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Title: Nightmare I: Bah-Has-Tkih (Secret) Summary: The Navajo code-talker words for "Secret" and"Exchange" are "Bah-has-tkih" and "Alh-nahl-yah" -- and might easily be the basis for two nightmares. After all, some experiences are so unbearable, one can only pray they are no more than bad dreams. Disclaimer: The characters Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, Margaret Scully, Alex Krycek, the Lone Gunmen and CGB Spender are the property of Chris Carter, Fox and 1013 Productions. No copyright infringement intended. This is for fun, not profit. Author's notes at the end. Location Unknown A confusing tangle of corridors wound and twisted and doubled back, endlessly going round and round to places that looked just like this one. Dark, oily, humid chambers. Crowded and cloying and endless. No clean spot on which to rest red-rimmed eyes or bone-weary limbs. Alien in every sense of the word. Despite the countless testimonials to the contrary gleaned from almost two decades of interviews with purported alien abductees, Mulder understood spaceships were not silvery- white, bright and smooth, clean and barren. He'd learned first- hand in Antarctica that extraterrestrial crafts were organic and muggy and unknowably foreign. To stand in one overloaded the senses. Breathing became nearly impossible, had to be concentrated on, not because the air was so goddamn thick it felt like molasses pouring down your gullet, but because to contemplate such a place stalled your lungs. Probably a good thing or you'd go mad listening to your own screams exploding from your chest. When Mulder stepped from the Bellefleur woods to stand at the spaceship's yawning entrance, the vessel's smell was the first thing he recognized; his polar cap rescue of Scully had introduced him to the stench. Sickly sweet, the odor adhered to his sinuses, clung to the back of his throat. Syrupy. Stomach-turning. It coated his tongue. Settled into his pores. Saturated his hair. He would carry it with him for a long while. Stumbling open-mouthed into the ship's gargantuan antechamber, Mulder gaped at the strangeness of his surroundings. The sight of the high-arching room splitting into barrel-shaped tunnels that snaked away like splayed fingers caused his stomach to roll. Buttresses rising rib-like overhead unbalanced him and he swayed unsteadily on feet he could barely feel. The walls dripped with glossy ooze that made him think he stood in the steaming belly of a freshly gutted carcass. Beside him the familiar form of the Bounty Hunter transformed the moment they stepped across the threshold, morphing into its more natural state. Gray. Hairless. As wide-eyed as Mulder felt. It all but ignored him and the other abductees, assuming the hapless humans would follow it. After all, what choice did they have? Nervous smiles pasted to their faces, the group from Bellefleur shuffled forward, trailing the Bounty Hunter-turned-Alien Rebel down a cave-like hall. Herded along the narrowing corridor, Mulder wondered if his human companions were victims or volunteers. He wasn't even sure of his own role. Had he really made a conscious decision to come here? Or had the choice been made for him? No matter, he now felt like one of the rats led through Hamlin by the Pied Piper. All around, aliens appeared and vanished, scuttling from one place to the next, hurried but methodical. Busy. The sheer number of them shocked Mulder. Humans were the minority here; the ship housed thousands of extraterrestrials. Their profusion made him feel as though he were the interloper, the alien invader. A foreigner among these peculiar strangers. The Bounty Hunter led the group into a DeCon Unit where more aliens waited, suited in aprons and gloves and masks, protecting themselves from direct contact with their human captives. They took the humans' clothes. They wanted the cross Mulder wore around his neck. Scully's cross. "Nooo!" He threw a right and toppled a demanding Gray. Two others grabbed his arms but he shook them off. Before they paralyzed him, he knocked away three more and destroyed several large unidentifiable pieces of equipment, startling the other humans and leaving the DeCon Unit in a shambles. For the time being, the aliens let him keep the cross. Subdued, Mulder and the other abductees were sprayed with antiseptic -- or perhaps it was pesticide. Whatever the decontaminant, it left behind a sticky residue that burned the sinuses and stung the eyes. After being dowsed, Mulder was separated from the others and given a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt. "What, no underwear?" he shouted, only to find he'd been left alone in a small room. Using the clothes as a pillow, he lay on the slick floor and slept. Mulder's room was tiny, a mere cell without doors or windows. A pod about four foot square, except that it wasn't square. It was tall enough for Mulder to stand, but just barely. He had no idea how the aliens managed to get him in or out of the thing, although they did so often. One minute he'd be there inside his little room and the next he'd be sitting in a strange chair-like apparatus, held in place by restraints while they collected bits and pieces of him. The first time he awoke in their Chair of Horrors, he hoped to find out that the numerous accounts of bodily harm he'd heard about over the years from countless self-proclaimed alien abductees were as false as their descriptions of the alien craft. He'd just as soon skip any teeth drilling or anal probes, always described in too-gruesome yet strikingly similar detail. He guessed it would be better to remain ignorant of the aliens' procedures than to know ahead of time what brutality they had in store for him. As it turned out, he often wasn't conscious when the aliens conducted their experiments, investigating his body inside and out. He would discover the telltale signs later, after- the-fact: a missing bit of flesh here, a fresh scar there, an ache he hadn't felt before. Sometimes he'd hurt so badly he'd have to curl into a ball and moan until the pain lessened. Other times he could do nothing but cry. But even that was better than being awake when they sliced and diced, carving into him like one of Scully's cadavers. Here they autopsied the living. Many times, he remained awake for the tests and was forced to watch and listen while they worked on him. Shaking uncontrollably, he'd overhear them discuss the fifth and sixth genome, base pairs by definition extraterrestrial. Purity Control. He understood their interest in his rather unique genetic structure, DNA that allowed him his short-lived ability to read minds, anticipate unasked questions, foresee future events. Like Gibson Praise. He tried to tune out their endless, repetitive discussions by replaying his favorite past conversations with Scully in his head. Mulder, I wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you. You're the only one I trust, Mulder. Shut up, Mulder. I'm playing baseball. He thought of her written words as well, penned in a journal he was never supposed to read. The only occasion when she expressed the depth of her feelings for him. That you should know my heart, look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you, that are you, is a comfort to me now as I feel the tethers loosen and the prospects darken for the continuance of a journey that began not so long ago... "Forgive me, Scully. Forgive *me* for not making the rest of the journey with you." Sometimes other voices would rise unbidden from his memory, surely sparked by the aliens' words. He'd hear Krycek or Diana or CGB. Hear this, Agent Mulder...listen very carefully because what I'm telling you is deadly serious. There is a war raging, and unless you pull your head out of the sand, you and I and about five billion other people are going to go the way of the dinosaur. I'm talking planned invasion. The colonization of this planet by an extraterrestrial race. "Resist or serve, Krycek? Too late. Our progenitors were alien; our genesis was alien; we're here because of them; they put us here. My choices have already been made. At least if I'm here with them, Scully is safe. I can be their goddamn guinea pig this time, not her." There's no need to prove what you are, to prove what's inside you. It's been known for so long. "What? Diana? Who's known? Smokey? How long? How long!?" A father has high hopes for his son but he never dreams his boy's going to change the world. "You black-lunged son-of-a-bitch! What else do you know? What the hell else have you kept secret?" The aliens blinked at his question, shouted aloud. His desperation didn't stop their work. No matter how hard he tried, it was impossible to ignore the aliens' drills and blades and needles. No voices from his past could block out the stabbing and cutting, the exploring and harvesting, the pain and the unrelenting fear. Preferable to be in the pod. Womb-like and quiet and alone. No rubbery hands sputtering painfully across his scoured flesh. No jolts, pricks, tubes, buzzers. No them, them, them. The pod was by far the lesser of two evils. But the pod was not without its discomforts either. Despite the decontamination procedure endured his first day on board the ship, he shared his cramped quarters with a variety of vermin, most of which he didn't recognize. The sludgy walls of his cell swam with minute balloon-like creatures that stung when they bit him and had an unquenchable thirst for his blood. No matter how many he killed, squashing them with perverse pleasure in his fists, there were always more to take the place of their deceased brothers. The surviving insects suffered more enemies than his stubborn revenge. Tiny flying creatures similar to bats occasionally swooped and fluttered through his cell, gobbling up the balloon bugs. When the flying things weren't feeding, they roosted somewhere above Mulder's head, clinging to a crevice in the pod's slippery ceiling. One day he found a spider. "The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout," he repeated the child's verse over and over again, allowing the panicky arachnid to crawl down his arm and onto his hand. He was careful not to crush it. The creature was terrestrial. Something from home. "Guess we're in this together. Just call me Miss Muffet," he told the spider as it circled his palm for the umpteenth time. "Wanna share my curds and whey?" Beside him on the floor sat an unfinished saucer of food, the only food they ever gave him. A thick, liquidy, honey-like substance. It smelled like the ship. It smelled like them. He hated it. Now is a time of war and stress among the alien nations. The voice of Cassandra Spender. Was he dreaming? Or simply remembering his first conversation with her when he knew her as Patient X. Maybe she was on board the ship now, communicating telepathically, like Gibson. "Maybe I'm hallucinating." Mulder licked dry lips. The...the different races -- they're in upheaval. I will be summoned to a place, just like Duane Barry. "Cassandra?" he called, tipping his head. She sounded so close, so real. But he was alone in the pod. Except for the balloon bugs, the flying things and the spider. There is no doubt, Mr. Mulder. I know what I've experienced. I...I have been through the terror and the tests more times than I can count. "Sorry I didn't believe you the first time we met." I've had an unborn fetus taken from me. "Okay, so that's one thing they haven't tried on me. Yet." I've had an unborn fetus taken from me. "I heard you." An unborn fetus. "I said I--" Mulder sat up straighter. "What does that have to do with me?" The fetus was implanted into another woman. She raised him as her son, but he was mine first. "Cassandra?" This was never part of his earlier conversation with her. He hadn't heard this before. My baby was part of The Project even before he was born, just as I was part of The Project. You see, Mr. Mulder, I wasn't the first successful human/alien hybrid after all. My unborn baby was. That's why they took him. They let me keep Jeffrey but they abducted my first son. "Your first son?" Yes. Do you understand what I'm saying? "No, no I don't." Why do you think you were brought here, Mr. Mulder? Why do you think you were taken with the other abductees? "I don't know. I've never been abducted before." I've had an unborn fetus taken from me. The fetus was implanted into another woman. She raised him as her son, but he was mine first. The first human/alien hybrid. My husband knew. He knew all Their secrets. Don't you see, Mr. Mulder? That baby was you. |
