You cannot cross to another reality with any doubt. Do that, and you will die.
You cannot look into the eyes of your Possible Self and pull the trigger if you harbor any desire to be that person.
~ Private conversation with Agent 5 of the Ministry of Defense – I1 2070
Wednesday June 12, 2069
Alabama District 3
Commonwealth of North America
It would have been satisfying to drop twenty tons of dead tree onto Marrins’s desk. Electronic data files just weren’t as fun as antiques.
The senior agent raised an eyebrow and looked at the data pad. “What’s that?”
“The files from the Chimes case and the N-V Nova Labs break-in. I sent you a copy Monday, but you told me to hand over all my work. I annotated everything. Most of it is cross-filed with Altin’s report.”
“Why isn’t it all cross-filed?”
“Because I am off the case and suspected of murder until Harley finishes his autopsy and establishes a time of death.”
Marrins looked a little lost.
“Mordicai Robbins? The security guard in my freezer?”
“Oh. That.” Marrins waved a beefy hand. “You weren’t a suspect for me. Can’t see you shooting a man through the throat. It’s a messy death, you need balls for that.”
Closing her eyes, Sam let his ire wash over her.
“You could have at least done the paperwork.”
“I’m locked out of the case files, sir. So I don’t tamper with them,” she added in case the idea couldn’t penetrate his thick skull.
“You should have said something. I would have let you back in. I hate cross-filing data.”
Sam hid her smile. “I’ll take the case back if you don’t want it, sir. I’ve got nothing better to do.” There was still cleanup in the city, and the shelters needed volunteers, and in terms of charity toward her fellowman, there was quite a lot of good to do. But in the current heat wave, she was certain that staying in the air-conditioned office was all that kept her from decking the next idiot who asked for the shirt off her back.
Firefighters and pickup lines.
She’d considered stopping at the local department store to look at costume jewelry. Maybe if she stuck a big enough rock on her left hand, everybody would back off.
Marrins gave her a patronizing smile. “There’s plenty of work for a girl like you, Rose. Maybe not at the bureau, but there are plenty of places for a girl who knows how to keep her mouth shut. Now, get back to your office while it’s still yours.”
The door closed quietly behind her. Sam wanted to slam it shut, preferably on Marrins’s fat head. Storming back to her office in a quiet fashion was out of the question, so she walked, letting the rage simmer.
Her phone rang, interrupting her pity party. “Agent Rose speaking.”
“Rose, it’s Altin, get me Marrins.”
“Why don’t you try calling Marrins’s phone number?” Sam sniped.
“Marrins isn’t answering.” Altin made it sound as if it were all her fault.
“So leave a message!”
“I can’t. Dr. Emir is having fits over here and demanding the bureau’s attention.”
Sam puckered her lips as she leaned against the wall. “You know that’s not my problem.”
“Get off your rear and walk it down to Marrins’s office.”
“He’s just going to tell me to leave,” she said.
“Hand him the phone.”
“I’ll get the door slammed in my face.” Again.
“Then put on the speaker and slide the phone under the door! Tarnation, Sam! Get me Marrins.””
“Fine!” Sam walked back to Marrins’s office with a little extra stomp in her step. “Sir? Detective Altin is on the phone. It’s urgent.”
Marrins scowled up at her from the game of cards he was playing on his phone. “What’s he need?”
“Emir is throwing tantrums again.”
“I don’t want to deal with Emir right now. Tell him to shut his mouth and get back to work.” With a flick of his finger, he moved a card and grunted in approval.
Sam relayed the information to Altin.
“He doesn’t care?” Altin fumed. “It’s his job to care. He gets paid to care.”
“I don’t think he cares about that either,” Sam told Altin. Marrins glowered at her. “Sir, what do you want done?”
Marrins waved her away. “Handle it, Rose, it’s not my problem.”
“Rose,” Altin growled over the phone. “If someone from the bureau isn’t down here in twenty minutes—”
“I got it covered,” Sam said. She scooped her purse from her desk. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“You shouldn’t be on this case,” Altin said. “You’ve already been threatened once.”
“Your choices are me or Agent MacKenzie from the morgue.”
Altin swore away from the phone. Sam couldn’t hear everything, but there were a couple of creative insults about Marrins’s parentage that she tucked away for future use.
“If it helps any, Agent Marrins is satisfied with my alibi. I was on a plane when Mr. Robbins was shot.”
“Your alibi isn’t near as troubling as the death threats.”
“Threat, singular,” Sam said. “It was a message for the bureau, not me in particular, and there have been no further incidents.”
“Fine,” Altin said at last. “Come here. Talk Emir off his pedestal, and I’ll deal with the fallout.”
“I can go to an early lunch instead,” Sam offered as she climbed into her car. “That wouldn’t bother me at all.”
