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

Title: "Zurvan" 

Author: Mary Ruth Keller 

E-mail: mkeller@universe.digex.net

Rating: R for violence, minor language, implied homosexual
relationship (NOT slash!)

Category: X - an X-File

Spoilers: "Syzygy" and assorted prior episodes; story follows
directly after "Archaea"

Keywords: Mulder/Scully Friendship, Pendrell, the Lone Gunmen,
Samantha returns (almost)

Summary: While Mulder and Scully prepare to defend Mister X
against charges trumped up by the Consortium, they discover that
the shape-shifting aliens have taken an unusual interest in
recycling. Mulder's mother and stepfather make discoveries about
Samantha that eventually require both Mulder's and Scully's
investigative abilities to understand. The Cigarette-Smoking Man
prepares to engineer his own return to power, and we discover just
why Senator Matheson has been so helpful to the X-team.

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of "The X-Files" are the
property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Broadcasting.
They are used without permission, with no intent for profit, and
with no intent of copyright infringement. Any reproduction of this
story must keep my name and E-mail address attached, must have my
prior permission, and must not be for profit. Any other characters
or references the reader recognizes belong to their respective
creators or owners, and are also used with no intent of copyright
infringement.

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

Chapter I - New Directions

-----o------------------------------------o-----

                      Now, by heaven,
My blood begins my safer guides to rule,
And passion, having my best judgement collied,
Assays to lead the way: if I once stir,
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know
How this foul rout began, who set it on, 
And he that is approved in this offense,
Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, 
Shall lose me. 

               The Tragedy of Othello,
               The Moor of Venice

-----o------------------------------------o-----

Safe House
Stafford, Virginia
Sunday, August 3, 1997
12:14 pm

Walter Skinner paced by the far wall of the living room. Like most
secure residences at the Bureau's disposal, the comfortable
interiors were lighted by overhead florescents. What windows were
present in the structure were small and glazed, set just under the
ceiling to thwart snipers or surveillance. He passed in front of
the wall-hugging sofa his two assistants had just vacated, before
he spun to face the object of their investigation. 

The bearded African-American glowered back. "Why did you send them
away? Is this when you drop the civilized facade, Director
Skinner?" 

The bald man shook his head. "You've given us more to work in the
past few days than Mulder and Scully could uncover in five years." 

Saunders crossed his arms. He continued to dress as he always did,
dark suit, conservative tie, even though the Bureau Director was
in jeans and a polo shirt. "You know why, I'm sure." He leaned
against the padded brocade back of the Regency-style armchair. 

Skinner took a seat on the incongruous sectional across from him.
"Mulder's attentions have always been divided." 

Shifting the notepad he had placed on his lap, Saunders rested his
wrists on the carved claws at the ends of the arms. "He wants to
pursue the Organization, study the paranormal, *and* locate his
sister. Some of those goals are mutually incompatible." Saunders
narrowed his eyes at Skinner. "But you could be more forthcoming
yourself. Much of what I know you do as well." 

Leaning back, the Director adjusted his glasses. "As you say,
sometimes multiple goals are mutually incompatible. What Scully
has convinced Mulder to seek is proof. What I could provide are
only unsubstantiated allegations. By the time they arrived to
verify some of what we both know." He shrugged.

Saunders grunted. "There will be no evidence. My predecessor had
that problem." Just as they both heard the door rattle, he set his
lips in a tight line. 

Skinner's two assistants had returned, so the Director reactivated
the tape recorder. "Mister Saunders, you were explaining the
defensive agreements between the Japanese and Germans reached
following the admittance of both to the UN." 

Saunders sighed at the charade. "It was a continuation of old
practices, this reforming of alliances following a loss in armed
conflict..."

                            --o-0-o--

Secluded research facility
upstate New York
Sunday, 6:21 pm

Lindhauer and McConnell marched down a dark corridor, past thick
doors with bars and seals. They stopped in front of one that was
bathed in a ruby light, waiting until the doctor on their left had
opened an air valve. 

By way of explanation, the man in the lab coat offered, "It takes
a minute or two for the air to fill the interconnecting chamber.
So far, they've tried various forms to pass through the vacuum,
but the particle detectors have picked them up right away. They
seem to be able to handle a lot more juice than we initially
expected, but they're in there. Are you certain you wish to speak
with them face to face?" 

Both blond locks and red curls bobbed. 

The guard on the right pulled the outer door aside. "There, I
think it's safe now. We keep the room bathed in 683 nanometer
wavelength light, so their signatures are obvious. If they try
anything, we have IR lasers mounted in the ceiling." 

Lindhauer favored his subordinates with a blank smile. "Glad to
know we have the best." He glanced at McConnell, who was rubbing
one eye, then the pair entered. 

McConnell blinked rapidly. "Stupid contacts." 

They waited while the chamber door was shut behind them, then
through the manual engagement of bolts. McConnell swiped his
magnetic ID over the inner card lock, then waited. 

"Password?" The voice was electronically synthesized. 

"Magrathea." Lindhauer replied, grinning in spite of himself.
Three bolts were released electronically, then the two men pushed
through the door, each attempting to elbow the other aside. 

Two brown-haired women in green scrubs were waiting, shoulder to
shoulder, for Lindhauer and McConnell. 

"Let us go." The one on the left demanded. 

"We mean you no harm. We can help you, if you let us go." The one
on the right cajoled. 

McConnell snorted. "Which science fiction movie did you two watch
last night?" He waved at the TV mounted behind a plexiglass panel.
"I'd rather hear you say 'there are others on the way'. Then we'd
at least know where you stood." He sat at one of the metal folding
chairs beside a weighted steel table. "We have absolutely no
intentions of letting you go. We just need to figure out what
kills you." 

Staring down his long nose at the women, Lindhauer crossed his
arms. "It isn't radiation, fire, or oxygen deprivation. So what is
it? Hum?" He strode forward to glare impatiently at them. 

The woman on the right stared back. "We'll make a deal. For our
freedom." 

McConnell pounded on the table, then cursed and dug at the contact
in his left eye. "Oh, of course." He stood beside Lindhauer, his
nose level with the blond man's shoulders. "Let me guess, if we
agree to let you go, you'll give us the blueprints for your
technology." 

Her jaw firm, the woman on the right nodded. 

McConnell's red curls turned from side to side. "Nothing doing."
He bounced forward on his toes once. "Anything you would give us
would take years for us to figure out. Even then, it might be a
bomb or a dud."

Lindhauer grasped his colleague's shoulder. <I'm in charge here.>
"Sure, we'll be glad to take plans for your technology. We'll just
need to keep you here to answer any questions our scientists and
engineers might have for the years they work on duplicating them."
His icy blue eyes glinted. "Deal?" 

The two women crossed their arms and shook their heads. 

McConnell snorted. "Let's go. I've heard enough." 

Lindhauer waved to one of the cameras suspended from the ceiling.
"I agree. This isn't accomplishing anything."

                            --o-0-o--

Lecture Hall
Cornell University
Ithaca, New York
Sunday, 7:16 pm

The packed auditorium rang with the sound of applause. The
evening's speaker bowed slightly, then, as the acclaim ceased,
called for questions from the audience. The crisp designer suit
and closely trimmed dark beard were in deliberate contrast to the
rumpled fatigues and wildly unkempt white hair of the acknowledged
father of modern paleoanthropology, Louis Leakey. But Noel Boaz
had a point to make, a future to forge different from the more
famous members of his profession, like Richard Leakey or Donald
Johanson. He pointed to a Japanese graduate student in the third
row. 

"Doctor Boaz, you stated that you believe gorillas evolved after
the split between hominids and great apes first, with chimpanzees
appearing after the gorillas." 

The receding shock of black hair bobbed. "Yes, the cladistics
indicate such."

Emboldened, the student continued. "But recent work with the
structure of the Y chromosome in humans and chimps has revealed
that in its most ancient form, the human Y is identical to the
chimp Y. How do you reconcile those two facts?" 

The anthropologist smiled broadly before launching into his
answer.

In the furthest row, one hulking figure leaned over to speak to
the balding man beside him. 

"So this is how little they know of their own heritage. No wonder
any efforts to direct their own futures are strangled by conflict
and irresolution." 

The man with the black framed glasses responded. "Religion and
racial differences can be forces for good or for ill. Our species
was fortunate that the land masses of Al-ad-lattir all aligned
along the equator so there are only simple variations among us."
Both turned when one of the double doors behind them slid open. 

A slender woman, not differentiated in form or attire from many of
the female students in the audience, entered. She took two steps
towards them and knelt before she whispered to the bulky figure.
"I have what I need. We should continue to track the ancients."
Both followed her out of the lecture hall.

As they walked, Pilot leaned over the woman. "They are not far?" 

She nodded, her long brown hair shifting around her shoulders.
"But well guarded. And, the Group has a watch out for any matter
in unexpected configurations. The plans I have," she patted her
pants pocket, "may help us bypass that impediment." 

Engineer held out his hand. "When do you want me to begin, and
where?" 

The three were edging purposely away from any parked cars or
groups of summer students. 

The woman glanced up and down the sidewalk. "There are
modifications that need to be worked out before you can begin to
build. What did you learn? How much do they know?" 

Pilot shrugged. "Not very much. Ego seems to play as large a part
in their acquisition of knowledge as their fossil record itself." 

Engineer nodded. "Not as it would be on our world." 

The woman's lips set angrily. "All this damage! Do they know?" 

Pilot shook his head. "It is as it was with all the simian species
I have seen. They have no desire to understand and so ignore the
evidence before them. Their primal homeland is falling into total
ruin, taken by drought and over-dwelling." 

Engineer jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "If we can believe
their expert, they don't even agree that there *is* a single
homeland."

Pilot glowered back over his shoulder at the receding auditorium.
"Blind prejudice, nothing more. Had the homeland lain to the north
of the Equator, they would have been congratulating themselves on
their noble descent, not arguing for multiple origins." 

As they continued, the slender student morphed back into the
oversized woman who had met Mulder and Scully in Huntingdon,
Washington. "Or postulating seeding by outsiders to avoid the
problem altogether. Their communal memories of primal gardens
should have been a warning to them." She stopped, bringing the
others around to face her. "So be it. This is what I need you to
do:" 

Pilot and Engineer listened intently.

                            --o-0-o-- 

Somewhere over the Atlantic
Sunday, 8:23 pm 

Max Lowenberg smiled over at his wife before glancing across the
aisle to the brown-haired woman who was checking the animal
carrier under her. "He'll be fine, Margaret. Dogs that size travel
quite well." 

Margaret Scully slid the tan container into the passageway. "I
know he will. He's been a good little soul ever since Dana gave
him to me. I just wish I could take him out for a little while." 

Caroline leaned around her husband. "Oh, in an hour or so, you
probably can. I've never seen a first class section this vacant."
She smiled down at the round brown eyes, peering through the mesh
of the cage door. "He'll be more entertaining than 'Terminator
II', certainly." 

Margaret stuck one finger through to rub under the Pomeranian's
chin. "The Righorns were leaving for their own vacation. I should
have thought of that sooner." She sighed. "I hope..."

Max released the seat belt to rise and kneel beside her. "Dana and
Mulder will be fine, Margaret." He leaned close to her ear. "I've
put in a few calls, and some of my friends have them under
surveillance as we speak." 

Caroline moved onto the cushions her husband had just vacated.
"Before we left, I called the hospital and spoke to the physician
on duty. Their injuries, while serious, are not life-threatening." 

Closing her eyes, Margaret crossed herself. "I just worry so. I
can't begin to understand everything that's going on, and to be so
far away, when Dana may need me," she moved the carrier to the
empty seat on her right, "feels like I'm shirking my duties to
her." 

Grasping her arm, Max shook his head. "Nonsense. Dana needs you to
help us more than she needs you to hold her hand, Margaret." 

Caroline chuckled. "Besides, knowing my son, he's probably giving
her the full princess treatment, whether she wants it or not." She
slid back to the window, reopened the pages she had been studying,
and scribbled a note in the margin. 

Resting on hand on the top of the upright cushions, Max bent over
his wife. "What are you thinking, Caroline?" 

She gazed up at her husband. "Mister Saunders was a real shock. He
had been up to the house as a extremely young fellow before Bill
and I separated for good. I had such hopes for him. If he's out of
the picture, then I have to wonder whom my mystery man will turn
to next." 

