Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time. Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************************** This is a plain X-Files story; there is no sex; there is some violence. I'd rate it PG. I've taken some liberties with the characters, though not much. You die hard minituae tenders out there won't be too offended, I'm sure. If you are, so be it. Please e-mail your comments, good, bad, and indifferent to: jo440@intele.net. I don't check the usenet group for comments too often, but I get my e-mail every day. I'd like to learn something from my efforts, so please critique, don't bitch. ***************** STRANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ****************** PART ONE OF TEN ****************** DAY ONE It was just before seven A.M. and Fox Mulder was standing by the kitchen sink trying to get excited about breakfast. On the counter sat a bowl of granola with skim milk, and a glass of orange juice. His partner, Dana Scully, was a forensic patlhologist and had described to him in graphic detail the end results of a bad diet. She was determined, he felt, to see him exist on nothing but healthy food. He had to admit that he was entertaining a small and growing fear of an early death due to sugar, cholesterol and salt. But then, again, he thought, if Mother Nature had meant for us to eat healthy food, she wouldn't have invented Big Macs. He looked at the dish again. Looks like cat puke, he thought, and tastes like sawdust. How did they manage to totally remove the flavor he wondered. He stared at it for a few seconds longer, then the granola and skim milk went into the garbage disposal. He picked up the orange juice and drank it down, then opened the fridge and grabbed a chocolate donut. I'm on vacation, he thought, from the office and from the threat of an early death due to cholesterol, sugar, and salt. The phone in the bedroom rang. Shit, I hope it isn't work, he thought. It would be just like Skinner to find an important reason for him to postpone his vacation. Last Time it had been his neglect of the blood drive. Bad form to take vacation the day you're supposed to donate blood. He choked down a mouthful of donut and looked around the kitchen for the handset. No luck. He always forgot to put it back in the charging cradle. By now it was almost a rule he had done it so often. He glanced in the bathroom on the way to the bedroom, no phone. On the fourth frantic ring, he found it in the bedroom on the floor. He hadn't decided to answer it until he actually picked it up. If it was Skinner, he'd be thoroughly pissed. "Mulder" he answered. ""Hey Fox, buddy, I'm gonna be late." It was his vacation partner, Jack Forman. "I prefer to think of it as consistent, Jack, not late," he said jokingly, "What's up?" "They've got some kind of virus playing havoc with the payroll computer. I've gotta go straighten it out before I leave", Jack said. "If it wasn't the payroll, I could probably forget it, but everybody wants a paycheck. I'll get the damn thing fixed and take the flight tomorrow morning. Should be there by early afternoon." "Must be pretty bad if they want the main man to fix it," Mulder said. "Probably got hung up figuring my paycheck; numbers are too small." "Christ Mulder, you don't even cash your checks, we have to call you and remind you. Sorry I'll be late." "Don't worry about it, you're not that much later than usual. See you tomorrow." Mulder hung up. Jack was chronically late for appointments. The odd thing was that he was so apologetic, as if the fifteen minutes to an hour he was consistently late was a big surprise to him. Jack Forman was his fishing buddy. They had met when Jack was teaching computer basics at the academy and Mulder had taken the class to fill a course requirement. Since he was already computer literate, Mulder finished assignments quickly. While the rest of the class figured out the difference between ROM and RAM and struggled in front of their computers, Mulder and Jack spent the time talking. Computers were soon exhausted as elements of conversation and they moved on to other topics of mutual interest. They had discovered they both enjoyed fishing and after comparing fish stories, eventually planned a fishing trip. The trip had been a success and over the years they had spent one week a year at a cabin on a great fishing river in Alaska. This was to be their yearly outing. Other than Scully, Jack was Mulders only close friend. Girl friends came and went, mostly went. He hadn't had a serious relationship since he'd gotten his new partner. Lately, most women found his relationship with Scully too intimidating but that was okay, so did he. They had gotten off to a rocky start. He thought she was much too beautiful to be an effective agent. When he found out that she also had a brain, he allowed that maybe that would make up for looking too good. But the unkindest cut of all was when he discovered her skepticism concerning the unusual and sometimes bizarre subjects of his favorite cases-X-Files. That had been a long time ago, and things had changed. Now he had gotten in the habit of comparing other women to Scully and somehow they didn't measure up. There were more attractive women around to be sure, but the total package never equaled Scully. As for men friends, they seemed to steer clear of him. He always told himself that it was his reputation, that everyone thought he was more than a little eccentric, but at other times, he had the suspicious feeling that his time consuming intensity in the pursuit of various X-Files was the reason. Anyway, he somehow just didn't have the time it took to cultivate friends. Jack was different. Jack had known him before his reputation at the bureau had made him a legend; before he had been nicknamed "Spooky" Mulder because of his belief in unexplained phenomena. When Jack had left teaching, Mulder had helped him get his current job as Computer Operations Manager at the bureau. It was a job with a lot of responsibility , but Jack was good at it and had developed into a first rate manager. They were both busy; Jack with his job and family, and Mulder with X-Files, but they had a good time catching up once a year at the cabin. Jack let him be himself and was the least judgmental man Mulder knew; and Mulder enjoyed listening to Jack talking about his kids growing up. They sounded like a normal family, he thought, not like his had been. Mulder ran his hand over his unshaven face. He was well on his way to looking scroungy. The professional looking, conservative, serious FBI agent was gone, replaced by a man who looked completely at home in the clothes he now wore. The Levis 501's were faded but clean, the Oxford sweat shirt well worn, and the hiking shoes old, but comfortable. This is the real me, he thought, although he did feel somewhat guilty about not shaving. Maybe I'll grow a beard and scare the shit out of Scully. It would last about one day before he was told to shave it off by Skinner. Beards weren't allowed. But Scully would be so disgusted that the look on her face would be worth it. He smiled to himself. That would be fun. He was finally beginning to enjoy this vacation. The last few months had been too damn busy and frustrating. He had been back and forth across the country so many times he couldn't count. He was spending more time running down concourses to planes being held for him than he was on his daily morning jog. On top of that, the two X-Files he was working on were no closer to being solved than when he started. He worked eighteen hours a day and most weeks kept up the pace for six days. Scully kept up with him, but even she had the good sense to quit when she was too tired to be productive. Thank God for Scully. She would hold things together while he was gone. No one else could. If it wasn't for her, he thought, I'd never get any time off. She had literally chased him out of the office on Friday night, threatening to tell Skinner that he was running low on work and would entertain doing some surveillance jobs. In your dreams, he thought. God the woman was ruthless. It was time to get going. The cab would be here any minute. He checked the thermostat, glanced at the VCR to make sure that it was programmed to catch all the games he didn't want to miss, and was feeding the fish when he heard the taxi honk. He looked around the apartment quickly, turned off the lights and grabbed his bags by the front door. The cabbie was an old oriental man who smiled at him and bobbed his head a few times as Mulder folded himself into the back seat with his bags. He gave airport and terminal instructions to the driver but got only a smile and another few respectful bobs of the head in return. In a few minutes he gave up trying to communicate verbally. As a last resort, he spread his arms out to his sides and made a buzzing sound that was supposed to be an airplane. The old gentleman watched him with a large smile on his face, bobbed his head twice, said something in Chinese, and off they went. Hope I'm going to the airport, Mulder thought. Every time he got in a cab, he thought about buying a car. He could buy a new car and pay cash, but he usually had an agency car and didn't need another one. Besides, cars didn't seem that important. His priorities were well defined: the truth was important, Scully was important, X-Files were important, getting laid was important, and, of course, football was important. Somehow automobiles weren't even on the list. It was an infrequent experience, getting to the airport on time. He actually walked down the concourse to the gate and waited twenty minutes before boarding was called. Then he strolled casually onto the aircraft. They weren't holding the plane for him and he didn't have to apologize to the cabin crew for causing take-off to be delayed. Definitely a vacation, he thought. He found his seat, and after settling in, concluded that the aircraft was like most others: his seat smelled like the air sickness bag hadn't been emptied, the reading light didn't work, and the seat back wouldn't recline. They only had to wait ten minutes to get a place in line for take-off. That's got to be some kind of a record, he thought. Take-off was uneventful and as the aircraft climbed, he opened the latest issue of Forensic Technology Review he'd brought from home when he knew he wouldn't have Jack as a seat mate. Luckily no one had taken Jacks open seat next to him. He tried to concentrate on an article titled "Evidence Retrieval in Hazardous Environments", but his mind wandered and he gazed out the small window of the aircraft at the continuous layer of soft cottony clouds. Soon his thoughts drifted to remembrances of his sister. They were so young when she had been taken; so helpless. He could still see the look of fear on her face as she floated out of his life on a beam of light and was gone forever. Earlier that summer, she had wanted him to take her fishing, but he was too much of young man and not enough of a big brother at the time. He had told her "no", that fishing was for men, not little girls. She had stuck her tongue out at him and said, "Then why are you going, Foxy?" He had hollered "Don't call me Foxy", and the fight had been on. He smiled to himself. He had hated it when she called him "Foxy" and had called her "Sammy Wammy" at times to get even, but had never gotten the response he wanted. She was always one step ahead of him even though she was four years younger. He had never lost the belief that one day he would see her again; that he would find out what had happened to her; that he would somehow get her back. He wondered what she might look like now. Would she be tall and slender like him? Would she have their mothers sincerity, or their fathers intensity. Could she still arouse him to anger one minute and uncontrollable laughter the next? Would she even recognize her brother after all these years? Probably not. Christ, he thought, will I ever see her again? He caught himself; I'm doing it again, he thought. This train of thought always makes me depressed and frustrated. He forced his attention back to the technical journal and was soon asleep. A change in the aircraft attitude woke him; he had slept off and on for most of the flight; through four time zones, one short layover in Salt Lake City, two typical airline meals, one boring movie, innumerable packets of snacks and nuts, and almost twelve hours. Remarkable what reading a technical journal could do for you, he thought; the best sleeping pill in the world. The aircraft was turning for landing approach as Mulder rubbed his eyes and looked out the window to see the cold blue-gray waters of Cook Inlet and the city of Anchorage. Alaska was always beautiful this time of year. Summer was in full swing, and with up to seventeen hours of daylight, the fishing would be great. He leaned his head back against the seat and allowed himself to daydream. He'd get up early, make coffee, and drink it while sitting on the creaky porch steps. The birds would be singing and flitting from tree to tree; the morning would be crisp and fresh; and the scent of pine would compete with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. One of the best fishing holes he'd found on the river was just past some dead trees not far from the cabin. More often than not, a good size rainbow trout could be found lurking beneath the overhanging tree limbs. After coffee, hooking that trout would be the second thing to do in the morning. Just then the bump of touchdown and the scream of reversed jet engines brought him out of his reverie. He retrieved his luggage from the baggage carousel and headed for the Hertz counter where he had reserved a Chevy Blazer four-wheel drive. Since Jack was coming tomorrow, he'd take that and reserve another vehicle for Jack. He left a message for Jack that he wouldn't be driving back in to get him. He ask the agent at the Hertz counter to page Jack when the same flight came in tomorrow and see that he got the message and a vehicle. The Blazer was cherry red and had the new car smell he hated. He adjusted the seat and mirror, buckled his seat belt, turned on the radio, and left the airport headed for the freeway. Supplies were the next item on his itinerary ; he would have to stop at the market before heading out. A few miles down the road, he saw the familiar sign for Burts Foodtown in the distance and began moving over to exit. It was their usual stopping place and normally carried everything a hungry fisherman could need...except the fish. An hour later, with the Blazer stuffed full of food and fishing supplies, he was on the freeway exit that would take him away from the city and out into the country. He had bought more beer than was necessary and enough sunflower seeds for hours of sitting on the bank and doing nothing but fishing. God I'm good, he thought. The cabin was miles from civilization, nestled in thick quaking aspen and pine forest. By late afternoon, he had been on dirt roads for the last two hours and was getting tired of bouncing around. He had turned off the last maintained road a half and hour before and the road he was The road he was now on would take him to the cabin. It probably hadn't been traveled by anything but deer, coyote and moose since he had been here last. The cabin was too remote for the average day fisherman, and the area too heavily wooded to fly in. The week that it was rented to Jack and Mulder was probably the only time it was used each year. Some years they had even had to chase the raccoons out of the cabin before they settled in. The only indication of civilization they had see or heard was the occasional bush pilot flying over, transporting someone to a remote campsite. An hour later, he pulled up in front of the cabin. Pine trees surrounded it, towering over the old shingled roof and sheltering it from the ravages of the worst weather. It was darker here and cooler where the sunlight didn't penetrate, and Mulder walked over a springy bed of dried pine needles to the base of the porch steps. His gaze ran over the old cabin, from the shingled roof to the dirty, but intact windows and the rickety porch. It had seen better days, but it was still sturdy and sound. The fireplace had been built from river stone. polished by millennia of cold, rushing river water, and the surrounding trees felled to provide its log walls and shingle roof had been replaced by new growth many times over. Squirrels had taken over the woodpile on the porch, and as he reached for the key above the front door, one of them stood his ground atop the highest log and scolded Mulder, his tail twitching. "Don't worry, little guy," said Mulder, "I may be squirrely, but I'm not going to take over your territory." The little squirrel turned in a jerky movement and was up the cabin wall and on the roof in an instant. Mulder smiled and walked back to the Blazer to begin unpacking. Later on he'd bring some sunflower seeds and bread out for the little devils. He had unloaded the supplies and put them away in the tiny kitchen, taken the beer down the river to cool, laid out one of his sleeping bags and a blanket on the lower bunk bed and cleaned the fireplace and hearth. It was definitely Miller Time. He took a beer from the cooler, opened the back door and leaned against the door frame, gazing down toward the river as he opened the can. It was the quiet time of day when the sunlight was gone, but here in Alaska, the day lingered. As he watched, a doe moved cautiously out of the shadows of the trees and down to the water to drink. It drank quietly, it's head popping up frequently to listen for sounds that might mean danger. Spooky, just like me, he thought, as he enjoyed the serenity of the scene before him. Suddenly the deer raised it's head, large ears swiveling forward to catch some sound carried on the breeze. It stood still as a statue for no more than five seconds, then turned, bounded back into the trees and was gone. Mulder leaned forward and looked up and down the river, but as expected, the trees and undergrowth hid anything he might have seen. I wonder what she heard he thought. He shivered suddenly in the cool evening air; it was time to start a fire. Built early in the evening, a fire would warm the river stones of the fireplace and keep the cabin warm all night. He turned back into the cabin and headed for the wood pile. Ten minutes later he was looking through the kitchen for matches when he heard a knock on the front door. He was immediately on edge, all of his senses alert. In the many years he had been coming here, there had never been a visitor. This was too far out for anybody to be passing by, and he hadn't heard a car or truck come up the short drive. "Just a minute," he called. He walked quickly to the back pack laying on the bunk bed and pulled his Manurhin revolver from its holster. He slid it into the back of his Levis and covered it with his shirt, as he walked slowly to the front window. The wavy old glass was covered with thirty years of dirt and grime, but he could see snatches of movement at the foot of the porch steps. It looked like one person; a man. He could see nothing else but the Blazer in the drive. Cautiously, he opened the door. The man standing there was about twenty-five, wearing the normal plaid shirt, chinos, and multi-pocketed vest found on most fishermen. There was nothing to distinguish him from a million other people; he had the kind of anonymous face that you forget immediately. Just like a good agent, thought Mulder. "I've had car trouble and need some help", said the man, "Can I use your phone.?" "Where's your vehicle?" asked Mulder. "It's back down the road about a mile. My partner's there waiting for me." Wrong answer thought Mulder. Fishermen don't have "partners", they have "buddies" or "friends", but not partners. That was a professional reference. And the cabin was too remote for phones; that would have been obvious to anyone who drove all this way to fish this river. "I'll be glad to make a call for you", he said, stalling for more time to evaluate the situation, "Why don't you give me the number?" "No, I'd rather do it myself", said the man, and started up the steps. Mulder stepped away from the door and began to reach behind him for his revolver. Unexpectedly, the man stopped on the second stair and Mulder saw him glance furtively toward the back door. Instinctively, he turned, slamming the front door and locking it at the same time. As he stepped to the side, he reached again for his revolver, brought it up to firing position and looked toward the back door. What he saw stopped him cold. In the doorway stood an alien, the same thing he had seen at Arecibo. The alien stood there, not moving, just looking at him. Mulders attention was riveted, and for a split second, the rest of the world didn't exist. He took one step forward, still holding the Manurhin out in front of him with both hands. He had hesitated for only a second; a second too long. The front door flew open with a loud crash. Before he could turn and fire, he heard a pop behind him and a sudden blow to his back took his breath away and threw him to his knees, the Manurhin falling from his hands. He knelt there stunned, his hands resting on his knees as pain spread like fire through his back. He couldn't get his breath. The man at the door said something to him, but he couldn't understand it. The room was spinning and there was a growing tightness in his chest. He shook his head to fight the brittle flashes of light around the periphery of his vision; the darkness was closing in, and the pain was getting worse. The old couch was there in front of him and he put a hand out to it and tried to get up, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his vision blurring. The man said something again, but it was only an echo coming down a long, dark corridor. Then he saw the Manurhin only inches from his hand. He reached out for it. So close. Suddenly he was struck from behind; the pain exploded in his shoulder and he fell forward to the floor. His last thought before he lost consciousness was of the alien. He had to stop it; to ask it about Sam. DAY TWO Jack Foreman was late. It was now seven PM and he had told Mulder he'd arrive by early afternoon. He had a good excuse; the rental agency had a Cadillac reserved for him. A reservation made the day before by Mr. Mulder. That was ridiculous, Mulder wouldn't reserve a Cadillac to drive into the mountains. He had refused the luxury car and requested a four-wheel-drive vehicle. Four-wheelers were the vehicle of choice for many travelers in Alaska and he'd had to wait for over two hours when Hertz-and no other rental agency-had one available. Hertz had finally had one brought to the airport from another office across town. The girl at the counter had apologized, told him it must have been a computer glitch, and had given him a free tank of gas to compensate for the inconvenience. He left the airport late, but with several more hours of the long Alaskan summer day ahead. As he drove slowly up the short, rutted drive to the cabin, he could see the red Blazer parked out front, but no Mulder. He's probably still fishing, Jack thought. He pulled in behind the Blazer and grabbed his bags from the seat. As he approached the cabin, the first thing that caught his eye was the cabin door. It was open and hanging from the top hinge. Maybe someone had broken in while Mulder was fishing. He moved up the porch stairs cautiously, looking left and right for any indication of trouble. "Mulder," he called, looking through the doorway. He set his bags down on the porch and leaned in against the open door. "Mulder", he called again. Silence. All he heard was the chirping of nearby birds, the electric hum of insects, and, farther on, the roar of the river. Entering the cabin slowly and glancing around the single room, he could see nothing out of place. Then he saw the Manurhin on the floor. It was Mulders new gun. He had paid an outrageous amount of money for the imported French revolver and it was as distinctive and controversial as its owner. He walked over to pick up the gun. It was then he noticed the pool of blood in front of the couch. It stopped him cold and he turned and looked around the one room cabin fearfully, not daring to move for some reason. Suddenly shaking, he backed away from the blood. What the hell is going on here, he thought. Fear was something he didn't know how to deal with well, and what he had just seen added up to something to be afraid of. He backed out of the cabin awkwardly, his eyes never leaving the blood. He paused on the porch to calm himself and take a deep breath of air, while he tried to figure out what might have happened. The only thing he knew for sure was that Mulder would never lay down his weapon voluntarily and the blood indicated that maybe he had had no choice. "Oh Christ, Mulder," he said helplessly, and ran for the truck and his cell phone. It was a long shot, but worth a try. He flipped open the cell phone, and immediately saw the NO SERVICE light flashing. "Shit," he swore and threw the phone back on the truck seat. He had to get help, but he also didn't want to leave Mulder unaided if he was close by and hurt. Looking back towards the cabin, he was unsure of what to do next. He desperately wanted to get in the truck and drive away as fast as possible. The longer he stayed here the more fearful he became. Yet he couldn't leave until he was sure that he had done everything possible to find Mulder. Friendship finally overcame fear and he cautiously walked the area around the cabin, all the while calling for Mulder and praying silently for a response. After another twenty minutes of searching with no success, and with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he ran back to the truck. The nearest phone was perhaps fifty or sixty miles away. It was a long drive back to civilization and help. *************** END PART ONE *************** ===================================================================== ====== From: jo440@intele.net (Jo B.) