Chapter Eight, Suggestive
I had to wait another five minutes after the bell — apparently Connors had been held up by knowledge-hungry students, which happened often when I used to attend her… his classes. Soon the stream of students — mostly female — thinned out, and the lecturer emerged from the room. The professor bore a striking resemblance to Kurt Connors from my world, insofar as a man and a woman can resemble each other.
She wore simple everyday clothes with a lab coat over them, her chestnut hair in a state of light, I'd say creative, disorder, a thick folder of documents pressed against her chest by her single arm. So in this world too, Connors had not been spared the injury and subsequent amputation.
"Professor Connors," I called out to the woman as she walked past.
Karen — that was her name — stopped and looked at me closely through the lenses of her thick glasses. She frowned, apparently trying to remember something, but couldn't place me. Not surprising — I don't look much like my father, and given how many years had passed since his death, recognizing me as Richard's son wasn't easy.
"Yes? Can I help you?" the woman asked politely.
"Hello — first of all, I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm Richard Parker's son, Peter. As far as I know, you worked with my father."
"Of course — your face did seem familiar," Connors nodded at her own thoughts, then caught herself and added, "I'm sorry about what happened to your parents. Richard was a good man and a friend of my husband's."
"Yes, it's a shame. I never knew my parents, and I'd love to get to know you and your husband, perhaps hear a story or two about them," I began. Connors nodded somewhat absently. "But there's something more pressing right now. As I understand it, you've spent many years trying to understand the regenerative mechanisms of lizards."
Connors frowned and looked at me with suspicion.
"Are you telling me, young man, that you followed in your father's footsteps and have an interest in science?"
"Your skepticism is misplaced, Professor. Not long ago I came across the research of someone who was trying to create something like Erskine's serum — the work reminded me of your papers," — I couldn't exactly tell her that I knew formulas she had never published and that had been used by her counterpart in my world.
"Scientists all over the world have tried to replicate Erskine's success, but I've never heard of any new super soldiers," Connors replied with a fair degree of skepticism.
But they exist — varying degrees of success, and often with a host of side effects. Not surprising that Connors doesn't have information about them, and I'm not supposed to know about them either.
"The woman is in a coma after testing her compound on herself. I have a couple of ideas about how she might be helped, but I lack the experience — I was hoping you could assist me," — what I actually lack is equipment and resources, and I'm hoping to use your lab, but I can't say that quite so directly — "besides, her research might help you with your own project."
I produced the flash drive and rolled it between my fingers in front of Connors.
"Well, let's see what you've found there — though I wouldn't expect much of value from someone who tests their own work on themselves," — I barely suppressed a laugh. If only she knew what her counterpart in my world had done to himself.
Connors set off at a brisk pace toward her main workspace. I hurried after her.
Someone was already working in the laboratory when we arrived — the entrance door was open, and from the adjacent room came the hum of a workstation and the scratch of pencils.
Could it be Gwen? To my embarrassment, I couldn't remember when she'd started working for Connors — and there was no guarantee things had played out the same way in this world. In fact, there was a non-zero chance that her place in this world had been taken by some guy named Gwidon… better not to think about it.
All of Karen's skepticism evaporated the moment she saw Stans' formulas. The woman's eyes went wide with surprise, and she began rapidly flipping through the pages of documents and scanned handwritten notes. I hadn't tried to catalog or organize Stans' research, so I doubted Connors could have made sense of it that quickly… more likely she was simply recognizing it.
"I don't understand…" the woman whispered.
"What exactly?" I asked.
"I thought Richard hadn't left any notes behind," — Karen turned a shocked gaze on me — "Peter, this research doesn't just resemble mine — this is your father's project."
What? No! That's impossible! I saw Richard's notes! I know what's stored at his abandoned warehouse along with that old car. Richard never worked on a super soldier serum!
"Are you sure?" I asked with disbelief.
"Of course! We started this project together back at university, but then… our opinions diverged, and I soon entered service, and when I returned… Richard was already dead," — Connors was in slight disarray as she recalled that time. — "But this! This is unmistakably a continuation of our old project."
