=====o======================================================o===== "Archaea" by Mary Ruth Keller E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net =====o======================================================o===== Part III - Hallucigenia sparsa (Disclaimed in Part I) -----o------------------------------------------o----- All hail, great master! Grave sir, hail! I come to answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride On the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bidding task Ariel and all his quality. The Tempest -----o------------------------------------------o----- Dark Apartment Arlington, Virginia Saturday, July 26, 1997 7:54 am "So, still sleeping alone, my young friend?" 'Charlie' bolted upright, fumbling for his horn-rimmed glasses before he hit the flat toggle switch at the base of his bedside lamp. He broke into a broad grin at the sight of the wrinkled face above him. "You! You're still alive!" He launched himself at the old man, wrapping him in a bear-hug that knocked an unlit Morley to the floor. "I knew you were too smart for them!" The Smoking Man was stunned, long enough to be spun around three times before feeling himself thrown onto the pile of covers. 'Charlie' bounced on the mattress, his delight fading before the older man's eyes. "I suppose I should be glad you didn't shoot me as I slept." There was a tiny flame, then a stream of blue smoke. "Tell me, what had been your plans for me? Was I to have been obliterated with the rest?" 'Charlie's' eyes fell on the pearl handle in the old man's pocket, and he indulged in a rather over-dramatic gulp. "Well, yes." He pressed his considerable bulk against the headboard. "You were. It would have been quick, though, not like what they had in mind." After taking a few puffs, he chuckled. "Indeed." He studied the younger man for a few moments. "Had you said no, I would have shot you for lying to me needlessly. Emotions are such messy things." 'Charlie' recognized the grimace that passed for a smile. "It was an original greeting, I grant you that. I've been slugged, shouted at, and had weapons thrust in my face, but never a bear- hug." More puffs. "You still haven't answered my question, though." Charlie relaxed, fractionally. "How do you know about 'Ace'?" Another grimace. "Once one has suffered from an unrequited love, he is well-tuned to its presence in the hearts of others." He waved the cigarette as he searched for a suitable replacement for an ashtray. 'Charlie' passed him a coaster, then patted the pillow to his right. "Oh, not unrequited, just... Lisa and I are waiting for the new transportation system to come on line, and for the first transactions with the Pacific Rim banks, before we decide what we want our relationship to be." He ignored the old man's arched brow at the use of a given name. "There's just so much work running an Organization of this magnitude, it seems we barely have time to eat or sleep, let alone make life-plans." A much shorter rod waved. "Ah. There, I think I can still be of some help to you four. Who else, I ask you, knows the Work as do I?" 'Charlie' reached for the phone. "No, don't alert the others, just yet. Let's keep this a secret, just between us." "But what's in it for you, Sir?" Yet another grimace. "You know me too well. At present, let me simply state, access, and leave it at that." He headed towards the door, then at the last moment, turned. "Oh, one final thing. Perhaps you and your Genius-love should keep up on what Mulder and his Spooky Patrol are researching." A modest half-bow. "Just a suggestion, my once and future associate." He heard the autodial as he stepped into the hallway. --o-0-o-- Storage Warehouse Irving, Texas Saturday, 9:59 am After reaching into the back seat to retrieve a black duffle bag, a hulking, steel-jawed man stepped out of his brown Toyota rental. Holding a cel phone to his ear, he glanced around at the college students packing away their belongings, then spoke into the unit in a series of clicks and whistles. A covert listener would have heard another set of unidentifiable sounds, offering what appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be a response. The man pocketed the phone as he approached the front desk for directions, eventually finding himself in front of a storage locker numbered 207. He activated the cel phone again, waiting until a young family passed him to speak. He began enunciating in rattles and hisses, becoming more insistent as he continued. Eventually, he shrugged, then punched the volume up all the way, before holding the unit up to the lock. He recognized that the last words were directed at him, so he lifted the phone to his ear. There was a flurry of grunts, then three distinct clucks, each one higher-pitched than the last. He leaned forward, placing his lips over the keyhole, cautiously mimicking the archaic sounds. He grimaced at the snick of the lock, then stuffed the phone away and pulled the door open. Within was a square metal box, each side as long as his hand, and surprisingly light. He quickly slid the container into the luggage, slammed the door, and left. The rubber seal on the lid still held, so he could assume that the humid, oxygen-laden air of this world had not corroded any of the delicate components within the master control unit. --o-0-o-- Delta Flight 1056 Saturday, 11:17 am Scully glanced out the window in first class, silently watching Texas shrink beneath them. While downloading Pendrell's message, Mulder had wheedled and cajoled the ticketing agent over the phone, applying every ounce of his patented little-boy charm. Now, instead of two unused tickets from Philadelphia and a few thousand government frequent-flyer miles, they had two first-class rides to Seattle, and a waiting four-wheel drive Jeep Cherokee. She dropped her eyes to the list of names Pendrell and Phillips had compiled for her, all aliases X had used on the job. The dental records belonged to a man named Tyrell Lewis Saunders, which sounded real enough, but the fingerprints had been key. Those had linked Mister Saunders to a fingerprint ID for entry into the offices of one of the most prestigious law firms in the DC area. But, this branch was the newest of the firm, and she thought of waking her partner, so he could verify that the names below indeed belonged to *The* *Firm*. Scully realized she had been staring at the column for three minutes. There were another five hours in the flight, and they would be racing up mountains for another two at least to reach the Volcanology Lab. Almost immediately after the aircraft climbed to its cruising altitude following a brief stop in Dallas-Ft. Worth, Mulder had reclined his seat, and dropped off. She glanced over at him, surprised by the depth of his dependence on her since he had become a true Section Head with agents he actually supervised. Before, he had just rubber stamped all her personnel forms with the highest ratings he could give his partner, fattening her paycheck regularly with bonuses and QSI's. Now, they shared the same GS level, so he made it clear that he considered the Headship a joint position with her, sharing the glory, and, being who he was, hogging all the blame. Yawning again, Scully was relieved he had fallen asleep so quickly, rather than pestering her with a series of questions about the testing procedures whose results she was perusing. Not, of course, before he had teasingly offering his chest as a resting place for her head. She had parried the suggestion with a single snort and a shake that set her auburn hair swaying. He, too, had grunted once, when she placed one of those microscopic airline pillows by his ear, the audible response given as he lifted his cheek obediently from the back cushion. Mulder had shifted over as near to his partner as her upright seat back permitted, the arm supporting the minuscule bolster heavy against her shoulder. Dark lashes fluttered, then a sigh, and Scully found herself reaching across her body to pat the hand by her shoulder as she prepared a gentle quip. "He's awake." Squinting, Mulder focused on the amused woman beside him. "And you're a far more pleasant sight than my white-haired Indian grandfather." Twisting around in the seat, he rubbed his hair and chin, ignoring the blue cushion that bounced into the aisle when he focused on her irregular fan of papers. "So, what did our two love-birds have?" Throwing him a tired Look, she held out a data sheet. "It's not Pendrell's data so much, although I hope the Firm listed here rings a bell." Taking the paper, he glanced quickly at the roster by her finger, and dipped his head once. "Yup, that Max's all right. I'll have to give him a call when we get on the ground, see what he can tell us." He coughed once, then tipped his head. "If it isn't Pendrell, then what?" Holding out another sheet, she yawned. "That E-mail attachment from Langly's 'expert' was interesting. Are you sure you've never discussed the alien fetus I exchanged for you with them?" He shrugged. "Are you very certain, Mulder?" "Yeah, I'm sure. Why?" "Well, the DNA from the Kindred came back with six bases in it. It's not all coded yet, by a long shot, but they did have to recalibrate their equipment to read it. Do you know what this means?" He settled back, tugging at his tie. "That you've finally gotten my brand of Spooky religion?" Smirking at her fading glare, he unbuttoned the tiny fastener on his collar. "Enlighten me, please, Doctor." "Mulder! I would think you'd be happy to hear me use 'alien' in a sentence, without the phrase 'can't be' preceding it." He leaned over, brushing her shoulder with his, suddenly serious. "I am. But it's cost us both so much to come to this haven of consensus." A tiny grin flitted across his features, before he closed his eyes and dropped his head on the seat back. "How much more will we lose, Scully? How many more will suffer for our knowledge?" She grasped his forearm. "Mulder, if you're worried about my Mom, don't be. She believes what we're doing is right, or she wouldn't have stood by us." Reaching her head up to his ear, she whispered while she wiggled his sleeve, "I have another wild idea about the Kindred." Although they lacked their usual fire, the hazel eyes snapped into focus. "Really, Doctor? You been reading too much Science late at night again?" "Remember how we both noticed that there were no children on the farm outside Steveston?" A quick nod. "Well, what if that was the result of a failed reproductive strategy?" He blinked. "Reproductive strategy?" She held up both hands, palms towards him. "Okay. There's this fish, the Caribbean bluehead wrasse, that has three sexes: one, your typical egg-laying female, two, a blue-headed supermale, who spawns aggressively, but is very short-lived." He smirked. "Sounds like an extreme tactic to avoid diapers and shoelace lessons, but go on." She nodded. "Then, there is what is known as the 'yellow' male, who appears whenever a supermale leaves." He chuckled. "Fish gigolos? I have to watch my aquarium, Scully, this sounds more entertaining than the tapes." She lifted one corner of her mouth. "It turns out that these fish are, or were, female. Just that in the absence of a supermale, a few of the females' brains secrete AVT, arginine vasoctin, and they develop the blue head typical of males, as well as the ability to spawn." Mulder nodded. "You think something similar happened with the transformations of the Kindred?" He leaned into her face. "Don't tell me you think they're intelligent, air-breathing fish, Scully. That's a bigger leap than robotic cockroaches, by far." She chewed her lip, relishing her sudden thought. "Why not, Mulder? In a broad sense, that's all we are." She studied her hands for a moment, giving him time to catch her little joke. But he was silent, waiting for a long-legged blonde who sat two seats in front of them, to squeeze past. As the woman bent over to speak to her partner, she slipped into an obviously faux Gallic accent that set both Scully's eyebrows in motion. "Excuse me, Monsieur, but may I read your Washington newspaper? My work at the UN requires I keep abreast of the latest in American politics." When Mulder inhaled before responding, the woman reached into his suitcase, affording him a clear view that flushed his cheeks. Gazing out the window, Scully offered him the space to handle this problem as he wished. Mulder nodded, hoping to send the unwanted visitor on her way with a tight-lipped smile. The woman refused to budge. "What may I ask, is your profession, Sir?" Mulder coughed, glancing at his partner, who was still fascinated by the cirrus clouds in the distance. "I'm in Law Enforcement." Scully jerked at the squeal. "Oh, it must be dangerous!" Mulder edged further away from the aisle towards the seemingly detached Scully. "Occasionally. Agent Scully and I are on a case investigating an accident in the Cascades. Not very exciting, really." Taking her cue, the auburn-haired woman turned to rejoin the faltering repulse. "Yes, we do need to complete our extensive review of the preliminary report from the officers in the field before we land." Gathering the pages on her fold down tray, she leaned over her partner to place the sheets in his outstretched hands. "I think this list of suspects they compiled is particularly important, don't you agree, Agent Mulder?" She casually rested her wrist on his shoulder. Bustling away to her aisle seat, the blonde appeared to misread the gesture exactly as she was intended to. His hazel eyes locked onto her green-blue ones gratefully. "Thanks. I would have been stuck with her a lot longer without your help." Scully's eyebrows performed a complicated set of aerobics before settling halfway up her forehead. "Let's just say it's a problem most men wish they had, Mulder." --o-0-o-- Desolation Peak Ross Lake National Recreation Area, Washington Saturday, 10:27 am "Hey, baby, what a view!" Dallas Edwards grinned down at his petite fiancee, Donna Whiteman, whose long black hair fell over her face as she walked. He guided her up the remaining few feet, then slid off his backpack, propping it against the boulder behind him. Donna wiped her olive-complexioned skin with a purple bandanna, then pulled him into a quick kiss. He whispered to her, "I was thinking of the lake." She giggled. "Oh, I thought you meant me." He lifted the rucksack from her shoulders, then stepped behind her to entwine her around the waist. The Douglas Firs ran down to the water, clear and serene. As nearly as they could tell, they were alone at the top of the world, the still water mirroring the blue of the sky. She rubbed his hands, which were resting on her waist. "This is sheer heaven, Dal." He nibbled her ear. "Almost, but I can think of something that will bring us closer." Giggling again, she turned in his arms to run her fingers through his sun-faded curls, then they were lost in themselves and each other. --o-0-o-- Delta Flight 1056 Saturday, 11:43 am "Anyway, you were saying?" Scully nodded. "Remember Professor Smith. Male and female genitalia are built from the same basic set of parts, some just larger in one sex than in the other." He winced. "I had a feeling we were coming back to him at some point." She nodded. "There's a feedback mechanism set up between the fetus and the female's body during the developmental stages of gestation. If