WILLIAMS AND A COLLEAGUE CAME IN later that morning to find the bedroom door closed, and the bedclothes and pyjamas unused on the sofa. He smiled, glad to know Dr. Chadwick had been in good enough shape physically and emotionally to allow for a normal night. He turned to his companion.
“They must still be asleep, Tina,” he told the woman quietly. “After all the stress yesterday, I’m not surprised.”
“Neither am I,” the female operative agreed solemnly. “They’ve got guts, I’ll say that for ‘em.”
“They do. And to spare. We’ll come back—”
They were interrupted when the door to the bedroom cracked open, and Holmes’ face peered out.
“I thought I heard voices,” he remarked. “If you would wait a few minutes, we shall be right out. We were merely talking. I thought it good to begin the day…slowly.”
“Very good, Holmes,” Williams nodded, and he and Tina sat down on the sofa.
A little while later, the two emerged. Holmes was fully dressed in cream linen slacks and royal blue t-shirt, but Skye was wrapped in Holmes’ dressing gown, and walked tentatively, her arms folded protectively across her chest.
“Hurts, huh?” Williams remarked sympathetically.
“Yeah, Will,” Skye admitted. “I don’t seem to have any undergarments that fit, that don’t hurt it, either.”
“That’s why I’m here, luv,” Tina offered gently.
“Are you the lady agent Will arranged for, to get me the lingerie for my…?” Skye wondered, trying to give the other woman a smile.
“That’d be me. It’s a sure thing Will here wasn’t touchin’ it. I’m Tina Tyler.” Tina grinned and held up a shopping bag. “We anticipated problems last night, and something in here ought to do the trick. C’mon, let’s go into the bedroom and see about getting you set.”
“Right,” Williams remarked. “I’ll bring breakfast around while you take care of that.”
Skye followed Tina into the bedroom as Williams left the saferoom. Holmes shadowed the pair.
“Do you require assistance?” he wondered, as Tina laid a selection of bras on the bed.
“No, but you don’t have to run off, either,” Tina noted. “I expect Dr. Chadwick might be glad to have you handy. Now come on, luv, put your arms down and let’s get you into something supportive.”
Tina helped Skye ease out of Holmes’ dressing gown to find the scientist already clad in panties, then tisked in sympathy as she saw the bruising.
Holmes watched as Tina placed a telfa pad over Skye’s nipple to absorb any drainage, taping it into place. Then the two women went through the bras, Tina gently ensuring Skye was properly tucked into each one before having the scientist walk about the room. Eventually they settled on one comfortable enough for Skye to move about. It proved to be a sports bra, constructed of soft, nonstretch materials that cradled her chest and permitted virtually no movement.
“Ohh, that feels so much better,” Skye groaned her relief. “Now I can get dressed.”
“Have you showered yet?” Tina asked. “Or do you want help?”
“I have. Sherlock had to help, though, I’ll admit. The hot water felt really good.”
“I bet. Mr. Holmes, do you want to help her dress, or do you want me to help, too?”
Holmes gave a slight smile, turning to the dresser and extracting a set of clothes for Skye. He brought the lot over, handing the shirt to Tina. He tossed the jeans onto the bed. Skye sat down with his help and reached for her jeans. Holmes helped her thread her toes through the legs. But when Skye stood and tried to tug the jeans to her waist, she winced at the motion, and Tina immediately said, “Hold up, luv.”
“Yeah, I’m bruised enough it didn’t feel too good. Kinda pulled.”
“Hold still,” Holmes said. He squatted and grabbed the waistband of Skye’s jeans, then stood, which motion immediately slid them up her legs. He eased them over her hips, settling them in place on her body. “Will that do?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Skye fastened her jeans and turned to Tina, who held the shirt ready for Skye to don. Holmes had chosen a men’s button-up shirt, specifically a flowing white silk poet’s shirt Williams had brought as part of their potential costuming. Holmes thought it would be easy to get onto his beloved and comfortable on her body. It was not something Holmes considered himself ever likely to wear, even as part of a disguise; but Skye had adored it and promptly appropriated it, to Williams’ amusement. Now Skye gingerly thrust her arms through the openings; Tina pulled the shirt up her arms, and Holmes buttoned it up to her throat.
“There, my dear Skye, you are more than presentable. And here is Williams, returned with our breakfast,” Holmes noted as he heard the saferoom door open. “Thank you, Miss Tyler.”
“No problem,” Tina smiled, leading the way into the sitting room, where Williams was laying out the couple’s breakfast. “Dr. Chadwick, call me if you need me. Will can get me in a trice.”
“Thanks,” Skye smiled back, and the female operative left.
