From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 15 Sep 2004 05:51:24 -0000
Subject: Augury (1/2) by NonEssential and NonExistent
Source: direct

Reply To: oneprana@hotmail.com


Title: Augury (1/2)
Authors: NonEssential and NonExistent
Rating: PG-13
Classification: Casefile, MT, SA 
Disclaimer: The characters and situations in this story belong to 
Fox, 1013, and Chris Carter.
Feedback: OnePrana@hotmail.com
Date: 14 September 2004
Summary: Portends of the future.

*****

Mulder was miserable.  His brain was stagnating, his body 
literally thrumming with the need for activity.  His leg bounced 
up and down, seemingly of its own volition.  He couldn't even 
pace, tethered as he was to that hateful machine.  He briefly 
entertained the notion that he had died, been judged guilty of 
numerous sins, and been sentenced to spend eternity here, in his 
own personal hell.  His eyes wandered around the small prison-
like room, inexorably drawn back to his wrist and the watch that 
dwelled there.  Two minutes had elapsed since the last time he 
had checked.  Odd how perception seemed to change the speed of 
time - universal invariant, my ass, he mused.  He laughed 
humorlessly; maybe he should open an X-File on it.  He could 
already see Scully's expression...with an effort; he pulled his 
attention back to the droning conversation taking place in his 
ear.  Heaven forbid he misses any incriminating statements that 
might be made.  Another glance at his watch.  A sigh.  Only one 
hour and forty-three minutes until his tour in hell ended.  At 
least tonight he would see Scully.  She had invited him over for 
dinner.  He briefly wondered why, considered the possibility that 
it was probably because she felt sorry for him, then dismissed 
the reason as being irrelevant; he would get to see her and talk 
to her and that was the important thing.  It hurt to admit just 
how much he missed her.  God, he wanted the X-Files back and her 
at his side, where she belonged.  He had thought that he liked 
being alone, depending on himself with no additional emotional 
baggage, but somehow she had walked into his office and changed 
all that.  Hell, after the disaster at Arecibo, he had even 
admitted to her that he had nothing except himself, his work, and 
her, though he still wasn't sure where she fit in his life.  He 
knew he needed her, feared he used her, and, in his more 
introspective moods, wondered if he was in love with her.  

An hour and forty-two minutes later, his shift in hell had ended 
and he had sped home, taken a quick run through his neighborhood 
to burn off excess energy, showered, and shaved.  Now he stood at 
Scully's door feeling strangely ill at ease as he waited for her 
to answer his knock.  Dressed casually in jeans, a faded red 
pullover, and sneakers, he reminded himself to keep his outlook 
positive.  He had vowed to leave his pathetic, poor me attitude 
at the office.  He smiled and adjusted his gaze downward to meet 
her eyes as she opened the door and invited him in.  He sometimes 
forgot just how small she really was.  With her hair hastily 
gathered in a ponytail, barefoot, and in jeans and a baggy t-
shirt, she looked more like someone's kid sister than the 
competent agent he knew her to be.  Sometimes he wondered if he 
didn't subconsciously see her as his little sister.  It was kind 
of amazing how changing into killer high heels and a power suit 
made her seem so formidable. He smiled to himself as a brief 
image of her changing personas in a telephone booth flitted 
through his mind. 

"C'mon in, Mulder, have a seat.  Dinner is almost ready.  Let me 
pop the rolls in."  With those words she left him standing just 
inside the entry.

It was interesting being in Scully's apartment. He'd rarely been 
inside, and one of those occasions was when he'd arrived just in 
time to interrupt an unscheduled liverectomy.  The brightness 
seemed somehow antipodal to the basement office they shared and 
the dark cases they investigated, certainly nothing like the 
cave-like sanctuary he preferred.  He perused the family pictures 
placed here and there.  This was a side of Scully he didn't 
really know, even though they'd been working together for over a 
year now.  He was probably closer to her than anyone else in his 
life, he'd die for her, had put his life on the line for her, and 
yet, in so many ways, he barely knew her. 

"Mulder, what would you like to drink?  I've got wine, beer, iced 
tea, and, of course, water."

"Um, I'll have a beer."

A moment later, Scully emerged from the kitchen, two beers 
clutched in her fists.  "Here you go, Mulder.  Dinner will be 
ready in ten."  She settled on the couch, and he quickly dropped 
into the adjacent chair. "So, how was your day?"

"Great, if you like listening to a bunch of old bald guys 
inflating their sexual exploits."

"Mulder, you haven't been eavesdropping on AD Skinner again, have 
you?"

Mulder just barely avoided the embarrassment of spewing beer all 
over both of them.  "Jesus, Scully!  Warn me before you say 
something like that."  He grinned at her unexpected levity.  

Scully grinned back, pleased to see him loosening up.  "We're 
having spaghetti pasta topped with a vegetarian marinara sauce.  
It's my mom's recipe.  I hope you like it."

"I can guarantee I'll like anything that didn't come directly 
from a box or can."  

"Well, how about we move this conversation to the dinner table, 
then?  The rolls should be about done."  Now that the ice was 
broken, Mulder relaxed, enjoying the opportunity to banter with 
Scully.  He'd missed that almost as much as the X-Files. The 
dinner was delicious, and the night passed pleasantly with the 
two former partners lapsing into their usual roles, a nice 
respite from his regular routine.  

As he was preparing to leave, Scully looked him straight in the 
eye and surprised him by asking how he was doing.  Remembering 
his promise to himself, he smiled and assured her that he was 
fine, but she was Scully and knew him too well to be fooled by 
his facade.  She stepped forward and gave him a brief hug that 
nearly undid him before assuring him that she, at least, was 
confident the X-Files would be re-opened.  "After all," she 
offered with a small smile, "where else are they going to find 
people to track down giant mutant flukes?  But, Mulder, next time 
A.D. Skinner gives you something to do besides listen to wiretap 
tapes, make sure you put your best foot forward.  Questioning his 
motives for assigning you a case, especially when he wasn't 
alone, was not your brightest move ever.  If we're going to get 
the X-Files back, we can't afford to alienate ourselves from the 
mainstream any more than we already have."

Mulder liked hearing her say 'we', but grimaced at the reminder 
of his less than circumspect behavior towards Skinner during that 
case.  Sure, they had solved the case, and he suspected that 
there wasn't another agent in the Bureau who would have been able 
to deal with the flukeman, but Scully was right.  His 
contumacious behavior hadn't made any points with Skinner.  There 
wasn't much he could say except, "You're absolutely right, 
Scully.  The next time Skinner gives me a case, I'll be the 
Dudley Do-Right of the FBI."

Scully smiled, whispering, "I'll believe it when I see it," as 
she ushered him out the door.

*****

Scully was just getting ready to leave for lunch when the phone 
rang, and she was surprised to hear a very excited Mulder on the 
line.  He almost never called her these days.  "It's Mulder," he 
unnecessarily and uncharacteristically announced before launching 
into an enthusiastic explanation of why he was calling.  She 
listened as he explained that Skinner had called him in and 
assigned him a case.  For a while, at least, he was off wiretap 
and even better, Skinner wanted Scully to fly out with him.  
"Skinner wants you to take today to get your classes covered and 
tie up any loose ends.  I hope the short notice won't be a 
problem.  He already checked with your supervisor and got the 
okay for you to consult on the autopsy. Our flight leaves at 
11:30, so I was thinking I would pick you up at your apartment.  
Can you be ready by nine?"  

Scully suppressed a chuckle at his exuberance and interrupted his 
monolog, "Okay, Mulder, I should be able to wrap things up here 
and be ready by nine tomorrow, but where are we going and what's 
the case?"

"We're going to Louisiana, Scully.  Slidell, Louisiana, to be 
exact.  David Thibodeaux, a geneticist, was murdered there last 
night.  Well, the official word is that he may be one in a series 
of murders, but so far I don't see that.  I think the serial 
murder thing is just an angle to justify federal involvement.  
We'll be doing the preliminary investigation.  About all the 
locals have done so far is bag the body and check the area around 
it for evidence.  Apparently, the current victim was a friend of 
a friend of the Director's.  You know how those things go, 
Scully."  

"Yeah, Mulder, I do know how those things go."  Scully's Mulder-
sense was on full alert now.  This just didn't add up.  She knew 
how Mulder hated Bureau politics.  Having a murder made into a 
federal case, literally, just because the victim was a friend of 
a friend of the Director's would normally have seriously rankled 
her partner.  Of course, Mulder wasn't really her partner 
anymore, and maybe he was just so damned glad to get off wiretap 
that any case would look good to him, but she had a funny feeling 
that wasn't what was happening this time.  He certainly hadn't 
reacted this way to the flukeman case. "You seem awfully excited 
about this case - all things considered.  Is there anything you 
aren't telling me?"

There was a brief hesitation, just long enough to make Scully 
even more suspicious, before Mulder replied, "I just can't wait 
to get out of this town.  And, Scully, did I mention crawfish?  
With just a dash of McIlhenny's hot sauce, they can't be beat." 

Mulder's response did nothing to dampen her suspicions.  She 
couldn't help but notice that he hadn't really answered her 
question.  Well, Mulder was Mulder, and she would have to wait 
until he was good and ready to tell her the rest of the story, so 
she let it drop, promising to be ready by nine and adding a 
cautionary, "Mulder, if this case has political overtones and 
ties to the Director, it's going to be even more important that 
you..." 

"I know, I know, Scully," he interrupted, "it's going to be more 
important than ever that I put my best foot forward.  And, 
Scully, the best thing is that you're going to be there to make 
sure I do just that."  Then he characteristically hung up without 
saying goodbye.  Somehow, that made her feel a little better.

*****

Six hours and one layover later, they landed in New Orleans.  
"Welcome to Louisiana," Mulder intoned, "home of Mardi Gras, 
jambalaya, bayous, hot sauce, and big-assed alligators."  

"And really hot and muggy weather," added Scully, whose clothes 
were already sticking to her body despite the late afternoon 
hour.  She would be glad to pick up the requisite Taurus from the 
local Lariat dealer and get to their hotel in Slidell. 

*****

The agents were up early the next morning, ready to meet and play 
nice with the local constabulary.  Of course, it was almost a 
given that the locals wouldn't be happy to see them.  Federal 
intervention was rarely welcomed, and in this instance, even the 
agents themselves couldn't concoct a reasonable explanation for 
their presence.  They presented their credentials to the desk 
sergeant and were immediately directed to the Chief's office.  
Scully met Mulder's eyes briefly before knocking on the closed 
door.  The unspoken message was clear - behave.  Chief Vincent 
Melancon was an imposing figure, standing about 6'4" and making 
Skinner look under-developed.  He stood and shook hands with the 
two agents, invading their space as he welcomed them to town and 
assured them that they would have the complete cooperation of the 
Slidell Police Department.  The hulking figure hovering over his 
head gave Mulder some idea of how Scully must feel on a daily 
basis.  Pleasantries exchanged, the Chief quickly moved onto the 
crux of their visit.  "I understand that Agent Scully is a 
pathologist and will be conducting an autopsy on the victim, not 
that there is much doubt about what killed him."

Mulder thought he heard the slightest bit of tightness in 
Melancon's voice as the Chief delivered that last statement, but 
all in all, he felt Melancon was doing an admirable job of 
covering up his real feelings, which probably ran along the lines 
of, what the hell are you assholes doing investigating a case 
which clearly doesn't come under federal jurisdiction?  Mulder 
was impressed with his professionalism.  

"I have assigned Claude - Lieutenant Hebert - to assist both of 
you with logistics and information.  He and Detective Robichaux 
of the St. Tammany Parish Sheriff's department handled the 
initial investigation.  We don't get a lot of murders here in 
Slidell, but Claude is a good police officer.  I thought it would 
expedite things to have him drive you around, since he is 
familiar with all the locales."  

"We appreciate your assistance and look forward to working with 
Lieutenant Hebert," Mulder smoothly responded.  "Could he perhaps 
drop Scully off at the morgue to conduct the autopsy, and then 
maybe he and I could swing by the murder site?" 

"I am sure that won't be a problem."

"I would like to speak with Thibodeaux's wife today, and his 
employer tomorrow, if that's possible?"  He was thinking Scully's 
expertise would be helpful when questioning the scientists at 
NexGen.  Then, just when Scully thought things were going 
perfectly, Mulder nervously caught her eye before continuing, 
"and Chief Melancon, would it be possible for Agent Scully to 
also autopsy the latest victim in the unexplained Honey Island 
Swamp deaths?" 

Melancon paled noticeably before responding, "I don't really see 
that your jurisdiction in the murder of David Thibodeaux 
justifies your involvement in the 'unexplained Honey Island Swamp 
deaths,' as you call them.  So far, all indications are that 
those deaths were a result of natural causes."