it is male, then a signal is sent through the umbilical cord that elicits the production of male hormones. This, in turn, guides the development of the natal body into what we would consider a masculine form. If it isn't, then no signal, no feedback, and the fetal growth is guided by hormones that the female is already producing in a tremendous overabundance." His head was swaying as he struggled to absorb her words. She concluded quickly, "It's that simple, really." "Scully..." Believing him to be confused by her explanation, she sighed. "Mulder, there's an old aphorism in evolutionary biology: ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny. While true only in the abstract, von Baer used it to mean that sometimes embryonic forms of a species' precursor are imaged vestigially during fetal development, okay?" His expression was carefully neutral. "If the sex of an individual is fixed in the Class Mammalia at birth, then in life-forms whose structures evolved before, it may not be. So, no, I don't think they're mammals. " Her cheeks creased briefly. "But, I don't think they're fish, either. What?" One long hand was patting her face. Mulder's forehead was knotted in his frown of concentration, but his dark eyes were twinkling intently. "Who are you?" She leaned away. "Mulder!" He blinked, then continued, "Who are you and what did you do with the ever-doubting Dana Scully?" Both auburn eyebrows collided with her nose ridge. "I'm just speculating here, like you do. We have proof, verification of the most spectacular kind, from two completely independent sources. Parapsychologists would kill for data like this. Besides, with Rosen and Nichols as checks, I don't always have to say, 'No, it can't be.' I'm tired of you having all the fun, Mulder." He grinned. "Okay, fair is fair. So, what are we talking here, sentient reptiles?" She turned to the window, contemplating the possibilities. "Maybe. It was odd that the Kindred and the clones were all about the same size. With mammals, usually the male is larger than the female, on average, but the reverse can often be true among reptiles, like crocodiles." He touched her arm, bringing her green-blue eyes back to his face. "So you think this morphing could be due to their gender-switching ability, deliberately cultivated and modified with time, that originally was a potential reproductive strategy?" "Perhaps, Mulder. Remember, our brains are a survival tactic gone haywire, and look what we've done with them. In exobiology, the life forms that develop on a planet will be in response to the environment that evolves along with them." She tapped the papers on her fold-down tray. "Right now, these are all the data we have to speculate from, and they aren't very much." Rubbing his eyes with his fingers, he nodded. "This sounds like the idea I've read that minus the asteroid collision with the Yucatan, sentience might have developed among the raptors." She lifted one corner of her mouth. "The Dino-man theory. I know I've told you that to expect an intelligence like us to be looking down at the Earth from the heavens is anti-Darwinian, but I think now you understand that it's the 'like us' part I was objecting to, Mulder. Internal gestation involved a lot of compromises, even if it was more successful in the 'survival of the fittest' sense." He dropped his hand on her arm, trailing his fingers away slowly. "I don't know who you are, Ma'am, but I'm glad you're on my side...ow!" The quick jab to his ribs told him he had pushed just a bit too hard, so he adopted his next best strategy: a silent expression of pseudo-misery while he rubbed his side. At the sight of the histrionically long face, Scully suppressed a chuckle that grew into a yawn, before she reclaimed the papers from him. "I'll just look these over a little bit long..." A huge sigh, then a soft oh. He slipped the notes from under her limp hand, reflecting that she was usually too jittery to sleep on airplanes. They were both slowing down, after running for nearly four days on a stolen hour here and there. Throwing her arm over his wrist, she twisted in her seat, her mumbling intelligible only for a single word: 'later.' He grinned, dusted off his pillow, and placed it by her head. When she reached up to reposition it, he was free to take a navy blue flight blanket from the overhead compartment. He draped the lap-sized cover over her shoulders, then opened the folders himself. "Mulmer?" He grinned at her. "It's okay, Scully, we have hours before we land. Just take it easy." Although he heard nothing, she had mouthed 'Okay,' and shifted over until the pillow rested against his arm. Mulder attempted to focus on the pages of data, but found himself slipping away as well. --o-0-o-- Scully Residence Annapolis, MD Saturday, 12:54 am Margaret Scully lifted the receiver off the phone, then replaced it. There was one woman who would understand her dilemma, one only who could offer advice, but was it right to call her? Was it right to take a family matter outside the tight circle of Scully women and men? She slid her address book out from under the single volume of Annapolis Yellow Pages before leaving her spotless kitchen. But he was as thickly interconnected as any of them, moreso, if she could ever revive her fondest hopes for her baby girl. And then there was this old man with the acrid cigarettes that both Fox and Dana had so carefully shielded her from. She'd hidden in the bathroom, listening to him compare her to Caligula's mother and Nero's grandmother. In desperation one summer, when Bill was stationed in Rhode Island, she had packed four squirming children in her Suburban for a sightseeing trip. They had stopped at Yale's gallery, where she had fallen in love with a Benjamin West oil painting displayed there, showing a woman carrying the ashes of her dead husband back to Rome. The image had stuck her as an icon of wifely devotion to duty, but, at the time, she had no idea it was a portent of her life to come. Yes, if she could speak to anyone, it was Caroline Lowenberg. Margaret settled on the couch in her living room, the new cel phone her daughter had insisted she buy, and that she suspected Dana's partner was partially funding, in her lap. Flipping through ruled pages in the black book, she smiled at a tiny ball of fluff grunting and circling instinctively on the cushion beside her. One ring, then another. "Lowenberg residence." "Max? Max, this is..." "Margaret! Wonderful to hear from you! How are you?" She heard a creak as the white-haired man settled into what she assumed was a rattan chair. "I'm fine, Max. I have a new grandson, you know." As she talked, she scratched the Pomeranian under his chin. "So I've heard. Your daughter wrote the kindest thank-you note after she and Mulder borrowed the Miami house in February. You're welcome to use it at any time as well, you know." Margaret smiled. "Thank you. Dana and Fox both needed that extra week down there. They were just worn down to nubs when they left Norfolk. Is, is..." She paused, listening to a muffled discussion between husband and wife, then to the phone exchanging hands. "Margaret, is that you?" "Yes, hello, Caroline." "Max sends his apologies, he has a visitor." Margaret shifted. "Oh, I'll call back." A bright laugh. "Nonsense. He's gone and embroiled himself in some local politics, and you know the Greeks when it comes to that. A city council meeting is treated with the same emotion and intensity as if it were the Super Bowl, the Stanley Cup, and the World Series, all rolled into one." Both women smiled. "It'll go on for at least two hours. What's on your mind?" Margaret hugged herself. "It's Dana, Caroline, or rather, something Bill and Charles have decided about Dana." "Oh, dear." "They want her to leave the Bureau." A long sigh. "All for her own good, of course." "Naturally. And to safeguard the family." An image of herself and her multi-generational red-haired brood, scattered around the rocky, sun-washed grounds of a sprawling Mediterranean residence was squelched quickly. "I'm so sorry, Margaret. Dana's worried and unhappy, no doubt." "Your boy is looking out for her, Caroline, but she'll only tell us she's fine, and we all know better. My sons believe they're protecting the next generation of Scullys this way, but I know things are beyond that, now." "I was afraid it would come to this. Let me think about the situation, talk it over with Max, all right?" "Of course, Caroline. Oh, I believe I met an old friend of yours yesterday, a smoker?" A gasp. "Margaret, this is very serious. If he's still alive, there's no telling what can happen." There were rustling sounds. "I'm afraid Max and Mister Demetrias will just have to put off the philosophical debates for a while." "Oh." A cold knot of fear formed in Margaret Scully's stomach. "But don't worry. We'll figure something out. I know how his mind works, what schemes he may be hatching. I'll call you as soon as I come up with something, all right?" "Yes. Thank you, Caroline. I'm not quite so worried now." She set the unit on the side table before tucking the Pomeranian under her chin. "What are we going to do, Mister Fuzz?" His only advice was a contented snuffle as he nosed his way under her collar. She found herself smiling. "I wish it was that easy." --o-0-o-- Apartment Complex Laurel, Maryland Saturday, 11:24 am "Hey!" After opening her door, 'Ace' hugged the figure outside. Her face changed from a broad smile of delight to a curious frown. "You taken up smoking, Drew?" Stepping back, she rubbed his mound of a stomach. "I don't want you to change anything about you. I love you just the way you are." Patting her back as they walked further into her living room together, he kissed her ear before whispering. "Lisa, he's alive." Stepping away, she fixed him in her penetrating gaze. "Mister Coal Factory came to see you?" A nod. "Why?" She grasped his hand. "How are you still alive?" He draped an arm over her shoulder to pull her against him. "He wants access, Lisa, in exchange for his knowledge." She dropped into one of her living room chairs. "Do you trust him?" 'Charlie' shrugged. "You know what we were taught. But he won't let the work go under. He suggested we check up on what Mulder and Scully are into." Nodding, she moved across into her den, which was as crammed with computers as her old efficiency had been. There, she activated the screen on her SGI. "Right. They're off to the Cascades, chasing some bug they've found. It eats glass, apparently." 'Charlie' began pacing. "Glass? What could be so important about that?" She frowned. "Don't know. But, I was reading this message from 'Andrew' just before you arrived. Apparently, the shape-shifter has been flying all over the country, stopping at storage lockers. He either doesn't know, or doesn't care, that we've been tailing him." 'Charlie' sat beside her. "I don't like this. We think we know what kills these 'visitors'. We shouldn't just be monitoring their actions, we should eliminate them, once and for all. If he gets the chance to return to his planet..." She sighed. "That's what the Resolution was for. 'Finn' and 'Andrew' know that. We can't really use their genetic structure for anything, it's too different from our own. We need to talk to them, to work out a new strategy for the aliens." She kissed his ear. "Oh, and you'd better shower. You still smell like him; with that sensitive nose of his, 'Finn' will pick up on it right away." She tipped her head. "I presume you don't want them to know?" He kissed her back, holding her tightly. "Do you think they would believe me?" He began walking towards the bathroom, then swiveled to hold one arm out to her, waiting until she settled under it. "Join me?" Resting her head on his shoulder, she chuckled. "Maybe. I have to download some data from the Gunmen's network first." Laughing out loud, he kissed the crown of her dark curls. "You've finally beaten the little troll?" As he mussed her hair, she shrugged. "For now. But it's only a slight window of opportunity." 'Ace' waved her hand at the bathroom. "Go!" --o-0-o-- Desolation Peak Ross Lake National Recreation Area Saturday, 12:27 pm Donna Whiteman wriggled free of Dallas' body, smiling as he drowsily pawed at her waist. "You are insatiable." He kissed her on the nose. "It's the mountains, babe. I'm inspired." They both jumped as the ground moved. Donna pulled on the grass at the edge of the blanket. "Did you feel that, Dal?" Tugging on his jeans, he glanced down the slope. "If it had been just a little bit earlier, I would have said you can really make the earth move, O-Donna, but I don't think so." She was dressing quickly as well. "This slope is barely holding. Let's get out of here." Fear propelling them, they dressed and made their way down the path quickly. She clutched his hand. "I'd hate to be caught up here if one of the hillsides slumped away, Dal." She shuddered. "All that water, locked up as snow from the winter. The slopes are steep enough through here as it is, and trees can't hold the soil in under all weather conditions." He hugged her. "We'll be fine, don't worry, there are three dams to control water flow in the area. The water will never get too high, it'll just run more coffee-makers down in Seattle, right? Besides, by tomorrow, we'll be well south of here." --o-0-o-- Gate at Delta Terminal Sea-Tac International Airport Seattle, Washington Saturday, 2:13 pm "Sir?" Mulder sighed as he felt a hand grasp his shoulder. "Sir?" Opening his eyes, his first sight was his partner's face, soft in repose. He would have preferred to linger on the gentleness she usually hid behind her Agent and Doctor mask, but the hand and voice were insistent. "Sir, we've landed." He glanced around at the nearly empty plane, waiting for the other presence to leave, before lightly brushing his partner's cheek with his fingertips. "Hey, sleepyhead." There was a flicker behind the eyelids. "I'm awake." He watched her grope on the fold-down tray for her notes, her eyes still firmly shut. "I have them, Scully." She accepted the pages, and the partners stumbled from the plane, dragging suit-bags and laptops that seemed heavier than before. --o-0-o-- Main Terminal Sea-Tac International Airport Seattle, Washington Saturday, 2:19 pm After pocketing his cel phone, the square-jawed man slid a padded envelope, which was covered in the same blocky symbols he glimpsed at the warehouse, out of the locker. Throwing a couple of furtive glances over his shoulders, he paused as he spotted a tall, dark-haired man, with a petite, red-haired woman, emerging from the Concourse B. Tucking the packet and the silver box back inside the locker, he began tailing them, keeping a discrete distance. --o-0-o-- Avis Rental Lot Sea-Tac International Airport Seattle, Washington Saturday, 2:47 pm Glancing at his watch again, Mulder huffed at the delay in the mechanic's return. Their Cherokee had a flat rear tire, and the insufferable, *greasy* little man sent to change it had been away for nearly a quarter of an hour. As Scully watched her partner's frantic pacing with his fists on his hips, she cast about for a subject that would soothe his nerves. "How long was I out, Mulder?" He crossed his arms, then smirked. "Hum? The rest of the flight." She winced. "Oh. Sorry. Did you come up with anything while I was gone?" He turned to scan the mechanics' trailer