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Title: Archaea (revised) Summary: Mulder and Scully investigate a potentially deadly microscopic life-form recovered from volcanic rocks in Washington State. But when their seemingly straightforward case comes to the attention of the Consortium and an unexpected group of outsiders, they must use all the resources at their disposal to safeguard it from falling into the wrong hands. Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program, "The X-Files" are the creation and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. Readers are free to reproduce this story on web-pages or Archives as long as my permission is first obtained, and the work is not used for profit.
Part I - Anomalocaris canadensis Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, Being so troublesome a bedfellow? O polish'd perturbation! Golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night! Sleep with it now! Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet As he whose brow with homely biggen bound Snores out the watch of night. The Second Part of King Henry IV
Drilling Facility University of Washington "Thanks, Tim, that's the last one. You guys knock off for the rest of the day, all right?" One of the crew hit a red button, killing main power to the hydraulic controls, and the rumbling in the great chamber ceased. Filing through a small side door, several of the men waved to Albert Rich as they left him checking straps that secured the newest rock core in place for transport. Walking alongside the orange steel cart, he steered his latest sample towards the double doors separating the derrick and all the heavy equipment from his lab. Responding to the signal from the motion detector Rich had scrounged from the administration building back in Seattle, they rolled apart automatically. Once inside, Rich eased the tube onto the end of a support pallet. Even though there were no windows here, he always worked on the slick, gray cylinders in his cleaner, quieter lab. Long benches were set up in the center of the space so he could work from any side on the still-cooling rock. But right now, he needed a break, so he stopped to rub his neck while he reminisced over the circumstances that kept him bent over his diamond-tipped rock saw, slicing sections through core after core. The Observatory's current project involved deep sampling of the Cascadian volcanic pile, searching for data on the inactive rift zone being subducted under the North American continent. Using remote evidence from earthquake hypocenters, seismologists had determined the approximate depth of that descending slab of relict oceanic crust. He knew, from the discussions in the faculty lounge, that volcanologists, working on the Big Island in Hawaii, determined the transitions in ocean-basin basalts through direct sampling of freezing lavas. That's a job I'd hate, standing on those black crusts, knowing that only a foot or so beneath your boots, the volcanics were still moving. I'm glad it's the graduate students out there, reaching over to scoop red-hot lava up with a coffee-can on the end of a broomstick. Let them earn their degrees, especially after how rude some of them can be. Only a similar campaign would yield the exact changes in olivine while it returned to a semi-molten state at the temperatures and pressures encountered at depth, or so Doctor Campbell liked to say. But metals would melt and become useless far above those levels, which left geochemists only the option of small-scale laboratory experiments. Rich smiled, remembering that setting up just such a pressure chamber had been his first task for the University. But, in these days of tight research budgets, the funding for a drilling project of such speculative nature could only come to fruition through an unusual source. Gerald Hoskins, class of '22, had devoted his life to enhancing his family's fortune in the logging industry. At the end of it, he decided, rather than let a horde of squabbling relatives spend his wealth in myriad foolish ways, to transfer it all to the University of Washington. His one stipulation was that his old company headquarters be used as a geological laboratory and field camp. Rich had been to the Endowment festivities, shaken the old man's hand, smiled at a pair of dancing blue eyes in the tanned and wrinkled face. When his ivory cane had snapped, Rich had offered him his arm for support, then as a reward, Hoskins told some whopping stories, even claiming to have seen Bigfoot a couple of times. Rich grinned, remembering that after a few beers, the logger had set his worn suede hat on the University's linen tablecloth and rearranged the china to help illustrate a few of his taller tales. The administrators had been only too willing to oblige, but the Rich had chuckled behind his hand at the moans of the geoscience faculty when they heard the location. While surrounded by the grandest of vistas, the erosion-resistant rocks directly beneath the site were the granites, gneisses, and migmatites of the old Northern Cascades Subcontinent. Far more interesting formations and tectonic histories lay twenty miles to the west and east, in the Skagit metamorphic pile and the Methow graben. But, the buildings themselves were beautifully equipped for comfortable long-term habitation, so vans were purchased, and adjustments for graduate students made. Back to work. Rich sighed. Opening the end, the technician guided the dark olive cylinder of rock as it began sliding onto a rubber mat. About two meters up from the end, he noticed a clear band of what appeared to be quartzite in the basalt. Hunh. Better get Doctor Campbell, he'd want to see this. The core extruded, he stood the drill tubes up in one corner of the room before leaving the lab to knock on the chief scientist's office door. "Doctor Campbell? I have something here I think you might be interested in." He paused, wondering how his bold request would be answered. "Mister Rich! Not *now*!" Just what you thought, Bert. Rich stepped back as he heard the doorknob rattle. After the metal door swung aside, the angular, almost emaciated face of his boss glared down on him. James Campbell had spent too much time out in the sun, hiking up and down volcanoes, both active and extinct, until his skin hung in leathery bags from his cheekbones. From the dry thatch of gray hair to the calloused hands and broken fingernails, the rest of his frame was similarly weather beaten. Campbell sighed. More interruptions! Deep lithosphere exploration had long been a dream of his, so once he had won the Hoskins bequest, he refused to take on new graduate students. Instead, he had spent that first year designing the special pressure and temperature resistant drilling heads and tubes they would need. Using newly developed composite materials, the crew had pushed through the granites of the subcontinent into the oceanic volcanics below. But, a project of this size seemed to attract an endless number of reviews or outside audits, forcing Campbell to spend less time in the lab, and more in the Provost's office, than he cared to recall. "I think I've found something interesting, Dr. Campbell." "I have papers to review. What is it?" The younger man crossed his arms, clenching his hands into fists where his boss couldn't see them. "I can't identify a section of rock in the latest core sample." He waited, sucking in the paunch around his waist, hoping that one day, after ten years together, his boss wouldn't immediately assume he was an idiot. But the scientist's snort of derision told him that, as usual, he was wrong. "There's a lot you can't identify, Rich, but let's see it anyway." "Of course, Sir." The tech spun on his heel, preceding the older man back to the lab. Campbell studied the bald spot in the middle of the brown curls, wishing his assistant would quicken his pace or get out of the way. As much as he needed the younger man's practical skills and seeming endless resourcefulness in running the lab during his increasingly extended absences, Rich tended towards the dramatic. Campbell had no patience with games or frills, so he pushed around him to step into the lab first, his eyes falling on the clear band of rock. This? He dragged me in here for this? Any first-year geology student could identify that! Unclipping the flap on the pocketknife pouch on his belt, he flicked the blade out while crossing the room. Rich trailed along behind the professor. He's seen it. "It isn't quartzite, Doctor Campbell." Impatiently, the volcanologist probed the clear region with the knife, then stopped. The metal blade had slipped into the center of the band, so he drew it out, watching as the vitreous mass sealed the incision closed. Without looking back, he extended his hand towards Rich. "Pass me a test tube. I want to take a sample of this." Wordlessly, his assistant snatched the closest flask, placed it on his boss's palm, but held it until the cracked fingers closed around the base. Campbell pried a small mass out of the band, scraping the knife on the rounded lip of the glass. The sample tumbled off the blade, bouncing down the side of the inclined beaker, coming to rest on the bottom. Taking the container, Rich set it on the maple butcher-block lab bench, before he felt the professor clap a hand on his slender shoulder. Now he understands. "Thanks, Rich. We'll need to keep an eye on that." The younger man loved to watch the transformation in the scientist whenever he was onto something new. Gone was the rough curtness; instead, he was treated to the elated sense of adventure that kept him working for him. "OK, Doc."
"Doctor Campbell?" Unhesitatingly, the scientist rose and followed the younger man back to the lab. "This makes no sense, but look!" Rich held up the beaker, showing Campbell the hole in the bottom. The sample from the core lay on the table, exactly as they had left it, so Campbell pushed at it with a pencil. Frowning, he observed there was no glass beneath it, then turned at Rich's exclamation. The younger man had touched the bottom of the beaker, and as they watched, clear flakes floated to the floor. "Boss? What is this stuff?" The scientist shrugged. "I really can't say right now, Albert. Let me read a bit." He observed the sparkling dust on his assistant's hands. "You'd better clean yourself up. Whatever it is, glass fragments like that will scratch you up but good." Rich rubbed his fingers together. "Sure thing." He frowned. "This doesn't feel like glass at all, Doctor Campbell." Setting the beaker on a metal tray, he ran his hands under the hottest water he could stand. "It feels soapy, almost." The volcanologist nodded, leaving the lab in silence.
Dark Apartment "Hunh!" The bearded African-American continued to pummel a black leather pouch suspended from his living-room ceiling, attempting to rid his mind of the image of the lurking shadow. He had seen it again yesterday, hovering in the basement parking lot as he returned from the law office that was his cover job. He slept with all the lights on anymore, his isolation and paranoia driving him to fear even the flickering of the stairwell lights. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a shape in the window, so he forced himself to stop, turn, and look. It's here. Before he was aware it, he was out the door, down to the exit, and running. This was too close. As always, he sought to make himself as unobtrusive and invisible as possible, so he aimed for the nearby YMCA, open at all hours. He sought to conceal himself among those similarly attired, but before he entered, he dropped the boxing gloves in a trash can. "Hey, bro, you OK?" He spun at the friendly voice. "Fine." His good Samaritan, his tailored street clothes and closely cropped hair marking him as a doctor or a civil servant, stepped back when he caught the menace in the growl. "No problems, all right? You just look like you've seen a ghost or something." X closed his eyes, pulling in his horns. "I'll be fine. Just out for a late night run." Puzzled over the gloves, the other man frowned, nodded, then headed for his Lexus. He watched as X took a few deliberate strides away from him, before accelerating into a trot.
Apartment 42 "Mulder." Limply holding the cell phone, the agent rubbed his chin sleepily while he rolled into a sitting position on the futon. "Hey, boss, wanna shoot some hoops?" "Yeah, sure, Nichols." Staggering towards the bathroom to throw some cold water on his face, he terminated the conversation and pressed down on the first autodial button. The initial buzz in his ear was cut short. "You OK, Mulder?" He chuckled. "Why, Doctor Scully, must you always assume I'm calling purely to take advantage of your clinical expertise? Here I am, a handsome bachelor whose many charms are fading through disuse, wheezing his way towards geezerhood..." "Mulder!" There was suppressed laughter behind her scold. "What do you think you have now?" He grinned. "Dunno. Nichols wants to talk. I'll tuck you in with a good bed-time story later." "Mulderrrr." He raised the hand not holding the phone. "Promise." "Right."
Apartment 5 Her eyes closed, still turned on her side with one arm tucked under her pillows, Scully held her cell phone on her face. "So, what was on his mind?" Maybe this is nothing so I can sleep. "Mulder?" "Uh, who is this?" Her eyebrows drew together at the unfamiliar voice. "Who is this?" "Look, lady, I don't know what your problem is, but is there any reason your husband would be out jogging this late?" Now she was on her feet, all rest forgotten. "This is Special Agent Dana Scully. What condition is Agent Mulder in? Where are you?" She could hear the confusion increase. "Agent? He's not your husband? Why would he be out here jogging with just this number in his pocket?" Cradling the phone between her shoulder and cheek, she shoved off the pajamas, then yanked a pair of jeans out of her bottom dresser drawer. Mulder? Carrying my phone number? "I'm a doctor. What is his condition?" "Well, he's not bleeding or anything, he just collapsed after he threw the boxing gloves in the trash." Boxing gloves? Either her partner had a new hobby he hadn't bragged to her about, or... "Describe him, please." She wanted to be sure she wasn't walking into a trap. "Well, he's in his early forties, graying beard, dark-skinned, closely cropped hair..." She froze. X? Why? "He's an associate of mine. Where are you?" She scribbled the address on the pad she kept by the phone.
West Chase Apartments At the knock from her front entrance, 'Ace' rolled away from her keyboard. "Coming!" After checking through the view-hole, she swung the reinforced steel door open rapidly. "Oh, wait till you see what I've found!" Grinning, McConnell scooted through the opening. Like the good old days! He threw the dead bolt before following her. "Oh? You solved your access problems with the banking software?" She reached back to tug on his elbow. "No, no, even better than that!" She waved him towards the other gray castered chair for her computer workbench, loaded with video boards and pushed to one of the side tables in her den. He carefully stacked the cards in one of the chassis before rolling the seat over to her and sitting. McConnell's red brows drew together as he focussed on the Series of cross-sections she was rapidly scrolling through. "What is this?" "The interior of our visitor's ship." He glanced at her. "Really? How did you get these? The diving teams working in the Beaufort Sea can't find a way inside." His eyes returned to her face at her delighted giggle. "No, but the ultrasound scans I had them run did." Leaning back, he took off his glasses to chew on one earpiece. "I never would have thought..." Immensely proud of herself, she was bouncing on the seat cushion. "I had my NOVA tape about the Gobi Desert raptors playing in the VCR while I was working on the banking software last week. When I saw how they were cross-sectioning the eggs, it gave me the idea. The skin of the ship is made from a carbon-fiber composite, strong, yet lighter than metal, and corrosion resistant, which is how it survived in the saline ocean for so long. Electromagnetic probing is out because it's underwater still. So, I made a few calls, the crews up there used their ship-board sonar to take some data," she leaned towards him, "after I sent up some modified software and a different transmitter for them to use, and now we have this." He tapped the screen. "Anything on the propulsion systems or the engines?" She sighed. "No, the resolution from these off-the-shelf units isn't that good. But, I could at least work out what the different parts of the vessel were for, including the crew quarters." McConnell blinked. "Crew, as in more that one?" Clicking rapidly through the images, she nodded. "There were spaces for three on board, but I can't tell if they were occupied during this voyage or not." She crossed her arms. "Sorry." Startled by her self-recrimination, he grasped her shoulder. "Hey, no, don't be. That we know this much is great. But, I'm worried that we've only seen one. Could the other two have been killed, or were the quarters just unused, or..." Deeply concerned, she rolled close to him. "Or, have they morphed into something, or someone, we've been looking right at, but missing all these months?"
Falls Church Recreation Center "Hey." After slamming the driver's door on his Toyota, Mulder approached his colleague. Although his fellow agent was merely five years Mulder's senior, his weather-beaten face increased his apparent age by a decade. "What'cha got?" Nichols shrugged, chewing his graying blond mustache. "Just questions, boss." The barrel-chested man dribbled the ball absently. "How do you do it?" The two began circling each other, looking like a pair of middling-aged friends out for a late-night game of one-on-one, which was exactly the cover Mulder and Nichols wanted. Mulder feinted for a grab at the ball, but Nichols dodged to the taller man's left. Mulder spun, keeping himself between the basket and his balding subordinate. "Do what?" Reversing his stance, Nichols turned his back to his new Section Head and swept around to the far white line. "Work with Scully as well as you do." He elbowed his way past a pair of long arms to take his shot. The ball rebounded off the backboard, circling the rim before falling out into Mulder's hands. The younger agent responded, using the thumps of the ball against the concrete as cover for their conversation. "Why? She bothering you or something?" Nichols swatted at the orange sphere. "No, nothing like that. I mean work with a woman, one who's always second-guessing you." Mulder swung the ball in an arc over Nichols' head. "Oh. Rosen's on your case about Ridgefield?" The tall agent had come here expecting they would hash out the latest investigation, not this. "No, not that specifically, I mean." As the ball swished the mesh of the basket, Nichols grunted his surrender. "All my partners have been," after he caught the ball, he shrugged, "male." He started dribbling again, working his way around the periphery of the court. "It's easy then, you know where you stand. You're either in charge or you're the junior partner." He switched the ball from his right to his left hand, angling towards the brown- haired man. "But Rosen, she won't take an order." He glanced up. "Oh, Boss, don't get me wrong, when we're on a stakeout, or if there's a situation, everything's smooth as glass, but once the crisis passes..." He spun, but too late. Mulder's hand cradled the ball, guiding the bounce towards his own feet. "It's like you're back to square one." The tall man sprinted for the basket, leaping up to dunk. Cradling the sphere in his arms, Nichols nodded. "Yeah." He dribbled noncommittally, plotting his strategy as they talked. "What's she doing? Looking to buck my authority?" Mulder waved his arm, half focused on the ball, half on his thoughts. "Nope." He swatted, but missed, which roused his fellow agent. "Then what?" They continued to circle each other. "Just her job, as she sees it." Nichols spared a glance. "Come again?" Mulder chewed his lip, wondering how best to explain himself. "Women like Scully and Rosen don't see their careers the way we do. They think first of the work; men angle primarily for promotions." He paused. "Usually. You and I are more interested in the work, too, but we're used to being the oddballs. The challenges we get are to point out how stupid we are, so we can be one-upped in front of the big-wigs." It was best to leave the Shadows out of any such discussion of partner problems. Their new agents needed to cement their working bond, because they would experience first-hand, and too soon, Mulder knew, the enemies all four now had to fear. "Oh. It's not an ego thing?" Nichols shot, the success of his attempt pulling an adulatory grunt out of the tall man. "Nope. Rosen gets huffy when you try to bull your way with her?" After the mesh swished, Nichols heard the thunk, thunk of the ball falling through Mulder's hands in a rare miss for the younger man. "Yeah. Really bent. She wants to know why I do things the way I do, and once I explain it, she accepts it, but, Jeez, Mulder, do I have to spell *everything* out for her? Always?" The tall man reappeared from the darkness at the side of the court where he had been retrieving the errant sphere. "No, but you will always talk more than you expect." They began circling each other again. Mulder grinned, taking advantage of Nichols' slight misstep to shoot. "It's connection, more than anything else, not a challenge or a threat." Frustrated, the older man threw out another question. "What?" "Go with it. Don't take longer to get trained than I did; the discussing is about the cases, not who's in charge, who's up or down. She sees you as her equal, just with different skills, not someone she'd like to topple from power." Nichols held the ball, considering the words. When they heard a cell phone ring, both men faced their cars. But it was the tall agent sprinting for his Toyota, after patting the older man on the shoulder. "Good game, Nichols." Accepting the polite dismissal with equanimity, he trotted back to his rusting Dodge Dart.
Fairfax YMCA "Scully?" Dropping to his knees by X, now propped against the trash can, Mulder touched his partner's arm to catch her attention. "What's wrong with him?" Carefully manipulating his skull, she was checking for a blow. "I can't tell, Mulder. He seems to be uninjured, just non- responsive." She lifted an arm, the solid thump Mulder heard when the hand flopped limply onto the sidewalk making him wince. He felt for a pulse at the jugular. "Shouldn't he be in the hospital?" They locked eyes. "Where, Mulder? Where can we put him that he would be safe?" She stood. "Where *we* would be safe?" Leaning over until he could see into the shadowed face, he grasped X's shoulder, attempting to revive the intellect within the silent, motionless form. "I don't know, Scully. Maybe Skinner..." While Mulder returned to his car, she turned to the light-skinned man standing a little ways off. "Do you know him?" He waved his right arm, then extended his hand for her to shake. "William LeCroy Johnson, and no, I don't know him. I just saw him standing by the trash can when I came out. He was staggering, so I asked him if he was OK. When I reached my car, I watched him begin to jog away, then he just collapsed." He stared at X, now slumped forward like an abandoned rag-doll. "Will he be all right?" Scully sighed. "I can't say. He's not bleeding internally, nor is this an epileptic seizure of some kind. We'll do all we can for him." She pulled a card out of her pocket. "Please, Mr. Johnson, call us at any time, if you recall anything else, all right?" He passed his card to her as well. "Gladly. Anything I can do..." Nodding, she watched him return to his car, then faced her partner when Mulder approached. "Scully, Skinner's out of touch, but the guys are getting something lined up. What's wrong with him, really?" She shook her head. "Stress, mental breakdown, drugs, I can only guess here, Mulder." She knelt, checking his forehead for fever, not that she expected to find it. "When we get him to wherever the guys locate that's safe, we'll be able to tell more." Pacing, Mulder ran his hands through his still-damp hair. "He's saved my life, Scully, I owe him." Arching one eyebrow, she glanced up to judge his mood. "As do I." A quick dimpling of one cheek. "For saving your life. What did Nichols have?" He focused down at her. "Hum? Oh, nothing." He grinned. "We were just discussing troublesome women partners." She stood. "From what I could see, I thought he and Rosen were adjusting to each other." "Yeah, they are. It's different for Nichols, Scully. This is the first woman he's been partnered with, so he has tweaking galore ahead of him." The LOOK. "I'll warn Rosen."
Crime Lab Holding the frozen samples away from his body, 'Charlie' dangled the tube rack from his thumb and forefinger, while rapping on the glass of the lab door. As he watched the shifting image of a woman crossing the room to admit him, he smiled to himself. How did I even win you over, Lisa? You're so perfect, I don't understand why you were ignored for so long. "Hey!" She tipped her head back, scanning over the lintel of the door as he entered and offered her the samples. 'Charlie' checked over his shoulder to see what was so fascinating. "What?" Setting the tubes in her freezer, she pursed her lips. "We had a safety inspector in here yesterday, and I wanted to be sure he didn't disturb my network cables." She stepped over beside him. "Thanks for the skin samples." Since the building was still shrouded in silence, he wrapped one arm around her waist. "Anytime, Lisa. What are you looking for?" Patting his hand, she moved away to cross to her workbench and power up a spectrometer. "Oh, just something unique about the tissues we collected from the submarine. We've done the six base DNA typing ages ago, of course, but I was thinking of finding a useful macroscopic property, not a microscopic one. With the possibility of two other shape-shifters on the loose, we need some edge against them, Drew." 'Charlie' nodded. "I know. That they can pass themselves off as anything, or anyone, even one of us, was why the Old Men were so concerned with them in the first place. What if they've discovered the Organization's agenda?" She rubbed her face. "Until now, that was only a theoretical possibility. All these hysterical UFO sightings of lights in the sky and little gray men, we've managed to whip into a plausible cover with a few mysterious follow-up visits. The feeble-minded media and Hollywood did the rest of our work for us. But, containing the one shape-shifter we knew about to the Arctic wastes we thought was good enough. That two got through our defenses, well, we *have* to find them." He kissed the top of her head gently. "You'll figure something out, Lisa, you always do. Just don't work too hard at it." She leaned against his chest. "Or, you just keep delivering the pizzas, OK?"
Basement Agent Andrea Rosen slipped the key into the lock on the basement door. It's open? Turning the knob, she began speaking to her partner before she could identify the room's occupant. "Hey, Nick, I've been thinking about that wild idea you called me with yesterday. Last night, I realized there may be more to what's going on here than you might..." She stared at the slight figure standing before her. "Scully? Is anything wrong with Nichols?" Before replying, the auburn-haired woman approached her. "No, Rosen, I just wanted to warn you about some unforeseen developments from last night." Following the younger woman back to her desk, Scully waited for her to settle in. The new X-Files partners had arranged their quarters far differently from Mulder's and Scully's layout, with desks facing each other, a narrow walkway between. She knew that on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, the back corner would be occupied by Rosen's road bike. Those days she commuted 25 miles into the office along the W&OD bike trail from her home in Vienna. With the X-Files themselves in the Second Floor offices and only a bookshelf or two taking up space, there was much more room for the pair to move around, lending a half-occupied feel to their area. Scully never understood why Rosen had insisted on keeping the free-standing blackboard in a wheeled frame. But, she suspected the slate surface operated as a mental aid for Rosen, just as slides did for her partner. "Oh? Nic called me to say something was up." Scully crossed her arms. Why had it taken so long for Mulder to bond with me like that? "One of our informants is injured." Rosen nodded. That her new boss had told her this much was a surprise, despite the feeling that Scully may have said too much already. She switched her radio on, standing close to the diminutive woman in the tan suit and pale lavender blouse. "What can you tell me, Scully?" The green-blue eyes bored into hers, gauging Rosen's dedication before replying. "I suppose the best description of his condition would be coma induced by an unknown trauma." Rosen crossed her arms, as she considered the new developments. "Not drugs?" A sigh. "His system tested out clean. He's safe, for the moment, but we know there are powerful factions..." She watched the younger agent's face. Rosen had reviewed the D'Amato papers and the files pertaining to the Shadow government, so she took any information about their dark enemies seriously. Scully was relieved Rosen had not had the same trust in authority as herself, but had aligned herself with their views in far less time than she expected. "Is Mulder telling Nic about this?" That guarded look again. "No. Nichols isn't in yet. When he arrives, call us so we can come down from upstairs." One quick nod, then a precise turn with all the polish of a drill maneuver, and Rosen was alone, staring at the door. You need a good woman. Frowning as she silenced the radio, she toyed with the idea of calling Cary. No, too early. Rosen let thoughts of lazy Sunday afternoons, sipping tea and cuddling in their tall sleigh bed, fill her mind. Cary Jean Hooper was entirely too far away for either of them to be satisfied. Their latest conversations were filled with protests over the other's prolonged absence, but Rosen knew that until Cary's mother passed on, there would be no way Miss Alice's daughter would leave upper New York State. Would Scully even consider? Rosen sighed. Probably not. She's not your type, anyway. And she has Mulder. It was odd the way the pair of them were together: more than partners, friends certainly, something other than surrogate brother and sister, but lovers? Definitely not. A man like him would be more territorial, more possessive, if they were. Aren't *all* men? Whatever it was, it seemed to work for them: the quiet, serious woman, always upright and rigid, balancing the exuberant man, all arms and legs, all passion and restless energy.
Scully Home Rolling over, Bill Scully reached for his wife, hoping she had caught at least a few hours rest tonight. The first days back from a cruise were always a period of adjustment, made more difficult by the dashing of both their hopes that his time of months-long sea duty were over. Feeling nothing but cloth, he peeled both eyes open to check around their bedroom. "Honey? Liz?" "In here, Bill." The reply echoed slightly off the glass of the shower stall, so he padded into their master bathroom. Elizabeth was petite, like his sister Dana, her hair a rich honey blonde that bleached out if she spent too much time in the sun, or grew past her shoulders. But, with little Will, then with Ian and Dan, the twins, she had been forced to cut it short, or suffer their grasping and yanking the soft strands. While his younger sister's body had grown hard and wiry from the exercise after her multiple surgeries, his wife's had rounded and softened, especially when she was nursing. Still in her gray and red striped nightshirt, Liz was gazing out onto the street through the octagonal window across from the sink. Standing behind her for a moment, he watched the bright morning light turn Elizabeth's curls to antique gold, then wrapped his arms around her where she stood. "You OK?" Hoping the light kiss he placed on the back of her neck emphasized his concern, Bill smiled when she leaned back against him. "Mm-hum. I hadn't wanted to bring this up yesterday, but..." Loosening his grip, he leaned around her right shoulder. "What?" She pointed across the street. "See that car?" Tucking his chin against her ear, he studied the black sedan with government tags across the street. "What about it?" "It's been there since just after you left in March, Bill, and it's usually occupied." Twisting in his grasp, she closed the bathroom door with her bare foot. "I didn't want to say anything in front of the boys, but sometimes, when the phone would ring, there would be no one at the other end." Rolling his eyes, he stepped back. "You shouldn't have let Val and Mom scare you with the stories about little John, Liz. This is a military base. Nothing can happen to you without everyone knowing about it, and probably coming to help. As for the phones, well, the government's installing new cables here, didn't you know? There are bound to be glitches in any new system." He rubbed her arms. "Don't worry, there's nothing wrong, OK?" "OK." The reply was flat, uncertain, so he smiled gently, but she jumped at the buzz of the phone and he hastened to offer further reassurance. "I'll get that." Crossing to her bedside table, he lifted the receiver from the old black rotary unit she had purchased on a whim while they were both in college. "Hello?" His eyebrows drew together. "Hello?" Padding over to sit beside him, she spread aloe lotion on her wind-roughened knees while he wordlessly replaced the receiver. "Now do you understand, Bill?" Settling beside her, he rubbed his hands together before pulling her close. "It sounded like there was someone breathing at the other end. Is that what you've been hearing all this time?" A single dip of the head, then, at a petulant cry, she rose to hurry towards the door. "Sorry, that's the twins. You know how cranky they can be first thing in the morning." He smiled. "Before their breakfasts. I'll see you downstairs; I'd like to shower first thing." He shrugged. "Get the dirt off." Waving her out, he hoped the nothing words would dispel her fears. After she left, Bill stepped back onto the tiled floor, checking through the window while he ran the water. There were two sedans outside now, the driver of the original car sliding into the back seat of the later arrival, while two others took his place. Bill frowned. Something's very wrong here.
X-Files Offices Curled into a ball in her Father's chair, Dana Scully rubbed her eyes. I'm getting too old for this. Smiling at the whoosh of air through the outer door, she glanced up when she felt a large hand grasp her shoulder. "You're early, Mulder." He chuckled. "So are you, Dr. Scully." Leaning against the desk, he crossed his arms and faced her. "Couldn't catch any more sleep?" She shrugged. "Why would he have my phone number on his person? Why risk our lives by tying himself to us?" Having noted that she had started a pot as he walked in, Mulder moved to the doorway to check on the coffee maker. "Why you, Scully, and not me? He's only ever contacted you when I've been away or by mistake." Sliding out of the chair, she padded to his side, still barefoot. "Perhaps he was afraid he would be assassinated, and his body dumped, so he was attempting to insure, however futilely, that someone would look after his remains." Each sobered, thinking of the recent events that had overturned the powers in the shadow government, just as they were beginning to identify some of its leading members. Scully felt his hand again, rooting her in place long enough for him to prepare two coffees. Lifting one corner of her mouth as she accepted the one he held out for her, she swayed slightly, then sensed him keeping close to her. Mulder traced the sag in his partner's shoulders with his eyes. "Maybe, but at least we won't have to wonder where he stands, anymore." Testing his drink, he dropped in another teaspoonful of sugar. Scully watched him dip the spoon into the black liquid, then pull it through from one side to the other. "That leaves only one." "Yeah, the one we started off with." They retraced their steps, he flopping behind his desk, she tucked primly on the Naugahyde. She studied the hole worn in the bottom of his left sole. Sipping in silence, they instinctively gauged each other's fatigue. Scully had monitored the tall agent carefully, aware as she was, that the role of leader was at odds with his intuitive and paranoid modes of operation. Since returning from Miami, Mulder had hovered as close to his partner as she could stand these past few months. It was as if her flood of awakened memories had opened the doors for him to re-experience the emotions that had besieged him after her return. Settling back into the lounge chair, Scully breathed in the scents embedded in the plastic, thinking back over those intervening months. Agent Phillip Alexander Nichols, late of the Drug Interdiction Division, had joined them in April, finally finished with his court appearances. The three of them had investigated a rash of UFO sightings and supposed alien abductions in Upper Michigan. Although many of the claims, especially after the first media reports, had been hysterical in origin, the initial witnesses had isolated themselves from the circus in a remote cabin in the forest. It had taken four days of hiking to reach them, the effort bringing her to respect their new agent, for his physical stamina, if not for his ideas. Just as she and Mulder were in many ways physical opposites, so were Rosen and Nichols. While both were of similar heights, Rosen, the brunette tri-athlete, radiated youth and vitality, while Nichols' blond hair was graying and thinning. He had the appearances of a seasoned campaigner, and had joked about "coming from a long line of ranchers in Montana". His eating habits were worse than Mulder's, preferring a few non-regulation beers with his steaks. But each morning, he was rested and ready, setting them a steady pace, continuing to march until even her partner's long legs gave out. The phone on her partner's desk buzzed, interrupting Scully's reverie. "Mulder. We'll be right down." She sighed, reaching for her shoes. It was hard to leave the chair, where the faint scent of her Father's Old Spice still clung to the area of slight discoloration his resting head had left. But they had work ahead of them, and Ahab would never permit his Starbuck to shirk her given duties.
Volcanic Observatory While stepping out of his office, James Campbell rubbed his face. He had spent the night reviewing the literature on caustics, but was forcing himself to stop to handle the next group of cores from the drilling site. Other than a corrosive acid or a strong alkaline solution, no chemical compound he could find mentioned would dissolve glass, usually the most inert of substances. But, with a Ph of 6.5, identification as either was impossible. Entering the lab, he crossed to the bench where Rich had stored the rest of the clear band in an aluminum lockbox. After several beakers had dissolved and the vitreous substance had begun to rot the oak of the lab bench itself, they had, in desperation, tried a metal pan, which had remained intact. What is this stuff? The scientist lifted a portion of the material, that had expanded and had taken on the consistency of putty, out of the box, rolling it around in his hand. His attempts to dissolve the mass in water had failed, nor, as his before and after weighings revealed, had the substance absorbed any of the liquid following immersion. Running his tongue over his teeth, he realized he probably hadn't shaved or washed since the core was exposed, so he replaced the sample in the container before turning to the sink to wash his hands. I'll at least brush, for now.
Basement As Mulder held the door and Scully stepped through before him, Rosen and Nichols stopped discussing their first case as a full team. The tall man nodded to the seated pair, noting how easily they had settled into his old haunts. Used as he was to working undercover, Nichols had been delighted when Mulder informed him that, as a basement-lurker, the Bureau uniform of suit and tie was purely optional. But, for the occasional meeting or briefing with Skinner, the senior agent kept a tweed sports jacket on the coat rack, with a clip-on red bow tie in the pocket. Rosen, however, followed Scully's lead, rotating over a two week period through a Series of tailored pantsuits in carefully neutral colors. When they moved upstairs, Mulder and Scully had left a few of their old oak slat-backed visitor's chairs behind. Now, the pathologist lifted one off the stack in the corner and slid it forward, close to the older agent. "I'm glad Mulder didn't trip you last night on the courts." She and Nichols chuckled while Rosen studied their faces. Mulder set another wooden seat beside hers, before removing his coat and tie, loosening his collar, and rolling up his sleeves. "Well, I guess you know what we're here to talk about." Nichols nodded. He dressed today as he usually did when they were in the office, in a button-down Oxford shirt and canvas Khakis. "Not the Ridgefield reincarnation murders." A pair of hazel eyes gazed into faded blue ones. Later. "Only the murders." Rosen exchanged glances with Scully, who waved in a dismissive gesture before she sat, and the younger woman grasped her meaning immediately. Another long lunch for the four of us at the waterfront, then. The brunette rose. "We've been kicking around some ideas, Mulder." He grinned. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear, Rosen." She stepped over to the blackboard she had rolled against the wall behind the desks. "Nic feels that the flashback dreams are past- life memories, but I think they're guilt-induced, and the amnesia is a particularly clever hoax. The perp is a professor of psychology, after all, more than capable of generating convincing symptoms." She was scribbling the victims' names on the blackboard. Crossing the room, Scully shook her head. "Rosen, we don't have a link between Professor Smith and the women he killed. None of them were in his classes, nor does he completely fit Mulder's profile of a stalking-type murderer." The auburn-haired woman began listing the details of each death by the names of the victims. "From all accounts, Jacob Smith was too physically disabled with Multiple Sclerosis for him to commit these killings. He would have to possess sufficient strength and stamina to carry a one hundred and twenty pound body up six flights of stairs to throw it off the library roof. I think, based on his rather feeble escape attempt, that the local police arrested a man who definitely has something to hide, but given his disability, it would be difficult to prove he was the perpetrator." Nichols looked to Mulder, who had remained silent. Propping his feet up on the desk, the tall man grinned. "But, Scully, why discount the possibility that his use of self-hypnosis to mask the pain he felt as a result of his disease might not have permitted his past-life memories to emerge?" He crossed his arms. "Then, he was a powerfully-built farmer's wife, capable of slinging sheep over his shoulder." Nichols swivelled his wooden desk chair. "His MS was not advanced. He still had normal, if unused muscular capability. The woman he claims to have been was abandoned by her husband for a young serving girl. We know from the local town records Professor Willis was researching, that Deborah Wells hung herself in the barn shortly thereafter. Two of the victims were distant descendants of Anne Higgins and Richard Wells." He raised his hands. "Karmic Justice?" Scully glared at him. "Ridgefield is so small nearly everyone who was born there is related to the Wells clan, Nichols." Rosen stood beside Scully. "But if it *is* Karmic Justice, why the other two? You can't say all of them were connected to the past. What about the Korean exchange student? A many times removed cousin of some fictitious Chinese servant?" Mulder shrugged. "Mistaken identity? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time? We know he never entrapped the Wells girls, but he was probably following them, and the four victims all lived in the same dormitories. The two others he can't blame on his previous life, and with Smith dead at his own hand, we can't question him further." While the other two stared, it was Scully who erupted. "Mulder, *when*?" Even to Nichols, the look the dark-haired man sent his partner broadcast awkward penitence. The older agent found himself wondering which of the two was really the dominant personality of the pair before a quiet reply emanated from the lanky figure. "Early this morning. I took the call on my way in to work; I've asked the local FBI office to ship the body up here ASAP." Rosen frowned. "Let me guess. He found some way to hang himself." Nichols pounced on Mulder's nod. "There, you see! He died the same way she killed herself in his past life, Ros." As she faced her partner, her tightly crossed arms pressed creases into her gray suit jacket. "Or how he wanted us to think. He was unstable when we arrested him, Nic." Scully walked back to sit by Mulder. "That's too extreme, even for me, Rosen. I don't know of anyone with so little self-preservation instinct," she glanced at her partner, "that he would kill himself intentionally to perpetrate a hoax." As Mulder dropped his feet to the floor, he turned to her. "But we don't know that he intended it to go that far, Scully. He *was* under a suicide watch, at our suggestion. It may simply have gotten out of hand." Nichols narrowed his eyes at the tall man. "Whose side are you on, Mulder?" The younger agent caught his subordinate in a clear-eyed stare. "The side of the Truth, Nichols. If it is revenge for a past-life wrong, we need to be able to eliminate the other possibilities as less likely." He cocked an eyebrow at Rosen. "If it isn't an X- File, but a hoax, well, justice has been served, wouldn't you say?" Nodding, the brunette cleaned the words off the blackboard. "We all agree Jacob Smith is the perpetrator. His fingerprints were found on the victim's skin and clothing. In the case of the second exchange student, she had just bathed and was wearing a new sweatsuit, so his were the *only* prints found on the victim, besides her own." Scully nodded. "Footprints with a wear pattern matching a pair of jogging shoes belonging to the deceased Smith, were tracked through wet clay near the entrance to the library. The deeper depressions in the mud showed him to be carrying excess weight, possibly over his shoulder, rather than in his arms." Nichols sighed. "Which tallies with his past life memories. The one surviving photograph of Sarah Wells on file at the University Library shows her carrying a sack." Rosen stood over him. "But that's what makes it so ambiguous a piece of evidence. Smith was friends with Willis, and used the archival records frequently in his own work. How do we know that he hadn't seen the picture before? She's labelled in it, after all, and given that collection of cheap romances he was hording, the story would appeal to him." Scully rose. "His latest research project, not a secret obsession, Rosen. Admittedly, it's not the type of literature you expect a man to have..." She glanced down at her partner. Mulder was smirking as he threw out his query. "But could that be proof of his discovery of his former female nature, Scully?" He looked from one woman to the other. "Now, neither of you Dames Reason would go in for such." His offered praise failed to entirely quell the twin storms he saw about to break, so he continued quickly. "But, if Sarah were alive today, she would fit the stereotype of the Harlequin Romance reader: lonely, overweight housewife, ignored by her husband." Rosen drew a line down the center of the blackboard, writing 'Reincarnation' at the top of the left column, and 'Hoax' atop the right. "As I see it, this is how the evidence stacks up." She raised her voice to be heard over the scratching of the chalk. "Jacob Smith had recounted, under hypnosis, the feelings of loss and abandonment when Sarah Wells realized Richard had left her for Anne." In the left column, the brunette wrote, 'Emotion-filled testimony'. Scully arched both eyebrows. "But the life of Sarah Wells is almost a fireside ghost story in that part of the country. He could have fabricated the tears." As Nichols wagged his head, conceding the point, Rosen duplicated the words in the right column. Scully glanced at her partner, his feet propped back up on the desk. The twinkling in the dark eyes baffled her. Are you enjoying this free-for-all, Mulder, or do you have a theory? When the squeaking halted, she turned her attention to Rosen. The brunette was focused on her own partner. "Nic, he hasn't given us any specific details other than could be easily verified by quick searches in the University Library." Under 'Hoax', she wrote 'no unverifiable details'. Nichols grunted. "But if we can verify what he said, doesn't that make it true?" She wrote the same phrase under 'Reincarnation'. Mulder chuckled. "So, Rosen, you would prefer he had told us something we couldn't verify?" Would that make you believe?" Crossing her arms, she leaned against the blackboard. "No, Mulder, I'm saying all the pieces fell in place too quickly. The Wells farm was buried in the blizzard of 1878, then covered by a mudslide the following spring. As a result, the site was abandoned for fifty years, but the family who bought the land left shortly after they moved in, supposedly driven out by the ghost of Sarah Wells." Her voice assumed a wry tone. "It couldn't have been the Great Depression or the Dust Bowl, now could it?" Thinking back to Mulder's advice, Nichols offered his partner a grin and some moral support. "Never. Ectoplasmic entities are *always* more potent than planetary forces." Her fellow agents relished the moment of levity before she continued. "I would have preferred that Professor Smith had given us specific details that could only be verified by the archaeological excavation slated for next summer. Remember, he couldn't recall the exact layout of the Wells kitchen. It he had been a housewife, well..." Mulder shrugged. "I agree it would be fun to watch Dr. Scully try to dance her way around that." Pursing his lips, he ignored the LOOK boring into his ear. "But, I don't think the Bureau will wait a year for a report." He waved one hand at the words. "Go on." Scully watched his lips quirk. You're having the time of your life, aren't you? Rosen wrote up 'carried victims over the shoulder', 'suffering from MS', and 'Professor of Psychology' in both columns. As she scrawled 'killed descendants of Anne Wells' in the Reincarnation column, and 'killed women not related to Anne Wells' in the Hoax column, Scully stomped to her side. "Rosen! Reincarnation doesn't happen! There is no proof for it, even in this case!" Turning, the younger woman blinked at her. "Scully, that's my point. Science is the art of the quantifiable, but here, we have nothing to measure. If it exists, the soul has no mass or energy associated with it, so we can't tag it, monitor its movements like a member of an endangered species, following it from life to life." Nichols leapt to her other elbow. "Ros, that's exactly what these past-life memories are, tracking of souls, don't you see?" Scully shook her head. "Memories are fallible, fragile things, Nichols. Do you truly remember your Grandparents' faces, or have they come to resemble the photographs you parents have shown you?" Mulder rose, jamming his hands in his pockets as he approached the other three. "So, Rosen, you feel the tangible evidence is equivocal?" After her nod, he studied the faces of the others. Nichols' shrug before resuming his place behind the desk indicated his reluctant assent. Scully's glare told him she wasn't ready to acquiesce, just yet. "I agree." His partner went utterly rigid, so he touched her arm. "I'm no believer in the Shirley McLaine school of reincarnation, Scully. After all, if everyone who claims to have been Cleopatra in a past life really had been, the woman would have had a different soul each day of her life." Nichols' snort was both interruption and support. "But we do have tangible proof that Smith killed those girls, so one way or the other, justice has been served." The older man sighed. "Until next time, Chief." Mulder grinned. "We'll mark the case closed, for now, and write it up. In twenty years, who knows? Sarah Wells may come back to take revenge on a whole new generation of Anne's descendants." Spinning on his heel, he left three astonished agents in his wake. Scully glared at them both in turn, then ran after him at the chime of the elevator bell.
Elevator When Mulder saw the blur of tan and red flying at him, he pressed the Door Open button, working not to smirk at his partner, now in high dudgeon. Scully opened the discussion in a flat, level tone. "Mulder, you don't seriously believe his reincarnation alibi, do you?" Sobering, he wondered briefly how far he could push the discussion before she slugged him. "Not the New Age stuff, no." He activated the second and sixth floor buttons. "Do you believe the soul exists?" Her arms akimbo, she assumed the sparring stance that presaged a fifteen round battle of wills. "Of course, nearly every religion holds that some eternal quantity outlives the body." Grunting, he began pacing. Bill Kryder again, after all this time. As his feet shifted aimlessly, Mulder sighed. He had hoped their friendship was strong enough to absorb the shock that reopening, however briefly, that case would bring. But have you really forgotten Lucy Householder, G-man? "All right, then what happens to this eternal quantity after death?" She blocked his path, stepping into his personal space in her frustration. "Mulder, I'm a Catholic, you *know* I won't admit to reincarnation without violating every tenant of the Christian faith." She watched him calculate. "Out with it." He leaned into her face. "So you won't admit to reincarnation based solely on the word of a single man in a palace in Rome?" If she had been livid when she entered the lift, the heat was coming off her now in near-visible waves. "Mulder, it's not like that! There are nearly 2000 years of tradition and scholarship detailing that each soul is judged on the choices of a single lifetime." He crossed his arms, their proximity nearly resting his elbows on her shoulders. "And five thousand years of careful rabbinical analysis concluding that just belonging is enough." When remorse appeared in those green-blue eyes almost immediately, he leaned back, softening his tone. I don't mean to use my family's tragedy to force you to agree with me, Scully. "Or, what, six thousand years of support for Karma? If we were to put the question to a vote from the entire planet, the Christian and Jewish viewpoints would fall in a significant minority." He touched her shoulder. "And we still, as Doctor Curie so painstakingly delineated just now, have no unequivocal evidence one way or the other." He waited as the fight left her in a prolonged sigh. "OK, Mulder, I see your point." She stared at her feet, speaking softly. "So what do we do about X?" Scully sensed him sagging as well. "I'd rather have continued to argue about Professor Smith than try to puzzle that out, Scully." Instantly alert, she focused on his darkening face. "Mulder, I don't know everything that transpired between you and your contact..." He shrugged. "Let me think about it, all right?" He tapped his watch. "New supervisor's briefing at 8:30. Skinner will tan my hide if I don't show up. I'd considered signing in and skipping out, but I can at least use the time to consider our latest problem." After the elevator settled at the second floor, Mulder held the door for Scully. "Your stop, Ma'am." As she left, he bowed slightly, smirking at the playful tap she administered to his shoulder.
Volcanic Observatory "Rich? Is that you?" Campbell met his sleepy-eyed technician at the door. "I have some ideas about this substance." Recognizing the fervor in his boss' gaze, the younger man nodded, willing to let him ramble. "Oh?" "It must be organic." Knowing it was time to play his role as Devil's Advocate, Rich queried. "Why?" The scientist threw up his hands. "Think, man, think! The deep-sea dives have been bringing back all these new life forms from the vents on the mid-ocean ridges." "But, Dr. Campbell, anything living surviving at the pressures and temperatures existing at the depth of these cores is a near- impossibility. Volatile carbon compounds would burn off, not survive as a discrete band of rock." Expecting this response, the older man grinned. "What we have here are ocean ridge volcanics, that were subducted only a few million years ago. What if..." He halted, regarding his assistant's horrified expression curiously. "What is it?" Rich grabbed his boss's shoulder. "Dr. Campbell, what did you do to your teeth?" He growled. "I brushed them. Why?" "You should look at them." Impatient with the interruption, the scientist stalked to their cramped bathroom, grinning at the mirror. "My teeth are fine, Rich, don't interrupt." Poking one incisor for emphasis, he grunted as he examined his finger. A chalky residue remained, so he studied his image closely while he rubbed the rest. Rich's face appeared. "Sir, they're dissolving!"
Heritage Park Falling silent after finishing his recap of the night's events and a brief review of his involvement with X, Mulder glanced out over the barely ruffled water. The four agents had settled under a group of oaks by the Potomac to lunch and converse in privacy. Mulder studied Nichols first, then Rosen, waiting for their responses. The older man gulped, but was silent. I expected that. Nodding, Rosen leaned forward, her mind working though the possibilities before she would issue a rapid-fire stream of queries. Not twenty questions, please. Mulder inhaled, seeking to forestall her cross-examination, but his partner spoke before he could. "Rosen, we don't have the answers that fit all the pieces together yet. We know there has been a coup, or more properly, a palace revolution, but any specifics are difficult to pin down. We suspect a new group of younger leaders has replaced the old men at the top. But how many?" The younger woman shrugged her sympathy. "You were just beginning to decipher the power structure inside the Consortium when the explosion in Manhattan occurred?" Mulder and Scully glanced at each other, which was all the acknowledgement they felt secure giving. The Section Head roused himself to assure their colleagues. "This all sounds fantastic, I know, and we had both wanted to give you two more time before we briefed you fully on the shadow governments, but last night changed all that." Nichols' knees cracked as he shifted. "That smoking fellow you talked about is still alive?" Mulder grimaced. "Most certainly." "So he's a loose cannon?" After another silent exchange of glances, Mulder responded. "We think so. He knew the plans of the new leaders, but acted as if they didn't know he was alive." Scully sipped her mineral water. "We haven't heard from him since February, but knowing him, he's still working behind the scenes to gain whatever advantage he can from this new situation." Rosen stretched, wriggling off the root that had been her perch. "So you'd recognize two of them again?" Mulder balled up his lunch bag, the half-eaten apple still inside. "One of them works in the Senate, so Danny is running through the records on all the Congressional staff members and their associates. It's taking him longer than he thought it would, with all the overturn, but we may have a few candidates for the blond one." Pushing himself to his feet, he terminated the discussion by extending his hand to Scully. "Sorry, people, I'd love to continue this, but I have an obligatory meeting with Skinner at 1:30. It seems the Bureau has never had an astronomer on staff before, and you don't fit neatly into one of their square holes, Rosen." Scully smiled at his gentle tease, but Rosen was anxious, so she patted her shoulder. "The X-Files have never fitted into a square hole." Mulder continued smoothly. "We've survived the round file, more than once. You two work up a preliminary report based on our discussion this morning. Professor Smith's remains should be arriving at the Forensics Lab as we speak, so Scully can verify the cause of death."
Basement "No, John-John, give Daddy the darts." The toddler jutted his lower lip petulantly. Charles Scully sighed and held out both hands. He's really learned to exploit our ignored child guilt. "Give Daddy the darts *now*, or no dessert tonight." Tiny red splotches were beginning to appear on John's freckled cheeks. Charles came to the realization that if he didn't distract the child soon, he would let loose with a full-blown tantrum. "Big boys don't cry to get their way, you know." Clutching his prizes between both palms tightly, John Scully stomped his foot. "Do *so*." His father shook his head. "Daddy doesn't." "Uncle Fox cries." "What?" That protruding Scully chin put in a precocious appearance. "Gamma said so. Cried lots over Aunt Dana, when she was 'ducted. An, an last Forf of July, he showed Gamma a pit-chure of his sister, Sam.... Sam..." Sighing, Charles made a swipe for the darts. Now I have to explain my sister and her partner to him? "Samantha." His joints stiff, the boy ran to one of the few plain brown shipping boxes left in the back of the basement, seeking a photo album he had watched his parents pack. But, to tug open the interleaved flaps of the container, he had to set aside the projectiles that so concerned his Father. The spiral-bound white binder partially blocking his face, John staggered back to Charles with his treasure, then sat with a thud, dropping the book before him. He flipped several of the cardboard-stiffened sheaves over, then, triumphant at his discovery, hit a print in the center with his palm. "There! Told you." He crossed his arms, covering the Turbo Power Rangers on his T-shirt as he did. Charles knelt, studying the image. Fox Mulder and Margaret Scully were huddled on a picnic bench, holding each other, a wallet-sized photo hanging off the end of one plank. While the dark-haired man's expression was obscured by Margaret's head, the compassionate gaze Dana Scully was sending her partner from just behind him was unmistakable. "John, dinner!" Charles watched his son pull himself up the stairs, all adult matters forgotten. When the boy was safely away, he collected the contended feathered missiles off the floor. Now, to return that phone call. What's this about lurking cars, I wonder? Valerie Scully's form appeared at the top of the stairs. "Chuck?" He grinned. "I owe Bill a call; I'll be up soon." She sighed. "Just don't take so long your supper gets cold, OK?" "No, Mom!"
Forensics Lab Through the glass of the door, Mulder could see Arthur Pendrell hovering at his partner's elbow while she worked in the open abdomen of the late Jacob Smith. After four hours with his supervisor, writing and rewriting a job description to wiggle Rosen into permanent status as an FBI agent, he needed to relieve a little tension. Stepping over to the intercom panel beside the entrance, he toggled an orange switch before whispering into the mesh-covered microphone. "Oh, my poor, broken heart. Betrayed by my trooo luv." The petite figure went rigid. "Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me." As Mulder hoped, the technician stiffened immediately, flushed a bright purple, and rushed the far door of the lab. One green-blue eye focused over Scully's shoulder before she jerked her head, beckoning him inside. Mulder pulled the door open. Something's up, G-man. She spoke when he had assumed a comfortable slouch by her right shoulder."You really didn't have to scare Arthur like that, Mulder." She watched him shrug. "I think he's found someone new." He could barely contain himself. "So soon?" Glancing at the white wooden door coated with multiple layers of institutional white paint, through which the sandy-haired man had departed, he snorted. "So much for all those months of pining by his microscope. Any idea who?" Scully eyed her partner through her safety goggles. "Mulderrrr. No, none. On Monday, we had talked about attending a concert at the Folger this weekend, but he was here asking me if I minded if he could cancel." He mouthed an 'Ah' at her, then dropped his eyes to the corpse. "So, what did you find on Doctor Smith?" Turning back to the body, Scully's lips quirked as she plotted a riposte to even the score between her partner and the technician. Two can play at this game, Mulder. She pulled aside the intestines. "Oh, nothing more than an unnatural organ in his body." When the Hunter's gleam shown from the tall agent's eyes, Scully found herself glad her smirk was covered by the surgical mask. "Take a look at this, partner." He grimaced before peering over her shoulder. "What am I supposed to notice here, Scully?" She never understood his queasiness, but had long since accepted it without question. "Our professor was a she." The auburn-haired agent poked a small, pear-shaped organ deep in the pelvis. After glancing at the corpse's exposed crotch, Mulder gagged. "What? But he looks like he has the right plumbing, Scully." She nodded, severing the tissue she had indicated. "Functionally, he was all man, but he was actually an hermaphrodite, someone born with two reproductive systems, one for each sex." She began bagging the internal organs she had removed to take measurements, finishing the autopsy while they talked. Mulder stepped back so Scully could work. "He fathered three children. Do you think he was even aware he had this?" Threading a suture needle, she glanced at him. "No. The uterus was attached to the urethra, but it remained undeveloped, like that of a five-year-old girl's." He watched her sew the cadaver closed, using fine, even stitches. Once the body cavity was intact, she turned to the remaining organ, slitting it open expertly. "This was blocked off by a 3 cm thick membrane. It's pretty fibrous inside." Over his discomfort, Mulder had been thinking. "Are you suggesting this may have triggered a female identity in his mind?" As she bagged the anomalous tissue, Scully considered. "I'll have to research that, Mulder. The literature on modern hermaphrodites is sparse, but I've never seen a study on the psychological impact of two sets of sex organs. Have you?" At his shrug, she continued. "Most present-day hermaphrodites are sex-tested at birth, then the 'wrong set' is removed shortly thereafter. Usually, the subject doesn't know, unless his or her parents pass the information along." He chuckled. "His or hers is right, Scully. How much longer will you be down here?" She stripped off the gloves. "Just long enough to wash up and change." Stepping into a closet-sized room, she continued to speak, raising her voice to be heard through the door. "He died of suffocation, just as we thought. He hanged himself. You can see the bruising around the neck." He lifted the sheet on the body, nodding as she concluded. "No great mysteries here, Mulder, just this slight oddity." Turning when he heard the door latch click, he was amazed, one more time, at the transformation from surgeon to agent. Not a hair out of place. How do you do that? His lip curled. "Only a woman would consider having two sets of sex organs 'a slight oddity', Scully." She tipped her head, waiting for the joke, but he was frowning. "You OK, Mulder?" Side by side, they walked to the door, then he stepped back so she could pass first. Since he had ignored her first question, she tried again. "How did the session with Skinner go?" Cocking his thumb vertically, he pointed an index finger at her temple, mouthing a 'Pow' at her. "Argh. Don't bring that up. I never knew there were so many arcane personnel rules to trip over. No wonder he turns into an ogre around review time." As they waited for the elevator, he glanced down at her. "If this manager stuff ever starts to make too much sense to me, promise me you'll shoot me again, and haul me off to the middle of nowhere for my own good, OK?" She crinkled her nose at him. Arthur, this one's for you. "If I ever have to drag you off to clear your head again, it'll be somewhere nicer than Farmington, partner, and I won't be *shooting* you to make you come to your senses." She stepped through the opening elevator doors, calling back over her shoulder in singing tones of innocence. "Coming?" He jumped, closed his mouth, then chortled as he followed her.
Basement/Study "Bill?" Leaning back, Charles sighed at the comforting creak of his oak desk chair. "You settled in yet?" "Not really. You surface guys have all the luck, breathing fresh air whenever you want. None of this going for months without sunlight on your face." The red-haired siblings grinned, each aware that they were related both by blood and as long-time men of the sea. "Yeah. After the tight quarters and silence, three rowdy boys take time to get used to again. Are the twins crawling yet?" Bill's eyes danced. "Are they ever! We thought we had learned with Will, but you forget, you know? Everything that hits the floor goes in the mouth." Charlie laughed. "Before the second bounce, seems like. So, what's this about cars? Wiretaps?" He heard his older brother close his study door. "Well, Liz doesn't want me to worry Mom or Dana with this yet, but, I think we're under surveillance." Rubbing his now healed leg, the younger Scully dropped his feet to the carpet. The temporary loss of his son stabbed deeper than he would admit, to wife, mother, or, especially, sister. "Oh?" "Tell me, what did you find out about the bugs in your place?" Charles sighed. "I took them over to.... you remember Rick Young, don't you?" "Sure. Top-notch gizmo guy. What did he say?" "That he'd never seen anything like them. He came back, that night, with me, and we found twelve others, scattered around. But, when I asked about them later, he said he'd turned them over to his Commander, and clammed up, real fast." Charles shifted, concerned about revealing too much over the phone. "I think Dana's mixed up in something far bigger than she, or that Jew partner of hers realizes." He heard a sigh. "You're right, Charlie, but, how do we convince her? She's putting us all in danger with her work, can't she see?" "I've tried to talk to Mom, Bill, but I get nowhere. She's so firmly convinced that those two are doing something so, so *significant*, that their work can't be stopped. But what good is it if we're all dead? Who's going to look after Dana in her old age if her nephews are all gone? With no way to have children of her own..." "And no prospects..." Red curls bobbed. "Right, exactly. We have to look out for the whole family, now that Dad's gone." Both men paused when they heard clicking over the lines. "Bill? You still there?" "Yeah. That's what Liz has been putting up with, apparently." "Bill, we need to get together. Do you have any leave you could use? We could meet halfway somewhere..." "No, I have a better idea. There are several reports that need to be delivered to your base floating around HQ here. I'll volunteer to make a delivery tomorrow, so we can get together, face to face, all right?" Charles nodded. "When can I expect you?" "I'll call when I get into the office in the morning, give you the final details then, OK, brother?" A sigh. "Just use someone else's desk phone when you do, yes?" "Sure thing." "Oh, say hi to Liz and the boys for me, OK?" "Yeah, and to Val and John, little Chuck, too." "Will do, Sir."
Archives Metro Station At the chime, a multi-generational Japanese family touring the American capital pushed through the double-wide opening. Unwittingly, they were brushing aside a tall man in a rumpled dark gray suit, and his auburn-haired, neatly-pressed associate in tan. She pressed a sheaf of papers against her jacket, sending a frustrated glance after them, before stepping into the car. "Mulder, Frohike had forwarded me an interesting request for information he pulled down off one of the Volcanology bulletin boards last night. Here." She passed him the sheets, freeing her hands just in time to grasp one of the support poles as the subway car lurched. Between the end of rush hour and the summer tourists, all the seats were taken, so the partners were pressed against the far door, clutching their briefcases out of the way of a group of Scandinavians. Engrossed in reading, Mulder was motionless while the train pulled into and out of L'Enfant Plaza. "Mulder, that was your stop." "Hum?" He focused on her. "Oh, I'll catch a return Blue Line at Pentagon." His eyes dropped to the text. "What do you think this means, Scully? This thing came out of a deep core and dissolves bone?" He watched her shrug. "Maybe it's related to Trepkos' silicon bug?" Now she snapped to attention. "We can't drop everything and run out there, we have..." He nodded. "This would be up Rosen's alley, though. I think they're ready to fly solo, don't you?" Focused, he was mentally reviewing the events that had transpired in both the Arctic and the Cascades. "We'll have to warn them, tell them what precautions to take." She blinked as the train emerged from the semi-darkness to pass over the Potomac. "We never had conclusive proof that the spores from the volcano were a silicon-based life form." He shrugged. "Yeah, the military took it." He tucked the papers away. "Up for some virtual surfing? What say we hit the Gunmen's place to see what else they know about this?" She stared. Is this overcompensation for the paperwork, Mulder? "No, we can't." Scully glanced around the crowded train car at the other commuters. "Remember they're still securing X, and knowing Langly, he's worked up some high tech booby trap to protect the offices. Besides, with the full-time access I now have, we can have something delivered and search away at my place." His eyes glinted. "A new case *and* free food. What a deal, Doctor Scully."
