From: tahouston@vircom.com (tracey houston) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: Moon Dust, part 1 of 5 Date: 25 Jul 1995 02:24:25 GMT Hi all. Here's a new story which I hope to have all nice and posted by Wednesday evening. It's called "Moon Dust", and for those of you who want to be warned, it features a non-Mulder romance for Scully, but it's all quite G-rated and part of the larger plot. Before going on, I'd like to acknowledge my girlfriend Tracey, who suggested many key elements of plot and dialogue. She's working on her own stories and should be actively encouraged to finish them 'cause they're very cool. I'd also like to thank Fen from Utah for helpful geographical information on a place I know almost nothing about. This is what the internet is for! So, have fun. Feedback, supportive and critical, is welcome. I can take it! The characters are (c) Chris Carter and Ten-Thirteen Productions. This story was typed largely to the sound of Portishead. MOON DUST by Rob Langford PART 1 Scully examined the sheet of paper minutely, her glasses perched professorially on her nose. "This came in your morning paper?" she asked. "Uh huh," Mulder said as he leaned on the edge of her desk. "Right between the funny pages." The page was covered in dense handwriting, interspersed with complex mathematical equations. "It's Russian, all right. The alphabet is, anyways. But it reads like gibberish. So does the math." Mulder blinked. "You read Russian?" "Hardly," Scully said, smiling. "I have a friend in Counterintelligence who's teaching me a few words. I know most of the alphabet now. My guess is it's some kind of simple code." "Any chance you could have your friend take a look at this?" "I expect so. I'm having lunch with him today." Mulder's mouth curled into a sly grin. "Him?" Scully raised her eyes from the paper. "Oh... oh, get off it, Mulder. He's a friend. It's Tom O'Brien. He's been doing great work with all the new information coming out of Russia. The entire Soviet era-" "I know. His reputation's all over the bureau. I just wasn't aware you had an interest in Cold War espionage operations. I would have lent you my Len Deighton books." "Well, like I said, he's a friend." An irritating smile remained fixed to Mulder's lips as he took a seat behind his own desk. Scully blinked with annoyance. "Look, I don't have to do you this favour-" "Okay, I'm sorry," Mulder said, his palms raised patronisingly. "I just don't want to hear you've started some stupid rumour." Mulder made a lip-zipping gesture. "Your secret's safe with me." "I don't have any secrets!" Scully burst out. She stood up. "I'm getting a coffee," she muttered through tight lips as she strode toward the door and into the hall. Mulder was quiet. All right, so I'm fooling myself, Scully thought to herself as she walked in the humid noontime glare. I do have a bit of a guilty conscience. I suppose if I didn't we wouldn't meet at a restaurant six blocks from the Hoover building. Well, nothing to be ashamed of- just the healthy indulgence of an Electra complex. Scully pushed open the door of the restaurant and walked through into refreshing air-conditioned coolness. She waved off an approaching waiter as she spied O'Brien at a corner table, behind a grove of tall ferns. He was what they meant when they said 'distinguished', she thought as she approached. O'Brien stood and pulled out a chair for Scully. I wish he wouldn't do that, she thought, but smiled no less as he greeted her warmly. "Good day, Agent Scully." "Hello, O'Brien. This isn't necessary," she said as she took the proffered seat. O'Brien didn't answer as he took his own place. Scully deposited her briefcase on the floor next to her, but she still clutched the Russian document in her left hand. "What have you got there?" he asked, his eyes falling on the paper. "Um... actually, I have a favour to ask," Scully said, laying the paper on the table between them. "My partner got this document from... a source. It's Russian, but it seems to be some sort of code. Could you look into it, when you have time?" O'Brien took up the paper and scanned it for a moment. "Next time, bring me something hard," he said, smiling and tossing the paper back on the table. "The code is nothing. Simple cryptograms. A child's game. They just changed each letter to the next one in the alphabet. I think the numbers will make sense if you just add one to each digit- substitute 8 for 7, 9 for 8, 0 for 9 and so on. But you've got the physics degree, so I'll leave that to you." Scully was in awe. "How did you guess all that so fast?" "I know who wrote this. In the mid-sixties there were two engineers in the Soviet space agency- Mikhail Goryakin and Pyotr I. Trofimov- who wrote memos to each other in this style. It was their little game. I've seen dozens of documents of theirs in CIA and Air Force Intelligence files. And it does seem to be a space agency document judging by the heading: 'V.L. Return Trajectory' ". "Can you translate the rest of the text?" "What... you mean- now?" "Is that bad?" "Well- Agent Scully, I-" O'Brien cleared his throat. Scully laughed. "I'm sorry, Tom. I'm getting carried away. I've come along and ruined your lunch break..." "No, no, I'll do it... you can help me. Practice your Cyrillic alphabet." "Lunch is on me, okay?" "No, that's not necessary, Agent Scully, although..." "What?" "Could we do this again, have lunch, tomorrow?" Scully was taken aback by the intensity in O'Brien's voice. "Sure," she said, somewhat weakly. A pause. "Then let's get to it," O'Brien said, the confidence in his voice faltering slightly. The thought came to her unbidden: you're acting like the kind of woman you hate. The translation took the full time from ordering drinks to to settling the bill. The result left Scully in wonder. "This is an amazing document," O'Brien said. "If Agent Mulder is willing to confide in me, I'd love to know his source." "So would he," Scully replied. "It was received anonymously." "Hm. Well, this lunch has certainly been an experience," O'Brien said, handing Scully the photocopied sheet and a thick pile of notes. "I'm looking forward to tomorrow." Scully smiled as they stood. O'Brien shuffled. "Look, Dana..." he ventured. "Yes?" "Oh hell, I don't know if- I was thinking of taking a drive down along the Chesapeake this weekend. Would you like to come along?" "Oh- Tom- I'm flattered. But I should really tell you now, I don't get involved in situations like this..." "Like what? May-December romances?" Scully laughed. "No. I'm no May and you're certainly no December. No, I mean like this-" She grasped the fourth finger of his left hand. O'Brien's mouth fell open, then formed into a humourous smile. "Oh... good God... what you must be thinking of me, Dana!" He slipped the gold band off his finger and held it up to Scully's gaze. "Kathleen died six years ago. I loved her very much, and I wore this because I never thought I'd meet somenone who'd equal her." Scully gazed at him, silent a few moments as he put the ring back on his finger. "Um, I don't know, I don't know..." Scully said, grasping the handle of her briefcase. "I think we'd better not have lunch tomorrow..." She stuffed the notes carelessly into the case. "I'll see you later, Tom." She managed a weak smile, and turned toward the door. "Bye," she heard him mutter. What exactly was I thinking? she wondered as she strode out into the hot afternoon. Mulder found Scully in the office, hunched over a calculator and a mess of papers. He put down a small paper bag on his desk. "Hey, coffee?" Scully lifted her head. "Sure, thanks." Mulder brought back two lightly steaming mugs and placed one in front of Scully, still intent on her work. He produced two small plastic cups from the bag, then tiptoed up to Scully and placed one gently on her forehead. "Hey! That's cold," she yelped, her head snapping up. Back to reality, she looked at the cup. "What's this?" "Ice cream sundae. Look, I'm sorry about this morning. I should learn to mind my own business, even if there's nothing to mind my own business about. Here's your tongue-depressor thing." Scully put down her glasses and accepted the wooden ice-cream spoon from Mulder's hand. She smiled tiredly. "Thanks. It's okay." "Is it?" "Yeah." Mulder pulled up a chair and sat down, looking at the pages of math. "Is this the thing already?" "It's the thing," Scully said, tossing a sheet of paper across the desk. "There's the translation of the text. I'm working on the math now, but it's going to take a while. You can get the gist." Mulder read over the text, neatly copied out in Scully's deliberate hand. My dear Trofimov, Here are the course corrections I propose. I wish you the best of luck in your effort. If God wills we should live to see the day, we'll share a bottle of Stolichnaya. For myself, I am transferring to Heavy Industry. I cannot bear to watch the politicians