Max settled beside her. "Someone he can control. From what you've
told me about him, he seems constitutionally unable to avoid
attempting to play games within games." 

Caroline nodded. "So he can sit like a spider in the center of its
web, pulling strands to set plots in motion with a single word.
But, who will it be?" 

                            --o-0-o--

Queen's Hospital
Inuvik, Northwest Territories, Canada
Sunday, 4:28 pm

Lying on her side, Dana Scully felt another presence in her room.
She called for her partner in a whisper, then began to rise. 

"Don't get up, Dana." It was a woman's voice, deep and earthy. 

Scully frowned. "Who are you?" 

A rumble, feeling like a tremor, crossed the room. Scully expected
the mattress to shake, but it didn't. Instead, she heard a high,
tinkling laugh. "Oh, you know me. I've been with you at various
times throughout your life." 

Sliding off her bed, Scully crossed the room to her partner, who
was sleeping easily. "Mulder?" 

"Don't bother waking him. Or, don't try. He's having the best rest
of his life. Trust me on that." 

Scully peered around the room <Why is it so dark in here in the
middle of the day?>, finally making out the shape of a woman,
wrapped head to toe in shimmering white. If she focused, she could
make out the individual hairs of an Inuit fur suit. She knew from
her readings that the Native Americans used two layers to keep out
the cold, one where the hairs were turned in, one where the hairs
were turned out. It was this outer layer that was waving, as if in
a slight breeze. 

"Don't do that." 

Scully began approaching the figure, but her feet felt heavy,
leaden. "Don't do what?" 

That rumble rolled beneath her bare feet again. "Don't take refuge
in a litany of facts, Dana. Use your mind, all of it." 

Scully stopped, studying her visitor. The white hood was pulled up
around the woman's head, so much that it threw her face into
complete shadow. The agent shifted to one side, allowing a thin
beam of light from the outside to reflect off the area inside the
hood. Scully fought to suppress a gasp. The woman's face was
streaked in dirt and dried blood, contracted into an angry scowl,
and missing one eye. 

Scully shrugged. "I still don't know who you are, or how you got
in here." 

The figure stretched a fur-mittened hand towards the agent, but it
was unnaturally short, as if absent all the fingers. "You do know
who I am, Dana, you just don't know that you know." 

The auburn-haired woman chewed her lower lip. "You sound like my
mother. A little." 

The visitor's clumped, matted hair slipped free of the bright
hood. "That's a start. We'll go from there." 

"Scully?" 

The agent turned when she heard her partner's voice. But she was
back in her bed, so the motion set her grunting helplessly.

Mulder was shuffling across the room, deep creases in his
forehead. "You were talking to someone. I didn't know if you were
in pain or not." Reaching her, he grasped her shoulder. "You OK?" 

Scully eased her self back onto the pillows. "Oh, I was just
having the oddest dream. I'm sorry I woke you." 

Mulder shifted the chair so he could sit and talk. "That's all
right. I wasn't sleeping very well anyway." 

Scully glanced at him sharply. "She said you were having the best
sleep of your life." 

"Who?" 

"The woman in my dream." Scully eyed the dark-haired man
cautiously. "Mulder, after I was returned, when I was in
Georgetown, there was a Nurse Owens who helped me recover. She
talked to me during my coma, tried to make me feel comfortable,
like you did." She smiled, offering her thanks.

Mulder nodded to acknowledge the gesture. "You had most of the ER
staff concerned for you." His eyebrows shifted along an uneven
ridge on his forehead. "You *were* the center of attention." 

She held up her hand. "No, let me finish. When I asked about her
later, the nurses told me there was no one named Owens that worked
at the hospital, or that had ever worked at the hospital." 

He rubbed his chin. "So, you think this Nurse Owens was what, a
guardian spirit?" His face pulled into a slight smirk. 

"Or a figment of my recovering psyche."

Grimacing, he shifted to relieve the pressure from his cast. "Is
that what you think this woman now was?" 

Scully shook her head. "I don't know. I just have this feeling
they're connected somehow."

He reached to brush her wrist with his fingertips. "OK. Tell me
what you've just dreamed. We should know from Fordyce that we
can't always ignore what our sleeping minds are telling us." He
dipped his head slightly, his voice taking on wry tones. "Even if
we don't always agree what the meaning is."

Scully arched her brow, then nodded, settling in to recount her
experience.

                            --o-0-o--

Crime Lab
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC
Sunday, 9:16 pm

'Ace' rubbed her eyes. She had come here to test her latest
banking access software now that she had a reliable decryption
algorithm working. At the knock on the glass, she blanked her
computer screen. "Come in!" 

A portly, bespectacled man entered, beaming when he saw her.
"Lisa, you weren't home when I got back." Holding out his arms, he
brushed her forehead with his lips after she settled against him.
"Missed you." 

From the comfort of his embrace, she chuckled. "I had to get some
work done, Drew. I keep getting distracted when I'm there for some
reason." 

He cupped her cheek with one pudgy hand. "I couldn't imagine why."
Lowering his lips to hers, he kissed her urgently. "Will you be
long?" 

She nodded. "Afraid so. This will take some analysis on the SGI at
Quantico, and as you know..." 

'Charlie''s hands rose to her shoulders. "It's off-limits except
on the secure FBI net. Can I help?"

She smiled. "Do you mind reading back codes?" 

He shook his head. 

The brunette passed him a sheet of paper. "Then let's get
started." She slid back into her chair, waiting while he rolled
another seat over beside her. "I'll read a series of digits, you
make sure they tally with what's on the list. Generating all these
random numbers..." She stuck her tongue out. "I hated typing them
all in." 

                            --o-0-o--

Queen's Hospital
Inuvik, Northwest Territories, Canada
Monday, August 4, 1997 
8:14 am 

Shifting the pillows behind his back, Mulder watched the bathroom
door, listening to Scully moving around inside. At the sound of a
muffled grunt, he shoved himself off the bolsters. "You OK?" 

"In a minute!" 

One corner of his mouth turned up. <At least we're past the 'I'm
fine.' stage.> Sliding off the mattress, he crossed their shared
quarters to stand by the door. 

His auburn-haired partner had pulled it open and stepped through
before his arrival. Her ashen face told him how painful this was
for her, but she cocked an eyebrow at his presence. "Mulder, you
should be in bed." She shivered. 

He grasped her elbow. "So should you, Scully. Ribs take time to
heal. Besides, Rosen and Nichols will be here shortly, and they're
almost as good at fussing as you are." He grinned. "Or perhaps,
you should have a taste of your own medicine, Doctor." 

When another shudder ran through her, she leaned into his support. 

He waited, the creases in his forehead deepening as she shifted
more of her weight onto his arm. 

Staring at the foot of her bed, its steel tubing covered with
layers of yellowed paint, Scully blew out a short puff of air.
<Remember, Dana, deep breaths to ward off pneumonia.> For her
partner's benefit, she muttered a grim joke. "What I wouldn't give
for a friendly poltergeist to roll that contraption over here
right now." 

Mulder chewed his lower lip. At this moment, he wanted nothing
more than to carry Scully across the room, but neither his cast
nor her ribs would permit any such handling, so he settled for wry
encouragement. "Where are the Holveys when you need them?" 

Scully arched one auburn brow at his reply, then waited through
another involuntary shudder. "Maybe we should have tested those
mushrooms at Excelsius Dei after all." 

He snorted, then moved closer. "Scully, the cold took a lot out of
us both and you took dives off the ice not once, but twice. You
should - "

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, pushing herself away from
his support. "Right. We *are* beginning to sound alike." She
forced herself to inhale slowly, fully. Gritting her teeth, she
padded across the room, sliding gingerly onto the mattress. 

Somber, Mulder hovered by her bedside. "Should I call the nurse?"
Both of them looked towards the door when the knob rattled. 

Rosen's voice floated through from the hallway. "You two ready to
receive visitors?" 

Mulder smirked. "After we stash the chips and cards we will be!" 

The two new X-Files agents took that as their cue, entering, Rosen
first, then Nichols, the older agent carrying a stool from the
nurses' station. 

Mulder settled in the armless metal chair by Scully's bed. "Are
you guys ready to head back?" 

Rosen glanced at her partner before she replied. "You've heard
from Skinner." 

Scully, now composed, nodded. "After he chewed Mulder's ear off
for," she waved her hand at their surroundings, "our present
accommodations, Director Skinner filled us in on Saunders'
debriefing." She focused on the balding Montanan. "You've had
extensive experience with interrogation, as I remember." 

Nichols grunted. "You could say that. I'd be more than willing to
do whatever I can, Scully, but I don't like it that you two will
be here alone." 

Mulder twisted on his seat, ignoring his partner's disapproving
glare at his restlessness. "We'll be fine. Rosen needs to be there
to check the information Saunders is providing against the X-Files
and whatever the Gunmen can come up with. Right now, that's our
top priority. We'll be returning as soon as we can both travel."

The balding Montanan and the wiry astronomer exchanged a glance
before Rosen queried. "You're sure about this? Saunders *is* under
continuous guard, and two mounties aren't a match for what we saw
out there on the ice." 

Scully frowned. "Neither is all the security the Bureau can
provide, if our enemies want to eliminate him badly enough. We've
lost too much already to let this opportunity slip away from us." 

Mulder nodded. "What we know is distributed, what Saunders knows
isn't. I appreciate your concern for us, but I want you both on
the next transport out of here." He stood, terminating the
conversation.

Nichols patted his partner's arm. "Well, we've been told. Let's
go, Ros." 

The brunette studied Mulder's face, then Scully's, before she
nodded and rose. "OK. Just be careful." 

Scully lifted one corner of her mouth. "We'll be fine." Once the
door had closed behind them and the sound of footsteps had faded
to silence, she bit down on her lip, suppressing a groan. 

Grasping the back of her head, Mulder felt her shudder. "I'm
getting the nurse, Scully. You don't have to hurt like this." 

"No." The reply hissed out through clenched teeth. 

Stepping down to the door, he countered breezily. "Don't argue
with me, I *am* the man in charge." He paused, but there was no
denial in response. <It must be bad.>

The morning nurse, a tiny, black-haired woman, stared over at the
man in the cast crossing the hallway to her. "Mister Mulder, you
shouldn't be up so..." 

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Doctor Scully needs some
painkillers." 

The nurse flipped open Scully's folder, one of twenty in metal
binders hanging off the frame under the counter. "Let me check her
dosages." 

Angry, Mulder walked around to her side. "I don't care about the
charts. She needs them *now*," he glared at the letters on her
nametag, "Miss Riviera." 

She shrugged. "The charts say all prescription analgesics
consistently refused." Sliding off her stool, she crossed her arms
over her lab coat to glare up at the dark-haired man. "So what
makes you think she'll take them now?" 

Mulder grinned down at her. "I haven't been the one persuading her
to take them."

Riviera bent to retrieve several capsules from the cabinet under
the counter. "OK, but I'll have to page the Doctor." 

Mulder was halfway back to their room before he replied. "Go right
ahead. But I'm sure he'll be as relieved as I am when she downs
these."

                            --o-0-o--

Inuvik Airport
Monday, 12:14 pm

Rosen stowed her duffle in the mesh overhead bin, tugging on an
interwoven strap to secure her luggage prior to departure. 

After adding his bag to a compartment three rows back, Nichols
rejoined her, waiting until they were both buckled in for takeoff
to speak. "Ros?" 

She rubbed her face. "Hum?" 

He shifted. "I still think you should go visit Cary and check out
the evidence you've collected." 

She frowned over at him. "But you heard Mulder, we need to begin
verifying Saunders' story." 

"Ros, I can call the Gunmen just as easily as you can. If those
guys are anywhere as efficient as they were on the bay, it won't
be a stretch." A wan sense of lost opportunities began tugging
down the corners of his moustache. 

She twisted to face him. "There's something behind this, Nic,
isn't there?" 

Studying the bench across from them, he chewed the short, bristly
hairs, but kept silent. 

Watching his forehead wrinkle and smooth repetitively, Rosen
sighed. "Oh, right, the final divorce proceedings."

"Yeah. I'd rather face a barrage of howitzers than go back for
that." 

Closing her eyes momentarily, she forced away memories of
arguments overheard from the top of a flight of darkened stairs.
"Nic, if it's any help, I'll be there. I've been through this
already." 