Apartment 5 Dana Scully pulled the pencil from her mouth to call from the bedroom. "Mulder, would you get that?" Once the door swung aside, he grinned at the stocky man in the hall. "Thanks for coming on such short notice, Nichols." The older agent waved the case files in the air. "XF-1008, XF- 2002, and XF-2009, right?" He waited for Mulder's nod. "I've called Rosen. She's out on a 15 mile training run, but she said she knows a route to make it down here in a half an hour. That should be about now." He held up a plastic bag. "Change of clothes." Scully appeared at Mulder's elbow, her tan shorts and violet polo shirt a contrast to his dark suit trousers and button-down Oxford, but he had long since ditched the hated tie. "Coffee's hot, so grab a mug and we'll start taping these sheets together." She watched while the two men blinked in surprise. "I downloaded a geologic map of the drilling site, but I only have standard-sized paper. We should know what these guys hit before you two run out there." They turned at the knock on the doorframe, nodding at the sweat- drenched figure outside. Rosen began apologizing. "Sorry. Give me five, guys." She disappeared into Scully's bathroom, emerging after a quick shower, just wet, but clean. Mulder met her in the hall, tugging her by the arm into the kitchen, where Scully and Nichols were already settled, reviewing the files and the data.
Dark Apartment His ever-present Morley extinguished, the old spy inserted his pick-lock into the slot in Luther's apartment door, grunting as the dead-bolt yielded. Ah, this old cat has a few lives left yet. He tapped the handle, waiting for the reinforced steel to slowly swing away. Glancing around the living room, he detected subtle changes that verified his suspicions. Luther, with a computer? He can't even type! Circling into the kitchen, he pried open the seal on the refrigerator door, checking its contents. Salad mix? He was always a Porterhouse man. The lean form straightened. Then it's true. I wonder when this happened? He seemed perfectly like himself just a month ago. Passing down the hall, keeping close to the wall, both to avoid casting shadows, as well as inadvertently creaking a floorboard, he bent at the closed bedroom door, placing his eye against the keyhole. Those idiots who rehab these old places go out of their way to acquire such authentic touches. So much the better for what I need to do. As he studied the form on the bed, he thought he detected a shimmer of light, just a eye-blink's worth, but still, it was there. In sleep, they have the most trouble. So, it's true. Luther is not exactly who he claims to be, at least not anymore. This changes everything. I know how to keep the human factions at each other's throats with a word here and there. Or, by using those computer skills I've picked up along the way, I can keep them guessing about each other and the FBI. But this development goes to the heart of the Organization's mission. Like a ghost, the gray-suited figure slipped down the hall and was off, back to his car, parked around the block. A grunt, then the figure on the bed shifted. "Anyone there?" Shrugging out of the covers, he checked the spaces in the one bedroom apartment, until, satisfied, he returned to sleep.
Apartment 5 "Mulder, I'm no expert at reading these, but I think they've tapped a layer of rock much older than Trepkos had." Rosen shifted Scully's ruler until it was perpendicular to the near-vertical formation boundaries indicated on the cross section. "Trepkos was working in an enclosed caldera, so whatever they found would only have lived on the surface, or in the chamber when it was void of magma. But this drilling project was to designed to examine the recent tectonic past." Mulder nodded. "This thing is different from the silicon life form, which only incubated in humans, but didn't dissolve their bones." Nichols set the coffee mug on his placemat. "How do you know that? Scully was never able to finish her autopsy on the Tanaka, were you?" The auburn-haired woman shook her head. "My preliminary examination of the body showed damage only to the respiratory tract, but no bone loss." She lifted her print-out from under the map. "According to this account, Dr. Campbell appeared normal when the damage to his teeth was discovered. In the three previous X- Files, the victims exhibited either aggressive behavior, with an accompanying increase in metabolism, or obvious symptoms." Rosen thumbed through two of the folders. "I'd lay odds that neither of these parasites is as extreme in physiology as extraterrestrial or silicon-based." Returning from refilling his mug, Mulder bent over her. "Oh?" Scully cocked an eyebrow. Good Luck. Rosen pushed one of the X-Files at Mulder. "Take case 2002. From this Hopkins DNA analysis, the fluke-man was exactly that, a liver fluke that had somehow merged human DNA into its own sequences. It had evolved, if you prefer, to better utilize its host, humans, for the purposes of incubation. But, it paid a price in that the adult fluke assumed simian form." Scully continued. Finally, an ally. "However, many parasites spend the majority of their life cycles in juvenile, or in this case, most fluke-like form. The adaptations were very specific, Mulder. It had incorporated those sequences that would aid in rapid growth and development of the immature organism. It could use human growth hormone to spur its maturation. It had evolved to release the triggering enzymes that tell our own biochemistry to move fats from storage tissues into the bloodstream. The liver is one of the places where fats are processed into energy, which the fluke would then feed off of directly." She glanced at Rosen, who was theorizing along with her. "Something dropped accidentally from space wouldn't have this evolutionary advantage." Crossing his arms, Mulder huffed. "But the Arctic worm wasn't specifically adapted for humans. It used the dog as well." Scully leaned towards him, moving close enough to brush his elbow with her shoulder. "All the more reason it was of terrestrial origin, Mulder. Perhaps, in a freak circumstance, if it were extra-solar, it might be able to utilize one species, but not two. Everything in the Arctic has to be adaptable to survive, which would mean being able to parasitize the first organism it encountered." Nichols was beet-faced at Mulder's calm despite the united opposition. "But, it would have to be tough to survive in space, too." Her wet curls sticking out at strange angles, Rosen shook her head. "No, no, no, Nic. We're talking evolution here, not some seeding of similar physiologies by god-like Founders." She steepled her fingers. "A meteorite drop on a planet is a one-way trip. There is no way the adapted worms could get back into space to mingle genes with the rest of its species, which is the only way what you're proposing would work." Mulder grunted. "Unless they were harvested and interbred by sentient beings, Rosen." Scully crossed her arms. "To what end, Mulder? If short, almond- eyed visitors wanted DNA, why not sample it directly?" She glanced at Rosen. The brunette was frowning before she offered another theory. "Or if this Arctic worm was designed to make us more controllable, I'd say it had exactly the opposite effect, wouldn't you?" The two men focused on her, Nichols non-plussed, but Mulder inwardly exuberant. I haven't enjoyed myself this much in years. The tall agent congratulated himself. Scully held up her hand. "Which brings us around to the silicon bug. What possible evolutionary advantage could there be in incubating in humans?" Mulder was bouncing in his seat, hoping to use his colleagues' previous arguments to prove his point. "We don't know that it's only humans, Scully, that's all we saw." Rosen shook her head. "If that was a silicon life-form, there is none, Mulder." She jutted her chin at his squint. "Look, our bodies are 97% H-two-O?" She looked to Scully, who nodded her support. "It's heated, at that, as hot as is encountered in shallower ground water." Mulder chewed his lower lip. "Which is full of dissolved minerals." Emboldened, Rosen continued. "Exactly. Rocks of volcanic origin are anhydrous, simply because at the high temperatures and pressures present at their formation, any volatile compounds, which are ubiquitous on the surface of the earth, would be driven out." Nichols frowned, beginning to perceive the problems with Mulder's hypothesis. "All carbon-based life-forms rot when left in hot aqueous solutions long enough, whether alive or dead, unless, like salt-water fish, they have developed mechanisms to withstand their acid environment." Scully rested her arms on the table. "But, the usual solution is to grow new cells to replace the old ones, removed as scales flake off, or fin cells die. The speed of development in any life form is ultimately limited by the rapidity of chemical reactions possible with the elements present in it. This is what determines how quickly our neurons can fire to alert our brains that we are in imminent danger, or how fast our muscles twitch to get us out of it." Mulder turned towards her. "Scully, are you..." He stopped when she shook her head. Scully retrieved one of the reference books stacked on the floor, pointing to the periodic table inside the front cover. "Carbon is element six, with six protons, six neutrons, and four electrons in its incomplete outer shell, when in its non-radioactive state. Silicon is element fourteen, with fourteen protons, neutrons and electrons, also in its non-radioactive state. Yes, the outer shell has four free electrons, but the nucleus is so much larger, the reaction times are all slower, by a factor of the ratios of atomic mass." Mulder leaned into her face. "So what are you telling me here, is that a silicon bug would begin to dissolve if encased in a water- based life-form, and it couldn't think fast enough to know to get out of its bath?" She nodded, hoping he had finally, after two and a half years, come to understand her objections to the first case they had worked on after her return. He was still working through the ideas. "But a silicon-based life form that could live at the temperatures and pressures in magma wouldn't have those problems, would it? It could think fast enough to get out of trouble, and wouldn't encounter water." As Scully brought her face up to Mulder's, she saw the sheer delight radiating from it. "Then it couldn't live at the low pressures and reduced temperatures of the human body, can't you see? It would freeze, just like the molten silicates it lived in. Oh, I could see the life in magma possibilities, Mulder, since the last thing it would encounter there would be predation by carbon- based life-forms. But outside? No." She sagged against the seat back, feeling her sleepless night in her bones, then turned to the other agents. "Look, it's getting late, and you two have a plane to catch tomorrow." While the new agents were both startled into surprised outbursts by the abrupt shift, it was Nichols spoke first. "What? You're not coming with us?" Mulder shrugged. "We'll be out in a day or so." He fixed each of them in a stare in turn, watching as understanding dawned. "The tickets are on Cynthia's desk, so pick them up first thing in the morning. Your flight's at 9:15 from National. Keep us informed." Catching his partner's eye, Nichols jerked his head in the direction of the door. "Run you home?" Rosen nodded, so the two took their leave. After escorting them through the living room, Mulder turned to grasp his partner's shoulder. "Do you mind?" She held up her car keys. "I presume this is not a judgement on my hostessing skills, Agent Mulder?" As he reopened the door, running his hand down her back to shepherd her out, he grinned broadly. "If it were, Agent Scully, I would have applied to sub-let your sofa years ago."
Apartment Complex "The main entrance is blocked, so turn here, Scully." She eased the Honda into his darkened parking lot before they moved purposefully into a gap formed by several unoccupied spaces. "When do we leave for New Jersey?" He touched her arm. "8:30. I'll pick you up at 7:45, all right?" He watched her shake her head. "What?" "I don't see how you do that, Mulder." "What, Dr. Scully?" "We barely thought this was case, before you were wheeling and dealing us official orders!" She tipped her head. "When I didn't hear 'season tickets for JKC stadium', I knew that wasn't Danny at the other end of the phone." Shrugging, he leaned into her face. "Let's just say the exaggerated rumors of your cruel rebuffs of my charms have their uses." She rolled her eyes. "Surely the women in travel and accounting have more useful things to do with their time than gossip about Spooky and the Ice Queen." He snorted. "Whatever, Mulder. Are you sure X will be safe at this Sanitarium in New Jersey?" All business, he nodded. "It's been used by the MUFON recovery network for years. You'd be surprised who's been there." They approached the entrance together. "So this is the Betty Ford Center for abductees?" "Something like that." He studied her while he held the door. "What?" "He'll shoot you when he wakes up." He sobered. "If he wakes up." She patted his arm, then turned to leave. But Mulder jumped back from the entrance, muttering about vermin. Scully spun around, just in time to watch a brown rat scurry into the bushes. "I'd say this place is due for another fumigation." He was fumbling for his Sig. "Yuck." When Scully realized his intentions, she laughed. "Mulder, it's only a rat, a brown Norwegian at that. Just another one of the species we've introduced to this continent." He was grimacing. "I hate those things almost as much as I do preying mantises." They both stared at the spot where the rodent had disappeared. Scully pushed him gently on the shoulder. "Go on inside, Mulder, it looks like rain." He was calculating. "That's pretty brave for a rodent, wouldn't you say?" She frowned. Where is he going with this? "Too dangerous for a rat? Mulder! Not at all, they don't fear humans, and with the amounts of garbage generated in a modern city, they can dine in style. In fact, the long-standing assumption in pest control is one rat per person in urban areas." Feeling the long day now, his shoulders drooped. "Whatever, Scully. 7:45, remember." She stepped away, calling back over her shoulder. "Get some sleep, OK?"
The rat quivered under the bushes, watching the Honda pull away. That was too close. He checked himself over, smoothing his fur with his paws. He didn't like reducing himself to so compact a life-form, but when concealment was necessary, he found that mimicking this particular species had its advantages. So that was where the dark-skinned man had been taken. Now to collect the data I've been sent for, and make the trade.
Carlos Rodrigues yelped as he felt a sharp shove in his back, but something in the quiet growl made him cower. "Get out of my way." Mentally switching to English, Rodrigues whirled to confront ... a tall, broad-shouldered man with a prominent jaw and steely eyes. The man's nostrils flared, the palpable menace leaving Carlos slunk back against the wall. Cowering, the Hispanic man realized he would lose any confrontation over his machismo he might normally otherwise provoke. "No sweat, man." The intimidating bulk thrust past him, leaving Carlos staggering. "No sweat." He shook himself. What just happened here? He waved to three of his friends, the trenchcoated figure forgotten almost immediately.
Office of the Lone Gunmen "Hey, Langly, wake up!" Swatting at whatever had been shaking him, the blond Gunman grunted. "It's me, Frohike, she's back, come on!" "What's going on? Is the new traceback program activated?" Shoving the covers away, Langly fumbled for his glasses on his nightstand, or, what passed for one. To accommodate the documentation he was proofing for O'Reilly Books, the Gunman had fallen back on his college days, hastily assembling shelves for the manuscripts from cinder blocks and vinyl laminated plywood boards. As he rubbed his glasses on his shirt, he tripped over his latest effort, the Third edition of "Running Linux", due out in September. The two men were moving down the hall together, headed for their computer lab when Frohike answered breathlessly. "I can't! You were still editing it when you left for Digex. Whatever possessed you to take on a second job for an access provider, trouble- shooting during the graveyard shift, anyway?" The query was accompanied by a broad grin. Langly responded in kind. "It pays three times what I'm getting writing leakage detection software for DOE, *plus*, I can think, usually without interruption." He rubbed his hands together. "What's she up to now? More file manipulation?" "Yeah." The blond man punched a few keys. "Did Byers finish the rerouting subroutine?" The round-faced Gunman grunted. "What do you think? Vicky blew into town for three days unexpectedly yesterday, so after we returned home he was gone, gone, gone. This is your show, my friend." Scratching under the M in Ramones, Langly grinned. "Don't be tough on an old married man, dude. Think how you'd feel if it were you and the Doc, and she appeared unexpectedly while off on a case." Frohike bowed slightly, conceding the point. "He *is* working on holding it together, I have to give him that." He saw that Langly's index finger was poised over the Enter key. "That's all you needed to do to get this sucker running?" A grin. "When you're good, you're good." A click. "Follow the bouncing red dot." Tapping a white X-window in the lower left corner of the screen, Langly leaned back, waiting. Two pairs of hazel eyes tracked the marker from the Mount Vernon section of Alexandria, through Arlington, then DC, into Laurel, Maryland, before halting and growing into a five pointed star. Frohike whooped with delight. "Man! Lady Lovelace is local!" The long hair waved, while Langly rapped the table. The star had fizzled out, little dots of color falling down the screen like digital snow. "No, she's not. Look, it's a mirror site, a false positive." The blond Gunman rubbed his nose. "Make up some java, dude, I have work to do."
West Chase Apartments 'Ace' smiled at the four raps on the door, three in quick succession, one slightly delayed after the rest. "Hey, Drew." As she opened the door, she began to speak a further, more personal greeting, but the sight of her visitor dropped her professional visage in place. "'Finn', what's wrong?" Hesitant, the blond man remained without. "Who's Drew?" Her eyes flashing as she stepped aside for him to enter, she kept her answer brief. "'Charlie'." 'Ace' waved at the one bare spot on the sofa, a narrow space between uneven stacks of chassis covers. "So, what's wrong?" Lindhauer wedged himself in, sprawling both arms along the back of the sofa, seeking to put the woman in front of him at ease before initiating any conversation. "Why should anything be wrong? Why can't I just drop by to see your new place?" Like I used to be able to? 'Ace' had turned to walk into the kitchen, but halted at the implication of his words. What does he mean, used to be able to? Looking back over her shoulder, she sighed. "You're welcome anytime, 'Finn', you know that." Now he rose and approached her, taking her by the arm when he reached her. "Anytime?" She nodded. "The work comes first with me. 'Charlie' understands that, 'Finn'." He turned her, attempting to read behind the green eyes. "That's good to hear. But does it for 'Charlie', too?" She lifted her elbow out of his hand. "Of course. Is this what you wanted to ask me about?" They locked eyes. He shook his head, both turning at another set of knocks. Lindhauer watched as 'Ace' flew to the door, throwing it wide. When 'Charlie' caught sight of Lindhauer in the middle of the living room, the delight written on his face was replaced by a carefully neutral expression. Lindhauer nodded a greeting. "You're here. Good." 'Charlie' followed 'Ace' as she returned to stand by the sofa in her cluttered living room, draping an arm over her shoulders as the three faced each other in a close triangle. 'Charlie' addressed Lindhauer. "What's wrong?" The blond leader regarded them quietly. "It's your former bosses' assistant. He's missing." He paused while 'Charlie' and 'Ace' stared, expressing their initial surprise. "Two nights ago, he left his apartment, dressed for a run, and never returned. He may have gone over to them, told them everything he knows." "Finn' held up both hands. "I'm here speaking with you two first, before I inform 'Andrew'. I think we should have him eliminated when we find him." 'Charlie' shook his head. "No, there's something wrong." Stepping away from 'Ace', he moved one stack of cards from an armchair to the floor, then sat. "He may have been feeding Mulder information, but he's always been loyal to the Project. He understands how important the work is, and how exposure would ruin the preparations. That's why he's steered the FBI so carefully, always guiding them away from us." 'Ace' joined him, perching on the padded arm. "So, what do you think is wrong with him?" Lindhauer towered over the couple. Now is not the time for secrets between us. "Tell me." Curling his arm around 'Ace's' hip, 'Charlie' sighed. "Six years ago, his test results revealed a genetic indication of mental instability. That's why Black Lung wanted to use him as a mole with Mulder, dropping hints until he took over the Old Man's role. He knew an unstable informer would eventually crack under the double game, and offer him total deniability. I'm guessing that this breakdown has finally occurred." 'Ace' nodded. "So, we should check the area mental institutions, homeless shelters, or jails?" 'Charlie' grinned. "It would be a start." 'Ace' smiled back. "We can finally write him off now, can't we?" The three exchanged glances. "One fewer headache to deal with." She rubbed her eyes. "Sorry. I've been up all night trying to solve the problems with this new security system." She glanced upward. Lindhauer was holding her shoulder as he offered her some unwelcome advice. "We have other programmers, 'Ace'. Use your talents for the Group's strategy, not this." Looking to 'Charlie', she shook her head. "No, it's my idea. I'll see it to fruition. That troll Frohike has been too close, twice now. I know how his mind works, so I can develop a lockout that exploits his mental blind-spots. No one else in the Organization has sparred with him as much as I have." 'Charlie's' hand pressed soothingly into her back. "That's our 'Ace'. You OK? You look like you've barely slept." Lindhauer cleared his throat. Hate to break up this tender domestic scene, but... "Thanks for the information. 'Andrew' won't be happy, but this is for the best." He touched one side of his nose with his forefinger. "I'll see myself out." But there are many other things he and I need to discuss. 'Charlie' nodded absently, thinking only of the woman beside him, but he waited until he heard the click of the door latch before pulling 'Ace' into his arms. "Sorry I arrived late. Was he bothering you?" Shifting over until she was draped on his chest, she planted a playful kiss on his nose. "Never too late, Drew." Tightening his grip on her shoulders with one arm, he pushed her short curls off her forehead. "Good. You planning on going into the Bureau dressed like that?" He tugged at her baggy T-shirt. "No. I haven't had the time to shower and change." She patted his stomach. "I'll only be a few minutes." He followed her to the hallway. "I could get in the way?" She kissed him quickly on the lips. "Later, OK? I think I've come up with something else on our visitors."
Delta Flight 1034 Fidgeting in the restrictive seat, Mulder stretched his legs further into the narrow aisle in coach, settling his back partly over his partner's arm. Her lips twitched, running through several teasing remarks she hoped would set him at ease. Before she whispered into the ear hovering just in front of her face, she checked the drowsing grandmother to her left. "So this is how you plan to hot up the rumor mill for next time, partner?" He mouthed a silent 'Ha, Ha' over his shoulder. "This late, we were lucky to get adjacent seats, Scully." He loosened his tie while she rubbed gently against his back with her shoulder. "Had trouble sleeping?" His barely perceptible shrug told her that he had, and that he was grateful for her concern. She held up a printout of a scanned photo. "This is Doctor Campbell, taken at the AGU Meeting in San Francisco last Fall. I pulled his CV off the Net last night, and while he's no Trepkos, he does have an impressive list of accomplishments." He flipped through the stack of pages she passed him. "So we were right to send Nichols and Rosen out there. If he'll talk to anyone, it'll be a fellow geologist." He swiveled around in the seat. "I thought you told me to get some rest. How about you? This took time to find." Chuckling, she stretched. "Oh, well, with someone like Andre in my life, I *always* sleep like a log." Relieved, his full cockeyed grin unfolded. "Ooh, Doctor, I thought it was Raul on Wednesdays." Waving theatrically, she sighed, slipping the printout under the blue folder on her fold-down tray before she parried the riposte. He's relaxing, good. "Old news, Mulder. I *know* it's hard to keep up with them all, but you *should* try." His eyes dancing, he leaned close to her ear. "Anytime, Agent Scully." Before returning to the final draft of the Chiapas drugs paper she and Susan Miles were publishing, she patted his arm. He attempted to expand the seat into the aisle. This is no good. We'll have to switch to business on the way back. His attention drifted to the words on the pages that occupied her, so completely that he had to catch a single yellow sheet that slipped from between the rest. As he read it over, he frowned. "Scully?" She looked up at him, squinting through her reading glasses. "Oh, sorry, Mulder. I need to send that in to the publisher." When she attempted to take it from him, he gripped the paper. "This is your personal credit card number." She slapped the folder with the galley proofs shut. "Yes, it is. Susan is first Author on the other one, so Hopkins is paying the page charges on hers. But, we agreed, she and I, that I would pay for the one I'm first Author on." She left her hand open, confused at his resistance. "Why didn't you tell me about this?" He looks genuinely upset with me. "Because it isn't work- related, Mulder - Mulder!" After tucking the sheet into his briefcase, he wedged the soft- sided valise beneath the seat in front of him, where it was firmly out of her reach. When he sat up, the stare he fixed her in was dark, unreadable. "Scully, it *is* work-related. These drugs were discovered while on official FBI business, and the Bureau should pay, just as it funds publication of any other techniques or results of scholarly interest." Agape, she sat motionless, but while the sight of a non-plussed Dana Scully tweaked the corners of his lips, he persisted. "I've already talked to Rosen, and we're paying the publication charges for her dissertation work, since her major professor has left Cornell. I could hardly do less for my own partner." She closed her mouth, focusing on the cirrus clouds visible in the distance through the window. "Mulder, I never thought..," she sighed. "It *is* science, not proof of vampirism." He grasped her shoulder, bringing her attention back to him. "Hey, if one of the Spooky Patrol publishes in the New England Journal of Medicine and another in Science, it's a reason besides our solve rate to let us stay together, Scully. We're not quite the official embarrassment we usually are." Dropping his hand, he studied the black loafers that encased his feet, now jammed sideways between the briefcase and the box stuffed under his seat. "And I know certain pathologists who aren't as far along in their careers as they deserve to be, because of choices they made, decisions that are more appreciated than they can ever..." They locked eyes briefly, before she returned to the manuscript, and he to the only entertainment the situation provided, watching her work and pestering her with questions about the text.
Volcanic Observatory Albert Rich shook the hands of the two FBI agents before escorting them into the core analysis lab. Rosen bent over the cylinder on the bench, examining its fractures closely. Nichols followed the technician to the lockbox. "You say Campbell is still in the hospital?" Rich nodded. "Most of his teeth are gone now, dissolved down to the roots. Other than that, he seems healthy and alert. The doctors are monitoring his bone mass for further losses, but after they flushed his mouth thoroughly to attempt to sample for bacteria, it seems to have stopped. He's on antibiotics, just in case." Her hands in her pockets, Rosen peered at the vitreous mass, glancing at her partner when he grasped her shoulder. "Ros, you don't want to stick your face in that stuff. Remember the Firewalker Case." Nichols cautioned. Nodding, she straightened and turned to the technician. "But I thought from the report you put up on the Web that this substance had to be in contact with a surface before it damaged it?" Rich held up one of the destroyed beakers. "So far, yes. I've been monitoring the material, which seems to only increase in mass after dissolving something." She grunted. "As if it were ingesting it. No wonder Campbell thought it was organic." Nichols nodded. "Can Campbell talk?" He found himself the focus of the other two's attention. "Can he answer questions?" Deep creases furrowed Rich's forehead. "Yeah, sure. But without his teeth, he whistles a lot." He reached for a pad of paper. "This is the name of the hospital and his room number." They nodded their thanks and left.
Elizabeth Hill Rest Retreat "Isn't this a little close to Fort Dix for comfort, Mulder?" As the rented Taurus turned up a long driveway, Dana Scully peered through a stand of willows at the high Victorian home. "Nah, provides good cover. Who would be suspicious about something this close to a military base?" A young orderly approached the car as they parked and exited. "Mister Mulder?" He smiled as the tall agent nodded, shaking the hand extended to him. "Hi, I'm Lewis, I'm new since..." Scully slipped into position at her partner's elbow, where she was rewarded with two beefy grins. Lewis stepped back, vainly attempting to disguise his awe. "You're Agent Scully?" Mulder chuckled, his eyes light with teasing and affection as he pressed his hand into the small of her back. "The Enigmatic One, in person." Her sharp glance morphed into amusement at the well- built blond man's next words. "Wow! We were warned by the Lone Gunmen, but Frohike couldn't do you justice." Mulder whispered to her as he ushered her forward. "Ooh, and here I thought he would be inventing cantos of praise to your grace and beauty on the long drive up here." She shook her head, setting the silliness aside with the gesture. "What can you tell us about X?" Escorting them up into the building, Lewis sighed. "He's much as he was when he left you. Certain responses are still in place, like blinking at lights, cringing at loud noises, and he will walk around, when he wants food or," he glanced at Scully, "to take a leak, which we staff members appreciate." Nodding, she held the door for her partner. "That's not typical of cases like his. Can you determine anything about his mental state otherwise?" Lewis shrugged. "I'll let Doctor Alvarez tell you about that." He rapped once on an opaque glass panel set in a heavy walnut frame, smiling at the black-haired woman who answered before he excused himself and disappeared. She was about Scully's age and build, and the two women nodded at each other, exchanging quick, courteous handshakes. But her brown eyes gleamed at the sight of the tall agent. "Fox! It's been what, three years?" Shyly, he nodded, wincing as she moved forward to hug him. "Almost, Maria." Stepping back, she held him by the waist. "No more blood irregularities?" He shrugged, not looking either woman in the face. Scully cocked an eyebrow. "This was after Kristen?" His diffident glance answered her question. The two doctors nodded at the unspoken response. Scully smoothly changed the subject. "Just how terrible a patient was he?" As she ushered them in, Maria focused on Scully for the first time, sensing the deep connection she suspected the two shared. "Our worst. But you must already know that, Agent Scully." She held her office door open, patting Mulder's shoulder as he passed. "And what about you, Doctor, how have you fared after your abduction?" The auburn-haired woman sat, using the opening to inform Maria of her own medical history, as well as providing her partner time to compose himself. Ever the Agent, Scully's eyes took in their surroundings in quick snapshots while she talked. The south-facing office was small, like most of the spaces in the Nineteenth century building, constructed when number of rooms was more important than size. But the tall windows, curtained in antiqued lace and occupying most of the south and east walls, looked out onto the plush green of rolling lawns. The added light gave the space a much bigger feeling. Doctor Alvarez's desk was actually a period drop-leaf chestnut table with turned legs, set between a fireplace of rough-cut granite and two mahogany-framed armchairs with subdued brocade cushions. Scully realized that this was more a classic consulting-room than the records-keeping center a modern office had become. Most of the patient files were probably computerized, accessible through that Pentium on that bird's-eye maple side table like Mom's. A quick check of her partner told her he was still wrestling with whatever had silenced him when they entered. I'll handle the necessary questions later. Finally, Mulder twisted in the chair, pushing his discomfort away, calling the doctors' attention to him. "So, what is his prognosis, Maria?" The dark haired woman walked around her table, a Series of photographs in hand. She passed the first to Mulder, the second to his partner. "I have no idea, Fox. As I'm sure Lewis informed you, outside of certain limited activity, he is, for all intents and purposes, catatonic." Scully dropped the image into her lap. "Did you find any chemical substances in his blood or nerves that might account for his condition?" Doctor Alvarez slid the folder onto her desk, then propped herself against it. "No, his bloodwork and toxicological tests were completely negative. He carries the gene for sickle-cell anemia, but there is no indication he suffers from the condition." Scully leaned forward. "Have you only checked him upon admission, or has he been retested since?" Mildly irritated at Scully's relentless probing, Maria focused on the auburn-haired woman. "We ran him through an MRI just before you arrived, but found no evidence of lesion." Smiling, she tapped the photo Mulder held. "What you have there are a Series of cross sections of electrical activity in a human brain. The images are false-colored, with blue representing areas of low activity, progressing through green, yellow, orange, red, and violet as the numbers of times the neurons fire during the exposures increase." She wiggled the paper and he snatched it away playfully, his partner making a mental note of the exchange. Maria continued. "Yours is from a normal brain in REM sleep. If you had been paying attention, you would have seen areas of red concentrated in the frontal lobe, which are interpreted to represent dream activity in the brain." Scully lifted one corner of her mouth. "Understand, Mulder, she means the image, not the gray matter in your skull. There would probably be a second catatonic patient here if you were in REM sleep long enough to finish one of these maps." The doctors locked eyes, Maria reading the history behind the words. Just as I thought. He has this problem on the outside, too. "Right, Scully." The auburn-haired woman pointed to her fidgeting partner. "If he's Fox, and you're Maria, then please, use Dana." She focused on the woman before them, ignoring the growl from the matching chair. "This," she flapped the page of images she held, "is from a normal waking brain. There are areas of red throughout, showing the multiprocessing we do at any given moment in the day, some of it unconscious." Doctor Alvarez held up a third set. The rear of the brain was black, but the entirety of the frontal lobe was purple. "This is your friend's." Mulder took the page from her. "He's in an hallucinatory state." Maria nodded. "Exactly, Fox." Although he shot her a disapproving glare, her attention was focused on his partner. "What could have triggered this, do you know?" Scully chewed her lip. "Maria, we don't even know his name, let alone any medical background. Was his heartrate elevated during the testing?" The black-haired doctor considered. "As if he were experiencing waking nightmares?" She caught Mulder's wince at the prospect. "No, it wasn't. What are you thinking, Dana?" Scully stood, placing the photo on the desk. "Our bodies normally block signals from the brain during REM sleep, so we don't injure ourselves if we dream we are being chased, or are covered in bugs." Mulder crossed his arms. "You think his catatonia is a result of this self-protective mechanism taking over his body inappropriately?" Scully shrugged. "It's a possible explanation, Mulder." Maria wagged her head. These two are so alike. No wonder... "And a testable one, Dana. We can check his spinal fluids for increased levels of neurosuppresants." She checked her watch. "But in the morning. The clinical staff is home right now." Mulder rose, towering over the two doctors. "Can we at least see him, Maria?" She extended her arm towards the door. "Let me show you the way."
Room 109 Mulder grasped the shoulder of the man staring vacantly at the wall, before settling on the edge of the bed. Scully and Alvarez waited just outside the doorway. "Hey." He left his hand on X's forearm. "The Doc tells me you've been a better patient than I was." His grin appeared suddenly, vanishing equally rapidly. "That's not hard, I know, but they'll take good care of you here. Trust me, the Doc's a pro, and a real lady." He glanced over his shoulder at the two women. "Look, I never had a chance to thank you for West Virginia." The head rotated on the pillow, and for an instant, the eyes crystallized into the penetrating focus that Mulder expected to see in this visage. Then the muscles softened, and the presence and personality were gone. Mulder gasped, grasping X's arm in surprise. "Just try to come back, OK? You're needed out here." Suddenly speechless, he stood, hurrying to the door. The three hovered outside, Scully touching his elbow. "He responded when you mentioned West Virginia." Mulder shook his head. "But what does that mean, Scully?" Maria crossed her arms. "If you two don't mind, he *is* my patient. Tell me about what happened in West Virginia while we have some dinner. It may help." Mulder studied his feet, but Maria tugged on his arm. "This was another one of your escapades?" Scully nodded. "You could say that."
The hovering demon had been haranguing him, recounting all his flaws and shortcomings, until the words had dissolved into one long stream of disgust and scorn. Hanging in space in front of him, mocking and taunting before the unchanging background of what he could only assume was a hospital room, the face on the monster changed. Sometimes it was a lean, aquiline profile that he remembered from the rare visits to a high-rise office in Manhattan, and sometimes it was his Smoking superior. Only rarely was it the wavy-haired old man, with sad, doelike eyes, expressing disappointment at his failure. But once, the face formed into a familiar countenance that brought all his old feelings of impatience to the surface. He studied the wide, fleshy noise, the strong chin, the soft brown hair, scarcely believing that this one particular vision was radiating the compassion he felt. "Thank you for West Virginia." He tried to reach out, to speak, but the face faded, replaced by darkness and maniacal laughter. Was that real? What's happening to me?
Cascades Humana Hospital James Campbell frowned at the visitors standing at the foot of the bed. "What?" The 'w' escaped with a trill. Rosen walked around to his left shoulder. "That's right, Sir, we're with the FBI, and we'd like to know more about the depth the cores reached when it sampled this vitreous mass." She smiled, enjoying this interview with a fellow scientist. "I have an undergraduate degree in Geology from the Colorado School of Mines, and a Doctorate in Astronomy from Cornell, so please, feel free to share your conclusions with me in as much detail as you wish." Nichols admired her skill at setting their witness at ease. If she could bring Campbell to see her as a colleague, he might let something useful slip that he might not give a layman like himself. Campbell responded eagerly to a fellow scientist's curiosity. "Well, I had initially thought this was a caustic organic compound, but now I think it may be a new life form." Remembering those same words in the report on Trepkos and Firewalker, Nichols felt a chill run up his spine. "Sir, might this not be a contagion of some kind?" Rosen and Campbell stared at him, the volcanologist regarding him with distaste, and his partner with a silent look that broadcast clearly 'Let me handle this.'. But the man in the bed spoke first. "No, I think not. Rich is unaffected, as are the graduate students who have worked with the material. I inadvertently brought the substance into contact with my mouth, and there is something in my teeth that is as attractive to whatever this life-form is as is glass." Rosen nodded. "Mister Rich also mentioned that it dissolves wood." She leaned closer to the geologist. "If I may offer my assistance, I'd like to return to the lab and set up a few simple tests. Perhaps we could glean something about the nature of this life form by what it did and did not consume, and how quickly it did so." Campbell nodded. "That would be most helpful, Agent Rosen. I know Rich will have his hands full keeping up with the cores." He waved one hand at the door. "My doctor wants to keep me here for a few more days of observation, but if I lose no more bone mass, I should be out of here by Monday." As Rosen waited for her partner to ask the question she knew was uppermost on his mind, Nichols took a step forward. "Doctor Campbell, in one of their past cases with the X-Files, Agents Mulder and Scully encountered a life-form in a caldera that they speculated was silicon-based." Campbell shrugged. "Anything's possible, Agent Nichols. I admit that encountering a organism encased in volcanics as this one was makes that an extremely attractive, even reasonable, hypothesis, but we should exhaust other potentialities first. That we've found anything capable of living in so caustic an environment is of significance, whether carbon- *or* silicon-based." The agents shook his hand and took their leave; Nichols holding the door for his partner. "So, Ros, will you need my help with the tests?" She nodded. "That would be great. Whatever this stuff is, the fewer people who know about it, the better. We can report to Mulder and Scully tomorrow when we know a little more about our glass-eater bug."
Rest Retreat, New Jersey Through the cast-iron grapevine woven into a grill for the screen door, Maria Alvarez paused to study the lean form of Fox Mulder. Her former patient was hunched over, both arms resting on the carved railing of the porch, painted in pale yellow with aquamarine accents on the scrollwork. "You were right about Dana Scully." Mulder, now in a navy blue polo shirt and jeans, straightened, facing the black-haired woman as the hinge spring creaked while she pushed her way outside. "Hey." He slouched on the far end of a suspended cedar swing, one arm draped along the back, watching as she joined him. "Thanks for taking X on such short notice." Resting her head in the fold in his arm momentarily, she smiled up at him. "You were always a challenge, Fox, so I figured he would be, too." He stared out at the purples and oranges of the sunset sky. "I hate it when you call me that." She poked him gently in the ribs. "I know. But you understand why I do, Mister Oxford graduate." He pulled away from her, crossing his arms. "Right. It would be good therapy for me to make a more personal connection to someone besides Scully and Sam. I always knew you wanted to keep me on the couch." She tracked the lines in his face with her eyes. Don't use humor as a shield. I know that trick of yours. "I thought that was my job." She chuckled. "After all, the placard in the hallway does say Staff Psychologist. How are you, really? Was getting Dana back everything you'd hoped it would be?" He shrugged. "For a while. I need her, Maria." He frowned at the hitch in her breathing. "I don't mean like that. She helps focus me, calling me back before my ideas get too out there to be able to prove. But there was a time when we..." He rocked in silence for a moment. "It wasn't so good. We were angry with each other. I wanted her to believe without question, and she still needed evidence." Doctor Alvarez waited. She realized the agent attached the same significance to his partnership with the red-haired doctor that most men assign to their marriages. Her silence would elicit more details than a barrage of questions ever could. "We found some, but then she tried too hard to just believe. It wasn't her, not really, and she almost left me because she couldn't do it." Maria leaned into his side. "But she's still here." Surprised by contact he would accept unquestioningly from the subject of their discussion, he glanced down at the black-haired psychologist. "Yeah. We worked it out. She understands that I know how much I need her logic to balance my intuition. We're a team again," he sighed. "It's so good it scares me. We have two other agents working with us." Maria smiled. "I'm happy for you." Standing, he rubbed his hands on his jeans before jamming them in his pockets. "I'm trying not to make the mistakes I saw my Dad make. Once, he took Sam and me to his office in DC during an open house at the State Department. Everyone there was so terribly nice to us, it reminded me of how my Mom was when he got angry." He shrugged. "I figured he must have yelled at all of them, too." "Fox..." He jerked. "Mulder, is there something about your family you haven't told your doctor?" Wiggling his fists inside his pockets, he focused on her, pressing his lips firmly shut. Yes, and wild horses couldn't drag it out of you. She changed the subject. "This is good news, that your work is going so well. You deserve it." Turning away, he shuddered. "No." The word was almost a puff of night air. She crossed to the railing, looking up at him. "You do." He locked eyes with her. "If it was just Scully and myself, I wouldn't worry. She understands the risks and made the decision to come inside with me. But the other two." He waved vaguely at the third story of the building. "Three. They were handed to me. How do I tell Nichols and Rosen what we've found out and make them believe before they leave me?" He hugged himself. "Is it fair to bring them all the way in so soon? Am I ready to lead them all?" She grasped his wrist. "Fox, as the risk of sounding very undoctorly by not playing twenty questions to drag the conclusion out of you: don't obsess so. You'll be fine. Scully has faith in you, and so do I." Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stepped away. She watched him pace, chewing his lip while his mind worked. "Just let it be. If you could make a go of it with Dana, you'll manage this, too. Perhaps it would help if there were something else in your life besides your work." After a few more minutes of aimless wandering, he met her eyes and sighed. She can't understand. "Good night, Maria." Before she could respond, he disappeared inside, the slap of the screen door terminating the conversation.
Rio Entertainment Complex McConnell slid into one of the two white plastic lawn chairs across from 'Charlie' and 'Ace'. The outdoor section of the Italian restaurant where they had agreed to meet overlooked a man- made lake behind the mall. Occasionally, a breath of humid air would flow from the water over them, ruffling the red, white, and green-striped umbrellas. After ordering, he leaned towards the pair. "So, what have you found?" Releasing 'Charlie's' hand, 'Ace' sipped her Diet Coke, then repositioned the glass exactly in the condensation ring on a tiny square napkin before replying. "Our visitor emits a fair amount of UV in the upper wavelengths, close to the X-ray range. It may be a part of how they morph." She shrugged. "I don't know." A wave of movie-goers exited the mall behind their table, collecting at the gray steel railing overlooking the lake to feed their leftover popcorn to oversized koi waiting below. The high- pitched cries of the children, as they released energy pent up by sitting for two hours, combined with loud conversations from the adults, forced the three to huddle together to be heard. 'Charlie' glanced at 'Ace' before continuing. "Now we have a way of tracking the visitors, and, since there may be others we don't know about, we'll need it." McConnell nodded. "I agree." He turned to the dark-haired woman between them. "How are the funding redirection programs going?" She sighed. "I'm running passive sweeps right now. So far, it's easy to access individual corporate accounts, count the funds, rewrite the records, then leave. I want to be absolutely certain we can't be detected before I move any amount of money, no matter how small." The red-haired man crossed his arms. "Yes. We have to maintain total deniability if the organization is to continue to survive." As their server arrived with their meals, he leaned back, nodding his thanks to the Hispanic woman. "Anyway, you'll let me know as soon as you have something?" He wanted to finish with business and move the conversation to more pleasant subjects while they ate. Passing breadsticks to 'Charlie', 'Ace' nodded. "Sure thing. Too bad 'Finn' couldn't make it." McConnell shrugged. "You know him when he's made a new conquest. He's thrilled, but being really secretive about this one. You'd think he'd landed someone important, like a Senator or something." 'Charlie' sighed. "Another high risk hobby. First it was the art, now it's women. At least when it was the art, it wasn't like he could mess up someone's life just to put another notch on his bedpost." 'Ace' fixed him in a sharp glance. McConnell spoke gently, quick to smooth over any division among the four. "Well, how was the movie?" The couple grinned at each other, then she replied. "Oh, just as ridiculous as the original, with T. Rexes running around. But we really didn't expect it to be 'Land of the Lost', you know, the version from the seventies, not the new Series." The three quickly lost themselves in a discussion of old Sci-Fi films.
Alvarez Office Scully blew on the tea to cool it before she took a sip. "What, exactly, was this blood condition?" Her partner had retired uncharacteristically early, so she and Maria were discussing their sometime patient and joint friend. The dark-haired doctor refilled her mug with redolent peppermint tea before responding. "As closely as we could tell, a modified form of syphilis." As one copper eyebrow arched, Scully's forehead tipped. "From Kristen." A black line rose to match the one facing her. "There weren't any other candidates. In case you were wondering, the infection had the side-effect of making the patient light-sensitive." Watching a broken leaf fragment swirl in her cup, Scully sighed. "Poor Mulder. I know he saw Kristen as broken and needing protection. He thinks if he can fix someone else's problems, he can atone for what he believes he failed to do that night in Chilmark. He's always looking for Sam, and it seems he can find her in all the wrong places." Maria nodded. "That family was messed up from the start, Dana, you know that." Scully sipped the last of her tea, both hands balancing the cobalt blue mug on her fingers. "His Mom's a strong lady, but vulnerable, like he is. We spent some time together around New Year's, my Mom and me, with Caroline and her new husband." Maria fixed her in a probing stare. "They went through with the divorce, after all this time? Fox always felt as if he were in limbo, with neither a whole family, nor with one that everyone else would recognize as divided." Scully refilled her mug, watching the foam swirl around the liquid and dissipate before responding. "His father's dead, Maria." "No." The tone was resonant with sympathy. "How?" Scully shrugged. "He was shot in his bathroom, and Mulder held him while he died. It was about two and a half years ago." She caught the other woman's eye. "I thought, since this place was on the UFO network, you would have heard. We had evidence the government was willing to do anything to recover. They killed my sister, too." Maria leaned forward. "Is that what Fox told you about the Home?" She watched Scully nod. "Well, we handle many different illnesses, not just purported abductees." Scully straightened. "Purported? But..." Maria smiled. "I'm no believer, Dana, which is why Fox and I spent so much time together. In your absence, he needed a sparring partner. He was bound and determined to convince me you had been taken by aliens, as his sister had been. But the more we talked, the more certain I was that his problems were rooted in a lifetime of neglect, rather than two isolated incidents." She waved at the light filtering in through the door. "The staff was infinitely appreciative. If he was arguing with me, he wasn't complaining to and about them." Scully tipped her head. "How long was Mulder here?" "I had wanted to keep him for three weeks, but we treated him aggressively with antibiotics to knock out the infection." Maria noticed the agent was smiling. "What?" "This is good ammunition that I'll use sometime when he feels better, or when he's irritated the living daylights out of me. He left me with the impression that he was frantically looking for me." Her eyes twinkling at the memories, Maria laughed. "But he was! That was our main problem with him; we couldn't get him to rest as his body needed. He was always on the phone to the Gunmen, driving them to search, or was scanning the news or the police bands. We had to move a computer and police radio into his room before he'd stay in one place." She set her mug on the floor. "Even that wasn't enough. He left after spending a little over a week with us. I've always been worried that he hasn't truly beaten this infection off." Scully studied the interior of her mug, unwilling to relate Mulder's unusual cure at the hands of a Navaho shaman. Doctor Alvarez checked her watch. "Dana, it's late. You need to sleep, too." Stretching, Scully rose. "Thanks, Maria. I think between you and my Mom, Mulder was as well taken care of as he would permit himself to be." The dark-haired doctor fell in step beside her, guiding her to her visitor's room. "We tried. He may be a pain in the posterior, but it's easy to grow attached to him. I'm pleased things are going as well for you two as they are." She yawned. "I'll make my rounds before turning in for the night." The women smiled politely before they separated.
When a female face materialized in his view, the maniacal laughter receded. I know this one. He saw her periodically, looked for her eagerly, in fact. She radiated the same detachment and gentle concern he had felt from Dana Scully, the two times they had met in Mulder's apartment. Her emotions were usually a blessed respite from his tormentor, but this time, it appeared she was observing him, so none of her warmth or humanity touched him. She was opening his mouth, no doubt to take a throat culture. But the problem isn't a flu or a virus, it's that thing! He sensed ridicule, his mind turning it into the insane cackling that preceded a new stream of invective. The last sound he remembered, not from *it*, was a snick, snick of scissors. But I don't need a trim or a shave.
Guest Quarters After she showered and had changed into her sleeping clothes, Scully shivered. Each of the guest rooms in the refurbished back wing of the Hospital boasted its own air conditioner. Whoever had set hers had a very much lower idea of comfortable temperature from herself, since she loved the sticky heat of the summer. She would have slept with the drop-silled windows fully open, if given a choice. That's a thought. After she twisted the control knob to OFF, she paused in the sudden quiet, hearing sounds coming from her partner's room, though not a shower or the television. With this huge four- poster, I don't see where they would put one. As she raised the window closest to his quarters, she identified the noises. Muttering. Oh, Mulder. She pulled her terrycloth robe over her gym shorts and baggy FBI T-shirt, then scanned her room, locating and collecting her folder with the Ridgefield case report and her laptop. "No!" She heard the slats in the antique bedframe creak, then the sound of a body shifting restlessly. Tying the robe around her, she left her room to knock on his door. "Mulder?" The face that appeared in the slit was dark with stubble, under eyes still lost in the nightmare. 'Are you OK?' will get the door closed in your face, Dana. "Yeah?" She crossed her arms over her brown folder, tugging the laptop strap further up her shoulder. "The air conditioner was cranked up to Arctic, and I've turned it off, but the room's still cold. Do you mind if I work in here until it warms up some?" His eyes drifted closed, feeling that sense of wholeness that her presence always brought him, so he stepped back to admit her, brushing her back with his hand as she passed him. He'll talk when he's ready, Dana. "Sure, Scully." He paced the periphery of the small room, furnished as she expected, bare except for an identical, high, four-poster bed and a small table, watching her set her notes out on the side still made up. The bed was authentic down to the overstuffed mattress, far higher in the center than at the sides. She heard, she came, but she doesn't want to smother me. Spotting a stapled packet in a clear cover, he pointed. "Is that Rosen's version of the report?" As she laid the copy on the sheets beside her, she slid on her reading glasses. "Yes. We'll have to update it in light of the autopsy findings, but she's presented our field evidence very succinctly." As he assumed the mantle of Agent, the fear from the dream left him, so he grinned. "Summarized it well, or threw out Sarah Wells altogether?" She crinkled her nose at him, but he was rummaging through his briefcase for his own spectacles. He had settled in for the night in one of his old pairs of black lycra jogging shorts. But now, he tugged the navy blue polo shirt he had dropped on the carpet over his head, before he climbed back under the covers to read. He eyed her large, wine-colored pen lying on the tan lace coverlet. "You need that?" When she tossed it up and over, Mulder watched it flip, end over end, until he caught it in a diving grab just before it hit the floor. "Showoff." They exchanged slight grins, then settled down to work in silence, Mulder making notes in the margins, Scully revising the autopsy report. She had crossed her legs under her, covering them completely with the robe, which left her hunching over to reach the keys. When he sighed and closed the folder, clipping the pen over the top, she knew he was either ready to talk or sleep. Scully saved the report and shut down the machine. "You OK, Mulder?" He passed her the papers. "Yeah, I guess." He slid further into the bed, linking his hands behind his head. "It was just a nightmare." She shifted until she was looking down at him, her hands clasped in front of her. "A new one?" At his nod, she placed her palm on the blankets folded down over his chest. "My overactive imagination." Crossing his arms to pin her wrist in place, he squinted at the floor lamp behind her elbow. "You, Rosen, Nichols, and X were all on gurneys under white lights, and I couldn't wake you up to pull you out of that warehouse in West Virginia before the others came back." He rested both hands on top of hers before flipping away from his partner and her sympathy. We don't need to waste time and energy on my insomnia; it's just a fact of life. But, the last thing he wanted was for Scully to think he was ungrateful for her concern, so he forced a lightness into his tone he really didn't feel. "Just a variation on my usual." She rubbed his shoulder, the cotton knit bunching as she bent close to his ear. You don't fool me, partner. "Mulder, we've planned, taken precautions so we won't be monitored, so our work won't be lost. Nichols is an experienced field agent, and Rosen is a quicker study than I was. If something or someone turns on us in the future, you must understand that there is no more four humans can do." He rocked back and forth, hugging the down pillows tightly. "But what if it isn't enough, Scully?" She sighed. "All we can do is our best, partner." How can I distract him? "Maria and I had a long talk about you." He pulled his knees up. "Oh, you two doctors dissected all my psychological and physiological inadequacies, no doubt." Scully stretched out to grasp one wrist firmly. "In excruciating detail. We swapped war stories about a certain demanding and obnoxious patient." Her voice dropped to a whisper, bringing his head out of the pillow to hear her next words. "She said you were responsible for one whopping electric bill." His inarticulate squeak of protest told her he was banishing his self- recriminations. "You're a royal pain in the hinder, Mulder." She ruffled his hair. "But one we're both quite fond of. Good night, Chief." Before she slid off the bed, he rolled over and grinned, finally at ease. "Scully..." What ever did I do to deserve you? She watched his gratitude shine from a pair of dark eyes that followed her as she moved around the room, gathering her computer, notes, reports, and papers. The rattling glass in the door snapped both their heads around. "Agent Scully? Agent Mulder?" The voice belonged to Lewis. "Doctor Alvarez is missing!"
Part II - Branchiocaris pretiosa 'Tis true; the raven does not hatch a lark: Yet have I heard, ** O, could I find it now! ** The lion, moved with pity, did endure To have his princely paws pared all away: Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, The whilst their own birds famish in their nests: O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, Nothing so kind, but something pitiful! The Tragedy of Titus Andronicus
Capitol Hill Rowhouse McConnell stepped behind the support post for the front porch of Lindhauer's townhouse, keeping himself out of view of the traffic passing in front of his colleague's residence. At the creak of the door, the red-haired man pushed his way inside. "What's up with Mulder and Scully?" Lindhauer plopped down on his sofa. "It's not them. In a way, Matheson did us a real favor by expanding their section. Mulder's psyched himself out attempting to lead by example, and by being scrupulously fair to the other three, while Scully's too worried about him. They've backed off probing us to handle 'safe' cases with the other two." McConnell lowered himself into the armchair facing him before resting his ankle on his knee. "Since it smacks of the tactics of the old men, I know 'Ace' and 'Charlie' don't like it, but we should keep up the pressure on Scully's family. Anything that distracts her makes him more vulnerable to an error, to a miscalculation we can exploit. If it isn't them, then what is it?" "They've moved our 'problem' to the UFO nuthouse, where he can be 'treated'." McConnell returned Lindhauer's smirk. "How do you know all this?" He watched as the expression assumed a sinister glint. "Ah. Then he's in the hands of the mental health professionals? Good. Now we *really* don't have to worry about him and his inconvenient pronouncements and demands. Since Scully so efficiently waved her FBI badge around where he was found, I sent some of ours to the YMCA where he," the red-haired man rolled his eyes, "Passed to a higher plane of consciousness, to ask around. Whatever happened to him, this may be a one-way journey." Lindhauer leaned forward. "So, anything else?" McConnell nodded. "With all the turbulence surrounding the closed hearings in Congress, I haven't had a chance to tell you what 'Ace' has deduced about the alien craft. From her ultrasound scans, she's partially reconstructed the interior." Lindhauer grinned. "I would have expected no less. So, what does she think we can see? Anything on the propulsion systems? How they keep that vessel sealed and fixed under the ice?" McConnell sighed. "I wish. But, something equally important. She believes that there were quarters for three crew members built in." He shrugged. "Now, whether those quarters were actually used, is another story..." In a gesture consciously reminiscent of his white-haired superior, Lindhauer leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Three? But the Old Men were only aware of one, who has left the frigid North and is on the move again. He's contacted the remaining originals." He shrugged at McConnell's frown. "But he hasn't exterminated them. The men we have on him have located him in the DC area, tailing, Mulder, of all people." An 'I don't understand it, either.' wave. "Once we discovered the visitors' bodies have a unique ultraviolet signature, they'll be fairly easy to locate and track, no matter who or what they morph into. 'Ace's' new detection units should be finished shortly." "So, what have the two 'originals' been up to?" Standing, Lindhauer retreated to his kitchen, returning with green-bottomed tumblers and mineral waters for himself and his colleague. "That's a little more interesting. Their actions may have been why they contacted the Bounty Hunter in the first place. But, if 'Charlie' and 'Ace' can keep their hands off each other long enough to drive over here, I'll fill you in when they arrive." McConnell grimaced. "Ugh. Don't bring that up." Taking a sip of his water, he sighed. "Although, I could be more upset about their relationship if they both weren't making a concerted effort to give everything to the Group. Did you see the new viruses 'Ace' designed for breaking into the banking networks?" Lindhauer smiled. "Lurker genes I and II. There's a reason for her code name. Now we can slowly wean ourselves off total dependence on the People's Representatives by diverting calculated roundoffs to off-shore accounts." McConnell's wry chuckle prompted a question. "What's so funny?" "Just that it seems like we've turned the corner, 'Finn'. Finally, we've gotten ourselves back up to speed, even moved ahead of the Old Men in certain areas, like we promised each other we would." Lindhauer nodded. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
Core Lab Volcanic Observatory "Well, Ros, that should do it. We've instituted Level three containment procedures, and procured so many different materials I've lost track of them all. Should we bring in a few chimpanzees in cages to complete the mad scientist decor?" Dressed in the white, space-suit-like containment gear, complete with microphones and short-wave radios in their helmets, Rosen and Rich were huddled in conference when Nichols spoke. Through the large visor in his hood, he watched her swivel at the waist and grin back. "Why not, Nic? And while we're at it, let's order up a Van de Graff generator or two." Instead of her customary nod, she excused herself to Rich with a half-bow before she walked over to her partner. She depressed the broadcast control at her throat. "You're right, these suits may be overkill, but it can't hurt. We've quarantined the lab, so the three of us will get very friendly for the weekend." He laughed at her cocked eyebrow, and after a moment's delay, she joined him. "Where do we start?" She pointed at the lockbox. "Bert and I have been discussing that. It seems the bugs in there like glass best of all, so, we've been growing more, if that's the proper terminology, by feeding it desiccated Ludox." She closed her eyes, expecting his expression of confusion. "That's ground glass suspended in water, only we evaporate the water away first." The boots of the suit made squishing noises as she crossed over to the lab bench, where she lifted a plastic tub off the work surface, holding it tipped so he could glimpse the milky solid inside. "It loves it. Bert says the mass doubled in size over the course of two hours." Nichols took a step backwards, so she held up one hand. "No, it's OK, this is just the Ludox. The glass-eater bug is still in the lockbox." "Ros, you gotta tell me that you, with your newly minted PhD, aren't planning on calling it that for serious." Replacing the lid on the tub, she set the container on the bench before replying. "It's tough to know how else to classify it right now." When she waved her hands in an arc, he braced himself for more science jargon. "It's single-celled, or at least appears so under the petrographic microscope in Dr. Campbell's office. That leaves us three possible categories of organisms this thing could fall into." Nichols pressed his broadcast button. "Or not, Ros." She waved her agreement. "Yes, or not. But we'll start with the known first, before you pull a Mulder on me and take a swan-dive off the facts." "Afraid to leave the tried and true?" She grunted. "Hardly, Nick. As I was trying to tell you, single- celled organisms are, at present, divided into three separate kingdoms: - What?" "I thought there were two kingdoms, plants and animals." The trill in Rosen's laugh made Nichols realize she was delighted to share her learning, not berating him for his ignorance. After carefully moving aside the air tanks and hoses strapped to their backs, the Agents settled onto lab stools. Rosen depressed the broadcast button. "As always in science, blink and you'll miss something." She picked up a pen and slid over a clipboard, drawing a single line, with three radiating from it, then several others from the line in the center, on the pad of paper stuck under the clip. "No, you have to understand, that there are, and have always been, more bacteria, more *species* of bacteria, actually, than any others on this planet. The plants and animals have been moved into the, sorry, Nick, I've been thrown off by the old terminology, too. Plants and animals still have their own kingdom, but the kingdoms have been grouped into three domains. The first are most bacteria, in the Domain Procarya." He nodded. "So kingdoms aren't the highest Category anymore." She scribbled 'Procarya' beside one unadorned line, her normally fluid script flattened by writing while wearing a thick glove. "The second is called Eucarya, and contains us, the other animals, plants, fungi, slime molds, and a couple of other things I forget." She was labelling as she talked. "The third, and most controversial, is Archaea." "Controversial, how?" She flipped over to a new page, redrawing the radiating lines so one branched off the center line first, the others splitting off from the end. "Because it appears that Domain Eucarya, containing us," she wiggled her fingers, momentarily terminating her broadcast, "the slime molds, and all, is closer to the Domain Archaea, whereas older theories had us all coming from bacteria. Life, it seems, had a common ancestor prior even to the Procarya." For emphasis, she circled the start of the first line. "We probably won't discover it, unless we find it in some vent in a mid-ocean ridge somewhere." He leaned over the clipboard. "Or pull it out from a deep drilling core." She sighed. "Maybe Nic, but, it would be a one in a trillion type thing, as rare as pulling a coelacanth out of the Indian Ocean. Most likely, we have a new bacterium, or even less likely, a new species of Archaea. But, Doctor Campbell's right, finding something that could survive, even thrive, in aerobic and anaerobic environments, and over the range of temperatures and pressures these bugs have been subjected to would be pretty amazing." "Oh? Are we back to Scully's argument, that it shouldn't be able to survive in both?" She nodded, so he could hear, through the open mike, her hair scratching the plastic lining inside the helmet. "Yes, we are. Anaerobic bacteria perish when exposed to air, and since they are some of the oldest forms of life, their existence is used as a further piece of evidence for the early atmosphere's lack of O2. It's the same with many species of Archaea, which thrive at pressures of up to 200 atmospheres and temperatures over the boiling point of water. They live purely on carbon dioxide, nitrogen, and hydrogen, but die when exposed to oxygen." Rich joined them, flailing one arm between their helmets to catch their attention. "I've installed the filters and gas catchments on the first six test chambers, Agent Rosen." She swiveled on her stool. "Thanks, Bert." She beckoned Nichols over to six hollow steel spheres, supported in lab stands, with stoppers inserted in the tops. Pointing to the twin tubes threaded through the holes in the stoppers, she continued. "We're monitoring the air as it enters the test chambers, and exits them. Bert has attached the output tubes to a six-port selector switch, and from there to a gas chronograph, so we can compare the air leaving the spheres before and after introduction of the bugs." Nichols sighed. "Ah, brings back my home-brewing days, Ros. Let me guess, you're testing for waste products, right?" "Exactly. Animals expel oxygen-reduced, carbon dioxide enriched air, plants, just the opposite. Some bacteria and archaeons are methane producers, more or less in proportion to their nutrient intake." Unused to the extra weight on his back, Nichols bent over carefully, picking up one chamber and shaking it gently. "You already have things in there." Rich took up the explanation. "Right. We wanted to test the filtered air with the possible nutrient sources present. If any of the samples off-gassed, we wouldn't want to mistake the readings as coming from the bugs." Nichols faced the technician. "How will you know if the bugs are eating the samples? The weight of the spheres won't change." "Outside of visual inspection? You're right about the weight not changing, but we're only testing for waste products this time. The next trials will measure consumption rate. Although, we can at least eliminate compounds as possible foodstuffs if the weight of the samples remains constant when we're finished here. We only need the sealed containers for the waste product tests, the rates can be measured in more open chambers." Nichols grunted. "Sounds like this will take forever." Rosen laughed. "Welcome to life in the trenches of science, Nic, think of it as a stakeout. Hope you brought a good book."
