=====o======================================================o===== TITLE: "Archaea" (revised) AUTHOR: Mary Ruth Keller EMAIL ADDRESS: mkeller@universe.digex.net DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Release to x-files-fanfic, but not to the ATXC group, or the archives. I'll take care of that myself. SPOILER WARNING: Everything from "Syzygy" on back. Fan-fic spoilers: "Sins of the Fathers", "Xibalba", "Twelfth Night", "Time Out of Joint", "Passages in Memory", and "Roman de la Pendrell" (minorly). RATING: PG-13, mostly for violence. CLASSIFICATION: X - an straight X-file to catalog under Miscellaneous SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully investigate a potentially deadly microscopic life-form recovered from volcanic rocks in Washington State. But when their seemingly straightforward case comes to the attention of the Consortium and an unexpected group of outsiders, they must use all the resources at their disposal to safeguard it from falling into the wrong hands. DISCLAIMER: The characters and situations of the television program, "The X-Files" are the creation and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. Readers are free to reproduce this story on web-pages or archives as long as my permission is first obtained, and the work is not used for profit. =====o=====================================================o===== Part I - Anomalocaris canadensis -----o------------------------------------------o----- Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, Being so troublesome a bedfellow? O polish'd perturbation! Golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night! Sleep with it now! Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet As he whose brow with homely biggen bound Snores out the watch of night. The Second Part of King Henry IV -----o------------------------------------------o----- Drilling Facility University of Washington Volcanic Observatory outside Newhalem, Washington North Cascades National Park, Washington State Monday, July 21, 1997 3:14 pm "Thanks, Tim, that's the last one. You guys knock off for the rest of the day, all right?" One of the crew hit a red button, killing main power to the hydraulic controls, and the rumbling in the great chamber ceased. Filing through a small side door, several of the men waved to Albert Rich as they left him checking straps that secured the newest rock core in place for transport. Walking alongside the orange steel cart, he steered his latest sample towards the double doors separating the derrick and all the heavy equipment from his lab. Responding to the signal from the motion detector Rich had scrounged from the administration building back in Seattle, they rolled apart automatically. Once inside, Rich eased the tube onto the end of a support pallet. Even though there were no windows here, he always worked on the slick, grey cylinders in his cleaner, quieter lab. Long benches were set up in the center of the space so he could work from any side on the still-cooling rock. But right now, he needed a break, so he stopped to rub his neck while he reminisced over the circumstances that kept him bent over his diamond-tipped rock saw, slicing sections through core after core. The Observatory's current project involved deep sampling of the Cascadian volcanic pile, searching for data on the inactive rift zone being subducted under the North American continent. Using remote evidence from earthquake hypocenters, seismologists had determined the approximate depth of that descending slab of relict oceanic crust. He knew, from the discussions in the faculty lounge, that volcanologists, working on the Big Island in Hawaii, determined the transitions in ocean-basin basalts through direct sampling of freezing lavas. Only a similar campaign would yield the exact changes in olivine while it returned to a semi-molten state at the temperatures and pressures encountered at depth, or so Doctor Campbell liked to say. But metals would melt and become useless far above those levels, which left geochemists only the option of small-scale laboratory experiments. Rich smiled, remembering that setting up just such a pressure chamber had been his first task for the University. But, in these days of tight research budgets, the funding for a drilling project of such speculative nature could only come to fruition through an unusual source. Gerald Hoskins, class of '22, had devoted his life to enhancing his family's fortune in the logging industry. At the end of it, he decided, rather than let a horde of squabbling relatives spend his wealth in myriad foolish ways, to transfer it all to the University of Washington. His one stipulation was that his old company headquarters be used as a geological laboratory and field camp. Rich had been to the Endowment festivities, shaken the old man's hand, smiled at a pair of dancing blue eyes in the tanned and wrinkled face. When his ivory cane had snapped, Rich had offered him his arm for support, then as a reward, Hoskins told some whopping stories, even claiming to have seen Bigfoot a couple of times. Rich grinned, remembering that after a few beers, the logger had set his worn suede hat on the University's linen tablecloth and rearranged the china to help illustrate a few of his taller tales. The administrators had been only too willing to oblige, but the Rich had chuckled behind his hand at the moans of the geoscience faculty when they heard the location. While surrounded by the grandest of vistas, the erosion-resistant rocks directly beneath the site were the granites, gneisses, and migmatites of the old Northern Cascades Subcontinent. Far more interesting formations and tectonic histories lay twenty miles to the west and east, in the Skagit metamorphic pile and the Methow graben. But, the buildings themselves were beautifully equipped for comfortable long-term habitation, so vans were purchased, and adjustments for graduate students made. Rich sighed. Opening the end, the technician guided the dark olive cylinder of rock as it began sliding onto a rubber mat. About two meters up from the end, he noticed a clear band of what appeared to be quartzite in the basalt. The core extruded, he stood the drill tubes up in one corner of the room before leaving the lab to knock on the chief scientist's office door. "Doctor Campbell? I have something here I think you might be interested in." He paused, wondering how his bold request would be answered. "Mister Rich! Not *now*!" Rich stepped back as he heard the doorknob rattle. After the metal door swung aside, the angular, almost emaciated face of his boss glared down on him. James Campbell had spent too much time out in the sun, hiking up and down volcanoes, both active and extinct, until his skin hung in leathery bags from his cheekbones. From the dry thatch of grey hair to the calloused hands and broken fingernails, the rest of his frame was similarly weather beaten. Campbell sighed. Deep lithosphere exploration had long been a dream of his, so once he had won the Hoskins bequest, he refused to take on new graduate students. Instead, he had spent that first year designing the special pressure and temperature resistant drilling heads and tubes they would need. Using newly developed composite materials, the crew had pushed through the granites of the subcontinent into the oceanic volcanics below. But, a project of this size seemed to attract an endless number of reviews or outside audits, forcing Campbell to spend less time in the lab, and more in the Provost's office, than he cared to recall. "I think I've found something interesting, Dr. Campbell." "I have papers to review. What is it?" The younger man crossed his arms, clenching his hands into fists where his boss couldn't see them. "I can't identify a section of rock in the latest core sample." He waited, sucking in the paunch around his waist, hoping that one day, after ten years together, his boss wouldn't immediately assume he was an idiot. But the scientist's snort of derision told him that, as usual, he was wrong. "There's a lot you can't identify, Rich, but let's see it anyway." "Of course, Sir." The tech spun on his heel, preceding the older man back to the lab. Campbell studied the bald spot in the middle of the brown curls, wishing his assistant would quicken his pace or get out of the way. As much as he needed the younger man's practical skills and seeming endless resourcefulness in running the lab during his increasingly extended absences, Rich tended towards the dramatic. Campbell had no patience with games or frills, so he pushed around him to step into the lab first, his eyes falling on the clear band of rock. Unclipping the flap on the pocketknife pouch on his belt, he flicked the blade out while crossing the room. Rich trailed along behind the professor. "It isn't quartzite, Doctor Campbell." Impatiently, the volcanologist probed the clear region with the knife, then stopped. The metal blade had slipped into the center of the band, so he drew it out, watching as the vitreous mass sealed the incision closed. Without looking back, he extended his hand towards Rich. "Pass me a test tube. I want to take a sample of this." Wordlessly, his assistant snatched the closest flask, placed it on his boss's palm, but held it until the cracked fingers closed around the base. Campbell pried a small mass out of the band, scraping the knife on the rounded lip of the glass. The sample tumbled off the blade, bouncing down the side of the inclined beaker, coming to rest on the bottom. Taking the container, Rich set it on the maple butcher-block lab bench, before he felt the professor clap a hand on his slender shoulder. "Thanks, Rich. We'll need to keep an eye on that." The younger man loved to watch the transformation in the scientist whenever he was onto something new. Gone was the rough curtness; instead, he was treated to the elated sense of adventure that kept him working for him. "OK, Doc." --o-0-o-- "Doctor Campbell?" Unhesitatingly, the scientist rose and followed the younger man back to the lab. "This makes no sense, but look!" Rich held up the beaker, showing Campbell the hole in the bottom. The sample from the core lay on the table, exactly as they had left it, so Campbell pushed at it with a pencil. Frowning, he observed there was no glass beneath it, then turned at Rich's exclamation. The younger man had touched the bottom of the beaker, and as they watched, clear flakes floated to the floor. "Boss? What is this stuff?" The scientist shrugged. "I really can't say right now, Albert. Let me read a bit." He observed the sparkling dust on his assistant's hands. "You'd better clean yourself up. Whatever it is, glass fragments like that will scratch you up but good." Rich rubbed his fingers together. "Sure thing." He frowned. "This doesn't feel like glass at all, Doctor Campbell." Setting the beaker on a metal tray, he ran his hands under the hottest water he could stand. "It feels soapy, almost." The volcanologist nodded, leaving the lab in silence. --o-0-o-- Dark Apartment Fairfax, Virginia Tuesday, July 22, 1997 11:17 pm "Hunh!" The bearded African-American continued to pummel a black leather pouch suspended from his living-room ceiling, attempting to rid his mind of the image of the lurking shadow. He had seen it again yesterday, hovering in the basement parking lot as he returned from the law office that was his cover job. He slept with all the lights on anymore, his isolation and paranoia driving him to fear even the flickering of the stairwell lights. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a shape in the window, so he forced himself to stop, turn, and look. Before he was aware it, he was out the door, down to the exit, and running. As always, he sought to make himself as unobtrusive and invisible as possible, so he aimed for the nearby YMCA, open at all hours. He sought to conceal himself among those similarly attired, but before he entered, he dropped the boxing gloves in a trash can. "Hey, bro, you OK?" He spun at the friendly voice. "Fine." His good Samaritan, his tailored street clothes and closely cropped hair marking him as a doctor or a civil servant, stepped back when he caught the menace in the growl. "No problems, all right? You just look like you've seen a ghost or something." X closed his eyes, pulling in his horns. "I'll be fine. Just out for a late night run." Puzzled over the gloves, the other man frowned, nodded, then headed for his Lexus. He watched as X took a few deliberate strides away from him, before accelerating into a trot. --o-0-o-- Apartment 42 Arlington, Virginia Tuesday, 11:23 pm "Mulder." Limply holding the cel phone, the agent rubbed his chin sleepily while he rolled into a sitting position on the futon. "Hey, boss, wanna shoot some hoops?" "Yeah, sure, Nichols." Staggering towards the bathroom to throw some cold water on his face, he terminated the conversation and pressed down on the first autodial button. The initial buzz in his ear was cut short. "You OK, Mulder?" He chuckled. "Why, Doctor Scully, must you always assume I'm calling purely to take advantage of your clinical expertise? Here I am, a handsome bachelor whose many charms are fading through disuse, wheezing his way towards geezerhood..." "Mulder!" There was suppressed laughter behind her scold. "What do you think you have now?" He grinned. "Dunno. Nichols wants to talk. I'll tuck you in with a good bed-time story later." "Mulderrrr." He raised the hand not holding the phone. "Promise." "Right." --o-0-o-- Apartment 5 Alexandria, Virginia Tuesday, 11:49 pm Her eyes closed, still turned on her side with one arm tucked under her pillows, Scully held her cel phone on her face. "So, what was on his mind?" "Mulder?" "Uh, who is this?" Her eyebrows drew together at the unfamiliar voice. "Who is this?" "Look, lady, I don't know what your problem is, but is there any reason your husband would be out jogging this late?" Now she was on her feet, all rest forgotten. "This is Special Agent Dana Scully. What condition is Agent Mulder in? Where are you?" She could hear the confusion increase. "Agent? He's not your husband? Why would he be out here jogging with just this number in his pocket?" Cradling the phone between her shoulder and cheek, she shoved off the pajamas, then yanked a pair of jeans out of her bottom dresser drawer. "I'm a doctor. What is his condition?" "Well, he's not bleeding or anything, he just collapsed after he threw the boxing gloves in the trash." Either her partner had a new hobby he hadn't bragged to her about, or... "Describe him, please." She wanted to be sure she wasn't walking into a trap. "Well, he's in his early forties, greying beard, dark-skinned, closely cropped hair..." She froze. "He's an associate of mine. Where are you?" She scribbled the address on the pad she kept by the phone. --o-0-o-- West Chase Apartments Laurel, Maryland Tuesday, 11:57 pm At the knock from her front entrance, 'Ace' rolled away from her keyboard. "Coming!" After checking through the view-hole, she swung the reinforced steel door open rapidly. "Oh, wait till you see what I've found!" Grinning, McConnell scooted through the opening. He threw the dead bolt before following her. "Oh? You solved your access problems with the banking software?" She reached back to tug on his elbow. "No, no, even better than that!" She waved him towards the other grey castered chair for her computer workbench, loaded with video boards and pushed to one of the side tables in her den. He carefully stacked the cards in one of the chassis before rolling the seat over to her and sitting. McConnell's red brows drew together as he focussed on the series of cross-sections she was rapidly scrolling through. "What is this?" "The interior of our visitor's ship." He glanced at her. "Really? How did you get these? The diving teams working in the Beaufort Sea can't find a way inside." His eyes returned to her face at her delighted giggle. "No, but the ultrasound scans I had them run did." Leaning back, he took off his glasses to chew on one earpiece. "I never would have thought..." Immensely proud of herself, she was bouncing on the seat cushion. "I had my NOVA tape about the Gobi Desert raptors playing in the VCR while I was working on the banking software last week. When I saw how they were cross-sectioning the eggs, it gave me the idea. The skin of the ship is made from a carbon-fiber composite, strong, yet lighter than metal, and corrosion resistant, which is how it survived in the saline ocean for so long. Electromagnetic probing is out because it's underwater still. So, I made a few calls, the crews up there used their ship-board sonar to take some data," she leaned towards him, "after I sent up some modified software and a different transmitter for them to use, and now we have this." He tapped the screen. "Anything on the propulsion systems or the engines?" She sighed. "No, the resolution from these off-the-shelf units isn't that good. But, I could at least work out what the different parts of the vessel were for, including the crew quarters." McConnell blinked. "Crew, as in more that one?" Clicking rapidly through the images, she nodded. "There were spaces for three on board, but I can't tell if they were occupied during this voyage or not." She crossed her arms. "Sorry." Startled by her self-recrimination, he grasped her shoulder. "Hey, no, don't be. That we know this much is great. But, I'm worried that we've only seen one. Could the other two have been killed, or were the quarters just unused, or..." Deeply concerned, she rolled close to him. "Or, have they morphed into something, or someone, we've been looking right at, but missing all these months?" --o-0-o-- Falls Church Recreation Center Wednesday, July 23, 1997 12:16 am "Hey." After slamming the driver's door on his Toyota, Mulder approached his colleague. Although his fellow agent was merely five years Mulder's senior, his weather-beaten face increased his apparent age by a decade. "What'cha got?" Nichols shrugged, chewing his greying blond mustache. "Just questions, boss." The barrel-chested man dribbled the ball absently. "How do you do it?" The two began circling each other, looking like a pair of middling-aged friends out for a late-night game of one-on-one, which was exactly the cover Mulder and Nichols wanted. Mulder feinted for a grab at the ball, but Nichols dodged to the taller man's left. Mulder spun, keeping himself between the basket and his balding subordinate. "Do what?" Reversing his stance, Nichols turned his back to his new Section Head and swept around to the far white line. "Work with Scully as well as you do." He elbowed his way past a pair of long arms to take his shot. The ball rebounded off the backboard, circling the rim before falling out into Mulder's hands. The younger agent responded, using the thumps of the ball against the concrete as cover for their conversation. "Why? She bothering you or something?" Nichols swatted at the orange sphere. "No, nothing like that. I mean work with a woman, one who's always second-guessing you." Mulder swung the ball in an arc over Nichols' head. "Oh. Rosen's on your case about Ridgefield?" The tall agent had come here expecting they would hash out the latest investigation, not this. "No, not that specifically, I mean." As the ball swished the mesh of the basket, Nichols grunted his surrender. "All my partners have been," after he caught the ball, he shrugged, "male." He started dribbling again, working his way around the periphery of the court. "It's easy then, you know where you stand. You're either in charge or you're the junior partner." He switched the ball from his right to his left hand, angling towards the brown- haired man. "But Rosen, she won't take an order." He glanced up. "Oh, Boss, don't get me wrong, when we're on a stakeout, or if there's a situation, everything's smooth as glass, but once the crisis passes..." He spun, but too late. Mulder's hand cradled the ball, guiding the bounce towards his own feet. "It's like you're back to square one." The tall man sprinted for the basket, leaping up to dunk. Cradling the sphere in his arms, Nichols nodded. "Yeah." He dribbled noncommittally, plotting his strategy as they talked. "What's she doing? Looking to buck my authority?" Mulder waved his arm, half focused on the ball, half on his thoughts. "Nope." He swatted, but missed, which roused his fellow agent. "Then what?" They continued to circle each other. "Just her job, as she sees it." Nichols spared a glance. "Come again?" Mulder chewed his lip, wondering how best to explain himself. "Women like Scully and Rosen don't see their careers the way we do. They think first of the work; men angle primarily for promotions." He paused. "Usually. You and I are more interested in the work, too, but we're used to being the oddballs. The challenges we get are to point out how stupid we are, so we can be one-upped in front of the big-wigs." It was best to leave the Shadows out of any such discussion of partner problems. Their new agents needed to cement their working bond, because they would experience first-hand, and too soon, Mulder knew, the enemies all four now had to fear. "Oh. It's not an ego thing?" Nichols shot, the success of his attempt pulling an adulatory grunt out of the tall man. "Nope. Rosen gets huffy when you try to bull your way with her?" After the mesh swished, Nichols heard the thunk, thunk of the ball falling through Mulder's hands in a rare miss for the younger man. "Yeah. Really bent. She wants to know why I do things the way I do, and once I explain it, she accepts it, but, Jeez, Mulder, do I have to spell *everything* out for her? Always?" The tall man reappeared from the darkness at the side of the court where he had been retrieving the errant sphere. "No, but you will always talk more than you expect." They began circling each other again. Mulder grinned, taking advantage of Nichols' slight misstep to shoot. "It's connection, more than anything else, not a challenge or a threat." Frustrated, the older man threw out another question. "What?" "Go with it. Don't take longer to get trained than I did; the discussing is about the cases, not who's in charge, who's up or down. She sees you as her equal, just with different skills, not someone she'd like to topple from power." Nichols held the ball, considering the words. When they heard a cel phone ring, both men faced their cars. But it was the tall agent sprinting for his Toyota, after patting the older man on the shoulder. "Good game, Nichols." Accepting the polite dismissal with equanimity, he trotted back to his rusting Dodge Dart. --o-0-o-- Fairfax YMCA Wednesday, 12:54 am "Scully?" Dropping to his knees by X, now propped against the trash can, Mulder touched his partner's arm to catch her attention. "What's wrong with him?" Carefully manipulating his skull, she was checking for a blow. "I can't tell, Mulder. He seems to be uninjured, just non- responsive." She lifted an arm, the solid thump Mulder heard when the hand flopped limply onto the sidewalk making him wince. He felt for a pulse at the jugular. "Shouldn't he be in the hospital?" They locked eyes. "Where, Mulder? Where can we put him that he would be safe?" She stood. "Where *we* would be safe?" Leaning over until he could see into the shadowed face, he grasped X's shoulder, attempting to revive the intellect within the silent, motionless form. "I don't know, Scully. Maybe Skinner..." While Mulder returned to his car, she turned to the light-skinned man standing a little ways off. "Do you know him?" He waved his right arm, then extended his hand for her to shake. "William LeCroy Johnson, and no, I don't know him. I just saw him standing by the trash can when I came out. He was staggering, so I asked him if he was OK. When I reached my car, I watched him begin to jog away, then he just collapsed." He stared at X, now slumped forward like an abandoned rag-doll. "Will he be all right?" Scully sighed. "I can't say. He's not bleeding internally, nor is this an epileptic seizure of some kind. We'll do all we can for him." She pulled a card out of her pocket. "Please, Mr. Johnson, call us at any time, if you recall anything else, all right?" He passed his card to her as well. "Gladly. Anything I can do..." Nodding, she watched him return to his car, then faced her partner when Mulder approached. "Scully, Skinner's out of touch, but the guys are getting something lined up. What's wrong with him, really?" She shook her head. "Stress, mental breakdown, drugs, I can only guess here, Mulder." She knelt, checking his forehead for fever, not that she expected to find it. "When we get him to wherever the guys locate that's safe, we'll be able to tell more." Pacing, Mulder ran his hands through his still-damp hair. "He's saved my life, Scully, I owe him." Arching one eyebrow, she glanced up to judge his mood. "As do I." A quick dimpling of one cheek. "For saving your life. What did Nichols have?" He focused down at her. "Hum? Oh, nothing." He grinned. "We were just discussing troublesome women partners." She stood. "From what I could see, I thought he and Rosen were adjusting to each other." "Yeah, they are. It's different for Nichols, Scully. This is the first woman he's been partnered with, so he has tweaking galore ahead of him." The LOOK. "I'll warn Rosen." --o-0-o-- Crime Lab J. Edgar Hoover Building Wednesday, 6:36 am Holding the frozen samples away from his body, 'Charlie' dangled the tube rack from his thumb and forefinger, while rapping on the glass of the lab door. As he watched the shifting image of a woman crossing the room to admit him, he smiled to himself. "Hey!" She tipped her head back, scanning over the lintel of the door as he entered and offered her the samples. 'Charlie' checked over his shoulder to see what was so fascinating. "What?" Setting the tubes in her freezer, she pursed her lips. "We had a safety inspector in here yesterday, and I wanted to be sure he didn't disturb my network cables." She stepped over beside him. "Thanks for the skin samples." Since the building was still shrouded in silence, he wrapped one arm around her waist. "Anytime, Lisa. What are you looking for?" Patting his hand, she moved away to cross to her workbench and power up a spectrometer. "Oh, just something unique about the tissues we collected from the submarine. We've done the six base DNA typing ages ago, of course, but I was thinking of finding a useful macroscopic property, not a microscopic one. With the possibility of two other shape-shifters on the loose, we need some edge against them, Drew." 'Charlie' nodded. "I know. That they can pass themselves off as anything, or anyone, even one of us, was why the Old Men were so concerned with them in the first place. What if they've discovered the Organization's agenda?" She rubbed her face. "Until now, that was only a theoretical possibility. All these hysterical UFO sightings of lights in the sky and little grey men, we've managed to whip into a plausible cover with a few mysterious follow-up visits. The feeble-minded media and Hollywood did the rest of our work for us. But, containing the one shape-shifter we knew about to the Arctic wastes we thought was good enough. That two got through our defenses, well, we *have* to find them." He kissed the top of her head gently. "You'll figure something out, Lisa, you always do. Just don't work too hard at it." She leaned against his chest. "Or, you just keep delivering the pizzas, OK?" --o-0-o-- Basement J. Edgar Hoover Building Wednesday, 7:16 am Agent Andrea Rosen slipped the key into the lock on the basement door. Turning the knob, she began speaking to her partner before she could identify the room's occupant. "Hey, Nick, I've been thinking about that wild idea you called me with yesterday. Last night, I realized there may be more to what's going on here than you might..." She stared at the slight figure standing before her. "Scully? Is anything wrong with Nichols?" Before replying, the auburn-haired woman approached her. "No, Rosen, I just wanted to warn you about some unforeseen developments from last night." Following the younger woman back to her desk, Scully waited for her to settle in. The new X-Files partners had arranged their quarters far differently from Mulder's and Scully's layout, with desks facing each other, a narrow walkway between. She knew that on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, the back corner would be occupied by Rosen's road bike. Those days she commuted 25 miles into the office along the W&OD bike trail from her home in Vienna. With the X-Files themselves in the Second Floor offices and only a bookshelf or two taking up space, there was much more room for the pair to move around, lending a half-occupied feel to their area. Scully never understood why Rosen had insisted on keeping the free-standing blackboard in a wheeled frame. But, she suspected the slate surface operated as a mental aid for Rosen, just as slides did for her partner. "Oh? Nic called me to say something was up." Scully crossed her arms. "One of our informants is injured." Rosen nodded. That her new boss had told her this much was a surprise, despite the feeling that Scully may have said too much already. She switched her radio on, standing close to the diminutive woman in the tan suit and pale lavender blouse. "What can you tell me, Scully?" The green-blue eyes bored into hers, gauging Rosen's dedication before replying. "I suppose the best description of his condition would be coma induced by an unknown trauma." Rosen crossed her arms, as she considered the new developments. "Not drugs?" A sigh. "His system tested out clean. He's safe, for the moment, but we know there are powerful factions..." She watched the younger agent's face. Rosen had reviewed the D'Amato papers and the files pertaining to the Shadow government, so she took any information about their dark enemies seriously. Scully was relieved Rosen had not had the same trust in authority as herself, but had aligned herself with their views in far less time than she expected. "Is Mulder telling Nic about this?" That guarded look again. "No. Nichols isn't in yet. When he arrives, call us so we can come down from upstairs." One quick nod, then a precise turn with all the polish of a drill maneuver, and Rosen was alone, staring at the door. Frowning as she silenced the radio, she toyed with the idea of calling Cary. Rosen let thoughts of lazy Sunday afternoons, sipping tea and cuddling in their tall sleigh bed, fill her mind. Cary Jean Hooper was entirely too far away for either of them to be satisfied. Their latest conversations were filled with protests over the other's prolonged absence, but Rosen knew that until Cary's mother passed on, there would be no way Miss Alice's daughter would leave upper New York State. Rosen sighed. It was odd the way the pair of them were together: more than partners, friends certainly, something other than surrogate brother and sister, but lovers? A man like him would be more territorial, more possessive, if they were. Whatever it was, it seemed to work for them: the quiet, serious woman, always upright and rigid, balancing the exuberant man, all arms and legs, all passion and restless energy. --o-0-o-- Scully Home Charleston, South Carolina Wednesday, 7:21 am Rolling over, Bill Scully reached for his wife, hoping she had caught at least a few hours rest tonight. The first days back from a cruise were always a period of adjustment, made more difficult by the dashing of both their hopes that his time of months-long sea duty were over. Feeling nothing but cloth, he peeled both eyes open to check around their bedroom. "Honey? Liz?" "In here, Bill." The reply echoed slightly off the glass of the shower stall, so he padded into their master bathroom. Elizabeth was petite, like his sister Dana, her hair a rich honey blonde that bleached out if she spent too much time in the sun, or grew past her shoulders. But, with little Will, then with Ian and Dan, the twins, she had been forced to cut it short, or suffer their grasping and yanking the soft strands. While his younger sister's body had grown hard and wiry from the exercise after her multiple surgeries, his wife's had rounded and softened, especially when she was nursing. Still in her grey and red striped nightshirt, Liz was gazing out onto the street through the octagonal window across from the sink. Standing behind her for a moment, he watched the bright morning light turn Elizabeth's curls to antique gold, then wrapped his arms around her where she stood. "You OK?" Hoping the light kiss he placed on the back of her neck emphasized his concern, Bill smiled when she leaned back against him. "Mm-hum. I hadn't wanted to bring this up yesterday, but..." Loosening his grip, he leaned around her right shoulder. "What?" She pointed across the street. "See that car?" Tucking his chin against her ear, he studied the black sedan with government tags across the street. "What about it?" "It's been there since just after you left in March, Bill, and it's usually occupied." Twisting in his grasp, she closed the bathroom door with her bare foot. "I didn't want to say anything in front of the boys, but sometimes, when the phone would ring, there would be no one at the other end." Rolling his eyes, he stepped back. "You shouldn't have let Val and Mom scare you with the stories about little John, Liz. This is a military base. Nothing can happen to you without everyone knowing about it, and probably coming to help. As for the phones, well, the government's installing new cables here, didn't you know? There are bound to be glitches in any new system." He rubbed her arms. "Don't worry, there's nothing wrong, OK?" "OK." The reply was flat, uncertain, so he smiled gently, but she jumped at the buzz of the phone and he hastened to offer further reassurance. "I'll get that." Crossing to her bedside table, he lifted the receiver from the old black rotary unit she had purchased on a whim while they were both in college. "Hello?" His eyebrows drew together. "Hello?" Padding over to sit beside him, she spread aloe lotion on her wind-roughened knees while he wordlessly replaced the receiver. "Now do you understand, Bill?" Settling beside her, he rubbed his hands together before pulling her close. "It sounded like there was someone breathing at the other end. Is that what you've been hearing all this time?" A single dip of the head, then, at a petulant cry, she rose to hurry towards the door. "Sorry, that's the twins. You know how cranky they can be first thing in the morning." He smiled. "Before their breakfasts. I'll see you downstairs; I'd like to shower first thing." He shrugged. "Get the dirt off." Waving her out, he hoped the nothing words would dispel her fears. After she left, Bill stepped back onto the tiled floor, checking through the window while he ran the water. There were two sedans outside now, the driver of the original car sliding into the back seat of the later arrival, while two others took his place. Bill frowned. --o-0-o-- X-Files Offices Second Floor J. Edgar Hoover Building Wednesday, 7:26 am Curled into a ball in her Father's chair, Dana Scully rubbed her eyes. Smiling at the whoosh of air through the outer door, she glanced up when she felt a large hand grasp her shoulder. "You're early, Mulder." He chuckled. "So are you, Dr. Scully." Leaning against the desk, he crossed his arms and faced her. "Couldn't catch any more sleep?" She shrugged. "Why would he have my phone number on his person? Why risk our lives by tying himself to us?" Having noted that she had started a pot as he walked in, Mulder moved to the doorway to check on the coffee maker. "Why you, Scully, and not me? He's only ever contacted you when I've been away or by mistake." Sliding out of the chair, she padded to his side, still barefoot. "Perhaps he was afraid he would be