Road Less Traveled (16 page)

The warden nodded and scrambled out of his chair. “I'll get him myself!” he called back as he fled the office.

Jo glanced over at Fargo, who gave her a big grin and a thumbs-up. She nodded in return. “Not bad, Fargo,” she admitted.

A few minutes later, a new face appeared on the screen. This man was older, more solidly built, and his face was heavily lined. The fringe of hair around his head was grayer than it had been the last time Jo and Fargo had seen him, and he looked tired, but then, federal prison could do that to you. He still looked like a kindly old grandfather, and he smiled sadly when he saw them.

“Deputy Lupo, nice to see you again. Fargo. Are you still holding a grudge?”

“Why would I do that?” Fargo snapped. “Just because you tried to frame me for all the stealing you'd done, and then almost got me killed? No, not almost—my heart stopped, so you did get me killed!” Which was technically true. Victor had been in charge of the Vault, where GD stored all its old and unwanted experiments. But they were still cutting-edge, and so over the years he had quietly sold many of them on the black market to build himself a tidy retirement fund. He'd worried that someone would figure out what he'd done, though, so right before he retired he framed Fargo for the thefts by planting one of the Vault devices on him. Unfortunately, Fargo had activated the device, and had been trapped in an ever-expanding force field—one that threatened to destroy Eureka itself. The field was linked to his heartbeat, which meant the only way to shut it down was to stop his heart. Jo had done the honors, and they had revived Fargo a few seconds later. Not surprisingly, he was still a bit sore about the subject.

“I told you I was sorry,” Victor reminded him gently. “I really didn't expect you to turn it on.” But of course Fargo had, as anyone who knew him well could have guessed.

“That's not why we're calling,” Jo cut in. “Victor, we actually need your help.”

He leaned back in the warden's chair. “Really? Because I don't have a lot of access to anything where I am now.” He held up his arms, and the chains connecting them clanked against the desk.

“All we need is information,” Jo told him. “You were selling things from the Vault on the black market. We need to know who you sold them to, and how to get in touch with them.”

Victor frowned. “Why would I tell you that?” he asked, and he sounded sincere. “If those people find out I told you anything, they could come after me, even here.”

“I can talk to Mansfield, tell him you cooperated on an investigation, and try to get your sentence reduced,” Jo offered.

“Really?” Victor leaned forward eagerly. “You could do that? I haven't seen my grandkids since I was sent here!” The sad smile returned. “Not that I blame Marcie for that. I wouldn't want them to see this place, either.”

“No promises, but I'll do what I can,” Jo told him. “And we won't tell anyone how we got the information, either.”

Victor glanced around him. “Okay. I only dealt with two people: John Beardsley and Rose Kenning.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice still more. “You contact them through this site.” He scribbled something on a piece of paper and held it up to the screen. Jo thought he was being a little paranoid, but copied the URL down anyway. When she nodded that she was done, Victor folded the paper up and stuffed it in his mouth, then swallowed it. She tried not to roll her eyes at him.

“Okay, thanks.” She nodded. “I'll let Mansfield know you were helpful. Take care, Victor.” She'd always liked him, and might have felt bad that he'd been sentenced to hard time in a military prison just for selling off what GD considered to be junk. It wasn't like he'd hurt anyone. Still, he'd known the penalties when he'd started. And the law was the law.

“You, too, Jo,” Victor replied. He looked at Fargo. “And you, Fargo. I really am sorry.” Then he heaved himself to his feet and stepped out of the camera's view. A minute later, the warden was back in sight.

“Thank you for all your assistance, warden,” Jo told him politely, keeping her voice civil. “I'll be sure to let General Mansfield know how helpful you were.” She hung up before he could do more than look worried about exactly what she meant.

“I'm guessing we need to contact those fences, right?” Fargo asked. He already had his laptop open and was typing furiously.