push us toward catastrophe. It cannot be far off if we think of nothing but beating the Americans. There is no accountability. The Americans may be no less foolish, but at least the public scrutiny makes them circumspect about risking the lives of their men. But I shall waste no more breath. I respect your choice, and I wish you nothing but good fortune in your personal adventure. So let us raise a glass to the memory of Pavel Ivanovich, and part ways as friends. My fondest regards, G. Scully spoke up. "The equations appear to describe the trajectory of some sort of space probe. It follows a comet-like orbit, with a period of about a year and a half. As far as I can tell, the paper seems to suggest that the probe could be captured and returned during a close pass near the Earth twenty-nine years after launch." "Which was when?" "Can't say for sure. But O'Brien guesses the memo was written in the mid-sixties." "So that twenty-nine years is just about up," Mulder said, looking up at Scully. "Looks like it. I suppose that's why the document is surfacing now." "Right." Mulder stood and began to pace. "It looks like we may need a bunch of favours from your friend. Identity and whereabouts of the document's author, any records of space launches in that time frame, any clue about this Pavel Ivanovich-" "Mulder." "Yeah?" "I can't ask him to do all that." "Scully, we need-" Scully shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "You can request information from him yourself. You're in the bureau too." Mulder stared at her. "I don't know him. Look, I don't know what's behind this and I don't want to go through channels and have to explain all this until I do." Scully shook her head. "I'm sorry." "Would he not do this?" "That's just it. He would." Mulder sat down, rolled his head back and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds. Then: "What's going on, Scully?" "It's simple decency not to take advantage of a friend." "And you perceive that this would be taking advantage of him." Scully sighed. "Yes. At this point it definitely would be." Mulder put down his sundae. "Look, I know I said I'd mind my own business..." Scully looked down. "It happens... I didn't mean it to be anything serious. We met for lunch a few times. He had different ideas. I don't think I'll be seeing him again." "Why did you see him in the first place?" "Well, I thought he was safe just like..." She drifted off. "Like?" Mulder prompted. "Well, like you." Mulder grinned unevenly. "Safe." Scully waved abstractly. "Well, you know..." "No, I don't." A pause. "You're determined to take offense at this, aren't you?" Mulder wore a sarcastic grin. "I don't understand. Safe? Like... like a big, friendly dog?" Scully blinked. Mulder went on. "That's the trouble with us guys, Scully. An attractive person like you shows us a little attention, we're liable to take it the wrong way. Just 'cause we're G-men doesn't mean we're eunuchs." "Are you calling me a tease?" Mulder sat up as if struck. Scully dropped her hands down on the desk. "I apologize to all of male-kind. I'm not a nun. I like a little attention too." Mulder was frozen in his place. "I didn't mean that..." "Then what did you mean? What?" Scully glared. Mulder remained silent. "It's not always easy to answer for your feelings, is it? You stumble into things sometimes." "Hey Scully, I'm sorry. Pretend I didn't say anything. I'm on your side." Mulder's eyes were pleading. "I'm just worried for you." Scully slumped back in her chair, satisfied to let the issue rest there. "I appreciate that, Agent Mulder. Eat your sundae." The sun was low but still fierce as Scully made her way home. Contradictory emotions had been warring in her brain all afternoon. This was an awkward condition for her. Anger darted around and occasionally focused itself on Mulder. An abstract sadness perched itself in her gut and intermittently rose up as a fountain of regret. She wanted to call O'Brien to explain, but she did not know what. In her mind she composed speeches and stated positions, then tore them up in self-disgust. And it was so damned hot. There was an envelope in her mailbox. 'DANA', it said by way of address. O'Brien's handwriting! She jogged up to her apartment, tearing the flap of the envelope as she went. Once into her apartment she went straight to the sofa, dumping her load unceremoniously. Dear Dana, Agent Scully, whoever, Where on earth did Agent Mulder get that note?! I've been making a few discreet inquiries, and if my guess is right, that piece of paper is pure history. Here's what I've gathered: 'V.L.' stands for Voskhod-Luna. The mass of the craft is exactly congrouous with the figures for the command module of the Voskhod 1 and 2 vessels. The trajectory seems to originate in lunar orbit, as you've probably already noticed. Meaning that that ship was a MANNED lunar mission, TWO YEARS BEFORE our Apollo 8 made the "first" orbit around the moon! The ship never made it back to Earth, so I guess the Soviets decided to hush it up. Pavel Ivanovich (no last name provided) appears to have been the pilot and sole crewman. It got thrown into a solar orbit somehow, and Trofimov and Goryakin seem to be trying to fix it to get back to Earth. Unbelievable stuff. Didn't drop by just to talk shop, though. I wanted to say I'm sorry if I dropped a heavy load on you today. I will be happy with whatever kind of friendship you're comfortable with. Please keep in touch. Yours respectfully, Tom. Scully leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes a moment. Mulder will want to hear all this, she thought. But first- It's obvious, she thought. Or if not obvious, at least it's simple. Or if not simple, it's the first hint of clarity I've felt all day. 'Safe' be damned- I'll forge ahead and clean up the mess later. She pulled out the phone book and opened it to the Os. Scully dialed. "Hello?" A young woman's voice? "Um... hi, is Special Agent O'Brien there?" "May I ask who's calling?" "It's Dana Scully." "Dana Scully! Hi! Dad's told me all about you!" (Dad? Holy Christ, what am I getting in to?) "Hold on. I'll get him." A few moments of silence. "Hello?" "Tom?" "Hi." "Hi. Was that your daughter?" "Yup. That was Claire. She's twenty. Sophomore at Georgetown." "Twenty. Hm. I was twenty... a while ago. Look, um, Tom, can you meet with Agent Mulder and me tomorrow morning? He'll have some questions for you." "Of course. What- nine?" "Yeah." "I'll be there with bells on." She gripped the handset tightly. "And by the way, I was just thinking, I don't think I gave you an answer about this weekend..." "No. No. I suppose you didn't." "Well..." She tried to affect great cool. "...when can you pick me up?" "Oh... well, how about Saturday morning at ten?" "Okay." "Dana?" "Yes?" "I'm very happy." "Me too." "Goodnight." "Bye." Later that evening, Scully suddenly remembered she was supposed to call Mulder. + + + + + =========================================================================== From: tahouston@vircom.com (tracey houston) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: Moon Dust, part 2 of 5 Date: 27 Jul 1995 02:18:41 GMT PART 2. Mulder arrived at the office and was greeted by an incongruous sight. Scully stood behind her desk, beaming. She was carefully placing a vase of tastefully-arranged flowers at one corner. "Nice," Mulder observed. "It offsets the mildew." "They were here when I got in," Scully explained. "Your friend?" "Uh huh." "Things have changed since yesterday." "Uh huh." "Were you at home when you called me last night?" Scully looked up. "Things haven't changed that much." Mulder dumped his briefcase on his desk. "Well, anyways, thanks." "For what?" "For getting O'Brien to help us." "I didn't. He looked that stuff up on his own time. He's taken quite an interest in the case." Mulder didn't respond. Seconds later, there was a gentle knock on the door. "Come in," the both of them called in unison. O'Brien walked in, all smiles and confidence. "Top of the morning," he announced. Scully stepped forward smartly and shook hands with him. "Morning, Tom. Glad you could spare us your time." She turned to Mulder. "Fox Mulder, Tom O'Brien." Mulder thought she was grinning like an idiot. "Hi," Mulder said, grabbing the proferred hand. "I've heard a lot about you. Your work is legendary." "Not half as much as yours, Agent Mulder." O'Brien smiled winningly. The three of them took their places in a circle of chairs that Scully had set out earlier. Mulder looked at the pair of them, feeling rather like a third wheel. O'Brien opened his briefcase and pulled out a thickly annotated legal pad. As O'Brien began to speak, Mulder observed Scully making a three-quarter turn towards him and crossing her legs. My God, he thought, that's textbook body language. I'm almost embarrassed for her. "Now, Dana tells me-" (Dana?) "-that you received this note anonymously. Is that