Freedom Reborn

Theorizing that one could time-travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett lead an elite group of scientists into the dessert, to develop a top secret project known as Quantum Leap.
Pressured to prove his theories on loose funding, Dr. Beckett pre-maturely stepped into the project accelerator, and vanished.
He awoke to find himself in the past, suffering from partial amnesia and facing a mirror image that was not his own. Fortunately, contact with his own time was maintained through brain wave transitions with Al, the project observer, who appeared in the form of a hologram that only Dr. Beckett can see and hear.
Trapped in the past, Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, putting things right that once went wrong, and hoping each time that his next leap, will be the leap home.





   
   Al took a bite out of his cheeseburger, as his daughter, Gina, sipped at her chocolate malt.
   “ So,” Al said dipping a French fry into his ketchup, “What movie should we see?” He munched on the fry.
   Gina tried to think of a movie that would be good for both of them. They could go see that horror film villain showdown movie, the one with the unknown caller vs. the killer puppet guy. Or they could go see that new super hero movie. No, the reviews said that it wasn’t very good. Then it hit her.
   “ What about that Indiana Bond movie?”
   Al squinted.
   “ Which one?” There were so many of those movies it was hard to keep track.
   “ Die Another Day Tomorrow, After I Live Again, in the Ark of the Lost Temple Raiders.”
Al’s eyebrows rose.
“ That sounds like a good one. They say it’s better than,” Suddenly his jacket pocket started shaking. He pulled the vibrating hand link out of his pocket.
“ How many times do I have to tell them only buzz me in an … OH, Boy!” His eyes widened, as if confused and yet amused at the same time.
“ Dad,” Gina set the glass on the table.
“ Check please!” Al said, raising his hand to signal the waitress on wheels. “ Gina, do you mind if we take a ride over to the project?” he said pulling bills out of his wallet.
“ Did something happen to Uncle Sam?”  The waitress slipped the piece of paper on the table, and continued taking orders.
“ They weren’t very specific.” He put thirty dollars on top of the bill, and a saltshaker on top of that. “ Considering we don’t know the state of the emergency, let’s get over there as soon as possible.”  Al touch-typed a code into the keypad, and suddenly a motor turned over in the parking lot.
   “ I know a little more about computers than everyone gives me credit for.”  Once they were in the car, Al made sure his G.P.S. could get them to the project as quickly as they could.
“ Hold on to your seat hot shot.” He floored and they drove off into the dessert.



_________________________________________________________________________________________
Elsewhere
_________________________________________________________________________________________
   Sam didn’t know what was happening, or where he was for that matter. As far he could tell he was stuck in the blue light stream that surrounds him when leaping.
   “ God, am I dead?” He was tired and his body ached. Soreness flowed through his limbs. “ No,” he thought, “ Definitely not dead.”
Then he noticed something odd. When he leaps he feels a floating sensation, as if he’s being pulled out of his current body. But right now he didn’t feel that. In fact it was hard to feel any thing but pain. Sam remembered (remembering anything was odd too) that one day back on the farm, he had twisted his ankle at basketball practice.  His mother had helped him up the stairs, into his room, and opened the window beside his bed.
“ I want you to try and sleep, it is good way to avoid pain.”
“ Why did you open the window?” he asked easing himself under a light blanket.
“ Nothing puts me to sleep faster than some fresh air. Who knows, maybe it will work for you.”
Sam had somehow made his way to the “floor” and was drifting off. He had been on guard so long; it was nice to sleep peacefully.


_________________________________________________________________________________________
_________________________________________________________________________________________

