The Case of the Displaced Detective

by Stephanie Osborn

  “So far we don’t have much,” Smith admitted. “We’ve eliminated the orbital sensor project, but we’ve got three more classified programs to review. At this rate, it’s gonna take awhile. We’re planning to work through the weekend.”

  “So are we,” Skye noted, subdued. “Um, not to change the subject, but…do you have the story you’re gonna put out on Chad?”

  “Cause of death, you mean?” Jones asked. Skye nodded, and he answered, “Yeah. He was working on an engine prototype for the newest stealth fighter when something went wrong, and he was on the receiving end. Family’s been notified.”

  “Okay. Is there gonna be…I dunno, a funeral or something?”

  “We understand the family will have a memorial service,” Smith responded, “in Chad’s hometown in Tennessee. The team might want to consider having a wake.”

  “I can set something up in the Officer’s Club if you like, Skye,” Jones offered.

  “Yeah, that’s good,” Skye nodded again. “Maybe early next week, right after work?”

  * * *

  “Done. Now, how about you guys?” Jones asked Holmes and Skye, deciding it was time to redirect the conversation back to the investigations. “What’ve you got?”

  “All of the eyewitness interviews confirm what Dr. Hughes and Dr. Chadwick told us yesterday. Tomorrow Dr. Chadwick will assist us in reviewing the logs and other records.” Holmes shrugged.

  “I’m hoping it’ll show up something that’ll tell us exactly what happened,” Skye observed. “By the way, speaking of covers, what cover story got put out about the gravity wave?”

  “You know we sometimes get earthquakes around here, Doctor,” Smith said, face suddenly tired. “Ancient volcanoes, fault-block mountain building, all that. Epicenter of this one was located under the base. There’s enough error in the depth estimates to allow for it to be a little deeper than it initially appears. That way nobody can pinpoint the existence of the Chamber.”

  “Oh, okay. That’ll work. Thanks.”

  “Well, keep us posted,” Jones said, and they called it a day.

  * * *

  Roberts returned on Saturday and they reviewed the monitor videos. It took most of the day to go over the videos in the detail Holmes wanted. But the imagery plainly depicted the increasing tension in the Chamber as matters deteriorated. The trio watched as Chad descended into the space between the monoliths, and even Holmes flinched when the final catastrophe replayed itself. The hapless Chad was torn apart, his body parts explosively vaporized, as the tesseract seemed to turn wrong-side-out before shutting down.

  Holmes glanced at Skye in concern, and saw her close haunted eyes in a pale face. He watched her take several deep breaths, struggling with the memory of the event, and he laid a compassionate hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, and he felt her shoulder relax under his hand. Then she flashed him a grateful half-smile before turning her attention back to the video. But by this time it only depicted Skye barking orders to her personnel to ensure the data of the catastrophic malfunction was saved.

  Finally on Sunday they turned to the console logs. The logs were electronic, downloaded to CD, and due to their classification level, Skye took her companions into one of the back rooms of the Chamber to study them. There, they could utilize several of the computers designated for classified processing, without fear of the information being released over networks.

  Skye was the log interpreter for Holmes and Roberts; consequently progress was slower than they would have liked, as they could not split up the logs between them. In the end it took three days to review all the logs. But most of the console positions had innocuous accounts. Only Timelines, Sequencing, Hardware, and Software showed any entries of interest in their chronicles.

  Timelines indicated a problem within about twenty minutes of that morning’s startup, evidenced by an inability to lock on a given continuum setting, despite the fact it was only a simulation. This issue worsened as the day progressed, until within minutes of the final malfunction, it had become impossible to even fix a setting, let alone maintain it.

  The Sequencing log roughly mirrored Timelines, indicating a slow deterioration in the ability to maintain focus of the coherent closed-loop string beam. This climaxed in total loss of control of the wave function and a sudden production of virtual gravitons, an emergency situation necessitating the shutdown of the tesseract lest a black hole swallow the entire facility and more.