“You’re enjoying this,” Altin grumbled.
“Getting my case back? Why, yes, thank you ever so much, I am. I got run off because of your overprotective Good Guy instinct, and now I’m getting asked back in. Why shouldn’t I be happy?”
“I still don’t have an ME report on Robbins,” Altin’s voice held a note of warning.
“You will have it as soon as Harley finishes it. And we both know it’s going to show I couldn’t have possibly killed Robbins.”
“Doesn’t clear your boy MacKenzie.”
“MacKenzie jumps at his own shadow. Can you honestly picture him shooting anyone? At all?”
Altin grumbled.
“We’ll find the killer, but we’re wasting time looking in the bureau for the murder weapon.”
“We’ll see.” Altin didn’t sound convinced. “Now, get over here before I take a swing at the doctor. That man makes my fists itch like I’m eighteen again.”
She pulled out of the parking lot. “See you in fifteen.”
She didn’t bother hanging up the handset, just dialed MacKenzie when she hit the first stop sign.
“Agent MacKenzie.”
“Hi, Mac, it’s Sam.”
“Can I help you?” he sounded baffled—par for the course with MacKenzie.
“I need the autopsy results on Mordicai Robbins.”
“By when?”
“Yesterday.”
“I thought you were off the case. For that matter, I thought I was off the case. I know I don’t always track these things well, but I’m pretty sure we aren’t supposed to be involved.” He sounded annoyed, which beat drugged any day of the week. Eventually, she’d tell him he was using breath mints as medical treatment, but that little factoid could wait until her transfer to anywhere else came through.
“Dr. Emir is demanding someone from the bureau speak with him. Marrins sent me,” Sam told him. “So I guess that means I’m back on the case. And Altin is demanding the autopsy results ASAP.”
“Really?” Mac sounded skeptical.
She turned onto the highway headed out of town. “Marrins told me to handle it. Those were his exact words.”
There was a pointed silence.
“What?” she asked with all the innocence fourteen years of Catholic schooling had taught her.
“ ‘Handle it’ does not mean get involved in the case again,” MacKenzie said.
“It’s very nearly the same thing,” Sam argued.
“No, it really isn’t.”
“Just finish the autopsy.”
There was a low rumble of objection from Mac, then another sigh. “Anything in particular I’m looking for?”
“Time of death, motive, anything that can tell me who killed him. There’s a murderer loose. Maybe we have a polite killer who left us a note tucked in Robbins’s pocket.”
“What about the Melody Doe autopsy?”
“What about it?”
“They tagged it last night. Harley had it down in his locker, but Robbins is in there, too. If I’m going body snatching, I might as well make the most of it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Would anyone notice?”
“All I need is twenty minutes per body to run the scan. If I can program the cold chambers to connect with my workstation instead of Harley’s, I can run secondary scans later.”
“How long would that take?”
“Maybe an hour for both.”
“Oh.” So much for that idea.
“Don’t worry: Harley likes long lunches.” She thought there was a hint of a smile in Mac’s voice. “You want it done?”
Maybe she wouldn’t mention the breath mints after all. It was nice to have a mentally able coconspirator. “Yes.”
“Who gets the results?”
She hesitated. Marrins should get the results, but . . . But indeed. She bit her lip.
“Sam?”
“Altin and Marrins. Altin, me, and Marrins.”
“Marrins?” The tone of Mackenzie’s voice said he didn’t agree.
“Marrins is in charge of the case.”
“If you say so. I’ll do the autopsy, and we’ll go from there. MacKenzie out.”
She knew his reservations, but she also knew that protocol said Marrins needed to know. What MacKenzie didn’t seem to get was that any information that landed on Marrins’s desk was lost in a black hole; he’d never read it. She pulled into the N-V Nova Labs parking lot just as Altin headed for his car. “Where are you going?” Sam asked as she locked her door.
“Domestic situation just went critical at one of the shelters,” Altin said. “I’ve got to get down there. Emir is inside. Talk to him. Calm him down. For the love of all that is holy, do not promise him anything. The man is delusional. I’ll see if I can get the department shrink down here next week.” His radio screamed with static. “I’ve got to go.”
Sam waved as he peeled out of the parking lot, hit his lights, and gunned the engine down the road. So much for the idea of backup.
“Thanks.”
The atrium had been repaired. All the cracked windows and lights were once again in place. A small cleaning bot buffed the floors to a mirror finish. Three burly guards sat at the main desk. Another pair were split, one at each entrance. Sam showed the first guard her ID, then walked over to the desk to sign in.
“Hi.” She flashed the guards a bright smile. “I’m Agent Rose with the CBI. Where is Dr. Emir?”