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Strange Horatio 2 of 10 Date: Fri, 26 Jan 96 19:16:34 GMT Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time).Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************** STANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ****************** PART TWO OF TEN ****************** DAY FOUR God he was thirsty. He hadn't had anything to eat or drink since he had the beer at the cabin. How long ago had that been, he wondered. It didn't matter because his body told him that it was a long time. He inched painfully down the wall and tried to curl up on the floor. The sweatshirt was stuck uncomfortably to his back by dried blood. Trying to pull it away could reopen the wound, and no matter what position he put himself in, he still hurt. Now, in spite of the warming glow of the room itself, he was getting cold. Probably shock, he thought. Just what I need. He finally clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep. Just then he heard what sounded like a soft swish of air and looked up to see the round door begin opening in the far wall. When it was open, a figure stepped into the circular opening. Mulder froze. In the open door stood an alien. It was no more than five feet tall, and had the general shape of a very slender twelve year old child with unnaturally long legs. There seemed to be no features to indicate sex or age. Its large head and thin, supple body were smooth and hairless; the skin an almost translucent white. For some reason Mulder thought of the coloring of a Beluga whale, for it had the ethereal, underwater whiteness he'd so often seen in pictures. It had large almond shaped eyes, no nose or ears, and at the time its small oval mouth seemed to be smiling. In its hands it carried a glassy, opaque, white sphere, slightly larger than a baseball. Stepping through the doorway, it approached Mulder slowly. He watched it intently as it walked toward him, its gait somewhat disjointed but smooth nevertheless. As it got closer, he saw that it didn't seem to have joints in its arms or legs. Holding the sphere up caused its arms to bend, but not like a humans; more like a Gumbo figure that was twisted into position with no sharp bends or turns. It had three stubby, fat fingers with a similar, opposable thumb, and no toes on its feet. Stopping directly in front of him, it crouched down and gently placed the sphere on the floor next to his head. It didn't seem threatening in any way; in fact it stood, backed off three steps and crouched down once more, its arms crossed over its legs. Mulder watched it cautiously for a moment and then slowly pushed himself back up to a sitting position against the wall, all the time keeping his eyes on the crouching figure before him. He tried to settle himself as comfortably as he could, but a slight twist of his shoulder brought a sharp stab of pain and he groaned. At that, the alien extended its arm out toward him hesitantly, then pulled it back, reached down and picked up the sphere. Slowly it handed the sphere to Mulder. He looked at the sphere, and then back at the alien. "What is it?", he asked the alien. The alien cocked its head to one side and smiled, the corners of its mouth wrinkling and turning up slightly. "What is it?", he asked again, and then reached out with his uninjured left arm and took the sphere. It was warm in his hand and smooth, like glass. He looked down at it. There was a hole in the top about the diameter of a dime, and the sphere was filled with a milky white liquid. I guess I'm supposed to drink it, he thought. This creature seemed to mean him no harm, but the conversation he had heard earlier concerning his ultimate fate was still fresh in his mind. He looked back at the alien. It was still smiling at him serenely. Then it lifted it's hand and pointed to his mouth. It was a difficult decision to make and had to be made quickly. Something told him to trust this creature; maybe not the others, but this one. He thought of what he had heard earlier. His sister was alive after all these years and that must mean they knew how to keep humans alive. Maybe this wasn't poison after all. Maybe it was food. He glanced once more at the alien and saw nothing but innocence and concern in its face. He looked again at the sphere. Well, they'll get it in me one way or the other, he thought, whatever it is. I obviously can't fight it. He lifted it to his mouth and drank, but there was no lip on the opening and the liquid dribbled down his chin. "Shit," he said. With that, the alien threw its head back, its mouth open in that strange caricature of a smile and its body shook all over. Mulder was astounded. What the shit is that about, he thought. Then it hit him; the alien was laughing at him; laughing at him for slobbering on himself. For some reason, it was mute; it didn't have a voice like the other one. He couldn't believe it. If I wasn't half dead, he thought, this would be funny. As he watched, the alien stopped laughing. Now it just crouched there smiling. "Jesus, Gumbo", said Mulder, and smiled. After several tries, he managed to get a good portion of the warm, sweet liquid down, the alien watching him curiously all the while. When he was through he carefully handed the sphere back. As the alien reached out to accept it, his hand touched Mulders, and Mulder once again had the feeling that he was touching a dolphin. Just like the floor, he thought. This whole damn structure must be made of the same stuff. The alien now sat looking at him quizzically. Mulder no longer felt the fear he had at first. The last few minutes had made it clear that this creature was not going to hurt him. It was acting more like a mischievous kid. "What shall we do now?", he asked the alien. "I'd offer you some liquid refreshment, but I haven't seen the wine list yet." The alien shuffled a foot closer and stopped. When Mulder did nothing but watch it, it cautiously reached out and touched the dried blood on Mulders back, then put its hand to its lipless mouth and gingerly tasted the dried blood with a long, turtle-like tongue. "I bet you're a real hit with the girls," Mulder said wryly. The alien looked at its finger and then at Mulder with what could only be described as a look of sadness. "Yeah, Gumbo, it hurts," he said quietly. Suddenly the alien turned its head toward the door as if it had heard something. When it turned back to Mulder, it had a look of utter terror on its face. Just then Mulder saw another alien entering the doorway. It looked exactly like Gumbo. Gumbo jumped up and round rushed toward the doorway, not even looking at the other alien. It merely watched as Gumbo passed through the doorway and was gone. Poor bastard, Mulder thought. He knew a response to authority when he saw it. Gumbo was probably in deep trouble and was either going to get a spanking or a courts martial. He didn't know enough about these creatures yet to know which would be appropriate, but he sensed that he was the cause of it. The new alien walked over to Mulder and looked down at him. There was no smile on its face. Mulder looked up at him blankly and said nothing. He didn't want to get Gumbo in any more trouble and this guy was obviously trouble. For a moment, they stared at each other, then as quickly as it had come, the alien turned and left the room. Mulder watched him go. A moment later, he sighed. The milky stuff in the sphere was evidently working its wonders, he thought. He was definitely feeling better. In fact it felt like he had just been given a good strong shot of morphine. He knew that feeling; he'd been shot before. Morphine was the only good thing about being shot. God, the things you learn in this business, he thought. Suddenly sleepy, he closed his eyes and let the morphine do its magic. Sitting in her office chair, Dana Scully glanced once again through the notes she had taken during the morning at the cabin. As she flipped through the pages of her small notebook, she could see again what damn little there was to go on; Mulders blood on the floor, the broken front door and the open back door, the unfinished beer, the fire built but not started. There was no blood anywhere else and no indication of how the blood on the floor had gotten there. If Mulder was hurt-and the amount of blood seemed to indicate a severe, but not fatal blood loss-there should have been more blood somewhere else. He would have had to move to leave the cabin or someone would have had to move him, and that couldn't have been done without leaving blood somewhere. Small bits of information and speculation that lead nowhere. And now Skinner was blocking her every move and she didn't know why. Is wasn't like him at all. He usually ran interference for Mulder. Many times he had gone outside the bounds of his defined responsibility to help. He was a hard taskmaster and not easy to get along with, but never directly interfered with an ongoing investigation. And this was not just a routine case. My god, this was one of his own agents. Exasperated, she flipped to the next page of her notebook. She had spoken by phone with the wife of the owner of the cabin, a Mrs. Agnes Baronson. Her husband, Fitzgerald-they called him Fitz- had inherited the cabin from his grandfather and had never even been there; he wasn't the outdoors type. Mulder and Jack were the only people that had ever rented it and that paid the taxes on it every year. Her husband would be home soon if she wanted to speak to him. With nothing else to go on, Scully dialed the Baronson number again. This time Mr. Baronson answered. "Mr. Baronson, this is Special Agent Dana Scully with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I spoke with your wife earlier today about the cabin your rent to Mr. Mulder and Mr. Forman every year." "Yes, Miss Scully, what can I do for you........." Twenty-five minutes later, Scully was booked on the next flight back to Alaska. DAY FIVE The morphine/milk had put him to sleep. When he woke, he felt somewhat stronger; the rest had helped. There had to be something else in the brew that Gumby gave me, he thought, I don't feel as weak and I'm not hungry. It must have had some nutritional value or I'd be hungry. Gotta get that recipe. He rolled over and pushed himself up to his knees, gritting his teeth so he wouldn't cry out. Surprisingly, the pain wasn't as bad as he expected. He was dizzy, but his head was clearing and he was breathing easier. After a minute the dizziness had lessened and he stood up as far as he could. At over six feet he had to bend over as he walked around the room and it was uncomfortably awkward. Supporting his ribs and chest the best he could with his right arm, he steadied himself by placing his left hand against the wall. It had that strange rubbery feeling to it and he pushed on it gently. It gave a little, but sprang right back. He pushed harder and it sprang back harder. He walked to the far end of the room but there was no indication of where the door had been; the wall looked the same there as everywhere else. He walked cautiously around the rest of the room, but a careful examination yielded no additional information. He was considering what to do next, when abruptly the room began to spin and he suddenly felt very weak. Time to rest, he thought, and determine his next move. He walked unsteadily back to where he had been sitting in the back of the room and carefully sat back down. When he had finally gotten his breath back and was no longer seeing stars, he started to consider what he knew. The information he had was damning, and he would use it to its best advantage. He had heard enough to know that his sister was alive, part of breeding stock the government was providing to an alien race, and that he had been marked for elimination by experimentation as he called it. That was difficult to accept, but the anger he felt about what was being done to Sam was overwhelming. So many years she's been alone; so many unknown fears she'd had to face without him; without anyone. He knew he had to stay alive now. He had to free her from what could only be a lonely hell. If he could get away from here, wherever here was, he would have enough information to coerce the government to release her. He had seen more than they could hide; heard more than they could deny. If he could stay alive, he'd use all of it against them. He didn't like to use the word blackmail, but if that's what it took to get Sam back, that's what he'd do. As unexpectedly as before, the door opened. Two identical aliens entered, one carrying what looked like a shallow, almost flat bowl about twenty-four inches in diameter. From his position at the far end of the room, the bowl appeared to be made of the same material as the sphere. In the bowl were several items Mulder couldn't see clearly just yet. Then, as they got closer, he could make out metal shapes; sharp and silvery looking. Suddenly he felt the same queasy sensation he got in his stomach when he saw the instruments on the dentists tray. Instinct and experience told him that what he saw in the bowl were medical instruments to be used on him He watched intently as the two aliens approached closer. He knew they would want him sedated before they began their experiments, and suspected that was the reason theses two were here. They would put him out or incapacitate him so the experiments could be done. He watched them intently, looking for any indication of their intentions. And could find none. "What do you want?", he said in as non-threatening a voice as he could muster. "I want to speak with the human that was here," he continued a bit too quickly. The two aliens stopped and glanced at each other as if any vocalization was unexpected, then turned their attention back to Mulder. "Tell the other one, the one that speaks with a human voice, that I want to talk to him." Still no response The aliens started toward him again. There was really no time to consider his options, and he acted as much from instinct as from fear. He rolled to a crouch and threw himself at the aliens in a mad rush. The flying tackle caught both of them in the chest. The bowl and instruments flew against the soft wall and made little noise as they dropped to the springy floor. The startled look in their eyes was all he saw as they fell beneath his much heavier body. The breath was driven from his lungs He pushed on the wall and it gave a little, but sprang right back. He pushed harder and it sprang back harder. as he fell and blinding pain made him cry out. For a moment he lay sprawled on top of the two aliens as his breath returned and the pain subsided. Soon he realized that he had grabbed the neck of one of the aliens and was holding it in a death grip. He felt the smooth, rubbery tissue compressed in his hand like a loaf of fresh bread. Suddenly he realized that they weren't fighting back. They were just laying there beneath him, their slender legs and arms flailing about like the tails of a pair of mad white cats. Cautiously he released his grasp. He rolled off the aliens and got slowly and painfully to his knees. The alien whose neck he'd grabbed was laying flat on its back and not moving. The other one was laying on his back across the chest of the first one, his head raised and watching Mulder, a look of fear on his face. He stared at them for a moment, but they made no aggressive moves. In fact they made no moves at all. My god, he suddenly realized, they're defenseless. He couldn't believe it. There was no way they could keep him from leaving, let alone restrain him. "I'm sorry", he said, "I didn't mean to hurt you." What do I say?, he thought, I don't even know if they understand me. Christ, they couldn't hurt me if they tried. How could they be a threat? On an impulse, he reached out and gently touched the lower part of the leg of the alien that still watched him. The alien didn't flinch or pull his leg back. Mystified at the response, Mulder said sincerely, "I didn't mean to hurt you." The alien watched him for perhaps fifteen seconds more, then closed its eyes and turned away. Mulder had the distinct feeling that he had been dismissed; as if his presence was no longer a concern. It was the last thing he had expected and as surprising as everything else he had learned in the last several minutes. His natural inclination was to stay and try to communicate, but by necessity he couldn't waste the time. He turned his attention toward the still open door in the far wall. Beyond he could see what appeared to be a long, oblong hallway. The light seemed to be softer and dimmer in the hallway, but still, the entire hallway looked as featureless as the room he was in. Leaving the aliens in a pile on the floor, he struggled to stand up as far as he could and walked awkwardly and painfully to the opening. Before he walked through, he turned back and glanced at the aliens. The one on the bottom had still not moved and Mulder thought it might be unconscious or dead. He regretted his actions in choking it, but sympathy was fleeting; there was no time. The other alien was beginning to look around at the spilled contents of the bowl, but had not otherwise moved. It didn't seem concerned at all that he was leaving or that tits partner may be injured or dead. Nothing about these creatures made sense or fit his preconceived ideas of what they were. Carefully Mulder stepped over the lip of the round door and out into the hallway. He looked around at this new environment. The flat ceiling was about eight feet above the floor. The walls curved outwardly from the flat floor and were six feet wide at their widest point before curving back in at the ceiling; like a circle flattened top and bottom. The entire hallway seemed to be made of the same rubbery material as the room he had been in, but the color was slightly darker, more of a gray. He walked a few feet further and found that the floor was not as spongy as the walls and seemed to support his weight. In fact it felt like walking on brand new, well padded athletic shoes. He looked around again and further down the hall noticed what seemed to be a small circular indentation in the curved wall. It was perhaps five feet in diameter, an inch deep and eighteen inches off the floor. There was another indentation past that one and another past that. He turned back toward where he had exited the room through the round door. The door had closed silently and there was no indication that it had ever been there except an indentation in the wall which was the approximate diameter of the door. Things were beginning to make some sense; at least out here. You could see the doors from the outside, but not the inside. A cursory examination of the closed door revealed no knobs, buttons, keyways, or palm plates to open it. He shook his head in wonderment, turned back to the hallway, and continued toward its far end. *************** END PART TWO *************** ===================================================================== ====== From: jo440@intele.net (Jo B.) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Strange Horation 3 of 10 Date: Fri, 26 Jan 96 19:16:40 GMT Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time).Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************** STANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ******************** PART THREE OF TEN ******************** The plane would be landing in about twenty minutes but that wasn't soon enough for Scully. She was desperately worried. Once again she had been thinking about her partner. She had spent the entire flight trying not to consider the worst scenarios possible; that he was dead, or that he was injured and couldn't get help, or, worst of all, that he was being held somewhere and debriefed by person or persons unknown. They had joked about the word debriefed. It sounded so harmless, yet in their line of work it had very real overtones of information extraction by force. Mulder had said that tooth extraction sounded more inviting. When someone had the information in his head that Mulder did, forced debriefing would be of little consequence to some people. And Mulder has a distinction of sorts, she thought, he has more enemies in high places than anyone I know. As much as she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to get back to the cabin tonight, but would have to stay in town. Even she wasn't foolhardy enough to make that drive in the dark. She was glad she had called the Baronsons. Mr. Baronson had been very talkative and friendly. He'd told her that he didn't try very hard to rent the cabin to anyone else because of the flying saucers. There had been several nuts that had sworn they saw UFO's in a meadow not far from the cabin. Supposedly these flying saucers came and went with a great deal of regularity. The nuts had complained until the Air Force sent a bunch of people to investigate. The Air Force boys had poked around for several day and found nothing. After a few years, the still-complaining nuts had left, one-by-one, and now the only ones that fished in the area were Mr. Mulder and Mr. Forman. He hadn't told them about the UFO stories because that had been years ago, right after he had inherited the cabin from his grandpa. Mr. Mulder had answered an ad he had placed in a national fishing magazine. He and Mr. Forman had rented the cabin every year since. He didn't know what had happened to the nuts who had reported seeing flying saucers, but Mr. Mulder didn't seem like the type of unstable individual that would believe in that sort of thing. At least in his letters and phone conversations. He pushed on the wall and it gave a little, but sprang right back. He pushed harder and it sprang back harder. Scully had smiled to herself at that comment, but when she hung up, her hands were shaking. There was a connection. She was certain. Even when he didn't know about it, Mulder was attracted to the unusual like a moth to flame and this was definitely unusual. The only way to find it out was what was going on was to go back to the cabin and start looking for the meadow where the UFO's landed. Mulder walked slowly and cautiously down the hallway, one deliberate step at a time. He hadn't gone far when he heard voices. The voices were indistinct, but seemed to be coming from further down the corridor. As he walked further, the voices became more clearer and it sounded like the man in the suit and the alien were talking. Pausing, he tried to ignore the sound of his heart beating loudly in his chest and hear what was being said. Suddenly he heard the soft swish of a door opening, and the man in the suit stepped out into the hallway two doors down. He was facing away from Mulder when he came through the door, and paused to turn back and say something to the other occupant of the room. Mulder froze and held his breath; if the man turned toward him, he knew he couldn't do anything but run, and he was too weak to get very far. The next thirty seconds seemed like an eternity as he watched the man finish speaking to what he assumed was the alien and then turn and walk off down the hallway. e hadn't been seen. He let his breath out in a controlled gasp and rested his head back against the wall, breathing in deeply. Christ that was close, he thought. Pushing away from the wall, he continued slowly down the hallway past the next indented doorway. As he walked in front of it, the door opened with a swish, the aperture radiating out like the first one. He was startled and turned as if to point a weapon, then realized he was unarmed and stopped. Through the open door, he was surprised to see two aliens sitting facing each other on the floor, their jointless legs folded in an ordinary yoga position. One alien was holding one of the glass spheres to its mouth and the other one was just setting a sphere on the floor. They both saw him at the same time. The startled alien holding the sphere dropped it and it bounced silently on the floor, the milky white contents splashing out. Just like the others, they made no further moves, but sat and stared at him fearfully. Their response was becoming familiar and he wanted badly to speculate on what it meant, but his only chance was to keep going. He quickly stepped past the open doorway, and as he did, the door closed with another soft swish. Automatic, he thought. He paused, but the anticipated sound of an alarm did not occur and the two aliens didn't come rushing out into the hallway. He wanted to figure that out, too, but the end of the hallway was his immediate goal and he focused his attention there. The next indented doorway was just ahead. The man in the suit had come out of this one and the alien must still be in there. He needed to determine how to get past it without tripping the opening mechanism. If it opened, he would be seen, and the alien that could speak seemed to be important in some way and might have the authority to initiate an alarm when the others didn't. Approaching slowly he looked again for a tripping mechanism; a beam, a button, anything. Then it struck him, the alien could tell him where his sister was being held. He wasn't thinking straight, he should have thought of that before. Before he could stop himself, he had stepped in front of the door. She had to slow down. Her mind and emotions kept telling her to hurry and that could get her killed. Driving these rough roads was something she didn't do often enough to do safely, even in the daylight. Trouble was, Mulder was somewhere close, she could feel it. Christ, if he heard me say that, he'd never let me live it down, she thought. "Womens intuition, Scully", he'd say, and then laugh at her when she tried to defend herself. The cabin was just up ahead, and the closer she got, the more anxious she became. This is foolish, she thought, I don't even believe in flying saucers and little green men. How the hell am I supposed to find something that I don't believe is there? How am I supposed to rescue Mulder from something that doesn't even exist? She pulled up in front of the cabin, turned off the engine and sat there for a minute, her hands still gripping the steering wheel, her gaze traveling over the cabin. She could hear him telling her many months ago: "Scully, the truth is out there, and we're going to find it." She didn't know what his truth was, but he was her truth and she would find him. She reached for the maps she had brought and climbed out of the pick-up. The door opened to reveal another room of light, and an astonished alien looking at him. It stood behind what appeared to be a low, rectangular, stainless steel table, that immediately reminded Mulder of a morgue slab. He bent down and stepped through the door and it shut quickly behind him. The alien hadn't moved, but stared at him with the hypnotic intensity of a mouse confronted by a snake. Stooped over awkwardly, Mulder glanced around the room and then approached the table. He wasn't sure this was the one alien that could speak; they all looked alike. They all looked like Gumby. Almost stumbling, he leaned heavily on the table, not even pausing to find out if it would hold his weight. The alien jumped back and stood against the wall of the small room, his eyes never leaving Mulder. The walk down the hallway had not been a long one, but it had taken its toll. Mulder was breathing heavily and paused to get his breath; for a moment neither one spoke or moved. "I know you can speak," Mulder said hoarsely, "I heard you talking to the man in the suit." There was no response from the alien; it watched him silently. Mulder knew time was not on his side, he was getting weaker. He had to make the alien respond. "I know you're not strong," he said, "I could break your neck with my bare hands. Tell me where my sister is." The aliens response was minimal, just a slight opening of its mouth, but Mulder saw it. He understands me, he thought, he is the one that can speak. He made an awkward move as if to approach the alien. At the movement, the alien looked from side to side as if it might break and run, then stopped and faced Mulder as if resigned to it's fate. "We mean you no harm," it said in the genderless voice he had heard before. Mulder stopped and leaned back on the table. "You could have fooled me," he replied. "The last I heard, I was supposed to be your next lab rat." "I don't understand" said the alien. "You were going to experiment on me; dissect me like a laboratory animal. You people must have different definitions of harm than Mr. Webster." The alien seemed genuinely confused. "I'm sorry if we have caused you to worry about our intentions," it said sincerely. "In order to help the people of your world , we have need of biological information about humans. You are a human. We mean no disrespect and I am here to reassure you during our information gathering procedures." Mulder couldn't believe what was happening. He was speaking to a member of an alien race. He was standing here having a conversation with a member of a race of beings that did not consider dissection and experimentation on humans disrespectful and yet had said it wanted to help. "What do you mean when you say you want to help the people of this world?" he asked. "We have been told that there are many diseases that damage human bodies. We have the ability to cure the body of many of these diseases, but we need to know how the body should function in order to know when it is not functioning correctly." "We have medical doctors here that can give you all the data you need." "Their knowledge is inaccurate and incomplete. We need information that only we have the ability to collect." "You can't just kill people to get it," he said angrily, "That's worse than letting them die in the first place." "We mean you no harm," the alien replied. Jesus, Mulder thought, somebody's on the wrong track here. Unfortunately, this is not the time or the place to discuss ethics. I don't have the strength, and I'm here to find Sam, not save the world. "The female you have", he said, "where is she?" The aliens gaze traveled around the room and then back to Mulder. "She is not here", the alien answered. Mulder was becoming impatient. "I know she's not here. Where is she if she's not here?" The alien didn't answer immediately and appeared to be considering what to say next. Mulder beat him to it. "I would advise you to tell me quickly, before I break your goddamn neck. I still have enough strength to do it." he said more harshly than he had intended. The alien flinched and suddenly looked like a cornered mouse again. "She is at another facility. I do not have a Terran name for it and I do not have the location. It can be located from coordinates that only my species would understand. Only one of your governments people can read the coordinates. He has been trained." "What's his name; the human who can read the coordinates." Mulder asked. "I do not know", the alien said, "He is not one of my species." "The female," Mulder said, "Is she okay? Is she healthy? Is she happy?" "She is in excellent physical health. I do not know how to answer the other questions." "Who was the man you were talking to? And why can you speak when the others can't?" he asked. "The name of the man is Carson. I have been genetically altered to have an audible voice. My job is to act as a liaison and to communicate with your leaders." The damn thing was beginning to sound like a tape recording and Mulder knew he had gone as far as possible with questioning this alien right now. Sam was alive and well and he would carry that knowledge with him to his grave if he had to. He was getting weaker and needed what strength he had left to get out of here. He couldn't leave the alien here to sound the alarm and he didn't know if it would be like the others and remain silent. "I'm going to leave here and I need your help to show me the way out. You can help me voluntarily, or I can drag you along with me. It's your choice." The aliens eyes opened widely as if astonished at what it had just heard. Its answer was just as surprising: "I will certainly help you if you want to leave. We do not wish to harm you. If it is not your wish to remain here and aid us in our pursuit of information, then of course, you must leave." Mulder stared at the alien in disbelief. This entire conversation was beginning to sound like a page from Alice in Wonderland, Mulder thought. I'm supposed to be a prisoner and this guy is offering to help me escape. He's the one that wanted me in the first place. Jesus these creatures didn't make sense. "Let's go, then" he said to the alien. The alien walked tentatively around the table in his jointless gate, his eyes never leaving Mulder, and proceeded to the door. Mulder stood up as far as the ceiling height would allow and followed. They walked slowly down the hallway, the alien in the lead. Mulder followed, checking the hallway behind him frequently for any sign of trouble. They passed several more doors, but none of them opened automatically. Another mystery, he thought. As they approached the end of the hallway, Mulder said: "Wait. Where does this hallway lead? What's behind that door?" The alien stopped and without turning around, replied: "The door will open and there will be a space, just large enough for a human such as yourself. Once you enter that space, you will be able to see and access the Terran landscape beyond." No shit, thought Mulder, just like that; no long winding corridors and no mysterious passageways to navigate. Why was this too good to be true? "What is the Terran landscape like where we are?" asked Mulder. "There is a small meadow and then forest," the alien replied. "Do you know where we are?" he asked the alien. "This facility is concealed beneath the surface of a meadow; covered with soils and grasses. Your governments liaison, Carson, knows where we are in Terran coordinates. I do not." I wonder if he means facility or ship, he wondered, or if I'm just confused. Christ he was tired. He had to get to moving before he collapsed, but there was one more piece of information that he needed. "Where can I find this Mr. Carson?" he asked. "Who does he work for?" The alien turned to face him, a look of displeasure clouding its simple features. For some reason Mulder felt like he was being chastised for not being polite. The alien had answered all of his questions willingly and as informatively as it seemed its capabilities would allow. "Please", he added somewhat sheepishly. "You will find Carson in his office. He works for the Committee", he said. Just then the door in front of them opened. Mulder had not seen the alien move, but it seemed to have opened the door just the same. He looked up and saw a dark area about the size of a coat closet and beyond that, the bright light of day. He had so many questions to ask and no time left to ask them. The open meadow and freedom were close at hand and his opportunity to escape could be lost if he hesitated. He looked back down at the alien. "You must go" it said. "You have all the information I can give you. I wish you well." That was all he was going to get; there seemed to be nothing left to do but walk out the door to freedom. He was badly injured but still very much alive and with luck would probably make it back to civilization. Should he thank this seemingly gentle being that didn't seem to be an enemy after all? Instinctively he held out his hand. The alien looked up at his face, then reached out and took his hand. "Thank you", Mulder said. The alien looked back at him for a time, then closed his eyes and turned away. Dismissed again. Mulder stepped through the round opening into the space beyond. The door closed behind him. It was dark in this small space, and he put his hand out to steady himself on the nearby wall. It was cold and hard and unmistakably rock. He glanced around at it as he let his eyes adjust to the light coming from outside. He was in an area hollowed out of rock about the size and shape of a small coat closet. The walls, ceiling and floor formed a rectangular chamber just large enough for a good sized human. He could see no tools marks to indicate the area had been hewn out of the rock with picks and chisels, and no raw stone that could be the result of blasting. The walls looked as if they had been this way forever. The door behind him had closed and there was no indication of where it had been. In front of him was a rectangular opening flanked on both sides by large boulders. The boulders formed an inverted "v" shape, and would effectively hide the larger rectangular opening from the outside. Through the rectangular opening and the inverted "v", he could see an open meadow bathed in the soft afternoon glow of the summer sun. The open area of the meadow was covered with green grass and low shrubs; a few yards beyond that was the dark green of pine trees and the dancing green and silver leaves of quaking aspen. He turned and glanced around once more. How the rock had been formed into this chamber was another question in a long line of unanswered questions that would just have to wait. Before leaving the relative safety of the boulders, he studied the periphery of the meadow as well as he could. He didn't want to walk out into the open without a destination. There was no way to see around the boulders to the side, but he'd have to take that chance. Scanning the periphery of the meadow, he saw an opening in the trees that would afford adequate concealment but allow him to move quickly. Leaning his forehead against the cool of the rock wall, he tried to evaluate his condition. The sweatshirt had come away from the wound, but it didn't seem to be bleeding. He could breath okay if he didn't breath too deeply. If he did, it hurt like hell and he began seeing stars. Okay, one plus and one minus. He was weaker than hell. Another minus. Two to one. He had survived worse odds than that many times............Christ, he was fooling himself. Scully was his ace in the hole when it came to beating the odds. She wasn't here this time. He turned his forehead against the rock and looked out once more, then took as deep a breath as he dared and walked out into the sunlight. He was no more than five yards out when he heard the shout: "My god, stop him!!" The fear was instantaneous and his heart beat thunderously in response to the surge of adrenalin that hit his system. He glanced rapidly in the direction of the shout as he started to run for the opening in the trees. If he could get to cover, maybe he could hide long enough for night to fall; darkness might give him another chance. The first chance he'd taken hadn't worked. The far side of the boulders had concealed the man in the suit........Carson! He stood there talking with three men in camouflage military clothing and they had seen him. The men had been taken by surprise and now grabbed for their rifles leaning against the boulder. The first rifle fell, knocking the other two to the ground, and the three men bumped into each other in their haste to retrieve them as Carson shouted orders at them all the while. That small delay was all Mulder needed to make it to the shelter of the trees. He was breathing heavily now, even from that short run, and each breath brought a searing pain in his back and side. He pushed himself forward, stumbling on dead branches and rocks; just catching himself before he fell. He could hear the men behind him entering the forest and noisily making their way through the trees. Light and shadow from the sunlight breaking through the overhead canopy flashed by on the surface of his awareness and were gone. He had to keep running, keep moving. They were getting closer. Suddenly, up ahead, the forest appeared to open up and offer less resistance. Maybe he could pick up some time there, he thought. Just then he heard a loud roar and a bullet pinged past his head. Another roar, and another bullet hit the ground in front of him in a puff of dust and pine needles. Too close, he thought,....can't outrun bullets. He was still moving, but momentum was the only thing that kept him going. Reality was slipping and he knew his strength was running out. Abruptly there were no more trees and no more brush. He was running toward thin air. Just in time he grabbed the trunk of an aspen tree and pulled himself back from the brink of the precipice. The effort cost him dearly and he knew he could go no further. The rocky bank sloped down steeply to a shallow stream about thirty feet below. An adrenaline high was all that carried him now, and he turned quickly to face his pursuers. They had stopped in a cluster of seedling pines about fifty feet away. Unsteadily, he stood back from the tree and faced them. What would happen next was inevitable. They wouldn't hesitate. They were professionals like he was. Only one of the men raised his rifle; professionals didn't waste manpower or ammunition. There was no time to react; his life didn't flash in front of his eyes and he didn't even consider praying. He just stood there, his own ragged breathing the only sound he could hear. Dead calm. Surprisingly, the first bullet missed it's mark and hit him just below the collar bone in his left shoulder, the impact throwing him against the tree. As he sagged against the trunk of the aspen that had just prevented his fall over the precipice a few seconds before, the second bullet hit him in the chest. When he slid over the bank there was no sensation of falling, and when he hit the rocks below and rolled onto his back in the stream, there was no pain. As the darkness closed in, he looked up and saw the sun twinkling through the pine trees high overhead. ***************** END PART THREE ***************** ===================================================================== ====== From: jo440@intele.net (Jo B.) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Strange Horatio 4 of 10 Date: Fri, 26 Jan 96 19:16:48 GMT Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time).Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************** STANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ****************** PART FOUR OF TEN ****************** Scully studied the topographical map laying on the hood of the pick-up. Sometimes they were all you had to go on in Alaska since many areas were so remote there were no highways. The map showed the road to the cabin but no other roads in the area. If the map was accurate, there were two places that could be what she was looking for. The mountains sloped down to two relatively level areas and if you were going to land an aircraft-she couldn't comfortably say flying saucer-a level area was definitely a necessity. The first area was about a mile from here, and the second one would require her to drive back down the road about five miles. She was considering which one to go to first when she heard the distant roar of a high-powered rifle. She looked up as the echo bounced around the mountains and trees. Must be deer hunters, she thought and turned back to her map. About thirty seconds later there was another shot. Two minutes later it hit her: it's not hunting season, its the middle of the summer! She grabbed her daypack, strapped it to her back, and slung the binoculars over her shoulder. The first level area was in the same direction as the rifle fire she had heard. It was so cold here in the darkness-and there was a long, bright tunnel somewhere. He had seen it, but when he looked for it again, there was nothing there. He wanted to walk down that tunnel and follow it to................where? Then suddenly he was somewhere else and there was a beautiful auburn haired woman talking to him and he was getting mad because she was arguing with him and winning. Annoyed, he turned away from her and tried instead to focus on the tunnel. There was so much peace there and the light in the tunnel was so soft. Then he felt the pain again and it was hot, so hot it made him sweat here in the cold darkness, and, for a moment, the darkness grew brighter and he was awake. He opened his eyes, but the glaring brightness of sunlight brought pain, not peace. He moaned and closed his eyes, but it wouldn't leave; its afterglow burning itself into his brain and searing his very soul. As he fought with the light and the pain, he slowly became aware of the sound of water running and there was a distant sensation of cold on his back and his head. So cold it was heavy. So cold it hurt. He knew he needed to move and to stay awake, but fighting the darkness was too hard. The tunnel was waiting there in the darkness, and the peaceful, all-encompassing light. He closed his eyes and moved back toward the darkness. Scully was in good shape, but it was a vigorous hike and she was out of breath when she finally spotted the clearing through a break in the trees. She stopped to catch her breath and while she did, she studied the meadow. The open area wasn't too large, maybe fifty yards across. Somewhere near the center stood four huge boulders that had tumbled there sometime in the far distant past. They were the type of large, grey rocks that end up somewhere they don't seem to belong; like the monoliths at Stonehenge. In this case, there were no other large deposits of stone or rock in the immediate vicinity. These four seemed to have been placed here deliberately by some giant hand. Her gaze traveled all around the meadow, but other than the stones, there was nothing to see. She was just turning to leave when she spotted three men walking out of the forest at the far side of the clearing. Quickly she grabbed the binoculars and brought the three into focus. They were dressed in military camouflage and looked like soldiers. She could see no indications of rank, unit or even which branch of the military they belonged to. But why here? The only thing she could think of was that perhaps she had wandered in to the maneuvers of one of the paramilitary groups that were springing up all over. Then she focused on the rifles. They were definitely military and appeared to be recent issue. Paramilitary outfits didn't usually have access to new military equipment. It didn't make sense. A movement at the center of the clearing caught her attention and she turned and focused the binoculars there. A man in a business suit had just walked out from between the boulders. Where the hell did he come from, she thought. From this angle she could see no openings and there appeared to be very little space between the large rocks. As she considered what could be there that she couldn't see, she focused on the man in the suit. He had short graying hair, a weathered but not unpleasant face, and a slight build. Through the binoculars