Title: Jinxed
Author: LadyNRA
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Set after the last episode of Season 1 so probably some spoilers
Characters: Artie mostly but everyone else except Leena are kept busy
Genre: Action/Adventure with (I hope) a liberal sprinkling of humor tossed in
Disclaimer: The producers and Syfy may own it but if they are willing to sell Artie to me, I'll come up with the cash somehow!
Summary: Artie faces a series of mishaps and his team try to figure out if it's due to accident or artifact.
Author's Note: This started as a series of three commonplace item/locale "challenges" tossed my way by a friend and fellow author (eg. Write a story with a blender in it). It was supposed to be done as one "item" or "location" per story but then I realized I could tie it all together in this story. What does a 'rowboat', a flatbed truck/water hose, and a hospital have in common? Time to find out….Many thanks to my beta reader who, as always, blesses me with her mad skillz as an editor. Any mistakes are mine...
JINXED
By LadyNRA
"Okay, so where's the geezer?" Claudia Donovan shouted as she bounded up the stairs from the Warehouse floor and charged into the perpetually cluttered office.
"Is there a problem?" Myka Bering inquired from her vantage point in the leather chair near the records room. Her tone was mild with just the slightest touch of curiosity. Slowly, she lowered the history book she was reading to her lap.
Claudia frowned before answering. "Not exactly, I just had a question I wanted to ask about the power fluctuations lately."
Across the room, with a large bulky binder in his lap, Pete Lattimer glanced up and looked at his partner. "So, since you've read more of this than I have, why don't you give her a hand?"
Pretending not to hear him, Myka flipped a page, and threw a scrap piece of paper between the sheets before slowly closing it. The binding creaked with age and Myka inhaled deeply as if savoring the odor of the ancient tome.
"The manual doesn't give much in the way of practical advice when it comes to certain systems. That was one reason Artie wanted her to have hands-on training so she could become better acquainted with the operations in here. So to put it into words you can understand…to supplement book learning with practical experience," she explained coolly but with a twinkle in her eye. In a land where there was little to do but work and hang out at Leena's Bed & Breakfast, teasing Pete had become a primary source of entertainment.
"Hey, I've got skills you know," Pete said with a good deal of bravado.
Myka cocked an eyebrow, her green eyes daring him to turn words into deeds.
He wilted slightly under her intense scrutiny. "Okay, okay, what's the problem, specifically?" He scowled as he asked the question because he knew he'd never bluff his way out of this no matter how hard he tried.
Chin dipping to her chest, Claudia looked up at him with dark eyes that said, "You are so full of it, but WTF, I can use a laugh too."
"Okay, here's the dope. The system monitoring the grid shows 'something' is going on but I can't interpret the data. Figured his royal haughtiness might deign to come down from his throne for a few minutes and explain it to me. Which is why I came up here. So question one, can you channel the gods of this place and get me some answers? Or question two, where is our illustrious leader…because I know he knows?"
"He was in one of his…um…'I want to get this over and done with, so don't get in my way' moods," Pete replied.
"Oh fantabulous," Claudia threw her hands up then let them drop down to slap at her thighs. She looked at Pete and Myka as if expecting them to volunteer to talk to him on her behalf but clearly her expression said she knew better. "Fine, what's he doing that he doesn't want interruptions?"
Myka wrinkled her nose slightly. "Muttered something about 'fixing the fish', gathered up the usual stuff he takes whenever he says that, and walked outside."
"Anyone wanna take a walk with me? Ms. Bimbo with the Big Boobs who does the weather for WXJR said it was promising to be an awesomely beautiful day."
Pete stood up immediately and dropped his manual on the nearest flat surface with a loud bang. "Let's do this!" he grinned.
"Putting it off won't help," Myka chided, looking at the manual that Pete just couldn't seem to get through. Then she also got to her feet. "But I could use the exercise so I'm in." She brushed dust left by the ancient book off her slacks, then gingerly set it on the desk near her so it would be handy for her return.