Rest Retreat, New Jersey "How long?" Mulder and Scully were out the door almost before Lewis could step aside, both speaking as they moved. Mulder grasped his partner's shoulder. "Scully! Check X!" She dipped her head once. "Where are you going, Mulder?" He pursed his lips. "Outside. Since the security system hasn't tripped, whoever has her may still be on the grounds." She grabbed his arm before he disappeared around the corner of the hallway. "Gun, Mulder!" They separated, each retrieving their Sigs, she throwing off the robe, before proceeding.
Core Lab Volcanic Observatory Nichols surveyed the bank of steel boxes, each containing a material sample with a few drops of the vitreous goo on it. "How long will this take?" After his finger slipped, Rich punched his broadcast button a second time. "We'll give this batch an hour, just as long as we waited for the waste product tests. Then we'll quick-freeze the samples in liquid nitrogen to kill the organisms, and clean whatever remains from the materials in purified, deionized water. When we're finished, we'll freeze the wash water too." The two men faced Rosen, whose gloved fingers were rubbing her knee through the bulky suit when she began speaking. "It's good you had the nitrogen around to quench the cores, Rich. This life- form is thermophylic, like an Archaeon. But, in adapting to extreme heat and anaerobic conditions, it lost the ability to survive in severe cold. More and more, I think we're looking at a hitherto unknown species of Archaea." Nichols huffed through his mustache. "More waiting." He glanced from one to the other. "You guys are so into testing. What say we apply some of these procedures of yours to something a little more interesting?" Rich crossed the room to stand by Rosen. "What is he talking about?" Facing her partner, she sighed. "The topic of a long and rather heated discussion on the way out here. The Ouija board?" The older man nodded. "What else?" Rich was exasperated. "You must be kidding me. Ouija board? Doctor Rosen, tell me this..." She waved one hand. "Nic, are you interested in conducting a real scientific test, or are we just going to be subjected to a parlor game?" "Ros!" As the agent was sliding a board and the triangular guide out of his backpack, he glared through the visor at the others. "It's no parlor game. Contacting the spirits of the dead to seek guidance for future actions is a part of many cultures. Just because Western Science doesn't recognize it, doesn't mean it's false." The technician was astonished. "Doctor Rosen, you can't be serious!" Ignoring the protests of the other man, Rosen cleared a space on the lab bench. "We'll use standard parapsychological research techniques, only with a twist. I'll work here." She pointed to the only other clear spot on the surface, about six feet away. "You, there. Each of us will think up fifty true/false questions about ourselves, twenty five true and twenty five false, that we'll segregate into two groups of twenty and one group of ten. On a separate page, write the fifty questions, numbered. On a different one, write the answers, also numbered." She pointed to Rich. "He'll be the questioner, only he won't read the words, just speak the number. I'll work the board for your two sets of twenty, and you for mine. For the fifth set, consisting of our mixed questions, we'll work the board together." Pen wedged uneasily in the bulk of his glove, Nichols glared at her from his seat at the end of the bench. "Whoa, Ros, just what will this prove? The board should be addressed properly, not like this!" Rich laughed, the sound audible through his suit. "You do if you want an unbiased test, Agent Nichols. After all, if the board can accurately bend space and time to bring back information from the dead about the future, then a little thing like linking numbers with questions and answers on existing pieces of paper ought not to be a problem." He tapped Rosen's shoulder. "I presume you're looking for greater than fifty percent hits?" She swiveled on the lab stool. "Fifty percent plus or minus fifteen percent, which for groups of twenty, works out to three. So, cases of fewer than seven correct, or more than thirteen imply some uncontrolled effect. We can't do this for say, one hundred trials, which would give us greater statistical significance, but, if there are higher correct numbers than randomness permits in three out of the five trials, it'll be interesting, to say the least." Nichols was indignant. "But you have to ask the board the questions, not just rattle off a string of numbers!" Rosen shook her head, her hair rubbing the inside of the tall cylindrical hood. "If the operator hears the question, he or she might push the guide toward the answer that is subconsciously expected or desired, which wouldn't be a fair test either." She paused, watching Nichols' face. "What we're doing here makes the experiment, for the most part, double blind. But, if there really is a connection, just using the numbers is the quickest way to find out." The older agent covered the visor with both hands in a gesture of surrender. "OK, I think I see why all the rigmarole. But at least, touch the guide with your bare hands, all right?" The agent and the technician exchanged a glance, then each shrugged his or her assent. Rich began unlatching the hood. "We probably don't need these suits, anyway." Rosen twisted the glove off her left hand, the seal disengaging with a click. "Right. We'll just wash everything down before and after." The three prepared for the tests, covering over the steel boxes, and lifting off the helmets and gloves for the first time since donning them that day.
Rest Retreat The overhead florescent lights winked, but it was bright enough for the auburn-haired agent to check the motionless body in the bed. She pressed her fingers against his jugular, tired enough that she was moving her lips as she counted X's heartbeats silently. Noting her fatigue, Mulder touched her back. "Is he all right, Scully?" Without turning, she nodded to the man hovering at her elbow. "Just sleeping, but, look at this, Mulder." She ran her hand over the clipped patch of hair on the top of his head. "I think he's been sampled." She lowered his jaw, pressing his tongue down with her finger. "See the redness? Someone was just here to take a throat culture." Mulder crossed his arms. "But Scully, he's not sick." Stripping off the single latex glove, she looked up at him. "Not as far as we know." Both turned as Lewis began addressing them through the doorway, his speech interrupted by gulps while he caught his breath. "Agents, we've found her." They followed him out into and down the hall, where Maria was seated in a metal folding chair, her head between her knees. One of the night nurses was holding an ice-pack to the back of her head, urging her to rest. Scully reached for the lumpen bag, waving the man aside. "Maria?" She was relieved when the psychologist raised her head just enough to glimpse the pair, before wincing at the light. "What happened?" Holding Maria's shoulder, Mulder knelt beside her. "Tell us, what's the last thing you remember?" Her eyes darted from side to side as she attempted to identify her surroundings. "I'm not in the stairwell?" The tall agent's reply was resonant with the gentle, sympathetic tone Scully had watched him use on frightened children and injured witnesses, which was what the doctor had become. "No, Maria. How do you recall your last movements?" Returning to herself, she placed her hand on the bag, so Scully moved hers away, and the black-haired Doctor sat up, closing her eyes against the initial dizziness. "I had just left Scully outside her guest room, and I was thinking of checking on you." He cocked an eyebrow at her but kept silent. "But I made my evening rounds instead. I normally start at the top level, so I can finish at my apartment and retire for the night. The last thing I remember is closing the stairwell door before descending to the Third floor." Scully touched her partner's arm. "You mentioned a security system, Mulder." He stood, shaking each leg to restore circulation to it. "Langly designed it for them." He turned to Lewis. "Are there video cameras in the stairwells?" The orderly nodded. "The control center is in the basement, if you want to follow me." Scully fell in step behind the blond man, but turned when she realized Mulder was not immediately behind her. "Mulder?" He had one arm around Doctor Alvarez' waist, but paused, responding without meeting her eyes. "I'll be right there, Scully." As they disappeared around the corner, she heard Maria shakily thanking Mulder for sparing their already traumatized staff with his offer of assistance to her room.
Core Lab Volcanic Observatory "You guys ready yet?" Rosen hesitated over question fifty. He might as well find out this way as any. After the period, she wrote: "I am a lesbian." on the question sheet, and "True" on the answer sheet, then handed the pages to the technician. Rich drew lines after the first twenty questions, and before the last twenty as well. Nichols frowned. "You're not making the last ten part of the mixed set?" Rich shook his head. "Nope. Memory tests have shown that in long lists, people remember the beginning and the end far better than the middle. Since you'll both be working the board, I need you to be answering the questions you recall least well." He glanced at the woman agent, who was nodding her agreement. "What was your question five, Nic?" When he began to murmur the words, she waved her hand. "I don't want to know. Question twenty- eight?" He frowned, then shook his head. "OK, I see. When do we start?" Rosen glanced at her watch. "After we set up the next consumption tests. We have, at least, killed a couple of hours preparing this."
Basement Mulder bent over his partner, who was rewinding and replaying a section of video tape. "What have you come up with?" She pointed to the screen directly in front of her, one of perhaps two dozen stacked atop a wide bench. Moving closer, Mulder paused to close one of the deep drawers beneath the work surface, jiggling an empty cassette case until it settled place with the rest. She played the portion she had been reviewing forward in real time. "Watch this, Mulder." Mulder frowned as the images scrolled by. "Scully, I don't see anything." As she nodded, he rolled the unoccupied armless gray chair out of the way for a closer look. "That's just the point. I'll advance frame by frame. I'm sure you'll notice something then." Each image filled the screen, shimmering as the tape was manually paused. Mulder yelped. "I see, Scully! The stairwell cameras are set to monitor the landings, not the flights themselves. She looks up over her shoulder, steps up for a few frames, then back into view. Whatever took place, happened in the blind spot between cameras." He rotated the seat of the chair and straddled it, crossing his arms on the back rest. "What do the previous few seconds show?" "Let me show you." She rewound the film, playing it forward image by image, while, shoulder to shoulder, they scrutinized the shapes on the screen. The auburn-haired agent pointed out the handles of a pair of surgical scissors, visible in the psychologist's lab coat pocket only after she reappeared in the frames. As a check, she ran the film in reverse and stop motion to just before the Doctor's first appearance. Pointing at the screen, Mulder stood. "Scully!" She leaned forward, squinting at the line in the upper right hand corner of the screen where he was tapping. "That could be anything, Mulder, dust or a lint ball falling down the stairs." He rewound the tape, the image held by the freeze-frame. "Anything, including a rat's tail." She frowned. "Rats, but..." "Play the tape forward again, Scully, only this time, in real time with the volume all the way up." Arching her right eyebrow, Scully searched the tape, flipping one control lever so they could listen as well as watch. Mulder rotated the volume knob, until a faint squeaking was audible. She cocked an eyebrow at her partner. "So they have rats, Mulder, we're in the middle of the Pine Barrens..." His eyes glowing, he leaned into her face. "I think I see what's happening here; that rat in my apartment building may not have been a rodent at all. I believe our shape-shifter friend is on the prowl again." She pressed her hand against her cheek, then, after a moment, over her mouth. "It makes sense, for several reasons, even though it's not a pleasant prospect to consider." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "He could assume Maria's shape, check on X and take those samples, then escape through a crack in the walls. The security system on the periphery of the grounds doesn't keep out small animals, only people." He touched her shoulder. "I didn't expect you to agree with me." She shrugged. "Going to all that effort just to obtain tissues and hair speaks to a specific objective, but I don't think he was one of the Consortium's test subjects. If X worked within the shadow government, we must assume they already have a Series of DNA samples on file, so we have to think about who else could put such knowledge to use." Scully pushed herself to her feet. "Between the fetuses I saw in the warehouse and the statements from the supposed clone of your sister, we know that colony of aliens is conducting genetic tests." Mulder rose to block her path. "But the Bounty hunter killed the Gregors, and the Samanthas were missing when the medical building they called me to burned down. I assume he dragged them out or killed them all as well." Scully tipped her face up, focusing on the wrinkles in his forehead. "Perhaps, perhaps not. All you know is that they were missing, Mulder." She dropped her head forward, and in their proximity, her hair brushed his crossed arms. He found his eyes were drawn to the tiny scar at the base of her neck, until her sharp intake of breath brought his attention back to their problem of the moment. "What are you thinking, Scully?" "Just a wild hunch, Mulder." He tipped her chin up with his finger. "Ooh, the wilder the better." He held the tip of her jaw between his thumb and forefinger to wiggle it once. "Share, Doctor." She arched her eyebrow before she took a step back. "Remember the Kindred?" As he understood what she was proposing, his forehead wrinkled, counter-arguments appearing thick and fast. I knew you wouldn't like it. He spun away, his body as restless as his mind. "You think the Kindred and the Colony of Gregors and Samanthas are one and the same? But we saw the crop circle..." Arms crossed, she moved into his personal space again. "We saw the perfect cover, Mulder, in evidence that's easily faked." Expecting a squeal of protest, she arched both eyebrows. "They've been there since at least the Thirties, coming into Steveston, checking out the feed store." She smiled, remembering his joking around outside. "They must have picked up some of our popular myths about UFO's and aliens during those trips. Think of it, the Kindred crossed over the most fundamental division present in every higher earthly species with impunity as a part of a regenerative process, according to you." Worn with the lateness of the hour, Scully settled into her seat by the bank of video monitors, smiling away the outstretched arm. "I know what I saw, Scully." "We thought it was odd that they didn't kill us, after what we had seen and heard. We eventually assumed it was because they were leaving soon, and nothing we could do would stop them, but perhaps that was never the point, Mulder." She waved her hand towards the Northern wall of the room. "You even mentioned how they cleverly manipulated us, to get information from us, without ever volunteering any of their own. They talked about the coming arrival and a Day of Release. We saw them in Philadelphia, which they *did* depart, one might almost say 'vanished from'." Mulder lowered himself into the seat across from her, rolling it forward until their knees almost touched. "So you think the Kindred fed us misinformation, and drew that crop circle as a diversion so they could split up and hide among us?" She nodded. "But they were all different, Scully." "If they are from the same species as the Bounty Hunter, then they can morph to look like anything they want to, Mulder, all unique, or..." He slumped back in the chair. "All the same." He ran his hand through his hair. "Jeez, Scully, this is starting to make sense. The Kindred were isolationists, and the Colony we encountered were waiting for humanity to drive itself to extinction, isolated among us. So all that talk about cloning was diversion as well?" Leaning forward, she rested her hands on her knees. "Are you ready for another wild idea from me, Mulder?" He chuckled. "Sure, Scully, I'm sitting down this time." She grinned, not broadly, but her close-lipped smile of intense concentration, and glanced at her hands before continuing to speak. "I don't think we've seen any of them in their natural shape." He smirked. "So we should check for buckets of golden goo in dark corners?" She laughed, a quick, joyous cry. "The Bounty Hunter is a later arrival that the Colony, much later, if they and the Kindred are one and the same. He's far better at controlling his transformations than they appear to have been." Mulder leaned forward until he was nose to nose with his partner. "Genetic engineering, Scully. You're always lecturing me about the high level of technological development any civilization would have to have attained to get here." She nodded. "Exactly, Mulder. I've seen him morph from you to Lou Ferrigno. You told me he was posing as an about five foot five crewman on the submarine. Now, while I couldn't begin to explain the mechanisms, he must conserve his mass while changing form." Scully rubbed the back of her neck, one eyebrow cocked at him. "In for a penny, in for a pound, Mulder. If he is able to assume any shape and volume he wants, the six foot six pro wrestler body we've both seen may not even be his real form...What?" He was staring at her, grinning madly. "What, Mulder? I'm just carrying this premise to its logical conclusion." He shook his head. "Remind me to tell you how much I like working with you sometime, Doctor Scully." Dropping his head on the top cushion of his chair, he sighed. "You're get no arguments from me on one thing, he's probably long gone." Swiftly, he reached out to tap her forehead with one long finger. "So, any more wild ideas in there?" She stood, setting the tape on a stack of four others. "No. Show's over for tonight, Mulder. I suggest we take samples of our catatonic friend ourselves, and run them back to Susan, to try to deduce why X is subject to all this attention." She rested her hand on the ten black boxes, piled into two even sets. "We'll take these surveillance videos back to see if they pick up anything moving through the stairwells, or across the grounds, in the hour or so prior to the attack on Doctor Alvarez." He tucked one group of tapes under his arm. "Langly and Frohike will consider this a professional insult, that something could invade this place undetected, so we should take these to them, not the Bureau photo labs." While nodding, she rubbed her eyes. "OK. It might be a longshot, but we should take his prints and a dental impression." Concerned, he grasped her elbow. "Fine, but we can wait until morning to head home, Scully." She lifted one corner of her mouth. "No. I'll catch some rest on the drive back. The sooner we make sense of all this, the sooner we fly out to Washington State. It's not fair to let Rosen and Nichols have all that fun on their own." She held her arm out, wrist up. "Just open a vein and pump in the caffeine, partner." He smirked. "OK, the local police should have an evidence kit." At her shrug, he tipped his head. "What, you brought one?" She nodded. "It's in the car, with my medical supplies. Semper paratus, I learned that working with you. Besides, this is a private full-care facility. I'm sure they'll have the dental materials I'll need." He was frowning. "You all right, Mulder? You look like you've lost something." "Yeah. I just need to tie up a loose end before we go." When she touched his elbow, he shrugged, then sent her a tiny smile for reassurance before he left with his half of the tapes.
Core Lab Volcanic Observatory Rosen stepped away from the parchment-colored board, relieved. The guide had felt odd under her fingers, almost humming, seeming warm. It's just your imagination, Andrea. She sank onto floor, achy from the long flight and hours of work that they had leapt into with such alacrity upon their arrival. Surely it gets easier sometime. She had hoped to take a break after graduate school, but there had been loans to pay off, so she had gone immediately to Quantico. Once there, she had found herself pushed to her physical and mental limits by the instructors. All the procedures and tests! True, none of it had required General Relativity or Non-Euclidean geometry to understand, but she had been impressed with the rigor, the emphasis on the detailed analysis of crime scenes. 'More criminals are caught in the lab, than by any car chase, regardless of what you've seen on television', her pathology instructor had announced matter-of- factly the first day of class. The Bureau deserves its reputation. Focusing back on the two men with her, she quickly became hypnotized by the ritual call of number-answer, as Nichols worked the board with far more ease than she had. "Forty Eight?" "False." Miss. "Forty Nine?" "True." Another miss. She smirked. "Fifty?" "True." Oh, well. She pushed herself to her feet, assuming her place across from Nichols for the final set of questions.
Private Apartment "Maria, you decent?" Chuckling, the black-haired doctor sat up in bed. "Come in anyhow, Fox." He stacked the videos on the table inside the door before he crossed the room to her. The space was outfitted as a comfortable efficiency apartment, with a modern single in the corner. Mulder settled on the mattress, cradling her cheek in his hand. "I just wanted to make sure you were OK." She grasped his wrist, lowering his hand to her lap, and interlacing her fingers through his. "Thanks, I will be. You're leaving soon, aren't you?" He nodded. "We may have a lead on who broke in here." She rubbed his fingers. "But you're not ready to say?" "Yeah. Maria, I wanted you to know I wasn't angry with you earlier tonight." "It's all right, Fox. Remember, I know how you can be." He chuckled. "I wasn't the best of patients, was I?" She slid forward, wrapping her arms around his back. He hugged her in turn, resting his cheek on her head and rocking her back and forth through her reply. "Never. But you'll be fine, you and Dana. Now that I've seen you two in action, so to speak, you were right, you do make a great team together." Releasing him, she wrapped her arms around her raised knees. He gripped her wrist. "We're taking finger and dental prints of your patient, in case they might help us identify him." She nodded, her chin on her knees. He wrapped one hand around the base of her neck, touched his forehead to hers, and stood to cross the room to the door. When she spoke, he swiveled to face her. "Sure, Agent Mulder." A lopsided grin, the clunk of tapes, and he was gone. She spoke quietly to the shape receding through the glass of her door. "Call me if you ever want to work on that life, OK?"
Core Lab Volcanic Observatory Rich scribbled on the tally sheet. "Well, this is interesting. I've scored the results from the five sets of questions." He arched one eyebrow at Nichols, who had pulled the lab stool close to listen. Rosen stood back, her arms crossed. "So, here we go, Nic." Rich lifted the page in the air. "Nichols, set 1: 12." The older agent grinned. "Nichols, set 2: 6." Nichols' face fell. "Rosen, set 1: 8." She nodded. "Rosen, set 2: 15." Nichols chuckled. "Mixed set: 10." Now Rich smiled broadly at them both. "In the words of Osric, 'Nothing, neither way.' It looks like we have an absolutely random indicator of future possibilities." Nichols chewed his mustache. "And here I was so certain." Rosen patted the shoulder area of his suit. "Well, Nic, there are lies, damned lies, and..." "Statistics. Are you saying you want to try again?" She shook her head. "Sorry, if you guys really don't mind, I'd like to get some sleep. My body thinks it's almost four am." Nichols grinned. "Sure, kid. It's late for all of us." Rich yawned. "I could use a good night's sleep myself. You two find rooms in the dormitory?" He watched the older agent nod. "Just go shower, and be on your way. I can close up shop here. I don't see that our little friends will mind waiting another day."
X-Files Offices Mulder was standing over his partner, arms crossed, while she placed the fingerprint sheet on the glass plate of the scanner. "I don't believe we'll find records on him this way, Scully, it would be too easy." She raised one corner of her mouth, then nodded to an extremely nervous Arthur Pendrell. The red-haired agent avoided looking at Mulder while he cleared his throat. "Do you want me to run this against the regular data bases, Agent Scully?" Mulder smirked at the slight squeak that followed his enunciation of her Title. Scully sensed her partner's mirth, so she glared up, fixing him in one of her LOOKS, that he rated 9.7 for its instantaneous intensity. She slid her chair closer to the screen, bumping Pendrell's shoulder as she pointed the mouse to click on several lines in one of the option windows. "Yes. As Mulder indicated, it might be a waste of time, but you never know." Pendrell nodded. "OK, Agent Scully." She rested one hand lightly on the lab tech's arm, bringing his eyes up to focus on hers. "But," she smiled gently, "this is the interesting part. Get on the Net and search for any clearing houses on sickle-cell anemia, especially ones that keep DNA records. Susan is running the tissue samples for us, looking for anything that might be unique, or serve to isolate his family, at least. I'm sure Agent Phillips will be more than willing to help you with the dental analysis." Stepping into his office, Mulder returned with his empty coffee mug, his eyes alight with mischief. Cynthia leaned over her desk. "We're out of filters, Agent Mulder, but I was planning on picking some up tonight." He nodded as he walked over to her desk. "No problem. I'll make a Starbucks run now." He waved the midnight blue mug, neon green flying saucers dotting the outside, at the pair behind Scully's desk. "They seem to have everything under control here. You want to take a break?" The young woman nodded, reaching in the deep drawer for her pocketbook. "Scully?" He smirked at the glare. "We'll be back." When she waved distractedly, Mulder refrained from issuing the several teasing remarks that came to mind. Pendrell watched Mulder usher the X-Files secretary out the door, the tall agent's hand on her shoulder. "I don't think he likes me." Scully cocked an eyebrow. "Don't feel bad. He likes almost no one, but he does respect your abilities, and he enjoys teasing people he respects." She stood, removing the cardboard sheet from the scanner. "We'll need to keep this in a safe place." She held the fingerprint record while they talked. "If you can think of any unusual or unexpected place someone would keep their fingerprints, like a credit card record, check there, too. This man can't be completely anonymous." Pendrell leaned back in her oak desk chair. "We should check the DMV records for the local states." Scully crossed her arms, half-sitting on her desk. "We should. Although he may have a driver's license from Alaska or Hawaii to cover his identity." Standing, she patted his shoulder. "Keep thinking, Arthur, we appreciate it." She stepped away towards the door when she saw the skin on his neck begin to mottle. "I'll be reviewing the latest medical records, looking for anything new on the sickling gene." He rose to join her, taking his que. "I should call you the instant I find anything, right?" She shrugged. "Of course. There has already been one assault while we were at the rest retreat." She held the door. "Thanks again, Arthur, and I'm happy for you, really. Thanks for telling me about you and Terry Phillips." He beamed at her before trotting to the elevator. After she closed the door, she rested briefly against it. The long night of driving, on top of three others with minimal sleep were tugging her eyelids closed. She wondered how long it would take for Mulder and Cynthia to return with the coffee.
Warehouse Two women, their wavy brown hair pinned up under surgical caps, glanced up when the door to their work-space swung open. Their identical denim work shirts, khaki trousers and white walking shoes were hidden beneath lab coats. In the hallway stood a hulking, square-jawed man whose presence would at one time have sent them scrambling for the nearest window. But today, they waited patiently while he walked, his gray trench coat flapping against his canvas pants, between two rows of suspended sacs, all filled with a milky green fluid. Each bag, although hooked to an oxygen tank and IV tubes, was empty. The square-jawed man dropped a plastic-wrapped packet contemptuously on the table behind the women, then a harsh, angry Series of whistles and grunts issued from him. The insult, however, was hollow. Killing the male ancients had been the less difficult part of his orders to obey. But, respect for the natural leadership of females had been instilled in all the warriors. So, when the taller woman corrected the Bounty Hunter by cuffing him on the chin, he submitted without a murmur. A few green drops appeared there, then vanished. When she spoke, her tone was commanding, impatient. "Use the primate's tongue. You know we cannot hold these forms if we revert to our own speech. Besides, your language has no doubt been evolved, along with your *politics*, so that ours would sound archaic to you." He narrowed his eyes at them, then yielded to offer a minuscule nod. "I brought the samples. Although why you continue to attempt to preserve this amoral simian species is beyond me." The woman to the left of the huge man reverently lifted the materials from the laminated surface to finger the tissue container and study the diaper hair. As she labelled a bag with what appeared to be random geometric shapes, surrounding a circle with lines radiating from it, her companion stepped close to their visitor, who towered over her by a good half meter. "You know our mission. A change in the leaders of our world does not alter the basic nobility of the Project's goals." She grimaced at the snort and flared nostrils. "Any planet with sentient life is worthy of study and conservation, regardless of the obscene actions of the beings on it. That they continue to exterminate their fellow species, especially those capable of intellectually challenging them, is not our concern. We can do nothing, and believe we should do nothing, to change them. They are as they are." Her companion crossed her arms, flanking her in a not-unnoticed gesture of solidarity. "Evolution operates differently in each circumstance, because randomness is the only constant. On this world, a collision with an asteroid prevented development of a sentience similar to our own. The ability to physically transform was lost to them, but intelligence arose in those species with the ability to produce young egglessly. On other worlds, self- awareness came to those with flight abilities..." One thick arm cut through the air, narrowly missing one of the mounted sacs. "Enough! I came here because you have something I need to leave. Give me back the stolen parts so my ship will be functional again, and I will be off this forsaken ball of mud for good! You are the last of the observers sent here under the old regime. Remaining so long on this planet has clouded your judgement, made you come to view it as your home. You fear for this system, these thoughtless primates. Be assured, when I return, I will recommend that the science council not be so foolish as to initiate long-term studies like this one again." The woman on his left handed him a folded slip of paper. Opening it, he frowned at the symbols to either side of the street addresses, before waving the sheet in front of them. "Who can read this ancient script? What does this say?" The woman on the right sighed. "The components are in storage buildings, one in Seattle and the other in Irving, Texas. We separated them for self-protection. When you reach each, contact us again. The containers can only be opened after the detonator in the lock is deactivated by verbal commands from both of us. The parts will remain inoperative without voice-activation as well, once they are in place on your ship." She glared up at the warrior. "If you do not leave this planet within two hours of their installation, small incendiary devices will initiate a chain-reaction in your vessel. You will be stranded here for the rest of you life. Is that clear?" A wordless growl, and the Bounty Hunter was gone. One of the women opened the bag. "At least we will be able to work out yet another variation in the hominid's genome before we will have to contend with him again. The warriors in our time were far less belligerent." The shorter woman jerked her head towards the doorway. "You have the sample from him?" The slightly taller woman scraped the skin on the palm of her hand with a scalpel. "Now we can map the differences between his genetic code and ours, so we will know how our species has been changed." They turned back to their work.
X-Files Offices While waiting for AltaVista to return the results of her Sickle- cell Anemia search, Scully glanced at her mail button, noticing that she had messages waiting. She scrolled the mouse over, clicked to activate the window, then read through six incoming headers. That one. It was a long report from Susan Miles up at Hopkins Hospital, entitled "DNA fragments from warehouse", so she sent it directly to her Laserjet. Ten pages later, she leaned back, skimming the contents. As her eyes fell on the closing line, she reached for the phone beside the monitor to activate the speaker and enter a familiar number. "Susan?" She pulled her lips back into a relieved grin. "Thanks for these results. How many favors did you have to call in for the time with the gel-electrophoresis machines?" An answering chuckle filled the room. "You have me on speaker, don't you, Dana?" Scully allowed herself to relax. "Sorry. I'm running a search, so I'll need my hands free. Let me adjust the volume." After punching one gray button repeatedly, she sighed. "That's better?" "A little. Anyway, glad you called, and, to answer your question, it wasn't all that many. With the funds I have to research viral genomes, a willingness to do a little of my own work late at night, and a helpful tech, we snuck the work in around the other projects. But it was slow. Sorry it took months." "No problem. Without your help, the hair and tissues couldn't have been identified, ever. It looks like a huge range in individual characteristics, doesn't it?" Susan um-hummed. "Exactly, that's what made the effort so interesting. We now have more individuals to add to my baseline than I could have gathered in the few months I have funding for. Whoever was working in that warehouse really wanted a broad sampling of the US population." Scully reached over to deactivate the screen-saver, eager for the results. "Sue, we can't say too much..." "Dana, I know we can't. But thanks for this sickling sample. I'll show it around a little, if you don't mind, since I'll be running these at the Center for Inherited Disease Research." The auburn-haired woman straightened. "Sue, don't tell anyone..." "Who gave it to me?" Now she laughed brightly. "This cloak and dagger stuff. Of course I won't, you *know* I'm the soul of discretion. You still keeping your mitts off that delicious partner of yours?" One eyebrow arched, then Scully tucked her chin. "Sue... You know better..." "Right, right, I just was hoping he'd come running out so I could give him a hard time. I know how he hovers, Dana, and teasing eavesdroppers is the sole advantage of a speaker-phone." Scully rested both elbows on her memo pad. "Too late. He's out right now, picking up more coffee." "Ooh, Dana, gorgeous *and* housebroken. *Definitely* pass my regards along." A buzz from her jacket stiffened Scully's spine. "Is that your cell phone?" She was lifting the unit out as she responded. "'Fraid so. Call me, OK?" "Sure will. Bye."
X-Files Offices "Mom!" Mulder grinned down at their secretary, who chuckled while gripping her purse and two sacks of coffee supplies. He balanced another multicolored bag on a cardboard tray with three oversized paper cups, steam curling out of the pierced lids, to fish for his keys. "We're home!" They waited, their amusement turning to concern. "Scully, open up! Our hands are full!" At that, they were rewarded with the dead-bolt latch snapping free, before the door swung away. Scully waited, one hand holding the brass lever, the other her cell phone. "Bill? What are you doing in town?" Her eyebrows drew together. "Sure, I'll meet you for dinner. When and where?" Mulder kept one ear open, listening unobtrusively while he and Cynthia offloaded their supplies. "Charlie will be there, too?" Now her partner straightened, fully focused, while their secretary set orange bags of whole beans in their cube-shaped freezer. Cynthia had demanded that one shelf be kept clear for their lunches and coffee after accidentally popping the top on one frosted container marked: "XF-2013, Phaster, Minneapolis". It brought Mulder no end of glee to shift the plastic boxes in front of her lunch bag, just to watch her reach back with tongs to grab it. Still talking, Scully hunched over her desk to scribble on a note- pad. "7:30 in front of the Hoover Building, right, see you then." When she terminated the call, her partner was by her elbow, frowning. "I thought Bill had been called up unexpectedly for sea duty in March?" While sliding the unit into her briefcase, Scully shrugged. "So did I." One shake of her head, and she was focused again. "Pendrell is checking for any DNA databases we could compare our samples against, and I'll be reading up on sickle cell anemia, Mulder." His hand resting on her shoulder, he whispered in her ear. "I understand how important it is for you and Arthur to have some quality time alone together, Scully, if you want to win him back." She responded to his theatrical pat on her shoulder with a playful swipe of the Ridgefield report at his cocked arm. "We need to drop by you-know-where, *chief*." He saluted sharply before turning into his office. "Yes, Ma'am, Doctor Scully." He mouthed 'touchy, touchy' at Cynthia, who rolled her eyes before opening their travel folders.
Office of the Lone Gunmen "Hey, Langly, we're here!" While one hand grasped the handles of their canvas evidence carryall, bulging with tapes, Mulder's unburdened fist banged at the front door. Scully waited behind him, briefcase on her left, the chilled red cooler they used for more perishable evidence kept well away from her body on the right. Frohike, the long hair that was usually slicked back over his crown, dangling over his ears, grumbled as the door swung open. "Mulder, why aren't you in New Jersey, so the rest of us can catch up on our sleep?" He rubbed his glasses on his shirt before sliding them on, then broke into a broad grin at the auburn head that poked out from behind the tall agent's shoulder. "Divinity! By your presence, his multitude of sins are all expurgated." She crinkled her nose at her partner. "And here I thought you said he wasn't working on poetry in my absence, Mulder." He chuckled, ushering her in ahead of him. "Where are the rest of the guys?" While she detoured into the Gunmen's kitchen, Mulder passed Frohike the sack of tapes. The little man leaned towards Mulder, craning his neck and dropping his voice into a stage whisper. "A peace offering! Are these from a certain G-man's private stock?" Winking at Scully who had just rejoined them, Mulder leaned back. "Very private." The woman agent stepped closer. "Don't get your hopes up, Frohike, remember, *he*'s still here, and I wouldn't touch his collection, no matter how much you begged me. I'm certain he'd want to protect the Galactic Sex Princesses from your wiles, even from beyond the grave." Mulder cocked an eyebrow at the Gunman in a 'so there' glare. Scully opted to ignore the interchange as she pointed at the bag. "Those are surveillance tapes from the rest retreat in Jersey. We think the morphing bounty hunter broke in to take tissue and hair samples of X, and we think those tapes may contain proof." The little man fairly radiated glee, running for their lab, the two agents on his heels. "Langly will kick himself for volunteering for a day shift." Mulder cleared a spot on the workbench with a sweep of his arm, shoving the assorted papers into a heap on the floor. He shrugged at his partner's arched brow. "I thought you had to work, too." At Frohike's nod, Scully handed him the Third Floor tape. He kissed the spot where her thumb had been before inserting the brown box into the recorder. "I've said goodbye to all that, Mulder, my friend." The Gunman watched Scully push the fast- forward button. "Dear Uncle Hermann recently shuffled off his mortal coil, and yours truly is living comfortably off the interest from his bequest to me." He bowed towards Scully's profile. "Of course, two could be just as cozy." Rolling her eyes, she pointed to the faint line Mulder had noticed earlier. "Can you blow that up, clean up the background?" He powered up the computer on the workbench, pressing a few keys and marking portions with a trackball. "With greatest alacrity, Oh Celestial One." The three watched as the tread of the stair was accented, then removed, and a pyramidal shape appeared over the line. "You're interested in a rat?" The small man bent closer. "You think the Bounty Hunter can morph himself into rodentia as well as humans? Why?" Mulder ran his hand through his hair, leaving it sticking out at all angles. "Long story." Frohike swiveled the lab stool, pointing to two others before crossing his arms. "I'm not going anywhere, Mulder, so I'm all ears." The agents exchanged glances and settled in to explain. Scully leaned forward. "We've brought you some evidence from two of our previous X-Files: tissue and semen from XF-1014, hair and skin from XF-2016. We believe these to be genetic evidence of a sentient species capable of gender-switching, at the very least." Mulder nodded. "We need you to line up a geneticist willing to DNA-type it for us, through unofficial channels, of course." When the little man beamed at Scully, she arched both eyebrows in return before she took up the explanation. "Now, we could have just sent the samples up to Susan, who would have slipped more work into the schedule for processing at Hopkins Hospital's new genetics lab. But, Mulder and I talked it over..." The tall agent leaned forward. "We don't want the evidence collecting in one place. It would be too easily destroyed in a bomb blast or a fire if it were. Besides, Susan's already working on my contact's genetic structure, probably right now." Scully continued smoothly. "I've left the trays on the top shelf of your freezer, right behind the 'brain samples from Dealey Plaza'." She was shaking her head in disbelief when one of the computers in the lab began wailing loudly. Sobering, the Gunman ran over to it, but instead of silencing the alarm, began typing furiously, finally hitting the power button. Scully, her fingers in her ears, stood behind his shoulder to follow the commands displayed. "Frohike, that was your Network gateway. What's happening that made you take such drastic measures?" He growled. "Lady Lovelace is at it again." Mulder peered over his partner's head. "Who?" The Gunman pushed the mouse around before responding. "We've had problems with a hacker. It's not a full-force break-in, just little grabs and swipes we weren't cognizant of. Lady Lovelace is just the name I've given the guy to reflect the subtlety involved." Scully's loud yawn brought both men's attention to her. "I think my coffee is starting to wear off, Mulder, and we have that meeting with Skinner at 11:30." Resting one hand on her back, the tall agent nodded before turning to Frohike. "Try to see if you can spot that rat leaving the grounds, or in any of the other stairwells, and let us know what you find, all right?" The Gunman babbled on about the search techniques he would implement to them while he escorted the Agents to the door.
Senate Hearing Room Richard Matheson lightly tapped his chairman's gavel on the sounder pad twice, and a hushed silence fell over the room. If cameras had been permitted in this session, they would have transmitted images of a staid, orderly conference chamber. For this closed subcommittee hearing, there was nothing but the best in furnishings. The witnesses sat at an antique cherry oval table, their various retinues on padded rosewood chairs in rows behind them. Looking down were twelve senators, seated behind a high mahogany bench, Democrats to the left, Republicans to the right. Since this proceeding would involve matters of the highest security, the room was purposefully small, and lacked a modern electronic sound system. The senior Republican senator's left ear contained the only artificial amplification permitted, but its adequacy for the task remained a matter of good-natured dispute among the Senatorial staffers. Matheson tapped the pad again. "This meeting of the Transportation and Security Subcommittee is hereby called to order. I'd like to wish everyone a good morning, my co-chair and Honored Colleague, Senator Russell of Alabama, the esteemed members of this committee from both sides of this house, and you, Director Owens." The formalities concluded, Matheson slipped on his reading glasses. "Mister Owens, I believe you were telling us yesterday about the new procedures for delivery and maintenance you propose to implement." As Lindhauer leaned forward to pass him a note, he adjusted one earpiece of his dark frames, then spread the crumpled form open on the papers before him. Director Owens twisted the neck of the table-mounted microphone mount before he began speaking. "Yes, Sir, Senator. It was always the intention to use the Interstate Highway system for rapid deployment of military personnel from one part of the country to another. However, these roads have increasingly become the province of the people of the nation, negating their usefulness for their original purpose. As a point in fact regarding interstates, should the nation's capital come under some type of attack, it would be difficult during most daylight hours to transport anything from one shore of the Potomac to the other, other than by ferryboat." As chortle of agreement ran through the room, Senator Matheson smiled, then gaveled for silence. "Your point is well taken, Director Owens. However, these are difficult financial times for the nation, and it is hard for this Representative of the American people to justify the necessity of keeping an extensive narrow gauge rail system in operation." He glanced at the sheet. "The maintenance costs of the tracks themselves, let alone the locomotives, are more than double those of the highways in our ten most populous states." He looked to his Republican counterpart. "I believe my Esteemed Colleague had the floor at the evening recess." After much throat-clearing, the elderly Southern Senator leaned forward, his baggy sky-blue suit wrinkled from the humidity. "Director Owens, my Honored Colleague from the Longhorn state has several questions he would like to ask you." He focused both watery eyes on Senator Randall. "Senator Randall? I yield to you the remainder of my ten minutes." The younger man straightened his string tie before accepting the packet McConnell passed him. "Good Morning, Director Owens. We appreciate the effort you have undertaken to compile these statistics for us." He waved a dun yellow oversized envelope. "I won't waste the time of the more senior members of this fine institution any more than necessary. The rail system in question requires how many skilled laborers and upstanding citizens for constant operation?" Randall smoothed his fringed leather jacket while the bespectacled director consulted his notes. Matheson leaned back to speak with Lindhauer, who slipped down the back wall in response, taking a seat by McConnell. The red-haired man passed two of the packages to his colleague, tapping a page on top as he did. Lindhauer returned to the center of the dais, placing both copies before the Senator, who passed one to the Senior Republican. Lindhauer leaned back, opening the note from McConnell. Both men stepped outside, and two other aides smoothly took their places. Lindhauer huddled by McConnell. "How much longer do you think these hearings will continue before we can force the matter to a vote?" The red-haired man shrugged. "Probably later this afternoon. Now that Randall is asking the questions, Matheson will be less inclined to honor protocol and draw this out. You know, after some token resistance, the railway system will be abandoned, even by Randall. Matheson will have his victory, and we will have the trucks we need, all courtesy of the US military and the American taxpayer." The two men smiled before opening the tall walnut door to reenter the hearing room.
George Washington Parkway / Volcanic Observatory Scully pulled a sheet from her briefcase, punching a long distance number from the page into her cell phone. She waited through five rings before it was answered by an unfamiliar voice. "Rosen?" "Scully? Hang on while I take the containment helmet off." The auburn-haired agent listened to clicks and sliding sounds. "That better?" Scully scribbled 'containment gear?!' on a legal pad to pass to her partner, who was watching her converse while they sat at a light. "Yes. What's up?" "Oh, only a precaution. We worked without them towards the end of the day yesterday, so we don't think they're really necessary. We just have to be careful not to touch the bug, then put our hands anywhere near our mouths." Scully leaned forward, bracing herself as the Taurus accelerated. "What? Rosen, what's going on?" The brunette scratched her forehead with her now ungloved fingers. "Oh, sorry, let me start at the beginning. It seems this bug, or whatever it is, likes to dissolve teeth and bone, but has no affinity for muscle mass, or hair. Doctor Campbell discovered this accidentally while brushing his teeth after handling the vitreous substrate the bug lived in." Rosen slipped off the oxygen tanks, rotating her shoulders to relieve the cramping. "We've been growing the bugs and feeding them to see what they like to eat." Since they were still stopped at the light, Scully scribbled 'testing dietary preferences' for her partner's benefit. He opened his palm for the phone, but she shook her head, mouthing 'It's OK' at him. "What else does it seem to like? What are the waste products?" Rosen grinned. "Well, this is where it gets interesting. We've fed them silk, sandstone, feathers, slate, hair, quartzite, various parts of a whole chicken Nic bought from one of the locals, limestone, wheat, dolomite, lettuce, granite, plexiglass, kaolin, and a plastic milk jug. Outside of the teeth and bone, they love anything containing silicates, and the higher the proportion of silicon dioxide in the compound, the better they like it. They expel oxygen gas as waste, so I can only speculate that they are consuming the silicon, for some reason." Scully nodded, the gesture visible only to her partner. "Teeth and bone are composed mostly of calcium phosphate, or, apatite, if that helps." After taking a long sip of water from the mug Nichols offered her, Rosen grunted. "Apatite? That's a minor component of certain volcanic suites, which is probably why they can metabolize it. Thanks for the tip." Scully lifted one corner of her mouth. "Can they become airborne?" Rosen sighed. "No, they can't. Mimicking the crystalline structure of quartz, the cells form themselves into a tetrahedral network, which will grow as large as their food source allows, then just stops developing. They seem to go into stasis without nutrients. Oh, and they will break down wood, too, but then they just produce a lot of methane gas, the networks don't grow any larger." "What?" Rosen drained the contents of the mug. "It just turns it to mush, like it's after something in the fibers." "Well, trees and many other plants, incorporate sand particles into their cell structure for rigidity. If the sample you obtained grew in..." Catching on, the younger woman smiled. "Right. Volcanic soil, the life-forms would attempt to break through the cell membranes to reach the silicate grains." Scully scribbled 'Breaks down plant matter' on the page, the second t in matter extended by a sudden swerve to avoid a semi. "Is it hazardous?" Although invisible to Scully, Rosen shook her head. "I don't think it's dangerous. We've been in contact with Doctor Campbell, and he'll be coming back here tomorrow to help out with the testing." "What do you think it is?" The words 'not dangerous' appeared on the pad. "Probably a bacterium, less likely an archeon. I've tried to explain the new Domains to Nic, and he's convinced we've discovered *the* ancestral life form." Rosen sighed. "I've laid out the details of how unlikely that is, but, well, you know how it goes." When the Taurus passed over the Potomac on Memorial bridge, Scully found herself squinting into the sun. "Tell me about it. How's Nichols holding up?" Rosen chuckled. "I've convinced him we're staking out the Truth, so he's not grumbling too much. When are you guys coming out here?" Scully glanced at her partner. "Soon, we hope. We have some leads at our end we need to follow up on. So this bacterium seems to like silicates in general. Interesting. 'staking out the Truth', I'll have to use that one on Mulder sometime. Call us if you find out anything else important, all right?" "Sure thing, Scully." After she terminated the call, Mulder chuckled. "What was that all about? Staking out the truth? Silicates?" Scully began collecting her notes. "Rosen's set up experiments to measure consumption of nutrients and production of waste materials from our little discovery. The life-form consumes silicon dioxide, preferentially, giving off oxygen as a waste product." Both tensed at the wail of a police siren. "Looks like a traffic problem ahead." Checking his watch, he sighed. "This late in the morning, too."
Scully Residence Margaret Scully pulled out the last of her green hoses, trailing it along the sidewalk before cutting over to the narrow strip of grass on the street side of her front yard. Pausing to fan herself with her frayed straw gardening hat, she scanned the roadway, nearly empty except for a single dark red sedan, several houses west and across the street from her. The Willises must have a new car. She searched the hazy blue- gray sky, looking for flat-topped white clouds on the horizon that would spare her this chore. I hope we'll have rain soon. I just can't keep the grass lush with watering. Arms akimbo, she surveyed the square-topped boxwoods in front of the house, remembering the grandchildren playing soldier around them on the Fourth of July. When she bent over to position the triangular yellow sprinkler head, she thought she caught movement in the vehicle. Turning away, she knelt, busing herself with prying free a dandelion root, checking under her arm after what she considered a safe interval. There *is* someone in that car! A shiver ran up her spine. I'm being watched. Crossing herself before she rose, Margaret resolved not to bother Dana with this, just now. It may not be me. It may be security for Admiral and Mrs. Donovan. I'll just check. Reentering the house, she slipped the Pomeranian's blue leash off the hook by the door. The silent, to Margaret, cue was answered by little toenails clicking in from the kitchen, where she knew Mister Fuzz had been napping. A snick, and the deadbolt was engaged. "Let's go do a little spying ourselves today, shall we?"
14th Street Bridge Bored after the long wait in a stalled line of lunch traffic, Mulder's mind drifted back to the phone conversation with Rosen. "Well, it must be silicon-based then." Scully glanced over at him. "Hum? Not necessarily, Mulder." He gripped the steering wheel momentarily, releasing it when the car lurched to the right slightly. "Scully, after what happened in the Cascades last time, how can you say...Scully!" Her head was moving from side to side vehemently. "We consume many other elements besides carbon. It may use the silicon to build the tetrahedral bonds for the network it forms its colonies onto. Or, it may need the silicates for internal strength, much as the trees and grasses it was breaking down ingest sand or clay particles for stiffness." He narrowed his eyes at her. Stow the science lessons, Scully. "But Rumpelstiltskin is waking up after a long, long nap out there. If given a wide range of freely available choices, why would it do anything but eat the highest-quality nutrients, just like any animal coming out of hibernation? Why wouldn't it eat what it needs to grow?" Since they were pulling into the FBI vehicle lot, each was digging badges out of suit coat pockets and clipping them on. Scully glanced at her partner. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting here, Mulder. Inorganic compounds are necessary for many forms of life, but not as energy sources. Some specialists in the development of early life on this planet have speculated that the shape of organic molecules themselves may have resulted from the use of clay or other feldspathic minerals as a replication template. Just like plants, it's possible that a primitive life form still needs silicates to accomplish a task later life can achieve internally." She waited until they were parked and both walking to the elevator. "The only way we'll find out what this organism really is, silicon-based or otherwise, is with the careful testing Rosen and the others are subjecting this thing to. Since it isn't dangerous - " "Yet, Scully, it isn't dangerous yet." "Yet, Mulder, we don't have to alert the CDC, or anyone else, for that matter, because we'll only draw unwanted attention to ourselves." He pressed the up button, so they waited. "I agree. We don't want to draw the notice of a certain organization, but it might be just as bad as unleashing the F. Emasculata parasite." When she shuddered, he bent over her immediately. "Scully? What? Tell me." As the door opened, they stepped inside. "Something happened to you while you were in the prison?" "I thought I might have been exposed to the contagion, Mulder. There was a period of time when I had to wait for the infection to incubate before I could check." Moving to her side, he grasped her arm. "Why didn't you tell me this when it happened?" His dark eyes hovered inches from her own, both pairs deeply troubled. "You didn't need to come rushing back to the prison, you had to track those men down." She shrugged. "If I wasn't exposed, it didn't matter. If I had the parasite, all I would have done was infect you, too." As their ascent stopped at the lobby level to accept more passengers, he dropped her arm, but grasped the hand rail behind her. The car filled with excited, casually dressed visitors on one of the crowded summer tours, pressing the two agents against each other in a rear corner of the elevator. She leaned back to mutter into his chest: "I was fine, Mulder." Before pulling his lips into a tight grin for the public, he grunted, so she gave it one last attempt. "Really." The breath that preceded his reply set a few strands of her hair afloat, then she heard his voice, soft in her ear. "Right, Scully. Now I know I should have quarantined you in my apartment afterward." As they halted on the second floor, they pushed their way through the clutter of tourists while their guide offered apologies, calling for her charges to make way for 'two hard-working agents in the Bureau'. A flash or two popped in their faces, propelling the partners forward in their escape. Once the doors closed, Scully glanced up at Mulder. "But it would have been a violation of my Hippocratic Oath to let you suffer contamination by personal contact if you had." He held the office door, his eyes alight with relief, his face bright with contentment. "You doctors are all alike. I should have figured there would have been a downside to my nefarious scheme." When they entered, Cynthia stopped typing to pass him a yellow phone message note. "When you two were late, I called Gloria for you. Director Skinner has been summoned to the Director Freeh's Office, so your meeting with him has been shifted to 1:30 this afternoon." Mulder nodded to their secretary before catching his partner's eye. "Well, then I think we can take time out for lunch." "Nothing heavy, Mulder, the Four Seasons serves large portions, as I remember." Scully leaned over Cynthia's desk. "Come on with us, if you wish, or do you have someone else in mind?" The brunette blushed, red to the tips of her ears, while Mulder studied the doorknob religiously. "Sorry, Agent Scully. Gil called to say he would be tied up in meetings all day today." She reached into her drawer for her bag, stepping out in front of the partners to call for the elevator. Scully whispered to the tall agent as he locked the door. "If she gets any happier, she may break into Andrew Lloyd Weber at her desk." He leaned close to her ear. "Now, now, doctor, think of poor broken-hearted Lewis, *certainly* a man of good taste, sitting back there at the Retreat, pining away for you..." After nimbly dodging her elbow, he pressed his hand into her back as the elevator doors swept open
Scully Residence Returning to her front porch, Margaret knelt to brush the dirt from the Pomeranian's fur, the little dog snapping at the air in his pleasure at the attention. "How did Dana ever have the time to keep you looking good?" She checked over the railing, not surprised that the vehicle still lurked, casting a pall over an otherwise perfect summer afternoon. A lone Annapolis police cruiser began a single pass up her street, but before it reached her home, Margaret had collected the little canine to rush out to the blacktop. The black and white rolled to a halt at her driveway, where a sergeant stepped out of the car and around it to her. "Mrs. Scully? Everything all right?" Hearing the red sedan's engine turn over, she smiled, then the pair watched it pull away. The officer nodded. "I had seen him earlier and wanted to check back myself." "Thank you, Bruce. I was worried. Care for something to drink?" He patted her shoulder. "No, thank you, Ma'am. Will you tell Dana, or do you want me to call her?" Sergeant Bruce Williams had taken a Forensics class from the red-haired agent before she joined the X-Files. Margaret had been only too happy to exploit the unexpected connection during her daughter's disappearance. "I'll handle it." The cruiser's departure left her chewing her lip.
Office of the Assistant Director The Assistant Director stepped aside. "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, come in." He waited until they were both seated to close the door and settle behind his desk. Once there, he flipped open the Minnesota case report. "Do I read correctly that you both concur in substantiating only the accounts from the original witnesses?" Scully straightened. "Yes, Sir. Lars and Ella Hendrikson were both creditable, sober people." As her partner snorted, she paused, waiting for him. Mulder shifted on the hard seat. "Sir, for them, alcohol is something rubbed on insect bites, and neither has missed a Sunday and Wednesday in church in their lives. The patterns of lights wheeling and diving could not be explained as meteor showers, misidentified planets, or airplanes." Scully nodded. "We interviewed each separately. Their accounts bore enough similarities and differences that we concluded neither was coached, nor were their statements developed in concert. As far as we could determine," they exchanged a glance, "there have been no prior sightings in this part of Minnesota. Nor are there nearby classified facilities." The ex-Marine leaned over his desk. "Agent Mulder?" The younger man sighed. "As far as confabulation, these two were your classic stoic Norwegian-types, Sir. We had to work to get more than a 'jah' or a 'nooh' out of them." He ran a hand through his hair. "While none of our usual sources provided significant collaboration of their evidence, neither could they give us any alternatives to explain their testimony away." When she suddenly yawned, both men focused on the tiny woman in the chair. She covered her mouth with her hand. "Excuse me. Until we acquire further evidence, I must tag this as unidentified and unexplained." Skinner cocked an eyebrow at Mulder. "You would say this was a sighting of an alien craft?" Mulder glanced at his partner, who was smoothing the hem of her gray skirt, a gesture that told him how tired she really was. "It tallies with other creditable accounts, Sir. But, we lack physical evidence that would conclusively prove it to be such." Flipping the folder shut, Skinner settled back in his chair, both hands gripping the armrest. His mind drifted through many previous meetings in his brightly-lit office, back to one of the first, when the auburn-haired agent had lied to him to protect the man sprawled beside her. Since then, he had waited while the younger man flung himself around the room, stricken by her loss. He held his peace through the dark time when they had shot daggers from one to the other in glares, their angry silences longer than their replies. He had watched Scully confound two CIA agents, and had given her space to cushion her partner's shock at a fabricated police report. The AD lifted another folder from his desk. "Now, to the Ridgefield murders. You and the others agree that Professor Smith is the perpetrator?" Mulder sighed. "All the evidence, from fingerprints to blood and hair samples, would indicate such." The older man focused on Scully when he realized she had finally driven home to her partner the need for evidence, to speculate only in its presence. "But you disagree as to his motive?" "Yes, Sir." She rubbed her eyes. "He believed, or appeared to believe, himself to be the reincarnation of Sarah Wells, to be avenging himself on the descendants of the woman who had wronged her in a previous life." Skinner locked her in his gaze, noting that Mulder had brought his partner to see the possibilities such evidence suggested. She held her hands out, palms facing him. "Now, there is no way to substantiate this claim, Sir. Nor, did the Professor show any signs of mental instability." Nodding, Mulder shifted the red tie with yellow dots. "But, revenge murder is still murder, in the eyes of the law, and he did kill two women who were totally unrelated to anyone in his purported 'previous life'. While he fits my profile," Mulder leaned over the desktop to tap a few sheets in the report, "he does not show the typical family history or developmental patterns of a serial killer." The younger man crossed his arms. "Although the four of us will continue to disagree on the motive, this is one we can safely mark closed, Sir. If Smith hadn't killed himself, it would have been an easy conviction." Skinner lifted out the autopsy report, a grimace spreading over his normally stoic features. Scully leaned forward. "Yes, Sir, that report does say what you think it does. He was an unaltered hermaphrodite. How this piece fits, we are as yet uncertain, But, he *is* our man, so to speak." The Assistant Director reassembled the pages quickly, shaking his head. Between them, they were developing into one entity almost as he watched. "Better you than me, people. Why were Rosen and Nichols rush detailed to Washington State, while you're still parked here?" He waved sets of travel orders in the air, then narrowed his eyes at Mulder. The Section Head responded. "We had a report of an unidentified organism, similar to several we've investigated in the past, so we briefed Rosen and Nichols prior to their departure." Skinner nodded. "But they didn't need your help?" Scully leaned forward. "There was another matter that appeared suddenly, Sir." Their supervisor leaned back while he read their expressions. Something not for other ears to hear. The message was received as clearly as if they had both shouted it at him, so he nodded again. "Tell me about this organism." Mulder grinned. "A silicon-eating life form that may very well be silicon-based itself." Skinner caught the ripple in Scully's cheeks. "We don't know that for certain, Sir." She crossed her arms, "Many of the new species identified from deep-sea reconnaissance of ocean ridges and hot spots have depended on unusual food sources for nutrients. For instance, several families of bacteria and Archaea metabolize sulfates; methane-consuming species of Archaea have been isolated from cow's intestines. Bacteria, it has been suggested, may be able to survive up to nine kilometers below the earth's surface. Some have even been discovered that consume hydrocarbons directly, and during the oil crisis, they were under consideration for non-toxic clean-up of spills. It is not inconceivable that a primitive life form would have developed that utilized one of the most common minerals available, silicon dioxide." Mulder turned to his partner. "But why couldn't it be a silicon- based life-form, Scully? Finding something living in the rock, feeding off it..." She shifted to face him. "Until we have a sample back here that can be gene-typed, I prefer not to speculate along those lines, Mulder." Walter Skinner arched an eyebrow, then, unwilling to be left on the side, joined the debate. "But isn't that rather difficult, Agent Scully?" She sighed. "Indeed, Sir. To date, outside of viral sequences like smallpox, only four species' genomes have been published in the "open* literature. The Human Genome Project, although running ahead of its scheduled completion in 2005, remains unfinished." Both men caught her emphasis on the word *open*, taking in her deeper meaning instantly. "However, we have alerted certain experts that their specialized skills may be called upon in an unofficial capacity." Their superior removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. More covert operations. Wonderful. "I presume you will be updating me as events warrant?" Sighing, Mulder shifted around the wooden chair uncomfortably. "With all due respect, Sir, there are matters that need airing..." Skinner stood fluidly, pacing behind his desk. "I see." He braced his weight on the folders, activating his intercom. "Gloria, what is my schedule like for this afternoon?" The older woman's soft contralto filled the room, and the X-Files agents' shoulders sagged as she rattled off several more meetings for the Director. "Thank you." He met both their eyes. "Well, shall we say six, then?" They nodded. Mulder was even more agitated. "Sir, I really don't want to delay our trip to the West Coast any more than necessary." The meeting concluded, in his mind, Skinner stepped to the door to hold it for their departure. "I'm certain the Attorney General will understand when I have to cancel with her for a single-celled organism and the doings of a secret government she doesn't know exists." He cocked his head, waiting for them.
Dark Office The old man puffed his Morley in silence, reflecting that while so much had changed, so much remained the same. He no longer had open access to the control center of his wiretap network, but with a little work, a few modifications... My hours with Bill Mulder, assembling computers from piles of chips, were never wasted. He ran one hand down the plywood board screwed into the wall in front of him, smiling at the multicolored point-to-point wiring, the hand-wound transformers bound with masking tape. Caroline could always hear the tubes begin to hum before they would fail. He remembered her gentle prod: 'That one, Bill.' So long... This hastily assembled control panel was his first tangible sign that he was still here, still connected. So Caroline's boy thinks he has another silicon bug. Or, to be more precise, a silicon-eating bug. His fingers trailed over the chips on the stand-off mounted circuit board. A silicon-eating bug... A connection formed in the synapses of his agile mind, then more, and more. Time to prod the players. shift the rules yet again, in my favor. Two raps snapped him to attention. "Enter." It was, as he had suspected, Luther, all shifty-eyed and shuffle-footed. But not the same man I knew. "Sir, the shape-changer is on the move again." The old spy pointed towards an extra seat, then pulled his hand back to cover the end of the Morley dangling from his mouth as he lit it. Little do you know what I have planned. "Indeed, tell me more."
