Part 2

It is April 15, 2011 and everything is wrong. It had been wrong for almost a year now, Mrs. Frederic thinks.

She opens the case of her old Czapek & Cie and takes a peek. 05:08 the golden hands of her watch tell her.

She has just returned from the Knossos facility with her mind reeling with newly discovered facts and old guilts. She takes a walk through the corridors of the warehouse to center herself, her hands lightly grazing the stacks of shelves as she passes them by. She lifts her eyes and spots the silhouette of agent Lattimer and Ms. Donovan through the window of Artie's raised office as they leave the building for the day. After their departure, the warehouse gives a shudder.

"I know old friend," she says as she pats the massive concrete base of one of the columns that support the warehouse's rafters.

To say that a warehouse is a living thing would be a mistake, it is no more alive than a refrigerator is. However, that does not exclude a warehouse from possessing sentience or even a soul, it's just that the building's intellect does not resemble in any way, shape, or form that of a person, or a mammal, or even undead creatures or computers – since the last two are derived from a human psych as well.

Nevertheless, she and all the Warehouse-Keepers before her had been endowed with the ability to directly communicate with Warehouses. This is why – even though a Warehouse is not supposed to value, react, or comprehend things the same way a human mind does – Mrs. Frederic has a sneaking suspicion that the current set of agents' goofy attitudes had started to rub off on the old building. Between them, Myka, Pete and Claudia produce simply too much…fun for even a rickety old warehouse not to care.

Indeed, since the arrival of the present crew, Mrs. Frederic has sensed a definite increase in what she can only describe as the Warehouse's playfulness as well as patience levels. That is why the sudden shift in atmosphere caused by agent Wells' removal – and the effect it had on the rest of the gang – was acuity felt by the Warehouse. The goofiness had all but disappeared, Artifacts were being brought in an efficient and professional manner, Pete and Myka were quiet and cordial with each other, and Claudia had stopped playing with the Artifacts. The Job was being done.

Warehouse 13 was feeling left out.

It shouldn't have mattered – Warehouses are not human. But there you have it.

Mrs. Frederic never did report the shift she sensed, not when the Warehouse became more…happy, and not when it became more sad. At the time, she told herself that it was only a feeling on her part, that she should not report anything without more concrete evidence. Though truthfully, it was mostly because by then Abbot was consolidating political power above and beyond what a Regent should possess. Mrs. Frederic had become very careful about what information she hands out and to whom.

"A sad state of affairs," she mumbles.

Suddenly the Warehouse sends her an excited vibe and tells her to turn left on the next corridor. She spots Artie strolling down an aisle, looking for all intents and purposes like he's lost.

"Are you alright?"

"Oh, pardon me madam, I seem to be lost. Would you be so kind as to direct me to a Helena G. Wells?" Artie says with a thick British accent.

Mrs. Frederic raises both her eyebrows. Should I be worried? She asks the warehouse.

NO. ALL IS AS IT SHOULD BE.

Very well, she turns her attention to the man in front of her.

"I'm assuming you are not Artie?"

"Uh…Arty, no, not so much – I'm more of a writer, but my sister is a fantastic drafts-lady, highly artistic if I do say so myself. Would you be so kind as to help me locate her? Her name is Helena and I was led to believe that she might…um…be here."

"Ah, then you must be Charles, nice to meet you. I'm guessing that you used your sister's 'Time Machine' to get here?"

"Yes, you are quite right. A most peculiar experience," Charles fidgets and clasps his hands behind his back while craning his chin a bit forward in a very Helena-like manner.

Despite everything, Mrs. Frederic cannot help but grin at the gesture. "Well then, please fallow me, we have much to discus."

The two start climbing the metal steps leading up to the main office.

"By the way, 'Artie' is the name of the man that usually inhabits your current body."

"Oh, what do you mea-"

Charles looks down at his body.

"Good Lord!"

O O O

"How goes the project."

The voice is deep and confidant, intimidating. Gans can't decide if the speaker sounds more like Christopher Lee or Peter O'Toole, either way it has always been successful at making him feel very small.

