--- EPISODE SIX --- : The Walter S. Skinner Turtle Farm : Damascus, Maryland As long as Krycek had the Uzi, Scully knew that their chances of overpowering him were close to zero. The fact that Pendrell was also suffering from the effects of a mild concussion, and could hardly keep himself on his feet, effectively nullified their only other advantage, that of numerical superiority. Also, Scully was not feeling at her best; not since Krycek had made that comment about transplanting her head onto the body of a turtle. It wasn't, she decided, a prospect that particularly appealed to her. No, she didn't like the sound of that one little bit, even though she knew full well that such a thing was a medical impossibility - at least within the constraints of current human biological technology. The lab was situated at the other end of the corridor, and she had to support Pendrell's weight the whole distance, as he kept drifting in and out of consciousness. Krycek walked just behind them, repeatedly prodding Scully in the small of the back with the barrel of the Uzi. "There's no need to keep pushing!" she snapped at him. "Can't you see that he's injured?" Krycek just gave her a sadistic leer, and prodded her again. "Sure I can," he sneered, "I just don't care." When they came to the door to the lab, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black plastic card, which he gave to Scully. "Open it," he said, indicating the card reader slot mounted on the wall next to the door. Dana swiped the card through the slot. The reader bleeped softly, and then a green light came on. Supporting Pendrell on her shoulder, she took hold of the handle and turned it ninety degrees. A hiss of air escaped from within, as the door opened a few millimetres. Krycek prodded her in the back again. "Now take him inside," he ordered, "and make yourselves comfortable." Just as she started to help Brian through the doorway, Krycek snapped his fingers, and she turned around to see him indicating the card that she was still holding. "Yeah, I'll take that," said the ex-agent. "Oh, and if you and lover boy there have got anything you wanna say to one another, or maybe you'd just like to get up close and personal, well now would be a good time - Seeing as how these'll be your last few hours in those bodies!" He ran his lusty gaze over her pant-suited body, and licked his top lip before laughing horribly. In anyone else, she would have placed a sexual interpretation on his expression, but Krycek played by a completely different set of rules, and who knew what was really going through his mind? Scully stared back at him with total contempt. She knew then that, if the opportunity arose, this time she would kill him - and the world would be a better place for it. "Talking of lover boys," said Krycek, still gloating, "where's Mulder? You and him haven't fallen out have you?" She ignored the dig, turning instead to help Pendrell into one of the chairs in the corner of the room. "What, he couldn't get it up, or something?" he continued, tauntingly. Her shoulders stiffened. "You do know, of course, that if I don't kill you, he will," she said, without even bothering to look in his direction Krycek gave a nervous laugh, before pulling shut the door. "Have fun, comrades!" --- --- --- : Wolverine Productions, L.A. Cigarette Smoking Man strolled across to where the group were gathered on the set of Major General Trenchard's office, and made himself comfortable in one of the chairs. He laid the script across his lap, and took out a packet of nicotine gum from his inside jacket pocket. Becky looked over at John Green-Franks, one of her co- stars, and her fictional boss, in the show 'Earth Siege'. He returned her worried expression with one of equal concern. Mulder was the first to speak, as he sauntered across to where CSM had sat down. "Trying to kick the habit?" he enquired, indicating the packet of 'Puff Me Not' with his eyes. CSM chewed on the piece of gum in his mouth for a few seconds, before replying. "I think of it more as a test of character," he admitted, congenially. "Yeah? Like betraying the lives of every man, woman, and child on the face of the planet? That a test of character too?" The older man shook his head. "It's not a betrayal to seek an alliance with those who can bring greatness to the peoples of Earth." "Hah! Just listen to yourself. Did you have to get a chemical toilet surgically implanted in your throat, to be able to sanitise and regurgitate the lies so effectively?" CSM was hurt by that comment, childish as it was, but he controlled his emotions and didn't allow even a trace of his rage to surface. "Your problem, Agent Mulder, has always been that you are constrained by your own paradigm." "And your problem is that you're an untrustworthy, traitorous, sonofabitch!" By now, the Doctor had crossed to Mulder's side and, she too, was staring at the man with total incomprehension. "Why, Agent Scully, I see that you've learned to unwind a little," he said, in response to her strange outfit. "Good. I find that it's so important to be able to relax." She glared at him. "Sorry, old chap, but I'm afraid you've got me mixed up with my friend. *I* am the Doctor ... and who exactly are you?" "My name is not important," replied CSM, with a shake of the head. "Oh well, if you're not important ..." She turned her back on