TITLE: STRANGERS AND PILGRIMS (PART 26)

AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE

RATING: R (Personally, I think this is more PG-13, even though there is a
fair amount of violence in it. Of course, I also think that the MPAA is full
of idiots.)

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PART TWENTY-SIX
DANA SCULLY'S BADASS REVENGE

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"This is no time to count your blessings.
"This is no time for private gain.
"This is the time to put up or shut up.
"It won't come back this way again."
                                                ---Lou Reed

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

War consists of a great deal of waiting. There are long stretches of
inactivity between moments of combat. Sometimes, these stretches are
overwhelmingly boring.

Other times, it can be as scary as the combat itself.

No one had said much on the plane trip to Algeria. They spent most of the
time sleeping or trying to sleep. The helicopter ride to Tunisia was also
marked by a lack of conversation.

Scully had done the most talking on the trip. She was explaining what
Erickson had previously told her about the rebels. For one thing, she
explained that their self-healing abilities was less advanced than their
creators. A prolonged burst of gunfire or an explosion could damage them
permanently. The results would not be immediate, though.

Furthermore, their blood was acidic. The decontamination suits would protect
them from infection and the extra lining could hold away acid and fire. But
when the green stuff starts flying, back off if you can. The suits could
only take so much.

Finally, don't count on the other side getting afraid.

The helicopter landed a mile away from the targeted base. They suited up and
armed themselves. They crossed the rest of way over the thick dunes on foot,
carrying guns and other equipment in satchels. Naturally, there was a lot of
sweat accumulated in those suits before they saw the rows of corn.

Then they began to crawl.

The ground that dirtied their suits was surprisingly rich and fertile. They
moved very slowly as if the cornstalks rising stiffly above them were
sentries. Every brush of dirt, every small snap of a bent stalk and every
breath that they could hear over their headset radios now sounded very loud.

This was the longest part of their attack, this slow crawl through the corn
field. The white lights of the domes seemed too distant to ever reach.

In that time, each person was given the opportunity of reflection and
meditation.

Dana Scully: Nobody has questioned me yet on how I know Mulder is here. I'm
glad they haven't. What can I tell them? That I had a dream? Even if Mulder
did send me a message, how do I know anything that he told me in his state
is reliable? This is just an act of faith. In the end, though, acts of faith
are all I can do.

Walter Skinner: This brings back some unpleasant memories. Slowly crawling
across a long stretch of land, knowing that the enemy can come at you from
any direction...just like old times. Still, I can't imagine any other place
that I would rather be.

Alex Krycek: What the hell am I doing here? I thought my conscience was dead
and buried. Am I actually trying to prove something to Skinner? Or to
myself?

Alvin Kersh: You have to admit, Alvin. A few days ago, this is the last
thing that you expected to be doing. You must have an over-developed sense
of duty.

Charles Scully: If any one of those faceless assholes touches Dana, I will
blast his green-blooded butt all the way back to Mars or wherever he came
from.

Michael Kritschgau: Something obviously is up. A corn field growing out in
the middle of the desert is suspicious, to say the least. Yet, Scully
couldn't possibly believe that aliens are...

Then they reached the end of the field and Kritschgau saw them. There were
four of them standing in front of the domes with rods and scarred faces.

It's true, he thought. It's absolutely true, my God...

He glanced over at Scully. She looked back at his amazement with a grim expr
ession.

Then his shock gave away to a stoic acceptance. He nodded to Scully and
said, "What are your orders?"

The six of them were still huddled down in the shadows of the cornfield,
lined up at the edge and spaced a few feet from each other.

"Okay, everybody," she said. "On the count of three. One..."

Charles Scully couldn't say what made him look behind him. One of the
disadvantages of wearing the suit and headset radio was that it cut down on
your radius of hearing. You weren't as aware of your back as you should be.

"Two..."

Maybe a suspicious noise had reached his ears. Maybe he just thought that it
was a good idea to look.

"Thr..."

"DANA, BEHIND YOU!"

Scully hear the roar of Charles's machine gun before she turned. Then she
saw a maelstorm of green blood and tearing corn stalks. She saw a man lose
an arm and parts of his chest, yet still take a few clumsy steps before her.
She joined Charles in his gunfire and the man finally fell down, a hissing,
sticky mess.

She saw the other four rebel aliens in the cornfield, striding towards them,
heedless of their fallen comrade.

"EVERYBODY OUT!" she yelled and they stumbled out of the field. The aliens
by the dome were rushing to meet them, rods held out.

"Skinner, Krycek, take those up front! Everybody else, watch the back!"

They formed a quick circle and let loose with a volley of bullets that
echoed to far-off points of the desert. The eight rebels trembled and burst,
but it took a lot of shots before they dropped.

"Kersh, Kritschgau, get ready to..." Scully started to say.

Then...

...alley-alley oxen-free...

...more of the rebels came. A lot more. From inside and behind the domes.
From out of the cornfield.

No one needed an order then.

Scully didn't count the number of rebels around them. She was too busy
cursing her small size. The machine gun in her hands was the most compact
one to be found, but it felt like it was going to knock her all the way back
to America.

At least, she could use both hands, though. Krycek had to rely on a handgun,
picking his targets carefully, trying to inflict the most damage with the
fewest shots. He was actually quite good at that.

For twenty seconds, they shot away. More than one of them had to reload. The
hissing of the fallen rebels was as loud as a waterfall. The ones still on
their feet strode forward through the green river forming around the humans.

"Kersh, Kritschgau!" Scully yelled. "Whenever you can!"