"Fine, nothing new to tell."

"Is that so?" Abbot turns around from the large bay windows that overlook the central computer hub.

He is a tall man with long spidery limbs, a penchant for black clothes, and a gaunt looking face complete with sunken eye sockets and a bald head – the entire ensemble ending in a somewhat skeletal look. Gans is surprised that Abbot has not grown a goatee yet, so he could twirl it ominously.

"Because I distinctly remember seeing you strolling around the facility with Mrs. Irene Frederic," Abbot continues. "I wasn't aware she was invited, Gans. I don't like people inviting guests to my facility without consulting with me in advance, Gans – I don't like it at all."

Gans gulps and subconsciously backs away as Abbot leaves his perch by the window and advances on him.

"I…I...didn't realize that…Abbot…Irene, she's a Warehouse-speaker, why wouldn't she be allowed to…since when do the Regents hinder the movement of Warehouse-speakers…"

Abbot is very close to Gans, his entire form hunching over the smaller man like some dark predatory bird that's about to rip into a terrified rabbit; but suddenly Abbot stops, his mien retracting into his physical body as if it was just a bad dream. Gans shakes his head at the suddenness of it all.

"Of course Gans," Abbot pats the dazed man on the shoulder, his other hand tucked behind his back in a polite manner. "I was not implying that Mrs. Frederic had no right to enter the facility, I was just suggesting that next time you call me so I can…answer her questions personally."

"Of course Abbot, that makes perfect sense Abbot, I'm sorry I didn't call you when she arrived – It won't happen again."

"Of course Gans. I have the outmost confidence that such mishaps will not repeat themselves."

Gans shakes his head in a hasty 'yes' and turns to leave, he's almost at the room's automatic sliding door when Abbot's voice stops him one last time,

"And Gans, just so we're clear – if you see Irene Frederic or any of her agents around here ever again, you come straight to me."

O O O

'09:31'

Mrs. Frederic tucks her pocket watch back into her shirt.

"So here's the deal-" Claudia starts.

Artie and Leena had just left the room in search of equipment that might be useful for their Great Heist.

"I think the solution to this problem might be much simpler than anybody realizes," Claudia continues.

"How much simpler?" Mrs. Frederic asks.

"Um, on a scale of one to two: one."

"This I got to hear," Pete says as he and Myka hunker down closer to listen to the explanation.

"Well, see, one of the things that bombs a program is what's called an "un-exitable infinite loop" – a protocol that repeats itself forever, usually it happens because of faulty logic of the circular variety."

"Faulty circular logic?" Pete asks. "Wait, don't explain that, it probably involves math and I won't get it anyways."

"No, no, circular logic doesn't only happen in math," Myka says. "For instance: God is the ultimate power, why? Because the bible says so, and the bible is always right, why? Because God wrote it. That was, in a nutshell, the mistake René Descartes made when he was trying to use logic to prove the existence of God."

"So his mistake was that the arguments lead back to each other," Pete concludes, his tone indicating that he's following along thus far.

"Yes," Claudia says. "On their own, each argument is correct as long as the validator is solid, but the validator is not solid, it is supported by the other argument."

"So what happens when it's all mathy in a program?" Pete asks.

"The program crashes. Either the compiler is made to crash the protocol on purpose as a failsafe when it sees that more than X amount of seconds pass on the same loop, or the machine gets stuck running the loop forever and then you have to manually shut it down otherwise it heats up and explodes," Claudia explains.

"Really?"

"Yes. Well, except the exploding part – what really happens is that the computer continues looping the protocol without moving forward in the program until it grows old and runs out of juice."

"So how does this help us?" Mrs. Frederic asks.

"Well, I have a feeling that the programmers that made the code for the Knossos facility were really good. They made sure that there'll never be an infinite loop because it would short circuit the machine and Asterion would be on the loose once again. Only like Descartes, they didn't see the bigger picture; they didn't step back far enough to look at the box from the outside."

"All right, what did we miss?" Mrs. Frederic says.

"Asterion! He's Immortal! Artie said so himself, every time you guys kill him he regenerates himself – he's like, an infinite power source, the perfect opportunity to create an infinite loop on purpose."

