Not With a Bang (2/??)
Title: Not With a Bang
Author: flamingo_bandit
Fandom: Warehouse 13/Doctor Who crossover
Genre: General, humor
Spoilers: 1x07 “Burnout” to be on the safe side; the 1996 Doctor Who TV movie, if that counts as a spoiler
Ships: Well, none on purpose.
Rating: PG so far
Warnings: Language, implied gore, obvious lack of beta.
Summary: This time, Pete and Myka aren’t the only ones hunting down an artifact. Chapter 2 of, uh, several.
Chapter One is here.
---
There is a vague reference to the EDA novel Vampire Science--not to its plot, as it's not in the canon I'm using, but to some of the background discussed therein. It’s not really a big deal, but it is a really good book, so. Yeah. Ch-ch-ch-check it out.
Can you spot the item called "Thingy McTimelorddevice" in the outline? I fail technobabble forever.
Chapter Two
They faced each other, like a standoff in an old Western. Except Pete and Myka were the only ones on guard; the Doctor tilted his head, still smiling beatifically.
“Uh, yeah,” Pete said after a long moment, nonplussed.
“People tend to look for the stranger poking around a crime scene,” she said pointedly, hand automatically dropping to rest on her gun.
The man-the Doctor?-followed her hand with his eyes, then simply shook his head. “I think we have a slight misunderstanding.” He straightened his coat unnecessarily. “I’d like to help. But there are . . . there’s something you may not understand about this case, I suspect. I don’t entirely either, of course.”
“What are you-” A drop of rain splattered onto Myka’s hand, and she looked up. Hazy clouds had crept in, filtering the sunlight in splotches.
“Perhaps inside?” suggested the Doctor, raising his eyebrows. “There’s a café just up there. Please.” He gestured ahead of him, for all the world like a man greeting a guest and not at all like a stranger in the middle of a murder investigation.
“Um,” Myka said, but Pete shrugged and went ahead, and she trusted his instincts well enough to follow.
The restaurant was empty except the middle-aged waitress at the café counter. The Doctor ignored the barstools in favor of a cramped booth in a corner, ordering a cup of tea before he sat. “Would you care for something?” he offered Pete and Myka, who wedged together in the seat across the table from him.
“We could use some explanation,” Myka replied, folding her arms and inadvertently jostling Pete in the process.
The Doctor chuckled, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs under him, Indian-style. He seemed about to speak, but instead graciously thanked the waitress dropping off a cup full of hot water, with a dry teabag balanced on the saucer. He picked up the bag, face dropping for a moment as though he’d expected something better, then shrugged and plopped it, splashing hot water onto the table. “What would you like to discuss first?” He swished the teabag in his mug. “I could tell you right off that I’m actually not remotely connected with Samuel Haugen’s death, but somehow I doubt you’d believe me so far, so perhaps I’ll save that for later. Pete, would you mind handing me a, ah, a sugar packet, please?”
Myka grabbed Pete’s arm, stopping him mid-reach, eyes on the Doctor. “How did you know his name was Pete?”
Pete looked startled, pulling his hand back. “I never told you that, did I?”
Another smile blossomed over the Doctor’s face. “You just did.” His eyes glittered green, unreadable. “The sugar, please?”
Pete and Myka exchanged a long, wary look.
“Oh, come now. If I were the murderer, do you really think I’m going to-to tear out your jugular in the middle of a family dining establishment?” He reached across the table, plucking up a white packet. “All right, then. Tell me, what do you want to know?”
“Why you’re here,” Myka said briskly. “What you know about the-the situation.”
“Oh, that. Well.” He twirled the string on his teabag. “I’m sort of here by accident, to be honest. I was-well, travelling, and wound up here somewhat by mistake. I discovered an investigation and was . . . curious.”
“Curious,” repeated Myka, staring now. The Doctor didn’t seem to notice, concentrating on stirring his cup.
“And you just jumped right in?” Pete sounded as bewildered as Myka felt, though she’d never have admitted it.
The Doctor shifted for a moment in his seat. “All right, I thought it was something else and felt I needed to look around. It wasn’t what I expected, but it’s still quite a bit more than the police think it is, so I’ve stayed. Are you sure you won’t have a cup of coffee?”
“Yes,” Myka answered tersely, “we’re sure.”