Mulder saw Scully's eyes widen slightly in surprise and then 
narrow in anger, but he was certain she would never call him out 
in front of the locals.  So, ignoring her clear disapproval at 
having been left in the dark, he pressed his request, explaining, 
"I am aware of that, but I believe there may be a connection 
between the murder of Thibodeaux and the Honey Island deaths, 
and," he bluffed, "I am sure you would prefer to maintain a low 
profile on this rather than force me to contact Washington."

Mulder knew he had won the round when Melancon smiled tightly and 
bit out, "Of course, Agent Mulder, whatever the Federal Bureau of 
Investigation wants.  Let me go get Claude now, and you can get 
started."  A man didn't stay Chief of Police in Slidell, 
Louisiana, if he didn't know when to compromise.  

As soon as the door slipped shut behind Melancon, Scully 
predictably called Mulder on his failure to keep her informed. 

"Look, Scully, I'm sorry.  Really, really sorry, but I was afraid 
you wouldn't come if I told you the whole story, and I wanted - 
no, I needed you here to conduct these autopsies.  Scully, you 
are the best there is.  If anyone can figure this out, you can.  
Please, Scully, this is important.  You just have to trust me on 
this."

"Trust, Mulder!  What was that about trust?  I'm supposed to 
trust you, but you don't even trust me enough to share the real 
reason you wanted to come here?"  

Uh-oh - he never should have brought up the trust word.  Mulder 
locked gazes with her, disconcerted by the depth of the hurt he 
saw reflected in her eyes.  God, what if he had gone too far this 
time?  What if she just walked out on him?  "You're right, 
Scully, I shouldn't have kept this from you.  But please, do the 
autopsy for me.  I'll tell you everything tonight, and if you 
still want to go back to Washington, I'll understand completely.  
Scully, I just...."  Mulder dropped the conversation as the Chief 
walked back into the room.

"Lieutenant Hebert is waiting for you in the lobby.  Good day to 
you both."

Hebert drove them over to the morgue.  It was a short drive and 
no words were exchanged, but, to Mulder, Scully's disapproval and 
hurt were clearly audible. He asked the detective to wait while 
he ran in with his partner, ostensibly to make sure they were 
ready for her.  Once out of earshot, Scully turned her coldest 
glare on him, the one that made him feel like the blood in his 
veins was turning to ice, the one that garnered her the name "the 
Ice Queen."  "Mulder, I am going to do the autopsy for you, and I 
am going to review the autopsy results on the other victims you 
mentioned.  But you had best have a complete explanation, and it 
better be good, or I will be on the next plane out of here."

*****

After the visit to the crime scene and the interview with Mrs. 
Thibodeaux, Mulder thanked Hebert for his assistance and asked to 
be dropped back at his rental.  He planned to spend the rest of 
the day putting together his thoughts on the case while he waited 
for Scully to finish the autopsies. It would be a long day for 
her.  He hoped she had learned something, and that he'd be able 
to garner her forgiveness.  At times, he seemed to be his own 
worst enemy, getting so focused on his own agenda that he used 
people.  Even Scully wasn't immune.  He'd ditched her and lied to 
her - not direct lies, but lies of omission.  It was a 
contradiction.  He knew he trusted her with his life, but 
apparently he didn't trust her with his quest.  Still, he didn't 
want to think about what he would do if she refused to work with 
him.  It was painful enough when the powers that be separated 
them, but he was sufficiently insightful to realize that he would 
be devastated if she ordered him out of her life.  He needed her.  

With little new information to occupy him, the afternoon dragged 
on as he fretted over his upcoming confrontation with Scully.  
Over the last hour, his fears had ratcheted ever upward until he 
was convinced she had walked out on him and returned to 
Washington.  It was certainly what he deserved.  Finally, his 
phone rang, and he nervously answered, "Mulder."

He smothered his sigh of relief when Scully responded in a semi-
civil tone, "All done here, Mulder.  I am ready to be picked up, 
and to hear your explanation."

"On my way," he responded, before cutting the connection.  He 
could tell she was still mad and probably still hurt, but at 
least she had done as he asked and appeared to be willing to 
listen to his explanation.  

They rode back to hotel in less than companionable silence.  
Scully watched as Mulder alternately pursed and chewed his lips, 
no doubt organizing his thoughts for the upcoming confessional.  
Mulder kept his eyes focused on the road, fervently hoping Scully 
was in a forgiving mood.  Once back at the hotel, by unspoken 
agreement, they both went to Scully's room, where she sat down in 
the only available chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and 
waited.  Mulder paced back and forth across the room, looked out 
the large front window, and fiddled with the curtains until he 
successfully blocked the small sliver of light from the setting 
sun.  Only then did he shift his attention back to his angry 
partner.  She remained unmoving, still holding the same defensive 
posture.

"Ok, Scully," he began somewhat lamely, "I'm sorry for deceiving 
you.  I know it was wrong, and I hope you forgive me.  You're 
absolutely right when you say trust is a two way street."

"Mulder...," Scully started to interrupt.

But Mulder held up his hand, effectively silencing her.  "No, 
just wait, Scully.  Let me tell you everything.  Then you can 
make your decision.  The night before Skinner assigned me this 
case, I got an anonymous e-mail.  I asked the Lone Gunmen to see 
if they could trace it, but they had no luck.  Here it is."  
Mulder reached into his pocket, withdrew a sheet of paper, and 
handed it to her.

     Agent Mulder,

     You are needed in Louisiana. Two people have 
     already died in the Honey Island Swamp. There 
     will be more. Start with NexGen.

     A Friend of your cause

"I asked The Lone Gunmen to look into the Nexgen Corporation and 
the swamp deaths for me.  I was planning to take a few vacation 
days to come down and have a look, but first thing Monday 
morning, Skinner called me in and handed me this case.  He was 
sending me to Slidell, Louisiana, a town that, coincidentally, 
lies on the outskirts of the Honey Island Swamp, to investigate 
the murder of a man who, even more coincidentally, happens to 
work for NexGen.  The Gunmen weren't able to learn much.  NexGen 
is a small company, privately funded, and provides onsite grants 
for scientists to pursue sabbatical research in areas deemed 
important to improving the quality of human life.  Profit doesn't 
seem to be a vital concern.  The corporate motto is, 'Engineering 
a better life for tomorrow.'  They also weren't able to learn 
much about the swamp deaths.  Three people have now died.  There 
is no indication of foul play so far.  Well, you probably know 
more about the deaths than I do, since you reviewed the files on 
the earlier deaths and autopsied the last victim."

"Mulder, why can't you tell me what's going on up front?  You 
feed me clues one at a time as if I were on a treasure hunt 
instead of an investigation.  I'm not going to put up with 
continuously being left in the dark about what we are 
investigating, until circumstances force you to tell me what's 
really going on."

"I know I should have told you, Scully, and I really am sorry.  I 
don't know what I was thinking.  When Skinner said you would be 
accompanying me, I was so happy.  It would be just like old 
times.  I was going to tell you about the note, but then it all 
sounded so absurd that I just couldn't seem to find a way to 
bring it up."  Seeking eye contact, Mulder had knelt in front of 
her, placed his hands on her knees, and looked up at her, 
beseeching her to forgive him, to stay with him.  Mulder was very 
good at playing the poor puppy dog. 

Scully couldn't miss the regret in his gaze, but she knew that 
even though he was completely sincere in his apology, he would do 
it again.  He couldn't help it.  His quest clouded his judgment 
and made him forget that she had earned his trust; it made him 
see her as just one more person to be manipulated in his single-
minded search for the truth that he inevitably thought was always 
"out there."  Even recognizing this, she couldn't leave him.  She 
was his partner - not because of a Bureau assignment, but because 
fate had somehow decreed it.  Her logical side might say go, yet 
she knew she would stay.  She wouldn't forget how he had used 
her, but she would still forgive him.  Exactly why she put up 
with him was her own personal X-file, one she wasn't ready to 
investigate too closely.  She uncrossed her arms and bent over, 
gently kissing him on the forehead.  And somehow that small kiss 
conveyed more intense feelings than many lovers expressed in 
their most passionate assignations.  "Mulder, try to remember 
that we're in this together.  I can't be effective if you persist 
in providing me with only some of the available information."

Mulder looked up and smiled, his world back in balance.  "I'll do 
better, Scully.  I promise."  

Then Scully stood, ending the emotional moment.  "Okay, Mulder, 
do you want to hear about the autopsy results?"  

"Definitely," he responded, as he stood and flopped onto her bed, 
arms behind his head.

"Well, as far as David Thibodeaux goes, the autopsy was pretty 
straightforward.  Like Chief Melancon said, there's not much 
question as to the cause of death when the guy's chest has been 
plowed through by a couple of bullets.  Neither of the two shots 
hit his heart, so death wouldn't have been instantaneous.  He 
probably died from the resultant blood loss.  Both bullets lodged 
in the body.  So far, we know that they came from a 9 mm handgun.  
The ballistic reports should be ready by tomorrow.  The body was 
no longer in rigor mortis when it was discovered, so he must have 
been dead for at least 14 hours, but probably no more than 18 
hours.  With the high humidity and temperature, you could expect 
the body to decay pretty rapidly.  Body temperature supports this 
estimate.  How does that fit in with what you learned today?"

"The body was found in an alley not too far from his house.  
There wasn't a whole lot to see.  According to Lieutenant Herbert 
and my examination of the crime scene photos, there was very 
little blood at the site.  If he bled to death, he must've been 
killed somewhere else and moved to the alley.  We spoke to his 
wife after visiting the crime scene.  She said she last talked to 
him around 6 PM.  He had called to let her know he'd arrived at 
the NexGen Field Facility safely.  Her caller ID substantiates 
this.  He called from the lobby phone, since cell service is 
nearly non-existent out there.  She had thought he spent the 
night there until she heard otherwise.  Apparently, he pulls a 
lot of all-nighters at the lab.  It's a pretty long drive out 
there, and his work was his life.  Nobody knows anything else 
about his whereabouts until the delivery boy found his body the 
following morning at ten."  

"Between the information you got from his wife and the condition 
of the body, we can narrow the time of death down to between 6 
and 8 PM." 

"Yeah, Scully, and it also means that he was almost certainly 
killed at the research facility.  That facility is a good hour 
and a half from anything else.  Melancon, by the way, has set up 
an appointment for us to meet with the Director of NexGen at the 
main facility at 8:30 tomorrow, but I think we also need to check 
out their field facility.   I want to find out if NexGen has a 
security system that logs entrance and exit times of the 
employees or if it has cameras in place that may have caught 
something.  I also definitely want to interview the security 
guard.  Enough about Thibodeaux, though.  What's the verdict on 
the other deaths?"

"Now, the three deaths that occurred in the Honey Island Swamp 
were a little more of a challenge.  The first death was a 65 
year-old man.  He'd been dead about 24 hours when another 
fisherman came across his pirogue, floating in the bayou.  The 
death was ruled a heart attack.  The second man was 75.  This 
death was also attributed to heart failure.  Both men had been 
camping and fishing in the Honey Island Swamp.  The first man was 
alone; the second was with his son. According to the son's 
statement, his father became ill over a period of several hours.  
He became alarmed and brought his father to the hospital, but 
because of the remoteness of their location, it was nearly five 
hours before they were able to get there.  By then, his father 
was dead.  Both victims had grown up in Louisiana and were 
reasonably experienced outdoorsman.  Authorities didn't conduct 
an autopsy on either of the bodies, although they were a little 
unsettled by two deaths occurring in the same area within days of 
one another." 

"Scully, do you know where these men were camping?"

"Yeah, both of them were camping in the same general area.  I 
have the GPS coordinates for the site, if you want them.  There 
aren't any facilities, but it's relatively high and dry and is 
apparently popular with local hunters and fishermen."  

"So this could be a fairly restricted problem, geographically 
speaking?"

"Yes, that's possible.  Edna Gautreaux, the young woman I 
autopsied today, was camping with her husband in the same area 
when she became ill.  She was alive but unconscious when he got 
her to the hospital.  The reports indicate that she was pale and 
bradycardic, with extremely low blood pressure and labored 
respiration.  The doctors attempted to ease her breathing, but 
she died of cardiac failure before the treatment was effective.  
I autopsied her body today.  My observations corroborate heart 
failure as the cause of death.  Unexplained myocarditis and 
diffuse internal bleeding were also present.  What we still don't 
know is why a healthy young woman would suddenly fall ill and die 
within hours of cardiac failure.  Poison is an obvious 
possibility, and her symptoms are characteristic of neurotoxin 
poisoning. I sent blood samples to the Bureau lab for a full 
workup, but unfortunately, until the results come back, we're in 
the dark.  If the tox screen shows up positive, there's the 
additional question of how the toxin was delivered.  There's no 
evidence of snake or arachnid bites, and those are the only 
venomous organisms in the region.  But, Mulder, there's still no 
real evidence indicating this is the result of any sort of 
conspiracy or criminal behavior.  There could easily be some 
natural explanation, though three dead people, all of whom fell 
ill while camping in the same general part of the Honey Island 
Swamp, are beginning to spook the local authorities.  They're 
still trying to keep it quiet since tourism brings a lot of money 
into the area."