* * *
“So, Billy, what have you—” Holmes caught himself, and the high cheekbones colored; he felt the heat. “Forgive me, Williams; for a moment you put me in mind of someone I…knew once.”
“And I bet I know who. Holmes, I’ll only forgive you if you keep calling me that.” Williams’ face lit up in delight.
Holmes shot the younger man a sharp glance. Williams held the detective’s gaze hopefully, but after a moment a thought seemed to occur to the operative, and his face fell. Williams averted his gaze.
“Unless you’d…rather not, of course. I’d not like to violate anyone’s…memory.”
Holmes gave Skye a querying look. She cocked her head to the side in reply: It’s up to you. Holmes nodded, considering briefly.
“Very well, Billy. What is for breakfast today?”
Williams’ face lit up once more, and he lifted the lids on the tray.
* * *
“We managed to get some taps run on some phones,” Williams informed them over breakfast. “Jenkins, Scott, and some of the others. Agent Smith helped,” he added before Skye could protest. “Everything’s aboveboard. But we found out Major Scott and Colonel Jenkins are meeting for lunch again today.”
“Capital!” Holmes remarked, rubbing his hands together. “I shall—”
“No, you shall not,” Williams said quietly. “Given what we’ve found out so far about the man, I’m invoking your promise about running operations from here. In my judgement as a unit medic, neither you nor Dr. Chadwick is up to a potential confrontation yet. Jenkins is no doddering old cocker. We’re compiling a more complete dossier on him, and it turns out he was one of the wiliest strategists around. Tracking, planning, analyzing troop movements small and large, scouting. That—and martial arts—was what he taught at the Academy. He was kind of an American ninja in his day. And he’s not so old he couldn’t put up a good fight, either.”
“I am quite capable, Williams,” Holmes informed the operative with some asperity.
“I know you are,” Williams agreed, sadly noting the return to increased formality. “One or two more days, Mr. Holmes. That’s all I’m asking. My people are on it, I swear. You’d have let Wiggins and the Irregulars handle it. And they weren’t professionals.”
“They were,” Holmes disputed, “for I trained them to be so, and paid them. But I see your point. Very well, Billy. I trust you will keep me informed.”
“I’ll have my operatives miked, and the audio piped in here, if you’d prefer it.”
Holmes considered the offer.
“No. Simply have them record everything, as Skye and I did, and bring it back here immediately.”
“That, I can do. As to other matters…” Williams gathered his thoughts. “We’re running a more complete background on Andrews too, and at Smith’s request, I’m using my channels to see what I can find from the Canadian side. Contact has already been made, and I expect something by tomorrow morning at the very latest.”
“Good,” Skye murmured.
“That reminds me,” Holmes noted, “has anyone pulled together dossiers on Dean Sheffield and Professor Haines? In all likelihood, one or the other notified Jenkins of the need to follow up on ‘Commander Sigerson,’ and I should like to see more information. Especially on Haines. There is something about that man…” He shook his head, racking his memory. “Something around the eyes, I think.”
“Ooo, good point,” Williams admitted. “Yeah, that should’ve been done. I’ll get on it today, personally.”
“Excellent. In that case, I suppose Skye and I are simply here recuperating today.”
“Exactly,” Williams nodded in relief.
“I can deal with that,” Skye agreed, subdued.
* * *
They did precisely that, relaxing together and allowing injured bodies and stressed minds to rally. Holmes rakishly decided proper circulation to Skye’s injury would speed healing. So he administered light massage and gentle manipulation until Skye was nearly distracted. But rather to her surprise, it did help, and by late afternoon she was feeling much better, physically and emotionally.
“My dear Skye, there was a reason why I maintained a masseur at my club in London. I have some little experience with injury obtained during… confrontation.”
“I’ve noticed that,” Skye responded with a smirk. “But admit it—you enjoyed it.”
“Of course I enjoyed helping you recover, my dear,” Holmes noted with a twinkle of mischief in his grey eyes. “Surely you do not think I would prefer seeing you in pain.”
“Noooo. Of course not.” She snuggled into him on the sofa. “Your black eye is about gone now, did you know?”
“I had noticed when shaving this morning. I must confess to some relief. Covering a bruise with makeup is much harder than creating one with the same tools.”
* * *
Shortly thereafter, Williams entered the saferoom, carrying an accordion folder. He moved to the armchair beside the sofa and sat.
“All right, I have a few things here. First of all, I know the meeting between Scott and Jenkins took place, but I don’t have the recordings yet, so I don’t know what was said. I expect them later tonight. My Irregulars are tailing the respective suspects, and there seems to be another meeting taking place between Jenkins and Parker later today. So that’s slowed things down.”
“Interesting,” Holmes muttered, slouching into the corner of the sofa and steepling his fingers. “Pray continue.”