assassinated, and his body dumped, so he was attempting to insure, however futilely, that someone would look after his remains." Each sobered, thinking of the recent events that had overturned the powers in the shadow government, just as they were beginning to identify some of its leading members. Scully felt his hand again, rooting her in place long enough for him to prepare two coffees. Lifting one corner of her mouth as she accepted the one he held out for her, she swayed slightly, then sensed him keeping close to her. Mulder traced the sag in his partner's shoulders with his eyes. "Maybe, but at least we won't have to wonder where he stands, anymore." Testing his drink, he dropped in another teaspoonful of sugar. Scully watched him dip the spoon into the black liquid, then pull it through from one side to the other. "That leaves only one." "Yeah, the one we started off with." They retraced their steps, he flopping behind his desk, she tucked primly on the Naugahyde. She studied the hole worn in the bottom of his left sole. Sipping in silence, they instinctively gauged each other's fatigue. Scully had monitored the tall agent carefully, aware as she was, that the role of leader was at odds with his intuitive and paranoid modes of operation. Since returning from Miami, Mulder had hovered as close to his partner as she could stand these past few months. It was as if her flood of awakened memories had opened the doors for him to re-experience the emotions that had besieged him after her return. Settling back into the lounge chair, Scully breathed in the scents imbedded in the plastic, thinking back over those intervening months. Agent Phillip Alexander Nichols, late of the Drug Interdiction Division, had joined them in April, finally finished with his court appearances. The three of them had investigated a rash of UFO sightings and supposed alien abductions in Upper Michigan. Although many of the claims, especially after the first media reports, had been hysterical in origin, the initial witnesses had isolated themselves from the circus in a remote cabin in the forest. It had taken four days of hiking to reach them, the effort bringing her to respect their new agent, for his physical stamina, if not for his ideas. Just as she and Mulder were in many ways physical opposites, so were Rosen and Nichols. While both were of similar heights, Rosen, the brunette triathlete, radiated youth and vitality, while Nichols' blond hair was greying and thinning. He had the appearances of a seasoned campaigner, and had joked about "coming from a long line of ranchers in Montana". His eating habits were worse than Mulder's, preferring a few non-regulation beers with his steaks. But each morning, he was rested and ready, setting them a steady pace, continuing to march until even her partner's long legs gave out. The phone on her partner's desk buzzed, interrupting Scully's reverie. "Mulder. We'll be right down." She sighed, reaching for her shoes. It was hard to leave the chair, where the faint scent of her Father's Old Spice still clung to the area of slight discoloration his resting head had left. But they had work ahead of them, and Ahab would never permit his Starbuck to shirk her given duties. --o-0-o-- Volcanic Observatory outside Newhalem, Washington Wednesday, 4:53 am While stepping out of his office, James Campbell rubbed his face. He had spent the night reviewing the literature on caustics, but was forcing himself to stop to handle the next group of cores from the drilling site. Other than a corrosive acid or a strong alkaline solution, no chemical compound he could find mentioned would dissolve glass, usually the most inert of substances. But, with a Ph of 6.5, identification as either was impossible. Entering the lab, he crossed to the bench where Rich had stored the rest of the clear band in an aluminum lockbox. After several beakers had dissolved and the vitreous substance had begun to rot the oak of the lab bench itself, they had, in desperation, tried a metal pan, which had remained intact. The scientist lifted a portion of the material, that had expanded and had taken on the consistency of putty, out of the box, rolling it around in his hand. His attempts to dissolve the mass in water had failed, nor, as his before and after weighings revealed, had the substance absorbed any of the liquid following immersion. Running his tongue over his teeth, he realized he probably hadn't shaved or washed since the core was exposed, so he replaced the sample in the container before turning to the sink to wash his hands. --o-0-o-- Basement J. Edgar Hoover Building Wednesday, 7:31 am As Mulder held the door and Scully stepped through before him, Rosen and Nichols stopped discussing their first case as a full team. The tall man nodded to the seated pair, noting how easily they had settled into his old haunts. Used as he was to working undercover, Nichols had been delighted when Mulder informed him that, as a basement-lurker, the Bureau uniform of suit and tie was purely optional. But, for the occasional meeting or briefing with Skinner, the senior agent kept a tweed sports jacket on the coat rack, with a clip-on red bow tie in the pocket. Rosen, however, followed Scully's lead, rotating over a two week period through a series of tailored pantsuits in carefully neutral colors. When they moved upstairs, Mulder and Scully had left a few of their old oak slat-backed visitor's chairs behind. Now, the pathologist lifted one off the stack in the corner and slid it forward, close to the older agent. "I'm glad Mulder didn't trip you last night on the courts." She and Nichols chuckled while Rosen studied their faces. Mulder set another wooden seat beside hers, before removing his coat and tie, loosening his collar, and rolling up his sleeves. "Well, I guess you know what we're here to talk about." Nichols nodded. He dressed today as he usually did when they were in the office, in a button-down Oxford shirt and canvas Khakis. "Not the Ridgefield reincarnation murders." A pair of hazel eyes gazed into faded blue ones. "Only the murders." Rosen exchanged glances with Scully, who waved in a dismissive gesture before she sat, and the younger woman grasped her meaning immediately. The brunette rose. "We've been kicking around some ideas, Mulder." He grinned. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear, Rosen." She stepped over to the blackboard she had rolled against the wall behind the desks. "Nic feels that the flashback dreams are past- life memories, but I think they're guilt-induced, and the amnesia is a particularly clever hoax. The perp is a professor of psychology, after all, more than capable of generating convincing symptoms." She was scribbling the victims' names on the blackboard. Crossing the room, Scully shook her head. "Rosen, we don't have a link between Professor Smith and the women he killed. None of them were in his classes, nor does he completely fit Mulder's profile of a stalking-type murderer." The auburn-haired woman began listing the details of each death by the names of the victims. "From all accounts, Jacob Smith was too physically disabled with Multiple Sclerosis for him to commit these killings. He would have to possess sufficient strength and stamina to carry a one hundred and twenty pound body up six flights of stairs to throw it off the library roof. I think, based on his rather feeble escape attempt, that the local police arrested a man who definitely has something to hide, but given his disability, it would be difficult to prove he was the perpetrator." Nichols looked to Mulder, who had remained silent. Propping his feet up on the desk, the tall man grinned. "But, Scully, why discount the possibility that his use of self-hypnosis to mask the pain he felt as a result of his disease might not have permitted his past-life memories to emerge?" He crossed his arms. "Then, he was a powerfully-built farmer's wife, capable of slinging sheep over his shoulder." Nichols swivelled his wooden desk chair. "His MS was not advanced. He still had normal, if unused muscular capability. The woman he claims to have been was abandoned by her husband for a young serving girl. We know from the local town records Professor Willis was researching, that Deborah Wells hung herself in the barn shortly thereafter. Two of the victims were distant descendants of Anne Higgins and Richard Wells." He raised his hands. "Karmic Justice?" Scully glared at him. "Ridgefield is so small nearly everyone who was born there is related to the Wells clan, Nichols." Rosen stood beside Scully. "But if it *is* Karmic Justice, why the other two? You can't say all of them were connected to the past. What about the Korean exchange student? A many times removed cousin of some fictitious Chinese servant?" Mulder shrugged. "Mistaken identity? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time? We know he never entrapped the Wells girls, but he was probably following them, and the four victims all lived in the same dormitories. The two others he can't blame on his previous life, and with Smith dead at his own hand, we can't question him further." While the other two stared, it was Scully who erupted. "Mulder, *when*?" Even to Nichols, the look the dark-haired man sent his partner broadcast awkward penitence. The older agent found himself wondering which of the two was really the dominant personality of the pair before a quiet reply emanated from the lanky figure. "Early this morning. I took the call on my way in to work; I've asked the local FBI office to ship the body up here ASAP." Rosen frowned. "Let me guess. He found some way to hang himself." Nichols pounced on Mulder's nod. "There, you see! He died the same way she killed herself in his past life, Ros." As she faced her partner, her tightly crossed arms pressed creases into her grey suit jacket. "Or how he wanted us to think. He was unstable when we arrested him, Nic." Scully walked back to sit by Mulder. "That's too extreme, even for me, Rosen. I don't know of anyone with so little self-preservation instinct," she glanced at her partner, "that he would kill himself intentionally to perpetrate a hoax." As Mulder dropped his feet to the floor, he turned to her. "But we don't know that he intended it to go that far, Scully. He *was* under a suicide watch, at our suggestion. It may simply have gotten out of hand." Nichols narrowed his eyes at the tall man. "Whose side are you on, Mulder?" The younger agent caught his subordinate in a clear-eyed stare. "The side of the Truth, Nichols. If it is revenge for a past-life wrong, we need to be able to eliminate the other possibilities as less likely." He cocked an eyebrow at Rosen. "If it isn't an X- File, but a hoax, well, justice has been served, wouldn't you say?" Nodding, the brunette cleaned the words off the blackboard. "We all agree Jacob Smith is the perpetrator. His fingerprints were found on the victim's skin and clothing. In the case of the second exchange student, she had just bathed and was wearing a new sweatsuit, so his were the *only* prints found on the victim, besides her own." Scully nodded. "Footprints with a wear pattern matching a pair of jogging shoes belonging to the deceased Smith, were tracked through wet clay near the entrance to the library. The deeper depressions in the mud showed him to be carrying excess weight, possibly over his shoulder, rather than in his arms." Nichols sighed. "Which tallies with his past life memories. The one surviving photograph of Sarah Wells on file at the University Library shows her carrying a sack." Rosen stood over him. "But that's what makes it so ambiguous a piece of evidence. Smith was friends with Willis, and used the archival records frequently in his own work. How do we know that he hadn't seen the picture before? She's labelled in it, after all, and given that collection of cheap romances he was hording, the story would appeal to him." Scully rose. "His latest research project, not a secret obsession, Rosen. Admittedly, it's not the type of literature you expect a man to have..." She glanced down at her partner. Mulder was smirking as he threw out his query. "But could that be proof of his discovery of his former female nature, Scully?" He looked from one woman to the other. "Now, neither of you Dames Reason would go in for such." His offered praise failed to entirely quell the twin storms he saw about to break, so he continued quickly. "But, if Sarah were alive today, she would fit the stereotype of the Harlequin Romance reader: lonely, overweight housewife, ignored by her husband." Rosen drew a line down the center of the blackboard, writing 'Reincarnation' at the top of the left column, and 'Hoax' atop the right. "As I see it, this is how the evidence stacks up." She raised her voice to be heard over the scratching of the chalk. "Jacob Smith had recounted, under hypnosis, the feelings of loss and abandonment when Sarah Wells realized Richard had left her for Anne." In the left column, the brunette wrote, 'Emotion-filled testimony'. Scully arched both eyebrows. "But the life of Sarah Wells is almost a fireside ghost story in that part of the country. He could have fabricated the tears." As Nichols wagged his head, conceding the point, Rosen duplicated the words in the right column. Scully glanced at her partner, his feet propped back up on the desk. The twinkling in the dark eyes baffled her. When the squeaking halted, she turned her attention to Rosen. The brunette was focused on her own partner. "Nic, he hasn't given us any specific details other than could be easily verified by quick searches in the University Library." Under 'Hoax', she wrote 'no unverifiable details'. Nichols grunted. "But if we can verify what he said, doesn't that make it true?" She wrote the same phrase under 'Reincarnation'. Mulder chuckled. "So, Rosen, you would prefer he had told us something we couldn't verify?" Would that make you believe?" Crossing her arms, she leaned against the blackboard. "No, Mulder, I'm saying all the pieces fell in place too quickly. The Wells farm was buried in the blizzard of 1878, then covered by a mudslide the following spring. As a result, the site was abandoned for fifty years, but the family who bought the land left shortly after they moved in, supposedly driven out by the ghost of Sarah Wells." Her voice assumed a wry tone. "It couldn't have been the Great Depression or the Dust Bowl, now could it?" Thinking back to Mulder's advice, Nichols offered his partner a grin and some moral support. "Never. Ectoplasmic entities are *always* more potent than planetary forces." Her fellow agents relished the moment of levity before she continued. "I would have preferred that Professor Smith had given us specific details that could only be verified by the archaeological excavation slated for next summer. Remember, he couldn't recall the exact layout of the Wells kitchen. It he had been a housewife, well..." Mulder shrugged. "I agree it would be fun to watch Dr. Scully try to dance her way around that." Pursing his lips, he ignored the LOOK boring into his ear. "But, I don't think the Bureau will wait a year for a report." He waved one hand at the words. "Go on." Scully watched his lips quirk. Rosen wrote up 'carried victims over the shoulder', 'suffering from MS', and 'Professor of Psychology' in both columns. As she scrawled 'killed descendants of Anne Wells' in the Reincarnation column, and 'killed women not related to Anne Wells' in the Hoax column, Scully stomped to her side. "Rosen! Reincarnation doesn't happen! There is no proof for it, even in this case!" Turning, the younger woman blinked at her. "Scully, that's my point. Science is the art of the quantifiable, but here, we have nothing to measure. If it exists, the soul has no mass or energy associated with it, so we can't tag it, monitor its movements like a member of an endangered species, following it from life to life." Nichols leapt to her other elbow. "Ros, that's exactly what these past-life memories are, tracking of souls, don't you see?" Scully shook her head. "Memories are fallible, fragile things, Nichols. Do you truly remember your Grandparents' faces, or have they come to resemble the photographs you parents have shown you?" Mulder rose, jamming his hands in his pockets as he approached the other three. "So, Rosen, you feel the tangible evidence is equivocal?" After her nod, he studied the faces of the others. Nichols' shrug before resuming his place behind the desk indicated his reluctant assent. Scully's glare told him she wasn't ready to acquiesce, just yet. "I agree." His partner went utterly rigid, so he touched her arm. "I'm no believer in the Shirley McLaine school of reincarnation, Scully. After all, if everyone who claims to have been Cleopatra in a past life really had been, the woman would have had a different soul each day of her life." Nichols' snort was both interruption and support. "But we do have tangible proof that Smith killed those girls, so one way or the other, justice has been served." The older man sighed. "Until next time, Chief." Mulder grinned. "We'll mark the case closed, for now, and write it up. In twenty years, who knows? Sarah Wells may come back to take revenge on a whole new generation of Anne's descendants." Spinning on his heel, he left three astonished agents in his wake. Scully glared at them both in turn, then ran after him at the chime of the elevator bell. --o-0-o-- Elevator J. Edgar Hoover Building Wednesday, 8:23 am When Mulder saw the blur of tan and red flying at him, he pressed the Door Open button, working not to smirk at his partner, now in high dudgeon. Scully opened the discussion in a flat, level tone. "Mulder, you don't seriously believe his reincarnation alibi, do you?" Sobering, he wondered briefly how far he could push the discussion before she slugged him. "Not the New Age stuff, no." He activated the second and sixth floor buttons. "Do you believe the soul exists?" Her arms akimbo, she assumed the sparring stance that presaged a fifteen round battle of wills. "Of course, nearly every religion holds that some eternal quantity outlives the body." Grunting, he began pacing. As his feet shifted aimlessly, Mulder sighed. He had hoped their friendship was strong enough to absorb the shock that reopening, however briefly, that case would bring. "All right, then what happens to this eternal quantity after death?" She blocked his path, stepping into his personal space in her frustration. "Mulder, I'm a Catholic, you *know* I won't admit to reincarnation without violating every tenant of the Christian faith." She watched him calculate. "Out with it." He leaned into her face. "So you won't admit to reincarnation based solely on the word of a single man in a palace in Rome?" If she had been livid when she entered the lift, the heat was coming off her now in near-visible waves. "Mulder, it's not like that! There are nearly 2000 years of tradition and scholarship detailing that each soul is judged on the choices of a single lifetime." He crossed his arms, their proximity nearly resting his elbows on her shoulders. "And five thousand years of careful rabbinical analysis concluding that just belonging is enough." When remorse appeared in those green-blue eyes almost immediately, he leaned back, softening his tone. "Or, what, six thousand years of support for Karma? If we were to put the question to a vote from the entire planet, the Christian and Jewish viewpoints would fall in a significant minority." He touched her shoulder. "And we still, as Doctor Curie so painstakingly delineated just now, have no unequivocal evidence one way or the other." He waited as the fight left her in a prolonged sigh. "OK, Mulder, I see your point." She stared at her feet, speaking softly. "So what do we do about X?" Scully sensed him sagging as well. "I'd rather have continued to argue about Professor Smith than try to puzzle that out, Scully." Instantly alert, she focused on his darkening face. "Mulder, I don't know everything that transpired between you and your contact..." He shrugged. "Let me think about it, all right?" He tapped his watch. "New supervisor's briefing at 8:30. Skinner will tan my hide if I don't show up. I'd considered signing in and skipping out, but I can at least use the time to consider our latest problem." After the elevator settled at the second floor, Mulder held the door for Scully. "Your stop, Ma'am." As she left, he bowed slightly, smirking at the playful tap she administered to his shoulder. --o-0-o-- Volcanic Observatory outside Newhalem, Washington Wednesday, 6:14 am "Rich? Is that you?" Campbell met his sleepy-eyed technician at the door. "I have some ideas about this substance." Recognizing the fervor in his boss' gaze, the younger man nodded, willing to let him ramble. "Oh?" "It must be organic." Knowing it was time to play his role as Devil's Advocate, Rich queried. "Why?" The scientist threw up his hands. "Think, man, think! The deep-sea dives have been bringing back all these new life forms from the vents on the mid-ocean ridges." "But, Dr. Campbell, anything living surviving at the pressures and temperatures existing at the depth of these cores is a near- impossibility. Volatile carbon compounds would burn off, not survive as a discrete band of rock." Expecting this response, the older man grinned. "What we have here are ocean ridge volcanics, that were subducted only a few million years ago. What if..." He halted, regarding his assistant's horrified expression curiously. "What is it?" Rich grabbed his boss's shoulder. "Dr. Campbell, what did you do to your teeth?" He growled. "I brushed them. Why?" "You should look at them." Impatient with the interruption, the scientist stalked to their cramped bathroom, grinning at the mirror. "My teeth are fine, Rich, don't interrupt." Poking one incisor for emphasis, he grunted as he examined his finger. A chalky residue remained, so he studied his image closely while he rubbed the rest. Rich's face appeared. "Sir, they're dissolving!" --o-0-o-- Heritage Park Alexandria, Virginia Wednesday, 1:06 pm Falling silent after finishing his recap of the night's events and a brief review of his involvement with X, Mulder glanced out over the barely ruffled water. The four agents had settled under a group of oaks by the Potomac to lunch and converse in privacy. Mulder studied Nichols first, then Rosen, waiting for their responses. The older man gulped, but was silent. Nodding, Rosen leaned forward, her mind working though the possibilities before she would issue a rapid-fire stream of queries. Mulder inhaled, seeking to forestall her cross-examination, but his partner spoke before he could. "Rosen, we don't have the answers that fit all the pieces together yet. We know there has been a coup, or more properly, a palace revolution, but any specifics are difficult to pin down. We suspect a new group of younger leaders has replaced the old men at the top. But how many?" The younger woman shrugged her sympathy. "You were just beginning to decipher the power structure inside the Consortium when the explosion in Manhattan occurred?" Mulder and Scully glanced at each other, which was all the acknowledgement they felt secure giving. The Section Head roused himself to assure their colleagues. "This all sounds fantastic, I know, and we had both wanted to give you two more time before we briefed you fully on the shadow governments, but last night changed all that." Nichols' knees cracked as he shifted. "That smoking fellow you talked about is still alive?" Mulder grimaced. "Most certainly." "So he's a loose cannon?" After another silent exchange of glances, Mulder responded. "We think so. He knew the plans of the new leaders, but acted as if they didn't know he was alive." Scully sipped her mineral water. "We haven't heard from him since February, but knowing him, he's still working behind the scenes to gain whatever advantage he can from this new situation." Rosen stretched, wriggling off the root that had been her perch. "So you'd recognize two of them again?" Mulder balled up his lunch bag, the half-eaten apple still inside. "One of them works in the Senate, so Danny is running through the records on all the Congressional staff members and their associates. It's taking him longer than he thought it would, with all the overturn, but we may have a few candidates for the blond one." Pushing himself to his feet, he terminated the discussion by extending his hand to Scully. "Sorry, people, I'd love to continue this, but I have an obligatory meeting with Skinner at 1:30. It seems the Bureau has never had an astronomer on staff before, and you don't fit neatly into one of their square holes, Rosen." Scully smiled at his gentle tease, but Rosen was anxious, so she patted her shoulder. "The X-Files have never fitted into a square hole." Mulder continued smoothly. "We've survived the round file, more than once. You two work up a preliminary report based on our discussion this morning. Professor Smith's remains should be arriving at the Forensics Lab as we speak, so Scully can verify the cause of death." --o-0-o-- Basement Scully Residence Norfolk, Virginia Wednesday 5:37 pm "No, John-John, give Daddy the darts." The toddler jutted his lower lip petulantly. Charles Scully sighed and held out both hands. "Give Daddy the darts *now*, or no dessert tonight." Tiny red splotches were beginning to appear on John's freckled cheeks. Charles came to the realization that if he didn't distract the child soon, he would let loose with a full-blown tantrum. "Big boys don't cry to get their way, you know." Clutching his prizes between both palms tightly, John Scully stomped his foot. "Do *so*." His father shook his head. "Daddy doesn't." "Uncle Fox cries." "What?" That protruding Scully chin put in a precocious appearance. "Gamma said so. Cried lots over Aunt Dana, when she was 'ducted. An, an last Forf of July, he showed Gamma a pit-chure of his sister, Sam..., Sam..." Sighing, Charles made a swipe for the darts. "Samantha." His joints stiff, the boy ran to one of the few plain brown shipping boxes left in the back of the basement, seeking a photo album he had watched his parents pack. But, to tug open the interleaved flaps of the container, he had to set aside the projectiles that so concerned his Father. The spiral-bound white binder partially blocking his face, John staggered back to Charles with his treasure, then sat with a thud, dropping the book before him. He flipped several of the cardboard-stiffened sheaves over, then, triumphant at his discovery, hit a print in the center with his palm. "There! Told you." He crossed his arms, covering the Turbo Power Rangers on his T-shirt as he did. Charles knelt, studying the image. Fox Mulder and Margaret Scully were huddled on a picnic bench, holding each other, a wallet-sized photo hanging off the end of one plank. While the dark-haired man's expression was obscured by Margaret's head, the compassionate gaze Dana Scully was sending her partner from just behind him was unmistakable. "John, dinner!" Charles watched his son pull himself up the stairs, all adult matters forgotten. When the boy was safely away, he collected the contended feathered missiles off the floor. Valerie Scully's form appeared at the top of the stairs. "Chuck?" He grinned. "I owe Bill a call; I'll be up soon." She sighed. "Just don't take so long your supper gets cold, OK?" "No, Mom!" --o-0-o-- Forensics Lab J. Edgar Hoover Building Wednesday, 5:49 pm Through the glass of the door, Mulder could see Arthur Pendrell hovering at his partner's elbow while she worked in the open abdomen of the late Jacob Smith. After four hours with his supervisor, writing and rewriting a job description to wiggle Rosen into permanent status as an FBI agent, he needed to relieve a little tension. Stepping over to the intercom panel beside the entrance, he toggled an orange switch before whispering into the mesh-covered microphone. "Oh, my poor, broken heart. Betrayed by my trooo luv." The petite figure went rigid. "Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me." As Mulder hoped, the technician stiffened immediately, flushed a bright purple, and rushed the far door of the lab. One green-blue eye focused over Scully's shoulder before she jerked her head, beckoning him inside. Mulder pulled the door open. She spoke when he had assumed a comfortable slouch by her right shoulder."You really didn't have to scare Arthur like that, Mulder." She watched him shrug. "I think he's found someone new." He could barely contain himself. "So soon?" Glancing at the white wooden door coated with multiple layers of institutional white paint, through which the sandy-haired man had departed, he snorted. "So much for all those months of pining by his microscope. Any idea who?" Scully eyed her partner through her safety goggles. "Mulderrrr. No, none. On Monday, we had talked about attending a concert at the Folger this weekend, but he was here asking me if I minded if he could cancel." He mouthed an 'Ah' at her, then dropped his eyes to the corpse. "So, what did you find on Doctor Smith?" Turning back to the body, Scully's lips quirked as she plotted a riposte to even the score between her partner and the technician. She pulled aside the intestines. "Oh, nothing more than an unnatural organ in his body." When the Hunter's gleam shown from the tall agent's eyes, Scully found herself glad her smirk was covered by the surgical mask. "Take a look at this, partner." He grimaced before peering over her shoulder. "What am I supposed to notice here, Scully?" She never understood his queasiness, but had long since accepted it without question. "Our professor was a she." The auburn-haired agent poked a small, pear-shaped organ deep in the pelvis. After glancing at the corpse's exposed crotch, Mulder gagged. "What? But he looks like he has the right plumbing, Scully." She nodded, severing the tissue she had indicated. "Functionally, he was all man, but he was actually an hermaphrodite, someone born with two reproductive systems, one for each sex." She began bagging the internal organs she had removed to take measurements, finishing the autopsy while they talked. Mulder stepped back so Scully could work. "He fathered three children. Do you think he was even aware he had this?" Threading a suture needle, she glanced at him. "No. The uterus was attached to the urethra, but it remained undeveloped, like that of a five-year-old girl's." He watched her sew the cadaver closed, using fine, even stitches. Once the body cavity was intact, she turned to the remaining organ, slitting it open expertly. "This was blocked off by a 3 cm thick membrane. It's pretty fibrous inside." Over his discomfort, Mulder had been thinking. "Are you suggesting this may have triggered a female identity in his mind?" As she bagged the anomalous tissue, Scully considered. "I'll have to research that, Mulder. The literature on modern hermaphrodites is sparse, but I've never seen a study on the psychological impact of two sets of sex organs. Have you?" At his shrug, she continued. "Most present-day hermaphrodites are sex-tested at birth, then the 'wrong set' is removed shortly thereafter. Usually, the subject doesn't know, unless his or her parents pass the information along." He chuckled. "His or hers is right, Scully. How much longer will you be down here?" She stripped off the gloves. "Just long enough to wash up and change." Stepping into a closet-sized room, she continued to speak, raising her voice to be heard through the door. "He died of suffocation, just as we thought. He hanged himself. You can see the bruising around the neck." He lifted the sheet on the body, nodding as she concluded. "No great mysteries here, Mulder, just this slight oddity." Turning when he heard the door latch click, he was amazed, one more time, at the transformation from surgeon to agent. His lip curled. "Only a woman would consider having two sets of sex organs 'a slight oddity', Scully." She tipped her head, waiting for the joke, but he was frowning. "You OK, Mulder?" Side by side, they walked to the door, then he stepped back so she could pass first. Since he had ignored her first question, she tried again. "How did the session with Skinner go?" Cocking his thumb vertically, he pointed an index finger at her temple, mouthing a 'Pow' at her. "Argh. Don't bring that up. I never knew there were so many arcane personnel rules to trip over. No wonder he turns into an ogre around review time." As they waited for the elevator, he glanced down at her. "If this manager stuff ever starts to make too much sense to me, promise me you'll shoot me again, and haul me off to the middle of nowhere for my own good, OK?" She crinkled her nose at him. "If I ever have to drag you off to clear your head again, it'll be somewhere nicer than Farmington, partner, and I won't be *shooting* you to make you come to your senses." She stepped through the opening elevator doors, calling back over her shoulder in singing tones of innocence. "Coming?" He jumped, closed his mouth, then chortled as he followed her. --o-0-o-- Basement / Study Scully Residence / Scully Residence Norfolk, Virginia / Charleston, South Carolina Wednesday, 5:51 pm "Bill?" Leaning back, Charles sighed at the comforting creak of his oak desk chair. "You settled in yet?" "Not really. You surface guys have all the luck, breathing fresh air whenever you want. None of this going for months without sunlight on your face." The red-haired siblings grinned, each aware that they were related both by blood and as long-time men of the sea. "Yeah. After the tight quarters and silence, three rowdy boys take time to get used to again. Are the twins crawling yet?" Bill's eyes danced. "Are they ever! We thought we had learned with Will, but you forget, you know? Everything that hits the floor goes in the mouth." Charlie laughed. "Before the second bounce, seems like. So, what's this about cars? Wiretaps?" He heard his older brother close his study door. "Well, Liz doesn't want me to worry Mom or Dana with this yet, but, I think we're under surveillance." Rubbing his now healed leg, the younger Scully dropped his feet to the carpet. The temporary loss of his son stabbed deeper than he would admit, to wife, mother, or, especially, sister. "Oh?" "Tell me, what did you find out about the bugs in your place?" Charles sighed. "I took them over to..., you remember Rick Young, don't you?" "Sure. Top-notch gizmo guy. What did he say?" "That he'd never seen anything like them. He came back, that night, with me, and we found twelve others, scattered around. But, when I asked about them later, he said he'd turned them over to his Commander, and clammed up, real fast." Charles shifted, concerned about revealing too much over the phone. "I think Dana's mixed up in something far bigger than she, or that Jew partner of hers realizes." He heard a sigh. "You're right, Charlie, but, how do we convince her? She's putting us all in danger with her work, can't she see?" "I've tried to talk to Mom, Bill, but I get nowhere. She's so firmly convinced that those two are doing something so, so *significant*, that their work can't be stopped. But what good is it if we're all dead? Who's going to look after Dana in her old age if her nephews are all gone? With no way to have children of her own..." "And no prospects..." Red curls bobbed. "Right, exactly. We have to look out for the whole family, now that Dad's gone." Both men paused when they heard clicking over the lines. "Bill? You still there?" "Yeah. That's what Liz has been putting up with, apparently." "Bill, we need to get together. Do you have any leave you could use? We could meet halfway somewhere..." "No, I have a better idea. There are several reports that need to be delivered to your base floating around HQ here. I'll volunteer to make a delivery tomorrow, so we can get together, face