CHAPTER 10

"Not another bloody sidebar, Arthur. Just get on with the demonstration." James was leaning over his much shorter coworker, his dark eyes boring straight into Artie's with such an intensity that Nielsen's head moved back a few inches. It also successfully stopped Artie's nervous pacing.

"You need this information, James."

Scowling, MacPherson rebutted, "No I don't. I want to see what you did, not hear what you thought. There's time enough for that part later. If it's needed." He added extra emphasis on the "if'.

Matching his scowl, Artie threw himself back into his desk chair with such force that the chair rolled a good three feet from its original position.

"Alright. Alright. I was sitting here." Artie pointed needlessly to his chair which was once more repositioned in front of the monitor. "I was working on the usual. Same old routine. And suddenly I became aware everything seemed different. That's all I can say. It was like having two movies running side by side but with alterations in the scenes."

"You're giving me commentary again. Don't. Try to remember your actions, step by step." James' voice was overshadowed by an odd tone. "Arthur, stop looking at me like that. It's giving me a case of the willies."

"James, I—"

"No," MacPherson said, throwing up a cautioning hand. "Whatever it is you think you know, I don't want to hear it! Now, let's get on with it."

Blowing out a long slow sigh, Artie reset the items and papers on his desk to pre-event status. And with each motion, he tried to reenact his previous morning. He took each of his stick notes, placed them before him a row and then set about repositioning them again. He reached for his coffee cup and stopped. It wasn't there.

"What?" James inquired, noting the abrupt cessation of movement.

"My coffee cup is gone. I put it in the sink in the break room to wash it and forgot to bring it back in here." Getting to his feet, he hurried to the sink and searched for it. It wasn't on the counter. As if his life depended on it, he frantically threw open cabinet doors looking for it. Suddenly, he located it. Reaching up, he retrieved it and flourished it for his old partner. "See? One coffee mug."

"Okay, fill it and sit down again."

Side by side, both men returned to their office and Artie resumed recreating his routine. He took a few sips of the coffee, grimaced at the bitterness of it, swore to buy his favorite coffee blend, and pulled up his latest search. Secord was still globe-trotting and leaving a little trail of breadcrumbs behind him. Being no fool, Artie turned to MacPherson and pointed, "See where he is now. And you know he's not really there. He's gone to ground after the last time we got too close but he's playing these games as usual."

James' chin dipped once and he ran a long thin finger over the corner of his mouth. "Agreed. I would waste no more time following leads like this." His eyes continued to dart around the desk. "So that's it? This is all you did?"

"Pretty much."

He sounded a bit surly but James took no offense. "This is getting us nowhere."

"Well, it was worth a try," sighed Artie, picking up the mug again. It stopped midway to his lips and even James could see the slight tremor of his hand.

"What? What is it?"

"Look," Artie pointed at the yellow mug, more specifically at the writing on it.

"What happens when the window between reality and unreality breaks?" MacPherson read aloud with a clearly puzzled tone in his voice. "Why is that important?" He personally thought it was a creepy saying for a coffee mug but beyond that it set off no alarm bells.

"James, don't you get it? This is it!" Artie's eager voice rose in volume and he squelched the last few words hard enough that his voice grew raspy.

James' lips quirked. "I'm confused, and I never thought I'd hear myself admit that."

Flourishing the mug, Artie said, "The saying here isn't complete. I remember reading it in its entirety. It went, 'What happens to the wide-eyed observer when the window between reality and unreality breaks and the glass begins to fly?'" Get it?"

"Of course! And I see where this is going. You think that somehow this mug is responsible for altering reality."

"Or literally opening the window between realities. Plural. What if this thing is somehow responsible for creating a portal between our reality and another one with another Artie?"

"What makes you think it's another Artie?"

"Because when I look in the mirror I get that feeling my own image isn't surprising. It's so completely familiar…virtually identical. With two exceptions."

"And they are?" James was clearly curious.

"This other Artie doesn't dress exactly like I do. He seemed surprised by some of the items in my closet. And there was something far more obvious than that."

"Do tell."

"Look at me." Artie smiled.

MacPherson returned the grin. "Yes, so? Am I supposed to be shocked by a smile? I know it's painful for you to grin now and then, but occasionally you do manage it."

"You don't get it. I was brushing my teeth last night and what do most people do afterward? It's a habit, we all do it?"

Shrugging, James said, "Uh, rinse out? Floss?"

"No no no," Artie waved finger at his mouth which was still smiling. "We grin at ourselves to see how we look."

"And?"