“I’ve got a more complete dossier on Andrews, and he IS from Canada, working with NORAD,” Williams informed them, extracting a report from the accordion folder and handing it to Skye, who sat nearer him than Holmes. She flipped through it while Holmes looked over her shoulder. “Nothing new there. It only confirms what you found out yesterday.”
“Right,” Skye nodded.
“Now this,” he pulled out another file, “is the dossier on the dean of admissions at the Academy. He’s got an excellent record, very devoted to the Academy, very patriotic. Happily married, two kids, real family man.”
“Yes, he certainly seemed to be so, when I met him,” Holmes observed, once more looking over Skye’s shoulder as she perused the new report. “Again, nothing new here.”
“Professor Haines has a checkered past, though,” Williams commented, pulling out yet another folder. “He’s been in the Air Force for about twenty-five years. His baccalaureate in physics came from the Academy; his doctorate from Cornell, also in physics. Doctoral thesis on dark matter, with specific emphasis on quantum gravitational theory. It was considered quite brilliant by his doctoral committee.” He shot a meaningful look at Skye, who frowned grimly. “It seems he’s well aware of that brilliance, though. It would appear he has a decidedly high opinion of himself. His graduate advisor, and several of his service commanding officers, noted a distinct tendency to consider himself superior to most if not all of those around him, especially in the matter of intellect and strategy. One C.O. felt he bordered on narcissistic.” He paused, reading a bit further, then continued.
“A few years ago he got into serious trouble. He’s single, and it seems he had a live-in girlfriend while stationed at Beale. They got in a major tiff over her cat. Evidently he shot the cat, and she got upset and tried to get him in Dutch over it. They couldn’t get him for that, because he claimed he was simply euthanizing a sick animal, and the JAG couldn’t prove he wasn’t. But they did get him for conduct unbecoming, wrongful cohabitation—and indecent language, when he was called on the cohabitation charge. Looks like he was lucky not to get court-martialed,” Williams decided, skimming over the report once more before handing it to Skye.
“Wow,” Skye muttered. “If he’s the professor Jenkins and Scott were talking about the first day I watched ‘em, I see what they meant.”
“How did he avoid court-martial?” Holmes wondered curiously, trying to flip the pages Skye held in her hands.
“Mm…looks like he accepted a reprimand from his commanding officer instead,” she noted, shuffling the pages. “Permanent black mark in his record, but nothing more serious. It was obvious the girlfriend was out for retaliation over the cat, and living together isn’t really looked upon too harshly anymore…”
“And his record’s been clean ever since,” Williams pointed out. “I’d say this Jenkins is trying to blackmail Haines, by bringing up his past record and maybe trying to manufacture something.”
“Oh?” Holmes’ head shot up, and the grey eyes shone with interest. “You have something on Jenkins?”
“Oh boy, do I. Have a look at this.”
Williams handed the pair the last report in his accordion folder. Holmes leaned forward, taking the report and thumbing through it. Suddenly the detective let out a low whistle.
“This is interesting. So General Morris is involved.”
“Only indirectly,” Williams pointed out.
“What?” Skye said, shocked, trying to look over Holmes’ shoulder. “What about General Morris?”
“It seems, my dear, Colonel Jenkins’ marriage wasn’t quite the romantic idyll he would have everyone believe. His wife Sarah apparently had a tendency to…” The detective paused, searching for a delicate way to put the matter.
“Stray,” Williams said bluntly. “She had an eye for other men. One of those men was General Morris.”
“But the General…he wouldn’t…” Skye’s eyes widened.
“And he did not,” Holmes agreed, reading the dossier. “He maintained himself a gentleman throughout. But evidently after Jenkins retired, he found out about his wife’s infatuation, or perhaps I should say, series of infatuations. There were…words. And a private accusation of Morris as well, I gather.” He flipped back through the dossier. “His wife died suddenly, shortly thereafter. His children—if they really were his, as apparently he was beginning to suspect their paternity—became estranged immediately following the funeral.”
“You know, I need to see if there’s a medical examiner’s report on his wife,” Williams pondered. “That might make interesting reading.”
“Indeed. Perhaps you might see to that, Billy. It would be capital to have the coroner’s report to examine over supper.”
Skye snickered. When Williams and Holmes glanced at her, she explained.
“Only this bunch would think a coroner’s report makes good dinnertime reading.”
Holmes ignored the remark, but Williams grinned.
“I’ll go make some calls right away. Smith can probably scare it up in nothing flat,” Williams said, hopping up and hurrying out. Skye sobered, and became lost in thought.
* * *
Holmes watched as Skye sat in the corner of the couch, mulling over what they had learned.
