Finally, after about three days, Chadwick and Holmes returned.
“Well,” Chadwick noted immediately to the married couple, who were seated in the kitchen eating lunch, “you don’t have to look for anything else, Sis. We got instant, fast electrons and to spare, with quantities increasing exponentially with time. Probability oh point nine eight four that we had the tail end of Higgs boson decay.”
“Then we’ve almost certainly got tachyon condensation,” Skye announced, before drawing a deep breath.
“Which is bad,” Sherlock noted in a slightly querying tone.
“Which is bad,” Chadwick confirmed.
“So now,” Holmes added, “we must start looking for the precise source of the tachyons in the tesseract, and correct it.”
“I really think we’ve probably already found it,” Skye decided. “I think if you re-order the string sequencing, and tighten the beam configuration, you’ll eliminate the tachyon condensation, and certainly get ‘em out of the brane.”
“Yeah, but I’d really like to double-check the calcs before we actually start making changes,” Chadwick admitted.
“We can do that,” Skye said. “Gimme a chance to finish lunch here or Sherlock will pitch a fit—”
“And rightfully so,” Sherlock fired back. Skye shot him an I won’t argue smile before continuing.
“…And then we’ll go in the study and work together on the blackboard.”
“Deal,” Chadwick agreed.
“In that case,” Sherlock decided, “I will be of little help, so I may perhaps run over to the McFarlane estate and see what may be seen.”
“Sounds like a plan, Hon,” Skye nodded. Then she put a hand on his shoulder. “And don’t worry. I’ll be here when you get back.”
Sherlock gazed solemnly at her. “As I said once before, Skye: Do not make promises you cannot keep.”
Three acknowledging sighs were his only answer.
Chapter 2—Unpleasant Discoveries
WHILE SKYE WORKED WITH THEIR COUNTERPARTS in the other continuum, Sherlock headed for the McFarlane farm. He had no preconceived notions about what he might be looking for; he only knew he needed to look around. In this way he hoped to determine what was causing so much attention.
Upon arriving at the farm, he parked the car out of sight and meandered into the fields. He located a slight rise that would give him a reasonable view of most of the farm, then found a chalky limestone outcrop for a seat. He settled down and gazed about.
Off to his left lay the homestead: the house, stable, garage, and a few small sheds. Not unlike our ranch in Colorado, he thought, saving only that the stable is for cattle rather than horses. He watched the cows meander out of the stable and into the fields, counting as they emerged from the stable. When the last had emerged into the sunlight, he turned and surveyed the landscape in general, wrapping his muffler closer about his throat as a chill wind whipped the hilltop.
The McFarlane pastures were somewhat rolling, with some flatlands as well as a few hillocks such as the one on which Sherlock sat. The cows spread over the pastures, locating their favorite grazing spots. This, in turn, drew the detective’s attention to the various features of the terrain. Absently, he drew out his gloves and donned them against the cold, blustery winter day. He shoved his cowboy hat down further on his head.
He had been there for two hours, forgetting the cold in the intensity of his scrutiny, when he suddenly noted that there were fewer cows in the fields than before. He stood and counted swiftly, then spun to look back at the stable.
There were no signs of cattle inside.
A short jaunt on his long legs took him to the stable to verify its emptiness; the sleuth returned to his rock perch, and resumed his seat. Once again he counted cows, coming up with a different number than before.
“Hm…” he murmured under his breath. “First there were eighteen missing, now three have returned.”
He kept counting, over and over. “Two more have disappeared,” he noted softly, watching carefully, “over near that hill beside…” Sherlock’s breath caught. “Of course!” He rose and headed swiftly down the hill toward the area of the two most recently missing cows. “In the corner nearest the air force base! I have patently failed to use the brains with which I am blessed!”
Moments later, he spotted the two missing cows, as well as three more, emerging from an opening near the base of the hill.
“A cave. Of course! They go into the cave for shelter—from cold or heat, wind or rain…or unduly playful dogs.”