to face, all right?" Charles nodded. "When can I expect you?" "I'll call when I get into the office in the morning, give you the final details then, OK, brother?" A sigh. "Just use someone else's desk phone when you do, yes?" "Sure thing." "Oh, say hi to Liz and the boys for me, OK?" "Yeah, and to Val and John, little Chuck, too." "Will do, Sir." --o-0-o-- Archives Metro Station Washington, DC Wednesday, 6:24 pm At the chime, a multi-generational Japanese family touring the American capital pushed through the double-wide opening. Unwittingly, they were brushing aside a tall man in a rumpled dark grey suit, and his auburn-haired, neatly-pressed associate in tan. She pressed a sheaf of papers against her jacket, sending a frustrated glance after them, before stepping into the car. "Mulder, Frohike had forwarded me an interesting request for information he pulled down off one of the Volcanology bulletin boards last night. Here." She passed him the sheets, freeing her hands just in time to grasp one of the support poles as the subway car lurched. Between the end of rush hour and the summer tourists, all the seats were taken, so the partners were pressed against the far door, clutching their briefcases out of the way of a group of Scandinavians. Engrossed in reading, Mulder was motionless while the train pulled into and out of L'Enfant Plaza. "Mulder, that was your stop." "Hum?" He focused on her. "Oh, I'll catch a return Blue Line at Pentagon." His eyes dropped to the text. "What do you think this means, Scully? This thing came out of a deep core and dissolves bone?" He watched her shrug. "Maybe it's related to Trepkos' silicon bug?" Now she snapped to attention. "We can't drop everything and run out there, we have..." He nodded. "This would be up Rosen's alley, though. I think they're ready to fly solo, don't you?" Focused, he was mentally reviewing the events that had transpired in both the Arctic and the Cascades. "We'll have to warn them, tell them what precautions to take." She blinked as the train emerged from the semi-darkness to pass over the Potomac. "We never had conclusive proof that the spores from the volcano were a silicon-based life form." He shrugged. "Yeah, the military took it." He tucked the papers away. "Up for some virtual surfing? What say we hit the Gunmen's place to see what else they know about this?" She stared. "No, we can't." Scully glanced around the crowded train car at the other commuters. "Remember they're still securing X, and knowing Langly, he's worked up some high tech booby trap to protect the offices. Besides, with the full-time access I now have, we can have something delivered and search away at my place." His eyes glinted. "A new case *and* free food. What a deal, Doctor Scully." --o-0-o-- Apartment 5 Alexandria, VA Wednesday, 9:56 pm Dana Scully pulled the pencil from her mouth to call from the bedroom. "Mulder, would you get that?" Once the door swung aside, he grinned at the stocky man in the hall. "Thanks for coming on such short notice, Nichols." The older agent waved the case files in the air. "XF-1008, XF- 2002, and XF-2009, right?" He waited for Mulder's nod. "I've called Rosen. She's out on a 15 mile training run, but she said she knows a route to make it down here in a half an hour. That should be about now." He held up a plastic bag. "Change of clothes." Scully appeared at Mulder's elbow, her tan shorts and violet polo shirt a contrast to his dark suit trousers and button-down Oxford, but he had long since ditched the hated tie. "Coffee's hot, so grab a mug and we'll start taping these sheets together." She watched while the two men blinked in surprise. "I downloaded a geologic map of the drilling site, but I only have standard-sized paper. We should know what these guys hit before you two run out there." They turned at the knock on the doorframe, nodding at the sweat- drenched figure outside. Rosen began apologizing. "Sorry. Give me five, guys." She disappeared into Scully's bathroom, emerging after a quick shower, just wet, but clean. Mulder met her in the hall, tugging her by the arm into the kitchen, where Scully and Nichols were already settled, reviewing the files and the data. --o-0-o-- Dark Apartment Washington, DC Wednesday, 10:06 pm His ever-present Morley extinguished, the old spy inserted his pick-lock into the slot in Luther's apartment door, grunting as the dead-bolt yielded. He tapped the handle, waiting for the reinforced steel to slowly swing away. Glancing around the living room, he detected subtle changes that verified his suspicions. Circling into the kitchen, he pried open the seal on the refrigerator door, checking its contents. The lean form straightened. Passing down the hall, keeping close to the wall, both to avoid casting shadows, as well as inadvertently creaking a floorboard, he bent at the closed bedroom door, placing his eye against the keyhole. As he studied the form on the bed, he thought he detected a shimmer of light, just a eye-blink's worth, but still, it was there. Like a ghost, the grey-suited figure slipped down the hall and was off, back to his car, parked around the block. A grunt, then the figure on the bed shifted. "Anyone there?" Shrugging out of the covers, he checked the spaces in the one bedroom apartment, until, satisfied, he returned to sleep. --o-0-o-- Apartment 5 Wednesday, 10:47 pm "Mulder, I'm no expert at reading these, but I think they've tapped a layer of rock much older than Trepkos had." Rosen shifted Scully's ruler until it was perpendicular to the near-vertical formation boundaries indicated on the cross section. "Trepkos was working in an enclosed caldera, so whatever they found would only have lived on the surface, or in the chamber when it was void of magma. But this drilling project was to designed to examine the recent tectonic past." Mulder nodded. "This thing is different from the silicon life form, which only incubated in humans, but didn't dissolve their bones." Nichols set the coffee mug on his placemat. "How do you know that? Scully was never able to finish her autopsy on the Tanaka, were you?" The auburn-haired woman shook her head. "My preliminary examination of the body showed damage only to the respiratory tract, but no bone loss." She lifted her print-out from under the map. "According to this account, Dr. Campbell appeared normal when the damage to his teeth was discovered. In the three previous X- Files, the victims exhibited either aggressive behavior, with an accompanying increase in metabolism, or obvious symptoms." Rosen thumbed through two of the folders. "I'd lay odds that neither of these parasites is as extreme in physiology as extraterrestrial or silicon-based." Returning from refilling his mug, Mulder bent over her. "Oh?" Scully cocked an eyebrow. Rosen pushed one of the X-Files at Mulder. "Take case 2002. From this Hopkins DNA analysis, the fluke-man was exactly that, a liver fluke that had somehow merged human DNA into its own sequences. It had evolved, if you prefer, to better utilize its host, humans, for the purposes of incubation. But, it paid a price in that the adult fluke assumed simian form." Scully continued. "However, many parasites spend the majority of their life cycles in juvenile, or in this case, most fluke-like form. The adaptations were very specific, Mulder. It had incorporated those sequences that would aid in rapid growth and development of the immature organism. It could use human growth hormone to spur its maturation. It had evolved to release the triggering enzymes that tell our own biochemistry to move fats from storage tissues into the bloodstream. The liver is one of the places where fats are processed into energy, which the fluke would then feed off of directly." She glanced at Rosen, who was theorizing along with her. "Something dropped accidentally from space wouldn't have this evolutionary advantage." Crossing his arms, Mulder huffed. "But the Arctic worm wasn't specifically adapted for humans. It used the dog as well." Scully leaned towards him, moving close enough to brush his elbow with her shoulder. "All the more reason it was of terrestrial origin, Mulder. Perhaps, in a freak circumstance, if it were extra-solar, it might be able to utilize one species, but not two. Everything in the Arctic has to be adaptable to survive, which would mean being able to parasitize the first organism it encountered." Nichols was beet-faced at Mulder's calm despite the united opposition. "But, it would have to be tough to survive in space, too." Her wet curls sticking out at strange angles, Rosen shook her head. "No, no, no, Nic. We're talking evolution here, not some seeding of similar physiologies by god-like Founders." She steepled her fingers. "A meteorite drop on a planet is a one-way trip. There is no way the adapted worms could get back into space to mingle genes with the rest of its species, which is the only way what you're proposing would work." Mulder grunted. "Unless they were harvested and interbred by sentient beings, Rosen." Scully crossed her arms. "To what end, Mulder? If short, almond- eyed visitors wanted DNA, why not sample it directly?" She glanced at Rosen. The brunette was frowning before she offered another theory. "Or if this Arctic worm was designed to make us more controllable, I'd say it had exactly the opposite effect, wouldn't you?" The two men focussed on her, Nichols non-plussed, but Mulder inwardly exuberant. The tall agent congratulated himself. Scully held up her hand. "Which brings us around to the silicon bug. What possible evolutionary advantage could there be in incubating in humans?" Mulder was bouncing in his seat, hoping to use his colleagues' previous arguments to prove his point. "We don't know that it's only humans, Scully, that's all we saw." Rosen shook her head. "If that was a silicon life-form, there is none, Mulder." She jutted her chin at his squint. "Look, our bodies are 97% H-two-O?" She looked to Scully, who nodded her support. "It's heated, at that, as hot as is encountered in shallower ground water." Mulder chewed his lower lip. "Which is full of dissolved minerals." Emboldened, Rosen continued. "Exactly. Rocks of volcanic origin are anhydrous, simply because at the high temperatures and pressures present at their formation, any volatile compounds, which are ubiquitous on the surface of the earth, would be driven out." Nichols frowned, beginning to perceive the problems with Mulder's hypothesis. "All carbon-based life-forms rot when left in hot aqueous solutions long enough, whether alive or dead, unless, like salt-water fish, they have developed mechanisms to withstand their acid environment." Scully rested her arms on the table. "But, the usual solution is to grow new cells to replace the old ones, removed as scales flake off, or fin cells die. The speed of development in any life form is ultimately limited by the rapidity of chemical reactions possible with the elements present in it. This is what determines how quickly our neurons can fire to alert our brains that we are in imminent danger, or how fast our muscles twitch to get us out of it." Mulder turned towards her. "Scully, are you..." He stopped when she shook her head. Scully retrieved one of the reference books stacked on the floor, pointing to the periodic table inside the front cover. "Carbon is element six, with six protons, six neutrons, and four electrons in its incomplete outer shell, when in its non-radioactive state. Silicon is element fourteen, with fourteen protons, neutrons and electrons, also in its non-radioactive state. Yes, the outer shell has four free electrons, but the nucleus is so much larger, the reaction times are all slower, by a factor of the ratios of atomic mass." Mulder leaned into her face. "So what are you telling me here, is that a silicon bug would begin to dissolve if encased in a water- based life-form, and it couldn't think fast enough to know to get out of its bath?" She nodded, hoping he had finally, after two and a half years, come to understand her objections to the first case they had worked on after her return. He was still working through the ideas. "But a silicon-based life form that could live at the temperatures and pressures in magma wouldn't have those problems, would it? It could think fast enough to get out of trouble, and wouldn't encounter water." As Scully brought her face up to Mulder's, she saw the sheer delight radiating from it. "Then it couldn't live at the low pressures and reduced temperatures of the human body, can't you see? It would freeze, just like the molten silicates it lived in. Oh, I could see the life in magma possibilities, Mulder, since the last thing it would encounter there would be predation by carbon- based life-forms. But outside? No." She sagged against the seat back, feeling her sleepless night in her bones, then turned to the other agents. "Look, it's getting late, and you two have a plane to catch tomorrow." While the new agents were both startled into surprised outbursts by the abrupt shift, it was Nichols spoke first. "What? You're not coming with us?" Mulder shrugged. "We'll be out in a day or so." He fixed each of them in a stare in turn, watching as understanding dawned. "The tickets are on Cynthia's desk, so pick them up first thing in the morning. Your flight's at 9:15 from National. Keep us informed." Catching his partner's eye, Nichols jerked his head in the direction of the door. "Run you home?" Rosen nodded, so the two took their leave. After escorting them through the living room, Mulder turned to grasp his partner's shoulder. "Do you mind?" She held up her car keys. "I presume this is not a judgement on my hostessing skills, Agent Mulder?" As he reopened the door, running his hand down her back to shepherd her out, he grinned broadly. "If it were, Agent Scully, I would have applied to sub-let your sofa years ago." --o-0-o-- Apartment Complex Arlington, Virginia Wednesday 11:31 pm "The main entrance is blocked, so turn here, Scully." She eased the Honda into his darkened parking lot before they moved purposefully into a gap formed by several unoccupied spaces. "When do we leave for New Jersey?" He touched her arm. "8:30. I'll pick you up at 7:45, all right?" He watched her shake her head. "What?" "I don't see how you do that, Mulder." "What, Dr. Scully?" "We barely thought this was case, before you were wheeling and dealing us official orders!" She tipped her head. "When I didn't hear 'season tickets for JKC stadium', I knew that wasn't Danny at the other end of the phone." Shrugging, he leaned into her face. "Let's just say the exaggerated rumors of your cruel rebuffs of my charms have their uses." She rolled her eyes. "Surely the women in travel and accounting have more useful things to do with their time than gossip about Spooky and the Ice Queen." He snorted. "Whatever, Mulder. Are you sure X will be safe at this Sanitarium in New Jersey?" All business, he nodded. "It's been used by the MUFON recovery network for years. You'd be surprised who's been there." They approached the entrance together. "So this is the Betty Ford Center for abductees?" "Something like that." He studied her while he held the door. "What?" "He'll shoot you when he wakes up." He sobered. "If he wakes up." She patted his arm, then turned to leave. But Mulder jumped back from the entrance, muttering about vermin. Scully spun around, just in time to watch a brown rat scurry into the bushes. "I'd say this place is due for another fumigation." He was fumbling for his Sig. "Yuck." When Scully realized his intentions, she laughed. "Mulder, it's only a rat, a brown Norwegian at that. Just another one of the species we've introduced to this continent." He was grimacing. "I hate those things almost as much as I do preying mantises." They both stared at the spot where the rodent had disappeared. Scully pushed him gently on the shoulder. "Go on inside, Mulder, it looks like rain." He was calculating. "That's pretty brave for a rodent, wouldn't you say?" She frowned. "Too dangerous for a rat? Mulder! Not at all, they don't fear humans, and with the amounts of garbage generated in a modern city, they can dine in style. In fact, the long-standing assumption in pest control is one rat per person in urban areas." Feeling the long day now, his shoulders drooped. "Whatever, Scully. 7:45, remember." She stepped away, calling back over her shoulder. "Get some sleep, OK?" --o-0-o-- The rat quivered under the bushes, watching the Honda pull away. He checked himself over, smoothing his fur with his paws. He didn't like reducing himself to so compact a life-form, but when concealment was necessary, he found that mimicking this particular species had its advantages. --o-0-o-- Carlos Rodrigues yelped as he felt a sharp shove in his back, but something in the quiet growl made him cower. "Get out of my way." Mentally switching to English, Rodrigues whirled to confront ... a tall, broad-shouldered man with a prominent jaw and steely eyes. The man's nostrils flared, the palpable menace leaving Carlos slunk back against the wall. Cowering, the Hispanic man realized he would lose any confrontation over his machismo he might normally otherwise provoke. "No sweat, man." The intimidating bulk thrust past him, leaving Carlos staggering. "No sweat." He shook himself. He waved to three of his friends, the trenchcoated figure forgotten almost immediately. --o-0-o-- Office of the Lone Gunmen Alexandria, Virginia Thursday, 6:04 am "Hey, Langly, wake up!" Swatting at whatever had been shaking him, the blond Gunman grunted. "It's me, Frohike, she's back, come on!" "What's going on? Is the new traceback program activated?" Shoving the covers away, Langly fumbled for his glasses on his nightstand, or, what passed for one. To accommodate the documentation he was proofing for O'Reilly Books, the Gunman had fallen back on his college days, hastily assembling shelves for the manuscripts from cinder blocks and vinyl laminated plywood boards. As he rubbed his glasses on his shirt, he tripped over his latest effort, the Third edition of "Running Linux", due out in September. The two men were moving down the hall together, headed for their computer lab when Frohike answered breathlessly. "I can't! You were still editing it when you left for Digex. Whatever possessed you to take on a second job for an access provider, trouble- shooting during the graveyard shift, anyway?" The query was accompanied by a broad grin. Langly responded in kind. "It pays three times what I'm getting writing leakage detection software for DOE, *plus*, I can think, usually without interruption." He rubbed his hands together. "What's she up to now? More file manipulation?" "Yeah." The blond man punched a few keys. "Did Byers finish the rerouting subroutine?" The round-faced Gunman grunted. "What do you think? Vicky blew into town for three days unexpectedly yesterday, so after we returned home he was gone, gone, gone. This is your show, my friend." Scratching under the M in Ramones, Langly grinned. "Don't be tough on an old married man, dude. Think how you'd feel if it were you and the Doc, and she appeared unexpectedly while off on a case." Frohike bowed slightly, conceding the point. "He *is* working on holding it together, I have to give him that." He saw that Langly's index finger was poised over the Enter key. "That's all you needed to do to get this sucker running?" A grin. "When you're good, you're good." A click. "Follow the bouncing red dot." Tapping a white X-window in the lower left corner of the screen, Langly leaned back, waiting. Two pairs of hazel eyes tracked the marker from the Mount Vernon section of Alexandria, through Arlington, then DC, into Laurel, Maryland, before halting and growing into a five pointed star. Frohike whooped with delight. "Man! Lady Lovelace is local!" The long hair waved, while Langly rapped the table. The star had fizzled out, little dots of color falling down the screen like digital snow. "No, she's not. Look, it's a mirror site, a false positive." The blond Gunman rubbed his nose. "Make up some java, dude, I have work to do." --o-0-o-- West Chase Apartments Laurel, Maryland Thursday, July 24, 1997 7:18 am 'Ace' smiled at the four raps on the door, three in quick succession, one slightly delayed after the rest. "Hey, Drew." As she opened the door, she began to speak a further, more personal greeting, but the sight of her visitor dropped her professional visage in place. "'Finn', what's wrong?" Hesitant, the blond man remained without. "Who's Drew?" Her eyes flashing as she stepped aside for him to enter, she kept her answer brief. "'Charlie'." 'Ace' waved at the one bare spot on the sofa, a narrow space between uneven stacks of chassis covers. "So, what's wrong?" Lindhauer wedged himself in, sprawling both arms along the back of the sofa, seeking to put the woman in front of him at ease before initiating any conversation. "Why should anything be wrong? Why can't I just drop by to see your new place?" 'Ace' had turned to walk into the kitchen, but halted at the implication of his words. Looking back over her shoulder, she sighed. "You're welcome anytime, 'Finn', you know that." Now he rose and approached her, taking her by the arm when he reached her. "Anytime?" She nodded. "The work comes first with me. 'Charlie' understands that, 'Finn'." He turned her, attempting to read behind the green eyes. "That's good to hear. But does it for 'Charlie', too?" She lifted her elbow out of his hand. "Of course. Is this what you wanted to ask me about?" They locked eyes. He shook his head, both turning at another set of knocks. Lindhauer watched as 'Ace' flew to the door, throwing it wide. When 'Charlie' caught sight of Lindhauer in the middle of the living room, the delight written on his face was replaced by a carefully neutral expression. Lindhauer nodded a greeting. "You're here. Good." 'Charlie' followed 'Ace' as she returned to stand by the sofa in her cluttered living room, draping an arm over her shoulders as the three faced each other in a close triangle. 'Charlie' addressed Lindhauer. "What's wrong?" The blond leader regarded them quietly. "It's your former bosses' assistant. He's missing." He paused while 'Charlie' and 'Ace' stared, expressing their initial surprise. "Two nights ago, he left his apartment, dressed for a run, and never returned. He may have gone over to them, told them everything he knows." "Finn' held up both hands. "I'm here speaking with you two first, before I inform 'Andrew'. I think we should have him eliminated when we find him." 'Charlie' shook his head. "No, there's something wrong." Stepping away from 'Ace', he moved one stack of cards from an armchair to the floor, then sat. "He may have been feeding Mulder information, but he's always been loyal to the Project. He understands how important the work is, and how exposure would ruin the preparations. That's why he's steered the FBI so carefully, always guiding them away from us." 'Ace' joined him, perching on the padded arm. "So, what do you think is wrong with him?" Lindhauer towered over the couple. "Tell me." Curling his arm around 'Ace''s hip, 'Charlie' sighed. "Six years ago, his test results revealed a genetic indication of mental instability. That's why Black Lung wanted to use him as a mole with Mulder, dropping hints until he took over the Old Man's role. He knew an unstable informer would eventually crack under the double game, and offer him total deniability. I'm guessing that this breakdown has finally occurred." 'Ace' nodded. "So, we should check the area mental institutions, homeless shelters, or jails?" 'Charlie' grinned. "It would be a start." 'Ace' smiled back. "We can finally write him off now, can't we?" The three exchanged glances. "One fewer headache to deal with." She rubbed her eyes. "Sorry. I've been up all night trying to solve the problems with this new security system." She glanced upward. Lindhauer was holding her shoulder as he offered her some unwelcome advice. "We have other programmers, 'Ace'. Use your talents for the Group's strategy, not this." Looking to 'Charlie', she shook her head. "No, it's my idea. I'll see it to fruition. That troll Frohike has been too close, twice now. I know how his mind works, so I can develop a lockout that exploits his mental blind-spots. No one else in the Organization has sparred with him as much as I have." 'Charlie''s hand pressed soothingly into her back. "That's our 'Ace'. You OK? You look like you've barely slept." Lindhauer cleared his throat. "Thanks for the information. 'Andrew' won't be happy, but this is for the best." He touched one side of his nose with his forefinger. "I'll see myself out." 'Charlie' nodded absently, thinking only of the woman beside him, but he waited until he heard the click of the door latch before pulling 'Ace' into his arms. "Sorry I arrived late. Was he bothering you?" Shifting over until she was draped on his chest, she planted a playful kiss on his nose. "Never too late, Drew." Tightening his grip on her shoulders with one arm, he pushed her short curls off her forehead. "Good. You planning on going into the Bureau dressed like that?" He tugged at her baggy T-shirt. "No. I haven't had the time to shower and change." She patted his stomach. "I'll only be a few minutes." He followed her to the hallway. "I could get in the way?" She kissed him quickly on the lips. "Later, OK? I think I've come up with something else on our visitors." --o-0-o-- Delta Flight 1034 somewhere between Washington National and Philadelphia Thursday, 9:13 am Fidgeting in the restrictive seat, Mulder stretched his legs further into the narrow aisle in coach, settling his back partly over his partner's arm. Her lips twitched, running through several teasing remarks she hoped would set him at ease. Before she whispered into the ear hovering just in front of her face, she checked the drowsing grandmother to her left. "So this is how you plan to hot up the rumor mill for next time, partner?" He mouthed a silent 'Ha, Ha' over his shoulder. "This late, we were lucky to get adjacent seats, Scully." He loosened his tie while she rubbed gently against his back with her shoulder. "Had trouble sleeping?" His barely perceptible shrug told her that he had, and that he was grateful for her concern. She held up a printout of a scanned photo. "This is Doctor Campbell, taken at the AGU Meeting in San Francisco last Fall. I pulled his CV off the Net last night, and while he's no Trepkos, he does have an impressive list of accomplishments." He flipped through the stack of pages she passed him. "So we were right to send Nichols and Rosen out there. If he'll talk to anyone, it'll be a fellow geologist." He swiveled around in the seat. "I thought you told me to get some rest. How about you? This took time to find." Chuckling, she stretched. "Oh, well, with someone like Andre in my life, I *always* sleep like a log." Relieved, his full cockeyed grin unfolded. "Ooh, Doctor, I thought it was Raul on Wednesdays." Waving theatrically, she sighed, slipping the printout under the blue folder on her fold-down tray before she parried the riposte. "Old news, Mulder. I *know* it's hard to keep up with them all, but you *should* try." His eyes dancing, he leaned close to her ear. "Anytime, Agent Scully." Before returning to the final draft of the Chiapas drugs paper she and Susan Miles were publishing, she patted his arm. He attempted to expand the seat into the aisle. His attention drifted to the words on the pages that occupied her, so completely that he had to catch a single yellow sheet that slipped from between the rest. As he read it over, he frowned. "Scully?" She looked up at him, squinting through her reading glasses. "Oh, sorry, Mulder. I need to send that in to the publisher." When she attempted to take it from him, he gripped the paper. "This is your personal credit card number." She slapped the folder with the galley proofs shut. "Yes, it is. Susan is first author on the other one, so Hopkins is paying the page charges on hers. But, we agreed, she and I, that I would pay for the one I'm first author on." She left her hand open, confused at his resistance. "Why didn't you tell me about this?" "Because it isn't work- related, Mulder - Mulder!" After tucking the sheet into his briefcase, he wedged the soft- sided valise beneath the seat in front of him, where it was firmly out of her reach. When he sat up, the stare he fixed her in was dark, unreadable. "Scully, it *is* work-related. These drugs were discovered while on official FBI business, and the Bureau should pay, just as it funds publication of any other techniques or results of scholarly interest." Agape, she sat motionless, but while the sight of a non-plussed Dana Scully tweaked the corners of his lips, he persisted. "I've already talked to Rosen, and we're paying the publication charges for her dissertation work, since her major professor has left Cornell. I could hardly do less for my own partner." She closed her mouth, focusing on the cirrus clouds visible in the distance through the window. "Mulder, I never thought..." She sighed. "It *is* science, not proof of vampirism." He grasped her shoulder, bringing her attention back to him. "Hey, if one of the Spooky Patrol publishes in the New England Journal of Medicine and another in Science, it's a reason besides our solve rate to let us stay together, Scully. We're not quite the official embarrassment we usually are." Dropping his hand, he studied the black loafers that encased his feet, now jammed sideways between the briefcase and the box stuffed under his seat. "And I know certain pathologists who aren't as far along in their careers as they deserve to be, because of choices they made, decisions that are more appreciated than they can ever..." They locked eyes briefly, before she returned to the manuscript, and he to the only entertainment the situation provided, watching her work and pestering her with questions about the text. --o-0-o-- Volcanic Observatory outside Newhalem, Washington Thursday, 2:11 pm Albert Rich shook the hands of the two FBI agents before escorting them into the core analysis lab. Rosen bent over the cylinder on the bench, examining its fractures closely. Nichols followed the technician to the lockbox. "You say Campbell is still in the hospital?" Rich nodded. "Most of his teeth are gone now, dissolved down to the roots. Other than that, he seems healthy and alert. The doctors are monitoring his bone mass for further losses, but after they flushed his mouth thoroughly to attempt to sample for bacteria, it seems to have stopped. He's on antibiotics, just in case." Her hands in her pockets, Rosen peered at the vitreous mass, glancing at her partner when he grasped her shoulder. "Ros, you don't want to stick your face in that stuff. Remember the Firewalker Case." Nichols cautioned. Nodding, she straightened and turned to the technician. "But I thought from the report you put up on the Web that this substance had to be in contact with a surface before it damaged it?" Rich held up one of the destroyed beakers. "So far, yes. I've been monitoring the material, which seems to only increase in mass after dissolving something." She grunted. "As if it were ingesting it. No wonder Campbell thought it was organic." Nichols nodded. "Can Campbell talk?" He found himself the focus of the other two's attention. "Can he answer questions?" Deep creases furrowed Rich's forehead. "Yeah, sure. But without his teeth, he whistles a lot." He reached for a pad of paper. "This is the name of the hospital and his room number." They nodded their thanks and left. --o-0-o-- Elizabeth Hill Rest Retreat outside Chatsworth, New Jersey Thursday, 5:27 pm "Isn't this a little close to Fort Dix for comfort, Mulder?" As the rented Taurus turned up a long driveway, Dana Scully peered through a stand of willows at the high Victorian home. "Nah, provides good cover. Who would be suspicious about something this close to a military base?" A young orderly approached the car as they parked and exited. "Mister Mulder?" He smiled as the tall agent nodded, shaking the hand extended to him. "Hi, I'm Lewis, I'm new since..." Scully slipped into position at her partner's elbow, where she was rewarded with two beefy grins. Lewis stepped back, vainly attempting to disguise his awe. "You're Agent Scully?" Mulder chuckled, his eyes light with teasing and affection as he pressed his hand into the small of her back. "The Enigmatic One, in person." Her sharp glance morphed into amusement at the well- built blond man's next words. "Wow! We were warned by the Lone Gunmen, but Frohike couldn't do you justice." Mulder whispered to her as he ushered her forward. "Ooh, and here I thought he would be inventing cantos of praise to your grace and beauty on the long drive up here." She shook her head, setting the silliness aside with the gesture. "What can you tell us about X?" Escorting them up into the building, Lewis sighed. "He's much as he was when he left you. Certain responses are still in place, like blinking at lights, cringing at loud noises, and he will walk around, when he wants food or," he glanced at Scully, "to take a leak, which we staff members appreciate." Nodding, she held the door for her partner. "That's not typical of cases like his. Can you determine anything about his mental state otherwise?" Lewis shrugged. "I'll let Doctor Alvarez tell you about that." He rapped once on an opaque glass panel set in a heavy walnut frame, smiling at the black-haired woman who answered before he excused himself and disappeared. She was about Scully's age and build, and the two women nodded at each other, exchanging quick, courteous handshakes. But her brown eyes gleamed at the sight of the tall agent. "Fox! It's been what, three years?" Shyly, he nodded, wincing as she moved forward to hug him. "Almost, Maria." Stepping back, she held him by the waist. "No more blood irregularities?" He shrugged, not looking either woman in the face. Scully cocked an eyebrow. "This was after Kristen?" His diffident glance answered her question. The two doctors nodded at the unspoken response. Scully smoothly changed the subject. "Just how terrible a patient was he?" As she ushered them in, Maria focused on Scully for the first time, sensing the deep connection she suspected the two shared. "Our worst. But you must already know that, Agent Scully." She held her office door open, patting Mulder's shoulder as he passed. "And what about you, Doctor, how have you fared after your abduction?" The auburn-haired woman sat, using the opening to inform Maria of her own medical history, as well as providing her partner time to compose himself. Ever the Agent, Scully's eyes took in their surroundings in quick snapshots while she talked. The south-facing office was small, like most of the spaces in the Nineteenth century building, constructed when number of rooms was more important than size. But the tall windows, curtained in antiqued lace and occupying most of the south and east walls, looked out onto the plush green of rolling lawns. The added light gave the space a much bigger feeling. Doctor Alvarez's desk was actually a period drop-leaf chestnut table with turned legs, set between a fireplace of rough-cut granite and two mahogany-framed armchairs with subdued brocade cushions. Scully realized that this was more a classic consulting-room than the records-keeping center a modern office had become. A quick check of her partner told her he was still wrestling with whatever had silenced him when they entered. Finally, Mulder twisted in the chair, pushing his discomfort away, calling the doctors' attention to him. "So, what is his prognosis, Maria?" The dark haired woman walked around her table, a series of photographs in hand. She passed the first to Mulder, the second to his partner. "I have no idea, Fox. As I'm sure Lewis informed you, outside of