The group, laughing and teasing each other, enjoyed the short walk to the 'pond'. The brackish body of water was, in reality more like a small lake but someone had started calling it 'the pond' and the description had stuck. Claudia was practically skipping as she threw her arms wide beneath the rays of the sun as a light breeze caressed her skin. She kept on like that even after spying the short, portly form of her employer, Arthur Nielsen, standing on the shore near a small grayish rowboat.
"Yo, yo, Artie," she called out. At first, she thought her voice didn't carry far enough and was just about to call out again when he turned toward her with a tightlipped expression. "Yup," she thought to herself, "definitely in a leave me alone mood." But that had never stopped her before, so she practically bounced on over to him.
"Been lookin' for ya," she finally said as she tried to look through his sunglasses in order to read his eyes.
Looking away, he stated flatly, "Why?"
"Hey, no "hi Claudia, how are you today?" Why I'm doing fine, Artie, really. How are you?" She knew that wasn't the right thing to ask even as the words slid out of her mouth.
"Busy, as you can plainly see, so why don't you, and your entourage head on back and leave me alone."
"I will, after you answer a question," she responded lightly.
Sighing heavily, he pushed his glasses, which had slid down a bit, back up to the bridge of his nose, shoved both hands into his pockets and faced her, silent.
Before she could get a word out, Pete and Myka had joined them. Lattimer playfully jabbed at Artie shoulder, totally oblivious to the other man's body language or lack thereof.
"Hey boss, whatcha doin? Hoping to catch us some dinner?"
"You wouldn't want to eat whatever's living in there," Artie finally answered after wrinkling his nose. "It would—look—nevermind. I have work to do. And so do you. If not, I'll find something, so—" His gaze shifted back to Claudia. "You were about to say?"
"Just trying to get a handle on shifting power readings at the Warehouse and –"
Artie impatiently waved his hand to shush her up. "I'm handling it. Now…as we speak. If you'll let me get on with it!" His tone became distinctly irritated. Instinctively, Claudia leaned back as if the mere sound of his voice had thrown a jab at her chin.
Pete was not so easily dissuaded, "But what is under there? I know it's some kinda fish, you've said the same thing every time you come out here, but what's the deal with it? Is it sick?"
"It's not a living thing," explained Artie with a slow side-to-side motion of his head as if to unkink tight neck muscles. Claudia decided, given how tense he looked, that was probably the case. Expelling air through pursed lips he surrendered to the inevitable. He wasn't going to get out of giving a lecture and he knew it.
Claudia opened her mouth to ask the obvious question but Pete beat her to it. "So what it is?"
"A construct. A multipart machine designed to work in tandem to provide power to the Warehouse." He swatted a fly that had settled on his cheek then scratched the spot as it flew away. "You ever see guys fight a fire when there is limited water?"
Shaking his head 'no', Pete responded wistfully, "Dad never really talked about his work once he walked through the front door."
Artie's facial muscles visibly went lax as he recalled Pete's history. "Well, anyway, if no tanker truck, hydrant or body of water is available, the fire department sets up relays. They'll go to a water source, fill up, cart it back and transfer it to the pumpers and keep doing it, at least until the fire is out. The principle here is similar.
"Originally, the FISH was designed with bronze plates that absorbed the sun's heat and then transferred it via the conduit to-, He glanced at the lake for a minute.
"To?" Pete prompted with a genuinely interested inflection to the question.
"What? Oh, uh, right. To the storage batteries and power conversion units under the mountain, which in turn were used to provide all the necessary utilities to the Warehouse from 1914 until about—" he paused and looked upward as if the answers could be read on the sky above them, "about 1975 when it was mechanically upgraded and retrofitted with solar cells." He looked at the group and pointed at the boat. "Pretty much what you are about to see as soon as I get out there."
Claudia looked at him. "So the power fluctations means something is wrong with the FISH?"