Holmes circumspectly avoided the cave entrance, giving it a wide berth for the time; but he cautiously approached one of the cows that had just emerged.
An ulcerated sore, not unlike a kind of blistered sunburn, and free of hair, was plainly visible on the cow’s flank. He circled the cow, noting one or two other similar sores, then moved on to study the other cows from the cave. Each had at least one sore on it.
Sherlock nodded to himself, then embarked on a hike toward the far pasture.
* * *
When he arrived there, he carefully scanned the cattle, even doffing his gloves and feeling the hide through their hair.
“Most telling,” he told the air. “Not one sore.”
The detective turned and looked back at the hill containing the cave, a thoughtful, distant focus in the grey eyes.
“It seems I have made quite the unique find. Two mysteries have been solved. The question then becomes, is this the answer to the third, and most important, mystery? More pertinent, if it is, why are they in search of it?”
He nodded to himself. “This wants looking into. But perhaps it would be best to consult an expert before embarking upon a detailed exploration.”
Holmes turned toward the McFarlane house and his car.
* * *
The tesseract was active and Chadwick and Holmes were reviewing Skye’s work from their console in the Chamber, and she, theirs, at the desk in the study, when Sherlock came in. Abstractedly, the three listened to him move through the house: Leaving muddy Wellingtons at the back door, hanging his coat and hat on the rack near the door, washing up in the mudroom, moving to the bedroom to replace shoes and shirt with slippers and dressing gown. Skye and Chadwick smiled absently, affectionately; Holmes noted the similarity in the expressions of the two women and grew thoughtful.
* * *
“Skye?” Sherlock called from the bedroom.
“Yeah, Sherlock?” Skye called back in a preoccupied manner. She never looked up from the calculations she was reviewing on the pad in front of her.
“Just checking.”
“Okay.”
“I have news,” he confessed from the other room as he changed.
“Oh? What’s that?” Skye devoted more than half an ear to that statement; if Sherlock offered news, it was generally worth hearing.
“I found the source of the beta burns on McFarlane.”
“Oh. That’s good. I—” Skye’s head snapped up. “Oh, dear God.”
* * *
In the Chamber in the other spacetime, Holmes and Chadwick straightened up in sudden anxiety. They shot a dismayed glance at each other, eyes wide.
“Oh, shit,” Chadwick whispered, horrified.
“Indeed,” Holmes murmured, shocked. “Surely he would not have…”
“Dunno,” Chadwick shot back. “He hasn’t been there as long as you’ve been here. He might not have learned enough yet to know better.”
“She is about to run to him.”
“Yup. And with good reason. Defocus and track subject.”
“Defocusing, track initiated,” Holmes agreed, promptly entering the appropriate commands.
* * *
Skye leaped to her feet with a panicked cry and spun for the door of the study, completely forgetting the tesseract.
“Sherlock!” she shouted frantically as she ran into the hall. “Sherlock, where are you? Where’d you go?! SHERLOCK!”
* * *
Hearing the urgency in her voice, Sherlock emerged from the bedroom door to stand in the hall, his dressing gown loosely draped about his lean frame, the belt not yet tied.
“HERE, Skye! What is wrong?!”
“Where? Where?” She launched herself at him, grabbing him and scrabbling desperately. “WHERE? Where is it? Show me! How bad?” she chattered frenziedly.
Sherlock stared in confounded amazement as his distraught wife pawed him, grabbing his hands and looking at their palms and backs; she even shoved the sleeves of his dressing gown up his arms and scrutinized his forearms. She cupped his head in her hands and stared at him, inspecting his face and neck with intent, almost wild eyes. Then she snatched at his dressing gown, holding it open and staring at his shirtless body. Her hands followed quickly, searching furiously.
“SKYE! Skye, calm down!” he exclaimed, worried. “What is wrong, my dearest?”
“WHERE ARE THEY!?” Skye wailed, nearly in tears. “Show me! How bad are they? How close did you get to it??”