certain limited activity, he is, for all intents and purposes, catatonic." Scully dropped the image into her lap. "Did you find any chemical substances in his blood or nerves that might account for his condition?" Doctor Alvarez slid the folder onto her desk, then propped herself against it. "No, his bloodwork and toxicological tests were completely negative. He carries the gene for sickle-cell anemia, but there is no indication he suffers from the condition." Scully leaned forward. "Have you only checked him upon admission, or has he been retested since?" Mildly irritated at Scully's relentless probing, Maria focused on the auburn-haired woman. "We ran him through an MRI just before you arrived, but found no evidence of lesion." Smiling, she tapped the photo Mulder held. "What you have there are a series of cross sections of electrical activity in a human brain. The images are false-colored, with blue representing areas of low activity, progressing through green, yellow, orange, red, and violet as the numbers of times the neurons fire during the exposures increase." She wiggled the paper and he snatched it away playfully, his partner making a mental note of the exchange. Maria continued. "Yours is from a normal brain in REM sleep. If you had been paying attention, you would have seen areas of red concentrated in the frontal lobe, which are interpreted to represent dream activity in the brain." Scully lifted one corner of her mouth. "Understand, Mulder, she means the image, not the grey matter in your skull. There would probably be a second catatonic patient here if you were in REM sleep long enough to finish one of these maps." The doctors locked eyes, Maria reading the history behind the words. "Right, Scully." The auburn-haired woman pointed to her fidgeting partner. "If he's Fox, and you're Maria, then please, use Dana." She focused on the woman before them, ignoring the growl from the matching chair. "This," she flapped the page of images she held, "is from a normal waking brain. There are areas of red throughout, showing the multiprocessing we do at any given moment in the day, some of it unconscious." Doctor Alvarez held up a third set. The rear of the brain was black, but the entirety of the frontal lobe was purple. "This is your friend's." Mulder took the page from her. "He's in an hallucinatory state." Maria nodded. "Exactly, Fox." Although he shot her a disapproving glare, her attention was focused on his partner. "What could have triggered this, do you know?" Scully chewed her lip. "Maria, we don't even know his name, let alone any medical background. Was his heartrate elevated during the testing?" The black-haired doctor considered. "As if he were experiencing waking nightmares?" She caught Mulder's wince at the prospect. "No, it wasn't. What are you thinking, Dana?" Scully stood, placing the photo on the desk. "Our bodies normally block signals from the brain during REM sleep, so we don't injure ourselves if we dream we are being chased, or are covered in bugs." Mulder crossed his arms. "You think his catatonia is a result of this self-protective mechanism taking over his body inappropriately?" Scully shrugged. "It's a possible explanation, Mulder." Maria wagged her head. "And a testable one, Dana. We can check his spinal fluids for increased levels of neurosuppresants." She checked her watch. "But in the morning. The clinical staff is home right now." Mulder rose, towering over the two doctors. "Can we at least see him, Maria?" She extended her arm towards the door. "Let me show you the way." --o-0-o-- Room 109 Thursday, 6:03 pm Mulder grasped the shoulder of the man staring vacantly at the wall, before settling on the edge of the bed. Scully and Alvarez waited just outside the doorway. "Hey." He left his hand on X's forearm. "The Doc tells me you've been a better patient than I was." His grin appeared suddenly, vanishing equally rapidly. "That's not hard, I know, but they'll take good care of you here. Trust me, the Doc's a pro, and a real lady." He glanced over his shoulder at the two women. "Look, I never had a chance to thank you for West Virginia." The head rotated on the pillow, and for an instant, the eyes crystallized into the penetrating focus that Mulder expected to see in this visage. Then the muscles softened, and the presence and personality were gone. Mulder gasped, grasping X's arm in surprise. "Just try to come back, OK? You're needed out here." Suddenly speechless, he stood, hurrying to the door. The three hovered outside, Scully touching his elbow. "He responded when you mentioned West Virginia." Mulder shook his head. "But what does that mean, Scully?" Maria crossed her arms. "If you two don't mind, he *is* my patient. Tell me about what happened in West Virginia while we have some dinner. It may help." Mulder studied his feet, but Maria tugged on his arm. "This was another one of your escapades?" Scully nodded. "You could say that." --o-0-o-- The hovering demon had been haranguing him, recounting all his flaws and shortcomings, until the words had dissolved into one long stream of disgust and scorn. Hanging in space in front of him, mocking and taunting before the unchanging background of what he could only assume was a hospital room, the face on the monster changed. Sometimes it was a lean, aquiline profile that he remembered from the rare visits to a high-rise office in Manhattan, and sometimes it was his Smoking superior. Only rarely was it the wavy-haired old man, with sad, doelike eyes, expressing disappointment at his failure. But once, the face formed into a familiar countenance that brought all his old feelings of impatience to the surface. He studied the wide, fleshy noise, the strong chin, the soft brown hair, scarcely believing that this one particular vision was radiating the compassion he felt. "Thank you for West Virginia." He tried to reach out, to speak, but the face faded, replaced by darkness and maniacal laughter. --o-0-o-- Cascades Humana Hospital Darrington, Washington Thursday, 4:36 pm James Campbell frowned at the visitors standing at the foot of the bed. "What?" The w escaped with a trill. Rosen walked around to his left shoulder. "That's right, Sir, we're with the FBI, and we'd like to know more about the depth the cores reached when it sampled this vitreous mass." She smiled, enjoying this interview with a fellow scientist. "I have an undergraduate degree in Geology from the Colorado School of Mines, and a Doctorate in Astronomy from Cornell, so please, feel free to share your conclusions with me in as much detail as you wish." Nichols admired her skill at setting their witness at ease. If she could bring Campbell to see her as a colleague, he might let something useful slip that he might not give a layman like himself. Campbell responded eagerly to a fellow scientist's curiosity. "Well, I had initially thought this was a caustic organic compound, but now I think it may be a new life form." Remembering those same words in the report on Trepkos and Firewalker, Nichols felt a chill run up his spine. "Sir, might this not be a contagion of some kind?" Rosen and Campbell stared at him, the volcanologist regarding him with distaste, and his partner with a silent look that broadcast clearly 'Let me handle this.'. But the man in the bed spoke first. "No, I think not. Rich is unaffected, as are the graduate students who have worked with the material. I inadvertently brought the substance into contact with my mouth, and there is something in my teeth that is as attractive to whatever this life-form is as is glass." Rosen nodded. "Mister Rich also mentioned that it dissolves wood." She leaned closer to the geologist. "If I may offer my assistance, I'd like to return to the lab and set up a few simple tests. Perhaps we could glean something about the nature of this life form by what it did and did not consume, and how quickly it did so." Campbell nodded. "That would be most helpful, Agent Rosen. I know Rich will have his hands full keeping up with the cores." He waved one hand at the door. "My doctor wants to keep me here for a few more days of observation, but if I lose no more bone mass, I should be out of here by Monday." As Rosen waited for her partner to ask the question she knew was uppermost on his mind, Nichols took a step forward. "Doctor Campbell, in one of their past cases with the X-Files, Agents Mulder and Scully encountered a life-form in a caldera that they speculated was silicon-based." Campbell shrugged. "Anything's possible, Agent Nichols. I admit that encountering a organism encased in volcanics as this one was makes that an extremely attractive, even reasonable, hypothesis, but we should exhaust other potentialities first. That we've found anything capable of living in so caustic an environment is of significance, whether carbon- *or* silicon-based." The agents shook his hand and took their leave; Nichols holding the door for his partner. "So, Ros, will you need my help with the tests?" She nodded. "That would be great. Whatever this stuff is, the fewer people who know about it, the better. We can report to Mulder and Scully tomorrow when we know a little more about our glass-eater bug." --o-0-o-- Rest Retreat New Jersey Thursday, 8:07 pm Through the cast-iron grapevine woven into a grill for the screen door, Maria Alvarez paused to study the lean form of Fox Mulder. Her former patient was hunched over, both arms resting on the carved railing of the porch, painted in pale yellow with aquamarine accents on the scrollwork. "You were right about Dana Scully." Mulder, now in a navy blue polo shirt and jeans, straightened, facing the black-haired woman as the hinge spring creaked while she pushed her way outside. "Hey." He slouched on the far end of a suspended cedar swing, one arm draped along the back, watching as she joined him. "Thanks for taking X on such short notice." Resting her head in the fold in his arm momentarily, she smiled up at him. "You were always a challenge, Fox, so I figured he would be, too." He stared out at the purples and oranges of the sunset sky. "I hate it when you call me that." She poked him gently in the ribs. "I know. But you understand why I do, Mister Oxford graduate." He pulled away from her, crossing his arms. "Right. It would be good therapy for me to make a more personal connection to someone besides Scully and Sam. I always knew you wanted to keep me on the couch." She tracked the lines in his face with her eyes. "I thought that was my job." She chuckled. "After all, the placard in the hallway does say Staff Psychologist. How are you, really? Was getting Dana back everything you'd hoped it would be?" He shrugged. "For a while. I need her, Maria." He frowned at the hitch in her breathing. "I don't mean like that. She helps focus me, calling me back before my ideas get too out there to be able to prove. But there was a time when we..." He rocked in silence for a moment. "It wasn't so good. We were angry with each other. I wanted her to believe without question, and she still needed evidence." Doctor Alvarez waited. She realized the agent attached the same significance to his partnership with the red-haired doctor that most men assign to their marriages. Her silence would elicit more details than a barrage of questions ever could. "We found some, but then she tried too hard to just believe. It wasn't her, not really, and she almost left me because she couldn't do it." Maria leaned into his side. "But she's still here." Surprised by contact he would accept unquestioningly from the subject of their discussion, he glanced down at the black-haired psychologist. "Yeah. We worked it out. She understands that I know how much I need her logic to balance my intuition. We're a team again." He sighed. "It's so good it scares me. We have two other agents working with us." Maria smiled. "I'm happy for you." Standing, he rubbed his hands on his jeans before jamming them in his pockets. "I'm trying not to make the mistakes I saw my Dad make. Once, he took Sam and me to his office in DC during an open house at the State Department. Everyone there was so terribly nice to us, it reminded me of how my Mom was when he got angry." He shrugged. "I figured he must have yelled at all of them, too." "Fox..." He jerked. "Mulder, is there something about your family you haven't told your doctor?" Wiggling his fists inside his pockets, he focused on her, pressing his lips firmly shut. She changed the subject. "This is good news, that your work is going so well. You deserve it." Turning away, he shuddered. "No." The word was almost a puff of night air. She crossed to the railing, looking up at him. "You do." He locked eyes with her. "If it was just Scully and myself, I wouldn't worry. She understands the risks and made the decision to come inside with me. But the other two." He waved vaguely at the third story of the building. "Three. They were handed to me. How do I tell Nichols and Rosen what we've found out and make them believe before they leave me?" He hugged himself. "Is it fair to bring them all the way in so soon? Am I ready to lead them all?" She grasped his wrist. "Fox, as the risk of sounding very undoctorly by not playing twenty questions to drag the conclusion out of you: don't obsess so. You'll be fine. Scully has faith in you, and so do I." Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stepped away. She watched him pace, chewing his lip while his mind worked. "Just let it be. If you could make a go of it with Dana, you'll manage this, too. Perhaps it would help if there were something else in your life besides your work." After a few more minutes of aimless wandering, he met her eyes and sighed. "Good night, Maria." Before she could respond, he disappeared inside, the slap of the screen door terminating the conversation. --o-0-o-- Rio Entertainment Complex Rockville, Maryland Thursday, 8:23 pm McConnell slid into one of the two white plastic lawn chairs across from 'Charlie' and 'Ace'. The outdoor section of the Italian restaurant where they had agreed to meet overlooked a man- made lake behind the mall. Occasionally, a breath of humid air would flow from the water over them, ruffling the red, white, and green-striped umbrellas. After ordering, he leaned towards the pair. "So, what have you found?" Releasing 'Charlie''s hand, 'Ace' sipped her Diet Coke, then repositioned the glass exactly in the condensation ring on a tiny square napkin before replying. "Our visitor emits a fair amount of UV in the upper wavelengths, close to the X-ray range. It may be a part of how they morph." She shrugged. "I don't know." A wave of movie-goers exited the mall behind their table, collecting at the grey steel railing overlooking the lake to feed their leftover popcorn to oversized koi waiting below. The high- pitched cries of the children, as they released energy pent up by sitting for two hours, combined with loud conversations from the adults, forced the three to huddle together to be heard. 'Charlie' glanced at 'Ace' before continuing. "Now we have a way of tracking the visitors, and, since there may be others we don't know about, we'll need it." McConnell nodded. "I agree." He turned to the dark-haired woman between them. "How are the funding redirection programs going?" She sighed. "I'm running passive sweeps right now. So far, it's easy to access individual corporate accounts, count the funds, rewrite the records, then leave. I want to be absolutely certain we can't be detected before I move any amount of money, no matter how small." The red-haired man crossed his arms. "Yes. We have to maintain total deniability if the organization is to continue to survive." As their server arrived with their meals, he leaned back, nodding his thanks to the Hispanic woman. "Anyway, you'll let me know as soon as you have something?" He wanted to finish with business and move the conversation to more pleasant subjects while they ate. Passing breadsticks to 'Charlie', 'Ace' nodded. "Sure thing. Too bad 'Finn' couldn't make it." McConnell shrugged. "You know him when he's made a new conquest. He's thrilled, but being really secretive about this one. You'd think he'd landed someone important, like a Senator or something." 'Charlie' sighed. "Another high risk hobby. First it was the art, now it's women. At least when it was the art, it wasn't like he could mess up someone's life just to put another notch on his bedpost." 'Ace' fixed him in a sharp glance. McConnell spoke gently, quick to smooth over any division among the four. "Well, how was the movie?" The couple grinned at each other, then she replied. "Oh, just as ridiculous as the original, with T. Rexes running around. But we really didn't expect it to be 'Land of the Lost', you know, the version from the seventies, not the new series." The three quickly lost themselves in a discussion of old Sci-Fi films. --o-0-o-- Alvarez Office Rest Retreat New Jersey Thursday, 8:43 pm Scully blew on the tea to cool it before she took a sip. "What, exactly, was this blood condition?" Her partner had retired uncharacteristically early, so she and Maria were discussing their sometime patient and joint friend. The dark-haired doctor refilled her mug with redolent peppermint tea before responding. "As closely as we could tell, a modified form of syphilis." As one copper eyebrow arched, Scully's forehead tipped. "From Kristen." A black line rose to match the one facing her. "There weren't any other candidates. In case you were wondering, the infection had the side-effect of making the patient light-sensitive." Watching a broken leaf fragment swirl in her cup, Scully sighed. "Poor Mulder. I know he saw Kristen as broken and needing protection. He thinks if he can fix someone else's problems, he can atone for what he believes he failed to do that night in Chilmark. He's always looking for Sam, and it seems he can find her in all the wrong places." Maria nodded. "That family was messed up from the start, Dana, you know that." Scully sipped the last of her tea, both hands balancing the cobalt blue mug on her fingers. "His Mom's a strong lady, but vulnerable, like he is. We spent some time together around New Year's, my Mom and me, with Caroline and her new husband." Maria fixed her in a probing stare. "They went through with the divorce, after all this time? Fox always felt as if he were in limbo, with neither a whole family, nor with one that everyone else would recognize as divided." Scully refilled her mug, watching the foam swirl around the liquid and dissipate before responding. "His father's dead, Maria." "No." The tone was resonant with sympathy. "How?" Scully shrugged. "He was shot in his bathroom, and Mulder held him while he died. It was about two and a half years ago." She caught the other woman's eye. "I thought, since this place was on the UFO network, you would have heard. We had evidence the government was willing to do anything to recover. They killed my sister, too." Maria leaned forward. "Is that what Fox told you about the Home?" She watched Scully nod. "Well, we handle many different illnesses, not just purported abductees." Scully straightened. "Purported? But..." Maria smiled. "I'm no believer, Dana, which is why Fox and I spent so much time together. In your absence, he needed a sparring partner. He was bound and determined to convince me you had been taken by aliens, as his sister had been. But the more we talked, the more certain I was that his problems were rooted in a lifetime of neglect, rather than two isolated incidents." She waved at the light filtering in through the door. "The staff was infinitely appreciative. If he was arguing with me, he wasn't complaining to and about them." Scully tipped her head. "How long was Mulder here?" "I had wanted to keep him for three weeks, but we treated him aggressively with antibiotics to knock out the infection." Maria noticed the agent was smiling. "What?" "This is good ammunition that I'll use sometime when he feels better, or when he's irritated the living daylights out of me. He left me with the impression that he was frantically looking for me." Her eyes twinkling at the memories, Maria laughed. "But he was! That was our main problem with him; we couldn't get him to rest as his body needed. He was always on the phone to the Gunmen, driving them to search, or was scanning the news or the police bands. We had to move a computer and police radio into his room before he'd stay in one place." She set her mug on the floor. "Even that wasn't enough. He left after spending a little over a week with us. I've always been worried that he hasn't truly beaten this infection off." Scully studied the interior of her mug, unwilling to relate Mulder's unusual cure at the hands of a Navaho shaman. Doctor Alvarez checked her watch. "Dana, it's late. You need to sleep, too." Stretching, Scully rose. "Thanks, Maria. I think between you and my Mom, Mulder was as well taken care of as he would permit himself to be." The dark-haired doctor fell in step beside her, guiding her to her visitor's room. "We tried. He may be a pain in the posterior, but it's easy to grow attached to him. I'm pleased things are going as well for you two as they are." She yawned. "I'll make my rounds before turning in for the night." The women smiled politely before they separated. --o-0-o-- Third Floor patient room Rest Retreat New Jersey Thursday, 9:02 pm When a female face materialized in his view, the maniacal laughter receded. He saw her periodically, looked for her eagerly, in fact. She radiated the same detachment and gentle concern he had felt from Dana Scully, the two times they had met in Mulder's apartment. Her emotions were usually a blessed respite from his tormentor, but this time, it appeared she was observing him, so none of her warmth or humanity touched him. She was opening his mouth, no doubt to take a throat culture. He sensed ridicule, his mind turning it into the insane cackling that preceded a new stream of invective. The last sound he remembered, not from *it*, was a snick, snick of scissors. --o-0-o-- Guest Quarters Rest Retreat New Jersey Thursday, 9:17 pm After she showered and had changed into her sleeping clothes, Scully shivered. Each of the guest rooms in the refurbished back wing of the Hospital boasted its own air conditioner. Whoever had set hers had a very much lower idea of comfortable temperature from herself, since she loved the sticky heat of the summer. She would have slept with the drop-silled windows fully open, if given a choice. After she twisted the control knob to OFF, she paused in the sudden quiet, hearing sounds coming from her partner's room, though not a shower or the television. As she raised the window closest to his quarters, she identified the noises. Muttering. She pulled her terrycloth robe over her gym shorts and baggy FBI T-shirt, then scanned her room, locating and collecting her folder with the Ridgefield case report and her laptop. "No!" She heard the slats in the antique bedframe creak, then the sound of a body shifting restlessly. Tying the robe around her, she left her room to knock on his door. "Mulder?" The face that appeared in the slit was dark with stubble, under eyes still lost in the nightmare. <'Are you OK?' will get the door closed in your face, Dana.> "Yeah?" She crossed her arms over her brown folder, tugging the laptop strap further up her shoulder. "The air conditioner was cranked up to Arctic, and I've turned it off, but the room's still cold. Do you mind if I work in here until it warms up some?" His eyes drifted closed, feeling that sense of wholeness that her presence always brought him, so he stepped back to admit her, brushing her back with his hand as she passed him. "Sure, Scully." He paced the periphery of the small room, furnished as she expected, bare except for an identical, high, four-poster bed and a small table, watching her set her notes out on the side still made up. The bed was authentic down to the overstuffed mattress, far higher in the center than at the sides. Spotting a stapled packet in a clear cover, he pointed. "Is that Rosen's version of the report?" As she laid the copy on the sheets beside her, she slid on her reading glasses. "Yes. We'll have to update it in light of the autopsy findings, but she's presented our field evidence very succinctly." As he assumed the mantle of Agent, the fear from the dream left him, so he grinned. "Summarized it well, or threw out Sarah Wells altogether?" She crinkled her nose at him, but he was rummaging through his briefcase for his own spectacles. He had settled in for the night in one of his old pairs of black lycra jogging shorts. But now, he tugged the navy blue polo shirt he had dropped on the carpet over his head, before he climbed back under the covers to read. He eyed her large, wine-colored pen lying on the tan lace coverlet. "You need that?" When she tossed it up and over, Mulder watched it flip, end over end, until he caught it in a diving grab just before it hit the floor. "Showoff." They exchanged slight grins, then settled down to work in silence, Mulder making notes in the margins, Scully revising the autopsy report. She had crossed her legs under her, covering them completely with the robe, which left her hunching over to reach the keys. When he sighed and closed the folder, clipping the pen over the top, she knew he was either ready to talk or sleep. Scully saved the report and shut down the machine. "You OK, Mulder?" He passed her the papers. "Yeah, I guess." He slid further into the bed, linking his hands behind his head. "It was just a nightmare." She shifted until she was looking down at him, her hands clasped in front of her. "A new one?" At his nod, she placed her palm on the blankets folded down over his chest. "My overactive imagination." Crossing his arms to pin her wrist in place, he squinted at the floor lamp behind her elbow. "You, Rosen, Nichols, and X were all on gurneys under white lights, and I couldn't wake you up to pull you out of that warehouse in West Virginia before the others came back." He rested both hands on top of hers before flipping away from his partner and her sympathy. But, the last thing he wanted was for Scully to think he was ungrateful for her concern, so he forced a lightness into his tone he really didn't feel. "Just a variation on my usual." She rubbed his shoulder, the cotton knit bunching as she bent close to his ear. "Mulder, we've planned, taken precautions so we won't be monitored, so our work won't be lost. Nichols is an experienced field agent, and Rosen is a quicker study than I was. If something or someone turns on us in the future, you must understand that there is no more four humans can do." He rocked back and forth, hugging the down pillows tightly. "But what if it isn't enough, Scully?" She sighed. "All we can do is our best, partner." "Maria and I had a long talk about you." He pulled his knees up. "Oh, you two doctors dissected all my psychological and physiological inadequacies, no doubt." Scully stretched out to grasp one wrist firmly. "In excruciating detail. We swapped war stories about a certain demanding and obnoxious patient." Her voice dropped to a whisper, bringing his head out of the pillow to hear her next words. "She said you were responsible for one whopping electric bill." His inarticulate squeak of protest told her he was banishing his self- recriminations. "You're a royal pain in the hinder, Mulder." She ruffled his hair. "But one we're both quite fond of. Good night, Chief." Before she slid off the bed, he rolled over and grinned, finally at ease. "Scully..." She watched his gratitude shine from a pair of dark eyes that followed her as she moved around the room, gathering her computer, notes, reports, and papers. The rattling glass in the door snapped both their heads around. "Agent Scully? Agent Mulder?" The voice belonged to Lewis. "Doctor Alvarez is missing!" --o-0-o-- END - ARCHAEA - Anomalocaris canadensis =====o======================================================o===== "Archaea" by Mary Ruth Keller E-mail: mkeller@universe.digex.net =====o======================================================o===== Part II - Branchiocaris pretiosa (Disclaimed in Part I) -----o------------------------------------------o----- 'Tis true; the raven does not hatch a lark: Yet have I heard,--O, could I find it now!-- The lion, moved with pity, did endure To have his princely paws pared all away: Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, The whilst their own birds famish in their nests: O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, Nothing so kind, but something pitiful! The Tragedy of Titus Andronicus -----o------------------------------------------o----- Capitol Hill Rowhouse Washington, DC Thursday, July 24, 1997 9:27 pm McConnell stepped behind the support post for the front porch of Lindhauer's townhouse, keeping himself out of view of the traffic passing in front of his colleague's residence. At the creak of the door, the red-haired man pushed his way inside. "What's up with Mulder and Scully?" Lindhauer plopped down on his sofa. "It's not them. In a way, Matheson did us a real favor by expanding their section. Mulder's psyched himself out attempting to lead by example, and by being scrupulously fair to the other three, while Scully's too worried about him. They've backed off probing us to handle 'safe' cases with the other two." McConnell lowered himself into the armchair facing him before resting his ankle on his knee. "Since it smacks of the tactics of the old men, I know 'Ace' and 'Charlie' don't like it, but we should keep up the pressure on Scully's family. Anything that distracts her makes him more vulnerable to an error, to a miscalculation we can exploit. If it isn't them, then what is it?" "They've moved our 'problem' to the UFO nuthouse, where he can be 'treated'." McConnell returned Lindhauer's smirk. "How do you know all this?" He watched as the expression assumed a sinister glint. "Ah. Then he's in the hands of the mental health professionals? Good. Now we *really* don't have to worry about him and his inconvenient pronouncements and demands. Since Scully so efficiently waved her FBI badge around where he was found, I sent some of ours to the YMCA where he," the red-haired man rolled his eyes, "Passed to a higher plane of consciousness, to ask around. Whatever happened to him, this may be a one-way journey." Lindhauer leaned forward. "So, anything else?" McConnell nodded. "With all the turbulence surrounding the closed hearings in Congress, I haven't had a chance to tell you what 'Ace' has deduced about the alien craft. From her ultrasound scans, she's partially reconstructed the interior." Lindhauer grinned. "I would have expected no less. So, what does she think we can see? Anything on the propulsion systems? How they keep that vessel sealed and fixed under the ice?" McConnell sighed. "I wish. But, something equally important. She believes that there were quarters for three crew members built in." He shrugged. "Now, whether those quarters were actually used, is another story..." In a gesture consciously reminiscent of his white-haired superior, Lindhauer leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Three? But the Old Men were only aware of one, who has left the frigid North and is on the move again. He's contacted the remaining originals," He shrugged at McConnell's frown. "But he hasn't exterminated them. The men we have on him have located him in the DC area, tailing, Mulder, of all people." An 'I don't understand it, either.' wave. "Once we discovered the visitors' bodies have a unique ultraviolet signature, they'll be fairly easy to locate and track, no matter who or what they morph into. 