--- EPISODE THREE --- : Dana Scully's apartment It wasn't often that the Doctor found herself lost for words. She was, after all, one of the most talkative people she knew; especially after consuming more than a safe quantity of red wine. (In fact, it was a moot point exactly what represented a *safe* dose of alcohol for a Time Lord, but that wasn't something she wanted to ponder right now). "I just need to get away from here for a while," said Scully, absently studying the backs of her hands, "travelling with you in the TARDIS, I could take some time out to do some thinking - to *see* some of what's out there for myself -" "Well, it wouldn't exactly be a pleasure cruise." The Doctor stood up and hooked her thumbs behind the lapels of her coat. She crossed to the window again, and peered out through the blinds, down at the street below. "It's not all blue skies, blazing pink suns, rolling green fields, and small fluffy animals you know. Oh, no. The cosmos is a dangerous place." "And Earth isn't?" Dana thought back to the last few years of her hectic life: the bizarre incidents that she and Mulder had investigated through the X Files; mutants, aliens, paranormal phenomena, government conspiracies, even her own abduction and mysterious return. "And there's another thing." The Doctor watched a black Ford pull into the kerb. "How would people tell us apart? I mean, we do bear a somewhat striking resemblance to one another, wouldn't you say?" She saw two men get out of the car, one of whom she recognised at once. "After all, just look at that unsavoury business with the Manipulator ..." "In case you hadn't noticed, Doctor, I can handle myself pretty well." "I had noticed," she replied, suddenly turning around and crossing to the door. "By the way, were you expecting visitors?" Before Scully could answer, the Doctor whipped the door open to reveal Mulder, standing with his hand outstretched ready to grasp the now displaced door knocker. Agent Pendrell was right behind him. "Mulder!" said the Doctor. "Doctor!" said Mulder. "Scully?" Pendrell asked. "Pendrell!" Scully exclaimed. "Well, now that the introductions are out of the way," said the Doctor, anxiously shepherding the two men into the room, "why don't we all sit down and have some more wine?" --- --- --- : A smoke-filled room : Somewhere in the United States Even to the untrained eye, it would have been immediately obvious that the five men were engaged in activities that were unlikely to foster the cause of global amity and the general well-being of mankind. Five men. Nameless, faceless, players in a conspiracy so ancient, so all-encompassing, that they themselves had long forgotten its original aims and intentions, so totally consumed were they by their paranoid obsession. Perhaps inevitably, the end had become secondary to the purpose of protecting the means, and, if any of them thought as much, they were too suspicious of the motives of the others to risk drawing attention their concerns. And so it went on. Conspiracy ad infinitum, perhaps since the dawn of the human race, and certainly with no end in sight. For when they stepped down, when they ceased to be of value, there were other, younger, players, ready and anxious to take their places, to savour deeply the heady scent of power that membership of the Consortium conferred. Cigarette Smoking Man had been in the game for a long time, longer than any of the others. He had been a player since before even Kennedy, and he had seen and done the most terrible things imaginable, but he knew that, ultimately, he would receive his just recognition; he would become the major league player, the big wheel, the architect rather than the builder. It would just take a little more time, that's all. "Frankly I do not see how involving Skinner in this benefits us." Well Manicured Man regarded the turtle farmer's business card with an expression like that of a world weary father chastising one of his errant progeny, before handing it back to CSM. "I would have thought the benefit clear," said CSM, carefully unwrapping yet another stick of 'Puff me Not' nicotine gum. "Firstly, Assistant Director Skinner has the requisite biological attributes that will ensure the successful creation of the first combined animate." One of the others (his name was not important) mumbled something that sounded vaguely affirmative. Well Manicured Man shot him a warning glance, and the man immediately looked down at the toes of his shoes and kept his gaze there. "And, secondly?" the leader of the group enquired. "Secondly," replied CSM, popping the stick of purple chewing gum into his mouth, "with him out of the way, the only support for Mulder's work within the bureau has been removed. So, as you can see, our plans are doubly benefited." "It remains a risk," the Well Manicured Man insisted. "Skinner is no more predictable than Mulder. We cannot be sure that he will do as expected." "Like all of us," said CSM, "he will react according to stimuli. In this case, the charms of Miss Covarrubias." "Really?" Well Manicured Man