Part 5/9.  

Celebrities or not, I still wanted to get them to a hospital, but
Mulder refused, asking to be taken to the motel to get some rest. He
assured us that they hadn't been harmed and that they were just tired
and hungry. Reluctantly I agreed, after extracting a promise that they
would both submit to full medical examinations in the morning.

I pulled out my cell phone en route and made a quick call to my
mother, to let her know I was fine and that I would try to call her
the next day.  Samantha looked on, fascinated.

Once I'd ended the call, she asked me, wide-eyed, "Is that a
telephone?"

I smiled and nodded, offering the little unit for her inspection.
She'd missed out on so much during her absence: cellular phones,
personal computers, the Internet...she had, and still has, a lot of
catching up to do.

"It's so little," she whispered in awe to Mulder, turning the phone
over and over in her hands.  "Where's the cord?"

Mulder smiled.  "It's like a walkie-talkie.  No cords."

Her voice was reverent.  "Neato."


Sheriff Lindgren had arranged for a full range of meal choices to be
available, and whoever his caterer was deserved a medal. The dresser
was positively covered in plates and dishes of every kind, and when
Mulder and Samantha looked at the spread, they both stared, mute, in
wonder. It hurt to watch, understanding the source of their awe was
near-starvation. Despite how hungry the food made them, they both
opted for soup as being the least likely thing to upset their empty
stomachs.

"Good night," Lindgren said in a kind voice, handing me a card with
his contact information.  "Call me if you need anything."

I nodded and thanked him for his help.

For a moment he just stood there, looking at me, almost as if he
wanted to ask me something.  But before the atmosphere had a chance to
become tense, he turned and left.

A few minutes later, Skinner and I asked Mulder, between spoonfuls of
soup, if he felt up to a very quick debriefing, or if he wanted to
wait until the morning. He shrugged and said, "Whenever," as he leaned
over Sam and patted at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. She was
half-asleep over her soup, and had only managed to get a few spoonfuls
into her mouth before the spoon slipped out of her weary hand.

My own tears began to fall again, and Skinner - bless his soul -
simply left the room without another word. I sidled up beside Sam and
picked up the spoon, as Mulder gently shook her fully awake.

"Sam, honey, come on, wake up and have a little more soup," he
implored.

Her eyes snapped open, and she looked up into my face and panicked,
crying "Fox!" before recognizing me and realizing that she was safe.

"I'm right here," he said to her, and she turned to look at him.

Immediately her body relaxed, and her breathing evened out. "Sorry,"
she said suddenly and looked down, clearly embarrassed.

"It's okay," Mulder and I said in unison.

Samantha looked up at our words and chuckled. She took the spoon from
my hand, and dug into her soup again, and didn't stop until the bowl
was empty. When she was done and asked if there was any more, Mulder
put his hand on hers, and suggested that they'd both had enough for
the night - that too much food might make them feel sick.

I took both of our bags out of the closet, and dropped them on the
bed. I opened mine, looking for something for Sam to change into, and
found at once the light blue silk nightgown I'd brought on a whim. It
would fit better than the pajamas, I realized. Without hips, she'd
find the bottoms sliding right off her.

I pulled out Mulder's overnight kit out of his bag, so he could get
ready for bed, but before I could hand it to him, there was a knock on
the door. It was Skinner, who had very thoughtfully located a big
t-shirt and a small toiletry kit for Samantha. As Skinner stood there
in the doorway, I stood mirroring him, and Mulder stood behind me, his
arm around Samantha. At that moment, we all four shared the same
expression; one of relief and gratitude.

Mulder took the items from both me and Skinner and gave them to Sam,
instructing her to get ready for bed. She went into the bathroom and
closed the door behind her. And still Skinner stood in the doorway of
the motel room, and only then did I notice the presence of the lights
and cameras behind him. Fortunately the door to my room was fully
open, and the two queen-size beds were clearly visible. I was certain
my mother was watching still, and the last thing I needed was to
explain things *before* I'd had a chance to explain things.

But there stood Skinner, quiet, imploring one of us to pull the words
from him before he burst.

Mulder, of course, got right to the meat of it. Stepping forward to
stand immediately behind me, he assured, "It wasn't your fault,
Walter," he said with profound kindness. "When they want you, they
take you, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Skinner only nodded, unsurprised by Mulder's use of his first name.

Mulder made certain Skinner understood. "Thank you for trying so hard
to find me, and thank you for what you did today." He placed his hands
on my upper arms and continued. "And if you're in any way responsible
for Scully's obvious good health, well, thank you for that, too."

I hadn't thought about that, but his words made the point clear. He
must have been remembering the vertigo and nausea I suffered during my
first trimester, and had been worried about my health. The notion that
he held such a fear made the anticipation over telling him about the
baby that much sweeter.

Again, Skinner did nothing but nod, so I jumped in to end the awkward
exchange.

"We should get some rest. We all have a big day tomorrow."

He must have understood, because he wished us a good night, and left
for his own room. To their credit, the paparazzi didn't inundate us
with questions. There were more camera flashes than I could safely
count, but no intrusive questions. I was grateful, as I closed the
door and locked it.

By the time I turned around, Mulder was standing before his open
suitcase, snickering. "Obsess much?" he asked teasingly.

Okay, I was a little preoccupied when I'd packed for him, I'll admit
that. I ended up folding and refolding each cherished item of his
until the case was stuffed to bursting with my favorite articles of
his clothing. No fewer than three of those crisp blue dress shirts
capped the stack. Beneath them, mocking me silently, was Mulder's
softest flannel shirt, his Knicks T-shirt, those plaid cotton pajama
bottoms that ride so gorgeously low on his hips when he wears them
without a shirt, three pairs of silk boxers, two pairs of knitted
cotton boxer briefs - which I insisted on, despite his protests - his
black and white turtlenecks, three pairs of jeans, two pairs of
sweatpants, a sweatshirt, his sneakers, some socks, a couple of plain
white t-shirts, and - to his apparent amusement - the case containing
his reading glasses. So sue me. I was pregnant and hopeful, and the
notion of seeing him in that flannel with those glasses set my heart
thumping noisily away. I was, obviously, thoroughly busted.

He turned to me, his smile full of mischief, and pulled me to his
chest. His voice was nothing more than warm breath against the top of
my head. "I missed you too."

Obviously, thoroughly, and irreversibly busted. It was wonderful.

We broke off the embrace when Sam returned from the bathroom, and
Mulder took his turn. Meanwhile, I settled Sam into one of the beds
and then set about packing up the leftovers and putting them in the
small refrigerator near the door. When I was done, Samantha was lying
alone at the far edge of the bed, her little hands holding tight to
the edge of the blanket.

"Is this okay?" I asked her as I approached the bed and made to sit
down.

She nodded.

I sat in silence with her for only a few moments before she blindsided
me.  "Is Mom dead, Dana?"

I looked down at her, and saw the misery in her expression. Mulder
hadn't told her, the bastard, and her question was so direct that
anything other than a real answer would be unfair. I couldn't hedge. I
made the decision that since Mulder trusted me with her, I would tell
her the truth.

I reached over and began to stroke her tense little hands with my
fingertips. "I'm so sorry, Sam. She died a few months ago."

She appeared to be dangerously close to tears, but she held them at
bay, biting her lip and looking away for a moment. Her show of
strength broke my heart. "Did they hurt her?"

I shook my head. "No, it was nothing like that. Your mom had a very
serious illness that couldn't be treated. She went to sleep and just
didn't wake up. It was very peaceful." I hated telling her only part
of the truth, but it seemed the only kind thing to do.  "We're not
going to let anything bad happen to you.  Okay?"

"Okay," she said simply.

"This must be very hard to get used to," I murmured, "but I promise
we'll do everything we can to make coming home easier."

Her mouth crinkled up and she looked at me.

"Now I need a promise from you in return. I need you to tell us if
there's something you need. Don't be afraid to ask. We might not be
able to do everything you ask, but we'll do all we can. And we can
only do that if you talk to us. Will you promise that?"

She nodded and her mouth relaxed, the corners turning up just a touch.

I smiled in return. "Good. Now if you get hungry in the middle of the
night, the leftover food is in the refrigerator, so just help
yourself, and don't worry about waking us up." I continued to stroke
her hand with mine. "For now, a lot of little meals will be better for
you than a few big ones, okay?"

"Okay," she responded. "You have soft hands."

I smiled, my cheek muscles protesting from their overuse in the past
day.  "Your brother and I are proud of you.  You're very brave."

"I don't feel brave," she replied, sinking further into her pillow.

I understood.  "Are you still a little scared?"

She nodded.

I most definitely understood.  "Being brave doesn't mean not being
scared, Sam," I told her.  "It means going ahead and doing things
*even though* you're scared."  I tapped the tip of her nose with one
finger.  "Looks to me like you're doing great."


Mulder finally emerged from the bathroom; hazy, dressed in loose,
light cotton, and deliciously tousled. "That," he emphasized, "was a
near-religious experience."

I chuckled and gathered my own things to prepare for bed.

When I returned to the room, I found Mulder snuggled up next to
Samantha, her little hand in his, her head nestled in to the crook of
his arm. They were already asleep.

I was disappointed to end up sleeping on my own in the other big bed,
but the comfort of having him so near was enough to prevent melancholy
from taking over the moment. He was home, he was safe, his sister was
alive and remembered him, and she seemed to like me. And, of course,
we were absolutely and unquestionably vindicated, professionally. It
had been - without question - the best day of my life.

Still, the thought wouldn't abandon me as I tossed and turned under
the covers of my own bed - that a good-night kiss would have been
good. Regardless, they both needed their sleep. I turned off the light
and tried to relax enough to rest, despite the sharp shafts of light
pouring into the room from between the gappy curtains.

I don't recall precisely what I did to wake Mulder, and if anyone here
asks me about it, I will deny any attempt to rouse him that night. But
Mulder insists now that I sighed loudly and turned so much that the
rustling of my sheets drove him to distraction. All I know about this
is that he turned to me, opened his eyes, and pulled up the corner of
his blankets, imploring me with his eyes to just join them in their
bed already and shut the hell up.

He didn't have to ask twice.

I rose, and executing a tremendously tricky maneuver involving the
tacky lined curtains and my notebook computer, managed to seal off the
room from prying eyes. Then I slid in beside him, and mirrored Sam's
acquisition of half of his body. Of course, my thoughts were by
necessity different from hers, comprising the comfort she must have
been feeling as well my own desire for him. I couldn't have made love
with him if we'd had an entire honeymoon suite to ourselves, but I
enjoyed the notion of simply being with him again and feeling free
enough to adore him without reservation. He deserved it, and so much
more, for all he'd been through.

He wrapped his free arm around me, and pressed his lips to my
forehead. I felt him squeeze both Samantha and me tightly as he
muttered, "My girls." That was when I tensed up.

"What is it?" he whispered, continuing to hold me against his chest.
"Startin' to crash?"

I'm sure a sudden lack of adrenaline in my bloodstream could have
explained part of what was happening to me, but really it was mostly
fear. I was afraid he'd just placed me squarely into the "sister"
category of his life, as I had feared he'd been doing for years:
creating in me a surrogate for Sam. When our relationship took a turn
toward couplehood, I felt confident those old reservations had been
unfounded. So with his simple utterance, I found all those fears
crashing back in. With the kind of surprise I still had in store for
him, the thought was frightening.

I still hadn't answered him, and I didn't even know how to begin. Any
protest I could have offered at the time would have been selfish and
ungrateful. So I said nothing.

Finally, he shook his head and sighed. "I haven't forgotten, Scully.
Have you?"

Of course I hadn't. The conversation and activities that occurred that
last night before he left for Oregon have been etched on my brain ever
since.

"I don't like the idea of your being out there without me," I'd told
him as he'd packed.

"Me neither, but I'll have Skinner there. I'll be fine. If I go, it's
just an investigation. If you go, it could be the end of the world."
He'd looked up and whacked me in the forehead with a rolled-up pair of
socks. "My world, anyway."

"I hope these are clean," I'd sniffed in disgust as I approached and
handed them back to him.

He'd taken both my hand and the proffered socks, and held me there
with both his hands and eyes. "You get that now, right?"

I'd nodded, biting the inside of my cheek.

He'd released my hand and gone back to his overstuffed closet to
retrieve another shirt. "We have to do something about this closet,"
he'd told me, and it was then I'd understood that he'd finally meant
it.

In prior weeks, he would make a big show of how crowded his closet had
become, overloaded as it was with my own clothes. I'd had a similar
problem at my own apartment. "We have to do something about this
closet," had been our unapproachable code phrase implying, "Are we
ready to discuss moving this relationship of ours forward?" Avoidance
and glib responses had been our usual fare. I hadn't been so willing
to let go of the idea that last night together, however.