Mulder listened intently, looking for the clue that would tip him 
off to what had befallen these people.  Clearly, he needed the 
toxicology report.  In the meantime, he and Scully would 
interview Thibodeaux's employer, NexGen.  Perhaps that visit 
might shed some light on both his official and unofficial case.  
He had been bluffing when he told Melancon he suspected the swamp 
deaths were connected to Thibodeaux's death, but now he was 
beginning to wonder.  Coincidences made him suspicious.  

Scully interrupted his thought processes to voice her own concern 
about coincidences.  "You know, Mulder, this whole thing could be 
a set-up to further discredit you in the eyes of the Bureau and 
make sure you never get the X-Files back.  Just think about it - 
Skinner sending you down here to investigate a murder that 
clearly shouldn't have warranted our involvement, sending you 
right where your anonymous informant wanted you to go.  Mulder, 
you need to be careful.  We need to be careful."

Her warning resonating with his own fears, Mulder bid her a 
goodnight.  "Let's hope we can learn something from the folks at 
NexGen tomorrow morning.  Maybe we can solve this mystery without 
attracting any unwanted attention."

Mulder didn't hear Scully's whisper as he closed the connecting 
door behind him: "Yeah, Mulder, and maybe someday I'll see those 
little gray aliens you keep talking about."  

*****

NexGen was a square four-story building located just outside the 
city limits.  It had obviously been built for functionality, not 
for beauty.  Mulder and Scully entered the building, flashed 
their badges at the receptionist, and asked to speak to Andrew 
Collins, who was David Thibodeaux's supervisor and the director 
of the facility.  They were immediately ushered into his office 
at the end of the hall.

Collins was younger than they had expected, with a boyish 
engaging smile.  His office was small and sparsely furnished.  He 
stood as the agents entered, stepping forward to shake hands, 
first with Scully and then with Mulder.  Introductions were 
quickly made.  Mulder noted the Ph.D. diploma from Louisiana 
State University that was proudly displayed on the wall behind 
the man's desk.

"While it's exciting to have a visit from FBI agents, I very much 
regret the incident that brought you here.  David was a respected 
scientist, and his death has had a serious impact on research 
here at NexGen."  

"Agent Scully and I appreciate you taking the time to talk with 
us."

"I certainly want to cooperate with you in any way I can." 

Mulder took the lead in the questioning, deciding to start 
general and work down to the more specific.  "To begin with, Dr. 
Collins, could you give us a brief overview of the corporation?  
I did some basic research on NexGen to prepare for our visit, but 
to be honest, my efforts yielded very little information."

"That is actually fairly gratifying, Agent Mulder.  We like to 
think we are on the cutting edge of the genetic engineering 
field, and, while making money is not our primary goal, several 
of our projects have the potential of bringing in millions of 
dollars in patents.  We therefore prefer a certain level of 
secrecy regarding our research.  Industrial espionage is a 
constant concern for us, and unfortunately the ethics of some of 
our competitors are questionable."

"Isn't it a little odd for a biotech company not to have making 
money as its primary goal?"

Collins had to laugh softly at Mulder's question.  "You are 
absolutely correct, Agent Mulder.  Most firms that are similar to 
us are driven entirely by profit.  I think NexGen is fortunate in 
being a little different.  Much of our funding is derived from 
wealthy philanthropists interested in improving the future of 
mankind through genetic engineering, hence our slogan, 
'Engineering a Better Life for Tomorrow.'  Most of our scientists 
don't work directly for us, but rather, they have submitted 
research proposals that NexGen has chosen to fund.  We are a 
somewhat unusual granting agency in that all the work is done 
here, as opposed to at the home institution.  If the work results 
in lucrative patents, NexGen receives a share of the profits.  
Our expenditures currently far exceed our profits, although we 
would, eventually, like to be self-supporting.  The external 
funding is what makes this corporation possible.  Fund raising is 
one of the main requirements of my job.  We currently have two 
state of the art facilities, this one and our field research 
facility, which is located near the Honey Island Swamp.  Most of 
the genetics work is done here, whereas the field testing is done 
at the other site."  

Mulder took this opportunity to share what he was sure would be 
unwelcome news. "We would also like to visit your other facility.  
New evidence has come to light that indicates Dr. Thibodeaux may 
have been murdered there."

Obviously surprised, Collins interrupted, "But I thought his body 
was found within a few miles of his house."

"Nonetheless, we now have evidence that he may have been murdered 
at your field facility.  We would like to visit that facility 
this afternoon and bring along a forensics team, with your 
permission.  Or we could obtain a search warrant, if you would 
prefer."

"No, that won't be necessary.  We, myself and all of us at 
NexGen, want to do whatever we can to help.  I will make the 
necessary arrangements.  Would 2 PM be acceptable?"

"Yes, that would be fine," answered Scully.  "Thank you for your 
cooperation.  Now, could you give us a brief synopsis of the 
research projects that are currently underway?  We would be 
especially interested in any information you could share about 
the project that Dr. Thibodeaux was working on."

"Certainly, Agent Scully.  We currently have three major research 
areas.  There are, of course, sub-projects within each area.  
Each floor of our building houses a different research area with 
the exception of the first floor, which is comprised of the 
lobby, security, and the administrative offices.  The second 
floor is home to our plant research team.  We are attempting to 
develop pest resistant crop plants.  The current focus is on 
successfully transferring the gene responsible for producing the 
venom in one of the old world scorpions, Androctonus australis, 
to crop plants.  We're combining it with a powerful promoter and 
using a bactovirus as the transferring vector.  We have isolated 
the venom-producing gene and introduced it into test plants, but 
we are a long way from determining if these transgenic plants 
will be resistant to pests.  We have field trials going on right 
now.  Genetic engineering is not quite as precise as people 
believe.  The placement of the new gene within the plant's own 
genes affects how it will be expressed, and that is not something 
we can currently control. We are, however, cautiously optimistic.

Our second floor is devoted to mosquito research.  This is the 
area that David was involved with.  Mosquitoes, as I am sure you 
know, are important vectors for a huge number of diseases, 
including malaria, West Nile, and yellow fever.  We are working 
on genetically engineering mosquitoes that would be incapable of 
spreading these diseases.  David was working with the team that 
was seeking to insert a gene into mosquitoes that would prevent 
West Nile Viral RNA from replicating inside the mosquito." 

"Excuse me, Dr. Collins," interjected Mulder, "but do you think 
any of your competitors would go so far as to murder Dr. 
Thibodeaux to interfere with his research?"    

"That is an interesting question.  To be honest, I don't think 
David was close enough to success to motivate any competing firms 
to resort to murder.  But I will tell you that millions of 
dollars are at stake here."  

"So," Scully enquired, "nothing from his office regarding his 
research was removed or reported missing?" 

"Not that I know of."

"What do you do on the fourth floor?" asked Mulder.

"The fourth floor is devoted to Honey Bee research."  

"What kind of Honey Bee research?"

"Well, it is a little different from our other areas of research.  
Basically, we are looking at the effect that genetically modified 
plants might have on Honey Bees and their internal microfauna, as 
well as investigating the probability of Honey Bees transferring 
pollen from these plants to unmodified plants, thereby acting as 
vectors and introducing the traits from the genetically modified 
plants into wild populations.  Therefore, we are not currently 
manipulating the bee genome in anyway, although a donor 
interested in funding research on some very specific 
modifications to the Honey Bee genome recently approached us.  If 
the board had approved the project, he would have been NexGen's 
largest donor. Ultimately, they rejected his proposal; they 
didn't feel the research fit with the mission or ethics of our 
company."

Curiosity aroused, Mulder asked, "What kind of research was this 
donor interested in?"

"I'm really not at liberty to share that information, but I can 
tell you he went to Roush Technologies with his proposal after we 
turned him down - they are involved in similar areas of research, 
though they are in it for the profit.  I'm not bragging when I 
tell you that we are light years ahead of them.  In the last 
year, we've made some real breakthroughs in technology. As I 
understand it, you have also requested a tour of our facility?"

"Yes," answered Mulder.  "We'd very much appreciate that.  I have 
some questions about your security system, especially given the 
nature of your research.  Perhaps as you show us around, you 
could point out the security features you have in place?"  

Collins began walking and gestured for the agents to follow.  
"Certainly, Agent Mulder.  We have security cameras in all the 
hallways, though not in the specific labs, at the request of the 
scientists who work there.  We generally have one security guard 
on duty at all times, and the system logs entrances and exits to 
all the floors.  We have basically the same security setup at our 
field facility."

"Would it be possible for us to take a look at the videos and 
logs for both of your facilities?  We'd also like to know the 
name of the guard on duty at your field facility the night of the 
murder."

"That would be fine.  I'll get you the information for this 
facility before you leave.  I can have someone drop the field 
facility information off at Chief Melancon's office, or you can 
review the time period in question while you're out there." 

"I think, in the interest of time, we can review the tapes while 
we're out there.  We may need to take them as evidence at that 
point."  

"That's fine with us, Agent Mulder.  Now, if you'd follow me, I 
can show you David's main office." 

Two hours later, the agents left the building, complete with the 
requested information. As near as they could tell, Dr. Collins 
had been completely open with them.  He had also taken them on a 
comprehensive tour of the facility.  Mulder couldn't see any 
connection between the swamp deaths and NexGen Corporation, 
unless some of their scorpions had escaped, but then Scully would 
have found the sting site during the autopsy.  She didn't miss 
things like that.  Scully voiced her agreement; she hadn't seen a 
scorpion sting during the autopsy.  They'd seen a lot of high 
tech equipment and men and women in white lab coats conducting 
arcane experiments during their tour.  "You know, Scully, some of 
that stuff was kind of creepy, especially those scorpions.  They 
were nasty-looking creatures.  And putting scorpion genes in 
plants seems wrong, somehow.  I didn't care for those huge 
mosquito-filled enclosures, either.  Seeing these things makes me 
glad I'm an FBI agent and not a scientist.  I sure hope they know 
what they're doing, because people that fool around with Mother 
Nature often end up getting bitten on the ass." 

"Yeah, Mulder, it is a little unnerving."  Scully was amused at 
Mulder's obvious discomfort with genetic manipulation of 
organisms, but even as a scientist, perhaps especially as a 
scientist, she had to admit there were some very worrisome 
aspects to altering an organism's DNA, essentially changing the 
blueprint for life, especially in view of the many viruses and 
bacteria that might spread those changes to non-target organisms, 
and the possibility of causing unplanned alterations through the 
disruption of other genes within the target species.  "But think 
of the benefits, Mulder. Imagine if we could cure genetic 
disorders, eliminate the use of environment damaging pesticides, 
and end the scourge of diseases like malaria and yellow fever.  
It's the new frontier, and, like most frontiers, it can be 
dangerous."

*****

Mulder and Scully used the rest of the morning to organize the 
forensics team and bring Melancon up to speed on the 
investigation before making the trip out to NexGen's Field 
Research Facility.  Mulder considered the guard on duty that 
night, Robert Ardoin, a prime suspect in the murder of 
Thibodeaux; he just needed the evidence to prove it.  So far 
everything was circumstantial.  Ardoin would have been armed with 
a 9 mm handgun.  They were standard issue for all the guards, and 
he'd been in the right place at the right time.  The question 
that remained was why.

Upon arriving at the facility, Mulder headed off for the security 
surveillance office, leaving Scully to coordinate the forensics 
team.  "If you find something, send someone for me, else I'll 
hook up with you when I finish reviewing the tapes." He was 
confident that they would find the evidence they were searching 
for.  

"Ok, Mulder.  We'll probably be awhile.  This is a pretty big 
area to cover.  We'll start with the places where Thibodeaux 
typically spent his time." 

Mulder immediately settled down to work.  There were ten cameras 
altogether.  He wasn't overly surprised to find that two of the 
tapes had a blank period when the murders supposedly occurred.  
One of them was the camera that recorded people entering the 
building.  The other was the camera monitoring the hallway 
leading to the mosquito enclosures and Thibodeaux's lab.  There 
was nothing out of the ordinary on any of the other tapes.  If 
Ardoin wasn't the murderer, it certainly appeared that he was an 
accessory, and Mulder was now pretty sure he knew where the 
murder had occurred.

Mulder hurried down to Thibodeaux's lab, not surprised to find 
the forensics team already there.  "Oh, hey, Mulder.  It looks 
like we may have already found something.  I was just going to 
send someone after you.  These tile floors made cleaning up after 
a murder pretty easy, but it would be almost impossible for the 
murderer to completely clean up the blood that soaked into the 
grout.  When you know what you're looking for and you have a good 
light, the stains are pretty evident.  We didn't even need the 
luminol.  It appears Thibodeaux was shot as he entered the room.  
If I review the autopsy findings again, I can probably tell you 
exactly where his murderer was standing.  We're looking for 
additional evidence now."