at the rear of the rental lot. "Not really. I was just trying to use your Kindred idea to explain how the Colony knew all that information about Sam." After he spotted their laggard attendant emerging, he flashed a lopsided grin at her. "I want to be the last to stop your theorizing, Agent Scully, but I don't understand how they came up with that uniform image to project that they claimed was her. It would be easy if we accepted the common dictum of the UFO community that the government is in cahoots with the aliens, but that doesn't square with what we've found out." She nodded, waiting impatiently beside him. The coverall-clad man hurriedly mounted the tire, sloppily affixing the nuts and hubcap. "Don't want to keep busy people like you waiting!" Nodding while he moved away from them, he rushed back to the ringing telephone. Scully couldn't tell whether his tone was helpful, casual or caustic, before her partner was by the door, offering a hand into the passenger seat. As they drove to the exit, she switched subjects, then continued, "Like I said earlier, I don't have to always say, no, no, anymore. Nichols remains totally unconvinced that a colony of aliens or a government conspiracy is even possible..." Mulder nodded. "Despite his persistent support for anything paranormal. Our resident astronomer will tie the rest of us down to any and all evidence available." "Speaking of evidence, the Kindred-Colony and the Bounty Hunter were all seeking to escape the attention of the US government, with good reason. That submarine you met the Bounty Hunter on was probably sent to blow his ship up, not enter into diplomatic negotiations. Representatives from the Colony only came to us in absolute desperation, but that they found us so easily was the first clue, to me, that the Kindred and Colony were one and the same." He eased the vehicle into the right-most lane. "Hum. They knew who we were because we dropped in for dinner. Then there's Deep Throat's UN assassination resolution." Scully pursed her lips. "The aliens seem perfectly capable of adapting our technology to their own purposes. How many UFO groups know about how Sam disappeared?" He glanced at her quickly. "What? Besides the Gunmen? NICAP, for one. And they do have data bases on the Web. So you think the members of the Colony checked us out for the details, anyway. But the women's appearances weren't that far off my vision of Sam." Running her finger along a route on the map, she shrugged. "Reasonable extrapolation from your Mother, Father, and you?" She leaned forward in the seat. "You're smirking, Mulder." Both dark eyebrows arched, then he shook his head. "Yeah. I should have seen this sooner. In the Cold War, the two sides knew better what each other's government was doing than what went on in their own. If the Colony were shape-shifters, then it wouldn't be an extreme possibility that they were passing themselves off as members of the Consortium occasionally to gain inside information." "On Sam? Mulder, this is beginning to sound more like the Dominion and the Federation all the time." He shrugged. "So? They claimed they knew where she was, Scully." She cocked an eyebrow. "They know she's alive, anyway, Mulder, which is good." When she realized he was stock-still in the seat, she tugged his arm. "What?" He blinked. "Try this finely tuned insanity on, Doctor. Remember that the pheromones from the Kindred contained human DNA. What if part of the reproductive strategy that led to the morphing ability involves being able to incorporate foreign DNA sequences into their own?" As she pointed at an unmarked exit, Mulder guided the vehicle onto a single-lane side road. "No problems with all these radical hunches, Scully?" He grinned. "Not hearing explosions after every one of my theories *is* a little disconcerting." She glanced over, catching the twinkle in his dark eyes as she prepared her rejoinder. "Possibly. It's exactly what happens during gamete fusion." Her cheek dimpled briefly at his blink of incomprehension. "Fertilization, Mulder. Until we have more information on that glowing DNA, you can speculate all you want. It's more likely, however, that it was the victims' own bodies that were producing the pheromones. That there are two extra bases to their sequences, more or less knocks out any alien- human hybridization idea." After weaving along the narrow alley onto Route 518, he glanced sharply at her. "Oh, how?" "Well, it would be like trying to write Russian with only English characters, or English with the vowels left out." She studied the fixed jaw. "We have the evidence, Mulder. We know how few the changes are between normality and a host of disabilities in humans. We also know the chimpanzee-human hybrids took years to come to viability, if they do so at all." He fidgeted, supporting his left temple with his thumb and forefinger while resting his elbow on the window ledge. "But, Scully..." She touched his right arm, which was draped over the steering wheel. "Mulder, I understand. We, as a species, always seek advancement over stagnation or regression. The idea of alien-human hybrids sounds a lot like children from angels, and is infinitely preferable to human-chimpanzee troglodytes." He shook his head. "No, I don't mean the Great Chain of Being." He grasped the base of the wheel with both hands. "You Darwinians killed that hoary concept back in the Nineteenth Century. I just keep wondering what those Purity Control experiments were really about." She lifted one corner of her mouth. "I couldn't begin to guess. But they must have known about the extra bases; they had access to the same materials I had typed." He chewed his lower lip, his mind racing. "But should aliens even have DNA?" She waggled her hand. "It's a fair question, since I wouldn't expect that our bug, if it is silicon-based, will have any. But, from the evidence, I'd have to conclude that they evolved on a rocky planet much like ourselves..." "Where clay compounds served the same function for them as they did for the development of life on earth?" She nodded. "Only, with evolution working differently on each planet, they came up with six bases, rather than four. Exactly." She glanced at him. "You're frowning, Mulder, what's wrong?" "We still have no clue as the why the Shape-shifter is so interested in X." At a hairpin turn, Mulder jerked the wheel sharply to the left. Scully pushed on the dashboard with both hands. "I'd better let you concentrate on the road, or we'll be observing first-hand the answer to that old Scholastic's question." As the truck hit another rut, he grunted, "Right. You're no seamstress, as I recall, so we would check in without the tools necessary to perform the experiment." --o-0-o-- Lightning Creek Bridge East Shore of Ross Lake Ross Lake National Recreation Area, Washington Saturday, 3:43 pm Donna Whitehead, scratched and sore, stomped along after her fiancee, the views out over the waterways in summer forgotten. The two-person suspension bridge he was halfway across swayed in the wind as she stepped onto the weathered wooden walkway. "Dal!" She stood, akimbo. "I'm *tired*! Why are we hiking through lunch? We don't know where we're going." The blond man was just as fatigued, but the expression she saw on his face when he met her eyes was of barely contained terror. She ran to him. "Dal, what's wrong?" He hugged her, then left one arm around her shoulders to propel her forward. "O-Donna, it'll be okay. We just have to keep moving. As long as we follow the coastline, we'll hit Route 20 eventually." He tugged on her hand. "I'm tired too, but..." He glanced out at the water, lapping at the crossbeams of the walkway. "You think we'll be cut off by rock slides, don't you, Dal?" He shook his head. "I don't know. I just think we ought to get to some civilization, soon." --o-0-o-- Volcanology Lab outside Newhalem, Washington Saturday, 6:46 pm Rosen pulled the front door open when she heard the engine outside cease. "Hey, Scully, Mulder!" Nichols and Rich appeared behind her. The tall agent waved as he slid off the high seat. "Hey." Scully studied them from the rear of the Cherokee, then stepped out of Mulder's way. He had reached inside for their duffle bags. "You're not in uniform." The bulky containment suits abandoned, the three smiled, then the Agents stepped through the door, holding out hands to offer assistance. Nichols took Scully's bag. "According to those guys..." He waggled his fingers at Rich and Rosen. "We don't need to be. Our new life form only loves us for our hard parts." Mulder touched his partner's back to propel the group forward. "You know the Mads, they never see the real danger until it's too late." His joke was met with disgusted groans from his partner, the technician, and the astronomer. Nichols chuckled along with him. "Three-part harmony, Boss, I don't see how you do that." Mulder's cockeyed grin lasted until they entered the testing area. The open sample boxes were lined up on the core bench, around the periphery of the room, and under the lab tables. Twelve silver spheres with food-grade tubing were hooked to two switchboxes and from there, to the spectrometer. Mulder bumped his partner's side with his elbow. "Check this out, Scully, we leave the kids alone, and they trash the place." Scully rolled her eyes, then crouched over one of the open steel boxes. "Have you come up with anything new?" Rosen began to answer, then tugged on Rich's arm, pulling the technician forward. "Introductions, first. Agent Dana Scully, Agent Fox Mulder, this is Albert Rich, one of Doctor Campbell's employees. He's been doing most of the thankless grunt work on the tests." As Mulder and Scully shook his hand, nodding greetings, Rosen continued, "Professor Campbell would be here, but his doctors wanted to keep him for another day or so." Rich took that as his cue. "Yeah, knowing my boss, he's already arguing for first authorship on whatever papers come out, since he 'found' the bug." While this statement left Nichols and Mulder exchanging confused glances, Rosen and Scully wore rueful grins. Rich waved the auburn-haired woman over to a box suspended above a Bunsen burner. "The bacteria don't have a high metabolism at room temperature. Like everything, given a lot of food, they develop quickly. But..." He fiddled with the controls, and a thin flame grew. They watched while a viscous mass spread over the granodiorite sample, taking on its black tones, then, after a few seconds, nothing but the mass remained in the container. Rosen and Mulder joined them, peeking in over Scully's head. The pathologist nodded. "So, they like heat." She spun, facing Rosen. "The early earth's surface was superheated, wasn't it?" The astronomer sighed. "It was. This is a very primitive life form, to be sure." His arms crossed, Nichols stood behind them. "But one with a very deadly application." He waited while the group turned to face him. "You see, if these guys like heated silicon, then our network- wired, remote access world is in real trouble." Mulder grunted, "It's goodbye, America Online." Even though the others were smiling, Scully was pacing. "Potentially, yes, Mulder. The question is, how do we handle this? I think we should keep this contained for further study, take it back to Susan, or to the Institute for Genome Research in Rockville, where the DNA can be compared against other..." Rosen pursed her lips. "There's a large group of researchers back at Cornell, looking into life in extreme environments, maybe they should..." A large shape blocked the doorway of the lab. "Or you can give it all to me." Mulder and Scully blanched. It was a face, square jawed and lined, they had hoped never to view again. He held out one hand, a surgeon's scalpel poised above his palm. "I can take it back home, where we can study it, learn how to use it for our own ends. Each injured world we have visited carries on it the means of its own salvation." He pointed at the boxes. "That will work for us, aid us in healing your planet of the damage you simians have caused." Rosen's and Nichols' hands flew to their weapons, but Mulder and Scully blocked the shape-shifter from their aim. "No!" His arms spread wide, Mulder's command was nonnegotiable, desperate. "You don't know what his blood will do." He glanced at Scully, as steely-jawed as the figure behind her. "I do." He inhaled. "We do." The petite woman took a step towards the alien, whose cheeks rippled with amusement at her temerity. "What makes you think this organism will do you any good? By the time you return, all our technology may be diamond-based, or use totally organic components." Expecting to be hurtled across the room, Scully blanched, but held her ground. The alien was almost half again Scully's height, so he had a long reach to her waist. He gripped her there, lifted her up and set her to one side, his actions careful and precise, as if she were a delicate bisque porcelain figurine. "There will always be silicon components somewhere." He leaned into Mulder's face. "We meet again." He pointed over his shoulder at Scully. "She saved you, I presume?" Mulder stepped back. "If she did, what is it to you?" A deep rumble. "Information, no more. You've always acted first, then thought. I heard that from an acquaintance of an old, departed friend of yours. He was right to tell you that we have been here for a very long time." The giant stepped towards Rosen, then spun back. "Thanks for the ride. You two have very entertaining conversations." Open-mouthed, Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance. The shape-shifter glowered down at the younger woman. "You studied the stars?" She blinked. "I've seen them, flown past a binary system, a supernova. Care to join me on a non-hypothetical journey?" Her mouth opened and closed, but no sounds issued forth. Her partner stirred himself to her defense. "What are you, an Assassin?" He towered above Nichols. "If you don't think I'm real, how do you explain this?" He pricked his left index finger with the tip of the scalpel, and a green sphere grew there. As he turned his palm down, the sphere stretched to a droplet, then raced to the floor, where it sizzled into the concrete. He held the tip of the finger up again, so Nichols could watch, the Montanan's face expressing equal parts horror and fascination, as the pinprick closed, sealed, and disappeared. "I'm very real. Just believe." Rich had backed into the corner where he had stacked the original cores, a little less than a week ago. As the shape-shifter approached him, lock-box now in hand, Rich shrank along the wall. The alien thrust the steel box forward. "You found this?" The technician nodded. "Where?" Rich pointed to the slices of core, set out on the bench. "There." Rich was surprised he could speak at all. The alien ran his fingers over the basalt, smiling. "Your world is much like ours. A sun to warm us, water to cleanse and refresh us, sweet breezes to cool our skins. But, we long ago decided to take care of our planet, so it would take care of us. We conserve the air, water, and earth. We live in balance with its rhythms. Anyone who does not, who *will* not, is outcast to our prison moon for a time, to feel what it is like to live in sterile artificiality, to struggle to breathe, to count droplets of precious liquid. That experience has never failed to teach them the error of their ways." He