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Title: Departures II Mulder learns how the past and the future are tied together. Carrot Creek, Alberta, Canada I end the phone conversation with Scully knowing I should have told her more. I just don't know how right now. I turn to make sure the girl is okay. She is sitting against the stucco siding of the roadside motel, clutching her knees close to her chest. Her eyes stare at the highway running in front of this dump, and the only motion she makes is when a passing semi truck crosses her field of vision. Her eyes trace the blur of movement, but as soon as it has gone by, they snap back in place, boring through the night sky ahead. She is wearing a dated dress that she is far too old for. She should be dressed for skateboarding like the girls who dote over Christopher at the park. She shouldn't be dressed up like a doll in pastel lace and ribbons with frilly socks and shiny black shoes. But I had to get her out of there no matter what she was wearing or how out of place she would be. And I only had one opportunity. Her dark brown hair hangs in two even braids and from the length I can tell it has been years since it was cut. She was not mistreated where she was. On the contrary, she had everything she could possibly want. Except a real family. Her family. Two years ago, before Christopher was born, did I even have a real family? No. So she and I both share that. Our childhood was stolen away by someone else's design. The only difference being she is going to get a real family well before she is near her forties. She finally moves, pulling my jacket tighter around her slender arms. She looks up at me briefly with eyes that are all too familiar and I offer her a smile. The corners of her mouth turn up briefly in an artificial smile before she goes back to watching the road. We do not know how to act around each other yet. That will take time. We are tired but we can't stay here. I'm sure they know where I am after placing that phone call. They let me walk out with her, but that was Krycek's doing. I don't know how many feathers I might have ruffled or who didn't know what his motives were for taking me there. This is how he planned on ruining my life. He wanted to show me the past and the future and hope it destroyed my present. I don't know how anyone could think this would be the one thing that would crumble my life. They've done so much already. They should already know that children aren't going to be the final blow, no matter who they are. Or in this case, *whose* they are. I kneel down in front of her and play with one of her braids. It is easy to forget that she is incredibly intelligent even if she is dressed like a preschooler. When I first saw her 'perform' in the environment she has lived in, I was surprised. Until I learned all the reasons why. "Are you ready to get going?" I ask her, tapping her nose with the end of her hair. I see her chin quiver slightly and I know she is going to start crying again. An old fashioned case of home sickness. It may not have seemed like it could be considered a home to me, but it all she remembers. All of those people were her family. I pull her close to me and she begins to sob. Soon the sobs turn into mournful wails and all I can do is hold her. "I want to go home! Take me home! I don't want to be here!" she shouts, pounding her small fists against me. "I'm trying to. I am taking you home," I say to her, knowing we are referring to two different places. I hear one of the doors open and a woman sticks her head out, concerned. She assesses the situation and begins to walk toward us, padding bare-footed down the sidewalk. Still she wails into the night, crying that she wants to go home. "Excuse me, sir! What are you doing to that girl? Do you want me to call the police?" the woman says loudly. She is trotting faster down the pavement now as she ties her bathrobe tighter around her. I stand up to face her and pull my FBI identification out of my pocket. "No need to call the police," I say and that seems to calm her down momentarily. Until the bawling starts again. "I don't care what kind of badge you have, mister, or who you think you are. What are you doing to that poor girl?" she demands again, looking from my picture to my face, making sure it is really me. I look at the child huddled on the ground crying and then back to the older woman. There is only one answer to the question of what I am doing. "I'm her father and I'm taking her home." July 20, 2002 "Scully ... the baby?" I mutter, reaching over for her, knowing Christopher should be up by now. "Mulder, when did you become such a fucking hausfrau?" With that, I feel the toe of a hiking boot kicking me through my sleeping bag, waking me the rest of the way. "I became a hausfrau long after you became a piece of oily, gutter-dwelling rodentia. Then again, I always figured you were born with that impairment," I say, opening my eyes to face another day of hiking with Krycek. I look at his arm, or lack thereof as he plays with his prosthesis. "Unlike some of your other impairments which came later." "Mulder, you would be amazed at what I can do with this thing," he says, leering at me as he pulls on his shirt. I'm on a God damn camping trip with Alex Krycek. And he says he's taking me to 'the truth.' Like Krycek would recognize the truth if it came up and grabbed him by the cojones. He doesn't have enough loyalties to identify the truth. The truth is what people tell him it is. We both pack up what little gear we have in silence. We only have the necessities that we can carry. A scant supply of water. Some nearly inedible food that the bears wouldn't possibly want to eat. A few items of clothing. And a tent. One damn tent. Talk about sleeping with the enemy. "What sights are we seeing today?" I ask as I roll up my sleeping bag and secure it to my backpack. "Today we have to get to the final transport location. They will be waiting for us so we better get moving," Krycek says. He doesn't say whether this one will be a van or a bus or another helicopter. Maybe he doesn't even know. This has gone on for days. A mixture of hiking and riding. "Transport to where?" I ask. I didn't exactly expect to be spending quality wilderness time with Krycek. Actually, I