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. 

She shrugged. "With my parents." 

He began picking at the knee of his trousers, alternately hiking
the denim up slightly and smoothing it back down. "Oh." He shook
his head. "I can't hold on to her, but I don't want to lose her.
I'd always meant this as a lifetime commitment." 

The propellers were spinning up, so they fell silent through the
stewardess' safety presentation. 

Easing her seatbelt to a comfortable looseness, Rosen sighed. "Is
there any chance you could bring her back to you?" 

Nichols shook his head. "Too many heated words, Ros, most of them
mine. Alicia wants to go, and I can't blame her." He rubbed his
eyes. "It's just harder than I thought it ever could be." He
looked over at his partner. "That's why I think you should detour
to Ithaca. I'll call if we need you for any reason, I promise.
With only one suspect to interrogate, this case has become far
less complex than Mulder thinks it is. The Bureau security system
has worked well enough for the drug cases I've been on." 

She nodded. "OK." She saw he was staring at the floor. "So, tell
me about your girls. I know you talked to them last night." 

He grinned. "Well, Liz has started an epic. Some space thing. She
actually promised to let me read it, this time." 

She smiled back. "Oh? How did Jane's track meet go?" <This should
raise his spirits and kill a few hours, anyway.>

                            --o-0-o--

Ithaca, New York
Wednesday, August 6, 1997
10:49 am

Cary Jean Hooper scribbled 'toilet paper' on a blue memo pad
magnetically mounted on her refrigerator. "Mom?" She heard the
slow tap, tap of her mother's Irish walking stick, the old woman's
constant companion since her automobile accident in 1968. The
aftermath of the crash had quietly driven her sensitive, artistic
father to the edge of insanity, then out of their lives
permanently with his suicide in 1969. 

Alice Hooper appeared in the doorway, one thickened sole catching
slightly as she dragged her right foot over the doorjamb. The
fiery collision had permanently shortened that leg, but she had
never found a pair of orthopedic shoes that had fitted her
properly. "Yes, Cary-child? Have you finally heard from that man
of yours?" Alice's mouth set in its customary pinch, hairline
wrinkles radiating from it out across her cheeks and chin. 

Cary sighed. Her mother steadfastly refused to acknowledge the
true nature of her relationship with Andrea Rosen, even using 'he'
when speaking to her life-partner's face. "Mom, *she'll* be
arriving at the airport in two hours, and I wanted to stop by the
grocery store on the way there. Is there anything we need?" She
held the list in front of the older woman's chest. 

Alice snorted, crossing the room to the lace-covered circular oak
pedestal table where she deliberately scraped a rail-back chair to
one side and sat. After she hooked the knobby ash branch over the
table's edge, she flipped up the earpieces on her black half-
lenses to raise them over the bridge of her narrow Roman nose.
Then she held out her hand. 

Obediently, Cary extended the sheet again. "Sorry, Mom. Would you
like me to clean your glasses for you?" 

Alice lifted the silver chain joining the tips of the frame
together over her head. "Of course. You know how clumsy I can be,
since," she waved her hand at the cane, "then." Alice squinted at
her daughter. "Don't use the Windex, use that cleaning fluid
Doctor Alhandra gave me. Good for the lenses, he said." 

"Yes, Mother." Cary returned, lowering the chain carefully so as
not to disturb her mother's tightly pulled white bun. After
efficiently tucking the silver links under her Mother's collar,
she asked. "Is that good?" 

Alice set the frames on her cheeks. "For now." She studied the
sheet, then flipped it onto the table to rest against the
stoneware sugar bowl. "Get the scented two-ply, if it won't offend
that man of yours." Alice grabbed the cane. "Or even if it does.
He won't be here long enough to matter. Men never are." She eased
herself onto her feet. "Off with you now. Who am I to stand in the
way of true love?" 

Cary sighed. "Yes, Mother." She followed the older woman into the
den. "Will you be OK while I'm gone?" 

Alice was sinking into her green velvet recliner. "I won't die
while you're out, if that's what you mean, Cary-child." She smiled
up at the stocky black-haired woman. "But a pitcher of water would
be lovely." 

Cary nodded, checking her watch while she filled a Wextford
pitcher, set it and two matching glasses on a painted tin tray,
and returned. "I really have to go now, Mom." She kissed the
shrunken cheek quickly before she headed for the door. 

Alice called after her. "Don't take the b-u-y-pass. Those money-
grubbing Democrats won't pay to finish the thing." 

"Yes, Mother!" Cary stepped through the door. <Those money-
grubbing Democrats finished the highway ten years ago.>

                            --o-0-o--

Cary eased the battered station wagon into one of two handicapped
spots. While Alice might despise liberalism in general, and those
'eggheads in their ivory tower, listening to bells ringing until
it drives all good sense from their micro-brains' at Cornell in
specific, she had no qualms whatsoever about taking advantage of
their largesse. As she passed one of her neighbors, pushing a cart
stacked high with handled white bags to the curb, Cary nodded to
her. 

Her thoughts returned to her preparations for Andrea's return.
<Did I remember to change the aroma dispensers on the sink in the
powder room? What about the ivy garden? Did I get that weeded in
time?> She smiled as she freed a red plastic basket from the stack
inside the door. <Why am I worried about this? Andie's probably
still living out of her boxes in some roach-infested efficiency in
Virginia.> She checked her watch again. <An hour. I can just make
it, if I hurry.>

                            --o-0-o--

Ithaca Regional Airport
Wednesday, 1:37 pm

Rosen fidgeted impatiently behind the stewardess. <We've been
parked for five minutes. Surely the portable stairway has arrived
by now.> From the outside, she heard two raps as the motorized
ramp latched into place, then the blonde in front of her began
disengaging the locks and levers. <Finally!> After six months
apart, she and Cary would be reunited. 

Rosen draped her duffle strap over her shoulder when the door
swung out and to the side. Smiling thoughtlessly at the blue-
suited attendant, she hurried down the stairs, where the steward
at the bottom pointed to the farther of two gate doors. The
astronomer found she had to keep herself from running to it. 

Once inside, she scanned the crowds, looking for a round face
framed by straight black hair. 

"Andie! Andie!" Cary was hopping, waving her arms to be seen over
the shoulders of the crowd between them.  

Rosen spun to her left. "Cary!" She saw the shine in her life-
partner's eyes. "I'm back!" She reached forward, weaving her way
through those waiting to enact similar reunions to crush Cary to
her. The over-stuffed duffle was tugged by a passing stroller, but
neither of them cared. The two women rocked each other, struggling
to contain their emotions. 

Cary had hooked her hands over the taller woman's shoulders. "I've
missed you so. Are you OK? How was the flight? How is work?" Other
couples around them were exchanging long kisses of reunion, but
Rosen and Cary would wait to offer such intimate greetings until
they were home. Despite the professed tolerance of the city, some
things were better kept private. 

Rosen stepped back. <How do I tell her anything about the past few
weeks?> "It was OK." 

Cary's black eyebrows drew together. <Have we been apart too
long?> "Oh?" 

Rosen stopped. <She's afraid.> She draped her arm around the other
woman's shoulders. "I've missed you so much. I've been so lonely."
The pair threaded their way through the crowds to step into the
afternoon sun.

                            --o-0-o--

Safe House
Stafford, Virginia
Wednesday, 1:57 pm

When the entrance alarm sounded, Walter Skinner clicked off the
recorder, then gestured to the shorter of his two assistants.
While the AD exited the room, the Hispanic man slid beside the
door. The surveillance monitor in the hall showed a stout, balding
blond man in a tweed jacket waiting outside, so he passed through
the foyer to open it. 

Nichols waved a greeting to his superior when he entered. "I
wasn't followed." 

Skinner's jaw clenched. "Given your past, if you say that, I
accept it. Mulder..." Locking the door, he shrugged. "Where's your
partner?"

Nichols frowned. "In Ithaca. She had some loose ends to tie up
from our previous case and now seems as good a time as any for her
to attend to them." 

Eying the shorter man, Skinner sighed. "Well, let's hope she
doesn't take too long. Mulder's left *us* with enough loose ends
we'll have to tie up. I've had to pull Pendrell out of the Sci-Lab
to run background checks. His Section Head was none too pleased."
The bald Director looked Nichols over one last time before leading
him into the living room. <There's more going on here than any of
them will let on. I hope they know what they're doing.> 

Saunders turned towards them when they entered. "Who is he?" He
glowered at Nichols. 

Nichols extended his hand. "Philip Alexander Nichols. I'm one of
the two new X-Files agents working with Mulder and Scully." When
the gesture went unacknowledged, he dropped his arm to pull out a
chair. "You're the guy with all the information on this group
that's on our tails?" 

Saunders glared again, not bothering to answer. 

Nichols crossed his arms. "So, tell me what your Group knows about
these shape-shifting aliens. We'll be meeting them again, all too
soon." 

Saunders glanced at the three other men, one leaning against the
wall, the other two at attention in seats at the table. "I don't
know what you mean." 

Nichols knew when he was being toyed with. "You know perfectly
well what I mean! The aliens whose ship was discovered in the
Arctic."

Saunders sighed. "Look, Mister Nichols, the Organization deals
with many different potentialities, not specifics. It was
originally founded as a think-tank of sorts, to take advantage of
the expertise not sucked into the Manhattan Project during the
Second World War. It examined various scenarios and devised plans
for defense. One of those scenarios dealt with a possible invasion
of Earth by extra-solar intelligences." 

Nichols leaned back on the metal folding chair. "What about all
the evidence Mulder and Scully uncovered?" 

Saunders glanced over at the tape recorder, noting that the white
gears were motionless. He returned his attention to the blond
moustache, generously sprinkled with grey. "Some of that we were
aware of. Some, like the Kindred, we were not. But none of it rose
to a threshold of significance for our plans." Anxious, he rose to
begin wandering the room. "Look, if there were to be an invasion
of the planet from the outside, just exactly how do you suppose we
would defend against that?" 

Nichols grunted. "I'm not sure we could." 

Saunders' voice grew hard. "That is *not* an acceptable scenario!"
He crossed the room in three swift strides, yanking the cord for
the recorder out of the wall. "You won't get any of this down." He
leaned into Skinner's face. "I mean that. I may be here to give
you information on the Organization, but I'm no traitor to my own
kind. Some plans need to stay secret." 

Nichols wiggled between them. "Whatever it would take, it would
involve a huge amount of money and natural resources." 

Saunders turned his attention to the Montanan. "More than you can
possibly imagine. It would also involve a coalition of all the
earth's nations, one that actually functioned effectively, unlike
that farce in New York City." Still holding the power cable, he
clenched his fists. "We had to put that together, to make it work.
That meant a system of checks and balances so no one nation or
group of nations could take control away from us." He yanked the
black wires free of the silver unit on the table, dragging the
cord behind him as he paced. 

Skinner crossed his arms. "But why not just use existing nuclear
stockpiles?" 

Saunders whirled, sneering at the bald man. "A hydrogen bomb?
Something that puny? Be serious. Nothing we have presently was
considered an adequate deterrent. And a Civil Defense plan? Forget
it. It was eventually decided that we would procure any and all
necessary raw materials: steel, diamond, silicon, precious metals.
We would build prototypes, develop technology that would be beyond
what any one nation could produce on their own, and have the
capability of construction on a moment's notice. But to just
stockpile weapons from the Fifties would be an exercise in
futility."

Nichols chewed his moustache. <What have I gotten myself into?> He
turned to Skinner. "If you will excuse me, I'm late for a meeting
with my lawyer." 

His jaw firm, the Assistant Director nodded. "Good Luck." <I've
held onto Sharon, while's he's losing Alicia. I shouldn't gloat.
They've been through so much more than we have.>

                            --o-0-o--

Law Offices
Falls Church
Wednesday, 3:32 pm

Alicia Nichols rubbed her temples, then released her silvering
blonde shoulder-length hair. Sighing, she tucked it back inside
the rubberized ribbon, then stared at the door. "He's late again."
She looked across the rosewood table to her lawyer, blond and
greying, his physique tall and lean like herself. <I'm glad my
brother is handling this case. A schoolteacher can't afford all
those legal fees.>

Paul Anderson slid his reading glasses back onto his narrow Roman
nose, then glanced over at his sister. "Annie, he was late for the
wedding. Do you expect it to be any different now?" 