So Richard and Connors had been trying to recreate the super soldier serum as far back as their youth. And somehow this data had ended up with Stans. This was so different from what I knew about Richard's past from my own world! But a super soldier serum was far better than what Richard had created there.
But now a new question surfaced: how did Stans get access to Richard's notes? Wait — if the Venom project never existed, what caused my parents' deaths? I'd need to find out whether my father had left anything with Aunt May, and if not — check that storage container myself. And I still needed to talk to Stans.
"Doctor Connors, we'll learn more if we find a way to bring Stans out of her coma. Would you allow me to use your laboratory?"
"Yes, of course — it's the least I can do in return for this," — Connors gestured at the screen. Right — I had promised to let her use Stans' work.
Then I heard light footsteps behind me.
"Professor, I'm done for today. All the analysis data has been saved," — my heart skipped a beat at the voice of the girl who had died in the past because of my mistake.
"This is Gwen," Karen said to get my attention. "She's my assistant and student."
Thank god, not a male assistant.
I turned and met the girl's eyes. Damn — it really was Gwen. My Gwen. Alive. And just as beautiful as I remembered. I tried to smile as warmly as I could, but it came out half-hearted.
"Peter Parker," I managed to push out of my suddenly dry throat.
"Gwen Stacy," the girl replied and shook my hand firmly.
Very firmly. Her grip was like a vice — or had I just become that weak? And why was she looking at me with such intensity — what was that suspicion about?
"Gwen helps me with experiments," Karen explained, then continued, addressing Gwen, "Peter's data could be very useful to us — you should see this, Gwen."
And this version of Connors relied on her assistant much more than Kurt had.
"Ah… I…" the girl hesitated. "I'm sorry, I urgently need to be somewhere else — I have… a meeting… yes, I'll look at it tomorrow, alright?"
Casting one last suspicious glance at me, Stacy made a swift exit. That didn't resemble the Gwen I'd known at all.
"Strange," Connors murmured. "She's usually more serious about her work."
But Karen quickly shook off her momentary puzzlement the instant her eyes fell back on the monitor.
"I have to get to work immediately," the woman whispered, seemingly forgetting I existed. "If I can combine the serum with the regeneration formula…"
She had also forgotten her promise to help with a treatment for Stans — but that actually worked in my favor. I had access to Connors' lab, and it should have everything I needed to create an antiserum containing plasma cell antibodies capable of combating the antigen introduced into Stans' blood. If it wasn't already too late. The process could have been complicated by any number of factors — from medical intervention to Stans' condition prior to the injection. If I hurried, I might even make it to the hospital where Stans was being kept.
8:45 PM, same location:
I stood behind Karen with the finished medicine for Stans and watched the woman. She noticed nothing around her, completely absorbed in her work. At first this version of Connors had seemed more levelheaded to me — especially given her comment about experimenting on oneself. But that was no reason to let my guard down.
The files on the flash drive didn't include the schematics for the emitters I'd designed for Stans. Even if Connors pulled off a miracle and managed to combine the two sets of research, she still wouldn't be able to do without my help. Karen was a good technician, but this was beyond her level. I wouldn't repeat the mistake of the other Peter Parker, who had handed a biologist an almost completed device schematic. In fact, Connors trying to merge her research with Stans' serum would actually buy me extra time to prevent the Lizard from appearing. That creature had caused me quite enough grief in the past.
"Doctor Connors," I called to the woman — surprisingly, she responded immediately — "I've finished with the medicine."
Karen looked at the vial in my hands with surprise.
"So quickly?"
"It's actually almost nine. I suggest we wrap up for today — I can come back tomorrow to work with you. I've been at this project for quite a while already," — Karen didn't seem thrilled by the suggestion.
"Yes, you're probably right — I'll finish up soon too and head home. Goodbye, Peter," — too quick an answer.
"Professor, I only hope you'll be sensible and I won't have to do something like this for you," — I indicated the vial of medicine — "don't rush with applying the serum, even if it seems ready."
