The following day, while the others were busy with inventory and other tasks, Artie stole away to the bronze sector. He quickly found his friend among rows upon rows of the evil and criminally insane.

Artie stared into his friend's unseeing eyes. "What happened to you, Smith? What did they do to you?" His mind searched for answers, but without input from Smith, there were too many pieces missing from the puzzle. He had sabotaged the Jupiter 2. Had they forced him to kill as well? The thought was so repugnant it almost made him ill.

"You do know he can't answer you, don't you?" he heard a jovial male voice say from somewhere behind him.

Artie turned around, somewhat embarrassed at being caught essentially talking to himself. "Pete."

"Artie? You okay, buddy?" Pete mentally kicked himself for inserting himself into a moment Artie had obviously meant to be private.

"Fine," he said quickly. "I'm fine."

"I... I didn't mean to intrude," Pete apologized. He hated awkward moments with Artie and Artie certainly didn't make it any easier.

"It's fine. It's all good," Artie replied. His defensive walls were completely raised and all trace of emotion removed from his demeanor.

"You're needed back at the office," Pete mentioned. "But, uh... take your time. It's not urgent or anything."

Artie nodded. "I'll be there in a few minutes." He waited until Pete had left the area, then turned back to his friend.

He gave Smith's bronzed shoulder a few pats. "You don't belong here, Smith. I'll prove it," he vowed.

...

Darkness. All he knew, all that surrounded him was darkness. His mind searched desperately for any sensory input. There were no sights, no sounds, no touch, no taste, no smell. He couldn't feel his own heartbeat, he couldn't take a breath, yet he was fully aware. He wanted to scream, to cry out to anyone who might hear, but his vocal chords didn't obey.

He suddenly realized that he was utterly alone. He had felt loneliness before, most of his life, in fact, but this was completely different. It eclipsed any loneliness he'd ever known. He was so completely disconnected from any living thing that he wanted to cry, but no tears would form. Surely, this must be hell.

The loneliness in itself was enough to torture the doctor, for he was by nature an incredibly social creature, but another thought filtered into his consciousness. Someone he considered a friend had put him here. His mind screamed, it raged, it wept at the sense of betrayal.

How long had he been like this? Five minutes? Five hours? Five days? Time lost all meaning. Whether Arthur was able to decipher the mystery, as he'd asked him to, and ultimately free him from this hell, it wouldn't matter. It would be too late. He'd go mad long before then. He felt he was on the verge now. How long? How long could he maintain his sanity? Perhaps he'd already lost it. Or perhaps this was all just a nightmare. Wake up! he told himself. Please, wake up.

Something snapped him from his terror. Someone was near. He couldn't see them, he couldn't hear them, but he sensed them somehow. Arthur? Is that you? Please, Arthur, release me. I beg of you. Release me! Dammit, Artie! You put me here. If you don't release me, I'll never forgive you!

All too quickly, he felt the presence leaving. No! Come back! Please? I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm so sorry. Please... don't leave me.

...

As Artie entered the office, he immediately spotted Mrs. Frederic. He suddenly got the feeling that everybody else knew something he didn't.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Arthur, I've talked to the regents," Mrs. Frederic announced. "Since it is apparent Smith received information about the Warehouse from outside sources, the regents have agreed to allow you to question the doctor in order to determine the source of his information. We cannot allow the Warehouse to be compromised. A word of warning, this action has not been approved by the official who ordered his bronzing. The regents felt it was imperative that we keep knowledge of this investigation to Warehouse personnel only."

Artie nodded. "Thank you."

"Oh, and Arthur," she added, "he will have to go back to the bronze sector when you're done questioning him."

He nodded again, "Understood." In that case, he planned on 'questioning' Smith for as long as he could get away with. He scratched his chin and tried to contain the nervous energy that was urging him to sprint, as best as a man of his girth and age could, down to the bronze sector to release Smith. He took a deep breath and waited for Mrs. Frederic to finish with official business.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Pete asked.

Artie looked at Pete, then looked to Mrs. Frederic to see if there was anything else. She was already gone.

"Nothing. Let's go," Artie said. He was halfway out the door before anyone else had even moved.

...

Pete, Myka, and Claudia accompanied Artie to the bronze sector and were nearly as excited as their boss to release the doctor. It was clear Artie was fond of the fellow, yet he'd never spoken of the man to any of them. Their curiosity was definitely piqued. They, of course, were naturally a bit wary of anyone who'd merit bronzing, but they trusted Artie.

With help from the others, Artie situated Smith in the chamber.

"Gently," he cautioned, "gently."

"Artie, he's made out of bronze, not eggshells," Pete replied.

"Yeah, but if he gets dinged up, I'll never hear the end of it from him," Artie answered, almost gleefully.

Quickly, he jogged to the controls and initiated the de-bronzing process. When the panel indicated the process was complete, he pressed a button to open the chamber door.

He expected a happy reunion with Smith when the chamber door opened. What he saw instead was Smith on the floor of the chamber, curled in a fetal position. His eyes were shut tightly and he was trembling and whimpering softly. When Artie kneeled down next to him and placed a hand on his arm, Smith shrank back and pressed himself flat against the wall, completely terrified.

"Artie? What's going on? What's wrong with him?" Myka asked. She hadn't been witness to many de-bronzings, but none she had seen had ever gone like this.

The three agents crowded around the chamber to see what was going on.

