THE RETURN - A Novel in Three Parts


By Suzanne T. Bickerstaffe
(Ecksphile@aol.com, ecksphile@earthlink.net)
Originally posted November 22, 1995

Article: (under separate cover)

Rating: Probably PG-13 or R, depending on your sensibilities, for 
           language/violence

Classification:  X, Novel

Keywords: Conspiracy, Return of a Beloved Character, Alien DNA

Timeline/Spoilers: Probably sometime during the alternate universe 
              equivalent to US Season Three, after F. Emasculata; also 
              references to Red Museum, The Erlenmeyer Flask, Little 
	      Green Men. 

Summary:  Part One - Mulder and Scully investigate the 
		disappearances of college students from a campus in 
		Maine.  But the 	case is hardly a routine kidnapping, 
		and to solve it, they must rely on two unexpected sources
		- AD Skinner, and an old and mysterious colleague from 
		the past. This is the first part in a series centering on 
		Mulder, this colleague from the past, and the relationship 
		between them.

		The second part of the novel is a short mood piece, 
		in which Mulder gets some shattering news about his 
		possible relationship to his colleague from the past.

		In Part Three, Mulder's colleague convinces him to 
		accompany him to Finland, where it has been confirmed 
		that a UFO - and live aliens - have landed in a remote 
		area above the Arctic Circle.  Only their action will 
		prevent the Blue Berets from slaughtering the aliens 
		and removing all evidence of their presence.  On the 
		trip there and during their adventures, more is learned 
		about the mysterious man from the past, and Mulder's 
		growing acceptance of their relationship.

Acknowledgements:  To Michael McGough, who is a certain 
		character's biggest fan and who was the prime mover 
		of this theme:  to Nat, whose idea it was to put these 
		stories together into a novel; to Erin Livingstone, for the 
		incredible coverart; and to everyone who ever sent 
		feedback on any one of my stories. My deepest thanks 
		to all.

Disclaimer:  Mulder, Scully and any other character whose name 
		you recognize are the property of Chris Carter, Ten 
		Thirteen Productions and Fox Television.  Anyone whose
		name you don't recognize, and the plot belong to me.  May
		be archived freely as long as the story is unchanged, no 
		money is made by anyone and my name remains attached 
		as author.

THE RETURN, PART I


Chapter One


	They were both exhausted and frustrated, and now they were 
angry with each other as well.  It seemed like nothing on this case 
had gone right.  Sitting in the very rear of the noisy shuttle to 
Washington, they both had their eyes closed, but sleep was elusive.  
They shared a pounding headache and a nightmare that had lain 
dormant for almost a year.

	Skinner had assigned them this case almost a week ago.  
Two students had disappeared from their small liberal arts college in 
central Maine.  No ransom letters had been received by the college or 
by either family, there was no evidence of foul play, no bodies had 
been found. First the Lewiston police and then the agents from the 
Portland office had been totally paralyzed by the absence of clues, 
and had sent for help.  After three days, the first team of special 
agents that the Bureau had sent from Washington was summoned back 
to headquarters without explanation.  It was at that point, more than 
ten days after the students had disappeared, that Skinner had called 
for Mulder and Scully.  His summary of the case was brief in the 
extreme.  Not even the findings of the previous team of agents were 
to be available to them, as the Assistant Director said he wanted them 
to 'take a fresh look at the case'.  Skinner had been even more 
enigmatic than usual, if such a thing were possible. 

	The interview had left Mulder and Scully confused, not only 
about the case, but about the reason they in particular had been 
assigned.  There was method to Skinner's madness, of that they were 
sure.  There was some reason he wanted them to follow this case.  
The question was - whose agenda was being followed?

	If anything, the case became murkier after their arrival in
Lewiston.  The two students had lived in one of the smaller campus
residence halls, a splendid old Victorian home that had been purchased 
by the college over a half century before.  It was located on one of 
the streets that bordered the compact, tree-shaded campus.  Fourteen 
young men lived there - now twelve.  The agents' first step had been 
to interview the housemates.

	A little investigation had told them that almost all of these 
kids had been together in that same dorm for their entire stay at the 
college. This wasn't unknown, but it was unusual.  The exceptions 
had been the two missing students. They sensed some hostility 
from the students, especially when it was explained that protocol 
dictated that they be interviewed individually.  The two agents 
glanced at each other and decided more would be gained by 
being flexible with the kids and interviewing them as a group.  It 
took place in the large reception room of the dorm the evening they 
arrived.  

	As usual in these situations, Scully started the questioning.   
She was generally - and mistakenly -  perceived by witnesses as the 
less threatening, and therefore the more likely one to encourage them 
to let down their defenses.  She had quickly gone over the details of 
the students' disappearances, first Dave Thomassen on the third of the 
month, then Andrew MacKay two days later.  Nothing unusual had been 
noticed in the area, and both boys had been acting normally prior to 
their disappearances.

	Continued questioning brought out that the missing boys were
freshmen, the only two in the dorm.  Everyone else in the dorm
had been together at least two years.

	Mulder's eyes roamed around the room, seemingly taking little
interest in the proceedings.  He noted the carved wainscotting, 
hardwood floors and other evidence of New England craftsmanship. "Nice 
house," he commented mildly.  "Is that why you guys stay together?"

	The reply, surprisingly, had been hesitant.  The glances from
eleven pairs of eyes slid over toward the apparent leader of the 
group, a tall, athletic-looking young man named Stephen. He nodded.  
"Partly. Mostly we just have a lot in common.  Almost all of us are 
on the lacrosse team, and we have a pretty successful intramural 
rugby team."

	"Pretty rough sports.  I'm surprised you're not all walking 
around on crutches," Mulder observed.

	There were a few derisive snickers from the group.  "Not 
likely," Stephen said, smirking.  "No one in this house has even had 
a headcold in over three years."

	The room went deadly silent as Mulder and Scully felt an 
ice-cold fist grab their hearts.  "No one here is ever sick," Scully 
repeated flatly, and she and Mulder exchanged a look that spoke 
volumes.  

	For the next two hours the agents had carefully questioned 
the students.  They had been taking monthly vitamin shots, a 'secret 
formula of Doc Addison's' ever since the infirmary physician had 
performed their freshman physicals.  Apparently the doctor had been 
called away on a family emergency a little over a week before.  Mulder 
noted the doctor's name and destination in his notebook, strongly 
suspecting that it was a waste of time.  In as level a tone as 
possible under the circumstances, Scully asked for permission to 
draw some bloodwork. After a little hesitation, the students agreed to 
her request. She drew the specimens, carefully labelling them and 
packing them in styrofoam.	

	They had air-expressed the specimens to a trusted friend of
Scully's at Quantico.  While they waited for the results, the agents 
had interviewed other college personnel and tried unsuccessfully to 
trace the good doctor's whereabouts.  Finally, three days later, the 
call came that they had been waiting for - and that they had been 
dreading.   Scully's friend confirmed that the specimens had all 
shown traces of some kind of substance she had never seen before.  
Something totally alien, Dottie had said, never even guessing at the 
irony of her words.  She had mailed the results of the analyses up 
to Lewiston that very morning.

	For two days they waited, accomplishing nothing further in 
solving the boys' disappearances.  Interviews with the angry, grief-
stricken families of the boys had been a nightmare, only increasing 
their feelings of  frustration and impotence. Feeling totally whipped, 
the agents had dragged themselves back to their shabby motel that 
night.  They opened the communicating door and spread their Chinese 
take-out meal on the table in Scully's room, picking half-heartedly at 
the food, a tense, uncomfortable silence stretching between them. 

	"The results aren't coming, Scully,"  Mulder said finally.  
"They were intercepted.  We could wait here until hell freezes over 
and we'll never see them."

	"Who would intercept them?  How could anyone possibly find 
out what we were doing up here?"  Scully's cheeks flushed with anger 
and her eyes flashed.  "Your paranoia is getting the better of you 
again, Mulder. We can't even be absolutely sure of what Dottie found.  
Maybe it's not... what we think it is."  

	Mulder exploded.  "Yeah, I might be paranoid.  But you can't 
be so naive as to think that all this is just one great coincidence."  
Then he stopped for a moment, his tone taking on a new note as if 
something had just occurred to him.  "No, that's not it, is it? You 
just don't WANT to believe how big this thing is!  Well, it's big, 
Scully! It's goddamn huge!"  He suddenly stood up and began pacing 
in the small plastic room.  "First Wisconsin, now here.   And in how 
many other places are kids being subjected to secret experimentation?  
Nowhere is safe.  Nowhere.  You won't admit it because it scares 
the hell out of you, but you know it as well as I do."

	With a clenched fist, Scully swept the little white cardboard 
containers off the table.  She took a few deep breaths, making an 
obvious effort to collect herself as she surveyed the mess. "Get out, 
Mulder," she commanded coldly.  "I'm going to bed."  

	At first, he gaped at her, numbed and shocked at her totally 
uncharacteristic display of anger.  No, he thought.  The anger was 
merely a cover.  She really was afraid, she was scared to death.  
He could understand her fright, with everything that they had been 
through in the past year or so.  But her reluctance to reveal that 
fear to him, that apparent lack of trust, stung him far more than her 
apparent anger had.  His face became stony and he looked at her 
as if she were a stranger.  Then he turned on his heel and walked 
back into his room.  She slammed the connecting door after him.  

	After spending a perfectly miserable sleepless night, Mulder 
and his now-silent partner wasted another five hours the next day in 
the local airport waiting for the fog to lift.  They didn't speak and 
avoided each other's eyes. Scully immersed herself in a new romance 
novel and Mulder, more to annoy her than anything else, had picked up 
the latest Playboy.  While they each ached for the missing 
companionship and hated the distance that had come between them, 
they were still too angry and hurt to take any action that would bring 
them closer together.  Finally they boarded the commuter which set 
them down in Boston, and changed to the larger shuttle on which they 
now found themselves bound for Washington.

	On the drive from National to Scully's apartment, the pair 
was still not speaking.   The tension between them had abated 
somewhat, probably because they were just too tired to stay that 
angry. Mulder pulled to a stop outside her building.  He opened the 
trunk, took out her garment bag and handed it to her. Maintaining his 
hold on the bag for just a few seconds longer than was necessary, he 
felt the warmth of her hand on his as she reached to take the handle.  
"G'night, Scully," he said, wistfully.

	Her gaze softened, and she opened her mouth to apologize, 
to tell him how scared she was about this case, to tell him that she 
needed him at her side. But the words never emerged, and after a 
second's hesitation she murmured, "G'night, Mulder."  He watched 
her back as she entered her building and continued to watch until the 
lights came on in her apartment.  Then he drove back to his own.

	He unpacked, checked his e-mail and flopped down on the 
couch, using the remote to surf over all sixty-eight channels on his 
tv, and finding nothing that could capture his interest.  It was still 
too early for bed and he felt too restless to sleep, in any case.  He 
changed into sweats and laced up his Reeboks.  Maybe a run would 
clear his mind.

	Mulder took off at a brisk pace, heading south down the road. 
After several blocks, he turned east, following his usual route, out 
of the residential area and past storefronts and alleyways.  He was 
already feeling better, the endorphins kicking in.  He let his mind 
wander back to the facts of the Lewiston case, comparing them with 
what they knew from their investigations in Delta Glen, Wisconsin.  
His arms and legs pumped automatically and his eyes registered just 
what was absolutely necessary to avoid stumbling or running into the 
side of a building.  Perhaps that was why he didn't see it coming.

	The agent was running on the sidewalk past several parked 
cars when a dark figure moved at the very periphery of his vision.  A 
moment later, he heard pounding feet immediately behind him and an 
arm snaked around his neck.  Pulled off-balance, he found himself 
being dragged into an alley.

	The shock of the attack wore off a second later and he began 
to struggle with his assailant.  He received a second shock when he 
was abruptly released and the dark figure quickly stepped back several 
paces. The figure, obscured by shadow, chuckled sardonically.

	"Truce, Mr. Mulder.  I realize it's been a while, but I didn't
think that you'd forget me quite so easily," he drawled.

	Mulder stared into the gloom, trying to pick out the features 
of the figure.  That voice!  If he didn't know better....

	"My God!"

					- - -

	Minutes later, the agent had run back to his apartment, 
scooped up his wallet and carkeys and had driven back to the place 
they had agreed to meet, not far from the alley.  Mulder slowed down 
as he approached the doorway cast in shadow.  He hesitated more than 
stopped, and the dark figure leapt in, closing and locking the car door 
behind him.

	"So, Mr. Mulder, what have you been up to?" his passenger 
said easily, as if it had been mere days since they had seen each 
other, rather than almost two years.  As if he hadn't been shot to 
death before Scully's horrified eyes.

	Mulder slid a quick glance his companion's way, then went 
back to dividing his time between scanning the rearview mirror for 
tails and watching where he was driving.  Intermittantly, shafts of 
light from the streetlamps would illuminate the scruffy figure in the 
passenger seat. The beard only partially hid the face that was leaner, 
more haggard than it had been two years before.  Thinner - he was 
definitely thinner, and grayer too.  He wore workman's clothes - faded 
Levi's, pullover shirt, windbreaker and sneakers.  A far cry from the 
three-piece suits he used to wear.  What was he up to?  Had even his 
death been a fabric of lies?  How long had he been out there watching 
him and Scully, seemingly without allies, struggle in their quest for 
the truth?

	"Apparently the reports of your death were greatly 
exaggerated," commented Mulder coolly.  "Were you able to attend 
your own funeral?  I saw it only from a distance, but it looked like 
there was a good turnout."

	"No."  The voice was somehow distant, filled with pain.  "No, 
that particular irony was denied me, I'm afraid."  He broke off for 
several moments. "Let's just save it, shall we?  I assume we're 
headed for Scully's - I don't want to have to repeat myself, if that's 
alright with you?"  he said, his fatigue evident.  He heard Mulder's 
noncommittal grunt, and leaning back against the headrest, he closed 
his eyes.  After a few minutes, he emitted a soft snore.	 

	Mulder finally pulled up to a parking spot in front of 
Scully's building.  He reached out to wake his passenger and laid a 
gentle hand on his shoulder.  The figure started violently and in a 
lightning move, reached inside the windbreaker, bringing a small but 
lethal-looking pistol to the level of Mulder's throat.  As his eyes 
focused, he gradually lowered it, and stuck it back in the jacket.  
"Sorry," he said gruffly. "Force of habit.  Are we at Scully's?"

	Eyes wary, Mulder nodded slowly. "Her lights are out. Stay 
here and stay down until I see if she's home. I'll turn off the front 
porch light.  When I do, that's your signal to come in." His companion 
nodded his understanding and ducked down so he could not be seen 
by anyone passing.

	Mulder loped up the walk, let himself into the building and
knocked softly at Scully's door.  He had the key, but in view of the
strain between them at the moment, he preferred not to use it.  He 
heard a few quiet movements inside, then the lock being turned. Scully 
opened the door, her eyes wide, her voice soft.

	"Mulder!  I was about to call.  Look, I've found out some
things...I was going to call you, tell you about them and apol-...."

	Her words trailed off when she saw the look of excitement on 
his face.  Gently he placed his hands on her shoulders.  "Sorry, 
Scully, no time.  You're not going to believe this one.  Get ready for 
a shock."  He released her and headed for the door.  "Oh, and it might 
be an idea to make sure all your blinds are closed and the lights are 
low."

	"What the hell is going on?" she demanded. Having made up her 
mind to be the one to apologize, she was more than a bit annoyed that 
she was apparently to be denied.  But the doorway was empty. She 
noticed the hallway darken a few moments later.  She drew the rest of 
the blinds down in the apartment and turned off all but the kitchen 
and bedroom lights, leaving the rest of the rooms in shadow. She 
wondered what kind of a shock Mulder might have in store.  Bringing 
over a little green man for dinner perhaps?  She heard footsteps, then 
two figures swept into the room, closing and deadbolting the door 
behind them.  Slowly the two men turned to face her.

	"Scully - welcome back Deep Throat."

					~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 



Chapter Two

 
	Scully stood as she had for the past two minutes, shaking 
her head in disbelief.  "No, this can't be happening.  I saw you die!"

	"Well, no offense intended to your medical skills, Agent 
Scully, but I obviously did not die.  Ah, it's been rather a long time 
since I've had anything to eat or drink.   I wonder- "

	"Oh, sorry, it's just that....  What can I get you?"  Scully
asked, almost relieved to have something to do.

	"Scotch perhaps?  With ice.  And anything you have around 
for food will be fine."  He sank down on the couch, looking exhausted.  

	Scully poured his scotch from the bottle untouched since her
father died and handed him his drink.  Shaking her head again, she 
headed out to the kitchen to microwave something from the freezer 
and put on a pot of coffee.  It looked like it was going to be a long 
night. A few minutes later she returned with a tray laden with bowls 
of soup and some warm French bread.  Mulder sprang up to help her 
carry the tray to the coffee table and distributed the food while 
Scully went back for the coffee.  Deep Throat, who had been dozing 
in the interim, woke up sharply at the activity and fragrance of the 
savory soup and sat forward.  He started eating ravenously.  Mulder 
and Scully picked at their food and exchanged looks, but no one spoke.  
Finally their guest sat back, sated for the moment.  Scully poured him 
another drink and then curled up in the armchair, waiting for him to 
tell his story.

	"Thank you, Scully, that was wonderful.  Now I supposed I 
must sing for my supper, eh?"  He chuckled.  "How much of that night 
do you remember?"

	Scully closed her eyes for a moment as the memories of that 
dark, damp night came flooding back. "I remember seeing Crew Cut 
Man take the parcel from you and put it in the van.  Then he shot you, 
jumped back in the van, and the back doors opened and someone rolled 
Mulder out.  I ran over to him.  He was unconscious, but breathing.  
Then I ran to you. You were bleeding from a chest wound. You whispered 
'Trust no one' and then you died... well, anyway, I thought you died.  
At that point I went over and examined Mulder to try to find out the 
extent of his injuries and I called for an ambulance on my cellular 
phone."

	Deep Throat smiled.   "And did you ever wonder why two 
ambulances showed up?"

	"Well, not at the time."  Scully appeared disconcerted.  "I 
mean, at that point I was just glad that someone else was there to 
help.  Mulder looked terrible, those weird marks on his face and 
around his eyes....  The whole thing was such a nightmare that I 
really didn't think about it until much later.  Then, yeah, I guess I 
thought it was a bit odd that one ambulance took you and one took 
Mulder, but it didn't really bother me."  Scully frowned, then looked 
her guest straight in the eyes.  "You had it arranged beforehand, 
didn't you?"

	He nodded.  "Never underestimate your enemy and never
underestimate the number of things that can go wrong.  I arranged 
that any 911 calls reporting an incident at that place that night 
would trigger a certain series of events - among them, the two 
ambulances.  One would take Mulder and if necessary you, my dear, 
for treatment to the nearest medical center.  The other would take me, 
regardless of my condition, somewhere quite different."

	"Then you knew you were walking into a trap?" asked Scully,
doubtfully.

	"Let's say I strongly suspected it.  You see, I knew that the
people I was dealing with were ruthless, something I don't think you 
had fully appreciated at that point.  Perhaps you still don't."

	She regarded him through narrowed eyes.  "If you thought it 
was a set-up, why the hell weren't you wearing a bullet proof vest?" 
she demanded.

	"Actually I was - or rather, I thought I was.  The best laid
plans, as they say.  I was wearing a vest made from a new material 
that our department had been beta testing.  Ninety eight percent 
thinner than any similar material in use today.  It had gotten glowing 
recommendations - at least the reports that crossed my desk said so.  
I don't know if the vest I wore was defective, or if it had been 
switched deliberately, or if the reports were faked. Such is the 
nature of our business, I'm afraid - we distrust accidents and 
coincidences.  In any case, the vest did not work as I had assumed 
it would." 

	He smiled.  "Believe me, I do not have a death wish.  I have
absolutely no desire to be killed in the line of duty, if I can avoid 
it. What surprised me is that they left you alive, to be perfectly 
frank. I had planned to be alone by then, but your argument with me 
delayed your departure.  It might well have been fatal for you, 
Scully."  Almost to himself, he added,  "It makes me wonder if they 
had an ulterior motive in keeping you alive - in view of subsequent 
events."

	Scully stared at him, then shifted uncomfortably in her chair. 
Mulder, shaken, looked from one to the other and was speechless for
several seconds.  He cleared his throat and then asked, "So where were 
you taken?"

	"The exact location, even now, must remain secret.  I can 
tell you that it is somewhere in the neighborhood of Camp David in 
the Maryland hill country.  The ambulance was not your common, garden 
variety ambulance and the emergency personnel were not just 
paramedics. Basically it was an operating room on wheels and it was 
staffed with three of the most brilliant trauma surgeons that my 
little department had on its payroll. It was already stocked with 
several units of my blood type, and everything else necessary to begin 
intensive treatment.  While I was being 'stabilized' - blood 
transfusions, being hooked up to a ventilator and the like - the 
ambulance pulled into a deserted garage on a road not too far from 
where the exchange took place.  That was also pre-arranged.  No
detail was left to chance.  Then the ambulance continued on its 
journey to the safe house."  He drank deeply from his glass.

	"I had surgery there, to repair a nick in one of the major 
blood vessels, to remove some damaged lung and to relieve - correct 
me if I have the wrong term here, Scully - a pericardial tamponade."

	She nodded.  "Maybe that's why I didn't hear any heart 
sounds. The blood in the pericardial sac would have muffled the 
heartbeat."

	He looked drawn.  "Crew Cut Man almost got his wish. I was 
told that they had to defibrillate my heart several times during and 
after the surgery.  I knew little or nothing of what went on for the 
next several days.  It was two weeks before I was able to breathe 
without the assistance of the ventilator. My recuperation was slow - 
painfully slow, if you'll forgive the pun.  The doctors stayed with me 
around the clock for about six weeks.  After that time, I was well 
enough to manage on my own at the safe house, with periodic visits 
from only the most trusted staff people to bring me food, check on my 
medical progress and so on." He drained the contents of his glass, 
then asked Scully for some coffee.

	"Have you been there all this time?" inquired Mulder quietly.

	Deep Throat appeared as if his mind was coming back through 
time and distance.  "Hm? Oh, no.  After about eight weeks there was 
an undercurrent, not even substantive enough to be called a rumor.  
Perhaps it was something that never would have come about, but it was 
of concern at the time.  The one colleague whom I trusted completely 
decided that it was time for a change."  He took a sip of his coffee, 
and leaned back in the cushions.  "I was transported to another safe 
house some distance away - this one new, unknown at that time to 
everyone but my contact."

	"I thought you said to trust no one," Mulder said with a ghost 
of a smile.

	Deep Throat returned it.  "As I'm sure you have discovered, 
Mr. Mulder, that is a very difficult thing to do.  One must have 
someone to trust."  He caught Mulder's unconscious glance at Scully.

	"Did you have any idea what was going on during that time?"  
she asked.  "That the X-Files were closed down?"

	"While I was at the first safe house, yes.  I had heard that 
you were closed down, and I must say, I wasn't surprised.  Under the
circumstances, what surprised me is that they let you both live,
especially you, Mr. Mulder.  I realize you have some highly placed
connections, but I don't think either of you understands the power and
sense of purpose that your ...shall we say, competition...has.  You 
have come very close to the truth.  And you are up against some very 
dangerous people who are highly motivated to see that you never learn 
the truth." 

	He finished his coffee and then continued. "When I went to 
the second safe house, I was more or less in limbo.  The house was 
well stocked with food and other necessities.  Although far from 
totally recovered from my wounds, I was able to manage on my own.  
The secrecy of my survival was such that almost all of the people in 
my department thought I had been killed the night of the exchange.  
The few who knew I had survived that night thought I had been abducted 
and killed when I deserted the original safe house.  It was... safer 
that way.  There was just the one contact who visited on an infrequent 
but regular basis, bringing me news of your work, and my department.  
Then one day after a couple of months, he didn't come on the expected 
day.  He never came again.  I believe he must have been killed.  Since 
no one came to the safe house, friend or foe, I assumed the secret of 
my existence died with him."

	"How very alone you must have felt," murmured Scully, almost 
to herself.

	"Yes."  He was silent for several moments.  "Well, because 
of the condition I was in, there was really nothing to do but stay 
where I was until I had regained enough strength to be able to leave 
and seek out others from whom I could get information.  It was very 
frustrating being cut off from all sources of information.  The last 
news I had received from my contact was that you, Agent Scully, had 
been abducted, and that Mulder was ...."  He slid a quick look over at 
the younger man and stopped abruptly.  He tried to cover the break 
with a cough, then he continued. "Yes, well.... Naturally, I was 
anxious about both of you."

	She knew only too well how Deep Throat would have finished 
that sentence.  "How long were you there by yourself?"  asked Scully. 

	"About five months.  I had been physically ready to leave for 
some time, but was in somewhat of a funk - couldn't really motivate 
myself. After all the lies and hiding and caution of the previous 
years, it felt good to be able to relax a bit.  But that became a kind 
of narcotic, dulling my senses.  I had been thinking it was time to go 
back to my life, or make a new one.  Actually, I was forced to leave 
there more by accident than by design. 

	"It was late one night.  There had been a terrible storm and 
the generator had failed.  I had let the fire die down, preparing to 
go to bed, so the cabin was in darkness.   Suddenly, I thought I heard 
voices approaching.  I grabbed my pre-packed survival kit and got out 
the back door.  Apparently one the the members of my staff had found 
out about the existence of the safe house but did not know that it was 
occupied.  He evidently thought it was the ideal place for a dirty 
weekend with one of the secretaries from the CIA.  I  recognized her, 
a very popular girl - oh, the secrets she could tell if she so chose!   
Anyway, knowing that these two could not be trusted, I felt it was 
better to just simply 'fade away', as it were.  Fortunately, they were 
too absorbed in each other to wonder why the cabin might have been 
warm and so ready for hospitality." 

	"You've been on your own for quite some time now. Where have 
you been?"  Scully asked.  She had never shared Mulder's trust in Deep 
Throat, and was suspicious of his sudden reappearance.

	"Oh, I drifted here and there.  With the help of some friends 
who are foreign nationals, I left the country for several months which 
gave me a bit of breathing space.  A chance to see the world, finish 
my recuperation, put out a few feelers to try to catch up on what was
happening.  It was over there that I found out about Mulder's escapade 
in the Arctic and some of your other assignments.  Notably your brush 
with Pinck Pharmaceuticals."  Mulder and Scully's faces clouded over 
at the mention of the case which had ended so frustratingly for them.  
"I've been back in this country for about six weeks or so, re-
establishing contacts, seeing how many of my colleagues are still 
alive and in a position of power."

	"Been pulling any strings, have you?" Scully inquired coolly. 

	Mulder, who had been lost in a world of his own since the 
mention of Pinck Pharmaceuticals, snapped his head around 
towards her, knowing her question was not likely to have been asked 
idly.  His eyes were  wide and dark.  "What's up, Scully?" he asked 
with quiet intensity.

	She pulled her eyes from Deep Throat and met his.  "A few 
minutes before you came over I was online and was flashed that I 
had an e-mail message.  I checked it and found an announcement 
by the Bureau.  Skinner has been suspended.  No reason was given.  
A little coda was attached - you and I have been ordered off the 
Lewiston case."

	Mulder looked incredulous.  "They closed that case? How 
could they close it - those kids are still missing and it hasn't been 
that long. Besides, we were making progress.  Not much, maybe, but 
a little."

	"They didn't close the case."  Scully smiled grimly.  "They
replaced us - with Graves and Sawchuck."  She waited for his  
inevitable reaction.

	"Graves and Sawch----!  You're kidding!  Graves and S...?"  
Mulder stood with his hand to his mouth, eyes focused somewhere in 
the distance, thinking furiously.  A totally green kid paired with one 
of the biggest fuckups in the history of the Bureau.  "What are they 
playing at, Scully?"

	She shook her head and looked up at him.  "That was my 
reaction too.  You'd almost think that someone didn't want this case 
solved, wouldn't you?"  She sighed.  "I apologize for my attitude in 
Maine, Mulder.  You were right - we've been stonewalled on this from 
day one."

	He reached over and put a hand on her shoulder and caressed 
it absently.  "Skinner is  the one that assigned us this case and now 
he's out.  I'm guessing that that is not a coincidence.  Who replaced 
him?"

	"Someone by the name of Lee Longstreet."

	Mulder looked blank. "Who the hell is that?"

	"I have no idea."

	There was a snort from Deep Throat.  He was sitting forward 
on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands steepled 
in front of him.  "I don't know Longstreet personally, but I know of 
him.  Or her."

	He had their complete attention now.  "He's not so much a 
person as a concept," he explained.

	Scully stared at him, then shook her head as if to clear it. 
"Sorry, I didn't quite understand that."

	Deep Throat leaned back into the cushions. "Longstreet isn't 
a particular person - at least he never was.  Essentially, Longstreet 
is a non-person, a figurehead.  Different people have portrayed 
Longstreet, even women on occasion."

	"An equal opportunity front-person,"  Scully muttered.  Her
companions smiled, and Deep Throat went on.

	"It has been common practice in my sphere of operations, 
shall we say, that a stooge be selected to play a role.  Although that 
person appears to be calling all the shots, in essence he or she is 
fronting for an organization which wishes to remain unknown. 
Longstreet  isn't always the name of the figurehead, but that is one 
that has been used several times for the simple reason that a lot of 
supporting documentation already exists for that name.  Of course, 
it could be that there is actually a new Assistant Director by that 
name, but it would be a huge coincidence, and as I have said, I have 
learned to distrust coincidences."

	"So you think that this Longstreet is a frontman for some
organization?  You wouldn't care to venture a guess as to which one, 
would you?"  Mulder asked.

	He waved his hand dismissively. "The list is too long to even
hazard a guess without more information. But obviously Skinner has 
no connection to it." He fell silent as he thought it over. "The 
Director is out of the country right now - that probably explains the 
timing.  You say it was Skinner that assigned you to the Lewiston 
case? You have been removed from that case and he has been removed 
from his position.  Therefore, I would assume it was an organization 
which wants to keep the solution of that case from happening.  Meaning 
Skinner may well have been on your side for this one"  reasoned Deep 
Throat, frowning as he spoke.  Suddenly his face relaxed into a 
mischievous grin.  "Of course, that's only a guess, you understand."

	"Nothing changes with you, does it?  Still playing games,"  
Scully remarked, her annoyance clear in her tone.  Her voice softened 
again as she turned to Mulder.  "There's something else, too."

	He looked down at her.  "Something else to do with this 
case?"

	Biting her lip, she nodded.  "Yeah.  I had an e-mail from 
Dottie. It was encrypted.  She said that there had been a small fire 
in her lab - an electric short was the apparent cause.  But she said 
the fire was peculiarly selective.  It destroyed only what was related 
to the Lewiston case, including some blood samples that had evidently 
jumped from the refrigerator into the fire under their own power."

	Alarmed, Mulder asked, "Do you still have your notes and 
Dottie's initial report?"

	"Yes, thankfully.  I just finished putting them into the 
computer when you arrived - encrypted twice and squirrelled away in 
three different obscure files."  Seeing Mulder about to speak, she 
continued, "AND I made two backup discs, one which I will mail to 
my remote post office box and one which I will give to you to stash 
wherever you think is safe."

	"Nice work,"  Mulder said admiringly.  "My paranoia must be
contagious."

	She sighed.  "It may take a while, Mulder, but I do learn
eventually.  You weren't being paranoid.  Somebody out there doesn't 
like us, and doesn't want this case solved. And they are clearly ready 
to go to extraordinary lengths to ensure that."

	"Can you tell me about this case?" inquired Deep Throat.  "I 
may be able to provide some insights."  He watched them expectantly.

	Although not a word was spoken, it seemed like a whole
conversation took place between Mulder and Scully over the next few
seconds.  His expression between entreaty and persuasion, and her 
look of doubt finally resolved into resignation. She was as 
distrustful of this character as she had always been, remembering all 
the times he had been less than honest with Mulder, and how he was 
at best extremely cryptic in the guidance he had given them.  She 
listened while Mulder succinctly detailed the Lewiston case and added 
the relevant information from Delta Glen, Wisconsin.

	"Just give me a moment to mull this over,"  he requested 
when Mulder had finished.  While he sat back in the couch cushions 
thinking, the pair cleared away the dishes from supper, carried them 
into the kitchen and began stacking them in the dishwasher.

	"You're taking a chance, Mulder," she said quietly.

	"You can't possibly think he's involved with Cancer Man or 
the late Crew Cut Man."

	Scully closed her eyes and massaged the tense muscles of 
the back of her neck with one hand.  A moment later she felt Mulder's 
hands replace hers, and leaned back as he kneaded her shoulders and 
neck.  "Mmmm, that's great.  No, I don't think he's in with them.  But 
you have to admit he hasn't always played fair with you, Mulder."

	"Yeah, I know," he said softly.  "But he did save my life, 
Scully, regardless of his motivation for doing so.  And almost died 
himself in the process.  That has to count for something."

	She conceded him the point, and relaxed into the massage. 
Gradually, his hands became gentler and finally his fingers merely 
brushed the skin of her neck.  She turned and gave him one of her 
rare smiles. "Thanks, Mulder.  And I really am sorry for what happened 
in Maine."

	He returned her smile.  "I know.  Me too.  Let's make some 
more coffee and see if he feels like telling us anything, shall we?"

	A few minutes later they brought the fresh pot of coffee into 
the living room.  When everyone was seated with cup in hand, Deep 
Throat coughed and then began speaking.

	"I believe this Lewiston case is extremely important to your 
work, Mr. Mulder, perhaps even crucial.  I also believe that you and 
Ms. Scully have to watch your backs now more than ever.  Having 
Skinner suspended was a very radical, very high-profile move for 
people accustomed to working in the shadows.  I interpret that as 
meaning that they will stop at nothing to make sure this case stays 
unsolved.  Your personal risk may never have been greater.  I do have 
a little recently acquired background knowledge which may assist you.  
Obviously, none of what I say can be repeated, I'm sure you 
understand that."

	Impatiently, Mulder nodded.

	"Very well, sit back and let me tell you a story....  About 
twenty years ago, an ultra-secret black ops units was put together 
from a very different slate of candidates.  Instead of being composed 
entirely of the usual cutthroats and assassins, the very best 
scientific minds were chosen for the bulk of the group, particularly 
biologists, physicians and geneticists.  The only requirements beyond 
brilliance were a fierce curiosity and the moral sense and conscience 
of a Josef Mengele.  It may give you a clue if I tell you that the 
people who put this group together were the last active participants of 
the Majestic Twelve Project."

	"I thought Majestic Twelve was a sham," protested Scully.  
"Just stuff you'd read about in the tabloids."

	"Oh, no.  The Project did exist, most definitely, and it may
eventually play an even greater role in the history of the world than 
most people could imagine,"  said Deep Throat.  "Anyway, the object 
of this group was to work with genetic material culled from the aliens 
recovered at various UFO crash sites.  Not all the aliens died from 
the impact, you know.  A good many died in laboratories all around the 
country.  Not that the scientists were necessarily sadists.  I don't 
know if it was ever discovered what actually killed most of them.  
The experiments?  Loneliness?  Isolation from their kind?  Who knows?  
Suffice to say, there was more than enough alien DNA for this group to 
work with.  And work with it they did.  Most of the details will never 
be known; they were hushed up - or buried.  Most of those who knew 
about the experiments thought they concluded years ago.  But there is, 
apparently, some ongoing experimentation."

	"The kids in Delta Glen and in Lewiston," said Mulder, 
bitterly.

	Deep Throat nodded.  "That would be my guess, yes.  And 
those aren't the only examples.  It's my belief that they are the 
same people who were behind the testing of the F. emasculata bug 
as well."

	Scully looked grim.  "I can't say that I'm surprised, really. 
From what we saw at the time, the people in charge of the F. 
emasculata cleanup were extremely well organized and knowledgeable, 
and enjoyed almost limitless power.  We were stonewalled from the very 
highest levels.  Even Skinner warned us off - told us to 'watch our 
backs'."

	"Is Cancer Man a part of this?"  Mulder demanded abruptly.  
"You know who I mean - fifty-ish, chain smoker, no personality, about 
my height?"

	"Yes, I think I know who you mean.  Actually his power base 
is much more limited than he believes it to be.  He's been admittedly 
useful at times, of course, but as to real power?"  Deep Throat shook 
his head.  "No, the black ops unit in charge of this kind of project are 
light years ahead of your Cancer Man in terms of clout...and everything 
else for that matter," he added enigmatically.

	"Would you care to expand on that last statement?"  Scully 
gave him one of her no-nonsense looks.

	"No, not really."  Deep Throat smiled cordially at her.  When 
it was not returned, he chuckled and continued, "Sorry, Scully...old 
habits die hard.  Besides, in some ways, what has saved your lives so 
far is your lack of knowledge.  I'm telling you what I think I can 
without significantly increasing your risk.  I would rather not be 
responsible for removing that safeguard of ignorance.  Anyway, I had 
been hearing some rather disturbing things when I was abroad - things 
I thought merited a little first-hand investigation.  And a reunion 
with the two of you."

	"Things that tie in to this black ops unit?"  Mulder asked.

	"Precisely - human experimentation with alien DNA.  I may 
have a couple of leads for you.  I don't know how directly they tie 
in to the Lewiston case, but I do know that there is a connection."  
He yawned and suddenly Mulder noticed that he seemed much more 
haggard than he had only a couple of hours before.

	He looked at Deep Throat sympathetically.  "We can save the 
rest for the morning.  You look beat.  Where are you staying?"

	"Or is that secret as well?" Scully's mutter carried only far
enough for Mulder to hear, and he gave little sign of it.

	"I have necessarily been rather...mobile since returning from
Europe.  For most of the time you two were in Maine I had a little 
place to stay undercover, but that became compromised a few days 
ago.  Since then, I've been living in a large packing crate in an alley 
off Delaware."

	"Scully?"  Mulder knew he didn't even have to ask.  He knew 
that in spite of her ambivalence toward the man, she would offer.

	"The couch you're sitting on pulls out into a bed, if you're
interested," she said.  "You're welcome to stay here."

	"Thank you, Scully,"  he said, bowing his head in 
acknowledgement. "At this point I am more than interested. I don't 
think I've had more than two or three hours of sleep a night in the 
past week or so."

	"Are we secure enough here?"  Mulder inquired, concerned.  
While he was anxious about Deep Throat's safety, primarily he feared 
that the mysterious man would act as a magnet for the black ops unit, 
increasing the likelihood of Scully's apartment becoming a war zone.  

	It had taken a long time after her abduction and return for 
her to feel safe in her own home again.  Perhaps no one other than 
Mulder and her mother had the slightest idea how difficult it had 
been, how much it had cost her, and even they would never know for 
sure.  But Mulder remembered all too well the nights when she would 
phone him at 3 a.m. 'just wanting to chat', to try to keep the shadows 
at bay.  The days when she would report to work, pale and drawn with 
deep shadows under her eyes.  She had never said a word specifically 
about it to him or to her mother, as far as Mulder knew.  Just another 
example of that Scully stubbornness, her unshakeable belief that she 
must never show any sign of weakness.  Maybe it wasn't so surprising 
she didn't confide in him in Maine, after all, he thought regretfully. 

	"I think we're safe enough here.  You weren't followed?"

	"Not that I could tell.  After I picked you up I  headed in 
the opposite direction from here, and took a very circuitous route.  
If anyone was watching me, they're probably also watching Scully 
anyway, so I don't think we're in any more trouble than we were 
already in."

	"And I should be clean.  I lost my tail when I became a 
street person in the Metro men's room.  A word to the wise, Mr. Mulder 
- no one really looks at street people. It comes in very handy when 
you want to disappear."

	"Thanks - I'll try to remember that," he said drily. "Scully,
okay if stay over, too?"

	"Of course, Mulder, you're always welcome, you know that.  
I'll get out the cot."

	She left the room and the two men were alone. The older man 
spoke in a low voice. "It's not necessary for you to chaperone, you 
know."

	"There's some safety in numbers."  Mulder did not lift his 
eyes to meet Deep Throat's.

	"I certainly wouldn't hurt her and I wouldn't let anyone else 
hurt her, either, Mulder.  You trust me that much, don't you?"  Deep 
Throat said quietly.

	The younger man looked towards Scully's bedroom, where they 
could hear her pulling the cot from a closet.  

	"Not where she's concerned - I don't trust ANYONE that much."  	
					

