“One hour, people!”
Quinn placed down the timer as he did a final check on the machine, which had been altered to transmit a charge of Accelerator energy in a focused beam, rather than contain it within the chamber like it had done with Maggie.
Everyone was gathered in the lab, and there was a palpable nervous tension in the air.
Quinn reached into a backpack he’d brought with him, and pulled out a thick notebook. This thing had been keeping him awake all hours of the night, and he was glad to be done with it.
“Professor…” he waved it in the air, catching Arturo’s attention, who gave a smile of recognition.
“Ah, I was wondering when you’d finish those notes,” he said, approaching Quinn.
“This should have everything you need,” he said. “Future events, schematics, equations, coordinates to important worlds – that I had available, anyway. You’ve already got the timer code on hard disk, which will let you replicate the functionality of mine. But there’s also a few personal things in here that I want you to take on board.”
Arturo nodded, as he flipped through the pages, full to the brim with writing.
“There’s information about the invasion I told you about,” he continued. “And you’re actually going to meet the person who allowed it to happen. Only, I don’t think you’re going to be able to prevent it, even with the knowledge I’ve put in here.”
Arturo looked up at him grimly. “I see.”
Quinn placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I want you to know that if you can’t make any of the changes I’ve requested, I won’t hold it against you. I know you’ll do everything you can, and that’s all I can ask for.”
Arturo looked as though he was burdened by the weight of the world, and Quinn felt absolutely miserable about doing this to him. The least he could do was absolve him of any failures that might happen.
“Oh… also…” Quinn flipped to the back of the notebook. “Here are a few companies you may want to buy shares in… might make your life a little easier.”
Arturo’s gaze shifted back down to the pages.
“Hmm… Micro-Soft? The computer company?” he stroked his chin. “Thank you, Mister Mallory.”
He closed the book. “I shall guard this compendium with my very life.”
Quinn smiled, knowing that he was telling the truth, and turned his attention to his father, who was finishing up a conversation with Colin.
“Dad…”
Michael met his eye, and stepped towards him, looking spooked.
“Are you aware of what Colin just requested of me?” he asked, a little pale in the face. Quinn nodded.
“Yes, and I’m on board,” he said, and changed the subject, not wanting to complicate his feelings with logic.
“Listen, I want you to know you’re our next stop in our journey. As soon as we get back to 1999, we’re coming to find you.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Michael replied, with a wry grimace. “In, uh… twenty-one years time…”
“Just a couple decades,” Quinn said, shrugging as nonchalantly as he could. “No sweat, right?”
Michael drew Quinn into a hug. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered. As the familial embrace went on, Quinn beckoned to Colin, who joined in.
“Love ya, Dad,” Quinn said. “And thanks for sticking around to help us out.”
“Pleasure was all mine,” Michael said, as the three finally broke out of the hug.
* * *
“Twenty minutes!”
Rembrandt watched the people around him: families, friends, colleagues. Then there was him, the odd man out. The one here who didn’t choose to go on this journey in the first place, who had no expertise, and only the bonds of camaraderie and friendship that he had been forced to forge after being unwillingly swept up in Q-ball’s science experiment.
He’d thought numerous times, during his time here in the past, of contacting his young self, warning him of his ill-fated drive through a San Fran street. But, he would have never believed it anyway.
He’d even entertained the idea of staying here in the past, finding steady work as a musician, living out his life through decades he’d already experienced one time around. It was his home world, after all. He could just stay, forget about sliding.
But… it just didn’t sit right with him. Not after everything that he’d been through. What he knew was to come.
And besides, he’d said it himself: his singing voice was sometimes the only thing that could get them money to survive during slides. He couldn’t remove that element from the equation and risk the people he loved maybe dying without his help.
“How you doing, Remy?” Maggie had sidled up to him. His Maggie, he assumed.
“Me? I’m good,” he said, raising an eyebrow. People didn’t ask that of him very often. “I’m sure gonna miss my favourite decade, though. What about you, girl? Any more headaches?”