   “ What do you mean there’s no one in the waiting room?” Al’s hands started to tremble. Gushie (g-oo-she) wandered the room with his clipboard. Gina stopped him by the shoulders.
   “Gush,” she said staring him down, “ My godfather’s body is still in there, right?”
   “ Oh, yes. Dr. Beckett’s torso is still present, however we have no Neural or Masonic activity.” Gina fanned her nose, Gushie’s reputation stood clear. She reached into her purse and pulled out a candy dispenser.
   “ Dude … seriously. Two words, Pepper Mint.”
   “ Ziggy, how did this happen?” Al says rubbing his neck.
   “Admiral, we fell victim to a rolling power outage through out the greater New Mexico area, of which we were informed of only moments before we went dark. Our generators held the accelerator online, however it too blanked when Dr. Beckett leaped.”
   “ Oh, um,” Al was starting to get a head ache, “ Has anyone assessed the damage?”
   Gushie peaked up from his clipboard. “ The power came back on about a half hour ago. Doctor Beckett is fine wherever he is; and Ziggy is recovering data as we speak.”
   “ How do we know the good doctor is Ok?” Gina asked intriguingly.
   Ziggy interrupted. “ Doctor Beckett is still alive 100%. If he was dead, well quite frankly, he’d be dead.” Even the hybrid computer had a sense of humor.
   “ Where is Doctor Beeks?” said Al pacing the room.
   “ She is monitoring Doctor Beckett.”
   Al sat down in front of Ziggy’s keyboard. He typed a few keys and a piece of the wall turned into a projection screen.  The blue dome in the center of the ceiling projected onto the screen. A small voice synthesizer appeared on it spiking when Ziggy spoke.
   “ Ziggy, status report.”
   “ Data recovery is at 67%”
   “ How much longer until we can activate the accelerator?”
   “ With current restoration at 2% per minute, and 33% data to recover, it will take approximately 16.5 minutes to collect the 33. That is, if you allow me to continue the restoration process.”
   “ One last question, how much of the 33% is required to activate the accelerator?”
   The synthesizer representing Ziggy’s voice slowed.
   “ Unknown Admiral. When the acceleration program is fully restored the chamber should instantaneously reboot, sending Doctor Beckett to his temporal destination.”
   “ Good. We need the accelerator back online as soon as it’s functional. So,” Al said looking around the room, “ Who’s going to tell the wives?”
   The few people that were in the surrounding area suddenly became occupied. Ziggy played a video clip of a cartoon canary whistling, to politely say “Not Me”.
“Fine.” The man sighed, running his hands through his hair, “ Ziggy, open a video link with Doctor Elesee, and Mrs. Calavicci.” Al could tell this was not going to go well.
Two windows appeared on the screen, accompanied by a tone, and followed by a rapid dialing pattern. Donna Elesee Beckett, Sam’s wife, came on to the screen.
“ Al?” Said Donna, squinting.
“ Yeah, Donna it’s me. I,” And in an instant Beth, Al’s wife, filled into the right window.
“ Albert Calavicci, if someone isn’t bleeding, unconscious or dead…”
“ Beth we’re not alone.” He clacked on his keyboard and then it was efficiently clear that their video feeds were patched. Donna smiled politely, as Beth gasped with embarrassment.
“ Oh dear,” she said bashfully, “ Please forgive me, I had no Idea that,”
“ Beth you have nothing to apologize about. I would be just as upset if I was woken up at 3:00 AM. Oh wait,” Al looked at his watch, he hadn’t looked at a clock since they left the house, “I was.”
“ Ladies, are you sitting down?” Then there was an alarming pause.
   “ I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She didn’t need a reason. Donna had seen this look on Al’s face a few times too many.
   Al yawned. He couldn’t sleep that night, and at 1:30 AM had gotten up to get a glass of milk. He had entered the kitchen to see Gina sitting at the table, two steps ahead of him with a gallon of milk and a package of Oreos waiting next to her. They talked, neither one could sleep, and they were both very hungry. So they went to eat and decided to go see a movie. The sound of a familiar voice brought Al out of his flash back.
   “Al, I want you to do me a favor,” Beth said noticing the bags under his eyes.
   “ Go ahead.”
“ Down the hall is a cot in the nurses station. Go take a nap.”
“ No, they need me to,”
“ I’ll wake you up.” She said patiently, “Really, go!”
“I’ll see you soon.” They said goodbye and the feeds disconnected.
Al knew his instructions and intended to follow them to a T.