“Where are what? Get close to what?” Sherlock wondered, trying to sort out her rapid fire and nearly incoherent babbling. He caught her frantic, trembling hands and held them tightly in his own, to still their frenetic explorations.
“Your burns!” Skye said, coming to a halt and gazing up at him with wide, despairing eyes. Her lower lip quivered as she fought to avoid bursting into tears.
“What…? Ah,” he suddenly understood. “NO, no, no, my dear wife, calm yourself. I should never do something so rash as all that. You need have no fear, for I have no beta burns. I am completely unharmed. I suppose I should rather have said that I deduced the source, rather than that I found it; the statement would have been more precise, so, and frightened you less. I now know where it is, but have not myself approached it as yet.”
“OH!” And suddenly Skye flung her arms around him, kissing him vehemently.
The detective wrapped his arms around his badly frightened wife, holding her close and returning her kisses as he soothed her.
“Hush, hush, my dear,” he murmured against her face. “Settle down, my bonny Skye. All is well.”
With a suddenness that took his breath away, Skye’s knees gave way and she sagged against him; Sherlock quickly pinned her against his body or she would have fallen.
“Oh dear,” her voice said plainly.
Sherlock blinked, then stiffened. He had been looking directly into his overwrought wife’s semiconscious face when the statement was made, and knew she had not spoken. It was therefore obvious that the tesseract was active; and as he had not smelled ozone, it had been active since some time before Skye had come in search of him.
They saw everything, he realized, schooling his visage into a bland, neutral expression, even as heat rose in his face. Private, intimate moments I thought I shared only with my wife.
“Relax, old chap,” Holmes’ voice murmured. “No one here sits in judgement. Please forgive us. We did not mean to intrude, but we were almost as concerned as your spouse, when we heard your statement.”
“We sure were,” Chadwick added vociferously. “Radiation sickness is nothing to mess with. We’ll unfocus so you can see to Skye. Looks to me like she needs to get horizontal for a few.”
Sherlock remained standing stiffly for several more seconds before he was able to convince his offended sensibilities to ignore the situation. He swept Skye into his arms and carried her into the sitting room, where he laid her on the sofa. One pillow went beneath her head and several beneath her feet; and in a few minutes she stirred.
“Skye?” he murmured, kneeling beside the sofa. “Are you all right?”
“I…yeah,” she whispered, staring up at him with huge azure eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Positive. Calm yourself, my dear. All is well. I have no plans to investigate the source of the radiation for a few days yet.”
“You mustn’t investigate it at ALL! At least not by yourself!” Skye exclaimed, lunging upward. Sherlock caught her shoulders, keeping her prone with some effort: It was patently evident to him that the tension she had been under for days was manifesting, and her reactions were greatly adrenaline enhanced. “PLEASE, Sherlock! PROMISE me you won’t investigate it alone!”
“Why?” he wondered, astounded at her vehemence.
“Mr. Holmes, what do you know about radiation?” Chadwick’s voice asked softly, as the other woman aided her alter ego.
Sherlock shrugged, turning in the direction of the voice. “By ‘radiation’ I assume you mean that which is due to radioactivity, given the circumstances. Isotopes of certain elements may have their nuclei spontaneously break apart, emitting one or more of three different types of radiation: alpha particles, beta particles, and gamma rays, in order of increasing penetrative ability.” He paused, then added, “The initial research was going on during my day, but I have not been idle since arriving in this timeframe. The very first book Skye loaned me was a modern physics text; I desired to better understand the tesseract theory, and picked up considerable knowledge of particle physics and quantum mechanics in addition.”
“Do you remember the section on radiation sickness?” Skye asked quietly, watching him. Sherlock glanced back at her.
“I do,” he remarked grimly. “And once I realised your train of thought in the morgue, I myself recognised the symptoms in McFarlane’s body, if you will recall.”
“Then you should know why your wife does not desire you to approach a radiation source strong enough to create beta burns of the severity observed upon your murder victim,” Holmes remarked.