'Ace''s new detection units should be finished shortly." "So, what have the two 'originals' been up to?" Standing, Lindhauer retreated to his kitchen, returning with green-bottomed tumblers and mineral waters for himself and his colleague. "That's a little more interesting. Their actions may have been why they contacted the Bounty Hunter in the first place. But, if 'Charlie' and 'Ace' can keep their hands off each other long enough to drive over here, I'll fill you in when they arrive." McConnell grimaced. "Ugh. Don't bring that up." Taking a sip of his water, he sighed. "Although, I could be more upset about their relationship if they both weren't making a concerted effort to give everything to the Group. Did you see the new viruses 'Ace' designed for breaking into the banking networks?" Lindhauer smiled. "Lurker genes I and II. There's a reason for her code name. Now we can slowly wean ourselves off total dependence on the People's Representatives by diverting calculated roundoffs to off-shore accounts." McConnell's wry chuckle prompted a question. "What's so funny?" "Just that it seems like we've turned the corner, 'Finn'. Finally, we've gotten ourselves back up to speed, even moved ahead of the Old Men in certain areas, like we promised each other we would." Lindhauer nodded. "Feels good, doesn't it?" --o-0-o-- Core Lab Volcanic Observatory outside Newhalem, Washington Thursday, 7:41 pm "Well, Ros, that should do it. We've instituted Level three containment procedures, and procured so many different materials I've lost track of them all. Should we bring in a few chimpanzees in cages to complete the mad scientist decor?" Dressed in the white, space-suit-like containment gear, complete with microphones and short-wave radios in their helmets, Rosen and Rich were huddled in conference when Nichols spoke. Through the large visor in his hood, he watched her swivel at the waist and grin back. "Why not, Nic? And while we're at it, let's order up a Van de Graff generator or two." Instead of her customary nod, she excused herself to Rich with a half-bow before she walked over to her partner. She depressed the broadcast control at her throat. "You're right, these suits may be overkill, but it can't hurt. We've quarantined the lab, so the three of us will get very friendly for the weekend." He laughed at her cocked eyebrow, and after a moment's delay, she joined him. "Where do we start?" She pointed at the lockbox. "Bert and I have been discussing that. It seems the bugs in there like glass best of all, so, we've been growing more, if that's the proper terminology, by feeding it desiccated Ludox." She closed her eyes, expecting his expression of confusion. "That's ground glass suspended in water, only we evaporate the water away first." The boots of the suit made squishing noises as she crossed over to the lab bench, where she lifted a plastic tub off the work surface, holding it tipped so he could glimpse the milky solid inside. "It loves it. Bert says the mass doubled in size over the course of two hours." Nichols took a step backwards, so she held up one hand. "No, it's OK, this is just the Ludox. The glass-eater bug is still in the lockbox." "Ros, you gotta tell me that you, with your newly minted PhD, aren't planning on calling it that for serious." Replacing the lid on the tub, she set the container on the bench before replying. "It's tough to know how else to classify it right now." When she waved her hands in an arc, he braced himself for more science jargon. "It's single-celled, or at least appears so under the petrographic microscope in Dr. Campbell's office. That leaves us three possible categories of organisms this thing could fall into." Nichols pressed his broadcast button. "Or not, Ros." She waved her agreement. "Yes, or not. But we'll start with the known first, before you pull a Mulder on me and take a swan-dive off the facts." "Afraid to leave the tried and true?" She grunted. "Hardly, Nick. As I was trying to tell you, single- celled organisms are, at present, divided into three separate kingdoms: - What?" "I thought there were two kingdoms, plants and animals." The trill in Rosen's laugh made Nichols realize she was delighted to share her learning, not berating him for his ignorance. After carefully moving aside the air tanks and hoses strapped to their backs, the Agents settled onto lab stools. Rosen depressed the broadcast button. "As always in science, blink and you'll miss something." She picked up a pen and slid over a clipboard, drawing a single line, with three radiating from it, then several others from the line in the center, on the pad of paper stuck under the clip. "No, you have to understand, that there are, and have always been, more bacteria, more *species* of bacteria, actually, than any others on this planet. The plants and animals have been moved into the, sorry, Nick, I've been thrown off by the old terminology, too. Plants and animals still have their own kingdom, but the kingdoms have been grouped into three domains. The first are most bacteria, in the Domain Procarya." He nodded. "So kingdoms aren't the highest category anymore." She scribbled 'Procarya' beside one unadorned line, her normally fluid script flattened by writing while wearing a thick glove. "The second is called Eucarya, and contains us, the other animals, plants, fungi, slime molds, and a couple of other things I forget." She was labelling as she talked. "The third, and most controversial, is Archaea." "Controversial, how?" She flipped over to a new page, redrawing the radiating lines so one branched off the center line first, the others splitting off from the end. "Because it appears that Domain Eucarya, containing us," she wiggled her fingers, momentarily terminating her broadcast, "the slime molds, and all, is closer to the Domain Archaea, whereas older theories had us all coming from bacteria. Life, it seems, had a common ancestor prior even to the Procarya." For emphasis, she circled the start of the first line. "We probably won't discover it, unless we find it in some vent in a mid-ocean ridge somewhere." He leaned over the clipboard. "Or pull it out from a deep drilling core." She sighed. "Maybe Nic, but, it would be a one in a trillion type thing, as rare as pulling a coelacanth out of the Indian Ocean. Most likely, we have a new bacterium, or even less likely, a new species of Archaea. But, Doctor Campbell's right, finding something that could survive, even thrive, in aerobic and anaerobic environments, and over the range of temperatures and pressures these bugs have been subjected to would be pretty amazing." "Oh? Are we back to Scully's argument, that it shouldn't be able to survive in both?" She nodded, so he could hear, through the open mike, her hair scratching the plastic lining inside the helmet. "Yes, we are. Anaerobic bacteria perish when exposed to air, and since they are some of the oldest forms of life, their existence is used as a further piece of evidence for the early atmosphere's lack of O2. It's the same with many species of Archaea, which thrive at pressures of up to 200 atmospheres and temperatures over the boiling point of water. They live purely on carbon dioxide, nitrogen, and hydrogen, but die when exposed to oxygen." Rich joined them, flailing one arm between their helmets to catch their attention. "I've installed the filters and gas catchments on the first six test chambers, Agent Rosen." She swiveled on her stool. "Thanks, Bert." She beckoned Nichols over to six hollow steel spheres, supported in lab stands, with stoppers inserted in the tops. Pointing to the twin tubes threaded through the holes in the stoppers, she continued. "We're monitoring the air as it enters the test chambers, and exits them. Bert has attached the output tubes to a six-port selector switch, and from there to a gas chronograph, so we can compare the air leaving the spheres before and after introduction of the bugs." Nichols sighed. "Ah, brings back my home-brewing days, Ros. Let me guess, you're testing for waste products, right?" "Exactly. Animals expel oxygen-reduced, carbon dioxide enriched air, plants, just the opposite. Some bacteria and archaeons are methane producers, more or less in proportion to their nutrient intake." Unused to the extra weight on his back, Nichols bent over carefully, picking up one chamber and shaking it gently. "You already have things in there." Rich took up the explanation. "Right. We wanted to test the filtered air with the possible nutrient sources present. If any of the samples off-gassed, we wouldn't want to mistake the readings as coming from the bugs." Nichols faced the technician. "How will you know if the bugs are eating the samples? The weight of the spheres won't change." "Outside of visual inspection? You're right about the weight not changing, but we're only testing for waste products this time. The next trials will measure consumption rate. Although, we can at least eliminate compounds as possible foodstuffs if the weight of the samples remains constant when we're finished here. We only need the sealed containers for the waste product tests, the rates can be measured in more open chambers." Nichols grunted. "Sounds like this will take forever." Rosen laughed. "Welcome to life in the trenches of science, Nic, think of it as a stakeout. Hope you brought a good book." --o-0-o-- Rest Retreat New Jersey Thursday, 10:17 pm "How long?" Mulder and Scully were out the door almost before Lewis could step aside, both speaking as they moved. Mulder grasped his partner's shoulder. "Scully! Check X!" She dipped her head once. "Where are you going, Mulder?" He pursed his lips. "Outside. Since the security system hasn't tripped, whoever has her may still be on the grounds." She grabbed his arm before he disappeared around the corner of the hallway. "Gun, Mulder!" They separated, each retrieving their Sigs, she throwing off the robe, before proceeding. --o-0-o-- Core Lab Volcanic Observatory Thursday 8:38 pm Nichols surveyed the bank of steel boxes, each containing a material sample with a few drops of the vitreous goo on it. "How long will this take?" After his finger slipped, Rich punched his broadcast button a second time. "We'll give this batch an hour, just as long as we waited for the waste product tests. Then we'll quick-freeze the samples in liquid nitrogen to kill the organisms, and clean whatever remains from the materials in purified, deionized water. When we're finished, we'll freeze the wash water too." The two men faced Rosen, whose gloved fingers were rubbing her knee through the bulky suit when she began speaking. "It's good you had the nitrogen around to quench the cores, Rich. This life- form is thermophylic, like an Archaeon. But, in adapting to extreme heat and anaerobic conditions, it lost the ability to survive in severe cold. More and more, I think we're looking at a hitherto unknown species of Archaea." Nichols huffed through his moustache. "More waiting." He glanced from one to the other. "You guys are so into testing. What say we apply some of these procedures of yours to something a little more interesting?" Rich crossed the room to stand by Rosen. "What is he talking about?" Facing her partner, she sighed. "The topic of a long and rather heated discussion on the way out here. The Ouija board?" The older man nodded. "What else?" Rich was exasperated. "You must be kidding me. Ouija board? Doctor Rosen, tell me this..." She waved one hand. "Nic, are you interested in conducting a real scientific test, or are we just going to be subjected to a parlor game?" "Ros!" As the agent was sliding a board and the triangular guide out of his backpack, he glared through the visor at the others. "It's no parlor game. Contacting the spirits of the dead to seek guidance for future actions is a part of many cultures. Just because Western Science doesn't recognize it, doesn't mean it's false." The technician was astonished. "Doctor Rosen, you can't be serious!" Ignoring the protests of the other man, Rosen cleared a space on the lab bench. "We'll use standard parapsychological research techniques, only with a twist. I'll work here." She pointed to the only other clear spot on the surface, about six feet away. "You, there. Each of us will think up fifty true/false questions about ourselves, twenty five true and twenty five false, that we'll segregate into two groups of twenty and one group of ten. On a separate page, write the fifty questions, numbered. On a different one, write the answers, also numbered." She pointed to Rich. "He'll be the questioner, only he won't read the words, just speak the number. I'll work the board for your two sets of twenty, and you for mine. For the fifth set, consisting of our mixed questions, we'll work the board together." Pen wedged uneasily in the bulk of his glove, Nichols glared at her from his seat at the end of the bench. "Whoa, Ros, just what will this prove? The board should be addressed properly, not like this!" Rich laughed, the sound audible through his suit. "You do if you want an unbiased test, Agent Nichols. After all, if the board can accurately bend space and time to bring back information from the dead about the future, then a little thing like linking numbers with questions and answers on existing pieces of paper ought not to be a problem." He tapped Rosen's shoulder. "I presume you're looking for greater than fifty percent hits?" She swiveled on the lab stool. "Fifty percent plus or minus fifteen percent, which for groups of twenty, works out to three. So, cases of fewer than seven correct, or more than thirteen imply some uncontrolled effect. We can't do this for say, one hundred trials, which would give us greater statistical significance, but, if there are higher correct numbers than randomness permits in three out of the five trials, it'll be interesting, to say the least." Nichols was indignant. "But you have to ask the board the questions, not just rattle off a string of numbers!" Rosen shook her head, her hair rubbing the inside of the tall cylindrical hood. "If the operator hears the question, he or she might push the guide toward the answer that is subconsciously expected or desired, which wouldn't be a fair test either." She paused, watching Nichols' face. "What we're doing here makes the experiment, for the most part, double blind. But, if there really is a connection, just using the numbers is the quickest way to find out." The older agent covered the visor with both hands in a gesture of surrender. "OK, I think I see why all the rigmarole. But at least, touch the guide with your bare hands, all right?" The agent and the technician exchanged a glance, then each shrugged his or her assent. Rich began unlatching the hood. "We probably don't need these suits, anyway." Rosen twisted the glove off her left hand, the seal disengaging with a click. "Right. We'll just wash everything down before and after." The three prepared for the tests, covering over the steel boxes, and lifting off the helmets and gloves for the first time since donning them that day. --o-0-o-- Rest Retreat Third Floor patient room New Jersey Thursday, 10:25 pm The overhead florescent lights winked, but it was bright enough for the auburn-haired agent to check the motionless body in the bed. She pressed her fingers against his jugular, tired enough that she was moving her lips as she counted X's heartbeats silently. Noting her fatigue, Mulder touched her back. "Is he all right, Scully?" Without turning, she nodded to the man hovering at her elbow. "Just sleeping, but, look at this, Mulder." She ran her hand over the clipped patch of hair on the top of his head. "I think he's been sampled." She lowered his jaw, pressing his tongue down with her finger. "See the redness? Someone was just here to take a throat culture." Mulder crossed his arms. "But Scully, he's not sick." Stripping off the single latex glove, she looked up at him. "Not as far as we know." Both turned as Lewis began addressing them through the doorway, his speech interrupted by gulps while he caught his breath. "Agents, we've found her." They followed him out into and down the hall, where Maria was seated in a metal folding chair, her head between her knees. One of the night nurses was holding an ice-pack to the back of her head, urging her to rest. Scully reached for the lumpen bag, waving the man aside. "Maria?" She was relieved when the psychologist raised her head just enough to glimpse the pair, before wincing at the light. "What happened?" Holding Maria's shoulder, Mulder knelt beside her. "Tell us, what's the last thing you remember?" Her eyes darted from side to side as she attempted to identify her surroundings. "I'm not in the stairwell?" The tall agent's reply was resonant with the gentle, sympathetic tone Scully had watched him use on frightened children and injured witnesses, which was what the doctor had become. "No, Maria. How do you recall your last movements?" Returning to herself, she placed her hand on the bag, so Scully moved hers away, and the black-haired Doctor sat up, closing her eyes against the initial dizziness. "I had just left Scully outside her guest room, and I was thinking of checking on you." He cocked an eyebrow at her but kept silent. "But I made my evening rounds instead. I normally start at the top level, so I can finish at my apartment and retire for the night. The last thing I remember is closing the stairwell door before descending to the Third floor." Scully touched her partner's arm. "You mentioned a security system, Mulder." He stood, shaking each leg to restore circulation to it. "Langly designed it for them." He turned to Lewis. "Are there video cameras in the stairwells?" The orderly nodded. "The control center is in the basement, if you want to follow me." Scully fell in step behind the blond man, but turned when she realized Mulder was not immediately behind her. "Mulder?" He had one arm around Doctor Alvarez' waist, but paused, responding without meeting her eyes. "I'll be right there, Scully." As they disappeared around the corner, she heard Maria shakily thanking Mulder for sparing their already traumatized staff with his offer of assistance to her room. --o-0-o-- Core Lab Volcanic Observatory Thursday 10:58 pm "You guys ready yet?" Rosen hesitated over question fifty. After the period, she wrote: "I am a lesbian." on the question sheet, and "True" on the answer sheet, then handed the pages to the technician. Rich drew lines after the first twenty questions, and before the last twenty as well. Nichols frowned. "You're not making the last ten part of the mixed set?" Rich shook his head. "Nope. Memory tests have shown that in long lists, people remember the beginning and the end far better than the middle. Since you'll both be working the board, I need you to be answering the questions you recall least well." He glanced at the woman agent, who was nodding her agreement. "What was your question five, Nic?" When he began to murmur the words, she waved her hand. "I don't want to know. Question twenty- eight?" He frowned, then shook his head. "OK, I see. When do we start?" Rosen glanced at her watch. "After we set up the next consumption tests. We have, at least, killed a couple of hours preparing this." --o-0-o-- Basement Rest Retreat Thursday, 11:03 pm Mulder bent over his partner, who was rewinding and replaying a section of video tape. "What have you come up with?" She pointed to the screen directly in front of her, one of perhaps two dozen stacked atop a wide bench. Moving closer, Mulder paused to close one of the deep drawers beneath the work surface, jiggling an empty cassette case until it settled place with the rest. She played the portion she had been reviewing forward in real time. "Watch this, Mulder." Mulder frowned as the images scrolled by. "Scully, I don't see anything." As she nodded, he rolled the unoccupied armless grey chair out of the way for a closer look. "That's just the point. I'll advance frame by frame. I'm sure you'll notice something then." Each image filled the screen, shimmering as the tape was manually paused. Mulder yelped. "I see, Scully! The stairwell cameras are set to monitor the landings, not the flights themselves. She looks up over her shoulder, steps up for a few frames, then back into view. Whatever took place, happened in the blind spot between cameras." He rotated the seat of the chair and straddled it, crossing his arms on the back rest. "What do the previous few seconds show?" "Let me show you." She rewound the film, playing it forward image by image, while, shoulder to shoulder, they scrutinized the shapes on the screen. The auburn-haired agent pointed out the handles of a pair of surgical scissors, visible in the psychologist's lab coat pocket only after she reappeared in the frames. As a check, she ran the film in reverse and stop motion to just before the Doctor's first appearance. Pointing at the screen, Mulder stood. "Scully!" She leaned forward, squinting at the line in the upper right hand corner of the screen where he was tapping. "That could be anything, Mulder, dust or a lint ball falling down the stairs." He rewound the tape, the image held by the freeze-frame. "Anything, including a rat's tail." She frowned. "Rats, but..." "Play the tape forward again, Scully, only this time, in real time with the volume all the way up." Arching her right eyebrow, Scully searched the tape, flipping one control lever so they could listen as well as watch. Mulder rotated the volume knob, until a faint squeaking was audible. She cocked an eyebrow at her partner. "So they have rats, Mulder, we're in the middle of the Pine Barrens..." His eyes glowing, he leaned into her face. "I think I see what's happening here; that rat in my apartment building may not have been a rodent at all. I believe our shape-shifter friend is on the prowl again." She pressed her hand against her cheek, then, after a moment, over her mouth. "It makes sense, for several reasons, even though it's not a pleasant prospect to consider." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "He could assume Maria's shape, check on X and take those samples, then escape through a crack in the walls. The security system on the periphery of the grounds doesn't keep out small animals, only people." He touched her shoulder. "I didn't expect you to agree with me." She shrugged. "Going to all that effort just to obtain tissues and hair speaks to a specific objective, but I don't think he was one of the Consortium's test subjects. If X worked within the shadow government, we must assume they already have a series of DNA samples on file, so we have to think about who else could put such knowledge to use." Scully pushed herself to her feet. "Between the fetuses I saw in the warehouse and the statements from the supposed clone of your sister, we know that colony of aliens is conducting genetic tests." Mulder rose to block her path. "But the Bounty hunter killed the Gregors, and the Samanthas were missing when the medical building they called me to burned down. I assume he dragged them out or killed them all as well." Scully tipped her face up, focusing on the wrinkles in his forehead. "Perhaps, perhaps not. All you know is that they were missing, Mulder." She dropped her head forward, and in their proximity, her hair brushed his crossed arms. He found his eyes were drawn to the tiny scar at the base of her neck, until her sharp intake of breath brought his attention back to their problem of the moment. "What are you thinking, Scully?" "Just a wild hunch, Mulder." He tipped her chin up with his finger. "Ooh, the wilder the better." He held the tip of her jaw between his thumb and forefinger to wiggle it once. "Share, Doctor." She arched her eyebrow before she took a step back. "Remember the Kindred?" As he understood what she was proposing, his forehead wrinkled, counter-arguments appearing thick and fast. He spun away, his body as restless as his mind. "You think the Kindred and the Colony of Gregors and Samanthas are one and the same? But we saw the crop circle..." Arms crossed, she moved into his personal space again. "We saw the perfect cover, Mulder, in evidence that's easily faked." Expecting a squeal of protest, she arched both eyebrows. "They've been there since at least the Thirties, coming into Steveston, checking out the feed store." She smiled, remembering his joking around outside. "They must have picked up some of our popular myths about UFO's and aliens during those trips. Think of it, the Kindred crossed over the most fundamental division present in every higher earthly species with impunity as a part of a regenerative process, according to you." Worn with the lateness of the hour, Scully settled into her seat by the bank of video monitors, smiling away the outstretched arm. "I know what I saw, Scully." "We thought it was odd that they didn't kill us, after what we had seen and heard. We eventually assumed it was because they were leaving soon, and nothing we could do would stop them, but perhaps that was never the point, Mulder." She waved her hand towards the Northern wall of the room. "You even mentioned how they cleverly manipulated us, to get information from us, without ever volunteering any of their own. They talked about the coming arrival and a Day of Release. We saw them in Philadelphia, which they *did* depart, one might almost say 'vanished from'." Mulder lowered himself into the seat across from her, rolling it forward until their knees almost touched. "So you think the Kindred fed us misinformation, and drew that crop circle as a diversion so they could split up and hide among us?" She nodded. "But they were all different, Scully." "If they are from the same species as the Bounty Hunter, then they can morph to look like anything they want to, Mulder, all unique, or..." He slumped back in the chair. "All the same." He ran his hand through his hair. "Jeez, Scully, this is starting to make sense. The Kindred were isolationists, and the Colony we encountered were waiting for humanity to drive itself to extinction, isolated among us. So all that talk about cloning was diversion as well?" Leaning forward, she rested her hands on her knees. "Are you ready for another wild idea from me, Mulder?" He chuckled. "Sure, Scully, I'm sitting down this time." She grinned, not broadly, but her close-lipped smile of intense concentration, and glanced at her hands before continuing to speak. "I don't think we've seen any of them in their natural shape." He smirked. "So we should check for buckets of golden goo in dark corners?" She laughed, a quick, joyous cry. "The Bounty Hunter is a later arrival that the Colony, much later, if they and the Kindred are one and the same. He's far better at controlling his transformations than they appear to have been." Mulder leaned forward until he was nose to nose with his partner. "Genetic engineering, Scully. You're always lecturing me about the high level of technological development any civilization would have to have attained to get here." She nodded. "Exactly, Mulder. I've seen him morph from you to Lou Ferrigno. You told me he was posing as an about five foot five crewman on the submarine. Now, while I couldn't begin to explain the mechanisms, he must conserve his mass while changing form." Scully rubbed the back of her neck, one eyebrow cocked at him. "In for a penny, in for a pound, Mulder. If he is able to assume any shape and volume he wants, the six foot six pro wrestler body we've both seen may not even be his real form...What?" He was staring at her, grinning madly. "What, Mulder? I'm just carrying this premise to its logical conclusion." He shook his head. "Remind me to tell you how much I like working with you sometime, Doctor Scully." Dropping his head on the top cushion of his chair, he sighed. "You're get no arguments from me on one thing, he's probably long gone." Swiftly, he reached out to tap her forehead with one long finger. "So, any more wild ideas in there?" She stood, setting the tape on a stack of four others. "No. Show's over for tonight, Mulder. I suggest we take samples of our catatonic friend ourselves, and run them back to Susan, to try to deduce why X is subject to all this attention." She rested her hand on the ten black boxes, piled into two even sets. "We'll take these surveillance videos back to see if they pick up anything moving through the stairwells, or across the grounds, in the hour or so prior to the attack on Doctor Alvarez." He tucked one group of tapes under his arm. "Langly and Frohike will consider this a professional insult, that something could invade this place undetected, so we should take these to them, not the Bureau photo labs." While nodding, she rubbed her eyes. "OK. It might be a longshot, but we should take his prints and a dental impression." Concerned, he grasped her elbow. "Fine, but we can wait until morning to head home, Scully." She lifted one corner of her mouth. "No. I'll catch some rest on the drive back. The sooner we make sense of all this, the sooner we fly out to Washington State. It's not fair to let Rosen and Nichols have all that fun on their own." She held her arm out, wrist up. "Just open a vein and pump in the caffeine, partner." He smirked. "OK, the local police should have an evidence kit." At her shrug, he tipped his head. "What, you brought one?" She nodded. "It's in the car, with my medical supplies. Semper paratus, I learned that working with you. Besides, this is a private full-care facility. I'm sure they'll have the dental materials I'll need." He was frowning. "You all right, Mulder? You look like you've lost something." "Yeah. I just need to tie up a loose end before we go." When she touched his elbow, he shrugged, then sent her a tiny smile for reassurance before he left with his half of the tapes. --o-0-o-- Core Lab Volcanic Observatory Thursday 11:43 pm Rosen stepped away from the parchment-colored board, relieved. The guide had felt odd under her fingers, almost humming, seeming warm. She sank onto floor, achy from the long flight and hours of work that they had leapt into with such alacrity upon their arrival. She had hoped to take a break after graduate school, but there had been loans to pay off, so she had gone immediately to Quantico. Once there, she had found herself pushed to her physical and mental limits by the instructors. True, none of it had required General Relativity or Non-Euclidean geometry to understand, but she had been impressed with the rigor, the emphasis on the detailed analysis of crime scenes. 'More criminals are caught in the lab, than by any car chase, regardless of what you've seen on television', her pathology instructor had announced matter-of- factly the first day of class. Focusing back on the two men with her, she quickly became hypnotized by the ritual call of number-answer, as Nichols worked the board with far more ease than she had. "Forty Eight?" "False." "Forty Nine?" "True." She smirked. "Fifty?" "True." She pushed herself to her feet, assuming her place across from Nichols for the final set of questions. --o-0-o-- Private Apartment Rest Retreat New Jersey Friday, July 25, 1997 12:03 am "Maria, you decent?" Chuckling, the black-haired doctor sat up in bed. "Come in anyhow, Fox." He stacked the videos on the table inside the door before he crossed the room to her. The space was outfitted as a comfortable efficiency apartment, with a modern single in the corner. Mulder settled on the mattress, cradling her cheek in his hand. "I just wanted to make sure you were OK." She grasped his wrist, lowering his hand to her lap, and interlacing her fingers through his. "Thanks, I will be. You're leaving soon, aren't you?" He nodded. "We may have a lead on who broke in here." She rubbed his fingers. "But you're not ready to say?" "Yeah. Maria, I wanted you to know I wasn't angry with you earlier tonight." "It's all right, Fox. Remember, I know how you can be." He chuckled. "I wasn't the best of patients, was I?" She slid forward, wrapping her arms around his back. He hugged her in turn, resting his cheek on her head and rocking her back and forth through her reply. "Never. But you'll be fine, you and Dana. Now that I've seen you two in action, so to speak, you were right, you do make a great team together." Releasing him, she wrapped her arms around her raised knees. He gripped her wrist. "We're taking finger and dental prints of your patient, in case they might help us identify him." She nodded, her chin on her knees. He wrapped one hand around the base of her neck, touched his forehead to hers, and stood to cross the room to the door. When she spoke, he swiveled to face her. "Sure, Agent Mulder." A lopsided grin, the clunk of tapes, and he was gone. She spoke quietly to the shape receding through the glass of her door. "Call me if you ever want to work on that life, OK?" --o-0-o-- Core Lab Volcanic Observatory Thursday 11:53 pm Rich scribbled on the tally sheet. "Well, this is interesting. I've scored the results from the five sets of questions." He arched one eyebrow at Nichols, who had pulled the lab stool close to listen. Rosen stood back, her arms crossed. "So, here we go, Nic." Rich lifted the page in the air. "Nichols, set 1: 12." The older agent grinned. "Nichols, set 2: 6." Nichols' face fell. "Rosen, set 1: 8." She nodded. "Rosen, set 2: 15." Nichols chuckled. "Mixed set: 10." Now Rich smiled broadly at them both. "In the words of Osric, 'Nothing, neither way.' It looks like we have an absolutely random indicator of future possibilities." Nichols chewed his moustache. "And here I was so certain." Rosen patted the shoulder area of his suit. "Well, Nic, there are lies, damned lies, and..." "Statistics. Are you saying you want to try again?" She shook her head. "Sorry, if you guys really don't mind, I'd like to get some sleep. My body thinks it's almost four am." Nichols grinned. "Sure, kid. It's late for all of us." Rich yawned. "I could use a good night's sleep myself. You two find rooms in the dormitory?" He watched the older agent nod. "Just go shower, and be on your way. I can close up shop here. I don't see that our little friends will mind waiting another day." --o-0-o-- X-Files Offices Second Floor J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington, DC Friday, 8:21 am Mulder was standing over his partner, arms crossed, while she placed the fingerprint sheet on the glass plate of the scanner. "I don't believe we'll find records on him this way, Scully, it would be too easy." She raised one corner of her mouth, then nodded to an extremely nervous Arthur Pendrell. The red-haired agent avoided looking at Mulder while he cleared his throat. "Do you want me to run this against the regular data bases, Agent Scully?" Mulder smirked at the slight squeak that followed his enunciation of her title. Scully sensed her partner's mirth, so she glared up, fixing him in one of her LOOKS, that he rated 9.7 for its instantaneous intensity. She slid her chair closer to the screen, bumping Pendrell's shoulder as she pointed the mouse to click on several lines in one of the option windows. "Yes. As Mulder indicated, it might be a waste of time, but you never know." Pendrell nodded. "OK, Agent Scully." She rested one hand lightly on the lab tech's arm, bringing his eyes up to focus on hers. "But," she smiled gently, "this is the interesting part. Get on the Net and search for any clearing houses on sickle-cell anemia, especially ones that keep DNA records. Susan is running the tissue samples for us, looking for anything that might be unique, or serve to isolate his family, at least. I'm sure Agent Phillips will be more than willing to help you with the dental analysis." Stepping into his office, Mulder returned with his empty coffee mug, his eyes alight with mischief. Cynthia leaned over her desk. "We're out of filters, Agent Mulder, but I was planning on picking some up tonight." He nodded as he walked over to her desk. "No problem. I'll make a Starbucks run now." He waved the midnight blue mug, neon green flying saucers dotting the outside, at the pair behind Scully's desk. "They seem to have everything under control here. You want to take a break?" The young woman nodded, reaching in the deep drawer for her pocketbook. "Scully?" He smirked at the glare. "We'll be back." When she waved distractedly, Mulder refrained from issuing the several teasing remarks that came to mind. Pendrell watched Mulder usher the X-Files secretary out the door, the tall agent's hand on her shoulder. "I don't think he likes me." Scully cocked an eyebrow. "Don't feel bad. He likes almost no one, but he does respect your abilities, and he enjoys teasing people he respects." She stood, removing the cardboard sheet from the scanner. "We'll need to keep this in a safe place." She held the fingerprint record while they talked. "If you can think of any unusual or unexpected place someone would keep their fingerprints, like a credit card record, check there, too. This man can't be completely anonymous." Pendrell leaned back in her oak desk chair. "We should check the DMV records for the local states." Scully crossed her arms, half-sitting on her desk. "We should. Although he may have a driver's license from Alaska or Hawaii to cover his identity." Standing, she patted his shoulder. "Keep thinking, Arthur, we appreciate it." She stepped away towards the door when she saw the skin on his neck begin to mottle. "I'll be reviewing the latest medical records, looking for anything new on the sickling gene." He rose to join her, taking his que. "I should call you the instant I find anything, right?" She shrugged. "Of course. There has already been one assault while we were at the rest retreat." She held the door. "Thanks again, Arthur, and I'm happy for you, really. Thanks for telling me about you and Terry Phillips." He beamed at her before trotting to the elevator. After she closed the door, she rested briefly against it. The long night of driving, on top of three others with minimal sleep were tugging her eyelids closed. She wondered how long it would take for Mulder and Cynthia to return with the coffee. --o-0-o-- Warehouse Dover, Delaware Friday, 8:12 am Two women, their wavy brown hair pinned up under surgical caps, glanced up when the door to their work-space swung open. Their identical denim work shirts, khaki trousers and white walking shoes were hidden beneath lab coats. In the hallway stood a hulking, square-jawed man whose presence would at one time have sent them scrambling for the nearest window. But today, they waited patiently while he walked, his grey trench coat flapping against his canvas pants, between two rows of suspended sacs, all filled with a milky green fluid. Each bag, although hooked to an oxygen tank and IV tubes, was empty. The square-jawed man dropped a plastic-wrapped packet contemptuously on the table behind the women, then a harsh, angry series of whistles and grunts issued from him. The insult, however, was hollow. Killing the male ancients had been the less difficult part of his orders to obey. But, respect for the natural leadership of females had been instilled in all the warriors. So, when the taller woman corrected the Bounty Hunter by cuffing him on the chin, he submitted without a murmur. A few green drops appeared there, then vanished. When she spoke, her tone was commanding, impatient. "Use the primate's tongue. You know we cannot hold these forms if we revert to our own speech. Besides, your language has no doubt been evolved, along with your *politics*, so that ours would sound archaic to you." He narrowed his eyes at them, then yielded to offer a minuscule nod. "I brought the samples. Although why you continue to attempt to preserve this amoral simian species is beyond me." The woman to the left of the huge man reverently lifted the materials from the laminated surface to finger the tissue container and study the nappy hair. As she labelled a bag with what appeared to be random geometric shapes, surrounding a circle with lines radiating from it, her companion stepped close to their visitor, who towered over her by