"Yes, we do," I'd confirmed to him, pleased that he was in no way
surprised.

"Okay," he'd said simply, folding up the shirt and placing it gently
into his bag. "We can talk about arrangements when I get back."

"Right," I'd said, trying to overcome the surrealism of the
conversation we were having. "My place is a little bigger, but I think
maybe we should just start looking for a new place."

"Neutral territory," he'd said, smirking.

"Yes."

"You wanna set a date?" Just like that. He'd managed to propose
without proposing. So like us, I'd thought at the time.

"We can talk about it when you get back," I'd said.

And that had been it. No vows of unending love -- no vows of love at
all, in fact. He'd simply finished packing and taken me to bed.

I hadn't forgotten that decision, the pledge we'd made without words
like "I promise," or "I vow."

"I remember," I answered him. "Is it still what you want?"

"Yeah, it's still what I want, Scully."  He was silent for a few
moments. Finally, when he spoke again, his voice was low, quelling my
concerns with his disarmingly pre-emptive assurance. "You are not now,
nor have you ever been, a sister by proxy."

I relaxed at once and leaned in to him, and just as I looked up, he
tipped his head up off the pillow to meet mine. We kissed; a sweet,
soft, gentle kiss that spoke more of promises than any oaths could
have. I have no memory of when the kiss ended. I think I must have
dropped off to sleep in the midst of it.


The next day went by in another whirl of activity. Fortunately, the
combination of a midnight snack and a big breakfast helped to bolster
both Mulder's and Sam's strength, and they proceeded through the
trials of the day with surprising energy.

Sheriff Lindgren arrived bright and early with a small bundle of
clothing for Samantha - a pretty dress which she disdained at once,
and a pair of jeans she put on eagerly. I gave her one of my t-shirts
and we rolled up the sleeves. He'd also brought three pairs of
inexpensive sneakers, unsure of her shoe size. We were all immensely
grateful for his help. Sam was thrilled to dress like a boy after so
long wearing that little girl's nightgown.

I'd expected Sam to be afraid of the doctors, considering what must
have been done to her early on in her abduction, but she handled the
entire experience with remarkable composure. Sam accepted Mulder's
suggestion that I remain with her throughout the examination, and it
turned out to be an excellent idea. My presence seemed to help her
remain calm.

Since Mulder hadn't been harmed in any appreciable way, his
examinations were only difficult in that he himself is a dreadful
patient. I wouldn't wish him on any respectable physician. Between his
whining about being "harpooned" with various needles and his annoying
habit of chattering endlessly through an examination, he kept the
medical staff more than occupied.

Finally, with samples drawn and countless tests performed, it was time
for lunch, and I elected to keep them sequestered for the time being,
so we returned to the motel in another flurry of clicking camera
shutters and blinding, flashing light.

Again, Sheriff Lindgren proved to be a wonderful host, supplying us
with lunch - this time an array of local freshwater fish - simply
steamed for the benefit of our guests of honor - served with boiled
potatoes and accompanied by milk for both Mulder and Sam. Mulder put
up a fight over the milk, but I reminded him that it was a complete
food and would help him regain his strength faster. When I applied an
arched eyebrow to the explanation, he began to drink without
reservation.

It's strange, I discovered then, how little things can shift one's
perceptions utterly. I was enjoying the sight of the two of them
eating enthusiastically, and I thought about how happy Mulder must
have been to have his life back. I was also pondering how much better
off Sam was, having two people who would love and protect her without
fail this time. I floated along on happy untethered thoughts of our
instant family, complete with visions of Christmas mornings and
birthday parties, and thus failed to consider the very real, practical
implications of the situation at the time.

It wasn't until I heard Mulder encourage her, "C'mon Sam, drink your
milk," that the full depth of the situation struck me. He was
accepting responsibility for her, behaving the way a guardian should,
and his easy authority and concern seemed so effortless, I was
stunned. For better or worse, Sam was suddenly our responsibility, and
we were to be both siblings and guardians to her. Both of us.

I had been looking forward to our first foray into adult
responsibility for a minor child, but I had expected it to be that
first wonderful day after our baby was born, not his first day back on
earth, his nine-year-old sister in tow. The thoughts were selfish, and
I did my best to banish them. We were all lucky, all three of us, and
I would do everything possible to remind myself and them of our good
fortune.

During the meal, Mulder told me more of what he'd experienced on the
ship and what he'd been told by the rebels before they'd left. It wasn
't anything earth-shaking, but we had such a vital responsibility in
those test tubes - which Skinner assured me were under constant guard
by an entire platoon of Marines - that I felt a little on edge at the
thought of the future of the human race all in one place, so
vulnerable. Skinner agreed, apparently, because he left the room, and
when he returned forty-five minutes later, he informed us that the CDC
was to take possession of all but four of the vials within two hours.
One of the remaining four was going to the ATRD archives for
safekeeping, and the last three were going back to Washington with us.

After lunch, I insisted that Mulder and Sam get some more rest, and
they resisted.  Sam was taking her first look at a personal computer,
and in characteristic Mulder fashion, she was thoroughly focused on
the task.

At first I'd thought she was impressed and in awe of the minute size
of my notebook computer, so when I caught her snickering, I was
confused.

"Mulder, what are you showing her?"  I was concerned he'd found
something inappropriate on the Internet.

He chuckled in response.  "Nothing.  It's just that it's, uh...a
little..." he searched for the right word, "well...kind of *primitive*
compared to the systems on the ship.  I think Sam's a little
disappointed."

Her stifled chuckle turned into patronizing laughter.  Pointing to the
keyboard, she exclaimed, "You have to spell things out!"

After her initial interest wore off, she finally gave in a slept a
bit. I was encouraged that their energy was increasing so quickly.

By the time we were ready for the press conference Skinner had
arranged, Lindgren had stopped by with more of the boyish clothing Sam
seemed to like.

I followed Lindgren out of the room to thank him, when I noticed he'd
already pulled out his cell phone and begun a brief but heated
conversation.  I only overheard one disturbing piece of it.

"Well find out!" he whispered harshly.  "Nobody's taking my calls, and
nobody's calling back...This is really, really bad...Yeah, I
know...Just keep working on the projections and release maps.  I'll
get you the real thing."

His tone was stronger, more forceful than I had ever heard it, and the
sudden switch in demeanor put me on edge.  We'd met too many people
who weren't who they'd claimed to be.  I slipped away before he had a
chance to discover my presence.

"I'll look into it," Skinner told me when I asked him to find out
everything he could about Sheriff Lindgren.


The press conference itself was spectacularly dull, but it was a
genuine thrill to meet so many successful and respected individuals.
Janet Reno was poised and powerful, and despite the fact that I
normally see myself as composed and strong, I felt like a little girl
in her imposing shadow. The President was charming and utterly
dignified, and Director Freeh was businesslike and respectful. "You
have done the human race an incalculable service, Agents," President
Clinton told us, his voice quivering with just the right amount of
calculated awe.

In all, however, the thrill abated quickly, as the high-profile
members of the panel took their positions in front of the cameras, and
annexed our work as their own. Mulder and I both made efforts to keep
from embarrassing ourselves, so we had to be very careful not to make
too much eye contact. We'd made the mistake once, just as Director
Freeh described the "open-minded approach of the FBI in its pursuit of
the truth," and Mulder and I had to choke back facetious snickers. I
don't know what was going through Mulder's mind at the time, but all I
could think about was the obvious open-mindedness of Alvin Kersh, Tom
Colton, and their ilk.

When it was over, and we'd all had a chance to listen to the leaders
pontificate, we made our respectful good nights, and headed back to
Sheriff Lindgren's cruiser. The sheriff mentioned to Skinner that he
would take us back to the hotel and that he would return for the A.D.,
explaining that the press had become very invasive at the motel, and
he didn't want to split his attention between parties going to two
different rooms. Skinner agreed, seemingly pleased to return to his
prior conversation with Director Freeh and Attorney General Reno.  His
apparent comfort with the arrangement was enough to assuage my concern
about Lindgren's loyalties.

It was just after eight p.m., and Mulder and I had bundled up Sam and
were sitting quietly in the back seat of Sheriff Lindgren's cruiser,
on the trip back to the motel. Yet again, a cellular phone call in the
car served as a catalyst for the flurry of activity that followed.

At first, Lindgren ignored the ringing. The phone was an unusual
built-in dashboard unit that I'd never seen before. It looked like a
cross between a stereo and a palmtop computer. Over the prior two
days, I'd thought idly that it was awfully advanced for a rural
sheriff. As it rang, Lindgren glanced quickly away from the road
toward the Caller ID display, read the gibberish on the screen, and
disregarded the call.

A few moments later the ringing stopped. Then it started again. Again,
he let it go.

"Really, Sheriff," Mulder told him, "go ahead and take the call if
it's important."

"It's okay," he assured him, "it's personal. I'll return the call
later."

The phone continued in its pattern of ringing, stopping, and ringing
again, until, with an exasperated sigh, he hit the "phone" button.
There didn't appear to be a headpiece. Before the caller could speak,
Sheriff Lindgren blurted out, "Hi. Sorry, I can't talk right now. I
have a couple of FBI agents in the car with me. I'll call you later."

The male caller, undeterred, replied, "Don't hang up. It's important.
Encrypt." The voice sounded familiar.

"Really," he stressed, "can we talk about this later? I have Agents
*Mulder* and *Scully* here with me," he replied, emphasizing our
names.

"No, it can't wait. Encrypt."

That single word, "Encrypt," made it clear that Lindgren was anything
but what he claimed to be.  I cursed Skinner inwardly for failing to
discover the Sheriff's duplicity, and looked over at Mulder.  He
returned my glance with a concerned expression.

Lindgren meanwhile huffed out an annoyed breath, and punched a few
buttons on the control panel. A disarmingly calm female voice prompted
and confirmed each step of the encryption process, while Sheriff
Lindgren split his attention between tapping entries on the keypad and
watching the road as he drove. "B-Level encryption in process. Enter
Code Key. Stand by. Enter PIN. Stand by. Rerouting. Stand by.
Encrypting. Stand by. Line Secure." It was sophisticated.

Finally, after a brief pause and a long, high beep, the line crackled
back to life.

Lindgren spoke first. "We're clear. What's going on?"

The caller's voice was a little rough, and his breathing was rapid. He
sounded upset. "Strughold just found out about the serum and put a
contract out on Mulder and Scully. I've got the mothers and Michael.
Your wife's en route. Get them to the northwestern safe house. I'm
locking up tomorrow at six. You have ID and cash?"

It really was too much to absorb. It had all come out on one breath,
and I honestly couldn't keep track of everything he said. Strughold
wanted us dead? The mothers? Who the hell was Michael? Who the hell
was the caller?

"Plenty of each," the Sheriff replied. "What the hell is this about a
contract? Strughold hasn't returned my calls today.  I prepared for
the worst, but...shit, who got the contract?"

He was in communication with the Consortium? I began to feel queasy.

"*I* got the contract," the voice said. "Must be trying to out me. Get
them to the safe house, Eric. I'll meet you there and we'll wait it
out. I had Brin take out the last of the installations last week. The
last set of clones are history. We're ready to prep the airborne and
the preliminary projections are good. In a few weeks it'll all be
moot, and we can do some clean-up. Right now I need to get the three
of you - and those vials - somewhere safe."

"Four. Mulder's sister is here."

There was a brief pause. "His sister is alive?" Just as I had given up
on identifying the voice, it hit me. Krycek.

"Yeah, looks like we've got a big reunion weekend planned. I take it
you haven't been watching television. You fixed on supplies?"

"Yeah," the caller said. "I wasn't exactly planning on ten people, but
we have the space. Holmes and Watson there are gonna have to share a
room." Sarcastic son of a bitch. "Our supplies and power factor out
for ten people at.just under seven months. We're set. Just get your
asses there, and fast."

"All right, we'll see you there."

"Good. And Eric, be gentle with the civvies, okay?"

"I'm a little short on bedside manner right now. You're the one with
all the PR skills."

He laughed. "Tomorrow noon lockup. Be careful."

"We will. Take good care of the sprog."

He pressed a button on the control panel, and the line went silent.
When he spoke again, his voice was low and deadly serious. "I'd really
like to discuss this in depth, but I'm afraid that if I pull over,
you'll bolt. So just listen up while I drive, okay?" He was addressing
us both, but his eyes were fixed solely on mine.

"With all the publicity, I was afraid something like this was going to
happen. I was only going to take those vials off your hands, but when
my 'bosses' stopped returning my calls I decided to take action. To
that end, I've packed up your things; they're in the trunk. Now if I
don't get you somewhere safe, one of Strughold's men will take you out
before you'll even know there's a weapon sight on you.