“I wonder if maybe this Haines was one of Sarah Jenkins’ conquests,” she mused aloud. “It could explain how Jenkins got a hold on him.”
“Possibly. It also explains why he might identify Project: Tesseract as a target. It would be revenge against General Morris, if he believes Morris had an affair with his wife.”
“Whether Morris really did or not. So…what? He’s using his contacts from his Academy days to pull people in? Is he blackmailing them, or just playing on his relationships?”
“Probably a bit of both,” Holmes decided judiciously. “If I were Jenkins, I would play the innocent, trading on past friendships and loyalties as much as possible. Blackmail can be a risky business, because it only works if the intended victim is afraid. If one’s target has nothing to lose, or is naturally prone to defiance or courage, it can miscarry.”
“And that’s probably how he’s got Haines as his science advisor, to ensure he can throw a monkey wrench into things.” Skye shook her head. “Another black mark, and Haines’ career would be over. Ergo, Jenkins has an instant scientific expert.”
* * *
“So Haines’ background is sufficient to understand your apparatus?”
“Afraid so. This Haines looks like a really smart guy. If he hadn’t hosed up his military career so badly with that girl, he might’ve made a real name for himself in the mathematical and physical sciences.”
Holmes drew a deep breath, his eyes suddenly widening as if in recognition.
“Call Williams and tell him to dig further into Haines’ background. This definitely bears watching.”
“It sure does,” Skye agreed, reaching for the phone. “Sherlock?”
“Yes, my dear?”
“Do you have a feeling all hell’s about to break loose, real soon?”
“I do,” Holmes nodded grimly. “A…gut feeling, shall we say.”
* * *
Williams came back that night with the coroner’s report while they were eating dinner.
“This is interesting,” he waved the report while Skye and Holmes dug into large helpings of lasagna. “Turns out Sarah Jenkins died in an accident.”
“What kind of accident?” Skye wondered, seeing Holmes had a mouthful of lasagna, and reading the desired question in the grey eyes.
“She took a bad tumble downstairs,” Williams said soberly. “Broke her neck. The coroner’s inquest ruled it accidental death, because Sarah Jenkins had a medical history of a bad hip, obtained during a difficult childbirth.”
“Is there any indication where Peter Jenkins was at the time of death?” Holmes got out around a bite of pasta and cheese.
“He was there, in the house. But he claimed to have been asleep, and blood tests showed he had sedatives in his system. According to his personal physician, he was so distraught over the revelation of his wife’s affairs, he couldn’t sleep, so the doctor prescribed sleeping pills.”
“That is an easy enough alibi to reproduce,” Holmes observed. “I could cause myself to appear to have been sedated in such a circumstance, without even needing to know much about your modern soporifics.”
“So he probably bumped off his wife and got away with it, is what you’re saying, Sherlock,” Skye verified.
“Precisely, my dear Skye. The picture being painted of our sainted Colonel Jenkins is looking darker all the time.”
* * *
Williams discussed the case with the pair until they finished dinner. Then he gathered the trays and departed. Holmes got his pipe and curled in the corner of the couch, meditating silently as a cloud of fragrant smoke slowly enveloped him. Skye slumped on the couch near him, arms folded, lost in thought.
Lovely, Skye, she thought in disgust. What a filthy mess this is, and all over your little pet theory. Murder, and blackmail, and espionage, and the good Lord only knows what else. And if they manage to get their hands on it, who knows what they’ll do with it? Set up a little crime syndicate, and hope they don’t try to tamper with the timelines? It’s too much to hope they’ll only damage the apparatus, and not actually use it.
Her shoulders sagged in discouragement.
* * *
The slight movement attracted Holmes’ attention, and he studied her face for long moments, reading her thoughts with all the accuracy he had once demonstrated to Watson, a lifetime and a universe ago. Slim fingers on a long, thin hand walked their way unseen along the back of the sofa behind Skye, finally creeping down to her far shoulder.
* * *
Skye abruptly felt herself pulled into a wiry body, which had twisted around to provide a cozy backrest.
“Stop that,” a deep, English voice murmured in her ear. “I’ll not have you blaming yourself yet again because other members of the human race are not possessed of the same moral fibre as the persons currently in this room.”
“Yeah,” Skye murmured, subdued. “I think I’m just tired, Sherlock. I might go to bed early tonight.”
Holmes held her gently, pondering her response.
“Is that all that is wrong, Skye?” he asked finally.
“Yes—no—oh, I dunno,” she exclaimed in frustration. “It’s like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it’s about to drive me crazy! If I do go to bed, I probably won’t be able to sleep.”
“Then perhaps…you should go to bed, but not go to sleep.”