“Actually,” Pete started, but she fixed him with a steady look. “Yeah, we’re sure. Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, so what did you think it was when you got here, exactly?”
“Oh, vampires, of course, didn’t I say?” The Doctor glanced up at a crew of old men entering, shaking off their umbrellas. “It’s not, don’t worry,” he assured the agents, catching and misreading their expressions. “But it’s still a bit peculiar, isn’t it? When I spoke with the coroner he said they thought it was a bear attack at first, except of course there aren’t bears in this part of the country, and that’s certainly unusual. And some of the readings I got, well.” He shook his head.
“Pete?” Myka said, still staring at the Doctor. “Could I have a word? Now?”
“Uh-huh,” Pete agreed, and they squeezed themselves back out of the booth and escaping to the other side of the room.
“Pete, this guy is nuts,” she hissed at him as soon as the Doctor was out of earshot.
“Tch, yeah,” Pete agreed. “But it’s a cool kind of nuts, don’t you think?”
Myka stared at him now, astounded. “No, I don’t think. He’s interfering with an investigation, Pete, he can’t-”
“Don’t you think he might have something to offer?” Pete crossed his arms. “Look, Artie thought he was probably okay, and you heard what the Doctor said. There were readings, Myka. That sounds . . .”
“Insane?”
“Significant, I was going to say. Look,” he said, shifting his weight onto his other foot. “He knows more than he’s letting on. He’s done everything except say, ‘Hey, there’s a funny artifact around here, and I bet I can find it.’”
Myka started to reply, but the Doctor was looking up at them, and she groaned. “Fine. Fine, we’ll see what he has to say. But I still say-”
“He’s nuts. Okay. Noted.” He tilted his head back to the booth, and they rejoined the other man.
He sipped his tea, then choked. “There’s a reason I usually go to England,” he remarked, making a face at the mug. “I hope you’ve come to a consensus on my grasp of sanity. Where were we?”
“Mister . . . uh . . . Doctor,” Myka said. “We were wondering-”
“These readings you mentioned,” Pete interrupted, leaning forward. “What can you tell us about that?”
The Doctor folded his hands together. “Sometimes there are items that don’t necessarily belong . . . but it looks like you know more about that than I gave you credit for. But they’ll register differently on some of my equipment-anachronistic technology, sometimes, although this time I believe it’s a mind control device of some sort. A subtle one, for the most part, until recent events. I don’t know much more, except that it’s here, and it’s dangerous.” He studied their faces. “And, in fact, I think I’d like to return to looking for it, and I’m sure you would as well. The real question,” he continued, rising with a peculiar grace, “is whether you would join me or avoid me.”
He didn’t await an answer, strolling across the room to pay for his cup of tea.
“See?” Pete asked, sounding like a ten-year-old who’d just been proven right. “He knows stuff. Mind control?”
Myka simply rolled her eyes, sliding out of the seat again to rejoin the Doctor. He was digging through his pockets. “I’m sure I have it,” he said, setting a brass pocket watch, several gold coins, and what looked like a reptile egg on the counter. “Right!” He handed the woman a severely crumpled five dollar bill, told her to keep the change, and headed towards the door. “So, Myka, what can you tell me?”
“First,” she said, “that’s Agent Bering. Second, not much.”
“That’s a pity. I don’t suppose . . .”
“Wait.” She held up a hand, stopping him.
The Doctor slowed beside her, staring ahead through the rain. “Now, that’s interesting,” he said, voice low.
Myka glanced back at him, pushing wet hair from her face. “You saw that?”
“Saw what?” Pete asked, catching up to them.
“Something moving. Maybe,” she added, hand again reaching for her weapon, stepping forward. “It’s gone now.”
Pete looked in the direction, shoulders squared. “Suspect?”
“It wasn’t a person,” Myka said, walking cautiously in that direction. “It looked like an animal.”
“Like a bear,” the Doctor finished for her. “But not quite. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, although . . .”
Myka looked up. “You can’t have gotten that good of a look.”
“Perhaps not,” he said, voice still low. He took a few steps forward, cautious, then suddenly he was running, splashing through puddles, and without a word Pete and Myka tore after him.
“What are you-?” Myka started, but the Doctor stopped abruptly then, kneeling on the sidewalk, coat spreading out over the cement, and Pete took another step forward.
“What is that?” Pete said, kneeling next to him. He dug in his pockets for a rubber glove, but the Doctor picked it up and turned it over in his bare hand, then handed it to Pete.