She shrugged, then reached across the table to grasp his wrist.
"Thanks for handling this, Paul. I'm sorry you and Karen split
last year." 

Closing the long folder with the divorce papers, he clasped her
hand. "Ah, it'll be just like when we were kids again. Paul
Anderson and his triple A sister, never separated. Once this is
over, you and the girls can come out to San Diego and take a place
close to me and the boys. Harvey and Murray need to spend time
with their cousins, now that they're all of an age to appreciate
each other." 

Alicia rolled her brown eyes when she heard her soon-to-be ex-
husband's gravelly voice through the conference room door. "No,
thanks, I know the way." Nichols entered, his shoulders sagging,
sending apologetic glances to brother and sister. "Sorry.
Traffic." He rested one hand on his wife's back. "You been OK,
Hon?" He bent down in an attempt to kiss her cheek. 

She turned her face away, so he slunk to the far end of the table,
looking up only when she replied. "I've been fine. Paul's sent
subpoenas to your apartment. Where were you, anyway? I thought
this new job of yours was supposed to be better than the
undercover work." 

Nichols interlaced his fingers while resting his arms on the
smooth wood. "Ah, Alicia, if I told you, you wouldn't believe me." 

She crossed her arms. "Try me." 

He coughed, then responded softly. "The Arctic." 

Paul exploded. "That's the lamest excuse I've ever heard! What
would the FBI be doing in the Arctic?" 

He shrugged. "Pursuing suspects in the murders of two people,
possibly more." He eyed his brother-in-law. <A divorce lawyer
never seems to run out of clients in California, does he?> Noting
the perfect tan, the still chiseled incisors, the gold bracelet,
and the Armani suit, he mentally reviewed his own grizzled
appearance. He had several pre-cancerous spots on his left arm,
three chipped teeth from a particularly rough bust the year
before, and enough wrinkles to interest Georgia O'Keefe. <No,
you're no prize, Phil.> He reached into his jacket for his pen.
"Well, let's get this show rolling." 

Paul shoved the folder at Nichols. "You know where to sign." 

Nichols held the black implement over the first blank line, then
looked to his wife. "Are you sure this is what you want, Alicia? I
know I'm not the best husband in the world, but I never wanted to
lose you like this." 

Alicia stared pointedly at her hands, folded in her lap. "It seems
to be the best for all of us." She glanced over at Paul, who
smiled and nodded his support. 

Resigned, Nichols scrawled his signature in the several blocks
that had been marked with small brass points clipped to the left
side of the pages. The finality of his actions left a cold, empty
ache in his gut as he closed the folder. After carrying the papers
down the long aisle to Alicia, he stood by her side, rubbing her
shoulder aimlessly while she added her own name to his. 

Paul glowered. "Well, that's done. Alicia has already put the
house up for sale. You'll have the last of your personal effects
out by the end of the week, either you come take them, or we can
have them delivered to you. Your choice." 

Nichols gazed fondly at his wife's profile. "No. I'll stop by. I
want to see the girls one last time." He bent to kiss his wife's
cheek. 

This time, she raised it just enough for a quick brush of his
lips. "Phil?" 

He turned back, a ghost of a smile appearing. 

She reached for his hands. "I'm sorry, too."

                            --o-0-o--

Skala Fira
Santorini, Greece
Thursday, August 7, 1997
8:27 am

Leaning to her right, Margaret checked the drop down the cliff as
the donkey beneath her picked her way up the 580 shallow steps
from the harbor to the town. <While this is all very interesting,
it really wasn't necessary. Cable cars would have been fine with
me.> Margaret heard an uncertain wuffle from the animal carrier
strapped to the saddle. <I agree, Mister Fuzz. The sooner we reach
the top the better.> She glanced backwards. 

Caroline called up encouragement from just behind her. "Hope
you've enjoyed the cruise, Margaret, look at the sea!" 

Margaret lifted her eyes to the horizon. The waters of the
Mediterranean were becalmed, barely a ruffle of cat's paws to
disturb the surface. She could hear her Captain explaining to her
that they were in the wind shadow formed by the island of
Thirasia, so that the waves were just beginning to grow. But the
longshore current, curving around the point where the town of
Ammoudi clung to the cliff tops, would still generate breakers.
Further beyond, she could make out white froth around the rocks
that had fallen, as they had for millennia, down the cliff's face. 

Caroline was beaming. "I love this trip. Max?" She, in turn,
checked the donkey behind her. 

The white-haired man shook his head. 

Caroline nodded. Whoever had been shadowing them had not bothered
to take the journey from the neat buildings of the 'port' of Skala
Fira upwards to the town of Fira itself. There were other
transports to the residences inland, but Max had primed the locals
to be on alert for anyone suspicious, out of place. 

Max was not given to shouting, so him simply mouthed: "More at the
top." in her direction. 

Caroline smiled. Apparently her husband had spent time prior to
their marriage cultivating the people that lived here, forming
them into an unofficial spy network to guarantee his and Thea's
safety. <He must have made influential enemies with his treasure-
hunting.> She wondered how she had managed to pick out a second
husband who had led a life much similar to that of her first. Her
eyes narrowed. <Only this doesn't involve torturing the helpless
or futile, cruel experimentation on the weak. No wonder he feels
free to share it with me.> 

The donkey up ahead took a misstep, the ring of hooves on stone
bringing Caroline's attention to the woman above. <Poor Margaret.
This is so far beyond anything she's known.> She patted the neck
of the coal-black burro jenny beneath her, feeling muscles
contract as the little beast set one foot above the other in an
almost-straight line. "Don't fret, Margaret, there's never been a
problem with this ascent. It's one of the great attractions of
Santorini." 

"I'm fine." Margaret spoke without turning, her voice flat. 

Caroline smiled again. "I'm sure you are, Margaret." <Like mother,
like daughter.> "You'll notice how red the rocks are here. The
little island in the center of the caldera, Nea Kameni, is the
cone of an active volcano rising from the sea again." 

Margaret chuckled. "I know. I've listened to Dana and Fox argue
about this place. She's tried to explain about how the eruption of
Thera destroyed the Minoan cities here, generating a tidal wave
that disturbed civilizations all around the Mediterranean basin.
She's told me that the tsunami may even have been the event that
spawned the story about the parting of the Red Sea." 

Caroline laughed, the gentle alto tones echoing slightly off the
rock wall. "I can imagine what Fox says." She glanced back over
her shoulder before continuing. "We can visit the ruins if you'd
like?" 

Margaret patted the animal carrier when a tiny black nose poked
out through the mesh of the door. "If we have the time."

Caroline settled back. "I'm certain we will." 

                            --o-0-o--

Queen's Hospital
Inuvik, Northwest Territories, Canada
Thursday, 12:21 am

Mulder dropped the portable phone to his lap, shifting his free
hand to terminate the call. 

Scully noted his frustration. "Those buttons?" 

He grunted. "Yeah."

She segued quickly. "So, what did Nichols say?" 

Mulder swung his feet off the side of the mattress so he could
face her as he talked. "Saunders is living up to his side of the
bargain. He's revealed more information on the Consortium just
today than we could ever hope to collect."
He grinned. "And we have a volunteer to join our merry band."

She raised an eyebrow. 

Mulder cocked his head. "Pendrell. It seems Skinner is using him
to run background checks." 

Scully studied her hands. "Oh. I thought I warned him away. He
doesn't need to become enmeshed in our problems."

Mulder cocked his head. "I agree. While he's almost as useful as
the guys," he eyed his partner's frown, "in certain respects, we
really don't know enough about him to be certain we can trust
him." 

Scully crossed the room to stand beside him. "That's the last
thing I expected you to say, Mulder." Suddenly tired, she eased
back onto her mattress.

Wincing sympathetically, he watched her shift her pillows to keep
her back upright. "Just examining all possibilities, partner. I
ran a background check on him after you approached him initially,
only to find there was nothing he'd been cited for, ever. No
traffic violations, not even a parking ticket. No commendations
either. He seems perfectly average, which is odd for someone with
a PhD in Chemistry." 

Scully tossed her head, setting off a cascade of aches that made
her regret the gesture. "Ah, but someone who's perfectly average
can change reality as we know it." 

Mulder's face canted at an odd angle. "That's science fiction,
Scully. Maybe there's nothing more to him than just the helpful,
pleasant tech he seems to be. But you've been around me long
enough to know nothing is as it seems." He turned the metal chair
by the bed to face his partner. "Speaking of that, there's
something you need to know about our Doctor Curie." 

Scully frowned. "Mulder, what?" 

He eased himself down. "She's a lesbian." 

Scully narrowed her eyes at him. "So? What does that matter?" 

Mulder studied her face carefully. "It doesn't. I just wanted you
to know." 

Scully sighed. "You thought with my Catholic upbringing that it
would be a problem, didn't you?"

Mulder shook his head. "No. Nichols told me at the Gunmen's and I
don't want there to be secrets between us, Scully. It's not good
for our survival." 

Scully slid off the mattress, walking around the room. Silence
settled over them, Mulder watching her perambulations. Finally,
she reached out to rest her hand on his shoulder. "Thanks. I hope
we can keep this openness between us, Mulder. Now that we have
some idea of where your sister might be, I was afraid..." 

He stood, looking down at her. "You were afraid of what?" 

A knock on the door interrupted them. "Anyone for lunch?" It was
the youngest of the nurses, her brown eyes lowered apologetically.
"Sorry." 

Mulder chuckled at the girl's discomfort. "Oh, more mystery meat
and vegetables leftover from army radiation tests. Yum." He
pointed at Scully. "The Doctor here was just telling me how much
this is like my own cooking." 

Scully crossed over to her, taking the tray she held. "Don't
worry, Elizabeth. His bark really is worse than his bite. Thanks.
I'll bring it out when we're finished." She carried the steel
platter in her good hand, keeping the extra weight off the damaged
ribs. 

The white-clad nurse vanished down the hall. 

Scully placed Mulder's lunch on his bed-tray, then sighed. "I
really wish you wouldn't terrorize the help, Mulder, we *do* need
them." 

As he eased himself back into the bed, he feigned surprise at her
rebuke. "And to think, here I've been on my best behavior, Doctor.
Just because I told them a little about Tooms is no reason for
them to assume I'm dangerous." 

Scully carried her own bowl back to bed. <I'm not dignifying this
silliness with a response.> "Oh, look, salad! I wonder who told
them I wanted that?" She cocked an eyebrow at her partner, who was
smirking as he chomped down on his hamburger. 

After a quick gulp, he muttered. "Ah, the guys. Bribery will get
me anywhere."

                            --o-0-o--

Hooper residence
Ithaca, New York
Thursday, 2:47 pm

Andrea Rosen set the last of the lunch dishes in the drainer,
finding she was restless, wondering how her partner was handling
Skinner without her. She smiled as she heard Cary's house slippers
whisper across the terra-cotta tiles of the kitchen. 

The black-haired woman enclosed the slender agent's waist in her
short arms, her fleshiness contrasting with Rosen's muscles.
"Whatcha thinkin'?"

Rosen sighed. "I was just worried about my partner." 

Cary tightened her clutch, pressing herself firmly against the
taught spine. "You've told me so much about him, I almost feel
like I know him. Is he having second thoughts about his divorce?" 

Rosen crossed her arms over the tiny hands pressing into her
abdomen. "Regrets is more like it. Actually, I was more concerned
with how things were going at the Bureau. He told me on the plane
home that he wasn't looking forward to interacting with Skinner so
closely. They were at the Academy together."

Cary released the taller woman, rubbing circles in her back with
her hands. "Oh? Were they friends?" 

Rosen shrugged. "Friendly rivals is more like it. Nic has this
really grey moustache that turns down at the ends when he's upset.
Well, he made light of it, but his whiskers were practically to
his jaws when he told me he was bothered that he'd bested Skinner
on nearly every test or examination at Quantico. Then, of course,
Nic's undercover chasing drug dealers while Walt, as he likes to
call him, is back at headquarters, rising through the ranks. Now,
he's working for a man who works for - ooh, that feels too good." 

Cary leaned against Rosen, running her hands down over the
tapered, rock-hard muscles of her thighs. "Um-hum. Keep talking."

Andrea bit her lip. "Is your Mom settled?" She felt Cary's head
move up and down against her back. 

