Baby steps

[moonshadows]

Something was wrong. A pulling where there should be no pulling, resisting where there should be nothing to resist. Unhappiness…discomfort. There shouldn’t be discomfort. A low rumble came from the phonograph, resonated back through the microphone. Why…was…there…pulling? Anger, tugging back against the resistance. Alarm from multiple artifacts, including Artie.

“What-what the hell…?” Habitual anger covered the alarm. “Can’t I read a book for five minutes?”

A plaintive sound from the phonograph. This hurt, and he was angry at…? The shabti was moved into the office to stare mournfully as he rattled down the stairs.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I’m a bad artifact.” He hurried over to give the figure a hug. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Not know. Wrong. Pulling. Hurt.”

“O-okay, let’s not panic. Let’s just…call in some help.” He dove for his communication artifact. “Claudia. Where are you? Is Steve with you?”

“Yes. We’re in the B and B. Artie, what’s wrong?”

Fingers fluttered nervously over his face. “We have a…situation. At the Warehouse.”

“A situation?”

“A situation,” echoed Abigail as she entered the room. “That sounds bad.”

“Artie?” Claudia asked warily.

“Get over here. Bring her and Steve. Don’t dawdle.”

“Artie, are you sure about that?” She sounded uncomfortable.

“Did I stutter? Get. Over. Here.”

“On our way,” Steve said crisply.

The shabti turned towards the door as the people-artifacts crossed into sensing range, making Artie look up from his screen.

“What is it?”

“Artifacts come.”

Brief, momentary wonder. “You can sense them?”

“Yes.”

They hurried through the door a minute later.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” Claudia demanded, on edge and close to panic.

“Hurt. Pulling. Wrong.” The whine coming from the phonograph inched louder.

Abigail got her first look at the ebony figure and stared. “What’s that?”

“Artifact Mrs. Frederic activated to give us an extra pair of hands around here,” Claudia snapped, edging away from her.

Steve looked at Claudia oddly before turning to the shabti. “Can you tell us where the pulling is?”

“No.”

“Amazing! It can talk?”

“It’s a funerary figurine created to be a servant for Queen Nefertari in her afterlife, of course it can talk.” Artie was on edge as well, distressed by the situation. “Can you show us, on the map, where the pulling is? You have to be literal with it,” he added for Abigail’s benefit.

The ebony figure moved over to the map, moved it, and pointed. The carved finger hovered over the surface rather than touching it.

“That’s the Yukon sector,” Artie muttered. “B-but…you’re not touching the map. The pulling…is it happening near the ceiling?”

Good artifact, providing words! “Yes.”

Another tug against the resistance; alarm from all artifacts. No, bad. Redirect the energy instead of pulling.

“What was that?” Steve demanded, also angry to cover fear.

“Claudia! Confirm that we keep the Golden Spike in the Yukon sector.”

“On it.” Keys tapping. “We do. Or at least, it should be there. Artie, the entire artifact removal detection system has gone haywire.”

“I was afraid of that,” he sighed. “And…not really surprised.”

Abigail was beginning to be afraid, now. “What do you mean by that? What’s going on, are we under attack?”

Artie rubbed his eyes. “Okay. Listen. The Warehouse is alive. Sh-sh! Don’t interrupt. The Warehouse is alive, and we just recently installed this device-” he pointed at the phonograph, which was making hissing, crackling sounds along with the whine, “-to monitor its…mood…and give us some auditory feedback. Right now, it’s very distressed and by very, I mean so distressed that it’s knocking out nonessential electrical systems because its distress is acting as a jamming signal. Now. We need eyes down in the Yukon sector to confirm what I’m afraid is happening.”

“I’ll go,” Claudia said, already throwing herself out of the chair.

“No, you will not!” Artie pointed at Steve. “Abigail and I will go, along with the shabti. You and Steve get down to the Schoningen Armory and put something together that can potentially neutralize an artifact from a significant distance, then meet us there. Go, go!”

Claudia and Steve glanced at the shabti. The phonograph squealed, still hissing and crackling. They went.

“This way,” Artie ordered, grabbing his bag in one hand and the shabti’s wrist in the other.