					~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Chapter Three


	Scully opened one eye just a little, squeezing it shut again 
when the sun, streaming through the slats in the venetian blinds, 
assaulted it impersonally.  With a low groan, she rolled over onto 
her back and tried to clear her head.  Her sleep had been disturbed 
and dream-chased.   She couldn't quite remember those dreams now, 
but had a suspicion that it was probably better that way.  She did 
know she got far less than the eight hours of rest that her body and 
mind usually demanded.  Sniffing the air experimentally, she thought 
she could smell coffee, and puzzled for a moment about who would be 
in her kitchen making coffee until she remembered that she had 
houseguests.  With a more heartfelt groan, she hauled herself to her 
feet, slipped a robe over her teeshirt, and stumbled toward the 
bathroom.

	After a shower she felt better - not great, but better.  She 
donned the robe again, deciding not to get dressed until she knew 
what the wardrobe of the day was to be.  Black ski masks and 
bodysuits, maybe, Scully thought.  She wrapped a towel around her hair 
and headed towards the kitchen.  She noticed Mulder's cot leaning 
against the living room wall, and his linens neatly folded and stacked 
on the coffee table. He might be a slob in his own apartment, but he 
was invariably neat in hers. Deep Throat still occupied the sofabed, 
deeply asleep. 

	Mulder was at the kitchen table, making some notes from their
current case.  "Morning, Scully."  He glanced up, then suddenly looked
concerned.  "You look terrible.  Didn't you sleep well?"

	She smiled as she poured coffee for herself and brought the 
pot to the table to refill his cup.  "Thanks for sparing my feelings," 
she said drily.  She sighed and sank into a chair. "Actually, I slept 
rotten - bad dreams all night."

	He laid down his pen and leaned back in the chair.  "Anything 
you want to talk about?"  he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

	She glanced sharply at him.  "The psychologist is in?  Pull 
up a couch and lie down?"  Seeing his hurt expression, she bit her lip 
and tried to relax.  "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean that the way it 
came out.  I'm about four hours' sleep short of being my normal 
unflappable self."  She was silent for a few moments.  He preserved 
that silence, knowing that there was something else she wanted to 
say, that she needed to say. 

	"I think...I'm a little...rattled by this one, Mulder."  The 
tone was low, soft, tentative.  This was new territory for her.

	He was very still, not wanting to do anything which would 
cause her to pull into her protective shell again. His tone matched 
hers. "It hits pretty close to home, doesn't it?"

	She stared down at the table, one hand plucking at the 
placemat.  When she resumed speaking, her voice was hardly over 
a whisper. "It's so hard to stay objective. I know I have to, I know 
I'll be putting us all in more danger if I lose my head on this case."  
She looked up, and her eyes finally met his.  "But it's difficult, 
Mulder, it's really difficult. I may well have been the subject of one 
of their filthy experiments.  That's why I got so angry in Maine - I 
didn't want you to see what a hard time I was having with it."

	He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. "Do you 
remember what happened, the last time you decided to hold out on me 
about how you were feeling on a case?"

	A sound, not quite laugh, yet meant to be one.  "Yeah.  The
Pfaster case.  It was a disaster, almost."  Her hand teased the 
threads of the placemat and she was silent.  Mulder's hand moved to 
gently cover hers, stilling it.  He leaned toward her, his voice low, 
urgent.

	"We can walk away from this one, Dana.  We've been ordered 
off anyway, and I know how you feel about working outside official 
channels. We can walk away and not look back, if that's what you want 
to do."

	She didn't even have to think about her response. She 
despised any sign of weakness in herself, and was determined not 
to give in to it. And, as always, Mulder was there.  She could almost 
physically sense his strength supplementing hers, as if it were being 
absorbed through her skin where their hands were joined.  "That's not 
what I want to do, not really.  I'm scared to death of what we might 
find out, but I have to know.  Does that make any kind of sense?"

	"Yes, all kinds of sense,"  he said quietly.

	"And there's also those poor kids.  I was gone for three 
months, and I came back."  She looked up, cautious hope illuminating 
her features.  "Maybe it's not too late.  Maybe we can still find 
them."

	Mulder nodded slowly. "Okay, we'll continue our investigation. 
Perhaps Deep Throat has something we can follow up on.  But I'm here 
for you, Dana.  And if it gets to be too much...."

	"I promise to let you know.  Thanks, Mulder."  Almost shyly, 
she gave him a small smile, then edged her hand out from under his, 
missing his warmth immediately.  She stood up, and moving over to the
refrigerator, began taking food out.  "You look great today, by the 
way. Sleep well?"

	"I always do when I stay over here, haven't you noticed?"  He
looked up, his eyes warm and dark, his mouth twisted in a wry grin.  
"Must be the cot, huh?"

	Her face relaxed into the first real smile of the day as she
caught his eyes.  "Yeah, something like that," she replied, with 
perfect understanding.

	By the time breakfast was cooked, Deep Throat had joined 
them.  He had showered and put on some clothes that Mulder had left 
out for him, part of the emergency wardrobe he kept at Scully's.

	"Not too bad a fit, all things considered - a bit long 
perhaps, but better than I've been used to for the past few weeks.  
Ah, Scully, everything smells wonderful.  I advise you both to eat a 
good breakfast - you're going to be busy today."  He sat down at the 
kitchen table and started eating.

	Scully caught Mulder's eyes, and he shrugged almost 
imperceptibly. He turned to Deep Throat.  "Doing what, may I ask?" 
he inquired.

	Deep Throat's fork stopped half-way to his mouth.  "Oh, 
that's the part we didn't get to last night.  You have work to do 
today, both of you."  He resumed eating his breakfast with 
enthusiasm.

	"You wouldn't care to let us in on the details, would you?"  
asked Scully archly.

	"Certainly.  You, Agent Scully, will go undercover to a 
meeting of potential investors at Bluestone Chemical Corporation in 
Chantilly."

	"What's at Bluestone?"

	"Bluestone Chemical Corporation is linked to Pinck 
Pharmaceuticals - several of the same directors, the same close 
relationship with 'certain elements' interested in the type of 
research that this black ops unit does.  The security there has 
always been formidible.  But evidently the company has some heavy 
financial needs and is looking for investors.  They are holding a 
special tour for potential investors today at 11 a.m.  It's a very 
interesting process.  Absolute confidentiality has been promised,
presumably because the investors themselves might be worried about 
their names being associated publicly with the sort of research that 
goes on here.  Bluestone has mailed out invitations to the people 
that it thought would be most sympathetic - politically, 
philosophically and financially - to its work.  Admission will be 
based on possession of a certain passcard, one of which I happen 
to have."

	"Just what do you expect me to find out there?"

	"I have no idea.  Perhaps nothing more than the general 
layout of the place, maybe a few familiar faces in the group of 
investors. Potentially, quite a lot.  I have reason to believe that 
there is a lab there that currently does the sort of experimentation 
that we've been talking about."

	"How do we know Scully wouldn't be walking into a trap?" 
demanded Mulder.  "I mean, the whole excuse about Bluestone needing 
money sounds like bullshit to me.  Why would they need the money 
anyway?  Can't they just go to this black ops unit and ask?  Isn't that 
what deficit budgets are for?"

	"That is the most interesting question of all.  We don't 
know why they need the money.  It's possible that the black ops unit 
doesn't even know about this little foray into Big Business, and would 
disapprove if they did know.  There was a rumor recently about large-
scale milking of some of the research dollars by a couple of the 
directors.  Maybe they're trying to get some of the money back in the 
coffers before it's noticed that it is gone."  Turning to Scully, he 
said, "It is certainly not without risk, but you will be with a crowd 
of other people.  I would suggest you stay in the middle of that 
crowd.  There's no need to do any exploring on your own.  In fact, 
I would caution against it."

	"Why can't both of us go?"  Mulder doggedly insisted.

	"Because I have something else in mind for you, Mr. 
Mulder. There's a man I think it would be profitable for you to get 
into contact with, a man by the name of Fred Wojak.  He has lots of 
information, if he could only be persuaded to trust someone with it.  
He mentioned your name as someone he might be willing to talk to."

	"And where is he?"

	"At CIA headquarters.  He had some kind of mental breakdown
several months ago.  He appears to be better, but he certainly suffers
from some sort of anxiety disorder.  Then again, in his position, I 
might too.   The Company is keeping a close eye on him to make sure 
he doesn't divulge what he knows.  I think it's fair to assume that at 
the moment he is probably not a good life insurance risk.  Fred has 
lunch every day in a little wine bar in Langley.  I think it would be 
best not to have him divert from his normal routine.  He is ready to 
talk, and he'll be expecting you, Mr. Mulder, to meet him at the wine 
bar today at noon.  Be flexible, go along with whatever he says - 
he'll probably be making up his cover as he goes along.  If he feels 
like it's too dangerous, he will not make contact, and you should 
make no attempt to approach him."

	Mulder was silent for a moment.  "I'd like to discuss this 
with Scully."

	"Fine, fine.  I'll find something to do while you talk."  
Deep Throat rose and, smiling, drifted into the living room.

	"I don't like it,"  Mulder said flatly.  "If I were in the 
black ops unit and I wanted to smoke out a couple of people like 
us, this is exactly the sort of thing that I'd do - make up some sort 
of crap as bait to separate us."

	"But it could just as easily be legitimate, Mulder.  I don't
particularly like the idea of going in alone either, but you're the 
only one that can meet Wojak.  I don't see any other way."

	"It's your decision."  He looked at her, his eyes dark with
concern.  "The offer stands - we can back out of this investigation 
if you want."

	She shook her head firmly.  "No, I have to get over this.  
I'll be in a crowd, I'll be okay."

	Mulder nodded and gave her shoulder a squeeze, as much to 
reassure himself as his partner.  They went into the living room and 
sat down. They were all silent for few moments, before Mulder raised 
his eyes to meet Deep Throat's.

	"Who's your source on this one?"  he asked in a low, anxious 
voice.  "How can we be sure about this?"

	"You can't.  And you've been in the business long enough to 
know that I would never tell you the name of my source.  As far as I 
know, everything is as I have explained it.  The source has been 
correct about these things in the past.  But I can't guarantee that it 
isn't a trap. There are no guarantees in this business - you know 
that, as well."  Deep Throat stared at Mulder's set features, then 
looked at Scully.

	"I'll do it,"  said Scully simply.  "Do I disguise myself or
what?"	

	Deep Throat chuckled.  "No, just dress expensively, maybe 
put up your hair.  The passcard will get you in, and I think they'll 
be relying on that for the most part.  They probably won't know any 
of these people by sight.  Just keep in the middle of the group and 
you should be fine. Who knows, maybe you'll even make a friend."

					- - - - - 

	Scully stood with a graceful bone china cup in her hand, 
surveying the other occupants of the tastefully furnished conference 
room.  She had surrendered her passcard at the security checkpoint 
and had been admitted without comment.  She was met, as all the 
potential investors were, by a white coated lab assistant, who showed 
her to the conference room and supplied her with a cup of perfectly 
brewed Blue Mountain coffee.  She had gotten the opportunity to talk 
to or at least see all of the other occupants present in the room.  All 
were extremely well dressed and had some rather frightening, 'lunatic 
fringe' political beliefs, but otherwise were unremarkable.  Every few 
minutes another one or two people would be shown into the room.  At 
the stroke of eleven, a tall distinguished-looking man walked to the 
podium at the end of the room.

	"May I ask you to take a seat?"  He paused while everyone 
sat, and waited for some new arrivals at the back of the room to get a 
cup of coffee before starting.  "Yes, you newcomers, too, please take 
a seat.  Thank you all for coming to see us at Bluestone Chemicals.  
My name is Doctor Frank Matthews, Director of Development here.  I 
think you are going to be amazed and excited when you see the kinds 
of projects we are working on here at Bluestone - projects which could 
leave their mark on history, with your help.  We are going to take a 
tour of the facility so you can see our work and decide for yourselves 
the value that it has for our future and the sort of world we would 
like to have.  As we tour, I am going to ask you to please stay with 
the group.  Some of the labs are dealing in hazardous substances and 
must be considered off-limits at this time.  As I'm sure I don't need 
to mention, what we do here is highly confidential and in some areas, 
classified by our government.  Anything you see here should be kept to 
yourselves.  I'm sure you understand."

	There were mumbles of assent from the group.

	"Please follow Ms. Talmadge and Mr. Laprotti, my two 
assistants. They will be able to answer all your questions as we 
travel through the facility.  We want your support, but we want you 
to know what you are investing in - a new order, a new tomorrow for 
America.  Now if you will all please follow me."  He strode to the 
back of the room, and waited until everyone was standing.  "Right 
this way."

	The group, now numbering about 30, moved to the exit at the 
back of the room.  Scully casually scanned those closest to her but 
noticed no one familiar.  She pulled her attention to the tour guide 
as they entered a spacious lab with twelve or fourteen technicians 
bent over specimen dishes and slides on stainless steel counters.

	"In this room we're working with new protocols for fighting 
plant infestations, which cost this country billions of dollars yearly 
in lost agricultural revenues.  We're approaching some significant 
progress in this area," Ms Talmadge said, somewhat smugly.  Scully 
decided she didn't like her.

	Abruptly, a voice came from somewhere in the crowd - a
disturbingly familiar voice.  "About what percentage of your business 
is in this particular product line?"  Scully started, but hemmed in by 
much taller people, her view was limited and she could not locate the 
source of the voice.

	"About twenty percent, sir.  I would say that we have three 
other projects about this size and then many much smaller projects.  
Now step this way and we will see a laboratory which is working on 
increasing crop yields...."

	As they were led through the facility, Scully shifted her 
position within the group, trying to find the questioner.  Her 
attention was diverted by a gray-haired woman who reminded her of 
Leona Helmsley. "What's down there?"  She gestured imperiously to 
a room at the end of a short, dark corridor.

	The guides looked a bit uncomfortable. Once again Ms. Talmadge
took on the role of spokesperson.  "Uh, we're doing some...doing some 
very delicate genetic engineering in that lab - one of those smaller 
projects I was telling you about.   Unfortunately, the work is quite 
exacting and uh...the experiments are in a critical phase at the 
moment, and this prevents us from being able to tour that particular 
lab today.  If you're that interested, I'm sure Dr. Matthews can 
answer any questions you may have after the tour.  Now if we can 
move along..."

	The very hesitation shown by the lab assitants made Scully's
heartbeat quicken.  This might be it.  While she didn't want to draw
attention to herself, she did want to see if she could get the lab
assistants to divulge a bit more information.  She opened her mouth 
to ask what sort of genetic engineering the lab was doing when she 
heard a low but firm whisper behind her.  "Don't."

	Scully shut her mouth as she felt a bit of paper being 
pushed into the pocket of her suit.  It took all her willpower, but 
she restrained her impulse to turn around, and completed the tour 
with the rest of the potential investors.  Returning to the conference 
room, she sat through a twenty minute speech on the "new order" 
that America needed and how the research at Bluestone would help 
bring this about.  She kept her eyes fixed on the speaker and tried to 
ignore all the vigorously nodding heads around her.

	Only when she was back in her car did she dare to reach into 
her pocket for the scrap of paper. Scully scanned it quickly:

	'Ninety minutes, back booth, Prospect Cafe, Connecticut Avenue. 
Watch for a tail.'

	She started the rented Lincoln and eased out of the parking lot. 
Taking the ramp to the interstate, she headed back towards Washington 
at a moderate speed.  The black Accord that had slipped behind her 
at the parking lot followed her for several exits until the driver had 
assured himself that she was headed away from Bluestone.  He exited, 
and Scully took the next exit, weaving a very convoluted path into 
heart of the city. Frequent checks of her rear view mirror failed to 
spot any more followers.  

	She drove to within a short walk of the cafe and grabbed the 
only parking spot available for blocks.  Cutting through stores and 
alleyways, ducking behind dumpsters, she reached the cafe, certain 
she had not been followed and feeling both very paranoid and very 
foolish.  She slipped into a booth in the rear corner, ordered coffee 
and a sandwich, and waited.  As she was eating, a figure slid into 
the booth across from her.

	"Now what the hell were you doing at Bluestone, Agent 
Scully?" demanded Skinner.
		
End of Chapter Three


THE RETURN
Part Four

	This place was definitely for the fern crowd, thought Mulder,
glancing around at the interior of the Cabernet Bistro.  Civil service
types and lawyers stood three deep at the bar, consuming liquid lunches. 
Edging past them, Mulder found a small unoccupied table by the window in
the corner, ducked a few hanging plants, and sat down.  He ordered an iced
tea and a bowl of chili from the harried looking waitress who eventually
made her way over.  He sipped the tea when it came and let his eyes roam
over the other patrons.

	"Bob!  How the hell have you been?  God, it's been, what, twenty
years since Chi Phi?  This is amazing!"

	Mulder stood and returned the embrace of the short, thin man who
was hugging him so enthusiastically.  "At least twenty years," agreed
Mulder jovially, a smile plastered to his face.  "Sit down, let's catch up
on old times!"

	"Good, keep it up," his companion said in a low, tense voice. 
Louder, he said,  "I heard you got married to Donna  - what was her name -
Stiller?"

	"No, Steiner.  We were married for eight years but we were
divorced a long time ago,"  Mulder had the same idiotic grin pasted on and
wondered how long this charade would last.  Social pleasantries and idle
chat were not really his forte at the best of times.  They continued in
the same vein until Fred had ordered and both men had been served. 
Keeping the same happy reunion facial expression, Wojak dropped his voice.
 "Mulder, right?"

	Mulder grinned back.  "That's right."

	"Shit.  There's so much you need to know.  I'm so sick of it all I
could scream.  You want to know about DNA experimentation, right?  I'll
tell you more than you ever wanted to know.  Then you can have the same
trouble sleeping that I do."

	"Just what I need,"  replied Mulder, drily.  He let his face relax
somewhat - his cheeks were beginning to cramp.  "How do you come to know
so much?  And cheer up, you're looking nervous."

	Wojak's face spasmed into a smile of sorts.  "It isn't necessary
for you to know where I've been and who I've been speaking to.  If you
take from here what I give you and put it to some use, then that's all I
care about.  It's got to be stopped, it's just got to."

	"Alright, keep your voice down and stay cool,"  said Mulder,
smiling more broadly.  The man was definitely nervous, and after a good
beginning, it was starting to become obvious.  "Take your time."

	"There IS no fucking time!"  The grin on the man's face was
hideous, reminding Mulder of the rictus of a corpse. "I live every day
never knowing how much time I have - how much time they'll give me, or
they'll give the world.  You have no idea what you're dealing with."

	"I have a better idea than you think,"  responded Mulder,
beginning to lose his temper.  "Now hold yourself together and tell me
what we're here for."

	"Not here.  Finish your lunch, but don't look like you're
hurrying.  Then tell me you want to show me where you work.  We'll use
your car.  When we get in your car, I'll talk."  His eyes narrowed
suddenly.  "You aren't wearing a wire, are you?"

	Mulder decided that it might take all his training in psychology
to instill enough trust in Wojak to get him to divulge anything.  He
smiled politely and said in his most even tones, "No, I'm not.  I have
followed your instructions to the letter, and I will continue to do so. 
You are the one who called this meeting."

	"Yeah, well, maybe.  Or maybe I was maneuvered to call it by that
bastard P- ...."  Suddenly Wojak was silent.

	"Who?"

	"Nevermind."  It came out as a single word, nearly snarled.  "If
you're finished let's get the hell out of here."

	A crowd of men in business suits pushed by them as they stood and
joined the line at the cashier's desk.  It took them several minutes to
get to the front of the line.  Wojak made no motion toward his wallet, so
Mulder paid both checks and they left the bistro for the gray skies of
outside.

	"Where's your car?"  Wojak demanded.  He was a little more relaxed
outside the confining walls of the bistro, but not much.

	Wordlessly, Mulder pointed to the far side of the large, crowded
parking lot.  His attention was drawn to a trio of men, thirty yards
beyond the parking lot on the opposite side of the street.  A well dressed
stocky man was shaking his head at two larger, denim-clad skinhead types. 
Suddenly the taller of the two shoved the older man roughly against the
building wall as his partner began to smash into the helpless man's face
and midsection with his fists.

	Distracted, Mulder murmured to Wojak, "Just a minute..."  then
shouted, "Hey!  Federal agent!  Stop and put your hands against the wall."
 

	Impatiently, Wojak put a hand out to stop him, but missed as
Mulder surged across the road, drawing his weapon as he went.  He started
to follow him.  "Mulder, get back here!  Forget it and let's just get the
hell out of here!"

	The two assailants looked towards Mulder, gave their now prostrate
victim a final savage kick, and took off around the corner.  The agent was
torn between pursuing them and trying to do something for the badly beaten
man.  He followed them around the corner and watched as they scaled a tall
fence, not even the barbed wire at the top slowing them down.  He went
back to the man on the ground, who was semiconscious and bleeding
profusely from his mouth.  As Mulder bent over him, he heard a squeal of
tires and pulled his head around sharply.

	"NO!  Wojak, MOVE!"  A black sedan bore down on the man, gathering
speed as it approached.  Mulder's eyes widened in horror, then squeezed
shut as he heard the sharply cut off shriek and the sickening thud.  The
sedan never slowed, disappearing down the road.

	"Call an ambulance,"  Mulder yelled, running from the side of the
beating victim to where Wojak lay sprawled at the side of the road, some
twenty feet from the point of impact.  One of the bystanders began to put
through the 911 call on his cellular phone while a young couple ran over
to take Mulder's place by the beating victim.

	The agent did not need Scully's medical knowledge to know that the
man was dead.  His limbs were twisted and slowly leaking blood, his neck
was broken and a huge depressed fracture oozed the skull's contents into
the road.  Somewhat nauseated, Mulder knelt over Wojak's body and quickly
searched through the man's clothes.   Feeling something firm in the jacket
lining, he tore open the seam and a bloody,cracked audio cassette fell
into his hands.  He slipped it into his pocket as one of the bystanders, a
teenaged boy, hurried up to him.  "The ambulance is on the way!"

	Mulder shook his head weakly, and the boy gawked, then began to
vomit into the gutter.  The agent put a supporting hand underneath the
pale, shaky kid's elbow and helped him to sit before he passed out.  Then
he strode down the sidewalk toward the beaten man.  "How is he?"  he asked
the couple.

	"Barely conscious.  Did anyone get a license number?"  inquired
the earnest young woman.  "That driver must have been drunk!"

	Mulder looked down the road in the direction the black car had
travelled.  Oh, no, he  thought.  That driver knew exactly what he was
doing.

					- - - - -

	Scully's expression betrayed nothing.  "Good afternoon to you,
too, Assistant Director.  I might ask you the same question.  Except it's
not Assistant Director anymore, is it?  What happened?"  

	"Damned if I know.  All I was told was that I was suspended
pending investigation of budgetary irregularities in my department.  
There was an order, the Director had signed it - I packed my desk and 
went home. And then I started to think.  And the more I thought, the 
more I started adding things up.  Obviously, someone was upset that 
I assigned you and Mulder to the Lewiston case."

	"Do you know any reason why that might be so?"  For the 
fourth time since he arrived, Scully caught Skinner looking about a 
foot over her head.  Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, she 
turned around to discover what was so fascinating.  A large mirror 
hung on the wall above her head, giving Skinner an excellent view of 
everyone who came in the front door of the restaurant.  It appeared 
that the man had done this before, and knew a thing or two about 
working undercover. "Why did you assign us to that case, anyway?"

	"Just because I sit behind a desk doesn't mean that I'm 
entirely clueless about what's going on, Agent Scully - a fact you 
and Agent Mulder have never fully appreciated.  Uh, just coffee, 
thanks," he said to the waitress who came to take his order.  When 
she had brought him a steaming cup of very bad coffee, he continued.  
"I know that both you and Mulder have had several cases all involving 
the same general theme.  Delta Glen, the F. emasculata virus, your 
investigations in New Mexico, possibly your own abduction.  All 
involve, or may have involved, experimentation on humans - unwitting 
humans - using substances that may be...not of this world."  Skinner 
looked as though the words, difficult to express, left a bad taste in 
his mouth.

	Scully let out the breath she had been unaware of holding. 
To have her own suspicions was one thing.  To have those same 
suspicions voiced by someone like Skinner gave them life, somehow 
made them more real, and it shook her to her core.

	"You all right, Scully?  You're rather pale."

	"Yes, I'm fine.  Fine.  Who would have the power to have 
you dismissed and take us off the case?"

	"I know who's probably in on it - that cigarette-smoking SOB 
who's always hanging around my office.  But I don't think he's the 
instigating force behind it.  I honestly don't know who's behind it, 
specifically."

	"Why were you at Bluestone Chemical?"

	"I asked you first."

	She just looked at him.	

	"What's the matter, Scully - don't you trust me?"

	"To be honest, no, not entirely,"  she said, staring directly 
into his eyes.  "Why should I?  I don't think you have ever been 
especially candid with Mulder and me."

	"I helped you find him when he took off to the Arctic."

	"Yes, you did.  After I begged and pleaded.  And in your own 
time, which was very nearly too late.  And then only possibly for your 
own reasons."

	"You're getting as paranoid as Mulder."

	She smiled, chuckled a little bitterly.  "Perhaps.  But we're 
both still alive, against all odds.  So maybe there's something 
beneficial to paranoia, after all.  So why were you at Bluestone?"

	Skinner looked at her hard and sighed.  In her own way, she 
could be as tenacious as Mulder - maybe more so.  "Okay.  I heard a 
rumor that Bluestone was linked to Pinck Pharmaceuticals.  I was 
shocked when I saw you in the tour group - you were the last person 
I was expecting to see there.  I asked that question so you would know 
I was there and wouldn't react and give me away if you suddenly caught 
sight of me.  I couldn't believe you were there - it's an incredibly 
dangerous place to be right now.  That's why I told you to shut up.  
It was not a good idea to draw any sort of attention ot yourself - 
there were some ringers in the crowd whose sole duty it was to take 
note of anyone who stood out or asked the wrong kinds of questions.  
Anyway, I happen to know that the Bluestone corporate jet has been 
making round trips between Dulles and Lewiston frequently in the past 
three weeks.  In fact, I have copies of the logs. I just went to see 
what there was to learn about the place."

	Scully's eyebrow went up.  This was interesting - the first
definitive link between the events in Lewiston and Bluestone.  "So 
what was your purpose in telling me to come here?"

	"I want in."

	"In?  In on what?"

	"I know you and Mulder are pursuing this."  Noting that she 
had opened her mouth to protest, he said impatiently,  "Come on, 
Scully.  Since when did Mulder ever follow orders to stay away from 
something?  Besides, you didn't turn up there by accident today.  So 
I know you are continuing the investigation on your own.  I want in.  
I have as big a stake in this as you do."

	"Somehow I doubt that,"  Scully flared suddenly.  "When you've
spent three months in limbo, or when you've been chased all over and
nearly been killed a dozen different ways, or when you've lost family 
members to this kind of scum, then maybe you'll be able to say that.  
As of right now, no."  

	Skinner blinked and seemed to recoil physically from her 
angry outburst.  "I'm sorry, Agent Scully.  You're right, of course.  
Poor choice of words on my part. But I still want in.  I think I can 
help you, and you can help me.  And we both want to see these 
people go down.

	She thought furiously for several moments. "This is not 
solely my decision.  I have to talk to Mulder."

	Skinner nodded.  "Okay.  How will I know what you've 
decided?"

	"Do you have a number where you can be reached?"

	He scribbled some digits on a paper napkin.  "This is my 
cellular phone number.  I hate the goddamn thing, but I'm... somewhat 
mobile this week.  My apartment is being watched so I haven't been 
back there.  I'd rather not say where I'll be."

	"Trust goes both ways, sir."

	"Yes, it does."  Brown eyes met light blue and neither 
wavered.

	"I'll call tomorrow morning.  That should be enough time."

	"Scully - thanks."

	She nodded and slid out of the booth.

					~ ~ ~ 
	
	She tucked the keys to her own more familiar but less grand 
car into her pocket, and got the grocery bag out of the trunk.  "I'm 
home - oh!" she said, seeing Mulder and Deep Throat seated in the 
living room.  Mulder was hunched forward, his hands steepled in front
 of his face. Scully looked from one man to the other.  "What's 
wrong?"

	"Wojak was killed in front of my eyes today.  I should have 
seen it coming, and I just..."  Mulder threw himself back against the 
couch and shut his eyes.

	Deep Throat was looking grim.  "See what you can do with 
him, Agent Scully.  I sure as hell don't seem to be getting through.  
I'll help myself to a drink, if you don't mind."

	Distractedly Scully nodded as he rose, took the bag of 
groceries from her arms and made his way to the kitchen.  Then she 
immediately turned all her attention to Mulder.  "What happened - tell 
me everything."  She sat next to him on the couch while, with the 
precision of his eidetic memory, he related the events of the 
afternoon.  When he had finished, she shook her head.

	"You can't blame yourself.  It would have happened whether 
or not you were there, Mulder.  It was obviously a carefully plotted
assassination.  You don't think that mugging you witnessed was
coincidental, do you?"

	"Shit, I'm not naive, Scully. I know that was all part of it.  
But it does tell us the sort of people we're dealing with here - the 
kind that don't have a second thought about beating some guy half 
their size and twice their age into unconsciousness just to provide 
a diversion.  They might have killed him."

	"And they would have if you hadn't gone after them. Think 
about it.  They would have continued beating that guy to a pulp in 
hopes of finally getting your attention and luring both you and Wojak 
into the street."  She stopped as she watched him process this.  
Sympathetically, she said in a soft voice,   "I don't think you could 
have saved both of them, Mulder.  You did the only thing you could 
do."

	"Wojak was a walking dead man, and he knew it,"  Deep Throat 
said flatly.  He straightened from where he had been listening to them, 
leaning against the doorway.  Drink in hand, he walked into the living 
room and sat.  "He was living on borrowed time ever since he had his 
breakdown.  If they hadn't killed him today, it would have been 
tomorrow, or the next day, or the next.  Your being there had very 
little to do with it.  Wojak simply knew too much."

	"Did he say anything before he died?"  Scully asked.

	"He didn't say anything at all in our meeting," said Mulder
glumly.  "He was going to talk - maybe - when we got into the car.  
We never made it that far.  He did have this sewn into the lining of 
his jacket."  He held up the tape, now somewhat cleaner and with a 
new plastic cassette case.  "Sorry - we had to pirate the cassette 
case from your copy of the Brandenburg Concertos.  I'll get you a 
new one."

	"Don't worry about it.  So does the tape say anything?"

	The two men looked at each other, then Mulder leaned over to 
place the cassette in the tape player.  A man's voice was speaking, 
but with so much interference and background noise that Scully had a 
difficult time understanding the words.
	
	"Pinck Pharmaceuticals... Red Rocks Manufacturing... Pastel 
Dye Company... White Mountain Health Foods... Bluestone Chemicals... 
Rainbow Drug Company... Blue Spruce Manufacturing....  They must be 
stopped...they are planning to (indecipherable) by F-"

	The tense, disembodied voice was suddenly cut off.

	"What happened?  Is the tape damaged?" inquired Scully.

	Deep Throat shook his head.  "I don't know.  Obviously, Wojak
thought he had something valuable - I don't think he would have had it
sewn into his jacket lining otherwise.  He might have just pushed the
wrong button, or gotten the tape too close to something magnetic, or
otherwise had it erased or damaged without being aware of it.  It's a
disappointment, there's no doubt of that.  We have a little more
information, but damn little.  How did your fishing trip go, Scully?"

	"It's amazing what you can catch without trying," she said 
with a slight smile.  She told them about her visit to Bluestone, the 
tour, the lab that was off-limits, the strangely familiar voice that 
warned her against asking questions.  Mulder appeared concerned 
when she told him about the mystery contact and the tail from the 
chemical plant, while Deep Throat nodded approvingly at her recitation 
of her evasive measures.

	"So I got to the Prospect Cafe, and was joined within a few
minutes by... Walter Skinner."  She looked for their reactions.  Deep
Throat's eyebrows shot up into his forehead and his breath came out 
in a little 'whooshing' sound.  "What?"  Mulder's voice cracked.  Then 
he frowned and murmured softly,  "Skinner.  What the hell is he doing? 
What's his connection to all this?" His long fingers stroked and 
pulled at his upper lip, and he looked lost in thought.

	Scully continued, "He says he wants in. He said that he knows
there's no way Mulder will leave this alone, and he knows we're
investigating.  Skinner feels he lost his job because of assigning us 
the Lewiston case - as we suspected.  His apartment is being watched, 
and he's on the move."

	"Did you get any sense of what's really going on with him,
Scully?"  Mulder's dark gaze was intense.

	She thought for a minute, then sighed and shook her head.   
"I just don't know, Mulder.  The man has always been a mystery to me.  
Just when I think I have him figured out and accept that he's on our 
side, he'll head up some sort of witch hunt against us.  And then 
when I've written him off because I'm sure he's against us, he'll 
save our asses.  I want to believe him - don't ask me why - but I 
can't say for sure whether I do or not." Mulder grunted his assent.

	"Does he have anything to add to the equation?"  Deep Throat
asked. Scully looked puzzled for a second and he added, "What does 
he bring to our team?  Anything new?"

	Scully nodded.  "Yeah.  I don't know how significant it is, 
but he says he has proof of Bluestone's corporate jet making several 
trips to Lewiston airport in the past three weeks.  Says he has the 
logs."

	"Tough call," said Deep Throat pensively.  "He offers us a 
small but valuable piece of information. But as a show of good faith, 
or as bait?"

	"Your 'lofty position' didn't give you any insight into who's 
side he's on?"  Mulder questioned.

	"Even more than most people in this business, Skinner is a 
hardass who has always played his cards very close to his chest 
indeed,"  replied Deep Throat.  "The last I heard was that he was not 
aligned with any of the black ops groups, but that information is more 
than a year old.  A lot can happen in that amount of time."

	Mulder shook his head.  "No, I can't believe it of the man.  I
know he hasn't been straightforward with us, but then again, neither 
have you."  He turned to Deep Throat, who shrugged.  He turned his 
focus to Scully.   "I think Skinner's being honest with us.  He may 
not be motivated by quite the same things that we are, but I suspect 
our ultimate goal is the same. I think, for now, we can trust him."

	Scully nodded.  "I know what you mean.  I just really can't 
bring myself to believe that he might be setting us up.  I think-"  
Her words were cut off by the beep of Mulder's cellular phone.

	He pulled the phone from the pocket of his overcoat, thrown 
over the back of a chair.  "Mulder."  His eyes widened slightly.  He 
was silent for about a minute.  "Alright."  He pressed the button to 
discontinue the call, then returned to his perch on the couch. Almost 
squirming with curiosity herself, Scully nevertheless gave him a few 
minutes while he thought furiously.

	"Well?"

	Mulder started, then had the grace to give his partner an 
apologetic twitch of his lips. "Sorry, Scully.  That, as you may have 
already guessed, was Skinner.  He said something's going on at
Bluestone tonight."  He looked grim.  "He said it had to do with the
transfer of some 'merchandise'."  

End of Chapter  Four

					~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 


Chapter Five



	Mulder squatted, hunched over in a small thicket outside the
perimeter of Bluestone Chemical Corporation, fervently hoping he was 
in the *right* small thicket, the one where he and Skinner had agreed 
to meet. It was a dark night, the kind that seemed to swallow up any 
illumination. He shivered in his black sweater and pants as the icy 
breeze cut through the little shelter provided by the bushes around 
him and rubbed his rapidly numbing hands.

	Skinner's call had stimulated another discussion about his
reliability and worth to the group, with Deep Throat taking up the 
role of devil's advocate to provide counterpoint to Mulder and 
Scully's defense of their former boss.  Skinner had suggested that 
both Mulder and Scully meet him, a suggestion that was overruled 
by her partner and Deep Throat.   Bad enough that one of them would 
have to risk everything, trusting in Skinner's unproven honesty.  In
the end, over Scully's vigorous protests, it was decided that Mulder 
would go alone.  The look that she gave him as he left assured him 
that the two partners were going to have a long talk about this later.

	A slight rustling brought Mulder's attention to the present, 
and he looked over his right shoulder from where the sound had come.  
A form materialized, even darker against the blackness of the night.  
Mulder froze until he caught a little gleam of reflected light from 
the eye glasses of the approaching figure.

	"Skinner?"

	"Mulder.  Have you seen anything yet?"

	"They started fueling the jet about twenty minutes ago.  
Otherwise it's been fairly quiet."

	The two men crouched in the bushes, talking in voices so low 
they needed to watch the other's lips to be certain of what was being 
said.  The breeze carried sound downwind to the airstrip and the 
object of their watch less than one hundred yards away, where two 
men worked to prepare the craft for its flight.  Mulder looked 
appraisingly at Skinner, half amused and half fascinated.  Here, in 
his black stocking cap and dark clothing, the man looked positively 
dangerous.  The width of his chest and shoulders and the trimness of 
his hips were accentuated by the black body suit and made Mulder 
realize what a physically powerful man he was. Seeing him dressed 
like this, Mulder understood that rather than a bureaucrat, Skinner 
was in reality a man of action trapped behind a desk. This certainly 
didn't appear to be the same man who had once demanded that he and 
Scully do everything 'by the book'.  Rather, he looked like a man who 
would stop at nothing to achieve his objective, whether it was by the
book or not.

	"Do you think we can get any closer?"  asked Skinner  "Or 
maybe go around to the other side, downwind of the airstrip.  That 
way we might be able to hear what they're saying."

	Mulder considered the question as he looked hard at Skinner.  
How much trust did he actually have in his former boss?  Sure, he and 
Scully had defended him to Deep Throat, but Skinner's past handling of 
the X Files had been open to question.  He might be leading him into 
a trap.  Mulder shrugged mentally... he was committed.  If Skinner 
were going to betray him, he would do it eventually.  But Mulder was 
betting - betting his life - that Skinner was being straight with him.  
"You're the boss," he replied.

	Skinner made a soft snorting sound, a sound of bitter 
amusement.  "Not anymore.  After you."

	The two crawled for a distance of some three hundred yards 
around the perimeter, most of it on their bellies through underbrush 
and puddles, to avoid detection.  This was fine for Skinner, Mulder 
thought sourly. Skinner was an ex-Marine.  There had been little in 
his own psychology training at Oxford to prepare him for slithering 
all over rough terrain in freezing temperatures.  Then again, there 
had been Phoebe....  Breathing hard, the men finally made it to a 
point directly opposite from where they had started.  A quick glance 
at Skinner proved to Mulder what he had suspected all along - that the 
former A.D. was actually exhilarated by crawling around in the mud and 
the dirt and the thorns and the cold.  Damn him, he thought, as a 
frigid wind slashed through his now-soaked clothing.	

	Suddenly, the sound of an engine and a pair of headlights cut
through the darkness.  The two flattened themselves on the ground, 
only their heads and forearms poking from the bushes sheltering them, 
as Mulder strained to see what was going on. An ambulance pulled to 
within fifty feet of the Lear jet, closely followed by a black sedan 
being driven with its headlights out.  He would have given anything 
for Frohike's night scope right now.  The car looked like a carbon 
copy of the one that had run down Wojak that afternoon.  The back 
doors of the ambulance opened and two gurneys, each with a still 
figure strapped to it and surrounded by loads of medical equipment, 
were wheeled over to the waiting jet.  Three men emerged from the 
black sedan, pulling their coat collars up against the unseasonable 
cold.  One seemed to be giving all the orders, and fragments of his 
words were carried to Mulder and Skinner on the swirling wind.

	"Load the... erchand.... Take them up t.. three hou.... Ditch 
the c... Make it clean, w... d... want any unf... mainders... I'll be
...ere ...ays."

	The speaker then followed the stretchers into the jet.  The 
two remaining men got back into the sedan and started to drive away.  
When they had cleared the perimeter of the airstrip, the driver 
switched the headlights on.  Only the front left light was functioning.  
The shriek of the jet engines forced Mulder's attention back to the 
airstrip as the aircraft taxied down the runway. Suddenly, the tension 
and cold and damp of the night asserted itself powerfully, and 
Mulder's face contorted as a sudden cramp in his thigh shot a spasm 
of agony to his brain.  Though he managed to stifle his groan of pain, 
he moved involuntarily in the dead leaves as he grasped his leg.  The 
jet was by now a mile down the runway and the wind suddenly dropped, 
making the resulting rustling of the leaves sound as loud as backfire.  
The two ambulance attendants' heads snapped in their direction.  One 
ran to the vehicle and pulled two rifles from the front seat.  Tossing 
one to his companion, he said "Get the flashl...goin..what's over...".

	"Can you travel?" whispered Skinner tensely.

	Mulder bit his lip and nodded.

	"Okay, let's move!"  