Chadwick's Georgetown, Walter Skinner slid along his side of the booth, feeling the slick cold of the air-conditioned leather through his dress white shirt. On the way back from the men's room, he had been recalling his one and only meeting as Assistant Director with the man Mulder referred to as X, a painful encounter in an elevator. He lifted his eyes to Scully's. "So, do you think there is any chance he will recover?" While she rubbed her neck, she sighed. "I don't know, Sir." She glanced over at her partner, who had fixed her in one of his worried big brother stares. "Mulder?" The younger agent blinked, then focused on his superior. "Doctor Alvarez, the physician treating him, has experience dealing with cases like this. Apparently, he succumbed without notice." Skinner nodded. "So he may come out of it just as quickly?" Mulder shrugged. "Some catatonics do, only to have later episodes of longer or shorter duration. His MRI showed no brain damage such as would be consonant with sudden-onset epilepsy. Narcolepsy, can, in many cases be completely controlled with medication." Scully shifted on the bench. "Narcoleptic seizures are unlikely given the levels of brain activity we saw. No previously documented sleep state produces patterns like his." Skinner checked his watch. "We have just enough time to make it back to the Bureau to meet your brothers, Agent Scully." He and Mulder laid out the cash for their meals. The younger man grasped his partner's arm as she held out change for her single mineral water. "Don't even think it, Scully." "Mulderrrr." He shook his head, then, as Skinner watched, she raised her chin in one of her silent protests of self-sufficiency he was only now coming to recognize. But her obstinacy to concede in even this small matter was met by equally firm resolve, the Assistant Director could tell, in the flexing of the dark-haired man's jaw. One auburn eyebrow arched, before Scully retracted her arm, her partner's hand gently pushing until the coins in her palm rang as they descended into her change purse. When the pair slid from behind the walnut tabletop, the tall man stepped aside courteously, smoothing over their disagreement with a light touch to her shoulder and a quip. "Besides, now I'll have a witness to one of the US government's best-kept secrets, that there are still two men left in the Scully family." Their supervisor smiled at the words spoken in a stage whisper by her ear.
J. Edgar Hoover Building "Agent Scully!" The three turned to the voice coming out of the building behind them. A lighting bolt of a smirk crossed Mulder's features as Pendrell, lab coat flapping, bore down on his partner. Walter Skinner stepped back when the lab tech slid between him and Scully, a slight ripple in his neck muscles the only indication of the depth of his mirth. As she leaned away to establish some space between herself and the red-haired man, she brushed her partner's elbow. "Yes, Pendrell?" She found herself sharing the technician's eagerness. "I think I've found a genetic data base on Sickle-cell sufferers. It breaks down the code for the sickling genes according to different regions of Africa and the Caribbean. Do you think this will help?" She lifted the proffered data sheet from his fingers to scan the contents. "It just might, Arthur." Skinner cocked an eyebrow at Mulder, who deflected their superior's suspicions with a quick waggle of his hand. Scully passed the sheet back to Pendrell. "When Susan gets the genotype work done, we'll at least be able to trace relatives, if nothing else." He folded the paper efficiently into precise quarters. "Agent Phillips is running the dental records now, but I don't have anything on the DMV angle yet." The technician dropped his eyes from hers to the concrete. Mulder stepped around behind Pendrell, shooting out his lower lip in a mocking gesture that raised both Skinner's eyebrows. Scully patted the light-haired man's arm. "Just send the details of whatever it is you two come up with to me at home, all right?" Pendrell flashed a smile. Scully leaned closer to Pendrell. "Encrypt a copy to Agent Mulder as well. Thanks. I appreciate your taking time out to do this for us, Arthur." Mulder tapped the younger man's shoulder. "I think you have someone waiting for you, Pendrell." He pointed two fingers at the glass door. The tech beamed at Agent Phillips, watching through the transparent wall. "Yeah. Wow." The three were witnesses to delighted little wave, more flying white polyester. AD Skinner was shaking his head as the two disappeared inside the lobby. "I'm not going to ask, people." Smirking, Mulder stepped behind his partner, resting his hand against her suit jacket. "Don't, Sir. Our boy there has finally discovered what I've known all along. Redheads are real heart- breakers." He chuckled as a tan heel shifted onto his toe, then paled as the pressure increased gradually. But their superior was focused on a maroon Volvo gliding to a halt in front of them. The two men inside were auburn-haired and freckled, high-cheeked and compact, like their sister. Noting that each was in dress whites, a feeling of pride swelled as he counted the medals and commendation pins. When the car stopped, Mulder slid his foot free and leaned forward to grasp the door latch. "Call me, Scully, when you get home. Whatever Pendrell and Phillips have, I'm sure I'll need you to explain it to me." Nodding, she ducked into the rear seat. The two men watched the square, clunky vehicle until it disappeared over one of Pennsylvania Avenue's hills. Skinner turned to Mulder. "Fine men, both, wouldn't you say, Agent Mulder?" His superior's words taking him by surprise, Mulder glanced at the Assistant Director, but his only verbal response was a soft hunh. Why all the gewgaws? His face drawn into a pensive frown, Mulder followed his superior through the building to the stairwell for the parking lot beneath.
Fourteenth Avenue "Dana, who was the bald man?" Bill Junior had swiveled in the passenger seat to speak with his sister. "Walter Skinner, my Assistant Director. We had been discussing an ongoing case when you pulled up." She attempted to lighten the somber mood in the car. "He was here because Mulder has Director Skinner thinking you two are a figment of my and Mom's imagination." Both brothers laughed softly. Scully leaned towards the driver. "How are Val, John, and Chuck, Charlie?" Her younger brother caught her eye in the rear-view mirror. "Oh, just fine. Val's finally back on her feet, so Alice is home in Pennsylvania. Thanks for the sheets and the books." Scully permitted herself a broad smile. "Mulder and I found those down in Miami in February. The grandmother who helped us figured that since Chuck was the second, you'd be wearing things out." Bill nodded. "Grandmothers are always a font of wisdom. We thought to try the Four Seasons, if it's still here." Pulling herself into the forward part of the compartment, Scully pointed to an exit. "Yes, it is. You'll want to get off there to make it into Arlington, then." Once the vehicle was properly directed, she slid back. "So, Bill, how are Liz and the boys?" Bill pulled absently on the gold braid fastened to the brim of the white hat resting on his lap. "Oh, they're all great, Dana. Elizabeth's woodworking is starting to bring in a hefty chunk of change. You'd be surprised how much people will pay for lawn ornaments." The brothers' blue eyes met, and Bill cleared his throat nervously. "Dana?" She slid forward, resting her chin on the hands clasping the shoulder of the front passenger seat. "Yes?" After a few moments of Bill continuing to fiddle with the hat, she touched his arm. "What is it, Bill, is Liz pregnant again?" He smiled, the expression nervous and forced. "Nope. Not so far as I know, anyway. Charlie and I were just wondering." He glanced out the window, then shifted around to face her. "How are things with you and your partner, everything," one hand swooped through the air, "on track?" She cocked an eyebrow, choosing to ignore the implied question as long as possible. "Work's great, Bill." She settled against the back cushions as the station wagon curved down an off-ramp. "The two new members of the section are super. Rosen isn't phased by anything, which is a real surprise in a green agent, and Nichols has the constitution of an ox. It's no wonder he was able to take the pressures in the Drug Interdiction Division for so many years. We didn't know it at the time, but he was tailing us through the homeless case, attempting to reel in Broadway in a completely independent sting operation. We're onto our third case together." Bill rotated to face her. "But, I mean, how is it with you and your partner, Fox?" Charles nodded encouragement when Bill hesitated over the name. Scully blew out a breath. "Mulder, Bill, he wants to be called Mulder, just as you would anyone under your command." Her cheeks creased momentarily at the memory of a wide-eyed brunette sitting in a rental car outside a warehouse full of methane gas. "He's the same. His Mom's all right, so he's calmed down a little. He's doing better at the Section Head's job than I thought he would. Oh, turn in there!" The station wagon pulled off the four-lane road into a sunken parking lot behind the squat, square restaurant building. "It seems a lot smaller than when Ahab brought us here, in what, 1974?" Scully commented. They walked into the dining area in silence, following the host to a quiet table by the front windows. Bill pulled out Scully's chair for her, ordering whiskeys for himself and Charlie, before initiating any further conversation. "Dana?" She held the tumbler still while the waitress filled it with iced tea. "Hum?" The brothers looked to each other before Charlie continued. "Dana, we know what happened with Melissa wasn't your fault..." Scully froze, the glass partway to her mouth. Where did that come from? "Charlie, what are you talking about? What do you know about Mel's death that I don't?" He sipped his Johnny Walker. "Just that it wasn't carried out by this same secret organization that took John-John hostage." Scully's fists clenched. "Charles, are you serious?" Carefully pushing the flatware inwards, Bill crossed his arms to rest his elbows on the table. "Yes, we are, Dana." He tapped the edge of his ivory and gold plate with a well-chewed thumbnail. "Charlie told me what happened in February. It was handled efficiently, a clean, professional raid. Those guys went in, took what they wanted, and were gone without a trace. Melissa surprised an armed burglar, nothing more." Stunned beyond words, she finally gathered her wits for more than a mute glare of protest. "But who else would be after me? I keep nothing of worth in the apartment!" Charles nodded. "I've been thinking about that. When your place was trashed on Halloween, as Mom told it, the damage was deliberate, targeted. She said the same thing about the way the bugs were emplaced at Thanksgiving. But, with Melissa, if they were part of some Conspiracy, why did they leave your implant, or whatever that chip in the tube was, behind? What happened with John-John shows the lengths they'll go so evidence won't escape them, right?" Grudgingly, Scully nodded. He leaned back. "We can only conclude burglary. But, it was you in October, Mom in November, and my family in February. Now, Bill's home is under surveillance. That's too much, Dana. We have to put a stop to this escalating violence." He crossed his arms. Scully's forehead contracted. "Then help us, Charlie, help us find the men who did this. Are there any more classified documents we should know about?" She scooted her chair over closer to him. He moved away, seeking his older brother's eyes for support. "No, Dana, you don't understand. Mel was an accident. Now, these cases are hitting too close to home, to the people who matter most. But you can put a stop to it, before we have to bury another sister, or a son, or," he flicked at a spot on the table, "a mother." Shocked again, Scully glared first at Charles, then Bill. "You want me to leave the Bureau, don't you?" The monotone was barely audible over the clanking and soft conversations around them. Bill touched her arm. "You could still have a full life, Dana, settle down with another doctor in some out of the way place..." Unwilling to cause a scene, she dropped her voice to a heated whisper. "No, I can't! My life is my work, and my work is the X- Files. Mulder needs me, now more than ever..." Bill and Charles leaned forward until their heads formed a tight triangle. The older brother spoke for them both. "But, he has other agents to help him in his search now, and you two are just friends. Think of yourself for once, think of your Mother, of us. We're your family, not Mulder, not the Bureau. Besides, Dad left me some information about him. He's not what you think he is." Scully stifled a shout. "Then what is he, Bill? Tell me what you know! If it affects his search for his sister, we both need to be aware of it." Charles claimed her attention by grasping her shoulder. "There you go again, getting all wrapped up in his Quest, his life." A shadow fell across the table, shimmering in the dimmed light. "You folks ready to order?" The arrival of a tiny waitress dropped three masks in place. Bill shook his head. "We're still deciding, thanks." Six green-blue eyes watched her leave. Dana broke off first, leaning towards her older brother. "What did Ahab know about Mulder?" Bill shrugged. "It's just a record of phone conversations, full of names and acronyms I don't recognize. There's something about Africa, something about genetic testing." She slid the chair closer to him. "Bill, you have to give it to me. Mulder and I need to compare it against the other documents we already have. It may help verify what we've discovered about my abduction and his sister's loss." She grasped his wrist. "Please, Bill, it's important to us both. One time, just before Mel's death, we had our hands on medical records, but we were surprised and almost ambushed. If we had kept those, we could have tracked down his sister over two years ago. We've both vowed not to be that foolish again." Charlie leaned forward. "No, Dana, it's not that simple. We can only let you have the information when you're safe, out of danger, away from Mulder." He slugged down the rest of the amber liquid in one gulp. "He'll get you killed. Think of how that would affect Mom. You need to have a life away from him." Horrified, she pulled away, images tumbling through her head. A hand on her face. 'I'm sorry about your Father, Dana.' A glint of gold, suspended between his fingers and her palm. 'I've been saving this for you.' A frightened pair of eyes, filling with desperate relief once fixed on hers in a hospital in Alaska. 'I couldn't let you risk your life on this.' A half-shadowed face, grieving for their losses. 'she knows. Melissa knows.' An arm around her back, an anguished cry. 'Scully, what did they do to you?' A lopsided grin. 'Hey, gray-eyes!' A long shape in the darkness, warm and solid while her tears dampened his shirt, a gentle voice, singing words of comfort into a shelter from the terrors of her remembered abduction. A thought crystallized out of the kaleidoscopic sights and sounds. Where were you? More memories flashed. A open grave, an argument in the pouring rain. A long, somber glare at a too-cocky face. 'Scully's right. He is the guy.' A stained, yellowed folder, the cover printing faded with age, laid reverently in her lap. 'A true piece of history, Scully, the very first X-File, initiated by J. Edgar Hoover himself in 1946.' A resigned sigh, after risking all their lives. 'You're right, and we're wasting time arguing about it.' A look of disbelief, with 'I have several X-Files that document similar cases.' initiating another debate. Then, a tall shadow following her lead, her opening of a case, to the Excelsis Dei nursing home. A badge placed in her hands at Bethesda Naval Hospital. 'They won't let me in to see him, but because of your medical background I was able to get you a clearance. I want your opinion on this.' A dusty motel room in New Mexico. 'You've taken a big risk.' A no-name diner in Maryland. 'It's up to you, Scully.' A voice on the phone from Miller's Grove. 'All of your conjectures were proved correct. The exterminator *did* die...' Two first class seats in a dark airplane. 'And I just want to thank you, for staying with this, again.' A windy park bench in autumn. 'I can't do it alone, Scully. I need your logic and rigor to winnow the truth from the lies.' Their old basement office, late one November night, so like many other late night bull-sessions. 'Well, Scully, what do you think?' A desperate call from a place of myth. 'Make a leap of faith, Scully!' A hand on her shoulder in a garish little boy's room. 'I appreciate and admire that courage, Scully.' Just a day earlier, surrounded by monitors. 'Remind me to tell you how much I like working with you sometime.' I have a life. Her decision made, she looked from one to the other. "I can't leave the Bureau. It's the only way to prove what we know to be true." The brothers locked eyes, then Bill queried solemnly. "That's what you've decided?" Her jaw thrust forward slightly, she fixed him in a cold-eyed stare. His expression was equally unyielding. "Then do your nephews a favor, *Aunt* Dana, stay away from them." She clenched her fists, before tossing her voluminous linen napkin on the plate as she rose. "I'll catch a cab."
Apartment 42 Dropping the white canvas laundry sack in the hallway, Mulder crossed through his living room to the desk by the window. He pressed the messages button on his answering machine, passing time while the tape rewound by changing carbon filters in the top-of- the-tank aerators in his aquarium. "Fox? It's Margaret Scully. Call me when you get home." He waited through the clicks and beeps. "Fox? If you're there, please call immediately." Dropping the filter bags, brown with fish residue, in the trash can, he frowned. Mrs. Scully sounds really concerned. More snicks and beeps. "Fox, I can't reach Dana. Please call. It's urgent." After the clicks terminating the message, the red light was steady, so he tapped the fourth speed dial button on his cell phone. One ring, then the muffled sounds of someone dropping and catching the receiver. "Mrs. Scully?" He paced. "What's wrong with Scully? What did her brothers say to her?" A gasp, then a long pause. "Mrs. Scully?" "How did you know?" He pressed his free arm against his stomach. "Know what?" He heard a sniffle. "Mrs. Scully?" "Fox, you'd better sit down." He reached over, grasping the back of the mission chair closest to him. "I am, Mrs. Scully. Tell me, what did they say?" More sniffles. "Please don't do something crazy after I let you know. Promise?" He twisted on the cushions. "OK, I won't. Just say it." "The boys were just here and left. Bill and Charles knew I would never agree to this, so they informed Dana of their decision before they came to me." The birch in one of the kitchen chairs creaked as she lowered herself onto it. "It's their joint opinion, after what happened in February, that Dana is a danger to their children, and they don't want her coming near their families again." The agent was on his feet, kicking the coffee table out of his way. "What! Mrs. Scully, please, tell me this is a joke." A deep sigh. "I wish it were. I've tried calling her, but I can't reach her on either her cel or stationary phones." Clipping on his Sig, Mulder ran towards the front room. Margaret Scully continued to speak. "I know how upset she'll be, and I can't get into DC to look for her right now." He snatched his badge and keys off the table by the door, the motion sending stacks of junk mail onto the oak floorboards. "No problem, Mrs. Scully." He stopped to lock the door behind him. "Will you be OK?" A long sigh. "Just find her, Fox. I can't let this happen to my baby girl, even if my boys think this is the only way to keep my grandchildren safe. I think I know how important that document you and Dana gave up for little John was to your work, and to finding your sister, even if they can't accept it." As he ran for the elevator, he heard a quiet sob, then the click of the receiver.
X-Files Offices "Don't turn the lights on, Mulder." Her normal alto timbre was thick, burdened with grief. When he had checked Scully's apartment, he noted that her badge, gun, and briefcase were missing, and knew immediately where she had remained and why. Closing the outer door, he hurried into his office, stopping by the sagging Naugahyde recliner. Your Father's chair. I knew this would be the one place you feel safe, Scully. Since his eyes had not yet adjusted to the dark, he slid his fingers along cold plastic, finding her head, feeling the heat in her face. He continued running his hands down the length of her body, tucked into the hollow in the chair, searching it for any signs of injury. Scully was turned on her side, facing away from him, wrapped in the armor of her linen suit jacket and trousers, but barefoot, and shivering lightly. Mulder didn't have to touch her cheek to know his fingers would stick there momentarily, and come away damp. Why didn't you call me? Resisting the urge simply to lift her up, slide beneath her and cradle her against him, accepting the tears she had barely brought under control, he crossed to his conference table. There, he grasped one of the old slat-backed oak chairs and set it between his partner and his desk, sinking down into it before he reached for her again. "Go home, Mulder. This is my problem, not yours." He brushed her hair off her face, feeling the warm wetness from the strands over her eyes, and tucked it behind her ear, before dropping his free hand to her knee. "It *is* mine, Scully, when my partner's Mother calls me in the middle of the night because she can't find her." He tracked his hand along her shoulder, down to free the left arm pressed into her waist and rest it on his own, so each was gripping the other's forearm. He could find no words of comfort, but sat with her in silence, reminding himself that they were clasped in the old Roman-style handshake of two warriors testing each other's strength. In the faint illumination of the city at nighttime, he saw their fingers in the sharp relief of colorless false twilight. Intertwined roots of two oaks, grown up in close proximity. That's what we are, Scully. As he reached for her shoulder, his cell phone buzzed, startling both of them. "If that's Mom, Mulder, I can't..." Pulling her arm away, she shivered again. He sighed while he sank to his knees, digging in his jeans pocket for the phone, then gripped her wrist with his left hand. "Mulder." He listened. "It's OK, Mrs. Scully, I've found her." Leaning over close to her, he hoped his partner would hear the worry in her Mother's voice and voluntarily connect with her. "Fox, is she all right? Is she hurt?" "No, Scully was at the office, Mrs. Scully." He tried to catch her eye, but she was shifting in the chair, rolling away from him and the compassion both of them were offering her. "Is that Dana? Fox, let me talk to her." He dropped the unit to his shoulder. "Scully..." Her response was to force herself out of the recliner and position herself by the window behind his desk, turning the oak box into a barrier between them. He swiveled in his seat, but was prevented from rising and crossing around to her by the soft voice in his ear. "I heard. Take care of her, Fox, I have work to do." He terminated the call, placed the unit on his desk, and came up behind her, waiting. She would speak when she was ready, not before, so he let the hush of night settle upon them both, punctuated only by sirens or car horns. Finally, she sagged to rest her forehead against the window frame. "Scully." Mulder reached out, gripping both shoulders to keep himself from smothering his partner in an embrace he knew she would shy away from. You're not injured, not exhausted, so I'll have to fight through your defenses to help you, as always. "I'm sorry, Mulder. You have your own demons to conquer, not these." He guided her away from the window and down into his chair, before pulling himself up onto his desk. "They're throwing you away, and your work with me is the reason. How can it *not* be my battle, too? Don't shut me out." Reaching for her fingers, he lifted them off her lap to rub them with his thumb. "They've lost one sister, and offering you up like this won't bring her back." Pulling her hand away to cross her arms, a promise she had made herself came into her mind, setting her rocking in the desk chair. Starting right now, Dana. While she collected her thoughts, she watched the light reflect off his eyes. "You know we were supposed to have dinner at the Four Seasons. It was one of Ahab's favorites when we visited DC, all of us, years ago. They at least did me the courtesy of telling me their decision before ordering, so they didn't have to waste the price of a meal on me." She was on her feet, walking around to stare down at the overstuffed recliner. Mulder joined her, leaning against the back of the conference chair, grasping the top with both hands. "He would never have allowed this, Scully, surely you believe that." She settled onto the hard seat, hugging herself. "You never knew him, Mulder. He was a Captain, who believed that sometimes leadership demands hard choices." She pressed her shoulders against his fingers. "He was so angry at me for joining the Bureau, and when he heard where I was assigned..." She shifted on the wood. "My brothers' distrust of you..." He knelt beside her, as he had in a hospital room in Georgetown. "What, Scully?" He was gazing up at her, unblinking, and she met his eyes, an edge to the shine in both pairs. "What did your Father think of me?" She reached out, so he placed his hand in hers. "Back in April 1992, after our first case together, he told me he might know something about your family, Mulder. He had begun phoning old Navy colleagues, checking and digging, but he would never tell me what he learned. He was just very unhappy that I stayed with you." He glanced away. To think I was responsible for... Sensing his self-deprecation, she bent forward, wrapping her fingers around his palm. "I don't know what he uncovered, Mulder, but it bothered him. If he found out about the work your Father had done and it shook him to his core, he would never tell me. All he would say was that since I had chosen this, I had to make the best of it. But I think he gave the information to Bill, and Bill described it to Charlie, at least, that's what they intimated to me at the restaurant. They won't share it unless I agree to leave the Bureau." Standing and crossing his arms, Mulder began pacing, the ridges in his face accented by the low light. "What would this be about?" His partner was by the door, so he closed his eyes when he saw her hand by the light switch. After they both blinked and refocused, she walked over to him. "I can't say. He mumbled something to the effect that I should never go to Africa, but it made no sense then, and makes none now." As he cast about in his memory, his upper teeth compressed each corner of his lower lip, then he shrugged and met her eyes. "I never remember any letters from Africa, Scully, ever. Many from the NATO alliance countries, even a few from behind the Iron Curtain, but never anything south of Greece." Her stomach rumbled, so he poked it gently. "I'm afraid it's salad and pasta at Chez Mulder for you tonight, partner." Turning to the door, she began to step away. "No, my car is here. I'll be fine back at my place, Mulder." Grasping her upper arms, he halted her progress, pressing her shoulders against his chest long enough to whisper in her ear. "I have my orders, Doctor, and I've long since learned what happens to me when I ignore two direct commands from any woman surnamed Scully." After collecting her shoes and briefcase, she smiled up at him, so he cupped his left hand behind her elbow while casting their offices into darkness with the right.
Apartment 5 The even footfalls stopping at his partner's front door brought Mulder upright, then sent him fumbling for his gun on the coffeetable as he rolled off the sofa. Cantering sideways towards her entrance, he assumed his shooting stance, watching the deadbolt turn. "FBI! I have a gun!" Hearing his partner moving in her bedroom behind him, he assumed she was arming herself to bolster her position as backup. "Fox? It's just Margaret Scully. Is everything all right?" He sighed, set the Sig on the China cabinet shelf, and opened the door. The puzzled set to her forehead contrasted with the eagerness in the brown eyes of the panting canine under her arm. The Pomeranian wiggled free of her grip, pushing off her ribs to fly into a familiar apartment. "Fox?" When Mulder held his arms out to Margaret, she settled against him. "Is Dana here? I couldn't reach her from home, and neither Elizabeth nor Val will tell me anything." Gripping each other tightly, he rubbed her back. "She was asleep in the bedroom, Mrs. Scully. I didn't want her staying by herself tonight." His voice, soft already, dropped to a whisper by her ear. "For once, she didn't argue with me, so I turned off the phones to let her sleep." Fighting back the tears that threatened to overflow, Margaret smiled as her charge scrambled onto Scully's couch. "Thank you, Fox." Dana Scully entered the living room, her gun leveled. "Mulder? What's going on?" Reaching across her body, Scully switched on one of the table lamps, instinctively patting the fur between the perked-up ears when a wet nub nuzzled her palm. "Mom? Is that you?" Before she flew to her Mother, she rested the pistol on the end table, and Margaret held her daughter as fiercely as she had Mulder, who was closing and locking the door. "Oh, Mom, what am I going to do?" When the older woman kissed her daughter's cheek, the agent gasped and choked. "What can I do? They're in danger only because they're my brothers, not just when they're around me." "Right now, there isn't anything anyone can do, baby girl. But, rest assured, Dana, the Scullys are a family, not the crew of a ship, and I won't let Bill and Charlie turn us into one." Mulder touched both their backs, urging them towards the sofa. After they sat, Scully tied her baggy terrycloth robe around her T-shirt and sweats. Mulder settled in one of the overstuffed arm chairs, watching and hoping for some hint of a conclusion, but Margaret left one arm around her daughter's shoulders, rubbing instinctively. The worried gesture told Mulder that there would be no quick resolution to the crisis the Scully men had precipitated. Dana Scully spoke first. "Mom?" Margaret smiled, first at her daughter, then at the Pomeranian, who, after a through inspection of his old haunts, had wedged himself happily in the gap between their hips. "Yes, Dana?" Before proceeding, Scully glanced at Mulder. "Bill mentioned that Ahab had some notes from information he had gathered early in 1992. Do you know if he kept any safe-deposit boxes, other than the ones for family records?" Shaking her head, the older woman released her daughter to hold her hands. "Honey, what is this about? Bill never mentioned anything to me, nor was there anything in the will." Mulder leaned forward. "Scully said Captain Scully warned her never to go to Africa. Does that mean anything to you, anything at all?" Margaret studied the face of her surrogate son, then her daughter's, understanding why these two made such an effective team in the field. "No, nothing, Fox. He disliked Africa as a place to stop on the Med cruises, because he said he always worried about his men picking up strange diseases, like the Ebola virus, but other than that, no." She smiled weakly at both of them in turn. "I'll check through his effects when I return to Annapolis, if you think it would help, Dana." "It would, Mom." Margaret stood. "I'm sorry to have given you such a fright, Fox." He rose, stepping between her and the door. "Mrs. Scully, it's past two in the morning. I insist that you wait here until it's light, at least, before you drive anywhere. It isn't safe for you to be on the road this late." Scully nodded. "He's right, Mom, you could fall asleep driving back. Stay here, use the guest bed I'd already made up for that reprobate of a sofa-sleeper over there." Mulder fixed his partner in a glare. "Scully, I'm fine out here." Margaret smiled up at the tall man's reproach. "I think Fox has as little intention of letting you out of his sight as you do me." She turned to check the couch, squeezing the cushion nearest her. "You take such good care of things. This still looks brand-new." "Moth-ther! Not another word!" Dana took Margaret firmly by the arm, guiding her towards the spare bedroom. As the door closed behind them, Mulder grinned at the sounds of muffled discussion, knowing his outraged partner would set the older woman straight on one point, at least. Pancakes and pampering, tomorrow, Scully, whether you want it or not. Reaching for the remote, he settled back in, flipping channels until his eyes closed and the black wand slipped from his hand.
Apartment 5 "Mrs. Scully?" Margaret turned to the man leaning on the doorway into his partner's kitchen, blinking and scratching his tangled thatch of hair. Now that she was no longer worried about her daughter, Margaret saw that Mulder was barefoot still, under his faded FBI sweats and bleach-spotted T-shirt. If she squinted, she could see the almost-invisible flying saucer, puffs of steam issuing from an incongruous smokestack, tilted across the front. He looks like Caroline's adorable little boy, still. In a more innocent time, Margaret and Caroline had compared childhood photos of their offspring, and hoped for a different future together. Now, she knew that his mother prayed, as did she, that each next phone call would not be the one from Walter Skinner, his stern voice gravid with sympathy, intoning, 'I regret to inform you, Mrs...'. Don't think of that now, Margaret. "Mrs. Scully?" Drowsy and rumpled, he was shuffling towards her. "Fox." Warned by her daughter of his culinary shortcomings, she filled a copper kettle, set it on to boil, then walked over to grasp his elbow. "You didn't have to get up. I just wanted to make some coffee for the ride home, now that I know Dana is all right here." He stumbled towards the refrigerator, reaching for the freezer handle. "You'll have to grind the beans." Recognizing the dull tones of fatigue in his speech, she held him by the waist. "In that case, I'll pick some up on the trip out. You need your rest, and I have to get ahead of the beach traffic." "I know you do, Mom." Both turned to face her daughter, dressed similarly to her partner, but with her feet swathed by a torn pair of jogging shoes. "I'll take Mister Fuzz here for a quick walk." After exchanging a significant glance with her partner, she was out the door before either he or her Mother could protest. Mulder patted Margaret's shoulder. "If you want to take a shower, feel free. There should be clean towels under the bathroom sink, and Scully's stashed some shampoo there, too." Margaret blinked, always surprised at the degree of easy familiarity between her daughter and this man. Misreading her expression as one of condemnation, he chewed his lower lip, casting about for a conciliatory phrase to atone for whatever he had done. "But I guess you already know that." He glanced at his bare toes. "I'll get the coffee started." The older woman was still watching the door, realization slowly dawning, then one glance at Mulder's worried eyes confirmed her suspicions. Something's up. "OK, Fox, I think I'll do that." After a minute or so, the apartment settled into normal early morning sounds, the whirring of a grinder punctuating the beating of hot water on the shower stall. Mulder hurried to his partner's bedroom, finding that Scully had powered her monitor on, and that she had two messages, both of them encrypted. He clicked on the first subject line, waiting while the decryption algorithm unscrambled it. Doc, G-man, Did you know your samples glowed in the dark? We ran a broad- band emissions tests, and they're really bright in the UV, less so in the upper end of the visible spectrum. If these aren't extraterrestrial, I'm a die-hard fan of Johnny Mathis. Buddy Holly Mulder chuckled, then rescrambled the message when he heard the key turn in the lock. "Scully?" He heard the dog's toenails clicking. "Scully?" "Mulder?" He heard concern, but more of a warning in her tone, so he moved into the hall. He reached into her coat closet to slide the pistol out of his ankle holster before stepping beside the entrance from the passageway. There was a certain smell in the air, a familiar, hated acrid odor. He spun into the living room, gun levelled. "Good morning, Mister Mulder." The Smoking Man shook his head at the sight of the weapon. "Must you always thrust a weapon in the face of an old family friend like myself? And here I had so wanted to meet Agent Scully's Mother." He puffed his Morley. "A lovely, noble woman, from all accounts. One might almost say a great Roman Matron, like Julia Agrippina the Elder, mother and grandmother of Caesars, if my boyhood acquaintance with Suetonius is any guide." The eyes in the wrinkled visage rolled towards the cessation of the water cascading down the shower stall. Enraged, Scully turned into his face. "Never, ever, threaten my Mother, or so help me, I'll track you down, and..." The old man rocked back on his heels. "Kill me, Agent Scully?" Another puff. "Has your partner clouded your intellect to so great an extent that you presume to appoint yourself judge, jury, and executioner? Whatever happened to your famed devotion to justice, Minerva?" He lifted the pearl handle of a pistol partially out of his own pocket. "You see, I've even stooped to your standards, Agent Mulder, and these things are so messy." The Pomeranian trotted into the room, curling up on the sofa in the depression from Mulder's body. The faded eyes fastened on the tiny furry shape. "So many innocents are injured or killed when weapons are used injudiciously." He met Scully's burning green-blue orbs. "Wouldn't you agree?" But, the auburn-haired agent's fists were clenched. "If you hurt *anyone* in my family, ever, I, as a doctor, will see that you never walk or talk again. That would be a worse punishment than a quick, painless death, you black lunged son..." Margaret chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom. "Dana! What are you saying..." Mulder blocked the Smoking Man's view of his partner's mother, and, his eyes and voice icy cold, began speaking without taking his focus off their adversary's face. "Mrs. Scully, call the dog and go back inside the bathroom. Lock the door and don't come out, no matter what you hear, until we both tell you it's safe." Margaret shuddered. "Sweetie?" A thump, tick, tick, tick, then a click. The old spy raised both hands high, ashes trailing down his wrist until he winced and dropped the spent tube of weed. "Was that absolutely necessary, Mister Mulder? Now she'll believe me uncouth and ill-mannered." As she stepped close to him, Scully crushed the butt viciously, the flapping sole doubled over her toes. "You said you had a message you wanted to deliver to Mulder in person. Say what you wanted to and *get ** out*. You may have helped us escape back in February, but I still haven't forgiven you for my sister's death." Mulder stood beside his partner, pistol lowered, but aimed. "What is it you want here?" The old man lit another Morley. "First, to thank you for taking such good care of my former subordinate." He lifted an eyebrow as each of their jaws worked. "Not as surprised as I thought you'd be. Second, to remind you that when you use your cell phones, you're shouting from the rooftops, in certain respects. That investigation you've set your junior colleagues on would be of interest at the highest levels to any enemy government. Are you sure they're ready to defend themselves?" He pointed the white cylinder at the bathroom. "Only a suggestion, Mister Mulder, nothing more. Good day to both of you." A puff of gray, and he was gone. Scully grasped Mulder's arm to halt his pursuit. "My Mom, Mulder." They nodded to each other, then hurried across the apartment to the bathroom door. Scully pressed herself against the wood. "Mom? It's OK." Mulder rattled the brass knob. "Yes, it's safe, Mrs. Scully." The painted barrier swung aside, and Margaret sought out her daughter for a tight embrace. "Who was that? I've never heard you two speak to anyone the way you both did." Scully chewed her lip before stepping back. "Mom, that was the man who is ultimately responsible for Missy's and Mulder's Father's murders. We had believed him dead as well, back in January." Her partner dropped one hand on Margaret's shoulder. "Try to forget him, Mrs. Scully. You'll be safer if you do. He has this strange code of honor, so we don't expect he will go after you if you stay out of his way." Margaret began to protest to her daughter. "Honey, are you two serious? Will you be all right?" Deeply worried, Scully grasped her mother's arms. "Yes, Mom we are, and we will be. Now I think you understand why we tell you so little of what we actually do at the Bureau." Margaret nodded, reaching out to touch both their faces in turn. "I should be going, then. It sounds like you'll be very busy the rest of the day, and I have some serious thinking to do." Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance, then he sighed. "I'm afraid so, Mrs. Scully. And we'll be heading out west within the next twenty-four hours." He hugged her. "Just take care, all right?" Margaret embraced Scully, both deeply saddened. "I will, Fox." Scully walked her to the door. "Drive safely, Mom. We don't know when we'll be back." Margaret picked up the Pomeranian, holding him while Scully scrubbed his ears one final time. "I hope I don't have to watch you both on the evening news." Margaret closed the door behind her. Mulder spun his partner around by the arm before the latch engaged. "Scully, those samples from the Kindred are definitely alien. Langly sent us an E-mail saying they emit ultraviolet radiation." She nodded. "What did the other message say?" He shrugged. "You check it out. We need some plane reservations, now." She glanced up from the keyboard. "Mulder! The Bureau travel offices will be closed on Saturday." He was punching a number into her bedside phone, credit card balanced on his knee. "Who's using the Bureau, Scully, when we have to be in the Cascades by the end of the day?" He waved at the door. "Even though I don't trust him, we can't leave Nichols and Rosen alone if he decides to go after them." He lifted the hand- piece to his ear. "Delta reservations please." Part III - Hallucigenia sparsa All hail, great master! Grave sir, hail! I come to answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride On the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bidding task Ariel and all his quality. The Tempest
Dark Apartment "So, still sleeping alone, my young friend?" 'Charlie' bolted upright, fumbling for his horn-rimmed glasses before he hit the flat toggle switch at the base of his bedside lamp. He broke into a broad grin at the sight of the wrinkled face above him. "You! You're still alive!" He launched himself at the old man, wrapping him in a bear-hug that knocked his unlit Morley to the floor. "I knew you were too smart for them!" The Smoking Man was stunned, long enough to be spun around three times before feeling himself thrown onto the pile of covers. 'Charlie' bounced on the mattress, his delight fading before the older man's eyes. "I suppose I should be glad you didn't shoot me as I slept." There was a tiny flame, then a stream of blue smoke. "Tell me, what had been your plans for me? Was I to have been obliterated with the rest?" 'Charlie's' eyes fell on the pearl handle in the old man's pocket, and he indulged in a rather over-dramatic gulp. "Well, yes." He pressed his considerable bulk against the headboard. "You were. It would have been quick, though, not like what they had in mind." After taking a few puffs, he chuckled. "Indeed." He studied the younger man for a few moments. "Had you said no, I would have shot you for lying to me needlessly. Emotions are such messy things." 'Charlie' recognized the grimace that passed for a smile. "It was an original greeting, I grant you that. I've been slugged, shouted at, and had weapons thrust in my face, but never a bear- hug." More puffs. "You still haven't answered my question, though." Charlie relaxed, fractionally. "How do you know about 'Ace'?" Another grimace. "Once one has suffered from an unrequited love, he is well-tuned to its presence in the hearts of others." He waved the cigarette as he searched for a suitable replacement for an ashtray. 'Charlie' passed him a coaster, then patted the pillow to his right. "Oh, not unrequited, just... Lisa and I are waiting for the new transportation system to come on line, and for the first transactions with the Pacific Rim banks, before we decide what we want our relationship to be." He ignored the old man's arched brow at the use of a given name. "There's just so much work running an Organization of this magnitude, it seems we barely have time to eat or sleep, let alone make life-plans." A much shorter rod waved. "Ah. There, I think I can still be of some help to you four. Who else, I ask you, knows the Work as do I?" 'Charlie' reached for the phone. "No, don't alert the others, just yet. Let's keep this a secret, just between us." "But what's in it for you, Sir?" Yet another grimace. "You know me too well. At present, let me simply state, access, and leave it at that." He headed towards the door, then at the last moment, turned. "Oh, one final thing. Perhaps you and your Genius-love should keep up on what Mulder and his Spooky Patrol are researching." A modest half-bow. "Just a suggestion, my once and future associate." He heard the autodial as he stepped into the hallway. At least one still pays attention.
Storage Warehouse After reaching into the back seat to retrieve a black duffle bag, a hulking, steel-jawed man stepped out of his brown Toyota rental. Holding a cell phone to his ear, he glanced around at the college students packing away their belongings, then spoke into the unit in a Series of clicks and whistles. A covert listener would have heard another set of unidentifiable sounds, offering what appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be a response. The man pocketed the phone as he approached the front desk for directions, eventually finding himself in front of a storage locker numbered 207. He activated the cell phone again, waiting until a young family passed him to speak. They're too close. He began enunciating in rattles and hisses, becoming more insistent as he continued. Eventually, he shrugged, then punched the volume up all the way, before holding the unit up to the lock. I'll never be able to copy this ancient speech of theirs. He recognized that the last words were directed at him, so he lifted the phone to his ear. There was a flurry of grunts, then three distinct clucks, each one higher-pitched than the last. The first words of the Old Covenant of Agreement. I should have guessed. He leaned forward, placing his lips over the keyhole, cautiously mimicking the archaic sounds. He grimaced at the snick of the lock, then stuffed the phone away and pulled the door open. Within was a square metal box, each side as long as his hand, and surprisingly light. He quickly slid the container into the luggage, slammed the door, and left. The rubber seal on the lid still held, so he could assume that the humid, oxygen-laden air of this world had not corroded any of the delicate components within the master control unit. One more stop, then, blessed liberation.
Delta Flight 1056 Scully glanced out the window in first class, silently watching Texas shrink beneath them. While downloading Pendrell's message, Mulder had wheedled and cajoled the ticket agent over the phone, applying every ounce of his patented little-boy charm. Now, instead of two unused tickets from Philadelphia and a few thousand government frequent-flyer miles, they had two first-class rides to Seattle, and a waiting four-wheel drive Jeep Cherokee. She dropped her eyes to the list of names Pendrell and Phillips had compiled for her, all aliases X had used on the job. The dental records belonged to a man named Tyrell Lewis Saunders, which sounded real enough, but the fingerprints had been key. Those had linked Mister Saunders to a fingerprint ID for entry into the offices of one of the most prestigious law firms in the DC area. But, this branch was the newest of the firm, and she thought of waking her partner, so he could verify that the names below indeed belonged to *The ** Firm*. Scully realized she had been staring at the column for three minutes. You need to sleep, Dana. There were another five hours in the flight, and they would be racing up mountains for another two at least to reach the Volcanology Lab. Almost immediately after the aircraft climbed to its cruising altitude following a brief stop in Dallas-Ft. Worth, Mulder had reclined his seat, and dropped off. She glanced over at him, surprised by the depth of his dependence on her since he had become a true Section Head with agents he actually supervised. Before, he had just rubber stamped all her personnel forms with the highest ratings he could give his partner, fattening her paycheck regularly with bonuses and QSI's. Now, they shared the same GS level, so he made it clear that he considered the Headship a joint position with her, sharing the glory, and, being who he was, hogging all the blame. In a way, I shouldn't have been surprised, it really is as I told Pendrell last weekend. He's always used me as a shield between himself and the Bureau; this is just an extension of that practice. Yawning again, Scully was relieved he had fallen asleep so quickly, rather than pestering her with a Series of questions about the testing procedures whose results she was perusing. Not, of course, before he had teasingly offering his chest as a resting place for her head. She had parried the suggestion with a single snort and a shake that set her auburn hair swaying. Or was he joking? He, too, had grunted once, when she placed one of those microscopic airline pillows by his ear, the response given as he lifted his cheek obediently from the back cushion. If only he would be so cooperative when he was conscious. Mulder had shifted over as near to his partner as her upright seat back permitted, the arm supporting the minuscule bolster heavy against her shoulder. Dark lashes fluttered, then a sigh, and Scully found herself reaching across her body to pat the hand by her shoulder as she prepared a gentle quip. "He's awake." Squinting, Mulder focused on the amused woman beside him. "And you're a far more pleasant sight than my white-haired Indian grandfather." Twisting around in the seat, he rubbed his hair and chin, ignoring the blue cushion that bounced into the aisle when he focused on her irregular fan of papers. "So, what did our two love-birds have?" Throwing him a tired LOOK, she held out a data sheet. "It's not Pendrell's data so much, although I hope the Firm listed here rings a bell." Taking the paper, he glanced quickly at the roster by her finger, and dipped his head once. "Yup, that Max's all right. I'll have to give him a call when we get on the ground, see what he can tell us." He coughed once, then tipped his head. "If it isn't Pendrell, then what?" Holding out another sheet, she yawned. "That E-mail attachment from Langly's 'expert' was interesting. Are you sure you've never discussed the alien fetus I exchanged for you with them?" He shrugged. "Sure?" "Yeah, I'm sure. Why?" "Well, the DNA from the Kindred came back with six bases in it. It's not all coded yet, by a long shot, but they did have to recalibrate their equipment to read it. Do you know what this means?" He settled back, tugging at his tie. "That you've finally gotten my brand of Spooky religion?" Smirking at her fading glare, he unbuttoned the tiny fastener on his collar. "Enlighten me, please, Doctor." "Mulder! I would think you'd be happy to hear me use 'alien' in a sentence, without the phrase 'can't be' preceding it." He leaned over, brushing her shoulder with his, suddenly serious. "I am. But it's cost us both so much to come to this haven of consensus." A tiny grin flitted across his features, before he closed his eyes and dropped his head on the seat back. "How much more will we lose, Scully? How many more will suffer for our knowledge?" She grasped his forearm. "Mulder, if you're worried about my Mom, don't be. She believes what we're doing is right, or she wouldn't have stood by us." I know the cure for this black mood. Reaching her head up to his ear, she whispered while she wiggled his sleeve. "I have another wild idea about the Kindred." Although they lacked their usual fire, the hazel eyes snapped into focus. "Really, Doctor? You been reading too much Science late at night again?" "Remember how we both noticed that there were no children on the farm outside Steveston?" A quick nod. "Well, what if that was the result of a failed reproductive strategy?" He blinked. "Reproductive strategy?" She held up both hands, palms towards him. "OK. There's this fish, the Caribbean bluehead wrasse, that has three sexes: one, your typical egg-laying female, two, a blue-headed supermale, who spawns aggressively, but is very short-lived." He smirked. "Sounds like an extreme tactic to avoid diapers and shoelace lessons, but go on." She nodded. "Then, there is what is known as the 'yellow' male, who appears whenever a supermale leaves." He chuckled. "Fish gigolos? I have to watch my aquarium, Scully, this sounds more entertaining than the tapes." She lifted one corner of her mouth. "It turns out that these fish are, or were, female. Just that in the absence of a supermale, a few of the females' brains secrete AVT, arginine vasoctin, and they develop the blue head typical of males, as well as the ability to spawn." Mulder nodded. "You think something similar happened with the transformations of the Kindred?" He leaned into her face. "Don't tell me you think they're intelligent, air-breathing fish, Scully. That's a bigger leap than robotic cockroaches, by far." She chewed her lip, relishing her sudden thought. "Why not, Mulder? In a broad sense, that's all we are." She studied her hands for a moment, giving him time to catch her little joke. But he was silent, waiting for a long-legged blonde who sat two seats in front of them, to squeeze past. As the woman bent over to speak to her partner, she slipped into an obviously faux Gallic accent that set both Scully's eyebrows in motion. "Excuse me, monsieur, but may I read your Washington newspaper? My work at the UN requires I keep abreast of the latest in American politics." When Mulder inhaled before responding, the woman reached into his suitcase, affording him a clear view that flushed his cheeks. Gazing out the window, Scully offered him the space to handle this problem as he wished. Mulder nodded, hoping to send the unwanted visitor on her way with a tight-lipped smile. The woman refused to budge. "What may I ask, is your profession, Sir?" Mulder coughed, glancing at his partner, who was still fascinated by the cirrus clouds in the distance. "I'm in Law Enforcement." Scully jerked at the squeal. "Oh, it must be dangerous!" Mulder edged further away from the aisle towards the seemingly detached Scully. "Occasionally. Agent Scully and I are on a case investigating an accident in the Cascades. Not very exciting, really." Taking her cue, the auburn-haired woman turned to rejoin the faltering repulse. "Yes, we do need to complete our extensive review of the preliminary report from the officers in the field before we land." Gathering the pages on her fold down tray, she leaned over her partner to place the sheets in his outstretched hands. "I think this list of suspects they compiled is particularly important, don't you agree, Agent Mulder?" She casually rested her wrist on his shoulder. Bustling away to her aisle seat, the blonde appeared to misread the gesture exactly as she was intended to. His hazel eyes locked onto her green-blue ones gratefully. "Thanks. I would have been stuck with her a lot longer without your help." Scully's eyebrows performed a complicated set of aerobics before settling halfway up her forehead. "Let's just say it's a problem most men wish they had, Mulder."
Desolation Peak "Hey, baby, what a view!" Dallas Edwards grinned down at his petite fiance, Donna Whiteman, her long black hair falling over her face as she walked. He guided her up the remaining few feet, then slid off his backpack, propping it against the boulder behind him. Donna wiped her olive-complexioned skin with a purple bandanna, then pulled him into a quick kiss. He whispered to her. "I was thinking of the lake." She giggled. "Oh, I thought you meant me." He lifted the rucksack from her shoulders, then stepped behind her to entwine her around the waist. The Douglas Firs ran down to the water, clear and serene. As nearly as they could tell, they were alone at the top of the world, the still water mirroring the blue of the sky. She rubbed his hands, resting on her waist. "This is sheer heaven, Dal." He nibbled her ear. "Almost, but I can think of something that will bring us closer." Giggling again, she turned in his arms to run her fingers through his sun-faded curls, then they were lost in themselves and each other.
Delta Flight 1056 "Anyway, you were saying?" Scully nodded. "Remember Professor Smith. Male and female genitalia are built from the same basic set of parts, some just larger in one sex than in the other." He winced. "I had a feeling we were coming back to him at some point." She nodded. "There's a Feedback mechanism set up between the fetus and the female's body during the developmental stages of gestation. If it is male, then a signal is sent through the umbilical cord that elicits the production of male hormones. This, in turn, guides the development of the natal body into what we would consider a masculine form. If it isn't, then no signal, no Feedback, and the fetal growth is guided by hormones that the female is already producing in a tremendous overabundance." His head was swaying, struggling to absorb her words. She concluded quickly. "It's that simple, really." "Scully..." Believing he was confused by her explanation, she sighed. "Mulder, there's an old aphorism in evolutionary biology: ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny. While true only in the abstract, von Baer used it to mean that sometimes embryonic forms of a species' precursor are imaged vestigially during fetal development, OK?" His expression was carefully neutral. "If the sex of an individual is fixed in the Class Mammalia at birth, then in life-forms whose structures evolved before, it may not be. So, no, I don't think they're mammals, but," her cheeks creased briefly, "I don't think they're fish, either. What?" One long hand was patting her face. Mulder's forehead was knotted in his frown of concentration, but his dark eyes were twinkling intently. "Who are you?" This had better not be a 'Scully, what are you wearing?' remark. "Mulder!" He blinked, then continued. "Who are you and what did you do with the ever-doubting Dana Scully?" Both auburn eyebrows collided with her nose ridge. "I'm just speculating here, like you do. We have proof, verification of the most spectacular kind, from two completely independent sources. Scientists kill for data like this. Besides, with Rosen and Nichols as checks, I don't always have to say, 'No, it can't be.' I'm tired of you having all the fun, Mulder." He grinned. "OK, fair is fair. So, what are we talking here, sentient reptiles?" She turned to the window, contemplating the possibilities. "Maybe. It was odd that the Kindred and the clones were all about the same size. With mammals, usually the male is larger than the female, on average, but the reverse can often be true among reptiles, like crocodiles." He touched her arm, bringing her green-blue eyes back to his face. "So you think this morphing could be due to their gender-switching ability, deliberately cultivated and modified with time, that originally was a potential reproductive strategy?" "Perhaps, Mulder. Remember, our brains are a survival tactic gone haywire, and look what we've done with them. In exobiology, the life forms that develop on a planet will be in response to the environment that evolves along with them." She tapped the papers on her fold-down tray. "Right now, these are all the data we have to speculate from, and they aren't very much." Rubbing his eyes with his fingers, he nodded. "This sounds like the idea I've read that minus the cometary collision with the Yucatan, sentience might have developed among the raptors." She lifted one corner of her mouth. "The Dino-man theory. I know I've told you that to expect an intelligence like us to be looking down at the Earth from the heavens is anti-Darwinian, but I think now you understand that it's the 'like us' part I was objecting to, Mulder. Internal gestation involved a lot of compromises, even if it was more successful in the 'survival of the fittest' sense." He dropped his hand on her arm, trailing his fingers away slowly. "I don't know who you are, Ma'am, but I'm glad you're on my side...ow!" The quick jab to his ribs told him he had pushed just a bit too hard, so he adopted his next best strategy: a silent expression of pseudo-misery while he rubbed his side. At the sight of the histrionically long face, Scully suppressed a chuckle that grew into a yawn, before she reclaimed the papers from him. "I'll just look these over a little bit long..." A huge sigh, then a soft oh. He slipped the notes from under her limp hand, reflecting that she was usually too jittery to sleep on airplanes. They were both slowing down, after running for nearly four days on a stolen hour here and there. You could probably have dropped off during a pitched gun-battle, Scully. Throwing her arm over his wrist, she twisted in her seat, her mumbling intelligible only for a single word: 'later'. He grinned, dusted off his pillow, and placed it by her head. When she reached up to reposition it, he was free to take a navy blue flight blanket from the overhead compartment. Sleep well, partner. He draped the lap-sized cover over her shoulders, then opened the folders himself. "Mulmer?" He grinned at her. "It's OK, Scully, we have hours before we land. Just take it easy." Although he heard nothing, she had mouthed 'OK', and shifted over until the pillow rested against his arm. Mulder attempted to focus on the pages of data, but found himself slipping away as well.
Scully Residence Margaret Scully lifted the receiver off the phone, then replaced it. There was one woman who would understand her dilemma, one only who could offer advice, but was it right to call her? Was it right to take a family matter outside the tight circle of Scully women and men? She slid her address book out from under the single volume of Maryland Yellow Pages before leaving her spotless kitchen. You've already called Fox. But he was as thickly interconnected as any of them, moreso, if she could ever revive her fondest hopes for her baby girl. And then there was this old man with the acrid cigarettes that both Fox and Dana had so carefully shielded her from. She'd hidden in the bathroom, listening to him compare her to Caligula's mother and Nero's grandmother. Remember the trip to Yale. In desperation one summer, when Bill was stationed in Rhode Island, she had packed four squirming children in her Suburban for a sightseeing trip. They had stopped at Yale's gallery, where she had fallen in love with a Benjamin West oil painting displayed there, showing a woman carrying the ashes of her dead husband back to Rome. The image had stuck her as an icon of wifely devotion to duty, but, at the time, she had no idea it was a portent of her life to come. Ancient Chimney. Yes, if she could speak to anyone, it was Caroline Lowenberg. Margaret settled on the couch in her living room, the new cell phone her daughter had insisted she buy, and that she suspected Dana's partner was partially funding, in her lap. Flipping through ruled pages in the black book, she smiled at a tiny ball of fluff grunting and circling instinctively on the cushion beside her. One ring, then another. "Lowenberg residence." "Max? Max, this is..." "Margaret! Wonderful to hear from you! How are you?" She heard a creak as the white-haired man settled into what she assumed was a rattan chair. "I'm fine, Max. I have a new grandson, you know." As she talked, she scratched the Pomeranian under his chin. "So I've heard. Your daughter wrote the kindest thank-you note after she and Mulder borrowed the Miami house in February. You're welcome to use it at any time as well, you know." Margaret smiled. "Thank you. Dana and Fox both needed that extra week down there. They were just worn down to nubs when they left Norfolk. Is, is..." She paused, listening to a muffled discussion between husband and wife, then to the phone exchanging hands. "Margaret, is that you?" "Yes, hello, Caroline." "Max sends his apologies, he has a visitor." Margaret shifted. "Oh, I'll call back." A bright laugh. "Nonsense. He's gone and embroiled himself in some local politics, and you know the Greeks when it comes to that. A city council meeting is treated with the same emotion and intensity as if it were the Super Bowl, the Stanley Cup, and the World Series, all rolled into one." Both women smiled. "It'll go on for at least two hours. What's on your mind?" Margaret hugged herself. Right to the point, as usual. "It's Dana, Caroline, or rather, something Bill and Charles have decided about Dana." "Oh, dear." "They want her to leave the Bureau." A long sigh. "All for her own good, of course." "Naturally. And to safeguard the family." An image of herself and her multi-generational red-haired brood, scattered around the rocky, sun-washed grounds of a sprawling Mediterranean residence was squelched quickly. "I'm so sorry, Margaret. Dana's worried and unhappy, no doubt." "Your boy is looking out for her, Caroline, but she'll only tell us she's fine, and we all know better. My sons believe they're protecting the next generation of Scullys this way, but I know things are beyond that, now." "I was afraid it would come to this. Let me think about the situation, talk it over with Max, all right?" "Of course, Caroline. Oh, I believe I met an old friend of yours yesterday, a smoker?" A gasp. "Margaret, this is very serious. If he's still alive, there's no telling what can happen." There were rustling sounds. "I'm afraid Max and Mister Demetrias will just have to put off the philosophical debates for a while." "Oh." A cold knot of fear formed in Margaret Scully's stomach. "But don't worry. We'll figure something out. I know how his mind works, what schemes he may be hatching. I'll call you as soon as I come up with something, all right?" "Yes. Thank you, Caroline. I'm not quite so worried now." She set the unit on the side table before tucking the Pomeranian under her chin. "What are we going to do, Mister Fuzz?" His only advice was a contented snuffle as he nosed his way under her collar. She found herself smiling. "I wish it was that easy."
Apartment Complex "Hey!" After opening her door, 'Ace' hugged the figure outside. Her face changed from a broad smile of delight to a curious frown. "You taken up smoking, Drew?" Stepping back, she rubbed his mound of a stomach. "I don't want you to change anything about you. I love you just the way you are." Patting her back as they walked further into her living room together, he kissed her ear before whispering. "Lisa, he's alive." Stepping away, she fixed him in her penetrating gaze. "Mister Coal Factory came to see you?" A nod. "Why?" She grasped his hand. "How are you still alive?" He draped an arm over her shoulder to pull her against him. "He wants access, Lisa, in exchange for his knowledge." She dropped into one of her living room chairs. "Do you trust him?" 'Charlie' shrugged. "You know what we were taught. But he won't let the work go under. He suggested we check up on what Mulder and Scully are into." Nodding, she moved across into her den, which was as crammed with computers as her old efficiency had been. There, she activated the screen on her SGI. "Right. They're off to the Cascades, chasing some bug they've found. It eats glass, apparently." 'Charlie' began pacing. "Glass? What could be so important about that?" She frowned. "Don't know. But, I was reading this message from 'Andrew' just before you arrived. Apparently, the shape-shifter has been flying all over the country, stopping at storage lockers. He either doesn't know, or doesn't care, that we've been tailing him." 'Charlie' sat beside her. "I don't like this. We know what kills these 'visitors'. We shouldn't just be monitoring their actions, we should eliminate them, once and for all. If he gets the chance to return to his planet..." She sighed. "That's what the Resolution was for. 'Finn' and 'Andrew' know that. We can't really use their genetic structure for anything, it's too different from our own. We need to talk to them, to work out a new strategy for the aliens." She kissed his ear. "Oh, and you'd better shower. You still smell like him; with that sensitive nose of his, 'Finn' will pick up on it right away." She tipped her head. "I presume you don't want them to know?" He kissed her back, holding her tightly. "Do you think they would believe me?" He began walking towards the bathroom, then swiveled to hold one arm out to her, waiting until she settled under it. "Join me?" Resting her head on his shoulder, she chuckled. "Maybe. I have to download some data from the Gunmen's network first." Laughing out loud, he kissed the crown of her dark curls. "You've finally beaten the little troll?" As he mussed her hair, she shrugged. "For now. But it's only a slight window of opportunity." 'Ace' waved her hand at the bathroom. "Go!"
Desolation Peak Donna Whiteman wriggled free of Dallas' body, smiling as he drowsily pawed at her waist. "You are insatiable." He kissed her on the nose. "It's the mountains, babe. I'm inspired." They both jumped as the ground moved. Donna pulled on the grass at the edge of the blanket. "Did you feel that, Dal?" Tugging on his jeans, he glanced down the slope. "If it had been just a little bit earlier, I would have said you can really make the earth move, O-Donna, but I don't think so." She was dressing quickly as well. "This slope is barely holding. Let's get out of here." Fear propelling them, they dressed and made their way down the path quickly. She clutched his hand. "I'd hate to be caught up here if one of the hillsides slumped away, Dal." She shuddered. "All that water, locked up as snow from the Winter. The slopes are steep enough through here as it is, and trees can't hold the soil in under all weather conditions." He hugged her. "We'll be fine, don't worry, there are three dams to control water flow in the area. The water will never get too high, it'll just run more coffee-makers down in Seattle, right? Besides, by tomorrow, we'll be well south of here."
Gate at Delta Terminal "Sir?" Mulder sighed as he felt a hand grasp his shoulder. "Sir?" Opening his eyes, his first sight was his partner's face, soft in repose. He would have preferred to linger on the gentleness she usually hid behind her Agent and Doctor mask, but the hand and voice were insistent. "Sir, we've landed." He glanced around at the nearly empty plane, waiting for the other presence to leave, before lightly brushing his partner's cheek with his fingertips. "Hey, sleepyhead." There was a flicker behind the eyelids. "I'm awake." He watched her grope on the fold-down tray for her notes, her eyes still firmly shut. "I have them, Scully." She accepted the pages, and the partners stumbled from the plane, dragging suit-bags and laptops that seemed heavier than before.
Main Terminal Sea-Tac International Airport After pocketing his cell phone, the square-jawed man slid a padded envelope, covered in the same blocky symbols he glimpsed at the warehouse, out of the locker. The navigational processor. How did they know, on a brief foray inside a vessel one hundred years younger than anything they could have possibly encountered, which two pieces to remove to ground me forever? Throwing a couple of furtive glances over his shoulders, he paused as he spotted a tall, dark-haired man, with a petite, red-haired woman, emerging from the Concourse B. I'd better keep track of those two. Tucking the packet and the silver box back inside the locker, he began tailing them, keeping a discrete distance.