“It’s a bear paw,” he said, standing up.
“Ew,” Pete commented, looking it over. “It’s not fresh or anything. It’s like those old lucky rabbits feet you can get for good luck. Except, you know.” He held it up; it was larger than his head. “Not a bunny.”
“No, not at all,” agreed the Doctor, looking past him, squinting in the darkness. “Fresh, I mean.”
Myka huddled next to Pete, trying to get a better look. “It looks like it tore off of something. Like a bearskin rug.” She pointed to the torn skin on the top.
“Is that it?” Pete wondered. “Are we looking for a bear rug that . . . eats people?”
The Doctor arched an eyebrow at him. “I think not.” He whirled around, spraying droplets of water from his coat. “Come on, we can examine this inside.”
“The police station’s that way,” Myka said, following him anyway, but the Doctor looked over his shoulder.
“We aren’t going to the police station,” he said, cutting through a slender alleyway. “We’re going someplace better.”
“A blue phone booth?” Pete asked, rushing to catch up again. “What-” But the Doctor had opened the door and disappeared inside.
Pete and Myka exchanged a glance; then the Doctor stuck his head back out.
“Well?” he called. “Aren’t you coming?”
+
Somewhere overhead, very quietly, the seconds ticked by. Claudia had searched the Warehouse several times; she’d never yet found the ticking clock. She hadn't asked Artie yet about it.
“The key to an artifact,” Artie said, closing yet another book, “is the person it’s associated with. Find the person, you find the artifact.”
“Yeah, so I’ve heard. One problem. You might have run into it.” Claudia swiveled back and forth in the computer chair. She’d not expected boredom to be a major problem in the Warehouse. Even the photos of Sam Haugen’s corpse looked bored. “Nowheresville hasn’t produced anyone interesting. Ever.” The cursor froze on the screen for a long moment, and she opened her mouth to complain, but it caught up and she went back to work.
“Maybe it hasn’t, but maybe someone interesting visited once. Or someone inherited a murderous pocket watch. Don’t rule anything out. The question is . . .” He trailed off, taking a sip of cold coffee. Claudia knew it was cold: the cup had been sitting on that table for two days. He apparently didn’t notice.
“Face it, old man,” she told him, pulling up the town’s census information. “You’re stumped. It’s a town of dull Norwegian Lutherans. Did you ever meet a murderous Minnesotan? There's a reason for that.”
“Norwegian,” repeated Artie, sounding half-asleep, then shook his head as if to clear it. “I wonder.” He stood up and wandered into the back room, presumably to get even more research books.
“Because that’ll help,” she said out loud, and clicked to another tab.
+
“Come in, come in,” the Doctor said with barely contained excitement.
Pete took another step in, his brain refusing to compute what he saw. The room was vast, wooden floors dotted with expensive-looking rugs, walls lined with bookshelves. Lit candles occupied nearly every surface, yet they seemed decorative, rather than functional; he wasn't sure where the light truly came from. At the center, as though on display, was what looked like a table, or a console, with glowing columns and strange buttons. Shelves contained objects peculiar, both old-fashioned and impossibly futuristic; in that reminded Pete forcibly of the Warehouse.
“What is it?” The Doctor himself had removed his coat, hanging it on a hat stand near the entrance where it dripped onto an Oriental rug; his shirtsleeves flapped in the breeze from his steps, his hair soaking his shirt collar and cravat.
“It’s bigger on the inside?” he offered lamely.
“What? Oh, Pete, of course it is. It's my ship. Come on inside, let’s take a look at this . . . that.” The Doctor stretched forward to take the bear paw, holding it delicately between his thumb and forefinger, then with his elbow nudged open what looked like a wide microwave. “Now, if we put it in the chronodatric anawave.” He dropped it in, slamming the door shut.
“The chronoda-what?” Pete asked, trying to look in.
“Name doesn’t matter. I think I just made it up,” the Doctor admitted thoughtfully, then shook his head and pressed a button. “It’s-”
The Farnsworth buzzed in Myka’s pocket. She drew it out, flipping it open. “Artie. I was just going to get a hold of you.”
The Doctor perked up. “Is that a Farnsworth two-way?” He’d kicked off his shoes as well, and his bare feet slapped on the hardwood floors as he ran to look, like a curious puppy. Myka started to reply, but he peered over her shoulder, apparently without regard for personal space. “I haven’t seen one of these in . . . well, in thirty years from now, actually. They’ll be hugely popular. Hello, you must be their boss, how do you do?”
