Sorry so long between updates. This chapter is a little background set up, but back to action soon, I hope. Thank everyone for your great comments!
Nothing in Fringe NOR McDonalds is mine (and more's the pity).
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As Astrid opened the door to the basement lab, she did, as she did most days, pause to strike what she thought of her "Up and Coming Young Agent" pose – straight back, eager face, stiff upper lip. And then quickly reviewed her top 3 candidates for the what-professor-bishop-would-mistake-my-name-for-today game. Today, she decided, hand on the door knob, it would be… Asgard, Astarte, Azure. She had never guessed right.
With a not entirely forced smile, she entered the lab.
"Professor Bishop? Hello? I'm here." She placed a large paper sack on the coffee table, looking around the apparently empty lab. "Who wanted the six Egg McMuffins, anyway?"
From behind Jean's back, Walter's head popped up like a demented jack-in-the-box. "Assyrian!"
Astrid's smile didn't falter, but she did chalk that one up to her list.
"Ah, bringer of sustenance. Did I ever tell you how I used genetic manipulation of Rhode Island Red hens to produce eggs that were pre-cooked?" He threw himself on the bag of snacks and drew out a single wax-paper bundle with reverence.
Astrid knew enough to allow the scientist's enthusiasm to play out before attempting to start any work – and in any case, as usual, she'd made sure to check in with Olivia to find out what the goal line was to be for the day so she could shepherd her charge. Normally she also checked in with Peter, but Olivia had been quite clear that Astrid should not induce or allow Peter to show up at the laboratory today.
Just you and me today, Professor. Will I know what doom looks like when I see it? Cause Olivia will kill me if I let anything bad happen here.
She busied herself with the housekeeping errands of the lab: putting away stray equipment, compiling random notes into single binder, checking Jean's feed and cleaning up (?) a very burnt pan of scrambled eggs. All the while, Walter rhapsodied about previous egg-based meals he'd had, but then gradually phased in more musings about ice worms and magnetism, which she took as her cue to gently facilitate work to begin.
"So Professor, what do we need to do to determine what augmentations your ice worms have had?" She'd found that it was often helpful to give Bishop a concrete base to start from. "What equipment would you like me to stage for you?"
The scientist immediately took on a thoughtful air, still munching a third or fourth mcmuffin consideringly.
"Mmmm. I believe I would like to start by dissecting one worm, and then using the mass spectrometer on each part of the worm in turn to determine the material characteristics. Now, the problem with this is that we don't have a control worm to also experiment on, to contrast what normal distributions would be… Where is my book on worm biochemistry, did you lend it out again?"
With one ear open, Astrid busied herself setting up the isolation box for Walter to perform the worm autopsies, arranging the requested equipment on the table nearby, and starting the autocalibrations. If she lived long enough through this to retire, she had a great career as a high school science teacher to look forward to.
Hours later, she found herself daydreaming of sitting in an overheated classroom in Bismark, South Dakota lecturing on sheep eye anatomy when Walter's voice broke into her ruminations.
"Astarte! I think I've found our answer!" he called.
Mentally, she chalked a "place" in her win column for nickname of the day. She hurriedly picked up her laptop– amongst her duties was to be scribe, lest Walter's suspect short term memory falter.
"As I suspected, this worm appears to have been doped with a radioactive material. Very clever though…" he trailed off, looking at a display on the brand new genetic sequencer that she helped him set up (with substantial internet browsing).
"It seems that rather than to simply introduce a foreign material into the worm's system, they've actually taken the genetic material of the worm and substituted radioactive variants of the specific genes which code for the magnetic susceptibility in the first place. In essence, taking the worm's natural abilities, and amplifying them directly." He had an admiring look on his face as he studied the readout. "Much more elegant than our earlier, crude approach – the worm's system won't reject the material, and it is placed to work with maximum harmony with the already existing structure."
He shook his head admiringly.
Astrid asked eagerly, "So does this give you clues as to who is doing this?"
Walter frowned and shook his head. "Oh no, I have no idea." Astrid looked bemused. "But I can possibly reproduce it!"
She looked at the professor warily. "Why would that be useful?"
"Well my dear," he replied, "if we're going to catch the bad guys, then we have to find them, correct? So we need our own worms, coded for the return journey."
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Olivia re-read the address in her hands as she pulled up to a tidy bungalow on the outskirts of Everett.