The black-haired woman sighed. "I think so. This is the hour for
her 'refresher sleep', and you know how Mom feels about
regularity. She pretends to be so helpless, especially when she's
afraid I might leave her."

Rosen turned, tucking Cary under her chin, hugging her tightly. "I
never want it to come to that, Cary." She kissed the peak of each
eyebrow lightly. "I need you, but your Mom needs you, too. I just
wish you could come to DC and live with me, both of you. There are
so many things we could do together, and we could be almost as
free with each other as we are here." 

Cary stood on tip-toe to kiss Andrea's chin. "Right. It's so open
here we're afraid to greet each other the way spouses should at
the airport." She nuzzled the taller woman's neck. "I've missed
you so. Last night was the first time I've slept well since you
left." 

Rosen held her away from her to meet her eyes. "Cary, you can't
really mean that! Why didn't you tell me?"

The black-haired woman slid both hands up under Andrea's t-shirt
to begin a gentle massage, pleased when the younger woman gasped.
"Some things aren't as good on your own."

Suddenly, Andrea Rosen found that all thoughts of silicon-eating
bugs, morphing aliens, and troubled partners had fled. Instead,
the world contracted to the woman in front of her, so she lowered
her mouth to meet the soft lips, parted and inviting, eager for
hers. 

                            --o-0-o--

Rowhouse
Capital Hill, Washington, DC
Thursday, 9:12 pm 

Loud squeaks escaped from the jogging shoes of a tall blond man
with a long narrow face as he paced over the newly-white planks of
his row-house porch. A shorter, red-haired man, adjusting black
frames on his nose, stepped down out of the living room to peer up
both sides of the street. 

McConnell tugged on his glasses one final time before he grunted
in frustration and snapped off the television. "Where are they?
They've never been late before." 

Lindhauer crossed his arms. "I just heard there was an accident on
the Beltway, so they'll take time to get in from Maryland." 

Both glared into the darkness when they heard a snick of a
cigarette lighter closing, then a man in grey appeared, creases
deeply etched in his cheeks. 

After taking a few puffs, he nodded to them both. "You see? Things
*do* change, don't they?" 

Glowering, Lindhauer stared down his long nose at the old man.
"Nonsense." He cocked his head at McConnell. "'Andrew' and I know
how bad the traffic is around here. No games. Why did you want to
call this meeting, anyway?" 

The man took a long drag, then dropped the cigarette, stamping it
out on the stones of the walkway. "Let's continue this inside,
shall we?" Once the three were seated at the dining room table, he
reached into his pocket to lift out a fresh white tube. 

McConnell shook his head. "New city ordinance. No smoking." 

The old spy arched one eyebrow. "Can't run their own government
anywhere but into massive debt, yet they want to regulate what
happens in the confines of a private residence." Dropping the pack
on the placemat, he snorted. "Very well. I wanted you four here
because we need to discuss a replacement for our latest traitor." 

McConnell rolled his eyes. "'Finn' and I have been discussing
that. We don't want a replacement for Saunders. We want to
eliminate the whole batch of them once and for all. They're
vulnerable right now, made soft by their numbers and their
success. We could get to Mulder and Scully in that two-bit day-
care center they call a hospital in Canada, as well as eliminating
Saunders, Skinner, and Nichols, all at once. That would only leave
Rosen and the Gunmen, who could be silenced at any time." 

A shadow crossed the old man's features. "What about the
secretary, Cynthia?" 

Lindhauer's jaw clenched. "Leave her out of your plans. She's no
threat to anyone." 

A grey and a red brow raised at the objection, McConnell making a
mental note to take his friend from Wall Street aside for a
private chat later. 

The Smoking Man leaned across the table. "You see how the circle
widens. Kill, what, four prominent law enforcement professionals,
and a well-known lawyer, then it's secretaries, scientists,
lunatics, family members. Where would it end? Director Freeh?
Senators? Swiss dignitaries?" His stained fingers caressed the
pack, filling the night with crackles from the cellophane. "No. I
explained this to your associates while you were in the Arctic,
but, it looks like I'll have to repeat the history lesson." He
eyed them both, shoulder to shoulder across the long mahogany
table from him. "Tell me why, when the road to Baghdad was open in
the Gulf War, we didn't march in and arrest Saddam Hussein." 

Lindhauer clenched his fists. <What can we learn from yesterday's
news? Today is all that counts!> "Because it wasn't in the UN
mandate. Why else? Once Kuwait was freed, the coalition wouldn't
have held together." 

The old man snorted. <Ignorant punk.> 

McConnell shook his head. "No. Great powers in the past have used
similar windows of opportunity to attempt to retire pesky
opponents. Hussein had ruthless eliminated any and all opposition
to his regime. He survived because it was deemed better to leave
him in place, then remove him and, in the power vacuum his absence
would create, watch Iran, Turkey, and Saudi Arabia step in to
carve up the country." The red-haired man leaned back. "Or, more
succinctly, the Devil you know is better than the Devil you
don't." 

The old man grimaced with delight. "I see someone has read his
Plutarch. Precisely." He faced Lindhauer. "Who is the leader of
our opponents?"

Lindhauer grunted. "Matheson, who else?" He hesitated at the old
man's snort.

McConnell sighed. "No, Mulder. He plays at listening to the three
others, gives the appearance of subordinating himself to Skinner
and Matheson, but if he isn't interested in a case, it isn't
pursued. If he is, he'll warp every resource at his disposal to
investigate."

The old man's eyes glowed. "Quite. Mulder is a known quantity. We
push certain buttons, he responds in a predicable manner. But to
do that, we need an informant, a double agent." 

McConnell shrugged. "Well, with Saunders in protective custody, we
already took it upon ourselves to make certain we had him under
surveillance." 

The old man rose, taking the pack and stepping outside. "Excuse
me."

Lindhauer reflected during the break. <If I don't move now, that
old man will be leading us all around by the nose. If there's
going to be an informant, it has to be someone I can control. But
that means not 'Ace' or 'Charlie'. It can't be 'Andrew' or myself;
we've been seen.> 

McConnell paced in the living room. <We need an informant, but
who? 'Ace'? We need her right where she is. 'Charlie' would know
enough to be useful; the man can pull facts and figures out of his
head I had no idea existed. But to let him become the tool of the
old man? Never. They worked together too closely in the past.>

Both their reveries stopped at the sounds of an approaching
engine. 

Lindhauer rose quickly. <Best to assert my authority now!> He
walked briskly through the house, down the path, and opened the
passenger door, smiling at the slender brunette emerging. "'Ace'!
Rotten traffic, hunh?" 

She rolled her eyes. "You can't imagine." She held up several
fingers. "Three tractor-trailers." 

'Charlie' spread his arms. "Debris everywhere. Fortunately, there
was a flat-bed transporting some construction equipment not too
far behind the accident, or all lanes would still have been
blocked." 

McConnell joined them. "Oh, you took the Beltway? The traffic
reporter said they got one open, then people began shooting
through." 

The old man stepped around the BMW to pat 'Charlie' on the back.
"Drivers were more civilized in my day. Shall we?" 

Lindhauer and McConnell exchanged a glance at the gesture. <We
know *his* choice.> 

Before 'Charlie' could shake the old spy loose, the man in grey
had draped his free arm around 'Ace''s shoulders, pulling both of
his proteges close to him. <I'll succeed in controlling these kids
yet.>

                            --o-0-o--

The five were seated around the mahogany table, eyeing each other
warily. 'Charlie' had edged his chair as close to 'Ace''s as he
could, the Smoking Man equally close to his. Lindhauer and
McConnell faced them, attempting to appear at ease with this new
situation. 

Lindhauer rested both hands on the rattan placemat. "Well, I guess
we know why we're all here." He watched sweat begin to bead on
'Charlie''s forehead. <Could it possibly be that this isn't a job
he wants?> "We need to name a replacement mole to misdirect Mulder
and those around him. It's can't be 'Andrew' or myself. Mulder and
Scully have seen us both." 

The old man leaned forward, perfectly willing to bide his time.
"But why should we contact Mulder again? Why shouldn't we use
Rosen or Nichols?" 

Icy blue eyes shot daggers at the wrinkled visage. "Because they
won't be a part of the section for long." 

McConnell stared, openmouthed. <What is he thinking?> 

The old man settled back, crossing his arms. <Very well, let's see
what you have.> He nodded for Lindhauer to continue.

Lindhauer's long pale fingers tugged at a stray fragment of
rattan. "I've already put the bug in Matheson's ear that the X-
Files section isn't giving him sufficient returns for all the flak
he taking in committee." 

'Ace' tipped her head. "Oh?" 

McConnell nodded. "Randall's been our official spokesman on this."
He crossed his arms. "As you know, the Senate has, for years, made
it a priority to oversee the Justice Department for fraud and
abuse." 

'Charlie' chuckled. "As I remember, that was how Randall got here
in the first place." 

Lindhauer cleared his throat. "Well, it's been fun watching that
Marine grit his teeth." He flashed a quick, mirthless grin. "There
are enough inexplicable  irregularities and technical violations
in the operating procedures of the section to grill him endlessly.
And so far, all they can prove conclusively is that weapons were
snuck illegally out of Germany at the end of the war by persons
now dead." 

'Ace' narrowed her eyes. "Having Saunders' testimony would change
all that. He was too deeply involved in too many operations for us
to hide the evidence, as we did with the warehouses at the
beginning of the year. If we can throw enough suspicions on the
results of this very expensive inquiry, we can effectively
eliminate the threat the expanded section poses. The
responsibilities involved in the job are more than I can assume
right now with the new banking software coming on-line. That
leaves only one candidate." 

Four pairs of eyes focused on 'Charlie''s pudgy face. 

He gulped. "Uh, guys, I'm not sure I'm up for this." 

'Ace' took his arm. "Of course you are, Drew." 

McConnell and Lindhauer growled at this breech of protocol. 

She glared at them before she continued. "You know the inner
workings and history of the Group almost as well as Saunders.
After all, you oversaw the reclassification of all those records
two years ago. I know if they tried to grill you on something, you
could pull a disconnected answer off the top of your head that
would keep them busy for months." 

'Charlie' squeezed her hand. <I know you mean well, Lisa, but
after what happened to the old man, then the criteria we used to
select Saunders, well.> He shivered as he smelled the nicotine-
tainted breath coming over his shoulder. <I don't want to play
*his* game.> 

McConnell leaned over. "If it would make you feel better, we could
put the matter to a vote so you won't feel you're being dictated
to." 

'Charlie' nodded. "Yeah, that would help." 

The old man grunted. "This isn't a democracy. Democracies
invariably are ruled by mobs, who inevitably are swayed by foolish
enticements." 

Lindhauer pounded the table with his fist. "Spare us the ancient
history!" He glared around the table. "Shall we do this with a
show of hands, or a secret ballot?" 

'Ace' shrugged. "Secret ballot. That way each of us can give our
opinions without feeling pressured." She squeezed the thick palm
back. 

'Charlie' smiled, looking at ease for the first time since their
arrival. 

The old man stormed away from the table. <These idiots! Do they
think this is a parlor game?> He stepped outside, lighting a
cigarette with shaking hands to calm his nerves. <I have to play
this cool. They're not divided enough, not yet.> Waiting until he
was finished, he found several contingency plans forming. <Good.
Good. That I can use.> Settling his features into their controlled
mask, he strode back inside. 

The Smoking Man leaned over McConnell, who was tearing five sheets
off a post-it pad. "You never said how it went at the research
facility." 

Lindhauer joined them. "A total waste of time. The pair offered
their technology in exchange for their freedom." 

'Ace' smiled. "We expected that. What did you say?" 

McConnell handed her the paper. "They really have nothing to offer
us. We have samples of their cellular structures, taken while they
were unconscious. We couldn't understand their materials and
technology without them, and we have no intentions of keeping them
alive any longer than it takes to catch the other three. We left." 

The old spy nodded. "That was wise. Any solutions they offer us,"
he spread his hands, "should we succeed in understanding them,
would more than likely be useless against any truly hostile aliens
that might discover us. It would be like developing the technology
to mass-produce the finest Samurai swords, only to have to use
them as defensive weapons against Gatling guns." He rubbed his
palms together. "Shall we?" <There. I've proved myself reasonable.
Perhaps that will sway this to a four to one vote.> He respected
his former subordinate for his trepidation, showing he'd learned
the lessons the past had to offer. 

