7.2  ·  Joining Forces

Wake up.

Huh?

We have work to do.

Where am I?

Come on, I’ll show you.

I can’t see anything.

Your eyes are closed.

I can’t open them.

It’s okay, I’ll do it.

Sam blinked, finding himself in the exact position he’d left the commander’s office: on the chair, hunched over, with his head in his palms. He turned his head to face the window, where he caught his reflection.

It really worked…

Well, that’s my reflection, but what the hell are you doing here?

I leaped into you, but not in the usual way. We’re both here at the same time.

That’s wild. And where is ‘here?’

Give me a minute.

Sam stood from his seat, and began to properly see his environment. Then he realised that Sherri and Tim were standing over Nexus Quinn, and John stood in the corridor beyond, face pale as a sheet.

He moved in for a closer look, his jaw dropping.

I anticipated so much; how did I miss this?

“Oh no…”

He saw Sherri stiffen as he spoke, and she whipped her head around toward him, alarmed.

“Who the hell are you?”

Sam lowered himself to Quinn, eyes on his wound.

“Hey, let me take a look at this,” he said, gently pulling up Quinn’s shirt. Quinn, brow drenched with sweat, looked at him in confusion.

“Hey, I said who are you?” Sherri demanded, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him toward her.

In a blue spark, Sam was revealed to her, and she froze, unable to comprehend what was happening.

“I’m sorry I let this happen…” he said, and continued looking at the wound.

“Sam…?” Quinn mumbled, his eyes squinting.

If he can see me, that might be a bad sign for his condition.

“Hang in there,” he said, tearing off part of Quinn’s shirt and pressing it against the wound.

He’s not going to make it.

“Forget about me,” said Quinn. “Those blaster shots are… radioactive. I’m a goner… even if the wound isn’t fatal.”

“Sam…” John murmured, “what’s… um… going on? Who’s the guy you’re in?”

Sam glanced up. “You don’t know him yet. But he’s gonna help me hack into that server.”

What server?

He looked back down to Quinn. “I’ll find some way to help you. Just keep pressure on your wound, okay?”

He looked to Tim. “Can you do that? Let me know if he takes a turn.”

Tim, who seemed to have entered a fugue state where he was barely reacting to all the crazy stuff happening, nodded silently, and replaced Sam’s hand on the cloth.

Sam jumped up and dashed to the computer as Sherri pulled the commander’s body into the room, and shut the door.

John wandered around Sam in a circle, with a curious expression.

Okay, so this is all written in a code I can decipher, but I need your specific knowhow to crack the remote server and delete the sliding data. We need to work together.

Sounds fun.
Just one question, though: um, how?

We need to psycho-synergise. Share our minds; blend our knowledge together.

I assume you can do that, then?

Uh… maybe? Follow my lead, okay?

Sam closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, thinking of all the times he’d taken characteristics from leapees throughout time, and how he’d leaped away with a tiny piece still inside him. That, deep inside himself, he wasn’t alone.

I’m not just Sam Beckett.

We are Sam Beckett, we’re Tom Stratton, Samantha Stormer, Al Calavicci, Magic Williams, Jimmy Lamotta, Maggie Beckett, Quinn Mallory, and many more.
We’re even Elvis Presley.

Wait, really? Don’t tell Rembrandt.

We’re Thames now, too.

We’re…

They opened their eyes, blinking a few times as the combined knowledge flooded in and mingled. Two lifetimes of experiences flowed together. Beautiful, happy times, and brutal, unimaginably bad times. Suffering, and pleasure, and conflicting ideals.

Did you really almost shoot JFK? Holy shit.

Yeah, but the important thing is I didn’t.

Only big wig I’ve nailed is a Senator.

So that was you.

Get it? Nailed? ’Cause of the six incher that stuck in his brain? Come on, it’s funny.

No, it isn’t.

Let’s agree that murder is probably wrong, okay?

“Whoa,” John said, smacking the side of his handlink. “What did you just do? Higgins picked up a really strange energy surge just now.”

