Title: AND THERE WAS A WAR IN HEAVEN byaka "Jake" & Brandon D. Ray MSR - Colonization - Rated R BOOK TWO continued. -x-x-x-x-x-x- CHAPTER 2 OFFICE OF THE LONE GUNMEN COLLEGE PARK, MD "We've been gone how long?" Scully asked, eyebrows climbing. She stood between Mulder and one of the Gunmen's cluttered workbenches. William fussed in her arms, and she repeatedly kissed the crown of his head and jiggled him in an attempt to quiet his whimpering. Frohike felt as surprised as Scully looked. People were popping in and out like this was some sort of cosmic Grand Central Station. Holy crap, beam me up, Scotty. William continued to fuss, despite Scully's best efforts to calm him. "Come here, big guy," Frohike said, reaching for William. "Uncle Frohike knows how to turn a frown upside down." Now Mulder's eyebrows shot up, too, and the beginnings of a smirk twitched his lips. "Turn a frown upside down?" "Don't think I can't do it," Frohike said, feeling up to the task as he settled William into the crook of his arm. Man, oh, man, it was great to see the little tyke again. "You're lookin' at a pro, Mulder. Watch and learn." Frohike tickled William's neck, right where he knew the baby liked it. William immediately stopped his fretting and giggled. There ya' go, piece of cake. "You've been gone three months, chiquillos," Frohike repeated, answering Scully's question. Encouraged by William's laugh, he picked up a couple of interlocked multimode terminators from his workbench, and offered them to the baby to play with. William took the devices and immediately pulled the two adaptors apart. With a suddenly serious expression on his face, the baby studied the ends of both terminators. "Look at that. The kid's gonna make a fine Gunman someday," Frohike said, smiling proudly. "It's not possible." Scully sounded adamant. "To make a Gunman outta Willie-boy?" "No, that we could have been gone for three months. I was standing right here with you just yesterday." Frohike traded looks with Byers and Langly. "Uh, that was Christmas Day, 2001. Today is April 2nd...2002. Check the date." Frohike held out his wristwatch. Mulder stepped closer to get a look at Frohike's watch, and then, lips pursed, he glanced at his own watch. "Mine's a little slow." He showed it to Frohike and the others. The date on the digital display said 12/25/01. Dead battery? Maybe not. Frohike looked down at William. The baby hadn't grown an inch since he'd seen him last Christmas Eve. Kids this age changed by the minute, didn't they? Yet apparently William hadn't gained so much as an ounce in three months. "Lost time," Byers said, nodding with apparent understanding. "Were you three on a UFO?" "Maybe," said Mulder. "No," Scully said, frowning. "We weren't on a spaceship. We didn't see anything that remotely resembled a spaceship." "Nothing you can remember," Langly said. "What did you see?" Frohike asked, wondering if an alien abduction experience could psychologically scar William for life. "An endless corridor," Mulder answered. "That's it? Just a corridor? Nothing in it?" "Nothing except voices. There was a strange sound-delay thing going on. Like a Steve Oedekerk movie, only worse." Langly's eyes lit with excitement. "Looks like Schwarzschild was right, guys." "Schwarzschild?" Mulder asked. "German astrophysicist," Scully answered, reminding Frohike that she had studied physics as an undergrad. Lordy. Beauty and brains. If her heart didn't already belong to another man-- "Far out! You crossed to the other side, dudes," Langly said, grinning at Mulder and Scully. "Other side?" "The point of no return. The event horizon," Byers explained. Mulder looked uncertain. "A black hole?" "Or something like it that could cause a gravitational singularity similar to that of a black hole," Byers said. "Like a UFO?" "You betcha," Frohike said. Then he released a long wavering whistle, demonstrating his best spaceship sound effect. The noise captivated William, who stared back at Frohike and tried to mimic him by pursing his lips into a perfect "O." "Einstein rejected the possibility of singularities," Scully reminded them. "He rejected only 'naked' singularities, not 'clothed' ones," Byers said. "Clothed?" Again, the question came from Mulder. "The event horizon acts as a kind of covering or skin to the black hole, beyond which we can theoretically venture, but cannot see." "Astrophysicists speculate that inside the horizon, close to the singularity, light, sound, time, everything goes wiggy," Langly said. "Guess it's not just a theory after all, huh?" "Looks like we've got next month's headliner, boys," Frohike announced. He bounced William up and down, making the baby laugh. "Sorry, boys, your theory doesn't track," Scully argued. "In case you hadn't noticed, Mulder, William and I have returned alive and unharmed from your 'point of no return.' How do you explain our apparent escape from the singularity's extreme gravitational pull?" "Well, maybe you didn't actually go *inside* the horizon, just came very close to it," Byers suggested. "You would still experience the effects of time dilation." "A gravitational flux might explain how your sister-in-law ended up here in your place," Frohike said to Scully. "Tara was here?" Scully asked. "Ta-ta?" William swiveled in Frohike's arms to look up at Scully with questioning eyes. "Maybe you better bring us up to date, boys," Mulder said. "Abridged version." "Tara Scully appeared here--" "In a flash of light--" "Christmas Day--" "At the same time Scully vanished." The Gunmen took turns speaking. Mulder listened with an expression of curiosity; Scully looked startled. "Tara's fine, by the way," Frohike said, hoping to allay any fears Scully might have about her sister-in-law. "What else?" Mulder asked. "We're at war with the aliens." "And the virus is spreading." "It's been bad." Frohike gave William a gentle hug, wanting to protect him from the horror of recent events. "Skinner is MIA, and Doggett is AWOL. Skinner wasn't with you, by any chance?" Now it was Mulder and Scully's turn to exchange looks. "No. Got any details about Skinner and Doggett?" "Nothing on Skinner, but we did connect a few dots that led to Doggett..." Frohike carried William across the room to a computer station. Holding the baby in one arm, he typed a series of commands one-handed onto the keyboard. He brought up a digital video recording that showed the interior of a building at the Washington Navy Yard -- before the facility had been burned to the ground on Christmas Eve. He swiveled the monitor so that Mulder could see it. "Look familiar?" A series of images from Reyes' handheld recorder played out on the monitor. A hallway, computer lab, a room with several hospital exam tables. Frohike cringed at the sight of the room's silvery tables