“Yes, but we need to be smart about it,” Jo warned quickly. Was he actually writing them to introduce himself and ask about the Thunderbird? That could be disastrous. “We can't let them know who they're dealing with!”

Fargo harrumphed. “Like I didn't know that? Please!” He turned his monitor so that Jo could see the screen. “There! A brand-new fake identity, totally untraceable! We can leave them a message, give this e-mail as a contact number, and wait. When they do get in touch with us, they'll probably want to do a video chat, but I've set up filters so they won't be able to recognize our faces or our voices.”

Jo studied what he'd done, but finally had to straighten up and nod. “Nice work, Fargo,” she admitted. “I hope this isn't something you do often.” She cracked a smile to let him know she was only teasing. Mostly.

“Only when I want to stir up trouble in chat rooms and on fan sites,” he assured her. He broke into a huge grin. “Man, I've gotten some huge flame wars going!”

“That's great.” Jo stretched and checked her watch. “Okay, let's go ahead and leave a message for them. Then we can grab some lunch. I'm starving!”

“Me, too.” Fargo called up the site Victor had given them. “This detective stuff is hard work.”

 

So did Allison.

Carter stared at them both.

At first glance, they were identical. But then he started to notice differences. His Allison—his world's Allison, he corrected himself quickly—was dressed a little more sharply. Her hair was loose and styled, her jewelry understated but elegant. The other Allison was dressed a little more casually, a little more plainly, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, unadorned except for a wedding ring and a small locket around her neck.

It was like looking at the soccer-mom version of Allison, Carter decided.

Which probably wasn't far from the truth.

“Hi,” the other Allison said first.

“Hello,” his Allison replied.

“I—Nathan told me, but I didn't—I never expected . . .” She trailed off, gesturing at the lab, at the two Dr. Russells, and at her other self.

“I know. It's a lot to take in.” Allison moved a step or two closer, as did her twin, but both of them stopped several paces apart. Carter wasn't sure what would happen if they did touch, but he wasn't anxious to find out. It looked like they weren't, either.

“I—” the other Allison started again. But she couldn't bring herself to finish.

“How's Jenna?” his Allison asked. That seemed like a nice safe question. She already knew the other Jenna was fine.

“Fine, she's fine.” The other Allison smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Well, she's a handful, of course. And keeping us up at all hours. But she's great. She's trying to stack blocks already!”

“Mine, too.” His Allison laughed. “And she's kicking her legs like she's going to bypass the whole crawling thing and go straight to running marathons!”

“Or wind sprints!” They both laughed, the peals identical. Then the other Allison sobered. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I heard about . . . your Nathan. I don't know if I could have handled that.”

“You would have. I did,” Allison pointed out gently. “But thank you.” She didn't mention how she'd cried after seeing him again, but she thought her other self might have guessed it anyway. After all, it was what she would have done in the same situation.

“How's—” her other self began to ask. Her eyes filled with tears, and she had to look away. “How's Kevin?”

Allison blinked away tears herself. “He's good,” she answered after a second, though her voice was thick. “Well, he's the same. Though he's got a new tutor and he's doing well. She manages to break through his wall from time to time, and he seems a little more aware of the world around him in general.” She shuddered, wrestling with herself. Did she dare ask? Could she live with what she might find out? Could she live with not knowing. “What—?”

The other Allison shook her head. Her shoulders were heaving, and they could hear gulping sounds as she battled to get her sobs under control. Allison wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but she didn't dare. They had no idea what would happen if two people from the different realities touched, much less the same person from either side. Instead she clenched her hands into fists and held them against her legs, hating to see herself so torn up.

“The Artifact . . .” the other her managed to gasp out finally. “It was . . . the Artifact. It . . . consumed him. Linked to his mind, and . . .” She stopped, unable to go on.