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Nightmare II: Alh-Nahl-Yah (Exchange) Scully's Apartment Keys jangling, Scully let herself into her apartment. She dropped an armload of file folders onto the coffee table before shrugging out of her coat. The stack of folders tipped and slid, skidding across the table and spilling onto the floor before Scully could extricate herself from her coat sleeves to stop the avalanche. "Damn." She flung the coat in the general direction of the sofa and stooped to retrieve the fallen folders. Her pregnant belly protested at her sudden movement; the increased size of her growing abdomen insisted she slow down. A fluttering kick reminded her to bend cautiously and so she eased herself onto her knees, putting aside her impatience at the lack of mobility her condition demanded. She carefully scooped file folders out from beneath the table. The files were X-Files. Twenty more dredged from Mulder's endless supply of first-hand accounts of alien abductees. Since Mulder's disappearance in Bellefleur, Scully had methodically combed the details of her lost partner's files, searching for any clues as to his whereabouts. So far, she'd found nothing to lead her any closer to him. The reports told her little beyond the cruelties he might be suffering. The experiments. The pain. His fear. No hints as to his location or how she might find him and bring him home. Forcing herself to once more read through a familiar litany of atrocities, she settled on the carpet and opened the first folder. "Sc-scully?" The rasp of his voice stopped her breath. She lifted her eyes to the corner of the room where a shadow swayed in the kitchen doorway. The familiar silhouette shuffled into a beam of late afternoon sunlight flooding across the living room floor. The glare exposed his hollowed eyes, moist with tears. "Oh, my God." Scully struggled to her feet, cursing her new clumsiness. "Mulder!" He waited for her to come to him, too tired to move beyond the threshold. Like a life preserver thrown to a drowning man, her arms wrapped around his waist and he sank into her embrace, his weight nearly toppling her. She held him, kept him upright, listened to the ragged breath hissing from his lungs. His jaw settled on the crown of her head and he rubbed his rough cheek against her hair like a satisfied cat. "Miss me?" "Jesus," the word huffed from her lungs. "Sit down, Mulder, before you knock us both over." She jostled him toward the couch, tugging and steering him as he labored to stay upright on unsteady legs. He dropped onto the couch the moment his calves hit the cushion, relief sighing from his chest. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes, so cavernous and tired his soft lashes all but disappeared into the reddened crease of his lids. His cheeks were sunken, his skin grayish and unhealthy. He smelled sickly sweet. Wearing only a filthy t- shirt and jeans, his feet were bare and black with grime. "How did you get here?" Scully sat beside him and took an unclean hand into her lap. "Curbside delivery," he murmured, eyes still closed. "Sorry, Scully, gotta sleep." His words skated from dried lips as his jaw went slack. His breathing slowed and Scully stared at the even rise and fall of his chest. Gripping his hand, she tried to convince herself that he really sat beside her. "Yes, sir. He was here when I arrived home," Scully cradled the phone against her neck while she studied Mulder's sleeping form. "How did he get there?" Skinner's impatience crackled through the line. "I don't know, sir. He's sleeping right now. He...he's exhausted. He hasn't said anything about what happened to him." "Is he hurt?" "A few bruises. He needs a bath." "Could be worse then." "I'm going to let him sleep for a while. I'll call you when he's ready to talk." "Good. And Agent Scully, let me know immediately if you need my help." Skinner's offer was sincere. For more than five months he had been burdened with the guilt of Mulder's abduction and it was no small relief to learn his missing agent had returned. Saying goodbye, Scully hung up the phone. She had other calls to make, to her mom and the Gunmen. They'd be full of questions she couldn't answer yet. They'd want to come over to see Mulder for themselves, but she'd have to put them off for a while despite their desire to welcome Mulder home. Right now she needed to do what was best for him, even if it meant disappointing Frohike, Byers and Langly. And her mom. She dialed the phone. "Scully?" Mulder stirred for the first time in four hours. "Here." "I...I need a shower," he sat forward and rubbed the heels of his hands into his tired eyes. "Hungry, too." "Food first?" He stared at his black hands and shook his head. "Gotta clean off Their stink." "I'll make something to eat while you wash." "S'deal," he rose to his feet and teetered dizzily. "Anything in particular appeal to you?" she asked, watching him to make sure he didn't fall. "Anything as long as it isn't sweet. Make lots," he lurched toward her bathroom, stumbling around the coffee table before leaning breathless against the closest chair. "Mulder, let me help." Scully lifted his arm over her shoulder and carefully edged him down the hall toward the bathroom. "You gonna draw my bath, Scully?" His expression showed no sign of the mischievous innuendo she expected. Instead he appeared only grateful. "Maybe I should go away more often." "Forget it. Sit." She propelled him toward the toilet. Elbows on his knees he sat and watched her fill the tub. His eyes followed her hand as she swirled it through the running water, testing the temperature. "Scully? You have something to tell me?" She looked up from the fresh bar of soap she unwrapped and discovered him staring at her bulging stomach. "Oh!" She smiled, unexpectedly shy. "I...I found out the day you left. I'm pregnant, Mulder." "So I see. Did I play any role in this?" Grim-faced he reached out a finger but stopped before he touched her swollen belly. "I think you know better than to ask that question. You're the baby's father, Mulder." Nodding, he let his fingers skim across her stomach. "Let me see," he whispered. "Mulder--" "Let me see," he demanded, plucking at the top button of her blouse, his dirty fingers leaving smudges on the white silk. "All...alright." Standing before him, she slipped one button after the next from their holes until her blouse fell open, exposing the distended ivory camber of her stomach, stretched by the six-month-old fetus in her womb. He splayed his fingers and laid his hand lightly on her skin, his palm hot against the curve of her belly. "When...when will he be born?" he asked, still not smiling but stroking her. Deferential. Reverent. "January. The beginning of January." Mulder sighed and let his hand drop away. Without further comment he yanked his t-shirt over his head, exposing a variety of bruises and scars. "Mulder!" Now it was Scully's turn to explore his flesh with her fingers. Her hands danced delicately over his pocked skin."We've got to clean these wounds. There's infection." She pulled him upright. His thinness brought tears to her eyes. Fumbling at the fly of his jeans, she unfastened his pants and slid them from the jutting bones of his hips. He wore nothing underneath. She gaped at the dozens of needle marks dotting his flanks and the purple-black bruises painting his thighs and buttocks. He shivered despite the steamy air of the bath."Come on, get in," she urged him toward the tub. With her help, he managed to climb into the bath and ease himself beneath the hot water. Scully ignored her open blouse while she concentrated on gently soaping Mulder's shoulders, back and arms. He closed his eyes and allowed her to wash him. Tears threatened to spill over her lashes at the discovery of each new cruelty etched into his flesh. His hide was a map of transgressions. A history of uncaring contravention. Her anger flared at the recklessness with which he had been treated, causing her to stroke him with unconstrained compassion. "Mulder, where's my cross?" She touched his neck. "They took it." "Is there more?" Mulder asked, glancing at the refrigerator. "I could order a pizza." "Could you?" "Mulder, you just ate three help..." she stopped. "I'll order a pizza. What do you want on it?" "Everything." Spooned together, mimicking the last time they lay side-by- side, he held her in her own bed and she savored his naked skin heating the length of her back. He had wanted to make love but fussed about hurting the baby. She suggested this position. Easier for him to control the depth of his penetration. There had been no need to worry; he came in fewer than half a dozen thrusts. But he seemed satisfied to be with her again, to hold her, and she was amazed he had the energy to make love at all. One arm draped protectively around her waist, he drew lazy circles on her swollen belly. "They have a plan, Scully," he whispered into her ear. "Who?" "The aliens." "What's their plan?" "It's all gonna end." "What's going to end, Mulder?" "This." Again he slept. She lay beside him, watching him in the dark. He was changed. Of course he was changed. How could he be the same? See Scully? The world didn't end. His New Year's proclamation contradicted his more recent prediction. She hoped he was wrong. Running her hand over her belly, she considered how much they had to live for. The world couldn't end now, could it? Mulder appeared to sleep without dreaming, motionless. He lay so still, she felt the need to check his pulse and make sure he was actually alive. She found a faint rhythm beating beneath her fingers, echoing her own heartbeat and she held onto him with relief. The muscles of his arm fluttered beneath her hand, unexpectedly vibrating her skin like fingernails on a chalkboard. She pulled away and watched his flesh shudder. Tremble. Lurch and slide. Shift. His skin turned gray. Hairless. His eyes opened. His features blurred, returned and blurred once more, flowing into a new form. Her world was ending. A terrible exchange had been made. The alien Bounty Hunter stared at her from across the bed. To Be Continued... Authors notes: Nightmares I & II attempts to explore (once more) the plot possibilities suggested by Requiem. Prompted by Cassandra Spender's proclamation in Patient X that an unborn fetus had been taken from her, an evil idea sprouted in my head and I couldn't leave it alone. For those of you who have been patiently waiting for me to drop out of the Requiem craze and get back to writing my usual fare, I appreciate your tolerance. Despite writing "Re Vivus Facere," an X-File intended to answer the questions posed in Requiem, as well as"Afterthoughts," a vignette meant to purge myself of the nagging events of the Season 7 finale, I find myself still drawn to this incredible storyline. After reviewing past mytharc episodes, I'm increasingly impressed by Chris Carter's complex 7-year plot. As early as the Erlenmeyer Flask of Season 1, he hinted at an alien race as the progenitor of our own and he's successfully continued to build on this, one frustratingly tiny piece at a time, until now we're left with Requiem. Thank goodness, we'll be seeing CC's own follow-up in Season 8. Maybe then I can put my obsession with Requiem to rest and get back to my more traditional MOTW stand alone case files. Feedback, good or bad, is welcome on this or any of my stories. Send comments to aka "Jake"@tdstelme.net. |