him and started to walk away. Mulder caught her by the arm, and she turned around. "We know him as Cancer Man," he said, not taking his eyes off CSM. "He's involved with a group called the Consortium ... some influential conspirators who've been trying to shut us down for years. Oh yeah, and he's a *specialist* in the dirty tricks department." "Yes, it all sounds dreadfully familiar, and very tiresome," sighed the Doctor, wearily. "I expect he'd probably get on rather well with an old enemy of mine, don't you think?" Mulder could also see the similarity between CSM and the Manipulator; although, from what he had seen of the renegade Time Lord so far, Cancer Man ranked streets ahead of him in terms of sheer deviousness. "Look, excuse me all to freaking hell and back," said Frybungler, conscious of how much shooting time had already been lost by the interruptions. "But if you guys wanna remake 'Nixon' or something, could ya please go and do it over in studio two? I've got a freaking episode to get in the can here." The Doctor reached across and snatched the script out of CSM's lap. "Thank you so much," she said, casually. CSM started to get up, intent on retrieving the document, but he came face to face with the barrel of Mulder's automatic. "I'm looking real hard for a reason not to put a hole through the middle of your head," said the FBI agent, casually, "but so far, I haven't come up with one." He pulled back the hammer and cocked the weapon. CSM slumped back down in the chair. The Doctor held the script in one hand, and flicked the pages rapidly with her thumb, her eyes flickering as the paper flipped past at a breathtaking speed. After a few seconds, she'd finished reading it, and she tossed it carelessly into CSM's lap. "Pretty amateurish stuff," she said, "but I suppose it has a certain 'je ne sais quoi' to it ... if you like complete and utter twaddle, that is." CSM looked very hurt. "Now then, Frybungler, old chap," she turned to the agitated and overweight director, and grinned. "What was that you said about getting another episode in the can?" "It's the season cliffhanger," he muttered anxiously, glancing again at his wristwatch. "We're already a day behind schedule, and the post production takes almost two weeks -" She waved him quiet. "Yes, yes, that's all very interesting. Now, let's get onto something *really* important." She stepped off the set, put an arm around Frybungler's shoulder, and escorted him over to a quiet corner. "How would you like to go down in history as the television director who saved the entire world from an alien invasion?" --- --- --- : The Walter S. Skinner Turtle Farm Krycek crossed the yard towards the waiting Jeep Grand Cherokee, swinging his detached prosthetic arm like a golf club, and whistling the Russian national anthem. Just as he reached the door, and leant his arm against the front tyre, while he searched his pockets for the key, two men dressed in black nylon anoraks, with the letters 'INS' emblazoned across their backs, came up behind him. "Alex Krycek?" the first of them asked, in an officious tone of voice. Krycek spun around, his hand going for the pistol in his belt. Two ID cards were immediately thrust into his face. "Immigration and Naturalisation Service!" the two men said, as if they were practising to join a chorus line. "What the fuck is this?" "Say, is that a Russian accent you got there?" the first man grinned and turned to his partner. "Sure sounds Russian to me," the shorter man replied. "Yep," said the first, "definitely Russian. Let's see your visa, pal." Krycek started to pull the pistol, but the shorter man produced a Wiley .577 calibre elephant gun and shoved it hard into his gut. "Yeah, and I wouldn't be doing anything unfriendly like that, if I were you," he grinned, casually flicking off the safety catch. The taller man reached around and relieved Krycek of his weapon. "So, no visa, carrying an offensive weapon, resisting arrest, and being an all round nasty little sonofabitch." He took the opportunity to practise one of his Dirty Harry style evil smiles. "Guess what. We're taking you in, Krycek. You'll be heading back to Siberia on the first Aeroflot in the morning!" As the two INS agents escorted a protesting Krycek towards the waiting van, Skinner and Marita Covarrubias stepped out from behind a tree. "That has made me one very happy Assistant Director," said Skinner. "What will they do to him?" she asked, with concern. "Oh, probably kick the shit out of him for a few hours." He took hold of her arm and guided her across the yard towards the front door of the main farm building. On the way, they passed Krycek's abandoned jeep, and Marita cast a sad glance at the prosthetic arm, still leaning up against the tire where Krycek had left it. "Afterwards," Skinner continued, "I might head over to where they're holding him, and then I'll probably kick the shit out of him too." "Oh," she said. "Could I come and watch?" --- --- --- : Wolverine Productions, L.A. "I can't film this crap!" Frybungler protested, tossing the Doctor's script on the floor. "The studio would have my ass for cattle feed!" The Doctor tapped her fingers together with mounting agitation. She waited for his torrent of invective to subside, before spinning around and clapping her hands together. "Pay attention, everybody," she began, her voice