a good half meter. "You know our mission. A change in the leaders of our world does not alter the basic nobility of the Project's goals." She grimaced at the snort and flared nostrils. "Any planet with sentient life is worthy of study and conservation, regardless of the obscene actions of the beings on it. That they continue to exterminate their fellow species, especially those capable of intellectually challenging them, is not our concern. We can do nothing, and believe we should do nothing, to change them. They are as they are." Her companion crossed her arms, flanking her in a not-unnoticed gesture of solidarity. "Evolution operates differently in each circumstance, because randomness is the only constant. On this world, a collision with an asteroid prevented development of a sentience similar to our own. The ability to physically transform was lost to them, but intelligence arose in those species with the ability to produce young egglessly. On other worlds, self- awareness came to those with flight abilities..." One thick arm cut through the air, narrowly missing one of the mounted sacs. "Enough! I came here because you have something I need to leave. Give me back the stolen parts so my ship will be functional again, and I will be off this forsaken ball of mud for good! You are the last of the observers sent here under the old regime. Remaining so long on this planet has clouded your judgement, made you come to view it as your home. You fear for this system, these thoughtless primates. Be assured, when I return, I will recommend that the science council not be so foolish as to initiate long-term studies like this one again." The woman on his left handed him a folded slip of paper. Opening it, he frowned at the symbols to either side of the street addresses, before waving the sheet in front of them. "Who can read this ancient script? What does this say?" The woman on the right sighed. "The components are in storage buildings, one in Seattle and the other in Irving, Texas. We separated them for self-protection. When you reach each, contact us again. The containers can only be opened after the detonator in the lock is deactivated by verbal commands from both of us. The parts will remain inoperative without voice-activation as well, once they are in place on your ship." She glared up at the warrior. "If you do not leave this planet within two hours of their installation, small incendiary devices will initiate a chain-reaction in your vessel. You will be stranded here for the rest of you life. Is that clear?" A wordless growl, and the Bounty Hunter was gone. One of the women opened the bag. "At least we will be able to work out yet another variation in the hominid's genome before we will have to contend with him again. The warriors in our time were far less belligerent." The shorter woman jerked her head towards the doorway. "You have the sample from him?" The slightly taller woman scraped the skin on the palm of her hand with a scalpel. "Now we can map the differences between his genetic code and ours, so we will know how our species has been changed." They turned back to their work. --o-0-o-- X-Files Offices Friday, 8:53 am While waiting for AltaVista to return the results of her Sickle- cell Anemia search, Scully glanced at her mail button, noticing that she had messages waiting. She scrolled the mouse over, clicked to activate the window, then read through six incoming headers. It was a long report from Susan Miles up at Hopkins Hospital, entitled "DNA fragments from warehouse", so she sent it directly to her Laserjet. Ten pages later, she leaned back, skimming the contents. As her eyes fell on the closing line, she reached for the phone beside the monitor to activate the speaker and enter a familiar number. "Susan?" She pulled her lips back into a relieved grin. "Thanks for these results. How many favors did you have to call in for the time with the gel-electrophoresis machines?" An answering chuckle filled the room. "You have me on speaker, don't you, Dana?" Scully allowed herself to relax. "Sorry. I'm running a search, so I'll need my hands free. Let me adjust the volume." After punching one grey button repeatedly, she sighed. "That's better?" "A little. Anyway, glad you called, and, to answer your question, it wasn't all that many. With the funds I have to research viral genomes, a willingness to do a little of my own work late at night, and a helpful tech, we snuck the work in around the other projects. But it was slow. Sorry it took months." "No problem. Without your help, the hair and tissues couldn't have been identified, ever. It looks like a huge range in individual characteristics, doesn't it?" Susan um-hummed. "Exactly, that's what made the effort so interesting. We now have more individuals to add to my baseline than I could have gathered in the few months I have funding for. Whoever was working in that warehouse really wanted a broad sampling of the US population." Scully reached over to deactivate the screen-saver, eager for the results. "Sue, we can't say too much..." "Dana, I know we can't. But thanks for this sickling sample. I'll show it around a little, if you don't mind, since I'll be running these at the Center for Inherited Disease Research." The auburn-haired woman straightened. "Sue, don't tell anyone..." "Who gave it to me?" Now she laughed brightly. "This cloak and dagger stuff. Of course I won't, you *know* I'm the soul of discretion. You still keeping your mitts off that delicious partner of yours?" One eyebrow arched, then Scully tucked her chin. "Sue... You know better..." "Right, right, I just was hoping he'd come running out so I could give him a hard time. I know how he hovers, Dana, and teasing eavesdroppers is the sole advantage of a speaker-phone." Scully rested both elbows on her memo pad. "Too late. He's out right now, picking up more coffee." "Ooh, Dana, gorgeous *and* housebroken. *Definitely* pass my regards along." A buzz from her jacket stiffened Scully's spine. "Is that your cel phone?" She was lifting the unit out as she responded. "'Fraid so. Call me, OK?" "Sure will. Bye." --o-0-o-- X-Files Offices Friday, 8:57 am "Mom!" Mulder grinned down at their secretary, who chuckled while gripping her purse and two sacks of coffee supplies. He balanced another multicolored bag on a cardboard tray with three oversized paper cups, steam curling out of the pierced lids, to fish for his keys. "We're home!" They waited, their amusement turning to concern. "Scully, open up! Our hands are full!" At that, they were rewarded with the dead-bolt latch snapping free, before the door swung away. Scully waited, one hand holding the brass lever, the other her cel phone. "Bill? What are you doing in town?" Her eyebrows drew together. "Sure, I'll meet you for dinner. When and where?" Mulder kept one ear open, listening unobtrusively while he and Cynthia offloaded their supplies. "Charlie will be there, too?" Now her partner straightened, fully focused, while their secretary set orange bags of whole beans in their cube-shaped freezer. Cynthia had demanded that one shelf be kept clear for their lunches and coffee after accidentally popping the top on one frosted container marked: "XF-2013, Phaster, Minneapolis". It brought Mulder no end of glee to shift the plastic boxes in front of her lunch bag, just to watch her reach back with tongs to grab it. Still talking, Scully hunched over her desk to scribble on a note- pad. "7:30 in front of the Hoover Building, right, see you then." When she terminated the call, her partner was by her elbow, frowning. "I thought Bill had been called up unexpectedly for sea duty in March?" While sliding the unit into her briefcase, Scully shrugged. "So did I." One shake of her head, and she was focused again. "Pendrell is checking for any DNA databases we could compare our samples against, and I'll be reading up on sickle cell anemia, Mulder." His hand resting on her shoulder, he whispered in her ear. "I understand how important it is for you and Arthur to have some quality time alone together, Scully, if you want to win him back." She responded to his theatrical pat on her shoulder with a playful swipe of the Ridgefield report at his cocked arm. "We need to drop by you-know-where, *chief*." He saluted sharply before turning into his office. "Yes, Ma'am, Doctor Scully." He mouthed 'touchy, touchy' at Cynthia, who rolled her eyes before opening their travel folders. --o-0-o-- Office of the Lone Gunmen Alexandria, VA Friday, 9:46 am "Hey, Langly, we're here!" While one hand grasped the handles of their canvas evidence carryall, bulging with tapes, Mulder's unburdened fist banged at the front door. Scully waited behind him, briefcase on her left, the chilled red cooler they used for more perishable evidence kept well away from her body on the right. Frohike, the long hair that was usually slicked back over his crown, dangling over his ears, grumbled as the door swung open. "Mulder, why aren't you in New Jersey, so the rest of us can catch up on our sleep?" He rubbed his glasses on his shirt before sliding them on, then broke into a broad grin at the auburn head that poked out from behind the tall agent's shoulder. "Divinity! By your presence, his multitude of sins are all expurgated." She crinkled her nose at her partner. "And here I thought you said he wasn't working on poetry in my absence, Mulder." He chuckled, ushering her in ahead of him. "Where are the rest of the guys?" While she detoured into the Gunmen's kitchen, Mulder passed Frohike the sack of tapes. The little man leaned towards Mulder, craning his neck and dropping his voice into a stage whisper. "A peace offering! Are these from a certain G-man's private stock?" Winking at Scully who had just rejoined them, Mulder leaned back. "Very private." The woman agent stepped closer. "Don't get your hopes up, Frohike, remember, *he*'s still here, and I wouldn't touch his collection, no matter how much you begged me. I'm certain he'd want to protect the Galactic Sex Princesses from your wiles, even from beyond the grave." Mulder cocked an eyebrow at the Gunman in a 'so there' glare. Scully opted to ignore the interchange as she pointed at the bag. "Those are surveillance tapes from the rest retreat in Jersey. We think the morphing bounty hunter broke in to take tissue and hair samples of X, and we think those tapes may contain proof." The little man fairly radiated glee, running for their lab, the two agents on his heels. "Langly will kick himself for volunteering for a day shift." Mulder cleared a spot on the workbench with a sweep of his arm, shoving the assorted papers into a heap on the floor. He shrugged at his partner's arched brow. "I thought you had to work, too." At Frohike's nod, Scully handed him the Third Floor tape. He kissed the spot where her thumb had been before inserting the brown box into the recorder. "I've said goodbye to all that, Mulder, my friend." The Gunman watched Scully push the fast- forward button. "Dear Uncle Hermann recently shuffled off his mortal coil, and yours truly is living comfortably off the interest from his bequest to me." He bowed towards Scully's profile. "Of course, two could be just as cozy." Rolling her eyes, she pointed to the faint line Mulder had noticed earlier. "Can you blow that up, clean up the background?" He powered up the computer on the workbench, pressing a few keys and marking portions with a trackball. "With greatest alacrity, Oh Celestial One." The three watched as the tread of the stair was accented, then removed, and a pyramidal shape appeared over the line. "You're interested in a rat?" The small man bent closer. "You think the Bounty Hunter can morph himself into rodentia as well as humans? Why?" Mulder ran his hand through his hair, leaving it sticking out at all angles. "Long story." Frohike swiveled the lab stool, pointing to two others before crossing his arms. "I'm not going anywhere, Mulder, so I'm all ears." The agents exchanged glances and settled in to explain. Scully leaned forward. "We've brought you some evidence from two of our previous X-Files: tissue and semen from XF-1014, hair and skin from XF-2016. We believe these to be genetic evidence of a sentient species capable of gender-switching, at the very least." Mulder nodded. "We need you to line up a geneticist willing to DNA-type it for us, through unofficial channels, of course." When the little man beamed at Scully, she arched both eyebrows in return before she took up the explanation. "Now, we could have just sent the samples up to Susan, who would have slipped more work into the schedule for processing at Hopkins Hospital's new genetics lab. But, Mulder and I talked it over..." The tall agent leaned forward. "We don't want the evidence collecting in one place. It would be too easily destroyed in a bomb blast or a fire if it were. Besides, Susan's already working on my contact's genetic structure, probably right now." Scully continued smoothly. "I've left the trays on the top shelf of your freezer, right behind the 'brain samples from Dealey Plaza'." She was shaking her head in disbelief when one of the computers in the lab began wailing loudly. Sobering, the Gunman ran over to it, but instead of silencing the alarm, began typing furiously, finally hitting the power button. Scully, her fingers in her ears, stood behind his shoulder to follow the commands displayed. "Frohike, that was your Network gateway. What's happening that made you take such drastic measures?" He growled. "Lady Lovelace is at it again." Mulder peered over his partner's head. "Who?" The Gunman pushed the mouse around before responding. "We've had problems with a hacker. It's not a full-force break-in, just little grabs and swipes we weren't cognizant of. Lady Lovelace is just the name I've given the guy to reflect the subtlety involved." Scully's loud yawn brought both men's attention to her. "I think my coffee is starting to wear off, Mulder, and we have that meeting with Skinner at 11:30." Resting one hand on her back, the tall agent nodded before turning to Frohike. "Try to see if you can spot that rat leaving the grounds, or in any of the other stairwells, and let us know what you find, all right?" The Gunman babbled on about the search techniques he would implement to them while he escorted the Agents to the door. --o-0-o-- Senate Hearing Room Washington, DC Friday, 10:05 am Richard Matheson lightly tapped his chairman's gavel on the sounder pad twice, and a hushed silence fell over the room. If cameras had been permitted in this session, they would have transmitted images of a staid, orderly conference chamber. For this closed subcommittee hearing, there was nothing but the best in furnishings. The witnesses sat at an antique cherry oval table, their various retinues on padded rosewood chairs in rows behind them. Looking down were twelve senators, seated behind a high mahogany bench, Democrats to the left, Republicans to the right. Since this proceeding would involve matters of the highest security, the room was purposefully small, and lacked a modern electronic sound system. The senior Republican senator's left ear contained the only artificial amplification permitted, but its adequacy for the task remained a matter of good-natured dispute among the Senatorial staffers. Matheson tapped the pad again. "This meeting of the Transportation and Security Subcommittee is hereby called to order. I'd like to wish everyone a good morning, my co-chair and Honored Colleague, Senator Russell of Alabama, the esteemed members of this committee from both sides of this house, and you, Director Owens." The formalities concluded, Matheson slipped on his reading glasses. "Mister Owens, I believe you were telling us yesterday about the new procedures for delivery and maintenance you propose to implement." As Lindhauer leaned forward to pass him a note, he adjusted one earpiece of his dark frames, then spread the crumpled form open on the papers before him. Director Owens twisted the neck of the table-mounted microphone mount before he began speaking. "Yes, Sir, Senator. It was always the intention to use the Interstate Highway system for rapid deployment of military personnel from one part of the country to another. However, these roads have increasingly become the province of the people of the nation, negating their usefulness for their original purpose. As a point in fact regarding interstates, should the nation's capital come under some type of attack, it would be difficult during most daylight hours to transport anything from one shore of the Potomac to the other, other than by ferryboat." As chortle of agreement ran through the room, Senator Matheson smiled, then gaveled for silence. "Your point is well taken, Director Owens. However, these are difficult financial times for the nation, and it is hard for this Representative of the American people to justify the necessity of keeping an extensive narrow gauge rail system in operation." He glanced at the sheet. "The maintenance costs of the tracks themselves, let alone the locomotives, are more than double those of the highways in our ten most populous states." He looked to his Republican counterpart. "I believe my Esteemed Colleague had the floor at the evening recess." After much throat-clearing, the elderly Southern Senator leaned forward, his baggy sky-blue suit wrinkled from the humidity. "Director Owens, my Honored Colleague from the Longhorn state has several questions he would like to ask you." He focused both watery eyes on Senator Randall. "Senator Randall? I yield to you the remainder of my ten minutes." The younger man straightened his string tie before accepting the packet McConnell passed him. "Good Morning, Director Owens. We appreciate the effort you have undertaken to compile these statistics for us." He waved a dun yellow oversized envelope. "I won't waste the time of the more senior members of this fine institution any more than necessary. The rail system in question requires how many skilled laborers and upstanding citizens for constant operation?" Randall smoothed his fringed leather jacket while the bespectacled director consulted his notes. Matheson leaned back to speak with Lindhauer, who slipped down the back wall in response, taking a seat by McConnell. The red-haired man passed two of the packages to his colleague, tapping a page on top as he did. Lindhauer returned to the center of the dais, placing both copies before the Senator, who passed one to the Senior Republican. Lindhauer leaned back, opening the note from McConnell. Both men stepped outside, and two other aides smoothly took their places. Lindhauer huddled by McConnell. "How much longer do you think these hearings will continue before we can force the matter to a vote?" The red-haired man shrugged. "Probably later this afternoon. Now that Randall is asking the questions, Matheson will be less inclined to honor protocol and draw this out. You know, after some token resistance, the railway system will be abandoned, even by Randall. Matheson will have his victory, and we will have the trucks we need, all courtesy of the US military and the American taxpayer." The two men smiled before opening the tall walnut door to reenter the hearing room. --o-0-o-- George Washington Parkway / Volcanic Observatory Alexandria, VA / Washington State Friday, 10:18 am / Friday, 7:18 am Scully pulled a sheet from her briefcase, punching a long distance number from the page into her cel phone. She waited through five rings before it was answered by an unfamiliar voice. "Rosen?" "Scully? Hang on while I take the containment helmet off." The auburn-haired agent listened to clicks and sliding sounds. "That better?" Scully scribbled 'containment gear?!' on a legal pad to pass to her partner, who was watching her converse while they sat at a light. "Yes. What's up?" "Oh, only a precaution. We worked without them towards the end of the day yesterday, so we don't think they're really necessary. We just have to be careful not to touch the bug, then put our hands anywhere near our mouths." Scully leaned forward, bracing herself as the Taurus accelerated. "What? Rosen, what's going on?" The brunette scratched her forehead with her now ungloved fingers. "Oh, sorry, let me start at the beginning. It seems this bug, or whatever it is, likes to dissolve teeth and bone, but has no affinity for muscle mass, or hair. Doctor Campbell discovered this accidentally while brushing his teeth after handling the vitreous substrate the bug lived in." Rosen slipped off the oxygen tanks, rotating her shoulders to relieve the cramping. "We've been growing the bugs and feeding them to see what they like to eat." Since they were still stopped at the light, Scully scribbled 'testing dietary preferences' for her partner's benefit. He opened his palm for the phone, but she shook her head, mouthing 'It's OK' at him. "What else does it seem to like? What are the waste products?" Rosen grinned. "Well, this is where it gets interesting. We've fed them silk, sandstone, feathers, slate, hair, quartzite, various parts of a whole chicken Nic bought from one of the locals, limestone, wheat, dolomite, lettuce, granite, plexiglass, kaolin, and a plastic milk jug. Outside of the teeth and bone, they love anything containing silicates, and the higher the proportion of silicon dioxide in the compound, the better they like it. They expel oxygen gas as waste, so I can only speculate that they are consuming the silicon, for some reason." Scully nodded, the gesture visible only to her partner. "Teeth and bone are composed mostly of calcium phosphate, or, apatite, if that helps." After taking a long sip of water from the mug Nichols offered her, Rosen grunted. "Apatite? That's a minor component of certain volcanic suites, which is probably why they can metabolize it. Thanks for the tip." Scully lifted one corner of her mouth. "Can they become airborne?" Rosen sighed. "No, they can't. Mimicking the crystalline structure of quartz, the cells form themselves into a tetrahedral network, which will grow as large as their food source allows, then just stops developing. They seem to go into stasis without nutrients. Oh, and they will break down wood, too, but then they just produce a lot of methane gas, the networks don't grow any larger." "What?" Rosen drained the contents of the mug. "It just turns it to mush, like it's after something in the fibers." "Well, trees and many other plants, incorporate sand particles into their cellular structure for rigidity. If the sample you obtained grew in..." Catching on, the younger woman smiled. "Right. Volcanic soil, the life-forms would attempt to break through the cell membranes to reach the silicate grains." Scully scribbled 'Breaks down plant matter' on the page, the second t in matter extended by a sudden swerve to avoid a semi. "Is it hazardous?" Although invisible to Scully, Rosen shook her head. "I don't think it's dangerous. We've been in contact with Doctor Campbell, and he'll be coming back here tomorrow to help out with the testing." "What do you think it is?" The words 'not dangerous' appeared on the pad. "Probably a bacterium, less likely an archeon. I've tried to explain the new Domains to Nic, and he's convinced we've discovered *the* ancestral life form." Rosen sighed. "I've laid out the details of how unlikely that is, but, well, you know how it goes." When the Taurus passed over the Potomac on Memorial bridge, Scully found herself squinting into the sun. "Tell me about it. How's Nichols holding up?" Rosen chuckled. "I've convinced him we're staking out the Truth, so he's not grumbling too much. When are you guys coming out here?" Scully glanced at her partner. "Soon, we hope. We have some leads at our end we need to follow up on. So this bacterium seems to like silicates in general. Interesting. 'Staking out the Truth', I'll have to use that one on Mulder sometime. Call us if you find out anything else important, all right?" "Sure thing, Scully." After she terminated the call, Mulder chuckled. "What was that all about? Staking out the truth? Silicates?" Scully began collecting her notes. "Rosen's set up experiments to measure consumption of nutrients and production of waste materials from our little discovery. The life-form consumes silicon dioxide, preferentially, giving off oxygen as a waste product." Both tensed at the wail of a police siren. "Looks like a traffic problem ahead." Checking his watch, he sighed. "This late in the morning, too." --o-0-o-- Scully Residence Annapolis, Maryland Friday, 10:49 am Margaret Scully pulled out the last of her green hoses, trailing it along the sidewalk before cutting over to the narrow strip of grass on the street side of her front yard. Pausing to fan herself with her frayed straw gardening hat, she scanned the roadway, nearly empty except for a single dark red sedan, several houses west and across the street from her. She searched the hazy blue- grey sky, looking for flat-topped white clouds on the horizon that would spare her this chore. Arms akimbo, she surveyed the square-topped boxwoods in front of the house, remembering the grandchildren playing soldier around them on the Fourth of July. When she bent over to position the triangular yellow sprinkler head, she thought she caught movement in the vehicle. Turning away, she knelt, busing herself with prying free a dandelion root, checking under her arm after what she considered a safe interval. A shiver ran up her spine. Crossing herself before she rose, Margaret resolved not to bother Dana with this, just now. Reentering the house, she slipped the Pomeranian's blue leash off the hook by the door. The silent, to Margaret, cue was answered by little toenails clicking in from the kitchen, where she knew Mister Fuzz had been napping. A snick, and the deadbolt was engaged. "Let's go do a little spying ourselves today, shall we?" --o-0-o-- 14th Street Bridge Washington, DC Friday, 12:26 am Bored after the long wait in a stalled line of lunch traffic, Mulder's mind drifted back to the phone conversation with Rosen. "Well, it must be silicon-based then." Scully glanced over at him. "Hum? Not necessarily, Mulder." He gripped the steering wheel momentarily, releasing it when the car lurched to the right slightly. "Scully, after what happened in the Cascades last time, how can you say...Scully!" Her head was moving from side to side vehemently. "We consume many other elements besides carbon. It may use the silicon to build the tetrahedral bonds for the network it forms its colonies onto. Or, it may need the silicates for internal strength, much as the trees and grasses it was breaking down ingest sand or clay particles for stiffness." He narrowed his eyes at her. "But Rumpelstiltskin is waking up after a long, long nap out there. If given a wide range of freely available choices, why would it do anything but eat the highest-quality nutrients, just like any animal coming out of hibernation? Why wouldn't it eat what it needs to grow?" Since they were pulling into the FBI vehicle lot, each was digging badges out of suit coat pockets and clipping them on. Scully glanced at her partner. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting here, Mulder. Inorganic compounds are necessary for many forms of life, but not as energy sources. Some specialists in the development of early life on this planet have speculated that the shape of organic molecules themselves may have resulted from the use of clay or other feldspathic minerals as a replication template. Just like plants, it's possible that a primitive life form still needs silicates to accomplish a task later life can achieve internally." She waited until they were parked and both walking to the elevator. "The only way we'll find out what this organism really is, silicon-based or otherwise, is with the careful testing Rosen and the others are subjecting this thing to. Since it isn't dangerous - " "Yet, Scully, it isn't dangerous yet." "Yet, Mulder, we don't have to alert the CDC, or anyone else, for that matter, because we'll only draw unwanted attention to ourselves." He pressed the up button, so they waited. "I agree. We don't want to draw the notice of a certain organization, but it might be just as bad as unleashing the F. Emasculata parasite." When she shuddered, he bent over her immediately. "Scully? What? Tell me." As the door opened, they stepped inside. "Something happened to you while you were in the prison?" "I thought I might have been exposed to the contagion, Mulder. There was a period of time when I had to wait for the infection to incubate before I could check." Moving to her side, he grasped her arm. "Why didn't you tell me this when it happened?" His dark eyes hovered inches from her own, both pairs deeply troubled. "You didn't need to come rushing back to the prison, you had to track those men down." She shrugged. "If I wasn't exposed, it didn't matter. If I had the parasite, all I would have done was infect you, too." As their ascent stopped at the lobby level to accept more passengers, he dropped her arm, but grasped the hand rail behind her. The car filled with excited, casually dressed visitors on one of the crowded summer tours, pressing the two agents against each other in a rear corner of the elevator. She leaned back to mutter into his chest: "I was fine, Mulder." Before pulling his lips into a tight grin for the public, he grunted, so she gave it one last attempt. "Really." The breath that preceded his reply set a few strands of her hair afloat, then she heard his voice, soft in her ear. "Right, Scully. Now I know I should have quarantined you in my apartment afterward." As they halted on the second floor, they pushed their way through the clutter of tourists while their guide offered apologies, calling for her charges to make way for 'two hard-working agents in the Bureau'. A flash or two popped in their faces, propelling the partners forward in their escape. Once the doors closed, Scully glanced up at Mulder. "But it would have been a violation of my Hippocratic Oath to let you suffer contamination by personal contact if you had." He held the office door, his eyes alight with relief, his face bright with contentment. "You doctors are all alike. I should have figured there would have been a downside to my nefarious scheme." When they entered, Cynthia stopped typing to pass him a yellow phone message note. "When you two were late, I called Gloria for you. Director Skinner has been summoned to the Director Freeh's Office, so your meeting with him has been shifted to 1:30 this afternoon." Mulder nodded to their secretary before catching his partner's eye. "Well, then I think we can take time out for lunch." "Nothing heavy, Mulder, the Four Seasons serves large portions, as I remember." Scully leaned over Cynthia's desk. "Come on with us, if you wish, or do you have someone else in mind?" The brunette blushed, red to the tips of her ears, while Mulder studied the doorknob religiously. "Sorry, Agent Scully. Gil called to say he would be tied up in meetings all day today." She reached into her drawer for her bag, stepping out in front of the partners to call for the elevator. Scully whispered to the tall agent as he locked the door. "If she gets any happier, she may break into Andrew Lloyd Weber at her desk." He leaned close to her ear. "Now, now, doctor, think of poor broken-hearted Lewis, *certainly* a man of good taste, sitting back there at the Retreat, pining away for you..." After nimbly dodging her elbow, he pressed his hand into her back as the elevator doors swept open. --o-0-o-- Scully Residence Annapolis, Maryland Friday, 12:38 pm Returning to her front porch, Margaret knelt to brush the dirt from the Pomeranian's fur, the little dog snapping at the air in his pleasure at the attention. "How did Dana ever have the time to keep you looking good?" She checked over the railing, not surprised that the vehicle still lurked, casting a pall over an otherwise perfect summer afternoon. A lone Annapolis police cruiser began a single pass up her street, but before it reached her home, Margaret had collected the little canine to rush out to the blacktop. The black and white rolled to a halt at her driveway, where a sergeant stepped out of the car and around it to her. "Mrs. Scully? Everything all right?" Hearing the red sedan's engine turn over, she smiled, then the pair watched it pull away. The officer nodded. "I had seen him earlier and wanted to check back myself." "Thank you, Bruce. I was worried. Care for something to drink?" He patted her shoulder. "No, thank you, Ma'am. Will you tell Dana, or do you want me to call her?" Sergeant Bruce Williams had taken a Forensics class from the red-haired agent before she joined the X-Files. Margaret had been only too happy to exploit the unexpected connection during her daughter's disappearance. "I'll handle it." The cruiser's departure left her chewing her lip. --o-0-o-- Office of the Assistant Director J. Edgar Hoover Building Friday, 1:28 pm The Assistant Director stepped aside. "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, come in." He waited until they were both seated to close the door and settle behind his desk. Once there, he flipped open the Minnesota case report. "Do I read correctly that you both concur in substantiating only the accounts from the original witnesses?" Scully straightened. "Yes, Sir. Lars and Ella Hendrikson were both creditable, sober people." As her partner snorted, she paused, waiting for him. Mulder shifted on the hard seat. "Sir, for them, alcohol is something rubbed on insect bites, and neither has missed a Sunday and Wednesday in church in their lives. The patterns of lights wheeling and diving could not be explained as meteor showers, misidentified planets, or airplanes." Scully nodded. "We interviewed each separately. Their accounts bore enough similarities and differences that we concluded neither was coached, nor were their statements developed in concert. As far as we could determine," they exchanged a glance, "there have been no prior sightings in this part of Minnesota. Nor are there nearby classified facilities." The ex-Marine leaned over his desk. "Agent Mulder?" The younger man sighed. "As far as confabulation, these two were your classic stoic Norwegian-types, Sir. We had to work to get more than a 'jah' or a 'nooh' out of them." He ran a hand through his hair. "While none of our usual sources provided significant collaboration of their evidence, neither could they give us any alternatives to explain their testimony away." When she suddenly yawned, both men focused on the tiny woman in the chair. She covered her mouth with her hand. "Excuse me. Until we acquire further evidence, I must tag this as unidentified and unexplained." Skinner cocked an eyebrow at Mulder. "You would say this was a sighting of an alien craft?" Mulder glanced at his partner, who was smoothing the hem of her grey skirt, a gesture that told him how tired she really was. "It tallies with other creditable accounts, Sir. But, we lack physical evidence that would conclusively prove it to be such." Flipping the folder shut, Skinner settled back in his chair, both hands gripping the armrest. His mind drifted through many previous meetings in his brightly-lit office, back to one of the first, when the auburn-haired agent had lied to him to protect the man sprawled beside her. Since then, he had waited while the younger man flung himself around the room, stricken by her loss. He held his peace through the dark time when they had shot daggers from one to the other in glares, their angry silences longer than their replies. He had watched Scully confound two CIA agents, and had given her space to cushion her partner's shock at a fabricated police report. The AD lifted another folder from his desk. "Now, to the Ridgefield murders. You and the others agree that Professor Smith is the