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Title: Nightmare III: Jish-Cha (Among Devils) "What would I do if they really came?" -- Fox Mulder in Little Green Men Disclaimer: The characters Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Cassandra Spender are the property of Chris Carter, Fox and 1013 Productions. No copyright infringement intended. This is for fun, not profit. Author's notes: Nightmares III & IV, sequels to Nightmares I & II, were written in response to readers' requests (I've never been called "evil" so many times in my life! Perversely, I found I enjoyed it.) You'll find a brief recap of I & II below. However, if you're interested in reading Nightmares in their entirety first, you can find I & II at my website. Previously in Nightmares I & II: Held aboard the Bellefleur spacecraft, Mulder hears the voice of Cassandra Spender: "I've had an unborn fetus taken from me. The fetus was implanted into another woman. She raised him as her son, but he was mine first. The first human/alien hybrid. My husband knew. He knew all their secrets. Don't you see, Mr. Mulder? That baby was you." Later, Mulder is delivered to Scully's apartment, exhausted and starved after months in space. She bathes him, feeds him, makes love to him. She watches over him as he sleeps. Scully's Apartment Mulder appeared to sleep without dreaming, motionless. He lay so still, Scully felt the need to check his pulse and make sure he was actually alive. She found a faint rhythm beating below her fingers, echoing her own heartbeat and she held onto him with relief. The muscles of his arm fluttered beneath her hand, vibrating her skin like fingernails on a chalkboard. She pulled away and watched his flesh shudder. Tremble. Lurch and slide. Shift. His skin turned gray. Hairless. His eyes opened. His features blurred, returned and blurred once more, flowing into a new form. A gray alien Bounty Hunter stared at her from across the bed. "Jesus!" The word punched from her lungs; her heart battered her chest. She scrambled backward, away from the intruder. Her swollen belly slowed her retreat. Unwieldy and vulnerable, she clambered across the mattress but the Bounty Hunter snatched her wrist and halted her panicky escape. His rubbery fingers squeezed into her thin flesh, cut off the flow of blood to her hand and turned her knuckles ashy-white, as skim- milk-pale as her distended abdomen. The alien's storm cloud face flitted and wavered, coalescing his features and transforming his inky-eyed stare once more into Mulder's familiar green gaze: contrite, begging forgiveness, fringed with soft lashes and penitent apologies. And it was now Mulder's warm palm -- not the alien's brutal clutch -- that circled her wrist and anchored her to the bed. "Don't!" Scully demanded. "Don't hide behind his face!" "There's no other way to gain your cooperation. You weren't supposed to see me as I really am. I must have been more tired than I thought, Li-Chi Tse-Gah." "What the hell does that mean? What are you calling me?" With his free hand he combed through her hair before twirling a copper strand around his index finger. "We call you Red Hair," he tugged playfully on the spiraled lock. "Or sometimes Ma-E Atsanh: Fox's Rib. Do you recognize the language?" She dipped her head, a single nod of recollection. "Anasazi. Navajo Code-Talker." "The language of the Bih-Tse-Dih. The Before." "Before what?" She jerked her hair free from his touch. "Before Earth became such a busy place." "Let go of me." He did, surprising her. Blood surged back into her hand and stung her with its prickling pins and needles. "I'm not here to hurt you," he told her, drawing back as if to prove his point, leaving only a ruffled surf of bed-sheets between them. Still naked from their earlier lovemaking, she felt exposed and defenseless. The memory of their brief joining heated her skin and flushed her cheeks with blotchy shame. Angry humiliation singed her hairline. "Why are you here then?" She glanced at her Sig Sauer beside him on the nightstand and bitterly dismissed the tempting weapon. Shooting the Bounty Hunter would not kill him but without a doubt would expose her to the alien's noxious green blood, endangering both her and her unborn baby. "I'm here to guard you." His protective gaze caressed her. So like Mulder. "Watching your back is my job, isn't it, Scully?" She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out his mock concern and reminding herself this man...this thing...wasn't Mulder."Guard me from what?" she asked from behind closed lids. "You call them Alien Colonists. We call them Altseh-E-Jah-He. First Strikers." "Aren't you one of them?" She risked a glance at him through her lashes. "Not anymore." He smiled Mulder's familiar lop-sided grin and his astonishing resemblance to the missing man hollowed her, emptying an enormous ache from her chest and thrusting it into her throat. The impersonator glimpsed her sorrow as his eyes swam across the watery expression of her face. "Although I am still of their race," he explained. "We are Ne-Tah. Shape Shifters. But even so, for the moment my loyalties are not with the Colonists but with the group you call the Faceless Rebels." "Why?" She glared at him. "They pay more." "You're a hired hit man, a Bounty Hunter." "Yes. Actually, I'm only one of a large group of well-paid mercenaries. And even though we are Ne-Tah, we hunt our own race at the bidding of the foreign Rebels." Scully blinked, confused. "There are two races?" "You must have noticed our differences," he chuckled, the sound resonating beneath his ribs like wine washing against barrel staves, eroding her resolve to hate him. "We Ne-Tah are able to alter our forms to look like you. Ordinarily we are gray-skinned. No hair. Big eyes. You know...you've seen us on the National Enquirer dozens of times. Right next to the hundred pound baby or the Dog-Faced Boy." Eyes lit with humor, the Bounty Hunter was the spitting image of Mulder, a replica so exact Scully ached to touch him. Doubly dangerous, this twin not only resembled Mulder physically, he also acted the part. Nothing like the emotionless shape-shifter who had assumed Mulder's form and accosted her in her hotel room so many years ago. This Bounty Hunter had the practiced capacity to fool her. If he hadn't revealed himself to her, she might never have guessed his true identity, and the realization of her gullibility sliced a swath of horror through her heart. How long would she have blissfully enjoyed the company of this impostor while the real Mulder continued to suffer somewhere else? "The Rebels," he went on, lacing his fingers behind his head and relaxing into the pillows, "they aren't nearly as physically adept as we are." His bare chest, elegant and lean and so exactly like Mulder's, confirmed his boast. Noticing her uncertain stare, he trailed his fingers lazily up and down his ribs, strumming the bones there like strings on a silent guitar, hypnotizing her with the languid, repeated motion. His power to deceive her made him smile and his apparent pleasure brought a swell of tears to her eyes. "To disguise themselves, the Rebels must wear masks. Another important difference between the races is that the Rebels aren't immune to the A- Kha, the Oil. So they mutilate themselves, sealing their bodies against the Oil, and, protected in this way, they hope to overthrow the First Strikers before the invaders manage to enslave the human race and colonize the planet. The Rebels have enjoyed some success, too, but you already know that -- after all, you were there on the bridge over Ruskin Dam in Pennsylvania. And you heard what happened at El Rico Air Force Base -- the termination of the alliance between the Colonists and the Consortium," he let his hand drop to his side, palm up, open and inviting. "Hard to believe we're all genetically brothers and sisters, isn't it? I'm including you in the family tree, by the way. Distant cousins, uncountable times removed -- perhaps not close enough to ask to the family reunion -- but we're relatives nonetheless." A past phone conversation with Mulder tumbled across her memory: That would mean our progenitors were alien, that our genesis was alien, that we're here because of them, that they put us here. All the mysteries of science, everything we can't understand or can't explain, every human behaviorism -- cosmology, psychology, everything in the X-Files -- it all owes to them. It's from them.