"That was Alex Krycek." I wasn't losing my touch entirely. "I'll
explain all that later. Yes, he's with us, and no, we're not THEM.
Neither is he. Not really, anyway. But you'll get all the background
when we get to the safe house.

"We have your mother, Dana, so she's safe as well. It's very likely
Strughold would have gone after her in the wake of your disappearance,
as a way of compelling you to resurface, despite the publicity it
would create. That's simply not an option. We'll lie low for a few
weeks until our work is complete, and then we'll be able to go back to
our lives. But for now, you'll need to do exactly as I say, and
question nothing. Do you understand?"

Refusing of course to question nothing, Mulder asked, "Who are you?"

"It's a really long story, Fox," he said in amusement, "but we just
don't have the luxury of schmoozing right now. We're going to change
vehicles a couple of times, and then head out to the safe house. Alex
is going to seal the place up tomorrow at six. That means nobody in or
out, even me, and I *paid* for the goddamned place. It's a
non-negotiable deadline."

And out of all that, all I focused on was that he'd called Mulder
'Fox'. As it turned out, it was my most astute observation of the day.
That and the fact that we had just under twenty-four hours to make it
to our destination.

---------------------
End Part 5/9.


Part 6/9.  

The rest of the night was a blur. After a few disturbingly relaxed
phone calls, we changed from the Sheriff's car to a bland, American
mid-size sedan, to a panel van, to another anonymous sedan, to another
van, and finally to a nice, comfortable full-size luxury car. At each
stop, the drivers merely traded vehicles, and with the exchange of
passengers, a few thick file folders, and coolers filled with food and
water, we were on our way again.

We'd changed direction a half-dozen times in only a few hours, and I
was thoroughly lost by midnight. To her credit, Samantha held herself
together surprisingly well. She cried a little here and there, but
Mulder told her stories for much of the night, and answered her
questions about their family as well as he could.

It must have been a horrific task, deciding how much to tell her and
how to say it - how much to withhold and why. But Mulder handled the
task with gentleness and understanding, offering her hugs and smiles
between kid-sized answers to her very big questions. I simply sat
there, holding either her hand or his, offering tacit support. I fell
in love with him all over again as I watched him comfort his sister.

When she asked him, "Was Dad one of the bad guys?" his expression
fell, and I thought he'd run out of diplomacy. He surprised me with
the depth of his compassion.

"No, Sam, I think he was just confused about what was right and what
was wrong. That happens to everybody sometimes. What makes a person a
real grownup is their willingness to learn from their mistakes. I'm
not sure Dad ever really learned from his."

"But what he did hurt us, so he's bad. He let them take me, you said
so," she insisted crossly.

Mulder responded with more words in a soothing tone. "I don't think
you should be angry with him, Sam. I think it's probably better to
feel sad for him because he never really grew up. You and I have the
chance to make sure we don't make the same mistakes. We can learn from
him and Mom."

She thought about his answer for a long time, and finally responded,
"I'm glad he's dead."

"Honey," Mulder implored.

She remained resolute. "He didn't do anything good. He let them take
me, then he left Mom and you all alone."

"Sweetie," Mulder insisted, "he was still our Dad. He did plenty of
Dad things before it started to go wrong. Don't forget that."

"Like what?" she asked petulantly. "He never taught me to fish - it
was Uncle Chet who did that. He never played baseball with us - that
was Uncle Chet too. Uncle Chet was the one who took us sailing, and
took us out for ice cream with Mom when Dad was away. Dad was *always*
away."

I attempted to control my shock when I looked at Mulder. He was
stunned.

"You remember him, Sam?"

"Yeah. He was way nicer to us than Dad ever was. He was nicer to Mom,
too. He never yelled at Mom the way Dad did."


By the time she'd run out of questions and finally given in to
exhaustion, Mulder and I were too tired to do anything but the same.
He sat on the hump in the middle of the back seat, with Samantha's
head nestled on the folded jacket in his lap, and my head against his
chest.

Once she'd finally fallen asleep, I asked Mulder a little about what
had happened to her on the ship.

"I'm not really sure," he told me.  "The tests showed no evidence of
surgical damage, which is good, but it's clear they managed to remove
her ova somehow.  There's no chip in her, and the doctors say she's
healthy, so I guess maybe they just kept her in the freezer most of
the time."

I shook my head sadly.  She might never be able to have children.  Of
course, that's what they said about me, too.

"She said she remembered little bits and pieces over the time she was
there, so maybe they thawed her out every now and then."  He breathed
out a nasty little chuckle through his nose.  "But they kept her in
that nightgown - -"  he yawned, "Hell, I don't know."

I tipped my head up just a little and pressed my nose into his neck.
"We should get some sleep," I murmured.


A few hours later I awoke lying on my side, with Mulder stretched out
behind me, holding me close to him with one arm. Samantha lay curled
up in the far corner of the seat, her little legs wrapped around
Mulder's feet.

"Sheriff Lindgren?" I called to him quietly. I considered it amazing
he could still drive after all those hours. "Are we far from a public
bathroom?" Although I wasn't showing all that much, the internal
pressure on my bladder had begun to increase noticeably.

He spoke quietly. "Looks like there's a place up on the left. Your
partner awake yet?"

I sat up and looked back at Mulder's face, so lovely and tranquil.
"Not yet."

"Wakey, wakey," Lindgren called out loudly. "Time for all Federal
Agents to go potty!"

Mulder awoke with a start, and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Where are
we?" Samantha rose as well, yawning and stretching.

"Somewhere north of where we were before," Lindgren replied
unhelpfully. He pulled the car into a modern service station and after
killing the engine, turned to face us, his expression grave. "Listen
up, both of you. I'm doing this to save your lives. If you try to run,
you'll only end up hurting yourselves. By now they've long figured out
that Alex has no intention of carrying out his orders. In fact, it's
likely Strughold gave him the contract in the first place as a means
of flushing him out. So Alex has been outed, as have I, and we're
mortgaging our own lives for yours. So be grateful and get back into
the car when you're done. We'll be at our destination before sunset."

I surprised myself by nodding. Mulder did the same. "All right,"
Mulder told him, opening the door and maneuvering himself stiffly out
of the car. He held out his hand to assist Samantha and then me.

That's how you define a gentleman, I thought to myself: the ability to
be genteel when everything is uncertain.

It was a brief but efficient stop. The bathrooms weren't too horrible,
and by the time we returned to the car, Lindgren had already filled
the tank with gas, and purchased some additional provisions and food
for us at the little mini-mart. Mulder insisted on driving for a
while, and I gratefully moved into the passenger seat. Ah, lumbar
support. Sam sat on the large bench seat between us, watching the road
intently.

Sheriff Lindgren had given us written directions but no map, so I was
grateful for the large cup of coffee he'd provided. It was decaf, of
course, but the taste and smell of it acted as an effective placebo.
I'd needed to stay awake to follow the convoluted instructions.

After our brief meal of hot dogs and soft pretzels, Lindgren had
dropped off to sleep in the back seat. Mulder asked Sam if she was
tired, and she nodded.

"Come on and get comfy," I offered, raising my arm, and inviting her
to rest her cheek on my shoulder. She did without a second thought. I
found that exceptionally comforting, and draped my arm around her as
she too succumbed to sleep. Quietly, so as not to disturb his sister,
Mulder and I began to discuss our situation.

"Mulder, what do you think is really going on here?"

He shrugged. "Actually," he paused, "I think he's telling us the
truth. I haven't figured out all the machinations of it yet, but I
think he's being essentially honest with us."

"And Krycek's involvement?"

"I'm having a hard time accepting that he's Captain Wonderful."

"Me too," I told him. "He's proven himself helpful recently, but that
doesn't do much to improve my estimation of his trustworthiness. The
very idea that he has my mother in his clutches is chilling. I wish I
could talk to her."

He turned to look at me for a quick moment, before turning his
attention back to the road. "What did you make of all the mission
jargon?"

Honestly, I'd focussed so much on names that I hadn't really heard
anything else. I had vague recollections about taking out an
installation, dead clones, and something airborne. Good thing I had
the Human Tape Recorder in the car with me. "Refresh my memory?"

He gave a little smile and began to recite the caller's words
verbatim: "Brin took out the last of the installations last week. The
last set of clones are history. We're ready to prep the airborne and
the preliminary projections are good. In a few weeks, it'll all be
moot, and we can do some clean-up."

"Okay," I began, "he's destroyed some kind of base or installation.
Good thing or bad thing?"

"Hard to know," Mulder replied. "They keep claiming to want to protect
us from the Consortium. So let's assume it's a Consortium
installation. In that case, good."

"Generous assumption. All right," I continue, "the last set of clones
are history. I think we're safe to assume they were killed."

"Safe guess."

"I'll put that on the 'good thing' side of the equation," I agreed.
"Okay. The 'airborne' being prepped and the projections looking good?"

"Well, what travels airborne?"

"Pathogens. Humidity. Fighter jets. Overnight packages."

"Spaceships," Mulder quipped.

I raised one eyebrow and continued. "Let's pass on that one and get
back to it later. Not enough information to go on right now."

"Agreed," he said.

"Everything being moot in a few weeks, and performing 'clean-up'?" I
glanced back at Lindgren, to ensure he was still asleep. He appeared
to be.

"Well, something is airborne that's going to change the Consortium's
power base permanently, evidenced by the sudden need for our
elimination. Lindgren and we assume Krycek want us alive. They're
protecting us until whatever it is blows over." He continued, thinking
aloud.

I sat back and listened to the strings of logic stream from him,
nearly effortlessly, as I usually did when he would shift into
Pontification Mode. "Why does the Consortium exist?" he asked
rhetorically before answering himself. "It exists to facilitate
colonization, preserve their own existence, and usurp power from the
legitimate authorities. Working in reverse, it seems unlikely that two
lone individuals could undermine the virtual tapestry of loyalties and
professional relationships Spender and his men have woven over
decades. So the power grab is out. They live to preserve themselves,
but since I have no more information on them today than I had three
months ago, it seems unlikely they wanted us eliminated to cover their
own asses. That leaves colonization."

"Go on," I encouraged.

"I still don't know very much, regardless of what I learned on that
ship. The call for the hit didn't happen until I got home and we met
Sheriff Lindgren. Maybe he knows something. Or someone."

"Maybe he *is* someone," Lindgren mumbled from the back seat. I turned
in surprise. Mulder merely angled the rear-view mirror to allow him to
see him better. "I'm somebody you were never supposed to meet.
Strughold obviously didn't trust me to keep my silence. The contract
on your lives was likely a direct result of that. Pity, too. You never
would have known if he hadn't outed me. What a schmuck." He rolled
over and went back to sleep.

"Well, that cleared *that* up," Mulder deadpanned.

We spent the next half hour in silence, comfortable but anxious in our
purloined luxury sedan.

I'd been holding back from Mulder, listening to the news and updates
from others for so long, that I'd nearly forgotten about reporting my
own news. I'd spent an anxious half hour then, wondering if I should
tell him in the relative calm of the car, or if I should wait until we
had a moment alone. I was still nervous about our arrangements, and
concluded that with Lindgren and Samantha asleep again, I might not
have another opportunity to bring up the subject.

The problem was, although I'd rehearsed a dozen different ways of
telling him, when it came right down to it, I had no idea how to
approach the subject. So for the time being I said nothing.

Finally, Mulder angled the rear-view mirror down and to the right.

I caught the reflection of his eyes with my own, and then looked away.
I would do it in my own time. "It's a safety device, Mulder, not a
surveillance system."

A voiceless chuckle hissed out through his nose. "You've been quiet. I
didn't want to take my eyes off the road."

"I'm..."

"Don't you dare say that, Scully."

I nodded. He had a point. "You're right. I'm sorry. It's just...I
don't know how to say this."

"Well if you string words together, they create what we call
sentences." He glanced in the left side mirror before changing lanes.
The burgundy hatchback we'd been following for the last ten minutes
had slowed again. "Then you string some sentences together, and..."

I grimaced at his glibness. I had something incredibly important to
tell him, and he was being lighthearted about it. I looked back up and
chided him. "Mulder."

He shook his head. "You have a choice here: you can either tell me
what's on your mind or we can pretend that nothing's going on. One of
them is a hell of a lot healthier than the other. And I don't mean to
influence you unduly, but I'm sick and tired of being unhealthy." He
slowed down in frustration when a white SUV attempted to cut us off as
we passed the hatchback. "I didn't go through all of this, neither of
us has, so we can skip right on back to silence and self-denial." He
glanced up to my reflection again. "Now out with it."