full of authority. Becky Paretto and John Green-Franks both looked up, and the floor crew stopped their idle chatter. Even Mulder turned away from the search for his missing ID card. "By the authority vested in me by the High Council of Gallifrey, I am hereby assuming total creative control over the production of this television show." They waited to hear what she had to say next. The whole situation was so totally bizarre that nothing else really seemed appropriate. "Using the mind-bogglingly sophisticated video and sound studio facilities in my Time Ship," she explained, "we are about to shoot the exciting grand finale to the series." She turned around, and started walking briskly towards the prop room. "Well, come along, people. We haven't got all day. After all, this is show business! --- --- --- : The Command Deck : Imperial Turtloid Battle Dreadnought: "Behemoth" Krooth, surrounded by his senior Turtloid hero- worshippers, hauled himself up into the great synthi- marble throne that he had ordered erected on his command platform. He cleared his throat, and looked from side to side at the assembled Turtloids all around him. "Friends, Turtloids, and countrymen," he began in a suitably regal voice. From somewhere in the background, a fanfare began playing. He waited for the rousing drum rolls to subside, before continuing. "Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking," he continued, "I would like to say a few words before the final conquest of Earth begins. "My fellow Turtloids, we are gathered here today, in the sight of the Great White Quantum Turtle, mother of all Turtloids," he looked towards the gigantic statue that stood magnificently at the far end of the command deck, "to begin the greatest chapter in the history of our immensely vast and justifiably rich and powerful empire." The Turtloids all around him looked on with awe. Never had they witnessed such eloquence, such majesty. Such greatness. He was truly a great and wise leader. "'Tis a far better thing that I do today," Krooth continued, totally lost in the meaningless drivel that he was reciting, "A far better battleground that I go to. A far better inferior species that I bring to its knees ..." ... And so on. One of his subordinates cleared his throat and tapped his left foreflipper on the deck. "Yes, what is it, Kvool?" Krooth asked, irritatedly. "The humans are about to transmit the last episode of their TV show," said the younger Turtloid. "Excellent," Krooth crooned. "Have it piped to the main screen. Fellow Turtloids, gather round, and watch the human race inadvertently open the door to their total and utter annihilation!" Cheers and shouts of "Success!" came from all around the command deck, as the assembled Turtloids stamped their flippers in unison. "Bow before us, Earthlings," Krooth continued, his voice rising in volume with each word. "Humble yourselves before the invincible might of the Turtloid war machine! Prepare to meet your END!" --- --- --- Accompanied by the staccato drum beat of the opening theme, the old fashioned teletype punched the words out across the full width of the roll ... ... TOP SECRET ... TOP SECRET ... TOP SECRET ... ... 2005 ... ... EARTH UNDER ATTACK BY ALIEN FORCES ... This Episode: So long, and thanks for all the escargots By "The Doctor" Lieutenant Tom Travers banked his F117A hard to the left, pulling the stealth fighter into a breathtakingly tight vertical dive that stretched the airframe of his craft far beyond its design tolerances. He plunged straight down towards the alien mother ship, flanked either side by two more of the wedge-shaped matt black aircraft. "Travers to CETTO Control," he spoke calmly into his headset, "approaching alien mother ship. Distance: eight thousand metres. Arming quantum missiles ..." --- --- --- On the command deck of the Behemoth, Krooth, who had been preening himself with satisfaction, suddenly looked up in surprise. "*What* did he say?" "He said, 'Arming quantum missiles'," replied Kvool, not taking his eyes off the riveting action that was unfolding before them on the massive screen. --- --- --- "Range: one thousand metres," Travers continued reporting the readings from his instruments. "Firing missiles in five ... four ... three ..." --- --- --- "But they can't do that," Krooth moaned. "That's not in the script!" Kvool, anxious to please his leader, waddled off to get the shooting script that had been supplied to them by their Earth agent. He came back with it between his toothless jaws, and laid it down on the floor before his leader. With his foreflipper he turned the pages until he reached the final battle scene, set over the skies of New York. Krooth lowered his head to read what was printed there. "You see," he wailed, "they're supposed to use nuclear- tipped air to air missiles. This is not fair. Somebody's been cheating!" If Kvool hadn't known that the leader was strong and resilient and manly and incredibly virile, he would have sworn that the older Turtloid was shedding a tear. But Turtloids didn't cry. Not unless they were *really* upset. --- --- --- "Missiles away!" shouted Travers, triumphantly. The stealth fighters sheered away from the lumbering deep pan pepperoni with extra mushrooms, and streaked off towards the horizon at speeds touching mach two. Seconds later, three missiles, each armed with dimensionally