=====o======================================================o=====

"Archaea" by Mary Ruth Keller 

E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net

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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've sent some of ours to the
YMCA where he," the red-haired man said as he 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 the
question, "What's so funny, 'Andrew'?" 

"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?" Nichols asked.

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 okay, 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
doctorate, 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?" 

He was frowning. "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. After a deflected push, she continued, "--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. "Okay, 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--

Room 309
Rest Retreat, 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 while urging her to rest. 

After waving the man aside, Scully reached for the lumpen bag.
"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 her partner 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 9:58 pm 

"You guys ready yet?" 

Rosen hesitated over question fifty. <He might as well find out
this way as any.> After the period, she wrote: "I am a lesbian."
on the question sheet, and "True" on the answer sheet, then handed
the pages to the technician. Rich drew lines after the first
twenty questions, and before the last twenty as well. 

Nichols frowned. "You're not making the last ten part of the mixed
set?" 

Rich shook his head. "Nope. Memory tests have shown that in long
lists, people remember the beginning and the end far better than
the middle. Since you'll both be working the board, I need you to
be answering the questions you recall least well." He glanced at
the woman agent, who was nodding her agreement. 

"What was your question five, Nic?" When he began to murmur the
words, she waved her hand. "I don't want to know. Question twenty-
eight?" 

He frowned, then shook his head. "Okay, 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, New Jersey
Thursday, 11:33 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 jiggle an empty cassette case until it settled place with the
rest, then closed one of the deep drawers beneath the work
surface.

She played forward in real time the portion she had been
reviewing. "Watch this, Mulder."   

He 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 pushed 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. 

Studying his darkening expression, she sighed. <I knew you
wouldn't like it.> 

He spun away, his body as restless as his mind. "You think the
Kindred and the Colony of Gregors and Samanthas are one and the
same? But we saw the crop circle..." 

Arms crossed, she moved into his personal space again. "We saw the
perfect cover, Mulder, in evidence that's easily faked." Expecting
a squeal of protest, she arched both eyebrows. "They've been there
since at least the Thirties, coming into Steveston, checking out
the feed store." She smiled, remembering his joking around
outside. "They must have picked up some of our popular myths about
UFO's and aliens during those trips. Think of it, the Kindred
crossed over the most fundamental division present in every higher
earthly species with impunity as a part of a regenerative process,
according to you." Worn with the lateness of the hour, Scully
settled into her seat by the bank of video monitors, smiling away
the outstretched arm. 

"I know what I saw, Scully."

"We thought it was odd that they didn't kill us, after what we had
seen and heard. We eventually assumed it was because they were
leaving soon, and nothing we could do would stop them, but perhaps
that was never the point, Mulder." She waved her hand towards the
northern wall of the room. "You even mentioned how they cleverly
manipulated us, to get information from us, without ever
volunteering any of their own. They talked about the coming
arrival and a Day of Release. We saw them in Philadelphia, which
they *did* depart, one might almost say 'vanished from'." 

Mulder lowered himself into the seat across from her, rolling it
forward until their knees almost touched. "So you think the
Kindred fed us misinformation, and drew that crop circle as a
diversion so they could split up and hide among us?" 

She nodded. 

"But they were all different, Scully." 

"If they are from the same species as the Bounty Hunter, then they
can morph to look like anything they want to, Mulder, all unique,
or..." 

He slumped back in the chair. "All the same." He ran his hand
through his hair. "Jeez, Scully, this is starting to make sense.
The Kindred were isolationists, and the Colony we encountered were
waiting for humanity to drive itself to extinction, isolated among
us. So all that talk about cloning was diversion as well?" 

Leaning forward, she rested her hands on her knees. "Are you ready
for another wild idea from me?" 

He chuckled. "Sure, 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, "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. 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. 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. "Okay. 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. "Okay, 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 11:33 pm 

Rosen stepped away from the parchment-colored board, relieved. The
guide had felt odd under her fingers, almost humming, seeming
warm. <It's just your imagination, Andrea.> She sank onto floor,
achy from the long flight and hours of work that they had leapt
into with such alacrity upon their arrival. <Surely it gets easier
sometime.> She had hoped to take a break after graduate school,
but there had been loans to pay off, so she had gone immediately
to Quantico. Once there, she had found herself pushed to her
physical and mental limits by the instructors. 

<All the procedures and tests!> True, none of it had required
General Relativity or Non-Euclidean geometry to understand, but
she had been impressed with the rigor, the emphasis on the
detailed analysis of crime scenes. 'More criminals are caught in
the lab, than by any car chase, regardless of what you've seen on
television', her pathology instructor had announced matter-of-
factly the first day of class. <The Bureau deserves its
reputation.> Focusing back on the two men with her, she quickly
became hypnotized by the ritual call of number-answer, as Nichols
worked the board with far more ease than she had. 

"Forty Eight?" 

"False."

<Miss.>

"Forty Nine?" 

"True." 

<Another miss.> She smirked. 

"Fifty?" 

"True." 

<Oh, well.> She pushed herself to her feet, assuming her place
across from Nichols for the final set of questions. 

                            --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 okay." 

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. 

Pensive, she replied, "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." 

Her chin on her knees, she nodded. 

He wrapped one hand around the base of her neck, touched his
forehead to hers, and stood to cross the room to the door. 

"Sure, Agent Mulder," she offered forlornly. 

As she spoke, he swiveled to face her. A lopsided grin, the clunk
of tapes, and he was gone. 

She mourned quietly to the shape receding through the glass of her
door, "Call me if you ever want to work on that life, okay?" 

                            --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--

Second Floor X-Files Offices
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC
Friday, 8:21 am

His arms crossed, Mulder was standing over his partner, 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. "Okay, Agent Scully."

She rested one hand lightly on the lab tech's arm, bringing his
eyes up to focus on hers. "But," she said as 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." 

After stepping into his office, Mulder, his eyes alight with
mischief, returned with his empty coffee mug.

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 while 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 cue. "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
*advanced*, 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. She bent at the waist to label
a bag with what appeared to be random geometric shapes,
surrounding a circle with lines radiating from it. 

Her twin 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, then 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--

Second Floor 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. 

<That one.> It was a long report from Susan Miles up at Hopkins
Hospital, entitled "DNA fragments from warehouse", so she sent it
directly to her Laserjet. Ten pages later, she leaned back,
skimming the contents. As her eyes fell on the closing line, she
reached for the phone beside the monitor to activate the speaker
and enter a familiar number. 

"Susan?" She pulled her lips back into a relieved grin. "Thanks
for these results. How many favors did you have to call in for the
time with the gel-electrophoresis machines?" 

An answering chuckle filled the room. "You have me on speaker,
don't you, Dana?" 

Scully allowed herself to relax. "Sorry. I'm running a search, so
I'll need my hands free. Let me adjust the volume." After punching
one 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." 

Eager for the results, Scully reached over to deactivate the
screen-saver. "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 the blond doctor 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, okay?" 

"Sure will. Bye."

                            --o-0-o--

Second Floor 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 still 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." Her lips
twitched as he chuckled then ushered 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." 

Running for their lab with two agents on his heels, the little man
fairly radiated glee. "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, 10:06 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 long neck of the flexible 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, in response,
slipped down the back wall to take 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, Virginia      / 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
okay' 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." 

"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. 

