Theorizing

Part 1 - Oh, Boy

"Oh, boy," Dr. Sam Beckett sighed as he landed in a flash of bluish light ... somewhere. As always, it was a wholly unfamiliar place. Ever since that incident with the Cokeburg, Pennsylvania bartender,, he had lost touch with Project Quantum Leap. That leap had felt almost philosophical, and things had changed.

He had been a pioneer, a time traveler, wending his way through a means that was originally his own design but, he quickly learned, he had little control over any of it. For the first few years, he had ping-ponged between what he had known as the present time – the late 1990s and early 2000s – to events that had occurred during his lifetime. Being born in the early 1950s meant that he had had over fifty years' worth of destinations. His memory had holes in it like Swiss cheese, but he had managed all right.

His first leap had been targeted. But the first leap back in time brought with it the need to fix something, to put right what had once been wrong, and then he had leapt again. But his leaps were no longer targeted. He would leap 'into' someone else's life, fix, and involuntarily leap again. Simplifying matters had been his guide from Project Quantum Leap, Admiral Albert Calavicci. They had worked well together for a few years.

Then he'd been whisked to a bar in Pennsylvania, and everything just sort of came together, as he had seen visions of people he'd helped during his peregrinations. He had fixed one last thing – for Al Calavicci, it had turned out – and that had utterly cut him off from not only Al, but from everyone and everything else he had ever known.

Leaping, ever since then, had gotten even stranger, but at least he had his full memory back. That had stood him in good stead as he had made his way. No longer shackled to his own lifetime – and suspecting that he was possibly dead – he had leaped all over the past. He'd been to the American Revolution, the assassination of Julius Caesar in Rome, the moment that Marco Polo had met Kublai Khan, and even the first taming of fire by primitives.

But this was different.

For one thing, there was some beeping in the background. For another, there was an incredibly hot redhead standing in front of him. She was wearing a blue jumpsuit, almost as if she was a garage mechanic. "Welcome back, Captain," she smiled.

"Uh, thanks, um," his voice trailed off for a second until he noticed there was a patch on her left arm that said J. Crossman, "Crossman." It felt odd to be referring to this beauty by her last name, but a run-through of every female name that started with J would take a while.

"Sir, are you feeling all right?"

"Huh?"

"Sir," Crossman stated, "You seem a bit, I dunno, disoriented, if I may say so. Can I escort you to Sick Bay?"

"Sure, yes, that would be a good idea." Sam walked along with her, wondering how he'd be able to figure out her first name. That wasn't the only thing he was wondering about.

There were somewhat dimly lit corridors in the building. The ceilings were a bit low; he sometimes had to duck. There were some worn spots and, sometimes, he'd spot a person fixing something or other. They all wore the same uniform and, Sam realized, so did he. No one saluted him, but they did refer to him as Captain as he and Crossman strolled. Finally, some tall, balding guy referred to his companion as Jenny. Thank God for small miracles, Sam thought. She flipped open what looked like a small cell phone, "Hoshi, can you get me Commander T'Pol?" she asked.

"Sure," came a female voice from the phone's tiny speaker, "go ahead."

"Thanks. Commander, Captain Archer's back. But he seems a little tired so I'm bringing him to Sick Bay."

"Thank you, Ensign," it was another female voice, but this one was a little lower in pitch and seemed a bit flat. Perhaps the Commander didn't care about much of anything, thought Sam. Ensign, Ensign, that would be the Navy, Sam thought, but with so many women serving alongside men? That would put the date at somewhere near the end of what he had been referring to as his 'first life', for lack of a better expression.