correct?" "Yes," Mulder said flatly. O'Brien produced a pair of glasses and put them on, transforming instantly from Irish Cop to Professor Emeritus. Mulder noticed that Scully was not wearing her own glasses any more- she was absently chewing on the wire arm. O'Brien looked down at his notes, and began to hold forth. "A document like this could come from a number of sources. CIA, NSA, Air Force Intelligence, maybe. I've seen documents like it in all those places. But I've never seen this one and I would think I'd have remembered. Of course, it could have come from the Russians themselves." "What can you tell us about the people mentioned in the note?" Mulder asked, trying to shut Scully out of his field of view for the moment. "They're engineers in the Soviet space program. Trofimov is dead. He was killed in an accident in 1969. It was just the catastrophe Goryakin was anticipating. The Soviets' N-1 heavy booster- their moon rocket- crashed and exploded during a test launch, with a force that rivalled an atom bomb. Some of the finest minds in their program were killed in that blast. Set them back years. They pretty much gave up the moon race at that point." "And Goryakin?" Mulder asked. "No idea. I expect when he left the program our people stopped following his career." Mulder leaned back in his chair. "So what were they trying to accomplish?" "I think that's Dana's department." O'Brien looked over to Scully. She picked up her cue and produced from her own briefcase pages of diagrams and computer printouts. "Yes. I had a late night last night, relearning all the physics and computer programming I forgot the day I graduated from college." O'Brien chuckled supportively. Scully handed around to each a single page of printout. "That's the bottom line. Thanks to a minor course correction calculated by Goryakin and presumably transmitted by Trofimov, Voskhod-Luna will make a hard landing in the Utah salt flats a very few days from now." There was a silence as Scully smugly straightened her papers. "Utah?" Mulder said finally. Scully shrugged. "I checked the figures three times." "Is this on purpose?" O'Brien asked. "As far as I can tell." Mulder scanned his copy of Scully's summary. "So, they go to these lengths not only to ensure the recovery of a dead spaceship and its dead pilot, but they seem to want us to do it." "This'll be a case for Moon Dust," O'Brien declared as if obviously. Scully blinked. "Moon Dust?" Mulder broke in as O'Brien opened his mouth to explain. "Air Force Intelligence. Foreign Technology Division. It's a team charged with the recovery of crashed foreign satellites- and any other objects that happen to fall from the sky." O'Brien cleared his throat. "My thoughts exactly. Though I'm only familiar with their function as regards man-made objects." He smiled diplomatically. "Anything that falls in US or friendly territory, they're there." "With all due respect, Agent O'Brien," Mulder ventured, "somebody thinks this is a case for me. Would you mind keeping this under your hat until we find out why?" O'Brien regarded him carefully. "It's your call, Agent Mulder. But speaking man-to-man, I recommend you let the professionals do their work. I don't see any law-enforcement angle to this situation." "Your recommendation is duly noted." Scully waded into the silence that followed. "Well, I think that's about it." She stood up, and the men dutifully followed suit. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Agent Mulder." O'Brien reached out a hand and Mulder took it, giving O'Brien a smile that struck Scully as barely courteous. "Pleasure's all mine," Mulder said. O'Brien strode to the door escorted by Scully. "Tomorrow morning, Dana?" he whispered on his way out. "You bet." Scully smiled as he disappeared into the hall. She gently closed the door, then turned to Mulder. He had already taken his place behind his desk and was shuffling a pile of loose papers. "What do you think?" Scully said tentatively. "He's terrific," Mulder said, standing suddenly. He walked over to the cabinet and began stuffing papers into a drawer. "Professional, organized, insightful... I don't see why you need me here at all. You're a great team." There was a pause. Scully's face wrinkled. "This is your case, Mulder." The drawer closed a little too hard. "Right. I forgot. I should be thankful my assistants have things so well in hand." "What's this really about, Mulder?" Mulder stood brooding a moment. "Just be careful, Scully." "Of what?" "The man has his fingers in every pie in the intelligence community. That crap about letting the professionals do their job. You're going to have to be real careful about what you tell him." "He just doesn't understand our work." "No, he sure doesn't. And I suggest you avoid the topic until we're sure where his loyalties are." "He's loyal to me!" Scully burst out. "How can you know that? How?" Scully was quiet a moment. "I can't live every moment with my eye over my shoulder. Sometime I'm going to have to let go and trust somebody." "You can't let go, Scully. That's exactly what you can't do." A silence. "Is all this worth it?" Mulder looked at her intently. "That's the big question, isn't it? You'll have to decide that for yourself." "We could take him out." Frohike's voice croaked from out of his nook. Mulder turned to him with a grin. "Sorry, Frohike. I tried my best to make her see the light. Guess brains and earthy charm aren't enough for some women." "I'm serious. We could take him out. Nobody'd suspect a thing." "Behold the vagaries of the human heart, Mulder," Byers trumpeted with finality. "He'll get over it. Here we are." The screen of Byers' terminal lit up with text. "Our entire database on the Soviet space program. What's your pleasure?" Mulder perched himself over Byers' shoulder as Langly stood back, watching the scene with arms crossed. Frohike continued to tinker sullenly in his corner. "A mission called Voskhod-Luna. Launched in mid-1966," Mulder suggested. A few taps on Byers' keyboard. "Does not compute. Please check your number and dial again. Voskhod 2, launched 1965, then nothing for two years, then the first Soyuz mission." "How about a cosmonaut named Pavel Ivanovich-something." "No last name?" Mulder shook his head. "Hmm..." Byers tapped the keyboard doubtfully. "Nope. But wait..." More taps. "There is a Pavel I. Ziskin on the roster. Never went up. Killed in a plane crash in October 1966. But there could be dozens of Pavel I.'s." "Okay," Mulder sighed. "One more try. An engineer, name of Goryakin. Mikhail Goryakin." Byers' head snapped up and he looked over at Langly. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Langly said, moving toward a filing cabinet. Byers looked to Mulder. "That would be a coup." "What? The name mean something to you?" Langly triumphantly pulled a back-issue of The Lone Gunman from a drawer. "Here we go. This is from two years ago. Check the letters page," he instructed as he handed the magazine to Mulder. Gentlemen, I have recently begun reading your publication, and I am very impressed with the depth and quality of your research. As a former citizen of the Soviet Union, I am acutely aware of the importance of preserving a free and open society. I salute your work. M.P. Goryakin Albany, NY. "Have you still got the original?" Mulder asked, amazed. Langly chuckled. "You kidding? Byers wanted to have it framed." "I can do better than that, gentlemen," Byers intoned. "I can give you his phone number. He's a subscriber. Does that interest you, Mulder?" "Yeah, it does." There is no reason I should answer that, Scully thought. No reason at all. Scully had just about persuaded herself that there was nothing that required her to be back before tomorrow. She and O'Brien had driven all afternoon, taking turns at the wheel, following the side roads down Maryland's Eastern Shore, down into Virginia. Sometimes they spoke animatedly, sometimes they simply enjoyed the ride in comfortable silence. They had pulled over and were strolling along enjoying the sea air when the chirping sound of a cellular phone issued from Scully's handbag. O'Brien smiled. "Modern living, eh?" Scully shook her head. "I suppose I didn't have to bring it along." The chirping continued. "I don't think they're going to quit. Will you excuse me a minute?" Scully smiled apologetically. O'Brien nodded and wandered down to the water's edge while Scully grabbed the handset from out of her bag. "Scully." "Hi. It's me." Mulder. Scully rolled her eyes incredulously. "I can't believe you're calling me here, Mulder." "Scully, I've found Goryakin." "Good. See you Monday." "I've just spoken to him, Scully. He's living in the States." A pause. "Okay. You've got me curious. Cut to the chase." "Is he around?" "He's... he can't hear us..." "Goryakin defected to the United States in 1979. Among the people who debriefed him was a young counterintelligence