<The Willises must have a new car.> She searched the hazy blue-
grey sky, looking for flat-topped white clouds on the horizon that
would spare her this chore. <I hope we'll have rain soon. I just
can't keep the grass lush with watering.> Arms akimbo, she
surveyed the square-topped boxwoods in front of the house,
remembering the grandchildren playing soldier around them on the
Fourth of July. When she bent over to position the triangular
yellow sprinkler head, she thought she caught movement in the
vehicle. 

Turning away, she knelt, busing herself with prying free a
dandelion root, checking under her arm after what she considered a
safe interval. <There *is* someone in that car!> A shiver ran up
her spine. <I'm being watched.> Crossing herself before she rose,
Margaret resolved not to bother Dana with this, just now. <It may
not be me. It may be security for Admiral and Mrs. Donovan. I'll
just check.> Reentering the house, she slipped the Pomeranian's
blue leash off the hook by the door. The silent, to Margaret, cue
was answered by little toenails clicking in from the kitchen,
where she knew Mister Fuzz had been napping. A snick, and the
deadbolt was engaged. 

"Let's go do a little spying ourselves today, shall we?" 

                            --o-0-o--

Fourteenth Street Bridge
Washington, DC
Friday, 12:26 pm

Bored after the long wait in a stalled line of lunch traffic,
Mulder's mind drifted back to the phone conversation with Rosen.
"Well, it must be silicon-based then." 

Scully glanced over at him. "Hum? Not necessarily, Mulder." 

He gripped the steering wheel momentarily, releasing it when the
car lurched to the right slightly. "Scully, after what happened in
the Cascades last time, how can you say...Scully!" 

Her head was moving from side to side vehemently. "We consume many
other elements besides carbon. It may use the silicon to build the
tetrahedral bonds for the network it forms its colonies onto. Or,
it may need the silicates for internal strength, much as the trees
and grasses it was breaking down ingest sand or clay particles for
stiffness." 

He narrowed his eyes at her. <Stow the science lessons, Scully.>
"But Rumpelstiltskin is waking up after a long, long nap out
there. If given a wide range of freely available choices, why
would it do anything but eat the highest-quality nutrients, just
like any animal coming out of hibernation? Why wouldn't it eat
what it needs to grow?" 

Since they were pulling into the FBI vehicle lot, each was digging
badges out of suit coat pockets and clipping them on. 

Scully glanced at her partner. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting
here, Mulder. Inorganic compounds are necessary for many forms of
life, but not as energy sources. Some specialists in the
development of early life on this planet have speculated that the
shape of organic molecules themselves may have resulted from the
use of clay or other feldspathic minerals as a replication
template. Just like plants, it's possible that a primitive life
form still needs silicates to accomplish a task later life can
achieve internally." She waited until they were parked and both
walking to the elevator. "The only way we'll find out what this
organism really is, silicon-based or otherwise, is with the
careful testing Rosen and the others are subjecting this thing to.
Since it isn't dangerous - " 

"Yet, Scully, it isn't dangerous yet." 

"Yet, Mulder, we don't have to alert the CDC, or anyone else, for
that matter, because we'll only draw unwanted attention to
ourselves." 

He pressed the up button, so they waited. "I agree. We don't want
to draw the notice of a certain organization, but it might be just
as bad as unleashing the F. Emasculata parasite." When she
shuddered, he bent over her immediately. "Scully? What? Tell me."
As the door opened, they stepped inside. "Something happened to
you while you were in the prison?" 

"I thought I might have been exposed to the contagion, Mulder.
There was a period of time when I had to wait for the infection to
incubate before I could check." 

Moving to her side, he grasped her arm. "Why didn't you tell me
this when it happened?" His dark eyes hovered inches from her own,
both pairs deeply troubled. 

"You didn't need to come rushing back to the prison, you had to
track those men down." She shrugged. "If I wasn't exposed, it
didn't matter. If I had the parasite, all I would have done was
infect you, too." 

As their ascent stopped at the lobby level to accept more
passengers, he dropped her arm, but grasped the hand rail behind
her. 

The car filled with excited, casually dressed visitors on one of
the crowded summer tours, pressing the two agents against each
other in a rear corner of the elevator. 

She leaned back to mutter into his chest: "I was fine, Mulder."
Before pulling his lips into a tight grin for the public, he
grunted, so she gave it one last attempt. "Really." 

The breath that preceded his reply set a few strands of her hair
afloat, then she heard his voice, soft in her ear. "Right, Scully.
Now I know I should have quarantined you in my apartment
afterward." 

As they halted on the second floor, they pushed their way through
the clutter of tourists while their guide offered apologies,
calling for her charges to make way for 'two hard-working agents
in the Bureau'. A flash or two popped in their faces, propelling
the partners forward in their escape. 

Once the doors closed, Scully glanced up at Mulder. "But it would
have been a violation of my Hippocratic Oath to let you suffer
contamination by personal contact if you had." 

He held the office door, his eyes alight with relief, his face
bright with contentment. "You doctors are all alike. I should have
figured there would have been a downside to my nefarious scheme." 

When they entered, Cynthia stopped typing to pass him a yellow
phone message note. "When you two were late, I called Gloria for
you. Director Skinner has been summoned to the Director Freeh's
Office, so your meeting with him has been shifted to 1:30 this
afternoon." 

Mulder nodded to their secretary before catching his partner's
eye. "Well, then I think we can take time out for lunch." 

"Nothing heavy, Mulder, the Four Seasons serves large portions, as
I remember." Scully leaned over Cynthia's desk. "Come on with us,
if you wish, or do you have someone else in mind?" 

The brunette blushed, red to the tips of her ears, while Mulder
studied the doorknob religiously. "Sorry, Agent Scully. Gil called
to say he would be tied up in meetings all day today." She reached
into her drawer for her bag, stepping out in front of the partners
to call for the elevator. 

As he locked the door, Scully whispered to the tall agent, "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 from 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 a 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." They
exchanged a glance. "As far as we could determine, 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 reflected, as he focused on Scully, that 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." Mulder leaned over the desktop to tap a
few sheets in the report. "While he fits my profile, he does not
show the typical family history or developmental patterns of a
serial killer." The younger man crossed his arms. "Although the
four of us will continue to disagree on the motive, this is one we
can safely mark closed, Sir. If Smith hadn't killed himself, it
would have been an easy conviction." 

Skinner lifted out the autopsy report, a grimace spreading over
his normally stoic features. 

Scully leaned forward. "Yes, Sir, that report does say what you
think it does. He was an unaltered hermaphrodite. How this piece
fits, we are as yet uncertain, But, he *is* our man, so to speak." 

The Assistant Director reassembled the pages quickly, shaking his
head. Between them, they were developing into one entity almost as
he watched. "Better you than me, people. Why were Rosen and
Nichols rush detailed to Washington State, while you're still
parked here?" He waved sets of travel orders in the air, then
narrowed his eyes at Mulder. 

The Section Head responded, "We had a report of an unidentified
organism, similar to several we've investigated in the past, so we
briefed Rosen and Nichols prior to their departure." 

Skinner nodded. "But they didn't need your help?" 

Scully leaned forward. "There was another matter that appeared
suddenly, Sir." 

Their supervisor leaned back while he read their expressions.
<Something not for other ears to hear.> The message was received
as clearly as if they had both shouted it at him, so he nodded
again. "Tell me about this organism." 