"Not always, although, in this case, yes, it-."
"What the hell does that mean anyway?" Pete cut in, scrunching up his face as he asked it.
"What are you referring to?" Artie asked. "Power fluctuations or –"
Pete snorted. "The 'fish' Artie. Why "the fish"?" He made the standard quote gesture with his fingers.
"F.I.S.H.s stands for Fully Integrated Self-contained Habitat system. FISH for short."
"So you were saying?" prompted Claudia.
"Yeah, um, well, you see, the FISH did power the whole Warehouse for a long time but eventually power requirements outweighed its ability to meet our needs. The Warehouse inventory was growing exponentially at that time thanks to the advent of intercontinental communications and, later on, the internet. We were doing retrievals almost non-stop, pulling in artifacts from all over the world. The pumps inside the Neutralizer Processing Centerwere working overtime shunting excess tangential energies to a safe place and the FISH wasn't keeping up, so we eventually…obviously …connected to the state power grid in order to compensate for the massive power drain occurring at that time."
"So why keep the FISH functioning?" Myka inquired, then threw up her hands. "Wait, I get it. In case there's a catastrophic loss of power from the grid."
Artie nodded and combed fingers through his hair before throwing his straw hat over his dark curls. "More or less. The FISH can temporarily, temporarily, deal with our power needs, especially if we limit our usage. As I said, there are special batteries connected to the main body of the mechanism…enormous, absolutely enormous…"
"The batteries or the whole power plant?" Asked Claudia.
Glowering at her briefly for interrupting his train of thought, he replied, "Both. No matter how brilliant some of our early scientists and engineers were, they couldn't always create miniaturized versions of their design concepts. In other words, the original inventor, Elihu Thomson, didn't have the technology at his disposal to scale it down. And after it was built, the Regents didn't feel a lot of upgrades were warranted because it worked well most of the time. So, to answer your question, the entire FISH system would never be called 'small'."
Artie made rolling motions with his right hand as if to fast-forward the conversation. "In any case, there are minor flaws in its design and we are stuck with them. Or, rather, I've been stuck with them."
His gaze roped in Claudia's attention and held tight. "Soon enough, I'll be letting you try this. But for now, since you're here and not eager to leave, you might as well watch what happens. You too," he added swiveling his head to take in his two agents. "I'm not going to expect either of you to do this but it wouldn't hurt to observe the process." He crooked a finger at the teenager and curled it several times as if to say, 'come on over here.'
Sighing with disgust, Claudia moved closer. Yet another of the seemingly endless chores she was going to have to attend to some day. Truth was, though she was much younger and more athletic than Artie, she secretly wondered where he found the energy to monitor and attend to every maintenance activity within the Warehouse. On a 'bad day' it seemed never-ending.
"So how often would I have to beat the crap out of this thing before it begs for mercy?" she asked through tight lips.
Nielsen answered directly, "Whenever the alarm bells start screaming at you."
"But that didn't happen this time."
"I disarmed it when I saw the readings. That's why I came out here. I just noticed it before you did," he said sounding somewhat smug.
Frowning, Claudia hurled icicles at him with her dark eyes. Lately the friendly rivalry had grown into a real competition. Most of the time she thrived on this but today she was mentally tired and irritable and PMSing. Simply put, she wasn't interested in the game, at least not at that moment.
"Well, bully for you!" she growled at him, which put a deep furrow between his large brown eyes.
Studying her for several seconds, he let his shoulders lift in a minute shrug and allowed a tiny sigh to escape his lips.
"Okay, the basics are this," he started explaining to the entire group even though he knew Claudia's understanding of the subject was better than either Pete or Myka's. "It spends most of its time hiding just below the surface, collecting the rays of the sun. Some energy is siphoned off for its own needs, to keep it functioning. The rest is stored. When it's reached its maximum load, it submerges, travels to the docking station and discharges its load into the main storage systems. From there it is converted into standard AC inside the Warehouse. Photovoltaic Cell technology 101 in a nutshell."
