From: Linda Stoops Date: Mon, 13 Sep 1999 10:41:53 -0700 (PDT) Subject: Breakthrough by Linda Stoops Source: direct Title- Breakthrough Author- Linda Stoops Rating- G Classification- Story/Humor Spoilers- None pertaining to the X-Files Keywords- Crossover, Humor Summary- Mulder discovers major clues in a small Western town suggesting a link to the human-alien conspiracy, but they may lead to something even more bizarre. Disclaimer- They're not mine. Never were. I just borrowed them for a couple of hours, and I put them back where I found them. No money was made, nor will there ever be. BREAKTHROUGH After more than five years of working with Fox Mulder, Dana Scully was accustomed to the seemingly random clutter in his part of their shared office. The chaos she walked in on this morning, however, broke the standing record. Newspaper clippings constituted the majority in the newest strata of paper, but there were also a smattering of folders, faxes and copies of records strewn across the senior agent's desk. In addition, Mulder had an open folder laid before him, and he was scribbling rapidly on a legal pad. He didn't look up at her entrance, so she spoke as she approached her work station. "Something new?" "Yeah, something big. I think we have a lead on a possible cloning facility, maybe even one conducting work on human-alien hybrids." The last three words, and what they implied, froze her in mid-turn. The machinations of the Syndicate and their extraterrestrial cohorts were the stuff of waking nightmares for her and her partner, and while she knew that every plot the agents uncovered set the group back a few paces, she dreaded the risks they took in each confrontation. "Is all that from the Gunmen, or Sharon Graffia?" "Neither. One of my Internet connections has been compiling this for the past two and a half years. There's a geneticist doing some undisclosed work in a small lab out west, and a couple of his experiments have gotten loose." He selected a pair of clippings and held them out to her. She took the sheets and read the salient points carefully. "How do a flock of escaped turkeys and an atavistic child indicate hybridization?" "It could be some of his preliminary work. Here, take a look at these." The next batch of clippings referred to UFO sightings, citizen interaction with a Bigfoot-like creature, and the regular appearance of Christ on a local television station. "Well," she admitted, "the UFOs are typical. And I've heard of speculation that ties Sasquatch and like creatures to alien colonization experiments. But I hardly think someone's impersonation of Jesus suggests anything more than bad taste at best." "What if it's not an impersonation?" She let twelve years of Catholic instruction burn in her glare. "I mean, what if they took a sample from the Shroud of Turin? What better way to determine its authenticity than to produce a clone?" She opened her mouth to counter his suggestion, but a sudden vision appeared of the Group using a spurious Savior to delude the more credulous, and she redirected the subject. "I think we should try to focus on one conspiracy at a time, here." "Scully, you of all people should know that one conspiracy never stands by itself. Expose one, and you uncover parts of others." She let that reminder slide, turning her attention on a clipped-togeth er handful of what looked like obituaries. She picked them up and, removing the paper clip, skimmed through the first. It covered the violent accidental death of a boy two years ago, with all the attendant references to family, school, and location and time of the funeral. Thinking, //Tragic, but I don't see how this....// She read the second obituary. It was the same name. The only difference was the date--a week later-and the cause of death. She flipped each page over, and found that the same held virtually true throughout the collection. Mulder broke in on her study. "Now, that's the curious part of all this. You'd think that someone at the paper would notice the same obit a dozen times a year." "You think they're cloning the same child, then killing him?" "I'm not sure. Seems rather obvious, giving him the same name, then destroying the evidence in the same town every time." "And they certainly wouldn't advertise it." She put the papers down. "Maybe it's some sort of coded message, to whomever they need to contact. And there's only one way to find out " Scully tried not to flinch. Investigating actual or probable crimes with inexplicable circumstances was part of their job, but getting clearance to open the case and justifying the expenses to their A.D was an exercise in Russian Roulette. He had superiors to answer to, as well, and was forced to balance the importance of the case with the underlying game of political expediency that went on among the Bureau's many divisions. She knew when to pick her battles when it came to requesting cases, and Skinner gave her the benefit of the doubt on some of the more questionable X-Files. Her partner had more of the bloodhound approach. One whiff of the especially peculiar, or a clue with possible links to his raison d'etre, the substantiation of a human-alien plot to populate the world with hybrid clones who would survive whatever disaster might befall Earth, and he was all but baying down the trail. "So," she forced herself to ask, "which of us gets to take this to Skinner?" "Already done. We have a connecting flight at 12:45 to Chicago, then on to Denver. We have just enough time to swing by your place and pick up what you'll need." She tried not to breathe her relieved sigh too loudly. "I'll grab some supplies from Forensics and meet you back here." She glanced at the spread of paper, suggesting without words that she was giving him time to gather what evidence he wanted to bring along and attempt to straighten his desk before they left. "You also might want to get your winter clothes out of storage. Apparently, the only time this place doesn't have snow is in July." She nodded, making a mental note to call ahead to her regular dry cleaners. "How far from Denver is...what's the name of the town?" She reached out to pick up a clipping. "South Park. About three hours, by the map." END I don't plan on a follow-up. Whatever the readers come up with on their own would be weirder than anything I could possibly write.