Honesty's The Best Policy

Admiral Albert Calavicci staggered from the imaging chamber and slumped to the ground, totally exhausted. He felt the others cluster about him, distantly hearing Beeks calling his name as he fought against the losing battle to stay conscious.

He awoke with a start, almost plunging from the bed he was resting in; it was only the sheets tucked in tightly about him that prevented him from falling flat on his face.

"Al?" a gentle voice asked beside him, before adding reassuringly, "You're going to be all right."

He slowly tilted his head until he could see Dr Verbena Beeks sitting by the bed, an old battered book resting upon her lap. She had obviously been sitting with him since he'd been brought into the small infirmary that was within the confines of the Project building.

"You been here long?" he asked, surprised at the weak rasp that issued as his voice.

"Here," she said, holding out a drink, allowing him to sip freely from the straw. "You had us worried there for a while."

"It was a rough leap," Al explained, falling weakly back on the pillow. Then, starting up again, he asked, fear riddling his tone, "How's Sam?"

"He's just fine. Gooshi's keeping an eye on him and will call us as soon as he leaps in."

"Man, I feel like I'm over eighty," Al commented, resting back and moving his hand feebly, trying to pull the crumpled blankets away from under his body.

"What happened?" Beeks asked, leaning forward and gently resting her hand over that of her friend. "Al... we did a check on Sam and he leapt just before you left the chamber..."

Al jerked his hand away and swallowed hard. "I don't remember... I guess I'm just tired. I've not been sleeping too well lately."

"Al," Beeks insisted. "Your blood pressure is way high, you've refused to take a holiday since Lord only knows when, you're under enormous stress, and I know what your sleeping habits are and you've never slept well... but the strain of the last few weeks has been no more than the last four years, and you never collapsed then."

"Yeah, well, maybe - just maybe - I'm just not as strong as I was four years ago," snapped Calavicci, annoyed with what he saw as a third degree interrogation.

"Is that it?" Beeks asked. "You're fed up with being Sam's holographic contact with the project?"

"God, no..." Al whispered, horrified that she could think such a thing. "Never that.... It's just..." He closed his eyes as the feeling of total helplessness swept over him. "I just... I just... can't get rid of the idea... that we're not... not going to ever get him home again," he finally confessed, his pale features twisting in pain as he admitted his deepest fear.

"Oh, Al," Beeks murmured, reaching out and gripping the shaking hand again, this time refusing to let him struggle out of the comforting grasp. "Of course we'll get him home... it might take some time, but we'll do it."

"You don't understand..." Al said, shaking his head as he fought against the urge to let the tears fall. "He's not coming home... I've seen how it all ends and... it's the dream."

"Dream?" Beeks questioned sharply. She had frequently questioned the admiral, seeking to discover his real mental state, but always playing by his rules. He never let anyone get close to him - no one, that is, except Sam. Dr Beeks had never been able to get past the iron wall that he had built about himself as a child; it protected him from the authorities that he had fought against to survive. "What was the dream about?" she asked. This time her voice was gentle.

He swallowed hard, tilting his head away from her, not wanting to disclose his deepest fears but no longer strong enough to bear them on his own. Swallowing hard again, he slowly began, "Sam... he leapt into this really strange place... to the exact moment that he was born... yet it was like the end of time... There's this really weird barman... he...." Al stopped, the dream reforming behind his closed eyes, which he snapped open, fear catching at his throat. "They are there...."

"Who?" Verbena asked, gently letting her fingers stroke across the shaking hand under her grasp; she was seriously concerned for her friend. It was true what she had said - he had been under tremendous stress for the last few years, and he had never taken a break longer than a few days, always saying that Sam wasn't able to take a vacation, so why should he be allowed? Now it looked as if it was all catching up with him.

"Some of the people Sam's helped, but they're not actually them... they look like them, but they're other people." He stopped, realising how silly his explanation sounded. "I can't explain..." he began again, his voice steeped with desperation.