"That's great work, Scully.  Let's leave the forensics team here 
to see what else they find.  With what I found on the tapes, I 
think we've got enough to pick up the security guard for 
questioning.  Let's call Melancon and see if he can get someone 
over to pick up Ardoin." 

*****

It was after seven by the time the agents were able to get back 
to the station, but Melancon was there waiting.

"Agent Mulder, you really think this guy we picked up is the 
murderer?  So far, he's doing an excellent job of playing the 
outraged citizen."

"Yeah, Chief, I do.  As I explained on the phone, there is a lot 
of circumstantial evidence against him, and with a little luck, 
the forensics team out at NexGen may come up with something that 
will provide us with an ironclad case.  Scully and I would like 
to interrogate him right away, if that's ok with you."

"Of course.  He's been cooling his heels in the interrogation 
room since he was brought in, so maybe he'll be glad to have 
someone to talk to. He said he doesn't need a lawyer cause he's 
innocent."

"Has he been Mirandized?" inquired Scully.

"Yeah, the arresting officers read him his rights immediately.  
We want to make sure we don't leave any loopholes."

The agents entered the interrogation room, and Ardoin looked up 
hopefully then slumped back down when he realized they were just 
more cops.  He was seated in one of three wooden straight-backed 
chairs, with his handcuffed hands and head resting on the table. 
Mulder smirked at the stereotypical single naked light bulb that 
provided the only illumination in the dingy room.

"Hello, Mr. Ardoin.  I'm Agent Mulder, and this is Agent Scully.  
We're with the FBI.  You do know what you're here for, don't 
you?"

"Umm...David Thibodeaux's death?  That was tragic - he was a very 
nice man."

"Well, now he's a dead nice man.  I think you know more about his 
death than you're letting on."

"What would I know?  That night was nothing out of the ordinary 
for me.  I didn't even hear about what had happened until the 
following day."

"Did you see Dr. Thibodeaux at the research facility the night of 
his murder?"

"No."

"So the fact that we have conclusive evidence indicating he died 
at the field research station the night you were on duty means 
absolutely nothing to you?"

"How could he have died there?  I didn't hear anything, no 
struggle, no gunshots..."

"Where were you all night?  Is it possible you weren't in a 
position to hear anything?"

"I didn't leave the building at all, if that's what you're 
insinuating.  I walked the rounds like always, and as I told you 
earlier, I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary."

"Does your path take you past Dr. Thibodeaux's office?"

"Yeah, I must have walked past there at least five or six times 
that night."

"Do you have any idea why certain video cameras would suddenly 
stop working?"

There was a noticeable pause before his reply.  "Certain video 
cameras?  The system can be a bit shaky at times.  Unstable 
wiring, the sort.  I tend not to worry about it too much - I can 
see all I need just by walking around.  It's pretty quiet out 
there most nights."

I wouldn't worry about it too much, either, unless it just 
happened to be the cameras that could give us the answers, 
thought Mulder.  "How long have you been working at NexGen?"

"I started six months ago."

"You were issued a Glock at that point in time, correct?"

"Yeah."

"Have you ever had occasion to fire it?"

"No, at least not anywhere except the practice range."

"We'd like to have a look at that gun."

"Umm..., I reported it lost or stolen.  I don't know where it 
is."

"Mr. Ardoin, Dr. Thibodeaux was shot with a 9 mm handgun.  Don't 
you find it a little suspicious that he was shot at the facility 
where you worked, while you were the only one on duty, with a gun 
like the one you claim was stolen?"

"Look, you may be a fancy federal cop, but all that don't prove 
nothing.  I don't know who shot the doctor, but I do know it 
wasn't me.  I got no reason to want him dead.  You can't hang 
this on me."

Just at that moment, Scully's cell phone rang.  She fished it out 
to answer.

"Scully.  Oh, really?  Okay.  Let me know if you find anything 
else."  She flipped her phone shut and glanced meaningfully at 
Mulder.  "Mr. Ardoin, that was the forensics team in Dr. 
Thibodeaux's lab. They called to inform me they found a bloody 
fingerprint, which they ran against NexGen's employees.  They 
found a match.  Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you 
fingerprinted when you started working there?"

Ardoin stammered out a reply.  "Y-yes."

"Well, then," continued Scully.  "It looks like we might have 
that proof you were talking about."

"That's impossible, I cl..., I didn't do it. You couldn't have a 
fingerprint."

"I am afraid we do have a fingerprint.  A faint but clear bloody 
fingerprint was lifted from the door to Dr. Thibodeaux's lab - 
your fingerprint, Dr. Thibodeaux's blood.  I think maybe you 
should start being a little more forthcoming, Mr. Ardoin."

"Yeah, I think so, too," interjected Mulder.  "First-degree 
murder is a capital offense in Louisiana.  That means you could 
be sentenced to death by lethal injection, which I suppose is 
better than frying, but still....  I'd say if there were some 
extenuating circumstances or maybe some other people you could 
share the blame with, you might want to start doing that."

By now, Ardoin was clearly terrified.  "So, Agent Mulder, if I 
cooperate, you might be able to reduce the charge?"

"It's quite possible, yes."

The explanation rushed forth in a torrent of words.  "A drinking 
buddy of mine contacted me, seeing if I could get him copies of 
David's work.  He said he knew someone that would pay me big 
bucks.  They wanted stuff from some of the other labs, as well.  
I got him stuff once before.  They paid me five thousand dollars 
for copying a few files.  It was easy.  It would have been easy 
this time, too, if Thibodeaux hadn't decided to go to work that 
night; he wasn't supposed to be there.  He startled me, I 
panicked and before I knew it, he was shot, lying on the floor 
and bleeding all over.  He was dead before I could do anything.  
We were the only people in the building at the time, so cleaning 
up the blood and moving the body weren't hard.  I didn't mean to 
shoot him - he wasn't supposed to be there!  Oh, God...  It was 
just supposed to be a way to pick up some easy money real fast."

"What is your friend's name, Mr. Ardoin?"

"Paul Doucet."

"Do you have an address where we could contact him?"

"Um...no, but he hangs out at the Dew Drop Inn sometimes."

"Do you have any other information that might help us locate 
him?"

"That's all I know.  I just met him at the bar one night."

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Ardoin.  Someone else will 
be in to get a complete description of your friend shortly."

*****

It had been a long day, but the agents could now mark David 
Thibodeaux's murder solved.  Melancon would have someone take 
Ardoin's formal statement in the morning.  Granted, the 
investigation wasn't over, but the local authorities could handle 
tying up the loose ends, including locating Paul Doucet and 
investigating who was at the bottom of the attempt to steal 
secrets from NexGen.  Mulder and Scully would notify the Bureau's 
white-collar crime division about the industrial espionage angle 
as well.  For a change, the local authorities were happy with 
them, and Scully imagined Skinner would be, too.  It was time to 
go home.

*****

"Scully, it's already Thursday night.  We probably can't get a 
flight out of here before tomorrow afternoon and it's not like 
we'll be expected in the office on Saturday or Sunday, so how 
about we take a boat ride out to the campground where those 
people died?  C'mon, it'll be a nice little trip to the swamp."

"Are you crazy, Mulder?" 

"Is that a rhetorical question, Scully?"

"Look, Mulder, I know you keep expecting to find the truth around 
the next bend, but it'd be stupid for us stay for the weekend.  
Skinner sent us out here to solve a case.  We accomplished that.  
Let's not jeopardize the positive points we made.  Your anonymous 
informant gave you nothing.  We looked into the NexGen link and 
found zilch; it's entirely possible there's a natural explanation 
for why those people died.  Besides, there is no way we could 
include a weekend camping trip on our expense account."  She 
paused and raised her eyebrow, giving him that smug look that 
dared him to question her logical list of reasons why they 
shouldn't take a nice little trip to the swamp.

"I hear you, Scully, but I'm here, and I just can't walk away 
from it.  I understand if you don't want to come with me.  
Regardless, I think I'm going to rent some camping equipment and 
a boat and take a look at the area where those folks were camping 
to see if anything turns up.  I've always wanted to have an up-
close and personal look at a southern swamp anyway."

Scully took a deep breath before acknowledging that there was no 
way in hell she was letting Mulder loose in a swamp - alone.  As 
usual, her determination not to let him drag her on another crazy 
and no doubt misguided mission had collapsed in the face of his 
single-minded intensity.  Her logic was simply no match for his 
passion.  

*****

Continued in Part 2

Title: Augury (2/2)
Authors: NonEssential and NonExistent

*****

The duo spent the next morning preparing for their weekend 
adventure in the swamp, including renting a 17-foot jonboat with 
a 25 horsepower motor from Cajun Jack's Swamp Marina.  Cajun Jack 
had been somewhat dubious about renting them a boat, not 
possessing a particularly high opinion of the outdoor skills of 
two FBI agents from Washington D.C.  He carefully explained that 
the swamp was a dangerous place, even more so with the recent 
unexplained deaths.  "And there ain't no cell phone service out 
there in the swamp neither.  Ya get youself in trouble, ya just 
gonna have to get youself out.  I'm telling ya, if yas ain't back 
by Sunday afternoon, I gonna send a rescue party out." 

Mulder thanked the man for his advice and concern and assured 
them they would be very careful.  Nevertheless, he made sure to 
leave the information about where they would be camping.  Scully 
could see that Mulder's enthusiasm had been somewhat dampened by 
the realization that he would have no cell phone service.  She 
sure hoped they wouldn't need it.

With all the preparations finally complete, the partners loaded 
their equipment and provisions into the boat, and, with Scully in 
the bow and Mulder at the tiller, they were off down the bayou.  
It was a gorgeous early fall day, and Scully had to admit that 
the swamp was beautiful.  Magnificent ancient cypress trees, 
draped with picturesque Spanish moss, formed a canopy over their 
heads, shielding them from the hot rays of the sun.  The breeze 
from the boat's forward progress kept them cool, and wildlife was 
abundant.  They saw every kind of heron and egret imaginable.  
Scully was particularly impressed by the graceful Snowy Egrets 
with their bright yellow feet and showy aigrettes.  They saw 
three baby raccoons digging for crayfish and numerous alligators 
resting on logs and lying on the banks.  They passed the 
occasional snake swimming with only its head breaking the water 
and were startled when they glimpsed a large snake sunning on an 
overhanging branch.  

Mulder eventually broke the companionable silence.  "Hey, Scully, 
did you know that the Honey Island Swamp has its own Bigfoot?"

Scully turned to face Mulder, one eyebrow arching up to disappear 
under the hair that had fallen across her forehead.  "Mulder, 
you're kidding, right?  On top of everything else, you better not 
be here because of some mythical swamp creature."

"Of course not, Scully.  Do you think I'm crazy?  That was a 
rhetorical question, by the way.  But you have to admit; it is 
interesting.  Back in 1963, two air traffic controllers, Harlan 
Ford and Billy Mills, first encountered the creature.  They came 
across it again in 1974 and made plaster casts of its footprints.  
Louisiana Wildlife and Fisheries and scientists from LSU and the 
Smithsonian looked into it."

"Mulder, you don't seriously believe there is a Honey Island 
Monster, and you certainly don't believe that it could have 
played a role in these recent deaths, do you?"

"Of course not, Scully.  I figure if a swamp monster were 
responsible for killing those people, there would have been a lot 
of blood.  Of course, it's possible that the creature might be 
venomous.  I have seen stranger things."

Mulder received no reply beyond the famous Scully eye roll.

Three hours later, they reached the general vicinity where the 
mysterious deaths had occurred.  Mulder angled the boat onto a 
convenient landing, and Scully jumped out onto relatively dry 
land, pulled the boat up onto the shore, and tied the bow line to 
a handy branch for extra security.

They efficiently unloaded their equipment and carried it up the 
uneven, shallow bank.  Responsibilities were quickly divided, 
with Scully agreeing to set the tent up in the clearing about 100 
yards from the boat, while Mulder gathered firewood.  The sun was 
already dipping below the horizon, and they definitely wanted 
camp set up before nightfall.  

Mulder was finding it difficult to find firewood and was rapidly 
becoming miserable.  Most of the salvage wood was either wet or 
at least damp.  He was hot, sweaty, and anxious to get back to 
the clearing because the mosquitoes were devouring him.  If he 
stayed out here much longer, he feared he would need a 
transfusion.  And if the sensation of being constantly bitten 
wasn't aggravating enough, the high-pitched whine of mosquitoes 
mercilessly buzzing around his ears seemed specifically designed 
to drive him crazy.  At last, feeling that he had an adequate 
amount of wood, he hurried back to the clearing where Scully had 
just finished setting up the tent.  She greeted him with a cheery 
wave and a, "Welcome home, Mulder."  Clearly, she was enjoying 
this little adventure more than he. 

"God, Scully, the mosquitoes are horrendous," were the first 
words out of his mouth.  

Scully grinned up at him, that little chipmunk grin that either 
captivated him or aggravated him, depending on the circumstances.  
Just now, it aggravated him.  "What's so amusing, Scully?"