with their leather straps and stirrups. Bile rose in his throat as he imagined Scully restrained to a table just like that, undergoing nefarious medical procedures against her will. He glanced at Scully to gauge her reaction to the images. When he saw tears flooding her eyes, he quickly fast-forwarded the video. "Reyes shot that video on Christmas Eve." Mulder joined Frohike at the computer. "How'd you get it?" "Agent Reyes came to us for help after the FBI shut her out of their investigations for Scully, Skinner and Doggett. Uh...could you take Willie-boy for a sec?" Frohike offered the baby to Mulder, who took him. Sitting down at the keyboard, Frohike stopped Reyes' video, pausing it on an image of a computer lab. Then, maneuvering the mouse, he outlined an area of the screen with a dashed marquee. Three clicks on his keypad and he enlarged the region eight hundred percent. Then he increased the brightness, adjusted the contrast, and brought the picture into focus. "Voila!" The screen enlargement showed several dozen names listed beneath the title "Olympus District." "I recognize the project name, but I don't recognize any of the names on the list," Mulder said, shifting William to his left arm. Frohike ran a finger beneath one of the names. Ronald White. "Ronald White?" Mulder asked. "EPA. We have a recent photo." Frohike brought up another image. In the picture, John Doggett and Ronald White talked with Shannon McMahon. "Who's the woman?" Mulder asked. "Shannon McMahon," Scully said before Frohike could answer. "On the nose." Frohike nodded. "We're pretty sure McMahon was responsible for the deaths of Carl Wormus and Roland McFarland last fall. Wormus also worked for the EPA." "I was under the impression McMahon was dead," Scully said. "Evidently not. We've been monitoring selected electronic communications to and from the FBI," Frohike explained. "We intercepted this photo two days ago." He pointed again at the picture of Doggett, McMahon and White. "Who did it come from?" "Dunno, but it was sent to A.D. Brad Follmer." Frohike glanced at Scully, who looked more annoyed than surprised. "What's the connection between White, McMahon and Agent Doggett?" Frohike opened a data visualization application on the PC. "We don't know for sure, but we gathered several water samples from Rockville, which gets its supply of drinking water from the Potomac Water Reclamation Facility -- where that photo of Doggett was taken. We analyzed the samples and this is what we found." "What are we looking at?" Mulder peered at the data on the screen. Scully was now standing behind Frohike, too, looking past him at the monitor. "It's the Virus, isn't it?" she asked. "Possibly," Byers said, joining the others at the computer. "I'm afraid we don't have the expertise to evaluate all the data." "Even our kung fu has its limitations," Langly admitted. "But now that you're here, maybe you can help us figure it out," Frohike suggested to Scully. "Have you asked Doggett what the substance is and what he's doing with it?" "No can do. Doggett's out of reach. He's had no contact with the Bureau or Agent Reyes since he disappeared on Christmas Day." Frohike hated to say this, but-- "It's looking like he may have crossed over to the Dark Side." "I don't believe it. There has to be some other explanation," Scully said, her tone sharp. It was clear she wasn't going to tolerate them casting doubt on Doggett's motives. "Maybe you could help us find it," Byers suggested. "Muma," William whimpered. The baby dropped the two SCSII adaptors he'd been holding, leaned away from Mulder and reached for Scully. His desperation for his mother's attention touched Frohike's heart. Poor little guy, probably sensed the rest of them were horning in, hoping to cut a slice of Scully's time for themselves. Scully took the baby and rocked him tenderly against her shoulder. Watching her soothe her child, it suddenly occurred to Frohike that William was once again in danger of being kidnapped or killed now that he'd returned. Jesus, what were they going to do? Before she had disappeared Christmas Day, C.G.B. Spender had offered Scully a "Rebel repellent" -- a biochip that could theoretically be placed beneath William's skin to ward off alien kidnappers, but she hadn't had the opportunity to authenticate Spender's genetic profile on William. If the chip worked the way Spender described, it could protect William. Maybe even give Scully and Mulder a chance to live like a normal family for a while. "You still thinking about putting Smoking Man's biochip in Willie-boy?" Frohike asked Scully. Scully shot him a startled look and then turned to face Mulder. "We need to talk," she said. "In private." * * * "How can you trust Cancerman, Scully?" Mulder paced Frohike's small bedroom. He paused to kick a chair out of his way. The chair fell over and clattered to the floor next to the unmade bed. Thank goodness the baby was outside with Frohike and the others. Scully wished Mulder would keep his voice -- and his anger -- under control. She guessed the Gunmen could overhear every loud word. She lowered her own voice to a near-whisper, hoping Mulder would do the same. "I saw a demonstration. The repellent seemed to work." "It was staged." "Maybe. Maybe not. I need to know for sure, one way or the other. William's life is on the line here." "Yes, it is, Scully, but not in the way you think." "Mulder, I can't turn my back on something that might save our son. Can you?" As her question sunk in, Mulder stopped his pacing and, with hands on his hips, he turned to face her. "I can't believe you of all people would consider putting a chip in our son's neck." She knew his fears. Hell, she shared them. Allow Spender to control their son's fate? The idea made her feel physically ill. But what options did they have? She'd been battling to save William's life ever since the moment she discovered she was pregnant. Mulder had done his share to protect their son, too. Fighting super soldiers, going into hiding. Jesus, it all had to stop. If this chip could save their baby, who cared where it came from? "If you recall, Mulder, it was Spender's chip that saved my life." Instead of calming him, this reminder seemed to ignite his anger all over again. He resumed his pacing. "There'll be a price, Scully," he said through gritted teeth. "That smoking son-of-a-bitch never does anything out of the kindness of his heart. He'll want something in return." It was true. Spender did want something. He wanted to send Mulder to Tunguska after the vaccine. "There were...conditions," she said carefully. She reached out a hand and placed her palm on his arm as he passed by her again. Her touch stilled his pacing. She looked into his eyes, saw the fear behind his anger. "Spender's information