Road Less Traveled (12 page)

“Hello, yourself,” the other Russell replied. They both laughed.

“I'll leave you two to get acquainted,” Allison commented wryly. “Let me know if anything new develops.”

Russell nodded and returned to writing.

“I should get back to my own work,” Zane admitted. He followed Allison out. “Still—wow. A genuine divergent reality. And we're communicating with the people there! It's amazing!”

“It really is,” Allison agreed. She headed back to her office. The question was, what did it all mean? And why did she have a bad feeling that it could become more than the confirmation of an age-old theory and a fun little peek at another version of themselves?

“So you're no closer to figuring out who did it, or to
finding the missing Thunderbird egg?” Allison frowned. “Not the news I was hoping for.”

“Me either,” Carter agreed, leaning on her desk. “We've got our eyes open, but so far nothing. The minute the thief moves we'll go after him—”

“But that might be too late to stop him from selling or escaping with the egg,” she finished. “There has to be something we can do!”

“Open to suggestions.” Carter watched her for a second, but she shook her head. “Yeah, me neither.”

“What about atmospheric disturbances?” Allison offered.

“Already on that one,” he told her. “Fargo patched into the local weather surveillance. We'll know the instant there's the sort of activity associated with thunderstorms. But that means we're still just reacting and not acting, and by the time we notice anything it could be too late.”

“You'll think of something,” Allison assured him. “You always do.”

“Yeah, well, thanks.” He grinned and ducked his head. “Hope you're right. So, how's the mirror-universe thing going?”

As he'd hoped, mention of that project perked Allison up immediately. “Great! The two Russells figured out how to sample and process sound, so they're actually able to talk to each other now using the monitors and speaker sets. It's basically video-conferencing, but across realities.”

“I'd hate to see their phone bills,” Carter muttered, and chuckled at the look he got in response. “Well, that's cool.” He straightened up. “I'd better get back to it. Let me know if you hear anything.”

“Of course. See you later.” She half waved and turned back to her computer, but paused to watch him leave from the safety of her desk. Her relationship with Carter was a strange one, no doubt about that. She knew he was interested in her, and she was interested in him, too. But somehow it never seemed to work out.

But perhaps it would, someday.

In the meantime, she had reports to look over, and budgetary requests to approve or deny. Bureaucracy stopped for no man—or woman.

With a sigh, she got back to work.

 

Taggart was trotting down one of the corridors in GD on
his way back to his lab—he'd taken a little detour after lunch to check in with Abe Pappersea and see how his extrasensory huskies were doing. Cute little pups, and the way they could find anything, even in pitch-black and buried in three feet of mud, was astounding. He was still remembering the way the one had nuzzled his hand when he rounded a corner and almost slammed right into a tall, broad-shouldered man in a handsome tailor-made suit. They both recoiled just in time.

“Slow down, Taggart,” the other man warned. “This isn't high school, and you won't get detention if you're late to class.”

“Uh, right, thanks,” Taggart managed to blurt out. He was too busy staring at the other man to say anything more coherent. Dark wavy hair, dark beard and mustache, long nose, thin lips, sharp pale blue eyes. Good-looking, confident, and very much in control. Exactly as he remembered.

The man stared back at him. “Something wrong, Taggart?” “Nah, of course not,” he stammered. “Just lost in thought, is all. Cheers!” And Taggart took off down the corridor. The other man didn't follow. But that didn't slow Taggart one bit. He knew who he had to tell about this encounter, and he really wasn't looking forward to it. Better to get it over with quickly.

 

Carter was just leaving Allison's office when Taggart
burst toward him from one of the side corridors. The lanky Australian was in a full sprint, long arms and longer legs flying everywhere.

“Whoa, where's the fire?” Carter asked as Taggart almost ran him down.

“G'day, Sheriff.” Taggart slowed to a halt. “Glad t' find you here. You'll want ta hear this.”

Curious, Carter followed Taggart into Allison's office.