A flat-eyed guard with the name SMITH pinned to his chest picked up the in-house phone. “We’ll page him. Go sit down.”
She would have tried looking impressed, but it would have been faked. It didn’t matter since Dr. Emir was racing out of the door toward her when she turned. “Agent Rose! Agent Rose! Yes. Yes, of course, the paladin rushing to the rescue. It makes perfect sense. You will help me.” He grabbed her hand with sweaty palms.
The little man who looked like a skinny Santa was thinner than she remembered, disheveled, shaking. “Dr. Emir, are you hurt?”
“No. No. Not yet. I haven’t been hurt yet.” His eyes darted left and right, as if he expected someone to grab him at any moment. With a startled jump, he dragged her back to his lab. “Not safe. Not safe out there. Someone might see me.”
“That’s what security guards are for.” Sam tugged her hand, ineffectually trying to break free. “Don’t you like the security guards, Dr. Emir? They keep you safe. Keep your work safe.”
Dr. Emir let out a manic sound. After a minute, Sam realized he was laughing. “They don’t protect me. They watch me. For him. This is my prison.” He rubbed a gnarled brown hand along the door lintel. “This is my prison of my own making,” he said sadly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “I will die here.”
Sam frowned in worry. “Dr. Emir, are you not feeling well? Were you threatened?”
“Threatened?” His head snapped up. For a moment, his eyes were distant and disoriented, then he shook himself back to the present. “Threatened, dear me, no. Why would you ask, Agent Rose?”
“You just said this was a prison, and you were going to die here.” And because I want to kill you, so I’m just assuming others do, too.
“Oh.” He gave a light laugh, and it sounded forced. The smile on his lips never touched his eyes. “A figure of speech. I was being metaphorical. I meant I devoted my life to this work. Everything I do must be done. I must go forward with it. I have gone forward with it.” Mania gripped his expression again, then slipped away.
Sam waited cautiously by the door. If he lunged, she was running, high heels or no.
Dr. Emir gave her a tight smile. “Why are you here, Agent Rose?”
“You wanted to see someone from the bureau.”
“Yes, but why you? Agent Marrins is handling this case. I am well aware of this fact. He has impressed that on me several times.”
Really? When? “Agent Marrins was busy, so he sent me.”
“To speak for him?”
Sam shrugged. “I suppose. We work for the same people.”
“Oh.” For some reason, that seemed to disappoint Emir. His shoulders drooped, and he looked at the floor. “Very well. I will explain. Marrins understands the importance of my work better than you, I expect.”
“I’m sure,” Sam murmured, keeping the sarcasm out of her voice.
Dr. Emir wrung his hands in worry. “It is critical, what I do. It will save lives. I don’t agree with what your senior agent thinks. I don’t think the machine can be made to bend the way he suggests. But it will save lives.”
“That’s the important thing.” Stating platitudes sounded good right now.
Emir nodded. “That is the most important thing. But, here.” He pointed at the strange black box he’d shown her on the previous visit. “You see what is wrong, obviously.”
Sam raised her eyebrows. “Oh. Golly. You’re right. Look at that.” She looked over at Emir for a clue.
Strutting like a gamecock, the doctor pointed at a dial on his bulky machine. “You see this? You see? Right here?” A scowl etched itself on his face.
She inspected the little dial, green on a field of black. “Yes.”
“What color is it?” Emir demanded, as if the color weren’t blindingly obvious.
“Green.”
“Yes!” he yelled.
“Is it not supposed to be green?”
“Ah.” Emir rocked back on his heels, thumbs hooked through his red suspenders. “So good to meet a halfway-intelligent bureau agent. So very pleasing. So very rare. No. This dial is meant to be blue. I made it blue. My mother’s favorite color. It was blue three days ago. Now, it is green.” He laid the information out with solemn dignity.
Sam shook her head. “Is the dial important? Rare? Expensive? I don’t understand why the color change matters, Doctor.”
“Someone has touched my research!” he shrieked.
“Did you talk to the graduate students? Perhaps one of them knocked the dial loose and replaced it with a new one. Maybe they painted it. A practical joke, perhaps?”
Emir pursed his lips, fuming. “This is no joke. I have told the detective time and time again. I am being threatened. This is a subtle and diabolical reminder that I am being pursued. The dial should be blue!”
“Fine.” Sam stepped away from the machine before whatever leaking radiation from the box that had permeated Dr. Emir’s brain cells affected her. “Change the dial. It shouldn’t be that hard.”
“It’s evidence!”
“Yes—of a green dial. To be anything more, I need records, proof the original dial was blue, video from security.” She didn’t really, but she hoped he’d think that to be too much and drop this ridiculousness. Who cares about a stupid dial?
Emir stared up at the video monitor as if he’d never seen it before. “Video, of course. I had not thought of that.”