perpetrator?" Mulder sighed. "All the evidence, from fingerprints to blood and hair samples, would indicate such." The older man focused on Scully when he realized she had finally driven home to her partner the need for evidence, to speculate only in its presence. "But you disagree as to his motive?" "Yes, Sir." She rubbed her eyes. "He believed, or appeared to believe, himself to be the reincarnation of Sarah Wells, to be avenging himself on the descendants of the woman who had wronged her in a previous life." Skinner locked her in his gaze, noting that Mulder had brought his partner to see the possibilities such evidence suggested. She held her hands out, palms facing him. "Now, there is no way to substantiate this claim, Sir. Nor, did the Professor show any signs of mental instability." Nodding, Mulder shifted the red tie with yellow dots. "But, revenge murder is still murder, in the eyes of the law, and he did kill two women who were totally unrelated to anyone in his purported 'previous life'. While he fits my profile," Mulder leaned over the desktop to tap a few sheets in the report, "he does not show the typical family history or developmental patterns of a serial killer." The younger man crossed his arms. "Although the four of us will continue to disagree on the motive, this is one we can safely mark closed, Sir. If Smith hadn't killed himself, it would have been an easy conviction." Skinner lifted out the autopsy report, a grimace spreading over his normally stoic features. Scully leaned forward. "Yes, Sir, that report does say what you think it does. He was an unaltered hermaphrodite. How this piece fits, we are as yet uncertain, But, he *is* our man, so to speak." The Assistant Director reassembled the pages quickly, shaking his head. Between them, they were developing into one entity almost as he watched. "Better you than me, people. Why were Rosen and Nichols rush detailed to Washington State, while you're still parked here?" He waved sets of travel orders in the air, then narrowed his eyes at Mulder. The Section Head responded. "We had a report of an unidentified organism, similar to several we've investigated in the past, so we briefed Rosen and Nichols prior to their departure." Skinner nodded. "But they didn't need your help?" Scully leaned forward. "There was another matter that appeared suddenly, Sir." Their supervisor leaned back while he read their expressions. The message was received as clearly as if they had both shouted it at him, so he nodded again. "Tell me about this organism." Mulder grinned. "A silicon-eating life form that may very well be silicon-based itself." Skinner caught the ripple in Scully's cheeks. "We don't know that for certain, Sir." She crossed her arms, "Many of the new species identified from deep-sea reconnaissance of ocean ridges and hot spots have depended on unusual food sources for nutrients. For instance, several families of bacteria and Archaea metabolize sulfates; methane-consuming species of Archaea have been isolated from cow's intestines. Bacteria, it has been suggested, may be able to survive up to nine kilometers below the earth's surface. Some have even been discovered that consume hydrocarbons directly, and during the oil crisis, they were under consideration for non-toxic clean-up of spills. It is not inconceivable that a primitive life form would have developed that utilized one of the most common minerals available, silicon dioxide." Mulder turned to his partner. "But why couldn't it be a silicon- based life-form, Scully? Finding something living in the rock, feeding off it..." She shifted to face him. "Until we have a sample back here that can be gene-typed, I prefer not to speculate along those lines, Mulder." Walter Skinner arched an eyebrow, then, unwilling to be left on the side, joined the debate. "But isn't that rather difficult, Agent Scully?" She sighed. "Indeed, Sir. To date, outside of viral sequences like smallpox, only four species' genomes have been published in the "open* literature. The Human Genome Project, although running ahead of its scheduled completion in 2005, remains unfinished." Both men caught her emphasis on the word *open*, taking in her deeper meaning instantly. "However, we have alerted certain experts that their specialized skills may be called upon in an unofficial capacity." Their superior removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I presume you will be updating me as events warrant?" Sighing, Mulder shifted around the wooden chair uncomfortably. "With all due respect, Sir, there are matters that need airing..." Skinner stood fluidly, pacing behind his desk. "I see." He braced his weight on the folders, activating his intercom. "Gloria, what is my schedule like for this afternoon?" The older woman's soft contralto filled the room, and the X-Files agents' shoulders sagged as she rattled off several more meetings for the Director. "Thank you." He met both their eyes. "Well, shall we say six, then?" They nodded. Mulder was even more agitated. "Sir, I really don't want to delay our trip to the West Coast any more than necessary." The meeting concluded, in his mind, Skinner stepped to the door to hold it for their departure. "I'm certain the Attorney General will understand when I have to cancel with her for a single-celled organism and the doings of a secret government she doesn't know exists." He cocked his head, waiting for them. --o-0-o-- Dark Office Washington, DC Friday, 1:51 pm The old man puffed his Morley in silence, reflecting that while so much had changed, so much remained the same. He no longer had open access to the control center of his wiretap network, but with a little work, a few modifications... He ran one hand down the plywood board screwed into the wall in front of him, smiling at the multicolored point-to-point wiring, the hand-wound transformers bound with masking tape. He remembered her gentle prod: 'That one, Bill.' This hastily assembled control panel was his first tangible sign that he was still here, still connected. His fingers trailed over the chips on the stand-off mounted circuit board. A connection formed in the synapses of his agile mind, then more, and more. --o-0-o-- North Cascades National Park Sunday, 2:12 am The Bounty Hunter had attempted a few experimental dives, learning to separate and catalog the sensations as they happened. It had, at first, been terrifying, the dizzying speed of his descent, the air rushing past his head. But now, he was ready. One long plunge, pulling up when he felt the air shift above the trees, then he could settle in branches, assuming yet another shape to reach the ground. As for returning to Seattle to retrieve his ship's components, well, he would work out that part of the plan later. He took a huge gulp of air, knowing he would be unable to breath again until he pulled out of the dive. Tucking his brown and white flecked wings tightly against his ribs, he stretched his neck to elongate his form, then fell, resisting the temptation to squeeze his eyes shut. For a second or two, all was whistling air, then, he felt it. He rotated, extending his wings, fanning his tail. He felt one of his long fingerbones snap, then flapping madly, managed to avoid a rock that suddenly had light reflected off it. His left wing and tail contacted the ground first, breaking the fall and preventing more serious damage. But, he was dizzy enough from holding his breath that he rolled onto his breast, knocking the wind out of him. Hearing voices, he raised his head. He lay still, forcing himself to listen. --o-0-o-- Rainbow Point Camp, East Bank Trail Ross Lake National Recreation Area North Cascades National Park Sunday, 2:16 am The light flickered and died. Donna halted, the faint illumination from the stars insufficient to guide them. "Sorry, Dal, I think that's it. We've used up the extras I brought along, and the batteries from the radio." He sank to the ground, easing his foot out in front of him. "It'll have to do, lover. I couldn't walk any more if you were topless in a Jacuzzi ten feet over there." He waved vaguely at the lake. "Try to get a fire started, like we're supposed to. I'm sorry I can't help." She nodded, collecting what branches she could feel, then igniting them with her disposable lighter, looking out over the area. "Where is everybody? I thought this was supposed to be a big campsite, but it's deserted." Dallas sighed. "Maybe it's just a slow night, O-Donna." He didn't want to voice what had been on his mind, that the reason the camp was deserted was that it had been evacuated. He had not called to his fianci's attention how close the water had been to the cut- through portions of the trail, while she had just gritted her teeth when she slipped on mud washed over the rocks. "We'll be OK, here, right?" She stepped away to hang their backpacks, their food in one, trash in the other, from a long narrow branch, a regulation 100 feet away from the fire. On her return, he attempted a smile. "Sure thing, cute stuff. Your Mom's big wedding plans have to go off without a hitch, right?" She was using the light to retrieve more fallen branches, then cut a few evergreen bows with his Bowie knife. As the blaze grew, she helped him shift closer to the fire, then rewrapped his ankle. When she finished, Donna crouched at his side. "You warm enough, Dal?" He hugged her. "Now I am. Don't worry about the tent, this ought to do." He kissed her lightly, then settled down, his head in her lap. Donna watched the cinders float upward, and as he drifted off, she leaned back, rubbing the base of her spine. Donna smiled as she heard a soft snore, then, achy as well, stretched out. Before she dropped off, a thought drifted lazily to the forefront of her mind. --o-0-o-- West Chase Apartments Laurel, Maryland Sunday, 2:14 am "Ace' fumbled around, tumbling to the ground, waiting for the pile of computer parts she had landed on to come to rest around and on top of her. She heard a groan, then remembered that 'Charlie' had been walking her to the door, so she groped around for him. "Drew?" "Lisa?" The voice was faint, sounded, not a whisper. "I can't see you. Where are you?" "I'm by the wall, Drew, what happened to you?" She was crawling towards him, following his voice. "I don't know. I was reaching for the light switch, I felt a rush of air, then, it's now." Clinging to each other as they stood, Drew finally hit the panel, casting light on the interior of 'Ace''s new apartment. The computer furniture had been overturned, her system chassis, printers, tape drives, anything and everything electronic reeked with the unique stench of power-surge burned components. 'Ace''s sneakers crunched on glass from the monitors as she hobbled to the center of her living room. There, the floor was suspiciously clear, except for a child's bright orange play pool. 'Charlie' joined her, staring down at her brown-covered lab notebooks, lying in ink-black water, the pages, loose, ripped out, some floating on the surface. She groaned. "It's all gone, Drew, my years of work and notes, it's all ruined." She rotated slowly, taking in the carnage. "Whoever did this specifically targeted my work, not my personal items. The kitchen," she waved both arms in frustration, "for what that's worth, is untouched." She staggered over to a folding chair. "We need to alert 'Finn' and 'Andrew'." 'Charlie' nodded, pushing what was once an ink-jet printer off her phone stand. He punched in a number, then waited. "'Andrew'? We need you to bring yourself and 'Finn' over to 'Ace''s right now. I think the loyalists have struck again." After replacing the receiver, he reached for the programmer, who was half-heartedly attempting to reassemble the boards within her new SGI Indi. "Hey, Lisa, stop." He guided her to the sofa, rocking her gently while they waited. --o-0-o-- Warehouse Dover, Delaware Sunday, July 27, 1997 4:21 am The two 'females' were clicking excitedly, pulling boxes from their van that was backed up to the loading dock, setting notes out to read later. But, they stopped as someone hammered on the small door in the rear of their work area. Hastily throwing a blanket over their new acquisitions, one crossed through the suspended green sacks to check outside, then pull the door open. "Who are you?" Her query was answered by a Sig thrust against her nose. The visitor followed this with a stream of whistles and hisses. The 'female' knocked his weapon to the floor. "Why did you come here?" She yanked him inside. "Answer me in the speech of your form!" Luther cowered, holding his hands in front of his face. "Where is Pilot? I am Engineer and I need Pilot. We are known to the simians, all but one, and we need to hide, soon. Has he been to you?" The other 'female' joined them. "If we have seen him, if we know where he is, what is it to you? Are you from the Klck-zz-ta?" Luther fell to his knees, his head on the floor. "I am! I came with Pilot! I do not plan, I only maintain, I am not one of you worthies, one of our ancients." Dragging him to his feet, the women headed back to the boxes, one throwing back the blanket. "Whatever the group of hominids who have made our extermination their business know, they know no longer. Here are their tools. Your third has done well, coming to us after the craft crashed, then helping us assemble data on this planet. You say you are known?" A frantic nod. "The one with the cigarettes I think knows I am not the man he recruited to help him after the coup. What am I to do? Tell me, worthies!" He clutched one of the women's hands, his teeth chattering with fear. The two 'females' consulted quietly, finally looking down at the man at their feet. The taller woman spoke. "What does the one who fills his body with poisons ask of you?" The alien who appeared as Luther climbed to his feet. "I am to go to the city called Seattle, to find the simian known to you as Mulder. I am to observe only." One of the women touched his face, a gentle, pardoning gesture. "Then, do so. Pilot is already there, finding the parts that will take you home. If you find him, bring him to us. We have need of him and his craft." Luther nodded. "Mulder and the one called Scully are in possession of a primitive life form, one that consumes rock." The females clicked to each other excitedly. The shorter female spoke. "A new life form? If you can acquire it, do so. We need to study any of the ancient species of this world; it is our primary mission. Your third has served us in the past, taking on many forms to go into and out of their halls of learning and power, bringing us much we would otherwise not have." After receiving another stroke of the face, more clicks, and, looking considerably relieved, Luther left the women to their cataloging. --o-0-o-- Volcanology Lab outside Newhalem, Washington Sunday, 1:23 am Mulder set himself on another round of the facility, poking under the equipment, into the core casings, checking any small crevasse or hollow. Scully was standing by the derrick, watching him make the circuit, too jet-lagged to follow him. "Mulder, if he were still here, you would have found him by now." After glaring over his shoulder at her, he grunted while he shifted a battered drill press. A rumble filled the space. "Scully! Did you hear that?" At her nod, they headed for the two-way radio in Doctor Campbell's office, calling in to the Marblemount Ranger Station. When they received no response, Scully phoned, leaving a brief message on the answering machine. She swiveled to face her partner, sprawled on the cot in the cramped study. "I can't imagine it's unoccupied; late summer is the busiest season in the Cascades." Chewing his lower lip, Mulder began pacing. "An emergency of some kind? What?" "If anything, it's Ross Lake, Mulder. It's at a one hundred year high from all the rain and snow last winter." He nodded. "I remember the reports. Up to 88 inches in some towns in Oregon. Do we need to evacuate?" She shrugged. "We may. The Lab's built into a narrow valley." She waved her hand. "Fewer feet of rock to drill through. Summer's usually dry here, only this season, they've had an unusually greater number of thunderstorms." Scully crossed over to drop onto the canvas, shoulder to shoulder with the tall agent. "But the most common problems in the Cascades are from rockslides blocking Highway 20. It's the sole paved road through the mountains from the Interstate to Okanagan, and if it's blocked, this area comes to a standstill. At least with the radio, we're doing better than worrying about breaking our single light bulb." He leaned against her. "Or the gasoline running out." Mulder scratched his cheek. "That seems like ancient history, doesn't it?" Straightening against the inner wall, she closed her eyes and chuckled. "First time I used the Scully family trademark 'I'm fine.' on you." He glanced down at her and smiled, his voice soft with the memory. "When you were scared out of your mind." Suddenly serious, he chewed his lip. "I was so worried about you in the quarantine hospital, you were far too dehydrated, and you wouldn't respond when I spoke to you." Turning her head, she studied his darkening expression. She poked his side gently with her index finger. "Nope, I heard you. You sat by me for hours, Mulder, begging, teasing, prodding. For the parts of the time I was nauseated by that bug venom, your words were a tether." She studied his face. "You were the only thing that seemed real then, surrounded as we were by all that plastic and those blinding white walls." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Wish it had been the only time, Scully." They both sprang to their feet at the banging on the front door, then hurried forward to answer it, nodding at the Ranger without, who was frowning. "You folks part of the University? I don't remember seeing..." Mulder was holding up his ID in his left hand. "Agents Mulder and Scully, FBI." "Since when did the Giardia protozoan become a matter for the Bureau?" Mulder glanced down at his partner. Scully cocked an eyebrow at their visitor. "Giardia? Was that the story the Lab put out?" The Ranger shrugged. Scully frowned. "Sir, we've been hearing rumbles..." The black-haired Ranger extended his hand. "Richard Walking Beaver, from the station down in Marblemount. We've been concerned about rockslides. If you folks are done with your work here, or can stop your investigation, I suggest you do so, at the earliest opportunity." Mulder stepped out to face the black-haired man. "What? Do we need to evacuate? How long do we have?" He held up one hand. "It's just precautionary, right now. The Park Service wants to avoid trouble, not wait until there's a crisis." Scully touched her partner's arm. "Thanks. We don't need to be here anymore. We'll be on our way." After the Ranger's departure, she began riffling through the papers on the desk, searching for a local phone book. "We should call Rich and the others back here, take, those," she pointed over her shoulder at the core lab, "out of the National Forest." He was punching numbers into his cel phone. "Nichols? It's Mulder. We need you up here, fast. You or Rosen have Rich's home phone?" He scribbled in the top margin of the nearest reprint. "Got it." --o-0-o-- State Road Twenty North Cascades National Park Sunday, 3:12 am Rosen grabbed the edges of her seat, muttering through gritted teeth. The tail lights of the Red Cherokee were barely visible through the tree-trunks on the narrow logging road. The Explorer tipped as they ran over cobbles and small boulders strewn over the road. Nichols whispered a pointless protest. "Slow down, Mulder." She glanced at her partner, crouched over the steering wheel, frowning into the sudden rainstorm. "He wasn't this much trouble on foot, I take it." A grunt. "Hardly." She checked over her shoulder. "We haven't lost Rich, so we're OK. Besides, if Mulder does get reckless, I'll bet Scully gives him an earful." He slapped the steering wheel. "Jeez! Now where did he go, Ros? The last thing we need is for one of these trucks to roll down a ravine. If our cargo ends up all over the mountains, Reconstructive Dentistry will enter a new Golden Age on the West Coast." --o-0-o-- Rainbow Point Camp Ross Lake National Recreation Area North Cascades National Park Sunday, 3:14 am Donna groaned as the first few drops pelted her face. She shook the shoulder of the man lying with his head in her lap. "Dal, it's raining. We have to get up." He rolled onto his knees, then began taking short, harsh breaths. "I shouldn't have stopped. I think this is swollen up worse than when I was walking." He plopped back down. "It's raining, too." Donna rose, listening through the storm. "I think someone's coming, Dal, wait here!" She ran into the woods, leaving him crouched by the quickly dying fire. "Donna!" He tried to see into the pounding rain. "O-Donna! I can't walk." He rose slowly, hobbling on his good leg. He heard a roar, then could faintly make out headlights through the trees. "Donna?" While he watched, the lights grew and separated, until a four- wheel drive with the Park Service shields on the doors rolled to a stop beside him. His fianci climbed out. "Dal! See, it was someone. It's the ranger, and we have to go." After helping him into the cab, she threw their gear in the back, slamming the door behind her when she was finished. Harry Williams grinned at them. "Good to get the last of you out of here all right." Each blanched at a rumble in the distance, then the balding man stomped on the gas. "It's starting. Let's try to get you two back to a hospital or somewhere dry, at least. Donna tells me you have a wedding you can't skip out on, Dallas." Dallas hugged the tiny woman. "Yeah, I can hardly wait until I can tell the grand-kids about what their old grandparents did just before their wedding." Harry laughed. "Well, now they'll have grandparents, anyway." Donna was tugging the Ranger's arm, pointing at the far end of the clearing. "There's an injured Peregrine over there. I've covered it with a tarp, but it needs help." Williams killed the engine. "Thanks. I have a small animal carrier in the back. Come on." --o-0-o-- The Bounty Hunter felt pressure moving all over his body, then the plastic that had been over him was lifted away. He ventured to open one eye, waiting while the girl who had found him earlier jabbered to an older man in green. He began thrashing around, attempting an escape. --o-0-o-- "There, fellah, we're just here to help." Williams threw the tarp over the bird, shielding him from the beak and talons he knew could inflict permanent damage on both of them if he wasn't quick with the hawking hood. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Donna had the cat carrier open, so he wrapped the falcon efficiently, then slid him in. She peered in through the wire door. "Will he be OK?" "Sure will. I'll have my partner take a look at him at the station in the morning. We have a couple of cages we can keep him in behind the building." He patted the tiny woman's shoulder. "You've helped save a member of an endangered species, so he'll be back to dining on quail in a month or so. Let's go." --o-0-o-- State Road Twenty North Cascades National Forest Sunday, 3:16 am Frowning at the speedometer, Scully pursed her lips. "Mulder, where will we hide these crates?" He shrugged. "I was hoping you would have some revelation on that, Doctor." She crossed her arms, running through options. "We need a cryogenics facility." He canted his eyes towards her momentarily. "In another century or so, I'm sure here be one on every street corner, right next to the Hoverboard specialty shops, Scully. Why do you say that?" She glanced back, checking for the others. "Rosen and Rich were freezing the water they used to wash their test samples in, Mulder. We could store the specimens for further study and keep them from doing damage, if we chill them down." His hands spinning, he guided the jeep through a patch of brush. "But won't that kill them?" She shrugged. "Maybe. I'm not talking absolute zero here. But right now, it's a risk we'll have to take." "OK, I think I know just the place, if its still here." --o-0-o-- West Chase Apartments Laurel, Maryland Sunday, 7:14 am 'Charlie' hovered between sleep and full waking, enjoying the ease a Sunday morning provided. His back was stiff, his shoulder cramped, but he really didn't care. He smiled down at the woman sprawled out on the sofa, her head on his lap, one arm curled around him for support. As his hands trailed lazily over the curves in her back and hips, he bent over, kissing her gently on the ear. "Hey beautiful." She inhaled, hugging him as she awoke. "Hey, Drew." 'Ace' sat up, taking her time to revive slowly. "Man, I'm sore. Who would have thought that it would have taken so long!" She yawned. "What time is it?" She held his left wrist in front of her nose. "Oh, only four hours." She rubbed her face. "Well, back to the gin mill." Before she could stand, he pulled her back down, tucking her firmly under his arm. "You should take a break, Lisa. The mess will still be there. You worked hard, you know." She smiled. "So did you. But the place is still a wreak. Sorry." He grinned. "Don't be. At least we have an inkling as to Black Lung's plans now." As his mind wandered back over the evening's events, he rubbed her shoulder idly. "I think 'Andrew''s right. His appearance was to throw all suspicion away from himself, to give himself the perfect alibi. You don't think so?" She was shaking her head. "No, I don't. It may amaze you, Drew, but looking through this destruction, I can't locate my notes and hardware for several projects I had ongoing. The missing work all pertains to tracking and dispatching our shape-shifter friends." She crossed her arms. "Something is about to happen, Drew, I think 'Finn' and 'Andrew' need to leave for the Arctic as soon as the Senate finishes with these hearings Matheson is running." While she was reading through faintly legible loose pages, sorting them into piles, he began contacting the men they would need over the phone. --o-0-o-- Marblemount Ranger's Station North Cascades National Park Marblemount, Washington Sunday, 8:26 am Harry Williams grinned as his partner re-entered the observation room. Neither had managed to return to their homes last night, so Harry had spent the last few minutes on the phone checking in with his wife. "Guess what's out back?" Walking Beaver blinked. "What?" "A peregrine! The two kids I pulled out of Rainbow Camp had found it. I've kept it quiet in a cage for the night since I had to get them to safety, but now that you're here, we can set its wing. These raptors are too much for one person to handle." Intrigued, the Quinalt Ranger nodded. "It must be young. Most falcons know instinctively how to avoid bad weather. Let's go have a look." The two men made their way to the rear, where three empty wire enclosures stood on a frame off the ground. "Where is it?" Williams crossed over the gravel driveway to the center cage. "I don't know, but this is strange. It's still locked." Walking Beaver poked the mesh, the vibrations knocking the hawking hood onto its face. "It looks intact. Wait, there's something still here." Rolling the bezels of the combination lock, he reached in to lift a broken speckled wing feather away, then gasped as the quills disintegrated in his hands. "What kind of a bird would..." A sudden gust of wind whipped around the building, and the two men were suddenly staring at nothing. William's forehead creased. "I've never seen anything like this, have you?" --o-0-o-- Eternal Preservations, Limited Huntingdon, Washington Sunday, 9:16 am "If it isn't my favorite FBI Agent, Fox Mulder! It's been too many years!" A round, heavily made-up woman wrapped her arms around the tall man, dragging him in through the doorway, while the others filed in cautiously. "I thought that was Dale Cooper, Aurora." After he disentangled himself, she patted his cheek, the multicolored, voluminous pantsuit still swirling around her body. "Why should I pine after someone who isn't real, sweetie darling?" Rosen and Nichols cocked eyebrows at the mass of sequins and polyester, laden with paste necklaces and bracelets that was squeezing him around the middle. Scully shifted around to fix her partner in her 'And where did you find this one?' stare. He continued to reluctantly grasp the proprietress by the shoulders, trotting out his best 'winsome plea for absolution' gaze to appease the auburn haired woman. Scully attempted a rescue. "Miss Luminens..." The older woman ignored her, completely enraptured with the tall agent. "I haven't seen you since MUFCON '93!" She prodded his arms and stomach. "And you're still as skinny as a bean pole. Doesn't the lovely Agent Scully feed you at all?" Scully rolled her eyes, then circled the room, studying the posters trumpeting the virtues of cryogenics. After clutching him tightly again, the middle-aged woman flung herself, necklaces tinkling as she approached, at Scully. She hugged the slender, petite woman as firmly as she had her partner, oblivious to the glare that Mulder had seen reduce a room of Quantico students to abject obedience. "This must be she! Max, rest his soul, was so intrigued by you when we last spoke." "It must be." As Scully extricated herself and extended her hand, all curt professionalism, the chill in her voice would have 'preserved' Mount Saint Helens at peak eruption. "I don't believe Mulder's given me the pleasure of..." As the aura of Windsong leaned in to whisper to her, Scully bent backwards and frowned. "Oh, my dear, that's really too bad. He's extremely, shall we say, talented." The tall agent snapped to attention, turning the older woman with a hand on her back. "Aurora, allow me to introduce the rest of the X-Files team..." He shot Scully a desperate 'Don't believe anything she says' look, guiding their host around the others. Aurora Luminens, or Min, as she proclaimed she preferred now, left her arm hooked through Mulder's as she called for assistance. Two identical men, whose fair complexion and broad shoulders harked back to statues last seen in the public squares of ancient Greek city-states, glided in. Min set them on the task of moving the boxes into the cold rooms, patting one on the shoulder as he passed. "Such good boys. My jewels, twins born in the most auspicious month of May." She grasped Rosen's hand. "Perhaps *you*, my dear, will one day be so fortunate." Nichols chewed his moustache, sucking on his cheeks to keep from laughing. Mulder inhaled, taking the oldest woman's hand off his arm. "Min, these are important. Keep them as close to freezing as possible, but don't chill them lower than that. Look at them all you want, but if you touch them, wash your hands thoroughly immediately afterward. And..." She reached down to pat him on the behind. "Oh, Fox, don't be silly. After all the things we shared? If they're important to your work, that's all that counts. I won't turn the boxes over to anyone else but you, isn't that what you were about to say?" Chewing his lower lip, he nodded. "To me or any of the other people you see with me." She sighed. "You always had such a flare for the melodrama." She grasped Scully's hand. "He really is too cute when he's in his undercover G-man mode, dear. All that black." A theatrical sigh was followed by much flapping of cloth, setting all her jewelry clanking. "I don't see how you resist." Mulder blanched, so his partner escorted the rest outside. Once there, Scully turned to Rosen. "So, you'll take these five steel lockboxes to the Fed Ex Office near the airport?" She jerked her head at the building. "I don't know how long it will take for Mulder to extricate himself from *her*." While the others smirked, Rosen lifted a clipboard off the passenger seat of the Explorer. "Let me just verify these addresses with you." As Scully waited, Rosen ticked off the names on the list, the auburn hair bobbing after the astronomer called out each. "One to Cynthia at the Bureau, one to the Gunmen, one to Doctor Susan Miles at Johns Hopkins Hospital, one to Professor Ghiorse at Cornell, and one to Doctor Carol Bult at the Institute for Genomic Research in Rockville." "Good. See you at the airport afterwards?" As Nichols held the passenger door for his partner, Scully turned to Rich. "Thanks for all your work on this." The technician nodded. "Yeah. After last night, I don't know how much I'll tell Doctor Campbell, but he will want to know where the bugs are." Scully shrugged. "After last night, I'm not sure he'll believe you." She shook his hand. "I hope he recovers, at least." Rich waved as he returned to the University of Washington truck. "So do I. The Core work needs him." Mulder, deeply chagrined, appeared at her side, while Nichols and Rosen were settling into the Explorer. "Scully, I'll gladly do expense reports for the next six months if you never ask me for details about that woman." As she climbed into the Cherokee, she tipped her head at him. "Oh, I think I can come up with a fairer trade than that, Mulder." He growled, but she waved at the highway. "We have a plane to meet, partner." --o-0-o-- Rosen chuckled as they lost sight of Mulder and Scully, pulling away into the noontime traffic in the red Cherokee. "I didn't think the bi continued after he returned from Oxford, but I guess I was wrong." While inserting the key in the ignition, Nichols glanced at her. "You don't mean..." Rosen snorted. "I always thought you straight guys could tell, but I must be wrong. I think this job with Mulder and Scully is getting more intriguing by the minute." Nichols laughed. "I sure I'm glad to have you as a partner now, Ros. I didn't know life could be this interesting." She shrugged. "Oh, I have a feeling it's only going to get wilder from here, Nic." --o-0-o-- Concourse C Seattle-Tacoma International Airport Seattle, Washington Sunday, 12:05 pm Rosen watched Mulder and Scully approach a slender, bearded man. She rubbed her eyes, aware, suddenly, that two hours of sleep, then frantic packing of the cases until all five were covered in dirt and grease, hardly provided the best appearance for meeting this man Mulder regarded so highly. Nichols noticed her discomfort and patted her shoulder. "Don't sweat it, kid. All these guys are on the far edge of weird anyway." Mulder had the dark-haired man by the left arm. Scully pounded along on his right side, waving as she talked. "You're sure about the differences in spectral intensity? Certain?" The three had reached them now, so Scully faced her. "Rosen, listen to this." Byers extended his hand to each of the new agents in turn. "Sorry, you must be Rosen, Nichols. I'm Byers." Facing the brown-haired woman, he chuckled. "Frohike will be sorry not to have been here, Agent Rosen." She and Nichols glanced at each other. Mulder, observing the exchange, made a mental note to speak privately with the older man. He wouldn't have expected this, in a seasoned agent, but he *was* going through a divorce, and Rosen was delightfully attractive. The younger woman, however, was handling the comment flawlessly. "I don't need you to tell me that he's far from a Cary Grant lookalike." After the three laughed, Scully waved her hand. "Think Leprechaun, only with a warped twist, and you basically have him." Her voice assumed its 'professional' timbre. "With the hair and skin samples from the Gregors, the Gunmen have found something interesting." Byers nodded. "It's easy to distinguish individuals from each other by slight variations in the spectral densities of the UV signatures they emit." He dropped his bulging shoulder bag on the carpet at his feet, but before he could open it, the five were shooed into a corner by a honking courtesy cart. Rosen settled onto the plastic seat beside the Gunman, studying the cascade of plots he handed her. Nichols balanced on the cube of an end table to peer at the