  Hardware’s log indicated no errors, despite troubleshooting the problem; but Software’s log indicated a timing issue relative to the initiation of the focusing subroutine.

  “Oh, that’s bad,” Skye muttered. “I need to get the software gurus on that. There’s gotta be a bug in the system someplace…”

  “What does the recorded data say?” Roberts asked.

  “Good question. Dunno yet. Hand me…um…” Skye referenced the log time-tags, “disk SW0409131300TEST.”

  Holmes picked up a handful of CD cases and shuffled through them, picked out the CD in question and gave it to her. Skye popped it into the drive and opened the folders, searching for the desired data.

  “Oh, here it is,” she noted, opening the data file and studying it.

  * * *

  Holmes stared at the anonymous columns of numbers on the screen, blinked in disbelief, and looked again. He shot a querying glance to the man beside him, and observed a bemused expression upon Roberts’ face. Leaning to the side, Holmes conceded, “So you cannot read it, either?”

  “No,” Roberts admitted. “It’s all a bunch of numbers to me.”

  “It’s initiation timing data from the computer,” Skye explained, scanning the numbers. “We wrote the software to drop a time-tag into this data file every time specific lines of code were executed. Timing is all-important in a system like the tesseract, and even fractions of a second can be critical. We wanted a housekeeping record for troubleshooting.”

  “And you know which of those pertain to which lines of this ‘code’?” Holmes wondered, taken aback at her level of comprehension.

  “Yeah. Give me a minute and I…can…” Her voice tapered off and she leaned forward, scrutinizing the numbers. Her index finger came up, tracing the rows of digits; then she tapped the screen. “Yep. We’ve got a five to six second delay between the time the subroutine should initiate, and the time it actually does.”

  “And that’s bad?” Roberts wondered.

  “That’s really bad. When you’re producing virtual strings, five or six seconds is an eternity.”

  “Accidental or intentional?” Holmes queried.

  “Oh, I couldn’t say, based on this,” Skye shook her head. “That’s a question for the software experts. But if I had to guess,” Holmes frowned his disapproval at her wording, “I’d say it’s a bug.”

  “A bug?” Holmes questioned, unfamiliar with the colloquialism.

  “An error in the software,” Skye elaborated. “Did Caitlin explain to you about computer programming?”

  “Yes,” Holmes nodded. “Now I understand. She simply did not mention the term, ‘bug.’”

  “Oh, okay. It’s the usual term for a software error.”

  “Very well,” Holmes said, filing the information away mentally.

  “Doctor, can you request your software gurus take a look and let us know what happened?” Roberts requested. “If we can ascertain this was a software bug, I can close the investigation on the incident and declare it an accident. In the event it was something more, I will of course continue the investigation.”

  “Oh, I don’t have to ask them. They’re already at it, and have been since it happened. I’ve already added you to the distribution for their preliminary and final reports on it.”

  “Excellent,” Roberts said in great satisfaction. “My initial expectation—and I gather, yours also—is that it was a software bug.”

  “Yep. More than likely.”

  Holmes remained silent, brows drawn in thou
ght.

  “Then my interim report to Colonel Jones will indicate probable accident,” Roberts decided. “But I will specify that’s pending the final report from the project software staff.”

  “That ought to work,” Skye agreed. “What time is it?”

  “Past dinnertime,” Holmes noted. “Are you ready to go home, Skye?”

  “I guess so.”

  “I’ll send a copy of the interim report once I get it written tomorrow,” Roberts noted as they all left the Chamber.

  “Very good, Major,” Holmes agreed, and they parted company.

  * * *

  Two days later, the morning after Chad’s wake, and with Skye’s assistance, the Project: Tesseract Software division issued their preliminary report, in conjunction with the Timelines and Sequencing divisions. It stated the fatal malfunction had been the result of an apparent software bug, which caused an average 5.28-second delay in initiation of the Schrödinger induction focus subroutine. This permitted a preferential buildup of closed-loop strings in a graviton configuration, culminating in the attempted formation of a virtual singularity which was only ended by an emergency shutdown of the apparatus.