agent named O'Brien." Scully swallowed hard. She glanced over toward O'Brien and cupped the mouthpiece in her hand. "Are you sure?" "That's what he remembers." "But he could be wrong..." Scully whispered. Mulder was silent a moment, then: "He seemed pretty sure." Scully closed her eyes. "Damn you, Mulder," she managed finally. "I'm sorry, Scully." "I really... really want this." A pause on the other end. "I know you do. Look, I believe his feelings for you are genuine. You do whatever you think you can live with. But- keep in mind- he is not one of us." "Thanks," Scully snapped, then slammed the handset into her palm, breaking the connection. O'Brien came back up to the roadside, smiling. "Well?" Scully composed herself and turned around to face him. "That was my mother. Can you believe it?" O'Brien laughed and put an arm around her shoulders as they walked back to the car. Mulder stared at the screen blankly, then looked over at the clock. Ten-thirty. Outside the sky was dark. He had had no word from Scully, but what word did he expect? He rolled his head back onto the arm of the sofa. The figures on the screen went about their business but it gave Mulder no pleasure to watch them. It only stirred a sick feeling in his gut. He closed his eyes, trying to let go of thoughts and images as the VCR rolled blissfully on. Three sharp raps on the door brought him violently to wakefulness. One hand instinctively reached for a phantom holster as he sat up. A moment's silence allowed him to shake his head clear. "I know you're in there, Mulder. I can hear the heavy breathing." Mulder grabbed the remote and clicked the TV off. He got up and ran a hand through his hair as he strode toward the door. It was barely open before Scully bustled her way in. "Okay, Mulder. Fill me in." She helped herself to a place on the sofa. "And it better be good." + + + + + =========================================================================== From: tahouston@vircom.com (tracey houston) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: Moon Dust, part 3 of 5 Date: 27 Jul 1995 02:53:47 GMT Here's part 3 of Moon Dust. BTW: I have parts of this story available for emailing if you missed any (also of my other story, "Truth"). Almost forgot: Characters are (c) Chris Carter and Ten-Thirteen. They're used without permission. PART 3. "Invaded?" The Russian's voice was deep and accented. "Yes. When Ziskin emerged from radio silence on the far side of the moon, there were garbled transmissions. Pressure loss. Tendrils... organic materials. Nothing clear. We believe something alive entered his capsule. Ten minutes later... nothing." Scully looked over at Mulder, who was still looking intently at the tape recorder. It was his own voice that came through the speaker next: "Why have it land here? In America?" "We believed your propaganda," Goryakin said. "We were afraid of what my government would do with such a secret. So Trofimov and myself secretly arranged to have the capsule land in the United States, where it would be seen by the eyes of the world. I have since learned how naive we were." Mulder's voice again: "So you didn't tell our authorities about it when you defected." "No. As far as they know, Voskhod-Luna skipped off the upper atmosphere and was lost in deep space. Now you will help me tell the truth?" "I'll try," the voice promised before Mulder himself pushed down the stop button. He turned to Scully. "Byers made the call," he explained. "He introduced me as a friend within the government." Scully sat back, shaking her head. "It's an incredible story, Mulder. How could they keep something like that quiet for so long? Our intelligence must have picked up the broadcasts..." "It's not the job of our intelligence to prove the Russians got to the moon before we did," Mulder said. "As far as anyone knew, Voskhod-Luna was lost in space forever. Nobody would be the wiser. Only Goryakin and Trofimov knew that it was coming back." "And whoever leaked it to you..." "Deep Throat," Mulder suggested. "He had international contacts. He could have sat on this memo, and arranged for it to be released when the time was right... even if he wasn't around to do it himself." Scully raised her eyebrows. "It could be." Mulder popped the tape. "Of course, now we don't know who the hell knows it." Scully looked down. Mulder went on. "I advised Goryakin to leave home. He'd already bought his plane ticket to Salt Lake City. I told him not to use it. Start now, travel by bus, car, train, whatever, pay cash only." "I'm not convinced that Tom has betrayed us," Scully said softly. "I hope not." Mulder put a hand on her shoulder. "Really." "So what's next?" "I've told Goryakin to stay in contact with Byers," Mulder said. "We'll meet up on the way to Utah. With any luck, we'll be the only reception committee waiting for Voskhod-Luna. But even in the most optimistic scenario we'll only have a couple of hours to collect our evidence. Moon Dust will be in the air as soon as that thing shows up on NORAD radars." "I should stay in Washington," Scully said. "Keep things quiet. People will be asking questions if both of us just disappear. And," she added, looking pointedly at Mulder, "I can keep an eye on Agent O'Brien." Mulder was blank for a moment, then: "Scully... I want you to be there with me. What we might find-" She smiled sadly. "I think you'll find a broken spaceship and a dead cosmonaut. You can give him his due place in the history books. That's admirable enough." "What if that isn't all?" "Well-" Scully looked off. "I'll read about it in the papers." Scully got home around midnight, and was greeted by a single ingratiating flash on her answering machine. "Hello, Dana. Sorry- I guess you're already asleep. I hope you're feeling a little better. If you're up to it, maybe you'd like to have dinner with Claire and me tomorrow evening. I'll prove to you I can cook, and Claire's dead curious to meet you... well... call me any time in the morning. I'm an early riser. Goodnight." Scully went to bed worn out and depressed. I've had it, she thought. I've got to stop lying to somebody, and I hope by tomorrow I can decide who. The dinner was excellent, and O'Brien used all his powers to keep the women from helping with the cleanup. Dana and Claire were left to get acquainted in the living room, sipping wine while the sound of running dishwater issued from the kitchen. Scully took to Claire instantly- she had the same winning smile and uncomplicated manner as her father. "I've got to say, Dana," Claire pronounced in a mock hush, "Dad's always been smooth. A real old-fashioned charmer." She went on even more confidentially. "But you've thrown him. I've never seen him talk the way he does about anybody, not since Mom." Scully looked down into her glass, smiling and suppressing the instinct to blush. It was impossible to believe that there was any strain of artifice or deceit in this family. "Thank you," she said finally. "I'm glad you approve of me." Claire smiled. At that point O'Brien burst in, wiping his hands. "Well, that's that. Hope you weren't too disgusted." "It was wonderful, Tom. You've got quite a talent." Claire stood up. "Well, you know what they say: men are always chefs, but never cooks." She winked at her father. "I've got to roll. Told Stan I'd meet him at 9:30." Claire pulled a jacket out of the closet. "It's been great meeting you, Dana. See you soon." "Yes. Goodnight, Claire." "Now you crazy kids don't stay up too late," Claire said, this time giving the both of them the wink. Having secured the last word, she was out the door. "She's quite a girl," Scully said as O'Brien sat down next to her on the sofa. "You bet," he said, topping up her glass from the open bottle on the coffee table. "She's got a future. I'm very proud of her." Scully nodded then sipped at her drink. She wasn't feeling prepared for intimacy. Claire's animated presence had kept her mood buoyant, but left to herself there were too many doubts to allow the evening to continue as it seemed to be intended. She was silent. O'Brien seemed to pick up on her reticence. He took a sip then turned to face her. "Dana," he began, "I know something's not sitting well with you. I think you know you're more than a friend to me... I like to imagine you feel the same. If there's something keeping you back, my age, whatever it is-" "Tom, did you meet Goryakin in 1979?" O'Brien's face was frozen in a stare. Scully closed her eyes. "Damn," she whispered. "Where did you-" "Why would you not tell me that? I'm trying to figure that out." O'Brien collected himself. "I don't know who told you-" Scully's throat clenched. "Oh if you try to deny it now I really will be mad." O'Brien inhaled deeply. "Yes." A pause. "I work for Counterintelligence Division, Dana. My job is to protect our country's secrets. That being so, it would be unprofessional of me to hand those secrets