From: Amatia Date: Fri, 26 Mar 1999 20:18:43 -0600 (CST) Subject: REVISED: "Avatar" Series, Part One: "The Avatar of Belief" (1/1) Correction: For some reason I thought Chloe Waters was a lot younger, but a recent viewing of Profiler told me she was 11 in 1999, so she'd be about 20 in this story. Which makes Sam older than I thought, but hopefully she's still young enough to have her baby... This is the revised version of "Avatar of Belief" in which Chloe's age is changed. To anyone who has archived this: Please substitute this version for the original Avatar 1. Thanks! Avatar 7 is in progress :-) A. ******** "The trembling finger of a woman Goes down the list of casualties On the evening of the first snow. The house is cold and the list is long. All our names are included." - Charles Simic, "War" "Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed on the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned, The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand...." - W.B. Yeats, "The Second Coming" ******** Avatar Series, Part One: The Avatar of Belief by Amatia New Desert, Despuesamerican Southwestern Territory June, 2008 Across the barren plane of dust a man wandered. His movements appeared to have no pattern, but on closer look it could be seen that there was carefully constructed thought underneath the heavy steps that fell on the earth, steps that sent up tiny puffs of dust around the edges of his ragged shoes. The dust curled upward, covering a pair of well-worn jeans with frayed cuffs as it settled into the fabric. Sweat and yet more dust combined to stain the man's shirt, once white and smelling of fabric softener, now a dull grey and stinking from days of wear. He carried a threadbare jacket over his left arm, an equally threadbare backpack rode his back, and the straps that went over and under his arms were only a few stitches from ripping free of the worn material they were sown to. A green metal military-issue canteen banged against his hip with each step. The man paused in his journey to take a measured drink from the canteen and survey his surroundings. The land was flat, the dust that covered it and surrounded the man was a dead brown. There had been ariable soil here once, but the nutrients it had held had been used up long ago. The sun beat down relentlessly upon the traveller, and his skin was a deep copper color from four day's exposure to the bright globe. Shade was a word that no one had spoken in years, much less seen. He screwed the top back on the canteen, let it drop back down to its accustomed place against his hip. He continued to walk, his pace steady as he reached up to push his sunglasses back up his nose, which was slick with sweat and the greasy oil that passed as sunscreen. The man thought ruefully to himself that it contributed more to his constant sunburn than protected against it. Travelling across the New Desert was not an easy task, but there was no other way to reach Outpost Four. The roads were heavily patrolled, and if you were caught without a pass you went to one of the work camps for an "extended stay", as They put it. The man pushed a lank piece of hair that had come free of its string off his face, then checked the compass that was strapped to his wrist. If his calculations were correct, Outpost Four was only half a mile away from his current position. A half a mile, and he could shower, sleep, and get a much needed haircut. His hair was much too long for a man his age, and nevermind that the once dark brown had been almost totally replaced by silver. Praise God that he hadn't gotten the gene that caused a receeding hairline, like his father. The man raised a hand and scrubbed almost unconsciously at the beard growth. It was also gray, and it itched. Razors were few, he couldn't afford to carry his own. There would be one to use OP4. A glimmer of silver in the distance let him know the outpost was ahead. Skinner was watching from the barracks that served as a lookout as well as bedrooms for the post's inhabitants. Within minutes, he'd reached the large rock that served as the Outpost's landmark. He found the handle of the door in the sandy dirt, and lifted it up, fiberglass rock and all. Glancing down at the hole beneath, he jumped, pulling the trapdoor shut above him. Sand ground underneath his shoes as he pressed the intercom button, camoflauged against the wall. "Password?" came the metallic voice. "Mars is Heaven," the traveller replied. There was a buzz, and he pushed open the door to his left. There was no knob on the door, but there were four stainless steel locks that held it secure in it's frame. Skinner's tired face greeted him. "Fox," he said, a smile breaking his usually serious contenance. "Walter," Fox Mulder replied, an answering smile on his face. He offered Skinner his hand. Skinner grasped it warmly. "It's good to see you're still with us," he said. "We've lost too many in the past year." "Indeed, Mulder replied. "I was lucky to make it across the New Desert." Skinner leaned against the door as he snapped the locks shut. "You were. They had a patrol out last week." Mulder unshouldered his backpack. "Who's here?" "Frohike, Byers, two travellers we found last week, Blair..." Skinner reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "Ben, Jen Kirk, Sam and Chloe, and Krycek." "Langly?" "They picked him up two weeks ago." "Damnit," Mulder swore. "Was he carrying?" "No, thank God." "Krycek still immobile?" Skinner nodded. "Jen's keeping him in Ward until he heals up a little more. We were lucky to find a brace for him, one that didn't have a rotting carcass in it." "Regerneration's a wonderful thing," Mulder replied wryly. Skinner had unlocked the complicated set of locks