will need to be verified before we agree to anything." "Don't fall into his trap." Mulder's words sounded more like a plea than a warning. She knew he wanted to protect their son, every bit as much as she did. She also knew he was remembering how she'd been duped by Spender in the past, believing his lies about a cure for all human disease. "Mulder, remember when you told me there had to be an end?" He closed his eyes, as if hoping to shut out what she was going to say next. Now his voice did drop to a whisper. "I know what I said." She squeezed his arm and he opened his eyes to look at her. She could read the worry in his gaze, and loved him for his devotion to her and their son. He was such a good man, and she knew he would battle any enemy to save his family. In a heartbeat, he'd willingly offer his life for theirs. But it wouldn't come to that, not if she had any say. She wouldn't let him risk his life in Tunguska or anywhere else. Spender be damned. "Mulder, you were right when you said it has to stop." "You think Spender's chip will end our problems?" No, she didn't. But she hoped it would give them a chance to catch their breaths before heading into the next battle. "I'm going to check Spender's claims. Nothing more," she promised. Huffing his displeasure, he reached out and gently caressed her cheek. Then he leaned in and kissed her on the lips. She sunk into him. God, why couldn't their life together be like this one safe moment? Wrapping him in her arms, she knew their kiss would end all too soon. And then they would need to gather every ounce of their strength and love to save their son. -x-x-x-x-x-x- RESIDENCE OF MARGARET SCULLY Maggie picked up the next plate and slipped it into the sink. The dishwater was only lukewarm, but that couldn't be helped - - there'd been another power failure last night, and they'd run out of hot water. This had happened often enough in the past month that it was no longer a calamity. Just ... vexing. Tara had wanted to help with the dishes, but Maggie had shooed her out of the house. Nellie Anders, down the street, was still watching the kids, and Maggie had persuaded her daughter-in-law to seize the opportunity and take a walk. Those visits to the Humanity Center always seemed to take so much out of the poor thing. Maybe some fresh air and sunshine would help. Besides, this way Maggie had the house to herself for a little while. Peace and quiet was a rare commodity these days. Not that she begrudged anything to Tara and the children -- Maggie would be drawn and quartered before she denied them anything. But some days it got to be a bit much. She hadn't expected to be raising two more children -- not at her age. But someone had to do it. Oh, Tara could have managed on her own. She was a Navy wife, and was quite capable of standing on her own two feet. But there was no reason for that, and one thing Maggie remembered from her own 30 years in that role was that families pitch in, and you take help when it's offered. Her own mother-in-law, also married to a sailor, had given Maggie a hand on more than one occasion, back when the children were young and she was struggling to raise them, essentially unassisted. Now, she was repaying that debt, by helping out the next generation. Her ruminations were interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. Maggie jumped a little, caught her breath, and headed for the front of the house, drying her hands on her apron as she went. Tara must have locked herself out again -- or it could even be somebody selling something. Door-to-door salesmen had started to reappear, now that phone service was becoming so unreliable. She reached the front door, twisted the knob, pulled it open -- and then she almost fainted when she saw who was standing on the step. Dana. And Fox. And little William. "Dear Lord." The words puffed out from between Maggie's lips, almost of their own volition. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, and for a few seconds it seemed as if she might never breathe again. She took a slow step forward, then another. And then she reached out, grabbed her daughter's shoulders, and pulled her into a fierce embrace. "My God! Dana!" There were tears streaming down her cheeks, but she didn't care. It was a miracle -- a miracle -- "Mom ... Mom, you're crushing William ...." "Here, Scully -- let me take him." That rumbling male voice had to belong to Fox. Maggie felt Dana shift in her arms as a pair of hands insinuated themselves between her and her daughter. Fox gathered William into his own arms, and then stepped back. Now there was nothing between her and her baby girl. Nothing between her and Dana. How long the embrace went on, she never knew. For some long, Unmeasured interval, Dana was the only thing in the universe. Maggie fiercely resisted the tiny whisper that was telling her to take a step back and regain her perspective. But at last the world steadied itself, and Maggie relaxed her grip on her daughter. She raised her eyes, looked over Dana's shoulder, and saw Fox standing there, looking awkward, with William clasped securely against his chest. "Fox," she said, now feeling embarrassed over her display of emotion. "Fox, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be ignoring you." Reluctantly, she released Dana, and stepped over towards him. "Is ... is William okay? I didn't ... he isn't hurt, is he?" "He's fine, Mrs. Scully," Fox replied. There was a gentle, contented smile on his face, but Maggie was so intent on verifying the truth of his statement on William's welfare that she almost missed it. Then she recognized his expression. It was the same one her husband had worn whenever he held one of their children. The smile of a loving father -- the smile of her grandson's father. "Mom? Are you okay?" "I ... I ... yes, I'm fine. Or I will be in a minute. I'm just so ... I'd given up hope. I never expected to see you again." Maggie raised her apron and blew her nose, but now a smile was spreading across her own features. "You should both come inside," she said. "Please, come in. I'll find you something to eat, and ... and ... we can talk." She led them into the house. As the two of them passed into the living room, Maggie had to fight off the urge to slam the door and secure the deadbolt. She felt an almost overpowering need to protect these people, to keep them from being snatched away from her once again. She took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself, then followed them on into the living room. They were already sitting on the sofa, Fox holding William on his lap. Dana sat next to them -- *right* next to them -- and she and Fox both looked as if they wished he had his arm around her, but for some reason, he didn't. Maggie sighed, then couldn't suppress