	Stealth was forgotten now as the two men crashed through the
brush.  Branches and leaves whipped their faces and thorns tore at 
their skin and clothing as they ran headlong through dense thickets.  
Several times Mulder stumbled, his left thigh still in agony with 
every move, only to have Skinner come back and literally drag him for 
yards until he was able to get his legs under him to run once more.  
Behind them there was intermittant gunfire, their pursuers firing 
shots at random into the blackness.  Mulder felt like his lungs were 
on fire as they leapt over rocks and gulleys.  The wind had picked up, 
moaning through the trees, and leaves swirled around them. Suddenly, 
Skinner grabbed Mulder and pulled him into the underbrush, his hand 
across Mulder's face.  The younger man started to struggle, unable to
draw a breath.

	"Stay still!"  Skinner  rasped, close to his ear.  Mulder 
reached up and pulled Skinner's hand from his face and took in a 
long, sweet breath of air.  Then he turned to stone as they heard the 
footsteps of their pursuers approach and then crash past them. They 
stayed motionless in their lair for many long minutes, until they 
heard the footsteps return and continue back in the direction of the 
airstrip.  They gave themselves an extra ten minutes after that, then 
cautiously emerged.  Wordlessly they hiked the mile back to where 
their cars were parked.  Once there, they tried to brush off the 
greater part of the forest detritus covering them.

	"Sorry,"  Skinner said in a low voice.  He sounded contrite 
but his eyes had a suspicious twinkle.  "I didn't mean to suffocate 
you."

	"Yeah, sure," said Mulder, grinning.  "You've probably dreamed 
of doing it."

	Skinner chuckled and didn't deny it.

	The younger man became serious.  "You saved my life.  Thank 
you."

	"Bullshit.  I didn't save your life, Mulder."  Skinner wiped 
the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his jersey.  "In fact, 
I'm rapidly becoming convinced that you can't be killed.  Where to 
now?"

	"Scully's.  If she's still speaking to me."

					~ ~ ~ 

	She opened the door immediately at his soft tap and stood 
back to admit him and Skinner, who carried a backpack.  She took in 
the mud and leaves clinging to their clothing, and the dirt and blood 
from scores of scratches and welts on their exposed skin. "You look 
like you've been having fun,"  she said drily.   "Go shower and 
change.  I'll have something hot ready for you when you're finished.  
Then we'll talk." 

	Mulder winced a bit at her tone.  Scully was not happy with 
him.  He told himself that she was just covering her fears about his 
welfare by being annoyed with him, and it helped - a little.  Twenty 
minutes later he and Skinner were cleaner but still carried the marks 
they had earned by spending a portion of the evening running for 
their lives.  

	The sight of a battlescarred Skinner in turtleneck jersey 
and jeans startled Scully as it had Mulder. This was yet another 
side of the man - a side that she had glimpsed when he had had 
the fight with X in Mulder's elevator.  The man standing here was 
living proof that Skinner clearly had attributes she hadn't fully 
appreciated before.  She called everyone to the kitchen table, served 
spaghetti and set out a huge bowl of salad before seating herself.  
"Now - would you two like to tell us what you've been up to?" So 
Mulder and Skinner took turns relating the events of the night to 
Scully and Deep Throat.

	"I have a contact who will be calling me later with the 
flight plan filed by the corporate jet,"  said Skinner.  "We didn't 
hear where it was going when we were at the airstrip, but I don't 
think it takes a rocket scientist to make an educated guess."  He 
impaled a cherry tomato with his fork.

	"Lewiston,"  said Deep Throat.

	Skinner nodded.  "Either that or the hometown of Pinck
Pharmaceuticals. But I'm inclined to think it will be Lewiston. There
must be someplace up there, in or close to Lewiston, where the kids 
are being held and the experiments are taking place.  But why bring 
the kids down here?  And once they're here, why return them to Maine?"  
He helped himself to more spaghetti.

	"I've been thinking about that," replied Scully. "Maybe some
facet of the experiment requires it. Maybe some material that is being
used is unstable, too unstable to be shipped to the kids.  So instead 
of bringing it to the kids, they're bringing the kids to it.  There 
has to be some very good reason to risk moving them.  And something 
was going on in that lab they wouldn't let us tour - I'm sure of it."

	"Where in the Lewiston area could they be headed to?" 
wondered Mulder aloud.  "The kids have been missing for weeks. 
Now it looks like, if we can believe the evidence of the flight logs, 
that they have been shuttled back and forth between there and 
here."

	Deep Throat interjected  "We don't know that  - only that the
corporate jet has been going back and forth.  The boys may have only 
been down the one time.  Maybe it was those people performing the 
experiments who were going back and forth so frequently.  Or maybe 
research materials were being shipped."  He was silent for a few 
moments.  "In any case, I did a little checking tonight on the list of 
companies Wojak mentioned on his tape.  Anyone want to guess where 
Blue Spruce Manufacturing is?"

	Mulder's face lit up.  "Lewiston?"

	"Close enough. Auburn, right next door."

	The beeping of a cellular phone interrupted the discussion. 
Skinner got up and rummaged through his backpack, finally pulling 
the instrument out.  "Yes? ...Yes, thank you."  He pushed a button 
and let the phone drop back in the pack.  "A flight plan was filed for 
Lewiston. They're expecting the plane in a little over an hour."

	Deep Throat wiped his mouth with a napkin and set it down.  
"I think the time has arrived to come up with a plan."  He started 
clearing the table, the other men getting to their feet to help him, 
while Scully made coffee.  Steaming mugs distributed, they again sat 
for a council of war.

	At times it seemed that the war would break out amongst
themselves.  Mutual lack of trust was only one of the things which
sometimes brought the conversation to shouting pitch.  Mulder was in 
his most protective mode, trying to shelter Scully as much as possible 
from danger and from contact with the black ops unit.  For her part, 
Scully was trying hard to ignore her own fears regarding the case, and 
as a result was even more immovable in her insistence in taking an 
active role in any rescue attempt.  But they both shared the same 
objectives - first, to rescue the abducted boys and second, to shut 
down the alien DNA experimentation, permanently if possible.

	Deep Throat and Skinner also shared similar objectives, more 
long-range than Mulder and Scully's.  Their primary goal was to shut 
down the black ops unit permanently, and secondarily to return to 
their former positions so that they could insure that the DNA 
experimentation would never again take place.   If they could save 
the kids, great, but both veterans felt strongly that the boys were 
probably beyond hope of recovery, in the unlikely event they could 
even be rescued alive. Unfortunately, the two men also shared a 
considerable degree of animosity towards each other.  At one point 
the argument became so heated that Scully thought that her usually 
peaceful kitchen would be the scene of a fistfight.

	It took a couple of hours of wrangling to produce a viable 
plan. Finally it was decided that Mulder and Scully, since they were 
adamant about trying to save the boys, would make the rescue attempt 
itself, with Deep Throat and Skinner waiting in the wings in case they 
got into trouble.  The latter pair would also be working behind the 
scenes to try to undermine the powerbase of the black ops unit, either 
as a whole, or by attacking each of the companies that carried out 
black ops projects. While no one person was happy with the entire 
plan, it was the best that they could agree on and put into action in 
the time that they had.

	They left just after midnight.


End of Chapter Five


					~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Six

	They left just after midnight in two cars,Scully driving hers 
with Skinner riding shotgun and Mulder driving his with Deep Throat.  
Since the two older men would have the job of planning the actual 
assault on Blue Spruce when they arrived in Auburn, they got as much 
sleep as they could on the way up.  Mulder and Scully would sleep 
when they got there - the rescue attempt probably would not take 
place until that night.

	A gray dawn was breaking when Mulder and Scully stopped for 
gas just before getting on the Maine Turnpike.  Bathroom breaks and 
coffee runs completed, they once again got into the cars for the last 
leg of their journey.

					~ ~ ~ 	

	"What is with you two, Scully?"

	She became guarded.  "What do you mean?"

	Skinner sighed.  Having her become defensive was the last 
thing he wanted to have happen.  "All I meant is that you and Mulder 
seem, against all odds, to make a great team.  But you've both been 
through a lot.  And you seem to derive more support from each other 
than anywhere else. Sometimes I wonder where your primary loyalty 
lies - to the Bureau or to each other."

	Scully continued to drive, looking straight ahead, her 
expression unchanging.  She didn't say anything for so long that 
he thought she was not going to respond.  Finally she replied, 
starting quietly but becoming more heated as she went on.  "I 
understand Mulder.  I don't always agree with him - in fact, I seldom 
agree with him.  But I understand and respect where he's coming 
from and where he wants to go.  The Bureau, on the other hand, has 
used him, abused him and laughed at him behind its back for years.  
He's been handed every shit assignment in the book.  The very 
existence of the XFiles is held over his head - if he puts a foot 
wrong, there's threats to close him down - the only thing that really 
means anything to him."  

	She made a conscious effort to remember that this was her 
boss she was talking to, and dropped her voice.  "Mulder is my partner 
and my friend.  He trusts me like he trusts no one else, probably 
because I'm the only one who hasn't messed with his head or taken 
advantage of him in some way.  After my abduction, when everybody 
had written me off including my family and the Bureau, Mulder still 
believed. He has always - always - been there for me, and I will 
always be there for him.  Nobody else will."  She was silent for 
several seconds, trying to clear the angry shaking from her voice.  
Bitterly, she muttered,   "If our loyalty is more to each other than 
to the Bureau, then the Bureau has only itself to blame."

	Skinner watched the lovely woman blink away the furious 
tears that sprang, unwanted, to her eyes, then looked away. He could 
not refute anything she had said.  Well, perhaps one thing.  He knew 
that Mulder cared about more than the XFiles.  That there was 
something - somebody - he cared about more than the XFiles, even 
more than his special crusade to find Samantha.  But it wasn't his 
place to tell her.  He closed his eyes and leaned back against the 
headrest and waited for sleep that wouldn't come. 

					~ ~ ~

	"Scully doesn't like me much, does she?"

	Mulder smiled, keeping his eyes on the road as he drove.  
"I don't know whether 'like' enters into it.  She just doesn't trust 
you."

	"But you do."

	"No, not entirely.  I learned at the feet of the Master."  
Mulder flashed a grin to his companion, who chuckled.  Then he said, 
more seriously, "But at least you don't think I'm crazy.  At least you 
know that they exist, that they're here."

	"What about Scully?"

	"What about her?"  The reply was guarded, protective.

	"Does she believe in all this any more than she used to?"

	Mulder sighed.  "Scully is...coming around.  What you need to
understand is that her belief in rational scientific thought is her bedrock.  
She believes in it the way the devout believe in their religion. If 
she gives it up, she has nothing.  That's very frightening for her." 
His voice was soft.  "It would be frightening for anyone - to give up 
all your most cherished beliefs, to accept that they had always been 
flawed, that essentially you had put all your faith in a lie.  In the 
past couple of years, she's experienced things that seriously 
challenge those beliefs.  That's part of the reason she doesn't want 
to deal with her abduction. First, she's afraid of what might have 
been done to her.  To add insult to injury, once she finds out what 
happened, it may result in an even bigger threat to what she has 
always believed to be true.  What if she was the victim of an alien 
abduction?  That could destroy her belief system.  And she's not 
quite ready to do that yet."

	"Does she think you're crazy?"

	A smile - tender, reflective.  "No.  Overenthusiastic, 
reckless, even naive at times.  But not crazy."

	"You work well together."

	"Yes."  Somehow all the trust and affection and caring 
between the two partners was there, contained in the one brief word.  
Deep Throat smiled and, hunching into the space between the seat 
and the door, closed his eyes.

					~ ~ ~ 

	They found the motel nearest Blue Spruce Manufacturing with 
little trouble.  Scully's heart sank as she drove into the gravelled 
parking lot.  A Mulder special, she thought.  No, this place would 
have to improve significantly to be one of Mulder's usual eccentric 
motel choices.  A classic 'no-tell motel', it probably rented by the 
hour and charged extra for clean sheets.  She and Skinner gratefully 
stayed in the car while Mulder and Deep Throat made the arrangements 
for the rooms.  The two men exited the office a short time later with 
bemused expressions.

	"Scully, we need to talk."  Mulder opened her door and she 
stepped out.  His hand at her back gently propelled her away from the 
car and across the parking lot.  They stopped some fifty feet from the 
cars where Deep Throat and Skinner were engrossed in conversation 
and looking expectantly their way.

	"Uh, Scully.  It seems there's a paper manufacturer's 
convention in town and all the hotels and motels for miles around 
are filled.  But we lucked out - sort of.  This place did have two 
rooms open."

	"Two, Mulder?  Aren't you three guys going to be really
uncomfortable sharing one room?"

	"Well, ...uh."  Mulder looker perplexed for a minute and then
started again.  "Okay, here's the thing.  We got two adjoining rooms, 
that was lucky.  But each room has only one double bed."

	"Your point being...?"  Mulder was struggling, she noticed 
with some amusement. She decided to let him off the hook. Actually, 
she would not have objected at all if it had just been the two of 
them. They had been forced to share a single room on other occasions, 
and it had worked out fairly well.  Hell, when it came right down to 
it, they were in closer quarters for longer periods of time when they 
were in some car on a stakeout.  It was Deep Throat and Skinner being 
there that put a whole different twist on things, as he was sensitive 
enough to appreciate.

	She sighed.  "Okay Mulder, who am I bunking with?"

	He looked relieved.  "Your choice.  I thought you might be 
more comfortable with me."

	"You thought right.  But do you think we can trust those two 
not to be at each other's throats?"

	"That's why I'm glad the rooms are adjoining,"  Mulder said 
drily.

	They strolled back to the others and got their baggage from 
the cars.  As the four were unlocking one of the rooms, a pair of
streetwalkers and their clients left a neighboring room  As they 
passed, they winked slyly at Scully and her three male companions.  
"You will pay for this, Mulder," she muttered.  The room itself was 
shabby, and the wrinkled card on the TV/VCR promised triple X features 
'to make your stay even more exciting'.  But it was surprisingly clean 
and only part of the mattress sagged - the part on Mulder's side of 
the bed, Scully decided. Suddenly, she felt exhausted. Mulder took 
one look at her and ushered Skinner and Deep Throat next door to 
their own room.  By the time he returned, she had unpacked, showered 
and pulled on a teeshirt and sweatpants.

	"What's the plan?"

	"There isn't one yet,"  Mulder replied.  "They're going to 
work on it. Between the two of them, they have an impressive list of 
contacts. They're keeping two cellular phones and the modem on the 
laptop busy. They said to get as much sleep as we can - we'll probably 
make the attempt tonight.  They'll wake us when they have something."  
He stripped off his shirt and tossed it into the chair.  "You look 
wiped out, Scully."

	"Well, I didn't get much sleep the night before last, none 
last night and it was a long drive."

	"You finished in the bathroom?"

	"Yeah, go ahead."  She peeled back the sheets and subjected 
them to close scrutiny.  To her profound relief, they at least 
appeared to be freshly laundered.  She slid into bed and pulled up 
the covers.  A few minutes later, Mulder emerged from the bathroom, 
also in teeshirt and sweatpants.  As he rubbed his hair dry with a 
towel, he checked out the few amenities that the room had to offer. 
He picked up the luridly illustrated card with the schedule of triple 
X features, noting that some of his old favorites were listed.

	"Hey, S- "

	"Don't even think about it."

	He put the card down with a smirk and stretched out on top of 
the covers.  "Sleep well, Scully."

End of Chapter Six


					~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 


Chapter Seven


	"Rise and shine, kiddies.  You have a big night in front of 
you." Deep Throat snapped on the overhead.  "Come on next door 
when you're ready.  We've got a plan and we've got a pizza."  With 
an enigmatic expression, he withdrew from the room.

	Scully stretched, gradually becoming aware that at some point
Mulder had joined her under the covers.  She sat up and poked a foot 
out from under the covers experimentally.   "Ugh, it's cold."  She got 
up and put on a pair of heavy socks and a dark sweater. The sweatpants 
came off and a pair of jeans went on, then a pair of black crepe soled 
shoes. Quickly, she ran a brush through her auburn hair.  She looked 
in the mirror, catching her partner's reflection as he stared 
appreciatively at her.  "Coming, Mulder?"

	"Uh...yeah.  Tell you what, I'll be with you in a minute 
or two."

	She looked at him quizzically.  "Okay, I'll save you some pizza. 
Don't be long, partner."  The door closed after her.

	Mulder closed his eyes and concentrated on the starting 
lineup for the 1975 Red Sox.  Partner, yes, he thought.  Made of 
stone, no.

	He rejoined the others a few minutes later.  "Pull up a seat, 
Mr. Mulder.  We were just getting into the details of our little 
scheme."

	Deep Throat seemed to be taking the lead and for whatever 
reason, Skinner was allowing him to do so.  "We were able to tap 
into the City Hall Planning Department, which was very helpful, 
providing us with a floorplan of Blue Spruce Manufacturing.   A 
further check by Walter of the fire department's inspection a couple 
of months ago yielded more up to date information.  As you can see 
on this floorplan, most of the building is open, basically a huge room 
subdivided into different areas by partitions.  There's a small 
business office, and an even smaller supervisor's office.  Since they 
still have to carry on looking like business as usual, I think we can 
take it as a given that the boys are not in any of those areas.  So 
the only likely place they could be is here - a sizable, walled off 
section of the storeroom.  It's big enough, and it has good but 
private access - one door from the storeroom, and one door to the
outside, near the parking lot but around back and at least partially
obscured by bushes.  If they are at this site - and that is still not 
a certainty - this is where they should be."

	Mulder nodded.  "What's security like?"

	Skinner took over.  "A hell of a lot more impressive than 
you'd think for a little company that makes gelatin capsule casings. 
Three guards - armed - and a very sophisticated alarm system, 
triggered by movement and sound.  That in itself makes me think that 
we're on to something here."

	"Do we want to know how and where you got that information, 
sir?" inquired Scully.

	He gave her a withering look.  "No, Agent Scully, you don't."

	"All right, what's the plan?" asked Mulder.

	"The guards have been taken care of - a few ingredients added 
to the sandwiches and thermoses of coffee from their usual 
luncheonette," Deep Throat replied. "That should put them out for a 
good hour or two. When they do wake up, they'll be sick as dogs for 
about four hours. Walter and I will take care of the alarms from this 
end."

	"This sounds almost too easy,"  said Scully suspiciously.

	Skinner and Deep Throat exchanged looks.  "Uh, not really, 
Agent Scully.  First of all, in spite of our research, we don't know 
for sure what it's like in there.  Things could have changed in the 
two months since inspection.  And we have no idea who else may 
be in there - it's a cinch they don't leave the boys alone. The 
experiments could be performed at any time.  In fact it would make 
more sense if most of the experimenting were done at night.  Blue 
Spruce runs only one shift, the whole place is closed down by seven 
at the latest.  So there may be a small army in there for all we 
know."

	The partners regarded Deep Throat as the older man began to 
speak again.  "Once you're in - entering through the storeroom - Mr. 
Mulder will try to find as many records of their research as possible.  
Notes, logs, results, graphs, charts - all of that.  You are to bring 
out anything that may lead us to the people responsible, anything 
which may identify other populations which have undergone 
experimentation.  Everything else you will need to destroy on the 
premises.  We have a little something for you which should do nicely.  
It creates a very hot, very self-contained fire - probably what was 
used in your friend's lab, Agent Scully.  And if you can find any of 
the genetic material, destroy that too."

	"Meanwhile, Agent Scully will be seeing to the boys, performing
whatever procedures are necessary and getting them stable enough to
travel," added Skinner.  "We will have an ambulance nearby with full 
life support capabilities.  Either of you can call us on the cellular 
and it will be at Blue Spruce within seconds." 

	There was a few seconds of silence.  "Are you both okay with
this?"  the former AD asked.

	Mulder gazed at Scully, searching for and finding the answer 
he expected.  "Yeah, we're fine with it."  

	Deep Throat nodded, "Okay.  The guards normally eat their 
lunches at about 11 p.m. and it will take approximately thirty minutes 
for the drug to work.  When it does take effect, it will do so quite 
suddenly.  We'll give it an extra fifteen minutes or so to be on the 
safe side.  You'll go in at 11:45.  There's nothing to do until then 
but wait."

					~ ~ ~ 	

	Four hours later, Mulder and Scully found themselves in a 
clump of bushes outside Blue Spruce.  They had taken the keys to the 
building from the guard they found sprawled unconscious in the parking 
lot.
	
	"You're sure?"  Mulder's expression was concerned.

	Scully took a deep breath and nodded.  "Yeah, I have to do 
this, Mulder."

	Moving from the bushes to the front door, he inserted the key 
and they entered the shadows of the building's interior.  They stepped 
over the prostrate form of another guard and made their way to their 
storeroom by the light of Exit signs and the cautious use of their 
flashlights.  Mulder tried several keys before finding the one that 
opened the storeroom door.  The creak as the door swung open was 
as loud as a shotgun blast in the darkness, and they both jumped 
involuntarily.  Rather than risk another sound, they left the door 
ajar.  Staying together they wandered up and down rows of tall wooden 
shelving.  Boxes and bins of machine parts, stationery, office 
supplies and raw materials were stacked almost to the ceiling. 
The emergency lighting dotted here and there on ceiling and walls 
seemed to do little to cut though the gloom, and cast weird, 
otherworldly shadows everywhere.  There was total silence except for 
the sound of their own slightly rapid breathing and a low mechanical 
rumble from somewhere beneath them.

	Mulder's voice was so soft it barely registered.  "According 
to the floorplan, the door to the walled off section should be right 
here."  They faced another tall shelf, indistinguishable from all the 
others in the storage area.  They began to run their hands over the 
two by four studs that supported the structure.

	"Wait a minute," whispered Scully.  "I think I feel something. 
Yeah, a wire."  Mulder moved closer and followed the path of the wire,
extending his arm well beyond where Scully could reach.  He felt a 
button and pushed it.  There was a faint click as the section of 
shelves swung toward them, revealing a stark room.  They edged 
through the door, which swung shut unnoticed a few seconds later.    

	The room was softly illuminated by track lighting mounted 
between stainless steel counters and overhead cabinets of glass and 
steel on the two long sides of the room.  A rheostat on the wall near 
the entrance was turned low.  Two large industrial refrigerated units 
took up much of the far wall to their right, while the wall across 
from where Mulder and Scully were standing was punctuated by a door, 
presumably to the outside.  Against the wall to their left were five 
four-drawer file cabinets.  Evidence of security was everywhere - 
wiring around both doors, small sensing devices set into the wall 
at intervals, and three video cameras, positioned to cover the room.  
They looked at each other, grimaced and shrugged.  If someone was 
watching the cameras, there was nothing that they could do about it 
now.  

	They swallowed their disappointment that the boys were not in 
the room.  Scully went to the refrigerators, looked inside and nodded 
curtly to Mulder.  He swung the backpack down from his shoulder, and 
removed two small objects that looked a bit like blasting caps.  He 
pulled a tab off each and quickly placed one in each of the 
refrigerated units and closed the doors.  There was a muffled hiss, 
a few errant puffs of smoke finding their way out between the melting 
gaskets.

	They crossed to the opposite side of the room.  Searching 
among the keys on the guard's ring for one which would unlock the 
filing cabinets, they found nothing that looked promising.  Suddenly 
Mulder stopped.  "Scully, do remember anything about there being a 
cellar here?"

	She shook her head and whispered back.  "No, there wasn't 
any indication on the floorplan."

	"That's what I thought.  Then where's that rumbling coming 
from?"

	She stared at him, then the two of them quickly began to scan 
the walls for any sign of a secret entrance to the basement.  "Mulder, 
here!"

	Not along the walls, but in the floor. Fine lines in the black
grouting between quarry tiles outlined a rectangle about four feet 
long and two and a half feet wide.  The partners began feeling the 
counter tops and cabinets, looking in drawers for switches.  
Suddenly the floor moved slightly before settling back into place.  
"Mulder, what did you just do?"

	"I just opened this cabinet. I might have - wait, this knob's
loose, it turns...there!"  he said as the hatch in the floor opened,
revealing a flight of stairs leading down into darkness.  She aimed 
her flashlight downwards, but couldn't see anything but steps.

	"I'll go down - you stay here, Scully.  If I don't call for 
you to come down in sixty seconds, do what you can to destroy the 
files and then get the hell out of here."

	She shook her head vehemently. "No way. I won't leave you, 
Mulder."

	"We don't have time for this. Eventually those guards will be
waking up and they will not be happy with us.  I would rather not wait
around to see what happens.  Please, Scully."  His look of entreaty
silenced her, and he descended the stairs and was soon out of sight. 
Scully could see the beam of his flashlight bounce around, could hear 
his footsteps and the sounds of doors opening.

	Then she heard more than just Mulder's footsteps, and a 
startled cry, broken off.

	"MULDER!"  She crouched at the top of the hatchway, and drew 
her weapon.  Suddenly, the lights went out.  She pulled the cellular 
phone out from under her sweater to call for help, but got no further 
than punching the instrument on.  

	Then a hand reached up, grasped her ankle, and pulled her 
down into the blackness below.

End of Chapter Seven

					~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Chapter Eight


	Two things intruded upon her consciousness before anything 
else - the crashing pain at the back of her head and the blinding 
brilliance of the lights.  She moved, nausea now adding to her list 
of miseries as her stomach lurched up into her throat.  With a soft 
groan - anything louder would have simply been too painful - she 
curled up on her side, eyes squeezed shut against the light, arms 
drawn up to cushion her aching head.  She knew she was on the floor, 
the itchiness of the commercial carpeting slowly becoming yet another 
intolerable annoyance.  Gingerly, inch by inch, she shifted her 
position until she felt like she could move without losing the 
contents of her stomach. Then cautiously she straightened and very 
slowly came to a sitting position, leaning against the wall.

	The intensity of the light made the throbbing in her head 
worse, so she stole glances around her only when she could command 
her eyes to open to the glare.  The room was small and stark, 
furnished only with two chairs facing each other across a wooden 
table.  The far wall seemed to be covered partially by a screen or 
some sort of blind, whether to project images onto or to cover a 
window, Scully wasn't sure.  The near wall had a video camera mounted 
in the upper right corner.  

	She pressed her hands to the floor for balance and, crouching,
rested for a minute. No one had to tell her how vulnerable she was - 
every fiber of her being was screaming the fact.  But she didn't need 
look the part, sprawled helplessly on the floor. She gulped for air as 
dizziness threatened to overwhelm her, but held her position. Finally, 
using the wall for support, she carefully got to her feet, took a few 
shaky steps and sat at the table, her banging head in her hands.

	Obviously, this was some sort of an interview room.  
Undoubtedly, the chair opposite her would soon be occupied. Scully 
tried to pull herself together, fighting against the panic that was 
starting to rise.  Where was Mulder?  Was he alright?  Where were the 
boys? And the most terrifying question of all - was this the beginning 
of another personal nightmare, another huge chunk ripped from her life 
that she would never regain?  Or worse?  She shivered in the airless 
warmth of the room, trying to confront her own terror, trying 
belatedly to deal with all those feelings she had so carefully buried.  
She held her head in shaking fingers.  Given enough time, maybe 
Skinner and Deep Throat could get them out of there.  She had to hold 
on.  Please, she thought.  Please help me through this. Please let me 
be strong enough.

					~ ~ ~

	The insistent pain in his left side pulled him up through the
darkness to consciousness.  Compared to the pain that would scarcely 
let him breathe, the pain in his head was quite bearable.  He opened 
his eyes on a dimly lit room.  From his vantage point on the floor, he 
could see that the room was small, and seemed to be empty save for 
a table and a couple of chairs.  A second glance told him that one of 
those chairs was already occupied.  Scully?

	Holding his breath, he carefully got himself to a sitting 
position to try to catch sight of the face of the person waiting so 
patiently for him to regain consciousness.  His fervent hope that it 
was Scully was dashed when a deep voice with a slight English accent 
asked, "How are you feeling?"

	He had gotten to his knees by then, and the tall middle-aged 
man in the lab coat extended a hand to assist him to his feet.  Mulder 
looked at him for a moment, then decided that his pride was not worth 
the extra pain.  He grasped the man's hand and stood, biting back a 
groan as he did so.  Guarding his ribs with his left arm, he walked to 
the chair and gratefully lowered himself into it.  His companion 
returned to his own seat.

	"We'll start with a few simple questions. I would appreciate 
your candor - it will save time.  Now, why are you here?"

	"It was cold out and I was waiting for a bus and it didn't 
come, so I came in to use the teleph-"

	"Cut the crap, please.  I won't insult your intelligence if 
you don't insult mine."  The pleasant voice became sharp. "You were 
here illegally, destroying the property of this company.  You are not 
carrying any form of identification."

	"Well, maybe you should call the police.  I'll even call them 
for you, if you like," Mulder offered.  He was trying to get his mind 
working again, saying any inane thing until he could figure out how 
he should play this.  He knew they had to buy time - time that with 
a lot of luck, Deep Throat and Skinner would use to find a way to get 
him and Scully out of there. His heart thumped painfully in his chest.  
God.  Scully - how was she handling all this?

	The man's smile was completely without humor. "I think we'll
continue to keep this a private matter, if you don't mind. What's your
name and who do you work for?"

	"I'm afraid I'll have to pass on that,"   Mulder said softly.

	The man nodded.   "All right.  In the end, it really doesn't
matter, we will find out."  Apparently taking a different tack, he 
asked, "How are the ribs?  I'm afraid Knute got a little carried away. 
He blames you for chasing him over a barbed wire fence and getting 
his hands cut up."

	"I'm sorry he feels that way.  He must have mistaken me for
someone else."  It was then that he noticed that the tips of the 
fingers on his right hand were stained with black ink.  Shit!  They 
had fingerprinted him while he was out.  They were probably running 
the prints now.  Lab Coat was right - it was just a matter of time 
before they found out who he was.  Well, every minute he held out 
was a minute that maybe Skinner and Deep Throat could put to good 
use.

	The man took in Mulder's gaze down at his own hands, noticed 
the keen understanding in the young man's eyes, and sighed.  
Obviously he was going to persist in making things difficult.  Very 
well.  It was time to move on, anyway.

	 Mulder followed the glance of his questioner to the end of 
the table where a stainless steel tray sat, covered with a cloth.  
"You're not going to try anything as trite as truth serum, are you?  
You're not suddenly going to say 'Ve haf vays of making you talk" 
in a bad German accent?"

	The man smiled.  "No, we don't run much to cliches here."

	"So much for thinking I'm trapped in a bad B movie then,"  
said Mulder and he sighed, carefully, to avoid hurting his ribs.

	"Who's your little red haired friend?"

	This time it took all of Mulder's self-control not to react to 
the man's casually dropped question.   "Who?  Oh, her."  He shook 
his head dismissively. "Never met her before in my life.  She was at 
the bus stop with me."

	"You're really quite good at this.  I almost want to believe 
you. Ah, well, this is getting tiresome, I'm afraid."  Lab Coat felt 
under the table and made a small move.  Then he removed the cloth 
from the tray. "We genuinely weren't trying for high drama here - the 
drug just happens to be very sensitive to light."

	"What is it?"  Mulder's eyes were wary.  "You need to be 
careful what you give me - I'm allergic to penicillin."

	A real chuckle this time.   "Well, rest assured, this is not
penicillin.  Ah, Knute, Rafe - thank you for being so prompt.  If you
would help our guest assume the position, please?"

	Two men, one tall and one five inches shorter, came through 
the door.  Again, Mulder schooled his expression carefully.  These 
were the men that he had witnessed beating up the old man just before 
Wojak was run down in the street.  The big one, hands wrapped in 
bandages, grabbed his left arm and held his head in a lock, while the 
other roughly grabbed his right arm and shoved the sleeve of the 
sweater up above his elbow.  Any impulse he had to struggle quickly 
fled as the slightest movement caused his head to throb and a knife-
like pain to slice into the left side of his chest.  Lab Coat put on a 
pair of latex gloves, pulled a tourniquet from his pocket and applied 
it to Mulder's arm.  Then he picked up the syringe, flicked it, and 
shot a thin stream of fluid into the air.  He approached Mulder.

	"Wait a minute, wait a minute. What is that stuff?" He could
hardly get the words out, his mouth was so dry.  He hadn't counted on
becoming someone's science fair experiment. 

	Looking thoughful for a moment, the man stopped.  "All right, 
I respect the spirit of scientific enquiry.  This is a little project 
we're working on for the government.  I'm afraid I can't say which 
agency - security, you know."  He disinfected an area at the crook of 
Mulder's arm with an alcohol wipe.  "It seems to affect the 
transmission of impulses from the pain receptors.  We're not really 
sure why it works, since we haven't finished testing it yet.  Having a 
human test subject is an unexpected bonus.  It's always the best way 
to test a drug that is, after all, meant for humans.  'Better living 
through chemistry' as they say. As for what we hypothesize, the drug 
should intensify pain by magnifying those impulses selectively and 
speeding up their transmission to the brain.  You have good veins.  
That makes this a bit easier on the both of us. Although that will not 
last long for you, I'm afraid."

	"Serve you right, you little fucker,"  muttered Knute.

	"Now Knute, show our volunteer a little respect, please.  He 
is helping the cause of science,"  the man murmured as he slid the 
needle expertly into Mulder's arm.  "I had to guess at the dose - your 
mass is so much greater than that of a rhesus monkey."  He aspirated 
some blood, mixing it with the drug in the chamber of the syringe, and 
removed the tourniquet. Slowly and steadily he injected the drug, then 
withdrew the needle and placed pressure on the puncture site for a few 
seconds.  He stood back, his eyes avidly watching for any sign of 
reaction.

	Mulder went white - sheer chalk white, totally unprepared for 
the savage intensity of the wall of pain that hit him.  He felt the 
course of the drug through his body, sensing searing flames char the 
insides of his veins, then his muscles, and the splintered bones on 
the side of his chest.  He involuntarily drew in a deep breath to 
scream his defiance - at the agony that was taking over his mind and 
stripping him of his intelligence and dignity and humanity, at the 
sort of person that could inflict this kind of torment on another. But 
the very act of breathing escalated his suffering to the point that 
his last rational thought was that he could not possibly survive it.

	"Gentlemen, let's leave our guest.  He won't be going 
anywhere.  Knute, you may watch the videotape later if it amuses you.  
Right now I have to have a word with the red head from the bus stop."

	Almost out of his mind with pain, Mulder reacted to the 
reference to Scully on a visceral level, willing to do anything that 
would save her from this kind of torture.  He lunged in a doomed 
attempt to grab his tormenter.  He got only halfway across the table 
before a mindless shriek was torn from him, and he collapsed.  This 
time, mercifully, the agony sent him back down the long spiral of 
darkness.

					~ ~ ~ 

	At some point, she must have dozed off.  When she heard the
scream, her head jerked up and darkness threatened to close in from 
all sides as a tidal wave of pain, nausea and terror hit her.  Seconds 
later there was a knock at the door and Scully watched a tall man in 
a lab coat enter.  Squinting a bit in the unaccustomed brightness, he 
turned the switch on the wall and dimmed the light. "There, that's 
better."

	He sat opposite her.  "Sorry for the bump on the head.  Rafe 
was supposed to catch you as you fell though the hatch, but for 
whatever reason, he didn't.  He gets moody sometimes. Now then, why 
don't you start by telling me who you are?"

	"I heard a scream."

	"Ah, yes.  That was one of my patients."

	Scully's eyes never left him. Her mouth was so dry that she 
thought the words would stick in her throat.  "That person sounded 
like he was in pain."

	"Yes, I'm afraid so."

	"Who is it?" she demanded, with a lot more boldness than she 
felt.

	"Well now, my dear, doctor-patient confidentiality would 
preclude me from telling you that.  Don't worry, it is none of your 
concern.  He is being attended to.  Now, tell me your name please and 
what you are doing here."

	She just looked at him.

	"Look, I might as well tell you, I saw you and your boyfriend 
blow up my refrigerators.  There were some valuable lab specimens in 
there." He leaned in toward her and whispered conspiratorially,  "But 
nothing we can't replace, I'm sure you'll be relieved to learn. We 
have lots more in our storage areas down here.  Those were just up 
there for convenience."

	"How very lucky for you, Dr. Addison."

	"Yes, I think so."  A heartbeat later, his smile faltered as 
he realized that he had given away far more than he had gained.  His 
eyes narrowed as he appraised her more critically.  "Very good, my 
dear, very clever."

	"Where are the boys?"

	"Oh, they're here, they're here.  We're doing a little 
variation on the injections we were giving the other kids.  But the 
effects are not what we had hypothesized.  Apparently it is a case 
of too much of a good thing.  Unfortunately, David is not doing at all 
well.  But then, he did well to last this long.  Andrew is doing 
somewhat better, but he hasn't been under the effects as long as 
David.  I expect it will catch up with him too, in time. But they will 
have served their purpose."

	Scully's blood chilled to hear this intelligent man, this
physician, speak of the teenagers as if they were laboratory rats. 
Disposable, once they had served their purpose.  "I want to see them."

	"It may have escaped your notice, but you are not exactly in 
a position of strength at the moment," Addison said, amused.  "Your
bargaining power is limited, to say the least.  You notice that your
fingerprints have been taken?  Since you're not in the mood to 
volunteer information, I think we'll wait until we have the results 
of the computer search.  Then perhaps you'll be more forthcoming."

	"Where's my 'boyfriend', as you call him?"

	"Ah, yes.  He's right next door.  A bit under the weather 
right now - he's helping us with an experiment, you see, and he's not 
at his best."  Addison went to the wall with the blind and pulled a 
cord to reveal a window into the next room.  He went back to the 
table and assisted Scully to stand, taking her by the elbow as her 
escorted her to the window.  Irritated, she shook him off, and looked 
in.

	Mulder was collapsed across a table, about ten feet away from 
her.  From where she stood, she couldn't tell if he were breathing or 
not, but she noted his deathly pallor and the thin sheen of 
perspiration that covered his arms and face, and matted his hair. 
A trickle of blood oozed from a puncture site in his right arm. "What 
sort of experiment?" she whispered hoarsely.

	"There you go again, asking questions when you should be 
answering them.  Why don't you think about that as you watch over 
your friend.  I'll be back shortly when you may be more amenable to 
my requests."

	The door closed softly.  Mindful of the video camera behind 
her, Scully kept her back to it and hoped it would not pick up her 
trembling.  Fighting back tears, she whispered under her breath, 
"Oh God, Mulder - what are they doing to you?"  

End of Chapter Eight

					~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 


Chapter Nine


	"Something's wrong."  Skinner's voice was rough with emotion 
that he would deny he felt.  "Something's wrong and we have to get in 
there."

	Deep Throat peered though the night scope at the parking lot 
of  Blue Spruce Manufacturing. The guard who had been lying motionless 
for almost two hours was stirring.  He pulled himself up, only to bend 
over abruptly with a groan.  Seconds later he was retching violently, 
vomiting until he fell weakly to his knees, still clutching his 
midsection.

	"Walter, you have said that at least a dozen times in the 
past thirty minutes."  Deep Throat lowered the scope.

	"It doesn't make it any the less true.  They should have been 
out by now.  The question is, what are we going to do about it?"

	A glance at Skinner told Deep Throat that the A.D. meant 
business.   And although he had not commented on Skinner's concern 
up until now, he too had been worried. Even allowing for any 
difficulty in preparing the boys for travel, they should have called 
in by now.  Yes, something had definitely gone terribly wrong.

	"Well?" Skinner's voice lashed out and his brown eyes sparked
with anger.  He had not seen these two agents through so much only to 
lose them now.  Not on *his* watch.

	Slowly, Deep Throat nodded.  Walter looked like he was ready 
to storm the building single-handed. Doubtless, it would be cathartic, 
but would ultimately result in yet another hostage added to those 
already in there.  "I'm going back to the motel, Walter."

	"What?"  Skinner loomed over Deep Throat.  "If you think I'm
abandoning Mulder and Scully, you're out of your fucking mind!"

	"Get ahold of yourself!"  Deep Throat's voice carried an 
authority that up to now had only been hinted at. "I have no intention 
of abandoning them.  But I can't do what I need to do here."

	"I'm staying."  Skinner's words were cold, flat.

	"Fine.  I can either walk back to the motel or take the car, 
your call.  But I can't do anything here.  I have an idea that might 
work, but I need to call in a few markers, I need to have access to 
the laptop, and most of all, I need time.  How much do you think 
we have?"