"All right. There *is* something on my mind, Mulder, something I need
to tell you. It's just that...I was so happy when we reconfirmed our
decision your first night back, especially in light of the fact that
you didn't know everything, that..." I paused and cleared my throat.

His eyes flicked up again. "I don't know everything about what?"

I pursed my lips and exhaled. Which approach to take?

When he spoke next, his voice was small and shaky. "Are you sick?"

I shot a quick glance back to his in the mirror, and he must have seen
the surprise in my expression. "No, nothing like that. I'm perfectly
healthy. It's just that what I have to tell you might have affected
our discussion, and..." I shook my head. "I'm not saying this at all
the way I'd planned."

He chuffed out a quick, impatient breath. "Just say it, please. You're
killing me here. What's going on?"

"Mulder," I began, "you're an honorable man. You have such a
well-developed sense of decency and charity, that I'm sure we would
have made the same decision if I had told you first. I just needed to
know that we were going to do it for the right reasons."

"Okay, I think I get that," he prompted. "So...?"

I took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and released it. "I'm
approaching this all wrong."

Mulder slammed his left hand on the steering wheel in frustration.
"Why does it have to be like pulling teeth? Just fucking say it."

"Mulder," I whispered harshly, "Sam." I looked down at her sleeping
form to remind him to lower his voice and to watch his language.

"Sorry," he husked back at me in irritation. "Just tell me what the
hell is going on, Scully. You're scaring the living *shit* out of me,"
he whispered severely.

My sheepish murmur was so soft and so quick on the heels of his
exclamation that if he hadn't been listening for it, he might have
missed it entirely. "I'm pregnant."

His brows furrowed, his eyes blinked, and his head shook briefly from
side to side. I took all of it as a sign of disbelief. Then he did
what I didn't expect: he cut the car across two empty lanes and pulled
to a smooth stop on the shoulder of the road. Breathing heavily, he
leaned his weight on both hands, perfectly positioned at ten and two.
"What did you say?"

"You have no idea how many ways I'd rehearsed it. I was thinking of
settling on a speech about my mother's 'birds and bees' talk when I
was twelve. It was excellent. You really would have liked it."

"Promise to tell me another time."

I smiled faintly. "I will."

He turned only his head to face me. "So it's true. It's real."

"Yes." I couldn't meet his eyes.

Turning completely, he reached over and drew my chin to the side so he
could look into my eyes. "You're going to have a baby."

I nodded dumbly. Samantha stirred, probably aware that the car had
stopped, but I stroked her back gently, and she went back to sleep,
settling her head down on my thigh.

Mulder watched warily as I comforted his sister. "How long?" he asked
me.

I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut. "I found out about three
hours before I was told you'd been taken."

My words deflated him. He expelled his held breath, and as I opened my
eyes to look at him, I saw his spine collapse in on itself. "Oh my
God, Scully."

"Believe me, they were three wonderful hours," I told him softly,
looking back up at him. "I tried to imagine how you would react, what
you would say. I already knew you'd be happy. I just couldn't figure
out what kind of happy to expect."

"Then I was gone. Jesus."

"It was hard, I won't lie to you. But this baby saved me. There were
days when I wouldn't have eaten or slept. I might have lost hope, but
I had this tiny life to consider with everything I did. It was so
important to me that I...that I preserve the little piece of you that
you left behind. So you see," I said, forcing a cheerful tone into my
voice, "I wasn't really sick. Well, not permanently anyway."

"So there we were, agonizing over your inability to conceive..."

"When we'd already accomplished the job three weeks prior. We always
have been overachievers."

That drew a smile across his lips, and when he raised his head, his
body followed. "We accomplished it. It's ours."

I heard the implicit question. "Yes."

"What tests have you run?"

"Everything the doctors will let me run. I had an amniocentesis nine
days ago, and I had them draw a small fetal blood sample at the same
time. The obstetrician ran standard amnio screens and I ran the PCRs.
"

"And?" he asked, chewing the inside of his cheek.

"Healthy, human, and ours."

He nodded in relief.

"Well, mostly human. Considering our individual genetic anomalies, the
baby is as human as can be expected."

He nodded again.

I finally turned to face him fully. My expression was gentle. "Are you
okay with this?"

He was quiet for a while, maybe trying to find the right words. But
what he ended up sputtering out was, "Three weeks prior?"

I smiled and nodded, my eyebrows raised in near-condescension.

He didn't seem pleased by the implication. "Caddyshack and beer.
Great. Well, you can't say I don't know how to romance a lady," he
muttered.

I smiled at him indulgently. "Remind me not to let you plan the
reception."

A muffled voice from the back seat made us both jump. "Why did we
stop?"

"It's okay," I told Sheriff Lindgren, "we're just discussing something
important, and we didn't want to be distracted."

Lindgren rose, blinking, and shook his head. "We don't have any time
to waste. Let's get back on the road. We have to be there by six."
When Mulder and I nodded in agreement, Lindgren lay back down.

"What's going on?" Samantha asked sleepily as she stretched her arms
across my lap.

"Come on back here, Samantha," Lindgren muttered from behind us.
"There's room to stretch out if you want."

Sam turned to her brother to ask if it was okay. Mulder smoothed down
her hair and smiled. "Sure." Before he was done with the single word,
Samantha had unbuckled her seat belt and climbed into the back.

Mulder caressed my cheek with the back of his knuckles and smiled
warmly. "I could get used to this normal stuff."

"Normal," I choked out on a breathy half-laugh. "We're on the run to a
mysterious safe house operated by persons unknown after having rescued
you and your still-pre-adolescent sister from an alien spacecraft."

"Just another day at the office," he chuckled. He was being entirely
too flippant about the matter for my taste, and had been since his
return the night before.

"When the shock wears off, Mulder, you'll feel differently." I hoped
his euphoria and good humor would remain, but I was genuinely worried
about his inevitable crash. "Mulder...are you really okay with this?"

"Okay?" He looked at me in disbelief. "Scully, it's like I had a
second chance with that genie," he said warmly. "And this time I made
better wishes."

"Good. Now get out of the driver's seat; you're still tired. I'm
driving from here on out. You nearly got us killed back there by that
SUV."

Mulder was suddenly indignant. "HE cut ME off."

I reached over and lightly poked the dip in his chin. "That traffic
hot-button never ceases to amuse me. You're cute when you're
Pavlovian." I slid out of my seat and circled around back toward the
driver's side.

"But HE was the one..." he whimpered, exiting the car, before I kissed
his cheek and swatted his behind lightly, cutting off the remainder of
his complaint.  "Yes, Boss," he muttered in a mock pout and moved
around to the passenger side of the car.

--------------------
End Part 6/9.

Part 7/9.  

By five-thirty p.m., true to his word, Lindgren directed us to a
lengthy patch of gravel road that ended at a hill. Dead end. I was
momentarily concerned we'd driven all that way just to be executed in
a shaded forest far from home, but Lindgren interrupted my thoughts.
"I'm here to keep you safe. Haven't you pounded that into your
conspiracy-addled head yet?"

He exited the car and ushered us toward the side of the hill. He
cleared some dead leaves away from the grassy slope, and instead of
revealing the grassy slope itself under the watchful gaze of the car's
headlights, we were presented with a large pair of metal doors. He
inserted a key card into an unmarked slot, tapped a few buttons in
succession, and waited.

A few moments later a loudspeaker crackled into activity. "Password?"

Lindgren replied immediately, "Never trust a salamander." Cloak and
dagger. How quaint.

The doors opened with a loud metallic hum and we entered, as a short,
unremarkable man passed us by on the way out, deftly catching the set
of car keys Sheriff Lindgren tossed to him. The doors sealed behind
the four of us, and we descended a long staircase.

At the bottom of the stairs, we moved through a series of elaborate
metal doorways, all sealing soundly behind us as we moved forward.
This was no mere safe house. It was a bomb shelter as well, clearly a
secure facility for surviving the fallout of nuclear war. Or alien
invasion.

When the final door closed behind us, we found ourselves in a warm,
wood-finished room, reminiscent of a large country cabin. Exposed
beams and thickly padded, comfortable furniture abounded. It was
actually very cozy. It was easy to forget that we were completely
buried in a hillside, trapped underground.

The coziness faded, however, when the first face to appear belonged to
Alex Krycek. Inexplicably, he was smiling.

"Glad you guys made it in early. I'll lock up now. Last call for fresh
air," he called cheerfully over his shoulder, as he passed us, and
exited the room through the door we had just closed. I shook my head
in disbelief, and looking up, discovered that Mulder was doing the
same.

Another face appeared, and that time I was grateful. It was my mother,
beaming a broad smile, as she hurried to my side and enfolded me in a
fierce embrace.

"Mom...?"

Her smile broadened. "Isn't it wonderful, honey?"

"Isn't *what* wonderful, Mom?"

Her smile fell, and she appeared confused. She looked over at Sheriff
Lindgren and asked, "Are you Eric?"

Sheriff Lindgren nodded.

"Haven't you told her?" my mother asked.

One more layer of subterfuge and I would have suffocated. I couldn't
stand it anymore. "All right, that's it. I've had it. I want to know
what the hell this is all about, and I want to know now. No more
half-truths, no more 'it's all for your own good'. Just the truth." I
had directed my comments toward Lindgren, but for a moment my mother
seemed to think she had earned my anger. I took her hand as assurance
that I bore her no ill will.

Lindgren returned my mother's gaze, and told her softly, "Go ahead,
Margaret. I thought you'd want to tell her. It's okay."

My mother sighed, and still holding my hand, led me to another room,
through a large open archway.

We ended up in a sizeable, well-equipped kitchen. At the large pine
table sat two middle-aged women I didn't recognize, a toddler
rummaging intently through a half-empty bowl of dry Cheerios, and - I
still can't believe what I saw there - nursing a cup of tea, my
sister, Melissa.

She looked up at me, and a slow, bright smile appeared across her
face. "Dana," she muttered, and rose.

I was stunned, transfixed. I couldn't move, I could barely breathe. I
would have believed she was a clone if I hadn't seen the obvious scar
on her forehead where the bullet had entered. It was really Melissa.
My sister was alive.

"Missy?" I hardly recognized my own voice, so small and shaky-sounding
 in my ears. "Missy, is that you?" I couldn't move, I was so stunned
by the sight of her and the flood of feelings which the sight awoke in
me.

A large, gentle hand pressed lightly on my back, moving me ever so
slightly forward into the room. I turned to see Mulder's face,
brightened by a smile of overwhelming surprise. He turned his eyes to
mine and nodded toward Melissa. Go to her, he told me silently.

I don't recall the steps I took to take me to her side. All I remember
is being in her arms, stunned and silent. My sister was alive.

"How?" I managed to choke out.

Between her own choking laughs, she told me, "Alex got me transferred
to a special facility in Seattle. Once I was up and about, he got me a
new identity, and hid me there."

"Krycek? Why...?"

"Because they would have killed her, Dana," Krycek said from the entry
to the kitchen. "They would have used her against you, as leverage. It
was better for both of you for Missy to be dead. But now that I'm out,
it's only a matter of time before they trace me to the operation. I
needed to get all of you somewhere safe." He gestured grandly with his
left...arm...? "Welcome to your new home. At least for the next couple
of weeks."

It was still too much to process. "But Mom saw you die, Missy. She
watched you die." I turned to my mother, who shrugged cheerfully in
response.

"What you saw," Krycek answered for her, "was a chemically induced
state of hypocoma. Sort of a non-thermal suspended animation. It was
intentional. We had to create the impression that life signs had
ceased."

"Did you know about this?" I asked my sister.

"No," she told me simply, "I didn't know until afterward. But I'm
grateful. You know they would have just let me die. I don't know
everything they did for me in Seattle, but I know they saved my life."
She began to smile again. "That's all that matters to me." She
embraced me again.

Finally, she looked across the room and smiled at Mulder. "I'm so glad
you're here, Fox, and that you're still looking after my baby sister."

I snorted indignantly at the comment, and Missy laughed. "Or is she
looking after you?"

Mulder puffed out a short laugh, and told her, "A little of both, I
think. Though more of the latter these days." He turned to my mother
and smiled. "It's good to see you, Mrs. Scully."

Mom moved to his side and hugged him. "I'm so glad you're home, safe,"
she whispered to him. When she pulled away, she was of course the one
who reminded me about my manners. "Dana, would you like to make the
introductions?"

I stepped back from Missy, gathered my wits, and began. "Mom, Missy,"
I said, moving toward Sam, "this is Samantha, Mulder's sister. Sam," I
said to her, "this is my sister Melissa, also back from the dead," at
which Sam smiled. "And this is my Mom, Margaret." I had a fairly good
idea about the baby and the two women, but I left it up to the others
to perform those introductions.