a smile as she had a sudden epiphany. She'd spent countless hours, back when Fox was missing and Dana was pregnant, wondering what it was that had drawn the two of them together, and now, finally, she thought she knew. "You're both so strange," she announced. They looked at her, their heads turning as one, studied looks of innocent inquiry on their faces, and Maggie knew from that alone that she was right. Still, she felt the need to explain her remark. "You're suited to one another," she went on. "Uniquely suited. I don't think either one of you could possibly put up with anyone else." "Then I guess it's a good thing J. Edgar took it into his head to introduce us," Fox commented. His face was expressionless, but Maggie was sure there was a twinkle in his eye. Dana nodded, as if he'd just said something obvious and not very noteworthy, and lifted the baby from his lap. Maggie took another deep breath, and moved to sit next to Dana on the sofa. Next to her daughter, who was alive after all. She felt the tears begin again, and then Dana had her arms around her. She was warm and real and alive, and for a minute or two, Maggie let herself go. There'd been so much bad news these past three months, and now, here, finally, was something she could feel good about. At last she forced herself to straighten up. She gently disentangled herself, took one more cleansing breath, and smiled. And it was at that moment that the doorbell rang again. "Who on Earth could that be?" she muttered. She was quite sure she'd left the door unlocked. She'd only *thought* about throwing the bolt. So it wouldn't be Tara. She was tempted to ignore it -- but then it rang again, insistently and repeatedly, and she climbed reluctantly to her feet. "I'll just be a moment," she said. If it *was* a salesman -- But it wasn't. It was an older man, someone she'd never seen before. He was at least 70 years old, with salt-and-pepper hair, and dark, heavy eyebrows. He wore a trenchcoat over a rumpled suit, and his clothes -- his entire being -- reeked of cigarette smoke. Maggie couldn't keep herself from wrinkling her nose. "Can I help you?" she asked. "Yes, Mrs. Scully," the man replied, an affable smile on his face. "I think maybe you can." * * * "It's completely out of the question," Scully said, her voice low and harsh. "I must have been out of my mind to even say I'd consider it. And now --" "The problem is still the same," C.G.B. Spender replied, apparently unperturbed. "You may have missed the last three months -- or at least, you *say* you have -- but the rest of us have had to live through them. There is an urgent -- no, there is an overwhelming need for someone to make this trip, and Mulder is the best man for the job." "I don't care about your job," she insisted, biting off each word with careful precision. She hated the quiver that kept threatening to enter her voice, but somehow she managed to fight it off. She was determined not to reveal her true level of anxiety. Not in front of *this* man, of all people. Scully paused, trying to get her breathing under control. Mulder sat next to her, his body tense, but so far he'd remained quiet, allowing her to take the lead. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but at least it was giving her a chance to think. Her mother had taken William upstairs for a nap, leaving them alone to entertain their "guest." Thank God for small favors. The last thing she needed was for her mother to witness this conversation. There were already enough unexplainable things to explain. *More* than enough. "We have already lost four teams of agents trying to penetrate the Tunguska facility," Spender said. His fingers twitched, as if reaching for a cigarette, but he did not light up. "And we are running out of time. The *world* is running out of time. We need the knowledge the Russians have developed. We need a sample of their strain of the vaccine." "So what you're saying is you want to send Mulder in someplace where four entire *teams* have already failed? Are you insane?" Scully shook her head violently. "No. Absolutely not." There was a momentary lull in the argument, and Scully spent the time wishing she could burn Spender to ashes with her glare. It was William's birth all over again. She and Mulder were finally together, their separation was over, and now, again, events were conspiring to drive them apart. At last Spender stirred in his seat, reaching for the cup of coffee her mother had insisted on serving him before she withdrew. "I think you're forgetting something, Agent Scully," he said. "You're forgetting the other part of our bargain. The part concerning your son." "I haven't forgotten anything," she replied through gritted teeth. "We don't have a bargain. We never did. All I ever said was that I would consider --" "We had reached a meeting of minds," Spender interrupted. "You wanted some time to think it over, to verify the truth of what I was telling you. That was understandable at the time. But circumstances have changed, and we no longer have that luxury. We must have an answer, we must have it now, and the answer must be yes. I do not intend to resort to melodrama, but the fate of the world hangs in the balance." He paused, and nodded at Mulder. "Look at him, Agent Scully. *He* understands. Don't you, Fox?" Scully flinched at the use of Mulder's first name, and she felt him quiver as well. Spender was reminding them that he had a connection with the Mulders. It was a connection that stretched back for decades, to a time when Spender and Mulder's father were young men together, and the world had been a bright, hopeful place. To a time when, if this man's account of his life was to be believed, they had accepted the challenge before them, and joined together in a grand, quixotic effort to save the human race. She didn't have to look at her lover to know how he was responding to all of this. Mulder had the heart of a romantic, and an unswerving dedication to the truth, and there was no point in trying to deny it. Hell, she wouldn't love him as much as she did if he were the sort of man who would stand back from something like this. She knew exactly where the fire that warmed her soul originated. The real problem, she realized, in a blinding flash of self- honesty, was that she wanted to go with him. And that was the one thing that was simply impossible. Someone had to stay behind and watch over William, and there wasn't anyone she could trust to do that for her. "Scully?" She could hear the question mark in Mulder's voice; she could feel his gaze burning into her. She knew what he wanted; she knew what he was leaving unsaid. And she knew that the argument, for all intents and purposes, was over. From the expression on the face of that chain smoking motherfucker sitting