Sam nodded. “If security will release the video—”
“No, no,” Emir said abruptly. He waved her request away. His face suddenly took on a paternal smile full of goodwill. “My mind, it’s not what it was. The dreams become reality, the reality becomes dreams. I forget myself. So sorry to take your time. May I show you out? Buy you lunch? A T-shirt from the gift shop?”
“There isn’t a gift shop, Dr. Emir.”
“No? That must have been my dream then. Silly me. Perhaps we should build one, then I can buy you a T-shirt.”
“That’s too kind.” Sam danced out of his reach before he could infect her with the crazy virus. “Is your intern around? I’d like to have a word with him if he’s free.”
“Henry?” Emir frowned. “Yes, he should be arriving at the lab shortly.”
“Great, I’ll just wait then. Have the security guards tell Henry I’m looking for him as soon as he checks in.”
Sam waited in an empty conference room for Henry Troom to arrive. Her gut instinct said there was something wrong here. Not the color of the dial per se, but the whole feel of the lab. Something was ever so subtly wrong.
There was a knock on the door, and Henry walked in, hair mussed and tie askew. “Agent Rose? The security guard said you needed me for something urgent.”
“Not urgent, just a few questions to clarify what’s happening.” She took a seat and smiled sweetly. “Dr. Emir called me in this morning because he was worried that something had been tampered with in his lab.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Henry said. “I told him the balloons weren’t my fault. Nate did that.”
“Dr. Emir didn’t mention balloons. He was concerned because the dial on his machine was a different color. You helped construct the machine, didn’t you?”
“Oh.” Henry pulled a chair out and sat down. “No, I didn’t work on the original prototype. The one we have in the lab is a fourth working model that Dr. Emir has made.”
“Do you know what color the dial on the machine is?”
“Green.”
“Has it always been green?”
“Ever since I started working here. Green for go.” Henry shrugged. “Why?”
“Dr. Emir insists the dial was blue three days ago.”
Henry sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Was he talking really fast? Did he mention dreams or anything bizarre?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. He offered to buy me a T-shirt from a nonexistent gift shop.”
“Are you taking notes on this?” Henry asked.
“Not yet, should I be?”
“It’s just . . . I don’t want to get Dr. Emir in trouble. Government grants are hard to get, and . . .” He frowned and looked away.
“You don’t want my report to strip Dr. Emir of his grants or you of your education funding. I got it. Is Dr. Emir doing anything that would make him lose his grants?”
“No!” Henry squirmed in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with sharing his information.
Sam sighed. “I’m good at keeping secrets, Henry.”
He rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Have you ever been to Dr. Emir’s house?”
“No.”
“It’s covered in surreal paintings.”
“Like, Picasso? His big secret is he collects stolen art?”
“Nothing like that, he paints them. Huge canvases filled with the most otherworldly spaztastic stuff you’ve ever seen. Cities straight out of a bad B-movie. Science-fiction stuff I can’t even explain. It’s unreal. And it’s all in the wrong colors.”
“How do you mean wrong?”
He shrugged. “Green skies. Blue grass. Yellow buildings with silver lights. Dr. Emir is color-blind. He has to be.”
“Okay.” Sam tilted her head. “Why is this a deep, dark secret no one should share?”
“The color-blind thing isn’t an issue. It’s the manic rages that worry me. Dr. Emir is a genius, but he is truly one of the great tortured geniuses of our age. He’ll go for days, sometimes weeks without sleep. I’ve seen him take a catnap at the lab, then run home and lock himself in there for three days because he had a dream and couldn’t rest until he’d put it on canvas.”
Sam connected the dots and relaxed. “So he called me during one of these manic phases?”
“We try to keep him calm and make sure he gets the downtime he needs, but with everything that’s happened . . .” He held his hands up in a gesture of futility. “I’m sorry he bothered you.”
“Don’t apologize. This is my job. I just needed to know what help Dr. Emir needed.”
“He needs some melatonin and a good night’s rest without any of his weird dreams. He talks about them a lot, and they’re very vivid. It’s one of the signs of high intelligence, vivid, nearly lucid dreams. After everything’s settled, you should come to one of our lab parties when he gets talking. It’s mind-blowing some of the stuff he comes up with.”
Sam chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it.” She stood up. “Thank you for talking with me, Mr. Troom. If you do see any anomalies in the lab, please call me. And please assure Dr. Emir that the bureau is doing everything it can to keep him safe.”
Putting all the pieces in place painted a better picture of the lab. Dr. Emir was a distracted genius who couldn’t tell reality from dreams. It happened. Some of the world’s best inventions had come from similar minds. She walked to the car, trying to shake off the unsettled feeling. The shadows of the lab followed her home.