out to all comers... I can tell that answer doesn't satisfy you. But that is my job." Scully was silent a moment, then: "There's one other thing. Who knows about what Agent Mulder and I told you? Who has his information?" "I gave a copy of the memo to my superiors, as indication of a possible security breach. They will decide what to do with it." "You could tell them, but not me-" "What I knew was officially classified. Agent Mulder's information is a leak, possibly from within our own intelligence." "And what about trust?" "What about it?" "What about keeping a confidence?" "The leak will be investigated and plugged at the source. None of it should affect you or Mulder." "You don't know what you're saying! You had no right to make that judgement for us!" "It's my job, Dana!" Scully shook her head. "I can't believe you thought I'd let this slide. Didn't you think we might just find out about you?" "I thought-" O'Brien brought himself up short. Scully jumped insistently into the silence. "What?" "I thought I could control your information." Scully's shoulders sank, then she sighed. "That's depressing, Tom. Do you ever wonder why they gave me my badge? Somebody thought I was a little cleverer than that." "I don't get it, Dana. This is about Mulder, not you." "If it's about Mulder, it's about me too." O'Brien's lip stiffened. "I thought your relationship with him was simpler." "I don't know exactly what you mean by that. To me it's perfectly simple. It's called loyalty. That's the reason either of us is still alive." Scully stood up and headed for the entranceway. "You're going?" O'Brien said, snapping out of a sullen daze. "Yes," Scully stated, pulling on her raincoat. "Why?" Scully's anger had ebbed away, leaving only a weary sadness. She caught a glimpse of herself in the long mirror on the opposite wall, looking quite diminuitive in her oversized coat, a ghost of herself. "You don't know me, you don't know my work, you don't know what I've been through..." "Tell me," O'Brien said weakly. "I think I've told you too much," she muttered as she reached for the doorknob, hoping she could get out before the tears came. "There she is," Langly announced from the passenger seat. Frohike looked out the rain-spattered window. "She looks bummed," he said. "Maybe we should leave her alone." Byers angled his head toward the rearview mirror. "Good call, Langly. Nice sentiment, Frohike, but this is too important. Wonder what brings her out at this hour." Frohike sat back, wringing his hands nervously, while Byers sheperded the van through a U-turn. Langly rolled down the window. "Agent Scully!" He saw her head whip around, startled. "Over here!" They pulled up beside her. Her eyes were wide and annoyed. "Can I help you?" "Bad news," Langly explained. "Mulder's been arrested." "Arrested?" Byers leaned over to the passenger side. "Detained. Pending an inquiry into a breach of national security. He called us with his one phone call. 'Find her, find him and find it', he said." Langly interpreted. "You're her, Goryakin's him and Voskhod-Luna is it. Hop in if you want a ride." Scully's mind, still in turmoil, was two steps behind. "Where?" "Utah!" Byers trumpeted. "We'll follow the trail of the Mormon pioneers!" "And get ourselves some boss E.T. paparazzi for the next ish," Langly elaborated with a grin. Scully still did not move. "Seriously, Agent Scully," Byers added, "it may be your safest course of action. There's no telling who might be waiting for you at home." Events were, as usual, moving too fast. Scully consulted her instincts and they told her to go along, and be there where Mulder could not. She grasped the handle on the back passenger side and climbed in. Frohike was there. He tremulously acknowledged her with a high-pitched grunt, then buried his nose in a paperback book. 'Don Quixote', Scully noted with a faint twinge of amusement. At least I won't have to make small talk. Langly picked up a small handful of cassettes from the floor by his feet and held them up. "What do you prefer, Agent Scully? Offspring or The Foo Fighters?" "You pick," she said, leaning against one hand and rubbing her forehead. Langly slipped a cassette into the player, and the van roared to life, seemingly on the power of the bass cannon alone. Scully lay her head on the back of the seat, and allowed herself to be hypnotized by the beat of the music, the light of the streetlamps beyond her eyelids and the hum of the engine. She slipped into a half-dream state, where she imagined that she was herself a stowaway on some demented, ill-conceived moon mission, accompanied by a trio of grotesque astronauts. One pontificated endlessly about the passing scenery while his co-pilot air-drummed. The third simply sat frozen in suspended animation, in the grip of some unfathomable spell. Finally, against all odds, Scully fell asleep, while the van tracked ever westward through the night. + + + + + =========================================================================== From: tahouston@vircom.com (tracey houston) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: Moon Dust, part 4 of 5 Date: 28 Jul 1995 01:43:32 GMT Here's Part 4 of Moon Dust. Characters are (c) Chris Carter and 10-13. Used without permission. -Rob Langford tahouston@gmgate.vircom.com PART 4. The guard's expression was blank and impassive, and as characterless as the cinderblock walls. Mulder sat quietly behind the table. They were already half an hour late. It was an old tactic- he used it himself. It was insulting to have it used against him now. "Hear how the Redskins did yesterday?" he said to the guard. The guard's gaze shifted for a second, then dutifully he locked it back into its place on the opposite wall. A few more minutes were allowed to pass, then the door handle turned. Tom O'Brien walked in and sat down opposite Mulder. "Guess what I found on my desk when I got in this morning," O'Brien began. "A file regarding a leak inquiry that touches on your operations." "I'm sure you were surprised," Mulder said blankly. "That's one of the ironies of this job. First, we'll try the short method. Who gave you that information, and how did you intend to act on it?" Mulder was silent. O'Brien took a notebook out of his jacket pocket. "Oh well. I guess we'll have to do this the long way." "I've got a question for you, O'Brien. Do you wonder why an agent has been put into custody in the course of a leak inquiry?" "National security matters require some flexible application of the law," O'Brien explained. "You are still in full posession of your constitutional rights." "Great. I'll take Door Number Five, Monty." O'Brien sighed. "I guessed as much. There's no need to draw this out, Agent Mulder-" "It doesn't really matter, does it? Just as long as you keep me here until the end of the week." "Agent Mulder, I am conducting a leak investigation-" Mulder smiled grimly. "You really don't know, do you? You don't know that nobody expects you to get anything out of me. The charge is a joke. You shouldn't get into this kind of work, O'Brien. It doesn't dignify you." "Are you going to refuse to cooperate with this inquiry? That kind of behaviour would not advance your standing in the bureau." "That decision's been out of my hands for a long time." O'Brien slumped back and sighed. "Do you want a lawyer, Agent Mulder?" "I want Assistant Director Skinner." Mulder thought Skinner looked a bit too amused. "So you're in the klink, Agent Mulder." Skinner occupied O'Brien's chair across the plain table. "This is a diversion, sir. I haven't done anything illegal." "I'd like to leave aside the larger issues for the moment. I've spoken to Agent O'Brien, and he tells me you're behaving belligerently in the extreme." "You're ticking me off for bad manners?" "Appearances are everything, Mulder. I don't care how you conduct your defense, take the fifth, whatever. Just smile when you do it. I can't help you if you're going to front off with everybody who comes in here." Mulder lowered his head. "Yes sir." "Now let's get to business. What's your side of this story?" "Sir, I received an anonymous tip. A document, in Russian. Agent Scully asked O'Brien to help us translate it. Instead, he turned it over to his department. This charge is just a tactic to keep me from acting on that information. I'll bet you money they'll let me go in a couple of days, after it's too late." "This tip- it related to an active case file, I presume?" Mulder's shoulders sagged. "No sir. But it was an opportunity-" He leaned in and whispered. "We had a chance at evidence they didn't even know existed. We could have gotten at the truth through the back door." Skinner leaned back and shut the folder on the table in front of him. "I can't intercede for you, Agent Mulder. But if you're right and you're sprung in a couple of days, I can see to it that none of this shows up on your permanent record. Nor Agent