Sam sidled over to Mulder's side, leaned against his leg, and offered
up a meek little "Hi."

"Hello, Samantha," my mother said in the most bizarre June Cleaver
voice I've ever heard.

After a few moments of quiet reunion, Missy spoke up. "By the way,
Dana, Fox," she said, gesturing toward Sheriff Lindgren, "this is my
husband, Eric. He's our resident gourmet, so be nice to him," she
snickered, "and he won't spit in your food."

Eric elbowed her in the side and smiled. "Glad to have it all out in
the open." He picked up the toddler and introduced him as well,
holding one chubby little arm and waving it at us. "This is Michael."
He turned to kiss the boy's forehead and muttered sweetly to him,
"Mikey, this is your Auntie Dana."

So there it was. Eric Lindgren was my brother-in-law, their baby was
smiling, and Missy was a mother. I smiled and went to meet my new
nephew. "Hello, Mikey," I said to him in an uncharacteristically
singsong voice. "I'm your Aunt Dana." No silly "auntie" crap for me. I
took his soft little hand and shook it until he giggled. He was
precious. Missy's eyes, Missy's hair, Missy's laugh. Unfortunately, he
also had Eric's long nose. It made me wonder about my own impending
bundle and if it would bear its father's nasal inheritance. I hoped
so.

"Missy, he's darling."

She didn't say anything. She just stepped to my side, stroked the
baby's head, and kissed me on the cheek. "I've missed you."

I sighed. "Me too."

Fortunately, before we could mangle the moment with unnecessary tears,
Eric jumped in with practicality. Leave it to law enforcement. He
gestured toward a gray-haired woman at the table. "This is my mother,
Annette, and this," he said, nodding toward a handsome brunette woman
by the stove, "is Helena, Alex's mother. Why don't I show you three to
your rooms?"

I blinked dumbly at the second woman, thoroughly stumped. Really, what
does one say to the mother of a man who has caused so much misery?
"Gee, Mrs. Krycek, that's one heck of an assassin you raised there,"
wouldn't have been entirely tactful. So I settled for a quiet nod at
both women, and turned to see that Mulder was just as dumbfounded as
I.

Eric led on, bless him, and with Mulder and Samantha, I left the
kitchen and climbed a series of seemingly hand-carved wooden steps. At
the top of the landing, Eric motioned to a door on each side of the
hallway. "Here are the two bathrooms; 'fraid we'll all have to double
up. This is your room," he said to Sam, opening the second door on the
left. "You and Margaret can share."

Sam turned to Mulder with a terrified expression, clearly afraid to be
separated from him. He responded with a kind voice. "It's okay, honey.
We'll be just down the hall." He crouched to see eye-to-eye with her
and whispered conspiratorially, "Margaret's been like a Mom to me.
You're gonna love her, sweetie, and I bet she'll feel the same way
about you."

I had to smile. I knew that Mulder and Mom haven't spent a lot of time
together, and those few shared moments have always been under the
worst of circumstances, but he's found a way to create a trusting
relationship with her. That's normally no easy task; Margaret Scully
is hard to impress. I think it was probably his trip to the Antarctic
that marked his place in her heart. I didn't tell her all of the
details, of course - I never do - but she got the gist of it, and
understood immediately how dedicated Mulder has always been to my
protection and safe return.

Conversely, however, my good mood was spoiled slightly by Mulder's
repetitions of "honey" and "sweetie". I decided to mention that when
we had a moment alone.

Samantha nodded, and Eric led her into the room. "There are plenty of
towels in the bathroom closet," he told her, his limited experience as
a father already showing in the gentle tone of his voice. "Go ahead
and fix your bed up the way you like it. I'm going to show Dana and
Fox to their room, and then I'll be right back."

Sam smiled weakly and said "Okay." My heart broke for her, the poor
thing.

At the end of the hall, on the right, we entered and found a
beautifully appointed room, equipped with every possible luxury. A
huge pine armoire housed a television, VCR, and stereo system. The
closet was spacious, and our overnight bags were somehow already
there. I didn't have the strength to ask how. The centerpiece of the
room was a rough-hewn, wooden king-sized bed, generously layered with
quilts and pillows.

"Are you two hungry?" Eric asked us cheerfully.

I shook my head, and so did Mulder. "Actually," I told him, "I'm a
little overloaded. I think I need to get some rest."

Eric smiled. "I'll bet." He nodded and let himself out of the room.
"Sleep well, you two. I'll keep some dinner warm for you. Come down in
a few hours and have something to eat, okay? "

My stomach suddenly sank as I realized I'd forgotten something of
immense importance.  "Eric," I asked with dread, "what's going to
happen to my brothers' families?"

He turned and smiled.  "We have more than one safe house, Dana.  Bill
and Charlie are at sea, but we have their families in our Southern
California facility, along with Brin's wife and kids.  They'll be
fine.  Now get some rest. There's a lot to do."

I smiled and nodded, and pretended I didn't really care what the
future would bring. Of course, being both captive and hormonal, I was
utterly full of shit. When Eric closed the door behind him, Mulder
came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"Alone at last," he whispered into my ear. The little zinging shivers
his breathy words created felt indescribably good.

It was time for a change of subject before we forgot what we had to
do. I pulled away regretfully. "I'm going to have a quick word with
Missy," I told him. "I'll be right back."

"Okay," he said, pretending to be distracted by a loose thread on the
cuff of his shirt. "Take your time." I sighed and left the room. What
a sweet, sweet man.

I dropped by Sam's room, but she was busy talking to Eric, who was
handing her a pillowcase, so I let them do their thing. Mulder would
be in soon enough to settle her down for a few hours.

When I returned to the main floor, Missy was on the sofa, bouncing the
baby on her lap. They were cooing happily at each other. I'll admit
I'd never really thought of Missy as anything other than one of those
flaky hippie-chick mothers, putting the baby in tie-dye and buying
little baby Birkenstocks, but I'd been wrong. There was a warmth, a
glow about her, and the quiet confidence took me by surprise. I had
never seen her so mature and lovely.

I moved quietly around the sofa and sat beside her, looking silently
into the fire.

I felt, rather than saw, her turn to me, and when I turned to look at
her, there was the warmth and maturity again.

"I've missed you so much, Dana," she said softly.

I nodded and leaned my head against her shoulder. "I'm numb."

I heard her chuckle as she responded, simply, "Well, you've been
busy."

I laughed with her, and reached over to stroke Mikey's cheek. "He's
beautiful. He has Dad's smile."

I felt Missy nod. "I'm glad you see it too."

We sat together, quietly enjoying each other's company for some time,
as I felt my muscles relax and loosen, preparing to usher in welcome
sleep.

Missy patted her lap, and I shifted to rest my head there, lying on my
back on the sofa, dangling my legs over the arm. She placed Mikey flat
on my chest, and he snuggled his sweet little head under my chin. As I
wrapped my arms around his surprisingly heavy body, Missy asked very
quietly, "Does Fox know?"

I closed my eyes and shook my head with a self-deprecating chuckle.
"You're good."

"Intelligence runs in the family," she replied. "So does he know?"

"Yes," I sighed. "I told him on the way here. How did *you* know?"

I looked up into her face, looming sideways over mine, and saw her
smile. "Woman mystique. Didn't you get any?"

"I must have been absent the day they handed it out."

She laughed. I remembered that laugh, so simple and unfettered. I
remember how free she'd always seemed to me, and how much I'd resented
that freedom. But yesterday, that laugh was music to me. "So how long
have you two been together?"

"Seven years." I smiled, blindly poking the dimple in Mikey's chin
until he giggled. "Although admittedly sometimes it feels longer."

"No, I mean how long have you been a couple?"

"Oh, that." I pursed my lips and tried to find a way to explain it to
her. "It's knotty."

"Well, classify it then. Break it down. I do speak Dana-ese."

I chuckled softly, and counted off my points with little finger taps
on Mikey's back. "All right, let's see. We've been friends for years.
We've loved each other almost as long. We began sleeping together in
the spring. We fell in love - I don't know - somewhere in there. I
think we might have been on different schedules for that. But we only
really committed to being a couple the night before he left."

"Before he knew about the baby?" She sounded surprised.

I nodded, tracing the little curves of Mikey's ear. "Mm-hm. I don't
know how much Mom has told you about my medical history, but the whole
thing is heading dangerously close to the miraculous."

Her face crumpled a bit and she nodded in response. "Mom told me all
about the effects of your abduction; the cancer, your depression, the
trouble between you and Billy, your daughter..."

"...Emily." I sighed. "I thought she was yours at first. She looked
like you."

"Mom said I came to you in a dream. Do you believe that?"

"I did. Now I understand it was some sort of instinctive reaction."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You believe in visions and instincts now?"

I nodded awkwardly against her leg and rubbed soft circles on Mikey's
back. "I'm becoming a believer in a lot of things."

I felt happy and calm, and utterly safe lying there with my sister and
nephew, but I had unfinished business. "I should go to bed. I haven't
had any time alone with Mulder yet. We have a few things to discuss."

"I'll bet," Missy whispered, obviously as awestruck as I about the
recent developments.

I held Mikey up over me, and Missy took him back as I rose. I placed a
soft kiss on his cheek and another on hers, and remained there for a
moment, relearning her scent and recalling the comfort of my sister's
presence. "I'll see you at dinner."

"Sleep well," she whispered back as I pulled away.

"Don't tell Mom," I told her, ascending the stairs. "I want to tell
her myself."

"Secrets between sisters," she commented wryly. "I *am* home."

I smiled all the way up the stairs, despite the growing fatigue that
made each step more of an effort than the last.

--------------------------

When I arrived at the doorway to Samantha's room, I poked my head in
to see Mulder sitting on the bed beside her, talking in a low voice.
Just as I decided to give them their privacy and move on, Mulder
turned to me and smiled.

"Come on in," he said, turning back to his sister. "I was just telling
Sam a little more about you and me."

"Secrets," Samantha uttered in a playful whisper as I approached the
bed, and when she smirked, I saw the stunning resemblance between
them.

"Margaret will be back any minute, so ixnay on the eddingway," he
whispered back to her. "Dana and I want to tell her ourselves."

Samantha nodded in assent. Then she surprised me by getting up on her
knees and coming over to me to whisper into my ear, "I'm glad you're
going to be my sister." She kissed me on the cheek and lingered there
for a moment.

Surprised and relieved to find Samantha receptive and open to the
idea, I drew my arms around her and whispered back, "Me too, Sam.
Welcome to the family."

I was afraid I'd said something wrong when she pulled away from me,
but then she smiled again and confided, "Fox says that we'll be more
Scullys now than Mulders."

I was stunned. When I didn't respond at once, she elaborated, "He said
your family's really nice."

I didn't know what to say. Her words cut through me, reminding me of
the awesome responsibility we had just begun to undertake, as well as
underscoring Mulder's low-level envy of my family's unity. But both he
and his sister had made it clear: They were thrilled to become part of
my family. We weren't just making a new little unit of the three -
soon to be four - of us, but rather Mulder and Sam were content to
simply slip into my own existing clan. I was so delighted I couldn't
speak. My jaw trembled, and tears tumbled down my face.

Mulder's hand stroked across my cheek, and I leaned against him as I
looked into the faces of my new immediate family. "Let's all get some
rest and go down for dinner in a couple of hours," he suggested in a
soft voice as my mother entered the room.

"Why don't Dana and I take the other room?" my mother suggested.

I approached her and said, simply, "Mulder and I haven't had a chance
to talk since he got back. We'll be fine in the other room."

When I looked over to Samantha's bed, I saw Mulder rise, having tucked
her in, and approach as well. "Let's let Sam get some uninterrupted
sleep," he said, and ushered me out of the room by the elbow, past my
silent mother.


"That was in no way subtle," I commented to him as we fell into bed,
fully clothed, only seconds later.

"Mm-hm," he said into my hair, wrapping his arms around me and
sighing.

"Mulder."

He tightened his grip on my shoulders. "She's going to know soon
anyway. We'll be able to handle it with clear heads once we get some
sleep." He yawned. "I'm wiped."

He was right, of course, but I wasn't about to allow him to control
the events without a token protest, even about something as trifling
as bedding.

"Move," I grunted, trying to loosen the comforter from under his hips.
"I'm cold."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," he mumbled playfully as he lifted his hips in
assistance.

We lay there for a while, quietly warming the air beneath the thick
layer of down. "Thank you for what you said about my family, Mulder."

He stroked my arm with his large, warm palm. "You're good people," he
said in a drowsy voice. "I just hope Bill won't develop an
overwhelming urge to clock me when he finds out I knocked up his baby
sister."