Mulder grinned. "A silicon-eating life form that may very well be
silicon-based itself." 

Skinner caught the ripple in Scully's cheeks. 

"We don't know that for certain, Sir." She crossed her arms, "Many
of the new species identified from deep-sea reconnaissance of
ocean ridges and hot spots have depended on unusual food sources
for nutrients. For instance, several families of bacteria and
Archaea metabolize sulfates; methane-consuming species of Archaea
have been isolated from cow's intestines. Bacteria, it has been
suggested, may be able to survive up to nine kilometers below the
earth's surface. Some have even been discovered that consume
hydrocarbons directly, and during the oil crisis, they were under
consideration for non-toxic clean-up of spills. It is not
inconceivable that a primitive life form would have developed that
utilized one of the most common minerals available, silicon
dioxide." 

Mulder turned to his partner. "But why couldn't it be a silicon-
based life-form, Scully? Finding something living in the rock,
feeding off it..." 

She shifted to face him. "Until we have a sample back here that
can be gene-typed, I prefer not to speculate along those lines,
Mulder." 

Walter Skinner arched an eyebrow, then, unwilling to be left on
the side, joined the debate. "But isn't that rather difficult,
Agent Scully?" 

She sighed. "Indeed, Sir. To date, outside of viral sequences like
smallpox, only four species' genomes have been published in the
"open* literature. The Human Genome Project, although running
ahead of its scheduled completion in 2005, remains unfinished." 

Both men caught her emphasis on the word *open*, taking in her
deeper meaning instantly. 

"However, we have alerted certain experts that their specialized
skills may be called upon in an unofficial capacity." 

Their superior removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his
nose. <More covert operations. Wonderful.> "I presume you will be
updating me as events warrant?" 

Sighing, Mulder shifted around the wooden chair uncomfortably.
"With all due respect, Sir, there are matters that need airing..." 

Skinner stood fluidly to pace behind his desk. "I see." He braced
his weight on the folders, activating his intercom. "Gloria, what
is my schedule 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... <My hours with Bill Mulder,
assembling computers from piles of chips, were never wasted.> He
ran one hand down the plywood board screwed into the wall in front
of him, smiling at the multicolored point-to-point wiring, the
hand-wound transformers bound with masking tape. <Caroline could
always hear the tubes begin to hum before they would fail.> He
remembered her gentle prod: 'That one, Bill.' <So long...> This
hastily assembled control panel was his first tangible sign that
he was still here, still connected. 

<So Caroline's boy thinks he has another silicon bug. Or, to be
more precise, a silicon-eating bug.> His fingers trailed over the
chips on the stand-off mounted circuit board. <A silicon-eating
bug...> A connection formed in the synapses of his agile mind,
then more, and more. <Time to prod the players. shift the rules
yet again, in my favor.> Two raps snapped him to attention. 

"Enter." It was, as he had suspected, Luther, all shifty-eyed and
shuffle-footed. <But not the same man I knew.>

"Sir, the shape-changer is on the move again." 

The old spy pointed towards an extra seat, then pulled his hand
back to cover the end of the Morley dangling from his mouth as he
lit it. <Little do you know what I have planned.> "Indeed, tell me
more." 

                            --o-0-o--

Chadwick's
Georgetown, Washington, DC
Friday, 6:59 pm

Walter Skinner slid along his side of the booth, feeling the slick
cold of the air-conditioned leather through his white dress shirt.
On the way back from the men's room, he had been recalling his one
and only meeting as Assistant Director with the man Mulder
referred to as X, a painful encounter in an elevator. He lifted
his eyes to Scully's. "So, do you think there is any chance he
will recover?" 

While she rubbed her neck, she sighed. "I don't know, Sir." She
glanced over at her partner, who had fixed her in one of his
worried big brother stares. "Mulder?" 

The younger agent blinked, then focused on his superior. "Doctor
Alvarez, the physician treating him, has experience dealing with
cases like this. Apparently, he succumbed without notice." 

Skinner nodded. "So he may come out of it just as quickly?" 

Mulder shrugged. "Some catatonics do, only to have later episodes
of longer or shorter duration. His MRI showed no brain damage such
as would be consonant with sudden-onset epilepsy. Narcolepsy, can,
in many cases be completely controlled with medication." 

Scully shifted on the bench. "Narcoleptic seizures are unlikely
given the levels of brain activity we saw. No previously
documented sleep state produces patterns like his." 

Skinner checked his watch. "We have just enough time to make it
back to the Bureau to meet your brothers, Agent Scully." 

He and Mulder laid out the cash for their meals. 

The younger man grasped his partner's arm as she held out change
for her single mineral water. "Don't even think it, Scully." 

"Mulderrrr." 

He shook his head, then, as Skinner watched, she raised her chin
in one of her silent protests of self-sufficiency he was only now
coming to recognize. But her obstinacy to concede in even this
small matter was met by equally firm resolve, the Assistant
Director could tell, in the flexing of the dark-haired man's jaw. 

One auburn eyebrow arched in acquiescence. Scully retracted her
arm, her partner's hand gently pushing until the coins in her palm
rang as they descended into her change purse. 

When the pair slid from behind the walnut tabletop, the tall man
stepped aside courteously, smoothing over their disagreement with
a light touch to her shoulder and a quip. "Besides, now I'll have
a witness to one of the US government's best-kept secrets, that
there are still two men left in the Scully family." 

Their supervisor smiled at the words spoken in a stage whisper by
her ear.

                            --o-0-o--

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Front Entrance
Friday, 7:31 pm 

"Agent Scully!" 

The three turned to the voice coming out of the building behind
them. A lighting bolt of a smirk crossed Mulder's features as
Pendrell, white coat flapping, bore down on his partner. Walter
Skinner stepped back when the lab tech slid between him and
Scully, a slight ripple in his neck muscles the only indication of
the depth of his mirth. 

As she leaned away to establish some space between herself and the
red-haired man, she brushed her partner's elbow. "Yes, Pendrell?"
She found herself sharing the technician's eagerness. 

"I think I've found a genetic data base on Sickle-cell sufferers.
It breaks down the code for the sickling genes according to
different regions of Africa and the Caribbean. Do you think this
will help?" 

She lifted the proffered data sheet from his fingers to scan the
contents. "It just might, Arthur." 

Skinner cocked an eyebrow at Mulder, who deflected their
superior's suspicions with a quick waggle of his hand. 

Scully passed the sheet back to Pendrell. "When Susan gets the
genotype work done, we'll at least be able to trace relatives, if
nothing else." 

He folded the paper efficiently into precise quarters. "Agent
Phillips is running the dental records now, but I don't have
anything on the DMV angle yet." The technician dropped his gaze
from her eyes to the concrete. 

Mulder stepped around behind Pendrell, shooting out his lower lip
in a mocking gesture that raised both Skinner's eyebrows. 

Scully patted the light-haired man's arm. "Just send the details
of whatever it is you two come up with to me at home, all right?" 

Pendrell flashed a smile. 

Scully leaned closer to Pendrell. "Encrypt a copy to Agent Mulder
as well. Thanks. I appreciate your taking time out to do this for
us, Arthur." 

Mulder tapped the younger man's shoulder. "I think you have
someone waiting for you, Pendrell." He pointed two fingers at the
glass door. 

The tech beamed at Agent Phillips, who was watching through the
transparent wall. "Yeah. Wow." The three were witnesses to a
delighted little wave, more flying white polyester. 