People sometimes have small, subtle precognitions. In many cases they are forgotten until the event happens, at which point a sense of familiarity sets in. Some call it Déjà vu, others call it fate, many prefer not to define it, but nonetheless, it is very common.
Al was having one of these precognitions right now, as most do, in the form of a dream.
   He was on top of a building, his vision blurry. This being a dream meant that he was seeing things in an altered perspective. He looked around; it was an empty, dark rooftop, it was calm but too quiet to be peaceful. Then he looked back in front of him. There was a person standing on the edge of the building.
   A spotlight suddenly filled the air with a feeling of relief. But why? And what was that silhouette filling the light? A shadow of something, ... it's too blurry to tell.  He looked back to the man who too had noticed it. There was a strange familiarity about him. The man turned towards the rest of the city again. And in an instant he was gone, he had let himself lean forward until he fell over the side! It was almost an intentional, graceful action.
   "Wait!" Al said running over to the side of the building, there was a bright flash of light and he woke up. He sat up on the cot, pondering this strange dream, and trying to remember it. After almost every slumber, the details of a dream are forgotten. And in a few minutes Al's dream would be no different.
   He pulled a pill case out of his pocket. Aspirin. He had found it to be a necessity at the project, and learned to carry it on him. He felt quiet today. Most likely caused by his drowsiness; it would pass. He walked out into the large hallway, and realized it was quiet out here as well. He turned a corner, humming a little ditty, and passing numerous offices. The staff at the project exceeded scientists and doctors. There were more than 100 other people, some who did damage control l, should someone see something they shouldn't, others in accounting paying the bills and getting as much funding as possible no matter how unstable or loose, and others who did things Al didn't think would be needed; Like the medical wing. Who was going to get hurt working at a computer? But it was a good thing they had it when Sam leaped into a crook on the lamb, which managed to swipe a gun from a security officer. Needless to say the medical wing was packed that night.
   Al walked further yet and pushed through a set of steel doors leading to the cafeteria. Tables and booths filled the dining atmosphere, a few of which had a flower filled vase as a centerpiece. The cafeteria wasn't too unlike that of a hospital. One exception being it was not as quiet.
   The dining area was to the right. The serving table, straight ahead. It was a small buffet setup. Trays and plates sitting at the head of the table, food through the middle, and a cashier at the end. He grabbed a brown tray and set it on the metal slider. He pocketed some plastic wear and heard,
   "Hello, Al." It was Alice, the head cook. She leans in and replaces the cold scrambled eggs, with a fresh serving. Al was happy the food was fresh. The cafeteria was open from 5:30 am, to 10:00 pm. It was actually open all night, but breakfast was served 5:30-10:30, lunch from 11:00-4:30, and dinner/desert 5:00-9:00, leaving half an hour for clean up, at which point prepackaged food would be available for purchase. And the best part was, when fresh food was served it was homemade!
"Good morning Alice. What's on the menu for the rest of the day?"
"The lunch theme is comfort foods, such as ham, mashed potatoes, hot dogs, green bean casserole, chicken noodle and tomato soup, and macaroni and cheese!"
"Yum," Al had been invited to the Beckett's (Sam's Immediate family) annual Fourth of July celebration. And the macaroni and cheese was the acclaimed dish. "Mac 'n' Cheese, just like Mrs. Beckett makes it."
"And it's accompanied by my Johnny cake." Stated a voice behind Al. Given the context of the conversation, it could only be one person, and as Al turned around he knew his presumption was just. It was Sam's mother, Thelma Beckett.
"Mrs. Beckett," He was happy to see her, but the visit couldn't have been more inept given the current complications. "Why didn't you warn, uh, tell us you were coming out?"
"I phoned Donna, at least a week ago," She saw that Al had no prior knowledge of such a discussion, "She didn't tell you." Now, she started to feel like a hindrance.
"No, but it wouldn't be the first time. I'm telling you Mrs. B. I'm the last person to know anything, around here these days. Would you care to join me for some breakfast?"
"Oh, I don't want to intrude, I just wanted say hello."
"You're not intruding, please," He said handing her a tray and plastic wear.
"Why, thank you Al. So," She said moving down the buffet, "How is the family doing?"
"Well, everyone is healthy and generally happy so, we're doing just fine." He said scooping eggs onto his plate.
"Well, good. Be sure to say hello for me." She stated, stabbing a sausage patty.
"Actually, Beth and Gina are here today, and as for the rest, well, we'll just have to invite you to dinner before you leave."
As they reached the cashier Thelma pulled a few dollars from her purse, and gestured them towards the cashier.
"Oh, no Mrs. B., let me get this one." He said, pushing the bills back in her direction. He plucked his Project Security Card off of the small clip that was hanging from his waist. The cashier took it and slid a small numerical keypad in front of him. He typed a number into it, which would pull up his account. The cashier compared the picture I.D. with the computer's photo record, confirming Al's credibility.  She handed him the card, and said "Thank you, Admiral. You have ten credits left on your account."
"Thank you, uh," Al said squinting to read the cashier's nametag, "Marie. This way Madame," He said waving Mrs. Beckett towards a table.
"Please, let me pay you back." She said sitting down.
"No, no, I have these credits for just this purpose.  I have my card pre paid with twenty of these credits, which are vouchers for a whole days worth of food. So if I ever have to stay at the project for long periods of time, I don't have to leave the premises. So, please, enjoy your meal."
"Now, Al. I have to ask you, is there any chance of my boy coming home soon?" She asked continuing to eat.
"Well," Al said, before wiping his mouth, " we have had some progress on the retrieval program, however, it appears we've hit a pothole. A really big pothole."
Thelma put her fork on her plate. "Al, is there a problem I haven't been informed about?" She wasn't quite angry, as she was more concerned for her son's safety.
"Well, that's the thing, the problem is, we don't know if we have a real problem yet. See, late last night, or early this morning,"
Suddenly he was interrupted, "Excuse me, but," It was Gushie, he had noticed Sam's mother and said,  "Oh, hello there Mrs. Beckett, How was your flight?"
"What did I tell ya? The last one to know every thing." Al whined.
"It was a little dull, but, not bad. Please, continue Dr. Gusheimer."
"Yes, well, Admiral, we still can't get a lock on Doctor Beckett," Thelma suddenly, shot Al a fierce look of... shock, no, more like anxiety, "But, there is finally someone in the waiting room!" He said cheerfully.
"Ah, good, the accelerator is back online." Al said slightly relieved, "Well, who do we got?"
Gushie shook his head with a grin.
"You're never going to believe this..."