"So you're suggesting…" Myka starts,

"Put the Minotaur as the mind-source for his own prison!" Claudia exclaims while waving her hands. "Unlike regular humans – his mind won't fry because it's constantly regenerating itself!" she finishes with a huge grin on her face.

"It can't be that simple. It just can't." Pete shakes his head.

"It isn't," Mrs. Frederic says. "But it's a whole lot more sustainable than anything Abbot or the others have ever come up with. Yes, yes this might actually work..."

"I'd need to change the program a bit, which won't be simple – I'm guessing the Knossos computer runs on a closed circuit," Claudia says. "Also, I'd like to add a cooling mechanism to the hardware just in case it does decide to blow up, I'm sure we can find an Artifact that can do that."

"Then there's the part of moving Asterion from wherever he is to wherever the mind-source thingy is without him going all hungry-hippo" Pete adds.

"Hungry-Hippo?" Myka deadpans at Pete while shaking her head.

"Whaaat? Hippos, Cows, they're kind of the same. Anyways, back to the point: does anyone have any bright ideas how to – peacefully – relocate a monster to his infinite doom?"

Mrs. Frederic stands up.

"I do. It just so happens that I had a very interesting conversation with a very peculiar fellow not 4 hours ago. A fellow by the name of Charles…"

O O O

It is December 8, 1899 and Charles Wells is devastated.

His discussion with Mrs. Frederic the previous day (or many days from now depending from which end of the timeline you're looking at) had been a terrible experience. His sister's fate was more awful than anything his imaginative mind could conjure. The only thing that was keeping him together was Mrs. Frederic's assurance that she would not allow his sister's imprisonment and torture to continue.

"Oh Helena…all these years. You run away so far, or rather so long, and for what?" How futile the human heart's attempts to outrun its own demons – those sly imps who latch on to our mortal psyches, piggybacking on our shoulders with their mouths close to our ears to whisper in our dreams "Run ye' mortal, to the ends of the earth–run! For I am as much a part of you as your muses and your genius, and the more you flee the stronger I grow!"

It is raining outside – how fitting a depressing drizzle that colors everything it touches in muted grays. Charles sips his tea as he stares unfocusedly out into the dreary morning through the window of his kitchenette.

In the beginning, right after he had arrived back at his house from his fantastical conversation at the warehouse – the other warehouse, the 13th one – he had still fantasized about saving his sister on his own. Perhaps even preventing the situation from ever occurring in the first place, after all, he did have a map to a second, more improved "time machine". Alas, his brutally honest brain and his inherent decency had found fault in all the plans he could come up with, systematically sabotaging himself from following anything through.

Charles sighs.

The bottom line is that any sort of meddling on his part could just as much make the situation worse. After all, according to Mrs. Frederic, even Helena had eventually accepted that Christina's death was unpreventable – only with his sister, such a realization and the subsequent depression that followed, lead to incredibly volatile actions. With Charles, it lead to his current state of being: sitting around in boxers and a bathrobe, unshaved and unkempt, drinking tea and woolgathering with a spell of British weather as his sole companion.

"Classic," he sighs.

"Oh Helena, how I wish I was there to help you."

At least that Myka woman was able to talk her down from her dramatics. That too was in Mrs. Frederic's tale, only Charles knew his sister well enough to read between the lines. She must be very important to Helena, I wonder if they are together…

The sound of the house's wooden gate being opened and closed snaps Charles from his musings. He contemplates pulling on some cloths, but ultimately shrugs and goes to the entry to take a peek.

"Oh, oh my!" Charles opens the door in alarm. "Mr. Meriwether do come out of the rain!" Charles waves over the soaking figure. "My sincere apologies for my attire–how do you do by the way? I hope Mrs. Nanaimo explained the circumstances of our previous and most unfortunate meeting-"

"Uh, heeeeey…you must be Charles," the approaching man shouts is he hops the last two steps that lead up to the foyer of Charles' home. He puts out his hand for a shake.