AD Skinner was shaking his head as the two disappeared inside the
lobby. "I'm not going to ask, people." 

Smirking, Mulder stepped behind his partner, resting his hand
against her suit jacket. "Don't, Sir. Our boy there has finally
discovered what I've known all along. Redheads are real heart-
breakers." He chuckled as a tan heel shifted onto his toe, then
paled as the pressure increased gradually. 

But their superior was focused on a maroon Volvo gliding to a halt
in front of them. The two men inside were auburn-haired and
freckled, high-cheeked and compact, like their sister. Noting that
each was in dress whites, a feeling of pride swelled as he counted
the medals and commendation pins. 

When the car stopped, Mulder slid his foot free and leaned forward
to grasp the door latch. "Call, Scully, when you get home.
Whatever Pendrell and Phillips have, I'm sure I'll need you to
explain it to me." 

Nodding, she ducked into the rear seat. 

The two men watched the square, clunky vehicle until it
disappeared over one of Pennsylvania Avenue's hills. 

Skinner turned to Mulder. "Fine men, both, wouldn't you say, Agent
Mulder?" 

His superior's words taking him by surprise, Mulder glanced at the
Assistant Director, but his only verbal response was a soft hunh.
<Why all the gewgaws?> His face drawn into a pensive frown, Mulder
followed his superior through the building to the stairwell for
the parking lot beneath.

                            --o-0-o--

Fourteenth Street
Washington, DC
Friday, 7:39 pm

"Dana, who was the bald man?" Bill Junior had swiveled in the
passenger seat to speak with his sister. 

"Walter Skinner, my Assistant Director. We had been discussing an
ongoing case when you pulled up." She attempted to lighten the
somber mood in the car. "He was here because Mulder has Director
Skinner thinking you two are a figment of my and Mom's
imagination." 

Both brothers laughed softly. 

Scully leaned towards the driver. "How are Val, John, and Chuck,
Charlie?" 

Her younger brother caught her eye in the rear-view mirror. "Oh,
just fine. Val's finally back on her feet, so Alice is home in
Pennsylvania. Thanks for the sheets and the books." 

Scully permitted herself a broad smile. "Mulder and I found those
down in Miami in February. The grandmother who helped us figured
that since Chuck was the second, you'd be wearing things out." 

Bill nodded. "Grandmothers are always a font of wisdom. We thought
to try the Four Seasons, if it's still here." 

Pulling herself into the forward part of the compartment, Scully
pointed to an exit. "Yes, it is. You'll want to get off there to
make it into Arlington, then." Once the vehicle was properly
directed, she slid back. "So, Bill, how are Liz and the boys?" 

Bill pulled absently on the gold braid fastened to the brim of the
white hat resting on his lap. "Oh, they're all great, Dana.
Elizabeth's woodworking is starting to bring in a hefty chunk of
change. You'd be surprised how much people will pay for lawn
ornaments." The brothers' blue eyes met, and Bill cleared his
throat nervously. "Dana?" 

She slid forward, resting her chin on the hands clasping the
shoulder of the front passenger seat. "Yes?" After a few moments
of Bill continuing to fiddle with the hat, she touched his arm.
"What is it, Bill, is Liz pregnant again?" 

He smiled, the expression nervous and forced. "Nope. Not so far as
I know, anyway. Charlie and I were just wondering." He glanced out
the window, then shifted around to face her. "How are things with
you and your partner, everything," he queried as one hand swooped
through the air, "on track?" 

She cocked an eyebrow, choosing to ignore the implied question as
long as possible. "Work's great, Bill." She settled against the
back cushions as the station wagon curved down an off-ramp. "The
two new members of the section are super. Rosen isn't phased by
anything, which is a real surprise in a green agent, and Nichols
has the constitution of an ox. It's no wonder he was able to take
the pressures in the Drug Interdiction Division for so many years.
We didn't know it at the time, but he was tailing us through the
homeless case, attempting to reel in Broadway in a completely
independent sting operation. We're onto our third case together." 

Bill rotated to face her. "But, I mean, how is it with you and
your partner, Fox?" 

Charles nodded encouragement when Bill hesitated over the name. 

Scully blew out a breath. "Mulder, Bill, he wants to be called
Mulder, just as you would anyone under your command." Her cheeks
creased momentarily at the memory of a wide-eyed brunette sitting
in a rental car outside a warehouse full of methane gas. "He's the
same. His Mom's all right, so he's calmed down a little. He's
doing better at the Section Head's job than I thought he would.
Oh, turn in there!" 

The station wagon pulled off the four-lane road into a sunken
parking lot behind the squat, square restaurant building. 

"It seems a lot smaller than when Ahab brought us here, in what,
1974?" Scully commented. They walked into the dining area in
silence, following the host to a quiet table by the front windows. 

Bill pulled out Scully's chair for her, ordering whiskeys for
himself and Charlie, before initiating any further conversation.
"Dana?" 

She held the tumbler still while the waitress filled it with iced
tea. "Hum?" 

The brothers looked to each other before Charlie continued, "Dana,
we know what happened with Melissa wasn't your fault..." 

Scully froze, the glass partway to her mouth. <Where did that come
from?> "Charlie, what are you talking about? What do you know
about Mel's death that I don't?" 

He sipped his Johnny Walker. "Just that it wasn't carried out by
this same secret organization that took John-John hostage." 

Scully's fists clenched. "Charles, are you serious?" 

Carefully pushing the flatware inwards, Bill crossed his arms to
rest his elbows on the table. "Yes, we are, Dana." He tapped the
edge of his ivory and gold plate with a well-chewed thumbnail.
"Charlie told me what happened in February. It was handled
efficiently, a clean, professional raid. Those guys went in, took
what they wanted, and were gone without a trace. Melissa surprised
an armed burglar, nothing more." 

Stunned beyond words, she finally gathered her wits for more than
a mute glare of protest. "But who else would be after me? I keep
nothing of worth in the apartment!" 

Charles nodded. "I've been thinking about that. When your place
was trashed on Halloween, as Mom told it, the damage was
deliberate, targeted. She said the same thing about the way the
bugs were emplaced at Thanksgiving. But, with Melissa, if they
were part of some Conspiracy, why did they leave your implant, or
whatever that chip in the tube was, behind? What happened with
John-John shows the lengths they'll go so evidence won't escape
them, right?" 

Grudgingly, Scully nodded.

He leaned back. "We can only conclude burglary. But, it was you in
October, Mom in November, and my family in February. Now, Bill's
home is under surveillance. That's too much, Dana. We have to put
a stop to this escalating violence." He crossed his arms. 

Scully's forehead contracted. "Then help us, Charlie, help us find
the men who did this. Are there any more classified documents we
should know about?" She scooted her chair over closer to him. 

He moved away, seeking his older brother's eyes for support. "No,
Dana, you don't understand. Mel was an accident. Now, these cases
are hitting too close to home, to the people who matter most. But
you can put a stop to it, before we have to bury another sister,
or a son, or, a mother." He flicked at a spot on the table. 

Shocked again, Scully glared first at Charles, then Bill. "You
want me to leave the Bureau, don't you?" The monotone was barely
audible over the clanking and soft conversations around them. 

Bill touched her arm. "You could still have a full life, Dana,
settle down with another doctor in some out of the way place..." 