Avis Rental Lot Glancing at his watch again, Mulder huffed at the delay in the mechanic's return. Their Cherokee had a flat rear tire, and the insufferable, *greasy* little man sent to change it had been away for nearly a quarter of an hour. As Scully watched her partner's frantic pacing, his fists on his hips, she cast about for a subject that would soothe his nerves. "How long was I out, Mulder?" He crossed his arms, then smirked. "Hum? The rest of the flight." She winced. "Oh. Sorry. Did you come up with anything while I was gone?" He turned to scan the mechanics' trailer at the rear of the rental lot. "Not really. I was just trying to use your Kindred idea to explain how the Colony knew all that information about Sam." After he spotted their laggard attendant emerging, he flashed a lopsided grin at her. "I want to be the last to stop your theorizing, Agent Scully, but I don't understand how they came up with that uniform image to project that they claimed was her. It would be easy if we accepted the common dictum of the UFO community that the government is in cahoots with the aliens, but that doesn't square with what we've found out." She nodded, waiting impatiently beside him. The coverall-clad man hurriedly mounted the tire, sloppily affixing the nuts and hubcap. "Don't want to keep busy people like you waiting!" Nodding while he moved away from them, he rushed back to the ringing telephone. Scully couldn't tell whether his tone was helpful, casual or caustic, before her partner was by the door, offering a hand into the passenger seat. As they drove to the exit, she switched subjects, then continued. "Like I said earlier, I don't have to always say, no, no, anymore. Nichols remains totally unconvinced that a colony of aliens or a government conspiracy is even possible..." Mulder nodded. "Despite his persistent support for anything paranormal. Our resident astronomer will tie the rest of us down to any and all evidence available." "Speaking of evidence, the Kindred-Colony and the Bounty Hunter were all seeking to escape the attention of the US government, with good reason. That submarine you met the Bounty Hunter on was probably sent to blow his ship up, not enter into diplomatic negotiations. The Colony only came to us in absolute desperation, but that they found us so easily was the first clue, to me, that the Kindred and Colony were one and the same." He eased the vehicle into the right-most lane. "Hum. They knew who we were because we dropped in for dinner. Then there's Deep Throat's UN assassination resolution." Scully pursed her lips. "The aliens seem perfectly capable of adapting our technology to their own purposes. How many UFO groups know about how Sam disappeared?" "What? Besides the Gunmen? NICAP, for one. And they do have data bases on the Web. So you think the Colony checked us out for the details, anyway. But the women's appearances weren't that far off my vision of Sam." Running her finger along a route on the map, she shrugged. "Reasonable extrapolation from your Mother, Father, and you?" She leaned forward in the seat. "You're smirking, Mulder." Both dark eyebrows arched, then he shook his head. "Yeah. I should have seen this sooner. In the Cold War, the two sides knew better was each other's government was doing than what went on in their own. If the Colony were shape-shifters, then it wouldn't be an extreme possibility that they were passing themselves off as members of the Consortium occasionally to gain inside information." "On Sam? Mulder, this is beginning to sound more like the Dominion and the Federation all the time." He shrugged. "So? They claimed they knew where she was, Scully." She cocked an eyebrow. "They know she's alive, anyway, Mulder, which is good." When she realized he was stock-still in the seat, she tugged his arm. "What?" He blinked. "Try this finely tuned insanity on, Doctor. Remember that the pheromones from the Kindred contained human DNA. What if part of the reproductive strategy that led to the morphing ability involves being able to incorporate foreign DNA sequences into their own?" As she pointed at an unmarked exit, Mulder guided the vehicle onto a single-lane side road. "No problems with all these radical hunches, Scully?" He grinned. "Not hearing explosions after every one of my theories *is* a little disconcerting." She glanced over, catching the twinkle in his dark eyes as she prepared her rejoinder. "Possibly. It's exactly what happens during gamete fusion." Her cheek dimpled briefly at his blink of incomprehension. So there! "Fertilization, Mulder. Until we have more information on that glowing DNA, you can speculate all you want. It's more likely, however, that it was the victims' own bodies that were producing the pheromones. That there are two extra bases to their sequences, more or less knocks out any alien- human hybridization idea." After weaving along the narrow alley onto Route 518, he glanced sharply at her. "Oh, how?" "Well, it would be like trying to write Cyrillic with only English characters, or English with the vowels left out." She studied the fixed jaw. "We have the evidence, Mulder. We know how few the changes are between normality and a host of disabilities in humans. We also know the chimpanzee-human hybrids took years to come to viability, if they do so at all." He fidgeted, supporting his left temple with his thumb and forefinger while resting his elbow on the window ledge. "But, Scully..." She touched his right arm, draped over the steering wheel. "Mulder, I understand. We, as a species, always seek advancement over stagnation or regression. The idea of alien-human hybrids sounds a lot like children from angels, and is infinitely preferable to human-chimpanzee troglodytes." He shook his head. "No, I don't mean the Great Chain of Being." He grasped the base of the wheel with both hands. "You Darwinians killed that hoary concept back in the Nineteenth Century. I just keep wondering what those Purity Control experiments were really about." She lifted one corner of her mouth. "I couldn't begin to guess. But they must have known about the extra bases; they had access to the same materials I had typed." He chewed his lower lip, his mind racing. "But should aliens even have DNA?" She waggled her hand. "It's a fair question, since I wouldn't expect that our bug, if it is silicon-based, will have any. But, from the evidence, I'd have to conclude that they evolved on a rocky planet much like ourselves..." "Where clay compounds served the same function for them as they did for the development of life on earth?" She nodded. "Only, with evolution working differently on each planet, they came up with six bases, rather than four. Exactly." She glanced at him. "You're frowning, Mulder, what's wrong?" "We still have no clue as the why the Shape-shifter is so interested in X." At a hairpin turn, Mulder jerked the wheel sharply to the left. Scully pushed on the dashboard with both hands. "I'd better let you concentrate on the road, or we'll be observing first-hand the answer to that old Scholastic's question." As the truck hit another rut, he grunted. "Right. You're no seamstress, as I recall, so we would check in without the necessary tools to perform the experiment."
Lightning Creek Bridge East Shore of Ross Lake Donna Whitehead stomped along after her fiance, scratched and sore, the views out over the waterways in summer forgotten. The two-person suspension bridge he was halfway across swayed in the wind as she stepped onto the weathered wooden walkway. "Dal!" She stood, akimbo. "I'm *tired*! Why are we hiking through lunch? We don't know where we're going." The blond man was just as fatigued, but the expression she saw on his face when he met her eyes, was of barely contained terror. She ran to him. "Dal, what's wrong?" He hugged her, then left one arm around her shoulders to propel her forward. "O-Donna, it'll be OK. We just have to keep moving. As long as we follow the coastline, we'll hit Route 20 eventually." He tugged on her hand. "I'm tired too, but..." He glanced out at the water, lapping at the crossbeams of the walkway. Between Ross Dam and Diablo Dam, they should be able to keep the water levels down in this reservoir, shouldn't they? "You think we'll be cut off by rockslides, don't you, Dal?" He shook his head. "I don't know. I just think we ought to get to some civilization, soon."
Volcanology Lab Rosen pulled the front door open when she heard the engine outside cease. "Hey, Scully, Mulder!" The tall agent waved as he slid off the high seat. "Hey." Nichols and Rich appeared behind her and Scully studied them from the rear of the Cherokee, then stepped out of Mulder's way. He had reached inside for their duffle bags. "You're not in uniform." The bulky containment suits abandoned, the three smiled, then the Agents stepped through the door, holding out hands to offer assistance. Nichols took Scully's bag. "According to those guys..." He waved his hand at Rich and Rosen. "We don't need to be. Our new life form only loves us for our hard parts." Mulder touched his partner's back to propel the group forward. "You know the Mads, they never see the real danger until it's too late." His joke was met with disgusted groans from his partner, the technician, and the astronomer. Nichols chuckled along with him. "Three-part harmony, Boss, I don't see how you do that." Mulder's cockeyed grin lasted until they entered the testing area. The open sample boxes were lined up on the core bench, around the periphery of the room, and under the lab tables. Twelve silver spheres with food-grade tubing were hooked to two switchboxes and from there, to the spectrometer. Mulder bumped his partner's side with his elbow. "Check this out, Scully, we leave the kids alone, and they trash the place." Scully rolled her eyes, then crouched over one of the open steel boxes. "Have you come up with anything new?" Rosen began to answer, then tugged on Rich's arm, pulling the technician forward. "Introductions, first. Agent Dana Scully, Agent Fox Mulder, this is Albert Rich, one of Doctor Campbell's employees. He's been doing most of the thankless grunt work on the tests." As Mulder and Scully shook his hand, nodding greetings, Rosen continued. "Professor Campbell would be here, but his doctors wanted to keep him for another day or so." Rich took that as his que. "Yeah, knowing my boss, he's already arguing for first Authorship on whatever papers come out, since he 'found' the bug." While this statement left Nichols and Mulder exchanging confused glances, Rosen and Scully wore rueful grins. Rich waved the auburn-haired woman over to a box suspended above a Bunsen burner."The bacteria don't have a high metabolism at room temperature. Like everything, given a lot of food, they develop quickly. But," He fiddled with the controls, and a thin flame grew. They watched while a viscous mass spread over the granodiorite sample, taking on its black tones, then, after a few seconds, nothing but the mass remained in the container. Rosen and Mulder joined them, peeking in over Scully's head. The pathologist nodded. "So, they like heat." She spun, facing Rosen. "The early earth's surface was superheated, wasn't it?" The astronomer sighed. "It was. This is a very primitive life form, to be sure." His arms crossed, Nichols stood behind them. "But one with a very deadly application." He waited while the group turned to face him. "You see, if these guys like heated silicon, then our network- wired, remote access world is in real trouble." Mulder grunted. "It's goodbye, America Online." Even though the others were smiling, Scully was pacing. "Potentially, yes, Mulder. The question is, how do we handle this? I think we should keep this contained for further study, take it back to Susan, or to the Institute for Genome Research in Rockville, where the DNA can be compared against other..." Rosen pursed her lips. "There's a large group of researchers back at Cornell, looking into life in extreme environments, maybe they should..." A large shape blocked the doorway of the lab. "Or you can give it all to me." Mulder and Scully blanched. It was a face they had hoped never to view again, square jawed and lined. He held out one hand, a surgeon's scalpel poised above his palm. "I can take it back home, where we can study it, learn how to use it for our own ends. Each injured world we have visited carries on it the means of its own salvation. That," he pointed at the boxes, "will work for us, aid us in healing your planet of the damage you simians have caused." Rosen's and Nichols' hands flew to their weapons, but Mulder and Scully blocked the shape-shifter from their aim. "No!" His arms spread wide, Mulder's command was nonnegotiable, desperate. "You don't know what his blood will do." He glanced at Scully, as steely-jawed as the figure behind her. "I do." He inhaled. "We do." The petite woman took a step towards the alien, whose cheeks rippled with amusement at her temerity. "What makes you think this organism will do you any good? By the time you return, all our technology may be diamond-based, or use totally organic components." Expecting to be hurtled across the room, Scully blanched, but held her ground. The alien was almost half again Scully's height, so he had a long reach to her waist. He gripped her there, lifted her up and set her to one side, his actions careful and precise, as if she were a delicate bisque porcelain figurine. "There will always be silicon components somewhere." He leaned into Mulder's face. "We meet again." He pointed over his shoulder at Scully. "She saved you, I presume?" Mulder stepped back. "If she did, what is it to you?" A deep rumble. "Information, no more. You've always acted first, then thought. I heard that from an acquaintance of an old, departed friend of yours. He was right to tell you that we have been here for a very long time." The giant stepped towards Rosen, then spun back. "Thanks for the ride. You two have very entertaining conversations." Open-mouthed, Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance. The shape-shifter glowered down at the younger woman. "You studied the stars?" She blinked. "I've seen them, flown past a binary system, a supernova. Care to join me on a non-hypothetical journey?" Her mouth opened and closed, but no sounds issued forth. Her partner stirred himself to her defense. "What are you, an Assassin?" He towered above Nichols. "If you don't think I'm real, how do you explain this?" He pricked his left index finger with the tip of the scalpel, and a green sphere grew there. As he turned his palm down, the sphere stretched to a droplet, then raced to the floor, where it sizzled into the concrete. He held the tip of the finger up again, so Nichols could watch, the Montanan's face expressing equal parts horror and fascination, as the pinprick closed, sealed, and disappeared. "I'm very real. Just believe." Rich had backed into the corner where he had stacked the original cores, a little less than a week ago. As the shape-shifter approached him, lock-box now in hand, Rich shrank along the wall. The alien thrust the steel box forward. "You found this?" The technician nodded. "Where?" Rich pointed to the slices of core, set out on the bench. "There." Rich was surprised he could speak at all. The alien ran his fingers over the basalt, smiling. "Your world is much like ours. A sun to warm us, water to cleanse and refresh us, sweet breezes to cool our skins. But, we long ago decided to take care of our planet, so it would take care of us. We conserve the air, water, and earth. We live in balance with its rhythms. Anyone who does not, who *will* not, is outcast to our prison moon for a time, to feel what it is like to live in sterile artificiality, to struggle to breathe, to count droplets of precious liquid. That experience has never failed to teach them the error of their ways." He glared at each of them in turn. The five humans remained silent. "You, simians, on the other hand, exult in destruction, in pollution. You call it progress, a march. It is a death march, but you do not know it. That is what makes you so morally reprehensible to us." Mulder stepped forward. "This planet came to your attention during the Industrial Revolution, did it not? The rise in greenhouse gases, the burning of coal for factories told you we were advancing." Scully joined him. "It was the first time we really modified the atmosphere on a global scale, something an observer flying by would notice." The shape-shifter brushed past them, pacing along the silver boxes. "What you say may be true. It is of interest to philosophers, to scientists. I am neither of those." He bent over the container of desiccated Ludox. "This is not alive." Rosen coughed. "No, it's their..." When she hesitated at Mulder's silencing gesture, the alien turned to tower over her. "A nutrient source?" She froze. "Uh, I'm not sure..." The Bounty Hunter grunted. Another simian lie. "Ah. Good. Perhaps I *should* take you with me." He reached for her shoulders. Nichols and Mulder were on him in a flash, all fear of alien blood gone. The scalpel fell from his coat pocket, and Scully dived for it, rolling across the room and onto her knees. The two male agents were locked each onto a massive arm, then Rosen threw her body into his stomach, sending him lurching towards Scully. Mulder shouted to his partner. "Now!" She leapt onto the hulking back, wrapping her arm around his neck, raising the scalpel high to administer what she hoped would be the final, killing blow. "I have him, Mulder!" But the alien was changing before their eyes, the arms shrinking to nothing, dropping Nichols and Mulder onto the floor. As the clothing was replaced by brown and gray scales, the shoulders shrank until his body was only as wide as his neck, a long, legless tube on the concrete. Scully found she was crouching on her knees over a snake, its face in Rosen's, a narrow tongue darting out to flick her nose. While the younger woman watched, the eyes moved apart, the rounded pupils becoming vertical slits, looking out of a flat, triangular head. The four were wrestling with each other, or, in Rosen's case, nothing. The rattler the shape-shifter had become hissed as he oozed under the lab bench, then from there into the drilling facility itself. Mulder pulled them away. "We have to find him!" Rich staggered into the cathedral-like space first, blinking at the sunlight streaming through the open portion of the ceiling. The room was filled with massive hydraulic machinery, shock- mounted to the concrete, but in the center, a gray derrick, the drive-piston mounted vertically along its axis, pushed through into clear sky. The men and women searched, pulling aside metal carts, blackened and slick with spent machine oil, laden with oversized plumber's wrenches, crowbars, and long, thick-bladed screwdrivers. Scully's commands drove them forward. "Keep looking! He must still be hiding!" Almost feverish in his intensity, Mulder threw aside loose coils of steel cable, their weight equal to his own, raking his hands over the cut ends, heedless of the resulting blood.
Marblemount Ranger Station As he stepped into the Observation chamber, Richard Walking Beaver hung his wide-brimmed hat on the hook just to his left. "Good Afternoon, Harry." This square room, set thirty feet above the tops of the Douglas Firs, had floor to ceiling windows on all four sides, with benches and tables in the center. "How do the signals from the strain gauges on the outcrops over Highway 20 look?" Harry Williams pointed to a computer monitor on the counter nearest the door. "OK, so far. But with all the snow, then the rain, we can't be sure we won't have problems with rockslides this season." Richard studied the traces closely before turning back to his blond freckled colleague, who was pouring him a mug of coffee. His partner for this shift was beginning to lose his hair in the back, and in the bright summer sunshine, the round spot had burnt and peeled until it had achieved something of the consistency of shoe leather. Richard, on the other hand, had no fears for skin cancer, his thick black hair cut regulation-short, but still shiny and luxuriant. He teased his friend regularly that baldness was the white man's bane, and the Indian's revenge. Harry, a kind-hearted soul who took the plight of Native Americans seriously, would respond, when he felt he had suffered enough, but the words masked gentle concern. He would retort that Walking Bear's heritage had not kept him from adopting the white man's vices of stocks and bonds, or buying a house just a bit beyond a Ranger's means. Richard accepted the chipped NCNP mug the older man held out. "I know. We have so many hikers out at this time of year that we can't warn them early enough to leave before there's trouble, even if they have their radios on. Thanks." Sipping his black liquid thoughtfully, Harry nodded. "It's a good thing we still require permits up here, at least we have a head count of the folks we may have to rescue." Richard checked the battery strengths of their hand-held radios as they talked. "Right, the hiking clubs, the ones with guides, we won't have to worry about. It's the people out there on their own, or the couples with a different agenda, that we need to watch out for." Instinctively circling the room, studying the surrounding woods for problems, they began their evening watch.
Volcanology Lab Hovering by the drive motors, Rich, Rosen, and Nichols had resigned themselves to failure, but Mulder and Scully were still searching. Working together, they shoved aside the control carriage, attempting to pull free the end of the drill tube itself. Mulder was staggering. "We can't let him out of here!" Scully bit her lip, running on sheer will, as always. Nichols attempted to bring them down, grasping one shoulder in each hand. The firm musculature on Mulder's he expected, but on Scully's, he did not. "Hey, Boss, he's gone." He pointed to the patch of blue over their heads. "If he could shape-shift, he's probably a hawk, winging his way back to Seattle right now." Mulder pursed his lips, then yanked helplessly on the controls of the press, the blood making his grip slippery. When Nichols glanced at Scully, her face and hair streaked with grease and hydraulic fluid, he saw she was nodding at the older man's reasoning. Approaching her partner, she reached up to flatten her hands on either side of his face. "Mulder, it's over." Grasping his wrists, she pressed his palms together, stilling the frantic activity. "He's gone. We're all safe." He glared at her, then surrendered, dropping his eyes to the stained floor. "Yeah. He's not here. He escaped." Mulder, looking bereft and anxious, lifted his face to hers. "What do we do now, Scully?" In a mirror of one of their most comfortable gestures, she rested her palm against his back, guiding him into the core lab. "We regroup, Mulder." She shook the wrist she still grasped. "I take care of this, and we plan, all five of us." Appearing in front of them, Rosen pushed her hair off her forehead, leaving a black, grimy streak there instead. "Do you know anything unique about him?" She rolled her eyes at the absurdity of her statement. "I mean, outside of his being from another planet, having green acid for blood, and all that." Scully nodded. "We've encountered his species twice before, we believe, and we have samples from the first time. According to the Gunmen, they emit a specific band of ultraviolet radiation." Rosen crossed her arms. "If you know the range of frequencies, we can build a detector." Rich led them through Doctor Campbell's office, past the desk mounded high with papers and journal volumes, pointing Mulder and Scully into the minuscule restroom. "I'll get some medical supplies." Rich left them alone. Mulder sagged against the sink, letting Scully rub his arms while he trembled. "I don't ever want to be as close to that... that... *thing* again." His fists clenched. "I could taste metal on my tongue, like it was when I was in the hospital. Oh, Scully!" Before he could withdraw completely, she pulled him against her, pressing her cheek into his sternum. "I remember, Mulder. We'll find him. I want him as much as you do." He raised his hands to her shoulders, holding her out where he could watch her face while she continued speaking. "I want him for what he did to you." He nodded, using her hands on his waist as a conduit for his emotions, letting her words focus him. "But I need to take care of these, Mulder." She turned his palms up so he could see the bruises and tears there. "When you're calmed down, we'll fill the others in, put Rosen on the phone with the Gunmen, see what supplies and equipment she needs. Seattle is only a couple of hours drive over the mountains, then we can set up a watch for him. He'll be back, but we must keep the organism out of his possession." When Rich knocked, they separated. The technician slipped the First Aid kit through the crack in the door. "Agent Scully?" She accepted the kit, closing them off again, giving her partner space. After guiding him onto the lowered toilet seat, she opened the red-tipped valve completely, then cleaned and bandaged his hands. Mulder watched her actions as she dipped a washcloth into the gel- like degreaser, rubbed the halves of fabric against each other until they lathered slightly. Leaning into the hot cloth she scrubbed over his face, then gingerly over his hands, he winced as the steaming water hit his palms, taking deep breaths to calm himself. "OK. But do you think she's ready for Frohike?" Glancing up from her work, she lifted one corner of her mouth. "After meeting the Bounty Hunter? That randy little paranoic friend of yours is no problem, Mulder." She returned to looping gauze around his thumb, tucking in the end and affixing a bit of tape. "I think it would be good for Frohike to have a little variety in his diet, don't you?" Finally at ease, he leaned over to whisper to her. "I'm not so sure he'd be thrilled to know you have so low an opinion of him." She rolled her eyes. "There, all done." This last was spoken in a light sing-song. He grinned. "Thanks, Scully." She held his elbow while he stood. "You could use a break..." Pushing on the doorknob, he gestured her out. "We have work to do."
Scully Residence Margaret Scully wiped her forehead with the dusty sleeve of her teal sweatshirt. She had spent the afternoon worrying, and the time-honored trick she used to calm herself was cleaning. Dana always scolded me for that. She could hear her daughter now: "Oh, Mo-om! The house is *perfect*! Why are you killing yourself?" It's you I'm worried about, baby girl. Her sons had put Dana in an unfair position, forcing her to choose, but maybe there was something in her Captain's personal effects that would help tip the odds in her daughter's favor. Ah, there. She pushed aside the flattened and retaped cookware carton, packed with a old set of scratched non-stick pots. Inhaling deeply, she slid out a Xerox box that contained her husband's notes, and a few private mementos she couldn't bear to look at after his death. Margaret sat, cross-legged, before the container, as if she were opening a treasure chest, then raised the lid, standing it carefully on end before delving inside. On top lay Bill's engagement present to her, a torn, well-leafed copy of "Wuthering Heights", her name inscribed on the frontispiece with military precision. She set it in her lap to read later, when she was curled in bed with the Pomeranian snoring at her side. The handwritten dedication was faded, not through time, but with her repeated tracings, during their many long separations, of words long since imprinted on her heart. What is this? Beneath the Bronte was a black leather notebook, sewn down the spine. Balancing the seam on the corner of the maroon and white box, she flipped the front cover and began to leaf through the pages. All the entries were in Bill's hand, and as she read, she realized this was a rambling diary of sorts, begun in those years after he had retired from ship duty to take a desk job. Margaret set the notes aside, willing herself to read them later, until her eyes fell on the final dated page: "November 15, 1993. My Starbuck has been quarantined as a result of her investigations with that Mulder boy. Despite the actions of his Father, his heart seems to be in the right place, but he's playing with fires he can't begin to understand. I'm not sure when she'll be released, but I think it's time she knew what I did about this man she seems so determined to bind her future at the Bureau to." That Mulder boy. The sound of little toenails scratching the side-rails of the attic ladder interrupted her thoughts, so she called down the opening. "Stay there, Fuzzy Boy! Now, what is it?" Obediently, the little canine's tail lowered to the floor by the bottom rung, where he waited, ears perked. The buzz of the kitchen phone jarred her late-night silence, so Margaret tucked the notebook and the Bronte under her arm, leaving the attic a shambles to answer it. Who would be...
East Bank Trail "Dal!" Donna felt his hand break free of her grip. "What's wrong?" He was holding his ankle, grunting. "I caught it on a tree root, see?" She felt for their flashlight, finding it in the underbrush to the side of the path, then shining it just behind him. "Oh, yeah." The live fibers were broken and spread over the dirt, a little water pooling in the deep impression of his toe. She turned the light on his foot. "Ooh, Dal, this doesn't look good. Here, let me." She carefully unwove his laces, sliding the swelling joint free. "You did a number on it, all right." She laid her hand on his soft, short beard. "If you lean on me, do you think you can walk?" He bit his lip. "Maybe. Put the shoe back on, but leave it loose, and I'll try." Reading her face, he pulled her in for a quick kiss. "Couldn't do it without you, O-Donna." Her answering smile was a not so successful cover of her fears.
Marblemount Ranger's Station Hitting the power button, Ranger Walking Beaver rebooted their ancient 286. "No wonder the strain gauges looked so good, Harry, the system had frozen, so it wasn't updating." His partner rested one hand on his shoulder as he leaned over, both men gasping at the readings. "That's way over the safety limits. One good thunderstorm, and Highway 20 will be buried under rubble in six different places." Richard nodded. "Yeah. Where are the current permits?" The two men checked a short stack of multipage forms, separating them into guided groups and singles. Harry moved over to the radio station. "OK, I'll put out the automated evacuation warnings, you start calling the groups with two-ways, let them know." Richard held up three applications. "What about these kids? We'll have to go in to try to find them." Harry nodded. "Yeah. You take the four-wheel, get to the nearest group. I'll try to rustle up a helicopter, so we can reach most of these locations by early tomorrow, before the afternoon thunderstorms that have been forecast hit."
Office of the Lone Gunmen "Lone Gunmen." Frohike had grabbed the phone after Langly initiated their new traceback program. "Hey, guys, we need you to run some specs for us." Byers poked his head around the corner, sending a silent 'who?', then nodding at the answer. Frohike batted Byers' hand away. "Run some specs, Mulder? Is that really you?" He grinned at the chuckle. "Yeah, it's me. But, I'm just a mouthpiece, see..." Both thick eyebrows arched as he interrupted. "A front for the lovely Agent Scully? There are worse jobs, my friend." "Tell me about it. It seems our little theoretical discussion about the shape-shifters isn't so theoretical, Frohike." Langly had put the conversation on the speaker-phone, so the other two were listening in. Byers leaned over. "Another close encounter, Mulder? What flavor was it this week?" "Big, mean, and out to take our little discovery to save the planet." Langly's jaw dropped. "You being straight with us, G-man? That's why those dudes are planet-side? You know, abductees have been bringing back Earth First type messages for decades." The responding noise could have been either a growl or a deep groan. "Well, the next late night jam session, we'll kick that thought to death. Right now, I'm turning the phone over to Rosen, so you guys can talk shop." As the receiver changed hands, a thump crackled from the black box. The three men grinned at the new voice sending a quick hello. Langly tossed out the question they were all dying to ask. "Hey, Doctor Rosen, howdya like being on Spooky Patrol?" Her chuckle was immediate, as deep and throaty as they had hoped. "It's a thrill a minute, guys. Mulder tell you I got an offer for a tour of the Cosmos?" Byers began pacing. "What billions and billions of new stars for you to catalog?" "More or less. Listen, we need to come up with either a ready-made hand-held unit we can track our visitor with, or find a shop in Seattle where we can purchase the pieces to assemble one." Frohike leaned close to the speaker. "Three steps ahead of you, Doctor Druyan. We drew straws for the honor; Mister Clean is on his way tomorrow to your mountain retreat with the tools for the job. Sit tight, and he'll fix you right up." "Hey, great. Does he need someone to meet him at Sea-Tac?" Byers rolled on the lab stool that was his current perch to between his friends. "That would be peachy. My navigational skills aren't what they used to be. Put Mulder back on the horn, so we can set the Bat-time." "Great meeting you guys." Leaning back, Frohike chuckled. "Wait till you see us in the flesh." He smoothed his hair. "I'm the tall, debonair, Cary Grant look-alike." Rosen snorted. "Right. Scully warned me about you. Here's Mulder." The tall agent's voice assumed that same intensity Scully had heard him use the first time she had been introduced to these three paranoid men, now her friends. "Hey, Frohike, my team is off-limits, you got that?" Frohike glanced at Byers and Langly, whose eyebrows had raised at the memory of the same incident. "I'll somehow manage to rein in my irresistible charm if you give me one of your tapes, Mulder, specifically, 'Weekend Frolics with the East Coast Beauty Queens of One One Five Five 132nd Street'. That ought to square us." "Roger dodger. One other thing." "Shoot." "I need a clear-through E-mail link to the Med, ASAP." While the three exchanged glances, it was Langly who replied, sober for once. "No can do, G-man. Lady Lovelace really did a number on us. We're retrenching through the night. We were lucky to be able to secure this line." "Not even with your re-routing program?" Byers sighed. "No, especially not with that. E-mailing over phone lines with those interruptions would mean data drop-outs, big time. We can guarantee voice connection only. Is it something you could read out?" "Maybe. I just want to see if a name a certain love-struck Fibbie has pulled out of the air means anything to Big Daddy." "OK. We'll holler atcha in a little bit, when we're all square." "You got the number?" Three groans. Byers leaned over the speaker. "We're wounded, not dead out here, please! We had your stationary number before the call even connected." They heard the rustle of their friend standing quickly. "Whoa, didn't mean it as an insult. Chill, guys." As the connection broke, Byers hit the switch on the base of the speaker. The three of them resumed hovering over the lab bench, Frohike screwing a connector into the end of a flat, open chassis, while Langly programmed E-proms, and Byers tweaked the frequency settings on a test chamber.
Dark Apartment The light at the end of a Morley flared, then the old man swiveled to face his standing companion. "You catch all that?" Luther nodded. "Eastern flight 132, arriving at Seattle at 11:55 am." "Good." "What are you going to tell your new contact?" There was a long, poisoned, silence, followed by a quick snort. "Whatever I feel he needs to know. You, however, need to arrive before that nit-wit Mulder relies on does. I have plans for their little rendezvous tomorrow. Listen..."
Scully Residence As she set the kitchen phone in its cradle, Margaret sighed. I really hate to bow out of Meals on Wheels tomorrow, but I need the time to think. She carried the notebook into the living room, curling up there under a tall floor lamp, another homecoming gift from her Captain. She continued to read the pages, eager for these stolen moments with her husband. His hand-written stream of consciousness thoughts brought back memories of so many late-night talks, cuddled in their tall bed. Oh, Bill, what should I do about Dana and the boys? It isn't fair to her. Initially, his words told of his joys at returning home, then she skipped the dark time when all had not been well between them. She would read those later, when she wasn't so concerned with the issues of the present day. Now, Margaret skipped forward to the year 1992, to attempt to glean some information for her daughter. As she scanned through the entries, she covered her mouth, the horror conveyed in the dry writing on the pages growing as she continued. This was the evil that man was involved in? It was for this that my sweet-faced Mel died? She closed the volume with a snap. I have to call Caroline, I must know if any of this is real. Margaret flew back into the kitchen, startling the Pomeranian in his bed. "No!" The sound of her voice surprised her. It's almost four am in Santorini. This can wait a few hours. She paced, the little brown eyes following her. It isn't fair, it isn't right.
Lowenberg Residence Caroline Lowenberg, as light a sleeper as her son, reluctantly rolled up of her husband's arms at the insistent ringing of the phone. The walls of windows on six sides of their octagonal bedroom allowed clear Mediterranean sunlight to wash over the inhabitants of the bed within. The interior, owing to Max's indulgence in things historical, was a recreation of a bedchamber he had seen illustrated on Theran friezes. Although spacious, then, the mattress was suspended on a frame with narrow, curved legs, ending in points, rather than feet, so it rocked as she slid over. Caroline offered a greeting first in Greek, then as the caller identified herself, switched to English. "Margaret? Is that you? It's," she leaned out to read the digits on a clock, resting on a matching square-topped table, "two in the morning your time, almost. Is Dana all right?" Max pulled himself upright at her question. Caroline continued. "As far as you know, good. You want me to do what? To come to the States? When? Now?" Reaching for his bathrobe, the lean, white haired man shifted to Caroline's side of the bed. "Let me tell Max," she whispered the gist of the conversation to him, and he held up two fingers. "We'll both be coming, Margaret." She grasped her husband's shoulder. We'll make reservations and be there as soon as we can. Take care, and don't worry, all right?" The pair were up and moving as soon as she replaced the hand- piece.
Campbell Office Volcanology Lab Mulder listened as Frohike tapped the overseas phone number into the computer. "Go ahead, Mulder, but we'll be switching you every thirty seconds, just to be certain. Max knows the drill, so here goes." The Enter key clicked, then the men in both Washingtons frowned as the phone rang, the answering machine picked up, requesting that a message be recorded first in Greek, then in German, and finally, in English. "Jeez, guys, what was that all about? They're not in? It's eight in the morning there, on a Sunday, they have to be in." The tall Agent began pacing. "Keep cool, Mulder, we'll keep trying to get through. Just try to check out and look for our own personal gray-suit tomorrow, OK?" "Yeah, right. Thanks." "For nothing. Peace and long life." Sully had been hovering at his side during the aborted conversation. "They're not in?" He nodded. "I'm sure it's all right, Mulder, we'll try again later. If not, I'll call my Mom after she returns from early morning Mass to see if Caroline wrote her with any plans." He crossed his arms. "Yeah. In the meantime, we should all attempt to sleep, at least in shifts." The partners stepped into the Core lab, where the other three were draped over lab stools, or in Nichols' case, propped against the bench. The older agent pushed himself away to step up to Mulder. "Anything?" "No. They're out of touch." Mulder ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I know this will sound stupid, but, you guys should head over to the dormitory to catch a few hours rest. Scully and I will take the first watch over our little friends." He turned to the technician. "Rich, that goes for you, too. Go home, try to unwind, and we'll see you here in the morning." Rich nodded, grateful for the break, leaving without no more than a cursory wave. Rosen stepped up to the tall agent. "Mulder, if you need us, I'm willing to stay here with you." She shrugged. "I'm not sure I'll be able to sack out, anywhere other than in a corner. Graduate school all-nighters were good for something, anyway." Grinning, Nichols dropped one hand on her shoulder. "The big guy's right, Ros. Besides, after a long, hot shower, you'll be sleeping like a baby." Passing the Cherokee, the four walked to the Explorer Rosen and Nichols had rented. Nichols pointed to the red vehicle, canted down in the right rear. "Boss, I think I see how your visitor made the journey." They followed his finger to the metal hub, bare and resting in the mud. "Looks like you got a few miles for free." Mulder grimaced. "Yeah, it does." Scully aimed the flashlight at the bare hub while her partner began installing the spare and the other agents drove up a narrow dirt road.
Capitol Hill Apartment "Hey." Lindhauer's greeting was brief, before stepping back to admit 'Charlie' and 'Ace'. He ran a proprietary hand down her shoulder, making sure both of them were cognizant of his action, and took grim satisfaction at the color sprouting on 'Charlie's' forehead. 'Ace' waved him off. "Good evening, 'Finn'. Where's 'Andrew'?" They turned at the footsteps from the kitchen. "Just setting out some fruit juice and biscotti." McConnell pulled out a chair. "Have a seat." 'Charlie' immediately moved to the brunette's shoulder. "Thanks." The four settled in, 'Charlie' sliding close to the programmer. Lindhauer sipped his golden pineapple extract. "I think we all know why we're here." 'Ace' nodded. "The shape-shifter is on the move. Our predecessors decreed that the Colony was no threat, living quietly among us, performing an occasional unorthodox medical experiment or two." She shrugged. "It's hardly a crime." Tight-lipped smiles flitted across the features of the three men, McConnell clearing his throat when she paused. "But this one," he slipped a glossy out of the folder in front of him. The image had been captured with a telephoto lens, showing the trench-coated, square-jawed Bounty Hunter crossing Memorial Bridge on foot, Arlington Cemetery behind him. "Is some kind of a soldier, a spy sent to report back on the Colony." Studying the print, Lindhauer nodded. "An actual hostile alien, walking the earth. The Teacher would never have permitted it." There was a momentary pause, a silent memorial to the sad-eyed, curly haired Old Man, who had been a favorite among the junior members of the Conspiracy. 'Ace' sighed. "Poor Alex. He was the unlucky one, the triggerman Black Lung chose, but he never forgave himself when he couldn't follow the orders and Luther had to take his place." 'Charlie' bristled momentarily, but let it pass. Alex Krycek had been the Golden Boy, sent to bring down Mulder and redeem himself for the lapse, but had been cast away as an abject failure instead. McConnell cleared his throat. "It's over. We need to remove the shape-shifter, to see that he doesn't escape. Whatever knowledge he takes back to his home-world will only be used against us. We can track him now, follow him through his UV signature." "No." 'Ace' was curt. "We don't follow him. What if he takes a few citizens hostage, or his blood is spewed onto a crowd in the struggle? That would only bring unwanted attention to his presence. We know where he will end up." She watched the others nod. "We make our stand at his vessel, wait for him to come to it." His blue eyes aglow, McConnell laughed. "Better yet, we raise his ship from the ocean bottom to the nearest land, make him move North before he is ready." Lindhauer brought his palms together in a silent clap. "Good. We'll set it up, then 'Andrew' and I will handle it personally. After hearing the Roswell stories, I've always wanted to tour a working alien craft, however soggy. This is too important to leave to Luther. In fact, we should probably cut him out of these preparations altogether." 'Charlie' frowned. "Why?" Lindhauer lifted another image from the folder in front of McConnell. "This is the shape-shifter as viewed by our UV detector." He held the print up for the rest to study. 'Ace' took it, tipped it into the light, then froze. "That smell!" Four heads faced the door, four pairs of eyes, two azure, two shifting hazel, fell on the silhouette in the glass on the door. 'Charlie' and 'Ace' exchanged a confused glance. Passing through his kitchen, Lindhauer lifted a pocket revolver from among his flatware, before flinging the door wide. "Is that any way to greet an old ally?" The curling smoke from his newly lit Morley drew out in a smooth stream as he glided into the dining room. He pulled the photo from 'Ace's' fingers. "Very good. This is excellent work. May I?" McConnell drew away, offering the old man his chair. The Smoking Man sat. "Thank you. I heard your plans, and commend you on them. But you have forgotten one important detail, our friends in the Bureau." 'Ace' shrugged. "That bug of theirs is important?" A gray eyebrow arched. "Critical. The shape-shifter wants to take it with him. I've dispatched an associate to take care of it." A puff. "And him." He slid a protruding dual image from its paper jacket. "It's sad, but we really should trust no one, since no one is quite whom he or she appears to be." He stood. "Good night, my young associates." A quick, familiar gesture with the Morley-laden hand. The four conspirators were alone again, only the acrid smoke lingering in the old man's absence.
Marblemount Ranger's Station Richard Walking Beaver rubbed his face, then brought up the latest NOWcast from the National Weather Service in Seattle. While pulling the latest groups of drunk kids out of the woods, he had sensed a shift in the wind, to from the west, where it would pull the humid air of the Sound towards the mountains. He thought back over a meteorology lecture he had sat through in college, as one of the few Quinalts so honored to attend for four years on a Tribal scholarship. Water is the stuff of life, the one molecule found in nearly every organic compound known to exist. It cycles endlessly, eon after eon, evaporating from the oceans to form clouds, which drift over the land, falling as rain to run down in tiny, clear streams. The streams meet, coalesce into creeks, then rivers, sometimes pausing to swirl in lakes, or running through man-made conduits, but all eventually end up back in the sea. Richard realized, during that course, that not all the learning of the whites was evil, that some of it tallied with his people's beliefs as well. Life itself was a cycle of birth, growth, decay, death, then rebirth again, like the water, flowing endlessly over and through the earth. He also remembered that water, not earthquakes or man-made explosions, was the greatest force for the dissolution of rocks, leveling mountains, rearranging coastlines, carrying boulders down from high peaks. That knowledge had given him hope, hope that his people would eventually succeed in reshaping the world they were forced to live in, a world where money was everything. Thus, when a freak thunderstorm, such as the one he saw approaching on the radar image, dropped moisture over the Cascades, it was responding purely to the change in topography. It was not a spirit, acting with some pre-ordained malice, some intentional evil. But even so, the added water would loose soil already saturated, carrying it down, pulled by the force of gravity, and it would cover many things, buildings on the wrong slope, animals or people sleeping in the forest. He sighed. Better get on the horn, check with the rest of the rangers and see if we've picked everyone up. His eyes fell on a map of the area, and he found himself thinking of the valley where the University's new Volcanics Lab was housed. Should I warn them? He flipped through the previous week's updates on the table. No, they evacuated earlier in the week, blaming an outbreak of the Giardia protozoan. But, I thought there was a small crew still working there. He pressed his hat down on his head, leaving the visitor's center devoid of occupants, then turned back at the last minute to set the answering machine. I'll check the Lab after I've finished my preliminary rounds. If anyone is there, they'll have to leave before they're trapped.
Laurel, Maryland "Lisa?" From the driver's seat, she had reached across to tuck her hand through his seatbelt, a gesture that she meant as affectionate, but always pinched him slightly. "Hum?" He was studying her intently. "How do you feel?" She lifted her hand away, resting it on the steering wheel. "A little shocked, I guess. Why did he come to you in secret first, then appear to all of us at once? Are these more of his mindgames?" Deep in thought, 'Charlie' shrugged. That's not what I wanted to talk about right now. They were waiting to turn into her apartment complex behind three other cars, but he was fidgeting, anxious. "No, I mean, how do you feel, *tonight*?" There was enough illumination from the streetlights that she could tell he was flushed, so she pushed the temperature lever in her old Honda hatchback a little further towards the blue end. "I feel fine. But you don't look so good, Drew." He lifted her hand off the wheel, pressing a kiss into her palm. "Oh... about that." He interlaced their fingers. "I want you, Lisa." She closed her eyes, swallowed, then frowned, as the solution for the cost-concealment algorithm that had occupied her on the drive home appeared suddenly. I need to work this one out. "Tonight?" "Hum." As the traffic cleared away, he released her so she could ease the battered gray vehicle into the parking lot. "How long have you been on the pill?" The answer was precise and immediate. "Two months, three weeks, five days." She turned the engine off, straightening her body to shove her keys in her jeans pocket. "We've both been so busy." He released his lap-belt, then exited, staring at her over the black bars of the Yakima roof rack. "We'll always be in over our heads, Lisa." She shrugged. "I know, Drew, it seems like every time we have a moment, something comes up." While they walked, he wrapped one arm around her waist, then tucked her against him tightly. "Like the trip to the Adirondacks." She nodded. "That turned into an oversight inspection of one of the new genetic development labs." After kissing her cheek, he pulled her face around, brushing her lips with his fingers. "The weekend in Phoenix." As they separated so she could dig her keys out of her pocket again, she laughed, once. "And we ended up out in the desert, tracking Mulder and Scully as they chased some UFO reports down to nothing." The door open, he stepped back for her to enter first. She studied him carefully. "But what's got you thinking? Black Lung again?" He fumbled for the light switch. "Sort of. He talked about an unrequited love." 'Ace' snorted. "With him, it would have to be unrequited. What's taking so long with the lights, Drew?" She was thrown back against a dark wall, felt her head contact the edge of one of her ever- open chassis, then she saw sparks. I always thought it was stars. The thought was vague, disconnected. Then she saw nothing for a time.
North Cascades National Park The Bounty Hunter peered anxiously at the terrain below him, attempting to gather some idea of where he was from the pattern of distant lights. Morphing into first, a Tangier monkey, then a peregrine falcon, had been an excess of cleverness that allowed him to escape out the derrick. But there had been no winged life- forms of this type on the home-world for him to observe and whose thought-patterns he could assimilate. Several of the mammalians he had encountered on this world, like the rat, had analogues among the species back there, so assuming their behaviors had been simple. Now, it seemed he was caught in one updraft after another, bearing him higher and higher, further away from the ground. If I close my wings and dive, I'll lose altitude, certainly, but how can I stop from plunging head-first into the ground? Another updraft caught him, so it was a frantic few seconds of flapping before he was righted again. Keeping myself aloft with this species' high metabolic rate is exhausting. 'Eat like a bird.' Right. Just another example of how little those simians understand the other beings who inhabit this world with them. Wait, didn't I sense that change coming? Cautiously, he turned his head first to the left, then the right. Maybe, over there... He banked to his right, then was buoyed up by the winds again. OK, I definitely sensed something. The pressure? Perhaps. The air pressure should increase the lower I go. Maybe, just maybe...
Crew dormitory Volcanics Lab Nichols straightened at the knock on his door. As with every isolated facility in the Cascades, the dormitory was somewhat self-contained, the rooms actually a row of efficiency apartments. Each was outfitted with a full bath, a sink, range, and refrigerator along one wall, a desk, wardrobe, and television along the other. Square windows over the bed would, in daylight, offer a spectacular vista of lush old-growth forest, climbing slopes up to the Neve Glacier complex. The drilling crew had been evacuated when Doctor Campbell's debility had been put out to be due to a contamination of the Lab's water supply by the Giardia protozoan. Since the entirety of the low log building was deserted, Rosen and Nichols had chosen adjacent quarters so as not to feel alone in the silent dormitory. Rosen leaned against the door. "Nic?" He grinned. "Hey, come on in, kid." They exchanged quick smiles as she entered. "Can't sleep? It's not like you don't have enough bunks to chose from." She nodded. "I know. That was wild, what happened back there, just like everything else we seem to end up dealing with, right?" "Yeah." She dropped her sheets from the Ouija tests on the desk where he was working. "Thanks. Have a seat." She settled on the edge of the bed, taking the papers he held out to her. As they scanned each other's questions and answers, Rosen watched Nichols' face carefully to gauge his reaction when he hit her final entry. A slight gasp, then he dropped the sheets in his lap. "Ros?" She crossed her legs on the mattress. "Yes, I wanted you to know, but I couldn't ever find the right time to tell you." She fingered the pages on her knee. "Sorry about your marriage." His face fell, then he shrugged. "It happens in this business. Alicia and I have separated twice, when the work was rough. It's toughest on the girls." He dug a curled photograph out of his wallet, and moved over beside her. "That's Janie, my eldest, fifteen, and Liz, two years younger. Jane's big into soccer, smart as a whip. Liz is a poet, or wants to be. She's always writing, staring out windows." He rubbed the images of their faces with his thumb. "Good kids. I couldn't be prouder." Wrapping her arms around her knees, she smiled. "They're beautiful, Nic, just like their Mom." She tapped the sandy-haired woman standing between them, chuckling at his corner of the eye glance. "No, I don't mean like that. Wait here." She stepped briefly back into her room, holding out a framed five by seven photo when she returned. "That's Cary Jean Hooper, my life- partner, at our joining ceremony after I finished my degree." Nichols studied the image. His colleague was kissing a shorter, black-haired woman, both in white tuxes, both beaming. "Ros?" She waited. "This is kinda, well, big news." "I know. I'm probably the first lesbian you've met, that you know about, anyway." He grinned. "Yeah. Something I've always wondered though. Do you mind?" She pulled the desk chair over to face him. "Shoot." He sighed. "OK, I've read that in gay couples, one is more, well,..." She nodded. "Masculine, and the other more feminine?" He blinked, waiting, searching her face for understanding. "Yeah, well, I'm the masculine partner." She waved her hands, then crossed them to rest her elbows on her thighs. "Surprised?" He shook his head. "No. You're rugged, Ros, so I would have been shocked had you said the other." He grinned. "I've been shooting hoops with Mulder in the evenings to socialize, pass the time, now that I'm living on my own." He patted his gut. "I can't do those long runs, like you do." She leaned forward. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Nic, neither can he. When Scully is on the blades, we end up leaving him in the dust." The pair laughed, finally settled after their revelations. Remembering one of his questions, Rosen tipped her head. "You a 'skins fan?" He shrugged. "Broncos. I had to keep a low profile after the '88 Super Bowl. You?" She tucked one leg under her hip. "When you grow up in Miami hearing the legends of the Perfect Season, you don't have much choice, Nic." They spoke together. "Dolphins." She continued. "Here we are, two AFC babies, stuck in the NFC East." He chewed his salt and pepper mustache thoughtfully. "You wanna go to a game sometime?" She grinned. "That would be great. We'll have to bum tickets off Mulder, though." Nichols slid back against the headboard, crossing his legs at the ankles. "You're kidding me." She shook her head. "Nope. His Dad was some kind of bigwig back about thirty years ago. He has, not one, but two Season Tickets." Grunting, Nichols interlinked his fingers behind his neck. "Old Spooky's just full of surprises." She tipped her head. "Nic, why do you keep calling him that? You know he hates it." The older agent shrugged before glancing out the darkened window. "Yeah, I know I shouldn't, but it was the kindest thing that was said about him, behind his back. He was a great profiler, but it was too much for him. He would go too far into a serial killer's head, then have to claw his way out again. There are times when he reminds me of Secretariat, perfect and turbo-charged. He's still that way, high-strung, hyper." He glanced at her frown. "You don't think so?" "No. He's like so many of the professors I had in graduate school." She paused. "I could never say this to his face, since he sees conventional science as missing the boat, but he is." She placed the heels of her hands on her temples, the chewed-down nails pointed straight ahead. "It's like they all have blinders on, they focus so tightly on one little area of research, quasars, black holes, or in Mulder's case, aliens and the paranormal." She threw her arms out. "Everything else is insignificant, out of view." Nichols nodded. "Yeah, the only person he's admitted into his private world is Scully." He twisted around on the mattress. "I pity the poor woman, the focus of all that energy. When we were hiking to interview our witnesses, before you were done with Quantico, he had to camp out for three straight nights." Uncurling her tingling leg, she laughed. "I wouldn't expect it to bother him." Nichols frowned. "It didn't, which surprised me, given all that higher education, that 'Oxford' business. He would just barrel ahead, with Scully trotting right alongside of him, like they were the only two people in the universe." He tapped the bedspread with his left index finger. "Now, *she* is a wonder. Never complaining, even when she was dead on her feet, just gritting her teeth and bearing up." Nichols shook his head. "I hope he appreciates her." Arching one dark brow, Rosen sighed. "Among us girls," she bared her teeth in a quick, mirthless grin, "we'd call him high- maintenance. But he does know how lucky he is, just watch him when they talk to each other. The pair of them together are like Felix and Oscar, but it seems to work. Our Doctor Scully could use a little care and nurturing herself, though." Nichols shifted the pillows behind him. "Oh, should Cary be concerned?" The astronomer waved her hand at the thought. "No. She's straight. He may have been bi at one time, maybe when he was across the water, but she's a Mahican's arrow. You develop a sense for these things." She linked her fingers over the back of the chair. "The Church, the media, try to convince everyone that gender is a fixed thing, that every woman is all lace and pink and curls, that men are all rocks and guns." She shrugged. "That's wrong, just plain wrong. We're all on a continuum, with some straight men more feminine than a lot of women, even straight women, I know." Nichols frowned, considering her words. "Yeah, that makes sense. Spooky's like that, soft where Scully's hard, and vice versa. The nights were really rough on that trip." Rosen propped her bare feet up on the mattress. "Oh?" The older agent shrugged. "Yeah. He has wicked nightmares. He'd scream himself awake, sit up as if he had been bitten, but she'd be right there, trying to pull him out of himself, back into the real world." The woman tipped her head. "About his sister?" "Sometimes. Sometimes about Scully, about when she was missing. They'd just huddle there, in the middle of this gorgeous forest, clutching each other like two lost souls on a life-raft." She pulled her feet back, dropping them to the tightly-woven carpet. "How did you ever sleep?" He shrugged. "If it was bad, I'd take a long hike, give him a chance to come down." He laughed. "After all his yelling, I never had to worry about predators. By the time I'd return, they'd be out again, curled into a little yin-yang ball with each other, so I'd know they'd both make it through the night." She rose. "Speaking of that, *I'd* better call it a night, Nic, we'll be on duty in what, three hours?" He nodded, then waved her to her room before settling under the blankets himself. A lot to think about, old man, that's for sure.
North Cascades National Park Yeah, I think I've gotten the hang of this. The Bounty Hunter had attempted a few experimental dives, learning to separate and catalog the sensations as they happened. It had, at first, been terrifying, the dizzying speed of his descent, the air rushing past his head. But now, he was ready. One long plunge, pulling up when he felt the air shift above the trees, then he could settle in branches, assuming yet another shape to reach the ground. As for returning to Seattle to retrieve his ship's components, well, he would work out that part of the plan later. OK, here goes. He took a huge gulp of air, knowing he would be unable to breath again until he pulled out of the dive. Somehow, this body seems designed to hold great lungsful. Tucking his brown and white flecked wings tightly against his ribs, he stretched his neck to elongate his form, then fell, resisting the temptation to squeeze his eyes shut. There's that membrane that seems to engage reflexively, so I can just feel, sense. For a second or two, all was whistling air, then, he felt it. Now, now! He rotated, extending his wings, fanning his tail. Not quite right. He felt one of his long fingerbones snap, then flapping madly, managed to avoid a rock that suddenly had light reflected off it. Aim for the grass. His left wing and tail contacted the ground first, breaking the fall and preventing more serious damage. But, he was dizzy enough from holding his breath that he rolled onto his breast, knocking the wind out of him. Well, not very graceful. Not graceful at all. Hearing voices, he raised his head. Humans again. Let's see if I can understand them? He lay still, forcing himself to listen. Not in this form, anyway. This species' ears and brain seem to work on completely different patterns altogether, but the flight has drained my energy reserves too completely to attempt a morph.
Rainbow Point Camp The light flickered and died. Donna halted, the faint illumination from the stars insufficient to guide them. "Sorry, Dal, I think that's it. We've used up the extras I brought along, and the batteries from the radio." He sank to the ground, easing his foot out in front of him. "It'll have to do, lover. I couldn't walk any more if you were topless in a Jacuzzi ten feet over there." He waved vaguely at the lake. "Try to get a fire started, like we're supposed to. I'm sorry I can't help." She nodded, collecting what branches she could feel, then igniting them with her disposable lighter, looking out over the area. "Where is everybody? I thought this was supposed to be a big campsite, but it's deserted." Dallas sighed. "Maybe it's just a slow night, O-Donna." He didn't want to voice what had been on his mind, that the reason the camp was deserted was that it had been evacuated. He had not called to his fianci's attention how close the water had been to the cut- through portions of the trail, while she had just gritted her teeth when she slipped on mud washed over the rocks. You're one luck duck. "We'll be OK, here, right?" She stepped away to hang their backpacks, their food in one, trash in the other, from a long narrow branch, a regulation 100 feet away from the fire. On her return, he attempted a smile. "Sure thing, cute stuff. Your Mom's big wedding plans have to go off without a hitch, right?" She was using the light to retrieve more fallen branches, then cut a few evergreen bows with his Bowie knife. As the blaze grew, she helped him shift closer to the fire, then rewrapped his ankle. When she finished, Donna crouched at his side. "You warm enough, Dal?" He hugged her. "Now I am. Don't worry about the tent, this ought to do." He kissed her lightly, then settled down, his head in her lap. Donna watched the cinders float upward, and as he drifted off, she leaned back, rubbing the base of her spine. Donna smiled as she heard a soft snore, then, achy as well, stretched out. Before she dropped off, a thought drifted lazily to the forefront of her mind. What is that white speck over across the camp?
West Chase Apartments Why does my head hurt like this? "Ace' fumbled around, tumbling to the ground, waiting for the pile of computer parts she had landed on to come to rest around and on top of her. She heard a groan, then remembered that 'Charlie' had been walking her to the door, so she groped around for him. "Drew?" "Lisa?" The voice was faint, sounded, not a whisper. "I can't see you. Where are you?" "I'm by the wall, Drew, what happened to you?" She was crawling towards him, following his voice. "I don't know. I was reaching for the light switch, I felt a rush of air, then, it's now." Clinging to each other as they stood, Drew finally hit the panel, casting light on the interior of 'Ace's' new apartment. The computer furniture had been overturned, her system chassis, printers, tape drives, anything and everything electronic reeked with the unique stench of power-surge burned components. 'Ace's' sneakers crunched on glass from the monitors as she hobbled to the center of her living room. There, the floor was suspiciously clear, except for a child's bright orange play pool. 'Charlie' joined her, staring down at her brown-covered lab notebooks, lying in ink-black water, the pages, loose, ripped out, some floating on the surface. She groaned. "It's all gone, Drew, my years of work and notes, it's all ruined." She rotated slowly, taking in the carnage. "Whoever did this specifically targeted my work, not my personal items. The kitchen," she waved both arms in frustration, "for what that's worth, is untouched." She staggered over to a folding chair. "We need to alert 'Finn' and 'Andrew'." 'Charlie' nodded, pushing what was once an ink-jet printer off her phone stand. He punched in a number, then waited. "'Andrew'? We need you to bring yourself and 'Finn' over to 'Ace's' right now. I think the loyalists have struck again." After replacing the receiver, he reached for the programmer, who was half-heartedly attempting to reassemble the boards within her new SGI Indi. "Hey, Lisa, stop." He guided her to the sofa, rocking her gently while they waited.
Warehouse The two 'females' were clicking excitedly, pulling boxes from their van that was backed up to the loading dock, setting notes out to read later. But, they stopped as someone hammered on the small door in the rear of their work area. Hastily throwing a blanket over their new acquisitions, one crossed through the suspended green sacks to check outside, then pull the door open. "Who are you?" Her query was answered by a Sig thrust against her nose. The visitor followed this with a stream of whistles and hisses. The 'female' knocked his weapon to the floor. "Why did you come here?" She yanked him inside. "Answer me in the speech of your form!" Luther cowered, holding his hands in front of his face. "Where is Pilot? I am Engineer and I need Pilot. We are known to the simians, all but one, and we need to hide, soon. Has he been to you?" The other 'female' joined them. "If we have seen him, if we know where he is, what is it to you? Are you from the Klck-zz-ta?" Luther fell to his knees, his head on the floor. "I am! I came with Pilot! I do not plan, I only maintain, I am not one of you worthies, one of our ancients." Dragging him to his feet, the women headed back to the boxes, one throwing back the blanket. "Whatever the group of hominids who have made our extermination their business know, they know no longer. Here are their tools. Your third has done well, coming to us after the craft crashed, then helping us assemble data on this planet. You say you are known?" A frantic nod. "The one with the cigarettes I think knows I am not the man he recruited to help him after the coup. What am I to do? Tell me, worthies!" He clutched one of the women's hands, his teeth chattering with fear. The two 'females' consulted quietly, finally looking down at the man at their feet. The taller woman spoke. "What does the one who fills his body with poisons ask of you?" The alien who appeared as Luther climbed to his feet. "I am to go to the city called Seattle, to find the simian known to you as Mulder. I am to observe only." One of the women touched his face, a gentle, pardoning gesture. "Then, do so. Pilot is already there, finding the parts that will take you home. If you find him, bring him to us. We have need of him and his craft." Luther nodded. "Mulder and the one called Scully are in possession of a primitive life form, one that consumes rock." The females clicked to each other excitedly. The shorter female spoke. "A new life form? If you can acquire it, do so. We need to study any of the ancient species of this world; it is our primary mission. Your third has served us in the past, taking on many forms to go into and out of their halls of learning and power, bringing us much we would otherwise not have." After receiving another stroke of the face, more clicks, and, looking considerably relieved, Luther left the women to their cataloging.
Volcanology Lab Mulder set himself on another round of the facility, poking under the equipment, into the core casings, checking any small crevasse or hollow. Scully was standing by the derrick, watching him make the circuit, too jet-lagged to follow him. "Mulder, if he were still here, you would have found him by now." After glaring over his shoulder at her, he grunted while he shifted a battered drill press. A rumble filled the space. "Scully! Did you hear that?" At her nod, they headed for the two-way radio in Doctor Campbell's office, calling in to the Marblemount Ranger Station. When they received no response, Scully phoned, leaving a brief message on the answering machine. She swiveled to face her partner, sprawled on the cot in the cramped study. "I can't imagine it's unoccupied; late summer is the busiest season in the Cascades." Chewing his lower lip, Mulder began pacing. "An emergency of some kind? What?" "If anything, it's Ross Lake, Mulder. It's at a one hundred year high from all the rain and snow last Winter." He nodded. "I remember the reports. Up to 88 inches in some towns in Oregon. Do we need to evacuate?" She shrugged. "We may. The Lab's built into a narrow valley." She waved her hand. "Fewer feet of rock to drill through. Summer's usually dry here, only this season, they've had an unusually greater number of thunderstorms." Scully crossed over to drop onto the canvas, shoulder to shoulder with the tall agent. "But the most common problems in the Cascades are from rockslides blocking Highway 20. It's the sole paved road through the mountains from the Interstate to Okanagan, and if it's blocked, this area comes to a standstill. At least with the radio, we're doing better than worrying about breaking our single light bulb." He leaned against her. "Or the gasoline running out." Mulder scratched his cheek. "That seems like ancient history, doesn't it?" Straightening against the inner wall, she closed her eyes and chuckled. "First time I used the Scully family trademark 'I'm fine.' on you." He glanced down at her and smiled, his voice soft with the memory. "When you were scared out of your mind." Suddenly serious, he chewed his lip. "I was so worried about you in the quarantine hospital, you were far too dehydrated, and you wouldn't respond when I spoke to you." Turning her head, she studied his darkening expression. No time for a black mood. She poked his side gently with her index finger. "Nope, I heard you. You sat by me for hours, Mulder, begging, teasing, prodding. For the parts of the time I was nauseated by that bug venom, your words were a tether." She studied his face. "You were the only thing that seemed real then, surrounded as we were by all that plastic and those blinding white walls." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Wish it had been the only time, Scully." They both sprang to their feet at the banging on the front door, then hurried forward to answer it, nodding at the Ranger without, who was frowning. "You folks part of the University? I don't remember seeing..." Mulder was holding up his ID in his left hand. "Agents Mulder and Scully, FBI." "Since when did the Giardia protozoan become a matter for the Bureau?" Mulder glanced down at his partner. Scully cocked an eyebrow at their visitor. "Giardia? Was that the story the Lab put out?" The Ranger shrugged. Scully frowned. "Sir, we've been hearing rumbles..." The black-haired Ranger extended his hand. "Richard Walking Beaver, from the station down in Marblemount. We've been concerned about rockslides. If you folks are done with your work here, or can stop your investigation, I suggest you do so, at the earliest opportunity." Mulder stepped out to face the black-haired man. "What? Do we need to evacuate? How long do we have?" He held up one hand. "It's just precautionary, right now. The Park Service wants to avoid trouble, not wait until there's a crisis." Scully touched her partner's arm. "Thanks. We don't need to be here anymore. We'll be on our way." After the Ranger's departure, she began riffling through the papers on the desk, searching for a local phone book. "We should call Rich and the others back here, take, those," she pointed over her shoulder at the core lab, "out of the National Forest." He was punching numbers into his cell phone. "Nichols? It's Mulder. We need you up here, fast. You or Rosen have Rich's home phone?" He scribbled in the top margin of the nearest reprint. "Got it."