Skye tilted her head back and saw the gleam in his grey eyes.
“Oh,” she said, as a smile spread across her face. “That’s not a bad idea at all.”
They stood up hand in hand and turned toward the bedroom door. They didn’t get far.
Williams burst in.
“Jenkins is dead!” he exclaimed.
“What?” both investigators said, spinning toward him.
* * *
In short order, a portrait of the day’s events was painted, as Williams gave the pair several additional reports. Major Scott met Jenkins for lunch, passing on the name of a contact on her staff for Jenkins’ “professor.” Per cellphone records, Jenkins passed this information to Professor Haines. Haines got in touch with the contact, and Jenkins went home to meet the government contractor Parker, whose son was one of Jenkins’ last students. Parker came and went, and Jenkins’ house was quiet the rest of the afternoon and evening. But at sundown, the lights in the house did not go on, even though Jenkins was there. This was suspicious, as Jenkins was a man of strong habits, and prone to being a night owl.
The FBI quickly arranged for a search warrant, and the investigatory team found Jenkins dead in his living room. Cause of death was not yet known.
“That’s it, then,” Skye said in stunned amazement. “It’s over. ‘Sauron’ is dead.”
“Do not be so certain, my dear,” Holmes murmured thoughtfully.
“I dunno about that, either,” Williams agreed, handing them another paper. “I got the Canadian report back, and I’m pretty confused. They’ve been doing some investigating of a particular well-to-do entrepreneurial family suspected of having connections to organized crime, and it turns out that’s the family our little mess seems tied into. Patriarch’s clean, though a few of the kin may be a different story. But the funny part is that Jenkins wasn’t related to ‘em.”
“But Andrews said he was,” Skye protested.
“That’s the funny part,” Williams pointed out. “It’s Haines that’s related to ‘em, not Jenkins. In fact, his mum was the patriarch’s sister. Andrews is related too, but not as close, as he said. Seems Haines’ middle name is Peter, which is what the family calls him, and that’s why we got him confused with Jenkins. Here, have a look. It…gets weirder.”
He handed the Canadian report to Skye. Skye scanned through it and gasped, paling.
“Oh, no. You gotta be kidding.”
“Nope. Wish I were.”
“What is it?” Holmes asked, taking the report from Skye’s limp fingers. He read swiftly down through the report, grey eyes narrowing. “Damnation,” he cursed bitterly. “As I feared. The Moriarty family. Originally of England.”
* * *
Despite injuries, Holmes and Skye grabbed their identification, their bulletproof vests, and their firearms, left the saferoom and headed down to Williams’ MI-5 office in the bowels of the hotel. The place was a beehive of activity, with faxes coming in, operatives scurrying in and out, and several phones ringing. Immediately upon his arrival, Williams was handed a note. He scanned it rapidly, then gave it to Holmes.
“We have the contact name Major Scott provided for Professor Haines,” Holmes observed. “Skye, does the name Joe Morgan mean anything to you?”
Skye’s eyes widened in shock and horror.
* * *
“HELL, yes,” she exclaimed vehemently, and the entire room stopped dead, turning to watch her. “Joe was—NOW I know why I recognized Major Scott! She heads the group that maintains the ultra-secure facilities at Schriever! Joe Morgan was her liaison for the Chamber! Oh, dear Lord! Sherlock, if he gets to Joe, he’ll have a way straight into the tesseract!”
“He’s got a way in, then,” one of the operatives said grimly. “I was just about to hand Will this other phone transcript, where Haines contacted Morgan. They had an appointment set up for earlier this evening, right after standard close of business.” He glanced meaningfully at the clock on the wall. It read 8:30.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Skye said, trying to calm down. “Harris and Thompson never got their second virus initiated. Even if he gets into the facility, he won’t have access.”
“Just a moment, Skye.” Holmes’ brow furrowed. “I seem to recall…Billy, did you not state, at some point in recent days, that the military police officer the security video showed crossing the crime scene tape had been taken off report?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Why?”
“Colonel Jones suspected the video was fake, just like the one Dr. Chadwick found. He thought maybe Harris managed to insert the edit into the video computer system earlier—before Thompson showed up—cued to the correct time, then skipped out.”
“No. Not before.” Holmes turned to Skye, his face pale, his lips compressed. “He was there, Skye,” he said fiercely, grey eyes glinting with a dangerous light. “Harris was there, the whole time. While we confronted Thompson, while you had the gun battle, while you lay in my arms, bleeding almost to death. Harris was there. The system has already been compromised, long since.”
“Oh, dear God,” Skye whispered, feeling herself paling as her head spun momentarily. Holmes went into action.
“Billy, contact Colonel Jones, Agent Smith, and General Morris immediately. We will also need a vehicle. We are headed to Schriever, post-haste.”