____________________________________________________________________________________________________
Elsewhere
____________________________________________________________________________________________________
People sometimes have small, subtle precognitions. Sam, like Al, was having one of these precognitions right now, in the form of a dream.
   He was on top of a building, his vision blurry. This being a dream meant that he too was seeing things in an altered perspective. He looked around; it was an empty, dark rooftop, it was calm but too quiet to be peaceful. Then he looked behind him. There was a person standing in the center of the rooftop.  
   The man looked up as a spotlight suddenly filled the air with a feeling of purpose, or responsibility. But why? And what was that silhouette filling the light? A shadow of something, ... it's too blurry to tell.  He looked back to the man who had first noticed it. He looked familiar somehow, but it was too dark to make out any details. He turned forward again. And in an instant he had let himself lean forward until he sprung over the side! It was an intentional, graceful action.   
"Wait!" The man behind him shouted, there was a bright flash of light, followed by that floating sensation Sam had previously had not felt, which meant he was finally leaping into a new host. After almost every slumber, the details of a dream are forgotten. And in a few minutes, because of Sam's Swiss cheese of a brain, this dream would be no different.
When the blue light finally fades, he realizes that he, or rather who ever he had leaped into, was holding a man a few feet in the air, gripping his jacket collar. He was so bizarre looking. His cryptic pale white skin pigment, accented by a crop of dingy grass like hair, only to finish off the look with a pair of distorted scarlet lips. There was one truly odd feature that blazed out above all of the other appearance flaws. And that single detail was a perfectly position smile. It was no run of the mill grin though. No, if any thing it was taunting. Each crooked tooth delicately positioned, so that if you looked at it for longer than a mere glance, it would corrupt your dreams for a week to come.
" Some sort of a demented clown?" Sam thinks to himself, "But what exactly was 'I' doing to him before I leaped in?" And as he studied the strange jester more closely, Sam realized he looked frighteningly familiar! As though he were an old friend... or perhaps even an enemy.
" Enough of the all American lecture big guy!" He had clearly leaped into the middle of a conversation. "It's the dawn of a new era! When this city's defenses finally fell under, the power to control its underbelly of crime was fresh for the picking. And although the mob crowd reigns over the garden of crime, I think I'll try my hand and see what I can grow. After all you know how I well my greens have grown!" He chuckled, motioning to his hair, "The city's crime lord changes semi-annually, and no matter who you put in charge of our little anti-Eden, one rule never changes: if you can't take the heat get out of the fire.
"So, as I see it you got two options, either kill me," He said screaming now, "or get out of the fire!!!" He said chuckling and laughing chaotically.
"Uh," He hated this part. Sam had adlibbed his way into or out of a situation many times and somehow it never seemed to play out into his hands. "Lets simmer down, a little." He murmured, not intending to use any puns. Sam gently set the man down on the pavement.
"I see you have a laughing side after all. Not that the pitiful pun you just used is worth more than an under your breathe guffaw. But it's a start for a stiff like you." He says straightening his lapels. "By the way," He says subtly sliding his hand into the jacket pocket, "I've been meaning to ask you," He fiddled with something, still going unnoticed,
"Why..." He starts to remove his hand,
"So..." his closed fist comes out of his pocket,
"Serious?" And as he opens his hand a small pellet bounces to the ground and rolls over to Sam's feet.
And before Sam could react, the ball explodes, releasing thick pink smog in the air.
" What do you ..." He doubles over coughing, the gas was cutting off his oxygen! He felt strangely giddy, and out of reaction stuck his head into his arm, to try and filter the air.  He hadn't realized it before but he had been wearing a uniform or a jumpsuit, or at least that's what it seemed to be.
He heard sirens closing around him, just before bright red and blue lights burst through the smoke. A car door slams and someone shouts,
"Freeze! This is Commissioner Jim Gordon, Gotham P.D.; we have you surrounded!" Sam slowly puts his hands in the air, and takes to his feet. "You are under..." the fog had dissipated and suddenly the commissioners expression went from one of sternness to one of slightly relaxed sternness, "Oh, it's you." He motions his back up to stand down. Well, apparently Sam wasn't the bad guy this time. "So, are you O.K.?"
"I'll be fine," he said nearing the officer, " I let my guard down long enough for him to make a move."
" Ugh," the commissioner sighed, running his fingers through his hair, " why can't these psychos learn that no matter how long they run we end up nabbing 'em any ways. Well, which way did he go?"
" East, towards Wayne Tower."  Then Sam thinks, "How did I know that?"
"Well, thanks for your help. I don't know what we would do without you Batman." The officer starts to walk away.
"Any time Commissioner Gordon. Wait, Batman?" He looks at his hands, which are covered by black gloves, then at his chest, which is clothed by a gray top that has a large black bat spanned across it. Finally he ran over to a patrol car so he could see his reflection. When he moved the mirror to face him, he didn't see just a face reflecting back, but a cowl and two pointed ears darting from the sides. He patted the mask with his hands and said, "I'm Batman... Oh, Boy!"