never intended to go traveling with him again for the rest of my life. But I wanted to get to the bottom of who Jasper is and he came along with the deal. "You'll see," is all he says as he exits the tent. That is all he says every time I ask where we are going. Our last leg of the journey involves a quick hop on a black helicopter. I know we are in the Canadian Rockies, but I don't know exactly where. I am left without headsets, so I can't hear what the pilot is saying. Krycek and I are left off on a small patch of grassy land and as soon as we grab out backpacks, the helicopter takes off and heads from where we just came. "So, where are we?" I ask, looking around at some beautiful scenery, but nothing that looks like the answers I was promised. "Welcome to Project Weather Control, Jasper location," Krycek says, as he pulls on his backpack and walks off without me. "What!" I shout. I grab my pack and catch up to him. "You are in Jasper National Park. It is just one of the parks in the project," he says, still vague. "What project is that?" I ask, ready to pummel him if he doesn't give me a straight answer. He says nothing for a moment. "That is just one of the projects to guarantee the survival of mankind. It is part of the deals made with them a long time ago. It wasn't until the old brigade was destroyed a few years ago that this option came to the forefront," Krycek says, still not answering. "And?" "Consider most of the national parks in North America as human reservations. That is what they will become. We will be allowed to have this land as they take over all the technical centers. It was only a few years ago that it was discovered that the northern-most parks would be the only ones of any use. The only ones that would keep humans safe from them. They will take over all the warmer climates, leaving us out in the cold. No more spring break in Daytona Beach," he says. He stops walking and looks at me, waiting for a reaction. "And I'm here to see this ... reservation? There isn't much more to see here than there was at the last park," I ask, not believing him fully. I've heard so many things about the future. I've seen so many things. I can't tell who's playing on which team anymore. "Oh no. You've seen nothing so far. There is so much more. You've just got to keep following me. You'll see," he says as he starts walking again. "So you keep saying. Why are you showing me this now?" I ask, knowing that there has to be more behind this than just their kindness. "Because all the pieces fell into place and I earned the right to." The tunnels are cold and damp. And dark. They are lit only by a sporadic lantern and remind me of mining tunnels. Only someone who knew what they were looking for would be able to find them. And I have no idea what I'm going to find at the end. "Krycek, are we almost to the end of this rat maze?" I ask, stopping momentarily. I lean up against the cold stone wall, trying to rest for just a moment. Krycek halts and looks back at me. We are both under one of the dim flickering lamps and I can see him grin. "I keep forgetting you are getting old. What are you now, Mulder? Over forty?" he asks, laughing. "Did you ever think you'd be having children at this age?" "Fuck you," I say. I look down at the ordinary running shoes they expected me to make this trip in. Where in the hell is my Land's End catalog when I need it? "Come on, it isn't much further. Besides, the faster we get this done, the faster you can get home. I understand that your 'wife' has already made the trip to Montana looking for you," he says, as he moves on down the tunnel. "Scully is in Montana?" I ask, catching up with him quickly. "Wasn't that the outcome you wanted? When you left that little cryptic message at the mini-mart?" he asks. I never imagined that she would find that so fast. Someone must have known I was there. "She's running all over Glacier with that partner of yours searching for us. So, is this partner better than I was? Better than Scully?" I don't answer him right away. He must have been informed of these latest developments by the helicopter pilot because I haven't seen him make contact with the 'outside' world since we entered Glacier ourselves. "Krycek, putrefied road kill would make a better partner than you." I sit in what looks like a corporate boardroom complete with the big oak table and the silver water pitcher. The only missing things would be windows. There is no view of a cityscape outside of this formal meeting place. There can't be. We are underground now. And I'm not sure how far. Krycek sits across from me, tapping the fingers of his right hand on the wooden table. He has been carefully monitoring my reaction since we arrived here in ... I don't even know where. No one has told me what this place is called. All I know is it is an underground city. There are adults, but even more children. It almost looks like a large school facility with a population of about 30 children for every adult. I couldn't see much from the time we exited the caves until Krycek brought me to this room. The kids all look healthy and well taken care of. They aren't dressed in the most popular MTV fashions, but they aren't wearing rags either. A man walks through the door and offers a smile to Krycek before looking at me. I tense up at the sight of him, not able to ascertain which one he is. He is either the dark-haired man from the parking garage and the New Mexico hotel room or the man from the hillside. I'm not sure which. "Good afternoon, Agent Mulder. It is so nice to see that you are doing so well considering the condition you were in when I left you last time," he says, and I now know which one. "You son of a bitch," I say but he doesn't seem to care. I'm still not clear on everything that happened on that hillside, and this is one of the few people who would know. "Agent Mulder, it had to be done. You'll understand the reasons why very soon," he says as he moves towards the head of the room. He pulls open two large cabinet doors, revealing a modern video display wired to all sorts of electronics. He takes a CD out of a case and inserts in into a player, but doesn't start it up yet. I just hope it isn't one particular CD I already know about. "I want to know why I was brought here and what in the