"Nothing, Mulder.  It's just that I have Deep Wood's Off.  Since 
my experience in the Oregon forest, I don't venture into the 
woods without it."

"Are you serious, Scully?  If you share, I promise to have 
Frohike name his first born daughter after you."

"Um, that's ok, Mulder.  That won't be necessary.  I left it in 
my pack, which I'm afraid is still down at the water, but I'll go 
get it.  I need a few other things from it anyway. You want to 
start the fire in the meantime?"

"Sure, Scully, but hurry, would you?  I think I'm beginning to 
feel weak from blood loss."

Scully hustled off, and Mulder set to work starting the fire.  It 
was only moments before discretion overcame valor, and he hurried 
off after Scully.  The fire could wait; he needed the repellent - 
now.  The mosquitoes weren't so bad when he was walking and had 
his arms free to swat them away, unlike when he had been carrying 
all that wood.  Nevertheless, he was still happy to see Scully 
pulling her pack out of the boat and heading back towards him.  
Happiness that turned to terror when he saw a huge - really huge 
- alligator lumbering up the bank only a few scant yards from his 
diminutive partner.  "Run, Scully," he screamed at the top of his 
lungs, even as he started running towards her. "Run!"

Scully didn't need to hear the second admonition.  She dropped 
the pack and was running towards her partner as fast as her legs 
could carry her.  She didn't know why she was running, but the 
terror in Mulder's voice was more than enough to convince her 
that she must be running from something life threatening.  She 
hoped it wasn't that damned Swamp Creature.  

She watched as Mulder pulled out his gun and took aim at 
something behind her even as he scrambled towards her.  He needed 
a clear shot, but Scully was directly in his line of fire.  Damn, 
that gator was fast!  It seemed like an eternity until Scully was 
finally passing him, and he began to fire, emptying his clip into 
the monster's head.  In the periphery of his vision, he saw 
Scully trip and fall, even as the forward momentum of the gator 
carried it past him. 

The huge gator was dying, but its reptilian brain hadn't quite 
grasped that fact.  As Mulder turned to check on Scully, the 
gator lashed out with its tail in one final act of desperate 
aggression, ripping Mulder's legs out from under him.  His last 
conscious thought was that he hoped Scully had gotten clear of 
its jaws, and then excruciating white pain radiated upward from 
his left leg, and slowly faded into blackness as he crumpled to 
the ground.

Mulder woke surrounded by darkness.  At first, he was at a loss 
as to what he was doing lying in the mud, but then it all came 
back with clarifying intensity.  Oh, my God, he thought.  
"Sculleeee!"  There was no answer.  God, please let her be ok, he 
prayed, even as he attempted to get up and look for her.  The 
pain that movement evoked quickly convinced him that he wasn't 
walking anywhere.  Undaunted, he began to pull his body in the 
direction he had last seen her.  He couldn't even crawl, but was 
forced to pull his prone body forward using his arms.  Even then, 
the pain was nearly more than he could bear.  He could see the 
unmoving bulk of the gator off to his left.  He hoped to hell it 
was dead.  He kept moving, his progress measured in inches.  
After what seemed like hours, he finally saw her soft outline 
sprawled in the mud just a few yards away.  Sweat beaded on his 
forehead as he ignored the pain of dragging his damaged leg 
forward.  Slowly, inexorably, he struggled forward.  His teeth 
penetrated his lip as he bit down, trying to use one pain to keep 
another at bay.  

At last, he was close enough to reach out and grasp her ankle.  
Relief flooded the synapses of his brain as he felt warm, living 
flesh.  He tried to think, but the pain was robbing him of the 
ability to form coherent thoughts.  He would just pull Scully 
back to him and see if she was all right.  Then he could stay 
here.  That would be a good thing.  He was so very tired.  But 
something at the edge of his thought processes warned him not to 
do it.  Oh, of course.  What if she was badly injured?  She 
shouldn't be moved until he had assessed her injuries.  How had 
he forgotten?  He would have to move again.  

Slowly, he began to move forward.  It was easier now, though, 
because with every inch of progress made, he could feel more 
Scully, more warm and whole Scully. He could now reach her torso, 
and so far, he hadn't discovered any damage, but she was 
frighteningly limp.  He grasped her wrist and was gratified by 
the feel of a strong steady pulse.  His mind exhorted his body to 
move forward.  Just a little further, and he would be able touch 
her face, feel her breath.  Millimeter by millimeter, he covered 
the distance.  The mosquitoes that had been so painful before 
still buzzed around his ears and fed on his blood, but the pain 
from his leg had become so all-encompassing that he barely 
registered their presence. Then, at last, he pulled even with 
her.  He laid his head on the ground.  They were eye to eye, but 
the darkness was so complete that he couldn't make out her 
features, even though he could feel each breath she exhaled.  He 
still didn't know why she was unconscious.  He reached out with 
one hand, carefully exploring her face and head.  Then he felt 
it, the sticky warm wetness of fresh blood covering her forehead.  
His fingers continued to explore, feeling the bump on her 
forehead and the ragged torn flesh.  She whimpered, and he pulled 
his hand back.  "Scully?"

"Sat you, Muder?" she mumbled.

"Yeah. Are you ok?"

"Ummmm fine, my head hurts."

"That's ok, Scully, just stay real still till you feel a little 
stronger."

"K.  What happened?"

"It almost got you, Scully.  I was afraid it had."

Mulder's words brought the last terrible moments of consciousness 
back to her, but she wasn't sure what had happened after she had 
fallen.  She realized that Mulder was lying on the ground facing 
her. "Mulder, what was chasing me, and are you hurt?"

"Gator.  I'm fine, but my leg hurts pretty bad."

Scully slowly pulled herself to her knees and then to a sitting 
position, wiping the blood from her eyes.  She was dizzy and a 
little nauseous, but if she moved slowly she didn't feel too bad, 
other than a pounding headache.  "Which leg?"

"The left."

Scully gently reached out to tactilely examine his leg, but 
pulled back when he gasped in pain.  "Mulder, I need a flashlight 
and my first aid supplies.  I'm going to go down and get my pack 
from where I dropped it."

"No!  Th...there might be another one...down there." 

"Mulder, I have to go.  I'll be very careful, and most alligators 
won't attack a human."  

"But, Scully, you aren't exactly a full-size human."

She smiled at what better have been his attempt to lighten the 
situation with humor.  "Mulder, don't forget that I'm armed." 

Mulder wasn't certain whether she meant that to reassure him or 
threaten him.

"I'll only be a few minutes," and with those parting words, she 
disappeared into the darkness, gun in hand.  True to her word, 
she was back within minutes, although to Mulder, it seemed she 
had been gone an eternity.  She already had her flashlight out, 
having used it to light her way back to Mulder.  The trek down to 
the water had scared her more than she wanted to admit.  

While holding the flashlight in her mouth, she carefully removed 
his boot and gently examined his leg.  For his part, Mulder 
clenched his teeth tightly, determined to hide the pain she 
caused him.  At last, she sat back and took the flashlight from 
her mouth.  "I'm afraid it's broken, Mulder.  I can't tell for 
sure, but the level of pain you are in certainly indicates that.  
It's already swelling.  What happened to it anyway?"

"I got taken down by that gator's tail."

"Hmmm, I've read that their tail can be as dangerous as their 
teeth.  The good news is that the fracture is simple.  There is 
no external bleeding, and it appears that you have somehow 
managed to avoid significant soft-tissue damage, although it's 
difficult to tell about internal bleeding.  The circulation and 
color in your foot is good, though, and displacement is minimal.  
I'd be tempted to leave it unsplinted, but since we can't expect 
any assistance until Sunday, I'm going to have to immobilize it 
as best I can."  

Mulder liked to think of himself as brave, but he wasn't sure he 
could handle any more pain. "Umm...Scully?  Is that gonna hurt a 
lot?"

"I'm sorry, Mulder, but I'm afraid it's going to be pretty 
uncomfortable.  I have some Tylenol with codeine in the first aid 
kit; hopefully that'll help some.  But once I get the splint on, 
you should be a lot more comfortable.  You know I'll be as gentle 
as I can."  She held up two pills.  "Can you swallow these dry?"  

"Sure, just hand them here. Scully, do you think you could share 
that repellent you mentioned?  The mosquitoes are still eating me 
alive."

"Good idea.  I could use some more myself. I really can't believe 
how bad the mosquitoes are out here.  Now, I'm going to get some 
branches that I can use as a splint and pick up a few other 
things that I need.  I'll be back as quick as I can.  Lay still 
and don't move at all."

"K, Scully, but please hurry."

Scully hurried out to the edge of the clearing and cut the 
branches she would need.  Thank God she had brought the small 
wire saw along.  She dropped the branches near Mulder and headed 
up to the tent-site where she gathered Mulder's pack, the two 
sleeping bags, a canteen, and the ropes that tethered the tent 
and spread the rain flap.  By the time she returned, Mulder was 
either asleep or unconscious.  Either way, she decided to proceed 
with the splinting.  She wanted to make absolutely certain that 
an injudicious movement didn't damage an artery or nerve in his 
leg.  If the jagged edge of his femur severed or even nicked the 
femoral artery, he could die in moments.  It appeared he had been 
lucky so far. She carefully laid the longer branch along his left 
side, with the forked end near the level of his armpit.  She 
trimmed it to a length that would extend past his foot. Then she 
laid the forked end of the shorter branch near his hip and 
trimmed the distal end so that it extended a similar distance 
beyond his foot.  After cutting the sleeping bag into rectangles 
for padding and one of Mulder's extra T-shirts into ties or 
cravats to secure the splint, she was finally ready.  Hopefully 
the Tylenol with codeine had taken the edge off his pain.  She 
considered just starting, but decided that it would be best to 
warn him.  "Mulder, are you ready to start?"

He roused at the sound of her voice. "Um...yeah.  I guess so.  
Ready as I'll ever be."  

She propped the flashlight up so it provided the best 
illumination possible and quickly began to wrap the pieces of 
sleeping bag around his leg, placing thicker wrappings around the 
thinner portions of his leg, like the ankle area.  She was 
careful to move the leg as little as possible, but she still 
caused him incredible pain.  His hands balled into tight fists, 
short fingernails leaving small bloody crescents on his palms, 
and he gritted his teeth as he broke out into a cold sweat, but 
he remained stoically silent, except for a few soft groans.  
Scully talked softly throughout the whole procedure, explaining 
what she was doing and offering words of comfort.  "Ok, Mulder, 
I'm done with that part."  He slumped back against the ground as 
the intense pain passed.  

Then she padded the forked ends of the two splints she had cut, 
placing one under his armpit and one against his groin.  She 
smiled when he cautioned her to take special care to not pinch 
the "boys."  Humor was Mulder's refuge.  Then she began to 
smoothly wrap the ties around the leg to secure the splints.  
Again, she touched the leg as little as possible, but she did 
have to tie it tight enough to stabilize the bones.  At first, he 
didn't seem to be in too much pain, but as she moved closer to 
his thigh, the pain rapidly increased.  "Hang on, Mulder, I need 
you conscious just a little longer.  Help me determine where the 
break is.  Tell me where the pain is worst."  

"There, Scully, there", he gasped, just before he slipped into 
unconsciousness.

Scully quickly finished tying the splint in place making sure not 
to place a tie near the point he had identified as most painful. 
She used one of the tent ropes to secure a cross piece between 
the ends of the two splints.  Hurrying to complete the procedure 
while he was out of it, she quickly secured the longer branch to 
his body for added stability, wrapped the extra long strip she 
had ripped from his t-shirt around his ankle, and brought the 
free ends down and tied them around the crosspiece at the bottom.  
Then she inserted a short but sturdy stick between the free ends 
and began to twist, exerting a steady pressure and gradually 
pulling the bones of the leg downward.  She was very glad that 
Mulder wasn't awake for this part.  She secured the stick, 
maintaining what she hoped was adequate traction on the leg.  
Then she checked his foot to make sure the color and circulation 
remained good, remembering the number one rule in medicine: 
'first, do no harm.'  Having done all she could, she settled back 
to wait for him to regain consciousness.  Between the splint and 
the Tylenol, he should be in considerably less pain.

Nearly half an hour elapsed before Mulder returned to 
consciousness.  "Feeling any better?" she asked when she saw his 
eyes flutter open.

Mulder considered the question before responding, "Yeah, Scully, 
the pain isn't nearly as bad as it was, but I feel really drowsy.  
Thanks for taking care of me."

"You're welcome, Mulder, and thanks for watching out for me as 
well.  Could you swallow this pill?"  She held the canteen to his 
lips as he placed the pill in his mouth.  "It's a broad spectrum 
antibiotic.  I'm going to go back to the tent site and get the 
wood you gathered, as well as some of our provisions."

"K," Mulder softly responded, even as he was drifting off to 
sleep. 