Artie’s voice hovered somewhere between annoyed and bewildered. “Um. Myka?”
“We found the Doctor,” she explained dryly.
Artie cleared his throat. “So that would be him?”
“Yes, yes I am.” The Doctor started to say more, but Myka ducked away from him, returning to the subject at hand.
“Artie, we found something. It’s not the actual artifact, I don’t think. The Doctor’s doing something with it-”
“It’s a disembodied bear paw,” Pete added. “You know, in case you were wondering. Like it’s from a bear rug that eats people.”
“Really?” Artie sounded intrigued. “You’re sure?”
The chronodatric whatsit rang like an alarm clock.
“Pete, what does it say?” the Doctor asked, nodding towards it.
He bent in front of the display, squinting. The letters were small, glowing blue on a black surface, and several of them were definitely not English. “Um. Circa tenth century?” he half-read, half-guessed, looking back up.
“Hah.” Artie sounded incredibly pleased with himself. “You ever hear of a berserker?”
“Norse berserkers, of course!” The Doctor struck his forehead with the heel of his palm. “That makes sense.”
“Maybe to you,” Pete said, returning to join them with the paw in hand.
“Norse warriors held a belief,” the Doctor started, but Artie interrupted.
“They were sort of supersoldiers of Norse tradition. Not just swords, either: they went nuts, tore in with hands and teeth. They were supposed to transform into some manic half-beasts-”
“With the aid of a bear pelt,” the Doctor finished. “They were outlawed in the eleventh century or so, and the tradition died out, but apparently-” He broke off, eyes suddenly wide.
“But apparently,” Myka said, looking up at Pete, "someone passed along their old bear pelt."
"Huh. My family did wristwatches, but, you know," Pete said. Myka closed the Farnsworth.
"At least we know where to look," the Doctor said, also looking at Pete.
"We do?" asked Myka, cocking an eyebrow, looking from one to the other.
Pete nodded grimly. "Somewhere in Mrs. Ericson's shop," he said, "is a bearskin rug that eats people."
Author: flamingo_bandit
Fandom: Warehouse 13/Doctor Who crossover
Genre: General, humor
Spoilers: 1x07 “Burnout” to be on the safe side; the 1996 Doctor Who TV movie, if that counts as a spoiler
Ships: Well, none on purpose.
Rating: PG so far
Warnings: Language, implied gore, obvious lack of beta.
Summary: This time, Pete and Myka aren’t the only ones hunting down an artifact. Chapter 2 of, uh, several.
Chapter One is here.
---
There is a vague reference to the EDA novel Vampire Science--not to its plot, as it's not in the canon I'm using, but to some of the background discussed therein. It’s not really a big deal, but it is a really good book, so. Yeah. Ch-ch-ch-check it out.
Can you spot the item called "Thingy McTimelorddevice" in the outline? I fail technobabble forever.
Chapter Two
They faced each other, like a standoff in an old Western. Except Pete and Myka were the only ones on guard; the Doctor tilted his head, still smiling beatifically.
“Uh, yeah,” Pete said after a long moment, nonplussed.
“People tend to look for the stranger poking around a crime scene,” she said pointedly, hand automatically dropping to rest on her gun.
The man-the Doctor?-followed her hand with his eyes, then simply shook his head. “I think we have a slight misunderstanding.” He straightened his coat unnecessarily. “I’d like to help. But there are . . . there’s something you may not understand about this case, I suspect. I don’t entirely either, of course.”
“What are you-” A drop of rain splattered onto Myka’s hand, and she looked up. Hazy clouds had crept in, filtering the sunlight in splotches.
“Perhaps inside?” suggested the Doctor, raising his eyebrows. “There’s a café just up there. Please.” He gestured ahead of him, for all the world like a man greeting a guest and not at all like a stranger in the middle of a murder investigation.
“Um,” Myka said, but Pete shrugged and went ahead, and she trusted his instincts well enough to follow.
The restaurant was empty except the middle-aged waitress at the café counter. The Doctor ignored the barstools in favor of a cramped booth in a corner, ordering a cup of tea before he sat. “Would you care for something?” he offered Pete and Myka, who wedged together in the seat across the table from him.