State Road Twenty Rosen grabbed the edges of her seat, muttering through gritted teeth. The tail lights of the Red Cherokee were barely visible through the tree-trunks on the narrow logging road. The Explorer tipped as they ran over cobbles and small boulders strewn over the road. Nichols whispered a pointless protest. "Slow down, Mulder." She glanced at her partner, crouched over the steering wheel, frowning into the sudden rainstorm. "He wasn't this much trouble on foot, I take it." A grunt. "Hardly." She checked over her shoulder. "We haven't lost Rich, so we're OK. Besides, if Mulder does get reckless, I'll bet Scully gives him an earful." He slapped the steering wheel. "Jeez! Now where did he go, Ros? The last thing we need is for one of these trucks to roll down a ravine. If our cargo ends up all over the mountains, Reconstructive Dentistry will enter a new Golden Age on the West Coast."
Rainbow Point Camp Donna groaned as the first few drops pelted her face. She shook the shoulder of the man lying with his head in her lap. "Dal, it's raining. We have to get up." He rolled onto his knees, then began taking short, harsh breaths. "I shouldn't have stopped. I think this is swollen up worse than when I was walking." He plopped back down. "It's raining, too." Donna rose, listening through the storm. "I think someone's coming, Dal, wait here!" She ran into the woods, leaving him crouched by the quickly dying fire. "Donna!" He tried to see into the pounding rain. "O-Donna! I can't walk." He rose slowly, hobbling on his good leg. He heard a roar, then could faintly make out headlights through the trees. "Donna?" While he watched, the lights grew and separated, until a four- wheel drive with the Park Service shields on the doors rolled to a stop beside him. His fianci climbed out. "Dal! See, it was someone. It's the ranger, and we have to go." After helping him into the cab, she threw their gear in the back, slamming the door behind her when she was finished. Harry Williams grinned at them. "Good to get the last of you out of here all right." Each blanched at a rumble in the distance, then the balding man stomped on the gas. "It's starting. Let's try to get you two back to a hospital or somewhere dry, at least. Donna tells me you have a wedding you can't skip out on, Dallas." Dallas hugged the tiny woman. "Yeah, I can hardly wait until I can tell the grand-kids about what their old grandparents did just before their wedding." Harry laughed. "Well, now they'll have grandparents, anyway." Donna was tugging the Ranger's arm, pointing at the far end of the clearing. "There's an injured Peregrine over there. I've covered it with a tarp, but it needs help." Williams killed the engine. "Thanks. I have a small animal carrier in the back. Come on."
The Bounty Hunter felt pressure moving all over his body, then the plastic that had been over him was lifted away. He ventured to open one eye, waiting while the girl who had found him earlier jabbered to an older man in green. That's a Ranger. Good. I chose a protected life form, so I'll at least have shelter while I recuperate and work out what I want to do next. Well, better play along. He began thrashing around, attempting an escape.
"There, fellah, we're just here to help." Williams threw the tarp over the bird, shielding him from the beak and talons he knew could inflict permanent damage on both of them if he wasn't quick with the hawking hood. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Donna had the cat carrier open, so he wrapped the falcon efficiently, then slid him in. She peered in through the wire door. "Will he be OK?" "Sure will. I'll have my partner take a look at him at the station in the morning. We have a couple of cages we can keep him in behind the building." He patted the tiny woman's shoulder. "You've helped save a member of an endangered species, so he'll be back to dining on quail in a month or so. Let's go."
State Road Twenty Frowning at the speedometer, Scully pursed her lips. If he has to think, he'll slow down. "Mulder, where will we hide these crates?" He shrugged. "I was hoping you would have some revelation on that, Doctor." She crossed her arms, running through options. "We need a cryogenics facility." He canted his eyes towards her momentarily. "In another century or so, I'm sure here be one on every street corner, right next to the Hoverboard specialty shops, Scully. Why do you say that?" She glanced back, checking for the others. "Rosen and Rich were freezing the water they used to wash their test samples in, Mulder. We could store the specimens for further study and keep them from doing damage, if we chill them down." His hands spinning, he guided the jeep through a patch of brush. "But won't that kill them?" She shrugged. "Maybe. I'm not talking absolute zero here. But right now, it's a risk we'll have to take." "OK, I think I know just the place, if its still here."
West Chase Apartments 'Charlie' hovered between sleep and full waking, enjoying the ease a Sunday morning provided. His back was stiff, his shoulder cramped, but he really didn't care. Our first night together. He smiled down at the woman sprawled out on the sofa, her head on his lap, one arm curled around him for support. It had gone nothing like you planned. As his hands trailed lazily over the curves in her back and hips, he bent over, kissing her gently on the ear. "Hey beautiful." She inhaled, hugging him as she awoke. "Hey, Drew." 'Ace' sat up, taking her time to revive slowly. "Man, I'm sore. Who would have thought that it would have taken so long!" She yawned. "What time is it?" She held his left wrist in front of her nose. "Oh, only four hours." She rubbed her face. "Well, back to the gin mill." Before she could stand, he pulled her back down, tucking her firmly under his arm. "You should take a break, Lisa. The mess will still be there. You worked hard, you know." She smiled. "So did you. But the place is still a wreak. Sorry." He grinned. "Don't be. At least we have an inkling as to Black Lung's plans now." As his mind wandered back over the evening's events, he rubbed her shoulder idly. "I think 'Andrew's' right. His appearance was to throw all suspicion away from himself, to give himself the perfect alibi. You don't think so?" She was shaking her head. "No, I don't. It may amaze you, Drew, but looking through this destruction, I can't locate my notes and hardware for several projects I had ongoing. The missing work all pertains to tracking and dispatching our shape-shifter friends." She crossed her arms. "Something is about to happen, Drew, I think 'Finn' and 'Andrew' need to leave for the Arctic as soon as the Senate finishes with these hearings Matheson is running." While she was reading through faintly legible loose pages, sorting them into piles, he began contacting the men they would need over the phone.
Marblemount Ranger's Station Harry Williams grinned as his partner re-entered the observation room. Neither had managed to return to their homes last night, so Harry had spent the last few minutes on the phone checking in with his wife. "Guess what's out back?" Walking Beaver blinked. "What?" "A peregrine! The two kids I pulled out of Rainbow Camp had found it. I've kept it quiet in a cage for the night since I had to get them to safety, but now that you're here, we can set its wing. These raptors are too much for one person to handle." Intrigued, the Quinalt Ranger nodded. "It must be young. Most falcons know instinctively how to avoid bad weather. Let's go have a look." The two men made their way to the rear, where three empty wire enclosures stood on a frame off the ground. "Where is it?" Williams crossed over the gravel driveway to the center cage. "I don't know, but this is strange. It's still locked." Walking Beaver poked the mesh, the vibrations knocking the hawking hood onto its face. "It looks intact. Wait, there's something still here." Rolling the bezels of the combination lock, he reached in to lift a broken speckled wing feather away, then gasped as the quills disintegrated in his hands. "What kind of a bird would..." A sudden gust of wind whipped around the building, and the two men were suddenly staring at nothing. William's forehead creased. "I've never seen anything like this, have you?"
Eternal Preservations, Limited Huntingdon, Washington Sunday, 9:16 am "If it isn't my favorite FBI Agent, Fox Mulder! It's been too many years!" A round, heavily made-up woman wrapped her arms around the tall man, dragging him in through the doorway, while the others filed in cautiously. "I thought that was Dale Cooper, Aurora." After he disentangled himself, she patted his cheek, the multicolored, voluminous pantsuit still swirling around her body. "Why should I pine after someone who isn't real, sweetie darling?" Rosen and Nichols cocked eyebrows at the mass of sequins and polyester, laden with paste necklaces and bracelets that was squeezing him around the middle. Scully shifted around to fix her partner in her 'And where did you find this one?' stare. He continued to reluctantly grasp the proprietress by the shoulders, trotting out his best 'winsome plea for absolution' gaze to appease the auburn haired woman. Scully attempted a rescue. "Miss Luminens..." The older woman ignored her, completely enraptured with the tall agent. "I haven't seen you since MUFCON '93!" She prodded his arms and stomach. "And you're still as skinny as a bean pole. Doesn't the lovely Agent Scully feed you at all?" Scully rolled her eyes, then circled the room, studying the posters trumpeting the virtues of cryogenics. After clutching him tightly again, the middle-aged woman flung herself, necklaces tinkling as she approached, at Scully. She hugged the slender, petite woman as firmly as she had her partner, oblivious to the glare that Mulder had seen reduce a room of Quantico students to abject obedience. "This must be she! Max, rest his soul, was so intrigued by you when we last spoke." "It must be." As Scully extricated herself and extended her hand, all curt professionalism, the chill in her voice would have 'preserved' Mount Saint Helens at peak eruption. "I don't believe Mulder's given me the pleasure of..." As the aura of Windsong leaned in to whisper to her, Scully bent backwards and frowned. "Oh, my dear, that's really too bad. He's extremely, shall we say, talented." The tall agent snapped to attention, turning the older woman with a hand on her back. "Aurora, allow me to introduce the rest of the X-Files team..." He shot Scully a desperate 'Don't believe anything she says' look, guiding their host around the others. Aurora Luminens, or Min, as she proclaimed she preferred now, left her arm hooked through Mulder's as she called for assistance. Two identical men, whose fair complexion and broad shoulders harked back to statues last seen in the public squares of ancient Greek city-states, glided in. Min set them on the task of moving the boxes into the cold rooms, patting one on the shoulder as he passed. "Such good boys. My jewels, twins born in the most auspicious month of May." She grasped Rosen's hand. "Perhaps *you*, my dear, will one day be so fortunate." Nichols chewed his mustache, sucking on his cheeks to keep from laughing. Mulder inhaled, taking the oldest woman's hand off his arm. "Min, these are important. Keep them as close to freezing as possible, but don't chill them lower than that. Look at them all you want, but if you touch them, wash your hands thoroughly immediately afterward. And..." She reached down to pat him on the behind. "Oh, Fox, don't be silly. After all the things we shared? If they're important to your work, that's all that counts. I won't turn the boxes over to anyone else but you, isn't that what you were about to say?" Chewing his lower lip, he nodded. "To me or any of the other people you see with me." She sighed. "You always had such a flare for the melodrama." She grasped Scully's hand. "He really is too cute when he's in his undercover G-man mode, dear. All that black." A theatrical sigh was followed by much flapping of cloth, setting all her jewelry clanking. "I don't see how you resist." Mulder blanched, so his partner escorted the rest outside. Once there, Scully turned to Rosen. "So, you'll take these five steel lockboxes to the Fed Ex Office near the airport?" She jerked her head at the building. "I don't know how long it will take for Mulder to extricate himself from *her*." While the others smirked, Rosen lifted a clipboard off the passenger seat of the Explorer. "Let me just verify these addresses with you." As Scully waited, Rosen ticked off the names on the list, the auburn hair bobbing after the astronomer called out each. "One to Cynthia at the Bureau, one to the Gunmen, one to Doctor Susan Miles at Johns Hopkins Hospital, one to Professor Ghiorse at Cornell, and one to Doctor Carol Bult at the Institute for Genomic Research in Rockville." "Good. See you at the airport afterwards?" As Nichols held the passenger door for his partner, Scully turned to Rich. "Thanks for all your work on this." The technician nodded. "Yeah. After last night, I don't know how much I'll tell Doctor Campbell, but he will want to know where the bugs are." Scully shrugged. "After last night, I'm not sure he'll believe you." She shook his hand. "I hope he recovers, at least." Rich waved as he returned to the University of Washington truck. "So do I. The Core work needs him." Mulder, deeply chagrined, appeared at her side, while Nichols and Rosen were settling into the Explorer. "Scully, I'll gladly do expense reports for the next six months if you never ask me for details about that woman." As she climbed into the Cherokee, she tipped her head at him. "Oh, I think I can come up with a fairer trade than that, Mulder." He growled, but she waved at the highway. "We have a plane to meet, partner."
Rosen chuckled as they lost sight of Mulder and Scully, pulling away into the noontime traffic in the red Cherokee. "I didn't think the bi continued after he returned from Oxford, but I guess I was wrong." While inserting the key in the ignition, Nichols glanced at her. "You don't mean..." Rosen snorted. "I always thought you straight guys could tell, but I must be wrong. I think this job with Mulder and Scully is getting more intriguing by the minute." Nichols laughed. "I sure I'm glad to have you as a partner now, Ros. I didn't know life could be this interesting." She shrugged. "Oh, I have a feeling it's only going to get wilder from here, Nic."
Concourse C Seattle-Tacoma International Airport Seattle, Washington Sunday, 12:05 pm Rosen watched Mulder and Scully approach a slender, bearded man. He could almost have been one of my professors! She rubbed her eyes, aware, suddenly, that two hours of sleep, then frantic packing of the cases until all five were covered in dirt and grease, hardly provided the best appearance for meeting this man Mulder regarded so highly. Nichols noticed her discomfort and patted her shoulder. "Don't sweat it, kid. All these guys are on the far edge of weird anyway." Mulder had the dark-haired man by the left arm. Scully pounded along on his right side, waving as she talked. "You're sure about the differences in spectral intensity? Certain?" The three had reached them now, so Scully faced her. "Rosen, listen to this." Byers extended his hand to each of the new agents in turn. "Sorry, you must be Rosen, Nichols. I'm Byers." Facing the brown-haired woman, he chuckled. "Frohike will be sorry not to have been here, Agent Rosen." She and Nichols glanced at each other. Mulder, observing the exchange, made a mental note to speak privately with the older man. He wouldn't have expected this, in a seasoned agent, but he *was* going through a divorce, and Rosen was delightfully attractive. Like you haven't dealt with enough rumors yourself, G-man. The younger woman, however, was handling the comment flawlessly. "I don't need you to tell me that he's far from a Cary Grant lookalike." After the three laughed, Scully waved her hand. "Think Leprechaun, only with a warped twist, and you basically have him." Her voice assumed its 'professional' timbre. "With the hair and skin samples from the Gregors, the Gunmen have found something interesting." Byers nodded. "It's easy to distinguish individuals from each other by slight variations in the spectral densities of the UV signatures they emit." He dropped his bulging shoulder bag on the carpet at his feet, but before he could open it, the five were shooed into a corner by a honking courtesy cart. Rosen settled onto the plastic seat beside the Gunman, studying the cascade of plots he handed her. Nichols balanced on the cube of an end table to peer at the graphs, while Mulder hovered behind them all, focused and ferociously eager. Rosen returned the sheet to Byers. "I see, once you had the range worked out, you tested it on individual samples." Standing in front of them, Scully crossed her arms. "When I had the Gregors confined for their own protection, we used a facility had just been built, then scrubbed down at their insistence." Rosen nodded. "They still don't have tolerances built up to all the viruses they could encounter when meeting humans." Nichols leaned over. "What?" Byers grinned. "Like the Native Americans being wiped out by smallpox, or whatever other illnesses the Europeans introduced." Mulder was fidgeting, dancing inside his skin, so he prodded the conversation forward. "Yeah, Byers, but what does it mean?" Scully cocked her eyebrow at him. "I had Evidence teams go over the cells with a fine-tooth comb after they were taken, Mulder. Whatever the Gregors were, any tissues we found in the cells would have been our only physical clue to their make-up." The tall agent grunted, eliciting a shrug from her. "It didn't seem important to mention at the time, under the circumstances." He winced at the unintended rebuke. After I left her on her own. "So you guys are saying that each alien has a unique signature, like a fingerprint?" Rosen nodded. "If they could shape-shift, they'd need some means of identifying themselves to each other." She pointed to a notch in the spectral densities that appeared in several plots. "This is common for some of them." Byers shrugged. "I have no idea what it means, Rosen. But," he flipped the cover flap on his bag, "Hold the tricorder jokes, guys, this was the best we could do on such short notice," he offered gray, hand-sized plastic boxes to Rosen and Scully. "The chassis are just from a couple of broken multimeters we had lying around. But with the new spectrum analyzer chips available, we were able to miniaturize a rack of test equipment down to this. Mulder stalked around to Scully, holding out his hand, so she placed her unit in it. He pressed the buttons in the center of the panel. "How does this work, Byers? Point and shoot?" The bearded Gunman blinked at him, then grinned. "Frohike's suggestion, Mulder. He knows what a demon you are with the remote. Come on, I can demonstrate this outside." Standing, he led the four through the main doors, out into the center of parking lot. Reaching over Rosen's shoulder, he pressed the first button on the left. "We have a calibration mode, so you can test these units by pointing them at the sun." Nichols crossed his arms. "Won't the radiation from the sun swamp the signatures anytime during the day?" Rosen shook her head. "Outside, sure, but inside is a different matter. As long as we use them there, it won't matter." She waved hers at the sky. "Yeah, I see." She pressed the button again. "This switches it from full spectrum to the band of interest. Good thinking." She pocketed hers, then the five reentered the building, separating briefly in the thicket of travelers. Once they regrouped, Scully gathered them by the window. "In here, we shouldn't pick anything up. Rosen?" The younger woman lifted her unit from her carry-all, panning the moving crowds slowly. Mulder watched both their faces, stern in concentration. Byers' words interrupted him. "You hanging in there? You four look like you could stand a good night's sleep." The tall agent nodded. "Yeah. We could. We had to pack the samples and haul out of the Volcanology Lab in the middle of the night." Byers grunted. "So I heard. As usual with you guys, this case made the evening news." Concerned, Nichols joined them. "What?" Byers shrugged. "The rockslides. Didn't you know? The unexpected thunderstorms over the past few days have hillsides slumping all along Ross Lake." The bearded man glanced at Mulder. "That Lab you guys were working in is OK, but the roads are all covered with rocks, and the National Park Complex you were in has been closed temporarily." Nichols glanced back at his partner. "What is it, Ros?" She was frowning at her readout. "Byers? Would you pass me the spectra plots, please?" Something in steely undertone of her voice caught the other four's attentions. Scully aimed her unit in the same general area as Rosen's. "I see it. Mulder, don't be obvious about it, but would you and Nichols wander through the crowds in the concession area, see if you spot anyone familiar?" A curt nod, then the two agents were off. Byers held out the sheet of graphs. "Any of these showing up?" The women compared the lines on their displays to the shapes on the paper. Rosen tapped hers. "It's that notch again, at least in mine. I don't see it in yours, Scully." Scanning the terminal for her partner, the auburn-haired woman nodded. "There are definitely two of them out there, but if one of them is the Bounty Hunter, he's not using the same body." Mulder's distant shrug caught her eye. "He's not finding anything either." Rosen gasped. "The spectrum's changing, Scully, now mine is just like yours. I think I had two of them in close proximity, but now one has moved out of the area. Where are Nic and Mulder?" Shading her eyes against the sunlight, Scully stepped onto the seat behind them, searching. "They're coming. Mulder's working on something, I can tell." His brow was deeply furrowed as the two men joined them. Leaping down, Scully closed the distance between herself and her partner at a trot. "Mulder, we picked up two separate signatures." He ran his hand through his hair. "Two? You sure those things are working properly?" Three nods. Rosen powered her unit off. "One moved away, Mulder. He may be boarding a plane." Mulder nodded, pointing to the information boards. "OK, then, Byers, find out which flights are leaving from this concourse in the next few minutes, the rest of us will search." He placed one hand on Nichols' shoulder. "Just identify them, don't attempt to apprehend them. Any struggle might lead to innocent people being hurt. We just want to find out what direction they're headed in, no more. Go!" The five split up.
"Ros, you reading anything?" She was frowning again. "Not yet, no, there!" The pair moved quickly towards a Philadelphia-bound flight. "The patch antenna on this box is fairly omnidirectional, Nic, so all we can watch for is increasing signal strength." She began digging for her badge, but his hand on hers stopped her. "No ID, Ros, you heard Spooky. Just think covert, here." They watched as the signals grew to a maximum, then shrunk when they passed a tiny, white-haired woman in a pale peach suit. Nichols pressed his hand against her back, completing the facade of a traveling couple until they made a circuit through the gate area. "So, one of them is headed to Philly. Hunh." Rosen checked the departure time. "In about an hour. He didn't seem to notice us." Nichols shrugged. "Keeping a low profile? Perhaps. Let's go find Mulder and Scully, Ros."
Scully kept her unit tucked in the crook of her right arm, resting on her laptop carrying case. Her partner had a firm grasp on her left, like Nichols, using the cover of a travelling husband and wife as they walked. He leaned over to speak in her ear. "Anything, luv-bunny?" Her fleeting glare was met with a grin. "Mulder, methinks we are taking this undercover business too seriously. But, no, not yet. Let's take a whirl by the restrooms, since that's something of a universal collection point." As they shifted directions, he grasped her waist firmly. "Anything?" She was pale. "I think so, Mulder, and I believe I recognize a face. Check out the older businessman by the window in the far right corner of the Gate 12 waiting area." He pulled them both against a billboard, using his glasses to catch the man's reflection. "He's pretty nondescript, Scully, what makes you think you know him?" Tucking the unit away as Rosen and Nichols approached, she shrugged. "Like an MIB? His face is just familiar, somehow, but I just can't place him." Concerned, he hovered over her. "Like he was involved in your abduction?" She frowned, casting for the connection in her memory. Nichols interrupted the pair. "We think..." Mulder cut him off with a quick glance. The brunette had noticed Scully's complexion. "Scully?" Mulder guided her around to a stone bench. Nichols and Rosen faced into the crowds, giving Mulder and Scully what little they could of shielding from solicitous passersby. Mulder had his hand on his partner's shoulder, the long fingers spread to stabilize her. "Scully?" She blinked twice, then focused on him. "Mulder? What happened just now? I thought we were..." She glanced around the room, then pointed. "Over there." He nodded. "You thought you recognized someone who showed up on your sensor as a shape-shifter, then you went all blank on me. You all right now?" Arching both eyebrows, she pushed herself to her feet. "I will be, Mulder, but I want to walk past that gate area again to see if I can place him." Gritting her teeth, she marched ahead of the tall agent. Rosen took note of her demeanor. "This is how she was when hiking?" Nichols nodded. "Wouldn't quit, wouldn't slow down." Scully glanced quickly at the older man, then looped back to the others. "He was definitely in the warehouse, Mulder." The dark-haired man grunted. "So, the aliens *are* spying on the Consortium, either at the time you were taken or later. Interesting. It must be how they learned what they knew about Sam." He rested his hand on her back, then faced his subordinates. "You guys come up with anything?" Nichols nodded. "The shape-shifter we saw was preparing to board a flight to Philly, leaving in an hour. He's masquerading as an old woman." Fully recovered, Scully crossed her arms, glancing at Byers, who was stepping up to join them. "Then it's probably the one we encountered at the Lab, since he might suspect we would come after him. But the other one? Why did he remain in a form I might recognize?" Byers grunted. "Why don't I go talk to him? Strike up some conversation? You guys can back me up, with your guns and all." Mulder shook his head. "No, if things got out of hand, you might get his blood on you." Byers frowned up at his friend. "Mulder, all my life, I've wanted to meet an actual alien, and so far as we can tell, there's one in the corner over there. Do you think Langly and Frohike will ever stop calling me chicken if I don't?" Mulder shrugged. "OK, go to it." Whistling softly, Byers eased Scully's laptop case off her shoulder and onto his own, Rosen recognizing the Star Wars theme. The four remained discretely out of sight, waiting and listening. Mulder grasped his friend's shoulder when he reappeared. "What?" "Well, he does a great impersonation of a government meat inspector. He babbled on about the new pork regulations making his life miserable with a mountain of more complex forms to fill out." He handed the computer back to Scully. "Liked your laptop, Agent Scully. I heard all about how he would be up late at night, reentering all the new data until his office designed an Excel spreadsheet for the information. Rosen checked the man. "Guys, he's gone!" The women agents slipped out their sensors, scanning discretely. "Scully, do you have him?" She nodded. "The potted plant." Nichols frowned. "So, why don't we just go pick him up, and take him out of here? This waiting around is making me crazy, boss." Mulder cocked an eye at Scully. "At least we can keep him off that plane." The five moved into the waiting area, casually arraying themselves around the plant, remaining until the flight boarded. The next departure was scheduled for two hours hence, so the area was silent, deserted even by the airline personnel. Byers cautiously shoveled some of the dirt in the pot into a ziploc bag, then Scully palmed the unit off to him. A quick pass, and the Gunman returned it. "Bad news, guys, it just dirt." Mulder stared down at him. "What? I thought you said it was him!" Curious, Rosen scanned the unit down the ficus tree."No, he's here all right, just passing himself off as these extra branches." Mulder nodded. "It seems whatever they become, it has to be an organic compound. So now what?" We can't just walk out of here with half a potted plant under our arms. The good people of the Northwest would notice something was amiss." Scully sighed. "I think, Mulder, we need to start something. Rosen, Nichols, Byers, you two try to board that flight to Philly. Don't let the other one go. I have an idea for our friend here." Mulder waved them off, then studied his partner, who had pulled her medical case open wide, as if on display. Catching on, he leaned close to the tree, tugging on what he hoped was a non-ficus leaf. "Mister whatever you are, she's a real demon with a knife. But since she doesn't usually operate on anything but dead people, her beside manner is, shall we say, lacking on the extreme?" They both paused as the plant rustled, then a transparent fluid flowed out onto the carpet, reforming into the older man, who was glancing around anxiously. "OK, I felt you, so I'm here. What do you want?" Scully crossed her arms. "Some answers. Who is your boss? How are you connected in the Consortium? Who controls your actions from the outside?" He laughed. "Answers? Is that all? Then you'll just let me walk? I don't believe it." Mulder growled. "Believe it. We're just in this for the Truth, not power or world domination. Who is your boss in the Consortium?" His eyes widened as a Morley cigarette materialized between the alien's fingers, then disappeared. "OK?" They nodded. Scully stepped up to him. "You were on your way to report back?" The alien blinked. "I not sure what I was supposed to do. The old man just wanted me to hang around the airport, to keep an eye on you five." Mulder shook his head. "You're a decoy. He's got something up his sleeve. Scully, we'd better get back to DC ourselves, try to reach our families, then try to locate his boss." He grasped the man by his left arm, Scully by his right. She waved a hypodermic needle in front of their quarry's face. "Don't forget, we know what kills you, so cooperate." At the alien's nod, the three set out.
Part IV - Pikaia gracilens Will your grace command me any service to the world's end? I will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the furthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John's foot; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard; do you any embassage to the Pigmies; rather than hold three word's conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me? Much Ado About Nothing
Rest Retreat,New Jersey Maria Alvarez patted the shoulder of the still figure under the stiff, starched muslin. "I don't know who you are, but you meant something to Fox..." She leaned over the body. We're not equipped here to provide long-term care for the comatose. If he doesn't wake up soon... The lips were moving, eliciting a gasp from the black-haired doctor, who glanced up at the heart-rate monitor to see that his vital signs were beginning to return to normal. "Mulder..." It was a faint croak, but Maria found her own pulse quickening. "Sir? Can you hear me, Sir?" The face turned towards her, focusing into the penetrating gaze Mulder had described to Maria almost three years earlier. "Who are you?" The black-haired woman was abashed. "My name is Doctor Maria Alvarez, and this is a rest home in New Jersey, Sir. You've been here for nearly a week, in a coma-like state. Perhaps I should ask you the same question. Who are you?" X pushed himself off the mattress, surprised at his strength. "Who I am is not important." He slid off the bed, then collapsed into a heap of shaking arms and legs. Activating the call button, Maria, her professional demeanor recovered, was demanding assistance. "Lewis, I need you in room 320, stat!" X nodded at the young man who approached, all muscles and long blond hair. Lewis hooked his arms under X's. "Up you go, Sir." X recognized the orderly, without understanding how or why, and knew he was no threat to him. In fact, he felt distinctly comfortable here, so he took a few minutes for a mental inventory. The woman doctor roused him with a gentle shake. "Sir, you really need to take it slowly, at first, your muscles have been inactive for almost a week now." X shook his head. "Mulder brought me here?" Maria shrugged. "More or less. The Gunmen did." X grimaced. I was in the care of those clowns. "Very well. Where is Mulder now? I need to speak with him." Maria whispered to Lewis, who returned with a cell phone, holding it out for X to accept. Both numbers, known by X almost better than his own, yielded only electronic replies. Wordlessly, he returned the unit to the orderly, who, at Dr. Alvarez' nod, left them alone. Maria pulled a chair over to the bed and sat. "I'll answer any and all of your questions, to the best of my ability, but only if you rest here through the night. Fox warned me you would demand answers, without offering any of your own, willingly. Just tell me this, how much do you know about the sickling gene you carry?" X was unable to keep the surprise off his face. "Sickling gene? But my family..." Maria shifted to the end of the mattress. "Yes, it's rather unique, I'm afraid. Did you even know you had it?" X shook his head. "No one in my family has come down with Anemia, as far as I know." She patted his shoulder. "Well, that's because no one in your family has married someone else who carries the gene as well, or even if they did, none of their offspring has lost the genetic roulette involved." "Yes. Does anyone other than Mulder or the Gunmen know where I am? Have I had any visitors? Young men in their thirties, or a brunette woman?" Maria set her clipboard on the beside table, then crossed her arms. "Besides Scully?" Impatient, X waved her words away. "Well, there was something strange that happened to me. Listen to this..." She quickly recounted her brief unconsciousness and the preliminary results of the X-Files agents' investigations. "Scully gave me a quick update before they left for the West Coast. They think it was some kind of shape-shifting alien." She shrugged. "Fox and his crazy ideas. Anyway, they're off investigating some organism they've found out about." She doesn't need to know. X grunted. "Mulder and his crusades. Very well. How soon can I check out?" Her jaw firm, Maria shook her head. "You can barely walk, let alone leave. It's late, so we'll see how you are in the morning, Sir." She stood, terminating the debate. "You're just like Fox, always pushing yourself too hard." She yanked the clipboard off the table, then turned back at the door. "I'm appointing Lewis to watch over you. You're in no danger here, but you do need to rest. I'll see to it that the last week's worth of major newspapers are brought to you from our reading room, but that's about all the interaction with the outside world I feel you should have right now." X waved her off, already deep in thought, weighing the possible complications this coma of his had generated in his plans.
Customs Desk "Caroline! Max! Over here!" Margaret Scully waved at two white heads she spotted in the back of the customs line. Caroline Lowenberg waved back. "Margaret! We'll be right out." Although Margaret was prepared to step through to them, she was stopped by a uniformed Security Officer. The freckled employee blocked her path. "Wait, Ma'am. Your friends will be out in a minute, just be patient." Nodding, the dark-haired woman, her brown shot through with gray, stepped back. After what seemed like an eternity of shuffling and pacing, Max and Caroline reached the inspecting station. There, a stout woman in blue took their passports and claims papers, subjected them to a perfunctory search of their luggage, and waved the pair through with an emotionless 'Welcome back to the US'. Caroline embraced Margaret eagerly. "It's so good to see you." The women held each other, Max stepping away to give them this moment. Margaret nodded. "It seems we only have this time when there's trouble, Caroline. But, I should tell you, Fox is doing well. He hasn't disappeared on Dana - " The white-haired woman smiled. "On one of his UFO hunts - " Margaret's eyes sparkled in agreement. "In ages. When I made a stop in DC last month, I met the new agents working with them. An older fellow, and a woman with a PhD in Astronomy, of all things. Fox has even put on a few ounces of weight." She held up her hand, her thumb and forefinger held just a fraction of an inch apart. "But only a few. I use my Mom gauge whenever he gives me one of those good hugs you taught him." Caroline laughed. "I wish I could claim responsibility for those, dear. Poor boy, he never had many when he was young." Caroline linked her arm through Margaret's, and they headed out of the carpeted Customs alcove, into the main walkway, where Max was waiting. "Dana is doing well? Other than..." Nodding, Margaret bit her lip, clinging to the woman twenty years her senior, with a past that fell far outside anything Maggie O'shea could have imagined when they first met. "What am I going to do about that? Max." He engulfed the petite woman in his arms, rubbing her back gently. "Good to see you again, Margaret." The women fell in step on either side of him, slowing so he could push their luggage, now stacked on a wire handcart. Caroline rubbed her husband's waist before leaning around to speak to Margaret. "I don't know. But when we settle somewhere out of the way, we can compare what your husband had to what we've brought." She pointed to one of the black leather bags. Margaret frowned. "You think you might have something?" Max looked down at her. "Yes. I had some old friends do some digging for me, who came up with some very interesting goings-on in the Firm. Then, I called in some old war favors, and I think there's a picture beginning to form in my mind." He glanced around. "But more in the car, Margaret. It's too open here. Caroline?" Caroline Lowenberg lifted her cloisonne compact from her purse, using it to survey the travelers on the causeway behind her. "I see, Max. We do have company." Margaret gasped. Caroline shook her head. "Don't look now, Margaret, dear, but there are two men in Security uniforms, even," she met her husband's eye, "armed, trailing along about fifty feet behind us. You noticed them while we were waiting for customs?" The tall man chuckled. "One day, they *will* have to learn how not to stick out like sore thumbs, but I think they've watched too many old American spy films." Margaret moved a little closer to him. "I don't see how you, or Fox and Dana, put up with living like this. You can't even walk through an airport..." When he turned towards the rental agencies, Margaret Scully began to protest. "But I have my car..." Caroline shook her head. "That you probably left unlocked?" Chastened, Margaret unclipped the top of her oversized handbag, affording her friends a glimpse of the leather-bound diary within. "But I've kept this with me..." Caroline waved one hand in an acknowledging gesture, attempting to smile gently at the anxious Margaret. "It wouldn't have mattered anyway. They could have planted what they needed even with the doors locked, and, if they were clever, without leaving a scratch behind." Max stepped up to the end of the line by the Green Avis booth, set the cart upright, then turned to grasp Margaret's shoulder. "Don't worry. They don't know what you have because you don't, either. That alone has kept you safe, my dear." She looked at the two lined faces. "Do you think this is connected with the organization that Fox and Dana are always whispering about?" Caroline stepped close to her. "Perhaps. But there is more intrigue left over from the Second World War than we will ever be able to successfully untangle." Her reassuring smile reminded Margaret of her son's. "Just relax, dear. We're here now." The dark-haired woman nodded, not at all prepared to follow her friend's advice.
Dark Apartment The alien who had been passing himself off as Luther blocked Mulder's path. "He'll be waiting, probably armed." The agent shrugged. "So? He already knows we're out here. Open it now, or I'll redecorate the hallway, free of charge." Scully cocked an eyebrow at her partner. "Mulder, we don't need to barge in constant..." The door swung inwards of its own accord, the occupant presenting the appearance of welcoming them. "Well, Mister Mulder, not listening to Agent Scully, as usual, I see. And, as always," the old man waved at their Sigs, "you come, with warm and generous intentions towards me." Scully, all bristling resolve, stepped in first, then Mulder shoved Luther in ahead of him, ignoring the nod the Smoking Man sent his partner as a mocking greeting. The dark-haired agent muttered a reply. "Yeah, right. I know where I'd like to see you reside." Lifting free a Morley, he lit the end with a match, folding the cover back in place before throwing the matchbook on the table. Mulder recognized the distinctive logo of a Tex-Mex restaurant he had once taken Melissa Scully to, a stereotypical Mexican and his burro, lounging against the porch, all green and red. It had been an ill-fated venture, at best, that dinner at Los Amigos, listening to his partner's blonde sister babble about Karmic convergence and the Millennium. He had spent the evening nodding, wishing it were Dana Scully there instead, just so they could hash over the data he had downloaded from MUFON on mutant frogs in Minnesota. After turning down an invitation to experience "sonic mental awakening" at her apartment, he had dropped her off, silently vowing never to date relatives of co-workers again. The Smoker's words brought Mulder back to the present. "My. Testy as ever. You wanted to tell me something, Luther?" Knowing his fate was sealed, the alien shook his head. The auburn-haired woman stepped forward. "We've discovered that our shape-shifting visitors each have a unique - " The old man sighed. "Ultraviolet signature. Indeed. I wondered when you techno-kids would discover this little fact." The man they knew as Luther began shrinking before their eyes, melting, condensing almost, into a sea scallop, encased in a tightly-closed shell. The old man lifted the bivalve off his carpet. "I wonder why he waited so long to do that?" He tossed the mollusk to Scully. "Amazing how he manages to weigh just exactly what you would expect a little animal like that to, isn't it? And no convenient spot to poke him with your horse needle." Scully handed the alien off to Mulder, who was blinking in surprise. She cocked an eyebrow at the Smoking Man. "He wanted us to meet you. Did you know about his true nature?" The old man settled in his recliner. "I suspected. Now I know. So, why are you here?" Mulder stepped over to him, assuming a posture that brought back painful memories for them both. "Why can't we reach Agent Scully's Mother?" The old spy laughed. "How should I know? Furthermore, if you were half as clever as you thought you were, you wouldn't have walked off and left your little discovery all unprotected. Did you check out your old friend, Aurora, before you just dropped in after all those years?" He passed Mulder a slip of newsprint. Reading the words, Mulder went pale, then handed the sheet off to Scully. She faced her partner. "Mulder, if Aurora Luminens died in 1995, then who was that we met in Bellingham?" The old man took a long drag. "Who indeed? Perhaps it was just the creatures you were attempting to safeguard your little scientific wonder from, Mister Mulder." Scully nodded. "These intrigues are just circles within circles, aren't they?" The old man grimaced, then blew out a swirling stream of smoke. "Very quick, Agent Scully. But, not quick enough, I'm afraid." He rose, stepping away from Mulder, towards her. As he passed the tall Agent, he took the scallop from his hand, then casually opened the window, tossing it to the street below. Mulder shoved him roughly aside. It was only Scully's hand on his collar that stopped him from leaping through the second floor window to retrieve the alien. "Mulder! Let it go!" They watched as the shell expanded back to the man they had shepherded from one coast to the other, then run off. The tall agent retreated, glaring at his partner. "Yeah. It's not like I have an inkling where he's off to." He bore down on the old spy. "The Samanthas weren't all killed, were they? You took them from the Bounty Hunter, didn't you?" The Smoking Man resumed his seat. "Or some of them never appeared to you in the first place. Did you ever stop to think of that?" He stepped up to Mulder. "Sometimes, the Organization wasn't a total loss, Mister Mulder. Before our junior members took their rash actions, we were on the verge of hauling in the remainder of the Colony, after they so kindly made themselves known to you." Mulder crossed his arms. "You were going to make a deal with them to save your own skin, weren't you?" The old man snorted a mirthless laugh. "How can you deal when you have nothing to deal with, as I once so carefully reminded your Assistant Director Skinner?" He began pacing in front of them. "Let us, for the purposes of argument, assume that you are correct in your postulate of an alien invasion, hum?" The agents glanced at each other. Scully crossed her arms. "So, you admit - " He waved them to silence. "I admit nothing. Let us assume you two have somehow managed to weave your way through a carefully constructed maze of lies and obfuscation, to arrive at one of your shiny Truths, Mister Mulder. The aliens are coming, their little battleships primed and ready." Forgotten, the Morley burned down in his hand. "What do we of Earth say to them: Welcome, generous benefactors, who have traversed interstellar distances to reach our little ball of mud. Give us your technology and knowledge. In exchange we offer you..." He waited. All nervous energy, Mulder grunted. "Nothing. We can offer them nothing. If they find us, we should just bend over and kiss our posteriors goodbye." The old man regarded him. "You're not just a pretty face after all, Mister Mulder. That's exactly what we can offer them." Mulder stepped up to him. "But Deep Throat mentioned crashed vehicles, killing aliens. Surely you could have studied the hardware, learned to assimilate it with ours." The old man rolled his eyes. "I'm sure he did. But let me present you this scenario. Say a portable radio falls from a helicopter into the hands of a stone-age warrior, living in some remote jungle in Java. This primitive turns a dial and..." He spread his hands. "Voila! Sounds come from the magic box. Now, he shows this great mystery to the rest of the tribe..." Scully stepped forward. "They all listen until the batteries fail, at which time, they may disassemble the magic box, and declare it dead. Then, they throw it into the water because they neither understand the concept of changing batteries, nor have an inkling as to how to get any if they do." The old man stubbed his cigarette out. "And?" Turning to her partner, Scully sighed. "Mulder, you always remind me that alien technology would seem like Black Magic to us..." The tall man ran both hands through his hair. "But surely after fifty years..." The spy laughed. "Fifty years? A half century is nothing. Five decades, no, nine, since a Swiss Jew sat in a little cafe and worked out the relationships between space and time. We've not figured out even the theory of super-light speed travel." He regarded them seriously. "So, you see our problem, how there is no real option of cooperation, of, ... a deal, ... if, as you say, there is an invasion en route." He cocked an eyebrow. "If, .... as you say." He crossed his arms, letting his words sink in. "On the other hand, Mister Mulder, they may already be here, slowly modifying our genetic structure to accommodate theirs, using sequences collected from random, hapless individuals across the planet..." Enraged, Scully stalked up to him, jabbing her finger in the spy's chest. "But the recent discoveries from the mitochondrial DNA eliminate any such possibility!" Grimacing, the old man lit another Morley, this time with his steel lighter. "Perhaps. But the data are from such a small sample of the human population." He shrugged. "So could it be that those were the lucky ones? Or those pre-selected for examination?" Mulder grabbed her arm. "Scully, he can spin riddles with words to keep us here all night. There are shape-shifting aliens out there, probably three. You saw, Scully, and so did I. Let's go." On their way out the door, Mulder dropped the matchbook in his pocket. The old man observed, nodding to himself. Not so stupid, after all.
Half punch-drunk from sleeplessness, Mulder, while attempting to open the door of his Toyota for his partner, locked it instead. She sighed. "Mulder, this is too much. We need to stop, right now. We'll make some stupid mistake and end up hurting ourselves." Suddenly enraged, he spun around. "Scully, half our team is out there in the field, and you want to rest? They're on the trail of the same alien that nearly killed me. We can't stop." She crossed her arms. "If we don't, we'll crash headfirst into a semi on the way to meet them! We've both not really slept since Tuesday, when all this started. Have you thought whether to even call them?" He leaned against the fender, whipped out his cell phone, then punched down on the third speed dial button. After six rings, his sole greeting consisted of a sleepy cough. "Langly?" "Mulder? You still awake?" "You heard from Byers yet?" "Yeah. He and the others tracked your visitor to a warehouse in Delaware. He's still there, and they're staking it out in shifts. Frohike's on his way up to meet them. What's happened on your end?" "Ours took a little plunge, so he's out there, somewhere." Langly chuckled. "Chill, G-man. You're making no sense." As the Agent lifted his notepad from his jacket pocket, he glanced at Scully. "Yeah, so I've been told. You have the address for where they're staying? Right. Thanks." He tore off the sheet, then passed the numbers to his partner. "When we get there, Scully, then we'll take a nap, all right? As for right now, all I need is a pit stop at the nearest Seven-Eleven." Resigned, she climbed into the Toyota, barely having the time to latch the door before Mulder threw the car in reverse and backed out.
Warehouse Nichols and Byers glanced at each other when they heard a car roll to a stop outside. The Agent slid his gun out of his holster, then waved the bearded man towards Frohike, who had finally, from his perch near the roof, noticed that something was up. The little man was disconnecting himself from the headphones and tape recorder, descending the catwalk stairs to join them. Byers silenced him with a shake of his head, pointing over his shoulder at the older agent, crouched in the shadows by the hinges of the door. The three watched the latch slide, then were momentarily blinded by the exterior light that cast two suited figures into a single black silhouette. Frohike was the first to approach them. "Mulder?" After the tall form receded, Scully appeared. "Frohike? Langly told us you were on your way. How did you beat us here?" Holstering his Smith and Wesson, Nichols stepped out of the shadows and up to his colleagues. "Hey." The motion brought Mulder's attention to him. "Where's Rosen?" The older agent sighed, reading the lines in both their faces, realizing again that the legends of Spooky Mulder's dogged stamina were no exaggeration. Time to pull rank, Phil. "She's catching some rest at a little motor lodge close by. We three split the surveillance duty on the alien during the flight, and she was the lucky one who got to stay awake the whole way home. After we followed Grandma Moses into the building across the street and your friend arrived, I sent her back for some downtime." He stared pointedly at the woman beside Mulder. "You both look like you could use some rest yourself." Mulder glanced down at Scully. "You called ahead for back-up, right?" She pursed her lips, but focused on the bespectacled Gunman. "What have you seen?" Delighted with this opportunity to claim her attention, Frohike took her hand, leading her up to his surveillance nest. Mulder and Byers exchanged grins as they followed, Nichols behind them all. The warehouse was older, more run-down than the expansive building where Scully and the other women had been kept. The dirt floor, overlaid with oil-soaked wooden blocks, stretched away before them, absorbing the light that filtered in through shattered, blackened windows. Too narrow a space for a row of interior support pillars, it was ringed with steel mesh balconies instead, running on three sides of the structure. The round-faced Gunman led Scully and the others up a flexing metal stairway, the sole access to the balconies, its handrail corroded away in places. "Observed and over-heard, my exquisite jewel." Lifting her hand away, Scully grasped the rough concrete brick wall as they climbed, checking down the narrow, sagging corridor as she approached a bank of video monitors. After spending so many late hours at their office in Alexandria, she barely noticed that the displays were strewn across a folding table, surrounding the Gunmen's Pentium like eager pupils around their favorite teacher. "Your new eavesdropping sensors are working." Byers was at her elbow. "This is the prototype." He patted the large NEC monitor in the center. "It takes the idea of sound vibrating window glass one step farther. But what we're picking up doesn't make any sense." He held out the earphones. Scully slipped them over her ears, then frowned as she attempted to decipher the clicks and whistles she heard. Leaning over his partner, Mulder lightly grasped the back of her neck, stilling her long enough to lift the headphones away. Marshaling a teasing protest, Scully turned, but kept silent. She saw he was listening intently, the headband set back on his shoulders. It was a habit left over from his time on wiretap detail when the X-Files were closed down. Mulder frowned at the bearded Gunman. "What is this? Are your sensors working, guys, or have you spent one too many nights recreating the eruption of Thera?" Byers' hand waggled. "Wait until you see the video." He gestured to the monitors, each offering a different angle on the activities underway across the street. The range of views elicited a gasp from Scully. "How did you get all these in place so fast?" Frohike grinned. "Target practice. I've taken up archery, but that's all I'll tell you." He leaned towards her. "Later, when we have a private moment..." The earpieces now resting on his throat, Mulder was focused on the screen, so he stepped between his partner and Frohike to study the images more closely. "I don't see anything that looks remotely like the Bounty Hunter, just these two women in lab coats and all the stacks of electronics." Nichols sighed. "Just watch and listen, boss." He pointed to the NEC, where the audio stream was displayed real time. Relieving himself of the earphones and stepping back to offer the diminutive woman a clear view, Mulder positioned himself on Scully's right side, blocking Frohike from her. There were five monitors set up, each displaying the same scene from a slightly different vantage point. Within a circle of flashing lights, they watched as a transparent shape the women flanked coalesced into a tall pink flamingo. The color faded, the neck of the bird stretching, thickening and darkening until it was a young oak tree, its bare roots fanned in a circle around it on the concrete floor. Finally, the alien shrank, rounding in the form of a red tabby cat. Mulder rubbed his eyes. "So, we have to watch out for killer kitties, now?" Grinning, Frohike tapped the nearest screen. "They've been testing his morphing capabilities since he arrived, like they're trying to work out an optimum form or something. See those?" His fingertip was resting in the center of an image of a haphazard pile of metal boxes. "They take a unit off the stack, run it, then make more notes, all the time clicking away to each other. It's like they know they've been detected, and they're attempting to figure out how to beat someone's system. Mulder?" Doubled over until his nose was barely a fraction of an inch from one of the screens, the tall man was motionless. "It's the Samanthas, Scully. You were right all along." He ran his hand through his hair. "A few survived, so they've set up shop again." He began pacing on the metal walkway. The auburn-haired woman blocked his path. "Whose system, Mulder? Not ours." Frohike pulled himself onto the table, crossing his legs at the ankles as they swung beneath him. "It's you buddies on the Dark Side, my friend." The agents faced him as he continued. "The few times we wormed our way into their systems, their E-mails are all atwitter over the new surveillance technology they've developed. It's my guess that their handiwork is what you're seeing in the warehouse, the results of a late-night raid." Scully stepped over to him. "With the video sensors affixed to the glass, there's no way we could tell if they are somehow succeeding in eliminating their UV signature, is there?" Byers grinned. "Your Doctor Dryan is one piece of work. See that blob in the broken window across from us?" Mulder leaned out, then nodded. "So?" Frohike chuckled. "One of the cameras we ordered has sensitivity into part of the UV band, so your girl shinnied up the wall to clip it to the frame." Nichols nodded. "I'm just not a limber as I used to be, Mulder, but she was like a squirrel, picking her way up." Byers took the explanation over from the agent. "That image," he pointed to one monitor, resting at an angle on top of two others, "is responding to the UV signatures. See?" Scully settled on the stool in front of the table. "Nothing they do changes what happens on the monitor. Good." She began rubbing the back of her neck. "We needed to know that." Nichols took her sagging shoulders as his que, stepping forward to rest one hand on Mulder's arm. "Boss, you both had to watch your quarry constantly, didn't you?" Finally relieved of his fears, Mulder nodded. Nichols pressed the point. "Ros has been catching a few since ten last night. She'll be expecting a wake-up call soon, so between her and the little guy there, we'll have two fresh faces to keep a watch. Why don't you and Scully take these rooms and sack out for a while?" He dropped two motel room keys on the table, then stepped back, giving the younger agent the chance to decide for himself. From her seat, Scully was regarding him with unabashed gratitude, then stood by her partner. When his shoulders dropped and he collected the keys, she touched his arm, leading him back down the stairs and out the door. Nichols watched them until they had disappeared through the door, then sighed. "They've been on their own too long. Too exposed, with no back-up." Frohike was nodding, his face as long as theirs. "It was only him, then she was taken." He turned to his recorder, edging up the treble to catch the warbles he now heard.
Rest Retreat, New Jersey Maria Alvarez studied the bent head of the man in the Reading Room, astonished at his rapid recovery. It happened sometimes with these coma patients, but the mysterious man Fox Mulder had brought her was probably going to end up as one of her friend's X-Files. She pushed through the door, clearing her throat so as not to alarm him when she approached. He rose from the overstuffed armchair, identical to the dozen or so others scattered in small clumps around the bright solarium, as if he was preparing for an attack. Smiling, she held up her hand. "I was worried about you. You weren't in your room." He bowed slightly, waiting for her to settle on the divan facing his seat. "I am here, as you can see. When will you finish with your testing?" Resting her elbows on her knees, she leaned forward. "I'm just waiting for the bloodwork to come back from the Lab. Actually, I had to call our technician last night for him to finish these before he left on vacation with his family." She leaned back. "We have many important personages come through here, Sir, so he's used to the rush." X had been staring out the window as she answered him. "Was one of them Mulder?" She sighed. "You know I can't break doctor-patient confidentiality." His face whipped around, fixing her in his glare. "There is nearly a week of his life unaccounted for during his partner's disappearance, after the incident in Los Angeles." She rose. "Since you know so much about him, I shouldn't have to answer that. Who made you his caretaker, anyway?" X stood, bringing himself into her personal space. "I've been his keeper for quite some time now. Where was he going when he left here? Can you tell me that, or is it more *confidential* than you can say?" When she reached for his shoulder, he gripped her fingers, firmly, however not in his full bone-breaking crush. "Don't touch me. You may regret it." He released her hand with a sigh. "Look, let me thank you for your efforts on my behalf. I can pay for my room and board, if that's a problem. But I need to be on my way as soon as possible." Attempting to diffuse the tension, he sat, gesturing for her to copy his actions. Maria sighed. "Your bill is not at issue here. Mulder already paid for an indefinite stay on your part. He warned me that you might be in danger, and you were." She rubbed the back of her head. "As I mentioned when you first woke up, I was attacked while Mulder and Scully were here. They headed back to DC with some surveillance videotapes. I think they were taking them to the Gunmen, if you have to know." A curt nod, so she stood. "Let me go check on your tests." Since there was no response, she left. X turned his attentions back to the newspaper he had let slip to the floor before she entered. As he bent to retrieve the pages, his eye fell on a small side-bar item, and he scanned it quickly. "Strange case of disintegrating C-notes" Ah, it would be them. He set the Seattle Times on the divan, standing and staring out into the grounds. If one were a shape-shifting alien and needed to travel, he would use cash. That cash would be easy to manufacture, but likely as not, it wouldn't exist for long once detached from the shape- shifter's mass. He grunted to himself. That explained a great deal. He turned over options, pacing and pulling absently at the terrycloth robe the orderly Lewis? had given him. From previous investigations, he knew the enemy they all faced now, knew what he needed to tell Mulder, how he needed to play the game with the new leaders of the Consortium. If only I had clothes so I could leave here... He stared at the door, willing it to open, so that meddling black-haired doctor would return, declare him as fit as he felt, and release him.
Morten's Sleepytime Hotel At the insistent buzz from her cell phone, Dana Scully pulled the thick covers off her head. Bless Nichols. When he had so gently pulled rank on Mulder to send them off for the rest they both desperately needed, the aches from their nonstop week had crashed into her. If her partner hadn't backed down when he did, she hadn't known whether she would have to shoot him again, or cuff Mulder to her, so he would come, semi-willingly, with her. But, there was that annoying contraption, bleating like a lost sheep. Or a Fox that had gone to ground, only to find its hole filled in? "Scully." "Dana?" "Maria?" Now she shoved the covers away. "What happened?" A laugh. "I have good news, for once. But Mulder's not answering." Tugging her oversized T-shirt down over her sweat-shorts, Scully was on her feet. "I'll check, Maria." If he took off in his condition, in spite of all our new responsibilities, I'll... The petite woman slid the pocket door between the rooms into the wall. For once, Mulder's body had won the fight with his turbo-charged mind, and he was flopped, face down, onto the bedspread. She padded over, pressing the battery check on his cell phone. "He's here, Maria, as zoned as I've ever seen him. He left the unit powered on, so the battery's drained out too. Hang on." Bending over the narrow double bed, she shook the wrist closest to her, watched him mumble, then creep up the mattress towards the pillows, falling forward against the thin foam pad. Sorry, partner, for once, I need you conscious. She pressed the unit against her shoulder. "Mulder." After wiggling closer to her voice, he rotated his head to the side, one hazel eye meeting hers. "I'm sleeping, see Scully?" She clambered onto the hard mattress, rubbing his arm, bare since he had tugged off his tan canvas shirt before collapsing. "Mulder, it's Maria. It's about X." He rolled onto his back, practically turning into her lap before he sat up. "X?" He took the phone. "Maria?" "Fox, you sound like death warmed over. Your friend woke up yesterday, and I'll be releasing him in an hour or so." He grunted. "Just like that? He woke up?" She sighed. "More or less. His CT scan and MRI are both normal, and all his bloodwork came back just fine. I have no medical reason to keep him here, but do you want me to tell him where you are when I release him?" Mulder rubbed his eyes with the fingers of the hand not holding the phone. "Uh, yes, I mean, no. I think. Let me talk to Scully, and we'll get back to you. You've been all right, no unannounced guests, of the any-footed variety?" She laughed. "We're fine here, Fox. I've brought on some more security, just in case. Look, it's no problem, if you want me to invent something, I will. He's raring to go, but, on the other hand..." Mulder grinned. "You have experience with that kind of patient." He could hear her smile as she replied in kind. "I've been weaned on the best. Just call back, all right?" "Sure." He terminated the conversation with his thumb. "Scully?" She was propped against the headboard, drowsing. "I'm awake." "So's X." She peeled back one eyelid. "Really? Is he coming here?" He settled beside her. "That's why Maria called. Do we want another problem on our hands?" He heard her sarcastic growl. "Of course, if we can handle bone-eating bugs, shape-shifting aliens running loose, rockslides, and missing parents, what's a former coma patient or two?" She waved both hands, her fatigue obvious. "Right. X gets to extend his vacation at my expense." He crawled off the bed, paged through his address book, then entered the Retreat's number. "Maria? Oh, thanks. I'll tell her." He turned, but she had tucked herself into a ball. "Oh, Scully." Mulder placed her unit on the nightstand, then flipped each side of the bedspread over her, swaddling her in a paisley cocoon. He stared down at her, considered a run, then rejected the idea. I need to be here in case something happens with the aliens. He slid gently onto his side of the bed, found the remote, then settled in as six pregnant teenagers trooped onto the stage to shout at each other and Ricki Lake. A mumble from the auburn head by his hip brought his attention down to his sleeping partner. "Yeah, I'd complain, too." Stretching, her limbs emerged from her padded shell like a turtle's. "How long before we head back to the warehouse?" He checked his watch. "Another three hours. X grabbed a spare pair of the gardener's overalls and took off. He was over the fence before Maria realized what was happening." Wrapping the coverlet around her, Scully considered this latest twist. "If Langly is functional at all, he should track X's savings and checking accounts. Pendrell had forwarded all the assumed identities to the Gunmen's address, and he'll need to tap funds from them at some point." She yawned. "I think once we do that, we should both try to sleep some more, Mulder. I could almost get used to having all these people around, working the problem with us." She heard a grunt, then the autodial. "Langly!" Mulder smirked, pausing through the groan from the other end. "You remember the passenger you shuttled for us?" He waited. "Well, he awake and on the street. We need you to tap his finances, to tell us if any transactions suddenly occur." A nod. "It was already in place? Good. Thanks." Before her partner terminated the call, Scully, still bundled, slid off the bed, lifting one corner of her mouth as a long arm shot out to tug the cover off her. When he mouthed 'Use your own!' she stuck her tongue out slightly and passed through the adjoining doorway.
