7

SOUTH DAKOTA

LEENA'S BED AND BREAKFAST

Claudia watched as Artie knelt on the floor in Pete's room, messing around with one of the electrical outlets. He was rigging up an adapter for the vintage metal-framed lantern.

"What exactly is that thing?" she asked.

"The portside light from the RMS Empress of Ireland." He tested his mechanical fussing. The red light flared into life. "She collided with another ship in a thick fog and sank. A lot of people died. Very bad." Grunting, he stood. With the lantern connected to an extension cord, he was able to carry it over to Pete and Myka, who continued to sit and stare vacantly at the Lava lamp. "I'm hoping it will get through to Pete and Myka. Pierce through whatever it is that they're seeing, like a sort of signal flare."

Artie looked towards Claudia, his face hidden by the shield of the welding helmet. "Reach into my bag," he said, "there at your feet. Carefully! Carefully reach in and get the magnifying glass. Don't touch anything else in there."

"Alright," she said, "magnifying glass. Got it." She poked through the bag, found the ordinary looking magnifying glass and withdrew it.

"Give it here, give it here," said Artie, holding the lantern in one hand and extending the other towards Claudia.

"What is this?" she asked, grinning. "Let me guess. Sherlock Holmes's magnifying glass?"

"Holmes is just a fictional character," Artie said curtly.

"Yeah, obviously, gramps. Conan Doyle, then?" Artie snatched it from her hand. "What's it do?"

"It's a magnifying glass," he grumbled. "It magnifies things. Get back in the hallway. I don't want you looking at that Lava lamp accidentally."

"Artie, I can help."

He grumbled some more, looking at the lantern he carried in one hand and the magnifying glass in the other. Behind and to his right, the Lava lamp glowed and flowed, sitting atop Pete's nightstand. It didn't seem to possess any sort of compulsion power, such as urging one to gaze upon it. Being near it seemed safe enough, so long as one didn't look at it.

"Alright, alright," Artie said. "Look at me, Claudia. At me." She peeked around the doorframe, met Artie's glare. "Close your eyes." She did so. "Keep them closed. And now come into the room. Slowly, that's it. Step forward. Another step."

He guided her step by step until she reached the wall beside the nightstand and the Lava lamp. There, he had her turn her back to the lamp and kneel down against the wall. "Reach out," he told her. "Carefully." At Artie's direction, her fingers touched the wall, then brushed against an electrical cord. "Easy," Artie said. "That's the cord for the Lava lamp. When I tell you, not before, you unplug it."

"What are you going to do?"

Artie adjusted the shield on the welder's helmet, and got himself into position in front of Pete and Myka. He raised the Empress of Ireland's Portside Light.

"Articus? What are you doing?"

"Keep your eyes closed," Artie warned her. "Unplug the lamp when I say so."

The red glow from the ship's light shone on everything in the room, Pete and Myka included. But too diffused. It needed to be focused. Letting out a cautious breath, Artie raised the magnifying glass. He aimed the intense spot of red light that passed through it towards Myka.

# # #

SOUTH DAKOTA

NOT YET LEENA'S BED AND BREAKFAST

"It's just like the Leena's we know," said Pete. "Only old-timey." He stepped down off the porch and approached the horse and buggy where Myka rested. "There's no one here, though, and no Lava lamp either. How are you holding up, Mykes?"

"Holding up," she murmured.

"Mykes?" With concern, Pete hurriedly climbed up beside her. "You okay, Mykes?"

"Don't feel so good."

"Hang on. If the bed and breakfast is here, then the Warehouse is too. Maybe Artie and Claud won't be there. But somebody will be. We'll fix this." Taking the reins, he urged the horse forward. "Go! Come on," he told it. "Mush. Mush. Kee-ya!" The buggy began crunching over the rocky ground. "There," said Pete, satisfied. "This isn't so hard.

"You say 'mush' to sled dogs," Myka said weakly beside him.

He laughed, and she managed a smile.

They moved away from the bed and breakfast, kicking up a cloud of dust, cutting across the empty South Dakota landscape towards the Warehouse.

# # #

"It's there! Mykes! It's there. Oh man, am I glad to see the Warehouse." The horse brought the buggy around the curve of a hill, and then started across the flat plain. Pete urged it on. They sped over the hard bumpy ground towards the entrance to the Warehouse. "Mykes?"

On the bench beside him, Myka sat with her head leaning to the side. She was awake, eyes staring ahead at the barren rocky landscape and the familiar, massive metal structure looming ahead. "I see it," she whispered.

The horse slowed on its own as they approached the Warehouse, and pulling on the reins, Pete brought it to a halt.

He hopped off the buggy, calling out, "Hello?" He rushed over and began to bang on the Warehouse door. "Hello? Is anybody there?" His banging echoed hollowly, unanswered. The wind whipped dust through the air.

"Pete."

He turned around in time to see Myka, who had climbed down from the buggy and was walking haltingly towards him, suddenly collapse onto the ground.

"Myka!" He raced to where his partner lay on the hard earth. "Myka!" He rolled her onto her back and looked down at her wide-open, empty eyes.

She let out a long, slow breath. "Pete." Her voice was a ragged whisper.

"Help!" called Pete. "Artie! Anybody! Help us!" He raised his head, looked desperately around for something or someone that could help him to help Myka. "Somebody, please—"

Any further words died on his lips. Stunned, Pete sat heavily on the hard ground beside Myka.

The Warehouse was gone.

Where it should have been—where it had been just a moment earlier—there was only the flat plain and the hard brown hills beyond. The Warehouse was simply gone, as if it had never existed.

"No," said Pete, staggering to his feet. "No, no, no." He stumbled over to where he'd just been banging on the metal door. The entrance to the Warehouse. It was no longer there. The entire structure was just . . . gone.