There has always been something comforting about his use of deadpan
humor to utterly fail to conceal his fear. I settled in and found
myself drifting away almost as soon as I closed my eyes, but I still
needed to reassure him that we were finally on stable ground, despite
the death threats over our heads. "We're vindicated," I told him.
"Nobody can argue now that our work wasn't worth the sacrifices, not
even Bill."

"In the abstract," he replied.

"Don't sweat reality," I told him, and he hugged me even tighter. I
felt safe and happy, and the next words spilled out of me before I was
aware I'd even thought them. "I love you," I murmured.

His breathing hitched, and for a moment he was still. Almost at once I
felt warm, wet tears trickling along my scalp. Despite all the plans
we had made, I had never spoken those particular words to him before,
and I assumed he was weeping in relief. He'd been through so much, and
between the stress of his captivity and his relief at coming home, I
was under the impression he was experiencing the inevitable crash I'd
predicted. He didn't say anything for a very long time.  I lay with
him, and stroked his back gently with my palm.

Finally, sniffly but recovering, he explained his reaction. He'd only
been gone a dozen weeks, but how quickly I'd forgotten the speed of
his mind. He surprised me by leaping well past the obvious - that he
loved me in return, that he was still committed to our personal plans,
that he was looking forward to fatherhood - and asked if it was okay
that Sam was going to live with us. Silly man.

"She's family," I encouraged. "Yours and mine."

"Thank you," he breathed. "We'll be good parents to her. Better than
mine, anyway."

"No," I said, pulling away. Although I understood the sentiment, I
couldn't permit him to spend one more minute convinced that Samantha's
return was his chance to correct their parents' mistakes. I raised
myself on my hands so I could look at him. "We're not her parents,
Mulder. She had parents, and they're gone now."

He looked at me wild-eyed, clearly struck by the blow of my words. I
regretted having to upset him, but he had already spent too much time
thinking of himself as Samantha's father figure.

"You're her brother and guardian. You are not her father. You're going
to be a father soon enough, and it's important that we delineate the
difference to Samantha from the very beginning." And to ourselves, I
added internally.

His expression softened, but he didn't say anything.

"We have to be careful how we talk to her, Mulder. Words like 'honey'
and 'sweetie' might be too endearing for a sibling relationship, and
you've been using those words a good deal."

I saw comprehension of the situation begin to dawn on him, and I
softened my tone. "We can love and support her without thinking of
ourselves as her parents."

"I'm gonna have to work on a new nickname," he said darkly. "The old
ones won't do."

I thought of myself at Samantha's age and remembered what my own
siblings had called me. I couldn't imagine that his nicknames for his
baby sister had been any less hurtful.

"'Buttmunch' isn't loving *or* supportive," he added.

I smiled. "We'll figure out something," I said softly, and he nodded
in reply.

I felt my eyelids begin to droop, and rested my weight against his
chest again. I was asleep almost at once.

--------------------------

We arose a few hours later and after washing up, went down for dinner.

The rest of the group had already assembled, but hadn't quite finished
eating when the three of us arrived at the table. We were still fairly
groggy from the events of the past two days, but even through the
nap-induced fog we all noticed how quiet it was at the table. Krycek
and Eric mumbled calmly throughout dinner about "the numbers" and
other incomprehensible things and my mother chatted in a soft voice
with Annette and Missy about the news coverage they'd been watching.
They all seemed impressed with the reporting, and I was favored with
warm smile from Annette when she spoke about my on-camera appearances.
Krycek's mother, Helena - like Samantha - sat silently and pushed the
food around her plate.

"It's usually more effective if you get the food somewhere in the
vicinity of your mouth," Mulder teased his sister in a soft voice, but
Sam only sighed in response. He put his fork down and wrapped his arm
around her. With a light peck on the top of her head, he whispered,
"It's okay, kiddo. You don't have to eat now if you're not hungry."
She nodded a little against his chest.

Conversely, I dug into dinner with delight. Eric had made a stew out
of vegetables and very lean beef, and the rich aroma made me ravenous.
I actually stopped myself for a moment when I saw the bottle of fine
red wine on the counter, but common sense won out. The alcohol would
have cooked off in minutes. I was in greater danger of choking on a
chunk of potato. Considering the speed at which I ate my portion, I'm
a little surprised I didn't. Mulder must have been watching me devour
the remainder of my meal, because when I finally pushed the bowl away,
I caught him looking over at me with unconcealed amusement. I wondered
if there was a copy of "What To Expect When You're Expecting"
somewhere in the safe house for him to read, so he would know that
"eating for two" thing was legitimate.

Later, while I nursed a cup of mediocre decaf, I asked if anyone had a
sewing kit. We needed more clothes for Sam.

Melissa smiled and said, "It's covered."

Sam perked up a bit when Melissa told her she would measure her before
bed and alter a few of her own garments in the morning. I offered up a
few pieces of clothing as well. But when Eric got up from the table
and commented that he would haul the sewing machine out of the
downstairs closet before going to bed, I choked on my coffee. It
seemed like such an innocent comment, but the underlying meaning was
terrifying: The safe house had a sewing machine, and that implied
nothing less than the expectation of a very long stay.

--------------------
End Part 7/9.

Part 8/9.  

After Sam's measuring session, Mulder announced that he was going to
tuck her in, and the two rose to head upstairs.

I also rose and caught Krycek's eye. "Could I have a word with you?"

He nodded and led me out of the kitchen and into a book-lined library
farther back in the structure. It was, like the living room, cozy and
inviting. Overstuffed chairs sat scattered around the room, almost
randomly, each complemented by a small side table and reading lamp.
Again I was struck by the planning involved, and the obvious
anticipation of a long period of hiding.

Krycek moved to the far end of the room, near another fireplace, and
sat on the sofa. I took the chair opposite. For a moment, neither of
us said anything. Between my fatigue and his unerring projection of
ease, we might have been mistaken for old friends, comfortable in
silence.

Finally he turned to me and with a slow grin he confided, "It's been a
hell of a week."

I grunted out a little chuckle.

"Good dinner," he continued. Then he prodded, "Did you get enough to
eat?" Smug son of a bitch. Of course he knew.

"Yes, thank you," I replied casually, determined not to be out-cooled.
I settled back into the chair. "Nice arm."

I saw absolutely no guile in his responding smile. "There are
friends," he said, "and there are *friends*."

"I assume yours aren't natives."

He didn't say anything in response; he simply relaxed into the soft
cushions of the couch and let his head tip back, eyes closed.

"What kind of thanks are you looking for, Krycek?" I asked him.

"Alex."

I lowered my head just a little and looked up at him under stern
eyebrows. "You've got to be kidding."

He rolled his head to the side and opened one eye. "Friends call each
other by their first names. And I'm definitely your friend right now,
Dana." He closed the eye again and returned to his former position.
"And no, don't try to explain to me about 'Mulder'. I don't want to go
to bed with a headache."

I shook my head. Someday - and this is truly my fondest wish - someone
will simply tell me something without obfuscation or theatrics.

"Back to my question," I said, "*Alex*."

"Not now," he said simply. "I have work to do, you have work to do, we
all have work to do. We can socialize when it's all over." Then he sat
straight up and looked at me with purpose. "We're *this* close to
winning the goddamned war. I can fucking *taste* the victory, and I
won't get complacent now with idle chitchat."

"Fine," I agreed, "then inform me. What's really going on here?"

He stretched his arms above his head, weaving the fingers of both
hands together, and rotated his back from side to side until a few
vertebrae popped. "In the morning. We'll go down to the lab, all four
of us, and we'll go through every last speck of data." He lowered his
arms and appeared to be evaluating something about me. "Don't flatter
yourself into believing you're here for any other reason."

His attempted use of reverse-psychology was almost touching. Knowing
I'd doubt any stated motive, he attempted to convince me that his use
for me was strictly professional, assuming I'd believe the opposite,
and use his preservation of Melissa as proof. For a moment I'd thought
of letting it pass unnoticed, but I was feeling bold.

"Neither goblet is poisoned," I informed him, cutting through the
crap. "I won't be Vizzini for you.  There is no such thing as iocaine
powder."

Krycek rose, chuckling, and strolled over to a tall wall of books
adjacent to the fireplace. He paused for a moment, looking for
something, and made a little "Mm," when he found it. Crossing back to
me, he dropped the book into my lap, and moved to leave the room. When
he arrived at the door, he turned around and confided, "I'll choose a
more effective role model the next time I attempt to manipulate you.
Goldman's fucked in the head."

I looked down at the paperback novel in my lap and laughed.

---------------------

By the time I'd made it upstairs, Mulder was already in bed. He looked
up when I entered the room, lifted the corner of the comforter, and
patted the mattress suggestively.

I tossed the well-worn copy of "The Princess Bride" onto the vacant
space on the bed and began to open bureau drawers until I located my
pajamas. When I finally found them, folded neatly beneath two pairs of
Mulder's silk boxers, I smiled and withdrew them. They looked good
together. "I'm going to take a quick shower."

Mulder picked up the book with a bemused expression, but didn't look
up. As he flipped through the pages he asked me, "Have a nice
tete-a-tete with The Man in Black?"

"Nice, no. Enlightening, maybe," I said and left the room.


One hot shower later, I was in light blue satin, padding back to our
room, when I noticed the door to Samantha and Mom's room open. Sam's
bed was empty, and Mom was sitting up in bed, reading. When I
approached, she looked up.

"You look better," she said.

"I feel better," I replied. "Cleaner, anyway."

It was Mom's turn to pat the mattress beside her, and I sat with her
for a few minutes.

"I know this must be overwhelming, Mom," I told her. "How are you
holding up?"

She looked at me as if I'd spoken in ancient Sumerian. "That's quite a
selective memory you have, Dana."

I wasn't as surprised by her composure as I was by her accusation.
"What do you mean?"

She shook her head in that Mom way all mothers do. "After all I've
witnessed in your life, these are hardly the most difficult events to
accept. Except for the death threats against you and Fox, I've
received nothing but good news over the past couple of days." She
adjusted the crease of the sheet folded down over her lap. "I watched
Fox step out of a space ship on national television, honey. There
isn't much left that has the power to surprise me."

"Then you're doing better than I am," I admitted. "Seeing Melissa
really shook me."

Mom didn't say anything. She merely sat there, waiting for me to
continue.

"I'm so relieved that she's alive and okay, that she has a wonderful
family and that we can be together again...but - -"

"But you're worried that they're going to take her away again, or that
she won't really be who she appears to be."

I lowered my head a little. "Something like that."

"If you're so busy protecting your heart from being broken again,
you're going to miss out on the joy of this miracle." She lowered her
face just enough to bring her gaze in line with mine. "And I doubt
that kind of self-denial is how you and Fox managed to come to an
understanding."

It was not the time for explanations. I was still exhausted and
emotionally drained, so I settled for a repetition of what I'd told
her two days before. "It's complicated."

She smiled just a little. "If it was easy, it wouldn't be worth
having."

"Platitudes?" It was unlike her.

"Well," she confessed, "I might be a little overwhelmed. Let's all get
some sleep."

I looked over at Sam's bed.

"She's in Fox's room," Mom told me. "Why don't you stay here and let
them get some rest?"

I shook my head. "It's not a good time to set any precedents. She was
fine in here earlier. I'll go get her."

"Dana," Mom called after me as I rose to leave, "she's not your
responsibility."

I turned to her, taken aback by her accusation of meddling.

She continued, "Samantha is Fox's responsibility, and you should let
him handle the situation as he sees fit."

"She's *our* responsibility, Mom," I insisted. "All of ours."

She smiled dryly. "It takes a village?"

I sighed.

She shook her head. "Now who's guilty of platitudes?"

"We'll call it even," I suggested tersely as I left the room.


Sam was indeed in our room. I was already in a disagreeable mood
thanks to Mom's stubborn wheedling, so although I expected Sam's
constant presence to chafe a little, I couldn't help but smile when I
entered the room and looked over to the bed. Mulder was sitting back
against the headboard with his little sister nestled on his lap. Her
head was against his chest and she was sleeping soundly.

He looked up and took in my appearance as well - from my feet to my
abdomen, and then to my face - and when he smiled, I understood what
he found so amusing: I was standing before him, barefoot and pregnant.
He looked down at the limp, sleeping form of his sister and shook his
head. With one word, he summed up the entirety of his awe. Without
making a sound, he mouthed, "Surreal."

I nodded. There wasn't anything else to say.

Very gently he gathered Sam up in his arms and took her back to her
own room.

When he returned, he was wearing a sly smile. We still didn't have the
energy to make love properly last night, so we decided to wait, and
settled instead for some slow, deep kisses. He dotted little pecks up
one side of my slightly rounded abdomen and down the other,
whispering, "Baby" after each press of his lips. In retrospect, I
suppose the walls were too thin to disguise the sounds of the giggles
induced by each tickling kiss. At the time, I didn't care. Now, I
think I should have known better.