	Skinner shook his head as some of his anger left him. "I 
don't know.  Anything could be happening in there.  I - wait a minute, 
let me check something."  He punched some buttons on the cellular 
phone.  After a few seconds, he began speaking.  "Yeah, it's me again.  
Check and see if you have anything filed for Lewiston travelling into 
Dulles airspace, landing at a private strip - yeah, same one.  No, 
I'll wait this time."   He put up an advisory hand as Deep Throat 
began to question him.  "Nothing?  You're sure?  Oh - okay, yeah, go 
ahead."  He whispered, "They think something has just come in - 
they're looking for it."  The voice on the other end of the phone took 
all his attention once again.  "Okay, yeah, great.  Thanks.  Yeah, I 
owe you big.  Bye."  He returned the phone to his backpack.  "Flight 
plan just filed a couple of minutes ago.  From here to a private airstrip 
near Dulles.  Pilot and five passengers, plus cargo.  Takeoff's 
scheduled for 7 A.M."

	"That helps.  What do you think?  Mulder, Scully, the kids 
and one of the researchers?"

	"Maybe.   There's no telling.  It could just as easily be just 
the black ops people going down to Bluestone.  The kids could be 
dead by now for all we know."  His voice got softer, flatter.  "So 
could Mulder and Scully, for that matter."

	"Well, at least we know that anything we do has to be done 
by seven.  Five hours - it's going to be tight.  Are you staying?"

	"Yeah.  I have to.  Take the car.  If there's any activity 
around here, I'll give you a call." He tossed the keys to Deep Throat.

	"All right.  And Walter... be careful."

					~ ~ ~ 
	 
	Resisting all the way, trying desperately to sink back down 
to the dark place where there was no pain, Fox Mulder gradually 
became aware of his surroundings, but only as a backdrop to his 
torment.  He was rational now, although he couldn't decide whether 
that was such a good thing or not.  He kept his breathing as shallow 
as possible and tried not to move. His headache was still agonizing, 
he perceived the needle puncture as if it had been an arrow shot 
through his arm, and his chest did not bear thinking about.  But oddly 
enough, now that he could think, he found that his consciousness was 
razor sharp.  Obviously pain reception was not the only thing being 
enhanced - he wondered if Lab Coat was aware of that.  He blinked, 
and felt his eyelashes - each and every one - as they were disarranged 
by the movement of his eyelids.  Even the dim light in the room seemed 
too bright.  He was acutely aware of the pressure of the chair on his 
hips, the friction of the denim jeans on the skin of his legs.  

	He stiffened as he heard breathing.  Nearby.  The handle of 
the door began to turn with a loud squeaking noise.  It occurred to 
Mulder that only dogs should be able to hear this sound.  His 
hyperactive mind conjured up the alternatives of who could be entering 
the room and for what purpose.  All of them were terrifying.  His 
breathing quickened as he waited to find out who came through the 
door.  For the moment, however, the physical agony of movement took 
precedence over the psychological agony of suspense, and he remained 
still. He heard the door close with a deafening slam that his rational 
mind told him was probably a soft click.  Then he heard movement,
and someone was at his side.  Eyes closed, he sniffed.  His heart 
leaped when he discerned the scent of Scully's favorite Crabtree and 
Evelyn soap.  "Scully!"

	She barely heard the rasp which registered as a shout to his 
ears.

	"MULDER!"

	The answering yell he perceived caused him to recoil
involuntarily.  He moaned as pain lanced through his body.  He lay 
across the table, panting and pale.

	Somehow, she knew.  "Oh, God, Mulder, what have they done?"  
she whispered.  She crouched down next to him.  "Can you talk, can 
you tell me?" 

	His lips moved slightly and she got as close as she could 
to hear him.  "... and they injected me...s-something to increase 
pain... I think m-my ribs are broken.  Not just pain... heightens 
awareness of sound...light...thought...everything."

	"What can I do for you?"

	"I don't know...just...ssshhhhhh."  He smiled weakly, then 
gasped as his control slipped a little. "It's unbelievable - it hurts 
so much, Scully."  He bit his lip to keep from crying out, and caused 
another wave of pain, this time from his lip.

	Scully examined what she could without making him move.  
Very cautiously she pulled up his sweater to see a huge nasty bruise 
already forming on the left side of his chest. She lay her ear against 
his back to try to discern his breath sounds, but couldn't.  As a 
physician, she was really worried.  From the position of the bruise, 
he could have a ruptured spleen, or perhaps even a punctured lung.  
Either would require emergency treatment.  Add to that his heightened 
sense of pain from the drug he was given, and it was no wonder he was 
in shock. 

	"Mulder, I think we should try to get you lying down."

	"God - no!  No, please don't move me.  Just don't move me.  
I can handle it if I don't move.  Please."

	"Okay, I won't move you.  I'll just sit here, I'll just stay 
with you, okay?"

	"Thank you."  His whisper was inaudible, and a slow tear 
trickled out from between his closed eyelids. 

	"It's okay, Mulder.  It will get out of your system and you'll 
be okay."  She gently wiped the tear away and crooned to him in a 
whisper, sitting close.  She felt totally useless, but finally his 
breathing became a bit less ragged as he relaxed.

	The door was flung open, crashing into the wall.  Startled, 
Mulder automatically brought his arms up into a defense posture. 
Scully could hear bone scrape against bone as, with a broken cry, 
he passed out once more. Knute grabbed him by the back of the neck.  
"Boss wants you guys next door."  He let Mulder's head drop back on 
to the table.  

	Scully's tone was deadly and low.  "Don't touch him, you son 
of a bitch. You came in like that on purpose, you sadistic bastard.  
You knew what would happen.  Well, now he's not capable of going 
anywhere, thanks to you animals."

	"Looks like he's not gonna be doing much walking, that's for
sure."  The big man picked Mulder up and threw him over his shoulder. 
"Follow me, lady.   And don't decide to take any trips on your own, or
your boyfriend might get dropped down a flight of stairs - several 
times."  He laughed nastily.

	About twenty feet down the hallway, Knute opened a door, and
motioned her in.  He unloaded Mulder from his shoulder onto the floor 
like a sack of coal.  Fortunately, Scully helped to break his fall and
cushioned his head and ribs as best she could.  Knute then applied
one bracelet of a handcuff on Scully's left wrist, and the other on 
Mulder's right, closing it tightly enough that it would be sure to cause 
Scully pain, and Mulder agony.  With a snicker, he left the room.

End of Chapter Nine
		

					~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Chapter Ten



	With Mulder unconscious and hopefully insensible, Scully made 
the most of her chance to move him into shock position. Pulling a 
swivel chair near to them, she lifted Mulder's legs and supported them 
on the chair. Within a few minutes, she noticed a little improvement 
in his color.  Occasional twitches dispelled the illusion that he was 
in no pain. She rubbed where the cuff chafed on her wrist. Feeling 
drained, she looked around the room.

	It was was much larger than the interview room, probably forty
feet in length and twenty in width.  Around the perimeter was counter 
space, and microscopes and other lab equipment were set up in neat, 
efficient work stations. Toward the center of the room, sophisticated 
computer and medical equipment surrounded two still figures on 
stretchers. The whooshing and sighing of the ventilators were the 
only sounds in the room, bringing nightmare memories flooding back to 
Scully.  Half forgotten and imperfectly remembered memories, like 
background noise, accompanied by a jigsaw puzzle of pictures, 
sensations - of herself on a similar stretcher, surrounded by similar 
equipment.  She felt chilled to the bone.

	Cuffed to Mulder's wrist, she could get no nearer to the boys, 
but the fact that they were dependent on ventilators to breathe for them 
was a grim enough sign.  Unlike Mulder, they displayed no outward sign 
of pain or suffering, merely lay quiet, deathlike.  Had she been like 
this - unconscious in some cold laboratory, helpless to prevent the 
use and abuse of her body in experiments like this one?  She shook 
with cold and fear and outrage at what had been done to her, to the 
boys, and now to Mulder. Next to her, her partner twitched violently 
and moaned. She stroked his hair with the gentlest of touches, and  
he seemed to settle. Keeping the contact, she leaned against the wall 
and let sleep overtake her.

					~ ~ ~ 

	What the hell was keeping that secretive son of a bitch?  The 
sky in the east was beginning to turn from black to gray.  Skinner 
looked at his watch for the hundredth time.  Less than thirty minutes 
to go until take-off.  They would be moving soon.  It was at least a 
ten minute drive to that part of the airport where the corporate jets 
were hangared.  As if in answer to his unspoken prayer, he heard a 
rustling in the bushes behind him.

	"What's going on?"

	"Nothing yet. Where the hell have you been?" Skinner glared.

	"Patience, Walter.  Nothing good was ever accomplished in a 
hurry.  I had a lot of work to do, and damn little time in which to do 
it."  He brought a two-way radio to his lips.  "Signal me when you're 
in position."  As squad after squad checked in, Skinner's eyes grew 
wider and wider.  

	"What the hell did you do, call out the National Guard?"

	Deep Throat chuckled.  "You're not far off,"  he said
enigmatically.  All business again, he  spoke into the radio. "On my
signal, Alpha and Delta with us, Beta, Kappa and Chi stay outside to
secure ground transport and personnel.  As soon as we're in, bring up 
the ambulances."  He turned to Walter.  "And let's hope we don't need 
them."

					~ ~ ~ 

	Scully awoke as Addison strolled into the room.  He went 
directly to the bedsides of the boys, checking the monitors, taking 
readings, adjusting the ventilator settings.  Knute and Rafe wheeled 
two gurneys into the room and left.  "Thank you, gentlemen, I'll let 
you know when we'll be needing you. Ah, I see you're awake, Dr. 
Scully.  It's much nicer, knowing names now, isn't it?  What do you 
think of our little facility?"

	"As torture chambers go, it's not bad,"  replied Scully,
disgustedly.

	"By the way, how did you get into Mulder's room?"

	"The doors weren't locked.  I walked out."

	"Yes.  But you could have tried to escape. You wanted to. Why
didn't you?"

	Scully looked at him for a long time.  "Was that another one 
of your little experiments, Addison?  I don't suppose someone like 
you would understand why.  How the hell do people like you get to 
be people like you?"  She was distracted as Mulder began to stir.  
"Stay still," she whispered.  "Try not to move."

	"Oh, excellent, he's awake.  I wanted to get his impressions 
of the effects of the drug.  What about it, Mulder?  How did it make 
you feel, what were the sensations?  Are you still feeling the effects 
of the drug?"

	Mulder stared at him.  "You're serious, aren't you?  You're
actually serious.  Tell you what, why don't you go fuck yourself, 
okay?"  His voice was a little stronger and louder, leading Scully 
to hope that the effects of the drug were wearing off.

	"I'm really disappointed in your attitude."  Addison went to 
a refrigerator and withdrew a vial, then went to a drawer and picked 
out a couple of syringes.  He drew up some medication into each 
syringe.  Out of the corner of his eye he watched the captive couple 
stiffen. "No, this isn't more of Mr. Mulder's - or do you prefer Dr. 
Mulder?  Or Fox?  No? This isn't more of Mr. Mulder's experimental 
drug.  This is just a barbiturate to make you more cooperative for 
travel."  He recapped the syringes and set them on the counter.

	"Where are we going?"

	"Well, thanks to you two, this facility has become 
compromised.  We have to abandon ship, as it were.  So if it's any 
comfort to you, the project has been inconvenienced greatly.  We're 
going back down to Bluestone in Virginia for the moment. Then - who 
knows?  There several other facilities dotted around the country. I'm 
sure someone can make some room for us."

	"Boss, your call just came through on line four."  Gloating, 
Knute leaned negligently against the counter, as Addison crossed the 
room to pick up the phone.

	"....Yes, we're all ready to go here.  Rafe's loading the 
truck.  Then there's the test subjects and their equipment, and then 
of course our guests...Yes, it is the same woman that visited your 
facility. Small world, eh?...Really?  Well, that's extremely 
interesting.  A real stroke of luck, wouldn't you say? ...In 
hindsight, no, it wasn't a particularly good idea... Mr. Mulder has 
not been particularly helpful regarding his observations about 
AGY-312, but I expect that may change as the trials proceed...Thank 
you, Frank.  See you in a couple of hours."  

	He turned to Scully. "Well, that was informative. Dr. Matthews
was extremely happy that you'll be staying with us, Dr. Scully.  He
thought you looked familiar when you visited Bluestone.  He never 
guessed he'd be so lucky as to get to study you again - in person 
this time.  He's just fascinated by how you managed to clear all the 
experimental substance from your system.  You should hear him, he's 
like a kid with a new toy.  So it appears the both of you will be 
assisting us in our research efforts."

	Only Mulder could hear Scully's quick intake of breath, but 
both men could see the color drain from her face.  She made no other 
sign of reacting to Addison's information, but Mulder knew how much 
control she had to exert to remain calm.  This had to be her worst 
nightmare. Certainly, the researchers' plans for him - continuing to 
study the pain-enhancing drug - was his.

	Rafe came in.  Addison unplugged the boys' equipment and 
put them on battery power.  Then Rafe and Knute wheeled one of the 
boys and the attached cardiac and IV monitors and the ventilator out 
of the room.  A few minutes later they returned for the other boy.

	"When they come back, they'll assist me in administering the
sedative - somehow I don't think I can rely on your cooperation.  Then
you'll be placed on stretchers for the ride to the airport, and you'll
wake up in Virginia in a few hours."  He busied himself with placing 
files in boxes for several minutes.  Mulder groaned as the manacle 
cut into his skin.  Although the overall level of pain was less than 
it had been a couple of hours previous, it was still agonizing, 
especially in his ribs.  He was having increasing difficulty getting 
enough air.  Scully looked at him, worried.  His cuffed hand sought 
hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

	"Now where the hell did they go off to?"  Addison went out 
the door and returned seconds later.  "Perhaps they're moving some of 
the specimens.  Really, one has to be so specific with instructions to 
these oafs.  Very well, we're running out of time.  Dr. Scully, I'm 
going to give Mr. Mulder his sedative.  I strongly urge you not to 
interfere in any way, or I can assure you, I'll have Knute make sure 
he stays out for the trip.  The way Knute has a tendency to get 
carried away, Mulder may not survive it.  And that would be a terrible 
waste, don't you agree?"

	Addison approached Mulder warily, syringe in hand.  "Don't 
make this difficult for both of us, Mr. Mulder. This needs to be given 
slowly. It will just increase your pain if you give me any trouble."

	"Will it make the pain stop?"  Mulder asked plaintively.

	"Oh, yes, you'll definitely be unaware of pain, I guarantee."

	"Okay, give me the shot," he panted. "Anything to make the 
pain stop." Grimacing, Mulder stretched his left arm out close to his 
body so that Addison could examine it.

	He leaned near Mulder, palpating for a vein to inject.  "I'm 
glad you're at last being sensible about this.  Dr. Scully, you could 
learn a lot from his coopera-"

	Addison broke off as Mulder's leg came up off the chair and
clipped him in the jaw, sending him off balance toward Scully.  With 
her right hand, she hit him in the nose as hard as she could, howling 
in pain as she heard something snap in her hand.  Mulder groaned and 
guarded the left side of his chest with his arm.  Addison had just hit 
the floor when they heard running footsteps.

	Deep Throat and Skinner burst into the room, followed by a 
dozen heavily armed federal marshals and deputies.  Two dragged 
Addison to his feet and started to search him.  They took a small 
key from his pocket and tossed it to Skinner.  The A.D. bent over 
and released the cuffs, glowering as he saw the bloody rings they 
left on Mulder and Scully's wrists.

	"Are you all right, Scully?" he asked with a gentleness she 
had never heard him use before.

	"Yes.  I think I broke my hand when I hit him, but I'm okay.  
But sir, he gave Mulder something.  Some experimental drug to increase
pain...and I think he has broken ribs and maybe a ruptured spleen or a
pneumothorax.  He needs a hospital right away."

	Deep Throat bent down over Mulder, saw the way sweat had 
plastered his hair to his skull, saw the lines of pain etched on his 
face, saw the pallor.  "Don't worry, son, we'll get you feeling better 
right away.  Scully, see if you can find something to give him for the 
pain."  He helped her to her feet and she went to the cabinets.

	Skinner collared Addison and shoved him up against the wall. 
"Well?"  he demanded roughly.

	"Second cupboard.  In the lock box - the key's on my keyring. 
There's morphine or Dilaudid.  Personally, I would suggest the 
Dilaudid, based on the chemical composition of the AGY-312."

	Skinner found the key and opened the box for Scully.  With 
some difficulty due to her injured hand, she drew up 4 milligrams of 
the drug and grabbed a tourniquet.  Skinner applied the tourniquet for 
her. "Try not to move, Mulder.  This will make you feel better." Still
over-sensitized, he gasped at the pain of the puncture and the fiery 
sting of the medication, but stayed stone still as she injected. 
Within seconds of her removing the needle, his face had relaxed and 
regained a little of its color, and he sighed.  "Thanks, Scully. 
That's a lot better."

	A stretcher was wheeled over to them and Skinner and three
marshals gently lifted Mulder onto it.

	"What about the others?"  Scully asked.

	"They were rounded up when they brought the second boy out,"
replied Skinner.

	"I hope you know what you're risking," said Addison.  "This
project has some friends in very high places who would not hesitate 
in the slightest to squash you all like bugs. It wouldn't be the first 
time that obstacles to our research had been removed with regrettable 
force, you know."

	Deep Throat smiled.  "Dr. Addison, let me ask you something.  
Do the words Code Name Sable mean anything to you?"

	Addison's color left his face and his knees buckled.  His 
guards yanked him to his feet.  "But that...that's not possible. They 
said that wouldn't happen, couldn't happen, they said..."

	"It's not only possible, it's occurring as we speak," drawled 
Deep Throat pleasantly.  "If it hasn't effected all the facilities yet, 
it soon will."

	Whatever bravado Addison had displayed to this point 
deserted him now.  He was led away by the Federal marshals.

	"What's happening with the boys?"

	Deep Throat shook his head a little.  "They're in bad shape. 
We're flying them down to the National Institutes of Health.  They're
setting up a special area there to take care of them.  We're notifying
their families and flying them down later this afternoon."

	"Mulder was injected with an experimental drug. We don't know
what was in it.  It could have...have alien DNA or something."

	The older man nodded.  "Mulder will be cared for in the same 
unit until he's cleared."

	"I don't know if he's stable enough to travel. He's in shock, 
he may be bleeding internally, there's the respiratory problems..."

	"Don't worry, Scully.  The same team of doctors who saved 
my life will be on the plane, taking care of the kids and Mulder.  
We have everything we could possibly need."  Deep Throat looked at 
her kindly.  "It's all right, Scully.  It's over.  You can relax now."

	She closed her eyes as they started to fill with tears, and
sighed.  When she opened them again, she had her emotions in control 
once more.  "Let's get going then."

	She found Skinner at her side, supporting her and looked up 
at him questioningly.  With a half-smile, he explained, "You're shaking 
like a leaf, Scully.  You look like you're gonna pass out.  Let's get 
you to the car."

	"Sorry,"  she muttered.  "It's been a long night.  And I want 
to ride with Mulder in the ambulance, if that's possible."

	"I think we can arrange for you to ride with Mulder.  And 
believe me, Agent Scully, you have nothing to apologize for," said 
Deep Throat.  Flanked by her rescuers, she followed Mulder's 
stretcher outside.

					 ~ ~ ~

	"I'm fine, Scully, there's no need for you to do this."

	"Humor me, Mulder. I don't get that much chance to play doctor
anymore."

	His eyes lit up.  "We're going to play doctor?"

	"You should be that lucky."

	Awkwardly because of the cast on her right hand and wrist, she
inserted the key and opened the door.  "Inside."

	A voice came out of the dimness of the apartment.  "I was
wondering when you'd get home."  As their eyes became accustomed to 
the gloom, they could see Deep Throat in a chair, legs crossed, 
holding a glass with ice and some amber fluid.  "Oh, I helped myself 
- I hope you don't mind."

	"Not at all."  Mulder lowered himself gingerly to the couch, 
his ribs making their protest known.  He had been at NIH for the past 
four days.  On the trip from Lewiston he had suddenly started having 
severe respiratory distress.  Assuming a pneumothorax, the doctors 
on board had inserted a chest tube between his splintered ribs to 
re-inflate his lung, while Scully hovered anxiously nearby.  Once at 
the hospital, there had been innumerable x-rays and blood and tissue 
tests to try to determine more about the experimental drug, but 
nothing definitive was found.  His progress was swift and after the 
chest tube was removed, there was little reason for him to remain.

	Now he sat across from Deep Throat, never failing to be 
surprised by this man.  As on a previous ocasion, there was no 
indication as to how he had gotten in.  He was clothed the way Mulder 
was more accustomed to seeing him, in a three piece suit, and his hair 
had been recently cut.

	"Just thought you might like an update,"  Deep Throat said. 
"There have been mysterious explosions at three sites in the past 
three days.  One at Rainbow Drug Company near Detroit, another at 
Black Arrow Pharmaceuticals in Wisconsin, and at Orange Blossom 
Toiletries in Florida.  We have established their links to Pinck 
Pharmaceuticals.  The explosions are under investigation.  Frank 
Matthews and Sheppard Addison were arrested along with their staffs.  
Faced with the more serious kidnapping charges, Addison committed 
suicide in his cell this morning."  He saw Mulder draw a shuddering 
breath with the knowledge that his tormenter was dead.  "Matthews 
has been placed on a suicide watch as a result. Between the three of 
us, I think Matthews is made of sterner stuff.  The case against him 
will be much harder to prove.  I think he knows if he just waits it 
out, he may walk.  On a happier note, you know that Skinner's back 
as A.D.?"

	"Yeah,"  Mulder said.  "Scully told me.  All the charges were
dismissed.  In fact, there are some red faces at the Bureau because 
no one can track down how the charges were made and who made them.  
It's more than a bit demoralizing that in essence the whole F.B.I. fell 
for a hoax.  How are the kids doing?"

	Deep Throat looked grim.  "Not well.  Still on life support, 
where they'll stay until the families decide to discontinue it, or 
until someone comes up with something that will help.   At times 
Andrew looks like he may breathe spontaneously, he's fighting the 
vent a bit, I believe the expression is."  

	Scully nodded.  The condition of the kids upset her greatly.  
She had become better acquainted with the families of the boys, since 
she spent all her time at Mulder's bedside.  She had even called her 
mother to talk with the mothers of the kids, giving what support and 
hope she could.  

	He continued,  "There have been some highly circumscribed
outbreaks of an unknown flu-like illness, quite severe in some cases."

	"Let me guess,"  said Scully.  "There wouldn't be one confined to
one dorm on a college campus in Lewiston, Maine by any chance, would
there?"

	"Good guess.  We've found perhaps seven communities where 
these outbreaks are happening.  All the people who are sick were in 
the habit of getting vitamin or other shots from their doctors or 
public health clinics on a regular basis."

	"What exactly is Code Name Sable?"  she asked.

	"I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

	"This crap again? After everything we've been through?" Scully
fumed.  "Well, what about how you were able, in just five hours, to 
put together that rescue - calling in all those marshals, the charter 
jet that was a medical center with wings, the VIP ambulances in Maine 
and from the jet to N.I.H.?"

	Deep Throat's eyes twinkled as he shook his head.  "Believe 
me, Scully, it's for your own good."

	"Well, at least tell me this. Is it over? Has the 
experimentation stopped for good this time?"  She looked earnestly 
into his face.

	He sobered.  "I wish I could tell you that it had, Scully.  
We've put a stop to it for now.  Federal marshals walked into Pinck
Pharmaceuticals and the place couldn't have been cleaner, nothing 
out of order.  The three facilities where the explosions took place 
were completely destroyed, and Bluestone and Blue Spruce have been 
closed down.  The remaining names on Wojak's list are being gone over 
with a fine-toothed comb. But as to whether we've seen the last of 
their experiments?  I honestly can't tell you, Scully.  We're going to 
have to keep our eyes and ears open."

	"Have you been able to return to your 'lofty position'?" asked
Mulder wiht a hint of humor in his eyes.

	"Well, not the same position,"  Deep Throat chuckled.  "But 
yes, one very much like it."  He rose to leave and walked toward the 
door.

	Mulder smiled.  "Have you got your season tickets for all the
sports stadiums in the country?"

	Deep Throat opened the door to leave.  He looked back at 
Mulder and Scully and grinned mischievously.

	"Not yet.  But I'm working on it."


The End of THE RETURN, PART I





LINKS - THE RETURN, PART II


Chapter One


	He stood in the raw chill of the wind, the shale of the
beach crunching beneath his shoes.  Drawing the collar of
his Burberry up around his ears, he hunched his shoulders
as he stared out over the gray, choppy ocean.  Maybe it
would explain something, he thought.  It could explain so
damn much.

	It had been late the night before that he had
received the brief, enigmatic phone call.  But then, Mulder
was accustomed to that from him.  He packed an overnight
bag and left a message on Scully's answering machine so
she wouldn't worry.  Well, knowing Scully, she would worry
anyway, but he had done all he could to ease her mind.
Then he left, driving through the night on the long journey to
the Vineyard.  The drive brought with it the memories of the
last two trips here - emotionally devastating experiences that
even now tried to steal away his energy, his curiosity, his
resolve.   Well, he was a seeker of the Truth, was he not?
There could be truths to be learned from this trip, too.  But
always the yin and the yang, the two edged sword, the
knowledge that with Truth, sometimes - often - comes pain.

	Dawn, the man had said.  That had come and gone
unmarked almost an hour before.  Mulder shoved his hands
deeper into the pockets of his overcoat.  Not exactly beach
weather, he thought idly.  But then, he was not in a beach
frame of mind.  He looked around, subconsciously taking in
the lighthouse and the complaints of the whirling gulls.  This
place.  So many memories, and so many of them so dark.

	He had always wrapped himself in solitude like a
thick cloak, shielding himself from the pain that closeness
had all too often brought him.  Here on the windswept beach
on an overcast March morning, he had all the solitude he
could wish for.  But there was no comfort here, not for his
pounding head, his churning stomach, his incessant ghosts.

	He admitted so few to his circle of intimates.  Not a
circle at all, really, now that he thought about it.  Associates,
casual acquaintances not deserving of the title 'friend', didn't
count.  They never saw the real Mulder, understood him,
knew the saints and demons that drove him. There was
Scully. There was always Scully, and there always would be,
if he had anything to say about it.  Maybe someday there
would be Samantha.  And that was about it.  Certainly no
one else in his family had ever qualified.

	But there was this strange relationship with his
mystery man.  Mulder wasn't even sure how much he liked
him, but he did trust him, almost as much as he trusted
Scully.  Hell, he didn't even know the man's real name.  But
in spite of that, he instinctively knew that there was
something about him that had his best interests at heart.
And Mulder could count on one hand the number of people
he could say that about, and still have fingers left over.

	He had said it was important, something it was time
for Mulder to know.  Something that might answer some of
his questions about his past.  Mulder shook off a vague
sense of misgiving.  It was the perfect bait - of course he
had known how Mulder would react.  He can be trusted, he
kept telling himself repeatedly.  So what if he hadn't heard
from him since they worked together on the alien DNA case
in Lewiston.  So what if he had seemed to disappear after
their last meeting in his apartment like a wisp of smoke
Undoubtedly, he had his reasons.  But where the hell was he
now?

	As if in answer, he caught sight of a lone figure, two
hundred yards down the beach to his left and walking slowly
toward him.  Mulder turned in the direction of the figure, and
leisurely crunched his way down the beach, the hissing foam
of broken waves only a few feet away.  As he got closer, he
could finally make out the features of the man - gray,
craggy, the weight he had lost now regained, something of
the old spring in his step.  He was carrying a small paper
bag.

	"I thought by now you could use some hot coffee,"
he called.  They continued to close the distance between
them, then the man reached into the bag, and handed
Mulder a styrofoam cup.  "Light, no sugar - that how you
take it?"

	"No, but at this point I'd drink turpentine, as long as
it was hot."  Mulder removed the lid and took a long sip.  He
grasped the cup in both hands, warming them.

	"Sorry for the tardiness, Mr. Mulder.  I was ...
delayed.  Well, to be honest, this hasn't been an easy
decision for me, coming to talk to you like this.  Is there
someplace where we could go and sit?  Preferably out of
this wind.  And not too public, of course."

	Mulder looked at him for a long minute, then
nodded.  "Yeah, I know a place.  It's a little hike, but it's
private."

	He began walking in the direction from which the
man had just come, his companion at his side.  He chanced
a sidelong glance at him, but it was clear that the man was
going to hold his counsel until they arrived at their
destination. And then what, thought Mulder. They strolled up
the beach in a silence punctuated by brief exchanges of
trivialities.  For most of the mile-long walk, they maintained
the uneasy quiet between them.

	They approached a large boathouse, its dark green
paint flaking from the wooden clapboards.  Mulder examined
the Yale lock for a few seconds, then reached into his
pocket for his Swiss Army knife.  He selected a tool and
quickly picked the lock, swinging the door open for the man
he knew only as Deep Throat.

	"Been doing that for years.  The owner's just here
for the summer," he explained with a self-deprecating smile.
"We won't be disturbed here."  He shut the door after them.

	Inside there was smell of salt and tide and must.
Wan daylight filtered in through dusty windows.  They
stepped around rowboats, oars and stacks of net and canvas
as Mulder led the way to the side of an enormous cabin
cruiser.  He made his way onto the boat, reaching down and
offering a hand to help the older man up.  Deep Throat
clambered aboard and followed Mulder aft to a hatchway
which opened into a dimly lit but pleasant cabin.  They made
themselves comfortable in chairs on opposite sides of the
small room, and regarded each other silently.  Two can play
at this game, thought Mulder, and patiently he waited.

	"I had assumed you would bring me to your father's
house,"  said Deep Throat.

	Mulder's face clouded.  His mother had informed
him that William had left him the house in West Tisbury, but
he had never been able to force himself to go back there,
after the tumultuous events of the night his father died.   "I
haven't been up here since he was killed.  Immediately after
he was ... gone, I had my own problems to worry about.
Since then...."  He shook his head.  "I don't know, I just
haven't been back to the Vineyard.  No reason, I guess.
Something wrong with this place?"  His expression was
guarded.

	Deep Throat looked intently at the young man.  He
was already so haunted.   Would what he had to say make
things better for him, or worse?  "No, not at all.  This is fine."

	The silence between them once again stretched out.
Mulder looked quizzically at his companion.  Finally Deep
Throat coughed lightly and began to speak.

	"I debated for a long time whether to ever have this
conversation, especially since William's death and the way
he died.  I don't know - maybe it was because of his death
that I decided we needed to talk.  You are aware that I knew
him, worked with him long ago?"  At the younger man's nod,
he continued.  "Before I say what's on my mind, there's
some things I need to know first.  Tell me about your
childhood.  What do you remember?"

	Of all the questions Mulder might have prepared
himself for, that wasn't one of them.  He looked
dumbfounded for a long moment, then his face became dark
with anger and he leapt to his feet.  "That's what you brought
me up here for?  To talk about my childhood?"  he
demanded.  "What the hell is this?  I've already been
psychoanalysed by the Bureau shrinks - several times. I
don't need to go through any of this with you.  It's none of
your goddamn business!"  Three long strides covered the
distance to the hatchway. He had flung open the door when
Deep Throat's voice stopped him.

	"It's more my business than you may think, Mr.
Mulder.  Sit down."  His voice sounded older, more tired, but
also gentler than Mulder had ever heard it.  "Please."
	
	Mulder turned and noted the gravity of his
companion's expression.  He stood, his hand on the latch,
trying to decide what to do.  God, he hated this crap.  And
he was even angrier, because he thought that his
relationship with this man precluded this sort of thing.  His
memories were just that - his.  They were painful enough to
carry around, tucked away carefully in a distant corner of his
mind.  Dredging them up for the edification of others was a
torment he didn't need.

	"Please."

	Something about the man's tone caught and held
him like a moth in a spider's web.  Mulder closed the
hatchway and returned to his chair.

	"I'm really not trying to be over-inquisitive.  There's
a reason for this."

	Trust.  Easy to say, hard to do.  Mulder took a deep
breath and started.

	"This will no doubt be disappointing to you, but for
someone with a photographic memory, I remember very little of
my childhood.  Dad worked for the State Department, and
was gone a lot.  I think my first memory goes back to one of
the times he was away.  Samantha was just a baby.  I was
reading a book.  I was, oh, I guess four or five."

	"Four's pretty early to be reading."

	"My father had taught me, he wanted me to be
ready for school.  I don't remember that part, but my mother
once said I was reading when I was three.  Anyway, those
were the best times - when he was away.  My mother was
different when he wasn't around.  We had fun.  Went to
beach in the summer a lot."

	"Why was it better when he wasn't around?"

	"Look, you said you wanted me to tell about my
childhood, I'm doing it,"  Mulder said with annoyance.

	"Sorry."

	Mulder shook his head and dismissively waved a
hand, then continued.  "My mother was pretty permissive.
It's strange, you know.  From as early as I can remember, it
always seemed like I was the parent, and she the child.
Coping wasn't one of her strong suits - still isn't."  His eyes
focused in the middle distance, seeing something that his
companion was not privy to.  "I remember once when
Samantha was maybe three or four, she had fallen and cut
her lip.  Came in from the yard, crying, bleeding all over the
place.  Well, my mother just freaked.  Freaked and then
passed out.  I got some ice to put on the cut and calmed
Samantha down, then went next door to get a neighbor.  My
mother came to fairly quickly, but then seemed more
frightened than ever.  She kept telling me not to tell my
father what had happened.  Of course, thanks to the helpful
neighbor, he did find out."

	"What happened then?"

	Mulder blinked rapidly for a few seconds.  "I don't
know.  I don't remember that part.  It's funny, I should
remember, I wasn't all that young then.  I don't know."  He
was silent for a few moments, confused.  He stirred when
Deep Throat again spoke.

	"You said your mother was permissive."

	"Yeah, she'd let us get away with murder, but only
when Dad was away.  I guess that's why things were better
when he was gone."  Mulder let it go at that.  Regardless of
what Deep Throat wanted to know, he was doing everything
he could not to go into that corner where the locked up,
painful memories were.

	Deep Throat respected - for now - Mulder's
reticence.  "Your father was a disciplinarian?"

	"Yeah, well, I suppose he had to be."  His tone was
slightly edgy, defensive.  "Samantha and I could run rings
around my mother.  He was away for weeks at a time, we
were probably pretty wild when he got back from wherever.
He liked things quiet, and orderly.  Kids just aren't quiet and
orderly by nature."  His voice dropped as his eyes once
again focused on that neutral area in the middle of the small
cabin.  "Probably should never have had kids,"  Mulder
muttered, half to himself.

	Deep Throat found it impossible to picture the young
man as a wild kid, but let it pass.  "Were you ever in Scouts,
Little League?"

	Mulder laughed, and there was more than a hint of
bitterness in it.  "No.  I was a geek well before the term ever
became common parlance.  I was painfully shy, acutely
aware that I was a bookworm, and I had never demonstrated
any athletic talent whatsoever.  I remember my father was
always saying what a clumsy oaf I was.  I decided that I
would do my peers a favor and not inflict myself upon their
teams.  And Scouts...well, back then, it was pretty
exclusively a father-son sort of activity.  With my father
gone so much of the time..." he trailed off and shrugged.
Mulder looked at the older man, indicating he had finished.
Deep Throat looked as if he expected him to continue.

	"Alright, what more do you want?  You already know
about Samantha, I'm not going over that again.  More?
Okay, I had two double promotions. Terrible mistakes. I
didn't fit in with the kids as it was, and then to be two years
younger than most of my classmates...."  He shook his
head.  "Stupid.  But I remember my father said he was
proud of me both times it happened.  More?"  he asked with
increasing heat.  "I was valedictorian of my high school
class, I scored a perfect 1600 on my SAT's, and then I got
the hell out of the country.  The end.  Now what did you want
to know all this garbage for?"

	"He used to beat you, didn't he?"  The voice was
gruff, soft, with an underlying edge of hot anger.

	Mulder stopped as if poleaxed.  His mouth worked
before any sound came out.  "I - I told you...he didn't have
much patience with children.  My mother couldn't keep us in
line, and someone had to...."  He gave up, and slumped
back in the deep cushions of the chair.  "How did you
know?"  he croaked.

	"The same way I know everything, Mr. Mulder."

	Mulder sighed so hard he shook.  "He had a really
lousy temper, which only got worse after Samantha....  He
would drink, it wasn't really his fault.  I wasn't the only one -
my mother was beaten more than once.  I guess that's why
she was always so scared of him.  And I guess it pissed him
off that I wasn't."

	"You weren't scared of him?"

	Mulder smiled, not bitter this time, more sad than
anything.  "I guess I was too busy hating his guts. All my life,
I think my one regret - after Samantha, of course - has been
that I was related to that son of a bitch.  God, if I ever turned
out to be the bastard he was, if there were something in the
gene pool that got passed along...."

	Deep Throat chuckled.  Drily, he said,  "That makes
this a bit easier.  I don't know any way to do this other than
just say it.  Mr. Mulder, there is every possibility that you are
not William Mulder's son."

	Now it was the young man's turn to chuckle.  "I was
an alien changling, right? Okay, I'll bite.  If I'm not William
Mulder's son, whose son am I?"

	"Mine."


End of Chapter One



Chapter Two


	"Wh-what?" asked Mulder weakly.

	"I said, there is a possibility that I am your father."

	"But...how?  I mean, my mother....  My mother?  No,
it's just not possible."  He sat back in his chair,
dumbfounded.

	"I knew the effect this could have on you.  That's
why I waited so long to talk to you.   I know you have
questions.  All I ask is that you hear me out."  Deep Throat
looked at the young man anxiously.

	Dully, Mulder nodded.

	"All right.  This goes back to many years ago.  Your
father and I worked together closely at times, more distantly
at others.  Even now I can't divulge the details of that work.
Suffice to say that in many ways a portion of it was related
to your present quest."

	He stood and began to pace the small cabin.
"William had married Martha a few months before, and for
the most part was working Stateside.  I was in the Middle
East, had been there for some time.  At an embassy
function one night, I met a woman, Liana.  She worked as
the secretary - I suppose these days she would be called the
administrative assistant - to the State Department liaison in
that country.  She was amazing -  brilliant, funny, beautiful.
I fell in love immediately, and we married about a year
later."

	He hesitated for a moment, then slowly went on.
"Our jobs, William's and mine, do not lend themselves to
wedded bliss.  There are too many secrets, too much we
can't share, even with people who have very high security
clearances, as Liana did.  She had stopped working when
we married, as was the custom then, and I think she missed
being in the middle of things.  So, it was not a marriage
made in heaven - I suppose we were both very strong-willed
and accustomed to having things our own way.  It was a
stormy relationship, incredibly wonderful when things were
going well, and a nightmare when they weren't.   After three
years, I was posted, at least temporarily, back to
Washington.  It meant Liana leaving friends she had had for
years.  Although she was an American, she had been
brought up in that part of the world, spoke Arabic like a
native.  So that put additional stresses and strains on the
marriage."  He frowned and hesitated a moment, then went
on.

	"Well, we settled in Georgetown, and I ran into
WIlliam more frequently.  Liana was terribly lonely, and he
suggested we go up to the Vineyard for the weekend.  Liana
could meet Martha, maybe get some tips on how to live with
her husband's work, and William and I could discuss some
plans that were in the works for us."  He chuckled.  "I don't
think you could possibly appreciate the uproar that that trip
caused.  Men who worked in the kind of areas that William
and I did simply did not meet socially with the wives along
for the ride.  Anyway, it was a relatively successful weekend,
although I remember Liana's commenting that Martha
seemed terribly spoiled and helpless."

	"My mother came from a very wealthy Boston
Brahmin family,"  Mulder said absently.  "They had servants
for everything.  It's a wonder she did as well as she did."

	Deep Throat nodded.  "I'm not surprised.  Anyway,
we saw them occasionally after that."

	Mulder shifted impatiently in his seat.  The older
man noticed and smiled.  "Don't worry, I'm getting to the
point.  About a year later, both Martha and Liana became
pregnant, and by some coincidence were due to deliver
within days of each other.  Liana and I were wildly happy,
Martha was happy but anxious, and William....  Let's just say
that I think William was not exactly looking forward to
having his wife's attentions divided and his home strewn
with diapers, bottles and baby toys."

	"I can believe that,"  Mulder muttered, not quite
under his breath.

	"Liana went into labor two weeks early.  And, in one
of those scenes that sounds like fiction, she died giving birth
to our son - hemorrhaged to death.  They tried to save her,
but nothing they did was enough."  He sat, staring at the
floor, unable to meet Mulder's eyes.