'Ace' drew a line down the center of each sheet, then one across
the bottom of the glue section, forming a rough T. Passing one to
each, she explained, "Put a dot on the left side if you want
'Charlie' to be our new contact, a dot on the right if you don't."
She waved up the stairs. "There are five rooms, counting the
bathroom. Go in, vote, fold the paper over, then come down and
drop it in this sack." She held up a blue velvet bag with Chivas
Regal embroidered in silver letters on one side. 

Each carrying one page and a pen, the five filed upstairs. When
the four men returned, Ace was already seated at the dining room
table, the bag turned inside out. 

At Lindhauer's raised eyebrow, she shrugged. "I just wanted
everyone to see I hadn't stuffed the ballot," she smirked, "bag."
She flipped the cloth soft-side out, then dropped in her sheet. 

When all five papers had been pushed inside, McConnell took it,
shaking it vigorously. Then he laid the yellow slips out side by
side, opening each one by one. 

The first had a large circle on the left. 'Charlie' closed his
eyes and shuddered. 

The second had a thick black dot scribed exactly in the center of
the left square. Glancing at the programmer, seated with her head
down, 'Charlie' gulped. <One more, and I'm a dead man.> 

The third had a tiny dot on the right that McConnell had to hold
close to his nose to see before he apologized. "I gotta get new
contacts. There are useless." 

Tapping his own thick lenses, 'Charlie' sympathized. "Yeah, that's
why I've stuck with these all these years." He gulped
involuntarily, since that had been his page. <One more. Please,
not one more.> 

The fourth, when opened, revealed a jagged scratch down the right
side. The old spy snorted his disgust. 

The fifth had a long X on the right. 'Charlie' began gulping great
breaths of air, feeling his knees go wobbly. 

The Smoking Man stormed out onto the porch, pacing his way through
three cigarettes before he returned. <Punks! All of them are
punks!> 

'Ace' grasped 'Charlie''s waist immediately. "Hey, that's OK.
We'll work something out." 

Lindhauer glared through the glass at the man outside. "Indeed, we
have. We fall back on the original plan. We terminate Saunders." 

McConnell nodded. "Good. We've been entirely too easy on Mulder
and his crew. I like this better, even if it isn't the most
politic course of action." 

'Ace' looked from one to the other. "But how? Saunders is in a
safe-house right now, guarded around the clock." 

Lindhauer found he had to stop himself from laughing out loud.
"But some of the guards are ours." 

Finally returning to the present, 'Charlie' gasped out a single
word. "How?"

McConnell patted him on the shoulder. "Oh, they're ours, they just
don't know it yet." He looked out the window. "Where'd he go?" 

'Ace' stepped through the open door. "He's not there. I guess we
didn't live up to his expectations." 

Lindhauer narrowed his cold blue eyes. "Or down to them. We still
run things around here, not him." He grasped 'Charlie''s shoulder.
"I hear through the grapevine congratulations are in order. You
two set a date yet?" 

'Ace' swatted the pudgy man's shoulder. "You told them!"

He squirmed. "Sorry. I couldn't contain myself." 

'Ace' set her fists on her hips. "I haven't even accepted. There's
too much to think about right now." 

McConnell hugged her. "Don't worry about it. 'Charlie''s a lucky
guy." He jerked his head towards the door. "Black Lung was
attempting to insinuate otherwise, but you're blessed to have each
other. Whatever you two decide is fine with us." 

The brunette shrugged free to lean against her seated lover.
"Yeah, guys, thanks. But I have some work to do. Drew?" 

He glanced up. "You want to go? Sure." He rose, looking the other
two men in the eye. "Thanks, I really didn't want to get wrapped
up in his machinations. You don't know what he's capable of." 

Escorting them to the door, Lindhauer nodded. "I'd like to make
sure we don't find out." 

                            --o-0-o--

Safe House
Stafford, Virginia
Thursday, 10:17 pm

Awakening by loud raps on the door, Saunders grumbled as he rolled
over in bed. <Who would be here now?> "Just a minute." He stumbled
towards the entrance to his bedroom suite. "Who is it?" 

"Walter Skinner." The tone was level, controlled, as always, but
this time, there was an undercurrent of impatience. 

Saunders frowned. <Or was that frustration?> He pulled the door
away. "What?" <Two could play at this game.>

The bald Director, his glasses askew, was buttoning his own shirt
when he looked up. "Get your clothes on. This place has been
compromised. A small amount of plastic explosives have been found
on one of the above-ground power lines leading up the road." 

Instantly, Saunders reached for his shoes. "How did you know?" 

Skinner glared. "We aren't complete bunglers. We have the place
checked by bomb-sniffing dogs every morning and night. Just now,
they found something." 

Saunders grabbed his jacket and stepped into the hall. "How do you
know it isn't a decoy?" 

Skinner waved him in front of him. "We can't take that chance now,
can we? We have a car waiting for you behind the house. Hurry." 

                            --o-0-o--

Safe House
Saltville, Virginia
Friday, August 8, 1997
3:51 am

Holding the grey suit jacket by both padded shoulders, Saunders
draped the wool over the narrow aluminum chair in the small room
that was now his. 

Walter Skinner spoke from the doorway. "This is the best we can do
on such short notice. The place in Wheeling may have been
compromised as well; it's too soon to tell." 

Saunders lowered himself onto the wheeled steel-framed bed,
interlacing his fingers behind his head, feeling the heat from his
hands seep into the bare metal. "I've done worse." He regarded the
Director with something close to affection. "When shall we
continue the debriefings?" 

A shadow passed over the bald man's face. "In the morning. We need
to find two more agents we can trust to spell the ones already
here." 

Saunders swung his legs off the bed. "What about Mulder and
Scully? Aren't they back from the Arctic yet?" 

Skinner sighed. "Thanks to a bit of unnecessary derring-do on
Agent Mulder's part, he and Agent Scully are recuperating in
perhaps the smallest hospital Mulder's managed to inhabit yet." 

Saunders favored the bald Director with a faint smile. "Ah, Mister
Mulder. Such a problem. For both our sides." 

Skinner stepped into the room, settling in the chair. "Something
I've always wondered. Why didn't..."

Saunders shifted closer to the head of the bed. "We eliminate
Mulder, given his utter lack of concern for his own safety?" He
stood, clasping his hands behind his back. "Our mutual smoking
acquaintance put it best: 'Better the Devil you know than the
Devil you don't.' Mister Mulder served the purpose of an
excessively vocal distraction." He fixed the seated man in his
penetrating gaze. "Oh, I know from the Bureau's point of view,
until he was paired with Scully, he was an utterly uncooperative
loner." 

Skinner nodded. "But for the Organization, he was merrily off
chasing butterflies - " 

Saunders grunted his assent. "And bringing cameras along for the
ride."

Skinner stood, nose to nose with the African-American. "So, where
is his sister?" 

Saunders waved one hand. "After she was reprogrammed, we made sure
she was shuffled around until her exact whereabouts were unknown,
even to us. Perhaps Mister Morley knows, but none of the rest of
us do. The records and samples for her have not been updated after
about 1975. Two men can keep a secret if one of them is dead, a
certain mutual colleague also once advised."

Skinner set his jaw. "That way, even if Mulder does get his hands
on them, he still has no easy solution." 

Saunders nodded. "Exactly." That slight smile flitted over his
features and was gone. "Even if he breaks us, he still has one
windmill left to tilt at." 

                            --o-0-o--

Cornell University
Ithaca, New York
Friday, 11:19 am 

Andrea Rosen slid Cary's battered station wagon into one of the
visitor's parking spots. It felt odd, being back here after
finally finishing with her degree. She remembered her stomach
churning before so many exams, then at her dissertation defense,
she had been so nervous, she hadn't slept more than five minutes
the night before. <Insomnia.> Something she and Mulder shared when
it came to dealing with anxiety. <But you don't have anything to
fear here, anymore.> 

Turning off the engine, she reached across the seat for her
backpack, still stuffed full of equipment from the trip to the
Arctic. She hadn't told Mulder about this in the hospital room,
basically so he and Scully would rest the way their bodies
obviously needed, but she had told Nichols. She and Langly had
done a little exploring while they had waited for Baird and the
plane. For some reason, the mysterious troops who had taken the
two women away had abandoned the ship on the ice. So, the Gunman
and Agent had left Mulder and Scully for a few minutes to settle
their arguments about propulsion systems. 

The interior of the crew compartment of the craft had been less
damaged than they had expected, so they had swept it, first for
conventional radiation, which they found little of, then for UV
sources, of which there were many. The technology had an almost
organic look to it, all curves and tubes, with no obvious buttons
or weaponry. <Just what one would expect. Each sentient species
develops technologies that fit it best.> Langly had staggered out
of the vessel with as many undamaged parts as he could carry, she
only a few less. In the bag was what looked like some sort of
control circuit, and it was this she wanted to show to her buddies
in the nanotechnology lab. <Maybe they can make sense of it all.>

As she entered the building, she nearly collided with a giant of
an African-American man, dressed in tattered jeans and a faded
Star Trek T-shirt. His sunken cheeks and gaunt limbs added to the
appearance of a vagrant, but one glance at his lively brown eyes
told otherwise. 

The dark-haired beanpole beamed at her. "Andie! You're back!"
Laughing, he hugged her, lifting her feet off the floor in his
delight. "Couldn't give up the hallowed halls of academe, I see." 

She smiled. "Hey, Arnie, you're just the man I wanted to see." 

He patted his chest. "Just the man? Andie, you feeling OK?" 

She waved her hand at him. "Arnie, you know better. I have
something I want you and the guys to shoot some electrons at." 

He winked. "Super-secret spy stuff already, Andie? Am I going to
have to give up my NAACP membership after this?" 

She rolled her eyes. "Arnie! That was years ago. Hoover's dead.
Haven't you heard?"

As he pulled a wide lab door open, he bent over her. "Ooh, no, I
thought he was in cryo somewhere." 

Rosen grinned at the backs of two other men, who were staring at
an image displayed on a seventeen inch CRT. "Arnie! That's Lenin,
and he's just embalmed." She patted each man on the shoulder.
"Richie, Dale, hi!" 

Both men were blond and blue-eyed, but Richie's portentous girth
showed his years working too many late nights at the computer. If
six of Dale were squashed together, they might come close to
equalling the volume of the man he was arguing animatedly with. 

Dale took Rosen's backpack. "So, to what do we owe this honor,
Special Agent Doctor Rosen?" 

She shrugged. "I was in the neighborhood." 

Richie sucked the last of his Coke Classic out of its can with a
straw, transferring the plastic tube to a new one almost
immediately. "They do any science at the Bureau? All we hear about
are the troubles with the lab in downtown DC with DNA machines
next to radiation counters and all that." 

Pulling a lab stool over, she settled on it, holding the rim with
both hands between legs splayed out for balance. "Ah, don't
believe it. Yeah, the Hoover Building's really crowded, but in a
couple of years the new facilities at Quantico will be fully
operational. Then, watch out. And yes, I *have* done some *real*
science. We found an Archaea-bacteria on our last case." 

Arnie pulled himself up onto the lab table. "You being straight
with us, Andie?"

She nodded. "We've having it tested," she leaned towards Dale,
"outside the Bureau. It seems to preferentially seek out silicates
as an energy source." 

All nervous motion, Dale rocked back and forth on his stool. "Ooh,
that's as weird as the arsenic-eater they found. Those bacteria
keep turning up everywhere. Wose may be up for a Nobel for his
original work." 

Rosen nodded. "So I'd heard." She pointed to her bag. "Pass me
that, if you don't mind." Once the circuit was free, she handed it
to Arnie. "Take a look at what's inside, any part of it, and tell
me what you think." 

Arnie busied himself with breaking off a small section, preparing
it to fit into a standard mount for the electron microscope, then
loaded it up for viewing. Richie's fingers flew over the controls,
setting magnifications and depths. 

Once an image formed on the screen, Dale gasped. "Andie! What is
this? We could only dream about this degree of sophistication in
atomic arrangements. That guitar took weeks to set up!" 

The three men focused on her. 

Rosen shrugged. "We removed it from an experimental ship we found.
What can you tell me about it?" 

Standing behind her, Arnie crossed his arms. "It looks like carbon
atoms in a matrix. I'd ask Bill, but he's been acting really weird
lately." 