Unwilling to cause a scene, she dropped her voice to a heated
whisper. "No, I can't! My life is my work, and my work is the X-
Files. The Section *has* expanded to include other agents, but
Mulder and I have always depended on each other. Always. That's
true now more than ever..." 

Bill and Charles leaned forward until their heads formed a tight
triangle. 

The older brother spoke for them both. "But, he has those other
agents to help him in his search, and you two are just friends.
Think of yourself for once, think of your Mother, of us. We're
your family, not Mulder, not the Bureau. Besides, Dad left me some
information about him. He's not what you think he is." 

Scully stifled a shout. "Then what is he, Bill? Tell me what you
know! If it affects his search for his sister, we both need to be
aware of it." She fell silent, knowing she could not explain to
either of these men how deeply entangled the Mulder family was in
the workings of the Consortium. It would only have been added
ammunition for their arguments.

Charles claimed her attention by grasping her shoulder. "There you
go again, getting all wrapped up in his Quest, his life." 

A shadow fell across the table, shimmering in the dimmed light.
"You folks ready to order?" 

The arrival of a tiny waitress dropped three masks in place. 

Bill shook his head. "We're still deciding, thanks." 

Six green-blue eyes watched her leave. 

Dana broke off first, leaning towards her older brother. "What did
Ahab know about Mulder?" 

Bill shrugged. "It's just a record of phone conversations, full of
names and acronyms I don't recognize. There's something about
Africa, something about genetic testing." 

She slid the chair closer to him. "Bill, you have to give it to
me. Mulder and I need to compare it against the other documents we
already have. It may help verify what we've discovered about my
abduction and his sister's loss." She grasped his wrist. "Please,
Bill, it's important to us both. One time, just before Mel's
death, we had our hands on medical records, but we were surprised
and almost ambushed. If we had kept those, we could have tracked
down his sister over two years ago. We've both vowed not to be
that foolish again." 

Charlie leaned forward. "No, Dana, it's not that simple. We can
only let you have the information when you're safe, out of danger,
away from Mulder." He slugged down the rest of the amber liquid in
one gulp. "He'll get you killed. Think of how that would affect
Mom. You need to have a life away from him." 

Horrified, she pulled away, images tumbling through her head. 

A hand on her face. 'I'm sorry about your Father, Dana.' 

A glint of gold, suspended between his fingers and her palm. 'I've
been saving this for you.' 

A frightened pair of eyes, filling with desperate relief once
fixed on hers in a hospital in Alaska. 'I couldn't let you risk
your life on this.' 

A half-shadowed face, grieving for their losses. 'She knows.
Melissa knows.' 

An arm around her back, an anguished cry. 'Scully, what did they
do to you?' 

A lopsided grin. 'Hey, grey-eyes!' 

A long shape in the darkness, warm and solid while her tears
dampened his shirt, a gentle voice, singing words of comfort into
a shelter from the remembered terrors of her abduction. 

A thought crystallized out of the kaleidoscopic sights and sounds.
<Where were you?> 

More memories flashed. 

A open grave, an argument in the pouring rain. 

A long, somber glare at a too-cocky face. 'Scully's right. He is
the guy.' 

A stained, yellowed folder, the cover printing faded with age,
laid reverently in her lap. 'A true piece of history, Scully, the
very first X-File, initiated by J. Edgar Hoover himself in 1946.' 

A resigned sigh, after risking all their lives. 'You're right, and
we're wasting time arguing about it.'

A look of disbelief, with 'I have several X-files that document
similar cases.' initiating another debate. Then, a tall shadow
following her lead, her opening of a case, to the Excelsis Dei
nursing home. 

A badge placed in her hands at Bethesda Naval Hospital. 'They
won't let me in to see him, but because of your medical background
I was able to get you a clearance. I want your opinion on this.' 

A dusty motel room in New Mexico. 'You've taken a big risk.'

A no-name diner in Maryland. 'It's up to you, Scully.' 

A voice on the phone from Miller's Grove. 'All of your conjectures
were proved correct. The exterminator *did* die...' 

Two first class seats in a dark airplane. 'And I just want to
thank you, for staying with this, again.' 

A windy park bench in autumn. 'I can't do it alone, Scully. I need
your logic and rigor to winnow the truth from the lies.' 

Their old basement office, late one November night, so like many
other late night bull-sessions. 'Well, Scully, what do you think?' 

A desperate call from a place of myth. 'Make a leap of faith,
Scully!' 

A hand on her shoulder in a garish little boy's room. 'I
appreciate and admire that courage, Scully.' 

Just a day earlier, surrounded by monitors. 'Remind me to tell you
how much I like working with you sometime.'

<I have a life.> 

Her decision made, she looked from one to the other. "I can't
leave the Bureau. It's the only way to prove what we both know to
be true." 

The brothers locked eyes, then Bill queried solemnly, "That's what
you've decided?" 

Her jaw thrust forward slightly, she fixed him in a cold-eyed
stare. 

His expression was equally unyielding. "Then do your nephews a
favor, *Aunt* Dana, stay away from them." 

She clenched her fists, before tossing her voluminous linen napkin
on the plate as she rose. "I'll catch a cab."

                            --o-0-o-- 

Apartment 42
Arlington, VA
Friday, 11:06 pm

Dropping the white canvas laundry sack in the hallway, Mulder
crossed through his living room to the desk by the window. He
pressed the messages button on his answering machine, passing time
while the tape rewound by changing carbon filters in the top-of-
the-tank aerators in his aquarium. 

"Fox? It's Margaret Scully. Call me when you get home." 

He waited through the clicks and beeps. 

"Fox? If you're there, please call immediately." 

Dropping the filter bags, brown with fish residue, in the trash
can, he frowned. <Mrs. Scully sounds really concerned.> 

More snicks and beeps. "Fox, I can't reach Dana. Please call. It's
urgent." 

After the clicks terminating the message, the red light was
steady, so he tapped the fourth speed dial button on his cel
phone. One ring, then the muffled sounds of someone dropping and
catching the receiver. 

"Mrs. Scully?" He paced as he demanded, "What's wrong with Scully?
What did her brothers say to her?" 

A gasp, then a long pause. 

"Mrs. Scully?" 

"How did you know?" 

He pressed his free arm against his stomach. "Know what?" He heard
a sniffle. "Mrs. Scully?" 

"Fox, you'd better sit down." 

He reached over, grasping the back of the mission chair closest to
him. "I am, Mrs. Scully. Tell me, what did they say?" 

More sniffles. "Please don't do something crazy after I let you
know. Promise?" 

He twisted on the cushions. "Okay, I won't. Just say it." 

"The boys were just here and left. Bill and Charles knew I would
never agree to this, so they informed Dana of their decision
before they came to me." The birch in one of the kitchen chairs
creaked as she lowered herself onto it. "It's their joint opinion,
after what happened in February, that Dana is a danger to their
children, and they don't want her coming near their families
again." 

The agent was on his feet, kicking the coffee table out of his
way. "What! Mrs. Scully, please, tell me this is a joke." 

A deep sigh. "I wish it were. I've tried calling her, but I can't
reach her on either her cel or stationary phones." 

Clipping on his SIG, Mulder ran towards the front room. 

The voice of Margaret Scully continued to sound in his ear, "I
know how upset she'll be, and I can't get into DC to look for her
right now." 