“Sorry t' interrupt,” Taggart started as he approached Allison. He had his hunter's cap in his hands and barely glanced up—it was like watching the world's tallest schoolboy go to the principal's office to be punished. “But you need ta hear this.”

“What, exactly?” Allison asked.

“I was just down in corridor B-twenty-three, and I saw somebody down there.” He gulped. “Someone I shouldn'ta, on account a' he's dead.”

Allison stared at him. So did Carter. Finally, she asked, “Dead? You're saying you saw a ghost or a spirit?”

But Taggart waved that aside. “He looked very much alive ta me. An' the way he reacted, he wasn't at all surprised to see me. No disorientation like you read about with spirits, no ‘Wait, where am I?' He actually reprimanded me for not lookin' where I was goin'!”

“Okay, slow down,” Carter urged, holding up both hands. “You said you recognized him. Who was it?” There were plenty of restless spirits he could imagine haunting the halls of GD.

Taggart glanced up, looked at Allison, then looked back down again. “I don't want ta say,” he muttered.

“Taggart.” Allison's tone wasn't sharp, but there was warning edge to it. She was a patient woman, but he was testing her.

“Stark,” the tall Australian burst out, the one syllable like a gunshot. It had as much effect as one, too, as both Carter and Allison reeled back, stunned. “I saw Nathan Stark.”

“That's—” Allison finally found her voice, but couldn't continue.

“Impossible,” Carter finished for her. “It's impossible. Stark died. I was there. I saw it. There was nothing anyone could do to stop it.” But glancing over at Allison, he saw the one thing he hadn't ever wanted to see in those pretty eyes in connection to Stark.

Hope.

She had loved Stark. They had been married for years. Even after they'd separated, she'd still had feelings for him—feelings she had warred with when he'd returned, especially since she and Carter were starting to have feelings as well. Stark's change in attitude and demeanor, the softening around those arrogant edges, and his up-front declaration that he still loved her and hoped to win her back, had worn away at her reluctance. She had rediscovered her love for him, and had accepted when he asked her to marry him again. And then, on their wedding day, he had died saving the universe. That had been more than a year ago, and Allison had come to terms with his death. Or so Carter had thought. But given the fact that, as with many Eureka deaths, Stark's demise had been unusual, had been steeped in esoteric super-science, and had left no body—Carter knew a part of her had hoped that Stark had somehow survived.

He'd thought she was past that. But now, with Taggart's claim, that hope was alive again.

And a part of Carter—the part of himself he didn't much like—wanted to smash it quickly, before it had a chance to spread.

“I'll check it out,” he assured her, working to keep that internal struggle from showing on his face or sounding in his voice. “You stay here. I'll let you know what I find.”

It didn't surprise him in the least when she stood and stepped around the desk to join him. “No, I'm coming with you. If Nathan really is alive, or a spirit, I need to see for myself.” Her voice shook slightly, but her steps were steady, and Carter knew there was no way he could talk her out of it. Nor would it have been fair to try.

“B-twenty-three, you said?” he asked Taggart instead.

The lanky hunter nodded. “I'll just head back ta my lab, if ya don't mind,” he called after them as Carter and Allison headed out. “One encounter a day with the hereafter is plenty for me!”

Allison led the way down to the corridor Taggart had named, and Carter trotted along beside her. He wanted to say something about not getting her hopes up, about hallucinations and chemicals and tricks of the light, but couldn't bring himself to be that mean. If it had been someone he loved—like Allison herself—and he thought he had even a chance of seeing her again, let alone finding her once more, how would he react if someone tried to prevent that? He'd be furious. And he might never forgive them. And whatever else happened between him and Allison, she was one of his closest friends. “I'll always be here for you,” he'd told her the day of her wedding, right before informing her of Stark's death. “You know that.” And he'd meant it. He couldn't bear the thought of her turning away from him. So he kept quiet and hoped there was some other explanation besides her ex-husband returning from the dead.