	"I blame myself for what came next.  I was
devastated, completely devastated by what had occurred.
There was no sign of a problem, and then suddenly for that
to happen....  Please understand, that's not an excuse."  He
finally raised his eyes to meet Mulder's.  "What I did was
inexcusable.  But at the time I was an emotional basket
case.  The baby - my son - was having his own problems
brought about by the nature of his birth, but I didn't care.  It
wasn't as if I blamed the child for her death, or any other
such Victorian bullshit.   It was just that I couldn't care.  I
didn't have anything left.

	"I remember... standing... outside the nursery, at the
observation window, having just come from making my
wife's funeral arrangements.  The child was in some sort of
crisis, doctors and nurses crowded all around the tiny
incubator.  And somewhere deep inside me, a little switch
just turned off.  I couldn't lose someone else that mattered
so much, and I could do nothing to stop that from
happening.  The only thing I could do was stop caring, and
that's what I did."  His voice was rough with emotion and he
fell silent for several moments.

	"Fortunately - or unfortunately - there was a crisis
overseas in my area of expertise the day of my wife's
funeral.  As soon as the ceremony at the graveside was
over, I was to be on a plane headed for Iran.  The child was
still in the hospital, clinging to life.  I had no family at all,
Liana had no close family, not in this country anyway.
Because of the nature of my work, I had no really close
friends.  I was faced with what to do for my son, if he lived.

	"In our line of work, mine and William's, families
were an encumbrance.  Nice to come home to, but whose
needs came second to the job.  I had to make a quick
decision about the child, there was no way I could miss that
plane.  So I made the decision that has haunted me ever
since that time.  I named WIlliam and Martha as legal
guardians.  To take my son, if he survived, home with them,
until such time as I could assume his care.

	"That decision..."  Deep Throat shook his head and
slumped back in the chair.  "It wasn't based on anything
other than expediency.  God knows I didn't pick William for
his parenting skills.  I wouldn't have known what parenting
skills were.  I had none myself, I'm sure.  Anyway, I heard
ten days later that Martha had also had a baby boy, and that
my son had against all odds survived and was ready to
leave the hospital.  William flew a nurse down to
Washington to pick up my son, and flew them back to the
Vineyard.

	"The next couple of years I spent in deep cover.  I
only made it back to the States twice in that time, both times
flown in under cover of night to Washington, and flown out
before dawn the same day.  My work was delicate and
dangerous.  I had no time or inclination to worry about
anyone besides myself.

	"It was when my son was two and a half that word
reached me that he was dead.  There had been a tragic
accident at the Mulders' home, and the child had died of
head injuries.  I mourned in my way, but since I hadn't laid
eyes on the child since he was a few days old, I can't
honestly say that I was prostrated with grief."

	"If you say that your son died, then how can I be
your son?" asked Mulder.

	Deep Throat got up and resumed pacing.  He went
on as if Mulder had never spoken.  "I never even gave it a
thought, to tell you the truth.  I assumed that things were as I
had been told.  I was sure that the boy's death was much
harder on William and especially Martha, because after all,
he was growing up with them.   About six months after the
boy's death, I finally got off the assignment I had been
working, out from under cover at long last.  I had months of
leave time coming to me, and one of the first places I
stopped was the Vineyard, to thank William and Martha for
everything they had done for my child."

	The man stopped and looked at Mulder.  "I will
never, ever forget the look on Martha's face when she saw
me at the door.  She went white as a sheet and passed out
cold.  William was making one of his rare appearances at
home, so between us, we got her to the bedroom and laid
her out on the bed.  She started coming around, and I went
to get a glass of water for her.  As I was returning and about
to enter the room, I saw William leaning over her, and she
seemed terrified.  He said - and I can hear the words as
clearly as if they were being said right now - 'Just keep your
mouth shut, you stupid bitch, and everything will be alright'.
They never knew that I had overheard.

	"To me, they made the excuse that Martha had
been having a difficult time with her pregnancy - she was
three months pregnant - and had been passing out a lot.
Which might have explained the faint, but not the look of
terror on her face, and not William's words.

	"What's that song - 'A man hears what he wants to
hear and disregards the rest'?  I was that man.  I was so
stupid.  I assumed that any odd behavior was attributable to
William and Martha's feeling guilty about my son's death.  I
thought maybe the accident had been preventable, maybe
they were afraid I would press charges, sue, I don't know.

	"I stayed with them for a very uncomfortable four
days.  I got to know their son a little.  A bright, solemn child,
with those hazel eyes that shift colors so easily - so like
Liana's.  At the time I didn't make the connection.  I scarcely
got the chance.  The Mulders were doing everything they
could to keep distance between me and the boy, even
packing him off to his aunt's for a visit, which coincided with
the last two days of my stay with them."

	Now Mulder looked at him with those hazel eyes,
not accusing, but seeking some other explanation.  This was
an intelligent man, trained to observe, trained to sense
deceit.  How could he not put two and two together, ask
questions?   	

	The older man returned his gaze, understanding the
need for more explanation that he saw in the younger man's
face.  "I'm sorry, I have no other reason or excuse than
stupidity.  Well, that and a subconscious drive not to rock
the boat.  Not to have to deal with what it would mean if they
were lying.  I'm not guiltless in this, Fox.  I admit, I took the
easy way.  At least it seemed easier at the time.  Living with
the lie has been far harder than I could have suspected."

	"When...,"  Mulder cleared his throat.  "When did
you finally begin to suspect that they had lied to you?"

	"It wasn't until several years later.  William had just
finished with an assignment and was blowing off some
steam before heading back to the Vineyard.  I found him in a
bar, hammered.  He was running the risk of blowing his
security clearance by talking about things he shouldn't have
been talking about.  I stayed with him until I could convince
him to go to a hotel for the night.  You would have been, oh,
fourteen or so, I suppose," he added parenthetically.

	"After Samantha,"  Mulder breathed.

	Deep Throat nodded.  "Yes.  It was noticed at State
when the drinking began to be a problem.  We even saw
him get nasty when he had had a few drinks, but never
considered what he might be like with his family.  I guess
everyone just thought it wouldn't be as bad at home.  It was
less trouble to think that,"  he finished bitterly.

	He glanced at the young man, whose lips were
pressed into a thin line.  Convenience for the people at
State had meant a childhood of abuse for him.  Once again,
he felt a bone-deep sorrow and regret that he hadn't made it
his business to see how William's family was being affected
by his drinking and his suppressed rage.

 	"Anyway, William was rambling about all kinds of
things, especially Samantha, and then he began talking
about his son.  Said how hard it had been on Martha to lose
both of her children, and it would have been better if she
had just listened to him and not had them in the first place."

	"And just that quickly, things seemed to fall into
place.  I knew - or I should say, I strongly suspected - what
had happened.  The child who had died had been Martha
and William's own son. I think when the child died, he 
decided to claim my child as his own, and report that it 
had been my son that had died. Any paperwork difficulties 
could have been cleared up easily - William had considerable 
power.  In any case, right after he made the slip about his son 
dying, he clammed up.  Never mentioned it again."

	"Did you bother to ask him about it, or did you just
let sleeping dogs lie - again?"  Mulder asked bitterly.

	Deep Throat looked at the agent intently.  He had
expected this.  The young man had to be brimming over
with anger.  Yet how could he ever expect him to
understand what it was like for him when Liana died - the
sorrow, the helplessness, the pressures of the work?  But
admittedly he had a lot to answer for.

	"No, I asked," he said quietly.  "I chose my moments
carefully, I admit, but I did pursue the matter.  William
accused me first of being crazy, never getting over the guilt
of having abandoned my child the first place.  When I told
him point blank what he had said that night he was drunk, he
claimed he had looked upon both boys as his sons.  That he
felt just as much sorrow at the loss of my son as he would
have if his son had been the one to die.  Then he let me
know that it was a little late to be worrying about it at that
point.  Well, I knew he was lying.  From that day onward, my
suspicions only grew.  I knew that you were my son, but had
been raised as the Mulders' own natural child."

	"But why would he do that?"  Mulder cried.  "It
doesn't make any sense!  He hated me!   He was cold
and...and abusive and brutal.  He couldn't have given a shit
if I had lived or died.  Why would he bother with such a
massive coverup?"

	"I think it was for Martha,"  Deep Throat answered
slowly.  "As you pointed out yourself, Martha isn't strong.  I
think when their son died, William was afraid that the day I
showed up to take back my son, she would have a
breakdown and be more of a drain on him and his career
than she already was.  I think that's why they had another
child.  Martha became pregnant within just a few months of
the boy's death.  I think she wanted another child of her own,
just in case I ever did come back to demand my son."  He
glanced up, noting the stricken expression on Mulder's face.
"I have no doubt that she loved you dearly, Fox.  But she
couldn't count on your always being there."

	Mulder shook his head impatiently.  "No. No, it isn't
that.  It's just...it's little wonder that she reacted to
Samantha's abduction the way she did, if indeed she was
losing her second natural child.  When Samantha was taken,
she had a total breakdown - had to go away to an expensive
private hospital for months.  Electric shock therapy,
thorazine cocktails, the whole nine yards.  I was allowed to
visit once a month, but she was...different."  Mulder sighed
and rubbed his face with his hands.  He looked like he had
aged ten years.  "Not that I'm necessarily buying all of this,
you understand."

	Deep Throat spread his arms wide.  "What can I
help you to understand?"

	"  I...just give me a minute.  Just let me think."

	"Take all the time you need, son."

	Mulder looked up at that and met the man's gaze
squarely.  "That's not been settled yet," he said drily.  Deep
Throat nodded and busied himself studying the charts on the
walls of the tiny cabin.

	Several minutes passed while Mulder's brain
whirled.  Granted his father - his mother as well, he
supposed - would never take any prizes for parenting, but
still, at least he had always thought of them as his parents.
If he was wrong in something as basic, as seminal as
knowing who his parents were, where did that put the rest of
his life?  What was real, and what was a distorted reflection
from smoke and mirrors?  If his whole childhood had been a
lie, where did the rest of his thoughts, his memories, his
most cherished beliefs stand?  He would have been happy
to disavow any relationship with his father.  That would have
been easy.  But his mother - she was a harmless, if
ineffectual, creature.  How would she have been able to live
this lie for so long, and never give him a hint?  And what
about Samantha?  Oh, God.  Samantha.

	"Samantha wasn't my sister?"  Mulder questioned
numbly.

	Deep Throat's voice was gentle.  "Fox, you grew up
with her, knowing her, relating to her as your sister.  She
was your sister in all the ways that counted."

	Gratitude washed over Mulder's face, to be quickly
replaced by bafflement once again.  He leaned forward,
looking down at his hands, his arms resting on his knees.
"But you - my father?  I can't get it to make sense....  But
why would you lie about it?  I don't know, I just can't think."

	"Fox, let me ask you something.  Do you think of me
as a selfless person, someone given to random acts of
charity?"

	He smiled a little and met Deep Throat's eyes.  "To
be honest?  No, not at all."

	His companion chuckled.  "And you'd be right. I
have a very strong instinct for self-preservation, and I'm not
by nature a charitable person.  You've said to me numerous
times in the past that I had put myself in danger to help you
out.  So why do you think I did that?  Why do you think I've
followed your career with interest for so long, gotten
involved with it, made your quest mine?"

	Mulder shrugged.  "Enlightened self-interest?"

	Now he laughed out loud.  "No, for once there is no
self-interest involved.  When I misled you about that EBE
that was being transported across the country, did you form
any theories as to why I might do that?"

	Mulder was quiet as he tried to remember back to
that time, and what his thoughts were.  "At first I thought you
were just trying to blow smoke for reasons of your own, or
the people you work for...."

	"And later?"

	"I came to feel you were trying to protect me."

	Deep Throat nodded.  "Ever ask yourself why I
would want to do that?  Did you ever ask yourself why I
insisted on making the exchange that night?  Exchanging
the alien fetus for you by myself?  I knew it was dangerous -
that's why I wore what I thought was a bullet-proof vest.
Why do you think I did that?"

	Mulder shook his head.  Scully had filled in the
blanks in his knowledge of what had happened that night,
the night that Deep Throat had been shot, and they believed
killed.  "I was more than surprised that anyone would have
put themselves on the line like that, actually... anyone 
other than Scully."

	"An uncharacteristic thing for an admittedly
uncharitable person to have done, then, right?  But not if
you were my son.  Would any father not want to protect his
own flesh and blood?"  He hesitated.  "There's been other
times too, times you don't know about."  Mulder's head went
up and he stared at Deep Throat, trying to fathom what was
happening here.

	"All right."  Mulder got to his feet.  "Look, maybe I can
accept that *you* believe yourself to be my father.  But that
doesn't make it so."

	"No, it doesn't.  There's only one sure way to know."

	"DNA testing."

	Deep Throat nodded.  "I would like to know that you
are my son.  No, let me restate that.  I would like to
*confirm* that you are my son.  I already *know* that you
are.  You have such a look of your mother."  He smiled in
reminiscence, then looked earnestly at the young man.  "But
as much as I want that to happen,  you have to be the one to
decide to do it.  When you're ready.  I won't force it on you."

	"Why are you telling me all this now?"  Mulder's fists
were clenched at his side and his voice was almost a sob.
"What possible reason do you have for hitting me with this
now?   Do you realize what you're doing?  Now my whole
childhood, my whole life...hell, my own name - they're all
lies!   Have you got the slightest idea what that feels like?
To have everything in your world turned upside down?"

	The older man looked at him sympathetically.  "No,
Fox, I don't.  I don't have the slightest idea what you're going
through.  All I can say is that I'm more sorry than you can
imagine - for what you're going through now, for the misery
of your childhood.  If I had it to do over, I'd do it differently.
But that doesn't do either of us any good right now, does it?"

	Dully, Mulder shook his head.  "Then why?"

 	Deep Throat turned to gaze out the windows of the
boat.   "As a man gets older, he sees his own mortality
approaching.  And in facing that mortality, he becomes
anxious to leave his mark on the world, not only by his
deeds, but by those people he leaves to take his place."  He
swung around to smile ironically at Mulder.  "You see,
enlightened self-interest.  Anyway, I wanted you to know, in
case it made a difference to you.  I had hoped a positive
difference."

	Mulder looked at him suspiciously.  "You're not sick,
are you?  You're not trying to tell me this because you're
dying or anything?"

	"No, I'm fitter than I've been for quite some time.
It's just become somewhat of an obsession with me - the
need for you to know the truth, and for me to try to make
amends."

	Completely drained, Mulder shook his head.
"There's no need to make amends, or to atone for anything.
As you said before, it wouldn't do either of us any good
now."  He walked over to the older man, his voice softer,
more urgent. "But I can't let you know right now.  I need
some time.  I need to think this through, come to terms with
it."

	"That's more than understandable. Take all the time
you need," he replied gently.  With more gusto, he said,
"All right, I'm never far away and you know how to reach
me.  Let me know when you've come to a decision."  He
buttoned his overcoat and stepped toward the hatchway.
Then he felt Mulder's hand on his shoulder.  He turned, and
clasped the hand the young man offered to him.

	Mulder grasped it warmly in both of his.  "Thank
you...for telling me this...however it turns out," he said, his
eyes as cloudy as the sky outside.  "As difficult as it was for
me to hear, I know it wasn't easy for you to say."

	Deep Throat gazed at the young man, absurdly
proud.  Then his sense of irony overcame him and he
chuckled.  "Damn right."  He turned again and disappeared
through the hatchway.

	Mulder sat in the chair, for how long he had no idea.
Finally he reached into the deep pocket of his overcoat,
pulled out his cellular phone, and pressed some buttons.

	"This is Dana Scully..."

	"It's Mulder."

	"Where the hell have you been?"  Suddenly, her
voice changed, and her tone was gentle, concerned.
"Mulder, what's wrong?  You sound terrible."

	He sighed.  He had said two words, and she knew.
She always knew.  "I need a friendly ear.  If I leave now, I
can be there by midnight.  Are you up for a late visitor?"

	"Always, Mulder.  Always."


The End of LINKS - THE RETURN, PART  II


					~ ~ ~ ~ ~



CONTACT - THE RETURN, PART III




Chapter One


     The flickering light from the tv screen cast unearthly
shadows in the otherwise dark room.  Mulder lay on his black
leather couch, his eyes fixed on the muted screen but his mind
elsewhere.  It had been a long, painful day.  The same long,
painful day he had marked for the past twenty four years.  He
passed it the way he always did, by withdrawing from the few
who gave him any comfort, thinking of the young woman
Samantha could be now, and reliving her abduction over and
over in his mind.  Searching for answers, trying to think of a
way he could have saved her - and beating himself up
because he didn't.

     The writhing and enthusiastic athletics of the group
coupling on the screen went unnoticed.  His eyes, dark with
grief and guilt, slid over to the digital clock.  Large red
numbers proclaimed the time as 3:25 A.M.  He stretched and
repositioned himself on the couch, and retreated again to the
chill November night so long ago.

     The knock was so soft he wasn't sure he had heard it.
He sat up, expectant, and it was repeated, no louder than
before.  Scully?  She had tried to nudge him out of his
depression, offering dinner and a movie earlier in the evening
- an offer she knew would be rejected, as much as she might
hope it wouldn't be.  She had accepted defeat gracefully,
urging him to call her, that she'd be up late and wouldn't be
disturbed.  She knew that offer, too, would not be taken.  Not
tonight.

     He padded to the door, automatically scooping up his
service weapon on the way.  In a low voice, he called,
"Scully?"

     "No, Mr. Mulder."

     His eyes squeezed shut and he rested his forehead
against the door.  Not him, he thought.  Not tonight.  I really
can't deal with this tonight.  He sighed, slipped the lock from
the door and opened it a few inches. Then he turned and
walked back into the living room.  His guest peered intently at
the retreating form, then closed the door gently behind
himself, following Mulder into the darkened room.
     
      "Have I come at a bad time?"

     "Three thirty in the morning?  No, why would you think
that?"  The words that could have carried sarcasm were
instead flat, toneless.

     "I know this is a difficult day for you, Mr. Mulder, but
the timing couldn't be helped, I'm afraid."

     "You want coffee?"

     "If it's no trouble."

     Mulder went into the kitchen, splashed the dregs of
the current pot down the sink and went through the comforting
ritual of making fresh coffee.  He stayed in the kitchen as it
perked, reluctant to leave his solitude for the company of the
man in the living room.  When the coffee was done and his
excuse gone, he poured out two mugs and rejoined his guest.
Neither moved to turn on a lamp; both, after all, were
creatures of the night, most comfortable in the dark..

     The edge to his voice was unmistakable.  "I haven't
seen you since the Vineyard.  Why now?  Why today?"

     The man known only as Deep Throat swallowed the
first scalding sip of the strong brew and shrugged.  "Beggars
can't be choosers.  It was beyond my power.  Something has
just come to my attention that I thought you might like to
check out for yourself.  But we have to move on it - now."

     Mulder sat forward on the couch with elbows balanced
on his knees, staring into his mug.  Deep Throat regarded him
sympathetically.

     "I'm not ignorant of the significance of the date, Mr.
Mulder.  I would not have chosen to intrude.  But this is
important and we haven't much time."

     He looked up, finally, to meet the eyes of his guest -
the man who, the last time they had met, had presented
persuasive evidence that he was his father.  "What makes you
so sure I'd be interested?"

     "The truth.  That's what you've been seeking all this
time, isn't it?  This could be a very important step on your way
to that truth."

     Mulder sighed and leaned back, stretching his legs out
in front of him.  "Go on."

     Deep Throat nodded briefly. "I received word a couple
of hours ago from some colleagues of mine.  Apparently, a
UFO has crashed in the northern part of Finland.  As we
speak, a retrieval unit is being dispatched from an airbase in
this country to 'sanitize' the area."

     "So what can we do about it? It will be Wisconsin all
over again."  Mulder's tone was flat, the hopelessness
lingering.  That was all he needed - to have the truth within
reach and once again have it snatched from his grasp.

     "Not necessarily.  The cleanup crew is going to be...I
guess 'misdirected' would be the word.  Easy enough to do -
the area is vast, unpopulated, with very few landmarks.  That
will give us the time we need."

     "The time we need to do what, exactly?  How did your
colleagues find out about this, anyway?"

     Deep Throat's lips twitched at the corners.  "From the
crash survivors, of course."

     Mulder straightened, staring, his curiosity fired for the
first time.  "Alien survivors?"

     "That's right."

     The young man was silent, warring with himself, afraid
to get his hopes up, to expect that this time he might get some
answers, something to bolster his faith.  He shook his head.
"Scully and I are supposed to leave first thing this morning for
Yuma, Arizona, to investigate some disappearances there."

     "That case has been reassigned,"  Deep Throat
declared flatly. "Agent Scully will be taking part in a seminar at
Quantico for the next week."  At Mulder's look of surprise, he
chuckled and went on.  "I had a chat with Walter a little while
ago.  While Scully is in Virginia, you'll be at liberty to explore
other...interests."

     "Oh, I'll bet 'Walter' loved that!"  Mulder snorted.

     The older man regarded him, his head cocked slightly.
"I think you underestimate Assistant Director Skinner's
sympathy with your interests, Fox."

     "Don't call me Fox," he mumbled automatically.  The
chance to see - perhaps even to communicate with - an alien!
Wasn't that what he had been trying to do?  But that was set
against the thought of spending the next several days or
longer in the company of his mysterious companion, a thought
Mulder did not find enticing.  He had had no contact with Deep
Throat since the emotionally shattering meeting in Martha's
Vineyard.  He had chosen not to follow up on the man's
revelation - that he believed himself, with cause, to be
Mulder's biological father.  Instead, he had relegated it to that
corner of his mind where he locked away all his less than
comfortable thoughts and memories, to emerge only when he
was at his most physically or emotionally vulnerable.  It was a
part of his mind that was growing increasingly difficult to
ignore - and on days like today, impossible.  The memories,
the persistant guilt, his growing feelings for and dependence
on his partner.  And now this, the doubts cast on his most
fundamental knowledge - his parentage, his very name.

     "Why did you come here?  Why do you want me along
on this?"

     "I told you.  You're seeking the truth, aren't you?"

     Mulder looked at him for a long moment.  "Just the
two of us?" he asked guardedly.

     "No, we'll have a few of my colleagues along.  A
specialist in Arctic survival, a couple of others with whom I've
worked before."

     "Arctic survival?"

     "We will be quite some distance north of the Arctic
Circle, yes.  Is that a problem?"

     "Let's just say that most of my associations with the
Arctic have been less than pleasant.  When would we leave?"
  
   "As soon as you can get your gear packed.  The
conditions will be ...challenging.  And don't worry about your
passport.  We won't exactly be going through official channels
on this one."

     "I'll bet you seldom do," Mulder replied, with the ghost
of a wry smile.

     Deep Throat laughed, put his coffee mug on the table
and stood.  "The choice is yours."  He extracted a slip of paper
from his coat pocket and handed it to Mulder.  "Be here at
0600 with your gear if you're interested."

     The agent took the piece of paper and stared at it,
thinking.

     "Good night, son."  The door closed behind him.

					~ ~ ~ 

      In a predawn sleet he had arrived at the remote
airstrip only five minutes before his deadline.  The decision to
go had not come easily.  For nearly an hour he had argued
both sides of the problem to himself quite persuasively.  It was
his curiosity which tipped the balance.  It did not completely
overcome the fear of potential disappointment and his
discomfort with the enigmatic man who claimed to be his
father.  But it did justify his facing them.  In the end, he had
had time for only a brief conversation with a drowsy Scully,
hinting at far more than was ever verbalized, followed by a
rapid packing job.

     His duffel slung over his shoulder, he blinked in the
freezing drizzle, and opened the door to the Quonsut hut,
spilling light into the darkness.

     A young man dressed in jeans and an Oakland
Raider's sweatshirt sat at a desk, just inside the entrance.
"Can I help you?" he asked Mulder.

     "Uh, yeah.  I was supposed to meet a guy here.  A
short fat Eskimo. Maybe you've seen him?"

     The young man relaxed perceptibly at the prearranged
code phrase and slid his hand from his gun, hidden under the
desk.  He nodded curtly.  "Thank you, sir.  Now, if you will
please...," he said, reaching into the drawer and retrieving a
large manilla envelope, "...just place your keys, your wallet,
and your FBI ID in here.  And your weapon."

     "But...."

     "You'll be issued ordnance when you reach your
destination.  If you please, sir."  The kid's steely glare was a
match for Mulder's, and reluctantly, he emptied his pockets.

     "Thank you, sir.  I'll see to it that your car and your
belongings are returned to you.  Step through the door to your
left."

     Shooting the kid a last unfriendly glare, Mulder went
throught the door, entering a large open storage area.  He
approached Deep Throat, who brightened visibly at his
appearance.  Another middle-aged man got to his feet as he
drew closer.

     "Good, now we can get the hell out of here.  The weather's 
not getting any better."  The man, obviously the pilot, extended 
a hand.  "Give me your gear.  Everything else is packed up."

     The three climbed into the small eight-seater standing
on the gravel outside the hut, Mulder following the older man
to the seats furthest back in the cabin section as the pilot
clambered into the cockpit.  Within seconds they were
airborne.

     Speaking in a voice just loud enough to be heard over
the drone of the engines, Mulder said dryly, "I don't claim to be
the expert on aircraft that my partner is, but I don't think this
thing is going to get us to Finland.  Or was that more of your
bullshit?"

     "This plane isn't meant to get us to Finland.  As far as
the pilot knows, we're headed to Gander, Newfoundland."

     Something about his phrasing caught Mulder.  "But?"

     Deep Throat's lips twitched.  "But, we'll put down in
Bangor, Maine.  From there we'll pick up a speedier, more
commodious aircraft and take the polar route to Finland.  It
isn't a good idea to have everyone know where we're going,"
he explained.

     "Trust no one?"

     He shrugged.

     "I thought you said there would be others along on this
jaunt."

     "There will be.  We're meeting them in Ivalo.  Now, I'd
advise you to get some sleep.  You look like you could use it."

     Mulder gave his companion a long hard look, but it
was clear that nothing else was forthcoming for now.  He
unbuckled his seat belt and moved to a seat on the other side
of the aisle, stretching his long legs out into the narrow
passageway as best he could.  He was asleep in minutes.

					~ ~ ~

     He awoke as they touched down in Bangor on a
runway remote from the rest of the airport.  The sleet had
turned to snow now, and he pulled up the hood of his parka as
they jumped out and collected their duffels from the end of the
plane.  Then the two men strode over to where a small jet
stood waiting, its engines already whining.

     "Move your asses or you'll have to wait while I de-ice
this son of a bitch - again," growled a voice from the
hatchway.  A short, powerfully built man leaned out, glowering.

     "It's nice to see you, too, Scott," replied Deep Throat
cheerfully.

     "Yeah, right.  I don't know how the hell I keep getting
roped into these things," he mumbled.  "Get in, get in."  He
pulled the hatch up after them.  "There's some hot food and
coffee in the galley.  Help yourself fast and then get your butts
buckled in.  We're outta here."  He tossed their duffels in a
storage compartment and without another word, climbed into
the cockpit and slammed the door to the cabin closed.

     "Do all your friends like you that much?"  Mulder
asked, helping himself to several styrofoam containers of
assorted sizes.

     "Oh, don't mind Scott.  He's a good man, one of the
best bad-weather pilots in the business.  This is just a little
game he plays.  I pay him well, and he does his job and keeps
his mouth shut.  I didn't want anyone new and untried on this
venture."

     Sustenance in hand, the two moved aft into the cabin
and chose seats facing each other across a table.  The jet was
small but luxuriusly appointed, with two deep sofas, a small
table, and two comfortable armchairs. A CD player sat bolted
to a credenza.  At the far end, there was a doorway which
Mulder sincerely hoped led to the lavatory.

     "I see he's done some renovating," commented Deep
Throat.  "His last paying fare was a rock group who had pretty
well trashed the cabin by the end of their tour."

     Mulder grunted, sipping the surprisingly good coffee.
The jet hurtled down the runway and into the wintry sky.

     "Do you want to brief me on this now?  It would be
nice to know what I've gotten myself into."  Mulder opened the
larger of his containers and the fragrance of beef bourgignon
filled the cabin. His brows rose in surprise.  "Very civilized - on
my expense account I don't get to travel first class.  Yours
must be more generous."

     Deep Throat chuckled.  "There are certain advantages
to my position.  Not having to answer to petty bureaucrats
about my expenses is one of them."  He began eating.
"There'll be plenty of time to brief you later.  I thought we'd just
chat over brunch."

     Mulder set down his fork deliberately and pierced his
companion across the table with his stare.  "Look. Let's just
get this out of the way now.  I don't want to talk about it."

     The older man's eyes widened innocently.  "Talk about
what?"

     "About our meeting on the Vineyard.  About your
belief that you're my father.  That's off-limits for this trip,
understood?" he said coldly.  "Or when we get to Ivalo or
wherever the hell it is, I get on the first dogsled out of there."

     Disappointment flashed across Deep Throat's face
and was gone so quickly it might never have been.  "All right,
Fox.  If that's the way you want it."

     "That's the way I want it.  And don't call me Fox."

     "Well, what do you want me to call you?  Mr. Mulder
seems rather formal under the circumstances."

     "You tell me," he replied bitterly. "Seeing as,
according to you, that isn't even my name." Tiredly, he shook
his head.  "Never mind.  I don't want to get into it.  Just call 
me Mulder."

     "All right."

     "Which leads me to ask - what do I call you, since
you've never trusted me with your name?"

     "Turnabout is fair play, Mulder.  When you're ready to
discuss our conversation in Martha's Vineyard, we can get
down to the business of names.  For now - why don't you call
me Michael?"

     "That wouldn't be your real name, would it?" The
young man began to eat.  The food, undoubtedly excellently
prepared, tasted like cardboard to him in his state of mind. He
ate not because he had an appetite, but out of physical
necessity.  It was quite some time since he remembered
eating.

     "At one time in my life, when I was deep undercover,
my code name was Archangel.  A few of my colleagues found
that cumbersome - or perhaps repugnant, in view of the nature
of the work, I don't know.  Anyway, they just started calling me
Michael and it stuck.  I've used other names of course, but I've
always been particularly fond of that one."

     "All right.  It beats Deep Throat, I guess."  He gazed at
the older man.  "So why are you so hot ot trot out to this crash
site, anyway?  You usually let me do your dirty work."

     "I told you, Mulder, quite some time ago.  In the
course of my work, when I was taking orders from men who
did not share the same enlightened views, shall we say, that
you and I do now, I was forced to perform acts I ...regret."

     "When you killed the alien in Vietnam?"  The other
man nodded.  "I always assumed that was just one of your
convenient lies.  It wouldn't have been the first," he added
dryly.

     "Any lies on my part were to protect you, Mulder. You
and your partner,"  the man called Michael shot back.  "We
both want the same thing - the truth - but there are different
ways of going about it.  You, unfortunately, tend to act more
from your heart than from your head, at times putting yourself
and Scully in jeopardy.  The risks are great enough, believe
me, without acting impulsively and increasing your danger."
He paused and his tone became softer.  "And yes, the story of
my executing the alien was true, to my lasting sorrow."

     Mulder was silent for some moments, then his eyes
widened.  "You worked for them, didn't you?" he whispered,
horrified.  "Why else would you have assassinated an alien?
You worked for the bastards responsible for all the lies, all the
coverups!  Well, fuck you!" he yelled, furious.  "There's no
way I'll play your stalking horse, leading you to another
victim!"  He shot from his seat, looking as if he would prefer to
sit on the wing than remain in the company of his companion a
moment longer.

     "Mulder, wait.  I worked with them, I don't deny that,"
Michael responded earnestly.  "By necessity and for a very
short time, I worked with them.  But never FOR them.  Please,
let me explain."

End of Chapter One

					~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Two


     Mulder glared.

     Deep Throat - now Michael - sighed.  "Please sit down
while I explain."

     Smouldering, the young man complied.

     "I was deep undercover.  Even now I can't divulge the
details of my mission, but it had nothing to do with aliens or
UFO's or anything remotely like that.  At that time, I didn't
even know they existed. To do my job, I had to gain the trust
and cooperation of people I would otherwise have cheerfully
exterminated.  The mission had reached a critical juncture.

     "I had no idea...well, more precisely, I had no reliable
knowledge...of what these people were doing in Southeast
Asia.  I had gone to their camp one night and sealed the deal,
having gotten from them what I needed.  They 'invited' me to
stay with them that night - said they were going to do some
hunting.  The way the invitation was phrased made it more of
a command, a requirement.  If I wanted their cooperation, I
would have to go along with them, prove myself to them.  We
hiked through the jungle to the foot of a mountain.  Soon, we
came upon a small camp, manned with some more of their
cohorts.  Near the campfire was a pile of metal with an
unearthly sheen to it.  It blew in the damp breeze like tinfoil,
but one of the men, trying to tear and mold it, couldn't.  When
I went over to take a closer look, they made it clear I was there
for one thing only.

     "They...they led me over to a bamboo cage.  In it
was...something.  Something humanoid.  It was a grayish
yellow color, about three and a half or four feet in height, with
two long fingers and an elongated thumb on each hand.  Its
limbs were very thin, and it had a large head, a tiny mouth, no
nose and huge, luminous dark eyes.  Those eyes...."  He
shook his head.

     "Anyway, Kale - that was the leader of the group -
drew his weapon and handed it to me. 'Kill it,' he said.  I took
his gun and tried to resist - joking, saying it wasn't very
sporting, killing something in a cage.  Kale got angry then,
shouting that it had killed two of his best men, and if I wanted
the deal, I'd do what he said."

     Michael broke off, his expression grim. He shook his
head. "Back then, I didn't question things.  I was still idealistic -
perhaps stupidly so - and believed completely in the
righteousness of my work and the government behind it.  The
success of my mission was critical, and I was willing to risk my
life for it.  What I didn't realize at the time was that I would be
expected to risk my soul as well.

     "Well, I pointed the gun at the creature.  Then
suddenly, it was in my head, communicating at a non-verbal
level, filling my brain with thoughts and images that were not
my own, growing more intense by the second.  Bizarre,
overwhelming images.  My finger squeezed the trigger and
...that was it."  A heavy silence hung between the two men.

     Michael anxiously scanned the face of the young man
seated across from him.  Whatever else might happen, it was
vital that he believe the truth. Michael cleared his throat and
continued.  "To this day, I don't know what made me pull the
trigger. I've thought about it often, over the years.  Oh, it
wasn't the deal with Kale, I know that.   Maybe I panicked, my
head full of those strange and frightening images, just wanting
to make them stop coming.  But...."

     Mulder had sat transfixed during Michael's story,
leaning toward him, elbows resting on the table, hands
steepled in front of him.  Now, as if coming out of a trance, he
shook himself a little.  "But what?"

     The older man smiled sadly.  "Perhaps this is an
example of self-delusion, a fabrication rationalizing that
terrible act to myself, to enable me to live with the guilt.  But I
could swear...."

     "Go on."  For the first time, the young man's voice had
lost the hard edge, becoming soft, interested, perhaps even
carrying a touch of empathy.

     "Well, I could swear the images were communicating
something to me.  That it knew it was dying, and preferred a
quick bullet to the torture that Kale's gang would undoubtedly
mete out before letting it die....  I could swear that IT made me
pull the trigger."

     Mulder nodded thoughtfully.  "Do you remember any
of the images?"

     "A few."  Michael shrugged.  "The beings I saw in the
images were all gray - I think that's what gave me the idea that
the being in the cage was ill, dying.  Whether it was from
injuries from the crash, some microbe, something to do with
the air, or maybe injuries at the hands of Kale's men,  I have
no idea.  I saw other things too, mathematical formulae,
structures - but too quickly and too jumbled with other images
to be able to remember them....  Then you do believe me?"

     "I...want to," Mulder replied cautiously.

     "Fox - sorry, Mulder - if you believe nothing else that I
ever have or ever will tell you, believe two things.  The first is
this experience with the alien. I swear to God it's the truth."
Michael looked earnestly at the younger man.

     "And I don't need to guess what the second is, do I?"
he asked softly.

     "No."  He sighed.  "The ball's in your court on that one.
I did tell you that we wouldn't talk about it until you were ready.
A strategic error on my part, but I'll abide by it.  Obviously,
you're not ready yet."

     Mulder watched his companion wordlessly, wishing
that the words would come that would begin the journey.  To
begin to know and accept this man, to begin to know and
understand himself.  He opened his mouth to speak, but
closed it again with a slight shake of his head.  Unbuckling his
seatbelt, he stood.  "I...I think I'll hit the head and then grab
some more sleep."

     Recognizing defeat, for now, Michael sighed again.
Mulder was close, he could feel it.  "All right.  That's probably
a good idea.  I think I'll stretch out, too. We have another five
hours or so before we get to Ivalo."

					~ ~ ~ 

     Making up for several days of little or no sleep, Mulder
woke only when he instinctively felt the jet's altitude drop.  He
sat up and rubbed his eyes.  Michael was getting into his
parka.

     "There's just enough time before we land for you to
get into your thermals.  I strongly suggest it - the temperature
in Ivalo is minus 18 Centigrade and dropping fast."

     "I hate Centigrade," grumbled Mulder, pulling his
duffel from the storage compartment.  "It always sounds
colder."

     He quickly removed his black sweater and jeans,
tugging on thermal underwear and several layers of cotton and
wool garments before pulling them back on again.  He sat to
lace up his leather boots.

     "I can see you've prepared for this kind of climate
before," commented his companion approvingly.

     "Did I miss anything while I was asleep?  What time is
it, anyway?"

     "Around midnight, Ivalo time.  Not that you're going to
be able to tell the time by looking outside.  The downside of
the Land of the Midnight Sun is that in winter there is no
daylight to speak of.  And no, you didn't miss anything.  I slept
nearly the whole way myself."

     "So what happens now?"  Mulder asked.

     They were interrrupted by a voice over the jet's
iintercom.  "Hey, you assholes back there get yourselves
belted in.  We're landing."

     "It's really not hard to figure why this guy doesn't fly for
the Friendly Skies of United," observed Mulder.

     Miichael chuckled and fastened his seatbelt.  "Heikki's
meeting us at the airport with transportation to our
destination."

     "And Heikki is...?"

     "That Arctic survival expert I was telling you about.
He has the bulk of the gear.  And hopefully the rest of the
story."

     Mulder looked at the older man suspiciously.  "Wait a
minute...don't you know what's going on?"

     "Well, in a very general way."  At Mulder's expression
of misgiving he shrugged and continued.  "My colleagues
know of my interest, and have worked with me once before on
a similar occurrence.  They are even more cautious than I
about speaking on unsecured telephone lines, so their
message was necessarily brief."

     "How brief?"  Mulder has a sudden feeling of unreality
about this whole trip.  He had left his warm, reasonably safe
apartment, possibly incurring the wrath of both Skinner and
Scully once they found out about this hare-brained excursion,
and they had just flown five thousand or so miles, based on....

     "'Spitzbergen'."

     "Spitzbergen - that was the message?  That's it?"  His 
voice rose incredulously.

     "That was all they needed to say."  He broke off as
they bumped to a landing.  Precious little could be seen from
the small windows of the jet - just snow-covered ground, night
sky, and a scattering of lights.

     Michael unbuckled his seatbelt and stood carefully as
the plane taxied to the far end of a runway and stopped.

     "Welcome to Ivalo."

              			~ ~ ~ 

     He stretched out along the back seat of the rickety
van.  Michael sat in the passenger's seat in front of him.
Heikki drove.

     The Finn was a mountain of a man, at least six feet
six and close to two hundred and fifty pounds.  He had greeted
Michael like an old friend, and nodded politely to Mulder when
introduced.  Then they were once again in motion, the tires of
the van crunching on the ice-covered road.  From what he
could see out the window, Ivalo was bigger than Mulder had
expected, but they sped northward so fast it was difficult to get
a good idea of the town.

     Heikki and Michael chatted amiably in Finnish for a
short time.  Mulder heard his name mentioned more than
once, but soon gave up trying to find any familiar roots in the
strange language.

     "Your friend Michael - he speaks good Finnish, does
he not?"  grinned Heikki, watching Mulder in the rearview
mirror.

     "I'll have to take your word for that, I'm afraid," he
replied dryly.  "I hate to seem pushy, but this might be a good
time to bring us up to speed on why we're here."

     "Ah, a man of action, all business.  I approve," nodded
the big Finn. "Very well.  We are headed north to the Kevo
Nature Reserve to meet our friends.  One of them, Ari, called
me yesterday morning with an extraordinary story.  He is a
biologist employed by Turku University, which has a research
station in the Reserve....  Ah, ahead are the lights of Inari.  A
pity you did not come in the summer so that you could see the
village....  Anyhow, Ari was out in the park, taking his
measurements for his project when he saw a group of what
looked like children running into the woods.  Well, he thought
perhaps they had come with hikers and had gotten themselves
lost. It happens from time to time.  So he followed them.