“We could use some explanation,” Myka replied, folding her arms and inadvertently jostling Pete in the process.
The Doctor chuckled, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs under him, Indian-style. He seemed about to speak, but instead graciously thanked the waitress dropping off a cup full of hot water, with a dry teabag balanced on the saucer. He picked up the bag, face dropping for a moment as though he’d expected something better, then shrugged and plopped it, splashing hot water onto the table. “What would you like to discuss first?” He swished the teabag in his mug. “I could tell you right off that I’m actually not remotely connected with Samuel Haugen’s death, but somehow I doubt you’d believe me so far, so perhaps I’ll save that for later. Pete, would you mind handing me a, ah, a sugar packet, please?”
Myka grabbed Pete’s arm, stopping him mid-reach, eyes on the Doctor. “How did you know his name was Pete?”
Pete looked startled, pulling his hand back. “I never told you that, did I?”
Another smile blossomed over the Doctor’s face. “You just did.” His eyes glittered green, unreadable. “The sugar, please?”
Pete and Myka exchanged a long, wary look.
“Oh, come now. If I were the murderer, do you really think I’m going to-to tear out your jugular in the middle of a family dining establishment?” He reached across the table, plucking up a white packet. “All right, then. Tell me, what do you want to know?”
“Why you’re here,” Myka said briskly. “What you know about the-the situation.”
“Oh, that. Well.” He twirled the string on his teabag. “I’m sort of here by accident, to be honest. I was-well, travelling, and wound up here somewhat by mistake. I discovered an investigation and was . . . curious.”
“Curious,” repeated Myka, staring now. The Doctor didn’t seem to notice, concentrating on stirring his cup.
“And you just jumped right in?” Pete sounded as bewildered as Myka felt, though she’d never have admitted it.
The Doctor shifted for a moment in his seat. “All right, I thought it was something else and felt I needed to look around. It wasn’t what I expected, but it’s still quite a bit more than the police think it is, so I’ve stayed. Are you sure you won’t have a cup of coffee?”
“Yes,” Myka answered tersely, “we’re sure.”
“Actually,” Pete started, but she fixed him with a steady look. “Yeah, we’re sure. Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, so what did you think it was when you got here, exactly?”
“Oh, vampires, of course, didn’t I say?” The Doctor glanced up at a crew of old men entering, shaking off their umbrellas. “It’s not, don’t worry,” he assured the agents, catching and misreading their expressions. “But it’s still a bit peculiar, isn’t it? When I spoke with the coroner he said they thought it was a bear attack at first, except of course there aren’t bears in this part of the country, and that’s certainly unusual. And some of the readings I got, well.” He shook his head.
“Pete?” Myka said, still staring at the Doctor. “Could I have a word? Now?”
“Uh-huh,” Pete agreed, and they squeezed themselves back out of the booth and escaping to the other side of the room.
“Pete, this guy is nuts,” she hissed at him as soon as the Doctor was out of earshot.
“Tch, yeah,” Pete agreed. “But it’s a cool kind of nuts, don’t you think?”
Myka stared at him now, astounded. “No, I don’t think. He’s interfering with an investigation, Pete, he can’t-”
“Don’t you think he might have something to offer?” Pete crossed his arms. “Look, Artie thought he was probably okay, and you heard what the Doctor said. There were readings, Myka. That sounds . . .”
“Insane?”
“Significant, I was going to say. Look,” he said, shifting his weight onto his other foot. “He knows more than he’s letting on. He’s done everything except say, ‘Hey, there’s a funny artifact around here, and I bet I can find it.’”
Myka started to reply, but the Doctor was looking up at them, and she groaned. “Fine. Fine, we’ll see what he has to say. But I still say-”
“He’s nuts. Okay. Noted.” He tilted his head back to the booth, and they rejoined the other man.
He sipped his tea, then choked. “There’s a reason I usually go to England,” he remarked, making a face at the mug. “I hope you’ve come to a consensus on my grasp of sanity. Where were we?”
“Mister . . . uh . . . Doctor,” Myka said. “We were wondering-”
“These readings you mentioned,” Pete interrupted, leaning forward. “What can you tell us about that?”