The woman who answered the door was as tidy and nondescript as the house itself – petite, short brown hair, youngish – younger than Brian Baker had been. "Yes?" Her voice was toneless, she dabbed surreptitiously with a tissue at her eyes.
Olivia hesitated a moment. "Mrs Baker? I'm Agent Dunham from Homeland Security." She flashed her badge.
"I'm very sorry for your loss."
The woman looked taken aback. "Uh, thank you, um, Agent – who are you?" She peered at the blonde visitor quizzically.
"Agent Dunham from Homeland Security. I'm sorry for the timing, but I'm here to ask you a few questions about your husband. May I come in?"
After a pause, the door swung open wide.
"I don't know how I can help you. The police were already here, there was nothing I could tell them about Brian. He was just – we're just ordinary people." She led the agent into a small stuffy living room, gestured to a chair, and then sat down across the coffee table from her.
"So, your husband was an electrician, Mrs Baker?" Olivia asked.
"Oh, Anita. Um, yes. He worked for a small electrical contractor outlet, Curt's Electrical. They do mostly industrial projects, maintenance, things like that. Most days he'd be doing routine work, usually out at those big industrial plants out off Route 128."
Olivia's eyebrows rose. "Would you happen to know what companies he did work for?"
Anita Baker looked sideways, and then back. "No, I never really paid much attention. I should have…" She covered a sniffle and regarded the floor sightlessly.
Olivia reached over and touched the woman's hand. "I appreciate your time, every little bit of information might help." The younger woman smiled wanly.
"So, did Mr Baker have any new acquaintances, or anyone he was quarreling with, as far as you know? Was he acting differently lately, in any way?"
The brunette shook her head decisively. "Oh, no. Brian has had the same group of friends since high school. A nice bunch of guys, all live in the neighborhood. Most have been by here already to… you know, pay respects and all."
"Were any of them.. acting strangely at all?" Olivia went to put her pad and pencil away; it'd be up to the forensics guys to sift the house to find anything interesting.
"Strange?" Anita Baker echoed. "Just sad, you know. Especially Martin. He was really broken up, offering me heaven and earth… I finally had to shoo him out the door. I mean, nicely, of course. It was just a little too much."
Ears perked slightly, Olivia asked, "Martin..? A best friend?"
The younger woman made to get up tiredly. "Martin Abrams. A pretty good friend, I guess. He got Brian, well, Brian's firm, the electrical maintenance contract at his firm just recently."
Taking the hint, Olivia also rose, but fixed the woman with an intense look. "Would you know where Mr Abrams worked?"
"Some technology startup place. On 128. I think they do defense stuff, or something. Martin was always vague about it."
With her hand on the doorknob, Anita cocked her head with mild alarm. "You don't think Martin had anything to do with what happened to Brian, do you?"
Olivia kept her face composed as she took her leave. "I'm sure we'll figure it out, ma'am, I promise. Just let me know if anyone contacts you about your husband, would you?" She handed over a business card, gave the widow's hand a final reassuring pat, and slid her sunglasses down as she exited the bungalow into the sunlight.
As she hit the bottom of the walk, and heard the door to the house close behind her, she had her cell phone out and speed dialing within seconds.
"Olivia! I was just about to call." Charlie's voice was tinny on the phone. "We've got another body."
"Don't tell me," Olivia slumped into the driver's seat of her car.
"If you mean, don't tell me, it's another very messy headless corpse, then ok." The irony in her partner's voice was his way of taking the sting out of news.
"Alright, send me the address, and I'll check it out. Forensics team already there?"
"Yes, with orders not to touch anything until you get there." Charlie paused. "What were you calling for, anyway?"
Keys in the ignition, Olivia started the car and noted the incident address already appearing in her in-vehicle information system. "Oh, thanks, Charlie. Check up on a 'Martin Abrams' for me. Friend of the previous victim. Supposedly works at some firm out on the tech corridor."
There was a pause on the other side of the line. "Least I can do. You bringing your boys out?"
"Oh. Uh, no. Got them working in the lab, better to let Professor Bishop maintain some momentum."
Olivia felt a little uncomfortable not confiding in Charlie, but found herself leery of exposing Peter's connection to the case just yet. "Hold down the fort, huh, Charlie? And let me know what you dig up on Abrams."
"Talk soon, Dunham." The phone went silent. Olivia merged into traffic and into the afternoon.
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Will spend time off over the holidays to good use on this story; all e-cards and e-letters in review are welcome!