Chapter Two
The Detective in
The Waiting Room

   Bruce Wayne considered himself many things, including an amateur detective. But of all the things he called himself presumptuous was not listed. And although he had always known to sort out his situation, he found himself labeling his current position with one word. Hostage.  He analyzed his surroundings.
   He was in a decent sized room, though a little big for containing a person. The walls were white and blue; its amenities included a sink, toilet and an incredibly uncomfortable bench. For a hostage room this was quite "accommodating".  And a few other things, in Bruce's opinion, countered those listed above. For instance no mirror over the sink or any where for that matter, a video camera positioned (above and behind the toilet) so not to intrude on personal business. And the kicker that most easily disproved his theory was the fact that he was in no apparent way... restrained.
   He had walked the room multiple times, taking notice of the door, which had no handle or knob; Just a slot big enough to fit a tray through. He returned to the bench in deep thought. The door rose open, releasing a man in a lab coat, and a woman (of African decent) carrying a clipboard and wearing +professionally formal wear.
   Their slightly relaxed strides told him they did not intend cooperation, but would much rather prefer it. And depending on the questions inevitably asked, he would gladly give them that. The man approached the bench with slight caution.
   "I am Dr. Gusheimer. Do you know who you are?"
   Bruce being slightly confused at the simple question said, "Yes."  His face was as still as a statue.
"Well?" The man asked, wafting bad breath in up Bruce's nostrils.
"Well, what?"
"What is your name?"
"Who wants to know?"
And just as the man started to turn red with fury, the woman, Dr. Verbena Beeks, interrupted to stop her college from sharing too much.    "That's classified."
"Then consider my identity classified as well." Bruce wasn't budging on this one. Oh, no. If they wanted information they would have to give him something to work with.
"Look," he said frankly, "I need to know what is going on. I am most obviously not a hostage. Unless you like your prisoners to be comfy while retained. Most wouldn't, so hostage is out of the question.
   "Though your accommodations are similar to that of a tolerable motel, certain things don't compute. One: no doorknob. Just a slot sized for a tray. Two: this bench, though convenient, is incredibly uncomfortable. Meaning you don't think your guest will stay very long. Three: Controversial to number two, you have a toilet. So, you hope your guest won't stay long but you're not sure. And finally..." He said taking a breath.  "Despite the bench, food slot, toilet, surveillance camera, yes I saw that too, the basic convenience of a mirror is nowhere to be seen." There was a pause of silence and then he continued.
   "Why don't you want us to see our reflection?" That wasn't how he intended to word it. He had either referred to himself in the third person, or to a group of people in the third person. But why would he do that? He certainly wasn't trying to. It just came out wrong. It just came out.
   Dr. Beeks sighed, "You are correct in thinking you did not come here willingly. However, we did not bring you here either. Let it suffice to say you are in no way in any danger, and that you were volunteered by a higher power to preserve the lives of others,"
   "Little do they know." Bruce thought to himself.
   "Or possibly your own."
   " What do I have to do?" he said, in a mixture of confusion and concern.
   " Just stay here." The man said gesturing his partner to follow. "When and if we are able to tell you more, we will." They walked toward the door, as Bruce flipped his legs to the opposite side of the bench facing the wall.
   "Wayne." He said lowering his head.
   "I'm sorry?"
   "My name. It's Wayne. Bruce Wayne."

10 minutes later...