looked surprised. "I understood that she and Krycek were ... involved." "They were." CSM picked up the telephone, and handed the receiver to the other man. "However, Miss Covarrubias has developed, shall we say, a - dislike - of Mr. Krycek's dietary habits." "Very well, I will report that you have the operation in hand." Cigarette Smoking Man allowed just the briefest trace of satisfaction to show on his face. "And that you," Well Manicured man continued, as he dialled, "accept full responsibility for the outcome." All of the other men in the room noticed how CSM's face seemed to lose a little of its colour at that point. --- --- --- : Dana Scully's Apartment "Pendrell, what exactly are you doing over there?" Scully looked over Mulder's shoulder to where Agent Pendrell was fiddling with the television set. "Uh, sorry, Dana." Pendrell looked like a little boy who had been caught with his fingers in the sweet jar. The Doctor was reminded of that young rascal, Billy Mulder, Fox's father, who had travelled with her, as a boy, a long time ago. The physical resemblance was non-existent, of course, but the expression, the air of child-like guilt, bore an uncanny similarity. "It's just that I've been thinking of getting a wide screen set myself ..." he continued. "Yeah, well, there's a Circuit City three blocks that way," said Mulder, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Scully scowled at him, and so did the Doctor. Mulder felt himself shrinking back into the sofa. "Here." Dana threw him the remote control, and he made a big thing about catching it between both hands, as if he were some major league baseball player. "Scully, what about Skinner?" Mulder had seen them exchanging grins, and he wasn't exactly sure that he liked it. "If turtle farming is what turns him on -" Scully shrugged, and drained the last of the wine from her glass. It was evident to Mulder that she had no intention of returning to the office that afternoon. "Skinner?" He shook his head. "Nah, something's not right." The Doctor nodded, thoughtfully. "I agree with Mulder," she said, "from what you've both told me about him, he's behaving totally out of character." As Pendrell found the correct button on the incredibly complex remote control, the Sony Wide Screen HiPro Dolby THX CinemaTech MegaRumble CXR 4108HR-E burst into life, flooding Scully's lounge with the crisp tones of a CNN anchor man: "This just in ... North Dakota. Amidst scenes which bear a startling similarity to recent episodes of the hugely popular science fiction series 'Earth Siege', and which some observers are hailing as humanity's first contact with extra- terrestrials, Oak Ridge Air Force Base is at the centre of a major military and security blackout this afternoon." In a flurry of over indulgent video effects, the clean cut middle-aged man, with the artificial smile and the digitally enhanced suit, was replaced with a view from the air, of a sprawling military airfield. Scully, the Doctor, and Mulder all turned their attention to the screen. "Events started unfolding around 3:50 pm, central time, when long range radar detected a number of unidentified craft descending from the upper atmosphere at incredible speeds." A stylised computer-generated graphic replaced the aerial view of the Oak Ridge base, and four disc shaped objects, each bearing more than a passing resemblance to deep pan pizzas, travelled slowly from the top left hand corner of the screen, down a 45 degree path, towards a highly detailed side elevation of an airport control tower. At no time was the CNN logo in the bottom right hand corner of the graphic obscured in any way. "Tad Meadows is our man on the scene," continued the anchor man, in perfect US Newscaster American English. "Tad, what can you tell us? The picture changed again, this time to a younger man dressed in a smart blue suit, blue tie, and crisp white shirt. An earpiece was just visible behind his left ear lobe, and the CNN microphone remained at a discrete distance from his chest, never once obscuring the view of his clean cut face. Some distance behind him, a military blockade had been assembled, and armed marines were forming a human barrier across the highway. "Well, Bob," he smiled, revealing two rows of completely unblemished teeth, "it's important to know that the base is currently under a full news and media blackout, so any information that we have is still a little sketchy. The Department of Defense *have* imposed a ten mile wide exclusion zone, and US Marines have been flown in to police it." He turned slightly, and indicated the mounting military presence behind him. "Nobody, but *nobody*, is getting in or out." "Tad, I understand that your cameras there are getting some pretty amazing footage." "Yeah, well, *amazing* is certainly the word for it, Bob. You know, I'm not sure if the viewers are going to believe this -" The reporter touched his fingers to his earpiece, as the studio broke in. "Tad, if I can just cut in there," said the anchor man, his picture replacing that of the reporter on the screen, "we're