“And notify the Colorado Springs P.D. we’re coming through at speed,” Skye added. Sparing a glance at Holmes, she informed him, “I’m driving.”
“I defer to an experienced constable,” Holmes said without hesitation.
* * *
Skye used every bit of training she’d gotten as a first responder, hitting speeds Holmes had never before experienced as she took them across Colorado Springs and onto the prairie as fast as she could drive. Her emergency blinkers were on, and police cruisers provided escorts the entire way. Holmes buckled in tightly, and braced himself in the seat with legs and arms when necessary, but he trusted Skye; her handling of the vehicle was superb, and he had no doubt they would arrive at the base intact.
At the main gate, Skye and Holmes held up their badges to the guard and were waved through, as the squad cars fell back and peeled away. MPs picked up where the city police left off, taking them right to the door of their office building. Holmes and Skye tumbled out of the vehicle, and Holmes began barking orders.
“Cordon off the building. No one goes in or out.”
“UNLESS,” Skye amended, “they’re on priority list PT1Alpha.”
The pair disappeared through the front doors as the MPs fanned out to surround the building.
* * *
Just inside the door of the Chamber they found Joe Morgan, dead on the floor, a bullet through the back of his head. They also found the tesseract up and operational, though it was apparently in test mode: No other continuum was visible in the core. Skye ran to the director’s console and surveyed the settings.
“Well?” Holmes asked, leaning over the seated scientist.
“Gimme a minute,” she said briefly, waking the computer terminal and scrolling through the history.
“Hurry, Skye,” Holmes urged impatiently. “You know what this means.”
“Nobody knows better than I do, Sherlock,” she answered shortly, reviewing commands in the toolbar. “Okay, got it.” She shook her head. “It’s not good.”
“What has he done?”
“He activated the tesseract, dialed it into another continuum, put it into full focus, and went through. Evidently one of the little features of Thompson’s most recent modification was the ability to shunt the tesseract through multiple continuums once Haines logged in, then drop it into test mode. That way we’d have a hard time telling where he went. There’s probably fifty or more continuums this thing went through before it went to test mode.”
“Ah. Psychologically, he seems unwilling to have destroyed his only link to his own continuum.”
“It looks like it,” Skye murmured, then, as a message popped up onscreen, she gasped in horror. “Oh, shit, not quite. Hang on!”
* * *
Skye sat down and typed faster than she’d ever typed in her life, hacking the system with every skill she possessed, entering commands into the computer at a machine-gun pace, trying to circumvent what was happening.
“What is it, Skye?” Holmes demanded to know.
“HUSH!!” Skye ordered, not taking her eyes from the screen. “Gimme a minute!”
* * *
Holmes raised an eyebrow, unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a manner, even by Skye; but he silenced, seeing the tense, frantic expression on her face.
“Dammit,” she muttered, entering commands and opening the debugger, “come on, come on…work with me, here! THERE! Command aborted!” she exclaimed triumphantly, as the automated sequence was halted. She drew a deep breath and looked up at the detective with a contrite expression. “I’m so sorry, Sherlock. I didn’t mean to bark at you like that, but I had my hands full.”
“I could see that,” he replied dryly. “Now what happened?”
“Haines really did try to destroy the tesseract, only not physically.” Skye shook her head. “He had a sequence set up called ‘End World.’ It would have automatically deleted every single bit of information on this computer network. If we’d gotten here two minutes later it would have been too late. We’d have been weeks recovering. And by that time…” Skye paused, paling as the possible implications hit. She stared at Holmes in horror. “Oh, no. He’s trying to destroy the whole continuum set.”
“Or, more likely, become a new Moriarty. Although in which timestream remains to be seen.” Holmes paused, thinking rapidly. “Of course. There can be only one possibility.”
“You know which continuum?”
“I do. The only one in which he knows there is no one to stop him. My own. Skye, can you look through the listing of continua and check?”
“Give me a couple minutes to recover from this disaster command, and I’ll see.”
Holmes nodded in reply, and Skye ran through the debugger, finding the point in the software that had been edited to initiate the “End World” command and erasing it. She then saved the software down.
“I really wish I had help in the software back room, ‘cause then I’d just upload the backed-up version,” she sighed. “Cross your fingers.”
Skye re-initiated the software and held her breath. Holmes stood over her shoulder, watching tensely.
When it initialized correctly, and nothing happened, she drew a deep, shuddering breath.
“We’re back on track. Now let’s see what I can do about finding the right continuum.”
* * *
Skye minimized the software window, then scrolled back through the command line.