     "Now, Ari is nearly as good in the wilderness as I. He
got close to them without their hearing his approach.  And he
learned they were not children at all.  What he saw - Michael,
it was Spitzbergen all over again. Except this time they were
alive.  One appeared to be hurt, being helped to move by the
others.  Five in all, all grays."

     "Was there any wreckage from the crash?" asked
Mulder, fascinated.

     "No.  Well, let me say that it has not yet been found.
But you must understand, it is a very desolate area we go to.
Twenty UFO's could crash and they would never be found.
Not until summer at any rate.  In the summer it is daylight
always, and there are many hikers and gold panners.  But in
winter...."

     "And what of our friends in the blue berets?"  Michael
inquired.  "Any sign of them?"

     Heikki grunted and nodded grimly.  "They arrived in
Ivalo about four hours before you did.  They were sent
hurrying off to the Lemmenjoki National Park."  His expression
lightened.  "Well, you know.  National park, nature reserve.
They are much the same thing, are they not?  Certainly a
mistake in translation would be understandable, would it not?
None of them spoke Finnish, and you know how bad my
English can be."  He flashed a grin at his companions, then
sobered.  "They came in like goddamn Cossacks, Michael.
Commandeering supplies and equipment, one of them
speaking in Swedish, of all things - and very bad Swedish it
was, at that.  The least they could do is know enough about
where they're going to speak the correct language."

     Michael smiled.  The pride of these people had
sustained them when there was little else.  Any insults to that
pride would surely make for implacable enemies.  "So exactly
where are we going?"

     "We go north. Soon there will be less traffic as we get
closer to Utsjoki..."

     Less traffic?  Mulder had counted a grand total of
three other vehicles since they left the outskirts of Inari.

     "...and then, when we turn off the main road, we will
have the land to ourselves."  There was unmistakable
satisfaction in his tone.

     "About how long?"  Mulder asked.

     "Oh, about another fifty kilometers - a bit over an hour
- to the turnoff.  Then we leave the van.  Ari should be waiting
for us there.  Then we travel on foot to our resting place for
the night."

     The young man nodded, visions of snowshoes and
frigid tents pitched on snowbanks in his mind.  He sat back in
the close, stuffy atmosphere of the van, unable to see more
than the few yards ahead cast in the light of the vehicle's
headlamps on the snow-covered road.  He had to admit that
Heikki drove expertly, the occasional slight slip the only
indication that they were doing better than forty miles an hour
on packed snow and ice.  His companions once again spoke in
Heikki's tongue, perhaps reliving shared experiences or
closely guarded secrets.  Mulder listened for a while to hear if
his name again came up in conversation, but it was clear they
had passed on to other topics. Finally, the incomprehensible
murmurings lulled him into a doze.  However, it was the
specter of having to spend the next several nights shivering in
a tent that provided the rest of the motivation to once again
sleep.

					~ ~ ~

     He opened his eyes once more as the van took a hard
left turn and jounced over the rutted, icy track.  On both sides,
small leafless trees narrowed the way, their branches
scratching the sides of the vehicle like fingernails on a
blackboard.  Fifteen minutes later, he caught the beam of a
flashlight ahead.

     When the parkaed figured came into view, Heikki
turned the van hard to the right, pulling into a little bay that
had been cleared for them in the snow and brush.  Then he
jumped out and opened the back doors of the vehicle.
Michael and Mulder followed.

     "Terve, Michael," said the new member of the group
cheerfully.  "We do it again, eh?"

     "Terve, Ari.  This is Mulder, my...colleague from the
States."

     Ari nodded to Mulder.  "Kuinka voit."

     After the stuffy heat of the van, Mulder found the cold
breathtaking. Hurriedly, the agent zipped his parka and after
shaking hands with the newest member of their group, pulled
on his heavy gloves.  The four men unloaded the equipment
and supplies from the back of the van, a large sled the final
item.

     A pair of skis and two poles were thrust into Mulder's
hands.  "Here - put these on."  He dropped them to the ground
and went about the unaccustomed task of fastening the
bindings to the toes of his boots.

     Michael skied over to him.  In a low voice he said, "I
neglected to ask.  Ever done any cross-country skiing before?"

     "Not a popular pastime in Martha's Vineyard, Oxford,
or Washington, I'm afraid," he replied dryly.  He stood up
cautiously.  "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?  Cross
country skiing, speaking Finnish like a native...."

     The older man chuckled.  "The language comes
easily.  If I have a gift for anything, it's being able to pick up
languages quickly - a gift that has served me well in my work.
And don't let Heikki fool you.  My Finnish is fair at best.  The
skiing part was harder.  But you're younger than I was when I
learned.  You'll get the hang of it.  Come on, we can practice
while they load the rest of the supplies.  Just take a slide step,
and coast down any hills."

     Giving Michael a sour look, Mulder put his hands
through the loops in the long poles. He did indeed get the
hang of it quickly - with ten minutes' practice and Michael's
coaching, he felt reasonably confident that he would not
embarrass himself in front of the other men, who had no doubt
been skiing from the time they could walk.

     Heikki distributed heavy packpacks to the other three,
then strapped himself into a harness.  He would pull the sled
with the rest of the supplies.  "Ari will lead, I will go last.  We
have only twenty more kilometers to cover."  At Mulder's
stricken expression, he laughed.  "Don't worry, the activity will
keep you warm.  Let's go."
     

End of Chapter Two
     
					~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Chapter Three



     A little over ninety minutes later, Mulder felt like his
lungs were on fire. He had managed surprisingly well on skis,
tumbling just once when he crossed his tips coasting downhill.
But twenty kilometers was an ambitious distance to cover for a
first experience with Nordic skiing, even for someone in good
physical condition.  At this point, it was only a vestigial macho
streak which prevented him from begging his companions for
a rest.

     Ari yelled out something ahead of him and Heikki,
possibly sensing the condition Mulder would be in by now,
translated.  "Not much further...up this last hill, then only a
couple of hundred meters further on."  The agent nodded,
unwilling to expend his precious oxygen in answering.

     He struggled up the hill, limbs shaking with fatigue,
muscles burning.  Around his head his breath hung in frosty
white clouds.  Just beyond the crest of the hill, they turned off
the trail and took a narrower path through some small birch
trees.  Mulder thought he was hallucinating when he saw the
cabin.

     They glided up to it and began removing their skis,
leaning them up against the side of the little structure.  "I bet
you thought you would be sleeping in an igloo,"  Heikki teased,
noting Mulder's expression of relief.

     "Something like that," he admitted ruefully.

     "Come.  Aslak has made dinner, I can smell it,"
Heikki said cheerfully.   He was scarcely short of breath, even
after dragging the heavy sled all the way from the van.
"Fishing must have been good."  The big Finn opened the
door and stood aside for the others to enter.  "This is a
wilderness hut - Madjoki hut, to be precise," he explained to
Mulder.  "There are many of different names scattered
throughout the Reserve.  They are free for the use of
travellers, of which there are few this time of year.  We didn't
think anyone would mind our borrowing this one for a while."

     Inside, lanterns and a glowing central hearth cast light
on the pale wood surfaces of the floors, walls and ceiling.  A
small table stood to their left.  Four places had already been
set, and platters of cheese, tomatoes and pizza-sized disks of
flat bread stood waiting.  Around two sides of the room were
four short, narrow bunk beds with thin mattresses.  To the right
of the door stood - a gas stove?

     "All the comforts of home," nodded Michael.  "Come
on, get comfortable."

     He and the Finns hung their parkas on pegs and
pulled off their boots and left them by the door; Mulder
followed suit.  Then Heikki introduced him to the fifth member
of their party.  "This is Aslak."

     "Terve," Mulder assayed.

     Aslak wiped his hands on a cloth before shaking with
him.  "Terve," he nodded.  While Ari and Heikki were
architypal Vikings, this man was short, with black hair and
sparkling brown eyes which seemed to reflect his amusement
at some secret joke.  His burnished skin gave nothing away as
to his age - he could have been anything from thirty to sixty.

     "Aslak is a native Lapp - they call themselves Sami -
and knows this area like the back of his hand.  Unfortunately,
as he speaks only Sami and Finnish, you will not be able to
converse."  Heikki broke off in a speight of one of the
languages.  "The food is ready."

     The four sat as Aslak poked into the glowing embers
of the hearth, rolling out potatoes roasted in the ashes.  Then,
taking an impressive dagger from his belt, he began slicing
the large fish on the metal grill.  He divided the food, heaping
it onto wooden platters, and passed them around.  "Ah,
loimulohi!  Salmon," Heikki explained to Mulder.  "Most
probably swimming around only a few hours ago.  You are in
for a treat.  Please, start."

     They made small talk, mostly in Finnish except when
Michael remembered to translate, but Mulder was too
preoccupied with consuming the succulent repast to feel
excluded.  When only scraps were left and the aroma of fresh
coffee filled the cabin, Aslak poured the brew into carved
wooden cups and pulled up a chair to sit with the others.  It
was time for business.

     Michael translated for Mulder, sometimes waiting
himself for the Sami to be translated to Finnish.  "Aslak has
been trailing the aliens, who are on the move....  Ari first saw
them several kilometers south of here, in the heart of the
Reserve.... They appeared lost, going in circles...but yesterday
Aslak caught sight of them for just a moment two kilometers
west of this hut...still five of them...the injured one going more
slowly, slowing the group down....  The plan is to set out
northwest after we have rested....  Ari and Aslak will make up
one team, the rest of us will be in the other....  We'll advance
in a sort of pincher-type movement."

     "Any sign of wreckage yet?" Mulder asked.  Michael
translated, then turned back to him.

     "No, nothing yet."

     The strategy session broke up, Aslak cleaning up after
the meal while the others chose a bunk and unrolled their
sleeping bags.  His muscles aching, Mulder crawled into a
bottom bunk and folded himself into the narrow confines.  He
was asleep in seconds.

					~ ~ ~

     The snoring and sussurous breathing of his
companions were the only sounds when he awoke. Turning
restlessly onto his side, he closed his eyes once again and
tried to ignore the insistent pressure of his bladder.  The
prospect of leaving his small but warm bunk to use nature's
restroom was unappealing at best.  Scully should be here, he
mused.  In spite of her seeming fragility, his partner was much
more experienced at roughing it than he was. A childhood of
family camping trips had taught her how to adjust to a lack of
creature comforts, perhaps even added to that air of confident
self-reliance that always emanated from her like an aura.
God, he missed her.  What would she be doing now?  Jet-
lagged and disoriented by this land of constant darkness,
Mulder soon gave up trying to figure out what time it would be
in Virginia.  All right, he thought, opting for a simpler puzzle,
what would she do if she were here?  He smiled to himself.
She's tell me to stop being such a wimp and get my ass out of
bed and do what I had to do.

     Surrendering to the inevitable, he sighed and slipped
out of his sleeping bag and padded in his socks across the
floor.  He stepped into some boots by the door, grabbed a
parka from a peg on the wall and went outside.  By the time
the complaints of his bladder had been silenced, he was
completely awake, so he sat on a stump a short distance away
from the hut, absorbing his surroundings. A glance at the
luminous dial of his watch told him it was after nine A.M., yet
not a hint of dawn brightened the horizon.  He looked up at the
moonless sky.  He had never seen so many stars as appeared
here, so far from the lights of civilization.  And circling one of
those stars, the strange world from which the aliens had come,
seeking - what?  Peace?  Or another sacrifice as Samantha
had been, made by this world to appease them?

     As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness,
Mulder began to pick out shapes, black on black.  Some trees,
mostly small and deciduous, now skeletons of their summer
selves.  In the distance, some large hills or fells rose over the
landscape.  Otherwise, there was just snow-covered tundra.
And blanketing it all, an unearthly silence.

     He sat there until his hands grew numb, then
contemplated returning inside.  The squeak and crunch of
boots on snow broke into his thoughts.  Moments later,
Michael appeared.

     "It's hell getting old when the only bathroom is ninety
degrees colder than your bed."

     Mulder chuckled.  "Gives me something to look
forward to."

     Michael joined him, sitting on a rock nearby.
"Incredible, isn't it?" he commented, looking up at the sky.
They were both quiet for several minutes.

     Breaking the silence, the agent softly asked, "Do you
think we'll find them?"

     His companion shrugged.  "Right time, right place.
The chances are good, I think, of seeing them.  Obviously the
climate doesn't bother them. Trailing them shouldn't be a
problem.  Their tracks are bound to be...distinctive."

     Mulder smiled as silence overtook them again. As
Michael scrutinized the dark skies, the younger man regarded
him thoughtfully.  Then, "What do you want out of all this? I
mean, I have a reason, I've had it since I was twelve years
old.  But why are you doing this?"

     "I wish I knew."  He sighed.  "I can't put it into words,
it's not something that's that substantive.  It's not on that kind
of a level.  It's more...instinctive, I would say.  A gut feeling
that this is something I have to do."

     "To make amends?" asked Mulder quietly.

     Michael let out a long breath, a plume of white
obscuring his face for a moment.  "No, it's not that.  Well,
maybe part of it is, I don't know.  Certainly if I could somehow
redress the wrong that I've done, I would.  But for the most
part, it's something else.  Sorry,"  he smiled apologetically.
"I'm not trying to be evasive, I just can't put the reason into
words."

     Slowly, Mulder nodded.  He understood.  How many
times had he followed a gut feeling to hell and back, unable to
provide a rational explanation for his actions?  Certainly often
enough for those who knew him only by reputation to despair
of his sanity - and even some of those who knew him better.
His relentless obedience to the voices that called him, taunted
him to chase the unknown, had made him a pariah in his own
profession more than once.  And how could he explain to them
that it was all worthwhile?  Scully knew, and understood.  He
had given up looking for that kind of understanding from
anyone else.  And now the same was being asked of him. At
this moment, he felt closer to the man who claimed to be his
father than he ever had before.

     "Jo!" Heikki's cheerful voice called from the cabin.
"There will be plenty of time for you to enjoy the outdoors
later.  Come in and have breakfast!"

     Reluctant to break the fragile bond but numb with
cold, the two rose and began to slowly amble back to the hut.

     Mulder brushed the side of the older man, leaning in
close to murmur in his ear. "Don't tell Heikki - I think I'm
wearing his boots."
     
					~ ~ ~ 

     Enjoy the outdoors, thought Mulder ruefully.  For the
past five hours they had been 'enjoying the outdoors'.  He
flexed his aching fingers, trying to coax out the stiffness.
The ephemeral daylight - an hour of dusk at around noon - had
come and gone, and they were no closer to spotting their
quarry than when they had set out from the wilderness hut.  If
the aliens had any sense, that's where they'd be, the hut.  Shit,
if we had any sense, that's where WE'D be, he thought sourly.
He stamped his feet to get the circulation going as he waited
for Heikki to get his bearings.  The plan was to meet up with the
other team some six kilometers north and west of the hut.
Heikki had set a blistering pace, travelling in a zigzag pattern
two hundred meters wide to better scan the snow for tracks.  So
far, there had been no trace.

     Heikki pointed ahead to where Mulder could just
discern a thicket of dwarf birches.  "We will stop there for a
rest."

     Mulder heard Michael breathe a sigh of relief.  As hard
as the search was on him, he knew it had to be even more
difficult for the older man.  The Deep Throat he knew had
scarcely ever been seen out of a three piece suit, let alone
doing anything physically taxing.  His days of undercover work
and strenuous activity had long since passed.  Add to that the
long, slow, painful recovery from the bullet wound that had
almost killed him two and a half years before, and he wondered
how the man was still even on his feet.

     Heikki headed toward the woods with long, powerful
strides.  Mulder watched as, doggedly, Michael set off after
him.  He loped to catch up with the older man, then deliberately
relaxed his pace in an effort to slow the older man down. 

     "Hey, there's no rush.  The longer we take, the longer
Heikki has to get a fire going."

     Michael shot him a look that said he knew the real
reason the young man was slowing the pace.  His strides
shortened to match Mulder's and he sighed.  "I forget I'm not
his age anymore," he said wryly.  "Although even when I was
his age, I doubt I was as good shape as he's in."

     "Shit, no one's ever been in as good shape as he's in.
Seriously, are you all right?"  Mulder glanced with concern over
Michael's set features.

     "Let's just say that a rest is just what the doctor ordered
right now."

     "Are you having pain?"

     There was the briefest hesitation before he answered.
"No. No, I'm just tired."

     "Uh-huh."  Sure, fine, whatever.

     They walked in silence into the woods.  Heikki already
had a crackling fire going and was pulling provisions from his
backpack, including two thermoses of coffee.  He was not too
busy, however, to notice Mulder's worried expression and
Michael's pallor.

     "Michael, you do not look so good, my friend.  Sit and
have some coffee."  He passed him a plastic cup of the
steaming liquid, then drew a large knife.  Cutting off some thin
branches from a nearby tree, he whittled the bark away and
impaled huge sausages lengthwise on the sticks.  Then he
drove them into the snow, angling the sausages over the
flames of the campfire.  "Takkalenki," he explained to Mulder.
"Fireplace sausage."

     "Looks like a Dodger Dog with an endocrine problem,
to me," he observed dryly.  He slid his eyes toward Michael,
relieved to see him smiling at the jibe.  The rest and coffee had
already brought back a bit of his color.

     "You know," the older man said conspiratorially in a
stage whisper, "it's said that the Finnish idea of salad is a
sausage."

     "I shall not rise to your bait this trip," Heikki said
resolutely.  "I may, however, let you find your own way back to
the hut."  He squatted by the fire, tending the sausages, turning
the sticks to cook them evenly.  When they sizzled, he slid
them from the sticks with his knife onto metal plates.  Reaching
into his sack, he pulled out a few small tomatoes and apples,
adding one of each to the plates which he then passed around.

     "I have to tell you, this has got to be the most phallic
meal I've ever been served," commented Mulder, studying his
plate.

       Heikki snorted.  "I'm not done yet."  He added a
wedge of cheese and a thick slab of chocolate to each plate.

     They fell on the food and ate ravenously, Mulder
finding the mildly seasoned, fine-textured sausage surprisingly
like Dodger Dogs.  They threw the few remaining scraps into
the woods and relaxed, sipping the excellent coffee and
inhaling the scent of wood smoke and snow.  Heikki took his
time clearing up to give Michael a bit more time to rest.  At the
periphery, Mulder saw the blond giant surrepticiously
redistributing the contents of the backpacks, shifting the
heavier items from Michael's to the other two.  He chanced a
look Mulder's way; their eyes met and the agent nodded, in
perfect accord.

     Suddenly from somewhere behind him, Mulder heard
movement.  In a heartbeat, he was in a crouch, his sidearm
pulled from his pocket to point into the dark woods.

     "Don't shoot," Heilkki said calmly.  "It's only Aslak.
Americans - it's always the gunfight at the OK Corral with you."

     Mulder straightened sheepishly.  The guns had been
distributed just before they left the wilderness hut.  Now that he
thought about it, he wasn't even sure where the safety was on
the unfamiliar, Russian-made weapon.  Looking into the woods,
he saw the brilliant colors of Aslak's embroidered anorak
bobbing toward him, zigzagging through the trees.  He was
obviously excited.

     After a brief exchange, Heikki announced, "They've
spotted fresh tracks. Let's go."  He shouldered his heavy pack
and helped Michael into his.  If the older man noticed his was
significantly lighter than it had been, he gave no indication.
Swiftly, silently, Aslak led them south through the dark woods
and across a clearing.  When they had gone almost two
kilometers, he raced ahead to where Ari squatted in the snow.
The Finn clicked his flashlight on at their approach.  The others
gathered around as he illuminated a patch of snow.

     "Just one hour old, I think," he observed.  "You see the
edges, how clean and sharp they are."

     "I'll be damned," breathed Michael.  He looked at the
footprint in wonder.  About seven inches long, the footprint was
very narrow, with one large and just two smaller toe marks.
Other like tracks stretched out in the general direction of
another thicket some two hundred meters away.

     "How many of them are there?"  Mulder asked, his
voice tense with barely suppressed excitement.

     A short exchange of unintelligible conversation
followed.  "It appears they have split up, for some reaason,"
Heikki responded.  "Aslak believes that these prints belong to
the injured one and one other.  See how the strides are short,
even for such small beings, indicating they were travelling
slowly.  Also the injured one is limping - the left track is deeper
than the right."  Mulder nodded.  Lighting his own flashlight, he
wandered off toward the woods following the tracks.  When he
had almost reached the tree line, he suddenly stopped.  "Over
here!"

     When the others caught up, he shone the torch
downward.  "I think the injured one's in bad shape.  It looks like
it fell here - see the hand prints?  And there's - wait a
minute...." He took two strides, carefully stepping over the line
of tracks.  "Very bad shape."  Tipping his flashlight down, he
squatted and cast a pool of light on an area where the snow
was disturbed.  In the center was a fist-sized spot of dark
charcoal liquid, now almost completely frozen.  "Any guesses?"

     Michael's face was grim.  "Blood."

     Mulder nodded.  "We can't be sure, but it's likely.  Why
is it that there's never a good forensic pathologist around when
you need one?" he added, under his breath. He thought not for
the first time this trip about his partner.  Her absence was a
palpable ache, like the phantom pain of an amputated limb.  He
stood with a sigh.  He pulled off a glove and began hunting in
the many pockets of his parka.  With a grunt of satisfaction, he
pulled out two small zip-lock plastic bags.  Using a twig he
carefully scooped some of the dark material into one of the
bags, sealed it, and placed it the other bag.  He sealed it in turn
and went over to Michael.  "Turn around.  I'll put this in your
backpack for safekeeping."

     "Now what, Michael?"  Heikki asked.  "This is your
party, do you want to keep going or have you had enough for
today?"

     "Had you planned on going back to the hut for the
night?"

     "Not necessarily," replied the Finn.  "We have a large
tent with us and could spend the night out if you and your
American friend were up to it."  There was a hint of a challenge
in his voice and he slid a look at Mulder.

     "You couldn't even force me go back now," the agent
responded.  "We're too close."  Heikki nodded approvingly.

     Michael had made his decision. "I don't think they could
have gotten far.  It's up to you, gentlemen.  Do we go after
them?"

     Not a word was spoken.  They exchanged brief
glances. Then, making their way slowly, they turned toward the
woods.


End of Chapter Three


					~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 


Chapter Four


     They followed the trail between the trees, their
flashlights illuminating the tracks on the snow before them.
When they had doubled over the trail twice, they stopped.

     Aslak said something in Sami and Ari snorted.  "He
said that the little fellows must have a bad sense of
direction."

     "Maybe," said Mulder dubiously, peering into the
woods to his right.  "But it was good enough to get them to
this planet.  And not only that. They were also intelligent
enough to get here, which means...."

     "Which means that they're intelligent enough to lay
down a false trail to throw us off," Michael finished.

     Mulder nodded.  "Exactly.  Heikki, take another look
at those tracks.  Does it look like the same two creatures?"

     The Finn stooped to examine the footprints and
looked up at Mulder with new respect.  "You're right. No,
there's no sign of the injured one.  It looks like these were
made by just one being."

     "And there's more tracks just over there, if I'm not
mstaken," he said, indicating a narrow path through the brush
to his right.

     To his left, he heard Ari talking to Aslak.  The Finn
called over, "There are more over here that we have not yet
followed, as well."

     "All right.  Either we're at Alien Central, or we have
multiple trails, probably all but one of them false," observed
Michael.  "If we're going to continue searching, I suggest we
split up."

     Heikki frowned, hesitant.  "I don't like it.  You don't
know this country very well, and Mulder not at all."

     "Look, this is a small forest, not more than three or
four hectares.  You'd be able to hear us if we got lost and
yelled for you, right?  Especially the way sound travels out
here.  Mulder and I will stay together, then everyone can fan
out in four directions.  Let's see if we can find the real trail
before we pack it in for the night.  If we haven't found
anything in say, an hour, we'll meet back here and camp for
the night.  How's that?  Agreed?"

     There was grudging agreement by the Finns.  After a
glance at their watches and compasses, Ari and the Sami
picked their way through the trees to the north and west.
Then, shrugging, Heikki headed south.  "For God's sake, stay
together!" he called back.

     "I guess we go this way, then," Mulder said, and set
out east, Michael following closely behind.   Casting the light
in a wide arc ahead of them, they examined each footprint
they came across.  But those prints were sparcer now, more
widely spaced and more apt to stray from the the narrow path
to wind through the trees.  The trail led to the edge of the
woods, bordering on a wide, starlit clearing.  Squatting to
rest, Michael consulted his watch.  Mulder couldn't stop a
groan from escaping his lips as he slipped the heavy
backpack from his shoulders and dropped to one knee next to
the older man.

     "How are we doing for time?"

     "We're almost out," Michael responded with a
grimace.  "Damn!  This trail looks promising, too.  It hasn't
doubled back and it's been more...I guess 'subtle' would be
the word."

     Mulder rolled his aching neck and shoulders.  "Well,
it's up to you.  We could go back and tell the others, maybe
all of us come back and follow this trail.  I know I'm not
usually the soul of punctuality and God knows I don't have a
reputation for following instructions to the letter.  But I, for
one, do not want to spend the next several days being treated
to jokes about Americans getting lost in the woods."  He
removed his gloves and breathed on his hands to warm
them.

     "All right, I ....  Wait!  Did you see that?"

     "See what?"

     "The other side of the clearing. I thought I saw
something move."

     Mulder peered into the dim light of reflected stars on
snow.  "I don't see anything.  It was probably a reindeer or a
wolverine or a wombat or something."

     "Wombats are indigenous to Australia, Mulder.  No,
this was - Look!  There it is again, near the trees on the other
side.  Come on!"  Michael got to his feet and set out across
the clearing at a trot.

     Mulder had just straightened and had begun to pull
on his backpack when a sharp crack cut through the silence
like a knife.  He dropped to the ground, pulling out his gun in
the same movement.  He lay low, his eyes scanning the
clearing.  Fifty meters way, he saw the silhouette of Michael,
standing like a statue.  The next moment, he saw him drop
downward, the ground seemingly opening up beneath his feet
to swallow him.

     "Christ!" Mulder gasped.  "Heikki!  HEIKKI!" he
yelled.  Shrugging off his backpack, he plunged into the
clearing.

     He had covered only twenty yards when he slipped,
falling hard face down.  A cracking sound, though a pale
imitation of the first, echoed through the clearing.   Mulder
froze, then brushed away the snow under his free hand.  Ice!
They must be on a lake or pond.  He scanned ahead.  Only
Michael's head and flailing arms were visible as he
desperately tried to stay afloat in the icy water, his winter
gear an anchor dragging him down.

     Distributing his weight as evenly as possible, Mulder
tossed his gun behind him and started crawling commando-
style over the fragile ice.  Dimly in the background, he heard
shouts and a peculiar yodelling sound.  He was within ten
yards of the opening now, his eyes never leaving Michael.
The older man was moving weakly, vainly trying to grab
ahold of an intact edge of ice.  Mulder picked up his pace,
only to be stilled by the faint cracking sounds around him.  He
cast an anxious glance around him, his gaze returning
forward just in time to see Michael go under.

     "Fuck!"  Caution gone now, he scrambled ahead, his
only thoughts the necessity of reaching Michael, who had just
surfaced, and how pissed off Scully would be about what he
was doing.  He could see the cracks, ugly fissures emanating
from the black hole like a spiderweb.  Smaller cracks
extended under and around him, his weight forcing icy water
up through them to soak the front of his body.  He rolled on
his back for a moment, unzipped his parka and shrugged out
of it.  At this point, all it would do was weigh him down.  Only
dimly aware of the cold, he pulled himself on his stomach
across the ice to the edge of the hole.  Some eight feet
distant, Michael bobbed in the center of the black pool.

     "Michael!  Michael, God damn it, grab my hand!"
Where the fuck was Heikki?  Mulder thought, reaching as far
as he could, only to come up far too short.  Michael, his eyes
closed, lifted his arm a few inches, then it fell back into the
frigid water. Frantically, the agent squirmed ahead a few
inches, hanging out over the hole.  His fingers had just
grabbed hold of Michael's backpack when the ice beneath
him gave way.

     His hand clutched instinctively on the strap of the
backpack as he went under, pulling it from Michael's body.
The sensation of the icy immersion forced his lips apart in a
gasp, and he rose choking to the surface.  Time itself
seemed to have slowed with the penetrating cold.  Loosing 
his hold on the backpack, Mulder used his right hand to catch 
Michael's collar, as he concentrated on keeping them both 
afloat.  To what purpose, he didn't know. In water this 
temperature, they would die of hypothermia if they didn't drown.  
Doggedly, he thrust the thought from his mind.  He couldn't 
afford to think about that right now... what it would do to his 
quest, and to Scully.  Weakly stroking his rapidly numbing left 
arm through the frigid water, he managed to tow Michael toward 
an edge of ice that looked thicker than the others ringing
them.  Once, twice he went under, trying desperately to keep
his right arm, with its grip on the unconscious man, raised
above the surface.

     He was within a few feet of the edge when suddenly,
his feet touched something solid - curiously solid for the
bottom of a lake.  Making pitifully slow progress, his numbed
feet slipping with every step, he worked his way up the solid
surface, finally reaching out and grabbing the ice.

     One-handed, Mulder tried to hoist Michael onto the
frozen platform, only to see him slip motionless back into the
water.  Furious at hs impotence, he heaved Michael's form
upward with a scream of frustration.

     From nowhere, strong hands caught the man under
the shoulders and pulled him from the water.  Panting,
Mulder looked up to see Aslak drag Michael back from the
water's edge.  Then, the unconscious man was flipped over,
the small Sami grabbing him by the collar and swiftly pulling
him away across the ice toward the woods.

     Still clinging to the platform of ice with his left hand,
Mulder threw his right arm onto the hard surface, trying to
boost himself out of the water.  After his third attempt, too
exhausted and numb to do anything else, he just stood there,
in frigid water up to his neck.  His eyes closed, and he felt
himself slipping....

     Suddenly hands looped under his arms, and Heikki's
voice was in his ear.  "Mulder!  Mulder, stay with me, man.
Let go of the ice."

     With an effort, Mulder opened his eyes and feebly
tugged his hand.  He looked confused. "I-I c-can't...."

     Heikki looked down and saw that, quite literally, he
couldn't - his hand had frozen onto the surface of the ice.
"Mulder - use your other hand, splash water up there, wiggle
your fingers!  Try to get free.  Quickly!  We must move
quickly!"

     Mulder summoned the last of his reserves and
managed to scoop some water onto his hand.

     "That's it - move your fingers, get your hand loose."

     Then the ice creaked and groaned.

     "Shit.  We go now!"  With a fierce yank, Heikki pulled
him from the water and back from the edge of the ice.
Staying prone, he dragged him back some fifteen meters,
Mulder kicking weakly at the ice in an effort to help.  Then the
Finn straightened, and, tossing Mulder over his shoulder like
a freshly killed deer, he took off at a run.  Only Mulder, his
head dangling down towards the ice, could see the fissures
opening up behind them, the popping and cracking sounds
like machine gun fire in the night.  Running like a madman,
the Finn didn't stop until they had reached the middle of the
woods.

     Heikki set Mulder down gently on the snowy ground,
catching him when his knees buckled.  The agent stood
swaying, his numbed brain dully taking in the activity around
him.  Already a fire was crackling, and somehow a large tent,
glowing golden from within, had been erected.  Heikki pushed
Mulder nearer the fire.  "Stand there, no closer, do you
understand?  We must tend to Michael first.  Try to take your
clothes off."

     He strode over to the side of the tent where Michael
lay, still and ashen, on a mylar sheet on the ground.  Aslak
and Ari were working quickly, stripping the sodden clothes
from his body.

     Is he breathing?  Oh, God, was I too late?  Too late,
always too late ran like a threnody through his mind.  Mulder
opened his mouth, tried to force himself to ask, but his
sluggish brain seemed to have lost the ability to command
his body.  Ineffectively, he plucked at his dripping sweater,
understanding Heikki's instructions but unable to make his
senseless limbs comply.  He saw Michael's body, now nude,
lifted and taken into the tent.

     Moments later, Heikki returned to his side, gently
easing his sweater off his arms and over his head,  "Mulder,
sit.  You have to get these wet things off quickly."  He felt
himself being pushed down to a sitting position on a log.
Heikki was trying to get his boots off, impeded by laces
frozen into icy knots.  The darkness began to close in with
treacherous comfort....

     "Mulder!  Stay with me!  Try to help.  Get your shirts
off, the thermal, everything."

     Numbly, his fingers pushed at buttons.  Finally,
frustrated, he grabbed the bottom of his shirts with hands that
felt more like blocks of wood, somehow getting the articles
over his head and off.  With a grunt of triumph, Heikki pulled
off his boots and socks, then pulled him up to stand barefoot
in the snow.  He swayed, fighting the darkness that lingered
on the periphery, as the Finn worked to unbutton his jeans
and strip off the remaining sodden, stiffening layers of
clothing.  "Step out now, come on, lift your feet out.  Good.
Now, into the tent."

     Heikki's arm around his waist, he stumbled naked
through the snow toward the tent.  "Careful, don't scrape your
skin.  It's very fragile now, you could get gangrene." He
pushed his head down to guide him through the low entrance.
Mulder stumbled again and fell to his knees.  When he had
summoned the strength to raise his head, he tried to make
sense of his surroundings.

     The floor of the nylon tent was some twelve feet in
diameter.  Glowing in the center, a makeshift metal stove
about the size of the proverbial breadbox warmed the
interior.  Up through a hole in the top of the tent, a narrow
pipe carried away the smoke.  To the right of the entrance,
Ari and Aslak were tucking Michael, now dressed in dry
clothing, into a sleeping bag warmed by the heat of the stove.
     Heikki reached down, encircling his waist with
massive arms.  "Almost there.  A few more steps and you
can rest."  He hoisted Mulder up and gently pushed him to
the left where another silvery sheet lay waiting.  As if in a
trance, he stood there, his eyes fixed on the body of the man
who claimed to be his father.  As his knees buckled once
more, he felt the Finn supporting him to the ground.  Then he
was alone, as Heikki stepped away and busied himself near
the woodstove.  Mulder lay there as his body began to shake
uncontrollably, his cold naked flesh slapping against the
sheet.  Instantly the three men were around him, looking
alarmed and concerned.  Then the consternation cleared
from their faces.  As the others melted away, Heikki reached
down to cover him with a rough, warm blanket.

     "Ah, good, you are only shivering.  That is a good
sign.  We thought perhaps you were having a convulsion.
That would not be such a good sign.  You must be tougher
than I thought."

     "W-what-t ab-bout M-michael-l?"

     Heikki frowned.  "He is breathing.  Not much, but
enough for now."

     "W-wil-l h-he l-l-l...?"  Mulder's eyes searched his
face for the answer to the question he could not force out
between chattering teeth

     "Will he live?"  The big Finn's expression was
guarded.  "It's too early to tell.  He is very hypothermic.  It
would be better if he were in a hospital, with drugs and
warmed IV fluids....  But, I have seen men just as badly off do
well.  Those scars on his chest bother me, though.  He did
not have those the last time we were together.  What
happened?"

     "S-shot-t."

     "You Americans.  Always shooting.  It looks like they
took the bullet out with an ax."  His face softened, wanting to
erase the desperation in Mulder's eyes.  "Don't worry, we will
take good care of him.  I think you got to him in time, Mulder.
That was a very brave thing you did.  Foolish, but brave too.
Now rest for a few minutes.  There will be coffee soon."

     Mulder's eyes followed Heikki back to Michael's side,
then he closed them in exhaustion and pain.  Michael was
very still, and the Finns, as accustomed to dealing with
hypothermia as anyone could be, were clearly worried.  Too
late, always too late.  Samantha had been the golden child,
adored by her family.  The child that fit in, that wasn't difficult
or eerily talented.  He had just been getting to know her as a
person, rather than just his annoying and enviable kid sister,
when she was taken.  Too late to save her, too late to get to
know her better.  Bill Mulder, the man he had grown up with
as his father.  Only when death was waiting in the next room
did Mulder begin to understand the forces that twisted the
man and their relationship.  To start to know him as a man,
and not the source of fear, rejection, pain.  Again, too late.
And now the enigmatic 'Michael', the man who claimed to be
his biological father.  He had stubbornly thrust from his mind
the idea that the man could be telling the truth, unwilling -
perhaps unable - to deal with the ramifications of that truth.
And now....  Too late.  Always too late....

     "Mulder!  Don't sleep yet.  You need liquids. Here...."
He felt himself lifted from behind as Heikki propped his head
and shoulders on his lap.  "Try to drink some of this."

     Mulder reached out clumsily to grasp the large
wooden cup.

     "No, I'll hold it.  You are shaking too badly and you
would spill it.  Drink it, it's not too hot."

     He swallowed some of the warm liquid from the cup
held to his lips.  Choking a little, he rested his head back
down in Heikki's lap.  "W-wh-at-t is-s it?"

     "Just some fish broth.  Lots of vitamins and salt, both
of which you need right now.  Go on, drink it up."  Patiently,
Heikki held the cup and alternately threatened and cajoled
until Mulder had consumed every drop.  "Good, that's better.
Now we'll get you dressed and into your sleeping bag."  He
supported Mulder's head back down onto the sheet, then
pulled the blankets back from his feet.

     "D-don't.... C-cold."

     "I know, but we have to get you dressed."  Heikki
inspected his feet carefully before drawing on two pairs of
thick hand-knit woolen socks. "It looks like you might go
home with all your toes, Mulder.  This is a good sign, is it
not?  Okay, now lift your ass while I pull on some thermals."
The blanket was pulled back further.  Again, the Finn
scanned every centimeter of skin, looking for frostbite or
other damage.  He grinned slyly. "So far it looks like all of
your parts will be returning home, items no doubt more
precious to you than your toes."

     Shaking, Mulder looked at him sourly.

     "All right, sweatpants next...that's it, lift your butt.
Good. Can you sit up?  Slowly now."

     Heikki helped him up, catching him when, head
swimming, he reeled.  "That's it.  Breathe deeply but slowly
and let me know when it clears....  Better now?  You're sure?"

     Mulder nodded, a motion hard to distinguish from the
violent tremors that shook his body.

     "Right.  Now the thermal shirt.  Over your
head....right arm.  Good.  Left - Mulder, what is this?  You're
bleeding!"

     Mulder looked down, trying to focus on his tremulous
left hand.  Blood oozed slowly from all the skin on his hand,
fingertip to palm.

     "S-stuck t-to ic-ce."

     Heikki grunted.  "I would have preferred not to have
you damaged, but it was necessary to move quickly or we
both would have been in the water.  We were fast running out
of people to perform rescues.  Let me see, hold your hand
out here where I can see it."

     After a quick examination, he left the tent, returning a
moment later with a wet cloth which he held to the stove for a
minute to warm.  "Just warm water to clean this up so we can
see."  He frowned in concentration and then called the others
over for their opinions.  After an unintelligble conversation,
Mulder saw Aslak dig around in his backpack and pull out a
first aid kit and a jar.  He left them with Heikki, muttered
something and returned to Michael's side.  The big Finn
finished cleaning Mulder's hand, once again inspecting it
closely.  "You have lost several layers of skin - full thickness
in some places.  Looks nasty.  How does it feel?"

     "S-st-ings a b-bit.  Everyth-thing h-hurts-s."

     "I'm not surprised - you are starting to defrost.  Give
me your other hand."  He pressed gently on the nailbeds,
checking for capillary refill on both hands, comparing the
fingertips for color and temperature.  "Okay, good news and
not so good news, Mulder.  The good news - your right hand
is all right, I think.  Some frostbite, but not too bad.  You'll be
able to pull the trigger of your gun, which will be a relief to
you, I'm sure."

     Mulder ignored the barb.  "The b-bad n-ews?"

     "Your left hand....  If there's no infection.... I don't
know.  We'll see."  He opened some sterile applicators and
unscrewed the lid to the jar.  Dipping the applicators, he
withdrew a glob of brown salve and began smearing it thickly
over Mulder's fingers and palm.  "Don't worry - this doesn't
hurt.  It does, however, stink, but Aslak swears by the stuff.
Hold still."

     "I'm-m t-trying t-to h-hold st-still."  Mulder's nose
wrinkled as an odor reminiscent of rotting vegetation and
stale beer assailed his nostrils.