** Mulder, I will not accept that. It is just not possible, she had argued despite his fatigue and the miles that had separated them. Well, then, you go ahead and prove me wrong, Scully. In fact, she had proved him right. Africa showed her Gibson Praise was not an anomaly and that mankind did indeed owe their genesis to extraterrestrials. God was in all likelihood a race of EBEs. "The inactive junk DNA. The fifth and sixth genome," she conceded to this stranger, angry with herself for never granting the truth so quickly to Mulder. "Yes. We Ne-Tah share these genetic remnants with the Faceless Rebels...and with you. Leftovers from our common ancestors. You see we all sprang from the first Ne-Tah." The veracity of his words chilled her. She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs in an ineffectual attempt to keep out his dispiriting reality. Her bulging stomach pressed into her thighs causing the gooseflesh on her legs to chafe like sandpaper against the smooth skin of her stretched belly. "Where...where did the original Ne-Tah come from?" she asked, uncertain she really wanted to hear his answer. "Who knows?" He shrugged. "The history's too ancient. I guess you could say 'a galaxy far, far away.'" Again he chuckled and the sound rose from the well of his chest, unknitting her bones. "More recently -- about four billion years ago, give or take a millennium or two -- the Ne-Tah visited Earth and sprinkled a little seasoning into the Primordial Soup. Since a watched pot never boils, our progenitors waited a few billion years before checking back. When they did, they weren't entirely satisfied with the soup du jour, so they altered the recipe. That was about 440 million years ago -- what you call your First Extinction. Well, you know what they say about too many chefs in the kitchen. Seems it took a few more extinctions to get things right. By that time, the Ne-Tah had evolved into two distinctly different races -- the Rebels being one. Time and distance caused the Rebel race to lose their ability to shape shift. They also lost their immunity to the Oil. However, they maintained their talent to foresee future events. A skill we lost. Too bad. Such a proficiency comes in handy during wartime." "Last year Mulder was able to predict actions, see briefly into the future." "Yes." "That's why you took him?" "Yes. The Rebels don't want him to fall into the hands of the Colonists. If the Colonists gain back the ability to see into the future via Fox Mulder's genetic propensity, imagine how powerful they'll become. With both the Oil's deadly virus *and* recovered omnipotence, the Colonists will become virtually invincible." "Where is Mulder now? I have to see him." "You can't go to him." "Why?" "It's not safe." "I don't care." "You don't understand. It's not safe for *him*." Mulder's look-alike leaned toward her. She flinched when he reached behind her neck and tapped the small scar marking her nape."Your chip," he explained, the sympathy in his voice sounding real, "it's a homing device, among other things. The Colonists always know where you are." "So what? So what if they find him through me? Is he really any better off with the Rebels?" Again the Mulder-double shrugged. She squinted at him. "You said you were sent here to guard me. Why? If the Colonists already know where I am, how can you keep me safe?" she demanded. He looked at the mound of her belly, visible behind her drawn up knees. "I'm here to guard them." "Them?" "Your babies. You're pregnant with twins." "No." She shook her head. "The ultrasound showed only one baby." "There are two. And they are not what you think they are." Strength evaporated from her arms; she lost her grip on her knees. "I'm carrying Mulder's son," she insisted although suddenly unsure. "The PCR showed this baby is undeniably his." "The boy is his," he assured her. "We call his child Tse-Le, Small Pup. He's the one the Colonists will try to abduct because he carries his father's special abilities in his tiny genes. If they can't have the father, they'll settle for the son. But Li-Chi...Scully..." genuine sorrow appeared to rut his brow, "You carry a second child. A girl. Eh-Do. It means Also." "No." "Yes. I'm afraid Ma-E...uh, Fox, is not your daughter's father." Scully's eyes widened with dread. "Who then?" Not meeting her frightened stare, Mulder's look-alike plucked at the sheets. "Lit Chindi," he whispered. "What does that mean? Who is Lit Chindi?" Panic bubbled through the foreign words. "Scully..." "Who, God damn it?" He lifted his eyes to gauge her capacity to accept his answer."The Smoke Devil." "No. No, I don't believe you. I don't..." A wave of nausea surged above her unborn children's heads, rose to her throat and scoured the back of her tongue. Tears spilled and spattered down her cheeks. When the Bounty Hunter took her hand, she let him. When he drew her to him, she allowed that, too. She didn't push away his arms when he embraced her. Instead she buried her nose into this stranger's neck and inhaled Mulder's familiar scent. "There's more, if you want to hear it." "No." She shook her head, wetting the skin of his collarbone with her tears. He remained silent, rocking her and stroking her hair. She pretended he was Mulder because she needed him to be Mulder. "Scully...?" "I'm not the mother of Mulder's son, am I?" she guessed, knowing full well she had compared the PCR results to Mulder's DNA but had never checked them against her own. She hadn't seen the need, assuming the baby must be hers. "No, you are not." The unfairness collapsed her. Mulder was not the father of her daughter and she was not the mother of his son, although she carried the odd brother and sister together in her womb. Obviously the conception of these improbable twins had been engineered. She and Mulder had been manipulated. Again. "Who is his son's mother?" "Are you sure--?" "Who?" she yelled into the bristled skin of his jaw. "Our name for her is Tkin." "Which means...?" She drew back, focusing on his eyes. "Ice." "Who is she?" He swallowed and she watched his Adam's apple lurch upward. She felt his chest cease its rhythmic swell and dip as he momentarily held his breath. Lips parting, his answer puffed hotly across her tear-washed cheeks. "Diana. Diana Fowley is the boy's mother." |
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Nightmare IV: Ne-Na-Cha (Surrender) Location Unknown "Yeh-zihn! Tehi. Tehi! Shil-loh, Ma-E! Nish-cla-jih-goh!" Not understanding, Mulder let himself be jostled along, shoved and tugged through a never-ending sequence of oily corridors. Because the aliens had rarely spoken aloud to him, communicating telepathically with one another and leaving him in utter silence, he'd seldom had the opportunity to hear their language, let alone learn it. So their stutter of words rattled without meaning past his ears even after all these months. Only a few phrases stood out to him, repeated more often than any others. Li-Chi. Tse-Le. Eh-Do. Ma-E. Although unable to decipher most of their gibberish, he deduced Ma-E was their name for him, although he had no way of knowing if it meant Fox or Sorry-Ass-Son-of-a-Bitch. Didn't matter, he guessed. For all intents and purposes, the two were synonymous. Something was up today. Something out of the ordinary. Usually they kept him imprisoned in his small, private pod or they restrained him in a chair in the lab in order to carve him up like Josef Mengele's holiday ham. But today they hurried him through halls he hadn't seen since he'd first boarded the alien craft in Bellefleur. When was that anyway? Five months ago? A year and a half? He had no way of knowing. They'd removed his watch. They'd taken everything he'd brought with him except for the tiny cross he wore around his neck. They called the gold symbol Li-Chi al-n-as-dzoh. The literal translation escaped him but he was quite sure the tongue- twisting phrase somehow described Scully's cross. "Nas-sey! Bi-chi-ol-dah Ah-Toh! Ma-E ah-hi-di-dail bilh Ne-He- Mah! Ma-E ahl-neh-enji bilh Ne-He-Mah!" they barked at him. "I don't understand what you're saying," he shouted, "I don't speak Reticulan." A shove between the shoulder blades coerced him across the enormous antechamber to the ship's closed entrance. He wondered if they planned to open the door and push him out into the vacuum of space. Would he explode before he was sucked outside? Or would he remain intact and hurtle forever among the distant stars? And which would be worse? The hull door hissed and groaned while Mulder held his breath and waited to die. Through squinting eyes he watched the widening breach and to his amazement no stars twinkled beyond the yawning gates, no decompression pulled at his flesh. Instead he found himself gawping at the interior of another ship -- a distinctly different craft built for a distinctly different race of passengers. There across the threshold gleamed a curving, clean expanse. A vast cylindrical tower as big around as a football stadium and several hundred stories high rose astonishingly into a haze of distant silvery light high above Mulder's head. No oozing dark walls. No twisting, endless corridors. And no stomach-turning, syrupy stench. What the hell was this artificial odor anyway? Play Dough? Band-Aids? Whatever it was, it smelled like the interior of a new car -- synthetic and recently manufactured. More notable, however, than the size and smell and spotlessness of the second craft, was the exceptional army guarding the immense drum-shaped space. Thousands of troops. Tens of thousands. Human-like soldiers dressed in identical, unadorned uniforms filled one enormous mezzanine after the next. All the soldiers were faceless. Literally. Puckered scars blurred the troopers' features, sealing their mouths, eyes, noses and ears. Hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil. Yet despite their disfigurement, comprehension vibrated around the ascending balconies like a finger tracing the rim of a lead crystal wineglass. The Faceless Rebels watched without eyes, heard without ears, spoke without lips. And they waited for a prophecy to unfold. "Mr. Mulder!" Cassandra Spender's elated voice echoed chaotically around the columnar room making it impossible for Mulder to locate the source. Only when a line of soldiers broke formation, opening a narrow passage, did Mulder finally spot Cassandra parading toward him. Dwarfed by a trail of personal guards, she beamed at him and extended her arms."Oh, Mr. Mulder! I'm so happy you've come!" "Cassandra...?" Dumbfounded, he took her outstretched hands. "I know. I know. This place is a bit of a shock until you get used to it. When I first saw it," -- she gestured upward, lifting his hand with hers -- "I thought I was caught in a giant Slinky or something." She laughed and squeezed his fingers. "You can't imagine how glad I am to see you! Although--" she inspected his dirty, scarred arms before frowning at the aliens behind him. "I see they haven't treated you very well. Undoubtedly they plan on selling the secrets of your body to the Colonists, despite being on the Rebel payroll. Tkele-cho- g!" she hissed at the nearest Bounty Hunter and the alien wilted in response to her epithet. Turning her attention back to Mulder, she grinned again. "Don't worry. We'll get you cleaned up, give you a decent meal and you'll feel right as rain in no time." "Alh-nahl-yah!" the reprimanded alien demanded of her. "Don't have a fit." She scowled at the obdurate Gray. "You'll get your goddamn money." She motioned to a Rebel soldier before tugging Mulder away from the sputtering Bounty Hunter."Mr. Mulder, you're going to like it here." **A bath. A real bath with hot water and soap and clean towels. Mulder lowered himself into the steamy tub where the heat loosened his muscles, soothed his recent wounds and soaked the black dirt from his pockmarked skin. The rediscovered pleasure of simple clean water overwhelmed him after so many months of filth and deprivation. He balanced his forehead against one knee and he wept. **"Feeling better?" Cassandra asked. Mulder nodded, shoveling soup from his bowl to his mouth. Salty. Not sweet. Wonderful."I have so much to tell you," she said, following the movement of his spoon. "S'good," he slurped, ignoring everything except the soup. "Yes." She laughed at his enjoyment. "But then anything would taste good after the slop those pigs feed you." She patted his arm to get his attention. "Mr. Mulder, do you know why you