"Whatever version of Artie is looking out of my eyes was surprised I could do that. Like he can't. Not fully anyway. I got the sense that he has limited mobility on that side of his face." Artie pointed to his left cheek and waved one thick forefinger up and down the length of his face. "Anyway, one of two things has happened to us. Either we totally merged somehow or his consciousness is now part of mine but his body is elsewhere, probably in the original universe…dimension… whatever. Physicists have been speculating for years that there are universes parallel to our own, layers upon layers of them, infinite in number, each with their own unique timelines. Which would explain…" Artie's voice trailed off and he averted his eyes from his partner's.

MacPherson didn't need to be an expert in reading body language to interpret that expression. "Which would explain why you seemed surprised to see me yesterday in the security checkpoint." He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "I'm not around in that other universe, am I?"

Looking everywhere but at James, Artie finally found his voice. "You were around. He recognized you. But he was surprised…well, it's not important."

"He was surprised to see me alive. Isn't that what you were going to say?" James said it as a question but clearly he knew the answer already.

Artie gulped audibly. "Um, yeah."

"Well at least I had my progeny to follow in my footsteps." The smile he gave Artie was a weak but hopeful one.

Once more unable to meet his gaze, Artie said nothing.

"Arthur?" This time it was a question seeking confirmation.

"Carole I knew. In his reality our mutual past was," he paused to fish for a benign phrase, "the same. You two being married was also familiar."

"And…and my sons?" The fear was evident even though James knew deep down his current reality was totally different from that of the near stranger residing in Artie's head.

All Artie could do at first was shake his head but then he realized how painful silence would be so he finally said, "I don't think you and Carole had children in his universe. I sensed no pain from him when he saw them. Just surprise. Pleasant surprise if you want the truth."

While still experiencing great skepticism about the whole multi-verse concept, MacPherson grunted out his relief. To hear his children were dead in another reality, even a theoretical one, would have given him nightmares for countless months to come.

"Now that we've got some tentative answers, we need to figure out how this transposition took place and—"

"How to reverse it," Artie finished for him.

"Precisely. Let me see the mug." Pulling out purple surgical style gloves from his jacket pocket and donning them, James took the mug out of Artie's bare hands. Oddly, there was no sparking or fireworks. But that meant nothing. Sometimes the neutralizer on the gloves wasn't powerful enough to drain off the energies of an artifact. Also, the real damage had already been done and while nothing more happened when Artie handled it again, James was taking no chances. If the mug was an artifact, it could do anything. And that prompted more questions. He didn't hesitate to ask them.

"Remember who gave this to you?" He waved it before Artie's eyes.

Nielsen shrugged expansively and felt both eyebrows virtually hit his hair line. Yet another difference Artie thought to himself. He had vague recollections that the other Artie was only able to noticeably move the right one. A fleeting question raced through his head as he pondered the cause of such a disability. Was it from a run in with an artifact, or an accident, or a medical condition? Those memories had never surfaced and he never got his answer. Deep down, however, he was sensing the excitement this passenger was feeling. There was eagerness to go 'home' and anticipation that it could happen soon if only the vehicle housing his consciousness would get back to work! Nice!

"It was sitting on my desk in a gift bag the day of my birthday. No gift tag, but I assumed it was an oversight. It's not like someone can walk in off the street and give it to me."

"But your birthday was months ago." James pushed his hair off his forehead and rolled his eyes upward as he pondered this fact. "And yet nothing has happened before now."

Artie rested his elbows on the table, his steepled fingers propping up his goateed chin. "Maybe certain conditions have to be right," he suggested pensively.

Placing the mug back on the desk, James said with great assurance, "I'd agree with you there. So now we need to identify what those conditions were." He pulled up a chair and sat down so that the two friends were facing each other. "You also realize that we'll need to find out who gave that item to you if it does turn out to be an artifact. It may have been an accident or it may have been meant for harm which begs many more questions. But for now I suggest we let it rest."

They both eyed the mug without touching it. Standard protocols insisted that all artifacts or potential artifacts be neutralized immediately. However, the two partners, long involved with artifact retrieval, knew that negating the mysterious properties of the mug might mean the alternate Artie would never get back to where he came from.

"First order of business is to clear the office. Don't you agree?"

"No, if anything was going to happen to them, it would have happened already. At least I think so. If and when we try reversing the process, I'll chase everyone out, including you." He bestowed a pointed look on MacPherson. "But not before then. I don't want to waste time answering a lot of questions that you and I both know will be coming."

Nodding in agreement, James said. "We'll wait on it then. Smart move now that I think about it. If Mrs. Frederic finds out there's someone else in there with you," he gestured toward Artie's head, "she'll quarantine you and let the Warehouse doctors have a field day."