hell this place is?" I demand, but my demands go ignored. Instead he pushes another button and the lights dim down and the big television monitor flickers to life. "We are the future," a man says on the screen. It could be the same man running this show or it could be one of his dopplegangers. I have no way of telling. I listen to a twenty minute documentary about what this is and my head begins to buzz. So this is another of their alternatives, just in case the vaccine doesn't work. A selected portion of humankind has already been chosen to come to these reservations. It has all been bargained for with the 'colonists.' We can have these unpopulated areas in the north. They take the rest of it and the humans who are not lucky enough to be selected. The construction of the future of man has already begun. If they can't fight it, they are going to learn to live beside it. The video finally ends and the lights are turned back up. Krycek looks as if he has seen this all before. He probably has. God only knows what he bargained with to get into the position he is in now. The man closes the video cabinet and looks at me. I feel as if I just sat through an Amway presentation where they never really tell you who they are, but rather what they can do for you. "Any questions, Agent Mulder?" he asks me. He takes some files from a drawer under the equipment and sits down at the head of the table. "Any questions? How much time do you have?" I ask him and he checks his watch. "Today or until colonization?" he asks me. And he is serious. "Today will be good enough for right now. What is my connection to any of this?" I ask, still trying to piece together my thoughts. I have so much I need to know, but don't even know where to begin. "You are one of the ones chosen to be saved. And Agent Scully. Which means your children are, too. Although I must admit, Christopher was quite a surprise to us. It was all planned out a long time ago. The colonizing force gave us lists of who would be saved but it is all determined by some arbitrary genetic code they determined in advance. That took us years to decipher. Years and hundreds of thousands of tissue samples," he explains, and he hands me a folder with both Scully and my names on it. "If you have the right parents, you are saved." "So, my parents and Scully's parents ..." I start to ask, wondering how her family is tied into all of this. "Her father was in the military and part of the earliest studies. Once we figured out what they were looking for, we 'added' some extra people to the list. Bought them, really, at a great cost. Since both her parents match the criteria, she matches," he says. "And your parents, of course, 'match' the criteria. Your father supported this project." "So Scully's family is on this list or were added to the list?" I ask. "Most of it," he says. "Most importantly, your children are on it." "Why not all of it? I thought you said that because of her father, they were on the list?" I ask, wondering how one could be excluded. "Her brother William married someone who isn't on the list, someone named Tara. Because of that, any children they have will not match the criteria," he says casually, as if he is used to discussing humans as if they can be traded with no thought. He can see the concern in my eyes. "We will work on getting them accepted." "And my family? What about Samantha?" I ask, my eyes penetrating his easy going gaze. "Your sister didn't have the right parents." "Excuse me?" I ask, sitting up even further in my chair. "Her father didn't support our cause. She didn't match the criteria," he answers bluntly. "So ... she is ...where?" "Don't worry. Your father guaranteed her survival. He knew what she meant to your mother. She was part of another related program," he says, as he pulls out a picture of my sister as an eight year old. I don't give a damn about some old picture. I want to see her now. "Then where is she?" I ask sharply. "She's not at this facility," he answers. "What facility is she at?" I ask. "I don't know. There are some other things you should know. A lot of other things you should know," he says, cutting my question short as he stands. He opens the blinds on one side of the room and the view is spectacular. It is a city scape, just not one I'm used to. "You said a related program? What is it? Is that what these children are about?" I ask. From my vantage point I can see a cluster of girls laughing and looking as normal as can be. "This is one of the related programs. These children, including your sister, are to be the storehouses of knowledge for the future. We cannot be certain of what we will be allowed to bring with us when the final colonization occurs, so each of these children has a 'specialty' so to speak. And if they grow up before colonization, such as in the case of your sister, they teach that subject to another child," he tells me as he leans up against the window. "'Fahrenheit 451'?" I ask, wondering what each of these children got to memorize. There is so much more than just literature. There is math and science and history. Human history. "That is a accurate comparison," he says. He moves to the phone on the wall and punches in one number. He whispers something that I can't make out and I wonder what is coming at me next. "But why show me this? Why not just tell me?" I ask again. "There is someone here we want you to meet," Krycek says. It is the first words he has spoken since we've been in here. "It is a little girl. Her mother wasn't on the list. She didn't match the criteria. Eventually, she might have been included, but she chose the wrong allies. Since she wasn't on the list, this child wasn't on the list. But because of who you are, the mother was able to strike up a deal, for we knew this child might have a quality we were greatly interested in. And we assumed she might have inherited it from you," the man says, speaking in more riddles. What child? What mother? "What are you talking about?" I ask, shaking my head. He opens the door and escorts in a pre-pubescent girl. I would guess she is about 11 or 12 years old. And with one good look, I know right away exactly whose child this is. And it takes every ounce of control I have not to scream. The end
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