across from her, he knew it, too. But she still had one more card left to play. At last, she turned to face her partner. "You are not going alone," she told him, her voice low and firm. She glanced over at Spender, and added, for his benefit, "And that is *not* negotiable." The old man shrugged. "We'd be more than happy to provide a suitable companion," he said. "That's no problem at all." "What? Another Krycek, fresh from the sewer?" Scully snorted. "No way. If I can't go along to watch his back, there's only one other person I can trust to do it for me." Spender nodded, almost as if he'd been expecting this. "As long as Agent Reyes is willing to go, that's fine with us. Now. Do we have an agreement?" Scully stared at him for a long moment. She knew it wasn't really up to her. She knew that Mulder had already decided. But somehow, she'd become the broker for this negotiation, and the two men were now waiting for her metaphorical signature on the dotted line. Finally, she nodded. "Fine," she said. "God forgive me, but fine." -x-x-x-x-x-x- CITY OF FREDERICKSBURG WASTEWATER TREATMENT FACILITY FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA THURSDAY, APRIL 4, 2002 Selling out humanity wasn't everything it was cracked up to be. Well, nothing to be done about it now. Doggett had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. For a while longer, anyway. Until he'd wormed his way far enough into Shannon's trust that she took her eye off him. Until he was in a position where he could lower the boom -- or at a minimum, until he could gather enough information to make the whole damned circus worthwhile. At least this assignment was a start. Today was the first day since his capture, back on Christmas Day, that she'd let him leave the facility without direct supervision. Not that Doggett actually believed no one was watching him. But so far they were doing him the courtesy of staying out of sight, thus giving him the illusion of freedom. Now the job was done. Another water treatment plant, another capsule surreptitiously added to a municipal water supply. Another 30,000 people exposed to whatever the hell that stuff actually was. Shannon's claim that it was a chemical intended to promote the development of unborn children into super soldiers was less than credible in Doggett's estimation. There was something else going on, something he wasn't being told, and he prayed nightly that he wasn't doing more harm than good by pretending to go along with Shannon and her buddies. She'd almost had him, back when he first was captured. She'd attacked him at his weakest point -- his guilt, loss and sorrow over Luke's murder -- and it very nearly worked. She'd promised to return his son to him, alive and whole. She'd challenged the faith she knew he held. Doggett spent a bad few hours, agonizing over the opportunity she'd presented. He knew it was possible. It had happened to him, for Christ's sake, and he'd seen it happen to Mulder. Who was he to say that Shannon couldn't deliver exactly what she'd promised? But that wasn't the way, a voice kept whispering, long into the night. Doggett had struggled and fought, examining his soul as best he could under the circumstances. That *wasn't* how it was supposed to be; he knew that. But this is Luke, he'd cried out in his mind. This is my son. But the still, soft voice insisted, and at last, Doggett had acquiesced, and denied himself the solace that might just have been within his grasp. Of course, he hadn't told that to Shannon. She clearly wasn't interested in turning him loose, no matter what he did, and he'd seen the opportunity to turn the tables on her, and burrow from within. So the next time he saw her he'd hung his best dumb jarhead look on his face and pretended to lap up everything she had to offer. Now, three months later, here he was. Secret Agent Man. "Arrugah," he muttered, self-deprecatingly, as he walked briskly towards his car. The security at these plants was laughable, even after everything that had happened. The guards had given his I.D. only a cursory glance -- they hadn't even made him open his briefcase. Not that that would have helped. The briefcase contained nothing but reports on water quality, written in mind-numbing technical language, while the capsule had been taped to the back of his shirt collar. All he'd had to do was scratch behind his ear, and it was in his hand. Then he'd casually rested his hand on the edge of one of the tanks -- He shivered. Please, God, let that stuff, whatever it is, be harmless. He slowed his pace as he approached the car. His was one of the few left in the parking lot. The hour being late, it was easy to see that someone was waiting for him, standing next to the car. Ron White, Shannon's contact at the EPA. Doggett had met him a few times since he'd ostensibly switched sides, always when Shannon was present. White was a short, balding man, in his late 40s or early 50s, with the beginnings of a middle-aged paunch. He wore a brown three-piece suit and rimless glasses. Everything about the man screamed "bureaucrat," and Doggett had classified him in his mind with one word: boring. "Agent Doggett?" the man said, as Doggett closed to within handshaking range. "I was wondering if I might have a word with you." "What are you doin' here?" Doggett asked. He ignored the proffered hand. "I wasn't told to expect anyone." "There are a great many things you haven't been told, Agent Doggett, and that's the least of them. Now are we going to stand out here in broad daylight, where anyone can see us together? Or are we going to find someplace where we can have a little privacy?" "I don't know," Doggett replied. "Maybe I like the fresh air and sunshine." It had already occurred to him this could be a test. Hell, the whole outing was a test; he'd known that from the moment he'd been given the assignment. And if that was the case, then staying put was the right answer. He had nothing to hide, after all. White had come to him, not the other way around. "I've been waiting three weeks for a chance to talk to you alone," White said. "What I have to tell you is very important. But if you want to conduct this discussion out here --" "I don't wanna conduct this discussion at all," Doggett interrupted. He was starting to enjoy this. It had been quite a while since he'd had a chance to piss someone off on purpose. He brushed past the other man, fumbling in his pocket for his car keys as he did so. "Agent Doggett!" White gripped Doggett's upper arm and yanked on it. Doggett considered shrugging him off, but decided that was going too far. He turned to face the EPA man. "Look," he began, "I don't know what game you're playing, but I've got to get back. They're expectin' me." "Your partner thinks you're a traitor," White replied, his