Myka looked intrigued, her green eyes smiling even though her lips weren't. "How often does that happen?"
Artie didn't hesitate in answering her. "Once every hour or so. Twice as long on cloudy or rainy days. And of course it goes into sleep mode after sunset or when the pond freezes over. In the old days water from a hot spring was rerouted to keep the surface ice free. But obviously it's not necessary anymore. As for the algae-" he fluttered his perpetually moving hands in front of his chest. "—nevermind. Lesson for another day."
Reaching down to the ground, he lifted the bizarre looking device that was reminiscent of a fishing rod, but only in the vaguest sense. He turned the proximal end toward Claudia and showed her several dials.
"When the time comes, I'll explain how to use them. But for now, suffice it to say that this mobilizes the Remote Solar Collector to rise above water level. This one controls the light source used to recalibrate. Don't ask me how that happens, I don't know." He stopped and studied the knobs. "Well, I do know, sort of, but it's hard to explain. So skip it."
"Fine, skipped," she answered, studying both the dials and his hands as he pointed at them. He had moved them, probably without thinking about it, both left and right, then reset it so that the dials were back in their original positions.
"In a sense we summon the FISH and –" Without another word, he looped the straps of the face mask around his neck.
"And?" Claudia prompted again, literally leaning in real close to catch his attention then pulling back quickly as his head shifted.
He rolled his eyes. "And…and nothing. You'll see. Pay attention." The rod went into the ancient rowboat sitting on the shore. That was followed by an opaque and bulging shrink-wrapped package.
"Not easy from this vantage point," she responded already eyeing the boat with concern. She pointed at it with a long slender finger. "Are you sure that thing will make it out there without sinking midway?"
"It's done its job for longer than I've been here. I'm sure it'll keep on doing it when you take over."
"Not comforting, Artie," she growled as he gave it a small shove toward the water, grunting as he did so.
Sliding on the fishing vest over his tan striped shirt, he methodically topped it with his sun-bleached black trench coat and pulled on fingerless gloves, clearly a warrior donning his battle armor.
"No toolbox?" Myka asked as he got ready to board the tiny rowboat.
Patting the pockets of his vest, Nielsen replied, "Got a few items right here for simple repairs but probably won't need 'em. This isn't a repair mission, just one to assure it's running at optimum efficiency. That's precisely what this is for." He thrust one thick finger at the rod jutting over the bow of the boat.
Taking one final moment to shuck off his battered Converses, he slid into rubber boots that were stowed in a plastic bag onboard the boat. Then with one final shove, the rowboat slid into the water, followed by Artie who instantly sank up to his ankles in the algae laden water. A quick practiced hop and he was in place on the seat. Grabbing the oars in both hands, he kept working one oar until the prow of the boat was facing the pond's center. Once heading in the proper direction, he gave a strong pull and started to smoothly glide away from them.
Several energetic tugs at the oars got him about a third of the way out and then he slowly reversed the motion of the oars until he stopped all forward momentum. Standing up wasn't an easy task in the rickety boat. It seesawed back and forth for a few seconds but eventually he managed to hold it steady without capsizing in the process. Quickly, he strapped the black mask over his nose and mouth, patting the Velcro closure down to make certain it didn't slip off at the worst possible moment. Cautiously, he bent over and retrieved the rod, then pointed the large circular cylinder into the watery depths. A green light began emanating from the side of it and another section began to glow orange.
On the shore, all three Warehouse employees saw him shift his hand to the device and from there presumably twist one of the two knobs on it. At first, nothing happened. Artie bowed his body forward clearly scanning the water even though the greenish algae was dense enough to completely obscure anything down there. Pete and Myka felt their muscles growing tight with anticipation, wondering what kind of contraption the pond would yield up.