Something fluttering on the ground caught his attention. He walked quickly over and picked up the scrap of paper. On it were printed, block letters.

WAREHOUSE 13

Pete staggered back. Somehow, the Warehouse had vanished, and in its place, this slip of paper was all that remained.

He turned his head in time to see the horse and buggy begin to dematerialize before his eyes. Breaking down into component shapes and colors and finally into molecules and atoms too small to see, winking out of existence as he watched. The hills beyond became visible, the sky and the earth. The buggy and the horse were gone.

He rushed over, found another slip of paper on the ground where they had been.

HORSE AND BUGGY

"Mykes!" he breathed, staring at the printed words. "Myka." He turned his head. "I don't—"

He let out a wail of frustration and agony. The spot on the ground where Myka had been lying was empty. There was no sign of his partner. No sign of anyone or anything. Not even a slip of paper left in her place. "No!" He turned his face upwards, cried out to the sky above. "Myka!"

And then he saw it.

The red beam of light, coming right for him from somewhere far away, far above the Earth. It struck him with tangible force, piercing his skull, blinding him with its brilliance, filling his head with knowledge and information.

He understood. All of it. What was real, what was illusion. The purpose of everything, the great deception. The hidden reality of where he was, where they all were, and his identity. Who he was. Pete.

Someone was leaning over him now, calling his name.

"Pete!"

Someone with dark hair. A familiar, concerned face. A dangling necklace, a pair of intersecting curved lines shaped like—

"Pete! Can you hear me?"

He blinked.

"Pete?"

"Claudia?" He rubbed his eyes.

"Yeah," she said, smiling and squeezing back tears. "It's me."

"Where'd your fish go?" he asked, dazed, looking at her bare neck.

"My what?"

"Your hair," he said. "It's red."

"What other color would it be?"

"I don't know. Black."

"Black?" She touched her hair with one hand. "Hmm. I don't know. Emo much?"

She grinned and Pete laughed. He stopped suddenly. "Myka?!"

"Here, Pete." He turned his head and found Myka resting comfortably, leaning back against the edge of his bed. Artie was kneeling beside her, one hand on her shoulder. On his head, Artie was wearing a bizarre helmet with a darkened face shield that was currently raised. "I'm fine," said Myka. "We're back at Leena's."

"This is my room," said Pete, looking around. "Ah!" He noticed the Lava lamp, sitting dark now that it was unplugged. The wax inside was beginning to settle towards the bottom. "That thing," he said, pointing. "It's an artifact."

"Oh, we know," said Claudia. "It belonged to—"

"Philip K. Dick," Pete breathed. "So none of it really happened?" He shared a look with Myka.

"What exactly happened to you two?" asked Claudia. "What did it do to you?"

"Oh man," said Pete. "Where to start? A guy exploded because he was actually a robot from outer space, or maybe he wasn't. Then a guy decided to act out Bladerunner, shooting people he thought were androids. Then the cops went all Minority Report on some guy. Myka and I had our lives totally erased and had to go on the run. You were there, Claudia. And you Artie. You sent us that message about the spray can."

Artie scrunched up his brow. "Spray can? What spray can?"

"That was after time started going backwards. Before that, California was taken over by the Japanese. And Myka"—Pete looked at his partner—"she was sick."

"But I'm better now, Pete."

"Then everything disappeared," he continued. "The Warehouse. The horse and buggy."

"Horse and buggy?" asked Claudia.

"And all that was left were these slips of paper that said the name of the thing that was gone."

"Sounds like you were taking a serious tour through all of PKD's stories," said Claudia, eyes wide. "I've read pretty much everything he ever wrote."

"Right," said Pete, "when you were in the psych hospital."

"Yeah," said Claudia, confused. "How did you know that? Have I mentioned PKD before? He's like—"

Pete spoke the words with her: "—required reading."

Claudia stared, mouth open. "Okay, how did you—?"

"Ahem," said Artie. He patted Myka on the arm, and then stood. "I believe it's time to bag this artifact," he said, motioning towards the Lava lamp. "Pete? Myka? Which of you two wants to do the honor?"

The two Agents looked at one another. "It's my bad," said Pete, sighing. "I'm the one who brought it here." He stood and walked to the nightstand. Claudia handed him one of the neutralizing artifact bags. "Thank you, Artie. Claudia. For getting us out of there. See, this is why I don't read books, you guys. I'm just glad everyone's okay. I'm glad you're okay, Mykes." He picked up the Lava lamp and held it over the open bag.

"It's alright, Pete," said Myka, climbing unsteadily to her feet. "I was right, by the way."

"About what?"

"About the artifact. About Berkeley. It wasn't just a coincidence that we had to go there again."

"Oh no," said Artie, beside her. "There's no such thing. Nothing is ever just a coincidence."

"See?" said Myka, pleased.

"Except for when it is."

Groaning, Myka said, "Artie!"

Claudia laughed, Artie grinned, and Pete dropped the Lava lamp into the bag, generating a flash and a shower of sparks.

"Alright," he said, holding the bag up, "it's over. Now everyone get out of my room. Come on, give a guy his space."

"I can't believe I put up with the man-smell for as long as I did," said Claudia, hurrying out.

"The masculine ooze, you mean? You really need to clean up in here, Pete," said Myka, exiting.

"Hey," Pete called after her, "you made a little kid cry in there, you know."

"Alright, everyone," growled Artie, "enough talking. Get your butts over to the Warehouse. Let's go. Go! We're behind now on inventory, thanks to Pete and Myka's little science fiction adventure."

"Aw man, Artie," said Pete, following the others from his room. "You mean that part was real? Inventory?"

THE END