   Al, Gushi and Mrs. Beckette stormed down the hallway in disbelief.
   "ZIGGY!" Al scream.
   "Uh-oh!" the computer moaned.
   "If we know who he is why don't we have a lock?"
   "Because Gotham City is a fictitious location."
   "I know that! I mean has Sam leaped into a comic book or something? And how exactly did this happen?" His aspirin bottle was back by popular demand.
   "Admiral, although we have recovered our data, it hasn't had the appropriate amount of time needed to recompile itself and sort things into their rightful places."
   "So, the accelerator came online without the rest of the necessary programming, and sent Sam anywhere!"
   "As per your instructions, Admiral."
   Al's eyes widened, and twitched as a vein in his forehead throbbed.
   "You're saying this is my fault!" The surrounding people decided, for their own safety, to back away slowly.
   "It is. You said, and I quote," When Ziggy spoke next, his words came out as a direct recording of Al.  " 'We need the accelerator back online as soon as it's functional.' And so, the instant the necessary data was collected," He then played a sound clip of the activated accelerator. "Told you." He said in a whisper.
   As  Al slowly, reached for a nearby soldering iron, Thelma stepped forward.

"I'm sorry?"
   "My name. It's Wayne. Bruce Wayne."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
10 minutes later...

   Al, Gushie and Mrs. Beckett stormed down the hallway in disbelief.
   "ZIGGY!" Al scream.
   "Uh-oh!" the computer moaned.
   "If we know who he is why don't we have a lock?"
   "Because Gotham City is a fictitious location."
   "I know that! I mean has Sam leaped into a comic book or something? And how exactly did this happen?" His aspirin bottle was back by popular demand.
   "Admiral, although we have recovered our data, it hasn't had the appropriate amount of time needed to recompile itself and sort things into their rightful places."
   "So, the accelerator came on line without the rest of the necessary programming, and sent Sam anywhere!"
   "As per your instructions, Admiral."
   Al's eyes widened, and twitched as a vein in his forehead throbbed.
   "You're saying this is my fault!" The surrounding people decided, for their own safety, to back away slowly.
   "It is. You said, and I quote," When Ziggy spoke next, his words came out as a direct recording of Al.  " 'We need the accelerator back on line as soon as it's functional.' And so, the instant the necessary data was collected," He then played a sound clip of the activated accelerator. "Told you." He said in a whisper.
   As  Al slowly, reached for a nearby soldering iron, Thelma stepped forward.
   "Alright, let's all just calm down." She grabbed the tool from his hand and placed it harmlessly on a control panel. "Now,  what happened to Sam?"
   "Actually," Gushie said, " I have a theory." He paused for a moment, contemplating. "Well, I should say, I have Dr. Beckett's theory."
   The group was impatient and annoyed.  He had given ample time to comment, though, no one appeared to have anything productive to add.
   "Dr. Beckett once told me of a set of data that contained abnormal figures. He had received it directly from Ziggy after testing the accelerator, which we later found out was from a misfire.
   "The error had somehow compromised the integrity of time itself!"
   "What? What does that mean?" Al regretted asking.
   "I had asked Dr. Beckett just that. He believed the misfire caused a time rip."
   "Time rip? Like the paradox causing type?" Thelma panicked.
   "Well, paradoxes are generally associated with time rips, but, no.  The kind you are talking about, are most commonly caused by a drastic change in the past ultimately affecting the future, more specifically our present. It is fairly incredible we haven't caused a paradox yet. Then again, there are theories that state past can not be changed at all, though we obviously know that is not true. This theory, of course, is based in the inquiry of physical time travel which we have not yet tapped into entirely,. I mean project Quantum Leap has merely skimmed the surface of the-  "
   If they let him, this man would talk for hours. And so, they looked at one another and said in unison, "Gushie!"
   "Oh! Of course. My apologies. I have a tendency to ramble if I do it again please simply tell me to-"
   "Get on with it!" They chanted.
   "Precisely." He said, knowing they had finished his statement.  He brushed his fingers together, looking around for something. "Ah... One of you wouldn't happen to have a piece of string on you, by chance, would you?"
   Al patted his pockets. Mrs. Beckett grabbed the bag sitting at her toes and cut a medium sized piece off of a roll of crocheting yarn.
   "Here you are." She handed him the strand.
   "Might I borrow  your scissors as well?"
   "Absolutely." She handed him those as well.
   "Well, a person's life is like a length of string," He holds the ends up to illustrate.
   "One end represents birth, the other represents death. If we tie the ends of the string together, this person's life becomes a loop." He ties the string and holds it by the curves of the loop.