were brought here?" He scraped the bottom of his empty bowl. "Misfiled my 1040?" "No." She laughed again. "You're going to save the world." "God help us." "Mr. Mulder, it's you who'll help us." "Is there more?" He indicated the empty bowl. "Yes, but you need to slow down, give your stomach a chance to adjust to the change of diet." Clearly disappointed, he set his spoon beside the bowl. He considered lapping the soup's drying ring from the rim."Cassandra, when I was on board the alien ship, I heard your voice." "Yes." "You told me...you told me that I'm your son." "That's right." "I don't understand how that's possible." "Well, it was *his* doing. My husband. He planned it; he engineered the whole thing. He arranged to have you stolen from me and implanted into another woman, into Teena Mulder." "But why?" "Because he knew. He knew even then that you were the one." "The one what?" "The one who would save us." "How? How am I going to save us? How am I going to save anyone?" "You already have. It's done." "I don't understand..." "Let me tell you a little story, Mr. Mulder." "Cassandra--" "This is a true story. A prophecy. The Rebels tell it over and over again. They believe it will happen and they can see the future." Huffing impatience, Mulder leaned back and ran a hand through his now clean hair. "Okay. Tell me." "It goes like this." She smiled. "The Universe is in upheaval. Two powerful armies fight for control of all things. Their war has raged for hundreds of thousands of years at great expense yet the struggle continues to grow, taking lives and planets with it. Both sides nickname the war Ne-Ol, which means 'storm,' as if their conflict were a natural disaster and not something conspired by the minds of those in charge. "The two sides were defined by great distance. Originally they comprised a single race, but early space travel separated the group and evolution outpaced the speed of even their fastest ships. So at one end of the Universe settled the Da-A-He-Gi- Eneh. Their name literally means 'to know other's action' and their innate talent allows them to read minds, predict events, foresee the future. Because they're able to look ahead, the events they foretell are as real as if they'd already occurred. The future becomes history even before unfolding. Their skill makes them true seers and the Prophecy is their story. "They tell us that when the original group left, those who stayed behind eventually lost their skill to portend the future. However, although they could no longer forecast events, they became very powerful because they controlled the A-Kha, the Oil, and, unlike their traveling cousins, they remained immune to the Oil's Virus. Maintaining the races' original ability to shape shift -- a proficiency no longer available to the traveling race -- the shape-shifting aliens called themselves Altseh-E-Jah-He, First Strikers, since they planned to invade and colonize nearby Earth. The transmuting capabilities of the First Strikers allowed them to blend in with the human population while plotting the enslavement of Earth's inhabitants." Mulder cleared his throat, interrupting her. "You're saying the Consortium and their association with the invading aliens was forecast billions of years ago?" "Yes, Mr. Mulder. The Prophecy foresaw two armies arising from a single species, warring against one another, using uniquely effective weapons to gain advantage. And Earth is the planet where it will all end. They call it the Ah-Ha-Tinh, the Place of Action. Why else would the aliens come here?" "You tell me." "They came because the Prophecy predicted that an Earth man would father a son and the boy's name would be Tse-Le, Small Pup. Tse-Le would have a sister named Eh-Do. Although born of the same mother on the same day, the children carry different bloodlines. They grow up to be bitter enemies. Tse-Le one day leads a strong army against his sister's soldiers, defeating them and precipitating the end of the Ne-Ol. The Universe is finally at peace. See? Everyone gets to live happily ever after." "Nice fairytale but you still haven't explained my role." She grinned. "Tse-Le's father is a man named Ma-E. Ma-E means Fox. Get it? You, Mr. Mulder, are Ma-E." Mulder shook his head. "I don't have any children and won't if they're going to be nothing but someone else's pawns." "I told you, it's already done. Your son was conceived months ago." "That's impossible. I'm pretty sure I'd remember the occasion." "Don't imagine these things happen naturally, Mr. Mulder. After all, you are living proof that they don't. Everything was planned long ago. Right now your son grows in Li-Chi Tse- Gha's womb. The boy *will* become the Savior. The Rebels understand this. That's why they help you. That's why they've sent a guard to watch Agent Scully." "Scully?" "Of course. She is Li-Chi Tse-Gha. She carries the babies." "No. She...she can't become pregnant. She..." "I'm telling you, she *is* pregnant. Everything will happen just as the Prophecy predicts. No one can change the course of these events -- not you, not me. We need to relinquish ourselves to our destiny. The Rebels call it the Ne-Nah-Cha. The Surrender. You must stop fighting what is already preordained." "You stop fighting, Cassandra. I don't intend to roll over and play dead." "Mr. Mulder? Wake up, Mr. Mulder!" Squinting into Cassandra's hand-held light, he saw panic clinging to the lines of her face. "What...?" The word slurred across his dream-heavy tongue. "Something unexpected has happened. Something terrible." He sat up and scrubbed the blur of sleep from his eyes. "How does something unexpected happen in a universe ruled by the Prophecy?" "This is no time to be flippant," she hissed. "Our guard has been killed." Mulder glanced at the door. "Not *here*, Mr. Mulder. The man we sent to watch Agent Scully -- he's dead." "Where--?" A fist of fear clutched his throat. "Where is Scully?" "She's gone. We don't know where. We only know this wasn't supposed to happen. It's not part of the Prophecy." "We've got to find her." "Yes, Mr. Mulder, we do. Otherwise everyone dies." To Be Continued... Author's notes: Feedback, good or bad, is welcome on this or any of my stories. Send comments to aka "Jake"@tdstelme.net. |
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Title: Nightmare V: Na-Nish (Labor) "There was a tribe of Indians who lived more than 600 years ago. Their name was Anasazi; it means 'ancient aliens.' No evidence of their fate exists. Historians say they disappeared without a trace. They say that because they will not sacrifice themselves to the truth." -- Albert Hosteen to Fox Mulder in Anasazi Disclaimer: The characters Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Alex Krycek, Margaret Scully, Walter Skinner, Cassandra Spender, Teena Mulder, Diana Fowley, CGB Spender and the Lone Gunmen (holy cow, did I leave anybody out?) are the property of Chris Carter, Fox and 1013 Productions. No copyright infringement intended. This is for fun, not profit. Author's notes: Nightmares V & VI, the conclusion of this short series and sequels to Nightmares I, II, III & IV, were written in response to readers' requests. To everyone who sent encouragement and praise, I love you all! You inspire me every day. I tried to make this one my very best, because you deserve no less. You'll find a brief recap of the earlier episodes below. However, if you missed the first parts and are interested in reading Nightmares in its entirety, you can find I, II, III & IV on my Website or email me for copies. Previously in Nightmares I, II, III & IV: Held aboard the Bellefleur spacecraft, Mulder hears the voice of Cassandra Spender: "I've had an unborn fetus taken from me. The fetus was implanted into another woman. She raised him as her son, but he was mine first. The first human/alien hybrid. My husband knew. He knew all their secrets. Don't you see, Mr. Mulder? That baby was you." Later, Mulder is delivered to Scully's apartment, exhausted and starved after months in space. She bathes him, feeds him, makes love to him, only to discover he is not Mulder at all, but a shape-shifting Bounty Hunter. The Bounty Hunter tells her he was sent to guard the two babies she carries, a son and a daughter who are not the children she'd hoped them to be. Meanwhile, Mulder is transferred to a Rebel warship where he joins Cassandra Spender. She explains Mulder's pivotal role in the aliens' billion-year-old Prophecy. Then a surprising communique informs them Scully's Bounty Hunter guard has been killed and Scully is now missing. Prescott, Ontario "Destination?" the border guard asked, fitting his hat more tightly to his head and leaning into the dusty car's open window. "Ottawa" the man at the wheel answered, flashing the patrolman a brilliant smile. "Purpose of your visit?" "Just a day trip. A little early Christmas shopping and maybe some sightseeing. Thought we'd better take the opportunity before the baby arrives." The patrolman bent to get a closer look at the man's sleeping passenger. Pretty red hair. Very pregnant belly. "Your first child?" "Yeah. We're pretty excited." "I understand. I've got four of my own. All boys. They can be a handful sometimes." "Yeah, well..." The driver's smile lost a bit of its bright gleam. The fingers of his right hand jittered along the rim of the steering wheel, a contrast to the prosthetic limb resting stiffly in his lap. "They'll change your life, that's for sure." The patrolman chuckled. The driver's glowing smile returned. "I'm counting on that." "Well, you drive safely and enjoy your day in Canada." "Krycek, stop the car." "No." "Damn it, Krycek, I have to pee." "Should've thought of that before we left." "I was a bit distracted by the dead Bounty Hunter in my bed." "I'd think you'd be grateful to me for killing him. Or were you beginning to take an interest in Mulder's look-alike?" Krycek's leer sickened Scully. Or maybe her sudden nausea was an aftereffect of the drug he'd given her. Whatever the cause, she felt like she might throw up. "You shouldn't have drugged me. You put my baby at risk," she accused, seeing no reason to tell him that she actually carried two babies. The less he knew, the better. "You're maternal instinct is breaking my heart." "Stop the damn car." Her demand brought a flare of impatience to his eyes, but he let up on the gas. The highway was empty; they hadn't seen a car or a house in the last forty minutes. Scanning both sides of the road, Krycek squinted into the forest. He'd prefer to stop someplace more open where he could keep an eye on her -- he didn't trust her not to run -- but the dense timberland stretched on mile after mile, unbroken and inscrutable. "Make it quick," he pulled to the side of the road. "What about these?" She raised her arms, jangling the handcuffs that bound her wrists. "Uh uh. They stay on." He'd grant her nothing beyond a brief stop. "Damn it, Krycek. Do you really think I'm going to make a run for it?" She trailed her cuffed hands over her distended belly. "Either the cuffs stay on or I stand over you and watch." "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Choosing the cuffs over his prying eyes, she opened the door and stepped outside. "Don't wander too far, sweetheart," he called in a singsong voice, watching her cross the narrow strip of grass between the road and the forest. Slipping into the shadow of trees, Scully checked her watch. 