transcendental quantum flux induction warheads, detonated just millimetres from the surface of the alien vessel; and the heavens over the Earth were bathed in the light of a new sun. As millions of viewers right across the United States rejoiced at the sight of their military strength defeating the evil alien aggressor, a flood of overpowering positive telepathic energy swamped the interdimensional void. The last thing that Krooth said, just before his successor drew the serrated edge of a very big, and very sharp, blade slowly across his neck, was something very uncomplimentary about a human who had recently given up smoking. And then he ceased to be a Turtloid at all. Three nanoseconds later, the Behemoth was literally ejected out through the fabric of the universe; flung through the dimension barrier by unimaginably powerful forces beyond human comprehension, and sent hurtling back towards the Turtloid home world. Nobody on Earth was sorry to see it go. --- --- --- : Dana Scully's apartment Pendrell almost choked on his shrimp and cucumber sandwich, but Scully, seeing an impending life-threatening medical crisis looming, immediately slapped him on the back, perhaps just a little harder than necessary, and he was saved from harm. "So, you weren't keen on becoming a turtle then?" Mulder enquired. They were gathered together in the lounge: Scully, Pendrell, Mulder, Skinner, and the Doctor, who had produced a really fantastic spread of culinary delights from somewhere deep within the Time Ship. Dana finished her second vodka and orange and handed the empty glass to Pendrell, who, for a moment, didn't realise that she had assigned him as acting barman. "No, Mulder," she grinned, "I thought it might be taking 'Establishing Emotional Bonds' just a little too far." Skinner, meanwhile, was trying to get the Doctor to explain exactly what the hell had been going on. He'd just about followed the main thread: Changing the final episode of 'Earth Siege' so that, instead of a cliffhanger, where the entire world was starting a new day under Turtloid occupation, the season ended on an upbeat note. The positive telepathic energy, the Doctor had explained, had closed the interdimensional rift, and sent the Turtloids scurrying back from whence they'd came. "But what about all this business with the turtle farm?" he asked. "Yes, it is just a tad bizarre," she admitted. "I believe the Consortium planned to create a human/Turtloid hybrid. They had already struck a deal with the Turtloid Empire, presumably in return for ensuring them a position in the new order." "And the price for that new position would have been to become like them?" She nodded. "Exactly. The one thing that our Turtloid friends cannot stand is anything even remotely different. You see, they are an unbelievably xenophobic bunch. For a human to survive in Turtloid society, they would have to almost totally adopt their form." "That's dreadful," said Pendrell, pouring another drink and handing it to Dana. "Yes," said the Doctor, pulling out her pocket watch and flipping open the lid, "well, there are some pretty dreadful species out there." She snapped the watch closed and jumped to her feet. "Going somewhere, Doctor?" Skinner asked. "Afraid so, old chap. You know how it is. Places to go. People to see ... Worlds to save." She looked across to Scully. "Dana?" Scully hesitated. She looked across at Mulder, and something, an almost imperceptible exchange of eye contact, passed briefly between them. Finally, she shook her head. "Thanks all the same, Doctor, but I think there's still a lot to be seen down here on Earth." "Jolly good show ... Well, as always, it's been fun -" The Doctor smiled contentedly, and stepped over to the passport photograph booth that had been sitting unobtrusively in the corner of Dana's lounge. Mulder suddenly jumped to his feet. "But, Doctor -" "Oh, don't panic, Mulder," she winked at him. "I'll be around the cosmos for a while yet. And don't be surprised if I don't pop in and say hello from time to time. After all, I've grown quite fond of this planet. "Au revoir, mon cheri." Feeling just a little bit mischievous, she decided to blow him a kiss. Before he could say anything more, she had slipped through the curtain and was gone. Seconds later, a sucking and groaning sound filled the room, and the passport photograph booth slipped away into the vortex, tumbling through the endless reaches of time and space. --- END --- The rest of the Doctor Scully adventures can be found at:- http://members.aol.com/ADIves02/index.html Feedback: It's *always* appreciated (and answered) at AdrianIves@email.msn.com --- --- --- DISCLAIMER "Doctor Who" and the TARDIS device are copyright BBC Television. "UFO" is the creation of Gerry Anderson and is copyright ITC. "The X Files," Mulder and Scully are the intellectual property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Television. All other copyrights are acknowledged. This story is fan fiction and has not been produced to profit from the copyright owners, nor to deprive them of revenue. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any persons living or dead is entirely unintentional. This story may be archived provided that this disclaimer is included, the author is clearly identified, and the story is not altered in any way. This story may not be distributed for profit.