"Back off! Back off!" Artie growled protectively. They all immediately obeyed.

"Smith, it's ok. It's me... Artie," he said gently.

Smith slowly opened his eyes, but had trouble focusing. The sudden rush of sensory input was a complete shock to his system and his sensitive mind.

"Ar...Artie?" Smith's voice sounded so weak and afraid.

"I'm here," he confirmed. "Can you see me?"

Smith nodded, but admitted his vision wasn't exactly clear yet.

Artie proceeded cautiously, trying to keep Smith calm by announcing all of his actions before he performed them. "I'm going to check your pupils." He had no idea if Smith had hit his head on the way to the floor of the chamber, but a quick look confirmed his pupils were fine. He helped Smith to a sitting position.

"Could someone get me a bottle of water?" Artie asked.

Claudia volunteered and ran off to procure the requested item.

"Arthur, please don't do that to me again," Smith pleaded. "I don't think I would survive it."

Artie smiled in reassurance, but privately he wondered if perhaps Smith was right. The doctor's reaction worried him. He'd never seen anything like it. Artie dreaded having to bronze him again.

Smith squeezed his eyes tight.

"Smith, you alright?"

"Too bright. Too loud," he complained. He caught a whiff of sweat dripping down Artie's body. "Too pungent," he added.

Artie laughed, which elicited a weak smile from Smith. "You're a little 'ripe' yourself."

Smith's eyes popped open in surprise. The sharp retort he had planned never crossed his lips, as he quickly moved to shield his still sensitive eyes.

Artie held his hand up to shade external light sources from directly hitting Smith. The doctor slowly opened his eyes again and blinked rapidly a few times as he adjusted to the light.

"Ripe, indeed," Smith sniffed haughtily. However, he quickly changed his tone. "Did you do it?" he asked hopefully.

"Do what?" Artie asked.

"Clear my good name," Smith answered.

"I haven't had time. Besides, we needed to talk to you first," he explained.

"Haven't had time? How long was I trapped in there?" Smith asked.

"About sixteen hours."

"Sixteen hours? It felt like an eternity," Smith complained.

"I know," Artie said sympathetically.

"Got it!" Claudia exclaimed as she approached the bronzer. She handed the bottle over. "He gonna live?"

"I don't know. I'm not the doctor," Artie looked to Smith.

Smith nodded. Despite the all-consuming terror he'd felt mere moments earlier, he felt safe now. The doctor was a survivor and more resilient than he often gave himself credit for.

Artie relayed the answer, "The doctor says he's gonna live."

"Thank God," Pete exclaimed. "Do you know how much paperwork we'd have to do if he'd kicked the bucket?"

Smith's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"He's joking," Artie clarified. He opened the bottle and handed it to Smith, who took a small swig at first, then proceeded to greedily down the rest of the bottle.

"Feel better?"

Smith nodded.

Artie stood and offered Smith a hand up, which he gratefully accepted. Smith put a hand to his lower back and declared with a groan, "My back is a tad delicate today."

Artie smiled. Some of the old Smith was shining through. "Are you hungry?" Artie asked as he started to escort Smith back to the office.

"Arthur, have you ever known me to miss a meal?" Smith asked with a grin. The promise of food did wonders for Smith's mental state.

"Ah, a man after your own heart, Artie!" Pete joked. He attempted to pat Artie's midsection, but Artie deftly sidestepped the maneuver and shot him an annoyed glance.

"Do you still make those divine oatmeal scotchies?" Smith inquired.

"Cookies!" Pete squealed. "Artie, you haven't made a batch of cookies in a while. I think in honor of our 'guest' here, you should whip up a batch." Pete leaned over to Myka, "I think I'm gonna like this guy."

"Reserve that judgment until you really get to know him," Artie laughed.

A wicked grin spread across Smith's face at Artie's statement. That grin gave Pete pause and his own grin quickly turned into an unsure frown.

"He doesn't bite," Artie assured Pete.

"Arthur, you haven't seen me in eighteen years. How do you know I haven't added that to my repertoire?"

Artie laughed at the absurd mental image that inspired. Pete, Myka, and Claudia all shared amused glances. They were enjoying the banter between the two old friends. More than that, they were glad the doctor had made a quick recovery.

"Well, when dealing with hostile aliens, you do what you must," Smith added.

"Aliens?! Cool!" Pete gushed. He fired off a volley of questions. "What did they look like? Did they have ray guns? What were their spaceships like?"

"Pete, not now." Artie admonished.

Pete piped down, but continued to excitedly discuss the possibilities of alien life with Claudia and Myka in the background.

Artie leaned toward Smith and whispered, "Aliens?" Sometimes he couldn't tell if Smith was pulling his leg.

Smith nodded. "I'll regale you with my intergalactic exploits later. You'd never believe it."

"Oh, I don't know," Artie replied. "The unbelievable is my line of work."

When they got to the office, Artie phoned Leena and told her to expect a full table for dinner, including a special guest. When Leena questioned who the guest was, Artie spent several minutes convincing her Smith wouldn't be a problem. He'd take full responsibility. He called on favor upon favor until she relented and agreed to play host to the doctor. He didn't know if Mrs. Frederic would approve of letting Smith leave the Warehouse and frankly, he didn't want to ask for fear of refusal. So, he took matters into his own hands. What Mrs. Frederic didn't know wouldn't hurt her.