     "Try harder,"  Heikki grunted absently. When he had
finished dabbing on the salve, he applied non-stick dressings
to the raw areas and wrapped his hand in gauze, making sure
the fingers were separated.  For such a big man with rough,
calloused hands the size of hams, he was surprisingly gentle
and deft in his movements.  "That should do.  Now we wait
and see.  Let's finish getting you dressed."

      He helped Mulder to pull on the cotton shirt and two
loose wool sweaters - probably Heikki's own.  Rising, he went
to the back of the tent where Mulder's sleeping bag had been
warming in the heat of the woodstove.  "Move a little so I can
spread this out.  It's a good thing you dropped your backpack
and sleeping bag before you went swimming," he said
conversationally while he worked.  "We're already one
short....  Okay, get in."
     Clumsily, feeling like a fish on dry land, Mulder
manoevered himself onto the sleeping bag.  Heikki helped to
to lie down, and zipped him in.
     "I-I'm s-still c-cold-d."
     Grasping his wrist, Heikki nodded, his eyes on the
sweep hand of his watch.  "Your pulse is 42.  What's your
normal, do you know?"

     "Ab-bout s-sixt-ty."

     "You must be a runner.  All right, you are still
hypothermic and that's why you're cold.  You need to be
rewarmed gradually, to prevent complications." He smiled
sympathetically.  "I know you're uncomfortable, and it will get
worse before it gets better.  But, it will get better.  Now some
coffee and then you can sleep for a while.  We will have our
hands full with Michael."

     Again propping the miserable agent, the Finn held a
cup of strong sugary coffee to his lips.   He had only drunk
about half of it when he felt exhaustion claim him.  His eyes
closed, and he was asleep before Heikki could put the cup
down.

     The Finn carefully lowered him to the mylar sheet
and straightened to the extent that he could in the tent.  He
gazed down at his patient, surprised by the durability of the
young American, impressed by the courage and the loyalty to
their mutual friend he had shown. He wondered about the
links that appeared to bind the young man with his old friend,
that would cause him to unhesitatingly risk his life to save
him.

     Then, grim-faced, he turned to Michael.


End of Chapter Four

					~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Chapter Five



	He floated gently up from the depths of sleep, gradually
becoming aware of the sounds and smells surrounding him.
Wood smoke, and coffee, and ... stale beer?  In the near
distance he heard a low conversation in a foreign tongue,
punctuated by laughter, and closer, someone moving around.
Wiith a sigh, he opened his eyes to a scene that had been
repeated throughout the night in dreamlike flashbacks.

     "So, you are awake.  How do you feel?  Better?" Ari
leaned in, holding a cup.  "Time for more liquids."

     Cautiously, Mulder raised himself on one elbow and
ran a hand through his hair.  "How long have I been out?"

     "About eighteen hours, off and on.  We woke you
several times to drink something, but you were not very
awake, yes?  You stopped shaking finally.  Any pain?  You
were in a lot last night."

     "Not much.  I feel pretty good in fact, except for my
hand, which hurts like hell."  He looked down at his left hand,
swathed in bloodstained bandages.

     "Heikki will come to change the dressing."

     "How's Michael?"  He gazed past Ari to where
Michael shivered and shook in his sleep.

     "It was an interesting night.  I will let Heikki tell you.
Can you drink this?"

     Mulder nodded and wordlessly took the proffered cup
of aromatic coffee, sipping at it carefully.  Ari watched him for
a minute.  Then, satisfied he wouldn't spill any of the hot
liquid on his still-fragile skin, he ducked out of the tent.
Mulder fastened his eyes on Michael.  The man's color was a
little better this morning, and somehow the violent shaking
was much more comforting than the deathlike stillness of the
night before.  Perhaps they were to have the time they
needed after all.

     "Good morning!  Ari tells me that you're better,"
Heikki said jovially.

     "Yeah. So what happened to Michael during the
night?"  Mulder watched as the Finn brought over the first aid
supplies.  Carefully the bandages were removed, the big man
easing them off patiently where they had stuck to raw flesh.
The cooler air of the tent stung and burned his skin, but a
glance at Heikki's face told him the Finn was not displeased
by what he saw.  "So far, so good.  No infection, no blisters
from frostbite.  Let me see your other hand....yes, good.
Aslak's stinking ointment must be working."

     Mulder looked down at his hand.  It looked like a
fistful of raw hamburger to him; he sincerely hoped that
Heikki knew what he was doing. "There would have to be
some compensation for the smell of the stuff," he
commented dryly.  "You didn't answer me.  What about
Michael?"

     Deftly Heikki applied more salve and redressed the
wounds.  "It was a near thing," he admitted.  "His heartbeat
became irregular.  Then he had a convulsion, maybe from
lack of oxygen to his brain, maybe from an imbalance of his
body chemistry.  It happens sometimes."  Shrugging, he
taped the gauze wrapping in place.  "Somehow he got through
it - less from anything we did, I'm sure, than from his own
stubbornness.  After the seizure he began to shiver, and we
knew he was warming up."

     "Has he been conscious?  Able to talk?" Mulder
demanded.

     "His teeth were chattering too badly for him to talk.
But yes, he woke enough to drink a little.  He's in some pain
now, as you were last night, as the ice crystals in his tissues
start to melt.  Aslak went into the sleeping bag with him to
warm him for the rest of the night.  He's not out of the woods
yet, but he's a lot better than he was."

     "So what now?  Are we going to get him out of here
for medical treatment?"  Mulder looked protectively at
Michael.  The man should be in a hospital, for Christ's sake,
not in the middle of the goddamn wilderness.

     Heikki returned the supplies to the backpack and
poured himself a cup of coffee at the stove before returning
to sit cross-legged on the floor of the tent beside Mulder.

     "Probably not, at this point.  These cases are tricky.
As a rule, if you can't evacuate them immediately, it's better
not to move them.  Moving in anything but the most cautious
manner could provoke cardiac arrest.  I'm more than a little
concerned about the state of his heart in any case, with those
scars on his chest.  If the bullet wound caused cardiac
damage, there's more reason than ever for caution.  So you
see, all things being equal, he's as well off here as
anywhere."

     That was a matter of opinion, thought Mulder. Well,
Heikki was supposed to be the Arctic survival expert.  He had
no option but to trust him....  He changed the subject.  "I don't
remember a lot of what went on last night, not clearly
anyway."

     "I'm not surprised.  With your body temperature so
low, your circulation was impaired. Poor circulation means
not enough blood to your brain which means you were not up
to your usual quick wit."  Heikki grinned.

     "I remember that I thought someone was shooting at
us." Anticipating Heikki's chortle, he smiled.  "I know, I know -
always with Americans it's shooting," he said in a fair imitaion
of the Finn's voice.  "Then again, when you've been shot at
as many times as I have, you learn to duck."

     "Not soon enough, it would appear.  From what I saw
last night, you failed to duck quickly enough at least twice.
Who shot you?"

     He flashed a grin at the big Finn. "I guess you're right, at 
that.The one in my thigh was from a serial killer who held
a kid hostage.  The one in my shoulder...."  Mulder trailed off.
How was he to explain he had been shot deliberately by his
own partner without setting himself up for more of Heikki's
barbed wit?  In the end, he bailed. "... that was someone else.
In any case, it wasn't until I saw Michael go down and start
splashing that I realized he had fallen though the ice."

     "Speaking of that - I wanted to ask you last night but
you were not very interested in polite conversation.  What the
hell were you standing on out there in the lake?  I thought you
would both drown for sure.  I was amazed when Aslak, while
running past me with Michael, yelled that you seemed to be
standing on something."

    Mulder closed his eyes and tried to think back. "Whatever 
I stood on wasn't solid like a rock, but it was more solid than 
I assume the lake bottom would have been.  It was something 
with give, something with some spring to it." Slowly, he said, 
"Like something metal, and hollow." He opened his eyes and 
stared intently at Heikki, as if challenging him to refute the 
statement, but the big Finn appeared to be as phlegmatic as 
ever.  "Which leads me to ask you something.  I would have 
thought that that lake would have been frozen solid - solid 
enough to walk on, anyway. Why wasn't it?  God knows it's 
cold enough around here."

     "That is a good question.  You're right, it should have
been frozen, to a depth of at least fifteen centimeters. And
yet it was, what, maybe three centimeters thick?"

     "If that."  Mulder paused, thinking furiously.  "I have
two theories.  Which do you want first - the plausible one or
the crazy one?"

     He smiled.  "Let's start with plausible and work our
way to crazy."

     "All right. What if barrels of toxic waste had been
dumped there? Something that would either produce heat, or
possibly chemically alter the water to change the freezing
point somehow?  What I stood on kind of had the feel of a
barrel."

     Heikki grunted.  "A good theory.  But what would be
the point?  It would be more expensive and more trouble to
bring the waste all the way out here than to bring it to a
legitimate facility for that sort of thing.  Also, I know that Ari
and Aslak ice-fish there frequently.  There are plenty of fish,
there has been no die-off, and none of them so far glows in
the dark or has two heads.  Besides, with all the research
Turku University is doing in the Reserve, illegal dumping of
toxic waste would have been detected before it had sunk to
the bottom of the lake."  He shook his head. "A plausible
theory, but I'm afraid it will not pass muster."

     Mulder nodded.  "I thought you might say that.
Actually, I guess I'm relieved.  I don't think I would look that
good with two heads, myself."  He sighed.  "I've managed to
be exposed to enough toxic substances in my time as it is.
How deep is that lake, anyway?"

     "Not very - maybe eight or ten meters.  But much too
deep for you to be able to stand on the bottom and not be
submerged.  And you should have been right in the middle,
from where you went down. So go on - I'm ready for your
crazy theory now."

     The agent unzipped his sleeping bag and sat up, his
muscles cramping in protest.  He grimaced, getting as
comfortable as possible.  "All right.  Now we know that there
are aliens around, because they've been seen and there are
lots of tracks all over the place, right?  But so far, we haven't
spotted a sign of wreckage. So - what if their craft crashed
into the lake?  What if I was actually standing on the wreck of
their ship?"

     Heikki's eyebrows went up in surprise, his cool
Scandinavian demeanor cracked at last.  "Interesting
thought."

     Mulder went on.  "It would explain the thinness of the
ice, as well.  How long would it take the lake to refreeze at
these temperatures?  To a thickness of three or four
centimeters?"

     "That I do not know.  But Ari would.  Ari!  Tulkaa
tanne!"

     The scientist stuck his head through the tent flap, his
eyes gravitating automatically to Michael.

     "No, he's fine for now.  Come here, we need your
expertise."  Heikki launched into a flood of Finnish, Ari's
English nowhere near as fluent as his own.  Mulder watched
as the scientist's expression moved from rejection to intrigue
to thoughtfulness in a matter of a minute.  A short
conversation ensued.  Finally, Heikki turned back to Mulder.

     "He agrees - your toxic dumping scenario is out of
the question.  He is, however, fascinated by your 'crazy'
theory. Normally it would take maybe ten or twelve days to
refreeze the lake water to four centimeters.  But it has been
colder than normal. So Ari figures about half that time -
maybe less.  Which would fit in well with a strange
occurence.  The Turku researchers have instruments set all
over the Reserve.  It was just such instruments that gave the
first sign to the world of the accident at Chernobyl.  Well, it
seems that five days ago, the instruments picked up an
anomalous reading.  At least, at the time it was assumed to
be anomalous, the result perhaps an instrument being
disturbed by a reindeer or a wolf.  In any case, a tremor was
recorded. Now, earth tremors are highly unlikely in this area,
and in any case this was a single blip on the screen.  Real
earth tremors have a characteristic readout, and this wasn't it.
Perhaps it was the alien craft."

     "Wouldn't other people have picked up the sound of
impact or seen bright lights in the sky? 

     "Look around, Mulder. Who is here to do that? There
are at the most a dozen people in fifty square kilometers.  Ari
was at the research station, at least twenty kilometers from
here.  Aslak was off hunting to the west.  Sounds travels long
distances up here, but not that long.  Besides, what if it were
less a crash than an emergency landing?  The impact would
not have been so loud."

     "True.  Imagine their surprise when their nice convenient 
landing field disintegrated under their ship. Okay, but what 
about the lights?"

     "As far as strange lights in the sky..."  Heikki
shrugged.  "The aurora borealis is a common sight here in
winter.  People are accustomed to strange lights in the sky."

     Ari stood to leave, making a comment to his friend
on the way out. 

     The big Finn chuckled.  "Ari says that Aslak, too, has
a theory about what held you up in the lake."

     "What is it?"

     "Aslak says that he thinks you stood on the shoulders
of the gods."

     Mulder looked at him, an odd expression on his face.
"Maybe, in a way, I did."

					~ ~ ~ 
     
     "Mulder!  We have made a decision."

     He looked up from the notes he had been making. For 
some time a council of war had been going on around the
campfire outside, as the Finns talked over their options and
planned the next move.  He tossed his notes aside.  "Oh?
And what have you decided?"

     "Our plans must change.  The weather looks as if it
closing in - we shall have snow in a few hours.  Ari and Aslak
and I are going back to Madjoki hut to get the skis and the
sled.  When we return, if the snow hasn't started, we shall see
if Michael is up to travelling.  If so, we'll take him on the sled
back to the hut.  If the snow is heavy, he might be better off
with a roof over his head.  Do you think you'll be able to ski
out of here?"

     "I can't tell you I'm looking forward to it, but if I have
to, sure.  Tell me what to do for Michael while you're gone."

     Heikki squatted, bringing his height closer to
Mulder's.  "We should be gone only two hours.  Keep him
warm and keep the fire going.  If he wakes, give him some
broth.  Hold the cup for him. He is not to get up for any
reason, understand?  Check him for blisters on his
extremities.  Also check for bleeding anywhere.  It's
uncommon, but severe hypothermia can sometimes cause a
bleeding disorder.  That would be a very bad sign.  Okay?
And don't go outside.  There's sufficient firewood in here for
the stove."

     "Look, the way you guys have been filling me with
fluids, I may have to go out, if you catch my drift."

     "I have your drift.  All right, but make it quick and
keep your hands and feet warm."  There was a call from
outside. "Okay, we're going now," he said, getting to his feet.
"You sure you're up to this?  One of us could stay behind, but
it would be easier if the three of us went to carry everything
back here."

     "Go ahead.  We'll be fine."

     "All right.  Don't try to use your left hand.  And keep
those fingers straight!  You don't want them to heal in a
contracted position."

     "Yes, mother."

     Heikki grinned.  "We'll be back in two hours - no
more.  Good luck."

     "Thanks," Mulder smiled in return. "You too."

     The Finn waved and left.  Soon, their voices faded
with their distance.

     He returned to his notes, working steadily for some
time.  Then he stretched and cautiously got to his feet.  When
everything stopped spinning, he stepped carefully into his
boots and picked up a pair of gloves, pulling the left one on
as far as the bandages would allow.  Clumsily, with one
gloved hand, he unzipped the entryway and ducked outside.

     His breath caught as the cold air assailed his lungs.
While the tent had not struck him as particularly warm, the
abrupt temperature change from inside was a shock. Eyeing
unshod footprints in the snow, he was just as glad that he
remembered few of the details of the night before, when he
stood, dripping and naked, in this cold. He completed his
errand as quickly as possible, re-entering the tent as Michael
began stirring.  He kicked off his boots and threw the gloves
aside.  Crouching beside the older man, he lay a hand on his
shoulder.  "Michael.  Michael, are you awake?"

     "Mmmph."  The worst of the shivering seemed to be
over.  Mulder placed his hand to the man's cheek and then
his forehead.  His skin was still too cool to the touch, but the
eyelids fluttered open.

     "Good.  Stay awake until I give you something to
drink."  Going to the stove, he poured some of the fish broth
into a cup and brought it to where Michael lay.  Awkwardly,
he raised his head onto his knees as he dimly remembered
Heikki doing repeatedly through the night.  "Here, I'll hold it,
you drink."

     Michael tipped his head and swallowed some of the
broth.  "Th-that's v-vile!" he spluttered.

     "Yeah, I know.  Tell you what, you complain to the
chef - leave me out of it.  Drink some more.  Mom said it was
good for you."

     Finally he got the contents of the cup down.

     Mulder unzipped the sleeping bag.  "How do you
feel?"

     "C-cold.  Everyth-thing h-hurts."

     "I can empathize."  He pulled Michael's woolen
mittens off and inspected his hands.  "Not too bad - two
blisters on your left hand, but we didn't leave any fingers in
your mittens, so I guess that's 'a good sign', as Heikki would
say."  Gently, he slid the garments back on and moved to the
man's feet.

     "M-mulder, for G-god's s-sake...."

     "Sorry, just following orders.  If you think I'm crossing
Heikki, you're out of your mind.  He's a big S.O.B. and I
invariably come out on the losing end of those fight cards....
Okay, looks good," he said, slipping the thick socks back on.
He zipped the sleeping bag closed.

     "Y-your h-hand...."

     Mulder looked at the bandaged appendage
appraisingly.  "You know how your mother always used to tell
you not to touch anything really cold when your hands are
wet?   Well, she was right."

     "S-sorry. Why did you.... You sh-shouldn't h-have t-
taken the r-risk to c-come after me."

     Shrugging, the young man muttered something.

     "Wh-what?"

     He sighed, hesitating.  Finally, in an admission not
without cost, he barely whispered,  "I said I couldn't face
losing anyone else."  Briefly, their eyes met.  Then,
uncomfortable, Mulder broke the contact.  Louder, he said,
"Try to get some sleep.  The guys should be back soon and
then we'll go on a field trip. Literally."

     Tiredly, Michael nodded and let his eyes close.
Mulder sat watching over him for some time, a pensive
expression on his face.  Then he stood and put more wood
on the stove as he crossed to his sleeping bag.

     He shook his head.  Why was it so difficult to allow
himself to get close to that man?  That's a no-brainer, Mulder,
he thought to himself.  Because you lose everyone close to
you.  If you keep him at arm's length, maybe you won't lose
him, too.  And if you do lose him, maybe it won't hurt so
much.  He snorted.  Yeah, right.  Like you weren't terrified
last night that he would die with this thing between you
unresolved.

     Seeking distraction from his thoughts, he picked up
his notes again and went over them, editing an entry here
and there.  When he realized he had read the same line eight
times, he gave up.  Sighing, he tossed his notes aside and
snuggled into the warmth of his sleeping bag.  His mind
returned to the problem that the man's proximity had forced
him to face.  What if he is my father, Mulder wondered.  God
knows we look nothing alike, but then he did say I took after
my mother.  To feel closeness with another human, someone
who now appeared to want to claim him as his son.  He
craved the kind of close relationship that had been
conspicuous by its absence in his childhood.  But at the same
time he was repelled, like a rabid animal thirsts for water and
yet is maddened by the sight of it.  The cost of allowing
himself that kind of relationship with this man.... To accept
him would be to deliberately throw away anything I thought I
knew, he thought. About myself ...my family... my ties to
Samantha... even my name....  

     Sleep claimed him.
     
					~ ~ ~ 

     "Have you been entertaining while we were gone?"

     Mulder shot upright, still groggy.  Heikki, still in his
parka,  stood before him.  "Wh-what?  No.  We've been
sleeping.  What do you mean?"

     "Get your boots on and come outside."

     Frowning, Mulder got up and followed the Finn
outside.  Snow was just beginning, the tiny dry white flakes
which promised a heavy storm falling steadily.

     "It appears you had visitors,"  Heikki observed,
pointing his flashlight at the snow-covered ground.

     Mulder stared down in disbelief.  Encircling the tent -
dozens of the distinctive, three-toed footprints of the aliens.

End of Chapter Five

					~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Chapter Six


     Mulder stared at the footprints.  "Shit!" he breathed.
"And I slept through it.  Damn it!"

     "Apparently so. Go on, get back inside before you get
chilled."  Mulder followed Heikki back into the tent.  Ari pushed
in three heavy backbacks and some firewood and followed
them, zipping the entryway behind them.  They helped
themselves to coffee and got comfortable.

     "There must have been several of them.  Was the
zipper completely closed the last you remember?" inquired the
big Finn.

     "I did go out briefly, but I'm sure I closed it all the way
when I went back in.  Why?"

     "Because it was open a few centimeters when we got
back.  It looks like they have been spying on you."

     "That's strange."  Mulder frowned.  "Up until now
they've been doing their damnedest to avoid us.  Doesn't it
seem odd to you that they would get this close?"

     "Very.  Why do you suppose that is?"

     The agent shrugged.  "I haven't got a clue.  The food
in here maybe?"

     "Possibly - assuming they eat food like we do, of
course.  Maybe Michael has an idea.  Sorry we were gone so
long.  I'll tell you why in a minute.  How has he been?"

     Briefly Mulder reported his progress, then noted that
their company was diminished by one. "Where's Aslak,
anyway?"

     "He has some work to do.  We have news, and little of
it good.  I think we had better wake Michael."  He nodded to
Ari, who gently roused the man and propped him up against a
backpack.

     "Sorry to wake you, old friend, but there have been
developments.  Are you with us enough to follow along?"

     Michael was alert in a heartbeat.  "Tell me what's
happened," he demanded.

     "Ari, why don't you start supper.  I'm sure everyone
could use a good meal."  He squatted beside Michael and
handed him a cup of coffee, grinning.  "It's good to have you
back.  We had our doubts about twenty four hours ago."

     "You should know better, after Spitzbergen.  Now
what's going on?"

     "Ari, Aslak and I went back to Madjoki hut, intending to
bring the skis and sled here so we could move you back to the
hut, or even to the van if your condition warranted.  It looks
like we're in for some nasty weather, and all things considered,
you might be better off out of it.  We sent Aslak down to the
van, where there is a CB radio.  I don't know whether it was
intuition or if the gods are looking out for us, but it turns out it's
a good thing we did."

     "Why?" Michael's tone was sharp.

     "Aslak got on the radio with some of his family, just to
see what's been happening."  Heikki's face was grim.  "Our
friends the Blue Berets have discovered our little ruse in
sending them to Lemmenjoki.  They're on their way."

     Michael's eyes narrowed for a moment in thought.
"How long until they're here?"

     "It's hard to say.  We don't know precisely where they
are at the moment.  We cleared out Madjoki hut, cleaned it
inside and out to try to remove every trace that we were ever
there.  Like the other wilderness huts, it's on every map of the
Reserve, so it stands to reason that they will check it out.  The
snow will help us.  Yes, we are stuck, but it will also cover our
tracks around the hut and leading back here.  It will make the
going more difficult for the Berets, as well. The storm is
coming from the west, and so are they. I doubt seriously that
we'll see them until the storm's over."

     "I hope you're right," said Mulder quietly.  "But from
what I saw of them in Wisconsin and Puerto Rico, they're
tough and they're relentless.  I wouldn't put money on the hope
that they'll just dig in and stay put until the weather improves."

     Michael nodded approvingly.  "I agree.  They'll be
pissed as hell at the wild goose chase you sent them on.
Unless there's a white-out during the storm, they'll keep
moving.  And we've got to be ready."

     "Michael, I'm surprised at you!  When did I ever leave
anything to chance?" protested Heikki in feigned hurt.  "Aslak
is on a little mission, to find out where they are, and to try and
throw a few spanners into the works."

     "He spoke over a CB radio, Heikki.  It could have
been picked up."

     "Possibly.  But it's unlikely they would have learned
anything.  He spoke in Sami.  If the bastards can't tell Swedish
from Finnish, they sure as hell won't know what to make of
Sami."

     "You can't rule out the possibility that they might have
recruited a local to their side," commented Mulder.  "I'm not
saying that the Blue Berets are out to win hearts and minds
here.  All I'm saying is they are ruthless in their methods.
They wouldn't hesitate a second to use force - maybe even
deadly force."

     Heikki frowned.  "We'll just have to trust in the
ingenuity of the Sami people - that, and their contempt for
outsiders who barge in and try to force them to do anything
they don't want."

     "So what do we do?"  Mulder persisted.  "What's our
plan?"

     "Until the storm stops, nothing," said Heikki flatly. "The
snow is supposed to be quite heavy.  A white-out is, in fact,
likely.  In any case, if we moved, we could be walking right
into their arms.  And you can't travel any distance tonight,
Michael, not in this snow.  You would be dead before we
reached the van.  They are coming from the west, the same
as the storm, which means they've been in it all the way from
Lemmenjoki.  They will make little progress.  No, we're safe
enough here until the snow stops.  Ari and I will take turns on
watch, but I think it will prove unnecessary."

     "You guys didn't get any sleep last night, taking care
of us.  I'm pretty much slept-out.  Let me take first watch while
you get some rest," suggested Mulder.

     "Afraid to miss the aliens again?" teased Heikki.

     "What?" Michael demanded.  "Miss them *again*?
What the hell's been going on?"

     "It seems that, while we were sleeping, we had
visitors," Mulder explained.  "Outside the tent."

     The older man looked puzzled.  "But why would they
get so close?"

     "Good question.  We were wondering if you had any
ideas."

     He shook his head and shrugged.  "No idea at all.
That's strange."

     "I can't explain why they would be so interested in us,
but I think I may have a reason why they're sticking around,"
Mulder offered. "It looks as if they may be staying in the area
to be close to their ship."

     "SHIP?"  Michael bolted upright, then sank back as
the pain and dizziness hit him.  Weakly, he asked, "What
ship?  Have you found the wreckage?"
   
  Heikki smirked.  "See what happens when you sleep
for a whole day?"

					~ ~ ~ 
     

     Except for the breathing of his sleeping companions,
the silence was complete, the snow still falling heavily but
soundlessly outside. Mulder looked at Heikki's watch; his own
had proved less resilient than he was himself to immersion
and freezing.  The time to wake Ari for his turn as sentry had
come and gone some hours before, but Mulder had not been
tired then.  Now with the heat of the stove and the lack of
anything to occupy him, he began to get drowsy.  He was just
standing to wake Ari when he heard movement outside the
tent.

     Pulling his weapon, he went into a crouch to the right
of the entryway.  The zipper opened stealthily, and a snow-
covered head poked inside.

     "Don't move," he ordered.  The head turned slowly
towards him, wide-eyed.  Exhaling in relief, he put up the gun
and slid the safety back on.  Aslak entered and zipped the
flap.

     Mulder turned to see Heikki awake and grinning at
him.  "Don't say it," he told the Finn sheepishly.

     The Sami shed his outer garments and put them by
the stove to dry.  By the time he had helped himself to coffee,
everyone was awake.  For some time he spoke animatedly to
the Finns, apparently very angry and alarmed.  Burning with
curiosity, Mulder and Michael had no choice but to wait for the
diatribe to stop until Heikki had a chance to translate.  When
the translation occurred, they had a feeling a lot of the
expletives had been deleted.

     "All right,"  Heikki said heavily.  "What Mulder feared
did indeed happen.  The Blue Berets - the Cossacks, as Aslak
calls them - found their way out of Lemmenjoki on
snowmobiles and stopped at the next small village they came
to.  When none of the inhabitants were inclined to help them,
they threatened to start executing people until they found a
volunteer.  The feeling of the villagers was that it was not an
idle threat.  One of the men who spoke some English agreed
to go with them.  What he knew, but the Blue Berets didn't,
was that they would be shadowed every step of the way by the
other men of the village, who would be nearby in case of
trouble.

     "Joona, the 'guide', followed their orders exactly.
Probably more exactly than they intended.  They said they
wanted to be brought through the Kevo Reserve and that's
precisely what he did - taking the scenic route that goes along
the gorge itself.  The snow was very heavy.  Joona advised
them to stop, that it was dangerous to go on.  The leader of
the Blue Berets put a gun to his head and told him to keep
going.  Not being a fool, he did.  When the snow became so
heavy that there was a white-out, one of the snowmobiles
strayed a bit from the path.  It went off the edge of the gorge,
carrying two men with it.

     "The leader and the others were furious. They set
upon Joona, punching and kicking him until he was on the
ground.  Then the leader drew his gun, and appeared about to
execute him. That's when the Sami in the woods set up a
distraction - they started yoiking."

     "Yoiking?" asked Mulder, puzzled.

     "It's a kind of yodelling that the Sami use for
communication,"  Heikki explained.  "The sound is rather...
strange.  Evidently, the leader thought that it might be aliens
making the noise, and ordered his men into the woods to find
the source.  They fanned out and went in on foot.  Of course,
there was no visibility to speak of.  Not only did they fail to find
the source, but one of the men failed to return at all."

     Michael looked at Heikki suspiciously.  "Did he get
lost?"

     The Finn looked uncomfortable and avoided their
eyes.  "Aslak declined to give any details. I think it may be one
of those things that the less we know the better."  He glanced
between the two Americans - the Blue Berets were, after all,
their countrymen, no matter how much they might differ in
philosophy and methods.

     "I'm sure that Joona's neighbors did only what they felt
they had to, under the circumstances,"  Michael said mildly.

     Relieved, Heikki nodded.  "I'm sure you're right.
Anyhow, after that, the loss of three men, the leader finally
agreed to camp until the storm eased up.  There are now
seven of the original ten men the leader had with him.  They
are travelling two to a snowmobile, the leader sharing one with
Joona.  They have no skis with them; in my opinion, a mistake
for them and an advantage for us. We shall hear them coming
on the snowmobiles from some distance."

     "What about the researchers at the university station?
Do you think they're likely to make trouble for them as well?"
Mulder asked.

     "They probably would, but the researchers have
withdrawn to the woods."

     "But what about their records and equipment?  There
could be clues in the readings they got when we theorize the
alien craft landed."

     Heikki smiled grimly and shook his head.  "There is an
advantage to growing up in a country that has managed to be
overrun several times.  It breeds a healthy sense of paranoia.
No, the records are safe, and the equipment will tell them little
if they're not scientists.  In the meantime, Joona's neighbors
and kin are keeping close, looking for more opportunities to
sabotage the Blue Berets' efforts."

     Michael's eyes narrowed.  "So it's up to us to find the
aliens first, try to communicate with them or protect them
somehow.  Failing that, we have to provide a distraction for
the Blue Berets to allow the aliens to escape. Otherwise there
will be a slaughter."  He turned to Mulder.  "How confident are
you in your theory that they're sticking around because their
ship is nearby?"

     Mulder shrugged.  "I don't think I'd use the term
confidence at all.  It's just an idea.  Something's obviously
keeping them in the area."

     "Do you think there may still be aliens in the craft?"

     "I hadn't thought about it." He paused.  "I don't know.
Maybe it's something about the craft itself."

     "Here is another thought - is it something about us?"
wondered Heikki aloud.  "I still find it very strange that they
would approach the tent."

     Michael sighed.  "Useless speculation, gentlemen.
What we need to be discussing is where do we go from here?"
He looked around at his companions.  "I think we should break
camp when the storm is over and start looking again.  If they
are keeping close to one area, that means that much less
territory for us to cover."

     Heikki caught Mulder's eye, finding the same caution
he felt.  "Michael, you almost died last night, and you are far
from over the effects even now.  What more do you want to
do, without killing yourself?

     "I can't explain it, Heikki.  It's the damnedest thing.  I
just know I have to stop them from falling into the hands of the
Blue Berets."

     "But is it worth your life?"

     Michael considered the question seriously. "Yes. I
think it is."

     There was silence amongst them for several
moments.  "All right.  Let's get some sleep," said Heikki.  "We
know our friends are camped until the storm stops, so we don't
need anyone on watch.  Tomorow Aslak will go back to
Joona's people and try to find out all he can.  The four of us
will set out after the aliens.  Agreed?"

     There were murmurings of approval.  The Finns
grouped together for a conference.  Before turning in, Mulder
crawled over to Michael.

     "Look, are you sure about this?  Don't do it because
you think you'll disappoint me if I don't get to see an alien.  Or
because you think you'll lose face."  His gaze was grave,
concerned.

     Smiling, Michael shook his head.  "It has nothing to do
with either of those.  I meant it when I said I couldn't explain it.
It's like a primitive drive or something, like salmon swimming
upstream.  I just know that this is something I have to do.
You're welcome to bow out.  I won't ask you or the others to
risk your lives for this - you've all gone above and beyond the
call of duty in that regard already.  But I have to."

     "No, I'm in.  But I wasn't the one having convulsions
last night, either. Sleep well."

     "You too, s-... Mulder."

					~ ~ ~ 

     The storm stopped twelve hours later, but the men in
the tent had been awake for some time, waiting.  All the gear
had been packed and when the snow finally dropped to a
flurry, the stove was dismantled to cool. A last attempt was
made to reason with Michael as they strapped on their skis.

     "Why don't you go with Aslak?  We don't know how
long we'll be out. At least Aslak's friends can get you
somewhere safe and warm," Heikki said persuasively.

     "If I wanted to be somewhere safe and warm, I
wouldn't be here in the first place," replied Michael dryly.

     "Have it your way, old friend.  But I don't have to tell
you what will happen if your hands and feet get frozen again,
do I?"

     Grimly, the older man shook his head.  "No, you don't
have to tell me."

     The snow had stopped but an icy wind cut through the
trees.  After packing up the tent and lashing it to the sled,
Aslak left to find Joona's people.  The four remaining men
skied their way to the edge of the tree line on the relatively
wide paths, Heikki towing the sled.

     "I think it is wise to go across in two groups," Ari said.
"The two who stay behind can give cover fire for the two
crossing the field.  It is very open, yes?"

     Michael nodded.  "It may not be necessary, but it can't
hurt.  You and Heikki go ahead.  I'll stay behind with Mulder."

     The big Finn pulled on his gloves. "All right.  Don't use
your flashlights.  Follow our tracks across, if you can.  When
we get to the woods. we'll signal with our flashlight.  Follow it
carefully, keeping the beam straight ahead of you.  Unless, of
course, you want to go swimming again."  Mulder smiled
weakly.

     From the scant cover of the winter trees, they watched
the Finns start across the wide snowy expanse, heading east.

     "I suppose you have a plan for what we're going to do,
assuming we catch up with the aliens," Mulder murmured.
The hesitation from his companion made him turn in his
direction.  "You do have a plan, right?"

     A bemused expression crossed Michael's face.
"Umm...actually, no.  I expect something will occur to us when
the time comes."

     I love it when a plan comes together.  Now I know how
Scully feels when I go off half-cocked, Mulder thought.  Aloud
he said, "Let's hope so.  Let's also hope that the guys have
energizer batteries - there's not much left to follow."  He
gestured at the tundra.  The wind had all but obscured the
tracks of the Finns' skis with blowing snow, as fine and light as
sand.

     After several minutes, a light appeared in the distance
opposite.  "I guess we're on," said Mulder, pushing off with his
skis.  He kept the pace slow,  partly to avoid overtiring
Michael, but also because he couldn't manage much more
speed himself.  Between the pain and the heavy bandages, he
was unable to grasp with his left hand and was finding skiing
with only one pole decidedly clumsy.  Their way was already
difficult enough, hindered by deep drifts and the blowing snow
hitting their faces like icy needles.

     Suddenly, when they were a little more than halfway
across, the light ahead of them began to wave wildly, and then
went out completely.  Almost at the same moment, they
became aware of a sound other than their labored breathing.

     "Snowmobiles,"  panted Michael.  "We have to move,
fast."  He took the lead with a kick-step used in Nordic racing.
Mulder did his best to keep up, but every stride was an
awkward effort.  The light in the trees flashed for a second and
was again extinguished, the pattern repeating every thirty
seconds, giving them just enough of a beacon to follow.  In the
distance to the south, five headlights came into view, the
whine of the snowmobile engines no longer a background
hum, but a sound like a hive of irritated wasps.

     "Move!" urged the command from the trees ahead.
The lights were closer now, the chevron formation of the
machines distinct.  Ahead, Mulder saw Michael had reached
the trees, literally pulled the last few steps by a frantic Ari.
Gasping, he moved faster, making it to cover just as the
beams of the headlights were pooling on the snow scant
meters away.

     Heikki and Michael paused only to remove their skis,
then pulled back further into the woods. Once he had assured
himself that Mulder had made it to cover without being
spotted, Ari followed.  Panting, the agent crouched behind
some brush to unfasten his bindings.  He was about to grab
his skis and follow the others, but out of the corner of his eye
caught the dance of headlights on the wide expanse of tundra,
which hid its dangers well.  In fascinated horror, he watched as
the convoy of snowmobiles inexorably approached the
concealed lake.

End of Chapter Six

					~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 


Chapter Seven


     The ice had frozen just enough to hold its deceptive
blanket of snow.  From the cover of the brush, Mulder
watched in horror as the snowmobiles swept up the field.
The lead vehicle must have missed the thin ice by inches.
Those on the right flank were not so lucky.
  
    Mulder bit back a yell as the report of the crack
sounded about the roar of the engines.  The snowmobile on
the near right of the leader veered left as the surface of the
lake disintegrated.  At top speed, it hit the widening fissure,
vaulting one of the riders thirty feet across the field. He
landed on his neck and lay motionless in a tangled heap of
unnaturally angled limbs.  Desperately, the other rider clung
to the machine until it slowly began to sink.  Then he kicked
himself away and, saturated from the waist down, dragged
himself up onto a platform of ice nearby.
 
    Less fortunate were the riders on the snowmobile on
the far right flank.  Unable to stop, they had sped into the
growing black hole of icy water and were swallowed in its
depths.  Only one rider bobbed to the surface, then a
moment later sank, resisting weakly, pulled down by the
weight of his waterlogged gear and the weapons hung around
his neck.

     The engines of the remaining snow machines cut out.
The riders dismounted and cautiously approached the watery
grave.

     "Colonel, we have to do something to try and get
them out!" cried one of the Blue Berets, peering anxiously
into the water.

     "Who's giving the orders here, Fredricksen?  What
the hell do you suggest we do, call out the fucking Coast
Guard?  They knew the risks."  The tall, beefy officer turned
to where one of the men was examining the form of the rider
who had been catapulted from his vehicle.  When the man
slowly shook his head, he sighed impatiently.  "All right.
MacLeod, get on with Fredricksen. Since he's such a
humanitarian, maybe he won't mind your getting him as wet
as you are.  Samuels, come up with me.  And as for you - "
He wheeled toward a diminutive man in the distinctive
embroidered clothing of the Sami.  "Some guide you turned
out to be."  In a sudden, vicious motion, he clubbed the local
to the ground with the butt of his automatic rifle.  Glaring at
the unconscious man, he muttered, "Little shit probably knew
what he was doing, leading us up here."  Louder, he ordered,
"All right, all of you - back on your machines.  We'll do
without a goddamn guide."

     His men hesitated at first, then slowly moved to the
snowmobiles and started the engines.  A moment later they
were roaring north over the tundra.  Totally caught up in the
drama that had unfolded, Mulder stood and took a step
toward the field, toward the beaten Sami.  With a start, he felt
a hand at his shoulder.

     Heikki's voice was in his ear.  "Joona's people are
here, they'll take care of him.  Come on."  Even as the Finn
spoke, Mulder could see figures emerging from the trees at a
run to bend over the motionless form.  Still he hesitated.

     Reassuringly the Finn said, "It's all right, he'll be seen
to.  And there's nothing you can do now for the others. Let's
go."  Heikki backed away and moved deeper into the woods.

     Sickened, knowing first hand the icy hell of the
abandoned men, Mulder gathered his skis and melted into
the woods.

					~ ~ ~ 

     "Oh, there you are, Mul-....  My God, what's wrong?"
Michael asked, glancing at the man's pallor and set features.

     Shaky with horror and anger, Mulder leaned against a
tree, his eyes closed.  When he opened them again, they
glittered with outrage.  Bitterly, the young man muttered,
"That cold-blooded son of a bitch just killed two of his own
men - just left them there in the lake.  He may have killed
Joona, as well, for all we know."

     Michael turned to Heikki.

     The Finn's voice was thick with contempt. "It's true.
Well, about his own men, anyway.  He could have saved at
least one had he chosen to do so.  The one who got wet -
he'll be dead shortly too if they don't camp soon, and
something tells me that their leader won't do that.  Joona - I
don't know.  Aslak will find us and let us know before long,
I'm sure. His people are with him now."  He left them and
went to talk with Ari.

     "Did you hear anything else, anything to give you a
clue about what they know, where they might be going?"

     Mutely, Mulder shook his head, staring unfocused
into the middle distance.

     "We'd better get going," Heikki called over. "Ari has
managed to find a few tracks.  The Cossacks will be back
soon, count on it."

     The Finns took the lead, using the flashlight sparingly
against the velvet darkness to pick up the few tracks not
obliterated by the wind.  Michael hung behind with Mulder,
their voices out of hearing range of the others.  One look told
him that the young man had been shaken.  "Are you okay?"

     Mulder sighed.  "Yeah.  I just....  I have a goddamn
doctorate in psychology and I still don't understand how
people can think that way, live that way."