tone blunt and to the point. "My partner probably thinks I'm dead," Doggett said, keeping his own voice as calm and level as he could manage. Monica's reaction to all this was one of the issues he'd never managed to resolve in his own mind, but he didn't really have much choice. Most days, it didn't bother him too much. If things worked out, he'd square it with her when he got the chance. If they didn't -- "No," the other man said, with a shake of the head. "She doesn't. She's been looking for you since Christmas, but two days ago she ... ah ... was given a rather substantial lead." "What's your point?" "My point is that they're going to be closing in on you. The Bureau, as an institution, had written you off -- and besides, they had bigger fish to fry." "No shit," Doggett muttered. An alien invasion, for God's sake. He still had trouble wrapping his mind around that idea, even after three months. "Yes," White agreed with a nod. His expression was grim. "But now the FBI has something concrete. They have photographs of you -- *recent* photographs. I don't know who leaked them, or why, but I do know that I was compromised in some of the pictures -- and that means *I* have to go underground." "So?" Doggett was getting tired of the game, if that's what it was. He was supposed to meet his keepers in Manassas in less than two hours, so he could be blindfolded and taken back to the facility. He didn't dare be late. He didn't want to risk his new-found status as a provisional trustee. "So you may be blase about giving up your family and friends, but I am not," the other man said. "I work for these ... these people. I freely admit it. But I am not one of them." "And that matters to you." Doggett shrugged. "I don't wanna be insensitive here, but I can't see how that's my problem." "It's your problem because I know what you are," White replied. He lowered his voice and stepped closer. "I could see it in your eyes the first time we met. You're not one of them either, Agent Doggett. I'm not sure you even really work for them." He held up a hand. "Don't worry. I don't expect you to answer. But you need to know that you're playing with fire." "What do you mean? You think I'm some kinda spy?" Doggett shrugged again, trying to project unconcern. "I suppose if that was true, you might have a point, but --" "Those capsules aren't what you think they are," White persisted. "I know what you've been told, but it's all a lie. The truth is ...." The EPA man paused and glanced around, then looked back to Doggett. Lowering his voice still further: "Those capsules represent an attempt to manufacture a vaccine against the alien virus." "A vaccine, huh?" Doggett pretended to consider the man's words. "It's been tried before. I think I read about that in the X-files. The only batch that ever really worked got used up on Agent Scully." "That's right," the other man said, nodding vigorously. "And now they need to recreate it. They need it bad. And that's what the capsules are -- an attempt to recreate the vaccine that was given to Agent Scully." "But why would that be a bad thing?" Doggett asked. "I mean, assuming it was true." "Agent Doggett, how much do you know about epidemiology?" "Not a lot." "Well, I'm sure you know the basics. The way a vaccine works is to expose the subject to a weak strain of the disease. The patient's body reacts, creating antibodies, so that when the real thing comes along, the defenses are ready, and the illness can be fought off." "That's not how the stuff worked that Agent Scully got." "No," the man agreed. "She was given a massive overdose, on purpose, and it succeeded in arousing her body's defenses. But what's needed now is the original vaccine, so it can be administered to people who aren't yet sick." "Yeah, I got that," Doggett said. "What I don't get, and I know I'm repeating myself here, but what I don't get is why this is a problem for you. Or why it should be one for me." "Because it isn't working!" White spat. "The experiment is failing. Haven't you noticed that admissions to the Humanity Centers have been escalating? Or have they been keeping that from you, as well?" "Sure." Doggett nodded. "The virus --" "It's not the virus that's responsible," the other man said. "It's *your* work, Agent Doggett. Those capsules are working too well; they're too powerful. A significant part of the population is actually being infected due to this exposure. If you check the demographics on admissions to the HCs, and compare that to a list of communities that have been given the vaccine, you'll see that I'm telling the truth." "Jesus." Doggett couldn't keep the word from escaping. Could the man actually be telling the truth? "That's right," White said with a grim nod. "Now you're getting it. Now you see what's really going on." "Wait. Just wait a minute. You've known about this for quite a while, I take it." Doggett was really just running his mouth, stalling for time while he tried to get his thoughts in order. If this was true, it was absolutely horrendous. But the man hadn't shown him any proof. All he had were unsupported allegations. Doggett took a deep breath, and added, "I mean, you've been goin' along with this, right? So why the sudden change of heart?" "I already told you," White replied. "Those bastards have compromised me. No explanation. No apologies. They've just created a situation where I have to disappear. I had a phone call this morning, letting me know that the FBI would be around later today to interview me, and that I'd better make myself scarce. They had a safe house all set up." A bitter laugh. "I asked if I could bring my wife, my children. I was told there was nothing in the protocol to allow for that." He peered up at Doggett. "I know you were a family man once. I'm sure you can imagine how I felt." Yeah, Doggett could imagine. The problem was, he could also imagine Shannon laying a trap for him pretty much exactly like this one. Hell, this was just a replay of the original temptation she'd offered him -- only this time he was supposed to empathize with another man who was at risk of losing his family. "No sale," he said, not wanting to allow time to second guess himself. "Peddle your story somewhere else." He turned away, and moved to unlock the car door. A moment later, he was in the driver's seat and revving the engine. Two minutes later, he was pulling out onto U.S. 1, heading north towards Manassas. -x-x-x-x-x-x- METRO D.C. HUMANITY CENTER ARLINGTON, VA Dr. Scott Fogarty checked his patient list. Thirty-four new cases, and his shift had just begun. He hadn't bargained for this much hands-on experience when he'd signed up for the CDC's Epidemic Intelligence Service last fall. Not that he minded. It felt good to be helping. The work was certainly important, and