Sam and Thames rubbed their eyes, and gave their head a shake to clear the rush of thoughts.

“Hoo-ey, that felt like jumping out of a plane,” they hooted, as a shiver flowed through their body. They cracked their knuckles, and began typing at the computer as they felt both Sherri’s and John’s eyes on them. “We’ll be done here in… seven minutes, eighteen seconds. Give or take.”

We should have a couple’s name.
Ziggins shouldn’t have all the fun.

Wow, that was all you, wasn’t it?

Does ‘Sames’ sound too pedestrian?

This isn’t productive.

What about ‘Theckett?’

Don’t make me regret this.

‘Becames?’

Uh, let’s put a pin in this for now.

*          *          *

The hologram in the Imaging Chamber flickered to life as Al stepped inside. The same room as where they’d left.

Okay, we’re back here. That’s a start.

Sitting at the computer, he spotted Sam typing feverishly, with John and Sherri behind him.

“Sam?” he said, approaching the group. “Ziggy thought we’d lost you for a minute there.”

“Yeah, having a second mind mixing with Sam’s whole cloth will do that,” he said casually, without looking up from the computer. “Don’t worry though, we’re not planning to assassinate any presidents this time.”

He paused, flashing Al a cheeky grin. “Well, never say never, I guess.”

Al, dumbfounded, looked to Sherri and John. “You two wanna fill me in here?”

John gave him a broad shrug. “I… I’m officially stumped.”

“Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey,” Sam mumbled. “We’ll explain in a minute, just need to crack this encryption.”

Wibbly what?

As he spoke, Sam’s eyes seemed to change at random between brown and green, and his speech wasn’t quite his usual cadence.

Al tapped on his handlink, trying to figure out if Ziggy knew any more than the rest of them. As her answer came, he scoffed.

“Wait… Ziggy… what do you mean he leaped into Thames? How would he even do something like that?” He glanced at John. “Any ideas?”

“Who or what is ‘Thames?’” John asked.

“We said we’ll explain,” Sam said, leaning in further to the screen and concentrating. “Oh, here we go.”

“What?” asked Sherri, leaning in to the computer.

“Quinn’s timer is inside the prototype ship,” he explained. “But security is tighter than a nun’s – oh my god, Thames, I will not let us finish that sentence.”

He gave a violent shake of his head, before looking up at Al. “He has a dirtier mind than you.”

His gaze returned to the monitor. “Anyway, the doors are operated remotely by security. They check your biometric data before letting you in.”

He glanced up. “We can hijack it, but we’d only be able to open the doors from here… looks like we’ll need to stay behind. It’s gonna be hairy for you out there without us, though.”

“Sam, what about the data?” Sherri prompted.

“Oh, we already took care of that,” he replied, as if it were an afterthought. “The data’s gone, and we even added a booby trap in there. If anyone attempts to access the files, they’ll unleash quite a nasty virus on the whole network.”

Sam cackled in a way Al had never seen before.

“We said seven minutes eighteen, right? Right on the money!” He clapped his hands as if he were high-fiving himself, before toning down his irreverence and looking to Sherri.

“Alright, Sherri. You and Tim had better get going. They’re on high alert now, so you’d better be careful.”

“Wait…”

Al turned around, seeing Tim sitting beside a wounded Quinn, who was painfully rising to a sitting position.

“Carry me over there. I’ll work the doors.”

“Quinn, you look like you’re about to pass out,” Sherri said, her voice pitching higher than usual.

“I… I can do this,” he said. “I’ve worked with the Kromagg… systems a little, I’ll be able to figure it out. You and your… uncle… should stick together.”

John, Al, and Sherri all looked at Sam, who was looking at Quinn through bleary eyes.

“Thank you.”

He glanced at Sherri. “Let’s pick him up.”

As he moved around the desk, past Al, he paused. “Stay with him, Al. He shouldn’t be alone when he goes.”

Sam’s eyes didn’t change at all in that moment.