     "I know.  Personal sacrifice in pursuit of a worthy goal
is one thing.  The sacrifice of those around you is quite
another."  He glanced over at the disturbed man as they
picked their way through the trees.  "You couldn't have done
anything, you know.  By the time they cleared off, it was too
late.  And if you had tried to do anything about it while they
were there, you would have been killed or captured, and it
wouldn't have made any difference to the fate of those poor
bastards."

     Mulder's lips twitched in a grim smile.  "Intellectually,
I know that.  Emotionally, though....  Come on, we'd better
catch up with the others."

     For several hours they moved in the direction the
tracks seemed to be taking, first southeast, then due south.
From one island of trees to the next, across seas of snowy
tundra, they followed the trail, always listening for the sound
of engines which would herald the Blue Berets' return.

     Panting, Mulder stooped at the treeline to unfasten
his bindings for what seemed like the fiftieth time.  His eyes
gravitated to where Michael squatted on a stump, his
breathing labored, and a frown crossed his face.  Someone
here has to have some sense, he thought.  He strolled over
to where Heikki and Ari stood talking.  "I could do with a
break.  Were you thinking of stopping anytime soon?"

     Ari smirked and Heikki was about to come back with
comment about soft Americans who couldn't take it, when he
read Mulder's expression of concern.  His glance slid toward
Michael and the remark died on his lips.  Instead he nodded.
"We could all use some hot food and a rest.  This is a good
sized forest.  Let's just get to the center before we make a
fire."

     "Thanks."  Mulder went over to Michael and picked
up the older man's skis along with his own.  "Chow time."

     Michael merely grunted but there was no mistaking
the relief in his face.  Stubborn bastard, Mulder thought.  He'd
rather keel over in his tracks than delay his search or admit
he needed a rest.  At the same moment he could hear
Scully's voice in his mind, saying, "And who does that sound
like?"  He shrugged off the uncomfortable thought and
followed the others in the forest.

     When they had followed the narrow path for two
hundred meters or so, Ari stopped.  A cluster of ancient,
glacier-driven boulders had formed a wall, sheltering them
from the icy wind and visibility from the north.  "This will be a
good place to stop."  Michael sank down on the nearest rock
while Heikki and Ari saw to procuring firewood and Mulder
laid the base for the fire.  In less time than would seem
possible, sausages were browning and coffee was perking
over a crackling fire.  With a groan of relief, Mulder settled
next to Michael.

     Heikki noted the agent's eyes follow the trail of
smoke upward through the trees.  "Don't worry, the smoke
will be - diffused, is that the word? - by the branches of the
trees.  Unless someone looks very hard, we won't be
spotted." He distributed chunks of bread, cheese and
chocolate.  As he handed Mulder a plate, he suddenly
frowned.  "Mulder, how did you get your glove wet?  Take it
off."

     Surprised, Mulder looked down.  He hadn't been able
to feel his hands for the last couple of hours.  He pulled off
the damp-darkened left glove to reveal a blood-soaked
bandage.  Heikki called over to Ari and then squatted in the
snow at the agent's feet.  Removing his own gloves, he
began unwinding the saturated gauze as Ari came over with
the first aid supplies.  "Holding a ski pole for hours has not
helped your hand."

     "Apparently not."

     "Does it hurt?"

     "Now that it's exposed to the air, it burns.  Not bad,
though."

     Heikki grunted.  "It's bad enough."  He threw some
bloody dressings in the fire.  "You'll be lucky not to need skin
grafts in some places."

     "Don't worry, I'm a quick healer.  I've had to be," he
added with a wry smile.

     In a low voice and avoiding Mulder's eyes, he
murmured as he worked. "About your hand....  I'm...sorry.
We pushed hard today. Maybe too hard, all things
considered."  He tossed some more waste in the fire and said
something to Ari.  The other Finn left his cooking chores and
began to set up the tent.  "We'll stop here for some sleep.  It's
a well protected area. We're not likely to find much better."

     "Look, don't stop because of me...."

     Heikki caught his gaze and slid his eyes toward
Michael.  The older man was barely awake, his plate slanted
at an alarming angle in his nearly senseless hands.

     Imperceptibly, Mulder nodded.  "Then again, if you
guys can't keep up...."  His grin was wicked.

     The look the Finn shot him told him that he was
going to pay for that remark.  He took a pot of water from the
fire and tested its heat with a finger.  "All right, hold still.  I'm
going to clean you up a bit, and it will sting."

     The hiss of intaken breath was the only sound he
made. Sting, he says, thought Mulder.  Shit, it hurts like hell.

     "Okay, now wave your hand around so it can air-dry."

     Glaring, Mulder complied.

     "That'll do.  Now hold it steady."  By the time Heikki
had finished smearing on the salve and wrapping the
nonstick dressings with gauze to hold them in place, the tent
was up and the stove assembled, filling the tent's interior with
a soft glow.  "Okay. Now keep your fingers straight or I'll
splint them.  Michael - Michael, old friend."  He gently nudged
the older man.  "Eat first, then sleep," he said softly. "You
need to replace all those calories you've burned."

     The man opened his eyes, then squirmed in
embarrassment as the others pretended not to notice that he
had fallen asleep.  Ari plopped a huge sausage on his plate
and set a cup of coffee next to him.

     "You too, Mulder.  You need protein in order to heal."

     The men ate companionably around the fire, their
voices low in conversation.  For some time they exchanged
trivialities and spoke of past experiences.  Then the talk
came around to the reason that had them sitting in the cold,
dark woods in the middle of nowhere.

     "Much as I hate to admit it, I think Mulder might be
right," Heikki said, only partly in jest.  "The aliens do seem to
be travelling in a big circle, with the lake as the focal point."
Ari said something and Heikki translated.  "The tracks are
reasonably fresh, too.  It seems they are purposely staying
some distance away, but without making any attempt to lose
us.  Quite the opposite.  They've done everything but erect a
sign.  Very mysterious, and not a little frightening."

     "Well, they don't mean to lure us into a trap to kill us,
I know that," declared Michael.  "If they had wanted to kill us
they could have done so yesterday when Mulder and I were
alone and sleeping."

     Mulder finished his coffee and set his cup down.  "I'll
agree they don't want to kill us.  Actually, I was thinking of
something else...."

     Michael read the answer in his face.  "Abduction?" he
said doubtfully.

     Mulder nodded.

     Heikki swallowed hard.  At Ari's prodding, he
translated the unfamiliar word. "Sieppaus,"  he tossed over
his shoulder.  He looked from Michael to Mulder.  "You're not
serious....  Look, I have a beautiful woman expecting me in
Rovaniemi next Tuesday.  She will be very disappointed if I
don't show up."  The light tone of his words could not disguise
his unease.

     "No doubt," Michael responded dryly.  "Well, don't
worry.  I don't think that's what they're after, either."

     "Well, at the moment, it's a moot point.  They have
nothing to abduct us to.  They're stranded here.  But...."
Mulder frowned.  "...it's almost as if they're killing time."

     "How do you mean?"

     "They stay on the move, making no attempt to dig in,
to create a permanent shelter.  But neither have they made
any effort to leave the area.  It's like they're just...waiting."

     "But waiting for what?"  Heikki asked.

     "Good question,"  grunted Michael. He stood and
stretched.  "If you gentlemen don't mind, I'd like to beg off KP
duties for the night and hit the sack."

     "Go ahead. Sleep well.  We'll be in shortly.  More
coffee, Mulder?"

     "Yeah. Thanks.  Kiitos, right?"

     "You're learning!  Good."

     Quickly, the remaining men cleaned the plates with
handfuls of snow and packed the supplies away in the tent.
Ari strolled into the woods and returned a short time later,
wishing them good night as he crawled into the tent.  Heikki
and Mulder settled down to watch the dying fire and finish
their coffee before turning in.

     "Michael has not told us much about you."

     Guarded, Mulder shrugged.  "I guess there's not
much to tell.  We've worked with each other on occasion -
less now than before he was shot."

     "Is that all?  I could have sworn that there was more
between you than that."

     Mulder was silent for a while, uncomfortable with the
direction of the conversation.  "We have...similar interests"
he replied finally.  "And what about you?  What do you do
when you're not out chasing aliens?" 

     Heikki smiled.  "Ah. Well, in the summer, I'm a guide
for tourists, mostly the spoiled and wealthy with more money
than good sense.  In the winter I lecture and conduct training
courses for paramedics and rescue squads on arctic survival,
treatment of cold weather injuries, that sort of thing.  And if
there are any big searches - a plane goes down, a large party
of hikers gets lost - I generally lead the team that goes
looking for the unfortunate and the stupid."

     "Which category do we fall into?"  smiled Mulder.

     Heikki chuckled.  "Perhaps a little of both.  Certainly
no one in his right mind would go diving in alone after
someone who had fallen through the ice."

     "Well, it wouldn't be the first time I had been accused
of not being in my right mind," he responded dryly. "Although
'diving' was not my original intention.  Anyway, with your
experience, it looks like we were lucky you were with us when
we went 'swimming'."

     Heikki smiled. "It's more like it would have been
suicidal for you to attempt anything like this without someone
like me along.  Although for someone his age, who has been
too long in the city, Michael does well.  And you...you have
not done half-badly."

     Mulder grinned at the Finn.  That comment probably
amounted to high praise from him, and must have taken an
effort.  "Surprised you, huh?"

     "Frankly, yes."  He stood.  "Well, I must visit nature
to see to my needs now and then I shall go to bed.  I advise
you to do the same.  We won't be here long."

					~ ~ ~ 

     They set off again at four in the morning.  Time had
long ceased to have any significance for Mulder in this land
of perpetual darkness.  Occasionally they could hear the
snowmobile engines in the distance, and their caution
returned, crossing the open places in pairs with the other two
under the cover of brush with weapons drawn.

     Several hours later they took a short break.  The
engines were a constant whine to the north now, as the four
men had moved southward and then southwest, following the
tracks left by the aliens.  Not daring to risk making a fire, they
sat in the dark and drank leftover coffee from their morning
meal from thermos bottles.  Gnawing on some frozen bread
and cheese, they spoke in low tones.

     "At least they're still on snowmobiles.  I would be
more worried if they were on skis and could sneak up on us.
The machines will also prevent them from being able to
search the wooded areas very well,"  Heikki observed.  "I'm
sure they'll check them out, but they'll have to get off the
machines to do so, which will take time."

     Michael nodded.  "Makes crossing the open areas
trickier, though.  They have the advantage of speed, and if
they catch us out there, we're dead."

     "At least the aliens seem to be keeping to their
circle,"  Mulder smiled.  "I have it on the best authority that I
have a horrible sense of direction, but it seems to me that if
we keep making the course changes we've been making,
we'll end up back where we started."

     "True enough.  We are already south of Madjoki hut,
near where Ari first sighted them several days ago.  By the
time we stop tonight, we may well be able to use the same
campsite you have such fond memories of after you went
swimming."  He rose from the log he had been sitting on and
shouldered his backpack. "If you're rested, we should go.
The engines sound like they're getting closer."
     
End of Chapter Seven     
     
					~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 


Chapter Eight



     It was when the sky began to lose its inky blackness
and the wind picked up to slice through them like an icy knife
that they lost the tracks. They had turned westward some
time before, keeping as much as possible to the shelter of the
woods as the scant hours of furtive dusk approached.  The
group stood at the edge of the forested area they had just
traversed.  Ahead of them lay five hundred meters of snowy
open tundra to the next island of trees.  But this time, there
were no tracks to point the way, the wind shifting the loose,
powdery snow to fill and cover all signs that any creature
might have been there before their arrival.  The Finns
searched the edge of the woods for some time, then returned
to where Mulder and Michael sat, resting on their backpacks.

     "Nothing,"  said Heikki disgustedly.  "Not a sign.  It's
like they vanished into thin air.  Michael, it's up to you.  If
they are using the lake as a focus, they should have cut
across the field to that wooded area over there."

     "But it's also the largest exposed area we've had to
cross yet," commented Mulder.  "With the comparative light,
we'd be spotted more easily."

     Heikki nodded in agreement.  "It's a risk either way.
If we stay here waiting for dark, the Cossacks might reach
this bit of woods and start searching."  He looked at Michael.

    The man's brow furrowed in thought.  "I'd like to go
on.  We can't stay out here indefinitely.  Plus the longer we
wait, the less chance there may be of having any tracks to
follow.  I believe Mulder's right, we're going in a circle.  Let's
just work on that assumption and keep going in the direction
we think they're headed."

     "You're the boss.  But this time - we cross singly.  Ari
will go first, then Michael, then Mulder. I will go last. We must
move as fast as we can.  We will be very unprotected out
there, and I don't like how the engine noises have seemed to
follow us."

     Ari snapped on his skis and set out immediately,
pulling the sled with the supplies behind him.  Their eyes
followed him as he used the kick stride to glide over the field.
In the dusk, they could just barely see when he was safely in
the woods on the opposite side.    

     "All right, Michael - now you.  Just keep moving."

     While Mulder watched Michael, Heikki shifted
restlessly and kept his eyes northward.  After nearly half an
hour of silence, the engines had started once more,
disturbingly close by.

     "It might be faster if I just run across." Mulder's light
tone could not completely disguise his anxiety. He knew his
skiing was hampered by having only partial use of his left
hand, and he worried about the increased risk to the others if
he delayed them.

     "You're not that slow. Close, but not quite," Heikki
said dryly.  "Besides, out in the open, the snow's too deep.  In
places it would be over your knees.  There's no running
through that.  All right, he's almost across.  Get ready."

     Mulder fastened his bindings.  "Look, if you spot the
Berets, for Christ's sake stay here.  Don't get caught out in
the open trying to get to us."

     "Do I seem that foolhardy?"

     Mulder grinned and shrugged.  "At times we seem a
lot alike, and that's the kind of stupid stunt I'd pull."

     "Don't worry,"  Heikki smiled back. "Just get your ass
across to the woods as fast as you can."

     "Good thing style points don't count," the agent
muttered to himself.  At Heikki's nod, he started across the
expanse of tundra.

     The Finn kept his eyes more toward the sound of the
snowmobiles than toward Mulder.  When he did risk a glance,
he had to admit that the flailing, off-balance stride, while
amusing to watch and no doubt tiring for Mulder, managed to
eat up the distance in surprisingly rapid fashion.

     Mulder reached the woods gasping, shaking off his
skis as soon as Ari had released the bindings.  In the distance
to the north, three pinpoint beams appeared, cutting through
the halflight of dusk and approaching fast.

     "Don't try it, Heikki.  Don't try it,"  Mulder murmured
under his breath.  "Oh shit, he's going for it."  He drew his
weapon and kept his eyes on the snowmobiles as Michael
watched Heikki start across the field.

     Suddenly, when he had reached the point of no
return, two sounds rang out above the noise of the engines.
One was a cry from one of the Blue Berets, who had
obviously sighted Heikki.  The other was a weird yodelling
cry, closely followed by a low rumble.  Heikki glanced up but
never broke stride, redoubling his efforts.

     Ari snapped something at Michael.  "He wants us to
get back, away from the edge of the woods."

     "Yeah.  I'll be right behind you."  He looked on as Ari
literally dragged Michael deeper into the forest, then he
turned back to watch Heikki.  He had less than a hundred
meters to go now.  In the background to his right, the rumble
and vibration grew stronger.  But it was the automatic
weapons fire on his left that grabbed his attention like a fist
around his throat.  Mulder squeezed off a few rounds in the
general direction of the Blue Berets, trying to cover the Finn's
flight.

     Heikki bent low, presenting as small a target as the
giant could and still be able to move.  Another round of
bullets rang out, and the big Finn staggered and went down.

     Mulder didn't look, didn't think.  He just reacted.
Tearing onto the field, he slid down next to Heikki like a close
play at home plate and reached over to unsnap his bindings.
Getting into a crouch, he fired at the oncoming snowmobiles.
Catching the injured man around the waist, he half-dragged,
half-carried him toward the woods.  Twenty five yards away,
he could make out the taut, grim faces of his friends as they
fired on the Blue Berets.  Glancing over Heikki's shoulder, he
saw that the snowmobiles had pulled to a stop broadside,
providing cover for the unit as they squatted to return fire.
Then, peripheral to his field of vision on his other side, he
discovered the source of the rumbling sounds.

     Galloping around the corner of the protecting forest,
hundreds of head of reindeer stampeded up the field.  Heikki
seemed to understand, using the last of his dwindling energy
to propel himself toward the woods.  The lead animals were
less than ten meters away when, stumbling, Mulder and
Heikki were pulled beyond the treeline by Michael and Ari.
The two took charge of the big Finn, drawing him deeper into
the forest where they had left their supplies.  Mulder stayed
where he was, face down in the brush, weapon ready.  The
reindeer tore past him, close enough to cover him with the
snow churned up by their hooves.  A second later, he heard
the engines of the snowmobiles spark into life as the Blue
Berets raced northward in a desperate attempt to outdistance
the stampede.  Panting, he got to his feet and followed the
blood-spattered trail to his friends.

     "How is he?"

     "I can speak for myself," retorted Heikki weakly.  His
parka was open and Michael appeared to be applying
pressure to his arm or shoulder, while Ari ransacked through
the first aid supplies.  "Always with Americans, it's shooting....
It's not bad, but it's bleeding, too much I think."  He broke off
with a cry of pain as Ari and Michael worked on him.

     "It's not an artery, but a big vessel must have been
hit,"  Michael said.  "He's got to get out of here."

     "How far to the van?"

     A three-way conversation ensued, Mulder waiting
impatiently and feeling useless until someone could translate
for him. His head jerked away from the trio as he heard
something crashing to the woods on his right.  He caught a
glimpse of the bright embroidery of the traditional Sami
costume as Aslak came into view.  Now the talk was among
four, and Mulder was still no more enlightened.  Left to his
own thoughts, he was startled when the Sami put his cupped
hands to his lips and began to yodel.

     "Just making arrangements, native style," Michael
explained, coming up to him.

     "What's happening?"  Mulder demanded.  "How's
Heikki?"

     The older man's expression was grim.  "If they can
get him to medical attention before he exsanguinates, he'll be
all right."  They watched as the others packed the Finn into
one sleeping bag and covered him with another.  At their
signal, the Americans went over to help lift him onto the sled.

     "Ari and Aslak will take him across the field to where
one of Aslak's friends has a reindeer waiting to pull the sled
the rest of the way to the van.  Then they'll drive to Utsjoki.
Inari has better facilities, but Utsjoki's closer and time is of
the essence.  As soon as Heikki is seen to, Aslak will come
back with the van and find us."

     Mulder nodded.  The Sami's ability to find them in the
middle of nowhere no longer came as a surprise.  "How's
Joona?"

     Michael translated.  "He says he's all right, but will be
living on soup for a while until his broken jaw heals.  It seems
the natives are restless, vowing revenge.  That's another
reason he wants to get back here, to keep an eye on things
before they get really ugly."

     "Too late,"  the young man replied dryly.  "Do we stay
here or what?"

     "No - too dangerous.  This is the first place they'll
come back to look.  We'll carry on as best we can until Aslak
gets back."

     The Finns were ready to leave.  "Mikko,"  Heikki
called weakly.  Michael knelt beside him.  "Varo, vanha
ystava."

     "And you, my friend."

     "Mulder...try not to go...swimming ...again."

     "I'll do that, Heikki.  And...kiitos."

     "No," he responded quietly.  "Thank YOU."

     With that, the Finns strapped on their skis and
grabbed the tow ropes.  Seconds later, they were striking out,
back across the field, pulling the sled behind them.  Michael
stood watching long after the gloom of impending dark had
swallowed them from view.  He started, as Mulder's voice
called from deeper in the woods.  "I think I've found some
tracks."

     "Coming."  He picked up his skis and threaded along
the narrow path in the direction of Mulder's call.

					~ ~ ~ 

     They cut through that wooded area and two others,
crossing wide open tundra between them, following the tracks
as they now turned in a northwesterly direction.  At one point,
dimly in the distance, they had heard snowmobiles heading
southward and had taken cover for a while, but the machines
had neither stopped nor slowed.  So they moved out of hiding
and took up the hunt once more, their fatigue and the cold
and dark their only enemies for the moment.

     Mulder eased his backpack from his aching
shoulders.  With Heikki and the others gone, he was carrying
the lion's share of the supplies they would need to survive.  "I
vote we make camp here."

     Michael noted the exhaustion lining the younger
man's face and nodded.  "All right.  I'll give you a hand with
the tent."

     "Good.  I could use another one at the moment."

     They gathered brush and hacked down tree limbs for the fire.
When it crackled cheerily, Michael set a pot filled with snow
on it and they stopped for a moment to warm their hands.
When the snow had melted, Michael added some potatoes,
carrots, tomatoes and strips of dried moose meat.  He turned
to where Mulder stood, doubtfully surveying the pile of nylon
and stack of flexible rods before him on the ground.
     
     "Never set up a tent before?"  Michael asked, not
quite able to hide a smile from the perplexed young man.
     
     "Hell, I can't even refold a map."

     "Come on.  It's not as hard as it looks."  Together
they somehow erected the tent, though it took considerably
longer than it had ever taken the Finns.  Mulder was almost
relieved, though guiltily so, that they weren't around to
witness the performance. Heikki would have laughed his ass
off.  Heikki....

     "I'll get the stove set up and working.  You can be the
cook."

     Mulder nodded, listlessly stirring the stew.  By the
time the coffee had perked, a soft glow illuminated the tent
from within.  "Toss me the sleeping bags and I'll get them
warmed up in here," Michael called from the gap in the tent
flap.

     Ten minutes later, housekeeping duties completed,
he emerged from the tent.  "It should be reasonably
comfortable in there in a few minutes....  Mulder?"

     Carefully, he slid the spoon from the senseless hands
and sat quietly by the drowsing young man, regret coloring
his thoughts.  Regret for the lost time they could have had,
the lost opportunities.  For Mulder's fatigue and injuries, both
in large part due to him.  Regret that so much still remained
unspoken between them.  Only when he had portioned out
the pitiful imitation of a meal did he wake Mulder.

     "Huh?  Oh, sorry....  Thanks."  The young man poked
at the food unenthusiastically.  "You must share your recipe
with me sometime," he added, trying vainly to hack through a
tough piece of meat.

     "You'll find it easier to just pick it up in your fingers
and chew on it,"  Michael suggested.  "No matter how long
this stuff is cooked, it always manages to retain the
consistency of boot leather.  But, it's food and it's hot."

     "I'll grant you that it's hot - I'm still not too sure about
the other."

     "Tired?"

     "Too tired to try to gnaw on this stuff."  He put his
bowl down and rested his head on folded arms.

     "I'd advise you to eat, no matter how unappealing the
thought.  You can't afford to lose any more weight.  In this
climate, with all this exertion, you're probably droppiing a
couple of pounds a day, maybe more.  Heikki was right - you
need protein to heal."

     The mention of the big Finn, who even now might be
dead, dampened Mulder's mood further.

     Michael glanced over, correctly guessing the source
of his somber expression immediately.  "Jesus, Scully was
right about you.  Look Mulder, what happened to Heikki was
not your fault.  You probably saved his life.  You definitely
saved mine.  You can't save the world.  Now try to eat."

     "A little late for fatherly advice, wouldn't you say?" he
replied.  The words carried no heat, no bitterness, but they
stung just the same.

     Frowning, Michael poured coffee for them both
before responding.  "I won't apologize for the way I feel.  I
wonder if you can possibly understand.  I've been thinking of
you as my son for years, since well before our 'professional
association'.  Sometimes I think it's what kept me alive.  After
I was shot...through all the surgery and pain.  All that time
spent alone in safehouses.  There was always the unfinished
business between us.  What kept me alive and sane was less
a will to live than a will to go on, to be able to finally talk to
you and bring all this out into the open."  He fell silent as the
fire hissed and crackled.

     After some time, Mulder spoke, his expression grave,
his eyes windows to his tortured soul.  There was still no
passion in his words, rather a rigidly enforced clinical
detachment, as if he dared not tap into the emotions it
masked.  "And I wonder if you can possibly understand what
accepting all this would do to me. That everything I thought
was true - the most basic, fundamental beliefs a person can
have - are all lies."  He looked upward, as if trying to find the
words he sought written in the stars.  Finding them missing,
he shook his head.  "You have believed that I am your son
for what - twenty years?  More?  You've had all that time to
accept everything.  Even if it's true - don't expect me to
accept it overnight."  Rising, he turned and ducked into the
tent.  Through the nylon walls, Michael watched his silhouette
as he kicked off his boots and crawled into his sleeping bag.

     Grimly, Michael tossed the remains of the meal away
and cleaned the pot.  Then he followed the young man into
the tent.  Settling for sleep, he looked over at the curled form
of Mulder's back.  Already the shoulders rose and fell gently
in sleep.

     Turning over, Michael thought, That's where you're
wrong, son.  I'll never be able accept how I abandoned you.

					~ ~ ~ 

     They awakened to a cold cheerless stove and frost
on the sleeping bags where their breath had condensed and
frozen.  Mulder got up long enough to restart the fire, then
snuggled back down to await a more auspicious start to the
day.  When they finally arose to a relatively warm tent, they
were both quiet, introspective, exchanging only those words
necessary to complete the tasks that needed to be done.

     They were sitting around the campfire, eating cheese
melted on tough, dry bread when a flash of color against the
brown and white of the landscape announced Aslak's arrival.
Mulder waited in suspense until Michael could find out what
was happening, trying to guess from their intonation and
facial expressions.

     "All right, I'm not sure I understood everything, but
here goes.  Heikki's okay.  In Utsjoki they stabilized him - it
was a near thing evidently - and then transported him down
to Inari for surgery to repair the ruptured vessel.  Against
Heikki's protests, Ari elected to stay with him, for now."

     Taking advantage of the pause, Aslak launched into
another flood of unintelligible words.  Mulder was relieved
that the gallant, irrepressible Finn was all right, and might
even be able to keep his date with the beautiful woman in
Rovaniemi, with a little luck.

     "This is interesting,"  Michael was saying. "Apparently 
there has been some dissention in the ranks of the retrieval 
unit.  Another man was killed yesterday when he fell off the 
back of a snowmobile and was trampled by the stampede.  
That brings to six the total number of men killed from the 
unit.  We owe Aslak's cousin for a couple of dead reindeer, 
by the way.  Aslak seems to think his cousin is a pretty 
sharp customer and is most anxious that we not get
cheated by him.  Anyway, once the remaining Blue Berets
found shelter from the stampede, there was a huge blow-up.
Threats of charges of insubordination and counter charges of
gross misconduct flying around, all culminating in three of the
men taking off while the others were sleeping."

     "And then there were two...."  Mulder said
reflectively.  "The snowmobiles heading south that we heard
yesterday?"

     Michael nodded.  "Very likely.  One of the men was
reportedly in bad shape - could barely walk."

     "The one who got wet in the lake."

     "Again, quite likely.  I'm not sure where they were
going, but they took the unit's radio with them."

     "Maybe to call for a pickup.  Christ, the guy in charge
must be a real S.O.B.  Hand picked, highly trained troops just
don't jump ship like that.  Well, that evens the odds a good
deal."

     "Aslak says to leave the tent and supplies.  He's
going to get some sleep here and then catch up with us.  Or,
if you like, we could wait here until he's rested and go
together."

     "No TV, no VCR, no books - not even a deck of
cards.  There's nothing to do here.  We might as well go
chase little gray guys.  They're probably wondering where the
hell we are."

     "Sure?"

     "Yeah.  And we'll be able to travel faster without
having to lug all that stuff with us."

     Nodding, Michael translated their intentions to Aslak.
In ten minutes, they were again on the move.


End of Chapter Eight

					 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 


Chapter Nine


          An hour later they were unfastening their skis
to enter yet another stand of trees.  Even in the dark, the
tracks had been very clear, as if the aliens wanted to be
followed.  As Michael observed, "They've done everything
but jump up and down and wave at us."  Mulder had to agree.

     They were following the twisted path through the
trees when Mulder stopped so suddenly that Michael nearly
ran into him.  The agent carefully slid his hand into his jacket
pocket, to emerge grasping his gun.

     "What is it?"  Michael's voice was a mere breath in
his ear.

     "Something laying just off the path ahead.  It looks
like it could be a body."

     Cautiously they approached the still form and
squatted down next to it.  It was one of the Blue Berets,
evidently the one who had remained loyal to his commander.
From the bars on the sweater beneath the parka, he had
been a lieutenant.  There was no blood, nothing at all to
indicate the manner of death, but one glance at the corpse's
face brought memories of a hot, stormy tropical place
flooding back to Mulder. 

     "What do you think killed him?"  Michael asked.  "His
limbs are rigid, but his flesh is still soft, so I'll wager it wasn't
the cold that did him in.  He hasn't been dead all that long.
Do you think it was Joona's kin?"  He picked up the automatic
weapon, laying uselessly beside the body.

     "Scully, where are you?  I could use your expert
scientific opinion right now,"  Mulder murmured.   Louder, he
said, "No, you're right, I don't think it was the cold either.  And
I don't think it was Joona's people.  I've seen this before."  He
stared down at the visage frozen in a rictus of horror, the
arms thrown up defensively and turned to stone-like rigidity.
"In Arecibo, Puerto Rico.  The cold didn't do this - the aliens
did."

     "You think they killed him deliberately?"

     "Maybe.  I don't know.  Perhaps it was his own fear that 
did it.  But the man who died down in Arecibo looked just
like this - overwhelmed with terror."

     "Mulder - they don't intend to hurt us.  Don't ask me
how I know, I just do.  Maybe they're intelligent enough to
differentiate between humans - that they know  that we aren't
going to hurt them, and the Blue Berets are out to slaughter
them."

     "Yeah. Maybe.  The automatic certainly didn't do this
guy any good.  He didn't even fire it, or we would have heard
it.  Well, now the commander is on his own - and probably
nearby."  Mulder stood up.  "If he's still alive, of course."

     "It looks like the aliens' tracks aren't the only signs of
life we should be on the lookout for, in that case,"  Michael
muttered.  "Ready?"

     "Yeah."

     They travelled another two hours, the aliens'
footprints always in view and no sign of the remaining
member of the retrieval unit.  They were in the middle of a
particularly dense forest with the rare conifers giving better
than average cover when they decided to risk a small
campfire to make some hot food and coffee.  Mulder hadn't
uttered a word since finding the body of the Blue Beret.  For
all the attention he paid his surroundings, he could have been
in Miami Beach for all he knew.  Michael recognized the
signs of withdrawal, and guessed at the cause.  He fussed
with the fire and browned some sausages on sticks, before
handing one to Mulder and seating himself beside him.  The
silence stretched out between them.

     "Mulder?"

     The young man turned to him as if awakening from a
dream.

     "Mulder, I'm sorry about last night.  You're right, of
course.  You need time and I promised you'd have it. You set
the ground rules and I agreed to them.  I won't go back on my
word again."

     He nodded - still silent, but his eyes spoke volumes
about his pain, his confusion, what he had to lose and to gain.

     They finished the meal wordlessly, but somehow the
silence was more comfortable than the one they had shared
for most of the morning.  The fire extinguished and the stars
just beginning to pale, they set off again.

     Soon, the tracks led them to another clearing that
looked suspiciously like the one in which they had almost
drowned.  Michael peered through the lifting gloom to the
woods on the other side.   "Mulder, check it out.  I think I see
movement over there."

     "Isn't that how it all started before, when we ended up
'going swimming', as Heikki would say?  I don't know about
you, but I have a disturbing sensation of deja vu."

     "The snow doesn't seem disturbed - no snowmobile
tracks, no visible holes in the ice."

     "Uh-huh.  Just like the last time."

     They were quiet for a while, Michael surveying the
landscape and wishing he had night binoculars to enable him
to see what was going on in the woods opposite.  His eyes
strained in the dusk for signs of movement.

     "Michael?"

     "Hm?"  He stopped scanning the field and turned to
Mulder.  The next second, he was caught like a deer in
headlights at the heartbreaking wistfulness in the young
man's eyes.

     The words were almost a whisper.  "What's my
name?"

     For the first  time in more years than he could
remember, maybe since the death of his wife, Michael felt
tears stinging his eyes.  Trying to force words beyond the
sudden lump in his throat, he said hoarsely, "It's -"

     A piercingly shrill cry cut through the dusk.  At the
northeast part of the field near the opposing wooded area, a
cluster of gray beings scurried for the cover of the forest.  As
one, Michael and Mulder snapped on their skis and glided
across the field.

     "Careful.... Stay to the north,"  panted the older man.

     Mulder grasped his ski poles firmly in his hands,
wincing at the pain of barely scabbed wounds again breaking
open and bleeding freely, but never breaking stride.  In the
distance, one of the gray beings went down, unnoted by the
others as they fled into the trees.

     The cause of their flight was all too soon apparent.  A
tall, beefy man in the uniform of the Blue Berets advanced on
foot, bearing down on the helpless being thrashing vainly in
the snow.  So intent was the officer on his prey that he didn't
notice the two men gliding across the field.

     Michael's intake of breath rasped in his throat.  "Shit.
I know him, I know that man!"  The pair closed to within thirty
meters as the commander of the Blue Berets bore down on
the helpless figure with his weapon drawn.

     "Kale!"  Michael's cry echoed across the field.
     The officer looked up then, and a cruel smile twisted
across his face.  Michael and Mulder had stopped and drawn
their own weapons.

     "Kale!  DON'T...do...it."

     "And who's going to stop me?"

     "Don't do it, Kale.  I mean it."  Michael's voice was
colder than the surrounding terrain.

     The officer snorted and trained his gun on the
creature at point blank range.  He took a deep breath and
began to squeeze the trigger.

     The shot lifted him off his feet and propelled him
backwards toward the woods.  He stared at the ruin of his
chest with astonished eyes, then dropped like a stone.

     Calmly, Michael pocketed his gun and grasped his
poles, gliding slowly toward the creature.  Mulder, followed,
stunned.

     It was a yellowish gray, and leaking a black
substance from a long jagged gash in its leg.  The eyes were
huge, dulled by shock and perhaps pain, but the thrashing
has stopped and it gazed up at them serenely.

     The pair took off their skis and slowly walked the
remander of the distance to where the creature lay.  Mulder
checked on Kale, picking up his gun and sticking it in his
pocket.  There was no doubt he was dead.  The hole in the
middle of his chest was the size of a fist.

     Moving like a man in a trance, Michael inched up to
the alien, then dropped to his knees beside it.  Slowly, he
extended his hand.

     From out of the woods, four small gray beings
appeared, standing motionless, surveying them.  Mulder's
shout of warning to Michael died in his throat, as bizarre
images filled his mind until he surrendered himself to the
waiting void.

					~ ~ ~

     He was aware only of cold and dark.  Mulder opened
his eyes.  The stars were out again, glittering against the
black of night.  To the north, brilliant blue and green waves of
light danced across the heavens.  He lay there in the snow,
trying to will his mind to work, trying to force his body to
move.  Then the memory of Michael and the aliens came
back with the force of an avalanche.

     "Michael!"  Mulder shot up, only to sink down to the
ground again with the mother of all headaches.  He knelt,
fighting the waves of nausea.  As they abated, he slowly
stood, swaying with vertigo.  He weaved his way over to
where Michael lay in the snow a few meters away, pale and
still.

     "Michael!  Jesus...."  He ripped off his glove, trying to
palpate a carotid pulse with icy fingers.  The man's eyes
fluttered open.

     "They weren't the ones who took your sister, you
know."

     "Wh-what?"

     Michael struggled to sit up.

     "Slowly, now"  Mulder rasped.  He assisted Michael
to sit, as the older man gulped in lungfuls of cold air.  "It'll
pass - all but the headache.  I still have mine, anyway.  Better
yet?"

     Weakly, Michael nodded, but made no attempt to
stand.  "They weren't the ones who took your sister," he
repeated.

     Stunned, he demanded.  "How do you know?"

     "I...they...communicated with me.  Not in words,
but....  I know things now I didn't before.  I... can't...."

     "It's all right.  Take your time."  Supporting him,
Mulder looked around for the first time.  "What the hell...?"

     In the center of the field, a huge circle of tundra
some fifty meters across was devoid of snow, the vegetation
charred.  The realization of what must have happened hit him
like a hammer. "Jesus, they came back for them, didn't they?
The aliens came back for the ones that had been stranded in
the UFO crash."

     Michael nodded carefully.  "They're gone.  That's why
they were killing time - waiting until a bigger ship could reach
here and pick them up."

     "But how...? Why...?"  The young man sighed with
impatience at his own slow wit.  "Did you know that this was
going to happen?"

     "No....  I... It's difficult to explain.  What I said before
was true.  It was an instinctive drive that brought me here.  I
just knew that I had to prevent their extermination.  I didn't
know why....  Now, I think I do."

     From the woods to the west they heard a now-familiar 
yoiking cry, as Aslak and about a dozen Sami started
towards them.

     "I think they have a... a kind of collective memory, a
much higher yet more fundamental form than Jung ever
imagined.  Every scrap of data must be returned to the
collective, which is what occurs naturally when these beings
are about to die.  Just think about it, Mulder!  No wonder
these beings are so advanced.  Think about what it would be
like to still have access to the mind of an Einstein, a
Shakespeare, a Galileo.  But when they die alone, far from
others of their kind, it's impossible to return that data."
Michael paused, his face grave, sorrowful, yet also full of
wonder.  "Apparently, I have been the temporary warehouse
for the data from the creature I killed so long ago in
Southeast Asia."

     Mulder sank to the snow next to the older man.  "All
this time?  And you were never aware of it?"

     He shook his head.  "Other than a profound sense of
regret, of the certainty of the moral wrongness of my action,
no.  But evidently it was the source of my drive to come here
and stop their annihilation - so that more data would not be
lost.  And so they could retrieve the data from the creature I
killed."

     They were silent as the Sami came rushing up to
them, babbling excitedly in their tongue and pointing at the
sky.  They held that silence as they were bundled into a sort
of sleigh and covered with reindeer skins.

     They held it, lost in their own thoughts, all the way
back to the van, and then all the way to the hospital in Inari.

					~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

     They were in the hospital less than twenty four hours.
Both were given warmed IV fluids to combat the mild
dehydration and exposure they had suffered.  Mulder's left
hand was cleaned, examined by several specialists, and
redressed.  Then he had been injected with enough
antibiotics to last him a lifetime.  Most of the time, they hadn't
even be able to see or talk to each other, and the few
occasions when they hadn't been having some examination
or other and had both been in the room they shared, they
slept like the dead.

     There were a couple of bright spots.  For both men,
the opportunity for a hot shower was heaven.  Then, just
before being discharged, they managed to sneak into Heikki's
room.  The Finn was his normal cocky self, and was planning
to keep his date in Rovaniemi as Mulder had suspected.
They left him and Ari with mutual thanks and promises to
share the rest of the story of the aliens soon.

					~ ~ ~

     Slowly, they walked side by side out to where the
small jet stood waiting.  Mulder's heart beat in anticipation.
Not only was he going home - to warmth, to fast food, to
transportation you got to sit down on - but also he would have
several uninterrupted hours with this enigmatic man who
claimed to be his father.  What seemed at the beginning of
this journey to be something to be avoided, he now looked
forward to.

     "Scott will take you back to DC.  I've already phoned
Scully - she'll be waiting to pick you up at National."

     "Wait a minute."  Mulder stopped.  "Aren't you
coming too?"

     He shook his head regretfully.  "I wish so much that I
could. Believe me, I'd like nothing more.  We have unfinished
business, I know.  But there's a lot here to clean up.
Paperwork to complete, explanations to make.  There's a lot
of shit flying around, and I don't want any of it to stick to
Heikki or the others....  The usual bad timing for us, I'm
afraid."

     Swallowing his disappointment, Mulder nodded
bleakly.  "When will I see you again?"

     Michael's lips twitched in a smile that didn't reach his
eyes.  "I'll be here for a little while.  Then - I don't know.  I'll
find you when I can...as soon as I can.  I promise."

     "All right.  Take care."

     "I will."  Michael removed his glove and extended his
right hand to the young man.

     Mulder looked at the proffered hand, an odd
expression on his face.  Spurning it, he pulled Michael into a
fierce hug, then abruptly released him and stepped back, as
if shocked by his own actions.

     "I....  Goodbye, ...Michael."  He turned and quickly
went up the steps of the jet without looking back.  The
engines whined as the jet began to move off.

     "Goodbye, son,"  the man murmured. His eyes
followed the path of the plane until it was just a twinkling dot
in the night sky.

     He sighed contentedly.  It was a start.

     At last...contact.
          
End of CONTACT - THE RETURN, PART III