   " Next, by balling the loop together, the days in this life would touch one another out of sequence."
Ziggy interrupted and explained further
   " Therefore, jumping from one part of the string to another would allow someone to travel back and forth within their own lifetime, thus making a 'quantum leap' between each time period."
   "Now," Gushie said, returning to the conversation, "Imagine my hands, represent the accelerator. They tie the knot, ball the string, and move said person within his own lifetime." He picks the scissors up once more.
    "Then, say these scissors represent the accelerator misfiring. When the accelerator misfired," He opens the cutting device and inserts the ball of yarn in between its hinges, "It created not one, but, many" He snips at the yarn in enough places to drop small pieces onto the keyboard below, "separate rips. Tearing the time stream apart." At that moment, Al gasped. He knew what had happened.
    "The Confetti Theory." He was shocked he hadn't realized this before. As Gushie continued, Al compared the abnormal data in Ziggy's memory banks to the set recently recorded. It was a dead ringer, which could only mean one thing. Trouble was just around the corner.
   "Precisely. Dr. Beckett believed the space between the confetti were gaps that a leaper would naturally  have to pass over. However, the leaper would be vacuumed in and that gap would lead to an alternate reality."
   "And Sam?"
   "Sam will be transported into the alternate realities, leap in, put wright what once went wrong, and leap out. Just like every other leap."
   "Surely, this is reeking havoc on the continuum?"
   "Not at all. Sam said that with each run of the accelerator, the readings straightened out."
   "We can't just launch the accelerator fifty times before it works itself out."
   "No, no we can't. However, the computer's leaping process has not changed, so why should ours? We will track him down, find out what he must accomplish, and leap him out like normal. After he does his good deed and leaps out, it will be as though time is repairing itself. That is why the readings leveled off. There was no leaper to fix anything, so it fixed itself. Now, we will wait for Sam to fix it."  He had been shifting shards of yarn around on the computer. The string was connected as a circle once again.  All but one piece had been reconstructed.
   "It's like a big jigsaw puzzle, fresh out of the box. All of the pieces are here. They may be jumbled up, but, they'll get sorted out, and after that it is just a matter ," He pushed the final piece into its slot. "Of putting them into place." He looked up and knew that for once, something he had said made sense to someone other then himself.
   "Well," Al questioned in confusion, "What do we do to find him?"
   "...That's...uh, a good... um, Ziggy?"
   Even the super computer was, momentarily, stumped. "Might I suggest calling in the  technicians?"
   "Good idea!" He said, picking up the phone. "Perhaps they can sauce something out."
   "And until then? We do what?" The concerned mother asked.
   "Nothing," He replied, moving the mouth piece away from his lips. "He will be fine. For now, the less he has to worry about, the better. Hello," He moved the receiver back.
   "Dr. Gushimer is right. Sam has enough on his plate already. I hope he can hold up till we find him." He chattered on the key board again.
   "What do you mean 'Hold up'?" Her hands were at her hips.
   "Nothing against him, ma'am. It's just, Gotham City is gruesome enough on paper, but, in real life. Brutal." He cringed.
   "Heck, even in the comics the authors had to limit the content in order to get seals of approval. But, a real life, no yellow tape Gotham City..." He stopped yet again, this time out of curiosity, "The man is crafty, but, this is gonna take a miracle."
   And as everyone scattered to try to be useful, the bulky doors opened once more. This time to reveal a sleep deprived Donna Eleese.
   "What's going to take a miracle?" She had that face on again. The Marine face, as Al called it. This called for back up.
   "Gushie!" The man popped up behind the clip board holding a phone between his neck and shoulder, "Get over here will ya!"
   "Got to go Henry. Keep me updated." He hung up the device and ran. "Dr. Eleese, good to see you! What took you so long?" He greeted her, with the slightest bit of suck up in his tone.
   "First, the only thing that worked in the house was the freaking phone. Second, traffic is backed out to the freeway. Took me two hours to get the power back on, and another two to get off of the expressway."
   "Oh, I see." In his voice, he had a great deal of honest compassion to blend with the load of phony  he was spoon feeding her. What was even worse was that she was frustrated, and that meant  now more than ever, she could see clean through him.
   "Gushie, cut the crap. What's going on?"
   Yep, Al thought, This was definitely not going to go well. "Here we go again."