glared at each of them in turn. The five humans remained silent. "You, simians, on the other hand, exult in destruction, in pollution. You call it progress, a march. It is a death march, but you do not know it. That is what makes you so morally reprehensible to us." Mulder stepped forward. "This planet came to your attention during the Industrial Revolution, did it not? The rise in greenhouse gases, the burning of coal for factories told you we were advancing." Scully joined him. "It was the first time we really modified the atmosphere on a global scale, something an observer flying by would notice." The shape-shifter brushed past them, pacing along the silver boxes. "What you say may be true. It is of interest to philosophers, to scientists. I am neither of those." He bent over the container of desiccated Ludox. "This is not alive." Rosen coughed. "No, it's their..." When she hesitated at Mulder's silencing gesture, the alien turned to tower over her. "A nutrient source?" She froze. "Uh, I'm not sure..." The Bounty Hunter grunted. "Ah. Good. Perhaps I *should* take you with me." He reached for her shoulders. Nichols and Mulder were on him in a flash, all fear of alien blood gone. A scalpel fell from Scully's coat pocket, so she dived for it, rolling across the room and onto her knees. The two male agents were locked each onto a massive arm, then Rosen threw her body into the shape-shifter's stomach, sending him lurching towards Scully. Mulder shouted to his partner. "Now!" She leapt onto the hulking back, wrapping her arm around his neck, raising the scalpel high to administer what she hoped would be the final, killing blow. "I have him, Mulder!" But the alien was changing before their eyes, the arms shrinking to nothing, dropping Nichols and Mulder onto the floor. As the clothing was replaced by brown and grey scales, the shoulders shrank until his body was only as wide as his neck, a long, legless tube on the concrete. Scully found she was crouching on her knees over a snake, its face in Rosen's, a narrow tongue darting out to flick her nose. While the younger woman watched, the eyes moved apart, the rounded pupils becoming vertical slits, looking out of a flat, triangular head. The four were wrestling with each other, or, in Rosen's case, nothing. The rattler the shape-shifter had become hissed as he oozed under the lab bench, then from there into the drilling facility itself. Mulder pulled them away. "We have to find him!" Rich staggered into the cathedral-like space first, blinking at the sunlight streaming through the open portion of the ceiling. The room was filled with massive hydraulic machinery that had been shock-mounted to the concrete. In the center, a grey derrick, with a drive-piston mounted vertically along its axis, pushed through into clear sky. The men and women searched, pulling aside metal carts, blackened and slick with spent machine oil, laden with oversized plumber's wrenches, crowbars, and long, thick-bladed screwdrivers. Scully's commands drove them forward. "Keep looking! He must still be hiding!" Almost feverish in his intensity, Mulder threw aside loose coils of steel cable, their weight equal to his own, raking his hands over the cut ends, heedless of the resulting blood. --o-0-o-- Marblemount Ranger Station North Cascades National Park Marblemount, Washington Saturday, 7:06 pm As he stepped into the Observation chamber, Richard Walking Beaver hung his wide-brimmed hat on the hook just to his left. "Good Afternoon, Harry." This square room, set thirty feet above the tops of the Douglas Firs, had floor to ceiling windows on all four sides, with benches and tables in the center. "How do the signals from the strain gauges on the outcrops over Highway 20 look?" Harry Williams pointed to a computer monitor on the counter nearest the door. "Okay, so far. But with all the snow, then the rain, we can't be sure we won't have problems with rockslides this season." Richard studied the traces closely before turning back to his blond freckled colleague, who was pouring him a mug of coffee. His partner for this shift was beginning to lose his hair in the back, and in the bright summer sunshine, the round spot had burnt and peeled until it had achieved something of the consistency of shoe leather. Richard, on the other hand, had no fears for skin cancer, his thick black hair cut regulation-short, but still shiny and luxuriant. He teased his friend regularly that baldness was the white man's bane, and the Indian's revenge. Harry, a kind-hearted soul who took the plight of Native Americans seriously, would respond, when he felt he had suffered enough, but the words masked gentle concern. He would retort that Walking Bear's heritage had not kept him from adopting the white man's vices of stocks and bonds, or buying a house just a bit beyond a Ranger's means. Richard accepted the chipped NCNP mug the older man held out. "I know. We have so many hikers out at this time of year that we can't warn them early enough to leave before there's trouble, even if they have their radios on. Thanks." Sipping his black liquid thoughtfully, Harry nodded. "It's a good thing we still require permits up here, at least we have a head count of the folks we may have to rescue." Richard checked the battery strengths of their hand-held radios as they talked. "Right, the hiking clubs, the ones with guides, we won't have to worry about. It's the people out there on their own, or the couples with a different agenda, that we need to watch out for." Instinctively circling the room to study the surrounding woods for problems, they began their evening watch. --o-0-o-- Volcanology Lab outside Newhalem, Washington Saturday, 8:16 pm Hovering by the drive motors, Rich, Rosen, and Nichols had resigned themselves to failure, but Mulder and Scully were still searching. Working together, they shoved aside the control carriage, attempting to pull free the end of the drill tube itself. Mulder was staggering. "We can't let him out of here!" Scully, running on sheer will as always, bit her lip. Nichols attempted to bring them down, grasping one shoulder in each hand. The firm musculature on Mulder's he expected, but on Scully's, he did not. "Hey, Boss, he's gone." He pointed to the patch of blue over their heads. "If he could shape-shift, he's probably a hawk, winging his way back to Seattle right now." Mulder pursed his lips, then yanked helplessly on the controls of the press, the blood making his grip slippery. When Nichols glanced at Scully, whose face and hair were streaked with grease and hydraulic fluid, he saw she was nodding at the older man's reasoning. Approaching her partner, she reached up to flatten her hands on either side of his face. "Mulder, it's over." Grasping his wrists, she pressed his palms together, stilling the frantic activity. "He's gone. We're all safe." He glared at her, then surrendered, dropping his gaze to the stained floor. "Yeah. He's not here. He escaped." Mulder, looking bereft and anxious, lifted his face to hers. "What do we do now, Scully?" In a mirror of one of their most comfortable gestures, she rested her palm against his back, guiding him into the core lab. "We regroup, Mulder." She shook the wrist she still grasped. "I take care of this, and we plan, all five of us." Appearing in front of them, Rosen pushed her hair off her forehead, leaving a black, grimy streak there instead. "Do you know anything unique about him?" She rolled her eyes at the absurdity of her statement. "I mean, outside of his being from another planet, having green acid for blood, and all that." Scully nodded. "We've encountered his species twice before, we believe, and we have samples from the first time. According to the Gunmen, they emit a specific band of ultraviolet radiation." Rosen crossed her arms. "If you know the range of frequencies, we can build a detector." Rich led them through Doctor Campbell's office, past the desk mounded high with papers and journal volumes, pointing Mulder and Scully into the minuscule restroom. "I'll get some medical supplies." Rich left them alone. Mulder sagged against the sink, letting Scully rub his arms while he trembled. "I don't ever want to be as close to that... that... *thing* again." His fists clenched. "I could taste metal on my tongue, like it was when I was in the hospital. Oh, Scully!" Before he could withdraw completely, she pulled him against her, pressing her cheek into his sternum. "I remember, Mulder. We'll find him. I want him as much as you do." He raised his hands to her shoulders, holding her out where he could watch her face while she explained, "I want him for what he did to you." He nodded, using her hands on his waist as a conduit for his emotions, letting her words focus him. "But I need to take care of these, Mulder." She turned his palms up so he could see the bruises and tears there. "When you're calmed down, we'll fill the others in, put Rosen on the phone with the Gunmen, see what supplies and equipment she needs. Seattle is only a couple of hours drive over the mountains, then we can set up a watch for him. He'll be back, but we must keep the organism out of his possession." When Rich knocked, they separated. The technician slipped the First Aid kit through the crack in the door. "Agent Scully?" She accepted the white metal box, closing them off again, giving her partner space. After guiding him onto the lowered toilet seat, she opened the red-tipped valve completely, then cleaned and bandaged his hands. Mulder watched her actions as she dipped a washcloth into the gel- like degreaser and rubbed the halves of fabric against each other until they lathered slightly. Leaning into the hot cloth she scrubbed over his face, then gingerly over his hands, he winced as the steaming water hit his palms, taking deep breaths to calm himself. "Okay. But do you think she's ready for Frohike?" Glancing up from her work, she lifted one corner of her mouth. "After meeting the Bounty Hunter? That randy little paranoic friend of yours is no problem, Mulder." She returned to looping gauze around his thumb, tucking in the end and affixing a bit of tape. "I think it would be good for Frohike to have a little variety in his diet, don't you?" Finally at ease, he leaned over to whisper to her, "I'm not so sure he'd be thrilled to know you have so low an opinion of him." She rolled her eyes. "There, all done." This last was spoken in a light sing-song. He grinned. "Thanks, Scully." She held his elbow while he stood. "You could use a break..." Pushing on the doorknob, he gestured her out. "We have work to do." --o-0-o-- Scully Residence Annapolis, Maryland Saturday, 11:27 pm Margaret Scully wiped her forehead with the dusty sleeve of her teal sweatshirt. She had spent the afternoon worrying, and the time-honored trick she used to calm herself was cleaning. She could hear her daughter now: "Oh, Mo-om! The house is *perfect*! Why are you killing yourself?" Her sons had put Dana in an unfair position, forcing her to choose, but maybe there was something in her Captain's personal effects that would help tip the odds in her daughter's favor. She pushed aside the once-flattened, but now taped- together cookware carton, packed with a old set of scratched non- stick pots. Inhaling deeply, she slid out a Xerox box that contained her husband's notes, and a few private mementos she couldn't bear to look at immediately after his death. Margaret sat, cross-legged, before the container, as if she were opening a treasure chest, then raised the lid, standing it carefully on end before delving inside. On top lay Bill's engagement present to her, a torn, well-leafed copy of "Wuthering Heights," her name inscribed on the frontispiece with military precision. She set it in her lap to read later, when she was curled in bed with the Pomeranian snoring at her side. The handwritten dedication was faded, not through time, but with her repeated tracings, during their many long separations, of words long since imprinted on her heart. Beneath the Bronte was a black leather notebook, sewn down the spine. Balancing the seam on the corner of the maroon and white box, she flipped the front cover and began to leaf through the pages. All the entries were in Bill's hand, and as she read, she realized this was a rambling diary of sorts, begun in those years after he had retired from ship duty to take a desk job. Margaret set the notes aside, willing herself to read them later, until her eyes fell on the final dated page: "November 15, 1993. My Starbuck has been quarantined as a result of her investigations with that Mulder boy. Despite the actions of his Father, his heart seems to be in the right place, but he's playing with fires he can't begin to understand. I'm not sure when she'll be released, but I think it's time she knew what I did about this man she seems so determined to bind her future at the Bureau to." The sound of little toenails scratching the side-rails of the attic ladder interrupted her thoughts, so she called down the opening. "Stay there, Fuzzy Boy! Now, what is it?" Obediently, the little canine's tail lowered to the floor by the bottom rung, where he waited, ears perked. The buzz of the kitchen phone jarred her late-night silence, so Margaret tucked the notebook and the Bronte under her arm, leaving the attic a shambles to answer it. --o-0-o-- East Bank Trail Ross Lake National Recreation Area Saturday, 8:14 pm "Dal!" Donna felt his hand break free of her grip. "What's wrong?" He was holding his ankle, grunting. "I caught it on a tree root, see?" She felt for their flashlight, finding it in the underbrush to the side of the path, then shining it just behind him. "Oh, yeah." The live fibers were broken and spread over the dirt, a little water pooling in the deep impression of his toe. She turned the light on his foot. "Ooh, Dal, this doesn't look good. Here, let me." She carefully unwove his laces, sliding the swelling joint free. "You did a number on it, all right." She laid her hand on his soft, short beard. "If you lean on me, do you think you can walk?" He bit his lip. "Maybe. Put the shoe back on, but leave it loose, and I'll try." Reading her face, he pulled her in for a quick kiss. "Couldn't do it without you, O-Donna." Her answering smile was a not so successful cover of her fears. --o-0-o-- Marblemount Ranger's Station North Cascades National Park Marblemount, Washington Saturday, 8:17 pm Hitting the power button, Ranger Walking Beaver rebooted their ancient 286. "No wonder the strain gauges looked so good, Harry, the system had frozen, so it wasn't updating." His partner rested one hand on his shoulder as he leaned over, both men gasping at the readings. "That's way over the safety limits. One good thunderstorm, and Highway 20 will be buried under rubble in six different places." Richard nodded. "Yeah. Where are the current permits?" The two men checked a short stack of multipage forms, separating them into guided groups and singles. Harry moved over to the radio station. "Okay, I'll put out the automated evacuation warnings, you start calling the groups with two-ways, let them know." Richard held up three applications. "What about these kids? We'll have to go in to try to find them." Harry nodded. "Yeah. You take the four-wheel, get to the nearest group. I'll try to rustle up a helicopter, so we can reach most of these locations by early