  Holmes spent his time in the report-writing activity, keen to absorb as much information about the event as he could. He understood the experts believed the incident had been an accident, but he found it an odd coincidence such a serious failure should occur during the precise timeframe when he was investigating a possible sabotage attempt.

  “I hear what you’re saying, Holmes,” Skye told him that evening as they drove home. “But so far there’s absolutely no indication there was any tampering. We’ve got the bug narrowed down to somewhere in eight lines of code. It’s a matter of ferreting it out.”

  “Occasionally, a stone is just a stone, and not a murder weapon,” he agreed readily enough, understanding her point. “But it is my business to be cautious.”

  “I know, and I’m not upset or anything. Or rather, I am upset, but not at you.”

  Holmes shot her a sharp, concerned glance, knowing precisely to what she referred.

  “The project will be shut down tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. There’ll be a skeleton crew kept on in the Software division to continue the search for the bug, but everyone else will go on hiatus.”

  “And you are on unpaid administrative leave. Because of me.”

  “No, not because of you. Because I broke the rules.”

  “Skye, will you not allow me to pay—”

  “No, Holmes,” Skye said, shooting him a sad smile as she drove. “It isn’t about the money. I’ve made a decent salary over the years and I haven’t been a spendthrift. I’m okay financially. It’s…” she paused, and stared ahead at the road up the pass. “It hurts to see my life’s work falling down around my ears, and know it’s my own fault, and I probably shouldn’t have been doing it to begin with. That’s all.”

  Holmes nodded, recognizing the scientist’s equivalent to his own post-case depression, and comprehending it was made worse because she was facing the loss of a lifetime of work.

  When they arrived at the ranch, they went inside the house and changed into jeans and t-shirts, but when Holmes made to follow Skye out to the barn, she paused.

  “Would you mind,” she suggested, “staying in here and heating something up for dinner? I…need some time alone.”

  “Of course. Do you have any requests for the menu?” Holmes studied the wan face before him.

  “No. Surprise me.”

  They parted at the door.

  * * *

  Holmes moved into the kitchen, rummaging in pantry and refrigerator. Comfort food, he decided, remembering Skye’s pallid face. In short order he had concocted a pot of chicken soup from a can of stock, another can of chunk chicken, some vegetables, herbs, and a package of dried pasta noodles; it simmered pleasantly on the back of the stove, wafting a savory aroma into the air. A bag of salad greens went into a big bowl, and he added cherry tomatoes, shredded cheddar, and a generous handful of walnuts, then tossed the lot with bottled balsamic vinaigrette dressing.

  Abruptly, through the open window came the sound of a titanic din in the barn, accompanied by a loud yell, the bellows of several startled horses, then a string of decidedly unladylike expletives. Alarmed, Holmes dropped the salad tongs and ran for the barn.

  When he got to the barn door, he stopped, surveying the scene, reconstructing what had happened.

  A grooming kit has been thrown in a fury down the center aisle at the outside wall of the feed room, dislodging the contents of several bridle hooks and even a saddle rack. The contents of the grooming tray, half-a-dozen spare bridles, and two spare saddles lay where they fell at the base of the wall. Two of the bridle hooks have broken free of the wall and joined the pile, as well. Good heavens. Someone is exceedingly upset. Concerned grey eyes searched out that someone.

  Skye stood in Iris’ open stall, her arms around the calm horse’s neck, her face buried in its mane. Her shoulders shook, and occasional gasps for air could be heard.

  Holmes stood silently debating what to do. It was obvious Skye had tempestuously vented her roiling emotions over her pet project’s derelict status and the violent death of a friend by that same project. But it was equally obvious she did not want him to find her in this state. She needs to let it out, in her own way, he decided.

  So the detective used all his wiles to slip back to the house unnoticed.