He snatched his badge and keys off the table by the door, the
motion sending stacks of junk mail onto the oak floorboards. "No
problem, Mrs. Scully." He stopped to lock the door behind him.
"Will you be okay?" 

A long sigh. "Just find her, Fox. I can't let this happen to my
baby girl, even if my boys think this is the only way to keep my
grandchildren safe. I think I know how important that document you
and Dana gave up for little John was to your work, and to finding
your sister, even if they can't accept it." 

As he ran for the elevator, he heard a quiet sob, then the click
of the receiver.

                            --o-0-o--

Second Floor X-Files Offices 
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Saturday, July 26, 1997
12:05 am

"Don't turn the lights on, Mulder." Her normal alto timbre was
thick, burdened with grief. 

When he had checked Scully's apartment, he noted that her badge,
gun, and briefcase were missing, and knew immediately where she
had remained and why. Closing the outer door, he hurried into his
office, stopping by the sagging Naugahyde recliner. <Your Father's
chair. I knew this would be the one place you feel safe, Scully.>
Since his eyes had not yet adjusted to the dark, he slid his
fingers along cold plastic, finding her head, feeling the heat in
her face. Running his hands down the length of her body, which was
tucked into the hollow in the chair, he searched it for any signs
of injury. Scully was turned on her side, wrapped in the armor of
her linen suit jacket and trousers, facing away from him. 

When Mulder's fingertips finally brushed her ankles, he realized
she was barefoot and shivering lightly. He didn't have to touch
her cheek to know his fingers would stick there momentarily, and
come away damp. <Why didn't you call me?> He forced down the urge
simply to lift her up, slide beneath her and cradle her against
him, accepting the tears she had barely wrestled under control.
Instead, he crossed to his conference table. There, he grasped one
of the old slat-backed oak chairs and set it between his partner
and his desk, sinking down into it before he reached for her
again. 

"Go home, Mulder. This is my problem, not yours." 

He brushed her hair off her face, feeling the warm wetness from
the strands over her eyes, and tucked it behind her ear, before
dropping his free hand to her knee. "It *is* mine, Scully, when my
partner's Mother calls me in the middle of the night because she
can't find her." He tracked his hand along her shoulder, down to
free the left arm pressed into her waist and rest it on his own,
so each was gripping the other's forearm. 

He could find no words of comfort, but sat with her in silence.
His lips twitched as he reminded himself that they were clasped in
the old Roman-style handshake of two warriors testing each other's
strength. In the faint illumination of the city at nighttime, he
saw their fingers in the sharp relief of colorless false twilight.
<Intertwined roots of two oaks, grown up in close proximity.
That's what we are, Scully.> As he reached for her shoulder, his
cel phone buzzed, startling both of them. 

"If that's Mom, Mulder, I can't..." Pulling her arm away, she
shivered again. 

He sighed while he sank to his knees, digging in his jeans pocket
for the phone, then gripped her wrist with his left hand.
"Mulder." He listened. "It's okay, Mrs. Scully, I've found her."
Leaning over close to her, he hoped his partner would hear the
worry in her Mother's voice and voluntarily connect with her. 

"Fox, is she all right? Is she hurt?" 

"No, Scully was at the office, Mrs. Scully." He tried to catch her
eye, but she was shifting in the chair, rolling away from him and
the compassion both of them were offering her. 

"Is that Dana? Fox, let me talk to her." 

He dropped the unit to his shoulder. "Scully..." 

Her response was to force herself out of the recliner and position
herself by the window behind his desk, turning the oak box into a
barrier between them. 

He swiveled in his seat, but was prevented from rising and
crossing around to her by the soft voice in his ear. "I heard.
Take care of her, Fox, I have work to do." 

He terminated the call, placed the unit on his desk, and came up
behind her, waiting. She would speak when she was ready, not
before, so he let the hush of night settle upon them both,
punctuated only by sirens or car horns. Finally, she sagged to
rest her forehead against the window frame. 

"Scully." Mulder reached out, gripping both shoulders to keep
himself from smothering his partner in an embrace he knew she
would shy away from. <You're not injured, not exhausted, so I'll
have to fight through your defenses to help you, as always.> 

"I'm sorry, Mulder. You have your own demons to conquer, not
these." 

Before pulling himself up onto his desk, he guided her away from
the window and down into his chair. "They're throwing you away,
and your work with me is the reason. How can it *not* be my
battle, too? Don't shut me out." Reaching for her fingers, he
lifted them off her lap to rub them with his thumb. "They've lost
one sister, and offering you up like this won't bring her back." 

Pulling her hand away to cross her arms, a promise she had made
herself came into her mind, setting her rocking in the desk chair.
<Starting right now, Dana.> While she collected her thoughts, she
watched the light reflect off his eyes. "You know we were supposed
to have dinner at the Four Seasons. It was one of Ahab's favorites
when we visited DC, all of us, years ago. They at least did me the
courtesy of telling me their decision before ordering, so they
didn't have to waste the price of a meal on me." She was on her
feet, walking around to stare down at the overstuffed recliner. 

Mulder joined her, leaning against the back of the conference
chair, grasping the top with both hands. "He would never have
allowed this, Scully, surely you believe that." 

She settled onto the hard seat, hugging herself. "You never knew
him, Mulder. He was a Captain, who believed that sometimes
leadership demands hard choices." She pressed her shoulders
against his fingers. "He was so angry at me for joining the
Bureau, and when he heard where I was assigned..." She shifted on
the wood. "My brothers' distrust of you..." 

He knelt beside her, as he had in a hospital room in Georgetown.
"What, Scully?" He was gazing up at her, unblinking, and she met
his eyes, an edge to the shine in both pairs. "What did your
Father think of me?" 

She reached out, so he placed his hand in hers. "Back in April
1992, after our first case together, he told me he might know
something about your family, Mulder. He had begun phoning old Navy
colleagues, checking and digging, but he would never tell me what
he learned. He was just very unhappy that I stayed with you. He
had already disagreed with my decision to join the Bureau, then
this..." She focused on their joined hands. 

He glanced away. <To think I was responsible for...>

Sensing his self-deprecation, she bent forward, wrapping her
fingers around his palm. "I don't know what he uncovered, Mulder,
but it bothered him. If he found out about the work your Father
had done and it shook him to his core, he would never tell me. All
he would say was that since I had chosen this, I had to make the
best of it. But I think he gave the information to Bill, and Bill
described it to Charlie, at least, that's what they intimated to
me at the restaurant. They won't share it unless I agree to leave
the Bureau." 

Standing and crossing his arms, Mulder began pacing, the ridges in
his face accented by the low light. "What would this be about?"
His partner was by the door, so he closed his eyes when he saw her
hand by the light switch. 

After they both blinked and refocused, she walked over to him. "I
can't say. He mumbled something to the effect that I should never
go to Africa, but it made no sense then, and makes none now." 

As he cast about in his memory, his upper teeth compressed each
corner of his lower lip, then he shrugged and met her eyes. "I
never remember any letters from Africa, Scully, ever. Many from
the NATO alliance countries, even a few from behind the Iron
Curtain, but never anything south of Greece." Her stomach rumbled,
so he poked it gently. "I'm afraid it's salad and pasta at Chez
Mulder for you tonight, partner." 

Turning to the door, she began to step away. "No, my car is here.
I'll be fine back at my place, Mulder." 