“It must be done sooner or later.” Sherlock drew a deep breath, combining concern, frustration, and determination in the same action. “Whatever it is may be found within a cave on McFarlane’s property. And as the cattle are still experiencing beta burns, and we know that whoever killed McFarlane is likely looking for a way into the underground base…” Sherlock allowed his voice to taper off, knowing that he did not have to explain the implications to any of the three listening to him.
“Fine,” Skye said, grabbing his arm. “But call Ryker and have his unit bring in proper protective gear. Don’t go in off the cuff and get yourself irradiated! Please, Sherlock. I can’t lose you. I CAN’T.” She pulled herself up until she gazed into his startled eyes. “Don’t you understand?” she whispered, ardent love shining from the despondent blue eyes. “I…I can’t live without you.” And she buried her face in his chest.
His grey eyes widened, then slid closed. No longer caring about the two observers—even though the observers were themselves—Sherlock gathered his bride close and held her tight.
* * *
Holmes’ identical grey eyes narrowed in defense against the nearly palpable feeling radiating from the couple in the other continuum and which threatened to affect him deeply. Sparing a glance at his own companion by way of diversion, he nearly did a blatant double take.
For Chadwick watched the other couple with a soft, open, pensive smile, and the sapphire eyes he knew so well sparkled with unshed tears. She looked at them for long minutes, while the light of memory flickered in her eyes. An unconscious sigh escaped her lips then, and the smile twisted, becoming wry and bitter.
* * *
Beside her, pain flashed through dark grey eyes at the disillusioned expression upon Chadwick’s face.
But she was gently understanding when she announced, “The two of you need a few minutes to yourselves. We’ll come back in an hour.”
Then she shut down the tesseract and stood.
“I’m going up to the office to get something to eat before I keel over,” Chadwick told Holmes curtly. “Either the continuum will collapse while I’m gone, or it won’t. So…wanna come along?”
* * *
“I—” he began. He had been on the point of refusing, but suddenly changed his mind. “Yes, I should like that…Skye.”
The blue eyes blinked at the unexpected mode of address, then warmed
. “Well, come on,” she told him, waving him to her side with a smile. “Let’s go. I’m starved.”
* * *
The faint sizzling pop and whiff of ozone told Sherlock and Skye their doppelgangers had departed, though they cared little by that point. He did take the opportunity to ease into position on the couch and pull her fully into his lap, but otherwise they simply sat and held each other. Skye eventually calmed down, relaxing into Sherlock’s arms, cheek pillowed against his bare chest. Long, nimble fingers picked loose her braid, then tangled themselves in the golden mass. She sighed, a long shuddering breath, before looking up at him.
“You won’t do it by yourself, will you?” she whispered.
“No, Wife. I give you my word, I will not. I did plan on consulting you, as the subject matter expert, regarding the best way to approach the matter in any event, and in fact to ask if you might be available to assist. On your advice I shall most assuredly contact Ryker and request appropriate equipment. Will that satisfy you?”
“Yes,” she breathed in relief. “It sure will. Thanks, Hon.”
“You are overwrought, my dear,” he murmured, concerned. “You push yourself to the utmost, and are losing your self-restraint.”
“I know. But we’re SO close to a solution, and their continuum’s destabilization seems to be accelerating.”
“I have an idea. But it may seem counter-intuitive to you…”
“Shoot.”
“Given the tesseract’s considerable, though admittedly not total, ability to negate gaps in time,” he observed, “I should like to recommend that you take some time away from your figures, and assist me in the last throes of my little investigation. It should only be a matter of a day to ascertain what is in the cave, once Ryker arrives with whatever equipment is needful. Then we should know why McFarlane was murdered. It would be a great favour to me, and would allow your mind a break as well. A break I suspect it sorely needs.”
“Ooo, not bad,” she decided, raising a considering eyebrow. “I like the idea. It gives me time away from the equations, but I still have to keep using my noggin. That way I won’t get rusty, and I stay fresh. Yeah, I think it’s a plan. I’ll see if Chadwick and Holmes are okay with that when they get back.”
The Case of the Displaced Detective Page 102