  When Skye returned to the house some time later, Holmes said nothing, and pretended not to notice her bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes and the pink tip of her nose.

  * * *

  The shutdown of Project: Tesseract the next day was anticlimactic. General Morris sent an email to program distribution announcing it would go on hiatus until further notice, and giving temporary assignments to everyone except the Software division and the division leads, who would all remain doing analysis. A one-month window was given, however, for team members to take extended vacations; the project had been extremely busy, and no one had had a break since Christmas. Many had been working overtime for weeks. The exodus began almost immediately.

  Skye’s administrative leave status was mentioned in the email; her status as Holmes’ liaison and investigative assistant was not, however. Holmes managed to stay subtly close, deciding she needed friends and trusted colleagues about her, even as he had favored having Watson near between cases. Caitlin, too, found occasion to pop in and out of the scientist’s office, he suspected for the same reason.

  Skye spent the morning organizing her project documentation. When the phone rang, she let Holmes answer it. It proved to be Colonel Jones, requesting Holmes come by his office to be briefed on Smith’s findings.

  “Come, Skye, the game is afoot! Colonel Jones requires our presence.”

  “No, he requires YOUR presence, Holmes,” Skye noted, subdued.

  “That is as may be,” Holmes retorted cheerfully. “But I require your presence. Now come.”

  He wouldn’t take no for an answer, and shortly Skye was seated between Holmes and Smith, across from Jones.

  * * *

  “What do you have for us, gentlemen?” Holmes asked briskly, and Skye half-expected him to rub his hands together in his eagerness.

  “Adrian, the floor is all yours, pal.” Jones nodded at Smith.

  “Well, of the five classified projects under consideration on the base,” Smith began, “I eliminated three, based on the fact there were quite a few components on Holmes’ list those three didn’t use.”

  “Leaving which ones?” Skye wondered, getting into the puzzle despite herself. Holmes shot her an approving glance, seeming pleased to see her mind diverted.

  “A weapons program known as Dynamo is one of ‘em,” Smith explained, then turned to Jones. “Do they have…?”

  “These two do, yeah,” Jones agreed. “For years Dr. Chadwick has held a Top Secret clearance with all the pertinent letters after it, and Mr. Holmes was recently granted
an equivalent TS. Dynamo is a high-frequency directed energy weapon, intended for orbital placement. I can get you more information if we need it. Do I need to translate for Holmes…?”

  “No. My liaison has been diligent in providing me with reading material on such matters, and in answering my questions, as well.”

  “It’s my job,” Skye offered the men a wan smile. “There ain’t much on television that interests either of us, anyway. Gives us something to do in the evenings.”

  “Good,” Jones said in satisfaction. “Excellent, in fact.”

  “And the other project?” Holmes queried. Jones and Smith exchanged obvious, knowing glances.

  “Project: Tesseract.”

  “Ouch. Can I see that component list again?” Skye shook her head, perturbed.

  Smith fished in his pocket for the abridged version, but Holmes reached inside his military jacket and produced his reproduction, enclosed in a classified folder, the lot encased in a plain manila envelope.

  “Here you are, Skye. I anticipated discussion.”

  * * *

  Skye accepted and studied the list; her eyes widened in horror.

  “Oh, dear God,” she whispered, staring at a line on the page. “This wasn’t on the list I saw the other day. No, no, no.” Badly agitated, she leaped to her feet, shoving the document back into Holmes’ hands.

  “What on earth is wrong, Skye?” Holmes wondered in alarm.

  “Guys, we need to run back to my office for a few minutes,” Skye babbled. “All of us. I really need to check on something.”

  “Can’t it wait, Dr. Chadwick?” Jones requested, his annoyance showing. “I know your program just shut down, but this is equally important.”

  “It’s about this, Colonel. I think I can narrow down our focus, if you’ll bear with me. Bring that,” she pointed at the document in Holmes’ hands.

  “Lead on, Skye,” Holmes boldly made the decision for them. “We shall follow.”