Grasping her upper arms, he halted her progress, pressing her
shoulders against his chest long enough to whisper in her ear, "I
have my orders, Doctor, and I've long since learned what happens
to me when I ignore two direct commands from any woman surnamed
Scully." He fell silent, unwilling to press her further. 

Shifting in his hands, Scully turned to rest her palms on his
chest. Although her lips formed only into a slight upwards twist,
her eyes broadcast her deepest gratitude. 

Mulder felt himself sag for the first time since entering the
office. After she collected her shoes and briefcase, he cupped his
left hand behind her elbow while casting their offices into
darkness with the right. 

                            --o-0-o--

Apartment 5
Alexandria, VA
Saturday, 2:47 am 

The even footfalls stopping at his partner's front door brought
Mulder upright, then sent him fumbling for his gun on the coffee
table as he rolled off the sofa. Cantering sideways towards her
entrance, he assumed his shooting stance while he watched the
deadbolt turn. 

"FBI! I have a gun!" Hearing his partner moving in her bedroom
behind him, he assumed she was arming herself to bolster her
position as backup. 

"Fox? It's just Margaret Scully. Is everything all right?" 

He sighed, set the SIG on the China cabinet shelf, and opened the
door. 

The puzzled set to her forehead contrasted with the eagerness in
the brown eyes of the panting canine under her arm. The Pomeranian
wiggled free of her grip, pushing off her ribs to fly into a
familiar apartment. 

"Fox?" When Mulder held his arms out to Margaret, she settled
against him. "Is Dana here? I couldn't reach her from home, and
neither Elizabeth nor Val will tell me anything." 

Gripping each other tightly, he rubbed her back. "She was asleep
in the bedroom, Mrs. Scully. I didn't want her staying by herself
tonight." His voice, soft already, dropped to a whisper by her
ear. "For once, she didn't argue with me, so I turned off the
phones to let her sleep." 

Fighting back the tears that threatened to overflow, Margaret
smiled as her charge scrambled onto Scully's couch.  "Thank you,
Fox." 

Dana Scully entered the living room, her gun leveled. "Mulder?
What's going on?" Reaching across her body, Scully switched on one
of the table lamps, instinctively patting the fur between the
perked-up ears when a wet nub nuzzled her palm. "Mom? Is that
you?" Before she flew to her Mother, she rested the pistol on the
end table, and Margaret held her daughter as fiercely as she had
Mulder, who was closing and locking the door. "Oh, Mom, what am I
going to do?" When the older woman kissed her daughter's cheek,
the agent gasped and choked. "What can I do? They're in danger
only because they're my brothers, not just when they're around
me." 

"Right now, there isn't anything anyone can do, baby girl. But,
rest assured, Dana, the Scullys are a family, not the crew of a
ship, and I won't let Bill and Charlie turn us into one." 

Mulder touched both their backs, urging them towards the sofa.
After they sat, Scully tied her baggy terrycloth robe around her
T-shirt and sweats. Mulder settled in one of the overstuffed arm
chairs, watching and hoping for some hint of a conclusion, but
Margaret left one arm around her daughter's shoulders, rubbing
instinctively. The worried gesture told Mulder that there would be
no quick resolution to the crisis the Scully men had precipitated. 

Dana Scully spoke first. "Mom?" 

Margaret smiled, first at her daughter, then at the Pomeranian,
who, after a through inspection of his old haunts, had wedged
himself happily in the gap between their hips. "Yes, Dana?" 

Before proceeding, Scully glanced at Mulder. "Bill mentioned that
Ahab had some notes from information he had gathered early in
1992. Do you know if he kept any safe-deposit boxes, other than
the ones for family records?" 

Shaking her head, the older woman released her daughter to hold
her hands. "Honey, what is this about? Bill never mentioned
anything to me, nor was there anything in the will." 

Mulder leaned forward. "Scully said Captain Scully warned her
never to go to Africa. Does that mean anything to you, anything at
all?" 

Margaret studied the face of the man she considered her surrogate
son, then her daughter's, understanding why these two made such an
effective team in the field. "No, nothing, Fox. He disliked Africa
as a place to stop on the Med cruises, because he said he always
worried about his men picking up strange diseases, like the Ebola
virus, but other than that, no." She smiled weakly at both of them
in turn. "I'll check through his effects when I return to
Annapolis, if you think it would help, Dana." 

"It would, Mom." 

Margaret stood. "I'm sorry to have given you such a fright, Fox." 

He rose, stepping between her and the door. "Mrs. Scully, it's
past two in the morning. I insist that you wait here until it's
light, at least, before you drive anywhere. It isn't safe for you
to be on the road this late." 

Scully nodded. "He's right, Mom, you could fall asleep driving
back. Stay here, use the guest bed I'd already made up for that
reprobate of a sofa-sleeper over there." 

Mulder fixed his partner in a glare. "Scully, I'm fine out here." 

Margaret smiled up at the tall man's reproach. "I think Fox has as
little intention of letting you out of his sight as you do me."
She turned to check the couch, squeezing the cushion nearest her.
"You take such good care of things. This still looks brand-new." 

"Moth-ther! Not another word!" Dana took Margaret firmly by the
arm, guiding her towards the spare bedroom. 

As the door closed behind them, Mulder grinned at the sounds of
muffled discussion, knowing his outraged partner would set the
older woman straight on one point, at least. <Pancakes and
pampering, tomorrow, Scully, whether you want it or not.> Reaching
for the remote, he settled back in, flipping channels until his
eyes closed and the black wand slipped from his hand. 

                            --o-0-o-- 

Apartment 5
Alexandria, VA
Saturday, 6:31 am 

"Mrs. Scully?" 

Margaret turned to the man leaning on the doorway into his
partner's kitchen, who was blinking and scratching his tangled
thatch of hair. Now that she was no longer worried about her
daughter, Margaret saw that Mulder was barefoot still, under his
faded FBI sweats and bleach-spotted T-shirt. If she squinted, she
could see the almost-invisible flying saucer, puffs of steam
issuing from an incongruous smokestack, tilted across the front. 

<He looks like Caroline's adorable little boy, still.> In a more
innocent time, Margaret and Caroline had compared childhood photos
of their offspring, and hoped for a different future together.
Now, she knew that his mother prayed, as did she, that each next
phone call would not be the one from Walter Skinner, his stern
voice gravid with sympathy, intoning, 'I regret to inform you,
Mrs...'. <Don't think of that now, Margaret.> 

"Mrs. Scully?" Drowsy and rumpled, Mulder was shuffling towards
her. 

"Fox." Warned by her daughter of his culinary shortcomings, she
filled a copper kettle, set it on to boil, then walked over to
grasp his elbow. "You didn't have to get up. I just wanted to make
some coffee for the ride home, now that I know Dana is all right
here." 

He stumbled towards the refrigerator, reaching for the freezer
handle. "You'll have to grind the beans."  

Recognizing the dull tones of fatigue in his speech, she held him
by the waist. "In that case, I'll pick some up on the trip out.
You need your rest, and I have to get ahead of the beach traffic." 

"I know you do, Mom." Both turned to face her daughter, dressed
similarly to her partner, but with her feet swathed by a torn pair
of jogging shoes. "I'll take Mister Fuzz here for a quick walk."
After exchanging a significant glance with her partner, she was
out the door before either he or her Mother could protest. 