“The Warehouse is alive,” Abigail breathed in wonder as they hurried down aisles.

“Alive, and in pain.”

“What could possibly make a building feel pain?”

“Pulling!”

“Exactly,” Artie said, trying and failing to not find amusement in the way Abigail jumped. “If I’m right, the Golden Spike from the Trans-Continental Railway somehow got sucked into one of the Warehouse’s automatic expansion joints. That would be the pulling.”

Wariness. “So why does a funerary figurine know what’s going on with the Warehouse?”

“You’d have to ask Mrs. Frederic,” he replied in a deliberate evasion. “Come on, the Warehouse is trying to hold back, but she won’t be able to keep it up much longer.”

“Hold what back?” They were running now.

“Not pull.” Too much energy, but pulling would alarm the artifacts. A bolt of golden light shot out instead, looking for a ground to absorb the excess and relieve the tension a bit.

“That earthquake we felt, that was the Warehouse fighting back against the pulling?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s trying to hold back. Why would it do that?” Curiosity was smothering fear. Ahead, Artie was cursing silently.

“Not want hurt artifacts.”

“The Warehouse is aware of the consequences of its own actions!” She was excited now.

Artie snapped, “Look, we can discuss this when those consequences aren’t something we have to worry about! Finally, we’re here.” Puffing, he reached into his bag and asked, and an artifact answered. He pulled out a spyglass. It didn’t take more than a minute of peering into it before he handed it to Abigail. “I was right. I hate it when I’m right.”

Steve and Claudia ran up as she was looking through the spyglass.

“Good, you’re here. We’ve found the problem. What have you got?”

“We found an old RPG launcher and pressure-loaded the shells with neutralizer. It’ll neutralize anything within a twenty-foot blast radius.”

Claudia presented it, flickers of smug pride warring with fear and panic. “Behold: the goozooka.”

Artie was amused, but tried not to show it. “You’re turning into the goo queen, you know that, right? Look, look, look, see the disturbance up there? You’re going to have to be quick.”

“Why?” Steve asked as he took the goozooka. “What am I shooting at?”

“Just shoot. I’ll tell you when the artifact’s been neutralized.”

Steve went down on one knee, but the tension…the tension was building…don’t pull, don’t scare the artifacts…redirect the energy again. Another bolt of yellow light shot away from the crackling storm of frustrated energy, seeking someplace that wasn’t saturated. It found Claudia, as the other had. Future Caretaker could hold the energy. The shell was fired; it shot towards the tension like a tiny purple star-

-and exploded on the edge of the tornado that had formed out of pull and counter-pull.

“Crap!” Disappointment and muted fear from Claudia. “I was so proud of that thing.” She pulled a second shell out of a shoulder holster. “That’s why we made two.”

 “We need higher ground!” Artie led the way to a tall artifact, a wooden ladder that was sullenly frustrated it had never killed anyone, rambling about expansion joints and mass and energy. The words were mere noise.

It was getting harder to not pull back. Discharging another bolt only helped a little.

Steve took the gazooka and began climbing the ladder. He wasn’t nearly close enough to shoot, but too far to survive a fall, when the ladder revolted. The gun and several broken rungs clattered to the floor, where Artie fell over one and yelped in pain. Steve clung to the traitorous ladder, safe for the moment.

“Artie hurt.”

“No, I’m not. Ow! Y-yes, I’m hurt, but it’s not your fault. I’ll be fine. We have to fix you first. Claudia! You and Abigail will have to do it. Without high ground, you’ll have to get right underneath that spike and shoot…straight up through the vortex. Ow! Don’t miss.”

“Thanks,” Claudia muttered, grabbing the gun and stalking off.

Abigail followed her, confused and concerned. The shabti didn’t move, except to sit beside Artie and keen softly.

“Shh, shh, I’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. You’re doing very well.” Awkwardly, he scooted over to hug it.

“Hurt.”

“I know it hurts. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about the spike being attracted to the expansion joints. I’ll put it in a sturdy box when this is all over, I promise. Just hold on a little longer, okay?”

Rocking, keening. Don’t pull. Don’t pull. Discharge.