They didn't have long to wait. There was a slight disturbance near the rowboat. Suddenly water began to bubble, then boil furiously. Miniature geysers plumed upward spraying Artie with hundreds of fine bejeweled droplets but he didn't react to them. Instead, his focus was riveted on what was slowly rising to the surface, water pouring off its glistening black surface in fast running waterfalls. Ninety percent of the thing's upper shell seemed to comprise one giant solar array. Enormous black wings, previously stretched out over a large portion of the pond began to accordion in on themselves, until they sat alongside the main body like the wings of jets on aircraft carriers.
Even in that position, the body looked more like a sting ray than the average fish most people associated with the word. Oddly enough, as if alive, it was facing Artie, waiting…watching. Evil smelling clouds of smoke puffed skyward from somewhere on its back. Nielsen's face mask suddenly made sense to the spectators.
Laying the rod down momentarily, Artie moved the farthest oar side to side as if the boat was a gondola and got it to the point where he could reach out and touch the FISH. And that was exactly what he did. Somehow maintaining his balance, he stretched out one arm. With deft motions of his fingers, a hatch opened, lifting upward. He dug into the trench coat pocket and withdrew what looked like an antiquated volt meter, complete with wires and alligator clips on each end, although no one on the shore could tell for sure what it actually was. The device was bigger than the Farnsworth but not by much. He attached it to something recessed into the opening and read the results. He laid the meter against the face of the panel, stepped back and retrieved the rod. Aiming it at a large circular bronze plate above the hatch, there was a sudden brightness as a beam of orange light hit the plate. The bronze seemed to glow, pulsed like a heartbeat for a few seconds, before fading out.
Supporting the rod in the crook of his arm, Artie reexamined the meter, seemed satisfied with what he saw, and released the clips. He stowed the meter back in his pocket and set the rod down once more. As the boat continued to bob, he spread his legs for balance again, fiddled with something else inside the panel, then leaned back.
Almost immediately, there was a gap in the front part of the machine not far below the hatch. The split widened. Two semicircular panels reminiscent of lips drew back, baring a black maw. Something the color of burnished gold writhed inside for about 10 seconds then poked its head out. It snaked toward Artie who didn't budge from his precarious perch.
The internal mechanism that soon revealed itself was like a large segmented tube the diameter of a fire hose, with an object resembling a big showerhead on the end. This section stopped about two feet from his hand and he snagged it behind the collar and pulled it closer to him. Soon, his fingers were examining the collar's couplings, and then they moved on to probe the oddly shaped protuberances of the conduit's head.
His hand dipped into a vest pocket and retrieved a small tool, which he wedged between collar and head, neatly snapping the latter free of the hose. The tool was returned and replaced with a folding knife from another small pocket. Artie flipped that open one-handed with a click that carried over to the spectators. He tossed the old head into the boat, ignoring the weighty thunk as it hit. A quick slash of the knife and the shrink-wrapped bag opened. He refolded the knife, slipped it back into its original resting place. As he upended the bag, another newer showerhead gizmo landed in his free hand. A quick snap and twist of his wrist and the replacement head was installed and secured with practiced ease.
Standing on the muddy shore, they saw him gently, almost affectionately, pat the apparatus like it was a pet and most surprising of all the hose began its retreat back into the maw. The metal lips sealed over it. They watched him flip the hatch closed and start to tilt backward. Obviously the session was ended.
Disgorging more bilious steam, the whole massive device began to recede into the depths, its wings unfurling gracefully, though loudly, outward. As it had previously, the water's parted, boiling and frothing, going down, down…but before Artie could even sit, the whole thing shifted forward just before its dorsal section had disappeared into the depths.
Caught off guard, Nielsen started to fall backward as the boat shifted beneath his feet. They heard him shout something that sounded colorful despite the distance as he fought to regain his balance. But age and body composition were against him. His center of balance had shifted south since his younger days and he overcompensated when he tried leaning forward. This only made matters worse. Instinct caused him to take a step forward, which, on an already wobbly boat in the midst of churning waters, wasn't a good thing. The rod, resting on the side of the little vessel, toppled into the algae covered water. The look of horror on his face was hidden by the face mask but his body language said it all.