Mulder patted Margaret's shoulder. "If you want to take a shower,
feel free. There should be clean towels under the bathroom sink,
and Scully's stashed some shampoo there, too." 

Margaret blinked, always surprised at the degree of easy
familiarity between her daughter and this man. 

Misreading her expression as one of condemnation, he chewed his
lower lip, casting about for a conciliatory phrase to atone for
whatever he had done. "But I guess you already know that." He
glanced at his bare toes. "I'll get the coffee started." 

The older woman was still watching the door, realization slowly
dawning, then one glance at Mulder's worried eyes confirmed her
suspicions. <Something's up.> "Okay, Fox, I think I'll do that." 

After a minute or so, the apartment settled into normal early
morning sounds, the whirring of a grinder punctuating the beating
of hot water on the shower stall.

Finished with the coffee preparations, Mulder hurried to his
partner's bedroom, finding that Scully had powered her monitor on.
She had two messages, both of them encrypted. He clicked on the
first subject line, waiting while the decryption algorithm
unscrambled it. 

Doc, G-man, 

   Did you know your samples glowed in the dark? We ran a broad-
band emissions tests, and they're really bright in the UV, less so
in the upper end of the visible spectrum. If these aren't
extraterrestrial, I'm a die-hard fan of Johnny Mathis. 

                                              Buddy Holly 

Mulder chuckled, then rescrambled the message when he heard the
key turn in the lock. "Scully?" He heard the dog's toenails
clicking. "Scully?"  

"Mulder?" 

He heard concern, but more of a warning in her tone, so he moved
into the hall. He reached into her coat closet to slide the pistol
out of his ankle holster before stepping beside the entrance from
the passageway. There was a certain smell in the air, a familiar,
hated acrid odor. He spun into the living room, gun levelled. 

"Good morning, Mister Mulder." The Smoking Man shook his head at
the sight of the weapon. "Must you always thrust a pistol in the
face of an old family friend like myself? And here I had so wanted
to meet Agent Scully's Mother." He puffed his Morley. "A lovely,
noble woman, from all accounts. One might almost say a great Roman
Matron, like Julia Agrippina the Elder, mother and grandmother of
Caesars, if my boyhood acquaintance with Suetonius is any guide."
The eyes in the wrinkled visage rolled towards the cessation of
the water cascading down the shower stall. 

Enraged, Scully turned into his face. "Never, ever, threaten my
Mother, or so help me, I'll track you down, and..." 

The old man rocked back on his heels. "Kill me, Agent Scully?"
Another puff. "Has your partner clouded your intellect to so great
an extent that you presume to appoint yourself judge, jury, and
executioner? Whatever happened to your famed devotion to justice,
Minerva?" He lifted the pearl handle of a revolver partially out
of his own pocket. "You see, I've even stooped to your standards,
Agent Mulder, and these things are so messy." 

The Pomeranian trotted into the room, curling up on the sofa in
the depression from Mulder's body. 

The gaze from faded eyes fastened on the tiny furry shape. "So
many innocents are injured or killed when weapons are used
injudiciously." He met Scully's burning green-blue orbs. "Wouldn't
you agree?" 

But, the auburn-haired agent's fists were clenched. "If you hurt
*anyone* in my family, ever, I, as a doctor, will see that you
never walk or talk again. That would be a worse punishment than a
quick, painless death, you black lunged son..." 

Margaret chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom. "Dana!
What are you saying..." 

Mulder blocked the Smoking Man's view of his partner's mother. His
eyes and voice icy cold, he began speaking without taking his
focus off their adversary's face. "Mrs. Scully, call the dog and
go back inside the bathroom. Lock the door and don't come out, no
matter what you hear, until we both tell you it's safe." 

Margaret shuddered. "Sweetie?" A thump, tick, tick, tick, then a
click. 

The old spy raised both hands high, ashes trailing down his wrist
until he winced and dropped the spent tube of weed. "Was that
absolutely necessary, Mister Mulder? Now she'll believe me uncouth
and ill-mannered." 

As she stepped close to him, Scully crushed the butt viciously,
the flapping sole doubled over her toes. "You said you had a
message you wanted to deliver to Mulder in person. Say what you
wanted to and *get* *out*. You may have helped us escape back in
February, but I still haven't forgiven you for my sister's death." 

Mulder stood beside his partner, pistol lowered, but aimed. "What
is it you want here?" 

The old man lit another Morley. "First, to thank you for taking
such good care of my former subordinate." He lifted an eyebrow as
each of their jaws worked. "Not as surprised as I thought you'd
be. Second, to remind you that when you use your cel phones,
you're shouting from the rooftops, in certain respects. That
investigation you've set your junior colleagues on would be of
interest at the highest levels to any enemy government. Are you
sure they're ready to defend themselves?" He pointed the white
cylinder at the bathroom. "Only a suggestion, Mister Mulder,
nothing more. Good day to both of you." A puff of grey, and he was
gone. 

Scully grasped Mulder's arm to halt his pursuit. "My Mom." 

They nodded to each other, then hurried across the apartment to
the bathroom door. 

Scully pressed herself against the wood. "Mom? It's okay." 

Mulder rattled the brass knob. "Yes, it's safe, Mrs. Scully." 

The painted barrier swung aside, and Margaret sought out her
daughter for a tight embrace. "Who was that? I've never heard you
two speak to anyone the way you both did." 

Scully chewed her lip before stepping back. "Mom, that was the man
who is ultimately responsible for Missy's and Mulder's Father's
murders. We had believed him dead as well, back in January." 

Her partner dropped one hand on Margaret's shoulder. "Try to
forget him, Mrs. Scully. You'll be safer if you do. He has this
strange code of honor, so we don't expect he will go after you if
you stay out of his way." 

Margaret began to protest to her daughter. "Honey, are you two
serious? Will you be all right?" 

Deeply worried, Scully grasped her mother's arms. "Yes, Mom we
are, and we will be. Now I think you understand why we tell you so
little of what we actually do at the Bureau." 

Margaret nodded, reaching out to touch both their faces in turn.
"I should be going, then. It sounds like you'll be very busy the
rest of the day, and I have some serious thinking to do." 

Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance, then he sighed. "I'm afraid
so, Mrs. Scully. And we'll be heading out west within the next
twenty-four hours." He hugged her. "Just take care, all right?" 

Margaret embraced Scully, both deeply saddened. "I will, Fox." 

Scully walked her to the door. "Drive safely, Mom. We don't know
when we'll be back." 

Margaret picked up the Pomeranian, holding him while Scully
scrubbed his ears one final time. "I hope I don't have to watch
you both on the evening news." The older woman closed the door
behind her. 

Mulder spun his partner around by the arm before the latch
engaged. "Scully, those samples from the Kindred are definitely
alien. Langly sent us an E-mail saying they emit ultraviolet
radiation." 

She nodded. "What did the other message say?" 

He shrugged. "You check it out. We need some plane reservations,
now." 

She glanced up from the keyboard. "Mulder! The Bureau travel
offices will be closed on Saturday." 

He was punching a number into her bedside phone, credit card
balanced on his knee. "Who's using the Bureau, Scully, when we
have to be in the Cascades by the end of the day?" He waved at the
door. "Even though I don't trust him, we can't leave Nichols and
Rosen alone if he decides to go after them." He lifted the hand-
piece to his ear. "Delta reservations please." 

                            --o-0-o--

             END - ARCHAEA - Branchiocaris pretiosa