"Ah, I see," Charles looks up at Mr. Meriwether's stupidly hopeful smile. As far as he knows, Mr. Meriwether never smiles. "I assume then that you are not, in fact, Edmund Meriwether?"

"Yeaaah-not-so-much, the name's Pete."

"Another Yankee; then I am guessing that you are here on behalf of Mrs. Frederic?"

"That would be a yes."

A minute goes by as the two of them stand awkwardly at the entrance to Charles' house, Pete swinging his hands and rocking back and forth, heels to toes, while Charles eyes him wearily.

"Would you like to come in?"

"Yes please."

O O O

"Where's Pete and Claudia?" Leena asks when she and Artie come back with their hands laden with gadgets and gizmos galore.

"Pete is recruiting our last operative, Claudia is there to make sure that he doesn't fry the machine," Mrs. Frederic says. "What do you have for us?"

Before Leena can ask any more questions Artie exclaims with an "A-ha!" followed by a clang is he drops his load of Artifacts on the office table. "I'm glad you asked," he gestures towards the pile.

Mrs. Frederic and Myka come closer to the table as Leena puts down her consignment in a more orderly manner.

"I don't think we'll need that much stuff," Myka says as she wearily surveys the mound of knick-knacks.

"You don't," Leena says while she gives Artie the evil eye. "I wanted you and Pete to come with us so I could read your auras and kind of let you and the Warehouse decide what the best match would be, but Artie here went crazy."

"Whhhhat? I'm sure Pete and Myka will find the perfect Artifacts for the job, but there's no harm in being a little extra prepared."

"Except for the weight."

"It's not that heavy, plus I'm sure there's an artifact that can help with that too-"

"Artie, they don't need more Artifacts," Leena says.

"I agree with Leena," Mrs. Frederic adds. "Quality over quantity is the way to go. "

The three's continued bickering sounds muffled to Myka, their voices coming to her as if they were standing in another room; this is because her vision has tunneled and focused on the most beautiful twin pistols she has seen. They call to her – their silvery gleam a wink, their beautifully scrimshawed handles a beckoning. Myka is not even aware when she moves, as if in a trance, inching slowly towards the desk and the revolvers that are laid there upon it like an offering.

She picks up the two Colt SAA's, a.k.a "Peacekeepers", and runs her thumbs over the 19th century patterned engravings that sprawl over the base and hammer.

Mkya looks up when it finally dawns on here that the room had gone silent.

"The twin pistols of Dallas Stoudenmire," Mrs. Frederic says.

"They match," Leena adds with a pleased smile.

O O O

Myka, Artie, Leena and Mrs. Frederic walk into the H.G. section of the warehouse where Helena's prototype time machine is situated. Myka has Stoudenmire's pistols strapped to her thighs in a set of crisscrossing holsters.

"Ah!" Artie shouts as he pulls on his hair with both hands. "Claudia, I told you to stop tinkering with the Artifacts!"

Claudia looks up from the time machine's main control panel, which looks to have been Frankensteined together with other obscure bits of machinery.

"Chill Artie, I needed to find a way to control the length of the 'time-trip' so that Pete doesn't need to stay inside good-old 'testy' here for the full 22 hours and 19 minutes."

"Oh, oh great, you even call this infernal contraption 'testy', this cannot be safe Claudia!" Artie wags his finger under Claudia nose. Claudia for her part just rolls her eyes at the irate man.

"Not Testy as in Snappish," Claudia huffs for good measure, "Testy as in the homophone for the acronym T.C.T.E, you know, Temporal Consciousness Transfer Engine, and anyways, my upgrades are completely safe – I am almost just about nearly sure of it."

Artie narrows his eyes at the teen but is prevented from saying anything further by the sudden groaning of Pete.

"What did I miss?" Pete asks as Claudia rushes to un-strap him from the contraption.

"Myka just found an Artifact that is in alignment with her aura, I think the warehouse wants her to have them," Leena says, swiping her hand in a wide arc towards the other woman's waist.

"Well hello there sheriff," Pete raises his eyebrows. "Nice holsters you carrying there, Myk."