"Al... you need to talk about this...." Beeks said slowly. "The more you hold inside, the higher your blood pressure's going to get until you blow. " She saw that he was listening to her every word and continued, "Sam needs you to be strong and...." She paused, not sure what words she could use to stabilise the other man. She could see that he was slowly slipping away. She suppressed a shudder; this situation was like a nightmare to her as well - only that morning he had been the same old Al... strong, dependent, the mainstay of the whole Project... now he was lying in a bed, looking like a husk of the former man, and it terrified her. "We need you..." she began, unable to hide the tremor in her own tone as she finished, "the Project needs you."

"In my dream..." Al whispered, as if he hadn't heard a word she said. "He... Sam never makes it home, Verbena," Al finally gasped, turning to face her, unable to prevent the tears that streamed down his face. "It's God's way of telling us... me... to give up... let him find a good Leap, a good life, and stay there; don't right the wrong so he can leap on.... Don't you understand?" he finished, his tone almost begging, as if the woman sitting beside him had the authority to make it so.

Beeks left her seat - unable to remain the cool, aloof doctor in the face of so much suffering - and gathered the crying man to her, mumbling words of comfort until he had wept himself to sleep. She was confused, not sure where to go from his confession. The psychiatrist in her warned that to leave the matter as it was was dangerous, and that Al needed to confront his fears, yet the doctor within knew that the man needed the sleep more, and she hoped that he would be more rational in the morning.

Gently she rested him back on the bed, pulling the covers securely over him. She leant over and gave him a gentle kiss upon the forehead before she turned and left the room, wiping at her own tears.

***

The clock on the wall slowly struck the hour of three. Gooshi gave it a long look before he turned back to the colourful computer panel that controlled the temperamental hybrid computer called Ziggy. Gooshi had remained alone in the main control room after Admiral Calavicci had been transported to the infirmary; he had been deeply shaken by the man's collapse. Albert Calavicci had always seemed so strong - the original rubber ball, bouncing back from every obstacle.

He looked up in surprise as Dr Beeks walked into the room. She looked tired and drawn, and he could see the recent tracks of tears. He felt sympathy for her. "How's the admiral?" he asked with genuine concern as he moved to pour her a cup of the ever-present coffee.

"Sleeping," she answered about a deep sigh. Then, needing to talk to someone, a friend, she continued, knowing that Gooshi would understand the dream as he had confessed to her himself, "He's been having dreams... about Sam not coming home."

Gooshi looked down at the control panel under his fingers. He had been suffering from the same thoughts; it seemed that with every leap, the man he called a friend and admired very much was slipping further and further away from them. It was getting harder to track him in time, and taking longer to get a strong enough fix to allow Al to go to him. "We'll get him home," he lied.

"Al's losing his faith in our ability to do so," Beeks offered in a sad tone. "If he doesn't believe that we can do it, then nobody else will."

Gooshi slowly nodded; he understood what she was saying and it tore at his gentle heart to hear the words. Admiral Calavicci was the main driving force behind the Project. It was he who begged, borrowed and - upon occasion - stole the money from other government projects to keep the Quantum Leap operation going. He would also hound the personnel, like a relentless Jack Russell, keeping them going when they would have given up years ago. Now, if he was losing his faith.... "I think he just needs a good night's sleep," he finished lamely.

Verbena Beeks looked at the small man who stood before her and saw her own concerns reflected in his eyes. She forced a smile to her lips and lied in return, "Of course."

***

Al came awake this time in slow stages and he knew that he was in trouble. He remembered fragmented bits of his conversation with Dr Beeks, and knew that she would not let him joke his weakened state of mind and body off this time.

"Why do you feel that we will be unable to bring Father home?" Ziggy asked, its gentle tone caressing the man as he lay upon the bed.

"I didn't mean it, Ziggy. I'm just tired..." Al said, his voice still slurred by exhaustion. "Of course we'll get Sam home." His tone lacked conviction.

"Tell me about your dream?" the hybrid computer asked, a hint of curiosity tingeing its tone.

"I can't..." Al began, only to be interrupted by the machine.

"You told me that I had to continually seek knowledge if I wanted to survive," Ziggy said with a hurt tone.

Al blinked in surprise; it had been right at the beginning of the computer's conception that he and Sam had told the computer that. Ziggy had grown in leaps and bounds after that particular conversation, seeking and devouring information, growing at an incredible rate that had left both Sam and himself standing in open-mouthed wonder. A ripple of fear began to form in the pit of Al's stomach and crawl up his back. Ziggy's tone bothered him, and he was unable to place his finger upon the reason why.