Scully carried the wood, as well as the boxed stew they had 
brought, a heavy fry pan, and some canned peaches back to Mulder.  
She would like to get away from the alligator corpse, but she 
didn't want to take a chance moving Mulder, especially not in the 
dark.  While Mulder slept, she started the fire and began warming 
the stew.  It smelled delicious, and she was half starved.  
Mulder must have been hungry, too, because she heard him softly 
call, "Hey, Scully, that smells delicious.  Care to share with a 
hungry man?"

"Sure, Mulder.  Do you think we could roll you over onto your 
back?  You'd be a lot more comfortable."

There was a long pause as Mulder considered the ramifications of 
moving his leg.  "Ok, Scully, if you think it's a good idea."

"Let me help you.  I'll support your leg and keep it aligned 
while you roll your body over to the right.  On three.  One, two, 
three."

Mulder gritted his teeth and rolled.  The pain was sharp, but 
mercifully brief.  Scully placed a couple of the unused 
rectangles she had cut from the sleeping bag under his head for 
support.  Then she removed the pan from the fire, filled a bowl 
with the steaming stew, and sat down next to Mulder to share, 
careful that it wasn't hot enough to burn.  

Scully was finally able to relax.  She was amazed at how dark it 
was out here, so far from the lights of civilization.  The sky 
was like black velvet, and the stars were so much brighter than 
at home.  They almost looked close enough to touch.  It really 
was beautiful.  Mulder seemed to be doing a lot better and was 
resting comfortably.  He alternately talked and dozed, 
entertaining her with some of the ridiculous things he had heard 
while on wiretap and giving her way more information than she 
needed about the Honey Island Swamp Creature.  She had given him 
a couple more Tylenol before he finally drifted off into a sound 
sleep.  They were sharing the remaining sleeping bag, and she had 
snuggled closer to his good side, taking comfort from the steady 
rhythm of his breathing.  She still had a major headache, but at 
least she was functional.  Plus, she really didn't want to sleep.  
The noises of the swamp creatures were a little scary, and she 
had to admit that the events of the day had frazzled her nerves.  
She focused on the fact that all they needed to do was get 
through tomorrow.  Rescue would come on Sunday.  She was thankful 
that they had left specific coordinates as to where they would 
be, and Cajun Jack had assured them that if they weren't back by 
Sunday afternoon, he would send help.  Then, despite her best 
intentions, she too dozed off.

She wasn't sure how long she had been sleeping, but she was wide-
awake now.  Mulder's breathing had gone from comforting to 
frightening - it was now rapid and strident.  She shook him and 
felt a familiar fear reassert itself as it took him a while to 
rouse.  "Scully, I...I...I don't feel so good."  She flipped on 
the flashlight to better assess his condition.  He was sweating 
profusely and was very pale. 

"Mulder, talk to me.  Tell me how you feel."

"Hard to breathe," he panted.  "My arms feel tingly and my chest 
feels funny."

Scully placed her ear on his chest to assess his heartbeat.  It 
was fast, and she could detect brief periods of arrhythmia.

"Scully, help...gonna be sick," he moaned, attempting to turn his 
body.  She quickly moved to support his torso as he was wracked 
with strong contractions.  He vomited, emptying his system of the 
stew.  Finally, he dropped back against the ground, eyes and 
mouth now clamped shut from the overwhelming pain caused by the 
impromptu movement of his leg.  Scully grabbed one of the rags 
remaining after her destruction of Mulder's t-shirt and used it 
to carefully wipe his sore mouth.  Her mind raced, even as she 
attempted to calm her partner.  What the hell was causing these 
symptoms?  She breathed deeply, trying to think clearly.  She had 
stabilized his leg, and there was no infection or fever.  Then, 
suddenly, the pieces to the puzzle began to click into place.

"Mulder, we have to go.  Now." 

Even in the beam of her flashlight, she could see the incredulity 
in his eyes.  "Scully, I can't.  I hurt so bad; it's not just my 
leg anymore, but my whole body."

"Mulder, listen to me.  There is no choice.  Whatever killed 
those other people is now affecting you.  You have the early 
symptoms of neurotoxin poisoning.  I don't know how it got into 
your system, but I'm sure that's what's making you so ill, and 
I'm sure that's what killed the others as well."

"Scully, I can't.  Please, it hurts too much.  Leave me.  Get out 
before whatever it is gets you, too."

"Dammit, Mulder, you know there's no way I'm leaving you.  If you 
want to save me, you're going to have to save yourself.  Help me 
get your ass on this sleeping bag.  I'm gonna try to drag you to 
the boat."  Damn darkness.  It made everything more difficult.  
She checked her watch - 2:25 AM - almost four hours until first 
light.

Mulder gritted his teeth and, with Scully's help, eased himself 
over onto the sleeping bag that she had spread out next to him.  
His whole body seemed to have become a reservoir for pain.  
Mulder was in no hurry to die, but at the moment, death seemed a 
very attractive option compared to moving another inch.  "Damn-
stubborn-Irish woman."

"What did you say, Mulder?"

"Um...nothing."  He must really be in bad shape, if he'd actually 
given voice to that last thought.

"Ok, then, I'm going to start pulling you towards the boat.  
We're going to go real slowly.  I want you to help me, if you 
can, by giving a push with your good leg.  Then we'll pause and 
do it again.  I think that will reduce the bouncing and give you 
a little control over the movement.  Ready?"

Mulder nodded and followed her instructions, but excruciating 
pain immediately exploded in his injured leg, causing him to 
gasp.  "Scully, please, just leave me.  Get help.  I can't do 
this."

"You can do it, Mulder.  You'd be dead by the time I got back."

"I don't care, I'm telling you I..."  

Before he had completed the thought, Scully was in his face, 
hands gripping his shirt, shaking him, heedless of the added pain 
it brought.  "Don't you dare say that to me.  You will do this, 
or I will sit right here with you and we can die together.  Is 
that what you want, Mulder?"

"No."

"Then get with the program, G-man - we have a boat to catch."  
She began to pull, and he helped by pushing with his right leg, 
just as she had ordered.  After about fifteen minutes, she 
stopped to check on him to see if he needed a break.  His body 
was soaked in sweat, and he was physically exhausted from the 
pain and trauma.  She dropped beside him to offer comfort and 
encouragement, determined to hide her fear from him.  He couldn't 
die.  Not like this, out in the middle of a swamp, for no damn 
reason.  "So, Mulder, what do you think of the swamp now?"

Determined to fulfill his role in the expected repartee, Mulder 
replied, "I say we give it back to the mosquitoes.  They seem to 
be waging a guerrilla war to reclaim it.  You know, Scully, I was 
thinking...'stead of making mosquitoes that don't carry diseases, 
NexGen oughta make mosquitoes that don't bite.  Maybe I could 
patent the idea and retire in comfort."

"Sounds like a winning idea to me.  I don't know how people were 
able to live here before they had screens and Deep Wood's Off.  
You ready to go?"

"Sure," he lied.  She again began to pull him towards the boat, 
moving very slowly to avoid jostling his leg.  She hoped the 
splint was keeping the bones immobilized.  The slightest shift 
could sever an artery or impact a nerve, but it was a risk they 
were forced to take.  Her tired mind considered his joke about 
mosquitoes that didn't bite.  It sounded like an excellent idea 
to her.  Tonight's experiences had convinced her that mosquitoes 
were one of the most noxious creatures on earth. Suddenly, some 
missing pieces to the puzzle of her partner's illness snapped 
into place.  She had very definitely just made a Mulder leap.  
She could hardly wait to tell him, but first, she needed to get 
him to a hospital.  His time was running out.  

They had been making steady process when the end of his splint 
slipped off a root that it had been sliding across.  The 
resulting jolt sent a bolt of white-hot agony across every neuron 
in his body and wrenched a blood-curdling scream from his lungs.  
Scully was at his side in a second. "Mulder, are you ok?"  She 
quickly ascertained that there would be no answer.  He was 
unconscious.  She checked him over quickly.  The arrhythmia in 
his heart that she had detected earlier seemed worse, as did his 
breathing.  The good news was that the color and circulation in 
his foot remained good.  She was going to have to risk displacing 
the bones by moving faster.  The time for caution was past - it 
was better to lose his leg than his life.  Taking advantage of 
the respite from pain that unconsciousness had brought her 
partner, Scully returned to pulling him towards the boat.  It was 
harder work without his assistance, but not hearing his gasps of 
pain as he was jerked along more than made up for the extra 
effort.

Twenty minutes later, an exhausted Scully had nearly reached the 
boat.  The bank was the single obstacle.  She tugged the sleeping 
bag around until her partner's feet were even with the edge of 
the bank.  There was no way she could drag him down it.  Somehow, 
she had to get him on his feet.  Taking the canteen, she bathed 
his face and whispered encouraging words.  "C'mon Mulder, I need 
you.  We have some problem solving to do."  Gradually, her words 
seemed to reach him.  He felt far away, cocooned in a safe 
wrapping of darkness, but Scully needed him.  He tried to follow 
her voice back to consciousness, but it was so hard.  His whole 
body felt heavy and he was tired.  He lost his way, started 
drifting back into the darkness, but her voice found him again - 
soft, but insistent - pulling him back to her.  

"Scully?"

"I'm here, Mulder.  I need your help"

He forced his eyes open.  Scully was there.  "What, Scully?  What 
do you need?"

"I need you to sit up, Mulder.  We have to get down the bank."  
She released the straps that secured the longer splint to his 
body and helped him into a sitting position.  She knew this 
compromised the stability of the splint, but there was simply no 
other option.  "I'll help support your leg while you use your 
arms and your good leg to slip down the bank. You have to do it, 
Mulder."  Her concern for him mounted as she noted the 
involuntary nystagmus that was now evident in his eyes.

Mulder swallowed.  The boat was so close now.  Scully was right.  
He had to do it, for himself and for her, but he had nearly 
blacked out from the pain of just sitting up.  "Ok, G-Woman, 
let's do it," he gritted out.  Somehow he forced a confidence 
into his voice that he didn't really feel.  

Scully then clambered partway down the shallow bank, carefully 
placing her feet so that she wouldn't slip.  She grasped the ends 
of the two splints.  "Ok, Mulder start moving."

His arms felt weak and numb, but he was determined to do this.  
Using his arms and one leg, he scooted forward and slowly slid 
down the bank, Scully keeping his leg from hitting the uneven 
ground. Gradually, he lowered his ass down the uneven slope.  
Scully watched as he struggled, unable to do any more than keep 
his leg in position.  His arms trembled with the effort and 
rivulets of blood dripped down his chin from where his teeth had 
again bitten into his lip in an effort to control the pain.  He 
was silent except for the hiss that seemed to accompany each 
inhalation.  Finally, his good foot was on the flat area where 
they had pulled the boat up, and he was nearly upright. He had 
placed his arm back in the crook of the longer splint, using it 
almost like a crutch.  Scully made sure he was stable and then 
tugged the boat as close to him as her strength permitted.  She 
scurried up the bank and grabbed the sleeping bag, carefully 
laying it along the bottom of the boat to form a slightly more 
comfortable resting place.

"Ok, Mulder, let me help you turn around and lower you onto the 
front seat."  Very carefully, he lay back down onto the seat, 
teeth clenched to keep from vocalizing the pain that assaulted 
his senses.  Finally, he was down as flat as the seat allowed, 
with Scully supporting his splinted leg above the gunwale.  "You 
did great.  There's just one last thing.  I need you to move to 
the bottom of the boat.  I put the sleeping bag down to make it a 
little more comfortable.  I'm going to climb in and help support 
the weight of your body."

She slipped under his right side and helped him ease off the 
seat.  Because of the length of the splint, it was an extremely 
delicate maneuver.  Ultimately, Mulder's weakened arms collapsed, 
and his full weight shifted onto Scully.  Even her considerable 
strength of will wasn't enough to keep Mulder from slipping down 
onto the floor of the boat and wrenching his leg.  With barely a 
whimper, Mulder slipped into unconsciousness yet again.  At least 
he was where she wanted him.  She arranged him as comfortably as 
possible, ran back for her pack, then checked his condition one 
more time, not liking what she found.  He was tachycardic, and 
his breathing was extremely labored. She pushed the hair back 
from his sweaty brow.  "Everything's going to be okay, Mulder.  
Just stay with me."  She doubted he was aware of her 
encouragement, but she needed to hear the words.  There was now 
considerable swelling in his leg, though the foot was still warm.  
She loosened the cravats slightly to ensure that blood flow 
wasn't restricted and glanced at her watch to check the time.  It 
was 3:30.  It had taken them over an hour just to get to the boat 
- an hour she wasn't sure they could afford.

After pushing the boat into the water, she hopped in, and 
gingerly climbed to the back.  She lowered the motor into the 
water, flipped the switches appropriately, set the choke, and 
pulled the start cord, smiling with relief when the engine 
chugged to life on the first pull.  Setting the speed as high as 
she deemed prudent for navigating in the dark, and, with one hand 
on the tiller and the other holding the flashlight to illuminate 
her way, she headed back towards civilization.  