on the inside door, and he was holding it open. "I take it you didn't find her." "I made it to OP7 this time, but no luck." Mulder went through the door. Skinner followed, then locked it behind them. "She could still be farther out." "She could be in one of the camps just as easily, Walter." "Dana's not stupid, Fox, and you know it," Skinner said. "You can be smart and still get caught in one of the sweeps. Look at Diana. She thought she was safe because she worked for them. But she didn't get any immunity when They caught her on the road." "Fowley wasn't like Dana," Skinner replied bitterly. "She was more a liability to Them than you and Dana are." They were outside the Ward now. Mulder raised a hand and knocked on the door. "Jen?" The lock clicked, and Jen Kirk stood grinning at them. "Fox!" she exclaimed, hugging him. "Hey Jen," Mulder replied. "How's it going?" "It's going." She gestured for them to follow her into the room. "How's our patient?" "He's alive. Unconsious at the moment, he had an allergic reaction and I had to put him under to treat the infection." Jen poined at the curtained bed. "He seems to be taking well to the antibiotics and fluid I put him on, though." Mulder went over to the bed, and pushed open the curtain. Krycek lay unconscious on the thin mattress, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, his skin pale. His hair was short stubble on his scalp, and beard growth shadowed his face. "Is he adapting to the brace?" "As well as it's adapting to him, which is as expected. They really did a number on him, and didn't take care of him afterward, which would account for the massive infection he had when he was brought here." Mulder nodded. He had been preparing to leave to search for Scully when Krycek had been brought in by two escapees, wrapped in dirty, bloody rags. His remaining arm had been amputated at the elbow, and his legs at the knees in preparation for hosting an embryo. But because he'd been infected with the virus before, his body had regected the alien embryo, and he'd been thrown out of the camp and left to die in the New Desert. Mulder lifted the sheet, and folded it back. A black iron-plastic Biobrace cradled his body, providing him with prosthetic arms and legs.The brace was wired into his nervous system through a connector at the base of his skull. As Mulder watched, one shiny black finger curled and uncurled. He looked up at Jen. "It's involuntary in the unconscious state," she said. "I repaired as much nerve damage as I could with tissue from one of the cultures, so he should be able to move the limbs, but he won't have any feeling in them, of course." "What about the incision?" Mulder asked. Jen lifted the bandage on Krycek's torso. "Blair and I repaired his internal organs to the best of our ability, and stitched up the wound. It'll leave a dark scar, but there shouldn't be any permanent damage." Mulder pulled the sheet back up over Krycek, and drew the curtain. "Thanks for the diagnosis, Doctor," he said, giving Jen a smile. "I'll be in to check on him periodically." "I'll be here," she replied. Skinner was standing outside the door as Mulder exited the Ward, and he fell into step beside the younger man. "How are our supplies?" Mulder asked as they continued down the hallway. "There's at least ten years' worth in cold storage, two years in canned goods, and a month's worth in fresh goods that Frohike and Blair picked up on their last run." "We can live down here for ten years without going outside," Mulder stated. "Yes." "Good. That's how it should be." "You're not seriously thinking..." "No. But it must be kept in mind." "You know, Fox, I can still remember when I was your boss," Skinner said, his face serious, but his tone teasing. Mulder chuckled. "That was before we had to go underground, Walter. At least you believed me when I said it was time." "Your judgement is usually sound," Skinner replied, laughing as well. "Now, back to business. Yes, we can live down here for ten years without going outside, but I wouldn't recommend it. We would be totally cut off from the other Outposts, and we would lose our supply sources. And who knows what They would be doing while we lived underground." "Well, I never said we should stay underground that long. But with Langly being picked up two weeks ago, and that patrol last week, we should keep a low profile." "I agree." "Now, I want a complete listing of our supplies before I hit the sack so I can at least get some work done today. I assume the computer system is still running?" "Yes, we haven't had problems with it in almost two months." "Good. I'm going to see Ben now, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't disturb us for awhile. It should take you that long to get that report ready." "No problem, Fox." "Thanks, Walter." Mulder replied. "I appreciate it." Skinner turned and went back the way they had come. Mulder continued down the hall to his quarters, and knocked softly on the door. "Ben?" he called. The door was yanked open, and Ben Foster flew into his arms. "Will," he whispered, hugging him tight for a moment. Then he let go. "You stink," he said, laughing. "Well, considering I haven't had a shower in two weeks, I think I smell pretty good," Mulder replied, grinning. Ben wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Go shower, Will." Mulder grabbed his shower bag off of the dresser. "I'll be back in twenty minutes." "Promise? I don't want to kiss you unless you brush your teeth, too." "Promise. And I'll brush my teeth." Mulder shut the door to their quarters behind him as he went out. In the harshness that followed Colonization, he had realized that you had to take love where you found it, and from who offered you a good