5:42. It would be dark in about an hour -- sooner in these black woods. She checked the position of the setting sun and then broke into a run. Damn, she really did have to pee, but she needed to put as much distance between her and Krycek as possible before he realized she wasn't coming back. She had no idea where she was. Somewhere in Canada, she guessed; that's where she would go if she were Krycek. Dodging trees, she tried to calculate their mileage by counting back the hours they'd traveled. They left DC around six. She ducked beneath a swath of low-hanging evergreens. That was twelve hours ago. A thick layer of pine needles silenced her hurrying footfalls. God, no wonder she had to pee. She skidded down a low embankment toward a shallow streambed. If Krycek had driven north, that would put them somewhere in central Quebec. A more westerly route would place them in Ontario. Damn. Either way, they were a long way from home. Awkward and off-balance, she stumbled across the gully's narrow brook. A pang stabbed her ribs and she cursed the extra weight she carried. Yet she didn't dare stop; three minutes had passed since she'd entered the woods and Krycek would be getting out of the car any second to look for her. Glancing over her shoulder, she was relieved to see he wasn't behind her. Yet. She struggled up an embankment on the other side of the stream, climbing to a tangle of underbrush and towering pines at the top. "Scuuulllleeee!" Krycek's voice carried faintly through the woods, causing her to flinch. Despite the pull on her lungs and the pain in her side, she ran harder. She could feel the babies kicking inside her, displeased by the unexpected jostling. She cradled her belly with her hands and ignored the cuffs that cut into the underside of her abdomen. God, she could barely breathe. "Scullee! Come out, come out, wherever you are," he taunted, his voice closer than she would have thought possible after such a short time. "Sculleee!" Out of breath and deciding it might be safer to hide than run, she pushed her way into a stand of tall ferns. Squatting beneath their broad leaves, the tickling fronds curled over her and buried her in their lacy shadows. "Scully?" Already he wasn't more than ten yards away. She held her breath and listened to the scrape of his feet as he paced the circumference of her hideout. If he found her, she'd suffer his anger for her impulsive escape. She doubted he'd do anything that would directly endanger the babies since they were his bargaining chips, but he could hurt her in a variety of ways that wouldn't necessarily injure them. She hunched lower, trying to make herself invisible beneath the dense fronds. Please, don't find me. Silence. Had he gone away? "Looks like you're *'it,'* Scully," he grabbed her hair and yanked hard, lifting her to her feet. **"Home, sweet, home," Krycek announced when a small cabin came into view. He pulled into the weed-choked drive and shut off the car's engine. A beautiful blue lake sparkled beyond the tiny house. "You like camping, Scully?" He let her walk down to the shore while he unloaded groceries. Where the hell could she go anyway? The air was chilly after the warmth of the car and it smelled like the sea. Scully looked out across the water. Not a lake after all. This must be Hudson's Bay. Somewhere north of Kuujjuarapik, Quebec Mulder's birthday, Scully thought and the recollection left her feeling guilty for never remembering the date before he went missing. Not once had she presented him with a card or a gift to mark the occasion of his birth, despite the number of years they'd spent together. Yet he'd never complained. Never mentioned her inattention at all. Maybe he was used to the lack of celebration. He'd once given her a birthday gift, wrapped in a tiny white box tied with a gold ribbon, although at the time he claimed he didn't know it was her birthday. She still carried the odd Apollo 11 key chain he'd picked out for her. "This is something that reminded me of you," he'd said. Back then, she'd tried to read more meaning into his gift than he'd intended. After she'd recited her long-winded explanation, he brushed her reasoning aside. "I just thought it was a pretty cool key chain," he'd claimed. It is a pretty cool key chain, Mulder. Surrounded by a blast of cold, Krycek bullied his way into the cabin, stamping snow from his boots and hugging an armload of wood. He kicked the door shut behind him and dumped the wood beside the stove. Tossing his glove to the floor, he stoked the fire with a couple of enormous logs. "You warm enough?" he asked her, a frosty fog chuffing from his lungs with each word. "I'm fine." "You say that a lot, you know." "So I've been told." **"You ever get lonely, Scully?" She wondered where he was going with this. "Loneliness is a choice," she quoted herself, although she didn't believe it anymore. "Really?" Krycek sat down next to her, sinking the mattress and forcing her shoulder into his chest. "Did you choose to be a single mom?" He breathed into her hair, his palm settling on her protruding stomach. "Where's Daddy now?" His lips skimmed her ear. Her fist caught him in the jaw. Hard and unexpected, the blow toppled him from the bed, surprising them both. "Well, fuck me." Krycek's eyes smoldered and he rubbed the sting from his chin. "Fuck me." November 29, 2000 A twist of fire burned through Scully's abdomen. Damn, the contractions were about five minutes apart. She tried to breath through the pain, wait it out, ignore the sweat beading along her hairline. She tried not to notice Krycek's soft snore crowding her at the edge of the bed. It's too soon. Wait a little longer, my children. Please. "Oooohh," she moaned, not meaning to make a sound when another aching wave squeezed through her. "Whatsthematter?" Krycek mumbled. "The...the baby's coming," she managed to say through gritted teeth. "You have to get me to a hospital." "What?" He was sitting up, hand gripping her shoulder. "I thought you said your due date was more than a month away," he actually sounded worried, although she doubted it was about her well-being. More likely the babies' early arrival interfered somehow with his plans, whatever the hell those were. She guessed he intended to sell her children to the highest bidder. It didn't take a genius to figure out that whoever wanted Mulder would want his son as well. "Twins are often premature," she grunted, giving up her secret at last. "Twins!" Krycek laughed out loud. "I guess Fox Mulder was more of a man than I ever gave him credit for." "I need a doctor, Krycek." "Well, this is a fine time to bring it up. We're not exactly in fucking downtown, you know. A little advance notice about the twin thing might have been helpful," he was pulling on his boots. Grabbing in the dark for his coat. "There's a doctor -- of sorts -- over in Kuujjuarapik, but it'll take me a few hours to get there and back. You want to stay or go with me? Your call." Another contraction ripped through her. "Scully?" He struck a match and lit the lamp. "What the--?" Blood soaked the blankets below Scully's waist. "Go," she told him. "Hurry." |
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Nightmare VI: Ha-Yeli-Khan (Dawn) FBI Headquarters "I don't believe it," Skinner's eyes widened and he stumbled to his feet, bumping around his desk to welcome his missing agent back home. "Mulder! Is it really you? Christ! I...I don't know what the hell to say." "Say 'hey.'" "Hey!" the AD repeated, grinning like an idiot and slapping Mulder on the back. "Go easy, Walter," Mulder objected to Skinner's overzealous pounding. "I'm a little out of shape. As a matter of fact..," he lowered himself into a chair. "His" chair. Scully's remained glaringly empty. "Sir, Scully isn't at her apartment. And judging from her sorry-looking philodendrons, I'd hafta say she hasn't been there for some time." Skinner's smile evaporated, his expression soured. "She's not with you? Christ, she's been gone since September. I...I thought... She called to say you'd returned, but..." his voice trailed off and he found himself staring at Scully's empty chair. "Sir, an alien Bounty Hunter -- a shape shifter -- was sent to guard her. It's possible he looked like me. He was killed shortly after he arrived." "By Scully?" "I don't know. I don't think so." "Jesus, Mulder, if I'd had any idea..." "Sir, we can't waste anymore time; we need to start looking for her now. She's not with the Rebels and I'm pretty sure she's not with the Bounty Hunters either." "Who does that leave?" "The Colonists maybe, although they rarely put in personal appearances. More likely they've hired someone here on here on Earth to do their dirty work -- an overachieving human party." "All my sources tell me Old Smokey's dead." "That's an all too familiar tune." "Might be true this time. Rumor has it Krycek killed him. Pushed him down a flight of stairs." "Unless someone shoved a wooden stake through his heart, Cancer Man is not dead." "What about Krycek?" "I'm sure he thinks he killed the old man, but that doesn't mean--" "No," Skinner interrupted, "I mean, maybe Krycek has Scully." "You recognize her?" "Yes, sir Agent Mulder. She came through Prescott maybe eight weeks ago." The border patrolman lifted his hat and scratched his head, squinting again at the photo. "You're certain this was the woman you saw?" Mulder tapped Scully's picture. "Yes, sir. When the FBI posted the descriptions, I remembered both of 'em. You can't help but notice a one-armed man. Kinda stands out from the crowd, you know? And her, she was so pretty, sleeping like an angel, pregnant out to here," he held his hands in front of his flat stomach. "He said they were here for a day trip. Shopping or something. Wanted to enjoy their time alone together, you know, before their baby came along." Mulder pocketed the photo. "Did he say where they were going?" "Yes, sir, but I don't recall what he told me. Sorry. It was a while ago. If it wasn't for the artificial arm, I doubt I'd've noticed him at all." **" Mrs. Scully, what are you doing here?" Mulder rose from his basement office desk and accepted Margaret Scully's kiss on his cheek. When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he protested, "Maggie...she's still alive. We'll find her. I promise." "I know you will." She released him, blinking watery eyes and swiping at her cheeks. "AD Skinner call you?" "Yes." She sat down. "Fox, Dana was worried sick when you disappeared. With the baby coming..." "I know, Mrs. Scully--" "She was so happy, you know, to find out she carried your child." "Mrs. Scully--" "None of us thought it was possible, but there it was!" A nervous laugh escaped her, as jittery as her fidgeting hands."She was already as big as a house when I last saw her." Tears sprang once more to her eyes. "That was...that was only a day or two before she called to say you'd returned. I thought..." "I didn't return until just a couple of days ago, Mrs. Scully." "I...I don't understand. Fox, where *is* my daughter?" "We know she was taken to Canada. I spoke to the border