Rosen looked up at him. "Oh? Where is he, anyway?" 

Dale sighed. "Since Wilson rejected his thesis proposal, he's been
living mondo strange, almost like he's a different guy." He cocked
his head at the screen. But Arnie's right. This'd be a piece of
cake for him to analyze."

Rosen checked her watch. "Well, no matter what, Bill won't roll in
here until after lunch anyway. What say I buy for you guys?" 

The three men beamed, Arnie glancing at Richie before he joked,
"Hey, they must pay you big bucks at the Bureau!"

                            --o-0-o--

Dark Apartment
Washington, DC
Friday, 12:03 pm

The first sensation he had was of an itch. His cheek rested
against something stubbly and as he curled his fingers until the
tips rubbed against it, the word 'carpet' appeared in his mind. 

Next, he concentrated on opening his eyes, seeing only darkness at
first, then a thin sliver of yellow light hitting directly into
his left pupil. <I'm in a closet.> Why his mind seemed to be
working on one level where lying on carpet in a closet made
perfect sense, yet he was as weak as a, as a... <No word for that
yet.> 

<Nothing seems to be damaged, so let's check this situation out.>
He reached over to his left, his fingers contacting cloth, then
the hard surface of a wall. Whatever a closet was, it wasn't very
large. He rolled himself quickly into a sitting position, the
effort slamming his forehead against the area where the light
peeped in. The flimsy wooden door gave way, forcing him to cover
his face against the full light of day. 

Crawling out of the cramped space, his knees chafed on polyester
yarns, so he stared down at the boxers and undershirt he wore.
<Why are these nearly not enough clothes?> Standing, he reached
back into the closet to pull a light chain. On his left, a thick
clot of long-sleeved white shirts hung, each between spacers to
keep them wrinkle-free. <Why does that matter?> On the right,
several identical grey suits, all exquisitely tailored, waited for
their owner. <Ugh, what dull taste. What am I, a banker?> 

There was a stacked hanging bag of black leather shoes on the far
right, but his vision blurred as he studied the number printed on
the insoles. <These must all be mine.> Staggering to his dresser,
he reached by instinct for a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses.
They had been resting on a clean white cloth that he wiped the
lenses with before dropping them on his nose. 

He sniffed himself. <Eew. A smelly banker.> Again without being
clear on how he knew to do so, he headed for his bathroom. Once
there, he unerringly set the water temperature for a shower,
collected the tube of shampoo and block of soap he knew he would
need, and set about cleaning himself. After shaving, then combing
what little he had left of his hair, he slid one of the shirts off
its paper-covered hanger. While the sleeves were the right length,
the collar was much too big for his neck, as was the expanse of
white cotton around his waist. The suit trousers, too, brushed the
tops of his feet properly, but he estimated he had dropped a good
six inches off his gut. He verified his suspicions when he found
he was buckling himself in on the furthest hole in his belt and
tucking the end through two wool loops. 

Then he picked up his wallet and opened it. The first card he saw
had "Department of Transportation" on the right of a photograph,
so he tottered back to the bathroom to compare the face he saw
under the plastic with the one in the mirror. <Must be me.> He
considered the name for a moment, then decided he'd work out later
whether or not it fit. <I wonder where I'm supposed to be now?> 

After stepping outside his apartment, barefoot, he wandered the
corridors of the building until he reached a door marked
"Manager". Three raps and he waited. A heavy-set woman, her hair
in pink curlers, answered, so he held the driver's license up
beside his face. "Excuse me, is this who I am?" 

The woman promptly collapsed in a heap of polyester and
terrycloth. 

                            --o-0-o--

Wally's Diner
Ithaca, New York
Friday, 12:57 pm

Once Rosen and the three graduate students had finished their
meals, they settled back to catch up. She looked around the table
at her friends, feeling a twinge of nostalgia for her former life.
The three men were all dressed in comfortable, if immensely
shabby, jeans and T-shirts, while she was in one of her tan suits.
Richie had just regaled them with tales of the party after his
successful defense, Dale chiming in regularly to 'correct the
record for posterity'. 

Arnie noticed a man hunched by himself in a distant booth. "Hey,
that's Bill!" He bent over Rosen. "Did you bring your print-out?" 

She dug in her backpack. "And the gizmo. After what I've seen,
evidence like this doesn't get left alone." 

Richie focused on her. "Evidence? What do you mean?" 

She shook her head. "Don't let on I said that, guys, but this is
from that investigation where we found the bacterium. There were
several missing persons at the end of that case. That's why I
brought it to you." 

Arnie had bounded across the dining area to drag a scowling Bill
Wilson back to the table. "Now, Andie comes back for a visit and
you don't want to say hi? What's wrong with you, man?" 

Bill, despite his six foot height and muscular build, looked like
a midget next to Arnie, who shook his arm. Kept slightly off-
balance by the elbow held over his head, the red-haired man
attempted a smile. "Hi, Andie. How's it going?" His eyes dropped
to the black sample sticking out of the backpack and he went
rigid, his green eyes bulging. 

Rosen heard none of the jokes her friends made, fixed as she was
on the slight shimmering in Bill's outline. <I wonder...> She dove
for her UV counter, tucked in one of the front pockets. 

Dale was hovering over her shoulder when she began punching
buttons. "Hey, Andie, I thought you joined the FBI, not Starfleet.
Where can I get one of those?" 

Focused on the spectral readings, Rosen shook her head in a vague
response. The calibration signal had been normal, and the basement
location for campus' greasy spoon blocked any external UV. Yet,
there was a definite signature on her screen. She looked up at a
sudden exclamation from Arnie. 

"Hey, Bill, what's happening to you?" 

Before their eyes, the form was shifting, changing into a tall
wooden rod, stretching to the grease-coated ceiling. 

Rosen was on her feet instantly. "Tip him over, now!" She grabbed
the end that dropped into her hands. "Don't do this! Stay with us!
We only want to help!" The rod reformed into the balding man she
had last seen in a warehouse in Dover, Delaware. 

Arnie lifted him over his head. "Want to help you, never. Where's
Bill? What did you do with him?" 

'Luther' shivered with fear. "Nothing! He's sleeping in his room!
We never injure the originals when we take on their forms, we just
hide them. A terrible evil it is to harm another sentient life
form. Terrible!" 

Rosen tugged on Arnie's arm. "It's OK, put him down. I've seen
this before." 

Dale snorted. "Jeez, Andie, now I know you're in Starfleet. Good
thing we're down here alone and most of the regulars are gone, or
we'd have a lot of explaining to do." His eyes began to bulge as
well. "Jeez. Listen to me!"

Rosen knelt by the quaking man. "It's OK. Tell me why you're
here."

The alien in Luther's form crossed his arms over his chest. "We
just want to rescue the worthies, the ancients, and go. Didn't you
listen? Don't you simians ever talk to each other?" 

Rosen nodded. "I know. We do. But I just wanted to be sure." She
patted his shoulder, relieved it had the normal warmth of human
flesh and wasn't cold like a cadaver. <Or a snake.> "Just go. We
won't harm you." 

The little man stood, then ran through the loose circle formed
around him, up the stairs and was gone. 

Arnie rested a hand on each of Rosen's shoulders. "Andie, what
have you been doing at the Bureau? Really?"

She waved them all back into the booth. "I wasn't sure if I could
tell you, but now if I do, you must, *must* promise not to tell
anyone." 

The three men nodded, Dale pushing his thick glasses back up his
nose. 

Rosen rubbed her face. "When I've finished, I need to call my
partner. I think he'd better come up here. Things are getting
really strange."

                            --o-0-o--

Safe House
Saltville, Virginia
Friday, 11:27 pm

A loud crash behind the house interrupted Skinner's questions and
had both men staring at the rear wall of the room.

Disengaging the safety, Skinner slid his Sig out. "Stay here." 

Saunders flattened himself against the wall by the hinges of the
door. "I know the drill." 

Skinner fumbled with the keys, finally succeeding in releasing all
the locks and disengaging the alarms to the back of the house.
When he stepped outside, he nearly fell onto the hood of a parked
black sedan. Two grey-suited men were exiting from either side.
Dusting himself off, he checked both their faces in the halogen
lights strung under the rafters. "Oh, it's you two. What
happened?" 

The driver, tall and blond, shrugged. "The clutch slipped. We'll
have the Bureau garage give it a once-over when we leave." 

The bald Director slid his Sig away. "What's the new password?" 

The passenger, with reddish, curly hair and a slightly stockier
build than his companion, nodded. "Yeah, we were updated, although
I don't get it. Ramapithecus?" He shrugged. "Who comes up with
these?" 

Skinner held the door for them. "One of the secretaries, Cynthia.
She's wants to major in Anthropology when she finishes her
community college classes. She explained it all to me." 

The driver grinned. "Obviously, the poor kid's been spending too
much time with Scully. So, what *does* it mean?" 

Focused on locking the doors, Skinner shrugged. "According to her,
that was one of the names for a primitive ape that was once
thought to be an ancestor of modern humans. She said he was also
known as Pithe...," finished with the locks, he struggled with the
word, "Pithecanthropus, that was it." Busy as he was with
straightening the thick ring of keys before he dropped them in his
pocket, Skinner failed to notice the slight clenching of jaws, the
tremors that ran through each man when he articulated the full
noun. "This way, gentlemen, if you please." 

The two followed behind him, their movements no longer fluid and
relaxed, but stiffer, as if controlled. 

Feeling a slight pulse of air from behind him, the Director turned
when he heard a quick whip-like sound, then all was blackness. 

The red-haired operative searched the prone figure, confirming
that he carried no second firearm or something that could be
pressed into service as a weapon. After he relieved Skinner of his
Sig and keys, he nodded. "Let's go." The two men stepped
emotionlessly over his unconscious body. 

The blond man knocked once at the white bedroom door.
"Pithecanthropus." 

Saunders pulled it aside, one eyebrow arched in greeting.
"Welcome, gentlemen." He studied their faces carefully,
recognizing the reason for the slackened cheeks and blank eyes
immediately. <It's a trap.> Before either could respond, he
slammed the reinforced steel barrier closed and locked it, racing
for the chair to raise it over his head. 

The red-haired man's voice sounded in the space. "Open this door!
We're federal agents!"

Saunders crouched by the hinged side of the opening again, shifted
over one door's width, listening to the repeated thumps of bullets
striking the locks on the outside. <That's not going anywhere.>
The deep popping sounds stopped, so he bent at the waist to force
himself to breathe deeply, preparing for the coming conflict. When
the thudding began anew, this time directed at the gypsum board
just beyond the other side of the frame, he flattened himself
against the wall again. <I knew they weren't giving up so easily.> 

First, the projectiles began throwing out tiny showers of dust,
then whole chunks of drywall began falling away. When a large,
fist-sized section flew across the room, Saunders hoisted the
chair again, using one metal leg to reach across the door and
darken the room completely. <I wouldn't so lucky that they had
expended all their ammunition.> Light from the hall reflected off
a hacksaw blade slid through the hole, then metal screeched as it
began biting into the reinforced steel frame. 

Saunders struggled to remember if there was a phone in the room.
<Of course no telephone! I might be a dangerous criminal calling
my buddies to give my location away.> When two hands bent the
frame back, the door slipped free, so he raised his impromptu
weapon again, poised. 

The blond agent entered first. "Hey, what - " Saunders brought the
metal frame for the seat down on his head, stunning him long
enough to make a grab for his gun. But the red-haired man began
shooting immediately, bright white explosions sending the rounds
into the darkness of the windowless room. Acquired Sig firing,
Saunders dove behind the bed. He wriggled his way underneath the
old frame, hoping the bedspread would conceal the wheels on each
leg. 

Watching through a rend in the fabric, he blinked when his
remaining opponent flicked the light switch. A pair of polished
black shoes closed the distance from the doorway to the bed.
Saunders grasped the bedframe up by the head. <Just a little
more.> Two experimental shots were fired over the mattress, then
the shoes stopped at the foot of the bed. <Good Lord, what kind of
people are they recruiting now?> 

In a single, fluid action, Saunders jammed the edge of the bed
against the agent's stocky legs. Then, he flipped the frame on
end, keeping the mattress and box springs between him and his
assailant long enough to reach around and squeeze off several
shots. Red-hair fell backwards with a grunt, but Saunders
continued firing, swinging his arm to insure both agents were
stopped. 