The decision to go in after his equipment or not was taken from him as the boat tipped farther. Arms flailing wildly, he lost the battle to stay dry. Instead of a graceful dive, he belly-flopped. Green water sprayed up and out for an impressive distance and he disappeared under the surface.
Twenty seconds later, the team of agents along with Claudia got worried. He hadn't surfaced. The water was still churning fiercely as if the mechanical beast was angry.
"Artie!" Claudia howled. "Oh no! I think it ate him!" She turned pleading eyes on Pete and Myka. "Do something!" Neither agent moved as their eyes continued to scan the water for human appendages coming up.
At thirty seconds, both Pete and Myka were stripping off their shoes and jackets while still anxiously watching the settling jade surface. Just as they were taking their first wading steps out there, a pale figure, sans mask, rocketed up out of the depths, gasping and spewing green stuff from nose and mouth. They heard him grunting with the effort to stay afloat but he was clearly making his way to the boat. The rod, oddly enough, was clutched in his free hand and he hurled it unceremoniously over the prow. He hung there a second, coughing mightily and making odd gagging sounds in the process. From nearby an eerie keening issued from the depths below him. Looking wildly in that direction, he ripped off his trench coat and vest and flipped them in after the rod.
Myka knew just by assessing the situation that those water soaked items, filled with tools and odds and ends, was probably weighing him down to some extent. But even sans gear, he probably wasn't going to make it back into the little rowboat. She could tell by the look in Pete's eyes that they both shared the same thought…to go out there and help him. The only thing stopping them was that he knew they were there, watching, and hadn't yet asked for assistance. That was so Artie. Had been since the day they'd first met him. So they stood and waited.
Watching Nielsen grab the prow with his gloved hand, they saw him begin dragging the little vessel behind him. The going was slow but he made progress and eventually got his bootless feet on the muddy pond bottom. He left the boat within easy reach and gestured with one forefinger for someone to get it but no one moved.
As he drew himself up to his full height of 5'7", the spectators got quite a show. The light colored shirt he'd gone into the water with not only clung to him like a second skin but had also turned virtually transparent. Worse yet, although Artie was unaware of it, the pants weren't in a much better state and certainly didn't leave a whole lot up to the imagination.
Claudia covered her mouth and tried not to laugh. Oblivious to condition, Artie's frustrated expression morphed into confusion. "Dude, I always figured you for a boxers kinda guy. I mean, briefs? Really? Now, I know what to get you for Christmas."
At that moment, realization dawned and he blushed furiously. With a look of total mortification plastered on his face, Artie glanced down and uttered his favorite 'stressed-out' phrase, "Oh God…" They expected him to do the obvious thing...get his coat and cover up.
Instead he stood there, chin dipped toward his 'exposed' chest, and shook his head. He tried to peel the shirt from his skin but it stuck like glue. He bestowed a sheepish grin on them over his lack of success.
Then, hands strategically placed in front of his pants, he looked up at the blue and cloudless sky and soundlessly bellowed to the heavens about the injustice of having witnesses to his humiliation.
As if reading his mind, Pete simply said, "Karma. Oh well…"
"Karma my ass," Artie replied with a growl. "If Karma was something corporeal, I'd be beating it to a bloody pulp right about now!"
Trying to break the tension and to keep from laughing at his emotional discomfort, Myka calmly asked, "So did you fix it?"
Brows knitting together, Artie muttered, "Oh I fixed it all right!" and then, clothing made squishy sounds in his wake, he began a soggy trek back to the office where a desperately needed change of apparel was waiting for him.
Unlike Pete and Myka, Claudia simply couldn't let it slide. Once her chuckles had subsided, she let out a loud wolf-whistle as his backside, and the pants tightly molded to it, disappeared around a hill.