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   While the police inspected the crime scene, Sam wondered just who was under this mask. He knew who Batman was, everyone does. Bruce Wayne. "But what," Sam thought, "Did the real Bruce Wayne look like?" He reached for the mask, and in a brief moment of impulse, tugged at the cowl.
   "Master Bruce," The statement halted him from revealing his identity. He looked around. There was him, and the police.  No one had talked to him, so who was it?
   "Who-" He paused to rephrase, "Where are you?"
   "Master Bruce. It is me. I am in the bat-cave. I came to see if you perhaps wanted a snack that would tide you through the initial bore that comes with detective work. Before I reached the computer, I had noticed the Batmobile was absent. I then continued to the computer to track your whereabouts."
   Sam was still looking around. Where was it coming from? He ran his fingers across the sides of the mask. He could barely feel it, but, he then realized there was a small ear piece sewn into the hood.
   "You've chased the Joker into a very nasty part of town. Do you require back up?"
   "Back up?" Sam repeated, forgetting the line went both ways. If Sam remembered correctly, the voice on the other side was Alfred, faithful butler to the Wayne family.  Who had taken the remark as confirmation and replied,
   "Right then. Miss Gordon is at a dinner with her father. And I believe Master Grayson is at some sort of a sporting event." Sam could here the churning of the computer through the com link. "I will page them both and get back to you." The line clicked, he was gone.
   "Grayson," he pondered, "I know that name." It was one of those familiarities that puts the food in your mouth, then rips it away before chewing. He kept at it while pacing the alley, but just couldn't recollect. He tried the other name as well.
   "Gordon," His first connection was the cop he just met. The commissioner. "Commissioner Gordon? No, why would he..."  And finally the connection was made. Scenes of two masked vigilantes fighting at his side, zoomed in and out of clarity.
    The teen in the red, green and yellow attire, was Robin. The mantle was currently held by the youngest, and last, of the Flying Grayson's. Dick Grayson.
   The young lady in black and yellow, waso wearing a cowl, Batgirl. Under the hood,
   "Barbra Gordon." Sam realized. The images kept coming. The stunning combination of martial arts, and acrobatics. This was a team not to be taken lightly.
   "Barbra Gordon." He said again.
   "What about my her?" The commissioner  asked, wondering what the Batman could possibly need with his little girl. "What about my daughter?"
   "I, uh," How many more times would he have to forge his way through a conversation? "once came to inform you of a potential crime. When I entered your office, I found her sitting at the desk."
   "And?" The commissioner asked yet again.
   "Just couldn't remember her name. Simple as that." He was talking too much. Batman wasn't chatty. Sam needed to shut up, or at least talk less.
   Gordon was slightly suspicious, but wrote off the topic thinking he was having an off day. He pulled out his P.D.A.
   "Only the best for a police force who does nothing." Sam thought. Then he retracted the statement. "That's not entirely true. Gordon has pulled his strings and gotten the cops back onto the streets where they belong. But, somehow incidences like these never seemed to cease.
   "What do you know about the Arkham breakout?" He interrogated.
   "Nothing." Sam stated frankly. Had he found out more info, he would let it be known.
   The commissioner grunted. He must have received some bad news between now and the last time they talked. The palm pilot/phone vibrated and chirpped to the midi ringtone.
   "Odd." He murmured.
   "What?" Sam retorted sharply, finally getting into the character that the Batman was.
   "It's Barbara. Excuse me." He turned to face the concrete wall.
   "Hello," He itched his head.
   "Again? This is the third time this month. I know th-" He paused and sighed.
   "Barbara, please don't talk to me like a child I'm your father. Look I'll be back in a bit. I have something for you. Can you wait a few minutes?" His eyes deepened.
   "Alright. I understand. No, go ahead. I'll see you next week. I love you too. Tell Wayne, he owes me three dinners. Alright. Bye, bye." He returned to the previous conversation.
   "Something wrong, Jim?" That was his first name! It had just blurted out.
   "My daughter is interning as Bruce Wayne's personal assistant. Lives in the manor, goes to the office. Gets called in for a late night every dinner we have. This makes the third this month."
   "You were the first one here."
   "Meaning?"
   "Meaning you had to leave the table first." He was serious. How could Gordon be angry at his daughter for doing the same thing he had just done. Well, not exactly the same thing. But, still?
   He grunted again and said, "If you have any more information you know how to contact me."
   "As do you." He replied, head towards the sky. The Bat-signal shown in the night sky. It broke through the clouds and the newly pouring rain.
   

Should i develope the character of Barbara Gordon and Batgirl, and then paralize her? It is a part of her history that is vastly unexplored. It was in the one comic, however i think it could be an interesting twist(guess it won't be if your reading this).

1. You decide that Barbara being paralyzed is 'the right thing'.  Sam would have the moral dilemma of allowing it to happen.
2. You decide that Barbara was not supposed to be paralyzed.  What would the ramifications have been if Sam prevented it.