Shaking from the adrenaline, Saunders staggered to the
entranceway, where he collapsed, spent from the conflict. 

                            --o-0-o--

Lowenberg Residence
south of Athinios, Santorini, Greece
Saturday, August 9, 1997
6:03 am

When he heard thumps and crashes outside, Max Lowenberg pulled
himself awake. Tugging on his robe, he slipped into the hallway. 

The Pomeranian tucked under her arm, Margaret Scully glanced back
apologetically. "I'm sorry, I'm just not used to moving around
this house in the semi-darkness. I didn't mean to wake you." 

Max retied his paisley robe more securely. "And I'm not used to
having other people in the house." He ran his hands through his
white hair. "Old habits. If the little Fuzz needs to use the
facilities, there's an enclosed rock garden behind the house that
would do for an emergency." 

Scratching her charge between his perked-up ears, Margaret nodded.
"That would be wonderful. I'm surprised he hasn't had an upset
stomach from all the travel and odd water."

Max took her arm. "Not here. Since we're right on the cliffs, we
need to be concerned with salt-water intrusion, so I've installed
an extensive water filtration system." As they walked, Max guided
Margaret along the blue and red carpet runner set over red
volcanic stone, out of the hall, past his study and the
entertainment center. He stopped by a sliding door in the glass-
enclosed dining room. "Not that it interests the locals, mind you.
Anytime I bring it up with them, they remind me that they could
all die in a volcanic explosion like their forbears and the effort
would be for naught." 

Margaret chuckled. "No wonder you named this house what you did.
Fox will never stop going on about it when he arrives." 

Max slid the glass aside before the dog wiggled free of Margaret's
arms. "Let us hope that is soon, my dear, and let us hope it is
for a happy reason." 

Her eyes tracking the little canine as he sniffed his way around
the shrubs and herbs, Margaret crossed her arms. "I'm certain it
will be, Max. And then he'll be able to enjoy the marvelous
amenities you've installed here: the satellite TV with the
Internet access, that wonderful surround sound system."

Max patted her on the shoulder. "Oh, those are available to all my
guests. It was delightful to have the house full of Podhowitzes
over the summer. It was so good for Caroline." 

Margaret peered into the pre-dawn grey until she saw the curled
over tail behind a pyramid of rocks. She smiled when she heard the
Pomeranian lapping the thin sheet of water that ran down the
cobbles. "She's so different from when I first met her last
February. So much more outgoing and self-assured, as I hope Fox
will be one day, although leading that group of agents has done
wonders for *his* self-esteem." 

Max stepped back when the little canine trotted boldly through the
opening. "Success has a way of doing that for anyone, Margaret.
Let's hope nothing happens that will destroy his gains." He smiled
when the dog looked up to Margaret. "I think we've accomplished
our mission, wouldn't you say?" 

Tucking the Pomeranian back under her arm, Margaret nodded. "Well,
back to the bedroom with you, Mister Fuzz. Then Mommie watches the
sunrise over the mountains."

                            --o-0-o--

Safe House
Saltville, Virginia
Saturday, 12:32 am

The first sense Walter Skinner felt returning was that of a bright
light igniting a howl of agony that dimmed to a dull throb in the
back of his head. He raised one hand. <Ooh, no. Moving is
definitely not a good idea. What is that noise? Why would someone
be playing a base drum in here? Oh no, not a drum. Shots. Shots!>
The ex-marine found his feet sooner than he expected he possibly
could have. Feeling for his Sig, his finger hooked over one
leather edge. <Oh, no. We've been had, Walter, but good.> One hand
on the wall, he staggered to the room where his charge had been
resting. 

Rounding a corner, he squinted at the rectangle of steel on the
floor. <What is that?> Blinking, the name of the object appeared,
like an hypnotic suggestion, in his mind. <Hacksaw blade. Why?> He
gritted his teeth. <Oh, no.> Blinking again, he focused on a dark-
skinned man lying in the doorway. "Saunders!" The voice sounded
distant, even though he knew it was his own. "Saunders! Can you
hear me?" 

The bearded African-American pushed himself into a sitting
position, back against the hinged side of the door. His self-
defensive instincts still on overdrive, he shoved the Sig in the
bald man's face. 

Holding up both hands, Skinner shouted. "It's OK! You're safe! I'm
not armed!"

The weapon clattered to the floor, then Saunders raised both hands
aloft. "I hear you. But they won't." He waved lazily at the two
men on the floor. "I doubt they'll hear anything ever again." 

Nodding, Skinner felt for a pulse, his fingers coming away from
both of their necks slick and red. He returned to Saunders to help
him to his feet. "What happened?" 

The two men retired to the living room, as sparely furnished as
the bedroom, settling on the single couch there. The color had
faded from some dark blue to something approaching a lime green,
but neither man noticed. 

Saunders rubbed his still-twitching hands together. "I think those
replacements you'd found had been waylaid and reprogrammed by our
mutual adversaries." He eyed the bald director. "What happened to
you?" 

Skinner poked the back of his head and grimaced. "Guess." 

Saunders nodded. "Hum."

The Director twisted carefully. "But we had checked both of those
men over thoroughly for any mental instabilities just this
morning. The Organization couldn't reprogram them that fast, could
they?" 

Saunders shrugged. "I'm guessing they still have people in the
Bureau, Skinner, so they'll exploit your tendency to follow Bureau
procedures whenever possible. They've used a combination of truth
serum and neurosuppressants to build in hypnotically placed
commands in the pool of men you'd be likely to call upon, to be
activated by a trigger word. What did you say to them?" 

Skinner relayed the brief conversation to Saunders. 

Saunders nodded. "Likely as not they pulled them over on the way
down here, hypnotized them, and asked for the password, then used
that. It would be the one word certain to be spoken." 

Skinner rose. "It looks like I need to find another place for you
yet." 

Saunders stood as well. "And more men." 

Skinner paused as he stepped into the kitchen, one hand on the
frame. "Yes. It's time we bring Mulder and Scully back from the
Great White North. Injured or not, we can use their help."

                            --o-0-o--

Apartment Complex
Laurel, MD
Saturday, August 9, 1997
7:41 am

'Ace' waved the two men outside her door into her living room.
'Charlie', seated in the armchair already, leaned around to nod a
greeting. 

Lindhauer nodded back. "You've heard?" 

He sighed. "Saunders is still alive." 

McConnell settled on one of the oak dining set chairs 'Ace' had
moved in. "And the two men we had programmed to do the job are
dead." 

His arms crossed, Lindhauer stood in the center of the green
oriental rug, looking down his long nose at the others. "So, do we
try again? He can't spill all he knows and get off Scot-free. It
would make us look as weak as the old men to the other Groups." 

McConnell sighed. "And this just at a time when we were beginning
to flex our muscle in foreign affairs again." 

'Charlie' faced the red-haired man. "Oh, what do you mean?" 

McConnell rubbed his face under the nose-pads of his glasses. "The
Egyptian Organization had attempted to move merchandise without
our authorization." He shrugged. "We removed the officials
involved in that decision."

'Charlie' frowned. <Why didn't these two consult us?> "The Bureau
will be doubly alert for another attack for quite some time. We'll
have to wait until later." 

'Ace' half-sat on one of the rounded arms of the chair. "But, I do
have a little bit of good news." 

The three faced her. 

She beamed. "The new software went on-line last night. We've
transferred several thousand dollars to our accounts undetected." 

'Charlie' rubbed her shoulders vigorously. "That's great, Lisa."

McConnell smiled. "Our 'Ace' comes through again!" He reached over
to shake her hand. "You wouldn't happen to have any fixes for this
latest problem, would you?" 

She shrugged. "As a matter of fact, I do." 

Lindhauer crossed over to stand beside her, grasping her shoulder,
then checking to see how 'Charlie' reacted. 

Predictably, the stout man bristled, but his only response was to
grip the programmer's waist tightly. 

Lindhauer cocked one blond eyebrow. "So, are you going to tell
us?" 

She pushed her brunette curls off her forehead. "Mulder and Scully
want to expose the Group, to bring our supposed crimes against
humanity to light." She met the three men's eyes in turn. "I say,
let him." 

McConnell crossed his arms. "What? Are you serious?" 

She clapped her hands, once. "Absolutely. But in a situation where
they're bound to fail. This latest twist with the old informant
has handed it to us, ready-made." She licked her lips. "This is
what I propose..."

                            --o-0-o--

Queen's Hospital
Inuvik, Northwest Territories, Canada
Saturday, 5:21 am

Mulder opened the door to their shared hospital room with a sigh.
<Oh, Scully.> The two phones calls he had just taken at the
nurses' station meant that their short stay here was finished.
<It's only been a week.> The thought was cold comfort, at best. 

He stood at the foot of Scully's hospital bed, watching the slow
rise and fall of her chest as she slept. Unthinkingly, he rubbed
the ribs on his own side that he knew were broken on hers. <Those
were the worst.> Any other bone could be encased in plaster,
swathed by supports, until it was whole, but ribs had to be free
to flex with each breath a body took. <At least she was past the
shivering stage.> He knew how much she hated to have her precious
self-control stolen by anything, a battered frame no exception.
<Or excuse.> 

He walked to stand by her head, studying her visage, thinking back
to when he had first met her in their old basement office. She was
so young then, her face so smooth. Now, there were tiny lines
radiating from the corners of her mouth, creases in her cheeks.
<When did those first appear?> He shook his head. <My fault, all
my fault.> He knew if she awoke to catch him worrying about her,
those green-blue eyes would sparkle, her nose would tip up
slightly. She would pull him out of his melancholy by reminding
him that if they weren't killed in the line of duty, they'd
probably still be partners, well past retirement. 

She'd teased him once about delivering reports in wheelchairs.
<Little do you know, Scully, that exactly what I want for you, a
happy, healthy old age after a productive, successful career at
the Bureau. But to have that, you should spend the rest of your
life as far away from one Fox Mulder as you possibly can. And
that's the last place one Fox Mulder, G-man, wants you to be.> 

Casting about for a jest to ease the news, he dropped his hand to
her shoulder. He waited while her head rocked from side to side,
the auburn strands twisting and writhing, then her eyelids
fluttered upwards. He was pondering his first statement when his
partner, the logical practical scientist he never wanted to be
without, beat him to it. 

Scully eased herself upright. "What is it, Mulder? What's
happened?" 

Mulder shifted the metal chair in the room to face her and sat.
"Well, I have good news and bad news. Which do you..."

She arched one auburn brow. "Bad." 

He shook his head. "Not this time. The good news is that Nichols
and Rosen have picked up the trail of the shape-shifters. Rosen
was in Ithaca - " 

Scully raised the other brow. "Ithaca?" 

Mulder attempted a shrug. "It seems our Doctor Curie is married.
Nichols claimed his privileges as senior partner to tell her it
would be all right to make a conjugal visit on her way back." 

Scully tipped her head. "Married? You mean to a man?" 

Mulder's head was moving from side to side.

Scully straightened. "A woman?" 

The dark head bobbed. "Anyway, she spotted one of the shape-
shifters passing himself off as a graduate student working in the
nanotechnology lab there." 

Scully's lips formed into an O. "Probably attempting to replace
some part for their ship or some system they want to use here on
earth." 

Mulder waved his unbound hand. "Whatever. She called Nichols, so
they and Langly are tracking them." He shifted to rest his good
side against the back of the chair. "Now, the bad news."

She nodded encouragement. 

He continued. "Skinner called after Nichols. He wants us to come
back as soon as we are able. I told him that depends on you." He
waved at her side. "A long plane trip will be rough right now." 

Scully swung her legs over the side of the mattress. "I can be
ready to go by the time of the next flight out of here." She slid
her feet to the floor. "Of all the vacation spots you've chosen
for me, Mulder,"

One corner of his mouth twitched at her gentle tease. 

"I must say, I prefer Mexico in September to Canada in August."
She pushed one fist against her hip. "What's wrong?" 

Standing, he gazed down at her, appreciating, once again, the
mettle of the woman he worked with. "Saunders has been charged
with the murder of two Federal Agents." 

A quick twitch of her lips was all the surprise she showed. "Tell
me more." 

He nodded. "There was a bomb scare..."

                            --o-0-o--

                       End - Zurvan - New Directions