guard myself yesterday afternoon before returning here to arrange the search. We have every available person looking for her. I'm flying back to Canada to join Skinner in just a couple of hours." "The baby's due in four or five weeks. I'm worried..." "I plan to find her long before the...the baby arrives." Maggie nodded, wanting with all her heart to believe what he said was true. "Fox, years ago I told you I had a recurring nightmare, a dream about Dana being taken away. Do you remember?" "Yes. When Duane Barry kidnapped her." "That's right. Fox, those nightmares returned more than two months ago. I've had the same one nearly every night since Dana disappeared. And it scares me to death, just like it did six years ago. But that's okay. Do you know why? Do you remember what you told me about my nightmares?" "No," he shook his head. "You said it's probably scarier when I stop having them." "Maybe I was wrong." "No, I don't think so. She's still alive and not just in my heart but in this world. My nightmares remind me of that every night. Fox, when you bring her home to me, to us, that's when my nightmares will end." Mulder, it's me. I just had something incredibly strange happen. This piece of metal that they took out of Duane Barry, it has some kind of a code on it. I ran it through a scanner and some kind of a serial number came up. What the hell is this thing, Mulder? It's almost as if... it's almost as if somebody was using it to catalogue him... Mulder? Mulder! I need your help! Mulder! I need your help! Mulder! Mulder! "Shit!" Mulder woke, trembling, sweat soaking his collar, his stomach protesting the bump and fall of the small airplane. "Sir, are you okay?" The stewardess leaned close, concern pleating her brow. When he nodded, she smiled. "We'll be landing in Ottawa in about twenty minutes," she assured him. As she drifted away, checking on the other passengers, he stared out the window. He looked beyond the plane's wing, already searching the snow-dusted ground for Scully as if he could somehow spot her among the tiny farms crowding the St. Lawrence River, their white-striped fields looking like squares on a patchwork quilt. Maybe she was hiding beneath those strings of storybook trees fogging the landscape, blurring the edges of the frozen lakes, their bare branches blending with the miniature smoking chimneys. Or, he hoped, she might be walking through those lovely Christmas forests, breathing in the sweet aroma of balsam and pine and cedar, surrounded by soft needles and memories of her childhood. He was surprised by how neat and clean and orderly life looked from up here. Small and precise, like a child's dollhouse. As inviting as a fairytale. He rubbed his eyes and tried to banish the pretty illusion. He almost preferred the echoing memory of Scully's cries for help, recorded six years ago on his answering machine. At least they had been real. Her voice. Her words. Where the hell was she? *How* was she? "As big as a house" her mother had described her. That was hard to picture. She'd felt so small when he'd last held her. In the hall of the Hoover Building. And the night in Bellefleur when she came to his room, cold and in need of comfort. Rare that she would ask for his assistance, come to him for relief. Always she wanted to prove her autonomy -- even with him, *especially* with him -- as though she were still a six-year-old trying to keep up with her able brothers. Not vulnerable and soft and needy -- although, in spite of herself, she was sometimes all of those things. He managed to sneak his protective urges into her life under the guise of professional duty, watching her back as her FBI partner. She wouldn't allow him to coddle her as a lover, however. But despite the fact she failed to echo his occasional sentimental lexis -- uttered by him with both heartfelt emotion and tremendous fear -- he knew she loved him. She gave him everything but the words, sacrificing bits and pieces of herself over and over again. Her loyalty, her belief in him, her trust -- they humbled his spirit. Every day she provided a balance that kept his courage from toppling; she offered him something to hang on to; she made his world solid, despite the unreality of their daily lives. She was everything he needed in life, everything he'd searched for and been denied for so long. And he had no intention of losing her now. Especially now. Carrying twins. What had Cassandra said? The Prophecy predicted that an Earthman would father a son and the boy's name would be Tse-Le, Small Pup. Tse-Le would have a sister named Eh-Do. His children? Both of them? No. Not both. Although born of the same mother on the same day, the children carry different bloodlines. How was this possible? What did it mean? If Tse-Le was indeed his son, then who was the father of Eh-Do? They grow up to be bitter enemies. Tse-Le one day leads a strong army against his sister's soldiers, defeating them. How could his son condemn his own sister? It didn't make sense. It couldn't be true. Could it? "You look...terrible." Skinner frowned, taking in the tired lines creasing Mulder's face. "So give me some good news." "*That,* I can do." "You have something?" "Our best lead yet. An Inuit healer from Kuujjuarapik saw Scully's photo on the news. Claims he helped a woman who looked just like her deliver twins two days ago. I've got a chopper picking us up in ten minutes." "She didn't have an easy time. The babies, they were large for coming so early. And the mother, she was small," the Inuit doctor explained. "But she's alive?" Mulder asked. "She was alive when I left her. But she was very weak. She lost a lot of blood. I wanted to stay longer, care for her, but her husband -- the one-armed man -- he insisted I leave." Mulder dug Scully's picture from his coat pocket. "This...is this the woman?" The Inuit doctor took the photo, nodding while he studied her face. "Yes, she is the mother I helped. You can find her seventy miles north of here in a small cabin on the Bay." **"Agent Mulder! God damn it, Mulder, wait!" Skinner yelled, but his order went unheard over the roar of the helicopter's spinning rotors. Barely on the ground, Mulder leapt from the chopper's open door and jogged toward the cabin. His strides forged a scar across the new fallen snow, drawing a straight line from the helicopter to the cabin door. A shove with his shoulder unstuck the brittle front door, and he spiraled inward, appalled by the chill and dark he found there. The miserable room was so bitingly cold, he almost hoped Scully wasn't hidden somewhere inside. Panning the gray room with his flashlight, he focused its beam on a scramble of lifeless blankets heaped in the middle of the room's lone bed. A crust of dried blood painted the fabric brown. The pile was impossibly small, certainly too meager to hide a human being. But a wisp of hair poked out from underneath the confusion of bedding, fanning the stained mattress with a silky strand of copper. "S-scully?" The beam of his flashlight bobbled and dipped, unsteady in his quaking fingers. His legs numbed, the muscles suddenly invaded by a fuzzy, freezing torpor, he gradually became aware that his feet needed to be told to move. It seemed the air grew thick around him, too obdurate to allow the passage of something as dulled and ill-equipped as the human body, too heavy to draw into lungs emptied by unease and misgivings and vulnerability. Dread wrapped itself around his chest and squeezed him, stopping the beat of his heart and thrusting his panic into his throat. Was that her beneath the blankets? Was she alive or dead? A glimpse of delicate fingers fluttering beneath the hem of the twisted blankets launched Mulder across the room. Three strides carried him to the bed and he reached for the improbable pile of bedding. Tenderly, he peeled back the grimy covering and exposed Scully's pinched face. Her eyes were closed, her skin so chalky white he was reminded of sterile hospital curtains and stark sympathy cards and the spotless starched sheets Scully used to wrap the corpses she autopsied. A frail flag of surrender, her bloodless face dropped him to his knees. "Scullee," he crooned her name, brushing his palm over her icy cheek, willing her eyes to open. But her eyes remained shut, her lids chapped and gaunt and nearly transparent, and she lay as still as the dead winter landscape surrounding Hudson's Bay outside. Peripherally, he saw the paramedics enter the room. He felt Skinner's hand grip his shoulder and knew the AD wanted him to move back and let the medics do their job. But their jostling commands and reasonable insistence fell on ears deafened by his own ragged pulse keeping time with the thready breath skating across Scully's pale lips. "Agent Mulder! You can't help her!" Skinner shouted while he strong-armed Mulder away from Scully. "Get out of the way!" Mulder silently obeyed, but stayed within reach, never taking his eyes from Scully's ghostly face. "Krycek's gone," Skinner told him, his statement spiraling unintelligibly into Mulder's ears. "He took the babies." These words managed to penetrate Mulder's consciousness. "Took the...?" The news didn't surprise Mulder but he felt hollowed by it all the same. Of course Krycek took the babies. They were his reason for kidnapping Scully in the first place. Like everything Krycek did, his agenda was driven by greed; the babies would bring him riches and power, all the things he'd ever dreamed about. Two tiny children were his ticket to a life of luxury and he wasn't opposed to using them to benefit himself. Hell, what were they to him? Nothing more than his enemies' offspring. Trading the children to the Colonists would be a pleasure. At the bed, the paramedics unwound the blankets from Scully's limp body, gently checking her pulse, the pupils of her eyes, her breathing. One filthy layer after the next fell away, reducing the substance of her by degrees. "Sir?" The medic sounded surprised. "I think you should take a look at this." Mulder pushed past Skinner, frightened by the medic's disbelieving tone. "What is it? What did you find?" he demanded. There beneath the protective curve of Scully's arm, a baby clung to her breast. Red-skinned and shivering and blinking back the unexpected light. A tiny naked girl. Two Days Later "What will you name her?" Mulder asked softly, standing back from the bed, still unused to the idea of Scully as a mother. He leaned against the wall, coat slung over his arm, not yet ready to settle into the chair, undecided if he would stay or suddenly bolt for the door. He stared at the newborn in her arms. Not red-skinned or shivering now, the baby's eyes half- closed in drowsy satisfaction as she fed at Scully's breast. "I don't know, Mulder. I'm not sure. Would you like me to name her after your mom?" Still far too pale, Scully all but disappeared into the pillows and white linens. The hospital bracelet encircling her wrist reminded Mulder of her cancer and he had to look away or risk collapsing to the floor. "No." So little breath behind the one word. "Your sister then?" "No. No." Again his rejection was no more than a murmur. Chewing at his lower lip, he considered other options. "How about your family?" "Well...there's my mother, of