tomorrow, before the afternoon thunderstorms that have been forecast hit." --o-0-o-- Office of the Lone Gunmen Alexandria, VA Saturday, 11:53 pm "Lone Gunmen." Frohike had grabbed the phone after Langly initiated their new traceback program. "Hey, guys, we need you to run some specs for us." Byers poked his head around the corner, sending a silent 'who,' then nodding at the answer. Frohike batted Byers' hand away. "Run some specs, Mulder? Is that really you?" He grinned at the chuckle. "Yeah, it's me. But, I'm just a mouthpiece, see..." Both thick eyebrows arched as he interrupted, "A front for the lovely Agent Scully? There are worse jobs, my friend." "Tell me about it. It seems our little theoretical discussion about the shape-shifters isn't so theoretical, Frohike." Langly had put the conversation on the speaker-phone, so the other two were listening in. Byers leaned over. "Another close encounter, Mulder? What flavor was it this week?" "Big, mean, and out to take our little discovery to save the planet." Langly's jaw dropped. "You being straight with us, G-man? That's why those dudes are planet-side? You know, abductees have been bringing back Earth First type messages for decades." The responding noise could have been either a growl or a deep groan. "Well, the next late night jam session, we'll kick that thought to death. Right now, I'm turning the phone over to Rosen, so you guys can talk shop." As the receiver changed hands, a thump crackled from the black box. The three men grinned at the new voice sending a quick hello. Langly tossed out the question they were all dying to ask. "Hey, Doctor Rosen, howdya like being on Spooky Patrol?" Her chuckle was immediate, as deep and throaty as they had hoped. "It's a thrill a minute, guys. Mulder tell you I got an offer for a tour of the Cosmos?" Byers began pacing. "What, billions and billions of new stars for you to catalog?" "More or less. Listen, we need to come up with either a ready-made hand-held unit we can track our visitor with, or find a shop in Seattle where we can purchase the pieces to assemble one." Frohike leaned close to the speaker. "Three steps ahead of you, Doctor Druyan. We drew straws for the honor; Mister Clean is on his way tomorrow to your mountain retreat with the tools for the job. Sit tight, and he'll fix you right up." "Hey, great. Does he need someone to meet him at Sea-Tac?" Byers rolled on the lab stool that was his current perch to between his friends. "That would be peachy. My navigational skills aren't what they used to be. Put Mulder back on the horn, so we can set the Bat-time." "Great meeting you guys." Leaning back, Frohike chuckled. "Wait till you see us in the flesh." He smoothed his hair. "I'm the tall, debonair, Cary Grant look-alike." Rosen snorted, "Right. Scully warned me about you. Here's Mulder." The tall agent's voice assumed that same intensity Scully had heard him use the first time she had been introduced to these three paranoid men, now her friends. "Hey, Frohike, my team is off-limits, you got that?" Frohike glanced at Byers and Langly, whose eyebrows had raised at the memory of the same incident. "I'll somehow manage to rein in my irresistible charm if you give me one of your tapes, Mulder, specifically, 'Weekend Frolics with the East Coast Beauty Queens of One One Five Five 132nd Street'. That ought to square us." "Roger dodger. One other thing." "Shoot." "I need a clear-through E-mail link to the Med, ASAP." While the three exchanged glances, it was Langly who replied, sober for once. "No can do, G-man. Lady Lovelace really did a number on us. We're retrenching through the night. We were lucky to be able to secure this line." "Not even with your re-routing program?" Byers sighed. "No, especially not with that. E-mailing over phone lines with those interruptions would mean data drop-outs, big time. We can guarantee voice connection only. Is it something you could read out?" "Maybe. I just want to see if a name a certain love-struck Fibbie has pulled out of the air means anything to Big Daddy." "Okay. We'll holler atcha in a little bit, when we're all square." "You got the number?" Three groans. Byers leaned over the speaker. "We're wounded, not dead out here, please! We had your stationary number before the call even connected." They heard the rustle of their friend standing quickly. "Whoa, didn't mean it as an insult. Chill, guys." As the connection broke, Byers hit the switch on the base of the speaker. The three of them resumed hovering over the lab bench, Frohike screwing a connector into the end of a flat, open chassis, while Langly programmed E-proms, and Byers tweaked the frequency settings on a test chamber. --o-0-o-- Dark Apartment Washington, DC Sunday, July 27, 1997 12:12 am The light at the end of a Morley flared, then the old man swiveled to face his standing companion. "You catch all that?" Luther nodded. "Eastern flight 132, arriving at Seattle at 11:55 am." "Good." "What are you going to tell your new contact?" There was a long, poisoned, silence, followed by a quick snort. "Whatever I feel he needs to know. You, however, need to arrive before that nit-wit Mulder relies on does. I have plans for their little rendezvous tomorrow. Listen..." --o-0-o-- Scully Residence Annapolis, MD Sunday, 12:18 am As she set the kitchen phone in its cradle, Margaret sighed. She carried the notebook into the living room, curling up there under a tall floor lamp, another homecoming gift from her Captain. She continued to read the pages, eager for these stolen moments with her husband. His hand-written stream of consciousness thoughts brought back memories of so many late-night talks, cuddled in their tall bed. Initially, his words told of his joys at returning home, then she skipped the dark time when all had not been well between them. She would read those later, when she wasn't so concerned with the issues of the present day. Now, Margaret skipped forward to the year 1992, to attempt to glean some information for her daughter. As she scanned through the entries, she covered her mouth, the horror conveyed in the dry writing on the pages growing as she continued. She closed the volume with a snap. Margaret flew back into the kitchen, startling the Pomeranian in his bed. "No!" The sound of her voice surprised her. She paced, the little brown eyes following her. --o-0-o-- Lowenberg Residence Santorini, Greece Sunday, 7:52 am Caroline Lowenberg, as light a sleeper as her son, reluctantly rolled up of her husband's arms at the insistent ringing of the phone. The walls of windows on six sides of their octagonal bedroom allowed clear Mediterranean sunlight to wash over the inhabitants of the bed within. The interior, owing to Max's indulgence in things historical, was a recreation of a bedchamber he had seen illustrated on Theran friezes. Although spacious, then, the mattress was suspended on a frame with narrow, curved legs, ending in points, rather than feet, so it rocked as she slid over. Caroline offered a greeting first in Greek, then as the caller identified herself, switched to English. "Margaret? Is that you?" She leaned out to read the digits on a clock, which was resting on a matching square-topped table. "It's one in the morning your time, almost. Is Dana all right?" Max pulled himself upright at her question. Caroline continued, "As far as you know, good. You want me to do what? To come to the States? When? Now?" Reaching for his bathrobe, the lean, white haired man shifted to Caroline's side of the bed. "Let me tell Max." She whispered the gist of the conversation to him, and he held up two fingers. "We'll both be coming, Margaret." She grasped her husband's shoulder. We'll make reservations and be there as soon as we can. Take care, and don't worry, all right?" The pair were up and moving as soon as she replaced the hand- piece. --o-0-o-- Campbell Office Volcanology Lab outside Newhalem, Washington Sunday, 1:42 am Mulder listened as Frohike tapped the overseas phone number into the computer. "Go ahead, Mulder, but we'll be switching you every thirty seconds, just to be certain. Max knows the drill, so here goes." The Enter key clicked, then the men in both Washingtons frowned as the phone rang. The answering machine had picked up, requesting that a message be recorded first in Greek, then in German, and finally, in English. "Jeez, guys, what was that all about? They're not in? It's almost eleven in the morning there, on a Sunday; they *have* to be in." The tall agent began pacing. "Keep cool, Mulder, we'll keep trying to get through. Just try to check out and look for our own personal grey-suit tomorrow, okay?" "Yeah, right. Thanks." "For nothing. Peace and long life." Sully had been hovering at his side during the aborted conversation. "They're not in?" He nodded. "I'm sure it's all right, Mulder, we'll try again later. If not, I'll call my Mom after she returns from early morning Mass to see if Caroline wrote her with any plans." He crossed his arms. "Yeah. In the meantime, we should all attempt to sleep, at least in shifts." The partners stepped into the Core lab, where the other three were draped over lab stools, or in Nichols' case, propped against the bench. The older agent pushed himself away to step up to Mulder. "Anything?" "No. They're out of touch." Mulder ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I know this will sound stupid, but, you guys should head over to the dormitory to catch a few hours rest. Scully and I will take the first watch over our little friends." He turned to the technician. "Rich, that goes for you, too. Go home, try to unwind, and we'll see you here in the morning." Rich nodded, grateful for the break, leaving without no more than a cursory wave. Rosen stepped up to the tall agent. "Mulder, if you need us, I'm willing to stay here with you." She shrugged. "I'm not sure I'll be able to sack out, anywhere other than in a corner. Graduate school all-nighters were good for something, anyway." Grinning, Nichols dropped one hand on her shoulder. "The big guy's right, Ros. Besides, after a long, hot shower, you'll be sleeping like a baby." Passing the Cherokee, the four walked to the Explorer Rosen and Nichols had rented. Nichols pointed to the red vehicle, canted down in the right rear. "Boss, I think I see how your visitor made the journey." They followed his finger to the metal hub, bare and resting in the mud. "Looks like you got a few miles for free." Mulder grimaced. "Yeah, it does." Scully aimed the flashlight at the bare hub while her partner began unlatching the spare and the other agents drove up a narrow dirt road. --o-0-o-- Capitol Hill Apartment Washington, DC Saturday, 10:52 pm "Hey." Lindhauer's greeting was brief, before stepping back to admit 'Charlie' and 'Ace'. He ran a proprietary hand down her shoulder, making sure both of them were cognizant of his action, and took grim satisfaction at the color sprouting on 'Charlie''s forehead. 'Ace' waved him off. "Good evening, 'Finn'. Where's 'Andrew'?" They turned at the footsteps from the kitchen. "Just setting out some fruit juice and biscotti." McConnell pulled out a chair. "Have a seat." 'Charlie' immediately moved to the brunette's shoulder. "Thanks." The four settled in, 'Charlie' sliding close to the programmer. Lindhauer sipped his golden pineapple extract. "I think we all know why we're here." 'Ace' nodded. "The shape-shifter is on the move. Our predecessors decreed that the Colony was no threat, living quietly among us, performing an occasional unorthodox medical experiment or two." She shrugged. "It's hardly a crime." Tight-lipped smiles flitted across the features of the three men, McConnell clearing his throat when she paused. "Not this one." He slipped a glossy out of the folder in front of him. The image had been captured with a telephoto lens, showing the trench-coated, square-jawed Bounty Hunter crossing Memorial Bridge on foot, Arlington Cemetery behind him. "He's some kind of a soldier, a spy sent to report back on the Colony." Studying the print, Lindhauer nodded. "An actual hostile alien, walking the earth. The Teacher would never have permitted it." There was a momentary pause, a silent memorial to the sad-eyed, curly haired Old Man, who had been a favorite among the junior members of the Conspiracy. 'Ace' sighed. "Poor Alex. He was the unlucky one, the triggerman Black Lung chose, but he never forgave himself when he couldn't follow the orders and another had to take his place." 'Charlie' bristled momentarily, but let it pass. Alex Krycek had been the Golden Boy, sent to bring down Mulder and redeem himself for the lapse, but had been cast away as an abject failure instead. McConnell cleared his throat. "It's over. We need to remove the shape-shifter, to see that he doesn't escape. Whatever knowledge he takes back to his home-world will only be used against us. We can track him now, follow him through his UV signature." "No." 'Ace' was curt. "We don't follow him. What if he takes a few citizens hostage, or his blood is spewed onto a crowd in the struggle? That would only bring unwanted attention to his presence. We know where he will end up." She watched the others nod. "We make our stand at his vessel, wait for him to come to it." His blue eyes aglow, McConnell laughed. "Better yet, we raise his ship from the ocean bottom to the nearest land, make him move North before he is ready." Lindhauer brought his palms together in a silent clap. "Good. We'll set it up, then 'Andrew' and I will handle it personally. After hearing the Roswell stories, I've always wanted to tour a working alien craft, however soggy. This is too important to leave to Luther. In fact, we should probably cut him out of these preparations altogether." 'Charlie' frowned. "Why?" Lindhauer lifted another image from the folder in front of McConnell. "This is the shape-shifter as viewed by our UV detector." He held the print up for the rest to study. 'Ace' took it, tipped it into the light, then froze. "That smell!" Four heads faced the door, four pairs of eyes, two azure, two shifting hazel, fell on the silhouette in the glass on the door. 'Charlie' and 'Ace' exchanged a confused glance. Passing through his kitchen, Lindhauer lifted a pocket revolver from among his flatware, before flinging the door wide. "Is that any way to greet an old ally?" The curling smoke from his newly lit Morley drew out in a smooth stream as he glided into the dining room. He pulled the photo from 'Ace''s fingers. "Very good. This is excellent work. May I?" McConnell drew away, offering the old man his chair. The Smoking Man sat. "Thank you. I heard your plans, and commend you on them. But you have forgotten one important detail, our friends in the Bureau." 