The Doctor folded his hands together. “Sometimes there are items that don’t necessarily belong . . . but it looks like you know more about that than I gave you credit for. But they’ll register differently on some of my equipment-anachronistic technology, sometimes, although this time I believe it’s a mind control device of some sort. A subtle one, for the most part, until recent events. I don’t know much more, except that it’s here, and it’s dangerous.” He studied their faces. “And, in fact, I think I’d like to return to looking for it, and I’m sure you would as well. The real question,” he continued, rising with a peculiar grace, “is whether you would join me or avoid me.”
He didn’t await an answer, strolling across the room to pay for his cup of tea.
“See?” Pete asked, sounding like a ten-year-old who’d just been proven right. “He knows stuff. Mind control?”
Myka simply rolled her eyes, sliding out of the seat again to rejoin the Doctor. He was digging through his pockets. “I’m sure I have it,” he said, setting a brass pocket watch, several gold coins, and what looked like a reptile egg on the counter. “Right!” He handed the woman a severely crumpled five dollar bill, told her to keep the change, and headed towards the door. “So, Myka, what can you tell me?”
“First,” she said, “that’s Agent Bering. Second, not much.”
“That’s a pity. I don’t suppose . . .”
“Wait.” She held up a hand, stopping him.
The Doctor slowed beside her, staring ahead through the rain. “Now, that’s interesting,” he said, voice low.
Myka glanced back at him, pushing wet hair from her face. “You saw that?”
“Saw what?” Pete asked, catching up to them.
“Something moving. Maybe,” she added, hand again reaching for her weapon, stepping forward. “It’s gone now.”
Pete looked in the direction, shoulders squared. “Suspect?”
“It wasn’t a person,” Myka said, walking cautiously in that direction. “It looked like an animal.”
“Like a bear,” the Doctor finished for her. “But not quite. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, although . . .”
Myka looked up. “You can’t have gotten that good of a look.”
“Perhaps not,” he said, voice still low. He took a few steps forward, cautious, then suddenly he was running, splashing through puddles, and without a word Pete and Myka tore after him.
“What are you-?” Myka started, but the Doctor stopped abruptly then, kneeling on the sidewalk, coat spreading out over the cement, and Pete took another step forward.
“What is that?” Pete said, kneeling next to him. He dug in his pockets for a rubber glove, but the Doctor picked it up and turned it over in his bare hand, then handed it to Pete.
“It’s a bear paw,” he said, standing up.
“Ew,” Pete commented, looking it over. “It’s not fresh or anything. It’s like those old lucky rabbits feet you can get for good luck. Except, you know.” He held it up; it was larger than his head. “Not a bunny.”
“No, not at all,” agreed the Doctor, looking past him, squinting in the darkness. “Fresh, I mean.”
Myka huddled next to Pete, trying to get a better look. “It looks like it tore off of something. Like a bearskin rug.” She pointed to the torn skin on the top.
“Is that it?” Pete wondered. “Are we looking for a bear rug that . . . eats people?”
The Doctor arched an eyebrow at him. “I think not.” He whirled around, spraying droplets of water from his coat. “Come on, we can examine this inside.”
“The police station’s that way,” Myka said, following him anyway, but the Doctor looked over his shoulder.
“We aren’t going to the police station,” he said, cutting through a slender alleyway. “We’re going someplace better.”
“A blue phone booth?” Pete asked, rushing to catch up again. “What-” But the Doctor had opened the door and disappeared inside.
Pete and Myka exchanged a glance; then the Doctor stuck his head back out.
“Well?” he called. “Aren’t you coming?”
+
Somewhere overhead, very quietly, the seconds ticked by. Claudia had searched the Warehouse several times; she’d never yet found the ticking clock. She hadn't asked Artie yet about it.
“The key to an artifact,” Artie said, closing yet another book, “is the person it’s associated with. Find the person, you find the artifact.”
“Yeah, so I’ve heard. One problem. You might have run into it.” Claudia swiveled back and forth in the computer chair. She’d not expected boredom to be a major problem in the Warehouse. Even the photos of Sam Haugen’s corpse looked bored. “Nowheresville hasn’t produced anyone interesting. Ever.” The cursor froze on the screen for a long moment, and she opened her mouth to complain, but it caught up and she went back to work.
“Maybe it hasn’t, but maybe someone interesting visited once. Or someone inherited a murderous pocket watch. Don’t rule anything out. The question is . . .” He trailed off, taking a sip of cold coffee. Claudia knew it was cold: the cup had been sitting on that table for two days. He apparently didn’t notice.