“Bingo,” she said after several minutes. “Continuum 114, date January 21, 1892. Enough time for the heat of the investigation to be off, and your ‘death’ to be known, but not so much time that what little was left of Moriarty’s crime machine would have completely fallen apart.”
“It stands to reason,” Holmes smiled wolfishly, nodding his satisfaction. “He would not want me there to stop him. Good. It means I will not cause problems by being there twice.”
“But you can’t stay long,” she pointed out, scribbling equations on a nearby notepad. “I estimate no more than about twenty-four to thirty-six hours, tops. Otherwise the continuum collapses due to non-uniqueness.”
Holmes sobered quickly, and somewhat sadly, Skye thought, trying not to cringe with guilt.
“I understand, my dear. I will act rapidly,” he told her in a subdued tone.
“Sherlock, I…”
“Hush. We have been through that, and you have work to do,” he countered, waving a long thin finger at the computer screen.
Skye scanned through the electronic file, studying its details.
“Sherlock, I think you can use this to your advantage. This timeframe is about when your Arthur Conan Doyle started getting seriously interested in metaphysical matters. You know, spiritualism, seances and the like. So if you can manage to convince them you’re a ghost or something…”
“I will be able to enlist both Watson and Doyle. And possibly bring in the Irregulars for good measure. Capital notion, my dear.” Holmes cocked his head, interested.
* * *
He paused, thinking.
“Skye, can you operate the tesseract by yourself?”
“I can. We did have that emergency failsafe installed, where one person could run it if the facility had to be evacuated.”
“Do it.”
“Okay,” Skye said immediately, bending over the director’s console and running through a sequence of switches and commands, re-routing operations. “What do you have in mind?”
“Skye.” Holmes watched her working intently, considering his words carefully. She paused, looking up at him. “You are a fundamental part of this continuum, dearest. I, on the other hand, am not…”
“No,” she whispered, the horror in her eyes at his words quickly replaced with agony as the full import of what he had in mind hit her. “No, Sherlock, please don’t. Please.”
“Not if I can avoid it.” Holmes held up a single, quelling hand. “But you are needed here, to run the equipment. I am loath to take long enough to call in others; I know we could compensate for the time easily, by going to an earlier part of the timestream. But the more people included in the operation, the greater the likelihood of error, in my mind. Not to mention the possibility one or more of your team is…involved.”
“True. Besides, Smith, Jones, and Morris should all be here soon. I hope.”
“Agreed. One other question.”
“What?”
“Is there a…‘side’ to the wormhole, and how substantial is it?”
* * *
Skye stared at him for long moments, suddenly knowing precisely what he was considering.
“Not exactly. See, you’re only ‘in’ the wormhole when you’re passing between the columns. When we’re in full focus, the core—the area inside the columns—is in that other continuum. The openings between the columns comprise the wormhole. I know that sounds strange, but that’s how hyperspatial dynamics works.”
“So I cannot, say, shove him through the side, should I need to end the matter quickly.” Holmes frowned.
“No,” Skye shook her head. Then she paused, the sapphire eyes going distant. “But that gives me an idea. Maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
Skye shook her head.
“Leave that to the hyperspatial dynamicist. Here’s exactly what you need to do…”
* * *
Skye began a quick scan of continuum 114.
“Okay, it looks like he’s calling himself—now here’s hubris for ya—‘Colonel James Moriarty,’ younger brother of—ah, so that’s where it comes from! Holmesians have often wondered how Watson got the names so confused in the stories. Oh, shit. That means he’s already started affecting the continuum.”
“Then send me back to just before he went, and I will endeavour to prevent him from doing so.” Holmes gave her a glance of obvious anxiety.
“No, I don’t think I should. I’ve thought about that off and on ever since you suggested I should go back and stop myself from rescuing you, or building the tesseract, or whatever. If we were to do something like that, it would probably create a thing science fiction writers, and some physicists, call a ‘causality loop,’ and those things are a real mess. Full of potential paradoxes and everything else, and then the Novikov self-consistency principle gets invoked, and all kinds of confusing stuff. Not to mention what it’d do to the string generator; we’d probably have a regular torrent of tachyons condensing out, which would be very bad. Let’s just say I’d rather avoid that if I can.”
“Then my task becomes even more difficult.” Holmes frowned.
“Yeah, I’m afraid so. But you know what? Maybe it’s okay. Because Watson had to get the idea for a COLONEL James Moriarty from somewhere; it’s in my Conan Doyle’s version of your adventure at Reichenbach.”
“It is?” Holmes wondered, surprised. “I had not…bothered to do more than skim through…that particular adventure…as yet.”
“You mean you weren’t ready to, just yet.” Skye gave him an understanding look.
“I suppose one might…say it so.” Holmes averted his face.