She divided her attention between piloting the boat and 
monitoring her partner.  They had been traveling for a little 
over two and half hours when Mulder began to show signs of 
restlessness.  She wasn't surprised when, a short time later, she 
heard him call her name.

"Scully, where are we?" 

"We're about thirty minutes or so from the Marina."

"S'getting harder to brea.  I can't seem tumove.  Feel sorta 
numb."

"Just stay with me, Mulder.  You're going to be fine."  His 
declining verbal skills and the numbness were bad signs, and in 
the pre-dawn light she could see how pasty white he had become.  
He didn't have much time left.

"Can't.  Tired." 

In an effort to hold him with her she attempted to engage his 
curiosity. "Hey, Mulder, did you know I figured it out?"

"Figured wha' ou'?"  She saw his lips curl up in a little smirk.  
"C'mon, tell."

"Well, it's just a theory, and it's definitely a stretch, but it 
all fits."

"Scuwy, sto' stallin'."

"Remember how your informant indicated that NexGen was somehow 
the key to the Honey Island deaths?"

"Uh...huh."

"I started thinking about the swamp and NexGen and the com..."

Scully stopped in mid-sentence as Mulder's eyes rolled up and he 
began to seize.  She released the throttle and dropped her body 
over his, trying to keep him from moving as much as possible.  
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over, and all the 
tension left his body.  He was unconscious again.  But this time, 
it wasn't from the pain.  She feared he had gone into a coma.  
She felt his heart, and for a brief moment of panic, she thought 
it had stopped. It was beating very slowly - bradycardia, her 
mind supplied helpfully - and his breathing was now slow and 
shallow.  He was exhibiting all the symptoms of advanced 
neurotoxin poisoning.

She jumped back to the motor and re-engaged the throttle.  Only 
speed could save Mulder now.  It wasn't even seven o'clock yet 
when Cajun Jack's came into view, but already, the marina was 
bustling.  Scully ignored the "slow, no wake" signs as she roared 
into the marina at full throttle.  She leapt from the boat, 
wrapped the anchor rope around a piling, and raced for the rental 
Taurus, clicking the trunk release as she ran.  Grabbing the cell 
phone, she punched in 911 as she headed back towards the boat and 
her comatose partner.  As soon as the operator came onto the 
line, she shouted, "I'm calling to report an agent down at Cajun 
Jack's Swamp Marina.  I'm a medical doctor, and the victim's 
symptoms are as follows.  He's currently comatose, exhibiting 
bradycardia and bradypnea.  I believe he's suffering from the 
introduction of a neurotoxin.  I strongly suspect that the active 
agent is the venom of the scorpion Androctonus australis from 
Northern Africa.  Please contact NexGen Corporation.  They can 
probably supply anti-venom for this type of poison as well as 
expertise in its administration.  Ask them to meet him at the 
admitting hospital.  Time is the crucial factor.  In addition, he 
has a broken femur.  It's been field splinted." 

Ignoring the questioning looks of the gathering onlookers, she 
clutched the phone to her ear as she climbed back into the boat 
to sit with her partner, convinced that her will, alone, could 
tether him to life.  She listened as the operator assured her 
that her instructions were being followed, that a Life Flight 
Helicopter had been dispatched, and that it should be arriving 
within fifteen minutes.  "Life Flight," she sighed.  That could 
be the difference between life and death.

The helicopter arrived, as promised, and the medics on board 
quickly loaded Mulder onto a gurney and Scully into a seat before 
taking off for NorthShore Regional Medical Center.  A medical 
team was waiting for them, and Mulder was wheeled into an 
emergency treatment room, the doors slamming shut, closing Scully 
out. 

She paused at the doors and contemplated trying to bully her way 
in, but paused to make a phone call instead.  As she hung up, the 
doors swung open, and one of the physicians emerged.  A Dr. 
Washburn, according to his nametag. 

"Are you the physician who called this in?"  

"Yes."

"A representative from NexGen just arrived with the anti-venom 
you ordered.  But what you say makes no sense.  How could your 
patient have been bitten by a scorpion from North Africa?"

"I can't explain it.  It's complicated.  But you have to believe 
me.  I'm almost certain that it's the toxin responsible for his 
condition.  There have been three deaths from the same area of 
the swamp.  I did the autopsy on the last one.  I called the 
Bureau in DC for the toxicology report on that victim, but it's 
not open.  I forgot that it's Saturday.  He can't wait; you have 
to administer the anti-venom immediately."

"You realize that administering anti-venom carries its own risks.  
He couldn't handle an additional complication.  Are you sure you 
want to take the chance?"

She mentally reviewed her decision, reflected on her words, 
'almost certain'.  There was no proof, nothing but circumstantial 
evidence, a Mulder leap of logic, and faith that she was right.  
She made her decision, ironic that his life should hang not on 
her science, but on her faith.  She looked the attending 
physician straight in the eye, certain that Mulder's life 
depended on her power of persuasion.  "That anti-venom is his 
only chance.  There is nothing to lose, and...and, I know I'm 
right."

The doctor examined her closely, seeing the exhaustion in her 
eyes, taking in her mud-caked clothes, the large, nasty looking 
contusion on her forehead, and the flaking bits of blood on her 
face and forehead.  He thought back to the condition of the 
patient in the treatment room, the field splint on his leg.  She 
had been through hell to get the man here, and clearly, she was 
convinced he needed the anti-venom; she was willing to bet his 
life on it, really.  And she was also right about his condition.  
He was circling the drain.  In that split second, he made his 
decision.  "I'm going to administer the anti-venom.  I hope we're 
in time."  With those words, he disappeared back into the 
treatment room.  

Scully collapsed onto the waiting room couch, adrenaline spent.  
She had gotten her way, but now doubts assailed her.  What if she 
was wrong?  What if he died because of her decision?  What if all 
those symptoms were because of his leg?  What if...?  She jerked 
to her feet.  Enough of that.  She had made the best decision 
possible. Deep down, under the doubt, she knew that.  But if he 
died, would she still believe it?  And even if she was right, 
there was no guarantee the anti-venom would work.  Five hours 
since the onset of visible symptoms - too long, her medical 
training said.  She sat back down to wait, thought about the 
horror of waiting in the boat for the paramedics, the time that 
elapsed between each beat of his heart, each rise of his chest.  
How many times had she thought that his heart had stopped 
beating, that his lungs had stopped functioning?  But it hadn't 
happened then, and it couldn't happen now.  She had gotten him 
here, and now he needed to do his part.  An hour slipped by, then 
two, with still no more news from the treatment room.  She stood 
and began to pace.  Finally, the doors to the treatment room 
opened, emitting Dr. Washburn. She tried to read his facial 
expression, but his professional mask was firmly in place.  She 
would have to wait for the words.

"We've administered the anti-venom. He is still comatose, but 
that is to be expected.  We removed the field splint from his leg 
and replaced it with another temporary splint.  You did a great 
job with the splint.  His leg is in surprisingly good shape, 
considering.  We'll bring an orthopedic surgeon in tomorrow if... 
when his condition improves.  We're sending him up to the 
Critical Care Unit.  Now you need to have a doctor look at your 
head wound."

Scully took a deep breath.  "So, what do you think?"

The doctor knew she had brushed off his suggestion that she 
needed medical treatment and was asking instead about Agent 
Mulder, asking if he would live, asking a question he couldn't 
answer.  "We had to intubate and put him on a vent.  We have 
managed to increase his heart rate, but we are still monitoring 
him very closely.  We are, of course, treating his symptoms, 
helping him hang on until the anti-venom can counteract the free 
toxin.  If it's not too late and if the anti-venom works, we 
should see definite improvement in respiratory and cardiac 
function within twenty-four hours.  For the time being, his 
condition is still critical."

"When can I see him?" 

"It will take them about an hour to get him settled in the CCU.  
Individuals on the approved list will then be allowed to visit, 
no more than two at a time."  

"Will I be able to sit with him?"

"Technically, they allow fifteen minute visits every two hours, 
but the CCU is small, and the nurses are usually flexible 
regarding the length of visits, so if you don't get in the way, 
you should be able to sit with him as long as you wish.  However, 
your name will not appear on the approved list until you get that 
head wound taken care of." 

Two hours later, Scully, head stitched and bandaged, was 
ensconced at Mulder's side.  She would watch and wait.  Three 
hours ticked by.  She was exhausted, but she needed to be there.  
It was her job to remind him that they had unfinished work.  She 
might be a physician and a scientist, but somehow she believed 
that as long as she was there, he couldn't die.  It was over 
twelve hours since Mulder had first shown symptoms.  She pulled 
her chair closer, placed her hand in his hand, and laid her head 
on the bed.  A cocktail of drugs, whipped up to counteract the 
effects of the deadly toxin, dripped into his other arm.  The 
warmth of his hand was comforting. The steady whoosh of the 
respirator and beep of the monitor were reassuring.  They had a 
somnolent affect, gradually lulling the tired agent to sleep.  
The nurses came and went, making their periodic checks, careful 
not to disturb the sleeping woman.  

Eight hours later, Scully awoke, feeling that something had 
changed.  She felt Mulder's fingers twitch.  Her eyes shifted to 
his face.  His eyes were open, frightened.  She hastened to 
reassure him.  "Stay calm, Mulder.  You're in the hospital.  
You're going to be fine.  Don't fight the vent."  Even as she 
sought to reassure him, a nurse appeared, alerted by changes in 
the machines monitoring his heart and respiration.  Seeing her 
patient was awake, the nurse quickly notified the doctor.  
Mulder, calmed by Scully's presence and words drifted off to 
sleep.  

After coming out of the coma Saturday night, Mulder's condition 
had improved steadily.  Doctors removed the endo tube Sunday 
morning and replaced it with a nasal canula, when it was evident 
that his respiratory function was returning.  Not long after 
that, he awakened a second time, and while still a little 
disoriented, was slightly more alert.  Initially, he had been 
relieved to awaken to the radiant Scully smile that told he was 
going to live.  He recognized it from when he awakened in the 
hospital in North Carolina.  He was gratified that she had stayed 
with him, but then he had taken a better look and seen the 
fatigue behind the smile, the same filthy clothes she had worn on 
their little adventure, and the large white bandage that covered 
her forehead and wrapped around her head.  While he reveled in 
her attention and little touches, and took comfort in knowing she 
was watching his back even as he slept, a guilty conscience 
prompted him to insist that she go and get some sleep and a 
shower. 

Scully was tired, and she had to admit her appearance was a 
disaster, but she was also unbelievably relieved that Mulder was 
going to be okay.  He had scared her pretty badly.  His leg still 
needed to be evaluated, but at least his life was no longer in 
danger.  Before she could sleep, though, she needed to notify the 
local authorities and the Bureau of their findings so that 
appropriate steps could be taken to close the area where the 
deaths had occurred.  She would recommend that they quarantine a 
large area around there, and she would probably have to bring CDC 
into the loop as well. Andrew Collins and the people at NexGen 
would also need to be notified.  She had best set up a meeting 
with Collins for tomorrow.  Then she would be able to get cleaned 
up and get some real sleep.   

*****

Now it was Monday morning, and she was back at the hospital 
looking and feeling a great deal better.  Mulder had slept most 
of the day Sunday and all through the night.  As for her, a few 
hours of real sleep, an air-conditioned bug-free room, and a hot 
shower had all helped to make her look like a new woman.  Mulder 
had been moved to a regular room, and both agents were relieved 
to see the improvement in the other.  An orthopedic surgeon would 
be in later to assess his leg. In the meantime, a Patient 
Controlled Analgesia pump insured that pain was kept to a 
minimum, and Mulder was most anxious to hear Scully's theory on 
the Honey Island Swamp deaths.

Scully had, of course, anticipated this and was anxious to share 
her conclusions.  "Remember what the note said, 'start with 
NexGen?' The implication was certainly that NexGen was somehow 
responsible, but how?  We already strongly suspected that a 
neurotoxin had caused the deaths.  I was even more certain of 
that when your symptoms started to present.  NexGen was working 
with scorpion venom, a neurotoxin.  But how could the venom from 
NexGen end up poisoning campers in Honey Island Swamp?  I was 
thinking about that, and about your idea for developing a 
mosquito that didn't bite.  Then I started thinking about the 
commonalities between Honey Island Swamp and NexGen, and one 
obvious commonality, besides the presence of a neurotoxin, was 
the mosquitoes.  Mulder, you may think I am crazy, but I'm 
convinced that somehow, the gene that codes for scorpion venom 
was introduced - not only into the target plants - but also into 
the experimental mosquitoes at NexGen."  At this point, Scully 
paused in response to a very bemused expression on Mulder's face.  
"What's so funny, Mulder?  Do you find this idea that absurd?"

"No, Scully, actually, I'm really impressed.  I'm just also 
somewhat captivated by the idea that I might think you were 
crazy; somehow that idea is incongruent with the world as I know 
it.  In all seriousness, though, Scully, how could that happen?  
How would it be possible for the gene that coded for scorpion 
venom to get into the mosquitoes, and how did the mosquitoes get 
out into the swamp?"  