Something told me Connors was going to spend the night in the lab. But as I'd said — without the emitter, the formula won't work. Moreover, the highly inert compounds in one part of the formula would prevent the other part from activating. Connors couldn't develop the emitter on her own, and activating the compounds without an external stimulus… if anyone could do that, they must have forgotten more about chemistry than I ever knew.
Calling a taxi, I headed to the public hospital where Stans was being kept. I tuned out, as was becoming routine, the ceaseless chatter of yet another talkative driver — this one introduced herself as Susan and managed within five minutes to tell me about the hard lot of a single girl looking for a boyfriend. Arriving at my destination, I asked Sue to wait, and she agreed eagerly. Putting on my most confident expression — the kind that says I know exactly where I'm going and why — I walked past the reception desk and went straight to the elevator. From the hospital's website I knew that coma patients were kept on the fourth floor, but I didn't know Stans' room number. I'd have to improvise, though it shouldn't be too difficult…
Stepping out of the elevator I unexpectedly came face to face with an old acquaintance.
"Bobbie? What the hell are you doing here?" I exclaimed, but remembering we weren't alone, I jumped out of the elevator, grabbed the girl by the elbow, and steered her toward the coffee machine.
"Parker," Bobbie whispered, struggling to focus her eyes on me. "I wanted to talk to the doc — I thought you'd helped her by now."
"I was just about to do that! Hey, I don't like how you look — dilated pupils, wandering gaze, heavy sweating. Are you high? I told you to lie low!"
"Yeah, yeah, you're right, I need to disappear, find somewhere to lie low," Bobbie agreed hastily. While she spoke, her hands had a life of their own — she kept hugging herself, then twisting her elbows. "And eat something — right, I need to eat something."
"What is wrong with you? They could pick you up over the Cindy case — the hearings are already underway! Get it together!"
"It's just weed — really strong stuff," Bobbie excused herself, pulling free from my grip. "I'll go — and you help the doc, you promised, Parker, you promised," she kept repeating as she moved toward the elevator.
What was wrong with this woman? Why hadn't nature given her a self-preservation instinct?
"Hey — what room is the doc in?" I called after her.
"Four fifteen," Bobbie answered from inside the elevator, then added in a half-whisper, apparently talking herself through it, "it's fine, Parker won't sell us out, no need to worry."
"Idiot — and people like her I'm supposed to be saving," — well, at least now I knew which room Stans was in.
Wait. The room. What if Bobbie had been covering her tracks? What if she'd decided to get rid of Stans so the woman couldn't lead the cops back to her when she woke up? Damn!
I bolted toward the room. I needed Stans alive — she might be the only thread leading back to my father. Charging into the room, I immediately heard the sound of working equipment — still alive.
I examined the woman. No visible signs of an attempt on her life — the patient was lying quietly under a saline drip. I'd probably suspected Bobbie for nothing. Maybe the stoned girl really had just wanted to talk to her friend…
In any case, I didn't have much time. In half an hour Flash would be picking up me and MJ, and I wasn't dressed for the evening yet.
Pinching the drip tube, I detached the bag and poured in the contents of the vial. The doctors apparently suspected intoxication, given that they were using sodium chloride — commonly known as saline. At least it shouldn't interfere with the antiserum.
Rapid footsteps sounded in the corridor, and I quickly moved to a part of the room not visible from the door. I waited for the nurse to pass, then retreated from the scene of my good deed — and soon I was once again listening to Susan's confessions, who not only drove me to a clothing store but helped me choose what to buy… I was fairly sure that wasn't part of a taxi driver's job description. Either way, twenty minutes after leaving the hospital I found myself standing on my front steps with a bag of clothes in one hand and Sue's business card in the other. So that was how the local girls worked their way in with men — I'd need to be more careful. I was only grateful I'd had the presence of mind to insist on a black shirt and trousers in a classic cut rather than the acid-bright short-sleeved horror that Susan and the shop assistants had been recommending. You couldn't even hide web-shooters under an outfit like that.
I had barely enough time left to jump in the shower and change. Honestly, I no longer felt like going anywhere and was already regretting not having arranged my date with MJ for another day. It seemed I needed to account for a level of fatigue far greater than I was used to.