he was learning more about epidemiology here than he ever could have learned back at St. Mary's in Durham. Even so, the numbers of infectees were daunting. And he and his colleagues felt no further ahead now than they had a month ago. Fogarty draped his stethoscope around his neck, positioned his mask over his mouth and nose, and grabbed a pair of latex gloves before entering Ward 1B. Inside the ward, two neat rows of beds -- twelve beds per row -- lined each side of the room. Every bed held a patient. Recently diagnosed infectees, like these patients, were assigned to Wards 1A through 1F. For the most part, they felt more frightened than sick. As their condition worsened, they would be transferred to Wards 2 and 3. Ward 4, where the sickest patients were located, was off limits to all regular medical staff, including Fogarty. The entire floor was strictly quarantined. Highest level bio-clearance -- or so he'd heard. He hadn't seen it for himself yet, despite his repeated offers to work there. Fogarty pulled on his latex gloves and walked between the rows of beds, looking for his newest patient. Some of the infectees slept, but most watched him with hopeful eyes. He nodded at each one as he passed, sympathetic to their unease. He stopped when he reached the bed of Harvey Stoughton. The poor man looked beside himself with worry. "I feel fine, doc," Stoughton insisted. "Don't know why they're keeping me here." "Let's take a look." Fogarty lifted the man's chart from its hook at the foot of the bed, and thoroughly read the man's history. Name: Harvey Buchwald Stoughton Birth date: 5/1/67 Diagnosed: 4/2/02 (Checkpoint 32, Alexandria), EMO: Stage 1 The chart told Fogarty that Stoughton was married and the father of three. Until yesterday, he'd been a postman. His temperature registered 101.2 just last hour. Fogarty hung the chart back on its hook. "Okay if I take a listen?" Fogarty waggled his stethoscope. Stoughton nodded, so Fogarty fitted the tips into his ears, and placed the stethoscope's diaphragm against the man's chest. "Deep breaths." Stoughton sucked in a lung-full of air and released it with a shaky hiss. "Again, please." Fogarty listened carefully. Stoughton's lungs sounded clear. "Breathe normally." Repositioning the stethoscope, Fogarty checked the man's heart. Satisfied that all was normal, he removed the eartips, and hung the stethoscope around his neck once more. "Everything sounds good, Mr. Stoughton." "Then can I go home?" "Afraid not." Fogarty took out his penlight. "Let's check your eyes." "You got kids, doc?" "Yep. Look to your left, please." Fogarty aimed his light into the man's right eye. "Baby girl. Eight months old. Now to your right." "I got boys myself. Three of 'em. Ages eight, six and two." "Bet they can be a handful." A thin, black film floated across the man's red-rimmed eyes. Fogarty looked down at Stoughton's hands. His fingernails and skin appeared translucent, the tissue edematous. "Yes, sirree. That's why I gotta get home. My wife, she needs me there, ya' know?" "Sorry, Mr. Stoughton. Your condition is considered contagious. It's safer for your wife and kids if you're here." Even through his mask, Fogarty could smell the distinct "EMO Odor" on Stoughton -- a sickly-sweet aroma, like burnt honey. "I heard on the news you docs don't really know how this bug is spread." It was true, they didn't. But without more information, quarantine was the only logical step. Damn, he wanted to be up on Four where the real answers waited to be discovered. There was a shout from the far end of the ward. Fogarty's eyes widened, and Stoughton visibly jumped. "No! No! Don't! Please!" a frantic patient yelled, while a nurse and two orderlies wrestled him onto a gurney for transport. Fogarty knew the man was headed to Two. The man continued to thrash, so the nurse emptied a hypodermic into his arm. His struggling stopped. The orderlies loaded him onto the gurney while the rest of the ward looked on. "Where are they taking him?" Stoughton asked Fogarty. The poor man looked scared out of his wits. "Upstairs. He needs round the clock care. They're equipped for that on Two." One of the orderlies pushed the gurney up the aisle between the rows of beds. The patient looked dazed. When he got to Fogarty, the man on the gurney suddenly reached out and grabbed the doctor around the wrist. "Let go, Mr. Peters," the orderly warned, as he tried to peel away the man's translucent fingers. Peters' grip tightened, despite the muscle relaxant he'd been given. He looked Fogarty right in the eye. Black oil swam across both corneas. When he spoke, his words were slurred, but Fogarty caught every hair-raising word: "We're all dead." -x-x-x-x-x-x- FBI HEADQUARTERS WASHINGTON, D.C. "Fuck!" Another false lead. Reyes slammed the door shut behind her and hurled her leather coat at her desk. The coat slid across her cluttered desktop and fell to the floor on the other side, scattering file folders and taking her nameplate with it. Now she had a mess to clean up, but she didn't care. Her trip to Franklin Park had been nothing but another big waste of time, and she was sick to death of coming up empty-handed. Three months of dead ends were taking their toll on her nerves. How had Dana done it? How had she kept herself together during Mulder's manhunt? Afterward, too, when Mulder was presumed dead. And then during the last eight months, while he'd been hiding. Mulder was Dana's *lover*, for Christ's sake, and still the woman had managed to keep her cool. As for herself and John, well, they were partners, not lovers, but even so, his unexplained absence was driving her crazy with worry. Reyes glanced over at Mulder's I WANT TO BELIEVE poster, which still hung on the wall beside the file cabinets. Maybe Dana was a stronger person than she was, or maybe the seemingly unshakable Agent Scully drew strength from her faith -- in God, in Mulder. Or maybe she slammed doors and threw things in private, too. Reyes looked at Doggett's chair, staring hard at its emptiness. "John, what the hell are you up to?" she asked the vacant chair. When no answer came -- no gut feelings, no voices in her head, no heartfelt revelations -- she sighed, and crossed the room to gather her strewn files. She didn't believe for one second that John Doggett was collaborating with Shannon McMahon. Fuck Brad's "proof." It simply wasn't in John's makeup to betray the Bureau. Or her. One by one, Reyes collected and stacked the scattered files. She retrieved her nameplate from beneath her chair, and set it back on her desk. Gathering her coat from the floor, she hung it on the rack beside the door. Then she returned to her desk to put the jumbled files back into order. The act of organizing her mess helped cool her anger. She was almost finished