graphs, while Mulder hovered behind them all, focused and ferociously eager. Rosen returned the sheet to Byers. "I see, once you had the range worked out, you tested it on individual samples." Standing in front of them, Scully crossed her arms. "When I had the Gregors confined for their own protection, we used a facility had just been built, then scrubbed down at their insistence." Rosen nodded. "They still don't have tolerances built up to all the viruses they could encounter when meeting humans." Nichols leaned over. "What?" Byers grinned. "Like the Native Americans being wiped out by smallpox, or whatever other illnesses the Europeans introduced." Mulder was fidgeting, dancing inside his skin, so he prodded the conversation forward. "Yeah, Byers, but what does it mean?" Scully cocked her eyebrow at him. "I had Evidence teams go over the cells with a fine-tooth comb after they were taken, Mulder. Whatever the Gregors were, any tissues we found in the cells would have been our only physical clue to their make-up." The tall agent grunted, eliciting a shrug from her. "It didn't seem important to mention at the time, under the circumstances." He winced at the unintended rebuke. "So you guys are saying that each alien has a unique signature, like a fingerprint?" Rosen nodded. "If they could shape-shift, they'd need some means of identifying themselves to each other." She pointed to a notch in the spectral densities that appeared in several plots. "This is common for some of them." Byers shrugged. "I have no idea what it means, Rosen. But," he flipped the cover flap on his bag, "Hold the tricorder jokes, guys, this was the best we could do on such short notice." He offered grey, hand-sized plastic boxes to Rosen and Scully. "The chassis are just from a couple of broken multimeters we had lying around. But with the new spectrum analyzer chips available, we were able to miniaturize a rack of test equipment down to this. Mulder stalked around to Scully, holding out his hand, so she placed her unit in it. He pressed the buttons in the center of the panel. "How does this work, Byers? Point and shoot?" The bearded Gunman blinked at him, then grinned. "Frohike's suggestion, Mulder. He knows what a demon you are with the remote. Come on, I can demonstrate this outside." Standing, he led the four through the main doors, out into the center of parking lot. Reaching over Rosen's shoulder, he pressed the first button on the left. "We have a calibration mode, so you can test these units by pointing them at the sun." Nichols crossed his arms. "Won't the radiation from the sun swamp the signatures anytime during the day?" Rosen shook her head. "Outside, sure, but inside is a different matter. As long as we use them there, it won't matter." She waved hers at the sky. "Yeah, I see." She pressed the button again. "This switches it from full spectrum to the band of interest. Good thinking." She pocketed hers, then the five reentered the building, separating briefly in the thicket of travelers. Once they regrouped, Scully gathered them by the window. "In here, we shouldn't pick anything up. Rosen?" The younger woman lifted her unit from her carry-all, panning the moving crowds slowly. Mulder watched both their faces, stern in concentration. Byers' words interrupted him. "You hanging in there? You four look like you could stand a good night's sleep." The tall agent nodded. "Yeah. We could. We had to pack the samples and haul out of the Volcanology Lab in the middle of the night." Byers grunted. "So I heard. As usual with you guys, this case made the evening news." Concerned, Nichols joined them. "What?" Byers shrugged. "The rockslides. Didn't you know? The unexpected thunderstorms over the past few days have hillsides slumping all along Ross Lake." The bearded man glanced at Mulder. "That Lab you guys were working in is OK, but the roads are all covered with rocks, and the National Park Complex you were in has been closed temporarily." Nichols glanced back at his partner. "What is it, Ros?" She was frowning at her readout. "Byers? Would you pass me the spectra plots, please?" Something in steely undertone of her voice caught the other four's attentions. Scully aimed her unit in the same general area as Rosen's. "I see it. Mulder, don't be obvious about it, but would you and Nichols wander through the crowds in the concession area, see if you spot anyone familiar?" A curt nod, then the two agents were off. Byers held out the sheet of graphs. "Any of these showing up?" The women compared the lines on their displays to the shapes on the paper. Rosen tapped hers. "It's that notch again, at least in mine. I don't see it in yours, Scully." Scanning the terminal for her partner, the auburn-haired woman nodded. "There are definitely two of them out there, but if one of them is the Bounty Hunter, he's not using the same body." Mulder's distant shrug caught her eye. "He's not finding anything either." Rosen gasped. "The spectrum's changing, Scully, now mine is just like yours. I think I had two of them in close proximity, but now one has moved out of the area. Where are Nic and Mulder?" Shading her eyes against the sunlight, Scully stepped onto the seat behind them, searching. "They're coming. Mulder's working on something, I can tell." His brow was deeply furrowed as the two men joined them. Leaping down, Scully closed the distance between herself and her partner at a trot. "Mulder, we picked up two separate signatures." He ran his hand through his hair. "Two? You sure those things are working properly?" Three nods. Rosen powered her unit off. "One moved away, Mulder. He may be boarding a plane." Mulder nodded, pointing to the information boards. "OK, then, Byers, find out which flights are leaving from this concourse in the next few minutes, the rest of us will search." He placed one hand on Nichols' shoulder. "Just identify them, don't attempt to apprehend them. Any struggle might lead to innocent people being hurt. We just want to find out what direction they're headed in, no more. Go!" The five split up. --o-0-o-- "Ros, you reading anything?" She was frowning again. "Not yet, no, there!" The pair moved quickly towards a Philadelphia-bound flight. "The patch antenna on this box is fairly omnidirectional, Nic, so all we can watch for is increasing signal strength." She began digging for her badge, but his hand on hers stopped her. "No ID, Ros, you heard Spooky. Just think covert, here." They watched as the signals grew to a maximum, then shrunk when they passed a tiny, white-haired woman in a pale peach suit. Nichols pressed his hand against her back, completing the facade of a traveling couple until they made a circuit through the gate area. "So, one of them is headed to Philly. Hunh." Rosen checked the departure time. "In about an hour. He didn't seem to notice us." Nichols shrugged. "Keeping a low profile? Perhaps. Let's go find Mulder and Scully, Ros." --o-0-o-- Scully kept her unit tucked in the crook of her right arm, resting on her laptop carrying case. Her partner had a firm grasp on her left, like Nichols, using the cover of a travelling husband and wife as they walked. He leaned over to speak in her ear. "Anything, luv-bunny?" Her fleeting glare was met with a grin. "Mulder, methinks we are taking this undercover business too seriously. But, no, not yet. Let's take a whirl by the restrooms, since that's something of a universal collection point." As they shifted directions, he grasped her waist firmly. "Anything?" She was pale. "I think so, Mulder, and I believe I recognize a face. Check out the older businessman by the window in the far right corner of the Gate 12 waiting area." He pulled them both against a billboard, using his glasses to catch the man's reflection. "He's pretty nondescript, Scully, what makes you think you know him?" Tucking the unit away as Rosen and Nichols approached, she shrugged. "Like an MIB? His face is just familiar, somehow, but I just can't place him." Concerned, he hovered over her. "Like he was involved in your abduction?" She frowned, casting for the connection in her memory. Nichols interrupted the pair. "We think..." Mulder cut him off with a quick glance. The brunette had noticed Scully's complexion. "Scully?" Mulder guided her around to a stone bench. Nichols and Rosen faced into the crowds, giving Mulder and Scully what little they could of shielding from solicitous passersby. Mulder had his hand on his partner's shoulder, the long fingers spread to stabilize her. "Scully?" She blinked twice, then focused on him. "Mulder? What happened just now? I thought we were..." She glanced around the room, then pointed. "Over there." He nodded. "You thought you recognized someone who showed up on your sensor as a shape-shifter, then you went all blank on me. You all right now?" Arching both eyebrows, she pushed herself to her feet. "I will be, Mulder, but I want to walk past that gate area again to see if I can place him." Gritting her teeth, she marched ahead of the tall agent. Rosen took note of her demeanor. "This is how she was when hiking?" Nichols nodded. "Wouldn't quit, wouldn't slow down." Scully glanced quickly at the older man, then looped back to the others. "He was definitely in the warehouse, Mulder." The dark-haired man grunted. "So, the aliens *are* spying on the Consortium, either at the time you were taken or later. Interesting. It must be how they learned what they knew about Sam." He rested his hand on her back, then faced his subordinates. "You guys come up with anything?" Nichols nodded. "The shape-shifter we saw was preparing to board a flight to Philly, leaving in an hour. He's masquerading as an old woman." Fully recovered, Scully crossed her arms, glancing at Byers, who was stepping up to join them. "Then it's probably the one we encountered at the Lab, since he might suspect we would come after him. But the other one? Why did he remain in a form I might recognize?" Byers grunted. "Why don't I go talk to him? Strike up some conversation? You guys can back me up, with your guns and all." Mulder shook his head. "No, if things got out of hand, you might get his blood on you." Byers frowned up at his friend. "Mulder, all my life, I've wanted to meet an actual alien, and so far as we can tell, there's one in the corner over there. Do you think Langly and Frohike will ever stop calling me chicken if I don't?" Mulder shrugged. "OK, go to it." Whistling softly, Byers eased Scully's laptop case off her shoulder and onto his own, Rosen recognizing the Star Wars theme. The four remained discretely out of sight, waiting and listening. Mulder grasped his friend's shoulder when he reappeared. "What?" "Well, he does a great impersonation of a government meat inspector. He babbled on about the new pork regulations making his life miserable with a mountain of more complex forms to fill out." He handed the computer back to Scully. "Liked your laptop, Agent Scully. I heard all about how he would be up late at night, reentering all the new data until his office designed an Excel spreadsheet for the information. Rosen checked the man. "Guys, he's gone!" The women agents slipped out their sensors, scanning discretely. "Scully, do you have him?" She nodded. "The potted plant." Nichols frowned. "So, why don't we just go pick him up, and take him out of here? This waiting around is making me crazy, boss." Mulder cocked an eye at Scully. "At least we can keep him off that plane." The five moved into the waiting area, casually arraying themselves around the plant, remaining until the flight boarded. The next departure was scheduled for two hours hence, so the area was silent, deserted even by the airline personnel. Byers cautiously shoveled some of the dirt in the pot into a ziploc bag, then Scully palmed the unit off to him. A quick pass, and the Gunman returned it. "Bad news, guys, it just dirt." Mulder stared down at him. "What? I thought you said it was him!" Curious, Rosen scanned the unit down the ficus tree."No, he's here all right, just passing himself off as these extra branches." Mulder nodded. "It seems whatever they become, it has to be an organic compound. So now what?" We can't just walk out of here with half a potted plant under our arms. The good people of the Northwest would notice something was amiss." Scully sighed. "I think, Mulder, we need to start something. Rosen, Nichols, Byers, you two try to board that flight to Philly. Don't let the other one go. I have an idea for our friend here." Mulder waved them off, then studied his partner, who had pulled her medical case open wide, as if on display. Catching on, he leaned close to the tree, tugging on what he hoped was a non-ficus leaf. "Mister whatever you are, she's a real demon with a knife. But since she doesn't usually operate on anything but dead people, her beside manner is, shall we say, lacking on the extreme?" They both paused as the plant rustled, then a transparent fluid flowed out onto the carpet, reforming into the older man, who was glancing around anxiously. "OK, I felt you, so I'm here. What do you want?" Scully crossed her arms. "Some answers. Who is your boss? How are you connected in the Consortium? Who controls your actions from the outside?" He laughed. "Answers? Is that all? Then you'll just let me walk? I don't believe it." Mulder growled. "Believe it. We're just in this for the Truth, not power or world domination. Who is your boss in the Consortium?" His eyes widened as a Morley cigarette materialized between the alien's fingers, then disappeared. "OK?" They nodded. Scully stepped up to him. "You were on your way to report back?" The alien blinked. "I not sure what I was supposed to do. The old man just wanted me to hang around the airport, to keep an eye on you five." Mulder shook his head. "You're a decoy. He's got something up his sleeve. Scully, we'd better get back to DC ourselves, try to reach our families, then try to locate his boss." He grasped the man by his left arm, Scully by his right. She waved a hypodermic needle in front of their quarry's face. "Don't forget, we know what kills you, so cooperate." At the alien's nod, the three set out. --o-0-o-- END - ARCHAEA - Hallucigenia sparsa =====o=====================================================o===== "Archaea" by Mary Ruth Keller E-mail: mkeller@universe.digex.net =====o=====================================================o===== Part IV - Pikaia gracilens (Disclaimed in Part I) -----o------------------------------------------o----- Will your grace command me any service to the world's end? I will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the furthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John's foot; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard; do you any embassage to the Pigmies; rather than hold three word's conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me? Much Ado About Nothing -----o------------------------------------------o----- Rest Retreat New Jersey Sunday, July 27, 1997 9:47 pm Maria Alvarez patted the shoulder of the still figure under the stiff, starched muslin. "I don't know who you are, but you meant something to Fox..." She leaned over the body. The lips were moving, eliciting a gasp from the black-haired doctor, who glanced up at the heart-rate monitor to see that his vital signs were beginning to return to normal. "Mulder..." It was a faint croak, but Maria found her own pulse quickening. "Sir? Can you hear me, Sir?" The face turned towards her, focusing into the penetrating gaze Mulder had described to Maria almost three years earlier. "Who are you?" The black-haired woman was abashed. "My name is Doctor Maria Alvarez, and this is a rest home in New Jersey, Sir. You've been here for nearly a week, in a coma-like state. Perhaps I should ask you the same question. Who are you?" X pushed himself off the mattress, surprised at his strength. "Who I am is not important." He slid off the bed, then collapsed into a heap of shaking arms and legs. Activating the call button, Maria, her professional demeanor recovered, was demanding assistance. "Lewis, I need you in room 320, stat!" X nodded at the young man who approached, all muscles and long blond hair. Lewis hooked his arms under X's. "Up you go, Sir." X recognized the orderly, without understanding how or why, and knew he was no threat to him. In fact, he felt distinctly comfortable here, so he took a few minutes for a mental inventory. The woman doctor roused him with a gentle shake. "Sir, you really need to take it slowly, at first, your muscles have been inactive for almost a week now." X shook his head. "Mulder brought me here?" Maria shrugged. "More or less. The Gunmen did." X grimaced. "Very well. Where is Mulder now? I need to speak with him." Maria whispered to Lewis, who returned with a cel phone, holding it out for X to accept. Both numbers, known by X almost better than his own, yielded only electronic replies. Wordlessly, he returned the unit to the orderly, who, at Dr. Alvarez' nod, left them alone. Maria pulled a chair over to the bed and sat. "I'll answer any and all of your questions, to the best of my ability, but only if you rest here through the night. Fox warned me you would demand answers, without offering any of your own, willingly. Just tell me this, how much do you know about the sickling gene you carry?" X was unable to keep the surprise off his face. "Sickling gene? But my family..." Maria shifted to the end of the mattress. "Yes, it's rather unique, I'm afraid. Did you even know you had it?" X shook his head. "No one in my family has come down with Anemia, as far as I know." She patted his shoulder. "Well, that's because no one in your family has married someone else who carries the gene as well, or even if they did, none of their offspring has lost the genetic roulette involved." "Yes. Does anyone other than Mulder or the Gunmen know where I am? Have I had any visitors? Young men in their thirties, or a brunette woman?" Maria set her clipboard on the beside table, then crossed her arms. "Besides Scully?" Impatient, X waved her words away. "Well, there was something strange that happened to me. Listen to this..." She quickly recounted her brief unconsciousness and the preliminary results of the X-Files agents' investigations. "Scully gave me a quick update before they left for the West Coast. They think it was some kind of shape-shifting alien." She shrugged. "Fox and his crazy ideas. Anyway, they're off investigating some organism they've found out about." X grunted. "Mulder and his crusades. Very well. How soon can I check out?" Her jaw firm, Maria shook her head. "You can barely walk, let alone leave. It's late, so we'll see how you are in the morning, Sir." She stood, terminating the debate. "You're just like Fox, always pushing yourself too hard." She yanked the clipboard off the table, then turned back at the door. "I'm appointing Lewis to watch over you. You're in no danger here, but you do need to rest. I'll see to it that the last week's worth of major newspapers are brought to you from our reading room, but that's about all the interaction with the outside world I feel you should have right now." X waved her off, already deep in thought, weighing the possible complications this coma of his had generated in his plans. --o-0-o-- Customs Desk Dulles International Airport Outside Reston, Virginia Sunday, 11:03 pm "Caroline! Max! Over here!" Margaret Scully waved at two white heads she spotted in the back of the customs line. Caroline Lowenberg waved back. "Margaret! We'll be right out." Although Margaret was prepared to step through to them, she was stopped by a uniformed Security Officer. The freckled employee blocked her path. "Wait, Ma'am. Your friends will be out in a minute, just be patient." Nodding, the dark-haired woman, her brown shot through with grey, stepped back. After what seemed like an eternity of shuffling and pacing, Max and Caroline reached the inspecting station. There, a stout woman in blue took their passports and claims papers, subjected them to a perfunctory search of their luggage, and waved the pair through with an emotionless 'Welcome back to the US'. Caroline embraced Margaret eagerly. "It's so good to see you." The women held each other, Max stepping away to give them this moment. Margaret nodded. "It seems we only have this time when there's trouble, Caroline. But, I should tell you, Fox is doing well. He hasn't disappeared on Dana - " The white-haired woman smiled. "On one of his UFO hunts - " Margaret's eyes sparkled in agreement. "In ages. When I made a stop in DC last month, I met the new agents working with them. An older fellow, and a woman with a PhD in Astronomy, of all things. Fox has even put on a few ounces of weight." She held up her hand, her thumb and forefinger held just a fraction of an inch apart. "But only a few. I use my Mom gauge whenever he gives me one of those good hugs you taught him." Caroline laughed. "I wish I could claim responsibility for those, dear. Poor boy, he never had many when he was young." Caroline linked her arm through Margaret's, and they headed out of the carpeted Customs alcove, into the main walkway, where Max was waiting. "Dana is doing well? Other than..." Nodding, Margaret bit her lip, clinging to the woman twenty years her senior, with a past that fell far outside anything Maggie O'Shea could have imagined when they first met. "What am I going to do about that? Max." He engulfed the petite woman in his arms, rubbing her back gently. "Good to see you again, Margaret." The women fell in step on either side of him, slowing so he could push their luggage, now stacked on a wire handcart. Caroline rubbed her husband's waist before leaning around to speak to Margaret. "I don't know. But when we settle somewhere out of the way, we can compare what your husband had to what we've brought." She pointed to one of the black leather bags. Margaret frowned. "You think you might have something?" Max looked down at her. "Yes. I had some old friends do some digging for me, who came up with some very interesting goings-on in the Firm. Then, I called in some old war favors, and I think there's a picture beginning to form in my mind." He glanced around. "But more in the car, Margaret. It's too open here. Caroline?" Caroline Lowenberg lifted her cloisonne compact from her purse, using it to survey the travelers on the causeway behind her. "I see, Max. We do have company." Margaret gasped. Caroline shook her head. "Don't look now, Margaret, dear, but there are two men in Security uniforms, even," she met her husband's eye, "armed, trailing along about fifty feet behind us. You noticed them while we were waiting for customs?" The tall man chuckled. "One day, they *will* have to learn how not to stick out like sore thumbs, but I think they've watched too many old American spy films." Margaret moved a little closer to him. "I don't see how you, or Fox and Dana, put up with living like this. You can't even walk through an airport..." When he turned towards the rental agencies, Margaret Scully began to protest. "But I have my car..." Caroline shook her head. "That you probably left unlocked?" Chastened, Margaret unclipped the top of her oversized handbag, affording her friends a glimpse of the leather-bound diary within. "But I've kept this with me..." Caroline waved one hand in an acknowledging gesture, attempting to smile gently at the anxious Margaret. "It wouldn't have mattered anyway. They could have planted what they needed even with the doors locked, and, if they were clever, without leaving a scratch behind." Max stepped up to the end of the line by the Green Avis booth, set the cart upright, then turned to grasp Margaret's shoulder. "Don't worry. They don't know what you have because you don't, either. That alone has kept you safe, my dear." She looked at the two lined faces. "Do you think this is connected with the organization that Fox and Dana are always whispering about?" Caroline stepped close to her. "Perhaps. But there is more intrigue left over from the Second World War than we will ever be able to successfully untangle." Her reassuring smile reminded Margaret of her son's. "Just relax, dear. We're here now." The dark-haired woman nodded, not at all prepared to follow her friend's advice. --o-0-o-- Dark Apartment Washington, DC Monday, July 28, 1997 2:04 am The alien who had been passing himself off as Luther blocked Mulder's path. "He'll be waiting, probably armed." The agent shrugged. "So? He already knows we're out here. Open it now, or I'll redecorate the hallway, free of charge." Scully cocked an eyebrow at her partner. "Mulder, we don't need to barge in constant..." The door swung inwards of its own accord, the occupant presenting the appearance of welcoming them. "Well, Mister Mulder, not listening to Agent Scully, as usual, I see. And, as always," the old man waved at their Sigs, "you come, with warm and generous intentions towards me." Scully, all bristling resolve, stepped in first, then Mulder shoved Luther in ahead of him, ignoring the nod the Smoking Man sent his partner as a mocking greeting. The dark-haired agent muttered a reply. "Yeah, right. I know where I'd like to see you reside." Lifting free a Morley, he lit the end with a match, folding the cover back in place before throwing the matchbook on the table. Mulder recognized the distinctive logo of a Tex-Mex restaurant he had once taken Melissa Scully to, a stereotypical Mexican and his burro, lounging against the porch, all green and red. It had been an ill-fated venture, at best, that dinner at Los Amigos, listening to his partner's blonde sister babble about Karmic convergence and the Millennium. He had spent the evening nodding, wishing it were Dana Scully there instead, just so they could hash over the data he had downloaded from MUFON on mutant frogs in Minnesota. After turning down an invitation to experience "sonic mental awakening" at her apartment, he had dropped her off, silently vowing never to date relatives of co-workers again. The Smoker's words brought Mulder back to the present. "My. Testy as ever. You wanted to tell me something, Luther?" Knowing his fate was sealed, the alien shook his head. The auburn-haired woman stepped forward. "We've discovered that our shape-shifting visitors each have a unique - " The old man sighed. "Ultraviolet signature. Indeed. I wondered when you techno-kids would discover this little fact." The man they knew as Luther began shrinking before their eyes, melting, condensing almost, into a sea scallop, encased in a tightly-closed shell. The old man lifted the bivalve off his carpet. "I wonder why he waited so long to do that?" He tossed the mollusk to Scully. "Amazing how he manages to weigh just exactly what you would expect a little animal like that to, isn't it? And no convenient spot to poke him with your horse needle." Scully handed the alien off to Mulder, who was blinking in surprise. She cocked an eyebrow at the Smoking Man. "He wanted us to meet you. Did you know about his true nature?" The old man settled in his recliner. "I suspected. Now I know. So, why are you here?" Mulder stepped over to him, assuming a posture that brought back painful memories for them both. "Why can't we reach Agent Scully's Mother?" The old spy laughed. "How should I know? Furthermore, if you were half as clever as you thought you were, you wouldn't have walked off and left your little discovery all unprotected. Did you check out your old friend, Aurora, before you just dropped in after all those years?" He passed Mulder a slip of newsprint. Reading the words, Mulder went pale, then handed the sheet off to Scully. She faced her partner. "Mulder, if Aurora Luminens died in 1995, then who was that we met in Bellingham?" The old man took a long drag. "Who indeed? Perhaps it was just the creatures you were attempting to safeguard your little scientific wonder from, Mister Mulder." Scully nodded. "These intrigues are just circles within circles, aren't they?" The old man grimaced, then blew out a swirling stream of smoke. "Very quick, Agent Scully. But, not quick enough, I'm afraid." He rose, stepping away from Mulder, towards her. As he passed the tall Agent, he took the scallop from his hand, then casually opened the window, tossing it to the street below. Mulder shoved him roughly aside. It was only Scully's hand on his collar that stopped him from leaping through the second floor window to retrieve the alien. "Mulder! Let it go!" They watched as the shell expanded back to the man they had shepherded from one coast to the other, then run off. The tall agent retreated, glaring at his partner. "Yeah. It's not like I have an inkling where he's off to." He bore down on the old spy. "The Samanthas weren't all killed, were they? You took them from the Bounty Hunter, didn't you?" The Smoking Man resumed his seat. "Or some of them never appeared to you in the first place. Did you ever stop to think of that?" He stepped up to Mulder. "Sometimes, the Organization wasn't a total loss, Mister Mulder. Before our junior members took their rash actions, we were on the verge of hauling in the remainder of the Colony, after they so kindly made themselves known to you." Mulder crossed his arms. "You were going to make a deal with them to save your own skin, weren't you?" The old man snorted a mirthless laugh. "How can you deal when you have nothing to deal with, as I once so carefully reminded your Assistant Director Skinner?" He began pacing in front of them. "Let us, for the purposes of argument, assume that you are correct in your postulate of an alien invasion, hum?" The agents glanced at each other. Scully crossed her arms. "So, you admit - " He waved them to silence. "I admit nothing. Let us assume you two have somehow managed to weave your way through a carefully constructed maze of lies and obfuscation, to arrive at one of your shiny Truths, Mister Mulder. The aliens are coming, their little battleships primed and ready." Forgotten, the Morley burned down in his hand. "What do we of Earth say to them: Welcome, generous benefactors, who have traversed interstellar distances to reach our little ball of mud. Give us your technology and knowledge. In exchange we offer you..." He waited. All nervous energy, Mulder grunted. "Nothing. We can offer them nothing. If they find us, we should just bend over and kiss our posteriors goodbye." The old man regarded him. "You're not just a pretty face after all, Mister Mulder. That's exactly what we can offer them." Mulder stepped up to him. "But Deep Throat mentioned crashed vehicles, killing aliens. Surely you could have studied the hardware, learned to assimilate it with ours." The old man rolled his eyes. "I'm sure he did. But let me present you this scenario. Say a portable radio falls from a helicopter into the hands of a stone-age warrior, living in some remote jungle in Java. This primitive turns a dial and..." He spread his hands. "Voila! Sounds come from the magic box. Now, he shows this great mystery to the rest of the tribe..." Scully stepped forward. "They all listen until the batteries fail, at which time, they may disassemble the magic box, and declare it dead. Then, they throw it into the water because they neither understand the concept of changing batteries, nor have an inkling as to how to get any if they do." The old man stubbed his cigarette out. "And?" Turning to her partner, Scully sighed. "Mulder, you always remind me that alien technology would seem like Black Magic to us..." The tall man ran both hands through his hair. "But surely after fifty years..." The spy laughed. "Fifty years? A half century is nothing. Five decades, no, nine, since a Swiss Jew sat in a little cafe and worked out the relationships between space and time. We've not figured out even the theory of super-light speed travel." He regarded them seriously. "So, you see our problem, how there is no real option of cooperation, of, ... a deal, ... if, as you say, there is an invasion en route." He cocked an eyebrow. "If, ..., as you say." He crossed his arms, letting his words sink in. "On the other hand, Mister Mulder, they may already be here, slowly modifying our genetic structure to accommodate theirs, using sequences collected from random, hapless individuals across the planet..." Enraged, Scully stalked up to him, jabbing her finger in the spy's chest. "But the recent discoveries from the mitochondrial DNA eliminate any such possibility!" Grimacing, the old man lit another Morley, this time with his steel lighter. "Perhaps. But the data are from such a small sample of the human population," He shrugged. "So could it be that those were the lucky ones? Or those pre-selected for examination?" Mulder grabbed her arm. "Scully, he can spin riddles with words to keep us here all night. There are shape-shifting aliens out there, probably three. You saw, Scully, and so did I. Let's go." On their way out the door, Mulder dropped the matchbook in his pocket. The old man observed, nodding to himself. --o-0-o-- Half punch-drunk from sleeplessness, Mulder, while attempting to open the door of his Toyota for his partner, locked it instead. She sighed. "Mulder, this is too much. We need to stop, right now. We'll make some stupid mistake and end up hurting ourselves." Suddenly enraged, he spun around. "Scully, half our team is out there in the field, and you want to rest? They're on the trail of the same alien that nearly killed me. We can't stop." She crossed her arms. "If we don't, we'll crash headfirst into a semi on the way to meet them! We've both not really slept since Tuesday, when all this started. Have you thought whether to even call them?" He leaned against the fender, whipped out his cel phone, then punched down on the third speed dial button. After six rings, his sole greeting consisted of a sleepy cough. "Langly?" "Mulder? You still awake?" "You heard from Byers yet?" "Yeah. He and the others tracked your visitor to a warehouse in Delaware. He's still there, and they're staking it out in shifts. Frohike's on his way up to meet them. What's happened on your end?" "Ours took a little plunge, so he's out there, somewhere." Langly chuckled. "Chill, G-man. You're making no sense." As the Agent lifted his notepad from his jacket pocket, he glanced at Scully. "Yeah, so I've been told. You have the address for where they're staying? Right. Thanks." He tore off the sheet, then passed the numbers to his partner. "When we get there, Scully, then we'll take a nap, all right? As for right now, all I need is a pit stop at the nearest Seven-Eleven." Resigned, she climbed into the Toyota, barely having the time to latch the door before Mulder threw the car in reverse and backed out. --o-0-o-- Warehouse Dover, Delaware Monday, 5:32 am Nichols and Byers glanced at each other when they heard a car roll to a stop outside. The Agent slid his gun out of his holster, then waved the bearded man towards Frohike, who had finally, from his perch near the roof, noticed that something was up. The little man was disconnecting himself from the headphones and tape recorder, descending the catwalk stairs to join them. Byers silenced him with a shake of his head, pointing over his shoulder at the older agent, crouched in the shadows by the hinges of the door. The three watched the latch slide, then were momentarily blinded by the exterior light that cast two suited figures into a single black silhouette. Frohike was the first to approach them. "Mulder?" After the tall form receded, Scully appeared. "Frohike? Langly told us you were on your way. How did you beat us here?" Holstering his Smith and Wesson, Nichols stepped out of the shadows and up to his colleagues. "Hey." The motion brought Mulder's attention to him. "Where's Rosen?" The older agent sighed, reading the lines in both their faces, realizing again that the legends of Spooky Mulder's dogged stamina were no exaggeration.