She gave him a broad shrug. “Nope! But, I can’t wait to get back to a time when the smell of cigarettes isn’t detectable in literally every room.”
She grinned. “And other miscellaneous herbal aromas.”
Rembrandt’s eyes wandered to the other Maggie, who was in what looked like deep discussion with the mid-twenties Sam Beckett.
“Any idea why she’s stickin’ around here?”
Maggie pursed her lips, appearing to be struggling to recall something. “I’m not sure. But she seems at peace about it.”
“A little different from the Maggie that cuffed me into her car two weeks ago,” Rembrandt mused. “What happened in that coma, anyway?”
Maggie tilted her head. “I think I had a dream where Colin served me coffee? That’s all I can remember.”
Rembrandt gave her a funny look. “Musta been good coffee,” was all he could think to say in response.
Across the room, Sam was inspecting the machine, writing notes on a clipboard. But now he put it down, as he met Rembrandt’s eye. He strolled over, looking amiable.
“Cryin’ Man, it’s been a pleasure,” he said, extending a hand. Rembrandt shook vigorously.
“Feeling’s mutual, my man,” he said. “Never seen a white man play funk guitar so well.”
Sam smiled. “You take care of yourself,” he said.
“You too,” Remy replied, “and I mean it. Don’t wear yourself out. You work way too hard, man.”
Sam laughed. “Yeah, I guess I do. Well, I’ll just have to see if my, uh, request for leave is granted.”
Rembrandt didn’t know what he meant by that.
* * *
“Three minutes, everyone! In position!” Quinn’s call brought everyone out of their conversations, and Sam watched the room turn from irreverent goodbyes to determined concentration.
He turned to Al, who was standing nervously at the side of the machine, looking down at the handlink.
“Ziggy’s ready, right? No more delays for temporal constants?”
Al slapped the side of the handlink. “Ready. I’ve just gotta push this button at the exact moment the Accelerator starts up.” He pointed to a blue area of the flashing device.
“Are you telling me I have to rely on your reflexes to make this work?” Sam said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Who taught you to quick-draw a gun, huh?”
Well, he has a point there.
“Okay, okay. Well, just stay focused.”
A hush fell over the room. Sam glanced around the lab, meeting everyone’s eye as he scanned, a silent goodbye. He didn’t know what would happen to him after this. In all probability, he’d resume leaping.
“Everyone… it’s been wild,” he said to the room. “And thank you. I guess this is goodbye.”
A solemn expression passed over the faces of everyone in the room. His niece gave him a nod through tearful eyes.
“Three, two, one,” Quinn extended the timer, and the wormhole burst open. He nodded to Arturo by the machine.
Sam watched Al’s eyes, focused intently on the lever as Arturo pulled down. Right as it hit the ‘on’ position, his finger came down on the handlink.
From the machine came a beam of blue, right into the centre of the vortex.
Sam nodded, and jumped in.
He had to assume that the others had followed, but the tunnel-like environment of the vortex faded from his vision, and he found himself hitting a hard floor, looking upward at a blue ceiling.
“Ow,” he said, rubbing his sore elbow as he climbed to his feet. He looked down at himself.
Is this my Fermi suit?
He glanced around, a feeling of shock descending on him.
“Oh my god, this is the Waiting Room…”
I’m home?
A voice came from behind. “Oh snap, the retrieval worked!”
Who is that?
Sam turned, and saw the door open, with a figure in the doorway. A tall man was looking through some kind of high tech eyeglass-looking device. He then folded it up and nodded. That’s when Sam got a good look at his face.
“Welcome back, Doc,” said the man, who then leaned out of the door and yelled: “Hey, everyone!”
“Wait…” Sam said, confused. “Colin…? How did you…”
Colin winked. “Haven’t seen you in a few years. Gonna have to catch you up.”
Why is he talking like that?
His concerns about Colin were put aside as Al appeared in the doorway, poorly hiding his excitement behind a smug facade.
“Ready for that sabbatical, Sam?”