now getting a live video feed from our camera up on Chetoa Peak, 12 miles outside the Oak Ridge Air Force Base." "What *is* it about this planet?" said the Doctor, suddenly jumping to her feet, crossing to the television set, and peering right at the screen. "I mean, here you are, millions of light years from anything even remotely interesting -" She took out a small tape measure from her pocket, extended it across the screen, mumbled something under her breath, and then took a step backwards. "- But if I leave you alone for just five minutes ..." "This is some kind of joke, right?" Said Pendrell, grinning all over his face. "I mean, you're an actress, or something, and this is all a setup ... Mulder, Dana, look I've got to hand it to you guys -" "What in the cosmos are you babbling about, man?" The Doctor looked at him as if he were in the grip of some serious delusional state. "It's, uh, no joke, Pendrell," said Mulder, getting up off the sofa and coming to the Doctor's side to examine the huge space craft that was hanging in the skies just above the air base. "Certainly not," the Doctor added. "And neither is that!" She stabbed her finger at the screen. "What kind of vessel is it, Doctor?" Dana asked, fairly certain that the one thing it wasn't, was what it seemed to be; i.e. a very large deep pan pizza. Deep pan pizzas were (a) not normally several kilometres in diameter, and (b) distinctly *not* capable of hovering in mid air with no obvious form of propulsion. "That?" she tapped the tips of her fingertips together, "is a Planet Crushing Organic Mega Dreadnought of the Imperial Turtloid Oligarchy." "Shit!" said Pendrell, his mouth hanging open. "Yes," agreed the Doctor, with a tired sigh, "they're not exactly what you'd call house trained." "It looks just like the alien ships from that television show," remarked Pendrell. "You know ..." he scratched his head, finally remembering, "... 'Earth Siege'." "Yes, it does." She hooked her thumbs into the lapels of her coat and looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "In fact, it bears a *startling* resemblance ... do you know what? I think it's time I went along and had a little chat with these chappies. What do you think, Mulder?" Mulder was staring at the screen, which was now showing an excerpt from the night before's episode of Earth Siege; the cliffhanger scene, where the ridiculously large battle cruiser had just cast a shadow over a significant portion of the North Eastern United States. "Well, I don't know, Doctor." Mulder managed to force one of his schoolboy grins, but it didn't look altogether convincing. "My mom always told me never to accept a ride from a strange woman." "I'm not strange," said the Doctor, feigning offence, "well, not at the moment anyway. Of course, there *is* a full moon coming up ..." "Well, while you two are off enjoying yourselves," Scully sighed, reluctantly, "I'll go with Pendrell and check out Skinner and this turtle farming business." Mulder saw the younger agent's eyes light up at the prospect, and felt just a tiny pang of jealousy. "Well, hurry along, Mulder." The Doctor had already crossed to the door, and was holding it open. She had her pocket watch in her other hand, and was studying the dial. "I haven't got the time to spend dithering about here all day. There's a world to be saved -" "Be right with you, Doctor." --- --- --- The TARDIS was 'parked' out in the street, just in front of Scully's apartment building. Mulder found it hard to believe that nobody had questioned the presence of a passport photograph booth, standing slap bang in the middle of a suburban sidewalk. "Didn't you change this to a police box?" he asked, pushing aside the curtain, and peering inside. "Oh, did I?" she gave him a gentle shove from behind, and they crossed the 'real space' threshold together, stepping into the vast control room. "Well, that's the way my former selves liked to have it," she crossed to the octagonal central console and started flipping switches and pushing buttons, "but me, I'm an altogether different kind of Doctor." She grinned at him. Mulder felt his body temperature rise a few degrees, and his heart quicken. He stepped closer to her. The Doctor tut-tutted playfully, and waved him aside. "Not now, Mulder." She punched a series of co-ordinates into the navigation system and pulled down on the dematerialisation lever. Almost at once, the Time Ship started making all kinds of strange sucking and wheezing sounds. "... There'll be time for that later. "Right now this planet is facing imminent annihilation from an immensely powerful race of indestructible alien invaders. Most likely they'll be green and slimy, they'll smell bad, and they'll spend the majority of their time ranting and raving about conquering the entire universe with one eye stalk retracted, and their left flippers tied behind their backs. "Oh, and you can be certain that they won't have a word in their vocabulary for negotiation; which is a bit of a shame really, because all of your weapons will, of course, prove to