"You heard what I told Dr Beeks?" he finally questioned.

"Of course, Father." Ziggy would always placate Sam or Al by the term 'father' when it was trying to glean information from them. To the hybrid computer, Sam and Al were partnered in its conception.

"Sam's trapped there... in my dream.... He doesn't have... a wrong to put right.... He..." Al began to explain, pulling himself further up in the bed, moving about until he got the pillows where he wanted them. He was surprised how much better he felt for a few hours sleep. "He learns that the reason he's leaping is because he wants to... not that he has to."

"I don't understand," Ziggy stated in a slightly baffled voice.

"Well...." Al searched for the words that would make his dream clear to the computer. "My dream is saying that Sam is subconsciously choosing to leap, and he will continue to do so... until he decides that he wants to come home."

Ziggy was quiet for a few minutes before it asked, "If that is the case, does Father not realise how much pain he is causing... by his staying away?" The question was framed in such a way that it almost sounded as if the computer was seeking fault in its co-creator.

"I'm not saying that that's the reason why Sam can't leap home... it was just a dream...." Al slumped back upon the bed. For some reason he had hoped... hoped what? "I don't know," he finally admitted. "Maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me to give up... or maybe it's just that Sam doesn't understand that he could come home if he really, really wanted to."

"I don't have a conscience, do I, Admiral?" Ziggy suddenly stated, changing the subject with dizzying speed. "I'm not designed to suffer guilt. Or to know right from wrong."

Al took the change in his stride, used to the hybrid computer moving from one problem to another with startling speed. "You don't have to have a conscience to know when you're doing wrong, Ziggy," he stated firmly. "I... your program has the ability to build upon your knowledge to learn right from wrong, and that's the start.... No child is born with a conscience; they just learn about it as they grow up."

"Like I'm growing up, Admiral?" The computer sounded almost sad again.

"Yes, Ziggy... like you're growing up," Al repeated, closing his eyes as a feeling of deep sorrow swept over him. With trembling lips, he continued, "And I hope that you've learnt to do the right thing from us."

"I don't have a conscience," Ziggy repeated, as if it was important that Al remember that. "So how can I gauge what is wrong... if it seems right?"

"You just know, Ziggy... it's there, a nagging feeling in the pit of your...." He paused, thinking of an apt simile before he added, "In the pit of your program, I guess. You'd never intentionally hurt anyone, would you?" he finished.

The computer did not answer and Al felt the fear in the pit of his stomach tighten with growing knowledge. "You know that it would be wrong to hurt a living person, Ziggy. We've always taught you that life is very important... even your life is important to us... to Sam and me.... We'd never let anything happen to you... you know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Father, but you told me that I had to continually seek knowledge if I want to survive."

"Not at the cost of others, Ziggy," Al insisted, feeling his short supply of energy begin to slip away as realisation began to dawn. "We never taught you that," he finished in a sickened tone.

The computer did not answer for a long while, and Al began to think that he had lost it when Ziggy asked, "Your dream implied that Father would never leap home?"

"I don't think that he ever will," Al whispered, fighting to get the words out from behind the lump in his throat. "Not without help."

"If he does not come home... what will happen to me?" It was a child asking a parent the ultimate question about death, and it contained all the innocence of total trust that went along with the question.

Al felt the world slip out from under him, and he knew that so much rested upon his next answer. "Nothing, Ziggy... not if you learn from your mistakes... as we've all had to learn.... You're valuable to us - one of a kind - but the connection with Sam will be broken and... and I will leave the Project." He took a deep, trembling breath, continuing in a hushed tone, "I couldn't stay."

"You will go and find Father?" It was a statement of fact.

"Yes," Al agreed. He would find out who the last persona was that Sam had leapt into; he would go and find him and hold him, let him know that he still valued his friendship and that, no matter what form he was in... he would always be Sam Beckett to him.

"I don't have a conscience, Father..." Ziggy began again, only this time it was almost like the machine was trying to convince itself. "So why do I feel sad? Why does it hurt in the pit of my program?"