life. His and Ben Foster's relationship wasn't the most normal one at the post, but it was accepted. After he got over the initial awkwardness he'd felt at being involved with another man, Mulder had realized that he really was in love with Ben, not just for the sex, but for who he was. Mulder unlocked the door to the washroom. Every room had a lock, and each person who had been at Outpost Four for over a year had their own set of keys for the rooms they needed access to. Only he had a complete set. He went in, set down his shower bag, and stripped all of his clothing off, tossing it in the wastebasket. I'll bet Chloe will love emptying this trash can, he thought to himself, chuckling. Chloe Waters was the twenty year old daughter of former FBI profiler Samantha Waters, who was now counsellor and assistant supply director for the post. They had come to OP4 six years ago after narrowly escaping a patrol. Langly had been on lookout, seen them running, and gotten them underground just before the patrol had come charging over the small hill about 200 meters in front of the entrance. He took a new mini-bar of soap and his bottle of shampoo from the bag, and turned on one of the showerheads. Hot water poured over him, and Mulder breathed a sigh of relief. He allowed himself a moment of relaxation under the spray before pouring shampoo into his hand and working it through his hair. Hot water showers were on a timer to only last ten minutes, and he didn't want to waste a second of it. He rinsed the shampoo from his hair, then unwrapped the soap. They'd gotten them surplus from a company who used to sell them to hotels, but since the world's entire population was either underground, in the work camps, or in one of the Institutes, the hotels didn't have much clientele. He scrubbed the soap over his skin until it was red, washing away the dust and grime that served as a reminder of his trip. It was the second trip he had made so far this year to search for Dana Scully, his former partner. He hadn't seen her since 2001, when Colonization had reached Washington and the majority of Bureau employees had been drafted into one Institute or another. He had been scheduled to go to the Institute of Psychology, Psychiatry and Behavorial Sciences, but had gone underground instead three days after They had taken Scully to the Institute for Anatomy and Pathlology. In 2003, word had reached the newly formed OP4 that Scully was no longer at IAAP, but no one knew where she had gone. The source had confirmed that she hadn't been taken to one of the work camps, just disappeared, and it was assumed that she, like so many others, had gone underground. Mulder had searched six Outposts for Scully, and each time he'd found nothing. Rumors of her work at IAAP, substantial evidence of her research from doctors who'd worked with her that had gone underground, but none of them knew where she'd gone. Her former collegues assumed that she'd been captured and returned to the Institute, but an inside source at IAAP had negated this, saying that no one who was as the Intstitute had seen Scully since her disappearance in 2003. All Mulder could do was hope that she'd found an Outpost of some sort, somewhere where she was safe. The Despueamerican Southwest Territory chain was comprised of twelve Outposts like the one Mulder supervised. According to the grapevine, the Southeast Territory contained five Outposts, the Notheast eight, and the Northwest thirteen. Scully could be at any of thirty-two Outposts, and Mulder didn't have the resources or the courage to go outside the Southwest Territory, it was hard enough to outwit the patrols between Outposts here, much less patrols that he didn't know the patterns of. He flipped the water to cold, and rinsed all the soap off of his body, then shut off the flow of water. Grabbing a towel, he stepped out of the shower. The air was cool in the washroom, and it caused goosebumps on his skin. Mulder toweled off, wrapped the towel around his waist, and went in by the sinks to shave. Fifteen minutes and three tiny nicks later, he surveyed his handiwork in the mirror. Not bad for someone who hadn't shaved in a month. He rinsed the razor,then sterilized it with alcohol - Ben had borrowed it from Skinner - and put it in his shower bag. He then looked critically into the mirror at the heavy mane of dark brown and silver hair that just brushed his shoulders. After a moment of deliberation, he combed it and tied it back into a ponytail, figuring it was better long than in the mess he'd make of it trying to cut it himself. He brushed his teeth, then took the bag from the counter, and left the washroom. Ben was propped up on their bed, reading, when Mulder opened the door. He looked up, smiling. "You look much better," he said, chuckling. "Thanks," Mulder replied dryly. "Can I have a kiss now?" Ben closed the book, and climbed off the bed. He wound his arms around Mulder's waist, and kissed him. "I missed you," he murmured against Mulder's lips. "I missed you, too." "I take it you didn't find her." Mulder shook his head. "It's exhausting me, Ben. She could be anywhere, or she could be dead. The clues I had were nothing, nothing at all. It's highly unlikely that she's even in the Southwest Territory." "You can't give up on her," Ben replied, holding him tighter. "Remember what you used to tell me, when you told us about your work against the Elders. The truth is out there, Will, and so is Scully. You just have to keep looking." "I can't keep looking if it means leaving you for weeks on end." "No," Ben said firmly. "You have to keep looking." "Ben..." Mulder tried to protest, but he was silenced with a kiss. violinst@pitnet.net Site X - http://personal.pitnet.net/london