Scully's." Mulder blinked. "Scully's been detained too?" Skinner shook his head. "AWOL," he explained. "No one's seen her since Sunday, following an... airing of differences with Agent O'Brien. I'm surprised he didn't tell you." He rose to go. "You know as well as I do that Agent Scully isn't prone to romantic sulking. I'm just going to assume she has a good reason to go wherever she's going." Mulder almost convinced himself that Skinner winked when he left the room. Byers and Langly took shifts driving while the other slept. They were travelling non-stop most of the way across the country, taking only short breaks to reprovision and stretch their legs. Most of the ride was quiet: Scully had very little to say to this particular company, and indeed Frohike seemed petrified even to look at her. It did not seem to occur to anybody to ask her to share driving duties, but she decided to let this mildly sexist oversight slide for the sake of the very little comfort she had. They picked up Goryakin at an intersection in downtown Columbus, Ohio. A man in his sixties approached the car and tapped on Byers' window; the appointed code phrases were exchanged. Finally Goryakin was invited aboard. Scully was now squeezed in between the ample Russian and Frohike, whose awed silence only intensified at this forced intimacy. "I am honoured to meet you. You are not at all how I expected," Goryakin smiled. "And you, miss, are not with The Lone Gunman, I think?" That was exactly the right thing to say, Scully thought, smiling to herself. "No. I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, FBI. You spoke to my partner, Agent Mulder. He's been detained, so I'm travelling in his place." "It is perhaps then my good fortune, if not his," he said, so warmly that Scully could not bring herself to take offense. "I am very grateful to all of you for your help." "The pleasure's all ours, Mr. Goryakin," Byers called from the front. "You're giving us the biggest story we've ever had." Scully pulled out a small tape recorder she'd borrowed from Langly. "Mr. Goryakin," she ventured. "Would you mind if I asked you some questions, for the record? I'd like to hear your story." "My story! My story is this: in the Soviet Union, I designed spaceships. I was unhappy, so I came to America. I am still unhappy. In America I fix televisions. Televisions should not be fixed. They should all be allowed to break until nobody remembers how to make them anymore. You need no KGB when you have CBS, NBC and CNN. You people are far more orthodox and obedient than mine ever were- which is why my country blew apart while yours simply bleeds to death." Scully was taken aback. "Do you think of going home? Now that there's democracy?" "Go back?" He considered a moment. "There... here... what's the difference? All that matters is here I can finish my work. Which is what we are doing." "Tell me about the Voskhod-Luna mission." Goryakin wrinkled his eyebrows dramatically. "A foolish adventure. Our sole aim was to shame the Americans. The spacecraft was not designed for such an effort. We sent an ordinary Voskhod capsule into orbit, where it linked up with a booster rocket that we sent up two days before. Then- zoom! Quick and dirty spaceflight." "I would like to hear about Pyotr Trofimov," Scully said. Goryakin looked at her. "Trofimov. We knew each other well. We studied together at Moscow State University. We entered the space program together. Our designs, we worked on together." He made a gesture with interlocked fingers. "Partners." He faced forward again. "Voskhod-Luna was his baby. I argued against it. And to give him credit, the mission was technically perfect until the incident on the far side. But when something goes wrong... everyone looks for blame. Trofimov and I tried to stay above the squabbling, but... in the end, I resigned. He decided to stay. Our mission was only the first in a string of disasters. Komarov's death in Soyuz 1. The N-1 explosion where Pyotr was killed..." He trailed off. Scully noticed that all was quiet in the car. Byers and Langly had fallen silent, and Langly was turned half-around, the better to hear the Russian's account. Even Frohike had untensed next to Scully and focused his attention on Goryakin. Scully resumed the interview. "The incident on the far side..." "Yes." Goryakin rubbed his hands together. "The brass tacks, yes? That is what we are going to find. The proof of an extraterrestrial life form." "You mentioned to Mulder a last transmission from Ziskin..." "That is it. That is it. His final transmission! I will never be as terrified as I was listening to Ziskin's voice." "What did he see?" "He reported a bright light following his craft. The light overtook him. He was in the light, consumed by the light. Pressure was falling. He spoke of tendrils coming through the hatch, like silk or like spiderwebs. Then static, then nothing." "And that's all?" Scully blinked. "That is all." "They could have been hallucinations... related to asphyxia..." Goryakin smiled, waving his hands. "Yes! Yes! They could have been. I told Trofimov that. But we have to know, now that we have a chance. Trofimov, he was convinced. That is why he stayed. He had to find out. He is gone. So I must find out for him. Simple." "Yes." Scully nodded. This time O'Brien kept Mulder waiting over an hour. As usual, he came in and sat down without apology, placing a notebook on the table and staring at Mulder. "The pretense isn't necessary, O'Brien," Mulder said. "I've got nothing more to say today than I did yesterday." "I agree, Agent Mulder. There is no pretense necessary. Which is why I've added an obstruction of justice charge to your sheet." "Is claiming my fifth-amendment rights an obstruction of justice?" "You've certainly talked a lot for someone who's taking the fifth," O'Brien said. "Enough to reveal to any judge your contempt for the process." "The whole inquiry will be over in twenty-four hours, I guarantee it... in the meantime, why don't we talk about something else?" O'Brien half-smiled. "Sure. What would you like to talk about?" "Something we have in common. Scully." "I had dinner with Agent Scully last night. She sends her regards," O'Brien said jovially. Mulder simply shook her head. "Uh-uh. Skinner told me. She's gone." O'Brien's face was a perfect blank. "All right. What about Scully?" "Personally, I'm concerned about her. How about you?" O'Brien put down his pen. "I miss her," he stated plainly. "But she's a grown woman. She can take care of herself." "You're a Cold Warrior, O'Brien," Mulder said. "But this is the New World Order. There are no gentlemen's rules." "I would have advised Agent Scully against going to Utah if I could have. But I'm sure that Air Force Intelligence will deal with her properly-" "Moon Dust," Mulder sneered. "A smokescreen. How about Aquarius, the Blue Berets..." "Folk tales," O'Brien declared with finality. Mulder leaned forward. "Maybe. But I sure hope someone hears from her soon. Because when you get that call telling you the charges against me are dropped, that you're off the case... it will already be too late." The van finally reached a small motel on the highway north of the Great Salt Lake Desert, just over the Nevada state line. It was the first chance the travellers had to take a real rest in two days of solid driving. Scully felt like she had been rolled into a tiny ball. It was almost painful to extend her legs again. She immediately took the chance to shower and nap, but only two hours later she heard the sound of Frohike and Langly chatting just outside her window. She peeked through and saw them tinkering with a stack of milk crates in the back of the van. Scully poked her head around the door. "What's up? Are you going back out already?" "Uh-huh," Langly said. "We're gonna put on a little show for the Air Force." Scully wondered if they were about to do something she should try to stop. "What have you got there?" "Firecrackers," Langly explained. "Big ones. We're gonna make Moon Dust think it's raining spaceships out there. Better chance we'll get to the real one first." "You mean... we drove across the country with... all those explosives?" Scully's eyes were wide. "Yup," Frohike said with a wicked little grin. "We were a thermonuclear Pinto." "Don't worry, Agent Scully," Langly said reassuringly. "They're very stable compounds. We know what we're doing." Scully stood at the door a moment, then decided to let it go. "Just be careful," she said and went back in to her room. She lay down on her bed, listening to the van as it roared off into the dusk. She was glad for the chance to sleep, after so long a time in close quarters with such surreal company. At least Goryakin was engaging, she thought. She looked forward to hearing more of his fascinating story, after all this was over. She thought to herself that Mulder would like him too. Scully was awoken by a