Note: 'The Leap Home' and 'A Leap For Lisa' have happened. (In other words, the event in this chapter occurs in a revised timeline that resulted from all of the leaps in Seasons 1-4, but it's the episodes mentioned above that are particularly relevant. I hope that makes sense... and that you enjoy the story either way!)

"What kind of stupid vending machine are you?" The man glared through bloodshot eyes at the eater of his change, specifically at the compact screen where 'Currently not in service' was emblazoned across a blue star motif. The man eyed the machine up and down, trying to decide which part to discipline first. He peered at the cream-coloured nozzle out of which his coins should have been returned, but hadn't been. "A nozzle - that figures."

Facing off silently with the non-vendor, the man inhaled, almost lost his balance, and grabbed the machine for support. His enemy had helped him, it was taunting him - now he was even more annoyed. He banged the side of the machine with his palm, and it grunted mechanically.

"This machine is not in service," proclaimed the device in a bureaucratic drone.

"Then why did you eat my change, you - alright, that's it. That's it!" It had gone on long enough, all of it. They were probably listening in, waiting for a reason to throw him off the Project, out of the Navy and into the gutter; and if they wanted a goodbye show, by golly he'd give them one.

By the time the man came back with the hammer, most of the erstwhile spectators had sidled out of the lab. But one man remained, observing from across the room. A new recruit called Sam. He thought he recognised the voice of this man, who had hired him after one telephone call; but he sounded so hoarse now it was hard to be sure. And though he was standing like a Mafia Thor in front of the Project Star Bright vending machine, he had his back to Sam. Could this really be Commander Calavicci, his superior, looking more than a little drunk? He couldn't be certain but, bound by an unknown force, some intangible thread of loyalty, he stood watching. It was as if Sam was the only one who could see and hear him, and if he didn't pay heed, no one else would.

The man drew back the hammer, as if he were about to pitch a baseball. Then he slammed it into the machine. Still the screen shone at him, and the dull voice admonished him. But he'd dented it. He was teaching it the meaning of scars. It's not easy to go on and on when you have scars.

Sam watched as the man continued to batter the vending machine. He bellowed a string of obscenities: some in English that Sam wished he didn't understand, and some that Sam truly didn't understand, in Vietnamese. For all the inert resistance that the machine was putting up, its attacker was maintaining a dogged passion summoned from within. His money was in there, in was in there, and this was one cage that he would break.

Sam glanced at the doorway, where a Marine guard had appeared, a firearm dormant amongst twitching fingers. Sam realised he had to act before something terrible happened. Signalling to the guard to stay where he was, Sam began to walk over to the vending machine. The man sensed his presence, but didn't turn.

"Excuse me."

"What do you want? I'm busy." The glass front of the machine was starting to crack.

"If you want change, maybe..." Sam extended his hand with some coins in. "I can give you change."

And then Al turned, and Sam saw the fear and conviction and hope and resignation in his face, and remembered the Pulitzer-winning photo of the Vietnam POW looking back with the same expression, and the photographs from before the Apollo mission with him in his spacesuit, proud of the journey ahead yet worn by the journey behind, and Sam mourned within himself, asking why, why had the world done such wrong to this terrific guy?

And Al looked into those bright young eyes, where the knowledge of an old sage was mingled with the tireless curiosity of a child, and wondered why a man like this would want to have anything to do with him.

And Sam looked more, because he was seeing more, finding something never remembered yet never forgotten in himself. He was sixteen, in a field, so upset, so close to defeat, asking why; and this man was with him, somehow, watching, listening, lending him strength; and then Sam was giving thanks... thanks-giving... like a dream, but something more, yet not real. Barely enough to grasp, and Sam couldn't understand, couldn't answer the whys of then, the whys of now. But here he was, and here was Commander Calavicci, and Sam wanted to know him, to help him.

And Al peered at the face, trying to understand how someone he didn't know could feel this familiar. And the face swam in his mind, surfacing from some other time; and there was another standing with him, but Al felt alone; and somehow, the face was his. The faces were his. It was too vague to comprehend, but too strong to ignore. And nor would he ignore this man, reaching out to him... with change.

"You're not a friend of my Uncle Jack by any chance, are you?"

"No, Sir. I'm Samuel Beckett. I'm new to Project Star Bright. Thanks to you."

"Ah, Sam. I can call you Sam, can't I?"

He was the first person there not to call him 'Samuel'. Sam had worried that about a future where everyone on the Project, even his closest colleagues, insisted on calling him Samuel.

"I'm Albert Calavicci. You can call me Al."

Al put down the hammer, Sam slipped the coins back into his pocket, the Marine relaxed the grip on his weapon. Sam and Al shook hands.

"Listen, I'm sorry about my... performance. But this stupid thing... I don't wanna buy my food from a robot if I can help it! Next they'll be asking us to make it with one."

"I remember them working on this artificial intelligence system when I was at MIT."

"'Artificial' intelligence is right!"

Sam smirked. "I'm hoping to design something better one day."

"Just remember to give it a thick outer shell, so I can whack it when it doesn't behave." Al illustrated his aspiration with a whacking gesture in the air, then turned his attention back to Sam. "Haven't they given you a star badge yet? Come on, I'll fix you up with one. I think I've got some paperwork for you to fill in too."

"I think we should drop by sickbay first. If you don't mind me saying so, you seem a little unsteady."

"You're the doctor. Besides, they're probably expecting me."

The two men walked towards the doorway.

"Good to meet you, Al."

"Thanks, Sam. Good to meet you too."