“Vor der Kaserne,” Artie sang softly, roughly, “vor dem großen Tor.”

Claudia was upset. Abigail was afraid and confused and frustrated.

“Steht’ne Laterne, und steht sie noch davor.”

Claudia was determined. Hope and fear and devotion crystallized.

“Dort wollen wir uns wiedersehen, bei der Laterne wollen wir stehen.”

Calm, in the middle of pain. Calm, as the purple star climbed and exploded.

“Wie einst, Lili Marlene.”

The pulling stopped. The pain stopped. Everything sighed in relief that crashed out from the center like an intangible tidal wave.

“Mit dir, Lili Marlene,” whispered Artie.

Rattling; Steve jumped the last few feet to the floor and kicked viciously at the broken wood. “Hey, looks like Claud did it. You okay?”

“Not really. I can’t walk on this ankle.”

“I wasn’t asking you.” Steve grinned at him to take the sting out, then knelt by the shabti. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. No pull.”

“Alright, great. Listen, I’m gonna help Artie get back to the office and see if he needs Dr. Vanessa to come visit. Let the other two know, okay?”

“Yes.”

Elation from Abigail. Relief tinged with pain from Artie. Calm joy from Steve. And from Claudia…

Pride. Acceptance. Belonging. Accomplishment. Love. Caretaker.

I know, whispered the ripple from Mrs. Frederic. Patience.

The shabti moved to just behind Abigail as Claudia came around the corner, gun on one shoulder and golden spike in the other hand, splattered with neutralizer and exultant in her victory. There had been a problem, a serious problem, and she had fixed it. Not the Regents, not Mrs. Frederic, not Artie. She had.

“I’m gonna need a Silkwood shower,” she announced grandly, simmering with emotion just barely contained by her skin.

The shabti ran up and hugged her tightly. “Good Claudia, good Caretaker, fix Warehouse. No hurt. Claudia fix. Claudia fix Warehouse.”

“Hey, not in front of the shrink,” she joked. “I love you, too. Why do I smell apples?”

“Love you too,” repeated the shabti.

“I was joking! You actually…” Claudia dropped the gun and hugged back. “Good Warehouse. No more shocking me in the butt though, okay?”

“Hurt Claudia?”

It had, but that was fading. “Nah. I was just afraid you were mad at me for something.” Claudia disentangled herself. “You were trying to ground excess energy, weren’t you? I’d rather have my butt get zapped than worry about earthquakes in here. Hey, is Artie okay?”

“Steve take to office. Vanessa come maybe.”

Quiet joy at that thought, desire to see Artie happy. “Great. I’m gonna go put these back where they belong and get cleaned up. Take Abigail back to the office for me?”

“Yes.”

Abigail was waiting patiently for the shabti, watching Claudia walk away with more than a hint of swagger to her hips. “So,” she said in a vaguely challenging way. “You’re going to take me back to the office.”

“Yes.”

She followed obediently, but her emotions were excited and determined. “Claudia will make an amazing Caretaker.”

“Yes.”

“She was afraid you were mad at her. She thought passing through the energy barrier would kill her.”

“No. Like Claudia.”

“You know…Artie was talking to you like he was talking directly to the Warehouse.”

Not a question or a command; no response required.

“I think it’s pretty amazing that the Warehouse exercised restraint and demonstrated awareness of the consequences of its actions as well as concern for the artifacts inside.”

No response required.

Abigail thought for a long minute. “Do you like me?”

“Not yet.”

That surprised her. “Not…yet. You expect to like me? Why?”

“Abigail people-artifact-fixing artifact. Fix Artie. Like Artie.”

“Okay, hold up.” She stopped, hands on her hips. “I need you to be a little more clear because I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”

The shabti stopped. One carved finger pointed to an object on a shelf. “Artifact.” The finger swung around to Abigail. “People-artifact.”

“We just call those people,” she said dryly.

Back to the object on the shelf. “Make dry.” Abigail leaned in to read the card, then nodded. The shabti pointed at her again. “Fix hurt people-artifacts.”

“That’s…a bit simplistic, but in essence, correct.”

“Fix Artie.”