Allison nodded and wiped at her own tears. She'd nearly lost her Kevin to the Artifact as well. At first his link to the strange object had seemed a godsend, because it had pulled him out of his autism. But then she'd discovered that the link was burning him up inside. It was killing him. Henry had saved Kevin, using the old SRT in the GD director's secure bunker to deconstruct her son and then reassemble him without the Artifact's influence. And Carter and Nathan had risked life and limb to reach the bunker in time to warn Henry of an oversight that could have killed Kevin immediately. She owed the three of them her son's life, Allison knew.

Apparently in the other reality they hadn't been as lucky.

“Can I—Can I see him?” the other Allison asked softly. She finally turned back toward them, her face streaked with tears, her eyes bright. “I'd really like to see him.” One hand went to the locket around her neck, and Allison knew at once whose pictures were contained within.

Her heart went out to her other self, but still she shook her head. “I don't think that would be a good idea,” she said as gently as she could. “I think it would only make this harder for you.”

That earned her a sharp glare. “I can handle it!” the other Allison insisted. “And I want to see him! I'm his mother!”

Allison felt a flash of anger herself, and gave in to it—it was easier than letting the grief swallow her up. “No, you're not. I'm his mother.”

“So am I! We're the same person!”

“We're two versions of the same person,” Allison corrected. “And Kevin is part of my reality, not yours.”
You got Nathan!
she wanted to scream, but didn't.

As always, Carter sensed her mood. He stepped between the two of them. “Everybody's a bit worked up,” he offered quietly, his tone nice and reasonable. “Why don't we all just relax, and maybe talk about other things. Like the weather. Or baseball.”

Allison laughed—leave it to Carter to find a way to bring sports into this—but her other self just glared at him. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

Carter gaped at her, mouth wide open, eyes huge. But Allison was pretty sure his expression only mirrored her own.

“You . . . don't know me?” Carter asked slowly. He felt
like he'd just entered his own private nightmare.

“Should I?” The other Allison eyed him up and down. “I recognize the uniform, of course, but you? I'm not used to seeing you wear it.”

“This is Jack Carter,” his Allison offered. Was it his imagination, or did she say that with a touch of protective pride, like someone saying “This is our state capitol” or “This is our little boy”? “He's the sheriff. He has been for several years now.”

Her double shook her head, her ponytail whipping around behind her. “Sorry, we've never met.” She started to offer her hand out of reflex, then stopped and let it fall instead.

“So . . . what? I don't exist over there?” Jack asked. “Who's the sheriff, then?”

He couldn't quite read the expressions that flickered across her face. Amusement, some respect, a little concern, and maybe . . . bewilderment? Which all matched his own reaction nicely when she answered, “That'd be Fargo.”

“Fargo?” Allison was clearly just as surprised as he was. “Douglas Fargo? Douglas Fargo is Eureka's sheriff?”

“Sure. He got tired of being treated like an underling, campaigned for the job, and won it,” the other Allison explained. “He's done a solid job of it, too.” Her mouth quirked in a private smile Carter knew all too well. “Though I'm sure having Jo to back him up doesn't hurt.”

“I can't believe it.” Carter dropped into a chair next to Dr. Russell. “No wonder the people who've popped up here haven't recognized me! I've never met them!”

Then he realized that Dr. Russell—both Drs. Russell—were staring at him. “What?”

“That's it!” their Russell told him. She and her counterpart beamed at each other. “That's the discontinuity! We've been trying to figure out where our realities diverged, and you've been the answer all along! They split off when you came to Eureka!”

“That makes sense,” Allison agreed, pacing as she thought about it. “You took over from Bill Cobb when he lost his leg. But if you weren't here, we'd have held open elections for sheriff. That must be when Fargo took over, over there. Warren left at the same time, and Nathan came back. In their world he . . . never left. Which means I never became director. And . . .”

“If I wasn't here to help Stark crack the bunker,” Carter continued, seeing where she was going, “and Fargo wasn't around to help Zane handle the code breaking because he was busy being sheriff . . .”