Artie grimaced mightily. There were four doctors assigned to care for the Warehouse staff and the Regents. All of them were cantankerous and impatient except for the one female doctor. She was pleasant but old enough to be his grandmother. Worse, she had the personality of Luna Lovegood from the Harry Potter flicks, which, to his mind, made her professional skills questionable.

After drop kicking those unpleasant thoughts from his brain, Artie informed him, "Time for the instant replay again." He glanced at the message on the mug. "Maybe I had it right before. This may be a reference to a literal doorway between realities. Something happened to break the laws of physics, to penetrate the barrier or 'window' that is supposedly between layers. With that open, his mind somehow made the journey to me rather than the other way around."

"Perhaps a matter of timing?" James supplied. "Maybe you did whatever and then—"

"Or maybe there is no 'and then'." His voice took on an excited edge. "We could have performed the same act at the same time and a bridge was formed."

"Anything is possible," James agreed. "But how did—"

Suddenly, Artie threw his hands wide and blurt out, "The 'windows', James. The eyes are also referred to as windows to the soul. I remember now. Just before this happened, I had glanced down into the coffee and saw my own reflection. Specifically, I was looking into the reflection of my own eyes."

"Well then, for lack of something better, let's go with that. You see your own image. In some other reality, your doppelganger is sipping coffee, probably from the identical artifact and viola, his thoughts, mind, perhaps even corporeal form makes the transition to you. Oh yes, that makes perfect sense."

Artie glared at his friend. There was no mistaking the sarcasm in MacPherson's summation but he let it pass without comment for a few seconds. He studied the mug again. "Since when has anything about artifacts made perfect sense. We can figure out their origins. We can determine what they do easily enough. But you know as well as I do that no one really knows how they work."

"I'll grant you that," replied James somberly. He stood up and waved his arms and gave a sharp whistle. "Would you all please take a break now. We need the room to ourselves for a few moments and would appreciate your cooperation."

That made Artie smile. James sounded like a cop warning off spectators from getting too close to a crime scene. Fortunately, all but two of the agents were out on assignments and those two individuals traded looks but ambled out of the room, wisely closing the door behind them. They probably assumed that their boss was about to ream out MacPherson and James was keeping spectators to a minimum. Those suppositions worked as well as any other, Artie reasoned.

"You should get out now, you know," Artie told him as soon as he figured the outside corridor was empty. Glancing back over his shoulder he braced himself, knowing full well what his friend would say.

James obliged right on cue. "Not a chance. I wouldn't miss this for all the coffee beans in Columbia.

After resettling before the monitor, he lifted the mug of dark liquid and tried to catch his reflection. Nothing. The surface was dark with a somewhat lighter swath of color but that was all.

"This isn't right," he informed his partner. "I can't see anything."

Looking over the corner where they sat, MacPherson asked, "Is the lighting the same?"

Artie fairly jumped up. "No, it isn't. I had the desk lamp on and…" He located the other light source immediately simply by looking up. There was the standing lamp just behind the monitor, its shepherd crook design placing the shade directly over the Wacom tablet and keyboard. It cast a warm incandescent glow over that space. The angle of light was sufficient to illuminate the beverage as he tilted the cup. He caught sight of his image. Granted it was far from clear but he saw thick brows and anxiety rounded eyes. He pulled back immediately.

"Maybe you should leave," Artie advised again.

"I think not," replied James firmly. "I'm not looking into that thing. Theoretically nothing should happen to me and I want to make sure you don't disappear or end up sitting there as little more than a living corpse."

"Thanks for that mental imagery," quipped Artie. The next time he focused on the center of the cup, he concentrated on looking directly into the indistinct image of his own eyes. "Nothing," he added after about half a minute. "This is taking too long. I'd never stare into my coffee that long. Whatever happened last time, it only took a few seconds."

"What is your other self telling you?"

"Nothing. He's impatient, I sense that much. And that's it."

James grimaced in thought. "How about what I suggested before. Granted I was partly joking but what if he really did look into the mug more or less at the same moment you did. Then the transfer took place. So maybe it takes him looking into that mug again, on his 'side', to get you separated again."

"But if he's completely merged with me like you suggested that's not going to happen. Ever." Artie jabbed a finger at his glasses and leaned back in his seat, a look of defeat etched on his features.

Then Artie dragged himself to his feet and began pacing slowly. "Provided his body is still there, my only hope—his, his only hope of returning to normal is if his agents can figure out what happened to him and how to reverse it."

"And then time the transfer perfectly," James added, looking as forlorn as Artie felt.

"Damn," groaned Artie massaging both temples.