"Sometimes it hurts to grow," Al said, closing his eyes as he considered leaving the Project, a place he had called home for so long.

"I think that I've been wrong, Father... I think that I've made a mistake," the computer began, before adding, "If Father returned home... would you stay with the Project, or would it be closed down... dismantled?" The question was asked with just a hit of uncertainty tingeing the words.

"If Sam was to return home, the Project would be given a new lease of life and..." Al said, hoping and yet fearing what he thought the computer was about to say, "your growth would continue."

"Admiral Calavicci, there is a 98% chance that we will be able to retrieve Dr Beckett," Ziggy said firmly, as if coming to a decision, "if we attempt to do so now, before he reaches his next destination."

"But... but... he's in the middle of leaping. You've always predicted..." Al said, then - pushing the questions aside - he slipped from under the covers, reaching for the robe that lay over the chair.

Using the wall for support, he headed toward the main control room, waving aside the few people who saw him and offered their assistance, as he heard Ziggy confess, "I lied."

***

Al was surprised to see Dr Beeks sitting in the control room with Gooshi as he burst through the doors, yelling at the smaller man, "Get the accelerator fired up, we're bringing Sam home."

"What?" Gooshi shot back, as he instinctively moved to obey the other man.

"Admiral," Beeks cautioned, seeing only a wild-eyed man in a flowing dressing gown sweeping across the room. "I really think you should be resting in the infirmary," she advised as she moved to block his path, fearing that he had finally flipped.

"I can't, Verbena," Al said, grabbing her by the arms and gently but firmly moving her out of his way. He moved over behind the control panel. "Ziggy, please could you quote those percentages for a retrieval for Sam?"

The computer flashed and hummed as it repeated, "We have a 98% chance of retrieving Dr Beckett, if we do so at the present time."

"98%!" Gooshi gasped, his fingers pausing over the control buttons. "But early on, after Dr Beckett leaped, it only predicted a 19% chance... with a serious energy loss if we attempted it."

"Ziggy lied," Al explained, strangely enjoying the shocked expression his words caused.

"But..." Gooshi gasped, "that would mean that we could have retrieved him.... We could have...." Gooshi stopped speaking as the realisation of what the admiral had said began to sink in.

"Are you going to tell him he's a naughty little computer right now?" Al asked sarcastically, "or can it wait until after we've retrieved Sam?" Then, seeing Gooshi open his mouth to contest the point, he continued in a rough voice, "Don't argue with him!" Almost turning upon the other man, he hissed, "Let him alone while he's being a good boy."

"But we don't know where Dr Beckett is to retrieve him," Gooshi argued, not at all happy with the turn of events or the admiral's implications that the computer was capable of lying to them. "We'll have to wait until he's leaped before we can retrieve him." Even as he spoke, the computer burst into life and blue beams shot out from the panel, splaying across the room. Gooshi leapt back in surprise; he had not begun the retrieval programme, Ziggy must have instigated it itself.

"Father," Ziggy announced in a contented voice, "is leaping, and the pit of my program is starting to feel better."

"Beeks," Al ordered, frantically moving his hands over the control panel as he watched the power surge that was draining the system. "Get to the waiting room... check on whoever we have there."

"But..." she began, totally surprised by recent events and not too sure that the man behind the panel was in full control of his mental faculties.

"Just go, woman," the older man yelled at her, and she was out of the room, heading toward the waiting/retrieval room before the sound of Al's voice had died behind her.

***

Sam blinked and coughed at the same time. Then he slowly opened his eyes again, allowing his surroundings to swim into focus. He was in a totally white room. It was strange, and yet faintly familiar. He slowly began to sit up, looking down at his body, which was covered in a tight white jump-suit. "Oh Boy," he whispered, remembering the seventies and discos with a shudder. "Not again."

The door suddenly burst open and Dr Beeks rushed into the room. She pulled herself to a staggering stop, all colour draining from her face as she saw the body upon the bed sitting up.

"Verbena?" Sam gasped, total disbelief colouring his tone. "My God... it is you!" he cried as he slipped from the bed. His legs buckled and she was by his side, slipping under his shoulder, helping him to stand.