“Okay,” Skye turned her attention back to her data. “Time flows a little differently over there than it does here. In the few hours he’s been gone from here, he’s had about a week to get started there. The repercussions are already propagating through that continuum, though, so we can’t drag our feet.” She pulled out a DVD from a nearby case and popped it into the computer’s drive, opening the video contained on it and fast-forwarding through it. “Wonderful!”
“What is?” Holmes asked, coming to her side.
“Conan Doyle visits Watson, to check on him after your ‘demise,’ this very night! I can put you down right in the middle of it.” Skye turned her attention to her companion and lover, scrutinizing him.
Holmes was still clad in cream linen trousers and a royal blue t-shirt, with white athletic shoes on his feet; he was fit and appeared in excellent shape. Skye tried to put aside the knowledge he was still recovering from a beating, thankful the only remaining external sign of that beating was some residual stiffness. She glanced down at her own attire.
“Take off your shirt,” she demanded, reaching for the buttons of her own top.
“I beg your pardon, Skye?” Holmes’ eyes widened.
“Sherlock, there’s nobody here but us,” Skye fussed, unbuttoning her shirt as fast as she could, while conveniently neglecting to remind him of the security monitors. “And you’ve seen me in the altogether lots of times. Now is no time to go all Victorian gentleman on me. Take off your shirt! And give me your pocketwatch, too.”
Holmes yanked his shirttails from his trousers, then hauled the t-shirt off over his head.
“Give it to me,” Skye ordered, “and put this on.” She handed him the silk poet shirt. “Hurry! We’ve got to get you over there!”
“May I at least enquire why I must give up my pocketwatch?” he asked with more than a hint of annoyance.
“Because it doesn’t have a gold sovereign on the chain anymore, it has a bullet. That’s a sure sign you’ve been someplace…dangerous.”
* * *
Bemused, Holmes handed over the timepiece, then allowed Skye to trade shirts with him and watched as she pulled the t-shirt on over her head; she winced mildly in discomfort from the motion. He galvanized himself into activity then, donning the white silk shirt and buttoning it. But when he started to unzip his trousers to tuck it in, Skye stopped him.
“No. Let it hang loose and flowy.”
“Skye, you are, of course, the expert here on modern attire,” Holmes admitted, trying valiantly not to become irritated with his mate, “but am I allowed to ask why?”
“It’s more angelic that way.” Skye smirked widely.
“More—” Holmes broke off, recalling their earlier discussion on seances and ghosts. “Ah.” He removed his revolver and holster from its hidden spot in the small of his back, and laid it on the console. “In that case, this, too, should remain here.”
He unbuttoned the shirt, slipped it off, removed his bulletproof vest, and laid it beside the weapon before donning the shirt again. “And this, as well.”
“Oh, no, Sherlock!”
“You know as well as I do, my dear, that if a bullet watch-fob is a positive giveaway that I have not been in ‘Heaven,’ how much the more a weapon?” Holmes shook his head. “And a ‘modern’ weapon, at that? Let alone advanced body armour? No, they must stay here. I will have…other opportunities…once I arrive there. Not to mention other plans.”
“Okay, Sherlock.” Skye took a deep breath and capitulated. “All I have to do is dial in the time and bring it to full focus. Are you ready?”
“Save for one thing only.” Holmes nodded soberly.
“Then whatever it is, do it.” Skye shook her head.
* * *
The scientist suddenly felt her feet leave the floor as she was caught in a fierce embrace. Firm lips covered her own and a gentle tongue parted them. Skye flung her arms around Holmes’ neck and kissed him hard. He returned it in kind. Finally Holmes broke the kiss and eased Skye to the floor. He looked down at her with pained grey eyes, catching up her hand as it slid down his chest.
“Skye,” he whispered in a rough voice, “do you recall what you told me, right before you…‘became’…Sandy?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Here,” he told her, grey eyes somber. Holmes pressed her hand to the center of his chest. “No matter what happens. Right here. Always.”
* * *
Skye nodded, sapphire eyes glimmering with tears that did not fall. Holmes reluctantly let her hand drop, then took up a position near two of the monoliths. Skye turned her attention to her computer, taking a deep breath to steady herself.
“Okay, Sherlock,” she instructed, voice only slightly wobbly, and as businesslike as she could make it, “I’m going to dial in the time and locus, and we’re going to watch for a couple of minutes. That way, you know what’s going on between Watson and Conan Doyle, and hear what’s being said. Then I’ll bring the tesseract to full focus, and you can step through. Remember what I told you.”
“I shall not forget,” he nodded, then added, very deliberately, “my dear Skye.”
Skye’s knees gave way at the tone and words, and she sat down heavily in the console chair.