polite tap on the door to her room. The darkness was still complete. Scully looked over at the clock: three a.m. "Agent Scully?" came a voice. Goryakin. "The boys have asked me to come wake you. Frohike and Langly just got back. Now we must go set up camp." If they just got back now, Scully thought, they must have been out... seven hours, driving through open desert in pitch darkness, while letting me sleep. She was beginning to develop a grudging admiration for these people. "Give me ten minutes, she called toward the door. "No problem," the Russian's voice answered. Soon they were out on the highway, heading back into Utah. Langly called out from the driver's seat. "Here goes. Watch that compass, Frohike." Langly killed the headlights and veered off the road into the desert. Suddenly all was darkness. There was a crunching noise as the wheels propelled them over the ancient salt lakebed. Scully began to hear a hail-like clattering and noticed pellets of salt striking the windshield. "There's a wind coming up," Byers announced. "Radio's predicting some violent weather. Ideal conditions. The wind will keep our tracks covered, and perhaps ground any aircraft. The odds will be much more fair if everybody's on foot." It took them forty-five minutes to reach the base camp in the hills which Langly and Frohike had set up earlier. The van had begun to sway in the crosswind, arousing fear that they would be blown off course in the darkness, but soon the ridge of hills appeared. At the base camp, the Lone Gunmen got down to business. Byers manned a device that was monitoring for the heat-signature of Voskhod-Luna's reentry, while Langly scanned the horizon with infrared binoculars. They endured the wind stoically as they worked. Frohike was assembling packs of equipment for the expedition to the landing site. "Who's going?" he called out to the company in general. "I'm going," Goryakin chimed in. "That's understood," Frohike agreed. "Who else?" "I'm going," Scully said. "You guys should stay back and be ready to evacuate. Civilians out there will only bring down more trouble." "Man," Langly said. "I'd sure love to see it." "So would I," Byers interrupted. "But Agent Scully is right. We have to be ready to bring back the story if anything goes wrong." "Don't worry, Langly," Scully said. "We'll get you some great pictures." "Just got a reading!" Byers yelled from his perch. "It's coming!" Goryakin's head snapped up. "Hope it doesn't come down too far away," Langly said, eyes still on the horizon. "Personally, I'm hoping it doesn't fall right on our heads," Byers observed. "Are the charges armed, Frohike?" "Yup," came the answering croak as Frohike took his place at the detonator switches. "Then you may commence blowing things up," Byers said. Frohike threw a switch, then a few seconds later, another. Langly looked out with his binoculars. "There went number six. Good work, Frohike... that was number eleven..." "I'm glad you guys are on my side," Scully said. Byers laughed. "I never thought I'd hear that from a federal agent." A few seconds later, Scully heard deep rumbles crisscrossing the desert, carried on the wind. Suddenly there was a gasp from Langly. "There it is! Holy shit, we're lucky! Can't be any more than a mile and a half away! Take a look, Agent Scully." Langly handed Scully the binoculars as a great roar overwhelmed their voices. Goryakin leapt into the air, his cheer dwarfed by the thundering. "Ayeayeaye! We've done it, Pyotr Ilyevich!" "That's it, Frohike! Keep 'em coming!" Byers yelled as more rumbles rolled over the flats. "Gentlemen, I believe this will be our little publication's finest hour!" "It is already mine, Mr. Byers," the Russian called out, laughing. "Let us waste no more time!" Scully joined Goryakin and they began to march out over the dark desert landscape. She heard Byers call out "Godspeed!". Turning back to the base camp, she called over the howl of the wind: "Remember, get out of here the first sign of trouble! And if we're not back in two hours, just go and try to contact Mulder. There's no use in heroics." Byers gave a wave of confirmation. Scully turned back and continued to march, Goryakin keeping pace beside her. Remarkable people, she thought. I'll have to remember to be nicer to them in future. Scully felt little pinpricks as the wind drove salt across the land. Thank god it's at our backs, she thought, or we'd never get there. "Here you are, Agent Scully," Goryakin said as they walked. Scully looked over and saw him offering her a bottle of clear liquid. "It is the bottle that I was going to share with Trofimov today," he explained. "I would be honoured if you would join in the toast." Scully smiled. "I'm not really a vodka person..." "The weather makes you feel more like margaritas, perhaps?" Goryakin laughed. "But we are both here for somebody else today. Let us drink to them. Even just a sip? To Trofimov!" He raised the bottle and helped himself to a frightening gulp. He handed the bottle to Scully. She held it tentatively. "To Mulder!" she yelled, laughing, and then knocked the bottle back. The liquid went down her throat like fire. Goryakin was inconsolable. "You'll make a Russian yet, Special Agent Dana Scully!" He accepted the bottle back from her. She could not find her voice to answer, and simply laughed hoarsely as the wind whipped them onward into the darkness. Mulder was woken by a rude clanging. O'Brien was in the cell, not late this time but very, very early. His face was ashen. "You're free to go, Agent Mulder," he said quietly. "The inquiry has been called off. I haven't heard from Agent Scully." Without a word, Mulder stood up and strode toward the door. O'Brien caught his arm. "What have they done to her, Mulder?" he whispered. Mulder looked at O'Brien's hand on his arm, then back up at his face. "Why don't we go find out?" + + + + + =========================================================================== From: tahouston@vircom.com (tracey houston) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: Moon Dust, part 5 of 5 Date: 28 Jul 1995 02:15:01 GMT Here's part 5 of Moon Dust. Characters are (c) Chris Carter and 10-13. I'm using them without permission- naughty naughty. PART 5. "Here we are," Scully said, extending her arm and stopping Goryakin in his tracks. "Seems to be the edge of a crater." Scully turned on her flashlight and swept the beam along the ground in front of them. The wind was as vicious as ever, and the blowing salt continued to obscure the view. Scully climbed over the lip of the small crater, followed by Goryakin. "It's here!" he shouted over the wind. His flashlight beam fell on a metal surface about twenty feet in front. He began to run excitedly. "Careful!" Scully called, going after him. "It's hot!" the Russian called back. He circled the near-spherical capsule, examining the sides with his beam. Scully came up to the capsule and began to circle it in the other direction. She put down her pack and pulled out Langly's camera and tape recorder. "I'm at the landing site now," she reported into the microphone. "The capsule is charred and still warm from re-entry... Here's some markings... CCCP... the Soviet flag... here's a porthole! Mr. Goryakin!" "No," Goryakin called. "I have better than a porthole!" Scully came around to his side. There was a large crack in the side of the vessel. The half-buried sphere was split open like an egg. The gap was easily wide enough for a man to pass through. Both of them pressed their lights through the crack. "Look!" Goryakin shouted. "You were right, Trofimov!" "Mulder, I'm seeing... the interior of the capsule... there's a thick, stringy substance crisscrossing the cabin... I'm going to take some pictures." Scully put the tape recorder on the ground nearby and began to snap photographs. "I'm going in," Goryakin announced. "No-" "Yes, Agent Scully. This is why I am here. I accept the risks." Scully stepped back reluctantly, realizing it would be useless to argue. This was the Russian's show. She continued her narration. "Goryakin is entering the capsule... -watch out!... He's gathering some of the stringy substance into sample containers. Mulder, I wish you could see this... it's definitely organic... perhaps the growth from contaminants brought from earth but... given Ziskin's transmission, I think maybe-" "Ziskin is not here!" Goryakin shouted from within. "No body, not even his suit!" "Did you catch that, Mulder? There is no sign of the pilot, or of his spacesuit! Are you getting photographs, Mr. Goryakin?" "Yes! Many!" "We should go back soon," Scully called. "Yes, yes," came the impatient reply. "One minute more!" Scully walked a little ways back from the capsule and scanned the surroundings. Visibility was still virtually nil. She felt a spell of dizziness as she walked. I'm getting to the point of exhaustion, she thought. We had better go. "Mr. Goryakin!" she