---------------------

So now it's morning and here we are, all ten of us, gathered around
the breakfast table, still a little uncomfortable, still mostly
uninformed, still evaluating one another.

I'm busy eating, Mulder is busy tending to his sister, my mother is
busy assessing my every interaction with Mulder, and Krycek is looking
on with unrestrained glee.

I'm really enjoying my breakfast, but I can feel my mother's eyes on
me and it rankles. She has been pushing it, demanding just a little
too much information at the most inopportune times, and I'm about to
lose my patience.

"Dana," she prods, and I know I'm about to lose my cool. I determine
to say something before I do.

"Fine," I concede aloud, mostly to my mother, but partly to everyone
else as well. Missy looks on with that knowing big-sister smile, and
Mulder turns to me, entertained, as I place my fork down and look my
mother directly in the eye.

"Scully," Mulder warns. "Like this?"

I don't turn to him. "Any objections?"

He pauses for a half-beat, and says, simply, "Guess not."

"Good."

My mother looks concerned, and I'm glad. She's been demanding to know
what's going on, and she's about to find out. So much for composure.

I keep my voice level. "Yes, Mother, there are big things afoot. I
would have preferred to tell you when we were ready, but since you're
determined to force the issue, here it is: Mulder and I are getting
married, I'm nearly four months pregnant, and we're about to subvert
an alien plot to eradicate humankind through a viral apocalypse. Not
necessarily in that order." I don't even blink. "Any questions?"

She scowls. "Thank you," she whispers harshly, and leaves the table.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath. I call after her, "Mom!" and follow
her out into the sitting room.

"Four months, Dana? You might have told me before," she snaps as I
enter the room, "or in some way other than this. That wasn't a joyful
announcement, Dana, that was a reprimand."

I should find it amusing rather than irritating that she's chosen to
focus on my pregnancy rather than on the possibility of human
extinction.  I release a harsh breath and backpedal. She is my mother
after all.  "I'm sorry. I wasn't ready to tell you yet, but you kept
pushing."

She folds her arms over her chest and looks at me. "We sat there last
night, Dana, just you and me, and you didn't say a word."

"I'd just told Mulder a few hours before about the baby, Mom. Didn't
we deserve even a day to get used to the idea before we told everyone
else?"

"I'm not everyone else, Dana. I'm your mother."

I sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. I was angry." I shake my head and flop
down onto the sofa. "But be fair; you really were pushing."

She remained standing. "I just wanted to know."

"How does that not constitute pushing?"

She pursed her lips and gave in, sitting delicately on a side chair.
"All right. You held back and I went too far. But you really shouldn't
have done it that way. Now everyone knows."

I tip my head back against the soft cushions. "There are ten of us in
this little place, Mom. We're not likely to have any secrets here."

"I know," she sighs, "but I would have liked to know before that
murderer did."

I smile. "He already knew. Don't ask me how."

"Well, perhaps he heard something through a wall, the way the rest of
us did last night." I cringe as she completes the thought. "Neither
you nor Fox have been subtle in your possession of each other's time
and space. You nearly ran me over on your way out of the room
yesterday."

I shook my head. "It's been a long time," is my only excuse. She
doesn't need a roadmap for the rest.

She nods. "So how did it happen?"

With a shrug, I confess, "The usual way."

"Dana," she chides.

This is obviously going to take a while, so I fold my legs underneath
me and get comfortable. "We'd only been together for a couple of
months before he was taken. We decided to make things official the
night before he left." I shook my head. "We didn't even have time to
work out the how or when of it. We agreed to talk about it when he got
back from Oregon."

Her voice softens. "He's back."

"Victorious," I add.

"And the baby?"

I shrug again. "I really don't know, Mom. It could be as simple as a
well-timed, albeit unexpected, ovulation. But I've run every test
imaginable, and everything is okay. It's just a baby, nothing more."

"Of course it's more than that, Dana," she says, and she sounds like
my mother again - warm but firm. "Don't you dare treat this baby as
something commonplace. All your doctors said it was impossible. This
is a gift; it's a miracle."

"If it's okay with you," I tell her, "I'd prefer to consider it
ordinary. This baby deserves better than the burden of being
monumentally important."  I pause.  "At the moment, there are bigger
issues to deal with."

Whether or not she agrees, she must understand my position, because
she rises and returns to the kitchen. "Come on," she says, holding out
her hand, "your breakfast is getting cold."

---------------------

An hour later, Krycek and Eric cull Mulder and me from the group and
lead us down into an enormous laboratory, easily half again as large
as the main floor. It is clearly a multipurpose room, filled to its
rafters with biological and medical informatic equipment. There are
hotboxes, banks of computers and computer-aided measuring devices, an
impressively new electron microscope, and vast lab benches teeming
with sample trays and stacks of computer printouts.

In the center of a large empty space on one bench is one of the three
vials of blue liquid we were permitted to keep. Contrasted against the
clutter in the remainder of the room, the single test tube appears
conspicuous, the center of all activity surrounding it.

"It's an antiviral serum," Krycek says, moving toward the nearest
hotbox. "At least that's what we were told it is." He turns to me. "We
have samples of the black oil - both strains - and our contacts have
insisted that this stuff will wipe them out."

"Care to be a little more forthcoming about the identity of your
contacts?" Mulder asks. "Or do I already know?"

"You've already met them, Einstein," he replies. "Or did you think
those rebels on the ship just made the impulsive decision to save your
sorry ass?"

Before Mulder can take umbrage against Krycek's remark - something he
almost always communicates with a show of physical aggression - I step
in.

"I take it this is what you meant by 'airborne'."

Eric nods and raises a tiny syringe with a very long needle from the
surface of the bench. "It's supposed to be ultra-dense -- toxic to the
alien spores, but harmless to humans. The computer modeling we've done
projected a success rate very close to the rebels' claim of potential
damage."

"What information did you use for your computer modeling?" I ask.

"They provided genetic sequences." Eric grins and continues. "We ran
the PCRs against the serum overnight and they're a match. We weren't
misled." His smile is that of success, and it's familiar.

Mulder is less enthralled than I. "What's your role in all this?" he
demands, his posture still stiff.

"For lack of a better term, I'm a double agent."

Mulder rolls his eyes. "Oh, please."

I concur. "You're telling us that they permitted one of their own to
marry my allegedly hidden sister?"

Krycek interrupts with an irritated slap of one hand on the
countertop. "Mingle on your own time. We have unwelcome visitors to
kill."

And for the first time, there is just a hint of discord in the ranks.
"Alex, go upstairs and have some decaf," Eric suggests with utter
condescension. "You're no use to me right now."

He resists. "No fucking way. This is it."

"And," Eric continues in the same patronizing tone, "you're no
scientist. If you want to watch and fill them in on the political
background, fine, but if you're going to pace and snipe, you can go
elsewhere."

I see the corners of Mulder's mouth turn up just slightly in vicarious
triumph, but before he can say anything inflammatory, Krycek stalks
off, his shoulders held high.

"Call me when you're ready to test."

Eric sighs and we get to work.


A little over an hour later, Eric has explained the bulk of the
situation to us, and it really does make appallingly plain sense. The
serum is an inoculant and biological contaminant in one. Ecological
damage would, in theory, be a non-issue because the serum has been
engineered to attack only specific DNA sequences. Collateral damage
seems unlikely because the microparticles are non-organic, which means
that they will not mutate over time. It has became clear to us that
the nanomachines Krycek used to infect Skinner were an early human
effort to create the nanocytes the rebel aliens had already perfected.
All they needed was a delivery mechanism, in that they've been
prohibited by the grays from leaving any of their ships ever since the
incident on Ruskin Dam.

Mulder thinks aloud. "So this last set of abductions was the rebels'
idea, ostensibly to eradicate evidence of their tampering, but really
to facilitate the delivery of the serum to earth without the grays'
interference." Mulder is usually more colloquial in his day to day
communications, which doesn't bother me normally, but there is
something irresistible about him when he hauls out and dusts off his
polysyllabic vocabulary. I smile in appreciation.

Eric nods. "That's the extent of it. And the big boys don't want you
to have it because of the precious power base they've established."

A question is still nagging at me. "If they're so concerned about
protecting their usurped authority, why did they risk exposure by
permitting you to marry my sister?"

He shrugs. "Hubris."

Mulder shakes his head to indicate he needs more than that. So do I.

"They figured that nothing would happen if they put on their Big Scary
Men voices and threatened to kill you if she told a soul."

I blink.

He shakes his head. "I think something must happen to you when you
have unimpeachable authority for such a long time."

"Yeah," Mulder smirks, "you get sloppy." He doesn't look pleased.
"This is too easy."

Eric bites the inside of his lower lip and nods in assent, but before
he has a chance to respond, Mulder appears to have an epiphany.

"An EMP could wipe out the micro-machines in the serum." He begins to
pace. "In earth terms, a nuclear warhead detonated in the upper
atmosphere. In alien terms, maybe just a death ray. If these things
are computerized," he says, flailing his hand in the general vicinity
of the vial, "then an electromagnetic pulse could disable them in one
shot."

Eric smiles. "EMP isn't an issue.  They're resistant." When I squint,
he explains further. "Which is why their serum is better than ours.
The circuits are powered by something called SRE, or subatomic radiant
energy, and all the data processing occurs at light speed across a
microluminescent silicon grid. They don't rely on electromagnetic
energy for either form or operation, so an EMP would have no effect."

Mulder and I look at each other, stunned into silence.

Eric only grins. "I was a bit of a student before I took on the role
of rural sheriff." He approaches, syringe in hand, and moves toward
the hotbox. "Let's give this a go now, shall we? I've been hopped up
on the anticipation since the day before yesterday."

I move one step closer to Mulder, and we wait.

"Alex!" Eric cries out as he rotates his neck until it pops a few
times. "Let's find out if it's soup yet!"

Before he can take another step toward the hotbox, Krycek is already
barreling down the stairs, approaching at nearly a run. He doesn't say
a word - in fact, he doesn't even acknowledge our presence there, so
focused is he on the fate of humankind behind the thick, well-sealed
glass. I find the lack of his customary bravado uncomfortable.

Eric slips the syringe through the vapor lock, and squeezes out a
single drop of the serum into the waiting petri dish. When he removes
the syringe, he and Krycek both take a couple of steps backward, and
Mulder and I do the same.

The hotbox is constructed like a fortified aquarium: Thick glass walls
comprise its structure, unmarred by joins.  It was clearly molded in
one piece, to reduce the chance of leaks.  The vapor lock is
siliconized around the seam, and when the thick glass partition slides
back into place over the opening, it appears safe.  That's not to say
that I feel safe in any way.  I'm terrified about what the black oil
could do to me and the baby, but this is too important a development
to miss.  I take another step back, however, and Mulder moves with me.
He squeezes my hand in acknowledgement.  I will run if  I must, but
for now, I wait and watch.

After a few deep breaths, Eric approaches a computer panel and lets
his right hand hover over a small white touchpad. "If you have a god,"
he suggests in an unsettling voice, "you might want to pray to him
right about now." He closes his eyes for just a few seconds, and I
take the opportunity to ask an otherwise ambivalent creator to
reconsider his commitment to us. Six seconds later, Eric opens his
eyes and presses lightly on the touchpad.

Immediately small drops of black oil drip down into the enclosure from
recessed tubes. On the left side, the flow coalesces into a single
puddle. On the right, the droplets remain individual, and appear to
move across the floor of the hotbox of their own volition.

Eric moves his hand to hover over the red "abort" panel, that will
instantly trigger the incineration of the contents of the box should
they pose a danger.

One, two...

My internal voice doesn't even make it to three. The large puddle
dessicates into powder, and the individual drops simply evaporate. By
the time my mind has counted to four, it is over.

The room is deathly still.

"The pool on the left," Eric whispers, "was the parasitic strain." No
one responds. "The mind-control strain was on the right."

"How much do we need?" Krycek asks in a responding whisper.

Eric pauses. "Please, gimme a minute."

Mulder releases a shuddering breath and lowers his head.

I am unable to move or utter a sound.

For a little while, there is only the deep silence of the room,
punctuated by our deep, irregular breaths, but eventually, Eric
composes himself and answers Krycek's question.

"Seven vials. Use some of the batch that went to the CDC."

Krycek just barely nods. "Get me the release point maps and I'll send
them to Brin. Mulder, call Skinner and tell him we're ready to roll."

"He knows," Mulder says, more confirming the assumption than asking
for an explanation.

Krycek nods. That must have been what they were discussing on their
own at Area 51.