'Ace' shrugged. "That bug of theirs is important?" A grey eyebrow arched. "Critical. The shape-shifter wants to take it with him. I've dispatched an associate to take care of it." A puff. "And him." He slid a protruding dual image from its paper jacket. "It's sad, but we really should trust no one, since no one is quite whom he or she appears to be." He stood. "Good night, my young associates." A quick, familiar gesture with the Morley-laden hand. The four conspirators were alone again, only the acrid smoke lingering in the old man's absence. --o-0-o-- Marblemount Ranger's Station North Cascades National Park Marblemount, Washington Sunday, 2:02 am Richard Walking Beaver rubbed his face, then brought up the latest NOWcast from the National Weather Service in Seattle. While pulling the latest groups of drunk kids out of the woods, he had sensed a shift in the wind to from the west, where it would pull the humid air of the Sound towards the mountains. He thought back over a meteorology lecture he had sat through in college, as one of the few Quinalts so honored to attend for four years on a Tribal scholarship. Richard realized, during that course, that not all the learning of the whites was evil, that some of it tallied with his people's beliefs as well. Life itself was a cycle of birth, growth, decay, death, then rebirth again, like the water, flowing endlessly over and through the earth. He also remembered that water, not earthquakes or man-made explosions, was the greatest force for the dissolution of rocks, leveling mountains, rearranging coastlines, carrying boulders down from high peaks. That knowledge had given him hope, hope that his people would eventually succeed in reshaping the world they were forced to live in, a world where money was everything. Thus, when a freak thunderstorm, such as the one he saw approaching on the radar image, dropped moisture over the Cascades, it was responding purely to the change in topography. It was not a spirit, acting with some pre-ordained malice, some intentional evil. But even so, the added water would loose soil already saturated, carrying it down, pulled by the force of gravity, and it would cover many things, buildings on the wrong slope, animals or people sleeping in the forest. He sighed. His eyes fell on a map of the area, and he found himself thinking of the valley where the University's new Volcanics Lab was housed. He flipped through the previous week's updates on the table. He pressed his hat down on his head, leaving the visitor's center devoid of occupants, then turned back at the last minute to set the answering machine. --o-0-o-- Laurel, Maryland Saturday, 11:33 pm "Lisa?" From the driver's seat, she had reached across to tuck her hand through his seatbelt, a gesture that she meant as affectionate, but always pinched him slightly. "Hum?" He was studying her intently. "How do you feel?" She lifted her hand away, resting it on the steering wheel. "A little shocked, I guess. Why did he come to you in secret first, then appear to all of us at once? Are these more of his mindgames?" Deep in thought, 'Charlie' shrugged. They were waiting to turn into her apartment complex behind three other cars, but he was fidgeting, anxious. "No, I mean, how do you feel, *tonight*?" There was enough illumination from the streetlights that she could tell he was flushed, so she pushed the temperature lever in her old Honda hatchback a little further towards the blue end. "I feel fine. But you don't look so good, Drew." He lifted her hand off the wheel, pressing a kiss into her palm. "Oh... about that." He interlaced their fingers. "I want you, Lisa." She closed her eyes, swallowed, then frowned, as the solution for the cost-concealment algorithm that had occupied her on the drive home appeared suddenly. "Tonight?" "Hum." As the traffic cleared away, he released her so she could ease the battered grey vehicle into the parking lot. "How long have you been on the pill?" The answer was a precise and immediate, "Two months, three weeks, five days." She turned the engine off, straightening her body to shove her keys in her jeans pocket. "We've both been so busy." He released his lap-belt, then exited, staring at her over the black bars of the Yakima roof rack. "We'll always be in over our heads, Lisa." She shrugged. "I know, Drew, it seems like every time we have a moment, something comes up." While they walked, he wrapped one arm around her waist, then tucked her against him tightly. "Like the trip to the Adirondacks." She nodded. "That turned into an oversight inspection of one of the new genetic development labs." After kissing her cheek, he pulled her face around, brushing her lips with his fingers. "The weekend in Phoenix." As they separated so she could dig her keys out of her pocket again, she laughed, once. "And we ended up out in the desert, tracking Mulder and Scully as they chased some UFO reports down to nothing." The door open, he stepped back for her to enter first. She studied him carefully. "But what's got you thinking? Black Lung again?" He fumbled for the light switch. "Sort of. He talked about an unrequited love." 'Ace' snorted. "With him, it would have to be unrequited. What's taking so long with the lights, Drew?" She was thrown back against a dark wall, felt her head contact the edge of one of her ever- open chassis, then she saw sparks. The thought was vague, disconnected. Then she saw nothing for a time. --o-0-o-- North Cascades National Park Sunday, 2:38 am The Bounty Hunter peered anxiously at the terrain below him, attempting to gather some idea of where he was from the pattern of distant lights. Morphing into first, a Tangier monkey, then a peregrine falcon, had been an excess of cleverness that allowed him to escape out the derrick. But there had been no winged life- forms of this type on the home-world for him to observe and whose thought-patterns he could assimilate. Several of the mammalians he had encountered on this world, like the rat, had analogues among the species back there, so assuming their behaviors had been simple. Now, it seemed he was caught in one updraft after another, bearing him higher and higher, further away from the ground. Another updraft caught him, so it was a frantic few seconds of flapping before he was righted again. Cautiously, he turned his head first to the left, then the right. He banked to his right, then was buoyed up by the winds again. --o-0-o-- Crew dormitory Volcanics Lab Sunday, 2:57 am Nichols straightened at the knock on his door. As with every isolated facility in the Cascades, the dormitory was somewhat self-contained, the rooms actually a row of efficiency apartments. Each was outfitted with a full bath, a sink, range, and refrigerator along one wall, a desk, wardrobe, and television along the other. Square windows over the bed would, in daylight, offer a spectacular vista of lush old-growth forest, climbing slopes up to the Neve Glacier complex. The drilling crew had been evacuated when Doctor Campbell's debility had been put out to be due to a contamination of the Lab's water supply by the Giardia protozoan. Since the entirety of the low log building was deserted, Rosen and Nichols had chosen adjacent quarters so as not to feel alone in the silent dormitory. Rosen leaned against the door. "Nic?" He grinned. "Hey, come on in, kid." They exchanged quick smiles as she entered. "Can't sleep? It's not like you don't have enough bunks to chose from." She nodded. "I know. That was wild, what happened back there, just like everything else we seem to end up dealing with, right?" "Yeah." She dropped her sheets from the Ouija tests on the desk where he was working. "Thanks. Have a seat." She settled on the edge of the bed, taking the papers he held out to her. As they scanned each other's questions and answers, Rosen watched Nichols' face carefully to gauge his reaction when he hit her final entry. A slight gasp, then he dropped the sheets in his lap. "Ros?" She crossed her legs on the mattress. "Yes, I wanted you to know, but I couldn't ever find the right time to tell you." She fingered the pages on her knee. "Sorry about your marriage." His face fell, then he shrugged. "It happens in this business. Alicia and I have separated twice, when the work was rough. It's toughest on the girls." He dug a curled photograph out of his wallet, and moved over beside her. "That's Janie, my eldest, fifteen, and Liz, two years younger. Jane's big into soccer, smart as a whip. Liz is a poet, or wants to be. She's always writing, staring out windows." He rubbed the images of their faces with his thumb. "Good kids. I couldn't be prouder." Wrapping her arms around her knees, she smiled. "They're beautiful, Nic, just like their Mom." She tapped the sandy-haired woman standing between them, chuckling at his corner of the eye glance. "No, I don't mean like that. Wait here." She stepped briefly back into her room, holding out a framed five by seven photo when she returned. "That's Cary Jean Hooper, my life- partner, at our joining ceremony after I finished my degree." Nichols studied the image. His colleague was kissing a shorter, black-haired woman, both in white tuxes, both beaming. "Ros?" She waited. "This is kinda, well, big news." "I know. I'm probably the first lesbian you've met, that you know about, anyway." He grinned. "Yeah. Something I've always wondered though. Do you mind?" She pulled the desk chair over to face him. "Shoot." He sighed. "Okay, I've read that in gay couples, one is more, well,..." She nodded. "Masculine, and the other more feminine?" He blinked, waiting, searching her face for understanding. "Yeah, well, I'm the masculine partner." She waved her hands, then crossed them to rest her elbows on her thighs. "Surprised?" He shook his head. "No. You're rugged, Ros, so I would have been shocked had you said the other." He grinned. "I've been shooting hoops with Mulder in the evenings to socialize, pass the time, now that I'm living on my own." He patted his gut. "I can't do those long runs, like you do." She leaned forward. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Nic, neither can he. When Scully is on the blades, we end up leaving him in the dust." The pair laughed, finally settled after their revelations. Remembering one of his questions, Rosen tipped her head. "You a 'Skins fan?" He shrugged. "Broncos. I had to keep a low profile after the '88 Super Bowl. You?" She tucked one leg under her hip. "When you grow up in Miami hearing the legends of the Perfect Season, you don't have much choice, Nic." They spoke together, "Dolphins." She continued, "Here we are, two AFC babies, stuck in the NFC East." He chewed his salt and pepper moustache thoughtfully. "You wanna go to a game sometime?" She grinned. "That would be great. We'll have to bum tickets off Mulder, though." Nichols slid back against the headboard, crossing his legs at the ankles. "You're kidding me." She shook her head. "Nope. His Dad was some kind of bigwig back about thirty years ago. He has, not one, but two Season Tickets." Grunting, Nichols interlinked his fingers behind his neck. "Old Spooky's just full of surprises." She tipped her head. "Nic, why do you keep calling him that? You know he hates it." The older agent shrugged before glancing out the darkened window. "Yeah, I know I shouldn't, but it was the kindest thing that was said about him, behind his back. He was a great profiler, but it was too much for him. He would go too far into a serial killer's head, then have to claw his way out again. There are times when he reminds me of Secretariat, perfect and turbo-charged. He's still that way, high-strung, hyper." He glanced at her frown. "You don't think so?" "No. He's like so many of the professors I had in graduate school." She paused. "I could never say this to his face, since he sees conventional science as missing the boat, but he is." She placed the heels of her hands on her temples, the chewed-down nails pointed straight ahead. "It's like they all have blinders on, they focus so tightly on one little area of research, quasars, black holes, or in Mulder's case, aliens and the paranormal." She threw her arms out. "Everything else is insignificant, out of view." Nichols nodded. "Yeah, the only person he's admitted into his private world is Scully." He twisted around on the mattress. "I pity the poor woman, the focus of all that energy. When we were hiking to interview our witnesses, before you were done with Quantico, he had to camp out for three straight nights." Uncurling her tingling leg, she laughed. "I wouldn't expect it to bother him." Nichols frowned. "It didn't, which surprised me, given all that higher education, that 'Oxford' business. He would just barrel ahead, with Scully trotting right alongside of him, like they were the only two people in the universe." He tapped the bedspread with his left index finger. "Now, *she* is a wonder. Never complaining, even when she was dead on her feet, just gritting her teeth and bearing up." Nichols shook his head. "I hope he appreciates her." Arching one dark brow, Rosen sighed. "Among us girls, we'd call him high-maintenance." She bared her teeth in a quick, mirthless grin. "But he does know how lucky he is, just watch him when they talk to each other. The pair of them together are like Felix and Oscar, but it seems to work. Our Doctor Scully could use a little care and nurturing herself, though." Nichols shifted the pillows behind him. "Oh, should Cary be concerned?" The astronomer waved her hand at the thought. "No. She's straight. He may have been bi at one time, maybe when he was across the water, but she's a Mahican's arrow. You develop a sense for these things." She linked her fingers over the back of the chair. "The Church, the media, try to convince everyone that gender is a fixed thing, that every woman is all lace and pink and curls, that men are all rocks and guns." She shrugged. "That's wrong, just plain wrong. We're all on a continuum, with some straight men more feminine than a lot of women, even straight women, I know." Nichols frowned, considering her words. "Yeah, that makes sense. Spooky's like that, soft where Scully's hard, and vice versa. The nights were really rough on that trip." Rosen propped her bare feet up on the mattress. "Oh?" The older agent shrugged. "Yeah. He has wicked nightmares. He'd scream himself awake, sit up as if he had been bitten, but she'd be right there, trying to pull him out of himself, back into the real world." The woman tipped her head. "About his sister?" "Sometimes. Sometimes about Scully, about when she was missing. They'd just huddle there, in the middle of this gorgeous forest, clutching each other like two lost souls on a life-raft." She pulled her feet back, dropping them to the tightly-woven carpet. "How did you ever sleep?" He shrugged. "If it was bad, I'd take a long hike, give him a chance to come down." He laughed. "After all his yelling, I never had to worry about predators. By the time I'd return, they'd be out again, curled into a little yin-yang ball with each other, so I'd know they'd both make it through the night." She rose. "Speaking of that, *I'd* better call it a night, Nic, we'll be on duty in what, three hours?" He nodded, then waved her to her room before settling under the blankets himself. --o-0-o-- North Cascades National Park Sunday, 2:12 am The Bounty Hunter had attempted a few experimental dives, learning to separate and catalog the sensations as they happened. It had, at first, been terrifying, the dizzying speed of his descent, the air rushing past his head. But now, he was ready. One long plunge, pulling up when he felt the air shift above the trees, then he could settle in branches, assuming yet another shape to reach the ground. As for returning to Seattle to retrieve his ship's components, well, he would work out that part of the plan later. He took a huge gulp of air, knowing he would be unable to breath again until he pulled out of the dive. Tucking his brown and white flecked wings tightly against his ribs, he