course. Or Melissa. Do you like either of those?" "Melissa Mulder? Margaret Mulder?" He linked her sister's and mother's names with his own, assuming unclaimed responsibility for Scully's daughter. "That's a lot of M's. How about 'Dana'?" "I don't think so. Any other ideas?" "I've always liked 'Elvis'." "Forget it, Mulder." Relaxing, he eased himself into the chair beside the bed, draped his coat over his lap. They watched the baby suckle."She's noisy," he pointed out as she smacked her lips. "Mmm." "How about your middle name, Scully? I like 'Katherine,'" he said. "Do you? Katherine was my aunt. My mother's only sister in a big family of boys. They were very close." "What happened to her?" "She died. A long time ago." "Oh. How about 'Katherine Margaret' then? Do you like that?" "It'll make Mom happy. Katherine Margaret. Yeah. Yeah, Mulder, I do like it." She stroked the baby's cheek, astonished anything could feel so soft. Where was Katherine Margaret's missing brother? Tears filled Scully's eyes. "Mulder, I-I'm sorry..." "Scully--" "I couldn't stop him." She meant Krycek, of course. "I know." "He took them both, but he brought her back a little while later. He said they didn't want her. He said they only wanted the boy. I...I couldn't stop him. I tried, but..." "Scully, please--" "I...he was your son, Mulder. I'm so sorry." "Hi there, Katie. How's my pretty granddaughter?" Maggie cradled the baby in her arms. "Oh, Dana, she's just beautiful. She has your hair and her father's eyes." "Mom, her eyes are blue." "I don't mean the color, sweetie. I mean the shape. Don't you think she looks like Fox?" "Mom, she's only four days old." Scully evaded the issue of paternity. "Even so." Maggie tickled the baby's chin, "She looks just like her daddy. Don't you? Katie, don't you think you look like your daddy?" Scully said nothing, but recognized that her mother was right. The idea made sense actually. Why wouldn't the baby look like Mulder? After all, CGB Spender was purportedly Mulder's father as well as Katie's. Spender's paternity meant Scully's baby was actually Mulder's half-sister. "Should we be looking for a house?" "What for, Mulder? My apartment is plenty big enough for one tiny baby." "I was thinking you might want me there, too," he felt stung by her omission. "Besides, your apartment's no place for a baby. It has a revolving door for the criminally insane. Do I need to name names?" "No. But, at least my place isn't full of hidden cameras. Any day now I expect to see your every move broadcast like The Truman Show on either the Fox network or the World Wide Web." "Guess you haven't visited FoxyMulder.com, huh?" "Very funny." "So seriously. A house?" "Did Skinner give you a raise or something while I was gone?" "No, but with all that extra income from the website..." "Mulder, houses in DC cost a lot of money -- more than you could possibly glean from the prurient interest of bored Internet surfers." "You underestimate Foxy Mulder." "Be that as it may, buying a house is not realistic on our salaries." "Scully, I could sell Mom's place in Chilmark or the Summer house on Quonochontaug. That would be plenty." "I'm in no shape to go house-hunting." "I'll do it." "No." "Don't you trust me?" "Mulder, what do you know about buying a house?" "Enough to tell the realtor we're looking for a place without revolving doors or ceiling cams." "You've...you've never asked me about my pregnancy." Scully changed the subject, feeling certain they shouldn't be talking about buying houses when they had never discussed the more important issue of Katie's questionable conception. "It doesn't matter, Scully. I plan on being Katie's father." "But it's a lie, Mulder. And I think you know that. I...I don't like keeping the truth from you." "Maybe you don't know the truth, Scully." "But, the Bounty Hunter told me--" "The Bounty Hunter could have been lying." "Why would he do that?" "Why wouldn't he?" FBI Headquarters The bare spot on the wall no longer caught Mulder's eye, demanding his attention the way it had at first, and he now felt the clean rectangle represented an appropriate memorial for his old I Want To Believe poster, removed in a recent fit of non-belief. The emptiness smoldered behind his back while he worked at his desk, alone in the office for now. Scully would return in a few weeks, when she was stronger and the baby was a bit older. He slid a disk into his computer, bringing his monitor to life. The Gunmen hadn't been able to tell him much about the disk, although they'd spent a long time studying and analyzing it. Still it remained a mystery. No clue as to where it was made or who left it under Mulder's office door. Just a standard-issue CD. Burned, however, with a most unusual document. The CD's file contained a multitude of Navajo words that needed translating. As Mulder researched their meanings, he copied definitions into the document, inserting decoded words within brackets, sometimes typing in additional information necessary for clarification. The result was a stuttering narrative, its smoothness slowed by his random notes. He didn't care. It wasn't the literary quality that interested him anyway, but the meaning of the story. No matter how many times he reread the document, its tale astonished him. Everyone he knew, everyone he had ever known, was there, characters in a history written more than a billion years ago. Krycek, Smoking Man, Scully, Skinner, Cassandra and on and on and on. It was impossible and yet, there they were. The cursor blinked and text flowed onto the screen. Beh-bih-ke-as-chinigh What is written (The Prophecy) In the time of the Nil-chi-tso {Big Wind (November)}, a boy and a girl were born to the same woman at the same time, but the children were not twins or even brother and sister. The boy, called Tse-Le {Small Pup} was in truth the son of Ma-E {Fox} and Tkin {Ice (??)}. Eh-Do {Also} was the daughter of Li-Chi Tse-Gah {Red Hair (Scully)}, who had carried both babies in her womb. The little girl's father was Lit Chindi {Smoke Devil (CGB?)} a powerful man who had arranged Li-Chi's strange pregnancy, setting into motion the A-Lah-Na-O-Glalih {The Gathering}, the Da-Ah-Hi-Dzi-Tsio {The Battle}, the Naz- Tsaid {The Kill} and the end of the Ne-Ol {Storm (War?)}. The night Tse-Le and Eh-Do were born, Li-Chi cried because her babies were stolen from her, taken by A-Tkel-El-Ini {Trouble Maker (Alex Krycek)} to be sold to the Altseh-E-Jah- He {First Strikers (Alien Colonists)}. The Altseh-E-Jah-He desired only Tse-Le, so Eh-Do was returned to her mother. Ma-E and his friend Mai-Be-He-Ahgan {Fox's Arm (Skinner?)} rescued Li-Chi and Eh-Do, saving their lives and returning the mother and daughter to their home in the south. Eh-Do stayed with her mother and was raised on Ah-Ha-Tinh {Place of Action (Earth?)} while Tse-Le was taken away to the To-Altseh-Hogan {Temporary Place (??)}. Tse-Le was raised by the Jish-Cha {Among Devils (Rebel Spies? Bounty Hunters?)}. When he grew to become a man, Tse-Le was given to the Altseh- E-Jah-He {(Alien Colonists)}. Mulder skipped several pages, drawn as always to the end of the story. Now a powerful and fearless Bih-Keh-He {War Chief}, Tse-Le led a strong army against his sister and her Nih-Hi-Cho {Allies}, defeating the Da-A-He-Gi-Eneh {To know other's actions (mind-reading Rebels?)} along with the people of Ah- Ha-Tinh {Earth} who became slaves or were killed. Obviously Cassandra had been mistaken...or duped. She had assumed the Rebels won the War, saving the human race from subjugation or death. What she hadn't understood, what she never guessed, was that the Rebels were willing to sacrifice themselves, along with the people of Earth, in order to end the hundred-thousand-year-old war. They were martyrs in the truest sense of the word, knowing in advance they would die for the greater good. Rather than use their knowledge of The Prophecy to alter their future, saving themselves and humankind, they followed the divination to its inevitable conclusion. They purposely misled Cassandra, letting her believe Mulder's son, her grandson, would save the Universe by siding with them, when in fact he would bring peace by leading the Colonists to victory, defeating the Rebels and enslaving the human race. They lied to Scully, too, using the Bounty Hunter to tell her they hoped to keep Mulder and his son's unique mind-reading abilities from falling into the hands of the Colonists, when actually they had known from the very beginning Tse-Le would be given to the Invaders. In essence, through their actions and lies and deceptions, the Rebels planned to commit suicide, taking the people of Earth with them on their Kamikaze mission. This was their Ne-Nah-Cha, the Surrender Cassandra had described. The Rebels were relinquishing themselves to their destiny, even at their own expense and the expense of the inhabitants of Earth. The success of the Invading Colonists would be a death knell for humankind. Their victory over the Rebels might bring peace to the Universe...but at an impossibly high price. Imprisoning his sister and torturing her Nih-Hi-Cho {Allies}, Tse-Le brought an end to the terrible Ne-Ol {War}. He lived a long life as ruler of the Altseh-E-Jah-He {First Strikers}. He fathered many children, who became great leaders like their father. Mulder's legacy, his own flesh and blood -- turned into the enemy. Against Scully's daughter and the entire human race. Praise to Ma-E. Praise to Tkin. Praise to Tse-Le. Ut-zah. Ut-zah-ha-dez-bin. {It is done. It is done well.} Christ. A damn fairytale complete with a twisted "happily ever after ending." And Mulder was partially to blame, wasn't he? Tse-Le was his son. That's what The Prophecy claimed. Or was the Prophecy itself just another lie? Mulder needed to be sure. Pulling open his desk's narrow, top drawer, he withdrew a manila envelope and slid his thumb beneath the still-sealed flap. He shook out the contents and three 8X10 transparencies drifted to his desk. PCRs. Scully's. His own. And Katie's, the results of a genetic test he'd ordered on the baby. Carefully, he positioned his own PCR results over Scully's, nearly doubling the selection of individual genetic markers. Although not trained to interpret PCR findings, he knew if he laid Katie's test on top of the other two, any unmatched markers would indicate Katie was another man's daughter, not his own. Taking a breath, Mulder placed Katie's PCR on top of the others. The markers lined up. All of them. "Jesus. Just another lie, Scully. The truth isn't in the Prophecy. The truth is in our daughter." The End Author's notes: Obviously the mythology could go on and on -- I guess that's what makes it a mythology. But this is truly the end of the Nightmares series. It's time I got back to writing case files. By the way, Nightmares VI is dedicated to Caroline who challenged me to tie up all the loose ends with a happy, or at least acceptable, ending. Did I do okay, C? Anyone interested in learning more Navajo, check out the Code Talkers Dictionary at www.history.navy.mil/faqs/faq61-4.htm. What a great resource. Feedback, good or bad, is welcome on this or any of my stories. Send comments to aka "Jake"@tdstelme.net.
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