"Welcome home, Father, and I'm sorry..." Ziggy said, before continuing in a formal tone, "Admiral Calavicci has collapsed in the control room again, Dr Beeks. I would suggest that you attend him at once."

"Al... collapsed!" Sam gasped, his memory having returned within seconds of appearing in the room. He began moving away from the woman, making his way towards the door, his concern for his friend pushing his own weakness aside. "Ziggy, run his vitals for me," he commanded.

"I like it when you order me about, Father," Ziggy retorted, a happy note sounding in its voice.

"Sam... I don't think..." Beeks warned, but he forestalled her, waving her offer of help aside.

"I'm fine, really, just a bit disoriented and," he commented with a smile of pure relief, "I also feel like I've not walked for ages."

They made it to the control room in record time, Sam growing stronger with each step. He was home... dear God... he was really home.

"Al!" he gasped in total fear as he entered the room and saw Gooshi kneeling beside the sprawled body of his friend.

"He just collapsed; went out like a light when Ziggy announced that Dr Beckett was home," the small computer programmer stated, as if trying to divert the blame of the other's collapse from himself, before adding, "Nice to see you back, Dr Beckett," as if the man had only just come into work for the day.

"Al..." Sam gasped, taking the space on the other side of the unconscious man. Gently reaching out, he touched his friend's face before letting his hand slip down to feel for a pulse. The form was solid and, before he knew what he was doing, he had gathered up the slack body and was holding it close to his chest, rocking back and forth, tears of joy streaming down his face. "Thank you, God... thank you," he kept repeating.

Admiral Calavicci became aware of feeling slightly sick; he was being smothered and rocked at the same time. He reached up and feebly pushed at the constraining hold, which slowly loosened and he was held at arm's length. He opened his eyes and blinked up at the face that swam above him. Then the world slipped into sharp focus as the person holding him became clear.

"Sam." He breathed in a rush of air before he pulled the man towards him. "Sam... Sam..." he kept repeating as he held on, as if expecting his friend to leap out at any moment.

Finally Dr Beeks stepped over, hating to interrupt the pair but wanting to get Al back to the hospital where she could check him over properly. Although Ziggy had reported that Al's signs were good, she still wanted to check for herself. Moving, she tapped Sam gently on the arm. "It might be an idea to get him back to the infirmary."

"Infirmary?" Sam asked with growing concern, looking from the handsome woman back to his friend, noticing for the first time the pale complexion and the exhaustion that hovered within the eyes that were weeping tears of joy.

"It's nothing, Sam," Al tried to fob off as he weakly fought his way to his feet, not wanting his friend to worry about him. "I'm fine, really... just a bit tired."

"High blood pressure, total exhaustion, and stress," Beeks ticked off the results of the earlier medical tests.

"And a good meal wouldn't go amiss," Sam stated as he helped his friend up, noting how thin the other man was. As a hologram with loose clothing, Al had been able to hide the fact that he was losing weight, but now - holding him in his arms - Sam was shocked at how easily he was able to lift him when Al swayed dangerously against him. "Infirmary for you," he finished firmly.

"Put me down," Al ordered, only to be totally ignored as he was carried from the room, but in truth he was so glad to have Sam back that he continued, "Infirmary for me... what about you...? I'm not the one who's been leaping about in time."

"I'll see if I can get the bed next to yours, if it'll make you feel any better," Sam shot back, a beaming smile plastered across his face.

"You'd better," Al said with deep feeling, edged with just a touch of fear. "'Cos I'm sure this is gonna be a dream when I wake up in the morning."

"Did I do right, Father?" Ziggy suddenly asked, causing all movement in the corridor to cease.

Al considered the question for a few seconds, realising the implications and looking at his best friend; the only man who had ever truly believed in him. "Yes, son..." he said in a choked tone. "You did really well."

"Son?" Sam mouthed as they entered the infirmary.

"It's a long story, Sam, but our baby just got a conscience."

"Ziggy... a conscience?"

"Sam, I promise I'll explain it all to you, but you might not like it when you hear what our little hybrid computer's been up to," Al continued, allowing Sam to carry him purely because it meant that he could continue to hold his friend.

THE END

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