"I've thought about that, Mulder, and I don't know how they got 
into the swamp.  Maybe they escaped from NexGen's Field station.  
I checked a map of the area and it's only a little over a mile 
from the area where we camped, although the terrain in between is 
essential impenetrable swamp - impenetrable to humans, that is, 
not mosquitoes.  I do, however, have a couple of ideas on how the 
venom-producing gene might have gotten into the mosquitoes. First 
of all, it's possible that it was done on purpose, that NexGen 
was conducting some additional experiments they didn't mention, 
and that they purposefully introduced the gene into the 
mosquitoes.  I don't know why they would, unless their goals 
aren't so lofty after all, and they're actively researching bio-
terror weapons."  

"That's a pretty scary theory, that someone would do something 
like that on purpose.  Ideas like that make me glad I don't work 
domestic terrorism."

"Alternatively, it could have happened accidentally. One of the 
concerns that scientists have is the accidental horizontal 
transfer of genetic material between target and non-target 
organisms.  Mistakes can happen.  After all, the transfer vector 
they were using to introduce the gene into the plant was a 
baculovirus, which just happens to be a virus that typically 
infects insects. Maybe the engineered virus containing the 
scorpion gene got loose and then somehow infected the mosquitoes.  
Biotech labs are supposed to have strict containment policies in 
place, but all it would take is one individual with a few virus 
particles on his lab coat walking up to chat with one of the 
scientists in the Mosquito research area.  Also, mosquitoes 
typically feed on plant juices.  It is possible that they could 
have ingested either the virus, or even the naked DNA after it 
was introduced into the experimental plants, and somehow 
incorporated it into their own genome.  A lot of scientists don't 
believe that DNA can be absorbed from the gut because it's 
digested too rapidly.  But, there are dissenters, and some 
scientific results that support them.  And Mulder, I called the 
Bureau forensic lab this morning.  They confirmed my suspicion 
that Edna Gautreaux died of the same toxin found in the venom of 
Androctonus australis.  I am sure the toxicology report on your 
blood will match hers."

"Scully, did I ever tell you that smart is sexy?"  

Scully arched her trademark eyebrow, giving Mulder the look.

"Seriously, I really think you nailed this one.  This is one case 
where the science is so far out there, it seems almost more 
unbelievable than the stuff I usually come up with.  But, do you 
have any idea why only some individuals were affected?  I mean, 
why me, and not you?"

"I'm not sure, Mulder.  In our case, I think we may owe Deep 
Wood's Off our lives.  I react badly to regular mosquito bites, 
so I use repellent lavishly; remember the big welts I got from 
those bites in Oregon?  Anyway, I didn't get many bites at all.  
You, on the other hand, in your haste to solve a mystery, didn't 
bring any repellent at all with you.  In addition, you spent 
quite a bit of time in the dense cypress gathering wood.  The 
mosquitoes were surely more abundant there than in the clearing 
where I was working.  You were also unprotected by repellent when 
you were unconscious.  I'm guessing that either very little venom 
is transferred by a single bite and/or most of the mosquitoes out 
there are not carrying the transferred gene.  Either of those 
would explain why there have been so few reported deaths.  We 
know the three people that died had all spent at least one night 
in the swamp.  Mosquitoes are most active early in the morning, 
in the evening, and at night. No day visitors have been affected, 
as far as we know."

"Yeah, Scully, it all fits.  I did get a lot of bites.  A lot.  
My arms were filled with wood, and I couldn't even brush them 
off.  They were driving me crazy.  The thing is, if you're 
correct, we have an imminent public health crisis.  Those 
transgenic mosquitoes are almost certainly interbreeding with 
wild type mosquitoes.  What's going to keep this from spreading 
and turning our wilderness areas - hell, our backyards - into 
death traps?"

"I don't know, Mulder.  I'm heading over to talk to Andrew 
Collins about it.
I also notified CDC and the local authorities.  Even if I'm wrong 
about the specifics, I hope I convinced them that portion of the 
Honey Island Swamp needs to be closed to visitors."

"I couldn't agree more.  You know, Scully, I can see how genetic 
engineering could really improve the quality of life, but at the 
same time it's pretty scary.  I mean, I don't really understand a 
lot of the details, but once a company isolates a gene and puts 
it in a viral agent, it seems it could be pretty hard to control 
where it ends up.  Even I know that that's what viruses do: 
infect other organisms with their DNA or RNA.  I hope the 
government isn't sleeping on this one.  Without proper regulatory 
laws in place, genetic engineering could give a whole new meaning 
to the concept of Pandora's box."

"Well, hopefully one good thing that will come of this is 
increased public awareness of the dangers.  This could be the 
Three Mile Island of genetic engineering.  But there's no 
question in my mind that genetic engineering is the wave of the 
future.  If present trends continue, 100% of some food crops 
could soon be genetically modified to be more nutritious as well 
as herbicide and pest resistant.  Some rather unusual gene 
transfer experiments are also occurring: genetically engineered 
pigs that grow hearts for transplant into humans, cow's milk that 
contains human proteins, and even goat's milk that contains 
spider silk.  One use for genetically engineered spider silk 
would be to make stronger bulletproof vests for our protection.  
Science is a double-edged sword and because of that, it needs to 
be wielded very carefully.  Sorry about the mini-lecture, Mulder.  
It's nearly time for my meeting with Collins.  Take care, and 
good luck with the orthopedic surgeon."

She reached out to pat his chest, and he grabbed her hand, 
cradled it gently against his chest, then captured her gaze, 
saying, "Thanks, Scully."  

She knew he was referring to more than just her wishes of good 
luck.  "Anytime, Mulder."

The next two days had been a whirlwind of activity.  She had met 
with Andrew Collins at NexGen, and he had admitted that there had 
been a break-in at their "secure" containment research area near 
Honey Island Swamp.  Millions of experimental mosquitoes had been 
released.  It looked like Ardoin may have been responsible for 
that as well.  The release had been a significant setback for 
their research, but they never imagined it could endanger public 
health.  

Mulder's meeting with the orthopedic surgeon had gone well, and 
he operated on Mulder's leg first thing Tuesday morning.  To 
insure proper healing, a metal plate had been attached to the 
fracture site.  Scully had stopped by the hospital several times, 
checking on his progress, but the doctors were keeping him 
lightly sedated, so she hadn't really been able to talk with him.  
It was now Wednesday morning, and she was on her way up to see 
him again.  She hoped he would be awake and lucid; she had a lot 
of news to share.

His door was open, and she breezed in, pleased to see that he was 
sitting up in bed.  She noted that he looked good in his hospital 
gown, which was fortunate for him since he seemed destined to 
wear them so frequently.

"Morning, Mulder."

"Hey, Scully, you're looking mighty good this morning.  In fact, 
you look a little like the chipmunk that swallowed a canary."

"Thanks, Mulder...I think."

"I do have some pretty good news, as well as some not-so-good 
news, but first tell me how you're feeling."

"I'm good.  The doctor says I'll be on desk duty for a while.  I 
should be able to get out of here in a few days, but then I'll be 
in a wheelchair before I can move onto crutches.  He sees some 
physical therapy in my future."  Mulder was pretty sure she 
already knew all this.  She was a bulldog when it came to 
checking his chart and making sure he got the right treatment. 

"At least you can expect a full recovery.  The femur is the 
largest and strongest bone in the body, and it's in very close 
proximity to a major artery and nerve.  A broken femur is 
serious.  I was really worried about your leg, Mulder, especially 
with all the moving around you had to do."

"The doctor told me my convalescence would have been a whole lot 
longer, and my leg could have been permanently damaged, assuming 
the edge of the bone hadn't simply severed the femoral artery and 
killed me, if you hadn't done such a great job with the 
splinting.  I owe you again, Scully, big time."

"Forget it, Mulder.  Who's keeping score?  Besides, I owe you, 
too.  If it weren't for you, I would have been gator bait."  

"Thanks.  But, I just wanted you to know; I'm glad you were 
there, watching my back."

"You're welcome, Mulder.  Now, for my news.  First, the not so 
pleasant stuff.  Robert Ardoin was found hanging in his cell the 
day we left for the swamp.  It looks to be a suicide, though 
Chief Melancon didn't sound all too convinced.  Anyway, he's 
dead."

"That sounds awfully suspicious to me, Scully.  When we 
interrogated him, he sounded way too interested in saving his own 
skin to commit suicide the following day, but you're right - 
there's not much we can do about it."

"Yeah, I have to agree.  And there's more.  The SPD finally 
managed to track Doucet down.  He was packing his bags when they 
picked him up.  They cuffed him and were taking him down to the 
station.  He was terrified, kept saying that someone was going to 
kill him, that he had to get away.  Turns out he was right.  A 
shot rang out as they were leading him to the cruiser.  He was 
dead in moments.  His dying word was 'Roush'.  There's no proof, 
but it sure looks like someone at Roush was behind the attempt to 
steal secrets from NexGen.  An attempt that has left at least 
three people dead."

"Yeah, Scully, the evidence is circumstantial.  There's no way 
they're going to launch an investigation into Roush based on one 
word, but I don't think there's any question that someone at 
Roush is dirty."

"It also looks like I was correct about the swamp deaths.  The 
initial tests show that somehow the scorpion venom gene found its 
way into the mosquitoes, and the toxin was being released into 
the bite along with other salivary secretions.  I doubt NexGen 
will be able to survive the fallout.  There's a lot of negative 
public sentiment developing, and while I doubt there will be any 
criminal charges filed, there'll certainly be some major civil 
suits involving wrongful death."  

"God, Scully, I realize that they're responsible for creating an 
incredible menace to society, but you know, in a way, I feel bad 
for NexGen.  I had the impression that they really were trying to 
improve the human condition.  Other biotech corporations will 
replace them, and I'm sure at least some of them will be a lot 
less ethical."  

"I agree, Mulder, and Andrew Collins told me that Roush is trying 
to take advantage of current circumstances to buy them out.  They 
apparently want access to NexGen's technological advances pretty 
badly.  It looks like some big money is being thrown around.  
Collins said he'd leave, if that happens.  And, Mulder, he talked 
a little bit more about that donor NexGen rejected.  He said that 
he was really unnerved by this one guy that hung around at the 
negotiations, a creepy guy that just happened to chain smoke 
Morleys."

"Cancer man."  Mulder breathed, swallowing as thoughts of Emgen, 
alien fetuses, extraterrestrial DNA, green blood, and six base 
pairs swirled through his mind.  "Scully, I am DEFINITELY going 
to have the gunmen look into Roush. If I wasn't laid up in this 
bed, I think I'd like to do a little funky poaching."

"Maybe in your case, having a broken leg is a good thing."

"C'mon, Scully, you have to be curious about what might be going 
on at Roush, and you know everything will disappear if you try to 
investigate through normal channels."

"Yeah, Mulder, I have to admit that bit of information really 
piqued my curiosity, and I knew you would find it very 
interesting.  But fortunately, or unfortunately, you are in no 
shape to investigate right now."

"Yeah.  For the time being, Roush is safe."

"Now let me move on for a moment to the good news I have: NexGen 
included a Trojan horse in their experimental mosquitoes."

"A Trojan horse?"

"Yeah.  It seems that as an extra safety precaution, they 
incorporated a mutated 'Notch' gene from Drosophila into the line 
of experimental mosquitoes they were using.  The Notch gene is 
important in embryological development.  This particular mutation 
basically halts development when temperatures are cool.  And, in 
an incredible bit of good fortune, the scorpion venom gene 
appears to have been inserted very near the Notch gene, so they 
should be inherited as a linked unit.  When the nighttime 
temperatures drop in another month or two, there should be a real 
crash in mosquito numbers in the Honey Island Swamp area. All the 
eggs from the transgenics, or from offspring of the transgenics 
and wild type mosquitoes should perish.  It looks like we may 
have gotten very lucky this time.  I just hope it works the way 
NexGen's scientist think it will."
 
"Wow, Scully, that is good news.  Their little error could 
potentially have killed millions and changed the world forever.  
Not only that, but I was thinking I would never be able to go out 
in the woods again.  Now, you and I can go back and see about 
locating that Honey Island Swamp creature."

"In your dreams, Mulder."  

Mulder decided to switch topics.  He wasn't up to chasing swamp 
monsters anyway, so he would put that little investigation on the 
backburner. "Any chance this bit of serendipity could rid the 
world of mosquitoes?"

"I doubt it, Mulder, and while a mosquito-less world might sound 
like a good idea, they're a key component in the food chain of a 
lot of other animals."    

"Yeah, sure, Scully, whatever you say, but if you ask me, I was 
an important component in their food chain."

"Oh, and Mulder, I have one other bit of very good news.  We've 
both received commendations from the Director for our role in 
identifying this public health crisis. In this case, Mulder, it 
looks like you managed not only to put your best foot forward but 
also to land on both feet.  Well, except for that little problem 
with the alligator."

*****

END