stretched his neck to elongate his form, then fell, resisting the temptation to squeeze his eyes shut. For a second or two, all was whistling air, then, he felt it. He rotated, extending his wings, fanning his tail. He felt one of his long fingerbones snap, then flapping madly, managed to avoid a rock that suddenly had light reflected off it. His left wing and tail contacted the ground first, breaking the fall and preventing more serious damage. But, he was dizzy enough from holding his breath that he rolled onto his breast, knocking the wind out of him. Hearing voices, he raised his head. He lay still, forcing himself to listen. --o-0-o-- Rainbow Point Camp, East Bank Trail Ross Lake National Recreation Area North Cascades National Park Sunday, 2:16 am The light flickered and died. Donna halted, the faint illumination from the stars insufficient to guide them. "Sorry, Dal, I think that's it. We've used up the extras I brought along, and the batteries from the radio." He sank to the ground, easing his foot out in front of him. "It'll have to do, lover. I couldn't walk any more if you were topless in a Jacuzzi ten feet over there." He waved vaguely at the lake. "Try to get a fire started, like we're supposed to. I'm sorry I can't help." She nodded, collecting what branches she could feel, then igniting them with her disposable lighter, looking out over the area. "Where is everybody? I thought this was supposed to be a big campsite, but it's deserted." Dallas sighed. "Maybe it's just a slow night, O-Donna." He didn't want to voice what had been on his mind, that the reason the camp was deserted was that it had been evacuated. He had not called to his fiancé's attention how close the water had been to the cut- through portions of the trail, while she had just gritted her teeth when she slipped on mud washed over the rocks. "We'll be okay, here, right?" She stepped away to hang their backpacks, their food in one, trash in the other, from a long narrow branch, a regulation one hundred feet away from the fire. On her return, he attempted a smile. "Sure thing, cute stuff. Your Mom's big wedding plans have to go off without a hitch, right?" She was using the light to retrieve more fallen branches, then cut a few evergreen boughs with his Bowie knife. As the blaze grew, she helped him shift closer to the fire, then rewrapped his ankle. When she finished, Donna crouched at his side. "You warm enough, Dal?" He hugged her. "Now I am. Don't worry about the tent, this ought to do." He kissed her lightly, then settled down, his head in her lap. Donna watched the cinders float upward, and as he drifted off, she leaned back, rubbing the base of her spine. Donna smiled as she heard a soft snore, then, achy as well, stretched out. Before she dropped off, a thought drifted lazily to the forefront of her mind. --o-0-o-- West Chase Apartments Laurel, Maryland Sunday, 2:14 am "Ace' fumbled around, tumbling to the ground, waiting for the pile of computer parts she had landed on to come to rest around and on top of her. She heard a groan, then remembered that 'Charlie' had been walking her to the door, so she groped around for him. "Drew?" "Lisa?" The voice was faint, sounded, not a whisper. "I can't see you. Where are you?" "I'm by the wall, Drew, what happened to you?" She was crawling towards him, following his voice. "I don't know. I was reaching for the light switch, I felt a rush of air, then, it's now." Clinging to each other as they stood, Drew finally hit the panel, casting light on the interior of 'Ace''s new apartment. The computer furniture had been overturned, her system chassis, printers, tape drives, anything and everything electronic reeked with the unique stench of power-surge burned components. 'Ace''s sneakers crunched on glass from the monitors as she hobbled to the center of her living room. There, the floor was suspiciously clear, except for a child's bright orange play pool. 'Charlie' joined her, staring down at her brown-covered lab notebooks, lying in ink-black water, the pages, loose, ripped out, some floating on the surface. She groaned. "It's all gone, Drew, my years of work and notes, it's all ruined." She rotated slowly, taking in the carnage. "Whoever did this specifically targeted my work, not my personal items." She waved both arms in frustration. "The kitchen, for what that's worth, is untouched." She staggered over to a folding chair. "We need to alert 'Finn' and 'Andrew'." 'Charlie' nodded, pushing what was once an ink-jet printer off her phone stand. He punched in a number, then waited. "'Andrew'? We need you to bring yourself and 'Finn' over to 'Ace''s right now. I think the loyalists have struck again." After replacing the receiver, he reached for the programmer, who was half-heartedly attempting to reassemble the boards within her new SGI Indi. "Hey, Lisa, stop." He guided her to the sofa, rocking her gently while they waited. --o-0-o-- Warehouse Dover, Delaware Sunday, July 27, 1997 4:21 am The two 'females' were clicking excitedly, pulling boxes from their van that was backed up to the loading dock, setting notes out to read later. But, they stopped as someone hammered on the small door in the rear of their work area. Hastily throwing a blanket over their new acquisitions, one crossed through the suspended green sacks to check outside, then pull the door open. "Who are you?" Her query was answered by a SIG thrust against her nose. The visitor followed this with a stream of whistles and hisses. The 'female' knocked his weapon to the floor. "Why did you come here?" She yanked him inside. "Answer me in the speech of your form!" 'Luther' cowered, holding his hands in front of his face. "Where is Pilot? I am Engineer and I need Pilot. We are known to the simians, all but one, and we need to hide, soon. Has he been to you?" The other 'female' joined them. "If we have seen him, if we know where he is, what is it to you? Are you from the Klck-zz-ta?" 'Luther' fell to his knees, his head on the floor. "I am! I came with Pilot! I do not plan, I only maintain, I am not one of you worthies, one of our ancients." Dragging him to his feet, the women headed back to the boxes, one throwing back the blanket. "Whatever the group of hominids who have made our extermination their business know, they know no longer. Here are their tools. Your third has done well, coming to us after the craft crashed, then helping us assemble data on this planet. You say you are known?" A frantic nod. "The one with the cigarettes I think knows I am not the man he recruited to help him after the coup. What am I to do? Tell me, worthies!" He clutched one of the women's hands, his teeth chattering with fear. The two 'females' consulted quietly, finally looking down at the man at their feet. The taller woman spoke. "What does the one who fills his body with poisons ask of you?" The alien who appeared as Luther climbed to his feet. "I am to go to the city called Seattle, to find the simian known to you as Mulder. I am to observe only." One of the women touched his face, a gentle, pardoning gesture. "Then, do so. Pilot is already there, finding the parts that will take you home. If you find him, bring him to us. We have need of him and his craft." 'Luther' nodded. "Mulder and the one called Scully are in possession of a primitive life form, one that consumes rock." The females clicked to each other excitedly. The shorter female spoke. "A new life form? If you can acquire it, do so. We need to study any of the ancient species of this world; it is our primary mission. Your third has served us in the past, taking on many forms to go into and out of their halls of learning and power, bringing us much we would otherwise not have." After receiving another stroke of the face, more clicks, and, looking considerably relieved, 'Luther' left the women to their cataloging. --o-0-o-- Volcanology Lab outside Newhalem, Washington Sunday, 1:23 am Mulder set himself on another round of the facility, poking under the equipment, into the core casings, checking any small crevasse or hollow. Scully was standing by the derrick, watching him make the circuit, too jet-lagged to follow him. "Mulder, if he were still here, you would have found him by now." After glaring over his shoulder at her, he grunted while he shifted a battered drill press. A rumble filled the space. "Scully! Did you hear that?" At her nod, they headed for the two-way radio in Doctor Campbell's office, calling in to the Marblemount Ranger Station. When they received no response, Scully phoned, leaving a brief message on the answering machine. She swiveled to face her partner, who was sprawled on the cot in the cramped study. "I can't imagine it's unoccupied; late summer is the busiest season in the Cascades." Chewing his lower lip, Mulder began pacing. "An emergency of some kind? What?" "If anything, it's Ross Lake, Mulder. It's at a one hundred year high from all the rain and snow last winter." He nodded. "I remember the reports. Up to 88 inches in some towns in Oregon. Do we need to evacuate?" She shrugged. "We may. The Lab's built into a narrow valley." She waved her hand. "Fewer feet of rock to drill through. Summer's usually dry here, only this season, they've had an unusually greater number of thunderstorms." Scully crossed over to drop onto the canvas, shoulder to shoulder with the tall agent. "But the most common problems in the Cascades are from rockslides blocking Highway 20. It's the sole paved road through the mountains from the Interstate to Okanagan, and if it's blocked, this area comes to a standstill. At least with the radio, we're doing better than worrying about breaking our single light bulb." He leaned against her. "Or the gasoline running out." Mulder scratched his cheek. "That seems like ancient history, doesn't it?" Straightening against the inner wall, she closed her eyes and chuckled. "First time I used the Scully family trademark 'I'm fine.' on you." He glanced down at her and smiled, his voice soft with the memory. "When you were scared out of your mind." Suddenly serious, he chewed his lip. "I was so worried about you in the quarantine hospital, you were far too dehydrated, and you wouldn't respond when I spoke to you." Turning her head, she studied his darkening expression. She poked his side gently with her index finger. "Nope, I heard you. You sat by me for hours, Mulder, begging, teasing, prodding. For the parts of the time I was nauseated by that bug venom, your words were a tether." She studied his face. "You were the only thing that seemed real then, surrounded as we were by all that plastic and those blinding white walls." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Wish it had been the only time, Scully." They both sprang to their feet at the banging on the front door, then hurried forward to answer it, nodding at the Ranger without, who was frowning. "You folks part of the University? I don't remember seeing..." Mulder was holding up his ID in his left hand. "Agents Mulder and Scully, FBI." "Since when did the Giardia protozoan become a matter for the Bureau?" Mulder glanced down at his partner. Scully cocked an eyebrow at their visitor. "Giardia? Was that the story the Lab put out?" The Ranger shrugged. Scully frowned. "Sir, we've been hearing rumbles..." The black-haired Ranger extended his hand. "Richard Walking Beaver, from the station down in Marblemount. We've been concerned about rockslides. If you folks are done with your work here, or can stop your investigation, I suggest you do so, at the earliest opportunity." Mulder stepped out to face the black-haired man. "What? Do we need to evacuate? How long do we have?" He held up one hand. "It's just precautionary, right now. The Park Service wants to avoid trouble, not wait until there's a crisis." Scully touched her partner's arm. "Thanks. We don't need to be here anymore. We'll be on our way." After the Ranger's departure, she began riffling through the papers on the desk, searching for a local phone book. "We should call Rich and the others back here, take those out of the National Forest." She pointed over her shoulder at the core lab. He was punching numbers into his cel phone. "Nichols? It's Mulder. We need you up here, fast. You or Rosen have Rich's home phone?" He scribbled in the top margin of the nearest reprint. "Got it." --o-0-o-- State Road Twenty North Cascades National Park Sunday, 3:12 am Rosen grabbed the edges of her seat, muttering through gritted teeth. The tail lights of the Red Cherokee were barely visible through the tree-trunks on the narrow logging road. The Explorer tipped as they ran over cobbles and small boulders strewn over the road. Nichols whispered a pointless protest. "Slow down, Mulder." She glanced at her partner, crouched over the steering wheel, frowning into the sudden rainstorm. "He wasn't this much trouble on foot, I take it." A grunt. "Hardly." She checked over her shoulder. "We haven't lost Rich, so we're okay. Besides, if Mulder does get reckless, I'll bet Scully gives him an earful." He slapped the steering wheel. "Jeez! Now where did he go, Ros? The last thing we need is for one of these trucks to roll down a ravine. If our cargo ends up all over the mountains, Reconstructive Dentistry will enter a new Golden Age on the West Coast." --o-0-o-- Rainbow Point Camp Ross Lake National Recreation Area North Cascades National Park Sunday, 3:14 am Donna groaned as the first few drops pelted her face. She shook the shoulder of the man lying with his head in her lap. "Dal, it's raining. We have to get up." He rolled onto his knees, then began taking short, harsh breaths. "I shouldn't have stopped. I think this is swollen up worse than when I was walking." He plopped back down. "It's raining, too." Donna rose, listening through the storm. "I think someone's coming, Dal, wait here!" She ran into the woods, leaving him crouched by the quickly dying fire. "Donna!" He tried to see into the pounding rain. "O-Donna! I can't walk." He rose slowly, hobbling on his good leg. He heard a roar, then could faintly make out headlights through the trees. "Donna?" While he watched, the lights grew and separated, until a four- wheel drive with the Park Service shields on the doors rolled to a stop beside him. His fiancé climbed out. "Dal! See, it was someone. It's the ranger, and we have to go." After helping him into the cab, she threw their gear in the back, slamming the door behind her when she was finished. Harry Williams grinned at them. "Good to get the last of you out of here all right." Each blanched at a rumble in the distance, then the balding man stomped on the gas. "It's starting. Let's try to get you two back to a hospital or somewhere dry, at least. Donna tells me you have a wedding you can't skip out on, Dallas." Dallas hugged the tiny woman. "Yeah, I can hardly wait until I can tell the grand-kids about what their old grandparents did just before their wedding." Harry laughed. "Well, now they'll have grandparents, anyway." Donna was tugging the Ranger's arm, pointing at the far end of the clearing. "There's an injured Peregrine over there. I've covered it with a tarp, but it needs help." Williams killed the engine. "Thanks. I have a small animal carrier in the back. Come on." --o-0-o-- The Bounty Hunter felt pressure moving all over his body, then the plastic that had been over him was lifted away. He ventured to open one eye, waiting while the girl who had found him earlier jabbered to an older man in green. He began thrashing around, attempting an escape. --o-0-o-- "There, fellah, we're just here to help." Williams threw the tarp over the bird, shielding him from the beak and talons he knew could inflict permanent damage on both of them if he wasn't quick with the hawking hood. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Donna had the cat carrier open, so he wrapped the falcon efficiently, then slid him in. She peered in through the wire door. "Will he be okay?" "Sure will. I'll have my partner take a look at him at the station in the morning. We have a couple of cages we can keep him in behind the building." He patted the tiny woman's shoulder. "You've helped save a member of an endangered species, so he'll be back to dining on quail in a month or so. Let's go." --o-0-o-- State Road Twenty North Cascades National Forest Sunday, 3:16 am Frowning at the speedometer, Scully pursed her lips. "Mulder, where will we hide these crates?" He shrugged. "I was hoping you would have some revelation on that, Doctor." She crossed her arms, running through options. "We need a cryogenics facility." He canted his eyes towards her momentarily. "In another century or so, I'm sure there be one on every street corner, right next to the Hoverboard specialty shops, Scully. Why do you say that?" She glanced back, checking for the others. "Rosen and Rich were freezing the water they used to wash their test samples in, Mulder. We could store the specimens for further study and keep them from doing damage, if we chill them down." His hands spinning, he guided the jeep through a patch of brush. "But won't that kill them?" She shrugged. "Maybe. I'm not talking absolute zero here. But right now, it's a risk we'll have to take." "Okay, I think I know just the place, if it's still here." --o-0-o-- West Chase Apartments Laurel, Maryland Sunday, 7:14 am 'Charlie' hovered between sleep and full waking, enjoying the ease a Sunday morning provided. His back was stiff, his shoulder cramped, but he really didn't care. He smiled down at the woman sprawled out on the sofa, her head on his lap, one arm curled around him for support. As his hands trailed lazily over the curves in her back and hips, he bent over, kissing her gently on the ear. "Hey beautiful." She inhaled, hugging him as she awoke. "Hey, Drew." 'Ace' sat up, taking her time to revive slowly. "Man, I'm sore. Who would have thought that it would have taken so long!" She yawned. "What time is it?" She held his left wrist in front of her nose. "Oh, only four hours." She rubbed her face. "Well, back to the gin mill." Before she could stand, he pulled her back down, tucking her firmly under his arm. "You should take a break, Lisa. The mess will still be there. You worked hard, you know." She smiled. "So did you. But the place is still a wreak. Sorry." He grinned. "Don't be. At least we have an inkling as to Black Lung's plans now." As his mind wandered back over the evening's events, he rubbed her shoulder idly. "I think 'Andrew''s right. His appearance was to throw all suspicion away from himself, to give himself the perfect alibi. You don't think so?" She was shaking her head. "No, I don't. It may amaze you, Drew, but looking through this destruction, I can't locate my notes and hardware for several projects I had ongoing. The missing work all pertains to tracking and dispatching our shape-shifter friends." She crossed her arms. "Something is about to happen, Drew. I think 'Finn' and 'Andrew' need to leave for the Arctic as soon as the Senate finishes with these hearings Matheson is running." While she was reading through faintly legible loose pages, sorting them into piles, he began contacting the men they would need over the phone. --o-0-o-- Marblemount Ranger's Station North Cascades National Park Marblemount, Washington Sunday, 8:26 am Harry Williams grinned as his partner re-entered the observation room. Neither had managed to return to their homes last night, so Harry had spent the last few minutes on the phone checking in with his wife. "Guess what's out back?" Walking Beaver blinked. "What?" "A peregrine! The two kids I pulled out of Rainbow Camp had found it. I've kept it quiet in a cage for the night since I had to get them to safety, but now that you're here, we can set its wing. These raptors are too much for one person to handle." Intrigued, the Quinalt Ranger nodded. "It must be young. Most falcons know instinctively how to avoid bad weather. Let's go have a look." The two men made their way to the rear, where three empty wire enclosures stood on a frame off the ground. "Where is it?" Williams crossed over the gravel driveway to the center cage. "I don't know, but this is strange. It's still locked." Walking Beaver poked the mesh, the vibrations knocking the hawking hood onto its face. "It looks intact. Wait, there's something still here." Rolling the bezels of the combination lock, he reached in to lift a broken speckled wing feather away, then gasped as the quills disintegrated in his hands. "What kind of a bird would..." A sudden gust of wind whipped around the building, and the two men were suddenly staring at nothing. William's forehead creased. "I've never seen anything like this, have you?" --o-0-o-- Eternal Preservations, Limited Huntingdon, Washington Sunday, 9:16 am "If it isn't my favorite FBI Agent, Fox Mulder! It's been too many years!" A round, heavily made-up woman wrapped her arms around the tall man, dragging him in through the doorway, while the others filed in cautiously. "I thought that was Dale Cooper, Aurora." After he disentangled himself, she patted his cheek, the multicolored, voluminous pantsuit still swirling around her body. "Why should I pine after someone who isn't real, sweetie darling?" Rosen and Nichols cocked eyebrows at the mass of sequins and polyester, laden with paste necklaces and bracelets, that was squeezing Mulder around the middle. Scully shifted around to fix her partner in her 'And where did you find this one?' stare. He continued to reluctantly grasp the proprietress by the shoulders, trotting out his best 'winsome plea for absolution' gaze to appease the auburn haired woman. Scully attempted a rescue. "Miss Luminens..." Completely enraptured with the tall agent, the older woman ignored her. "I haven't seen you since MUFCON '93!" She prodded his arms and stomach. "And you're still as skinny as a bean pole. Doesn't the lovely Agent Scully feed you at all?" Scully rolled her eyes, then circled the room, studying the posters trumpeting the virtues of cryogenics. After clutching him tightly again, the middle-aged woman flung herself, necklaces tinkling while she approached, at Scully. She hugged the slender, petite woman as firmly as she had her partner, oblivious to the glare that Mulder had seen reduce a room of Quantico students to abject obedience. "This must be she! Max, rest his soul, was so intrigued by you when we last spoke." "It must be." As Scully extricated herself and extended her hand, all curt professionalism, the chill in her voice would have 'preserved' Mount Saint Helens at peak eruption. "I don't believe Mulder's given me the pleasure of..." As the aura of Windsong leaned in to whisper to her, Scully bent backwards and frowned. "Oh, my dear, that's really too bad. He's extremely, shall we say, talented." The tall agent snapped to attention, turning the older woman with a hand on her back. "Aurora, allow me to introduce the rest of the X-Files team..." He shot Scully a desperate 'Don't believe anything she says' look, guiding their host around the others. Aurora Luminens, or Min, as she proclaimed she preferred now, left her arm hooked through Mulder's while she called for assistance. Two identical men, whose fair complexion and broad shoulders harked back to statues last seen in the public squares of ancient Greek city-states, glided in. Min set them on the task of moving the boxes into the cold rooms, patting one on the shoulder as he passed. "Such good boys. My jewels, twins born in the most auspicious month of May." She grasped Rosen's hand. "Perhaps *you*, my dear, will one day be so fortunate." Nichols chewed his moustache, sucking on his cheeks to keep from laughing. Mulder inhaled, taking the oldest woman's hand off his arm. "Min, these are important. Keep them as close to freezing as possible, but don't chill them lower than that. Look at them all you want, but if you touch them, wash your hands thoroughly immediately afterward. And..." She reached down to pat him on the behind. "Oh, Fox, don't be silly. After all the things we shared? If they're important to your work, that's all that counts. I won't turn the boxes over to anyone else but you, isn't that what you were about to say?" Chewing his lower lip, he nodded. "To me or any of the other people you see with me." She sighed. "You always had such a flare for the melodrama." She grasped Scully's hand. "He really is too cute when he's in his undercover G-man mode, dear. All that black." A theatrical sigh was followed by much flapping of cloth, setting all her jewelry clanking. "I don't see how you resist." Mulder blanched, so his partner escorted the rest outside. Once there, Scully turned to Rosen. "So, you'll take these five steel lockboxes to the Fed Ex Office near the airport?" She jerked her head at the building. "I don't know how long it will take for Mulder to extricate himself from *her*." While the others smirked, Rosen lifted a clipboard off the passenger seat of the Explorer. "Let me just verify these addresses with you." As Scully waited, Rosen ticked off the names on the list, the auburn hair bobbing after the astronomer called, "One to Cynthia at the Bureau, one to the Gunmen, one to Doctor Susan Miles at Johns Hopkins Hospital, one to Professor Ghiorse at Cornell, and one to Doctor Carol Bult at the Institute for Genomic Research in Rockville." "Good. See you at the airport afterwards?" As Nichols held the passenger door for his partner, Scully turned to Rich. "Thanks for all your work on this." The technician nodded. "Yeah. After last night, I don't know how much I'll tell Doctor Campbell, but he will want to know where the bugs are." Scully shrugged. "After last night, I'm not sure he'll believe you." She shook his hand. "I hope he recovers, at least." Rich waved as he returned to the University of Washington truck. "So do I. The Core work needs him." Mulder, deeply chagrined, appeared at her side, while Nichols and Rosen were settling into the Explorer. "Scully, I'll gladly do expense reports for the next six months if you never ask me for details about that woman." As she climbed into the Cherokee, she tipped her head at him. "Oh, I think I can come up with a fairer trade than that, Mulder." He growled, but she waved at the highway. "We have a plane to meet, partner." --o-0-o-- Rosen chuckled as they lost sight of Mulder and Scully, who were pulling away into the noontime traffic in the red Cherokee. "I didn't think the bi continued after he returned from Oxford, but it seems I was incorrect." While inserting the key in the ignition, Nichols glanced at her. "You don't mean that..." Rosen snorted. "I always thought you straight guys could tell, but I must be wrong. I think this job with Mulder and Scully is getting more intriguing by the minute." Nichols laughed. "I sure I'm glad to have you as a partner now, Ros. I didn't know life could be this interesting." She shrugged. "Oh, I have a feeling it's only going to get wilder from here, Nic." --o-0-o-- Concourse C Seattle-Tacoma International Airport Seattle, Washington Sunday, 12:05 pm Rosen watched Mulder and Scully approach a slender, bearded man. She rubbed her eyes, aware, suddenly, that two hours of sleep, then frantic packing of the cases until all five were covered in dirt and grease, hardly provided the best appearance for meeting this man Mulder regarded so highly. Nichols, noticing her discomfort, patted her shoulder. "Don't sweat it, kid. All these guys are on the far edge of weird anyway." Mulder had the dark-haired man by the left arm. Scully pounded along on his right side, waving as she shot out, "You're sure about the differences in spectral intensity? Certain?" The three had reached them now, so Scully faced her. "Rosen, listen to this." Byers extended his hand to each of the new agents in turn. "Sorry, you must be Rosen, Nichols. I'm Byers." Facing the brown-haired woman, he chuckled. "Frohike will be sorry not to have been here, Agent Rosen." She and Nichols glanced at each other. Mulder, observing the exchange, made a mental note to speak privately with the older man. He wouldn't have expected this, in a seasoned agent, but he *was* going through a divorce, and Rosen was delightfully attractive. The younger woman, however, was handling the comment flawlessly. "I don't need you to tell me that he's far from a Cary Grant lookalike." After the three laughed, Scully waved her hand. "Think Leprechaun, only with a warped twist, and you basically have him." Her voice assumed its 'professional' timbre. "With the hair and skin samples from the Gregors, the Gunmen have found something interesting." Byers nodded. "It's easy to distinguish individuals from each other by slight variations in the spectral densities of the UV signatures they emit." He dropped his bulging shoulder bag on the carpet at his feet, but before he could open it, the five were shooed into a corner by a honking courtesy cart. Rosen settled onto the plastic seat beside the Gunman, studying the cascade of plots he handed her. Nichols balanced on the cube of an end table to peer at the graphs, while Mulder hovered behind them all, focused and ferociously eager. Rosen returned the sheet to Byers. "I see, once you had the range worked out, you tested it on individual samples." Standing in front of them, Scully crossed her arms. "When I had the Gregors confined for their own protection, we used a facility had just been built, then scrubbed down at their insistence." Rosen nodded. "They still don't have tolerances built up to all the viruses they could encounter when meeting humans." Nichols leaned over. "What?" Byers grinned. "Like the Native Americans being wiped out by smallpox, or whatever other illnesses the Europeans introduced." Mulder was fidgeting, dancing inside his skin, so he prodded the conversation forward. "Yeah, Byers, but what does it mean?" Scully cocked her eyebrow at him. "I had Evidence teams go over the cells with a fine-tooth comb after they were taken, Mulder. Whatever the Gregors were, any tissues we found in the cells would have been our only physical clue to their make-up." The tall agent grunted, eliciting a shrug from her. "It didn't seem important to mention at the time, under the circumstances." He winced at the unintended rebuke. "So you guys are saying that each alien has a unique signature, like a fingerprint?" Rosen nodded. "If they could shape-shift, they'd need some means of identifying themselves to each other." She pointed to a notch in the spectral densities that appeared in several plots. "This is common for some of them." Byers shrugged. "I have no idea what it means, Rosen." He flipped the cover flap on his bag. "Hold the tricorder jokes, guys, this was the best we could do on such short notice." He offered grey, hand-sized plastic bo