“Face it, old man,” she told him, pulling up the town’s census information. “You’re stumped. It’s a town of dull Norwegian Lutherans. Did you ever meet a murderous Minnesotan? There's a reason for that.”
“Norwegian,” repeated Artie, sounding half-asleep, then shook his head as if to clear it. “I wonder.” He stood up and wandered into the back room, presumably to get even more research books.
“Because that’ll help,” she said out loud, and clicked to another tab.
+
“Come in, come in,” the Doctor said with barely contained excitement.
Pete took another step in, his brain refusing to compute what he saw. The room was vast, wooden floors dotted with expensive-looking rugs, walls lined with bookshelves. Lit candles occupied nearly every surface, yet they seemed decorative, rather than functional; he wasn't sure where the light truly came from. At the center, as though on display, was what looked like a table, or a console, with glowing columns and strange buttons. Shelves contained objects peculiar, both old-fashioned and impossibly futuristic; in that reminded Pete forcibly of the Warehouse.
“What is it?” The Doctor himself had removed his coat, hanging it on a hat stand near the entrance where it dripped onto an Oriental rug; his shirtsleeves flapped in the breeze from his steps, his hair soaking his shirt collar and cravat.
“It’s bigger on the inside?” he offered lamely.
“What? Oh, Pete, of course it is. It's my ship. Come on inside, let’s take a look at this . . . that.” The Doctor stretched forward to take the bear paw, holding it delicately between his thumb and forefinger, then with his elbow nudged open what looked like a wide microwave. “Now, if we put it in the chronodatric anawave.” He dropped it in, slamming the door shut.
“The chronoda-what?” Pete asked, trying to look in.
“Name doesn’t matter. I think I just made it up,” the Doctor admitted thoughtfully, then shook his head and pressed a button. “It’s-”
The Farnsworth buzzed in Myka’s pocket. She drew it out, flipping it open. “Artie. I was just going to get a hold of you.”
The Doctor perked up. “Is that a Farnsworth two-way?” He’d kicked off his shoes as well, and his bare feet slapped on the hardwood floors as he ran to look, like a curious puppy. Myka started to reply, but he peered over her shoulder, apparently without regard for personal space. “I haven’t seen one of these in . . . well, in thirty years from now, actually. They’ll be hugely popular. Hello, you must be their boss, how do you do?”
Artie’s voice hovered somewhere between annoyed and bewildered. “Um. Myka?”
“We found the Doctor,” she explained dryly.
Artie cleared his throat. “So that would be him?”
“Yes, yes I am.” The Doctor started to say more, but Myka ducked away from him, returning to the subject at hand.
“Artie, we found something. It’s not the actual artifact, I don’t think. The Doctor’s doing something with it-”
“It’s a disembodied bear paw,” Pete added. “You know, in case you were wondering. Like it’s from a bear rug that eats people.”
“Really?” Artie sounded intrigued. “You’re sure?”
The chronodatric whatsit rang like an alarm clock.
“Pete, what does it say?” the Doctor asked, nodding towards it.
He bent in front of the display, squinting. The letters were small, glowing blue on a black surface, and several of them were definitely not English. “Um. Circa tenth century?” he half-read, half-guessed, looking back up.
“Hah.” Artie sounded incredibly pleased with himself. “You ever hear of a berserker?”
“Norse berserkers, of course!” The Doctor struck his forehead with the heel of his palm. “That makes sense.”
“Maybe to you,” Pete said, returning to join them with the paw in hand.
“Norse warriors held a belief,” the Doctor started, but Artie interrupted.
“They were sort of supersoldiers of Norse tradition. Not just swords, either: they went nuts, tore in with hands and teeth. They were supposed to transform into some manic half-beasts-”
“With the aid of a bear pelt,” the Doctor finished. “They were outlawed in the eleventh century or so, and the tradition died out, but apparently-” He broke off, eyes suddenly wide.
“But apparently,” Myka said, looking up at Pete, "someone passed along their old bear pelt."
"Huh. My family did wristwatches, but, you know," Pete said. Myka closed the Farnsworth.
"At least we know where to look," the Doctor said, also looking at Pete.
"We do?" asked Myka, cocking an eyebrow, looking from one to the other.
Pete nodded grimly. "Somewhere in Mrs. Ericson's shop," he said, "is a bearskin rug that eats people."