Myka looks down and fiddles with the belt buckles. "Yeah they came with the pistols; they have a special clipsy thing that cocks the guns when I draw them out."

"How very Johnny Concho," Pete tells Myka, he then turns to look at Leena. "What about me? What do I get?"

"Well, you'll need to look over the…loot Artie has procured, I can read your aura and tell you what fits," Leena says.

"Right after you tell us about your visit," Mrs. Frederic interjects; her no-nonsense tone an instant foil for Pete's enthusiasm.

The mood immediately sobers as everyone stiffens in anticipation for what Pete has to say.

"It's all good, he agreed to help," Pete relates. "He knows what to do and when to do it."

Mrs. Frederic takes in a deep and audible breath through her nose. "Very well. Go to sleep people, the plan is set in motion and there is nothing more we can do today."

"This is really happening, tomorrow we strike," Myka whispers softly to herself, but everyone hears her anyways.

O O O

"Great! Myka gets a cool pair of pistols and I get The Rubber Ducky of Fate," Pete laments aloud.

Despite the late hour Pete, Claudia, Myka and Leena are sitting in their pajamas around Leena's kitchen table.

"Not of fate, of luck," Leena corrects as she pats Pete on the back. "Jim Henson's lucky rubber ducky."

"Great, it even rhymes," Pete says with a pout. "Is there a dorkier Artifact out there? I don't think so."

"Hey it-"

"Don't say it Leena."

"-fits."

Claudia snatches the plastic animal from Pete's hand and gives it a squeeze. The iconic high-pitched sound squeaks out.

"It's kind'a warped isn't it?" she says.

"Hey!" Pete grabs the ducky back and holds it to his chest. "Don't make fun of my Artifact, only I'm allowed to do that."

"Not a lot of people remember this," Leena explains. "But the original rubber ducky – the one you're holding Pete – has a longer neck and kind of spookier eyes than the more prevalent design they use today. The sesame-street people originally wanted to use the squattier design, but it couldn't squeak loud enough for the cameras to catch, so they used this one. It became Jim's favorite and was subsequently used in every recording of the famous song." Leena pets the little duck on its head. "They say Jim actually used it when taking his bathes and would hash out all of his ideas to its plastic ducky ears. We believe being around all that talent and creativity embedded it with Artifact powers."

"Hear that Claudia? My ducky knows all of Jim Henson's secrets," Pete gives it two squeezes and puts it to his ear. "What's that ducky? Bert and Ernie are more than just good friends?" Pete lowers the duck and stares at it in disappointment. "You're no good Ducky, everybody knows that."

"Goof," Myka taps the back of Pete's neck as she rises from her chair. "I'm going to try to sleep, see you all in-" she looks at her watch, "ugh, four hours."

The rest of the team stands up, says their goodnights, and shuffle to their respective accommodations as well.

"Hey Myka, wait up," Pete catches Myka just before she enters her room. "Can we talk for a sec?"

"Yeah sure, come on in."

Myka walks over to her bed and fiddles with her teddy bear, arranging and re-arranging it. Pete stands awkwardly in the middle of the room.

When a while passes without either of them speaking, Myka takes the initiative. "Look, about the last year-" she starts but is abruptly cut off by Pete ambushing her with a bear-hug.

Myka stiffens initially but after a few seconds she relaxes and hugs Pete back, laying her head on his shoulder. Pete squeezes her tighter.

"I'm really glad your back," he says softly.

"Love ya', Pete."

"Love ya' back," he murmurs into her hair. "Don't worry, we'll get her back."

They stay like that for a long while. Myka notices that her eyes are leaking but Pete doesn't seem to mind.

After they detach they spend another hour goofing around, Pete playing with his rubber ducky, and Myka filling the many little loops on her holster-belts with bullets. Eventually Claudia joins in, attracted to the room by the high-pitched sounds of Pete's new toy. She braids Myka's hair.

When they finally leave, Myka feels incredibly grounded, incredibly at peace – just incredibly there. She falls asleep immediately. Mercifully, when morning arrives, Artie decides to let the entire team sleep in while he and Mrs. Frederic go over their plan once more.