The corridor was completely empty when they reached it. No signs of anyone, and no ghostly goo like in the movies, either. Carter tapped on one of the lab doors along that stretch, but got no answer. The second one he tried slid open after a second, however.

“Yes?” The man who answered the door looked vaguely familiar—short, heavyset, with a reddish-brown fringe beard and a matching fringe of hair. “Oh, good morning, Director!”

“Professor Glowgoski,” she responded. “Sorry to disturb your work. Did you see anything . . . unusual a few minutes ago, by any chance?”

Professor Glowgoski chuckled, an impish expression crossing his broad face. “You mean like Taggart running as if all the legions of hell were behind him?” He sobered when he saw their expressions. “Sorry. Yes, I did think that was strange.”

“Did you see anything that might have spooked him?” Carter asked.

The burly professor shook his head. “No, and I even glanced back the way he'd come, just in case it was some escaped experiment I should worry about. There was nothing there. Just Taggart, looking like a scarecrow on a rampage.” He chuckled again, but quickly stifled it.

“Thank you, Professor. There's nothing to worry about. You can go back to work,” Allison assured him. He frowned and watched them for a second, then shrugged, nodded good-bye, and turned away. His lab door slid shut behind him.

“So we have Taggart running away, but from nothing,” Carter mused. “He says he saw Stark, and he's not one to make things up, though Taggart has been known to indulge in . . . mind-altering substances.”

“If you're trying to politely say that he gets stoned and high as a kite and who knows what else, I'm well aware of that,” Allison told him, just a little sharply. “But he's never let any of that interfere with his work. Taggart saves his amusements for his off hours. I think he was sober when he saw . . . whatever it is he saw.”

“Which means we're looking for a ghost, or something like it,” Carter pointed out. “Because if Stark had been here in the flesh, Professor Glowgoski would have seen him, too.”

“I know.” She sighed. “And yes, I know he's dead. You can't blame me for hoping otherwise.”

“I do know that,” he assured her quietly. “And you know I'd have saved him if I could.”

She perked up. “Say that again.”

“I'd have saved him if I could?”

“Yes!” Allison was suddenly energized, her eyes alight. “What if you could have, Carter? What if, somewhere else, you did?”

It only took him a second. “The other Eureka!”

They both raced down the corridor and to the one beyond, heading for Russell's lab.

 

Both Russells glanced up, startled, as Allison and
Carter burst through the door. It was eerie seeing the two versions of the tall blond researcher. There were minor differences—the one in the monitor wore her hair in a tight braid, while their own Russell had hers cut in a cute but professional bob—but they were clearly the same woman, and their facial expressions were identical. It was like looking into an odd version of a funhouse mirror.

“Sorry to barge in like this,” Allison explained, panting for breath as she walked over to the console, “but I have a quick question for the other Dr. Russell, if you don't mind.”

“Of course,” both Russells replied. They flashed the exact same smile at each other. Carter found it disconcerting and a little eerie the way the other Russell's voice was actually coming from speakers to either side of the monitor. It was almost like an echo, but not quite.

“Nathan Stark,” Allison began, ignoring the way her own Russell gaped at her.

“What about him?” The other Russell looked puzzled but not overly concerned.

“Is he . . . alive?”

Now she looked surprised. “Of course he's alive! I saw Director Stark just this morning, to update him on my—our—progress.” The two Russells shared another smile, this one triumphant.

Allison, meanwhile, sagged back against the desk. Carter hurried over to her in case she fainted. Not that Allison was the type to do that, but you never know. This was a major shock.

“He still runs GD?” she asked after she'd recovered enough to speak again. “So he never left?” Her mind was racing, trying to figure out where their realities had diverged in his case. And hers.

“Of course he left,” the other Russell answered. “For years. He was working in the outside world, for the Department of Defense. Then he came back and took over as director. And he's been here ever since.” She was looking at Allison strangely. “You should know that.”