called. "Let's get back!" He did not answer. She began to walk back toward the wreck of Voskhod-Luna, only to be struck by another spell of dizziness. "Mr. Goryakin!" Out of the corner of her eye, Scully perceived a very faint orange glow. Her sluggish mind took a few seconds to register it. It was not until the voice spoke that she came to full alertness again. "Agent Scully, please stand back." Her vision began to blur. More spots of orange began to appear at the opposite rim of the crater. "We will act with or without your cooperation, Agent Scully. Do not overestimate your importance. Please step back now." Scully was finding herself increasingly unable to focus her thoughts. There was something important she had to say, but... "What about Goryakin..." "You have only a few seconds of consciousness left. Stand back as far as you can!" She rallied for a moment and called out. "Let me get Goryakin!" "You've never met Goryakin. He's been dead for years. Please stand back now." As if in warning, one of the orange spots briefly flared into a very distinct tongue of flame. "I have to get him out of the capsule!" "There is no capsule, Agent Scully. Put that out of your mind. Read your history: the Russians never went to the moon." "The evidence..." Scully felt the strength draining out of her legs. The tape recorder fell out of her grip. "This is your final warning." At the far rim, the flames began to brighten, revealing a row of masked faces. Scully began to crawl away as her mind seemed to slowly detach itself from her body. The swirling white dust was beginning to glow orange, like the sparks sent up from a bonfire. The voice continued to speak, but somehow she knew it was not talking to her. She heard the word "sterilization", and that word lodged itself in her mind and echoed as she clawed for the crater rim. The crater began to fill with fire like a bowl with liquid. She tried to grasp on to her consciousness, trying to pull together thoughts and make sense of these swirling images. Yes, she realized. They were here. She had not thought it possible but they were real, and they had come to sterilize the earth. There would be nothing left when they were done. The trees and animals would be consumed... consumed by the light... and there would be nothing but this swirling white powder covering the fields and hills... Finally it took too much effort to think. She closed her eyes against the painful orange glow, and gave herself over to the hot, cleansing wind. "Proceed southward along the western rim of the desert- see those hills over there? Along there." The pilot nodded and veered the helicopter in the direction of the ridge that Mulder was indicating. "You seem to have a pretty precise idea of where to look, Agent Mulder," O'Brien said from the next seat over. "I've got my sources," Mulder answered. "Are you going to ask me who they are?" "If we find her," O'Brien said, "I don't care if it's Saddam Hussein." Mulder was silent. He thought of the sound of Byers' voice over the phone. The man was usually unflappable, but this time he was nervous and apologetic. It was all Mulder could do to reassure him that they had acted appropriately and that any further waiting or searching would only have invited unnecessary danger. "Take us low," Mulder said to the pilot. "Can't see with this sunlight. We're snowblind up here." The helicopter descended to an altitude of barely fifty feet. The wind from the rotors churned up the salt surface below. "There! What was that?" O'Brien called out. Mulder looked back and saw a tiny dark shape exposed in the wake of the chopper's passage. "Take us down!" he commanded. Mulder and O'Brien climed out of the aircraft and dashed across the flat. Mulder arrived at the prone body first, and he began to sweep the salt and dust away. O'Brien came up behind him, and stopped suddenly upon recognition. Mulder rolled Scully over on her back. Her body was covered with patches of soot, and the exposed parts of her arms and legs were scraped and mildly sunburnt. O'Brien did not dare step any closer. "She's okay," Mulder announced, coolly hiding his immense sense of relief from O'Brien. "There's a good pulse." O'Brien now kneeled closer as Mulder took her around the shoulders and propped her up. He splashed a few drops of cold water in her face and put the canteen to her lips. At first the water dribbled down her chin, but then she began to sip at it eagerly. Mulder pulled the canteen away, and her eyes popped open. First she smiled, then gasped as memory dawned on her. "Mulder!" "It's okay, Scully-" "Where's..." Scully stood up and looked around, oblivious for the moment to O'Brien's presence. "Did you see it?" Mulder shook his head. "They came." "We were here, Mulder. We got here first. I had pictures, samples..." She walked out across the flat. There was not the slightest scar on the ground. "The Moon Dust people came, I think... they gassed us..." She kneeled on the ground and began to sweep her hand across the surface. "How could they do this?" Mulder and O'Brien followed her and knelt beside her as her face wrinkled in grief. She looked over at O'Brien. "Where is Goryakin?" O'Brien asked quietly. Scully reached down and grabbed a handful of salt and dust, holding it for a moment, then in a swift motion tossing it at him. "There," she declared, then stood up and walked toward the helicopter. It was evening, but Scully wasn't ready to go home yet. She took the long route by the water. Often Mulder could be found here, sitting out his moments of doubt. But this time she was the one looking for clarity. Scully found the bench empty and sat. A few minutes went by. She noticed out of the corner of her eye a familiar shape coming down the walk and almost called out Mulder's name. She stopped herself when she realized that it was O'Brien. He walked by without acknowledging her. "Hey." O'Brien turned his head. "Hello," he said, his smile awkward. "Come sit here a minute," Scully said. He obeyed uneasily. "I've been trying to call you." He shifted, still not looking at her. "I wanted to apologize." "What for?" O'Brien said, looking up finally. "You have nothing to apologize for." "That day... I wasn't very nice to you." Scully trailed off. O'Brien laughed hollowly. "I mean..." she continued, "I don't want you to avoid me." "Sorry," O'Brien said. "I can't even begin to think of what to say to you." "Well, you know, I was having a good time before all this..." Scully said with a slightly sheepish smile. "Don't be too quick to forgive me," he said. "I betrayed you... without even a second thought. I have to work out what that means. I don't think I would be very comfortable... with you. It wouldn't work now." Scully looked out over the water. "No, I know." They were silent for a minute, and O'Brien took it as a cue to leave. Scully turned her head as she noticed him rising. "Wait- you'll still be around, won't you? You said before... you'd be happy with whatever sort of friendship-" O'Brien waved a hand. "I'm not sure. I'm not sure I'll be around... I'm thinking of resigning." Scully looked at him silently. "I can't justify myself, not to you, not to my daughter... I don't know what I believe anymore." He paused. "You know, I've arrested a lot of people... spies. They've all been pathetic individuals. People who sold confidences for a little cash. I always thought that somehow my integrity was greater than theirs." "Don't quit. You can transfer..." "I can't see myself going after drug smugglers and serial killers after doing my field work at embassy parties." "You'd be surprised how you can change. Look where I am..." O'Brien sighed. "I just don't know." He stood up again and took a step away. Scully began to stand, but before she could say anything, O'Brien stopped and faced her. "Thank you anyways. You've been... an inspiration." He walked away. Scully remained in place, the unformed words still frozen in her throat. She sat down. Scully remained on the bench for some time. The better part of an hour must have passed before Mulder came along and sat down next to her. Remarkably, he didn't say anything for several minutes, and they both simply watched the full moon rising over the skyline. Finally he spoke. "Byers and company asked after you. I told them you were all right." Scully nodded. "That's a fair description." "They're going to publish Goryakin's memo." "Haven't they published a lot of memos?" Mulder sighed. "It isn't everything we could have hoped for." Scully looked down. "I wish you could have seen it," she said. There was another silence, then Scully continued: "So everything is as it always was. History hasn't been rewritten, you haven't got your proof, and I'm still by myself." "Not entirely," Mulder ventured. Scully smiled at him. "You want to buy me another sundae?" "Sure." They stood up and walked off, leaving the rising moon to its own business. END.