Grand Dining Room Willard Intercontinental Hotel Max Lowenberg gently slid Margaret Scully's chair under her, catching his wife's nod of approval. The younger woman was in awe of the surroundings. Tall potted palms accented fluted pillars, rising three stories to the painted ceiling of the Grand Dining room. Summer's haze had settled upon the city, but the light reflected off the mirrored walls gave no hint of the mugginess without. Tourists paraded through the Grand Walkway past the dining room, the children cranky with the heat, but inside, lunching Hill staffers, government officials, and assorted members of the general Washington establishment were subdued, swapping secrets and power in a by-gone aura of dignity and calm. Caroline smoothed her napkin in her lap. "How did you sleep, Margaret?" The dark-haired woman looked over. "Like a log. That suite, Max, are you sure..." He waved his hand. "I didn't want to use the Firm's apartment at the Watergate. After what Caroline and I read, it was bound to be tapped. Besides," he beckoned the waiter over, "I'd remembered this place from its days of fading glory, and I was curious to see how well the old girl's facelift went." Leaning towards her husband, the white-haired woman solicitously grasped his hand. Margaret felt a sudden horror coil in her stomach at the gesture. How will I ever make headway through all this duplicity without both of them? "Max, you are well, aren't you?" He squeezed his wife's fingers before replying. "Oh, I'm fine, Margaret." He thumped his chest. "Fit as a fiddle." Out of the corner of her eye, Margaret noticed Caroline's slight blush. Max continued. "It's just been hard for me, these past few months." Raising the embossed China teacup to his lips, he took a few sips to compose himself before continuing. "You see, I had always wondered why the Firm had been so supportive of my pro bono work, and what I've found out both saddens and shocks me." At his sigh, Caroline cautioned him. "Max, it may not be safe..." He waved her off. "All that time, I was so relieved to find a haven from which to pursue the records of lost families and lost treasures, to give something back because I had escaped death. But, it was all a sham, you see. My business trips were just a cover for the dark forces your daughter and my step-son are pursuing, so evil could gain access to places it could not otherwise, to perpetuate the horror I had escaped." The dark-haired woman gasped. "I'm not sure I understand." He continued. "But, I am not dead yet, Margaret. While I still have breath, they will not succeed in their agenda, and by helping Mulder and Dana," he waved at her bag on the floor, "by bringing this all to light, I hope still to win out over them." A waiter materialized at the white-haired man's elbow, whispering unobtrusively. At Max's nod, he escorted a compact, tanned man waiting at the entrance to their table. Caroline extended her hand. "Ibrahim! So glad you could join us. Lovely of you to drop by for Max's birthday last month." "Charmed, as usual, Caroline." He bussed her fingers, then turned his attentions to Margaret. "You must be Dana Scully's mother." The color leaving his face, Max rose. "Yes, my manners. Margaret Scully, this is Ibrahim Nussbaum, our contact from the Israeli embassy." As the younger man bent over Margaret's hand, she admired his full head of black curls and tailored gray wool suit. "Israeli embassy?" She waited to pursue the matter until they were all seated again. "What does this have to do with my husband's diary?" Holding his teacup out as Caroline poured, Nussbaum sighed. "It's not so much your diary, Ma'am, as what Max has found." Interlacing his fingers, he rested his wrists on the table-edge. Margaret realized that even as he presented a picture of ease, their new arrival was cautiously surveying the surrounding tables, poised, on guard. "We in Israel receive large sums of money from both the US Government, and from private American organizations. Naturally, there are sometimes hidden obligations attached. Max has helped us determine just exactly what some of those strings are." Margaret turned to Caroline. "Does this mean you have information on Dana's abduction, or what happened to Samantha?" The white-haired woman nodded cautiously. "Perhaps." Caroline gestured to their new arrival. Nussbaum continued. "It seems that after 1973, there was a small, dedicated effort to send orphans of European Jewish descent from America to Israel, to grow up on Kibbutzim, or to be adopted by Israeli settlers in the West Bank. In time of unrest in the Middle East, occasionally these children were escorted into the country under the guise of tourists, and we have photographs from their entry. Here." The younger man passed an enlargement to Caroline, who gasped, then covered her mouth with her hand. Max rubbed her back. "Is it her?" The white-haired woman took a deep breath before she leaned over to speak to Dana Scully's mother. "It could be; it's been so long since I've seen her. I'm almost ashamed to admit it, Margaret, but for years, I put all of her photos away; it hurt too much to look at them." She focused on her hands, clenched in her lap, for a moment. "I'd always been sure I, her Mother, would remember her exactly as she was, no matter how long she was gone, but..." Max grasped her shoulder, then waited as she reverently placed the print on the antique lace, before lifting a tiny, yellowed photograph from her purse. Caroline glanced at Margaret. "These are from the summer before Samantha was taken, when we were at the lake house. What do you think?" The younger woman took the photos, one in each hand, sliding the faded, crimp-edged wallet image until the two faces of a little girl were even with each other. One showed a bubbling, tanned child, freckled, with long brown pigtails, her still-damp bathing suit dull in the bright sun. Beside her was her dark-haired brother, now a head and shoulders taller than she. His first two fingers were cocked in a Vee behind her head, matching his faded "My Favorite Martian" T-shirt, under a crooked grin she would recognize anywhere. The other showed a serious girl-woman in a navy blue Peter-pan collared suit, her hair in a bob. Margaret studied the faces carefully. The upturned nose is the same, definitely. "I can't be certain, Caroline. The two are very similar, but it may be a year's difference and the beginnings of puberty operating on the same child. Do you have any idea what happened to her?" Max leaned forward. "We've traced that little girl from San Diego, where she seems to have just appeared suddenly in an orphanage, to a Kibbutz outside Tel Aviv. She was adopted shortly after that, her name was changed, and the family's records were lost. We have attempted to reach Mulder, but he's out of town, I believe. We couldn't raise him on his cell phone." Margaret nodded. "They're on the West Coast, he and Dana, on a case. He would know." Caroline took a deep, shuddering breath. "He would. But he's had his hopes raised so many times, only to have them cruelly dashed just as often. If we could locate her now to take tissue samples for DNA-typing before we tell him, I would be far more at ease." Max crossed his arms, the gentleness in his voice offsetting his belligerent pose. "He should be told, Caroline. If we were to find her, after he's looked for so long, but he's not permitted to help,..." He glanced at the fountain, the low murmur of the dancing water drowned by the conversation around it. "Well, I know how I would feel." Margaret hastened to smooth over any disagreement between her two friends. "But I still don't understand how Bill fits into all this." Ibrahim extended his arm, pointing to the bag at her side, then lifting three lumps of sugar away with his spoon. "It was the height of the skyjacking craze, before Entebbe." Both men bowed their heads for a moment. "It was safer to bring people into Israel by ship, and if a US Navy vessel was present, they would be asked for an unofficial escort. It was, after all, just after the Yom Kippur War, the height of the Cold War as well. I was hoping your husband's diary mentioned this, since we have no record other than casual accounts from private sources. He was captaining Med cruises for many of those years, was he not?" Remembering her stained recipe cards, Margaret Scully nodded. "But, Mister Nussbaum..." He shook his head. "Ibrahim, please. You are among friends, Margaret. My Father served with Max in the Six Day War. You're almost as formal as I've been told is your absolutely stunning daughter." Although her eyes twinkled with merriment at the mischief his choice of words implied, she sighed. "Ibrahim. What does this have to do with Africa?" The younger man frowned. "Africa? I don't understand." Margaret slid the diary from her bag, opening it at a point marked with a sheet of hotel stationery. He read the page, then a few of the entries before and after. Finally, he nodded, handing the book back to her. "I see. When I return to the embassy, I'll make some discrete inquiries." He looked over at Max. "How long will you be in town?" The white haired man chewed his mustache. "For at least today. I'd like to see if we can contact Mulder and Dana. Margaret, do you know how we can reach their Assistant Director, Wallace, William...?" As their lunch arrived, Margaret spread the linen napkin on her lap. "Walter Skinner. Yes, I do. I have his work phone, but he may want to speak with us in private instead." Caroline nodded. "I can certainly imagine he would." The four settled down to their meals, suspending further serious conversation until the afternoon.
Senate Hearing Room Senator Richard Matheson recorded the last vote on his tally sheet. "Thank you, gentlemen, and lady." He nodded to Senator Moseley- Braun, the sole woman on the sub-committee. "I feel my esteemed colleagues have made a correct determination regarding this railroad dismantlement." He directed his attention to one of the gray-suited men in the first row behind the witness' table. "Director Owens, your plan to employ all the former rail employees in the new transportation system at no loss of pay was certainly a reasonable compromise." He rose, sending his mass of staffers into a flurry of activity, collecting and sorting the papers scattered on the bench in front of him. "Mister Russell?" His co-chair twisted the mike towards his mouth slowly, responding in the honeyed tones, darkened somewhat with age, for which he was justifiably famous. "I most heartily concur, Mister Chairman. And let me be the first to wish us all a profitable August recess." Matheson tapped the table with his gavel once, bringing the others to their feet as well. "This session of the Transportation and Security Subcommittee is hereby suspended until September." Unnoticed in the bustle, two aides met behind the row of chairs, passing a small notebook from the shorter, red-haired man to other, tall and blond. Then they separated, loading themselves with the thick binders and stacks of documents the People's Representatives had left so hastily behind them. Outside the hearing room, the two fell in step, Lindhauer glancing down at his red-haired associate. "So, does Randall have his private jet fueled up and cleared for takeoff at National?" McConnell grunted. "What do you think? At least we can go on to the Arctic fairly quickly. How are 'Ace's' rebuilds coming?" Lindhauer juggled the notebooks to pull the outside doors open. "She's taken a day off work to throw something together. We really need to get someone working with her, to spell her on some of these projects of hers." "I know. She needs to keep her cover at the Bureau intact, but she's so used to operating on her own, who could we get that we could trust? Hardware never was 'Charlie's' forte." Lindhauer shrugged. "Beats me. The crews are almost in place up North, we just lack a few pieces, some troops, some firepower, those sensors." They fell silent as they were engulfed in a swarm of schoolchildren.
Morten's Sleepytime Hotel Mulder grumbled as he rolled onto his back, finding himself further entangled in the bedspread. How long had whoever it was out there been pounding at the door? He staggered over, releasing the chain before propping it open. "Agent Mulder?" He blinked at the younger X-Files agent standing in front of him, dressed and armed. "Rosen, what is it?" Stepping back to admit her, he stumbled to the opening between his and Scully's rooms. "Hey, Doctor, we have company." When Scully entered, rubbing her eyes, Rosen stopped her with a hand on her arm, pulling the three of them into a tight circle. "It's your shape-shifter; he's finally shown up to talk to the others. We couldn't raise you on the cell phones, so we were afraid he had attacked you two before he arrived." Mulder and Scully were already in motion, reaching for clothes, stepping into their bathrooms to change. As the sounds of flushing and water running ceased, the tall agent's tenor floated out through the door to her. "How long ago?" She moved close to the door. "About a half an hour. A pigeon flew in, then re-materialized into the man we saw at the airport, which was how we knew who he was." Scully stepped into the room, chewing her lower lip. Mulder tapped her arm when he emerged. "What?" She looked up at him, then over to Rosen. "We think the Kindred- Colony are more limited in their morphing abilities, so we have to consider the possibility that the alien from the Consortium, the Bounty Hunter, and Aurora, are all from his craft, crew members, perhaps." Rosen gasped. "Aurora was a shape-shifter? How did you know?" Mulder shook his head. "From an old enemy. We saw an obituary for Miss Luminens when we confronted him, not that is matters now. Let's go."
Lobby Willard Intercontinental Hotel Approaching the ornate entrance, set flush with the driveway, Walter Skinner nodded to a uniformed teenager who pulled the door open for him. Along the short walk up Pennsylvania Avenue, he had considered and abandoned several possible justifications for Margaret Scully's brief call. I'm at the Willard, and I was wondering if you'd like to take a break from your busy day for a little while, Walter. A careful statement of ambiguity, enough to propel him onto the street and northwestward, but not enough to catch the attention of listening ears. Why is she coming to me? He nodded to the dark-haired woman, seated on one of the brocade couches circling a column in the gilded marble lobby. She looks so out of place here, like a tourist, almost. As she approached him, smiling, she firmly clasped the hand he had extended. "Walter, so good of you to come." She gripped his palm with her right, and his elbow with her left. "As always, Margaret. But why...?" She was pulling him through the tourists, up onto the Grand Causeway, into a little museum room off to the left. A few families trooped dutifully along a line of photos, beginning from just before Lincoln's time, up through the restoration, and into the present era. Included in the group was an older couple, but Skinner thought the dignified wife who carried herself with grace and poise somehow familiar. Margaret touched the woman's arm. "Walter, these are Max and Caroline Lowenberg." He nodded to them, then when the white-haired woman greeted him, he recognized her. "You're Agent Mulder's mother! What are you doing in town?" She smiled, a slight mysterious expression, that was amplified by the reticence in her eyes. The Assistant Director turned to her husband. "Welcome to DC, Mister Lowenberg." The older man's grasp was a firm as Skinner would expect from someone half his age. "I've visited here, many times, rest assured. But, we don't want to take up more of your day than is necessary. Do you know how to reach Mulder and Agent Scully? We don't get answers from either of their cell phones, or only their answering machines at their apartments." Skinner shrugged. "The last I knew, they were on the West Coast, but they don't check in with me while they're on assignment, unless something goes wrong." Patting the Assistant Director's arm, Margaret brought his attention to her. "We need Fox to help us identify a young girl, but if you don't know where they are, we can't..." Accepting the print Caroline held out to him, Skinner studied the image carefully. "This bears a resemblance to the one he keeps on his desk. May I hold it until I see him?" At Max's nod, he slipped the photo into his jacket pocket. "For this, I'll certainly make every effort to contact them. Is there any other message you wish me to convey to them, in case you can't find them?" Margaret sighed. "First of all, if they can't contact us, we're fine. I may be on the way to the airport to see Max and Caroline off, but there is a diary..." She recounted the information they had discussed in the afternoon, Skinner listening intently. At her conclusion, he checked a couple speaking Portuguese that had hovered too close to his elbow, before he turned to listen to the white-haired man speaking beside him. Max had taken Skinner by the arm. "Anything Mulder tells you, if you can't reach us, please convey to Ibrahim Nussbaum, at the Israeli Embassy." He extended a business card. "This is his number." Max leaned in to whisper. "Even if you do send the information successfully to us, please give to him also. I've discovered, the hard way, that it's best to pass along partial information to multiple trusted sources, as soon as it is available. That way, if something happens, someone can follow along after you." Skinner grunted. "A lesson I wish you could pass on to your step- son, Sir." He tucked the white card beside the photo. "Very well. I'll pass what you've told me to Agent Mulder and this Mister Nussbaum, as soon as I can reach him. Good Luck." A nod to each, and he left.
Warehouse "Boss!" As they entered, Nichols waved the three over. Frohike and Byers were hovering beside the Pentium, where several screens of code were open, but they turned when the others reached them. Mulder nodded a curt greeting. "What do you have?" Noting the blackened face, Nichols realized that the younger agent had not taken the time to shave. "They're all arguing in English now, listen." As he handed his headphones to Mulder, he pointed Scully towards the Pentium. "The guys have been keeping the past few minutes available on display for you." The auburn-haired woman read along as the conversations updated, while her partner frowned, deep in intense concentration.
Pilot was frustrated. "I've endured all these tests for you! Why isn't it enough, now? I need to return home, to pass what I have learned along. Why are you keeping me here? You can return with me if you wish. The engines have more than sufficient fuel to transport passengers." One of the brown-haired women stepped up to him. "But we need to remain here, to complete our assembly of a genetic data base of species from this planet. Once the one who walked abroad ceased to collect useful information for us, your third took over and we were able to tap into the hominid samples collected by the government. As we are, however, we are too easy to detect. We need to understand the genome changes performed on you, so we can attempt a retro-viral refit of our own. We need more data!" The Bounty-hunter sneered. "Such is all I hear from you thinkers. 'More Data', 'More Data'! Even the third who came with us yammered this endlessly on the journey." He began shoving the stolen electronics onto the floor. "The time for action is now!" Three quick clicks, followed by a whistle, emanated from him. "can still save this planet from its simian inhabitants, but they must be told soon. These hominids refuse to reduce their population, or end the pollution of their water or air." The woman's twin stepped forward. "Certain groups among them are making efforts. If we could somehow establish a long-term covert presence in their governments, or this United Nations of theirs, we could guide their progress along less destructive lines without bloodshed, or wasteful military intervention." The fourth alien, silent until now, began speaking in a firm, quiet tone, totally unlike his frantic pleas from his first visit. "Yes. We can pass for them with ease, but it would mean impersonating a leader or a powerful figure, one with the authority to affect planetwide changes. Right now, there is not really a single individual who can claim to do that." The hulking man sighed. "I am not a decision maker, but an enforcer of them, only." Producing a small silver rod from his coat pocket, he flicked his wrist, then held the gleaming pick up for the two women to see. Gasping, they stepped away from him. "However, there are times when you ancients must be stopped from studying a problem endlessly. It is time we took what you know, and those tools that have been provided for us, back to the ones who are capable of deploying the forces necessary to save this world." With one swift motion, he sprouted a third arm that he wrapped around one of the women. The man that had passed by the name of Luther, who had carefully concealed his identity for the past few months, followed suit.
Warehouse Mulder practically threw himself down the stairs when he saw the Bounty Hunter grab the female, but Scully was right behind him. "Mulder! He's not hurting them, just taking them home!" He spun to glare up at her, all decorum forgotten. "But they're my only link, Scully! They must know what happened to Sam." Rounding the bottom step, he sprinted for the door, but was flattened by a body falling from above him. His auburn-haired partner sat on top of him, pressing his shoulders down into the oil-soaked sand of the floor as they struggled. "Mulder, stop!" He was shoving at her waist, attempting to push himself free without hurting her. "Scully! Get off me, now!" She was just as adamant. "No, Mulder, listen to me!" She was reaching for her gun. "Mulder, don't make me do this again!" Pulling her off his chest, he rolled Scully onto her side. But Rosen had flung herself down the stairs, beating him to the door to slam it shut and engage the padlock with a click. "Mulder, listen to Scully. They're leaving. To get home, they need a ship. Where is their vessel?" Standing now, Scully was dusting herself off. "In the Beaufort Sea. We know the approximate location, but we'll need some means of scanning to find their craft." Nichols approached, running ahead of the Gunmen. "But Boss, they'll be stopping by Aurora's first. They want the bugs, don't forget." Finally, his mind running through their options, Mulder nodded. "Yeah. OK." He turned to Byers. "We'll need Arctic gear and more of your UV sensors. How soon can you have them ready to go?" The bearded man was punching a number on his cell phone, waiting through two rings. "Langly?" He explained their situation, then smiled as he ended the conversation, looking around at the Agents. "Langly will assemble what we need for the journey. Any of you good with a soldering iron?" From her place by the door, Rosen waved. "Too many late nights building radiation counters." His eyes bright at this improvement in their prospects, Mulder nodded. "OK, let's move."
Route 300 / J. Edgar Hoover Building As Scully stretched, rubbing her shoulders, Mulder glanced at her, then touched her hand. "You OK?" She lifted one corner of her mouth. "Yes, I am. I shouldn't have threatened you like that, Mulder, testing your authority in front of the others. I'm sorry." Shrugging, he checked out the side-view mirror before replying. "So? I shouldn't have tried to throw my partner across the warehouse like a rag-doll. I'm sorry I blew my cool, *especially* in front of the others." They locked eyes. "You were right back in the hotel. We aren't on our own anymore, so I should learn to make better use of our resources, not run off half-cocked." Scully loosened her seatbelt. "At least, not with Rosen to out-run you." He snorted. "I'm going to try Mom again." As she punched her mother's number into the cell phone, Mulder's eyes flicked from the road to her face. "Anything?" She sighed. "No. Let me phone in to Director Skinner." She waited. "Gloria? This is Agent Scully. Is he in? Good. Thanks." She waited. "Sir?" The bald man leaned back in his chair. "Agent Scully? Where are you?" She checked a passing road sign. "Just outside Sudlersville, Delaware, Sir. We're on our way to Alexandria." "Good. Please see me immediately upon your return to the DC area. I have news that will be of great personal interest to Agent Mulder." "Yes, Sir. One thing, Sir, would you put in a request with the Annapolis police to check my Mother's house, please? I can't reach her." "She's here in DC, Agent Scully. I met with her and with Agent Mulder's mother earlier today. If you can't reach her, she's probably taking the Lowenbergs back to the airport." The auburn-haired woman frowned. "Max and Caroline are here?" She exchanged a glance with her partner. "Did they say why?" The ex-Marine gritted his teeth. "That's the reason you and Agent Mulder should return to the Bureau as soon as possible." He held up one hand, aware that the gesture was invisible to the woman at the other end. "Put your mind at ease as to their safety, Agent Scully. They are all well, and wished me to convey that message to you. Just meet me at the Navy Memorial as soon as you can. When should I expect you?" Scully glanced at the map draped over her knees. "We should be there in about an hour and a half, Sir." Her partner was fidgeting as he waited, so Scully excused herself to face him. "Mulder, it's OK. They're fine, but I think they had something to show you, only they left it with Skinner. I don't think they wanted us to know where they were." Still restless, the driver bit his lip. "It's safer for them if they don't. This is getting dangerous, Scully, but we need to go in force." She nodded. "Only you'll be the one to tell the Gunmen they can't come to the Arctic with us." He blew out a long breath. "Yeah, I can hear it now. If Byers had to speak to that alien, you know all three will want to be there, to scan their craft with everything they have." Scully began punching in Nichols' cell phone. "Nichols? Take Rosen back to the Gunmen's office so she can get started on the sensors. We need to stop by the Hoover building to meet with Skinner first." She listened. "She went with them? To plan? Good. Just follow them, then. We'll see you there."
Apartment Capitol Hill Lindhauer stepped aside to give 'Ace' and "Charlie' admittance. "How is it looking in your apartment?" She sighed. "We're making some progress. The sensor data that I hadn't downloaded to the main computer in West Virginia is all gone. I'm having to reconstruct everything from memory." McConnell poked his head through the door. "Hey." Taking a seat across from the couple, he rubbed his face. "Well, after a weekend of non-stop work, the Senator is finally off for the Longhorn State, so we can be on our way to the Beaufort Sea. Are the tactical units ready?" 'Charlie' nodded. "Yes. They're being deployed now, with equipment borrowed from Exxon to raise the ship. It's resting in twenty feet of water that's not ice-locked right now. It's summer, so the pack is loose anyway, but we're in a rare period of clear conditions and prolonged above-freezing temperatures. The preliminary examination by our cold-suited divers had revealed that the ship is intact. It looks like it was intentionally set to hang just below the average ice depth, so it didn't crash, as we had been led to believe." A new voice spoke from the door. "Yes. A necessary deception, that." They turned to the entrance, watching their former superior light a Morley. "If we wish to safeguard a technology that has organic components for future study, what better place than a deep-freeze?" 'Charlie' rose, partially out of deference to the old man. "How did you know that it has organic components?" A gray brow arched. "How do you think? Not all of us were doddering around, spending our money on art, my young associates." 'Ace' approached him. "How many others in the organization know you are alive?" He grimaced at her. "You're looking well, my dear. Only one, although there was another who may have figured it out." She nodded. "And he's missing from the Rest Retreat. He woke up yesterday, took off this morning. Mulder and Scully really ought to wean themselves away from dependence on their cell phones. They're making plans to join us in the great white north as well." The old spy considered her words. If I reveal how much I know, they will want to know how I know. "Oh, how are you aware of their actions? A constant tap on their phones?" She nodded. "It was something that wasn't destroyed in my apartment, so they're off to the Gunmen's, after a meeting with Assistant Director Skinner." 'Charlie' approached his superior. "What do you think we should do?" As he stepped into the doorway, the old spy blew out a long stream of smoke. "Whatever you wish. Your present course is as valid as any other." After he vanished, the four who remained fell to making plans, debating the deployment of their forces.
U.S. Navy Memorial Walter Skinner watched the gray Toyota pull into the taxi stand at the foot of the Memorial steps, then approached the vehicle. "Agent Scully?" As she reached around to unlock the rear passenger door, the Assistant Director nodded to the dark-haired driver. "Agent Mulder, perhaps you should let Agent Scully take the wheel. I have something you need to examine carefully." Wordlessly, the younger man turned the key, then exited his vehicle. After a quizzical glance at her superior, Scully stepped out of the car, walking around the front. Mulder climbed into the back seat. "What is it, Sir?" Skinner placed the photo in his agent's outstretched hand. "Do you recognize this girl, Agent Mulder?" His forehead crinkled, then, when his eyes dropped to the photo, he began taking rapid, shallow breaths. Scully glanced in the rear-view mirror, but after one look at her partner's ashen face, she pulled herself around to view the image on the paper. "Mulder, who is it?" The desperate glint of hope in his eyes, filling with tears as his met hers, was all the answer she needed, so she directed her glare at the bald man. "When was this taken?" Skinner shrugged. "Sometime early in 1975 in a Customs office in Israel. Your stepfather has only recently brought this to light, Agent Mulder, but your Mother wasn't sure they had enough to show this to you yet. Is it your sister?" Scully shifted her weight up onto her knees, attempting to match the girl's face to the photograph her partner kept in his office. But it was impossible. When the younger man had dropped the print onto his thighs, the image captured had become invisible to her. His long fingers trembling, Mulder was tracing over her hair, her cheeks, down her nose, as if he could reach into the flat page on his lap and mold his sister into being. Scully brushed the back of his hands lightly with her fingers, marshaling all their years of connection and friendship to weigh her query with the proper sympathy and gravity. "Mulder, is it her?" He chewed his lower lip, rocking slightly, his answer a deep growl. "Yes. It's Sam." A tap on the window brought Scully around to face forward. A DC policeman was outside, so Scully flashed her FBI badge, the man nodded, and returned to his cruiser. The break had given Mulder back his composure, so he coughed and faced his superior. "What happened to this girl? Do they know? Where is she now?" Skinner dropped his voice, extending the younger man his unvoiced sympathies. "She was placed in a Kibbutz, adopted, then her family moved to the West Bank. Beyond that, they're still checking, Agent Mulder. Since you're certain, I think they'll speed up the search." Scully glanced up at her partner's face, attempting to read the emotions cascading behind his hooded eyes. In an effort to contain himself, he was biting down on his lip so fiercely she could see drops of blood, while he continued to rub the young woman's features. "It's her, Sir." The Assistant Director exchanged a glance with his agent in the front seat, knowing full well that what Mulder needed now was first, privacy, then, the support only Scully could offer. "I think I have a meeting in a few minutes, but where are you two going now?" Attentive to her superior's concerns, she nodded, following Skinner as he stepped out of the vehicle, and up onto the wide sidewalk. "We'll heading over to the Gunmen's, Sir. There's much we need to tell you, but a synopsis would be simply this: We have encountered the shape-shifting aliens whom you may remember from the incidents surrounding the purported reappearance of Agent Mulder's sister." "Those events are etched in my memory, Agent Scully." "They have possession of a large portion of our silicon-eating bug, although we have sent smaller samples to three other laboratories around the country. We need to follow them to the Arctic, where they are headed presently in an effort to depart from earth, so we can try to retrieve the Archaeon before they leave." At his incredulous stare, she spread her hands. "Sir, I know..." He crossed his arms. "Do you have any proof of these contentions?" She nodded. "We have tissue samples that are undergoing DNA analysis, repeated spectra of the UV signatures that they radiate, and videotapes of the shape-shifters changing form, Sir. We have recordings of them speaking in what is, I presume, their own language, as well as discussing the trip to the Arctic in English. Although a K'ung hunter might understand their speech, it's well beyond anything I've ever heard. We are proceeding with caution, since some of this information comes directly from a cigarette- smoking source, who, as you know, interweaves truth with lies." Skinner grunted. "Invariably." She glanced over her shoulder before continuing. "The evidence is more conclusive than any we've been able to give you in the past. When we return, I'd be happy to review what we have with you, but, right now," she glanced over her shoulder a second time. "There are other matters requiring my attention, Sir." His eyes flitted towards the Toyota, then he inclined his head once. "Very well. Coming from you, I'll accept that, for now. When you leave, call me, so I know what's going on." She nodded, then opened the rear door to speak with her partner. "Sir?" He waited. Scully turned to face her boss. "You remember what the woman who claimed to be Agent Mulder's sister and the shape-shifter who abducted me looked like, correct?" The bald man nodded. "I don't think I'm likely to forget that, Agent Scully." The auburn-haired woman took a few steps closer to the Assistant Director. "We expect that there will be two women who look like she did, as well as the shape-shifter, moving with another man, short, graying hair, with a mustache, through the airports to take flights to Alaska." Skinner glanced at a lone couple, startled by their laughter as they posed by the statue of a typical sailor, set in the center of the monument. "I'll put out an alert to airport security to track their movements for us." He approached his agent, staring down at her fixedly. She sighed. "If what we have learned over the past few days is correct, only the women should retain the same appearance you remember. Ask them to notify us if they are spotted. There should be a photograph in XF-2015 for you to distribute. Have Gloria ask Cynthia about it, all right?" Skinner nodded. "I'll be able to reach you at your cell phone numbers if anything turns up?" Scully shrugged. "If all else fails, send an encrypted E-mail to our friends. They can pass the information on to us." He stepped away. "Very well, Agent Scully." They separated, Scully returning to Mulder's car, swiveling back at the last moment. "A final favor, Sir. It may be too late now, but would you ask the Seattle office to put out an APB for an Aurora Luminens, the proprietor of Eternal Preservations, Limited?" Skinner narrowed his eyes at her. "Is this one of your aliens, Agent Scully?" "Yes. But it's important that they not shed her blood, if you remember Agent Mulder's stay in Alaska." He sighed. "Agreed. Any suggestions as to what I can use for an excuse?" As she opened the rear door, Scully rubbed her eyes with her free hand. "Try saying she's HIV-Positive, but may not know it yet, Sir. The precautions will be very similar." Skinner cast a long glance at the man in the back seat, then turned to reenter the glass and concrete structure that had been his second home for over twenty years.
"Mulder?" In her absence, her partner had totally given himself over to his emotions, weeping unrestrainedly. But as cruel as it seemed, she had to bring him back to her, out of the relief this slender lead provided him. "Mulder." Reaching for his shoulder, she watched as a tear fell on the print, condensing with it all her affections for this complex man into an achy sense of wonder. After all you've seen, Mulder, to take this in without an ounce of cynicism, a drop of gall. You really see this as finally, the answer you've been searching for. She ran her left hand through his hair, stilling the restless fingers with her right. "You see, she isn't lost." He bit down his lip, wincing when his teeth tracked into the cuts. "She's out there, Scully. I know this is her. She had a family?" He brought the knuckles of his right hand to his mouth, biting them instead, while his left arm curled around his stomach. "Good. I hope they took care of her, loved her like she deserved." His voice dropped into a whisper. "Like she never would have received at home." A fresh well of tears overflowed, bringing Scully up on her knees in the back seat, reaching out for her partner's shoulders with both hands. "Mulder." He blinked, as if realizing she was there, all hovering concern, for the first time. Unable to voice his thoughts without choking, he began to whisper to her. "You were right to bring me back here, Scully. If I had run off, chasing the aliens without you, I never would have seen this." He shifted to face her, his sudden action throwing her off-balance, pulling her forward into his hands, his arms wrapping as tightly around her back as hers were around his neck. He pressed his face against her shoulder, the weeping having left his breathing ragged and irregular. Mulder was clinging to her, needy of his partner's rational serenity and centeredness as a shelter from the storm of emotions within him. Her weight settled, Scully stroked his hair, ignoring the two days growth that tickled her neck. "It'll be OK, Mulder, you'll see. After we get back, we'll get in touch with your Mom and Max, find out what they know. We can both take a leave of absence to search, if you want." He released her to gaze into her green-blue eyes. "But, it's not your sister. You'd do that for me, Scully? Come with me?" Resting both hands flat on his chest, partly for balance, partly for the connection, she nodded. "Of course. I promised myself I would when we were so close in February, after you turned back to help with my nephew, Mulder." She held her hand up, two fingers raised in a Scouts pledge. He grinned, the tears subsiding. "Then we gotta go stop some aliens, don't we?" She broke into her rarely seen broad smile, her face lighting. "That we do, Chief. But if you tell anyone I said that, I'll deny everything." "Ah. Of course. What more could I expect from the Enigmatic Doctor Scully?"
Office of the Lone Gunmen Cocking an eyebrow at the long-haired Gunman, Rosen crossed her arms. "No, Langly, *think* about it. This is a nature-loving, ecosystem-preserving culture. In a crash, a fission engine would contaminate a planet, so I don't think they would use it. There are times when an ion drive wouldn't be useful, but fusion engines would. They could refuel from proto-stars, or the gas clouds in interstellar regions." At the knock, Nichols moved towards the door to greet the pair without. "Boss, Scully." They entered, surveying the work in progress. Rosen and Langly were hunched over a circuit board held up in a vise, soldering in sockets as they talked. Frohike and Byers were working quietly in a corner by the Pentium, now unpacked, tracking the changes in spectra as recorded digitally from the UV-sensitive camera. Scully stepped over to the other agent, peering at the long green wafer. "So what is this?" Langly swiveled. "Our new radiation sensor controls. Rosen and I were attempting to figure out what type of drive they would be using to fuel their interstellar travel." He turned back to the brunette. "It wouldn't be fission, no matter what their philosophy. Since they couldn't pick more fuel up along the way, or utilize it, without their own on-board refineries. There is always the risk of contamination of the vessel itself, leaving aside the potential for a crash." Intent on debating his partner, Nichols approached. "Why would they be using a propulsion system we can even comprehend?" Rosen shrugged her shoulders. "It's a valid point, Nic, but if we don't assume they have something we can 'calculate the operational parameters' for," A flash of teeth. "How do we attempt to track them? Go up there with binoculars?" Mulder joined them. "Or with everything we can think of, including a good pair of binoculars." He turned to the older man. "Nichols, may I have a word?" Frowning, he stepped away from his partner. "Sure, boss, what's on your mind?" Mulder beckoned Scully over. "I need a few minutes, Scully. Think there's enough technical stuff going on down here that we won't be missed?" She nodded. "More than enough, Mulder. You'll be upstairs?" A grunt, then the two agents vanished to the tiny library.
Nichols settled into the same turned oak chair Scully had used; Mulder slumped onto another metal one. "Hey, boss, what's so hush-hush that we had to vanish up here?" The tall agent sighed, considering his opening statement carefully. "Nichols, do you remember when we talked about working with women partners?" A nod, then Mulder found himself coughing nervously. Puzzled, the older man leaned forward. "Sure. You and Scully aren't having any problems, are you?" A bark of a laugh. "No. Nothing like that. I just wanted to see how things were with you and Rosen, while we had the time." Mulder waited. "Well, we've been doing better, since I took your suggestions, Chief. We talk if we have something bothering us, so we're over that hurdle, anyway." He frowned. "Was there something specific you were concerned about?" Mulder shifted uncomfortably. "Ah, well, let me put it like this. Scully and I have put up with rumors, innuendo that never seems to die, that..." Nichols sighed. "That because you two are unattached, out in the field alone together so much, we should all expect wedding invitations in a few years." The older man chewed his mustache. "I took this job, first, because I always envied you two having the mandate to pursue some of the really interesting stuff you've investigated." Mulder snorted. "But also, I'm not as young as I used to be. All those long hours and late nights, the pointless violence, and the threat of discovery while undercover, were just becoming too much..." The younger man crossed his arms. "If you thought this would be easy, Nichols, then I hope you've seen the error in your..." The senior Agent held up both hands. "That I was mistaken? No, you've taken me all wrong. It's tough and dangerous, working these X-Files of yours. I've seen you, especially, limping around the Hoover Building, Scully fussing over you often enough." Mulder grinned at the memories. "It's just that, well, along about November of last year, I arrested this kid for dealing drugs who couldn't have been more than fourteen. As I was loading him into van, he sees my name on my ID and says to me: 'Hey, you arrested my Dad!'" Mulder rolled his eyes. "You felt like you weren't making any headway, didn't you?" Nichols nodded. "It seemed pretty hopeless, like the mi Series drugs cause will just keep rolling over our society in unstoppable waves. Now, I know you have frustrations as well, what with not always being able to prove that what you've seen is true. But you and Scully, with your great closure rates and your X-Files, at least you've gotten something to hang onto. I don't know, though, after what I've seen these past few weeks, I understand why you two kept to yourselves so much. In fact, I'm not sure *I* believe everything I've experienced during these past few months." Mulder nodded. "Thanks. It's tough, feeling like I can only depend on Scully, leaning on her until she sets her lips in this narrow little line and hunches over beside me. It hurts watching her wear down as she works the X-Files, knowing we both have to keep pushing ourselves. Not many people understand how important having her help is ... to me." Both gray eyebrows arched. "Oh, yeah. But I've never given the scuttlebutt any mind, Chief, especially after the case in Minnesota. In fact, if Rosen and I learn to work together half as well as you and Scully do, I'll consider our partnership a success." As understanding dawned, Nichols began to smirk, then he broke out into a deep-throated howl of ironic laughter. "No, don't tell me, you think..." He snorted, bringing an answering smirk to the younger man's lips. "Oh, Boss, Rosen would probably kill me for telling you, so let me assure you, rumors like that will never be a problem for us." He sobered, considering the dilemmas in their respective situations. "Ever. Trust me." Mulder crossed his arms. "Are you saying what I think you are?" At the older man's nod, Mulder let his head fall onto the back of the chair. "I'm sorry." He rubbed his face, leaving his fingers pressed into his eyes. "I totally misjudged the situation. It's just that you told me your marriage is breaking up, finally, and she appeared in your life right now. It doesn't take a PhD in Psychology to predict certain possibilities." Nichols rose. "Don't sweat it, Boss, but I'll let her tell you in her own time, when she's comfortable, if she feels the situation warrants it." Mulder dropped his hands, gazing up at the older man. "Yeah. Sorry." "No sweat." Nichols considered. "*You* don't have a problem with that, do you?" Mulder broke into helpless laughter. "Nichols, after all I've seen, trust me, supervising an agent with an alternative lifestyle is a stroll in the park. I'm sure there's some new manager's training from EEO to cover the situation, if I ask. But I won't. I've had it with classrooms and dry lectures that are supposed to take the place of a little common sense, human decency, and courtesy. Scully and I hired her because she's a open-minded scientist who, like you, is willing to lay it all on the line to get to answers and the Truth. Anything that gets in the way of that is a problem. Anything that doesn't, isn't." He rose as well. "Let's go. Our partners have probably decided they need to use our bodies as antennas or targets or something." Nichols blocked his path. "If you don't mind my saying so, you're looking a little ragged around the chin, there, boss." Pensive, Mulder rubbed his face. "Yeah. I've bunked over so many times I know where Frohike stashes his extras. See you downstairs in a few."
Israeli Embassy NW "Nussbaum." He grinned. "Max! I was expecting you would ring. It *is* the girl you were interested in? Good. I'll make some calls, get back to you in the morning. OK, meet you for breakfast." He replaced the receiver, turned to his computer, then began typing in questions for certain associates back in Israel to check, in archival records, and through interviews. That should certainly keep them busy. Unknown to the diplomat, there was an eavesdropper monitoring his calls and his actions while hiding in his coat closet, unused in the summertime. X had made his way back to the Hoover Building, observing the movements of the Assistant Director, listening in to his conversations at the Willard, then on the street with Agent Scully. Now, he had used all his cunning to come here, to learn the whereabouts of the little girl that was most probably his difficult charge's sister, knowing that wherever she was, was where Mulder would, if he drew breath, end up. This sounds right, like the plans I heard about from others who were there at the time. It fits the cover story given one grief-stricken William Mulder as well.
Office of the Lone Gunmen "So, you think this will do?" Mulder was bending over three more custom pieces of electronics as he spoke to Rosen and Langly. The long blond hair bobbed. "It should cover most of the ionic and radiative products of interest." The tall agent allowed a smirk to tweak his lips. "Most?" Rosen's sigh settled his expression firmly in place. Ah, a way to get under the good doctor's skin. "Yes, Mulder, you see, we eventually decided that we should be looking for waste products from whatever propulsion system they use, and that must, at some point, produce helium, or beta particles." Byers joined them. "It could be emitting gamma rays, either from the engines, or merely from passing through those emitted by the stars it would have encountered..." The dark-haired man held up his hands. "OK, I see your point." He glanced at the three long faces. "I watched Doctor Sagan on his virtual voyage as well." They need a little encouragement, all of them. It's been a long day. "This should do fine, guys, thanks." He watched the gray color in Rosen's face flush slightly. I don't want to be like my Dad. As Scully rested her hand on his arm, he glanced down at her equally drawn visage. We should take a break before we go. "I've asked Skinner to post an alert at the airports for the visitors. Since we don't think the Samanthas can morph easily, that's all we can tell them." He crossed his arms. "Is there any way we could use the metal detectors or X-Ray machines to help us pick them out?" She rubbed her eyes. "I don't think so, Mulder. As long as the Bounty Hunter and Luther morph into, say, leather suitcases, containing cotton clothing, what's there for the machines to detect? We can't suddenly retrofit all the detectors in the major airports of the nation to sense UV." He nodded. "Then we'll have to depend on old-fashioned police work to track them for us." As his cell phone buzzed, he pulled the unit from his jeans pocket. "Mulder." He waited, terminating the call angrily. Scully was concerned. "Who was it?" "Don't know, there was just silence. Someone wanting to see where I was?" Frohike grunted. "Whoever it was, it was from the District." He was tapping the screen, where their new trace-back software was displaying its output. The buttons popping softly as he entered the number, Mulder returned the call, frowning as he listened to a curt recording. "It's the Israeli Embassy." Nichols rubbed his eyes. "Who would be attempting to call you from there?" Mulder shrugged. "Can't say. But, it's time we all hit the sack, before our flight for Anchorage leaves at 10:05 tomorrow morning." He ushered them out the door, guiding Scully to their car. When the others had left, he turned the engine over in the Toyota, silently waiting for his partner to speak. "Mulder, you *are* planning on sleeping, aren't you? If you're thinking of taking off to NW DC after dropping me home, don't even stop by my place." He grinned, eager to begin the adventure. "Ooh, Doctor Scully, and here I thought you said you *hadn't* inherited your Mother's tendencies for precognition?" Scully fixed her partner in one of her LOOKS, hoping for some response, but he was guiding the Toyota out of the Gunmen's driveway. I'm not even going to begin to argue all the scientific inaccuracies in that last statement. She lifted her chin. "Forward, Mulder, before I change my mind, or develop sudden regrets."
Israeli Embassy Ibrahim Nussbaum eyed the coat closet warily. I thought I heard something. As he rose, the phone rang, so he sighed, lifted the receiver, and settled back down. "David! Thanks for calling me back. What do you have?" As he listened, he was scratching rapidly on his memo pad. "They left? When? Unh-hunh, I see. Where are they now, could you find out? OK." Ripping the sheet free, he rose to tuck it, crumpled, into his jacket pocket. "Thanks." He paused, staring at the closet door again. "Listen I think we have a prowler, I have to go." He grinned. "I'll be careful, of course. Say hi to Esther and the kids for me, OK? Gotta run." Opening his desk drawer, he lifted out his Glock, checking the clip before stepping around his mahogany desk. "Who is it?" He aimed his weapon precisely. "I have a gun trained on where your head ought to be. "Open the door and step out slowly." He drew in a long breath as the doorknob rotated, then began to swing wide. Suddenly, the room darkened, and two shots rang out, followed by the thump of a body falling to the floor.
In the parking lot, Mulder and Scully heard the explosions, pulling out their guns as they approached the front entrance, normally locked and guarded at this hour. But, the tall doors were cracked, so they entered cautiously, sidling along the walls. A shouted command stopped them in their tracks. "Freeze! Put your hands where I can see them, and drop your weapons!" The agents complied. A lone guard emerged, bulging-eyed and shaken. "Who are you?" The agents exchanged a glance, Scully answering. "We're with the FBI. We're reaching into our jackets to get some ID, all right?" A nod, and the pair flashed their badges. Mulder sighed. "We had traced an unusual phone call to this building, and heard the shots as we pulled up. Who's still working here?" "We have five staff members working late. I'll phone them." Scully lifted out her cell phone. "We can save time if you can give each of us a number." The guard passed her an internal phone directory and the sign-in sheet, Mulder taking the top name from the list. The guard frowned. "I'm not getting a reply from Nussbaum, Third Floor, Room 127." The agents and the balding man headed for the lifts, only when none responded, the guard ran to the wall to the left of the sets of brass doors. There, he inserted a long slender key into the cover of the control panel, punching a few buttons before turning to the agents. "I just powered down the entire elevator system." Scully arched her eyebrows. "Anyone up there will have to use the stairs." A nod from her partner, then she accompanied the tan- shirted man to the stairwell door across the marble entrance hall, gun at the ready. Unclipping his gun, Mulder watched over his shoulder as the auburn-haired woman disappeared, then shoved his way into the stairs on his side. He was midway up the second flight when he was grabbed and dragged into the shadows. He recognized the scent of his old informant. "I'm in your debt, Mister Mulder, which is somewhere I plan not to remain for long." Mulder twisted free of X's grasp. "How did you?" X sighed. "We really don't have time for this, Agent Mulder. I need to speak with your stepfather, as soon as possible." Enraged, Mulder flung himself into his informer, thrusting him back against the wall, until they both slid down into a heap of limbs on the floor. In the struggle, X grabbed the Agent's shoulders, shaking him, then thrusting a page from Nussbaum's notepad in his face. "Mister Mulder! A man died for this information on your sister! I need to speak with Max Lowenberg, immediately!" Feeling round the landing for his gun, Mulder pulled away. "How do you know my stepfather?" He aimed the Sig at X's chest. "Were you in his law firm? Is he a danger to my Mother?" Still on his knees, Mulder crawled forward. "Answer me!" X pushed himself to his feet, waiting for the younger man to stand as well. "Yes, that was my cover, and no, he isn't. If anything, your Mother is safer now than when she was isolated in Chilmark. Can we go now?" Both started when they heard, through the stairwell walls, the rumble of an elevator moving. Mulder pulled his cell phone from his jacket, punching the first autodial button, frowning at the static. "Scully?" "Mulder? I can barely hear you. You OK?" He pushed X against the wall. "Yeah, Scully, I am. I'm talking to an old friend. Where are you?" He detected a sigh. "Nussbaum's dead, Mulder. We've called for paramedics and the police, so Greenwald has reactivated the elevators. If you can, get to the bottom and stop anyone attempting to leave." "Right." Terminating the call, he gestured X back downstairs with the gun. "Move, we may be losing our suspect right now." X increased his pace, pushing the lobby level door open wide. "You're too late, Agent Mulder." His long arm brought Mulder's attention to a pair of red tail-lights, visible through the glass doors. "Now, can we speak with your step-father? That's where they're headed next." He pulled a crumpled, blood-stained sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. "This is what they were after, only I got to it first. We have to reach the Willard before they do." Mulder holstered his gun, jerked his head towards the door, then pulled out his cell phone. "Scully?" "Yes? Where are you?" "Moving out of the reception area. I need to get to the Willard. I think our parents are in danger, since whoever it was that shot Nussbaum is on his way there now. How close are you to the ground floor?" His answer was the crack of one of the stairwell doors opening. The agents terminated their calls, heading out to his Toyota.
Connecticut Avenue From the back seat, X pointed at a long black sedan, traveling without its headlights. "That should be your culprit, Mister Mulder." The agent slid into the right lane, accelerating until his Toyota was behind the low vehicle. Scully was punching the number for the FBI Main operator. "I think we can handle this." When the call connected, she spoke precisely, her tone professionally calm. "This is Special Agent Dana Scully of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, ID number 2317-616, requesting connection to the Secret Service." There was another pause, then she re-identified herself, before continuing. "I'd like to report a theft in progress, of a government vehicle containing explosives and headed southbound towards the White House on Connecticut Avenue, license plate number..." She leaned forward, reading the black characters by the lights from the Toyota's low beams. Within a minute, there were several unmarked, presumably Secret Service, cars, behind them, followed by the DC police. But, the driver of the sedan, alerted through an intercept of her cell call, as she had hoped, began weaving in and out of traffic to avoid capture. Convinced of nefarious intent on the part of the driver in the black sedan, the other vehicles accelerated, overtaking the Toyota. Slumped in the back, X was shaking his head, wearing a look of deep disgust. "This will never hold up. Your assassin will be on the street in an hour, tops." Mulder glanced over at his partner. "It doesn't have to. All we need is to send Max, my Mom, and Mrs. Scully off to safety. I'm sure the Israelis will make his life miserable enough." X barked a laugh. "What makes you think a half-century of seasoning in the conflicts of the modern Middle East is preparation enough to handle the forces that man represents? Are you prepared to take this into the international arena, out of the jurisdiction of the Bureau?" Scully punched the recall button on her cell phone until the internal Embassy number came up, waiting through six rings until the call rolled over. When queried, she requested Greenwald, the guard who had assisted them earlier, then related to him the disposition of the sedan's driver. Arching a brow, she muttered wryly, but only so loudly that her partner heard her clearly. "Oh, based on our previous experience, I'd say Mossad can be quite effective." Mulder and she glanced at each other before the younger man tossed a comment over his shoulder. "I never expect the search for the truth to stop at some invisible line on the map." He waved a new batch of police vehicles around him, stopping to watch them surround the car that had been forced onto the sidewalk. Scully leaned out of the Toyota to speak with one of the officers, while two others had their trench-coated assailant propped against the fender of the sedan. All the doors were open, as was the hood and the trunk, then Scully thought she saw, as they pulled away, blue-suited men removing and denuding the driver's and passenger's seats. "No, I think your friend will be out of commission for quite some time."
Willard Hotel Lobby As three men in suits burst into the lobby, the night clerk jerked, dropping his torn, creased, and much reread paperback of "The Cardinal of the Kremlin" to the floor. After a moment of silence reassured him this was not a robbery, he lowered his hands to study his early-morning visitors more closely. No, one's a woman, and a tiny thing at that. The red-haired figure was approaching him, FBI badge in her left hand. "We need you ring a Max Lowenberg, immediately. He may be in danger." Stunned, the pale-faced teenager pulled at the stiff collar of his blue and red uniform, then complied. "Do you wish to speak with him?" A nod, so he handed the receiver over. "Max? This is Dana Scully. Is my Mom with you?" A pause. "Good. Please bring yourself, Caroline, and my Mom to the lobby too, only, use the elevator at the northeast corner of the building. Mulder and I will be waiting there for you." Before turning to her partner, she handed the phone over the reception desk. Intense concentration focussing his features, Mulder hovered at her elbow. "They're all right?" Nodding, she waved her partner and X over to the doors she expected to open at any moment. "For the present. They'll meet us down here shortly." The trio turned when they heard the elevator car descending, X crossing his arms in a defensive stance. The three groggy seniors who approached them were still tying sashes over robes. Max arched one white brow when he glanced at the Agents' silent and glowering companion. "Tyrell? What are you doing here?" Mulder stepped forward. "Max, do you know this man?" His stepfather frowned, waiting for a puzzled Caroline to join them. She rubbed her son's shoulder. "As do I, only not as Tyrell." Caroline had hoped, after all the phone calls, for a more leisurely and personal reunion, more like the soft conversation behind her between the two Scully women. Mulder pulled X around by the arm. "What is the meaning of this?" X held the page out to the older man that he had shown Mulder earlier. "This is what Nussbaum uncovered, but it cost him his life. I suggest you three return to the Mediterranean immediately, before the trail is covered over by the experts." Glancing at the words, Max nodded. "We will." Before the younger man could react, he found himself engulfed in his step-father's bear-hug. "Sorry this is so short, Mulder." The agent stepped back, grateful, but chagrined. "If this is about Sam, Max, please, tell me, or send a message to the Gunmen." As her husband moved over to the third man, speaking quietly, Caroline slipped her arm around his waist. "Fox, we wouldn't want to meet her without you. But, please, dear, remember that this may lead nowhere." Hugging her tightly, he nodded. "I suspect you'll find she's on the West Coast now." His white-haired mother sighed, deep in thought. "I've read the reconstruction of that document of yours. You think that was how she was taken away from us, really?" More somber looks, alternately hopeful and full of trepidation, passed between mother and son. "Then, she must have been on the coast for a few months before she was sent to Haifa, or returned there afterward. Either way, we *will* call." She kissed his cheek. "Don't worry about us or Margaret. She'll have to come back with us, you know." Chewing his lower lip until the gashes he had opened there in the afternoon oozed again, Mulder nodded. "I think that's probably what Scully's trying to convince her of right now. Take care of her, and yourselves, all right?" Another squeeze, then Caroline reached up to daub at his chin with her sleeve. "Oh, Fox, of course we will, of course." He glanced down sheepishly, unprepared for motherly fussing from the woman under his arm.
"Mom, you need to go with Max and Caroline." Margaret had clamped her arm firmly around her daughter. "But, Dana, my life is here, in the states." Scully's forehead crinkled. How can I convince her? She touched her Mother's arm. "Of course it is, Mom, but it's only for a little while. Besides, maybe you can look up the Theapopolis' again, show them some pictures of us all. Hadn't he retired to somewhere in Attica?" Wide-eyed, the older Scully nodded. I know how hard this is for you, dear. "All right, Dana, if you're sure this is for the best. Mister Fuzz will just have to stay with the Righorns a little longer." Her daughter's eyes lightened. "Well, with all their dogs, what's one more? He'll just love digging up all the mouse warrens in their woods." Feeling only slightly relieved, Margaret laughed, then cupped her daughter's cheek. "I'll have to pay extra at the dog groomers' when I get back." The women embraced again, holding each other for several heartbeats. After Margaret hugged her daughter's partner, then waited for Max and Caroline to shake Scully's hand, the three returned to their rooms, exchanging departure plans. Mulder turned to X. The African-American had been observing the exchanges from the side, a slight sneer on his face. "Well, that was all heart- warming, Mister Mulder, but, your stepfather has convinced me to make you an offer." Turning away from the elevators, the tall agent frowned. "An offer? For what?" Scully crossed her arms. "You'll tell us everything you know about the Consortium in exchange for a new identity, is that it?" X narrowed his eyes at her. "I am a ship without a safe harbor, bearing excellent goods. Would you prefer I go back into the shadows with what I know?" Frustrated, Mulder yanked him towards the door. "Whatever. You're Skinner's problem now. We'll see to it that you're delivered safely to him, then we have to be on our way to the Arctic, before our shape-shifting visitors arrive." X pulled himself free, keeping pace with the younger man easily. "I believe I can be of some help to you there, as well." Scully glared up at the man between herself and her partner. "We'll talk in the car." She glanced up and down the street before they reentered Mulder's Toyota, then tapped out Skinner's home number. "Sir? Sorry to wake you. But we have a very important package to deliver." A pause. "We should be there in a half an hour, more or less." Before facing her partner, she terminated the call. "I think he knows what to expect without giving away too much over the phone." Turning over the ignition, Mulder checked their passenger, sulking in the rear. "Does he? Do we?"
Skinner Residence Walter Skinner met his agents outside the door. As he caught a glimpse of the guest in tow, he stiffened, unconsciously assuming his Marine's 'parade rest' posture. When the three reached him, he waved into the darkness, and two trench-coated men emerged from a black sedan, joining them. Ignoring his two agents, Skinner spoke directly to X. "I expected as much. These two agents are waiting to take you over to a safe house, where there will be two others, all for your protection. You will have every comfort we can reasonably extend, satellite television, a chef, your own private suite. However, at *no* time will you be permitted a phone call, without prior authorization." He set his lower teeth even with the upper. "Is that understood?" The two men were nose to nose, unblinking. "I expected no less." Scully arched an eyebrow. I'll bet it was like this in the elevator. After X was led away, she moved between the Assistant Director and her partner. "Sir, we will be departing for the Arctic in the morning..." A curt nod. "All of you?" He glanced at Mulder, who shoved his hair, now sticking to his forehead in dark clumps, off his face. "Yes, sir. We have, or will have the gear we need, by that time. But, you need to alert Senator Matheson to this new turn of events." Taking a step backwards, Skinner grasped his front doorknob. "I intend to do exactly that, Mister Mulder, in the morning." He studied both their faces. "I suggest you both try to get some rest before you go." Her shoulders drooping, Scully started down the driveway to Mulder's Toyota, just ahead of her partner. But their superior was still concerned. "Agent Mulder?" The younger man paused, swiveling just enough to bring his superior into his peripheral vision. "See to it that I don't have you, or any of your people cooped up for an extended hospital stay afterward?" Now he took a step back towards his boss. "That has always been uppermost in my mind, throughout this case, Sir."
Beltway I-495 "Mulder?" The tall driver jerked, forcing himself awake. "Hunh?" Scully touched her partner's arm. "You should have let me drive." He grunted. She straightened in the seat. "At least, hit my sofa, OK? That way I won't worry about you reaching home." A long sigh. "Yeah, OK." At that, she caught her breath. He's really tired. She checked his face, searching for the subtle clues she had learned over the years that gave away his emotional state. I can't quite read him, this time. Try something. Sam? "They'll call, Mulder, don't worry." A sideways glance. "Oh, I know they will. It's just late, even for me. Thanks." He sent her a tiny grin. "I'm fine." As she cocked her head, his expression grew into a smirk. "That's a real 'I'm fine', not the Scully family version." He guided his Toyota onto the exit ramp. "We'll have to get up in about four hours. You sure you don't mind?" She shrugged. "It's no problem, Mulder. We'll both be asleep that much sooner if you stay. What?" He had snorted. "Listen to us, Scully, it's like we're ready for retirement. Our biggest thrill in life is a good night's rest." Since they were waiting at a light, he made a huge show of checking his hair in the rear-view mirror. Scully found herself smiling, but the change in the traffic signal pulled her attention away from her partner. "Mulder, it's green." He sighed. "Really? At least it's not gray." He eased the car forward, pulling past a line of groggy commuters. "Bet you never thought you'd hear me say that." As his hand fell on her arm, Scully glanced over. Mulder was regarding her with a wrinkled frown of sympathy. "We'll be OK, don't worry." It was her turn to snort. "Now I know we're in trouble."
Dark Apartment 'Charlie' wiggled his arm out from under 'Ace's' neck, reluctantly sliding away from where he had pressed himself tightly against her back. After nipping her shoulder, he shushed her query as he slid out of bed. Feeling around the carpet for his boxers, he pulled them on, then kissed the hand that had reached back for him, leaning over to whisper his apologies to her. "Nature calls. I'll be back." Lifting his plaid flannel robe off the floor, he slipped into it in a daze. How did we ever decide that last night would be it? All the planned weekends gone awry, then with aliens running loose, my old Boss reappearing, the new transport and financial systems coming on line, we just... He turned in the hallway to study the dark-haired woman, now easing herself onto his side of the bed, instinctively seeking him. Her hair was either matted or standing straight up, as 'Charlie' suspected was his, but appearance didn't matter to him, only that she was finally, truly, his, and his alone. "Drew?" He grinned, feeling a new surge of affection for the programmer, as inexperienced as himself in sensual pleasures. "In a sec." Once his bodily needs were attended, he returned to his bedroom, finding the covers down, the sheets cold. "Lisa?" "In here!" The voice came from the living room, so he trotted in. The woman who was now his lover had slumped bonelessly into his computer table chair, one foot tucked up under her hips as she usually sat, but completely unclothed. He reached down to cover her breasts with his hands, feeling two tiny points of hard flesh against his palms. "Hey, aren't you cold?" Utterly focused, she frowned at the interruption as he lifted first her left, then her right hands, sliding her arms into his robe. She watched him kneel beside her to close the front and tie the sash. "Hunh? No, I heard the alarm beeping, so I came in here to check it out. Look." She wriggled her hand through the oversized flannel sleeve, then tapped the screen for emphasis. "Skinner's calling Matheson. It's a good thing I set this alternate monitoring station up at your place, Drew." Still crouching, he slipped his hands inside his robe, touching her in all the ways they had denied themselves for too long, smiling when she let loose a deep moan and arched her back. When a loud beep from the computer focused her again, he sighed, fearing any continuation of the previous night's activities would have to wait. Standing behind his lover, 'Charlie' began massaging her neck, then he bent over to nibble the spots his thumbs had just softened. "Work, so soon?" She squeezed his face between her cheek and shoulder, following up by pressing her hand into his chin. "Yeah, sorry. Duty calls. Drew!" She was intently studying the words on the screen, fixing the robe so it closed more securely around her, unconsciously preparing herself for the day's events. "Not only has he contacted Mulder and Scully, he's gone over to their side!" 'Charlie' scanned the black letters in the white transcript window at the bottom of the screen. "We'll have to tell the others about this." Suddenly anxious, he picked up the handset. "Find the number for the base camp, would you? 'Finn' and 'Andrew' should be supervising the retrieval of the alien craft." After a few key-clicks, she read out the first few digits, waiting until after she heard him punch the country and area codes before supplying the rest of the number.
Apartment 5 Mulder shifted onto his side, feeling that slightly euphoric, ache-free state that was light sleep slowly receding. Scully was up and around, having bathed, dressed, and probably packed before she tip-toed past him into the kitchen. The Arctic not being one of the locales they normally visited, he suspected his heat-loving partner had added every wool garment in her wardrobe to her duffle for the trip. He flipped onto his stomach, blinking at the subdued illumination from the overhead range light in the kitchen. Although Scully often slept with every bulb in her hotel room glowing, tonight, she had darkened the apartment completely, attempting, in her own way, to ease him into rest. She passed across in front of the door several times, fully clothed, but shoeless still, before she noticed he was watching her, peering groggily over the rounded arm of her long sofa. Her lips curved upward slightly at the tousled hair and bright eyes. Raring to go, already? She crossed her living room to him, bending over to run her hand down his shoulder. "Hey. You sleep OK?" As she straightened, prepared to return to the kitchen, Mulder pushed himself off the sofa. "Yeah." Scratching his chin as he followed her, he paused in the doorway to button his shirt. "You?" She nodded. "I suppose, since we'll be on planes for much of the day,..." He grunted. "And night." Having filled the grinder with beans, she pressed down on the protruding oval button with the heel of her hand, the whirring interrupting their soft exchanges. "We can catch up a little bit on one of those flights. How did you reach the site in the first place?" He grinned. "Snowmobile. However, I'm pretty sure the guys have something a little more creative in mind." As the kettle began to whistle, Scully poured the water into a tall, unbleached filter. "Without a doubt." She faced him. "It's high summer, Mulder, which means the ice pack will be breaking up, moving out to sea, not solid like it was when you were there." Reaching into her upper cupboard for two old-style Navy mugs, handleless for ease of cleaning and stacking, he glanced back at her. "Oh. I hadn't thought of that. Frohike will meet us at National with the Arctic gear, give us the rest of the details then. We may have to fly in and out." Scully checked the filter, coffee grounds coating the sides, then poured in more water. "Probably. Even with their contacts, I hardly see them being able to rustle up an icebreaker overnight." Replacing the copper kettle on the stove, she crossed her arms. "It's not like our going up there is a surprise." Mulder dropped two heaping spoonsful of sugar into his cup, tiny cracks in the finish forming a network of lines over the surface. "Yeah. I suspect we'll have a whole lot of company on the ice." They carried their filled mugs to the kitchen table, drinking in silence. She was chewing her lower lip, so Mulder touched her shoulder. "Other than keeping our eyes out for trouble, I'm not sure there's much we can do about the Shadows, if they appear." She shook her head. That's not it. She arched one auburn brow. "Poor Mom. This'll be the first time she's been out of the country." Scully rolled her now-empty mug between her hands. "She and Ahab were planning a grand tour of Europe together, that year he died, so she picked up her passport and even had all her vaccinations updated." Mulder nodded. "But they never went, did they?" Scully shrugged. "Mom had the tickets and all, but not the heart to make the journey alone. She tried to get me to go with her, but," she glanced at her partner, "you know." Mulder sipped his Kenya, cream-colored from all the milk. "Couldn't Melissa have gone? I thought you said she was writing free-lance at the time?" Rising, Scully padded over to refill her mug. She settled back into the chair, her legs crossed at the ankles, before responding. "If there was one good thing that came out of my abduction, Mulder, it was that Mom and Mel finally began speaking again." He nodded. "I thought I caught undercurrents of that in the hospital, Scully. Do you mind my asking what drove them apart?" She shrugged. "Mom's a good Catholic, better than any of us." She glanced over at him. "Like you didn't already know that. In a way, Ahab's recounting of the Irish legends was what drove them apart. Mel always referred back to them when talking about all the ideas and practices Catholicism stole from the other religions they conquered, and Mom didn't want to hear it. It was the rift between them that drove Ahab to ask Mel to leave, not any sort of youthful indiscretion, in case you were wondering." Her coffee finished, the auburn-haired woman rose, stepping into the hallway. Mulder poured himself another, downed it quickly, then rinsed the pot and mugs, leaving them in the dish-drainer. As she was lugging her bags towards the door, he folded 'his' blanket, stashing it and 'his' pillow in her hall closet. My shelf, my drawer. Just like it was with Jerry. He chuckled to himself. It feels good to have a place with someone, however unconventional the connection. Gathering his keys and wallet, he stepped back into his shoes, then hoisted her bags with one hand. "You ready?" She grasped his arm while she balanced on one foot to wiggle into her black running shoes. The rest of her apparel, jeans and a black FBI sweatshirt, were as casual. No tailored suit, Dana, you don't know where you'll end up. "Yes. Let's head to Arlington." She lifted one corner of her mouth. "It's your turn."