he looked to be about forty-five. He cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted to the three men walking toward him: "Did you get him?", he called out. One of the men nodded his head and shouted back: "Yes sir. Sergeant McKell got him, sir. Twice. Back there about a hundred yards." "Are you sure, Lieutenant?", the man in the suit inquired. "Yes sir. It was his first kill. He's pretty happy." "What about the body?" "Never find it, Sir. Tumbled over a drop-off." "Very good, lets get going. The chopper's on the way!" The three men started jogging towards the boulders while the man in the suit stood and waited for them. Alarmed, Scully crouched down in some nearby undergrowth and considered what she had just seen and heard. They must be talking about Mulder. Oh God, let it not be him she thought. Who were these people? None of this made sense. The boulders must conceal the opening to some sort of underground facility. Then she heard the chopper; it came in fast just above the tree tops and began to slow as it approached the meadow. The chopper was easy to identify. A Sikorsky; probably a Pave Hawk of some type. What the hell, she thought, as she focused the binoculars on the insignia of the United States Air Force on its side. At least that mystery was solved. It was an Air Force operation. It didn't take long. The chopper landed in a cloud of noise and swirling debris. A door on the port side slid open, and the man in the suit and the three others ran to the chopper and climbed in. The door was closed and the chopper was gone in less than five minutes. As it became a shrinking dot in the distance, Scully walked cautiously out of the trees. Briefly, she focused the binoculars on the pile of boulders farther on, looking for some indication of what they concealed. She wanted to spend some time checking out the opening there, but that would have to wait. She had to keep searching for Mulder. Walking back into the trees, she made her way just inside the tree line to where she had watched the soldiers emerge. They had said that he was about one hundred yards back. She headed in that direction. The terrain sloped uphill and the ground was rough, covered by deadfall, undergrowth and partially buried rocks. She took the path of least resistance in the general direction the soldier had indicated. About seventy yards in she could see glimpses just up ahead of what appeared to be the far side of a ravine. She emerged from the trees to find herself standing on a steep incline that sloped down to a small stream. The stream was shallow, but fairly fast moving and she thought it would be a good place to get a cold drink. She looked upstream, to her left, where the stream had formed a large undercut in the rock on the far side. Past that the stream turned sharply and she couldn't see any further. Downstream the terrain sloped down and the water ran through a flatter area. She walked the few feet downstream that would allow easier access. Looking around, she found a small rock to stand on in the middle of the stream. Three careful steps later she crouched down and put her cupped hand in the cold water. As she lifted the cold water to her mouth, she looked upstream and could now see past the undercut to where the stream straightened out and the slope was higher and steeper. Her breath caught in her throat and the water dribbled from her hand and down her arm. He was laying on his back in the water just past the undercut. Fitzgerald Baronson was sixty-seven years old, five feet ten inches tall and had been told he resembled Carroll O'Connor. That was fine with him. Carrol O'Connor was a fine looking man in Fitzs' opinion. It was Karl Malden he didn't want to look like. Fitz was a conscientious man. He paid his bills on time, kept good records, and never cheated on his income tax. He tended to things like he should. The cabin had been his grandfathers. The old man had built it with his own hands using the trees and rocks at hand. When he died, he left the cabin to Fitz, his only grandson. In all the years he'd owned it, pictures of the cabin in the family scrapbook were as close as he ever got. While the cabin looked to be picturesque and comfortable, Fitz was not terribly fond of roughing it. By the time he had occasion to use the cabin, he had already been to Korea and spent plenty of time camping there. Since then he didn't care for camping. He and Agnes usually took a cruise when vacation time came around. Every year in April, he got a check from Mr. Mulder and Mr. Forman along with a letter from Mr. Mulder telling him when they would be at the cabin and when they would leave. He would deposit the checks in his bank account, and each year, exactly seven days before the taxes were due, he would send a check to the State of Alaska. That kept everything in order. This year there had been a problem at the cabin. Mr. Mulder had disappeared. And now he had found out that Mr. Mulder was an FBI agent. That had been terribly disconcerting; maybe there was something he should know about going on at the cabin. Agent Scully had reassured him that all was fine and that he didn't need to concern himself with it further, but that wasn't his nature. He couldn't have people disappearing from his cabin, especially FBI agents. The place was his responsibility and he needed to see for himself. That was the prudent thing to do. DAY FIVE When she saw Mulder, Scully felt a surge of fear and automatically looked up and all around for danger. She saw nothing threatening and then remembered the men had left in the chopper. In an instant she was up and running through the water as fast as the slippery rock beneath her would allow. "Mulder", she called frantically, and in seconds was at his side. He was laying on his back, his upper body and head laying in the icy water. It wasn't deep enough to cover his mouth; he hadn't drowned. She felt for a pulse and found a weak and thready indication of life. "Oh god, Mulder, you're alive," she said to him. The doctor in her came to life with a vengeance and she began as thorough an exam as she was able to do. Carefully pulling up his shirt, she could see two bloody entrance wounds; one in his left shoulder and one in his chest that should have missed his heart if it went straight in. She would have to check for exit wounds next. He'd lost alot of blood; the front of his shirt and pants were soaked in it. At least he wasn't bleeding profusely right now. Pressure bandages would probably staunch the flow completely. Further examination told her that he probably had some broken ribs, and his right arm showed bone poking through skin just above the wrist. It would be impossible to determine for certain if there were more serious injuries such as a broken back or neck. That would have to wait for x-rays at the hospital. At least there were no obvious spinal cord or head injuries, and no symptoms to indicate an injury of that nature. Very carefully she rolled him over to look for exit wounds. There were none. What she did find was a clean, neat round hole; another bullet wound. Probably where the blood in the cabin came from, she thought. The cold water had cleaned the wound and it was no longer bleeding. She gently rolled him back into the water. The examination had taken no more than five minutes and had confirmed her worst fears. Oh Christ, Mulder, she thought, you should be dead. She would have to take a chance and move him. He couldn't remain in the frigid water even though it had probably helped slow the bleeding. She looked around at the steep slope of the ravine. There was no way she could get him out of here. For the first time in her life she wished she had been a man; a six-foot-four inch lumber jack. She glanced around the immediate area looking for a dry spot. The undercut she had seen before was about fifteen feet away on the opposite side of the stream and there was dry ground there. It was the only place available. "Grit you teeth, Mulder", she said, and knew he couldn't hear her. She grabbed a handful of his shirt above each shoulder and with a monumental effort dragged him through the water and across the stream to the dry area beneath the undercut. As carefully as she could, she settled him there with his head away from the water. A careful inspection showed no additional bleeding from the move. The next part she didn't like to think about, but it was necessary. The arm had to be set and immobilized. A quick search of the area turned up two willow branches that would make adequate splints. The straps from her pack would bind them together. She sat and braced his elbow against her feet, then stopped. Christ, what am I doing, she thought. I haven't set a broken bone since ER rotation during my internship. She paused and silently reviewed the correct procedure as far as she could remember, then gritted her teeth and began. The carefully manipulated bones seemed to slip back into place easily. As they did, Mulder groaned and opened his eyes. He seemed to stare at her, but his eyes remained unfocused and his eyelids fluttered with the effort to remain conscious. "Mulder", she said, "it's me, Scully. I just set your arm. I'm going to splint it now. It may hurt again." His voice was so low, she barely heard him. "Scully? Should have known.....it....I.....hurt Scully." "I know, Mulder. You're hurt pretty badly. I'm going to get you some help, but you'll have to grin and bear it until then," she said tenderly. When she started putting the splint in place, he groaned once more and lost consciousness. She checked his pulse and respiration again and noted that he was warmer than he should have been after laying there in the cold water. Now she would worry about infection, too. Pneumonia was often a problem when patients were immobilized for long periods of time and with his wounds it would almost be a certainty. When the splint was in place, she sat back and looked up at the sky. It was early evening, she knew, but there was plenty of light left. If she hurried, she could be back to the truck and her cell phone, supplies, and medical bag in forty-five minutes. The cell phone may not work, but she could drive out far enough to get to higher ground and then give it another try. Thinking beyond that was unimaginable. She removed her lightweight jacket, rolled it up and carefully placed it under Mulders head. Looking down at his waxen face, she prayed that this wasn't the last time she'd see him alive. "I'll be back before it's dark," she said. "Please don't die." She kneeled down and very softy stroked his forehead, then stood and started to make her way back to the cabin. Jogging most of the way back was easy. Thinking about Mulder; how badly he was injured and wondering how he'd gotten that way was the hard part. Her emotions and logic were both fighting for control. It was difficult to think straight when she was trying not to cry. Finally, the competent, logical, Dana Scully, M.D. and FBI Agent took over. If Mulder had a chance, it was hers to give him, and she had to be cool and efficient to make it work. By the time she saw the cabin roof through the trees, she had pushed the tears back and the lump in her throat didn't ache nearly as much. The narrow path lead her to the back of the cabin and as she rounded the corner, she saw another vehicle parked behind hers. She stopped and swung back around the corner of the cabin, her back to the rough logs and pulled out her revolver. Breathing deeply, her heart pounding in fear and exhaustion, she peeked cautiously around the corner of the cabin and down the porch. Standing there surveying the terrain with his hands on his hips was Archie Bunker-or someone who looked just like him. There seemed to be no one else around. Scully took two deep breaths, moved around the corner quickly, and pointed the lightweight Glock directly at the mans head. "Federal Agent, place both hands on top of your head." The man turned to smile at her but when he saw the Glock pointed at his head, the smile faded, and his hands went up quickly. "Just a minute, little lady," he said, "I own this cabin. I came here to see what's going on. Who the hell are you?" "Are you Fitzgerald Baronson?", she said; the voice did sound familiar. "I sure as hell am," he said. "How did you know?" Scully kept the Glock in her hand, lowered the barrel to point directly down, and walked slowly around to the front of the porch. "I'm Agent Scully, Mr. Baronson. We spoke on the phone. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you for some identification." "You sound like her, but I'd like to see your identification, too, little lady. You can't be too careful nowadays." he said as he placed his drivers license in her hand. Scully looked at it closely, put the Glock securely in the holster at the small of her back and reached into her pocket for her badge. "Mr. Baronson, you are a gift from heaven. I badly need your help" she said. By the time Fitzgerald Baronson had heard her story, he was so agitated he could have driven into the nearest tree. Scully calmed him the best she could and sent him on his way. With any luck, help would be here tomorrow at first light. She hurried to get everything available to help Mulder. ************ END PART 4 ************ ===================================================================== ====== From: jo440@intele.net (Jo B.) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Strange Horatio 5 of 10 Date: Fri, 26 Jan 96 19:16:53 GMT Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time).Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************** STANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ****************** PART FIVE OF TEN ****************** The trip back to the ravine had taken longer than she had anticipated. She was carrying supplies she had taken from the cabin, as well as her medical bag, some dry clothes for Mulder, a lantern, and two old army blankets from the made up bunk. She had stuffed everything in the sack that had held his sleeping bag and it was awkward to carry in the growing darkness. It was getting colder, too, she noticed. She had put a heavy jacket on at the cabin, but she wanted to get back and build a fire. If Mulder was still alive, he would need the warmth. As she waded through the stream she could see he had changed position slightly. Oh God, she thought, as she splashed faster through the water, please let that mean he's still alive. She dropped the pack on dry ground and knelt down beside him. When his eyes fluttered open, the happiness she felt was so sweet that it made her heart beat faster. "Hi, I'm back," she said, smiling down at him. "Thirsty," he said in a dry whisper. She felt his forehead. He was still too warm. "I'll get you some water." She found a new specimen jar in her medical bag, filled it with stream water and held it to his lips while she raised his head slightly. He drank a little, but started to cough and she pulled the little jar away. In a moment, the coughing had stopped and he was struggling to get his breath back. The rattles in his chest as he tried to breath confirmed her suspicions that pneumonia was probably a real problem now. "That's enough for right now," she said. "You okay?" He turned his head slightly toward her and tried to smile. She felt the lump in her throat again and fought hard not to cry. "I'll give you more in a minute," she said. "Right now I'll see if I can make you a little more comfortable." The lantern gave her enough additional light to bandage the gunshot wounds and several bad cuts on his hand and arm. She cut off his clothing as she worked and covered him with a blanket. She had brought sweatpants, socks and a flannel shirt to replace his wet clothes and she carefully pulled the dry clothes on him, then covered him once again with the blanket. Several times he moaned when she moved him and each time she felt the pain with him. Finally, she carefully rolled him onto his side, tucked a doubled up blanket under him, and rolled him back. When she was through, she looked again in her medical bag. As a forensic pathologist, she spent more time with the dead than the living and her medical bag reflected that. Normally there were few bandages and fewer medications. She looked through her meager supply of painkillers. Aspirin was no good, he didn't need a blood thinner, and she didn't carry narcotics on a daily basis. She found some extra strength pain reliever and got more water from the stream. Awkwardly he swallowed the tablets and a bit more water and she lowered his head back down to the rolled up jacket. The fire was next. She gathered all the dry wood she could find in the area of the undercut. It was mostly small stuff and she had to wade back through the water and downstream to find more. She almost had the small fire started when she started to cry and her tears put it out. Don't die, Mulder, she thought. What will I do if you die. Brushing the tears from her eyes, she found some prescription forms in her medical bag and stuffed them under the kindling. They did the trick and soon the fire was flickering to life. She looked over at Mulder. He's not going to make it, she thought, I'm a doctor, and I can't save his life. She tried not to cry, but the cool logic couldn't last forever. The tears rolled down her cheeks and she felt utterly helpless. He knew she was there because it seemed that a part of him that had been missing was back. Somehow the tunnel didn't seem so close right now. It was still there, but it could wait for a few minutes. He just needed to be with her for a while. "Scully", he said weakly. "Yes," she said, and frantically wiped the tears away with her jacket sleeve. She moved closer. "Don't cry," he said. "I'm not crying, Mulder," she said, "I've just got smoke in my eyes from the fire. How are you feeling?" "How do I look?" "Terrible," she said. "Bingo." "There should be somebody here by first light," she said. "The man that owns the cabin was there when I went back. He's gone to get help." "Thought he was a phantom all these years.............. Is Jack okay?" "He's fine, Mulder, just worried about you." She shivered. It was getting colder, even with the fire. She reached out and felt his forehead and cheek. He was burning up. She had hoped beyond all hope that it wouldn't happen until they got him to a hospital and the antibiotics he needed to help fight the infection. If she had a thermometer in her bag, she would have to take his temperature. "Scully, I found her. She's alive. They told me she's alive." "Do you mean Sam? Who are they?" "I saw them Scully," he said in a whisper, "I talked to them. Gumby even tried to help me." He must be delirious, she thought. The fever, the pain, anything, everything. "Mulder, you need to rest. We can talk about it later, when you're stronger." He looked up at her. In all his confusion and pain, only one thought was clear to him; Scully was the only person on earth he wanted here with him right now. But he had to tell her about the tunnel. And about the light. "There's a tunnel Scully. So peaceful. And there's light everywhere. Come with me.......?" "No Mulder. Don't go to the tunnel. Stay here with me. Don't go toward the tunnel." She knew what out-of-body experiences were. More often than not they were preludes to death. Few came back to describe them. He couldn't go toward the tunnel. "So hard to stay here. .........don't know where I am." "You're here with me, Mulder. Stay here with me. Don't go to the tunnel." "Come with me, Scully." She couldn't find any other words, there were none. She reached out and held his hand with both of hers and the tears started down her cheeks once again. He turned his head on the rolled jacket and looked up at the stars. Slowly he closed his eyes. She held his hand until she was sure he was just sleeping, then sat and watched his labored breathing for several minutes. Slowly she became aware of the cold and looked over to see the fire was low. Reluctantly, she went in search of more firewood. When she got back, he was shivering and had thrown off the blanket that covered him. She covered him again and fed the fire, then went in search of a thermometer. She didn't have one. Dead people didn't need thermometers. According to her watch, it was 15:00 hours when the rumbling started. She thought it was thunder at first, but when it continued, she knew it wasn't. When the ground started shaking, she thought it was an earthquake, but it wasn't the rolling movement of an earthquake. It felt more like the floor shaking when a heavy truck went by the office. She stood and looked up, but the sides of the ravine were too steep to see anything but a starry expanse of blue-black sky peeking through the trees. What the hell is it, she thought. Maybe there is and underground facility beneath that meadow and there's some kind of testing going on there. Loose pebbles were now rolling down the sides of the ravine in several places. The undercut looked strong enough to withstand even an earthquake, but she was worried that Mulder might be hurt by falling rocks if the shaking got worse. She rushed over and carefully covered his head, shoulders, and as much of his body as she could with her own, supporting her weight on her hands. Gravel fell on her back and head, but not enough to do any damage. The rumbling and shaking stopped abruptly, replaced by a low, powerful hum. It sounds like the hum of high power electric lines, she thought, what the hell is going on? Mulder stirred beneath her. She shook the pebbles out of her hair and sat on the ground next to him. "They're leaving, Scully," he said softly. "Who's leaving, Mulder?" Just then the world was bathed in an intense white light that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Scully threw her arm up to cover her eyes; Mulder groaned and turned his face away. The hum became louder and began to pulsate, the pulses coming faster and faster until all other sound was drowned out. Then the light began fluctuating in time with the pulsating hum, growing brighter and dimmer with each beat until the sound and the light became one steady sensory overload. As quickly as it began it ceased. The darkness returned and the crickets and night creatures slowly resumed their incessant chatter. She looked over at Mulder. There were tears in his eyes. "Mulder, what is it? Do you know what that was?" she asked. "There was something below the meadow. I think it was a ship.............Scully, they know where Sam is. I was there......in there......with Carson." He was becoming agitated; trying to make her understand, shaking with the effort "It's gone............Scully, Scully..........gone....it's gone." "Take it easy, it's okay. I understand," she said and gently stroked his forehead. His temperature had not gotten worse, but it was no better. Slowly he became less agitated and settled down. "Mulder, I saw a man in the meadow. He seemed to walk right out of the boulders, like there was a doorway there. Is there a doorway there? Is that man Carson?" "More than a doorway, Scully, an entire ship," he said weakly. She knew that even in this condition he was incapable of misrepresenting the facts. There must be something below that meadow or maybe it had been beneath the meadow and was no longer there. She had seen and heard things today that she couldn't explain right now. Mulder had more information than she did and when he was better, they could piece it together. When he was better. There would be plenty of time to find out then. Right now this man was the most important thing in the world. "I'll come back here and if there's anything to be found, I'll find it," she said. "I promise. I'll find the truth." For awhile she held his hand; periodically reaching out and brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. In the cool, still air she could hear his labored breathing. It shouldn't end like this, she thought. Searching for the truth should bring honor, not death. And there was a real possibility that he would die. Death wasn't new to her, she earned her living by spending time with death. But this was different. This death would be a part of her dying. Carefully she lay down beside him and pulled the blanket over both of them. And slept. Sometime later she was awakened by his voice. "Scully" he said softly. She woke up and raised herself up on one elbow next to him. "I'm here, Mulder", she said. "So many things I wanted to tell you............," he whispered hoarsely. She looked down at him and tears filled her eyes. How could she fly without his wings? Very tenderly she said, "I know most of them Mulder", and she gently laid her hand against his cheek. He smiled at her and slowly closed his eyes. DAY SIX The sky was turning from the grey of early morning to the blue of daylight when she awakened with a start. Pushing her hair back out of her eyes she immediately turned toward Mulder. His breathing was shallow and irregular, but he was alive. She reached over and felt his forehead. His fever was worse. She got up stiffly and threw the blanket back over him. After retrieving a stethoscope from her medical bag, she returned to his side and listened to his chest. The deep rattles and reduced sounds in his chest were caused by fluid in his lungs and with the fever, it had to be pneumonia. Oh Mulder, hang in there, she thought, just a little longer. There was an instrument wrap in her bag and she moistened it with cold water and wiped his fevered face. It was a gesture, no more. It wouldn't help him as much as it helped her to be doing something........ anything, for him. She heard the chopper about fifteen minutes later. It circled directly overhead once, and then moved on. There was a flare from the pick-up in the bag of supplies she had brought and she searched for it frantically. The chopper was moving away as she ran for a level area and pointed the flare at the only opening in the trees that she saw. Three minutes later, the chopper hovered almost directly above them, then moved off to land nearby in the meadow. They had seen the flare! She ran back to Mulder and dropped down beside him. "Mulder, they're here," she said excitedly. "Just hold on for awhile longer." There was no response, but she had expected none. She sat and held his hand while she waited. There was a bluish tint around his fingernails, and his hand was cold as ice. She looked at his face. His lips were bluish, too, and his eyes looked sunken and bruised. He needs oxygen, she thought, I hope they have oxygen. "Just a little longer.....a little longer." And as she held his hand, she rocked back and forth. The medics were busy getting Mulder ready to transport. He was being strapped into the stokes for the flight into Anchorage, and bottles and IV tubes hung everywhere. Scully stood back across the stream and talked with Federal Marshall Jackson Ames while she scrutinized every move the medics made. They seemed totally competent. Scully looked at Ames. He was a tall, middle-aged black man dressed in an expensive blue suit covered with dust. He had short, greying hair, and the softest, deepest and most soothing voice she had heard in years. He had driven up in a dusty jeep not long after the paramedics had found them. He had introduced himself and told her that a friend of his had asked him to look into the incident at the cabin. "Who would want to do this to him," he asked. "Jesus, he was unarmed." "I don't know at this point," said Scully noncommittally. "I found him here yesterday afternoon." "Must have been a pretty rough night, I guess," said Jackson. "I've had better," she said. "May I inquire how you knew about this?" she asked. "I don't think it's your normal jurisdiction, is it." "I'm not here in an official capacity, Agent Scully. I'm doing this for a friend." "Who is that friend, Marshall Ames? Under the circumstances, I need to know anything that pertains to this investigation." Ames paused and looked over at Mulder. The medics had Mulder ready to go and were beginning to pack their gear. Maybe he shouldn't tell her, he thought, but that guy in the Stokes looked like he needed to know he had friends. "His name is Skinner," Agent Scully. "We spent some time in Nam together." Scully was amazed. None of this makes sense, she thought. Skinner had almost thrown her out of his office and now he was sending someone to find out what was going on. "When he received word that Agent Mulder had been found, he called and asked me to come up here. I get the feeling that you two are more than personnel to him." "What will you tell him?" she asked. "Off the record, I'll tell him what I saw here. And that you don't yet know what happened. Officially, I wasn't here." Skinner was a friend, after all. But why did he refuse to help her earlier? She was exhausted and more than a little bit cross. She really wasn't in the mood for figuring out the politics of why Skinner did things, and she replied to Ames crossly: "Marshall Ames, I don't know what happened here. I do know that it involves something more than what is obvious. Because of that, Agent Mulder may be in further danger and will need protection. I intend to stay and provide that protection. I also know that if Agent Mulder isn't given further protection, his life is still in danger. If he lives. Please tell Director Skinner that. In whatever capacity you see fit." With that, she turned and walked off towards Mulder, but stopped suddenly. You're stressed out, she thought, don't kill the messenger. She turned back to Ames. "Marshall Ames......thank you. I know you'll tell Director Skinner what he needs to know." The medevac helicopter had landed in the meadow where the entryway in the stones was hidden. She had wanted to see a pile of rubble and fresh dirt where the meadow was, if only to confirm Mulders suspicions that a ship had ripped up through the dirt and rocks and flew off. All she saw was the medevac helicopter waiting near the stones like a large dragonfly. The crevice where the man had seemed to appear was not visible, and there was no indication that a UFO had been buried here and had taken off. Until she had a chance to come back and take a good look for herself, she wouldn't say anything. The chopper was too crowded for anyone besides Mulder and the normal Medevac crew, so she had pulled rank and bumped one of the nurses. The nurse would ride back with Marshall Ames. Being a doctor has some small rewards, she thought, even if I haven't treated a live patient for years. They had done all they could for Mulder, but, at this point, that wasn't much. They had inserted an airway and started him on oxygen, started all the requisite fluids, and put a temporary cast on his arm, but any major medical attention would be given at the hospital. All she could do now was listen to the noise of the chopper and the static of intermittent radio chatter. She couldn't even hold his hand. It was taped down to an IV board and the other one was encompassed in the temporary cast. When she tried to ask the medic how he was doing, he couldn't hear her over the engine noise. He shook his head and handed her the chart he had made out. Most of it was a list of what he had found medically and what had been done to stabilize the patient for transport. There was nothing new. Scully had pretty much called it so far and the medic merely confirmed it. He was aware of being jostled around, and there were short fragments of conversation that he couldn't quite understand. For a second or two, he opened his eyes to see blurry images of faces above him, but they faded into the distance and were gone. Thirsty, he was so thirsty. He tried to lick his lips and was suddenly aware of something in his mouth, in his throat and he gagged on it. It hurt. Get rid of it. He tried to raise his head but couldn't, tried to raise his hand to rip the offending object from his mouth. Nothing happened. Pain everywhere. Can't breathe. Confusion. Can't breathe. Panic. He began to struggle and Scully held him down firmly, talking to him, comforting him. "Mulder, I'm here. Don't fight it, Mulder, it's just an airway. Take it easy. I'm here." Slowly, his half open eyes focused on her face. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a barely audible moan around the airway. She was here. She would know what was wrong, why he couldn't speak, why he couldn't breathe. Slowly his movements stopped and his eyes closed. Scully looked up at the medic checking the IV lines. He nodded and gave her a thumbs up. ***************** END PART FIVE ***************** ===================================================================== ====== From: jo440@intele.net (Jo B.) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Strange Horatio 6 of 10 Date: Fri, 26 Jan 96 19:16:59 GMT Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time).Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************** STANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ****************** PART SIX OF TEN ****************** Skinner placed the phone back in its chrome cradle and leaned back in his chair, running his hand over his unshaven chin. The look of relief on his face was perilously close to joy. Jack was a good soldier. His evaluation of the situation had been precise, thorough, and perceptive. Mulder was alive-for now at least, and Scully had things under control. Jackson Ames had promised to get his best people to the hospital and give Mulder some protection within two hours. Scully wouldn't be doing it alone. Until he left the hospital, he would be watched round the clock. Skinner sighed. He had to go by the book. In this case protection for a wounded FBI agent would be expected. In fact, to neglect to provide that protection would be so obvious an oversight, that even the janitor would notice it. No one would need to know where the guards came from. It would be assumed they were assigned by his office. That would be SOP; no one would question it. Sometimes the system worked for you, he thought, you just couldn't rely on it. He reached for the phone again. Scully sat in the deserted doctors lounge, her feet on the institutional looking coffee table strewn with old magazines and medical journals. For a moment she stared silently into her latest styrofoam cup of cold coffee, then placed it next to the five others on the table. He'd been in surgery for five hours and thirty-two minutes. One of the nurses brought her progress reports about every forty-five minutes and, so far, everything was going okay. He was holding his own. The last time the nurse had come by, they were almost through. Exhaustion kept her from feeling too much. Worry and fear had taken their toll hours ago. She leaned her head back on the old naugahyde couch and closed her eyes. "Doctor Scully." She opened her eyes and looked around, confused. She'd been sleeping. "Doctor Dana Scully," said the hollow voice. It was the intercom speaker on the wall calling her. Mulder! Her heart seemed to skip a beat. She jumped up and rushed out of the small room, startling a haggard looking resident snoozing on the couch across from her. The nurse looked up to see a disheveled and tired looking women hurrying down the hall toward her desk. "I'm Doctor Scully," she said urgently, "I was paged." "Yes, Doctor, we couldn't find you to tell you. Mr. Mulder is out of surgery and has been taken to recovery. Doctor Merritt would like to see you. He's up there right.............." She was speaking to thin air. Scully was half way down the hall before she could finish. Now the time of waiting would begin. The bullets were gone from his body and they had put everything back together, but it would be a miracle if he could also beat the infection, shock, pneumonia and blood loss. His heart had stopped twice during surgery and he remained on full respiratory support. The prognosis was grim. Surprisingly, he had been put in a private room that was as well equipped as an intensive care station. Scully sat at his bedside for twenty-four hours before they finally wheeled in a gurney, put it in the corner and made her sleep on it. It was quiet and she slept soundly for several hours. When she woke, she showered in the small bathroom in his room and dressed in the scrubs they had brought her while her clothes were cleaned in the hospital laundry. She read his chart again for the fifteenth time that day. The nurses had left it with her. She was making them nervous when she double-checked all their work, so they had just let her fill in the chart and they double-checked her instead. She was never wrong. As she read it, she knew there was nothing else that could be done. He was in a coma and with any luck would not even wake up to the world of pain he would face. It would be so much better that way and the end result would be the same. She just wanted to be here. As she sat by his bed, she reflected on what had happened since she had entered this room. Even from across the country, Skinner had been a miracle worker. Their location was officially unknown for the time being. There were two young, strong, and enthusiastic agents standing outside the private room, and two more at the end of the hallway. He had provided her with a laptop computer, delivered by Jackson Ames, and promised there would be no de-briefing until she wanted and could handle it. The specially equipped private room had been a real surprise because insurance wouldn't pay for one. She didn't find out until later that Skinner had personally paid the difference between the allowed semi-private room and this one. The men outside had done their job well and besides herself and hospital staff, no one had been in the room but Jackson Ames. He had come to offer support and any help she needed. Skinner had told her to expect a visit from him and to pay attention to what he had to say. Ames had told her that he would carry any information back to Skinner that she didn't want to trust to electronic channels. Every day brought a new revelation about her boss. She rose to stretch and went to sit in the chair by the window. The hours of sitting and waiting had given her time to think. Even if she expanded the logic of it, she could not explain everything that she had seen. The strange occurrence of light and sound were still a mystery. In Alaska, the aurora borealis was not unusual. That might help explain the light, but still left a lot unexplained-most of it in fact. She couldn't even speculate about the sound; especially in combination with the light She would need to go back there as soon as possible. She had promised Mulder and she would go, even if it put her own life in danger. And it would put her life in danger. Whoever was responsible for this would have to assume a full night in the forest with Mulder was more than enough time for her to learn all the details of his ordeal, especially descriptions of the people involved. No one knew that he was too badly injured to talk to her. They had to assume that Mulder had told her everything he knew. She could only believe that whoever was responsible for what had happened would soon know that she was now involved. Skinner had tried to button it up, but she knew that even his surprising influence could only go so far and last so long. She needed to know the identity of the man in the suit. He seemed to be in charge. Knowing who he was her only link to what had happened to Mulder and why it had happened. In addition to that, if the United States Air Force was somehow involved-and she didn't think they were lending their helicopters to para-military groups-then she probably couldn't trust anyone. Her thoughts turned to Mulder. He never left her mind, but she had caught herself saying to one of the nurses: "Mulder was my partner........." Somewhere in the back of her mind he was already gone. Thoughts of him were being generated in the past tense. Living without him would be the most difficult thing she had ever done. Losing her father had been a shock but she knew that he would die someday. Fathers were supposed to die. And she had finally made her peace with his death. Her mother, too, would die someday, and that too was inevitable. But Mulder was young and enthusiastic and vital and so much a part of her life. For many months now, she had known that he was more than a friend, but didn't quite fit into any category she had set up for the opposite sex. Their relationship was based on so many things that it was difficult to define. He was part brother, part teacher, part father......, even part lover in a way. The intimacy they shared as partners was forged in a life and death reliance on each other that in many ways was deeper and stronger than a sexual relationship could ever be. She had always found him disturbingly attractive and under different circumstances would probably have initiated a sexual relationship before now, but she recognized that the bonds of trust, affection and respect they shared would remain strong only if they were not compromised by the fickle whims of biology. He knew it, too. They both struggled silently with it. Now those bonds would be broken and would leave a wound that would never heal. Can I handle this, she thought, do I want to? Suddenly, a monitor started beeping wildly, then another. Immediately, she realized what was happening and what the implications were. As she crossed the room in a panic, the door banged open wildly and a nurse hurriedly pushed a crash cart into the room, two more nurses and a resident right behind her. Scully was thrown against the wall by the resident as he came around the bed. He didn't even pause. "Oh God, Mulder," she cried, her shaking hands covering her mouth. "Oh no, Mulder," and she started for the bed. Suddenly, two strong hands grabbed her shoulders and stopped her. "Dr. Scully, let us do our work," the nurse said kindly but firmly, "You're too close to this one." She let herself be guided out into the hallway, not even aware of moving. As the nurse returned to the room, one of the agents sent by Skinner approached. "Dr. Scully................Is everything alright?" She looked up at him blankly as the full impact of what was happening hit her, then she leaned back against the wall, her arms wrapped around her middle as if she were in pain, and slid slowly to the floor. The young agent crouched down next to her and gently laid a hand on her shoulder. At first he was floating in a sea of serenity. Then there was pain, and harsh yellow flashes of light. And the distant ringing of an alarm bell. He had opened his eyes once and someone had been calling his name. He wanted to answer, but there was no need. He knew. Scully. Then he felt pain again; somewhere, everywhere, and couldn't move to get away from it. Now it was crushing his chest, and there was no way to fight it. No way to move. No need to breathe. Just don't go back to the tunnel, he remembered. She had told him not to go to the tunnel. In his mind, he told her about the peace. Explained how good it was. How safe it was. And why he had to go back. He stood by the entryway to the tunnel and looked in; a tunnel full of soft white light that began everywhere and went on forever. It was so peaceful in there. It flowed out of the tunnel and all around him. Almost tangible it was so strong. The peace. It surrounded him and caressed him and held him sweetly in its grip. Sometimes he heard voices echo behind him and he would turn to look. There was never anything there. Just the tunnel and the light and the peace. At first the voices had been very close, but now they seemed to be fading. And the tunnel was becoming more distinct. Jackson Ames loved Assistant Director Walter Skinner. Loved him in a way that only the shared experience of facing life and death could produce. His life had been given to him on a silver platter by young Walt Skinner on a humid, quiet night outside Danang. A ten year old child had walked into camp with enough grenades hanging from his body to flatten a city block. Corporal Jackson Ames had been on watch, but had stepped around the corner of a hut to relieve himself. Sergeant Walt Skinner had seen the child first and without hesitation had shot him in the head and killed him before the kid pulled the pin on one of the grenades. Jackson Ames had been standing not twenty feet from the kid and would have died along with most of the other men in the area. Walt Skinner had strolled over to the kid and looked down at the small dead body. Then he had turned to Ames and said casually, "Corporal, have this body removed. The damn thing could still kill us all." No comment about Jackson Ames being absent from his post, and no comment about having just killed a ten year old kid. Jesus, we could both be courts martialled, he'd thought. Skinner's gone off the deep end. Until later that day when he had seen Skinner slip away into the trees and out of curiosity had followed. He was crouched down in the undergrowth holding his head in his hands as deep wrenching sobs shook his entire body. Jackson Ames had watched uncomfortably for only a minute when suddenly Skinner had looked up and their eyes met. The look of pain and anguish on Walt Skinners face was almost too much to bear. Ames had turned quietly and left him alone there in the trees. Skinner had never mentioned Ames absence from his post and Ames had never mentioned the small bloody corpse covered with grenades and the young Sergeant crying in the trees. Somehow that shared silence created a bond and over the years they had formed a deep and lasting friendship based on mutual trust and respect. Now Federal Marshall Jackson Ames was telling Assistant Director Walter Skinner what was really happening in Anchorage. "Is this phone secure," asked Ames. "As secure as you get around here," replied Skinner sarcastically, "What's happening?" "Well, it doesn't look good," he said. "Your man is pretty bad, Walt. I don't think he's going to make it." Standing by his desk, Skinner took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. It had hit him harder than he expected. "You sure, Jack, he's been through the ringer before and made it." "I talked to his doctor when Agent Scully wasn't there so I could get the real scoop. Not good. About the only things in his favor are his relative youth and his partner. He was shot three times and now they're trying to fight some kind of infection and pneumonia. I guess he was laying in some cold water for awhile, too. That's not good for a compromised system I'm told." "How is Agent Scully taking it?" "I think she's pretty much okay. I wouldn't want to be her though, this is going to be pretty damn difficult. She's been in there with him day and night. I guess she's a doctor and he's in a coma and she can't do anything else. Must be a rough one. She's tough, though. Won't give an inch when the nurses try to chase her off." "Has she said anything about what happened?" asked Skinner. "No, and I haven't pushed her. I didn't think the time was right. The bad part will probably be over soon. I thought it could wait." "All right, Jack, can you hang around for awhile? These two aren't your average bears." "Sure Walt, I can pretty much set my own schedule. You know that." "Jack, don't tell Agent Scully, but I'm on my way out there." Ames was surprised. The last thing he thought would happen was that an Assistant Director of the FBI would take time out from his crowded schedule to spend time with one or two specific agents. "You're really serious?" he asked Skinner. "Count on it," replied Skinner, and hung up. Scully was back by his side. She had met with three different physicians to determine if there was any real hope for his survival. No one could really say no, but they all very carefully explained that as a physician herself she should realize that their area of expertise was not the only one involved. Passing the clinical buck, she thought. The only thing she was sure of was that when he arrested last time, she almost died, too. Now she didn't know if she'd have the strength to deliver the DNR order. She also knew she had to. It was time. Her thoughts went back to the night she had gotten the call from Mulder. It was not long after he had been shot in the leg and almost bled to death. He was home recovering and had been calling her at work several times a day. Bored to death, she thought. Now it was two AM. Why he needed to talk in the middle of the night was a mystery, but she had dutifully thrown on some clothes and driven over to his apartment. "Scully, we've got to talk," were his first words when he opened the door. It turned out to be a difficult night. They had had a long talk about the realities of medicine and had argued at length about the Do Not Resuscitate order he had asked her to hold for him. It was a standard form that informed medical personnel of a persons wishes regarding being resuscitated when their was no hope of survival. Most hospitals and physicians honored it if at all possible. Mulder, dressed in sweats and an old armless sweatshirt, had limped up and down the far side of the small living room while she sat uncomfortably on the couch and tried to understand. "I will not live connected to tubes, Scully. This decision has to be made while I'm competent to make it. I'm making it now. I want you to hold it because we get around a lot and it might get lost if I give it to anyone else. I don't want it lost, Scully." "I can't do this, Mulder. What about your family? Don't you think they should make the decision." "No," he said sharply. "They're your family, Mulder, shouldn't they be the ones to................" At the far end of the room he had spun around and faced her, a look of anger and rage on his face. "Bullshit, Scully, they don't even know me as well as you do," he had shouted. "And they sure as hell don't care for me as much as.............. as much as the bureau." She had looked up at him, surprised at what he had almost said. After a moment of uneasy silence, she had said seriously: "Okay, Mulder. I'll be your next of kin and I promise I'll do the very best I can to carry out your wishes." He had stopped pacing then and leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. Looking down at the floor, he had heaved a great sigh of relief, as if he had just won a major battle with life. "Thank you, Scully," he said quietly, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. "Now," he had said in his best conciliatory manner, "Care for a glass of hemlock." They had both laughed and the tense moment was gone. She had carried it in her purse ever since. A piece of paper that could forever take him away. She stood and went in search of Doctor Merrit, the physician overseeing his care. ************ END PART 6 ************ Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time).Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************** STANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ****************** PART SEVEN OF TEN ****************** DAY SEVEN Jackson Ames opened the door and stuck his head into the room. She was still sitting there in one of those ergonomically insensitive hospital chairs, her head resting on the bed, both hands holding onto the fingers of Mulders hand just barely sticking out of the cast. Scully saw him and smiled. He was such a nice man. "Someone here to see you," he said smiling, and pushed the door open wide. She was dumbfounded. Into the room walked Assistant Director Walter Skinner, his rumpled topcoat folded over his arm. Almost the last person in the world she had expected to see. She rose quickly and awkwardly tried to smooth out her wrinkled jacket. "I...I'm sorry, sir, I didn't think you....I didn't expect to see you......sir." "I didn't expect to be here, Agent Scully." What the hell do I say to that, she thought. "It was good of you to come, sir." Skinner looked over at Mulder, but made no move to approach the bed. "Jack has kept me apprised of Agent Mulders condition. Has anything changed?" Scully glanced quickly at Jackson Ames and then back to Skinner. "No sir, he's still listed in critical condition. There's not much more that can be done." She paused for a moment, then continued: "I've given appropriate medical staff a completed DNR form per Agent Mulders' request." An obviously surprised Skinner looked over at Mulder, and then back at her. "He gave you that authority?" he asked. "Yes sir, I'm next of kin on all Agent Mulders personnel forms." "You two never cease to amaze me," he said. "As do you," she said softly. There was an awkward silence. Just then a nurse bustled in to the room, a large syringe in her hands, and walked over to the rack of IV bottles hanging by the head of the bed. She largely ignored everyone else in the room, but smiled warmly at Scully. Jackson Ames was the first to speak. "Why don't we go down to the cafeteria and have a cup of their awful coffee." Scully glanced over at the bed. The nurse had just finished emptying the syringe into one of Mulders IV lines. She looked at Scully and smiled. "Go ahead Doctor Scully." she said, " I'll stay here until I get a call." Dana smiled back and walked out of the door being held for her by Assistant Director Walter Skinner. The cafeteria was almost empty. One green clad scrub nurse sat in the corner of a booth and ate a sandwich. She stared straight ahead when someone in the kitchen dropped a steel tray. Didn't even flinch. A teenager in baggy pants and a backwards baseball cap was mopping the floors, and an old couple sat close together in a booth, whispering comfort to one another. They took a booth that looked like it had been cleaned at least once that day. Scully sat next to Jackson Ames and felt like she was sitting beneath a tree. A big black tree wearing a three piece suit. Scully and Jackson Ames had greasy black coffee in heavy white cups and Skinner drank bottled water. Despite institutional attempts to make the area friendlier with plastic flowers, the room seemed cold. The harsh bright lights, old naugahyde booths, and banks of empty steam tables held no warmth. Scully didn't know why Skinner was here and if the truth were known, neither did he. He said he was here to debrief her. But that was not standard procedure, and he knew it. There were specialists for that. She had spoken to them many times before and they weren't like Skinner. "How do you like Alaska, Walt?", asked Ames. "I like it. I was here once on TDY a long time ago. Anchorage was the equivalent of a sleepy village compared to what it is now." "It's hard to get used to the long summer days," commented Ames. Lost in her thoughts, Scully looked from Skinner to Ames and back again. What the hell was going on here? This was not the time for chit chat. These two were acting like this was a casual lunch at the club. "How about you, Agent Scully?" asked Ames. She hadn't been listening. "I'm sorry. I wasn't ah...........Why are you here sir?" The niceties were for office parties, not this situation. She was too stressed to be polite. Skinner paused for only a second to change gears, then he was all business again. "I'm not here, Agent Scully. Neither is Marshall Ames. Especially Marshall Ames." "Very well, sir, I guess I'm not to be debriefed by an Assistant Director or a Federal Marshall. Somehow that doesn't surprise me. But I am surprised that you're here." "So am I Agent Scully. This is not my idea of a vacation. Which is what I'm doing. Taking a few vacation days. There are several things I needed to speak to you about in person." Scully immediately glanced quickly at Jackson Ames. "Jackson Ames is a Federal Marshall, Agent Scully. He knows how to keep his mouth shut, and you would be surprised how knowledgeable he is when is comes to protecting people. The agents on duty upstairs are his men. Hand picked. I would trust him with my life. Have trusted him with my life. He's also my best friend." Scully was uncomfortable. This was a side of Skinner that she had never seen. It was difficult to think of him as having friends, as having a life. "What Walt's trying to say is that I can listen to what you say to each other. He just never learned subtlety, Doctor Scully," said Jackson Ames. Scully smiled at Ames. "It's alright, Marshall Ames, I've experienced Assistant Director Skinners subtlety before." Skinner didn't smile, but continued on. "When I didn't give you additional personnel to search for Agent Mulder, I was acting under orders I received from my superiors. You don't know who they are. I'm surprised I know. I knew you would probably be the best chance he had, anyway. Now I want to know who did this. I'm constrained in many ways from doing anything officially, but Jack isn't. As far as anyone is concerned, he's working on an unsolved problem with some out-of-control tree huggers." "I understand, sir. I assume you want to know what happened." An hour later, Assistant Director Skinner was gone and Scully was headed toward the elevator with Jackson Ames. Skinner was disturbed. As he sat alone in the nondescript hotel room, he considered what he had learned from Scully. The information she had given them had been disappointing. They had hoped that Mulder had been able to tell her something. What little he had said didn't make a lot of sense to Scully, but she reported it as accurately as she could. When she was through, they all discussed what to do next. Skinner could and would initiate an investigation. It had to look like he was trying to find out what had happened and how his agent had been injured. That investigation could go only so far and would be stopped. There was no possibility that he could question anyone about an Air Force helicopter spotted at the scene. As far as he was concerned, Agent Scully had seen nothing and had found Agent Mulder by conducting a thorough search on her own. Jackson Ames was the most likely candidate to do some investigating. He could operate under the cover story he had used before; he was here getting information about environmental terrorism on federal forest land. He would coordinate with Skinner through secure channels known only to them. Scully would stay with Mulder. She couldn't be expected to do anything else. His long legs stretched out comfortably, Jackson Ames leaned back against headboard of the king size bed in the Moosetalk Motel on the outskirts of Anchorage. At the hospital, he had just listened to the most bizarre story he'd heard since the last time he drank tequila. The people he worked with were strange at times, but the story told by Agent Scully made his blood run cold. Since spending time in Nam many years ago, he had learned that his government was not the unsullied organization that he thought it was. And each time he became privy to a questionable deed performed under the aegis of the federal government, he again reminded himself that this was a job, nothing more. Lord knows, he thought, I've done enough questionable things myself. But this was different. The attack on Agent Mulder seemed to be outright murder supported by the United States Air Force or the Army or both. It was difficult to imagine the Air Force operating that overtly in the commission of a crime. The armed services all had devious methodologies, but they almost always acted covertly during those times. This was evidently different. There was something going on in that meadow that was so important, it required operations outside the bounds of caution. Walt Skinner was worried, too. Jack hadn't known him all these years without being able to tell that Skinner was almost in over his head. And for Walt Skinner, that was way deep. It seemed the two agents in that hospital room were more important to him than Ames had thought. Ames considered what to do next. There was one person he could query about military activities and get reliable information. One person that would know where all the bodies were buried, or at least where they were shipped. She was tall and black and beautiful and oh so married. And not a soul, including her husband, knew that the Aunt Mabel she visited so often was really a lonely Federal Marshall named Jackson Ames. She worked in the Office of Personnel Disbursement. He reached for the cell phone in his briefcase. Real night had finally come. True darkness in the long dying Alaskan day. Scully sat curled in a chair by the window, looking blankly out at the city lights below. With the drapes wide open she could see the blinking lights of the equipment behind her reflected in the mirrored blackness of the window. The mechanical hiss of the ventilator seemed to be the only sound in the universe. They would leave her alone with him, they had promised. This time when the monitors began beeping they would not come. The Do Not Resuscitate order was in his file and she would be there alone with him. They would come only when she called them. She was a doctor and could sign the death certificate. All the equipment in the world won't save him, she thought. Not now. Even his youth and strength and stubbornness couldn't make up for lungs filled with fluid, failing kidneys, and a heart getting weaker by the minute. A body too damaged to heal itself. Why don't I hurt more, she thought. I should feel something more than this heavy emptiness. She was so tired. Such a long time dying. He would hate that. So tired and so empty. She slept. The light at the window looked like a reflection and no one noticed anything strange. Not even Scully at first for she slept the sleep of exhaustion. The light was bright, but soft and nebulous, finally focusing and changing into an almost human form. The glass in the window began to move slowly, becoming wavy in the center as if it was becoming liquid. Then suddenly a small round hole appeared in the glass and began to grow, the edges wavy like widening ripples in a still pond. The opening grew until it filled the entire window, more than four feet in diameter. Through the hole came an alien, floating in the air as if borne on an invisible support. In its hands it carefully held a round glass-like sphere. Silently as a shadow it moved toward the bed and gently floated to the floor. It stood by the side of the bed and looked down at Mulder for several seconds, then slowly it looked around the room. Finally its gaze came to rest on Scully and after a moment, it smiled. Turning back to Mulder, it set the sphere on the bedside table and then proceeded to pull the blanket and sheet covering him down to the foot of the bed. Mulder lay there exposed to the aliens gaze, his body covered with bandages, tubes and wires, the cumulative effects of the damage to his body now evident in the pallid color of his skin and the obvious weight loss. Scully awakened slowly. It was just a feeling that stirred her from her exhausted sleep; not a sound or a touch, just the sense of something different around her. She opened her eyes and yawned, then stiffly began to unfold herself from the uncomfortable chair. As she did, she looked over at the bed and froze. She had never seen anything like it but knew immediately what it was. Mulder had shown her pictures many times of aliens described by abductees and crazies alike. He had even described to her what he had seen. She had never truly believed the stories and even doubted what Mulder thought he had seen. Now it was here before her and she had to believe it. It was standing over Mulder, placing its three-fingered hands over his chest just touching skin and bandages. Scully reacted quickly and reached for her purse on the floor next to her chair, but couldn't quite touch it. Her weapon was there, not needed or wanted for the last few days. Now it was just out of reach. At her first move, the alien had turned and was now looking straight at her. She stopped and waited, then slowly sat up straight in the chair, her mind going at full speed trying to comprehend what was happening. The alien had made no move against her and she instinctively stayed as still as possible. So many times Mulder had told her to explore the implausible, to accept the impossible. Wings to fly..........she thought, then, Please don't hurt him. As if he had read her thoughts, the alien slowly looked back at Mulder, reached out, gently touched him on the shoulder and smiled, then turned back to Scully. Fear told her to move, to reach for a weapon, to protect Mulder, but she hesitated. There was a universal language that this creature seemed be speaking and it had no words. What she was seeing in this gentle touch was empathy, and, she thought, concern. Slowly, in the most intuitive decision in her life, she smiled back at the alien and nodded her head as if to say, "Continue, I won't interfere". The alien looked at her intently for a moment, then turned back to Mulder. Scully stood slowly but made no move toward the bed. As she watched, the alien began to move his hands gently over Mulders body. It traced the contours of his shoulders and chest, and the cast covering his arm. Then the other arm, full of bruises and puncture wounds from numerous IV's and injections; down to his legs and feet; then back up to his head and neck. It was so gentle, so reverent, she thought, its touch a caress of discovery. She knew then that this creature was not an enemy; that he would help and not harm. Slowly the fear began to subside and her natural curiosity started to surface. This was an examination, it had to be. The alien was obtaining information about Mulders condition by passing its hands over his body. How the hell does that work, she thought. Then another thought occurred to her. Any minute now, someone may come in that door to check on Mulder or to administer some medication or other. She had to stop that. If this creature could give Mulder one last chance, she wanted it to happen. Nothing must interfere. Nothing would interfere. Tentatively, she stooped down and reached for her purse, keeping an eye on the alien at all times. It didn't react to her movements and continued to explore the contours of Mulders body. The purse was in her hands, but she made no move to open it yet. If I can get to the door, she thought, I can see if anyone's coming. I wonder if it will let me. Slowly she began moving toward the closed door. Sensing the movement, the alien suddenly turned and looked at her. She didn't know what to do but stop and wait to see what would happen next. It kept watching her, its intense gaze never leaving her face. Smile, she thought suddenly, smile at it. It was hard to do, but she managed a smile, on the outside at least. The alien did nothing for a second, or an hour, she couldn't have said which, then its mouth slowly turned up at the corners and she knew it was smiling back. Surprisingly, she felt the superficial smile on her own face turn into one of genuine happiness. My god, she thought, I've just communicated with this thing in some way. The alien turned back to Mulder and as she watched, it reached for the round glass sphere on the table next to the bed. She didn't know what the sphere was, but it definitely wasn't a medical device she was familiar with. Putting that curiosity on hold for a moment, she turned her attention to the door and hallway beyond. She walked to the door and cautiously she opened it just far enough to see out. The two agents were standing about fifteen feet down the hall talking quietly to each other. She closed the door and turned to look back at the alien and Mulder, fascinated by what she saw. The alien had the sphere in his hands now, and was holding it six inches above Mulders chest. Slowly it turned the sphere up side down and a milky white liquid began dripping out. It splashed onto the dressings on his shoulder, and soaked into the white gauze covering the sutures on his chest. In a matter of seconds, the monitors began changing; their readings fluctuating wildly. Scully was alarmed, but wisely her logical mind prevailed. The alien didn't seem to respond to the monitors and continued on with its ministrations. The monitors will bring the nurses, she thought, the readings wouldn't be the normal readings of a cardiac arrest...... or anything else for that matter. Looking back at the bed, she saw Mulder shudder and a deep moan, muffled by the airway in his throat, escaped his lips. "What are you doing?" she called out as quietly as she could, but the alien didn't seem to hear. Oh god, she thought, should I stop him? The alien continued dripping the white liquid from the sphere and now began rubbing it into bare skin where it wasn't covered by tape or gauze. The monitors continued their dance, though no alarms had yet gone off. Suddenly, there were voices in the hallway and Scully looked quickly out the door. A nurse was speaking to the two agents. They were coming. With no time to think, Scully opened the door and stepped into the hallway, her hand going into her purse. "Doctor Scully," the approaching nurse said worriedly, "What's wrong? The monitor readout aren't making any sense. Has something happened to Mr. Mulder?" Scully glanced at the two agents behind the nurse. They both had looks of concern on their faces. Scully stood in the middle of the doorway and replied. "No, he's fine. It must be a power spike or something" she said as convincingly as she could. "Well, lets go see if we can reset the monitors," the nurse said matter of factly, and started toward the door. "No!" said Scully abruptly, and knew she had just waved a red flag in the face of the two agents behind her. Before the agents could make a move, Scully had her gun in her hand and had pointed it at the nurses face. It had the desired affect. The nurse backed up suddenly and screamed, blundering into both agents and causing them to grab her falling body. It was just the time Scully needed. She now pointed her weapon at the two agents. "Please don't move," she said authoritatively. "Do not, I repeat, do not.....reach for your weapons!" The nurse sat on the floor, her hands over her mouth, trying not to scream. One of the agents had fallen with her and now kneeled next to her, just starting to get up. The second agent put his hands in the air, and stepped back two steps; a look of utter surprise on his face. "What on earth are you doing?" the agent on his knees said harshly. "Are you out of your mind?" "No sir, I've never been more sure of anything in my life," she replied quickly. Now she saw two more agents were running down the hallway, and several nurses and technicians pushed frantically through the closest doors they could find. Oh shit, thought Scully, I've done it now. The two other agents had now stopped about halfway down the hallway from where she was standing. "I want everybody back down the hallway to the nurses station. No one in this hallway. I'm going back in that room and if anyone comes within ten feet of this door, I will not hesitate to fire. Am I understood?" She was shaking so hard she thought she might pull the trigger accidentally. She had never in her life gone this far outside the bounds of law. Now she was threatening the life of a nurse and four federal marshals. Her career and maybe her life on the line for one man. And one alien. I hope to god I'm doing the right thing, she thought. The looks passing back and forth between the marshals told her that they believed every word she said. The nurse and the first agent now stood with the second man and with their eyes on Scully's gun, they backed awkwardly down the hallway. When they had all entered the area of the nurses station, she lowered her gun and quickly slipped back into the room. A glance at the bed told her nothing, the alien was still rubbing the white liquid everywhere on Mulder that wasn't covered. She looked around for the second chair in the room, found it near the bathroom door and dragged it over to the main door, sliding it up and under the door handle. It jammed in fairly tightly and she pushed it twice more to make sure it would catch if the door was pushed from the outside. Stuffing the gun in the back of her jeans, she turned to look at the alien and Mulder. Mulder was beginning to move, his legs bending and turning, his uncast arm trying to reach for the tubes in his nose and mouth. Scully ran to the bed and not concerned with the alien, caught Mulders arm and held it to his side. He was gagging on the endotracheal tube in his mouth, trying to breathe on his own. She automatically glanced at the monitors, now stable and no longer fluctuating. Suddenly she remembered the alien. It was standing back and watching her, a look of seeming interest in its eyes. "What's happening to him?" she asked. The alien just stood there, not blinking, not moving, not responding. In its hands it held the empty sphere. Mulder moved again, this time catching an IV line with the cast on his arm and ripping it out of the top of his other hand. His eyes flew open and he gagged again on the unfamiliar pressure of the ET tube, his arm flew up and the cast caught Scully on the side of the cheek. She reeled back and into the IV stand, sending IV lines, bottles and stand to the floor in a loud crash. When she managed to get back up, the alien was standing at Mulders head, one hand pressed firmly against Mulders temple. Mulder had settled down and his eyes were closed. My god what is going on here, thought Scully. I've got to stand back and regroup for a second. She carefully felt her cheek. It hurt like hell and was already swelling, but as far as she could tell, it was only bruised. Then she looked over at the alien. It had stepped back and was now smiling at her. Then it did the strangest thing. It picked up the sphere, turned it up side down and waited while what had to be the last two drops of the white liquid within plopped out onto the first of its three fingers. Still smiling at Scully, it reached across the bed toward her. She jumped back, stepping on an IV bottle and almost falling again. The alien stretched farther toward her. What is it she wondered as she drew back. Its the same liquid that it had rubbed all over Mulder. Maybe.....maybe.....she thought, and hesitantly, she leaned forward. So softly the fingers brushed her bruised cheek and she felt an electric tingle rush through that side of her face. In a matter of seconds, the cheek had quit hurting and as her hand rested on it, she felt the swelling going down. The recognition of what was happening made her gasp. My god, she thought, it's healing! That's not medically possible. But it was happening. She looked up at the alien who had withdrawn again back from the far side of the bed and watched her. As she stared at the alien in confusion, Mulder groaned. She looked down at him. The tubes had to go. For all she knew at this point, they might inhibit healing. She quickly and efficiently removed the tubes from his body. This magical creature was healing him with that white liquid. She knew it. As she removed the ET tube Mulder gagged, but recovered quickly and finally took a deep breath on his own. Already she could see his color was better. She gawked at the alien in utter disbelief. "My god, what have you done?" she said incredulously. "Will he live, now? Is this permanent, this healing?" Incredibly she heard the voice she thought she'd never hear again. "It's permanent, Scully," Mulder said weakly, "Isn't it Gumby?" The alien looked over at Mulder and smiled. ***************** END PART SEVEN ***************** =========================================================================== From: jo440@intele.net (Jo B.) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Strange Horatio 8 of 10 Date: Fri, 26 Jan 96 19:17:12 GMT Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time).Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************** STANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ****************** PART EIGHT OF TEN ****************** "She did what?" Skinner asked Jackson Ames incredulously. "Just what I said, Walt. Chased everybody out of the area at gunpoint. Wild eyed as a cat at a Pit Bull convention. Just as bristly. Scared the shit out of my people. Said they'd never play with a girl with a gun again." "You have any idea why?" "Something going on in that hospital room more than likely...... or stress, maybe, exhaustion, PMS. You tell me. These people of yours may be highly trained and exceptionally intelligent, but they're crazy as hell. I've seen serial killers make more sense." "And you say Agent Mulder is recovering nicely? Is that possible?" asked Skinner. "Well, they say he'll be on his way home in a week, maybe ten days. I guess the doctors are calling it miraculous, his recovery. In other words, the medics don't have a clue. He should be dead." "What do you think, Jack," asked Skinner, "Your people were there." "My people say she barricaded herself in his room after she chased them off at gunpoint. They sealed off the area, but didn't do anything else until she came out an hour or two later. According to them, there was no one else in that room but her and, as they called Mulder, the dead guy. It seemed best to let her come out on her own since no one else but the dead guy could get hurt. When she finally came out and they went back in the room the dead guy was awake and smiling." "Jesus Christ, Jack, how the hell is that possible?" Skinner asked. "You tell me, Walt, because you now know as much as I do." "Okay. I'll talk to Scully and Mulder as soon as I can. Listen, Walt, this didn't happen, okay? No guns, no miraculous cures, no records, can you do that?" "Yeah, Walt, that's and easy one." "What's going on with that other matter." "Well, I contacted friends in low places and should have some preliminary data in a few days, maybe the end of the week. I did find out that there was activity in the area that day and has been off and on for some years. The records are pretty tight, though, and it may take a few days to get details." Skinner paused, considering the possibilities of what he had just heard. "Yo, Walt, you still with me, man?" "Yeah, I'm sorry Jack, just got alot on my mind. I really appreciate what you're doing for me, Jack, you know that?" "Yeah, Walt, I do." "I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?" said Skinner. "Nope. I'm gonna go see my Aunt Mable. She's been sick. Should be back day after tomorrow." "Okay, Jack, talk to you then." TWO WEEKS LATER Fox Mulder was a happy man. He was home and had just had his first shower all by himself since he couldn't remember when. Since before, he thought, and that was the only cloud that crossed his mind as he sat on the side of the bed and tried to get his strength back. He moved his shoulder gingerly and winced as a catch in the movement brought a stab of pain, but not as much as earlier. A nice hot shower really helped, he thought, if I wasn't so weak, I could probably tie my own shoes now. As he walked over to the closet to get underwear and sweats, he glanced in the mirror at his naked body and did a double take. Jesus, I look like a walking skeleton, he thought. Gently he touched the small indentation in his chest. It was sore as hell, yet, but healed inside and out as were the other two bullet wounds. The only thing not perfect was the broken arm. He still wore a removable cast on that and would continue to due so for awhile. For some reason, the damn thing was slow in healing. It was a mystery why, since everything else had healed so fast. He glanced in the mirror again. It would be fun putting the weight back on. He wouldn't have to make excuses to Scully for everything he ate that tasted good. As he pulled on his shirt, he heard a knock on the door. Before he could make it to the dresser to get his gun, he heard a voice call out. "It's me, Mulder, Scully, open the door." All right, food, he thought. The flight had been long, but he had slept most of the way and not eaten much. Scully had manhandled him and the luggage all the way through the airport and had gotten them home in one piece. Official protection was a thing of the past and she was being cautious. Now all he wanted was food. Non-hospital food. Non-airline food. Non-alien food He opened the door and Scully came in, her arms wrapped around two large grocery bags of food, a McDonalds sack dangling from one hand. "Jesus, Scully, you shouldn't carry both those heavy bags," he said, then grabbed the McDonalds sack and flopped on the couch. "You should really make two trips," he said as he tore into the Big Mac. Scully gave him a look of pure malice on the way to the kitchen. She put the bags on the counter and then stood in the doorway watching him eat. God was he enjoying it. Grease everywhere. Lots of salt, ketchup and cholesterol, she thought, must be delicious. "Better slow down, Mulder, your stomach may not be ready for fast food, yet." "It's just a Big Mac, Scully, not a murder weapon." She turned back to the kitchen, a knowing smile on her face. "Okay", she said to no one in particular. It took ten minutes to throw out the spoiled food in the fridge and another ten to figure out where he was storing everything this week. As she was tieing the plastic garbage bag, she heard a low moan from the living room and rushed in just in time to see Mulder holding his mouth and running for the bathroom. A minute later, she sat on the bathtub and offered him a wet washcloth without saying a word. He sat on the floor in front of the toilet and wiped his face. Looking up at her, he shook his head weakly. "You're a cruel woman, Agent Scully." "And you're a stubborn man, Agent Mulder. Now come on and I'll make you something that'll stay down." Fifteen minutes later Mulder sat on the couch and looked sorrowfully at a cottage cheese and fruit salad. Canned peaches, lowfat cottage cheese, and one slice of toast, no butter. "Eat that slowly and chew it thoroughly," said Scully as she put her jacket on. "I'll stop by after work tomorrow. Keep the door locked, and don't forget to take your pills before you go to bed." "Yes, mother, " he said sarcastically to the closing door. He looked again at the fruit salad. So much for homecoming, he thought, and picked up the fork. ONE WEEK LATER Scully stirred a fresh cup of tea in the kitchen and listened to him again. "I'm losing my mind here, Scully. I need to go back to work." Mulder leaned against the desk, arms folded across his chest. "You need another week of rest, Mulder. Doctor Gutierrez says she'd be more comfortable with that." "Doctor Gutierrez is trying to drive me crazy so she can refer me to her colleague, the infamous Doctor Markham....a shrink. I resent that Scully. I'm a trained psychologist. I went through psychotherapy before I got my doctorate. If there's one thing I don't need, it's psychoanalysis." They had been arguing over this for days. Doctor Gutierrez was the Bureau medical doctor that would have to give her approval of his fitness before he could return to work. She had suggested to him that he might like to talk to a psychiatrist before returning to work. He had refused and now, according to Doctor Gutierrez, he needed another week to fully recover. "Mulder, you've been through a lot. Don't you think it might help if you talked to someone about it." "No Scully, I do not." "Well, it's really a moot point, because you can't come back without her approval." Scully walked over to the couch and sat down, blowing softly on the hot tea. "Dammit, Scully, I have jogged and ran and walked and swam. I have read every best selling novel on the New York Times bestseller list and I even dug out an old copy of War and Peace. I have watched every x-rated movie ever made and some that are only in my head. Jesus, I'm even considering calling the Psychic Hotline." Scully sipped the hot tea. "You are in trouble, Mulder" she replied. They sat in silence for a moment, Scully sipping her tea and Mulder staring idly into the distance. "You want some pizza," he asked. "No, had it last night. How about Chinese?" she said. "Okay, if I get to order." He walked over to the phone and dialled the Chinese delivery down the block. She had to admit he looked physically fit. He had gained weight and with nothing else to do, had turned much of it into muscle. His levis no longer needed a belt and he was finally back in the same size he wore when he left on vacation. He needed to pick up a little more weight, but he was well on the way to doing just that. The cast on his arm was no longer needed and the two of them had figured out why his arm was slow to heal. None of the white liquid had gotten to it because of the cast covering it. His arm had healed in the normal time frame for a broken bone. As he talked on the phone, he ran his hand through his hair. There was just the slightest hesitation in the motion of the shoulder. He had worked hard in physical therapy and it had paid off. A fine male specimen, she thought, and then caught herself. A good partner, she corrected. God it was good to have him back. He had finished ordering, hung up and now sat on the edge of the desk. He hadn't talked about what had happened yet and she hadn't pushed. Now maybe it was time. He was through letting off steam and was beginning to relax. "Mulder, what happened in that ship? There's a large blank spot that needs to be filled." He looked over at her from his perch on the desk for a moment, then turned and looked out the window, his thoughts a million miles away. When he turned back, he was obviously resigned to what he had to say, to relive. "Most of it's pretty hazy, Scully,..... things that should be vivid in my memory. I've wondered about it and the only thing I can determine is maybe it's selective amnesia. Or maybe they helped it along a bit, I don't know." "Why should it be clear, Mulder, you were badly injured and in a strange environment." "I've taken that into account, Scully, and still can't describe the place I was in. I remember being in a room of some sort, but all I can recall about it is the light. Light everywhere. I can remember speaking to someone harshly but who it was I have no idea. When I remember the hospital, I get a flash of Gumby in my head and I......know......it just feels okay. Like he's a friend." "What about Carson?" she asked. "What about Carson? I told you his name, but I can't describe him. He's a shadow." "Mulder, you said something to me when we were in that ravine; when I saw that light and the ground started shaking. You said they were leaving but you didn't say who. You also said they told you Sam was alive. Do you remember that?" As she watched, the color drained from his face and he looked back at her with a look of shock and dismay. "Mulder, are you okay?" For a minute, he didn't say anything and she could almost feel his need to remember. Then he began shaking his head back and forth slowly. "Oh god, Scully, I can't remember........I can't remember....... there's.......nothing there," he said and suddenly he was crying. She hurried over to him and pulled his head down on her shoulder. He needed this release and she knew it. Trained psychologist or no, he was just another human being with the guilts and fears of deeds done and not done; words spoken and unspoken. His sobs were gut wrenching reminders of the emotional ordeal he had been through even if the physical scars were almost healed. She held him until a knock on the door signaled the delivery of dinner, then patted him on the back gently and said, "I'll get it." She stood back and gently brushed the tears from his cheek. "It's okay," she said, and smiled at him. "Yeah, I guess," he said, "Just your average basket case." They ate dinner quietly, Scully telling him what was happening at work. When they were through eating, she looked over at him across the coffee table. He had recovered his composure just fine, but was still somewhat subdued. "You know, Mulder, we could try hypnosis. If the problem is selective amnesia, it may help." "Not right now, Scully, lets see if it happens naturally. I don't need to be hit over the head with it all at once and I know that's what will happen if we do it that way." For now the subject was closed. Sometimes he knew himself better than anyone and this may be one of those times. ONE WEEK LATER Mulder was going back to work. He had adamantly refused to see a shrink to talk about his ordeal and how he felt about it, but he had had to stay away from work for an extra week, too. Doctor Gutierrez was not high on his list of fellow professionals now, but then she never had been. The two of them had had confrontations before. Mostly she won. All I have to do is make it through the weekend, he thought. Maybe I'll seek out some female companionship for Saturday night. See if everything really is working okay. In the meantime, Scully was going to bring some files by after work. Fun reading for a Friday night. He looked at his watch, and decided he had just enough time to clean the bathroom before she got there. He was getting real good at cleaning things. There was nothing else to do sometimes. As he finished putting clean towels on the rack, he heard the knock at the door. "It's me Mulder, Scully, open the door." It was a ritual, this greeting. He opened the door and Scully walked in, a substantial stack of files in her arms. She was smiling, but looked tired. "Mulder, this place gets any cleaner, you're going to have to change professions and become a housewife." "I'm trying to get the cover of Womans Day. How I Learned to Clean an Apartment in Only Twelve Hours a Day." "Well, you've got something better to do now. Here's the latest mail from the top of your desk." She dropped the pile of files on the coffee table. "On the top, you'll find a copy of my official report of the incident that's kept you at home using mops and brooms for so long. Why don't you read it and we'll talk about what needs changing. I'm going to make some tea. Want some?" she asked. "Yeah, thanks." He sat down on the couch, grabbed the top folder, flipped it open and began to read. Within thirty seconds, Scully knew that for all intents and purposes, she no longer existed. At least until he finished reading. He had the uncanny ability to shut the clutter of the world completely out when he was focused on something. She put the tea in front of him, but got no response. Finally she sat on the floor at the end of the coffee table and flipped through an old dog-eared copy of War and Peace laying there on the table. There were words and sentences hi-lited every so often, and notations made in the margins. She had read Tolstoy and found his writing to be stuffy, boring, and much too long. Mulder obviously didn't. Cerebral, she thought, he's much to cerebral at times. Ten minutes later, Mulder looked over at Scully. "A lot of this I don't remember at all. The rest of it is pretty sketchy. No real data involved. You've done a good job of being believably evasive........"unidentified helicopter, men in camouflage, no identification possible due to distance of observation." It all sounds plausible enough." "If I'm going to lie, Mulder, I want it to be as close to the truth as possible. This is not something I normally do, as you well know." "We've got a couple of things in our favor. The good Marshall Jackson Ames is going to forget what happened in the hospital, and Skinner goes along with him." "Mulder, I don't know myself what went on in the hospital. I saw things that I don't understand and have no way to explain. But I know there is empirical evidence somewhere to support what I saw and heard and even participated in." "C'mon Scully, we don't live in a completely empirical world. Some things don't yet have scientific explanations. What about Gumby? What about my miraculous recovery? You can't explain those things away with empirical evidence." "I'm not trying to explain them away, Mulder, I'm attempting to understand what really happened there and in that meadow and in the hospital. I think we need to go back and see what we can find." "I agree, but I don't want you taking unnecessary risks. There's no federal marshals to keep our asses out of a sling this time." "As I recall, Agent Mulder, it was your ass in the sling, not mine." THE NEXT DAY You handsome devil, he thought, crisis must be good for you. Mulder stood looking at himself in the mirror, running the brush through his hair one last time. He had a date. Not serious stuff, just an expensive dinner and lots of sex, he hoped. He had called Sharon in Travel. They got along okay, though she was not an intellectual giant, and both pretty much knew it was a sex thing only. More than anything, she knew how to keep her mouth shut. A true bureau employee, he thought, if she were just a bit duller, she would have made a good agent. The knock on the door was a surprise. It wasn't Scully, he'd just talked to her on the phone. Throwing the brush on the bed, he went to the door. Looking through the peephole, he saw someone he'd been expecting for some time now. The automatic anger and resentment he felt made him grit his teeth. The man they didn't have a name for stood there; Mr. "X" as they called him. An adversary or a friend, Mulder didn't know which. He hated dealing with the man, but, at times, had no choice. Shit, why now, he thought, but opened the door quickly. The tall, solidly built black man walked into the room without looking around, then turned to look at Mulder closing the door. "You look remarkably well, Mr. Mulder, for someone who has so recently been at deaths door." he said evenly. Mulder was furious, the depth of his anger evident in the play of muscle along his tightly clenched jaw. He suspected this man had probably known what was going to happen to him and had made no moves to prevent it. "What do you want?" he asked more antagonistically than he had planned. "What happened to you was unfortunate, but unavoidable, Mr. Mulder. It could have ended in a number of disappointing ways. It didn't. The most judicious method of handling this incident further would be for you to forget it ever happened. Forget what you've seen, and forget pursuing an investigation into what you think you saw in that meadow and in that hospital room." Mulder listened. The anger he felt was difficult to control and he clenched his jaw so tightly that his teeth ached. This man was obviously aware of everything that had happened to him and believed that Mulder remembered all of it. That, at least, was in his favor. More than anyone else he couldn't let this man know that most of what had happened to him was no more than a confusing blur. "You knew what was going to happen, you son-of-a-bitch, and did nothing to stop it." Mulder said angrily. "I could no more stop what happened to you than you could, Mr. Mulder. It was inevitable."X" replied coldly. "Nothing, ........nothing will ever make me believe that," Mulder said forcefully. He stood face to face with "X", then, hand on hips and said vehemently, "I want to know where my sister is. As soon as you give me that information we may be able to establish a dialogue. Until then, get out." There was no visible response from "X", he simply looked at Mulder, perhaps wondering if he should call his bluff or back down. "Believe me, Agent Mulder, when I tell you that pursuing any investigation into this matter could be most hazardous to you and anyone else involved." Mulder stepped back and opened the door. "Get out you bastard," he said ominously. "X" paused for only a moment before deciding that staying would be risky. He knew this man had the ability to kill and if pushed too far would do just that. The message had been delivered. He had done his job. Saying nothing more, he walked rapidly out the door. Barely containing his rage, Mulder slammed the door, then immediately regretted doing so. That bastard didn't need to see the depth of his anger. He stood there by the door for several more minutes, running his hands through his hair and trying to calm down before he walked back in to the bedroom for his jacket. **************** END PART EIGHT **************** =========================================================================== From: jo440@intele.net (Jo B.) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Strange Horatio 9 of 10 Date: Fri, 26 Jan 96 19:17:18 GMT Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time).Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************** STANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ****************** PART NINE OF TEN ****************** MONDAY MORNING It was 7:15 AM and Assistant Director Walter Skinner was in the office early. He had read over Mulders report and had just finished Agent Scullys' report of the incident in Alaska. Neither report had said anything that would indicate what had really happened to Mulder. The reports told of an attempt on the life of an FBI agent while vacationing at a remote site in Alaska. The lack of material evidence suggested an act of terrorism by environmentalists or a para-military group. The only hard evidence was three bullets removed from Agent Mulders body. Unfortunately, that evidence had been mislaid by hospital staff before ballistics reports could be run. Another unfortunate occurrence had been the erasure of all computer files pertaining to Agent Mulder, and the incorrect filing of his written records. Hospital administration was at a loss. As soon as the records were found, they would immediately notify the Bureau. Good, thought Skinner, they were right on track. The incident would be neutralized as requested. At least on paper. The call came at 8:03 AM. He answered the phone on the second ring. Within a minute, the color drained from his face and a knot started forming in the pit of his stomach. At twelve thirty-three that morning, Federal Marshall Jackson Ames had been killed instantly when his car had crossed the meridian, and ran into oncoming traffic on the freeway outside Washington. At present, authorities had no reason for the accident, but because Ames was a Federal Marshal, an autopsy would be performed to rule out foul play. Skinner hung up the phone and his head fell into his hands. Not Jack, he thought, why Jack. He knew, of course, but his grief was strong and logic was washed away. He reached for the phone and buzzed his secretary. "Hold my calls until further notice," he said abruptly and cut her off when she started to say something. When Scully came in, steaming hot coffee in both hands, Mulder was sitting at his desk and staring at his computer screen. "Here's the coffee you don't remember asking for," she said, and set it on the corner of his desk; in the only spot not covered with paper. He looked up at her, surprised. "What coffee?," he said. "Just drink it, Mulder." He had been deep in some forensic report when she had come in a few minutes ago. When she said "Morning, Mulder," he hadn't even looked up but asked abstractly, "Is there any coffee, Scully?" Back to normal. He was on an information gathering blitz for a case. He wouldn't actually be here until all pertinent data had been transferred from the computer into his head. She sat down at her own desk and swiveled her chair around to face his. "Skinner wants to see us in an hour." No response. "Mulder!" she said, raising her voice. He looked up at her but his mind never left the screen. "Scully, did you know that E. coli bacteria seem to be differentiated adequately to allow chemical communication?" he asked abruptly. "That's speculation due to the complex colonies they form," she replied, and quickly added while she had some of his attention, "Skinner wants to see us in an hour." "Okay," he said and turned back to the computer screen. She smiled. "He's baaa....aack," she said out loud as she thought of the scene in Poltergeist. Walt Skinner was sitting at his desk when they came in. He looked up at them as they entered, then back down at the paper he was signing. "Sit down," he said. They sat in the two chairs in front of his desk. He looked terrible; as if he hadn't slept in a while. His eyes were bloodshot, he hadn't shaved, and his tie was loose at his throat. That wasn't like Skinner they both thought, and glanced at each other in mutual acknowledgment. Skinner scribbled his signature once more, dropped the pen and looked up. "Jack Ames was killed yesterday morning in an automobile accident," he said without preamble. Scully and Mulder looked at one another, expressions of shock and dismay on their faces. Scully was the first to speak. "I'm sorry sir," she said sympathetically, "I know you were good friends." "Please accept our condolences, sir," added Mulder softly. "Thank you," Skinner replied non-committally. Before the unasked question could be voiced, he spoke again. "There is no evidence of foul play at this point. Marshall Ames was working on an environmental matter and that investigation will be shelved for the present. As I understand, it was a dead end anyway." Scully and Mulder glanced at each other in surprise. He was canceling the investigation, but why. "Why is the environmental matter being closed?" asked Mulder a little too forcefully. Skinner ignored the question. "I've read your reports and they're very well done, very accurate," he said. "I'll let you know if further data is needed. Jacks funeral is on Thursday. See my secretary on your way out for the time and place." He paused and looked past them both at the far wall where a picture of two young soldiers hung in a mahogany frame. Scully looked over at Mulder who was about to say something more. She glared harshly at him for just a second, and he got the message....Not now, Mulder. They rose and Scully spoke again. "Thank you, sir, we'd like to be there." Back in the office, Scully sat in her swivel chair and watched as Mulder flopped down in his chair and said nothing. He had that brooding look on his face he got when he was pissed. "This is bullshit, Scully!" he said finally. "How in hell can he do all he's done and then shut this investigation down?" "Let's go for a little walk and you can calm down," she said. "I don't need a goddamn walk," he said angrily. She caught his attention and without saying it, mimed the word now. He looked at her for a moment, got up and walked out of the office. She caught up with him as he was walking out of the front door of the building and they walked in silence for a moment. "This is the best way I know of having a private conversation, Mulder." "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, Scully. Just been down this road too many times before." "I don't think Skinner is doing this because he wants to. I think he just can't do anything else. He's just lost his best friend and knows it wasn't an accident. He jeopardized his career to protect you, and operated outside the normal channels to get information for you that they didn't have. Add to that the fact that he approved our incident reports, which he knows are not accurate, and it all points to pressure from somewhere higher up." "Like I said, Scully, I've been down this road before." It was if he hadn't heard a word she said. "Mulder, let it ride for awhile. I know it's important to you. It's important to me, too, but pushing an investigation now could cause more trouble than it's worth." "Jackson Ames was a good man, Scully, he didn't deserve to die. He put his life on the line for me. I guess best friends are dispensable to Skinner. I'm tired of his vacillating attitude." "Mulder, you're just jumping to conclusions. You couldn't possibly know what he's thinking." He was in one of his moods and there was no reasoning with him until he had focused on something else. She just hoped that he wouldn't do anything too spontaneous. They walked a little longer further, not saying anything. "Scully, I'll see you in a while. I've got some things to check out", he said abruptly. She stopped walking as he turned and started jogging back to the building, headed for the motor pool. "Mulder," she called after him but got no response. His mind was going a mile a minute by the time he got to the motor pool. He checked out a Ford Taurus, filling out the forms for destination and expected time of return without really paying attention. He wanted to speak with the investigating officer that was looking into the accident that killed Jackson Ames. If he could get a lead on any of the information that Ames had gotten for Skinner, maybe he could follow it. Whether Skinner liked it or not. As he walked to the Taurus, he remembered he'd forgotten his cell phone and swearing, hurried back to get it from his office. Scullly wasn't there when he got back, but her purse was under her desk, so she was probably not far away. He'd need to talk to her later. As he searched through the clutter on his desktop, the phone rang. "Mulder." "Agent Mulder, this is Denise in Benefits. I need some information about a billing we have on your latest hospital stay." "I'm in kind of a hurry, Denise, can I get back to you?" "You're a difficult man to locate, Agent Mulder, and you don't return calls. This will only take a minute and I'd like to do it now if you don't mind. We can do it over the phone." Shit, he thought, I know their minutes. "Yeah, okay, fire away." "Well, we have a statement here for several days in a private room and I need to know who authorized it and why." "I have no idea who authorized it. Check the hospital records." "Well, we tried to do that, but unfortunately they aren't available. I was told they've been misplaced. I'm sure they'll be found eventually, but right now you're our only record." Hospital records were confidential, he knew, but he assumed they had been sealed by the Bureau in this case. That was a convenient euphemism for confiscated. Lost entirely was another matter and the Bureau would be upset that they hadn't had a chance to "seal" them. "If there's a problem with the insurance, I'll see to the balance owing for the private room," he said. "Oh, there's no balance owing, Agent Mulder, that was paid by Assistant Director Skinner." "By whom?" he asked incredulously. "By Director Skinner. I have the canceled check in my files. I assumed you didn't want a semi-private room, so you asked for a private one. As your supervisor, he would have had to approve it. It is unusual to pay for the jump up to a private room with a personal check, but you people in that division do things your way all the time." Jesus, what a day for surprises, he thought. What the hell is Skinner doing? "I'm sorry I can't answer your questions, Denise, I was somewhat under the weather at the time and I don't know who signed the authorization papers. Let me check with my partner. She was there and can probably shed some light on the problem. She's not here right now. Could you call back later?" Denise in Benefits was not a happy camper when she hung up. Suddenly his anger was gone, replaced by confusion. Maybe he had been too harsh on Skinner, but he was tired of dead ends and truncating lines of inquiry that lead to more dead ends. He wanted some answers. He wanted to know who the men were that shot him and why they had been airlifted out in an Air Force helicopter. He wanted to know who Carson was and why he couldn't remember him. He wanted to know why Jackson Ames was dead and he was alive. Scully, where was Scully? We should probably talk more about what to do, or not do, about the investigation. The jangle of the telephone brought him out of his reverie. "Mulder." "This is the Motor Pool, Agent Mulder, do you still want this vehicle?" asked the obviously bored voice at the other end the line. "No, I won't be needing it after all." He turned to see Scully coming in the door. "You'll have to come down and sign it back in, then." said the Motor Pool voice. "Okay, I'll be down in a few minutes" he said and hung up. He turned to Scully, now sitting at her desk. "Scully," he said evenly, "Did Skinner authorize a private room for me?" She sighed, here we go again, but turned and answered him flatly. "Yes, Mulder, he did." "Did you know he paid for the room with his own money? A private check." The surprise was evident on her face. "No......I didn't. He authorized the private room and that in itself was shock enough." They looked at each other in bewilderment, neither one of them saying a thing. A second later Mulder shook his head slowly and put his finger to his mouth to signal Scully to say no more. "I've got to run down to the car pool for a minute," he said and headed for the door. In the doorway he turned back to Scully. "Hey, you want to get some dinner tonight and check out the star show at the planetarium? Maybe they'll have some pictures of little green men." Scully looked at him in bewilderment. Why the hell would he want her to go to the planetarium? Then she realized he wanted to talk in electronic privacy. They would probably just go to his apartment. His suspicious friends at The Lone Gunmen regularly swept it for electronic bugs and it was as safe as anyplace in DC or surrounding states. "Yeah, okay, sounds interesting," she said. LATER THAT DAY Mulder got home late, and changed into levis and a t-shirt. He lay on the couch, one arm covering his eyes, the other tucked in the waist of his jeans. Scully would be here soon and they could talk about what was going on with Skinner and the investigation. It was becoming increasingly difficult to figure out what the man was thinking or doing. He was a friend one minute, an uncompromising bureaucrat with a hidden agenda next. Mulder couldn't get a make on him and it was supremely frustrating. How the hell can you play the game if you don't know which side the players are on. Just then the phone rang and brought him out of his reverie. He sat up and grabbed the receiver. "Mulder" "Mr. Mulder, do you recognize my voice?" said the voice he'd know anywhere. It was "X". "Should I?", he replied obtusely. "Agent Mulder, our conversation yesterday was not as constructive as I had hoped it would be." "What conversation was that?", Mulder asked. "I will say this once and once only. If you pursue this investigation any further, overtly or covertly, I cannot guarantee the safety of your occasional ally, Mr. Skinner. Do I make myself clear, Agent Mulder?" Mulders skin began to crawl. He could kill the man, but fear of what he had just heard was an effective deterrent. "Come say that to my face, you bastard" Mulder replied in a deadly calm and menacing voice. "This is the only warning you will get," the familiar voice said. "Fuck you!" said Mulder and hung up. When he set the receiver down he was shaking. How the hell did they know he was going to pursue the investigation. He hadn't made that determination himself, yet. Finding out this afternoon what Skinner had done for him had left too many unanswered questions. And why would they threaten Skinner if he was one of them? The knock on the door was sharp and quickly followed by: "It's me Mulder, Scully, open the door." He opened the door and Scully, wearing sweats, an oversize t-shirt and jogging shoes came in. She looked up at him and knew immediately something was wrong. "You look like you've just seen ghost" she said. "More like a shadow," he answered. "And I heard it, didn't see it." She sat down on the couch and propped her feet on the coffee table. Mulder stood in the middle of the room, running his hand nervously through his hair. He looked over at Scully. "Our mutual friend, Mr. X, just called and tried to put my life and yours in perspective. I guess he's not happy with manipulating just you and me anymore. He made it clear that if we....I..... don't back off this investigation, that Skinner will be the one to suffer the consequences. And I don't think he was just talking about taking away the keys to the executive washroom." Scully looked dismayed. "I don't understand. Why would he do that?" she said. "Maybe our esteemed boss isn't as esteemed as he once was." Scully thought for a minute. "Or maybe his two best agents are getting a little too close to the truth. Mulder, let's figure this out. Skinner paid for your private room with a personal check. He didn't try to hide it. At least not from the company. And when he came to Anchorage, he probably didn't cover his trail that well. So he wasn't trying to hide the fact that he was there. Marshall Ames was there to gather information for Skinner. I know that because he told me. He also told me that Ames was there under the pretense of investigating some environmental problem. Skinner wanted to find out what had happened to you." "That's a nice theory, Scully, but why did he stop the investigation then?" "I don't know for sure, Mulder. I asked for additional personnel to help search for you and he refused. Later, in Anchorage, he told me that he had no choice in the matter. Maybe the same thing is happening now." "Just now on the phone, X said that this investigation should go no further. I haven't even made any inquiries yet, no phone calls, no nothing. How the hell did he know I was going to see the officer in charge of the Ames accident?" "Did you mention it to anyone?" "No, I couldn't even remember the address of the office I was headed for until I wrote it down when I.... checked.....out.....the car." He looked at Scully triumphantly. "The motor pool attendant. I had to put down my destination on the check-out form when I got the car. That's the only way they could have known." They were both silent for a minute, contemplating the implications of what they had been discussing. Mulder came over, sat at the far end of the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table, and turned toward Scully. "One thing I am sure of Scully, they know we saw Gumby. Both of us. They think I know more about that than I do, and, for that matter, they think you do to. That's our best defense and our biggest problem; what we know and what they think we know." "Mulder, what do you remember about Gumby?" Scully asked. Mulder paused, looking upwards vacantly, trying to remember, then he took a deep breath and turned back to Scully. "I can describe what he looks like, how it feels to touch him, his skin for want of a better word. I told you about that." She said nothing, but let him free associate, remember. "I saw him sometime before the hospital, but that's not real clear, and I think he was afraid of something then, maybe me, I don't know. When I woke up in the hospital with him there,..... for just a second, I knew everything.....knew he wouldn't hurt me, that he would help me. Knew he was a friend. He helped me before, in the ship.........gave me some of that white stuff to drink..........." He stopped talking and turned away to gaze vacantly at the far wall. "A friend, Scully, I knew he was a friend" he said quietly. She waited a minute and said softly: "You're beginning to remember." He looked over at her but said nothing. In a minute she said: "Well, maybe we should back off for now. Your memory of what happened is coming back and in time may give us more to go on." "Yeah," he said. Talking had helped. He felt more at ease and was beginning to relax. Somehow being with his partner was more satisfying than ever. Every day brought that fact into clearer focus. *************** END PART NINE *************** =========================================================================== From: jo440@intele.net (Jo B.) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Strange Horatio 10 of 10 Date: Fri, 26 Jan 96 19:17:25 GMT Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time).Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************** STANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ****************** PART TEN OF TEN ****************** ONE WEEK LATER The work that had been so frustrating before "vacation" was restarted, and Mulder once again throw his entire physical and mental processes into the X-files. Memories of the recent past were returning slowly, but were still disconnected dreams that he tried to string together. None of it made good sense yet. Scully was once more the calming influence that he had come to depend on, and life was beginning to return to a normal routine. It was late afternoon. The day had been long, busy, and still not over. There was a plane to Duluth, Minnesota to catch at six-forty; they had to have travel vouchers signed by Skinner; and Mulder couldn't find his phone card. "I had it here yesterday," he said. "I used it to underline that section in the Berkmeyer case that I read to you." Scully was placing folders neatly in her briefcase. "Check in your IN basket, that's where you put your badge last time you lost it." Mulder started rustling through his IN basket, throwing each group of papers into the wastebasket when they revealed no phone card. "It's not here, Scully," he said impatiently. "Keep looking," she said, not bothering to look up.. As he picked up the next group of papers, out slipped the phone card and fell into the wastebasket. "Here it is," he said grabbing it before it disappeared in the paper pile. "You ready?" He dropped the handful of paper that had contained the card into the waste basket without going through it. "I'm ready," she answered. "We need to stop and have these vouchers signed by Skinner. If we don't, travel will have our badges this time." They walked into Skinners office on the way out. His secretary smiled warily when they both walked in unannounced but managed a polite smile. "Hi Irene," said Scully. "We need to get Director Skinner to sign these travel vouchers. Has he got time?" Relieved that their presence here was caused by a routine paperwork matter, Skinners secretary smiled back warmly. "He should be free in about five minutes. You want to wait?" Mulder immediately got that impatient and irritable look on his face that meant he didn't want to wait, but Scully kept him from saying anything with a glance that said "don't you dare". He rolled his eyes, wrapped his coat around himself, sighed, and sat heavily in one of the chairs by the door. "Sure, we'll wait," she said, and sat next to Mulder. Ten minutes later, the door to Skinners office opened and a smelly cloud of cigarette smoke wafted out of the room. Mulder looked up to see the familiar face of a man smoking a cigarette walking out of the open office door. Behind him came Assistant Director Walter Skinner, accompanied by a third man with gray hair and a slight build. He looked familiar, but Mulder was fairly sure he hadn't met the man before. Just then Skinner saw them sitting by the door. A look of shocked dismay crossed his face and for a fraction of a second, Mulder saw fear in his eyes. In a second it was gone, replaced by the normal look of irritation he had when dealing with Mulder and Scully. The gray haired man was now turning to Skinners secretary and hadn't noticed his reaction. "Your office called and left these messages, Mr. Carson," said the secretary, and handed the small pieces of paper to the man with the gray hair. At the name Carson, Mulders eyes flew to the face of the man with the gray hair, but he still didn't recognize him. Suddenly he felt Scully's hand on his arm, her grip so tight it was almost painful. He turned to her and was surprised to see that the color had drained from her face. She was looking at the gray haired man also. Quickly, before being noticed, she dropped her eyes from his face and looked away, trying to cover her surprise. As she did, both men noticed the two of them sitting near the door. The man smoking the cigarette spoke a bit too quickly. "Agent Mulder, Doctor Scully," he said, "What a pleasant surprise. You're looking well, Agent Mulder. Remarkable what a vacation can do for one." Mulder looked up at him, his jaw clenched tightly and said nothing. The gray haired man looked uncomfortable and Skinner seemed anxious to get them out of the room quickly. He walked over to the hallway door and opened it, not saying a word. The gray haired man left first, nodding slightly to Scully and Mulder as he walked out the door. The man smoking the cigarette walked out behind him, stopped in the hallway outside the door, and dropped his cigarette on the linoleum floor, stepping on it as he walked away. Mulders hands gripped the arms of the old office chair so tightly, is knuckles were white. Carson........... that was Carson! Suddenly he had a face to go with the name. "Sir," said Scully, not even getting out of the chair, "Who was that gray-haired man?" "He's a colleague, Agent Scully," Skinner replied coldly, and before she could say anything else, he added "What do you two need?" At that, Mulder rose from his chair and bolted from the room, slamming the door behind him. Skinner watched blandly as he left, then turned to Scully, again. "I'm in a hurry, Agent Scully." Scully was confused, but recovered quickly. There was time for figuring this out on the airplane, she thought. Not now, not here. She stood and pulled the vouchers from her purse. "Could you sign these travel vouchers, sir?" she said as casually as she could. Skinner took the vouchers and walked over to his secretary's desk. "Have you got a pen Irene?" he asked his secretary. She handed him a pen and he scribbled his signature on the vouchers, then stood and handed them back to Scully. "Have a good trip, Agent Scully," he said, and walked back into his office. TO BE CONTINUED (MAYBE) ******************* END PART TEN OF TEN *******************