"There a phone in here?" Mulder asks.

Eric finally lowers his hand and steps away from the control panel. He
turns toward the stairs and simply begins to walk. "Follow me," he
intones.

---------------------

In the wake of the test, there was precious little to do after all. I
had thought I had been brought here in order to work, but it became
clear by the end of the third day that all I was doing was reading
computer readouts on ambient density levels at various checkpoints
around the globe. Eventually, in the middle of a set of very promising
results from the northwest coast of England, I rose from my stool at a
workbench to go upstairs.

"On track?" Eric asked me.

"You don't have to pretend you need me for this," I responded,
smiling. "Thank you for protecting us."

He looked at me for a moment, clearly unsure how to reply.

"I won't say a word to Krycek if you won't," I assured him.

He closed his eyes and laughed. "You've discovered his inner pussycat,
have you?"

I went upstairs and I've spent all my time with my family ever since.

Seven weeks have passed in this little place, and those of us who are
not family or friends already have developed a kind of courteous
camaraderie.

Annette and my mother appear to have adopted Helena, who, although
still very quiet, has begun to contribute to conversation.  They
conscripted her and Missy to play endless games of kitchen-table
euchre, which have become lively in recent days with the advent of
Chore Wagering.  It was Helena's suggestion, and once it was accepted,
she revealed herself to be quite the cardsharp.

Samantha has spent most of her time either in the library or in the
sitting room, attempting to catch up on nearly thirty years of
technological and social advancement.  Mulder has been exceptionally
thorough in her remedial education; so thorough chronologically that
Samantha has had the opportunity to reject the Disco trend not once
but twice. She is fascinated by how "Star Trekky" so many everyday
devices have become, and is especially attracted to computer
technology.  I wonder from time to time how we are going to be able to
afford to indulge her obvious taste for gadgets, especially in light
of all the inherent expenses that accompany a new baby.  Maybe we'll
let her play with the Gunmen once a week and cajole some of their
gadgetry from them.

Mulder regained his strength quickly, and although the walls are thin,
we have learned to muffle the telltale sounds of our mutual
gratification.  At first I was uncomfortable with the idea of making
love in what was essentially a public place, but after hearing a
similar bout of activity from Missy and Eric's room, we began to care
less.  Our secret was out, and we didn't care who knew.  Sam was too
busy deciding what to wear as Flower Girl to wonder about any other
aspect of our relationship.  We made a note to have The Talk with her
before the end of 2001.  Mulder's suggested approaches for this have
proved to be an endless source of amusement.

Once a week I review the summary of the density readings, but they've
progressed as expected

Three weeks ago, Mulder got his first blurry look at our son, courtesy
of the ultrasound equipment in the downstairs laboratory.  He made no
effort to conceal his tears.

"We're ready to prep the airborne and the projections are good,"
Mulder whispered to me that night as we lay in bed. "Brin took out the
last of the installations last week. In a few weeks it'll all be moot,
and we can do some cleanup."

"Cleanup," I confirmed.

He nodded his head.

"You think we'll be able to get enough evidence to support some
indictments?" I asked him quietly.

He shrugged. "I guess that's our part of the operation. I'll ask Alex
in the morning."

I hoisted myself up on one elbow and looked him straight in the eye.
"Alex?"

"We've already agreed to recommend that the murder charges be
dropped," he answered. "Maybe we should drop the grudges, too."

I was confused by his sudden turn toward reconciliation, particularly
where Krycek was concerned. "Mulder?"

He pulled me back down against his chest. "What am I gonna do,
Scully - - go out and seek hot-blooded revenge during the day and come
home to my family at night?"

"A fresh start," I said, trying out the feel of the words.

"Mm-hm," he mumbled sleepily. "This is the payoff. A normal life."

"I have no idea how to do that," I confessed.

"Me either," he replied with a faint chuckle.


This morning we got the good news that global immunity just surpassed
the ninety-sixth percentile. That, Krycek pronounced, combined with
Skinner's carefully planned capture and incarceration of a
hospitalized Spender and three of his high-level operatives, was the
sign that it was time to re-emerge from our self-imposed exile.

So now, for the second time in nearly two months, Mulder emerges from
a small place to the intrusive clicking of camera shutters and the
blinding lights of portable video cameras. This time, however, he
steps aside and directs the journalists to badger Eric and me for
details.

Last time, I protected my fear and joy behind a mask of
professionalism. This time, I withhold nothing.

Last time, I concealed my pregnancy out of the fear that it would be
used against me. This time, I waddle out of the subterranean
structure, six months pregnant and already huge, unconcerned about the
intrusive assumptions of the press.

Last time, I believed the world was in incomprehensible danger, and
that I was essentially powerless to help. This time, I understand how
we were able to fight back, and why our efforts were effective.

Last time, we had only questions. This time, we have answers.

--------------------
End Part 8/9.

Part 9/9.  

**EPILOGUE**

Spring, 2009


Special Agent Fox Mulder sold the print rights to his autobiography
for a record $12.4 million to Harper Collins. He insisted on writing
the book himself. Screen rights have never been negotiated. He retired
from the FBI at 46, and currently teaches new programs in
Parapsychology and Divergent Thinking at the FBI Academy at Quantico.
He lives with his wife, sister, and two children in Stafford,
Virginia.

Special Agent Dana Scully retreated from public life after The Sunday
Mirror published forged photographs of her participation in a
drug-induced orgy supposedly taken during her second year in pre-med
at the University of Maryland. She resigned as a field agent from the
FBI at 38, and resumed her career in education, teaching Forensic
Pathology at the FBI Academy at Quantico.  Despite her intensely
private lifestyle, she did maintain important relationships in both
law enforcement and politics, so it was no surprise when, only twelve
hours after the results of the 2008 federal election were announced,
she appeared at a press conference with President-Elect Rodham to
announce her acceptance of a Cabinet post as Secretary of Health. She
lives with her husband, sister-in-law, and two children in Stafford,
Virginia.

Assistant Director Walter Skinner was dismissed from the FBI for
"Misappropriation of Bureau Resources" and "Misrepresentation of
Bureau Personnel", along with two assistants; Kimberly Cameron and
Marla Daniels. He acquired his P.I. license and began a private
investigation firm in Washington, D.C. three months later, with
Cameron and Daniels on his staff, as well as a stable of investigators
and researchers whose names could not be determined. He is married and
has twin sons. There are unconfirmed reports that he has been working
for Interpol.

Alex Krycek disappeared from sight shortly after the murder charges
against him were dropped. He has been glimpsed on occasion in the
Metro D.C. area, but these sightings cannot be confirmed.

Morris Fletcher reconciled with his wife of twelve years and relocated
to the Washington, D.C. area. Upon early retirement from the ATRD, he
accepted the position of Curator of Extraterrestrial Artifacts at the
Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, and currently oversees security and
programming for the daily tours of the alien craft housed there.
Twenty-five percent of the daily grosses from ticket sales are donated
to the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia, and earmarked
for research at its Xenovirology unit.

Samantha Mulder graduated with honors in the advanced Focus program
from Stafford, Virginia's Colonial Forge High School. She plans to
attend Oxford University in the fall, to study Xenotechnology at the
school's newly established Mulder Hall for Extraterrestrial Studies.

Eric Lindgren toured the lecture circuit for two years before
accepting a position in the Surgeon General's office, as Special Envoy
to the Armed Services.  He resides in Ellicott City, Maryland with his
wife, Melissa, and their son, Michael.

Melissa Lindgren currently operates a holistic book store in
Baltimore. She resides in Ellicott City, Maryland with her husband,
Eric, and their son, Michael.

CNN Washington Bureau Chief Frank Sesno received three Emmy awards for
his network's coverage of the alien craft's landing.

William Miles is currently the Sheriff of Bellefleur, Oregon, and has
reconciled with his estranged wife, Patti. He sold his story to the
National Enquirer for $1 Million, and has appeared on talk shows
nationally.

Baby Hoese was returned to her parents, Theresa and Ray Hoese, within
eighteen hours of their return to Earth. Although both were
hospitalized following their return, a specially drafted court order
granted them a return to full parental privileges. For 8 days, during
which the Hoeses and all the other surviving abductees (with the
exception of the two Mulders) remained under observation at the base
hospital at Kingsley Air Force Base in Oregon, Baby Hoese slept in a
crib between her parents' hospital beds.

"The Lone Gunman" has become the single most popular
conspiracy-oriented publication in U.S. history, with a current
circulation of just over 1 million copies monthly. The founders still
refuse to accept advertising or to grant public interviews. Richard
"Ringo" Langly, Co-Founder and Technology Editor, recently
self-published "The Hacker's Treatise: How To Protect Yourself", and
sales are reported to be brisk. Melvin Frohike, Surveillance and
Security Editor, was honored by the 225th Marine Corps, and was
awarded a Medal of Honor by Marine Commandant General J.L. Jones, for
his participation in 'work uncovering the gravest of threats to
mankind'. John Fitzgerald Byers, Intelligence Editor and CEO of The
Lone Gunman L.L.C., currently lives in the Washington area with his
wife, Suzanne, and three retired greyhounds.

The terminally ill Chesterton Gabriel Bloodworth Spender and three of
his high-ranking lieutenants died in federal prison under suspicious
circumstances only days after their indictments.  All four were
eventually convicted posthumously by the World Court of three hundred
ninety-four counts of war crimes, including espionage, obstruction of
justice, and treason.

"The Lazarus Bowl" recently entered its third printing on DVD, and now
includes rare never-before-seen interviews with former Special Agent
Mulder and Associate Producer Walter Skinner. It has netted close to
$500 million worldwide, and has spawned a new crossgenre of
science-fiction/religion films, including the commercial hits "Icon"
and "NanoProphets", and the critically acclaimed "God Rode the
MagLev".

Jose Chung's previously published book, "From Outer Space", has
entered its fifth printing, and was on the New York Times bestseller
list for two hundred sixty-four consecutive weeks.

"Jose Chung is From Outer Space", a parody work written by 'Alan
Smithee', has entered its second printing, and has been on the New
York Times bestseller list for thirty-seven consecutive weeks. The
profits are being paid to the Center for Missing and Exploited
Children and the American Cancer Foundation. Simon and Schuster,
parent company of Pocket Books, the publisher, is contractually
obligated to protect the identity of the anonymous author. No firm
identification has been made, despite the potentially helpful
dedication, "To my one in six billion, with love. And all right, I
admit it: L.H. didn't have buck teeth. There, I said it in public.
Happy?"

Edward van Blundht Jr., an inmate at a West Virginia penitentiary, was
sentenced to an additional fifteen years for escaping and
impersonation of a Federal Officer in conjunction with his brief but
ultimately unsuccessful kidnapping of Fox Mulder. It was his second
such offense.

The issue of Life magazine in which former Special Agent Dana Scully
was depicted on the cover sold out in its original printing, and
called for an unprecedented three additional printings, each of which
sold out within days. The shot of Scully, smiling broadly, looking up
into the alien spacecraft, framed by a brilliant orange sunset, was
subsequently sold to Design Media, Inc. for an undisclosed sum, and
has sold extremely well in all forms: Posters, coffee mugs, mouse
pads, and refrigerator magnets. A second shot, nearly as popular, was
taken by a staff photographer for USA Today: That of Fox Mulder
peering down out of the access port of the craft. The shot can
currently be seen in the above forms, as well as on stickers and
keychains, and was purchased by Berkeley Systems for use as part of a
new line of computer screen savers.

Life magazine published a special issue dedicated to the Ten Most
Significant Photographs of the Century. In addition to the
now-legendary shots of JFK Jr. saluting his father's casket and the
sailor/nurse V.E. Day kiss, the Scully cover shot was included as
number nine.

A monument was erected on the mall in Washington, D.C., honoring the
96 abductee casualties. Artist Leonardo Nierman, in a rare display of
representative style, sculpted it in bronze. It depicts a man, woman
and young girl, standing firm on an enormous globe. The woman holds a
test tube aloft in defiance, while the man wraps protective arms
around the woman and girl. The names of the deceased are engraved on
the surface of the sphere, near the locations where they lived prior
to their abduction. A plaque at the bottom reads, "This is our truth:
We stand together, as one race."

Although information is sketchy, the decomposed body of one Alger
Strughold, former proprietor of the now-defunct Strughold Mining
Corporation, was found in an oil drum in New Jersey. It has been
suggested that Strughold was involved in the global conspiracy to
conceal the truth from the public about the planned alien invasion.

The American Centers for Disease Control currently maintain samples of
both strains of the alien virus, as well as an inventory of the
nanoserum. All are kept under the strictest security of any substance
on the planet.

+++++++++++++++++

End.



Thank you for reading!

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