who looked like him and his friends but were different, it was different this time, somehow. The fact he had been seeing Thames for weeks, every day, and it never twigged that it wasn’t Remy.

He felt guilty.

Tom nodded. “Have you figured out how to help him escape?”

Quinn’s eyes popped open, and he shot a look at the security cam. The light was green.

Maggie stood with a frantic speed, finger to her lips. “Can it, Pops. Green light.”

Tom’s jaw slackened. “Doesn’t green mean ‘go?’”

Quinn, grimacing, shook his head. “Not out here.”

“I see…” Tom, straightening up, traced his finger and thumb over his lips in a zipping motion. Quinn and Maggie exchanged a tense look.

*          *          *

Sam burst through the door of the Kromagg office, as Al scrambled behind him.

“Sam, slow down! I didn’t even check for guys in here!”

“I don’t see any guys,” Sam said as he moved to the desk and began rifling through the drawers. John blinked in next to him.

“I know this office,” he said. “Belongs to another commander. Don’t know his name, though.”

Sam nodded. “Kerrick, I think. Something like that.”

“Did Nexus Quinn tell you that?”

I don’t think Al told me, but maybe I’ve got some of Quinn’s mind.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Sherri and Tim were just now arriving. Tim gave a look down the corridor while Sherri cast a bewildered look to Sam.

“Why did you just run ahead like that?” Sherri asked as she closed the door.

“Sorry,” he said. “The commander’ll be back soon, so we need to work fast.”

He reached into a drawer and felt around the base of the drawer above. His fingers landed on a tiny compartment, which he flipped open, and a key fell into his palm.

“Why do you keep talking like you know everything?” John asked, his brow heavy over his eyes. “This is creeping me out.”

Sam held up the key. “Because… apparently I do?”

Sam couldn’t explain it either. It was a strange, unearthly feeling that gave him butterflies, but not in a bad way. He’d first started to notice it as he and Tim had been planning their escape. It was as though he was witnessing an array of branching possibilities expanding before him, and he could identify the probabilities of each outcome.

There’s no reason I should feel as certain as I do. Is this how Ziggy feels all the time?

He handed the key to Sherri.

“The data crystal is in there,” he said, pointing to a painting on the wall.

“In the painting?” Tim asked.

“In the—?” Sam gave him an exasperated look. “No, behind it.”

He felt the eyes of both holograms on him as he sat down at the computer on the desk and began to stare at the Kromagg text.

“We need to find out what they’ve done with the data. Destroying the crystal might only be the first step if they’ve copied it.”

“Don’t tell me you can read Kromagg all of a sudden,” John said.

“No, but…” said Sam, squinting at it, “we know they speak English. This has got to be some kind of alphabet, right?”

“Yeah, I’d thought Phoenician, but some of the characters aren’t even close.” John leaned to look at the screen as Sam’s mind raced.

“There’s some characteristics of Aramaic as well, but you’re right. I think it’s a deliberate red herring. It could just be a substitution cipher.”

“Huh.” John turned to Al. “Wanna race to see if Ziggy or Higgins can figure this thing out first?”

Al looked at the two of them, baffled. “Uh, sure thing. But Ziggins might have the upper hand.”

Sam turned to Al. “Uh… did you just say ‘Ziggins?’”

“Tina came up with it. It’s one of them, what do you call it? Couple names. Like ‘Bennifer.’”

“What the heck is a Bennifer?” asked Sam and John in unison.

Al grinned. “Never mind that,” he said, as he pointed his handlink towards the screen, and it began to scan the text.

Sam flipped through as much text as he could as Al scanned, for ample sampling.

Meanwhile, he glanced up to Tim and Sherri, who had retrieved the crystal from a compartment in the wall. They were now looking at the painting.

“Hey, ain’t she…” said Tim. Sherri nodded.

“Only one ’magg she could be.”

John crossed to the picture, which was a Kromagg man and woman. “And he’s the guy whose office we’re in right now.”

“You don’t think they were…”

“Why else would there be a portrait of them?”

Sam had a feeling about this that he didn’t like.

We can’t be here when he gets back.

Sam’s knee bounced as he sat in the plush chair. “Al, how’s Ziggy doing?”

Al paused for a moment, before looking up from the handlink. “Got it.”

“Give me a projection of the key real quick.”

Al tapped a few buttons, and pointed the handlink at a vacant part of the desk, and the translation of the symbols appeared.

John approached, and the two of them memorised it together.

“Got it,” Sam said, and switched his attention to the computer, where everything suddenly made a lot more sense. He searched through local documents and records at as fast a pace as he could, before finding upload records for data that matched some of the key equations he recognised.

“The data’s been put on a remote server,” he said, pounding a fist on the desk. “It’s got layers of security…”

He bit his lip as he continued reading. “They’re building a prototype integrated into one of their Manta ships. It’s in a hangar on the top floor.”

Sherri frowned. “So even if we can destroy the prototype, they’ll still have the info? Shit.”

Think.

Sam moved his chair back, and planted his head in his hands.

You know there’s a way through this. Just think. You’ve come this far. It can’t be the end.

And he felt himself, again, seeing the world in a series of branching possibilities, like the great tree that cocooned him. He was floating outside of time, and it seemed as though every moment of his life was happening at once, like a bundled up string compressed into a tight ball. And right next to his own life, with moments of intertwined string, ran another Sam Beckett, one whose name was sometimes John. He saw a moment, there on that string, that sang out to him.

And then, he knew what to do next.

Sam leaped.