Dark Apartment Fully dressed, 'Ace' emerged from the bathroom, surprised to find her lover waiting for her. 'Charlie' extended his arms towards her. "So, do we call in sick and spend the rest of the day together?" As she settled against him, she frowned. "Drew..." She shook her head. "We're responsible for running everything while the other two are away." "You were always the intelligent ones." They spun, surprised to find a gray-suited figure slouched on the couch in his living room. The old spy cocked his head at 'Charlie'. "Still happy to see me?" The younger man stepped forward. "What brings you here?" The Morley waved lazily. "You've heard, no doubt, what has happened with our former associate?" 'Ace' moved to 'Charlie's' side, gripping his hand. "We watched the phone call come in and finish. So, tell us, how much does he know, and how much damage could befall the Organization should he tell too much?" The lean form glided forward, until wrinkled man and smooth- cheeked woman were nose to nose. The Smoking Man sighed. "If we assume his memories are still intact, and I suspect they are even after his period of illness, far too much." 'Charlie' pushed his way between 'Ace' and the old spy. "We should just eliminate him, send in one of our assassins. An FBI 'safe' house isn't really." The smoke curled from the end of the Morley, its user regarding the younger man sadly. "Is that your only solution?" 'Ace' shook her head. "We discredit him, we find out what he's telling them, make sure it's all proven wrong or false. After a few checks on his stories, they'll give up on anything he says, but he'll be their problem, not ours." The gray head nodded. "Exactly. But we need a new informant as well, someone to steer them wrong, subtly, slowly." He fixed 'Charlie' in a significant stare. "Me? You think it should be me?" 'Ace' faced her lover. "It has to be you, Drew. You're the only one of us four Mulder and Scully haven't met." The man with the Morleys listened, waving her on. "Further, you shouldn't go to Mulder. He's too suspicious, too paranoid. We need to focus on one of the newer members of the X-team." Ignoring the younger man's glare, the Smoking Man grasped her arm, kissing her lightly on the cheek, leaving his hand on her elbow until 'Charlie' bristled. Yes, you will be so easy to manipulate. You were always an open book, at least to me. Bowing slightly, he moved away. "As always, wise as well as stunning. Too bad you haven't applied the same intelligence to keeping up with what your compatriots are scheming in the Arctic." His hand on the front doorknob, he threw parting words back over his shoulder. "I'd be very concerned about how much your new relationship will affect them, especially now that *Lisa* is so integral to the technical operations of the Organization." 'Ace' and 'Charlie' exchanged a glance, then nearly knocked each other down, racing to the entrance.
Washington National Airport Mulder nodded to Nichols and Rosen as they approached. "Good morning. Now, if the guys come through..." "Mulder!" The agents turned, Rosen suppressing a giggle. Not only were the three Gunmen toting huge bundles of Arctic gear for them, they were fully outfitted themselves. Frohike's round cheeks were shiny with perspiration, wrapped as they were in the fur hood of his stiff silver parka. Scully assumed the rigid mask that Nichols had learned was her poker face. He had watched her use it both in tense stand-offs with criminals, or when she found it essential to maintain her professional facade when faced with one of Mulder's theories. Her partner, on the other hand, was completely readable, a crooked, tooth-baring grin broadcasting his amusement. "Guys. Those can't all be for us!" Reaching them first, Byers dropped his packages to the floor, opening his jacket and flapping the sides. "Who said anything about handing this stuff off? We're coming with you. We've already arranged for the electronics and the majority of the survival gear to be sent on ahead of us." Langly produced three airline tickets. "You need us, G-man, so we're ready to go with you." As Rosen and Nichols exchanged glances of astonishment, the auburn-haired woman grasped her partner's arm in a firm clutch. The two stepped off to the other side of the long row of black seats suspended on chrome tubing. "Mulderrr. They *are not* taking an Arctic vacation at the Bureau's expense." Her green-blue eyes were flashing, shooting daggers. Bending over her, Mulder pressed his hand firmly into the hollow between her shoulders to bring her ear close to his mouth. His breath set several strands of her hair in flight. "No arguments here, Scully." He glanced back at the others. "But how do we convince them to stay? If you knew half of what they've done over the years, you'd know they can take care of themselves." She crossed her arms. "I don't care, and I *don't* want to know. I don't want to be accountable for their lives, Mulder, do you?" He straightened, bringing his voice up from the forced whisper he and Scully had been using to a normal volume. "No." They returned to the group. "Guys, we really have to insist..." Byers stepped forward. "Mulder, if you're about to say that you don't want to feel you have to look out for us, we understand, really." His lips pulled back into a tight grin, attempting to soften the criticism in his next statement. "Given what's happened to you in the past, *we* don't want *you* to be responsible for us either." Langly stood beside them. "We're just another team, Mulder. But we're *journalists*, and there's a downed UFO up there. This isn't a wild goose chase after some drunk's lights. It's real alien technology, the sort of proof we've looked for all our lives. You can't keep us from pursuing the Truth for our readers, can you?" Scully's chin was down, her arms crossed. Her LOOK would have cleaved granite, but the tall agent was weakening, preparing to concede. Glancing down at his partner, Mulder attempted to offer some mediation, but found he was wincing at her unyielding glare. Scully turned to the three men. "Mulder just tried to tell me that you two have faced danger before, but this isn't a cakewalk. These aliens can kill you with a single drop of their blood." Totally overheated, Byers threw the parka on the bench behind him, then, relieved, approached Scully. "We know that. After Mulder returned from the Arctic, we took samples of his blood, then developed a quick anti-serum. The same organization that DNA-typed the samples from the Kindred and the Colony, used a little to conduct tests with mice. It really does work, at least in the lab." Surprised, but pleased with their rigor and ingenuity, Scully stepped back. "Guys, we *know* you can take care of yourselves, but..." Delighted, Frohike shrugged off his parka. "Bless you, Divinity! We're in." The three began spreading maps and papers on the carpet, jabbering excitedly. "Now, we'll rent a helicopter..." Langly shook his head. "No, we'll need a P-3 Otter." He blinked at the stares from the rest, then held up two fingers. "Two engines, can fly on one, but not far. They were designed for short-runway take-offs and landings during the Korean War, but with the factors of safety built in at the time, they last forever. We can get in, drop some equipment, and get out in a hurry. They're even fairly good in extreme conditions." Kneeling beside them, Mulder pointed to a dot in the Northwest Territories of Canada. "This is where I took off from, Inuvik, moving in a northeasterly direction." Rosen crouched, listening intently. Nichols and Scully exchanged a 'You tried' shrug, before taking seats where they could study the charts from above.
Franklin Bay "That should be enough buoyant force! Blow the charges!" Lindhauer released a blue call button on the short-wave radio unit before turning to his fellow conspirator. McConnell scanned the scene with binoculars. The ice pack impeding their progress had not yet broken free of the shelter of the bay surrounding it, so he doubted, this late in the season, whether it would. Instinctively, the red-haired man checked for the helicopter he and Lindhauer had arrived in, lifting off from a narrow spit of land to his left. He glanced over his shoulder to the south, marking the sun's location above the horizon, then smiled as Lindhauer, his fur hood thrown back, approached him. McConnell waved his arm at the sky. "I'd never adjust to life up here, all this continuous daylight keeps me awake." Exhilarated, the tall, fair-skinned Lindhauer rubbed his cheeks. Ever the risk-taker, he had established their observation camp as close to the bay as he dared. They were just a quarter-mile south of the dangerous crevasses that opened in the glacier as ice spalled off to fall into the water as new bergs. Lindhauer shook his head. "But I could." He enjoyed a deep breath. "The air is so clear, and clean, although I'm told air pollution is becoming detectable up here." The pair resumed their surveillance. A small team of men was scrambling up and down the ridges in some of the larger ice floes, checking the charges they would use. McConnell nodded. "If we could still have access to a submarine, this would have been simpler. Sea ice is easiest to break up from underneath, toughest from the top. We'll have to use six times the amount of TNT we had planned." One of the crewmen approached from below. "That should do it, Sir." He pointed to the chains radiating outward from an open patch of water, the deep blue seemingly black against the unending whiteness of the ice pack. "With the massive bergs as far away as they are, we can inflate the balloons, bring the vessel to the surface, then slide it up onto the ice." All the chains were interlocked under the alien craft, which had not been stuck in the bottom, which they had expected prior to the initial surveys. Instead, the vehicle had been floating just beneath the surface, in open water, as much of the Beaufort Sea was in the summer. The vessel was also intact, as if stowed for safe-keeping, prior to the return of its Pilot and crew. Having noted the lack of the bluer fresh water ice himself, Lindhauer nodded. "As I said, begin." After the men present took cover under steel shelters, the foreman dropped his arm, signaling for detonation. Curiosity driving them, various members of the crew began peeking around their shelters. The ice deformed along shockwaves propagating away from six separate piles of dynamite that had been exploded simultaneously. When the men emerged, the pack was broken up enough to raise the vessel, so a second wave initiated the inflation of tubes running along the chains. There was a collective gasp as the cylindrical ship broke the surface, looking for all the world like a silver cigar. It had emerged end first, the flotation tubes pushing it up onto the ice, then small charges propelled the mass across the irregular surface, until it rested, gleaming, on an oval multi-year floe where the crew had gathered. The precision of the delivery brought a cheer out of the group present. McConnell approached cautiously, reaching out with both covered hands. Lindhauer was just behind him. "What is it like?" He rubbed the outside with both fur mittens before touching the dried, slightly warmed spot. Seeing him, McConnell freed his right hand as well. "Jeez!" Both men jumped back. Lindhauer waved the others towards him. "It's vibrating!" McConnell stepped forward, buffing more of the craft dry with his sleeve to keep his hands from freezing to the surface, then playing his fingers over it, fascinated. The crew was around them now, the foreman waving a radiation counter over the vessel. "It's OK, it's barely reading above background." The others rubbed and probed, the significance of their actions not lost on them. After a few minutes of exploration for a hatchway, Lindhauer called for silence. "As much as I hate to say this, gentlemen, we have work to do." Two of the crewmen, swathed like the rest from head to toe in dark green extreme-weather suits, were jabbering excitedly in soft Alabama accents. "To think, Elroy, last year this time, I was looking at losing the house, but now, this! Man, what a day!" The other grunted. "I just don't want to be out in the open when the owners come back to reclaim their transport here." He waved at the ridge. "Good thing we brought back-up."
Cockpit of the 'Arctic Sunrise' Over Franklin Bay Mulder glanced into the fuselage of their plane from the co- pilot's seat, smiling at the men and women behind him, crouched over their respective sensing equipment. Why does it seem that wherever the Gunmen go, it looks like they've brought an entire workroom of electronics with them? He cupped his hands around his mouth to shout over the engines. "You guys spot anything?" Grasping the overhead webbing as she walked, Scully came forward, letting her partner pull her close so they could speak without deafening each other. "Not yet, Mulder, but we're looking." She shifted over to behind the Pilot. "How are we doing for gas, Baird?" The half-Inuit Canadian, belted securely in the seat on the left, checked the gauges before responding. "No problem, Agent Scully, we're still on the first tank. We'll keep sweeping in this search pattern you laid out until the needle on the second tank gauge reached the halfway mark, there!" He pointed to a yellowed dial. "Then we have to go home." Scully nodded. "How's the storm?" He toggled a cracked red lever, backlighting a monitor, obviously retrofitted onto the instrument panel with a home-made mount of bent aluminum sheet. As the rotating radar beam from a Vietnam War-era search and rescue unit swept through the quadrants drawn with grease-pencil on the glass, an irregular green blob stood out far to the northwest. Baird swiveled in the pilot's seat. "Looks like it's still about a day away. They can still be bad in the summer, you know. How many times have you people been up here, anyway?" Mulder shrugged. "I thought so. Good thing you brought all that survival gear. You'll need it, soon." As she felt a tugging on her jacket, Scully spun. Langly was behind her, waving at them all. "We got something! Tell Baird to steer to the west." Scully pulled herself forward, speaking into the earhole in his scuffed white helmet that pressed his long black hair under the collar of his flight jacket. A nod, then the plane banked. Scanning the horizon, Mulder grunted as sun glinted into his eyes off an object on the ice. Baird gasped. "Here I thought you people were crazy! I've never seen anything like that before!" Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance; Langly called, then waved the others forward. Scully leaned close to her partner. "We have." Instinctively, Mulder wrapped an arm around his partner's shoulders, then clapped her once on the back. "The papers were right, Scully, it's all real! Can you believe it?" Just as reflexively, she jumped at the touch, then relaxed as they shared a moment of infectious joy. Finally Scully straightened, feeling she had to bring him down, to ground him once again. "It could be a trap, Mulder, set for us." The tall agent was beyond hearing, though, until Byers ran to the front. "We have another signature, further up the bay!" Baird nodded, easing the nose of the plane to the right, splitting the distance between the twisting coasts. As they approached, he leaned towards Scully. "Looks like someone was doing a little camping not too long ago." He pointed down at tread marks, oil drums, and several abandoned steel panels. "It's as far from the silver tube up the way as it is from the one just ahead." Deep in thought, Mulder was chewing his lower lip. "A decoy, Scully? Both of these are close to where I encountered the submarine. But why?" He vaulted himself into the body of the plane. "Can you guys tell these two apart?" After Langly and Rosen shook their heads, the dark-haired woman met his eyes. "The ionic and radiative signatures are identical. Are you sure there haven't been two landings?" Mulder shrugged. "No, but I suspect one, or both, could be a fake. We'll have to split up." He waved them all into a tight circle, the group resembling a football squad huddled before a play as they attempted to hear each other over the engines. "We'll form into two teams, Nichols, you and Rosen take Frohike and Byers. Langly will come with Scully and me. That way, we split the technical expertise evenly. We have survival tents large enough for four, but no more." Scully took over. "There's a storm about a day away. Whatever happens, will happen either before or after. We can keep in touch by radio, but until the weather improves, we'd better stay undercover." Mulder rose from his crouch, going forward to explain his plan to Baird. The pilot nodded. "I'll set down over there." He pointed to an ice-free strip of land. "I can use a similar section I spotted back at the other site. Good Luck, you guys."
Promontory Franklin Bay Rosen tweaked a small rotary dial. "Mulder, do you read me?" The unit crackled, signal strength bars jumping erratically. "Loud and clear at this end. Look, the storm's coming on faster than we thought. It's already beginning to darken here. We're set up our shelter in the lee of several large boulders, dug ourselves in for the long haul. Are you guys prepared?" Rosen leaned forward. "We discovered a leak in one of our water containers, so we've melted and strained some ice. Our fuel took a hit, but we should be all right. We've discovered a south-facing cave, so we're set up there. Over." "A cave? Any occupants?" "No, no bones or other evidence of habitation. It's a long tunnel, really, too small for a bear to use. I'm on the ridge above it now, I can't see your position, but I can the leading edge of the front. We can't raise anyone once we're in the cave, but we can keep an eye on our vessel on the ice. I'm going off now, to conserve batteries." "Talk to you in the morning, if that means anything up here." "Right."
Survival Shelter South end of Franklin Bay One of the crew stepped through the door. "Sirs? We have company." Lindhauer and McConnell nodded, stepping out of their white trailer, partially sunken into the ice, to survey the Bay. After lowering his binoculars, the red-haired man glanced at his companion. "It's the FBI. I'd wondered how long it would take for them to arrive after 'Ace's' message yesterday." Lindhauer shrugged. "If Mulder were operating as he normally does, he would have come alone, or brought Scully, and they would be here without telling anyone where they've gone, or when to expect them back. But, with Skinner, Matheson, and probably the Washington Post knowing where they are, they can't be eliminated easily." McConnell grunted. "Not the Post. The third man is one of the Gunmen, and knowing those paranoiacs, they've probably posted a special edition of their Nuthouse publication on the Net, informing all their readers as well. We should have moved against them first thing, rather than attempting to piece the Organization back together." Lindhauer blew out a long sigh, the moisture condensing instantly into swirling droplets. "Six of one..." The pair turned when their radio operator called from inside the trailer. "Sirs! We have an Apache helicopter coming in low from Alaska." Lindhauer called the rest of the men to arms, deploying them in a loose circle around the hovering vehicle. "Relax, gentlemen, that's one of ours." After the last of the supplies were unloaded, the copter departed, flying low over the troops lugging boxes back to the shelter. The two Alabamians fell in step with each other. "And here I thought it would be those ali-ens, Elroy." Elroy slipped his hands back into his fur-lined mittens. "I just wish they'd show up, so we can get out of here. I guess the men in charge want to wait until they climb inside that thing on the ice before turning loose all the firepower we set up." He waved at the bunkers arrayed behind the trailers. "Yeah, we never had anything like that back in the militia, did we?" Behind them, Lindhauer and McConnell stepped forward to greet the new arrival. The old man was lighting a cigarette as they approached. "So, are the preparations complete?" McConnell nodded. "Including the FBI." He took a long drag before replying. "As I expected." He gestured the pair closer. "Leave them to the elements, after we have finished our mission. The time is not yet right to strike, so if they survive, all the better. There is a larger problem that needs to be addressed." He shivered. "But, if you don't mind, inside. I'm not as young as I was when I was in the cold white North before." The younger men shepherded him into the trailer.
Ridge Franklin Bay Mulder swiveled to face his partner. "How do our supplies look?" She nodded. "We'll be OK, Mulder, don't worry. It's good they found shelter; that little tent would have been tight for the four of them. It'll be rough enough out here for us." She tugged him inside the padded nylon. "I suggest we conserve body heat by not moving around any more than necessary." Mulder nodded, then leaned over in surprise when the radio crackled again. "Mulder!" He switched the unit over. "What happened, Rosen?" "We have company! There's a mother polar bear and her cub traveling the ice, headed for the craft!" The tall agent cursed softly. "Can you pick up anything about the animals with the UV sensor? Could they be the shape-shifters?" Byers' voice answered. "Rosen's switched the unit into calibration mode, to try to cut down the direct solar flux. Hang on, she's waving. It's a hit, Mulder, it's them!" Nichols continued. "I've just come back from the observation point, and there's a notch in the spectrum when Ros points the sensor at the bears." Scully took the microphone from her partner. "As opposed to when you point it at the sun?" "Yes, exactly. Hang on. I'm taking the receiver with me." The three listened to crackles and grunts. Finally, Rosen spoke. "It's them. They're poking the craft, now it's rolling on the ice. Oh no! It's a fake! I see the lines where the plywood sheets meet in the sun. One of the bears is attempting to pull it open." A deafening crack sounded, followed by several seconds of hissing. Mulder had the tent flap unzipped, beginning to crawl out despite Scully's determined hold on his left boot. "Mulder! You'll never reach there in time! You'll be caught in the storm!" Langly grabbed the mike. "Anybody there? Can you guys hear me?" The Agent had just yanked his boot free when there was an answering pop. They heard Nichols' voice. "Sorry about that, Chief." Mulder began backing in as rapidly as he had leapt out. The older agent continued. "We were taking cover from the explosion. Let me check." More static. "We're OK here, all present and accounted for. There's wood and metal everywhere, though. Wait, I even see the bears. They're headed up the bay, moving at a good clip. I think all the excitement is coming your way, boss. We're going to hole up now. Nichols out." Mulder released the lever on the side of the microphone. "Well, Scully you heard him. It looks like we're it." She nodded, reaching across him to zip up the tent. During the discussion, the temperature had dropped to several degrees below freezing, and the winds were picking up. "Whatever's out there, Mulder, will have to survive the next few hours along with the rest of us." Langly nodded. "At least the aliens are moving away from the cave." Suffering from the lack of meaningful rest and food, Mulder rubbed his face. "Yeah. We'll have to sleep in shifts, one person at a time. The remaining two will have to keep each other awake." His gaze was met by Scully's steely glare. "That first person should be you, partner. I at least managed to nap on the flight from Seattle to Inuvik. You, as I remember, were refereeing a debate between Frohike and Rosen about the Yeti." Mulder yawned. "Yeah, I think my old friend has finally met his match, although he did get a few good licks in. It's a wonder we weren't invited to use the wing seats after it got good and loud." He slumped down, tucking his head against his partner's hip. "Wake me in a couple of hours." Scully zipped the sleeping bag that he had spread out beneath him shut around his body, then wiggled into her own, as did the long- haired Gunman with his. She grasped her partner's shoulder. "Three hours, Mulder." Langly shifted over until he and the auburn haired woman were fully in contact. "Then it's your turn, Doc. You're looking ragged, too. Don't you and Mulder take breaks on these cases?" She shrugged. "We usually can't afford the time. So, tell me about your childhood, Langly." She yanked the hood of the sleeping bag shut around her head. "Any boring thing you want to say, just say it." He grinned. "Well, since you put it that way..."
Ridge Franklin Bay Rolling over, Nichols counted lumps in the tight cluster around him. Ros. Where's Ros? She was keeping watch. About fifty feet into the hillside, the tunnel widened into a small chamber, so it was there the four had set up their camp. Since they were sheltered from the worst of the elements, they had stretched their tent across the chamber entrance as a windbreak for them to settle behind. After much fussing by Frohike about carbon monoxide poisoning, they had run their propane grill long enough to heat a few stones to ring the area with. The two Gunmen were huddled close to the side wall of the cave, furthest from the flapping cloth. But, his partner's bag was empty, so Nichols lifted aside the canvas, moving towards the tight cave opening until he spotted her, leaning against the south wall. She was watching the ice, but glanced over her shoulder as he approached, nodding once before turning back to the light. "Sorry, Nic. I needed some space away from all you manly men." She hugged herself. He shifted a little closer, hoping to transfer a fraction of his body heat to her. "I know, but this isn't a hiking trip along the Blue Ridge. You'll get frostbite sitting out here." She rolled her eyes. "Oh, Da-ad!" He rubbed her back, then encircled her shoulders with one arm momentarily before leaning forward. "You're worried." She pulled her hood more tightly closed. "Yeah. You know this is Franklin Bay." He nodded. "The one named after the British guy who tried to find the Northwest passage, then slowly starved to death with all his crew when the lead in their canned food drove them insane?" "Yes." He shook his head. "Don't worry. We won't be here that long." Rosen clutched her knees. "I hope not. Um, Nic..." Chilled now, he zipped his hood up over his chin. "Ros?" She chuckled. "We really do sound like family when we do that." He sighed. "The longer you're in law enforcement, the more it will seem like one, kid." He bent around to smile at her again. "You work with somebody, put your life in their hands, all with the aim of preventing harm to people who will never know what you go through." He wrapped his arms around his calves, attempting to match her posture. But the incipient arthritis that had been a problem for him the past year made it a difficult pose, so he stretched out, hugging himself instead. "If you do your job right, they'll never know." She shook her head. "When you go home, it's like a different world, isn't it?" He nodded. "One where you never really fit in." He glanced over when she shifted a little closer to him. "That was really the problem for me and Alicia. When I'd lead a really big bust in the early days, after all the work and the weeks of tension being undercover. We agents would all go out to have a few beers afterwards, like it was a victory celebration, only..." "You couldn't share that with her." Nichols chewed his mustache. "She's a high school English teacher, so the ones that she couldn't reach fell into my lap, sometimes." Rosen leaned gently into his shoulder. "Which made it worse." "As did being undercover when both Jane and Elizabeth were born." Rosen picked at the fur lining her gloves. "I hope that doesn't happen with Cary and me. I hope..." When Nichols saw Rosen was biting her lip, he patted her shoulder. "It's too cold out here. Let's go back with the others, try to sleep." She rubbed her arms, then nodded. "Yeah. We have bigger things to worry about right now." Nichols followed her back to the chamber, knowing they would have to finish this conversation later.
Survival Shelter South end of Franklin Bay McConnell leaned back, catching a breath of fresher air as the Smoking Man lit another Morley, hoping the action would go unnoticed. The three, seated on canvas stools, were huddled around a square camp table, waiting out the storm away from the others, who were sleeping, talking, or listening in the bunks at the far end of the shelter. But the old spy's dark eyes had flitted in his direction, so he blew the smoke away from him. "At times, I forget. In my youth, smoking was something that brought men together, not drove them apart. Sharing your cigarette with a woman was tantamount to a sexual liaison," he waved the white cylinder, "if the emotions were there. Now," he glanced from one to the other, "What *do* you do now? No smoking, no red meat. Just leap right into the liaison?" As Lindhauer grunted his agreement, McConnell shook his head. "Not with AIDS. Just share lots of coffee." The old man barked. "Not everyone. I was with the other two before I began the flights up here." He tapped ashes onto a plastic cup lid. "Not everyone is worried about AIDS." Lindhauer stood. "They didn't!" One grayed eyebrow arched. "I'm afraid so. You know what this means." McConnell began pacing. "But we need 'Ace'. She's our chief programmer, head designer, the brains behind so many of the plans we have for the future. Without her..." Falling in step with him, the Smoking Man patted his shoulder. "Of course you do. Her abilities are essential. The stout fellow, on the other hand..." Lindhauer flanked him. "'Charlie' has more intelligence and common sense than his appearance gives him credit for." Now he spun the old man around by his arm. "Don't play mind games with us. We four are in this together." Lindhauer jabbed him repeatedly in the chest. "If you and your generation had kept your mind focused on the Operation, we wouldn't have taken the steps we did to put ourselves in charge." The old spy cocked his eyebrow. "How noble, how courageous, how self-serving of you to think that. You did it all for the Organization, did you? Could it not have been that stealing art was losing its thrill, so you chose to steal power instead? Or were you too close to being caught, and needed the heavy hand of the Group to cover up your flagrant disregard for the rest of humanity?" McConnell reached between them to pull them apart. "Look, you two, we can't shout about this. We have men keeping watch even in the middle of this storm, so if we argue now, we'll look like fools." He pushed them both down onto separate chairs, turning to the old man first. "If 'Charlie' and 'Ace' are happy, I say, good for them. 'Ace' knows what's important, and he'll follow her lead. Besides, I thought he was your protigi in the first place?" The old spy puffed several times before responding. "Since he was, I know all his strengths and weaknesses. Especially his weaknesses." Brushing McConnell's hand away, Lindhauer shook his head. "So do I, and 'Andrew's' right. Your old tricks won't affect us, so just settle back and let us do the work. After we have these aliens captured, we'll have a talk with 'Charlie' and 'Ace', see where things are going with them." He crossed his arms. "We *are* a different generation, as you say. Relationships aren't the problem for us they were for you." The Smoking Man inclined his torso in a mocking bow. But the seeds have been sown, you old devil. He puffed once. "You may be right, that it is as you say. Perhaps things have changed." Lindhauer and McConnell exchanged a glance, then relaxed marginally.
Ridge Franklin Bay "Mulder?" He became gradually aware that someone was rubbing his back, so he shifted closer to the gentle voice calling him. "Mulder, wake up. The three hours are over." One long hand emerged from the sleeping bag to rub his face. "What? Already, Scully? I just fell asleep. You're kidding, right?" She was tugging him upright in an effort to bring him to full waking, but he flopped forward, face in her lap. "Mulderrrr, nice try, but..." There was a different set of hands on his shoulders now, a deeper voice calling him. "Mulder, you need to get moving. You were on the opening side of the tent while you slept. Your arm is like ice. Come on, wake up." Grumbling, the tall man sat up on his own. "OK, can't you guys take a joke? I'm fine." He blinked, bringing two relieved looking faces into focus. Holding out the water bottle, Scully smiled gently. "Here. You haven't had anything to drink in hours." He shot some water into his mouth, then stared at the liquid sloshing inside, frowning. "It's warm." She wrapped her arms around her knees. "I've stowed it in my bag by my feet to keep it from freezing." The winds, which had been a steady whine during their conversation, shook their little survival tent with a sudden gust. Mulder looked from one to the other. "How bad has it been out there?" Langly shrugged. "It's not like we've been outside to check." Scully accepted the empty tube he was holding out, reached over Langly to one of the cubical water containers, and refilled the bottle. After slipping it down by her feet, she settled in herself. "You and Langly can argue over which was the greatest band of the Seventies, Pink Floyd or the Stones. I'm done for the night." She zipped her bag shut again, relaxing while the two men eased a little closer to her. "A cave probably would have been nicer, at that." Mulder patted where he knew her shoulder was, then focused on Langly. "How far had you gotten?" The Gunman smiled. "We were comparing the socio-political significance of "The Wall" to the mirror of Society's oppression of women as reflected in "Black and Blue". Langly shrugged. "But, if you'd rather discuss the retrial of James Earl Ray, that's fine with me." Wrapping his arms around his knees, Mulder chuckled. "Sounds good. So what's the latest?" A pair of delighted eyes sparkled behind horn-rimmed glasses. "Well, you and I both know the truth, but the reexamination of the ballistics evidence *is* fascinating...
Ridge Franklin Bay "Doctor Dryan, wake up, it's over." Rosen lifted her head off the backpack she had appropriated for a pillow to blink at Frohike. "What? The front's through, already?" She patted her partner's shoulder. "Nic? We're all right, rise and shine." The older man stretched. "It's clear? Great." He leaned towards Rosen. "You feeling better?" She nodded. Frohike took her arm. "I thought you two were gone for a while. Everything all right?" She smiled. "It is, now. I just needed a break from the close quarters, that was all." The Gunman plumped his chest. "We made the good doctor woozy, surrounded by..." She was shaking her head. "That's not the problem, believe me." He leaned towards her. "Not even a little?" She crossed her arms. "Not at all." As her meaning sunk in, the round-faced Gunman sat back on his heels. "Ooh. Well, that makes two, then." Nichols coughed. "Two?" His bags stowed, Byers joined them, puzzled that the oldest man was staring pointedly at his wedding ring. "Not you?" The bearded Gunman laughed. "Not me what?" Frohike leaned towards him. "I believe our Third Musketeer and Doctor Dryan share a common lifestyle." Smiling at the dark-haired woman, Byers nodded. "Really? He prefers we don't make a big deal about it, and after Frohike gave him one too many safe sex lectures, he doesn't really go out much anymore." Rosen stared at her boots. "I can understand why. I've lost too many friends myself." She rubbed her hands together. "So, shall we see what's left of the wide world?" The five crawled to the front of the cave in a line, blinking as they emerged into the low sunlight. The water, which had been ice- covered when they retreated, was partially open, floes and bergs distributed in a fan away from the mouth of the bay. Rosen sighed. "I was expecting that. The northerly winds had the pack bottled up here, but with the wind shifting to the south, especially after the explosions, we should see open water here until the bergs accumulate from the glaciers at the head of the bay again." Nichols crossed his arms. "I wonder what that means for Mulder and Scully?"
Ridge Franklin Bay "Scully?" As she felt the sudden pressure of another body leaning against her, she shuddered, forcing down a reflex to go for her Sig. "Scully? It's me. It's three hours. Langly's turn." Stirring, she indulged in a prolonged, noisy yawn that was answered by sympathetic rumbles to either side of her. "So help me, Mulder, when I get back home, I'm sleeping for a week." His hand still on her shoulder, he smirked. "All alone, Doctor? That's no fun." Pulling herself upright, she felt around in the confining bag for the water bottle, the two men backing away a little at her wiggling. "It is for me. So," she gulped two swigs of water. "How does it look out there?" Mulder unzipped the tent. "We're almost in the clear. I'd say the temperature's back up to freezing again, which is as good as it gets here." Scully rubbed her eyes. "I'd knew I'd pay for those two weeks in Miami. Great. I need to go find the little girl's rock, guys." Mulder pulled the tent flap open slightly. "I think you'll find there's no shortage of choices out there, Doctor." Rolling out of his bag and the tent simultaneously, Mulder waited for his partner to disappear over a slight rise, his hand on his Sig. He kicked at the cobbles at his feet, turning back to the tent when Langly emerged. "Hey, I think the Doc was right. Which way did she go?" A slight wave, so the Gunman staggered off in the opposite direction. Mulder was left tossing pebbles while he waited. This is so odd. No matter where you go further south, there's always a dandelion or some hardy piece of grass poking through the concrete. But here. He scanned the ice-free ridge they had hunkered down behind, noting that the rocks surrounding them had stained a dark brown on every exposed surface. All the stones' edges were rounded, not by flowing water, but by the relentless wind, carrying sand grains and ice crystals for miles to knock off any corners. When he felt a light tugging at his elbow, he sent down a tiny grin for his partner. Looking considerable relieved, Scully pushed on his shoulder. "Your turn." Shrugging, he hiked up over the ridge facing the bay. Once he had answered nature's demands, he scanned the ice below him and froze, unable to respond to the query Scully called out when her head appeared over the rise. "What's that sound, Mulder? It isn't our visitors, is it?" She pulled herself over the top, not waiting for Langly once she realized the tall agent was focused on the pack in front of him. Down below them, the ice had broken open, just as it had down closer to the mouth of the bay. The floes were creaking and groaning as they rubbed and pushed each other. While the pack closest to land was still locked in place, there was an ever- widening region of open water in the center. As they watched, one large floe close to the silver cylinder broke free, the old ridges that represented the sutures of previous, smaller floes acting as sails. Under a steady offshore wind, the drift accelerated, first, pushing the multiyear floe through a few low bergs, then sweeping it up into the current in the channel. Langly placed his video camera eyepiece against his glasses. "If this south winds keeps up, it'll all be clear. If our friends don't get here soon, they'll have to chase their ship as narwhals, not as bears. Once a big floe is caught in the Beaufort gyre, it can circle this part of the Arctic Basin for years." Grasping his partner's arm, Mulder leaned down to whisper intensely. "Get your sensor, Scully, in case we have company." Scrambling back over the loose rocks, she ducked under the tarp staked down over their equipment, pulling a gray box free. When she returned, she knew that Mulder had been right to be anxious. A mother bear and cub were circling the silver cylinder, but shadowing them was a third, larger bear. One edge of the supporting floe was completely ice-free, and it bobbed under the weight of the craft resting on it. Langly had dropped onto the cobbles, keeping a low profile. Scully pulled her partner down as well. "Mulder, they'll *see* you!" Nodding, he stretched out beside her. One quick pass of the sensor towards the sun, then in the direction of the three animals, and Scully sighed. "It's them." As they watched, the two larger bears met, touching noses, then rose up on their hind legs, towering over the cub, but barely reaching the height of the center of the craft. The need for disguise over, each of the three began to change, darkening, shrinking, and peeling back from around something in their centers. First, a metallic corner protruded from the stomach of the large male, then, a steel box, clearly labeled as 'Do Not Open', popped out onto the ice. Two others followed. The 'female' expelled a container covered with markings none of the humans recognized. Both agents turned when they heard the soft humming of a video camera. Noticing he was the focus of their attentions, Langly shrugged. "We have to take back some proof, Mulder." The three returned to observing. The aliens were continuing to change, what had once been the male and mother bear uncoiling from around two humanoid forms, recognizable immediately as the two Samanthas. The women lay on the ice, wiggling and reanimating limbs pressed tightly against their sides. The cub, too, had grown, changing until he was the slight, balding man the three recognized. Mulder leaned over to whisper to his partner. "I'll lay odds this ship has been rigged to blow up on take-off. We should warn them." With that, he was over the rim, waving his arms and shouting. Scully slid down the slope behind him. "Mulder! Stop!" Since the Samanthas were still regaining feeling in their legs, the later alien visitors turned, watching the humans approach. The Bounty Hunter stood out in front of the craft, passing the contents of his box to the rest of his crew. The others, who looked for all intents and purposes like Aurora Luminens and Luther, passed their hands over a spot on the corner of the vessel, waiting until an opening emerged. As the agents approached them, the hulking man grew until he towered a good foot over Mulder. "Why have you come here? We only wish to leave." Mulder shook his head. "You don't understand, it's a set-up. The Consortium members have probably rigged this, or shoved explosives in the ice underneath, as they did with the dummy craft." The alien snarled. "What do we care for your puny traps? This vehicle could survive a close fly-by of a supernova." He hoisted the box with the silicon-eating Archaeon. "I thank you for delivering these right to us. You will be remembered fondly as the savior of your species." Scully frowned. "What do you mean? I thought you wanted to exterminate us as a pollution to this planet?" The alien who had been Aurora emerged. "Not at all, Agent Scully. You are a natural part of this world, simply out of balance with the rest of it. When we work out how to hobble your technology with our little prize, we will be back." Angry now, Mulder glared at her. "But without modern agriculture, billions will die!" The Bounty Hunter passed Aurora the box. "We do not work through senseless destruction. Temporarily crippling your technology would be a means of focusing attention on the underlying problem plaguing your planet, your excessive population." Returning to the two Samanthas, he helped them to their feet, then, guiding each by the arm, ushered them inside the vessel. Luther took up the explanation. "You see, your species can reduce its numbers either through increasing deaths, or decreasing births. You simians have a tendency to unthinking promiscuity, but let us say your couplings are unproductive, or produce radically fewer offspring, for two hundred orbits of your star. Then your population would fall back to a sustainable numbers and the pollution of the air and water would become a more tractable problem. Likewise, the rapid extinction rate on your world would drop." One of the Samanthas stepped out, taking her place at his side. "It is not an unsustainable goal, as our experiment in Steveston proved. We duplicated everything about the adults of your species in our bodies: your respiration rates, your metabolisms, and your waste production. We lived comfortably for nearly a century, with minimal technology, by producing our own food, and a small commercial product that we could either sell, or, in a collapsed economy, barter." Scully shook her head. "Earlier, you told us you were waiting for us to kill ourselves off, so you could take over the planet." The female laughed. "That was poor communication on our part. We *expect* that your species will destroy itself through wars or overpopulation, given your past, before we return. We, too, are expanding, not as warriors, but as caretakers, guardians, if you like. Our numbers here would only be in accord with ecological balance, which is why we constantly seek new habitable worlds. Whether your species remains on this planet, or destroys itself through internal divisions, is entirely up to you. We would take over just long enough to institute corrective measures, should you not have found a way to achieve that equilibrium in our absence. If you do, however, we would be the first to hail yours as an advanced race, fit for commerce with the rest of the civilized beings of the universe." She looked up to the Bounty Hunter, clicking and whistling to him in a clearly commanding tone. After the aliens disappeared into the darkness, and as the Agents watched, the opening began to seal, to solidify. But before the vessel was completely whole, a flaming missile shot inside, followed quickly by two others. The resulting explosions threw Mulder and Scully back across the ice, to land on the small berg beside the massive floe on which the silver craft lay. Off in the distance, Langly heard the whine of approaching engines, so he ran down the slope towards Mulder and Scully, still unconscious from the explosions. As he approached them, Mulder was beginning to awaken, to search around for his partner, so Langly knelt beside her, feeling for a pulse at her neck with two fingers. Mulder called out for the one person he trusted. "Scully!" The Gunman moved over to help him stand. "She's just knocked out, Mulder, she'll be fine. But the forces of the Empire will be here in a few minutes, and we really don't have anywhere to hide." The Agent scanned the surrounding area, trying to work out a plan. After noting that the berg they were on, ten feet across the widest section of its exposed surface, was jammed between two larger floes, he grunted. "You hear any helicopters?" "No." Holding his right arm against his side, Mulder staggered over to the wedged-in corner. "Good, then if we can push ourselves free, the current can carry us away from them before they arrive." He plopped onto the ice, pushing at the entrapping floes with his boots. Langly began rocking what they hoped to turn into their raft, until, with much groaning and crunching, it began working its way loose. The whine of the engines was closer now, and the two men watched as continuous-track vehicles rolled along the ridge towards them and the silver cylinder. Scully was beginning to awaken, so Mulder crossed the berg to her, kneeling to lift her head. Langly kept track of the approaching forces. "I wonder why they aren't shooting?" He had his answer when another missile entered the craft, throwing more debris onto the ice. He covered his head as the container with the Archaeon flew over them, landing not five feet from him. Mulder grunted while crouching over his partner. "Langly, you OK?" The Gunman sat up. "Yeah, I'm fine. That last shock was all it took. We're moving into the main current now." Mulder glanced around to see that there were probably ten feet of water between them and the floe with the silver cylinder. The Consortium teams were swarming around the craft, some carrying the aliens out of the wrecked vehicle in containment chambers. Scully sat up, gasping, leaning on her partner while she came to full awareness. "So much for our promise to Skinner." Mulder sent her a cock-eyed grin. If she can joke, she'll live. Sliding behind Scully, he supported her weight by pressing his chest against her back. "How are you?" She felt her legs, then patted her side, wincing as she ran one hand over her left ribcage. "Broken?" Her sigh was all the answer he needed. "Probably. How about you?" He grunted. "Nothing a day or two of sleep won't cure." Mulder tried rotating his right arm, gasping at the effort. "Maybe more than two." Langly was kneeling over them. "We may be insignificant to the powers that be, but we have another problem here, guys." He pointed back at the alien craft. "Our tent, supplies, and radio are over there, and the current is pushing us out to sea. At least we won't be captured by *them*, but we can't just assume we'll float by the others and they'll be able to pull us to safety." Glancing over at his partner, Mulder nodded. "So, what do you suggest?" Scully pushed herself to her feet. "The ice is moving, but those last explosions broke loose so much of it we can jump from floe to floe, if we're careful. We need to begin crossing the pack now, before we're pulled too far into the open water, so we can reach the west shore and circle back to our tent." She leapt from the berg they were standing on to the smaller one to its left, landing heavily before she rolled onto her side. "We have to stay as dry as we can, since to get wet up here..." Langly pushed at the metal box with his foot. "But what do we do with this?" As a response, Mulder dumped the contents into the swirling water, waiting for the vitreous chunks to sink out of sight, then sent the box to the bottom of the bay. "They may survive the cold, but up here, they won't dissolve the teeth of anything more than seals, whales, and bears." Langly grinned. "Oh my! Let's follow Dorothy, shall we?" He pushed on the tall agent, who flung himself across the widening gap between himself and his partner. Langly leapt over the space easily, but dropped one glove in the water in the process. They continued steadily crossing from one floe to the next, any exposed skin that touched the ice reddening on contact. Once in the center of the bay, Mulder stopped, breathing hard as they drifted faster towards the north and the open sea, the floes and bergs further apart. "Well, this is the rough part." He looked down at his partner, who was gauging the distance to the nearest ice. "That too long a jump for you?" Her lips pressed tightly together, she shook her head. "I just need a running start." She backed to the far edge of the floe, accelerating from a trot to a slow jog, then flung herself over, landing badly, one leg sliding into the water as she scrambled for a grip. His fears for her driving him, Mulder threw himself over the water with Langly just behind him. "Scully!" But she had pulled herself to safety by the time they arrived. She grunted, more from the exertion than the pain. "I'm OK, Mulder. We're not finished yet." There was no more discussion, the three of them concentrating on picking the easiest path, until they had reached the land-locked ice on the west side of the bay. A strangled sound, a cross between a grunt and a whoop, escaped from Mulder's lips. "That's it, we're across." Langly could tell the Agents were exhausted by the effort, but worse yet, Mulder had broken out in a sweat from enduring the pain of his injuries. Scully sank onto an exposed rock at the iceline. "Give me a minute here, guys." Her lips were blue, and she was shivering in an attempt to warm herself. Her partner was bent over beside her, guarding her instinctively. Langly wrapped one arm around Scully's waist to set her quickly on her feet, before Mulder's protectiveness killed all of them. "We have to keep moving, Doc, or we'll freeze to death. The temperatures have dropped and we have to make it back to our shelter and the radio if it's still there, so, let's go." Gritting her teeth, she concentrated on following the Gunman's parka, as he guided them steadfastly into the wind, straight back to their tent.
Ridge Franklin Bay "Byers?" Nichols grasped his shoulder. "Let's see about getting that radio powered up. We've been snug in there, with the tent and all, but the others were exposed to the brunt of the weather." Slipping back into the opening, the men returned with the black transmitter box. Rosen and Frohike joined them. The dark-haired agent touched her partner's shoulder. "Anything?" They listened as Byers called for an answer, but received none, so the two agents excused themselves to speak in private. "Nic, I can reach them on foot in a hour over this terrain, moving at a trot, no more." She held up her hands. "No sweat, literally. You know that." Nichols nodded. "I know, I just don't like it, Ros. They may be hurt, or the receiver may be busted, then you'll have to come right back here. Who knows how many men are waiting at the actual craft to attempt to take the aliens into custody?" She was arguing vigorously when the others joined them. Byers stood beside her. "You have to let her try, Agent Nichols. It may be the only way..." The older man submitted, attempting a small joke. "The flaws of a democracy. I see I'm outvoted three to one." They returned to the cave, outfitting the slender woman with an many supplies as she could comfortably carry, then waved her off. Nichols crossed his arms. "Go like the wind, kid."
Ridge Franklin Bay Mulder stumbled on the loose slate they were crossing, falling to his bruised knees one more time. He shivered, resisting Scully's attempts to pull him to his feet. "Hurts." Catching his tight-lipped smile, the auburn-haired woman sank beside him. "I know. But, Langly's right, we have to keep moving, we're not that far away, Mulder. Come on!" As she purposely tugged the right arm, the pain from the broken collarbone jolted him, and when his head cleared, he stood, following silently. The Gunman was several yards ahead on a rise. "I see it! They left the tent alone!" It was the boost the agents needed, so they scrabbled down the cliff after him, all three coming to a halt ten yards from the orange shelter. Mulder was gasping. "It might be a trap. Look for wires." They circled, seeking explosives or evidence of disturbed stones. Finally, Scully fell to her hands in front of the tent, lowering the zipper. "It's OK. I think they were only interested in the aliens." At her words, Langly scrambled up the ridge, digging into a pile of stones. "It's here, Mulder, we have proof!" He was holding the camera aloft, then stopped, his eyes focused on the horizon. "The cavalry is coming, hang on, guys!" He had spotted Rosen, jogging over the rocks with an indifferent ease, until she glimpsed the shouting figure, then she broke into a run. Spent, Mulder reached into the tent, seeking the water he knew was in Scully's sleeping bag. The diminutive woman remained standing only long enough for the younger agent to reach them. "Rosen." The dark-haired woman nodded. "We're fine, Scully. Let me at your radio, OK?" As the older woman crawled in, she passed the black receiver out, gasping when the weight pulled on her ribs. Rosen spoke quickly to reassure her. "You'll be all right. Nic and the others will have Baird on the way. Get some rest." Scully nodded blankly as she tore off her wet boots, sliding her swollen feet into her sleeping bag, offering silent thanks when Rosen zipped it up around her. After a moment's thought, Langly had bent down to unlace Mulder's boots and guide him into his bag. "Hey, Mulder, let me help you with that." But Langly left him free to pull the bedding up around his shoulders himself. Rosen bent over the transmitter. "Nichols? Byers? Frohike?" She increased the transmit power. "Anybody hear me out there?" There was a burst of static, then a welcome reply. "How does it looks at your end, partner?" She grinned. "Nic! They're here at the tent." She glanced back at the two exhausted agents. "I think they had a run-in with more than just the aliens, but they'll be OK, once they see a doctor." Langly took the mike from her. "Only a broken bone here and there. Just contact Baird so he can bring the plane and everything will be fine." Langly's joyful protests at the other agents' praise were the last thing Scully remembered, before the rushing in her ears drowned out any other sounds.
Queens Hospital Inuvik Mulder's lashes fluttered, then he spoke a single word. "Scully." Remembering he had a vague sense she was beside him after his collapse, he began groping around the bed, feeling a sudden blinding pain in his right shoulder. "Hey, don't do that." A hand, small and cool, landed on his arm. "She's OK. She's in the bed right next to you, Mulder, still asleep." He focused on a woman's face, seemingly hanging in space before him. "Rosen?" Rolling onto his side, away from the pain, he muttered. "How? Where are the others?" He glanced over at his partner, who was, as promised, resting, facing him on her side, her eyes closed. Mulder began to pull the covers back, to slide off the bed to cross over to her, but found himself in a heap on the floor instead. Rosen slipped her arm around his back. "Frohike warned me about your homing instinct, Mulder. We had to go up to the hospital administrator, all five of us. Byers and Langly convinced him that if you two weren't in sight of each other when you woke up, he'd have to replace his entire staff by the end of the week from you fussing about it. Here, let me help you." She guided him across the room, supporting him while he touched his partner's face, stroked her hair. "Scully." It was a prayer, a call, and a blessing, all at once. If she could, the younger woman would have left them alone, since the auburn-haired agent was only in a lightest sleep. But, the tall man was working at the limits of what his body could handle, and he didn't need to be put though any more hoisting and tugging. Rosen rested her hand on his back. "Can you lean on the bed?" Gritting his teeth, he nodded. "I'm sliding over my chair." For a few desperate moments, Mulder forced himself to stand, waiting through what seemed an eternity before he felt a light pressure on the back of his calves. "Thanks." He settled down, reaching for his partner's fingers with his left hand, not bound in place by his partial body cast. Rosen walked around the bed, moving into his view. "If you're interested, Scully broke two ribs on her left side, and you've fractured your right clavicle and scapula." Mulder blinked, tearing his eyes from his partner's face. "The alien vessel?" She shrugged. "It's just a burned-out hulk, no good to them or anyone else. They're trapped here, just like the rest of us. The Gunmen are back in DC analyzing Langly's tape, attempting to enhance the few shots of the interior he caught." Mulder sighed. "It was all for nothing, then. We don't have the Archaeon, the aliens are in the hands of the Consortium, probably dead by now, and the Shadows have regrouped, more than likely under the control of our cigarette-smoking friend." Returning to his side, Rosen grinned. "No, Mulder, you don't understand. It was only the Samanthas the Consortium pulled from the wreckage. Langly buried the camera, but left the lens exposed and pointed at the craft. Three seals were videoed leaving the vessel, slipping back into the ocean." She stepped closer, resting her hand on his shoulder. "He was using the UV sensitive film, so we know the crew survived, they're free." Mulder's eyes glinted. I can still get to Sam through them. He leaned over his sleeping partner, as if shielding her. "So it's not over yet, is it?" Rosen nodded as she headed for the door. "I think it's just begun. I'll be at what passes for a hotel up here, catching up on my sleep. The number's on your nightstand by the phone, should you need us, and Nic will be here to take over in an hour or so. In the meantime, we have two fine specimens from the RCMP, guarding the building." Smirking, Mulder called out to her. "I'll be sure to pass that information on to the good doctor when she joins us." He sobered. "You did good, Rosen. Having fun yet?" She smiled to acknowledge the compliment, then regarded him soberly. "Graduate school was *never* like this." As the door closed, Scully stirred from her sleep, prodded by her partner's incessant rubbing of his thumb against her hand. Mulder leaned forward, freed now to focus completely on her. "Hey." She smiled, that broad, radiant grin that dimpled her cheeks and set his eyes dancing. "You're awake." She swallowed twice before responding. "Did the good guys win?" He chewed his lip. "For right now. We have a lot of catching up to do, Scully, after we," he touched his cast, "catch up." She pushed herself upright. "Tell me, Mulder, I have to know." She reached for the pitcher of water and the plastic glass, as did he, but it was on his right side, so she lifted it first, pouring, drinking, then offering him some. She leaned back, arranging the covers neatly. He gently closed his fingers around her palm. "Then sit still and let me fill you in."
Great Northern Hotel Nichols opened his door, poking his head out, one hand on the doorknob, the other on the frame. "Ros? That you?" He had heard footsteps, then the sound of soft consternation before Rosen walked up to him from the adjacent room. "I was in such a hurry to make it to the hospital, I left my keys on my bed. I can be so stupid sometimes." Smiling, he stepped aside. "Come on. We'll call the clerk to open it for you." Still angry with herself, Rosen shook her head, but he took her by the elbow to guide her in, still protesting her failures angrily. "Nic, you have to go to the hospital! I'll just walk you to the front desk." Refusing to release her until he had guided her over to the single chair in his room, he stood, waiting for her to sit. "Ros, don't beat yourself up over small mistakes like that. You're tired, suffering from exposure and a little bit dehydrated. After you get into your room, take a long, hot bath and get some rest." She crossed her arms. "But, what if I forget something small in the future, and it costs someone their life? Mulder, or Scully, or," she gazed up at him, "you?" He sat on the bed across the narrow aisle from her. "Don't obsess about it. You have the makings of a good agent, you just need seasoning." He rose. "Um, if you don't mind my suggesting this..." Rosen frowned. "What?" He stepped to his left, glancing out the window nervously. "What can I do, Nic?" He resumed his seat across from her. "Take some personal time when we get back to DC. Get in touch with Cary. You two need to keep your connections open between you, not let the job split you up like it did Alicia and me." He held up both hands. "Don't worry about Mulder and Scully. Not only will they understand, they'll both be out of commission for field duty for a month, at least. I'll run interference with Skinner if someone has to, but truth be told, his marriage has had its ups and downs too." "But, Skinner doesn't have to know..." He shook his head. "No, he doesn't. No one has to know until you want them to, and if I only say you've gone to spend time with your SO, Cary, who will?" She grinned. "Thanks." She pushed his shoulder. "Come on, there, Dad, I'll walk you out." Nichols rolled his eyes, speaking to the ceiling. "Dad. My partner calls me Dad." He dramatically covered his heart with both hands. "What a blow to the limping ego of a soon-to-be divorced man." Laughing, she waited in the hall while he pointedly checked for his keys, before he closed his door.
Queens Hospital Inuvik Scully shivered, then opened her eyes. "Mulder?" The bed across the room was empty, and a quick dip of her head told her the bathroom was as well. Her Mulder'sensors had kicked in, since the nurses had, for the present, decided to give their room a wide berth. Right on schedule, too. Every hospital stay of her partner's seemed to follow this pattern. The female staff would initially flock to his room, attracted by his dark, floppy hair, equally dramatic lashes, and boyish face. Then, there would be this pointed avoidance, and Scully was fairly sure she knew why. Yes, he woke up. Now, where are you, Mulder? This hospital is so tiny... Scully focused her attention on a commotion in the hall. Oh, right. Tugging the white lab coat one of the orderlies had lent her over her hospital gown, she stepped into the brightly-lit corridor. As she had expected, Mulder was frowning at the three night nurses, all of whom were imploring him to return to his bed. But, at her approach, they dispersed rapidly, sending her glances of infinite gratitude. "Scully?" Using the hand rail to pull him along, he worked his way over to her. "You didn't have to get up." He attempted a shrug. "I was just walking off the pain in my shoulder." Mulder waggled his hand at the nurses' station. "They don't understand..." Smiling, she closed her left arm around her waist, reaching with her right hand for his wrist to give it a gentle shake. "And here I thought I was rescuing you from your adoring public." She leaned towards him. "Come back to bed, Dah-link." Grinning, he followed her into their room, passing in front of the old-style steel hospital frames to stand by the window. "How long do you think we can avoid Skinner when we get back?" After a moment, she joined him there, leaning against the stark white wall. "About five seconds. I'm surprised he hasn't called to harass you yet. But, at least, this time we have enough evidence to support whatever we tell him." Mulder nodded. "I know. In fact, we have enough back-up footage to shoot a movie to go along with the report." Glancing down at his cast, he sighed. "We'll just have to take more precautions with the Shadows, next time around." She touched his back, rubbing where the cast had chafed his skin. "And we'll have to factor in the aliens. If they're still out there, they'll probably take a more active role in human events, to try to push our population down, one way or another." Mulder nodded. "We'll be OK, Scully." Reaching towards her, he tucked her under his good arm for a moment, then released her. "Whatever happens, with the people we have working with us, we're closer to the Truth than we've ever been before." Settling lightly against his side, she joined him in quiet contemplation of the snow-covered hills ringing the town. "I'm sure we will." "Ow." Surprised at his exclamation, she looked over as Mulder shifted away from her. "Do you need some painkillers?" Rubbing under the front of his cast, he sent her a tiny, apologetic smile. I'll be fine. The gesture elicited a frown from his too-knowing partner. Right. His impishness taking sudden hold of his nature, he leaned close to her ear. "Did I hear you say IF just now, Doctor?" She stiffened, then raised her chin to shoot him a playful glare. "Mulderrrr." FINIS
And now what rests but that we spend the time The Third Part of King Henry VI End Notes: Many thanks to all those folks who wrote, asking me when my next story would be coming out. Without your encouragement, I can honestly say this would never have been finished. Special gratitude, as always, to Adina and Michelle, for many, many messages from far away. Thanks also to Matt Weed for his technical advice and his patience, and JohnBear for an excellent formatting suggestion. I was planning on ending this little adventure with a detailed description of all the advances in microbial studies in the past few years. But, it's late, so I won't. Let me just say that this was a lot of fun to write, because I ended up researching the Domain Archaea and the geology of the Cascades, and I learned some new things. The discoveries about microbial life are flying out of the journals thick and fast, so I would await each of my issues of "Science" eagerly. Many of the facts and names you encountered reading this story were published there during the past few months. BTW, as far as I know, the capability to drill to the depths required to reach the ocean-basin volcanics under the Cascades is still science fiction, as is the discovery of life that far down in the crust. But who knows? Perhaps there is a rock-eating Archaeon waiting to be discovered. I will, however, recommend that those of you who are interested check out the on-line version of the journal "Science" at http://www.sciencemag.org/. It's a great way to keep up with the latest in many fields of research, not the least being life in extreme environments, and the reclassification of all life into the new domains. Also, the section titles are species names, not of any new Archaea-bacteria, but of fossils from that great puzzle of paleontology, the Burgess Shale. Steven Jay Gould's 1989 work, "Wonderful Life", is a very accessible introduction to all those odd little invertebrates, with wonderful, detailed line drawings. Anomalocaris canadensis can best be described as a soft-bodied fish with what look like two shrimp extending from its mouth. It was mis-identified several times (as a crustacean without a head, or a jellyfish, or a squashed sheet) before it was reconstructed properly and given its own genus. Branchiocaris pretiosa was a bivalved arthropod (like a sea scallop) with four little legs sticking off its head that it used to shove food in its mouth, but none underneath. It swam on two long rows of fins, like an aquatic millipede. Fact is always stranger than fiction, folks, but here comes the doozy: Hallucigenia sparsa. It's like nothing on earth, so different (a worm with two rows of spines along one side, and two rows of soft appendages along the other, with no obvious mouth or eyes), that it's been flipped over and over, using alternately the spines or the soft legs for locomotion. I've seen the fossils when they came to the Smithsonian in a special exhibition and I couldn't tell you what it was either. Pikaia gracilens was the first chordate (had a nerve bundle running down its back), and was the first life "like us" on the planet. Finally, I close with a quote from what turned out to be the last of Carl Sagan's books: "The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark". In the following, he lays out what "The X- Files " could have been, but isn't, and what I tried to make my expanded X-Files section in this story into: a true marriage of skepticism and wonder (pp. 305-306). "No one can be entirely open or completely skeptical. We must all draw the line somewhere...Responsible, thoroughgoing, rigorous skepticism requires a hard-nosed habit of thought that takes practice and training to master. Credulity - I think a better word here is "openness" or "wonder" - does not come easily either. If we really are to be open to counterintuitive ideas on physics or social organization or anything else, we must grasp those ideas. It means nothing to be open to those propositions we don't understand. Both skepticism and wonder are skills that need honing and practice. Their harmonious marriage within the mind of every schoolchild ought to be a principal goal of public education. I'd love to see such a domestic felicity portrayed in the media, television especially: a community of people working the mix - full of wonder, generously open to every notion, dismissing nothing except for good reason, but at the same time, and as second nature, demanding stringent standards of evidence - and those standards applied with at least as much rigor to what they hold dear as to what they are tempted to reject with impunity." Write if you feel inspired or are infuriated. I answer all mail eventually, and I learn as much from suggestions for improvement from my readers as I hope they do from me. Now, to that new Dragonriders book...
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