“I’m trying,” she said softly. “It’s going to take time, and it’s going to take him wanting to be fixed, but I’ll do everything I can. Are you saying that you’re withholding judgment until you have more information, but you anticipate liking me because you like Artie and I’m here to help him?”

“Yes.” Really, was that so hard?

Heavy uneasiness flowed around Abigail. “You’re not just an artifact. You’re a thinking, reasoning entity with the ability to grasp abstract concepts, be aware of cause and effect, and exhibit self-control while in pain. I assume Artie and Claudia and the others all know this?”

Was that a question? “Yes.”

“Does Mrs. Frederic know?”

“Yes.”

“Do the Regents know?”

The shabti was silent for a long moment. Ripples and eddies were tasted. “Other Regents?”

Shock and a small amount of alarm. “How did you know that?”

Silence.

“None of the other Regents know, then. Okay. Why?”

“Not tell.”

“Why?”

“Not like,” the shabti snarled. “Abigail come.”

She was silent the entire way back to the office.

Claudia looked up as the door opened. “Oh, crap, she’s angry again. Artie?”

He snorted. “You weren’t listening. She’s been angry. What happened?”

“Abigail know.”

Silence.

“Th-that’s probably my fault,” Artie said. “I was worried, I wasn’t watching what I was saying.”

“She’s not just an artifact, is she?” Abigail asked suddenly. “Somehow, she’s the Warehouse.”

Artie sighed. “That about sums it up, yes. The shabti is a vehicle piloted by the Warehouse, and if you have any other questions regarding her, you can take them up with Mrs. Frederic.”

Shifting, wariness. “I’ll do that. Thank you.” Abigail began to walk towards the other door, then stopped and looked at the shabti. “Thank you for not mentioning the other part. I won’t tell the Regents.”

Confusion and curiosity from the favored artifacts. The shabti just nodded. “Good artifact.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said dryly. Then she left.

 

Irene Frederic was waiting on the couch at Leena’s, with a cup of tea, when Abigail walked in. It wasn’t as much of a surprise as it could have been.

“Irene. I’m glad you’re here; I think we need to talk.”

“Yes,” she agreed while the other woman sat down. “We do.”

“You know what just happened at the Warehouse?”

Sip. “I got the gist of it, yes.”

“Claudia’s going to make an amazing Caretaker.”

Sip. “I’m glad you agree.”

Abigail took a deep breath. “The Warehouse is alive.”

“Very perceptive of you.”

“…alive, and sentient, with more advanced cognitive abilities than you’ve given us reason to believe.”

Mrs. Frederic looked at her in that deeply intense way that made Abigail wonder if she had…other senses…that she was using. “And how did you come to this conclusion?”

“I talked to her. Irene, she told me that she anticipated liking me purely because I was here to help Artie through his grief.”

One dark eyebrow raised eloquently. “Did she say that exactly?”

“Not exactly, no.” Abigail shook her head. “She said Abigail people-artifact-fixing artifact, fix Artie, like Artie. Then she provided an explanation for her terminology when I expressed confusion. She demonstrated restraint while in pain. This is a living, thinking entity with reasoning and problem-solving skills, not some…capricious animalistic piece of architecture! The Regents…”

“The Regents don’t need to know,” the older woman said in an iron tone. “Not yet.”

Abigail stared. “What are you planning?”

Sip. “I’m not planning anything except ensuring the status quo remains in place until my successor is ready to take up her responsibilities.” A tiny smile. “Although…I do have a question for the Keeper. If you happen to know which Regent that is.”

“You know I can’t tell you that,” the therapist answered blandly, “but I can pass the question on.”

“Mm, do that, please. The question is simple: What happened to the Caretaker of Warehouse Nine?”

Abigail frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a simple question.”

“Oh, but it is,” Mrs. Frederic said with false levity. “It’s the answer that will be complex.” She set her teacup down. “If the Keeper does manage to find the answer, it need not necessarily be brought to me. After all, the question came from the Warehouse. I’m just the messenger.”

Adwin Kosan wasn’t going to like this, Abigail thought, covering her eyes briefly to sigh. If he ever found out, of course. When she opened them again, it wasn’t surprising in the least that she was alone.