be totally and utterly ineffectual against them ... *and* they probably won't have very good table manners, either!" She leaned towards him, and winked. "Aren't you glad that I just happened to be passing?" --- --- --- : The Walter S. Skinner Turtle Farm : Damascus, Maryland Scully let Pendrell take the lead. She knew that he wanted to feel a little bit heroic, that he needed that ego boost, and she found it hard to believe that there was any real danger to be found in a turtle farm. The facility was situated about four miles outside of Damascus, and, apart from the colourful pictures of turtles that adorned the main gate, there was little indication that this was a place where aquatic reptiles were being bred. But bred for what? thought Scully. I mean, what do you *do* with a turtle? She searched her memories for some long forgotten fragments of her school education. Were they great delicacies? Aphrodisiacs, perhaps? Maybe they had other medicinal properties? She seemed to remember turtle soup from somewhere, but couldn't be sure if she'd ever tried any. "Dana, what exactly do they breed turtles *for*?" asked Pendrell, as he pushed at the door which was marked 'Strictly No Admittance.' "Great minds ..." Dana muttered under her breath. "What did you say?" "I said, try picking the lock." "But, we don't have a warrant, Dana," he complained, "we can't do that! It's against the constitution!" Scully gently pushed past him, reaching into her pocket for a small leather wallet. "Get real, Pendrell," she said, as she unzipped the pouch to reveal a set of shiny lock picks. "Dana?" "Pendrell?" "You're ... amazing." She stared back at him, finally shaking her head and turning her attention back to the lock. "Yeah, well that's what I keep telling Mulder." After a few seconds of careful manipulation of the tumblers, Scully had the door open. "Et voila!" she said, with a wave of her hand. "Apres toi, mon petit agent." "Wha -" "After you, Pendrell," she translated. The narrow corridor continued for about twenty feet before branching to the left and to the right. Pendrell pointed out the yellow and black signs that were stuck to the wall at regular intervals. "Bio Hazard," said Scully, tapping her index finger on the familiar logo. "Can you think of anything particularly hazardous about turtles?" "Look!" He pointed his gun towards the door at the end of the right hand branch in the corridor. It was constructed from solid steel, had a sophisticated digital combination lock set into the centre of it, and was covered in all manner of warning labels. Dana moved past him, and started examining the keypad of the lock mechanism. "I don't think the lock picks will help with this," she said. "Any ideas, Pendrell?" He shook his head. "I'm afraid I left my National Security Agency Code Book at home today." "Oh, please," Scully groaned, "don't tell me that you've enrolled in after-work Mulder-talk classes." "Sorry." He blushed, and looked suitably admonished. "That's OK." Feeling a bit guilty, she gently touched his arm, and he brightened up immediately. "Of course, it might not be locked," he ventured. "Pendrell, that is the most ridicu -" Dana stopped herself. She took hold of the big chrome handle, twisted it down, and gave the door a gentle push. It swung silently inwards. They looked at one another for a moment, before Scully drew her weapon and moved cautiously inside. He followed close behind, checking over his shoulder as they stepped into the chamber. The room was about forty feet in diameter, although most of that was taken up by the pool of still water in the centre. A narrow strip of tiled floor, not more than three feet wide, ran around the circumference of the pool. Dim lights, set into the ceiling, gave off a dull orange glow that was reflected back off the surface of the water, which itself seemed to be oscillating slightly from the vibrations given off by some nearby piece of machinery. From the muted hum, Scully guessed that there was a generator running somewhere fairly close by. Carefully, they began to circle the pool. Pendrell stepped up to the edge and peered over. "Dana, there's something in here," he said. She came over to his side and looked down at where he was pointing. Sure enough, there appeared to be something quite large in the bottom of the pool. As they watched, it began to move, and the two agents both took a step backwards. Pendrell raised his Sig between both hands, and slipped off the safety catch. Scully brought her own weapon up as well. Seconds later, the surface of the water broke, and a head appeared. "Sir!" Scully and Pendrell exclaimed in unison. The agents stared in disbelief at the head of former FBI Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner, which was staring right back at them with hollow and totally dark eyes. Shocked, Dana started to move closer, so that she could try and get him out of the water; but Pendrell caught her by the arm, and stopped her. At the same moment, the rest of Skinner's body rose up above the surface. The body of an eight foot turtle!