when a soft knock sounded on the door. "Come in," she called. The door opened to reveal a worried-looking woman who was wearing a visitor's pass clipped to the lapel of her jacket. The colorful jacket had some sort of Indian pattern woven into its fabric. The stranger hesitated before stepping into the office. "Can I help you?" Reyes asked. "I...I thought I might find my brother here." "Your brother? Did he get lost from his tour group?" "No. I-I'm not on a tour." The woman appeared ready to burst into tears. "My name is Samantha Mulder. I'm looking for my brother Fox." Samantha Mulder? How was that possible? Reyes had read the file on Mulder's sister -- several times. According to his official report, the girl had been abducted from her Chilmark home in 1973 when she was eight years old. Mulder had been twelve at the time, and claimed to have witnessed her abduction. Reyes learned from Doggett that Mulder and Dana's search for Samantha had been a driving force behind their work on the X-Files. Two years ago, however, Mulder closed the case. His field notes indicated his sister had died at age 14. Well, perhaps "died" was the wrong word. He believed she was rescued by something called "Walk Ins" -- human souls that lived and traveled in starlight. "Fox thinks I'm dead, doesn't he?" the woman said, as if reading Reyes' mind. Her gaze fastened on Mulder's poster. "I guess he's going to be shocked to see me. Will he be back soon?" she asked, sounding hopeful. "I don't think so." "Do you know where I might find him?" Tears filled the woman's eyes. She appeared desperate. Was it possible she was telling the truth? Could she really be Samantha Mulder? It was hard to believe Mulder might have been mistaken about his own sister's death, and yet, weirder things had happened in the X-Files. Like "Walk Ins." Whether this woman was or wasn't Mulder's sister, Reyes couldn't help her. Mulder and Scully were still missing. "Sorry, I don't know where he is." The woman nodded, then asked, "May I leave a note for him, please?" "It might be a while before he gets it." The woman's tears overflowed her lower lashes and dripped onto her cheeks. "It's been almost thirty years since we last saw each other. I...I don't know where else to look." You're not the only one, Reyes thought. I've searched every damn place I can think of. Picking up a pad of paper and a pen, she held them out to the woman, who took them and started to write. Reyes' phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, but didn't recognize the number. "Excuse me," she said, and picked up the receiver. "Agent Reyes speaking." //Agent Reyes, this is Fox Mulder.// Reyes almost dropped the phone. She glanced at the woman who stood on the other side of her desk. "Where are you?" //Not important. I need to meet with you though.// "Of course. Where?" //A car will pick you up. One hour. Main entrance.// Jesus, he was nearby. Had he been in her backyard all along? Working with Doggett, maybe? And what about-- She looked up to see the woman staring at her. Reyes angled away, and lowered her voice. "Is Dana with you?" //Family's fine.// "What about John and Skinner?" //Sorry, can't help you there.// Damn it. "Mulder--" //Let's talk in person. I don't trust this connection.// Was it safe to tell him about his sister? She glanced over her shoulder at the woman, who had finished her note and was folding it in half. Reyes turned her back again and lowered her voice even further. "There's someone here who claims to be your sister." Mulder was quiet for a moment, and then, //Golden rule, Agent Reyes: Trust no one. Particularly her. I'm pretty sure she's not who she says. See you in an hour.// Mulder hung up, and Reyes spun around, only to find that the woman had vanished from the office. Her folded note lay on the corner of the desk. Reyes hung up the phone and reached for the note. Picking it up, she unfolded it, and blinked in surprise at the words the woman had written there... GOLDEN RULE, AGENT REYES: TRUST NO ONE. * * * That had gone even better than she'd anticipated. Stepping quickly into the elevator, she pushed the button to the 4th floor. The doors slid shut and the elevator headed up. She hadn't been able to resist playing a little mind game with Agent Reyes, leaving her that note. Humans, aliens, they were so damn easy to read. And having to listen to their incessant, tedious thoughts sometimes made life incredibly dull. Fucking with their heads was the only way to relieve the boredom. A quick peek into Agent Reyes' thoughts hadn't provided much information, but the phone call from Fox Mulder had been a stroke of extraordinary fortune. About time. She was due for a bit of good luck. She caught her reflection in the elevator's shiny doors. A weak-looking woman with long wavy hair and teary eyes stared back at her. Samantha Mulder -- avenue to Fox Mulder, and, if all went according to plan, to his monstrous child, too. That baby was an abomination. But then so was she, according to some. A hybrid, not so very different from William Mulder, except for the fact that she'd been engineered in a lab, whereas he... Well, who knew for sure? Suffice to say, he was a lot more important to the Colonists than she was. The Altseh-E-Jah-He -- the Colonists -- they believed he was the One, a natural hybrid, born to save them. Which is why he had to be eliminated. Hybrid or not, the Colonists believed William Mulder was a miracle, and their belief was as dangerous as the truth. Examining her mirror image, the face that wasn't really hers, she smiled, and then watched her features morph fluidly into her natural state. Hazel eyes. Chestnut hair. Golden skin. Full lips, pursed in a frown. She bore none of the Da-A-He-Gi- Eneh's disfiguring scars: the sealed eyes, noses, and mouths. No need. She was immune to the A-Kha, the deadly Black Oil. She wasn't one of them, any more than she was a Colonist or a human. She was one of a kind. The product of an experiment. A hybridized genetic freak. The Rebels called her Chindi Ah-Tad. It meant Devil Girl. That said a lot about their prejudices. She didn't care. She knew they hated her because they needed her. They envied her immunity to the Virus. And, if they were to be honest with themselves, they would admit that they envied her ability to shapeshift, too. The elevator announced the 4th floor. Before the doors slid open, Chindi transformed once more, this time into a man she'd seen pictured in Agent Reyes' mind. Strongly built, late- forties, glasses. The chestnut hair disappeared from her head. Her colorful jacket changed into suit and tie. And the visitor's pass that dangled from her lapel now identified her as Walter Skinner, Assistant Director of the FBI. CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 3...