A window of opportunity opened. The aliens who had came from the field were
all down, even though another wave could be seen charging through the
stalks. Kersh and Kritschgau stopped firing, reached into their satchel
bags, pulled out a grenade each, thumbed off the pins and hurled them.

The two men had been carefully planting the explosives as they had crawled
through the field. (Kersh had worked on a bomb squad and Kritschgau had been
in demolitions before joining the Pentagon.) There was a strong possibility
that the rebels had found the explosives and removed them.

They hadn't.

First there was an explosion at the front, then another and another,
cascading all the way through the rows. A fire climbed up the stalks,
creating a red twisting crown on top. The aliens who hadn't been shredded
into slimy pieces were being cremated.

With their backs secure, everybody turned their attention to the domes. It
only took a few more seconds before the last alien was felled.

They waited for more, breathing like sick children, their bodies unable to
move. They were just glad that they couldn't smell the vivisected aliens.

No one else came.

"All right," Scully said. "All right. Charles, Kersh...you come with me. The
rest of you stay out here."

"Where is Mulder exactly?" Kersh asked.

The question had been finally asked. All the men noticed that Scully wasn't
answering.

(Mulder, if you can hear me, speak. I need to know. I need to know now.)

She heard the crackling of flames, the hissing of alien blood and the heavy
breathing over the radio.

Then she heard something else and she said---

"Follow me."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They could hear the bees outside.

It was an ever-present sound. Sometimes, it would be low and distant. Other
times, it would grow in volume until it was like a thunderstorm. The
safehouse had been sealed up tight, keeping the bees out. Hopefully.

They kept grim possibilities out of their minds by focusing on their work.
There was a lot to do---calls to make, reports to quickly evaluate,
decisions to be made. It was borderline chaos, a hubbub of voices and
ringing phones. Much coffee was being drunk.

In the middle of this, Byers took one moment to look at Susanne, Langly, and
Frohike.

"Tell the Red Cross to bring in out-of-state workers if they have to,"
Susanne was telling one of Matheson's men.

"I've got space cleared open in the NBC studio in Burbank!" Langly shouted
out. "We can use that as a shelter!"

"Look, buddy, it's very simple," Frohike was growling into a phone. "Give
out the vaccine and those kids will live. Don't and they'll die. So, save
the crap for someone who wants to hear it!"

Byers allowed himself to briefly savor his pride. Then he got back to work.

He didn't see the man enter the room. No one else took notice, either. After
all, it was only Victor, one of the security guards assigned to protect
Susanne. Victor had gone to take a few hours of sleep on a cot in the
basement. Obviously, he must have returned to take his next shift.

No one knew that the real Victor was a blackened corpse downstairs.

No one saw this man walk towards Susanne.

No one saw him pull the long rod out of his coat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When they had entered the dome, Scully saw the same closed vents and high
white walls that she had seen before in the Texas dome. She also heard the
same buzzing.

She led Kersh and Charles to the other side of the dome. A steel door was
waiting for them there. It was unlocked. When it was opened, the buzz got
louder. Iron steps led downward to an underground area. Wires ran through a
long string of pale lights on the stone walls.

They went down the steps, trying to be not too quick but not too slow.  An
interesection was waiting for them at the bottom, giving them the choice of
left or right.

(Which way, Mulder?)

"Right," she said. They turned and encounted another corridor with a long
glass wall on one side.

"Jesus," Kersh muttered. On the other side of the glass were yards and yards
of honeycomb. Bees swirled inside, popping in and out of holes and bouncing
off the glass window. Collectively, they were like some great beast waiting
to be unleashed.

They passed the glass cage and reached another intersection.

"Which way now?" Charles asked.

"We go..."

(Right, Cassandra is here, she's to the right, go to the right...)

"Scully?"

She shook off her dazed look and said, "Cassandra Spender is here."

"Who?"

Kersh said, "But she's...oh, never mind. Where is she?"

"All the way down to the right. You two go get her. Make sure she gets
suited up."

"Wait a minute," Charles said. "Where are you...?"

His sister had already taken off down the left-hand corridor.

"Ah, the famous Scully stubbornness," Charles muttered. "Let's go, Kersh."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The three men stood ready while the cornfield burned and the liquidified
aliens dissolved into the desert air.

"You may shoot me for saying this," Krycek said. "But it's a little too
quiet now."

Skinner wanted to shoot Krycek anyway, but he had to agree. He would like to
think that the whole lot of the rebel aliens had been taken of, but he
doubted it.

They would attack again, but from where?

And where were Scully and the rest? It shouldn't take them so long to find
Mulder in that dome. Of course, the dome was probably the top of a very
large underground structure.

Underground...

Skinner suddenly thought of the VC and their network of tunnels where they
waited for you to pass by.

He looked down.

And he saw the sand shifting under Kritschgau's feet.

He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but not before a great hole opened
under Kritschgau. He fell right through, his yell screeching over their
radios.

Skinner rushed to the hole while another sound crackled in his ears. It was
the sound of ripping fabric, followed by a sudden snap.

Then Kritschgau really began to scream. A red light shined from the hole.

Skinner reached the hole and fired all around Kritschgau, watching the heads
of rebels splatter open.

He saw Kritschgau fall to the ground, flames lifting upward from him like
feathers in a wind. He had stopped screaming.

Skinner turned away, angry and sickened.

Then Krycek saw the sand shift under his own feet. He moved, but not quite
fast enough. He stumbled as the ground cracked open. He landed with his rear
end on solid ground and his legs dangling in space. He dropped his gun and
it bounced out of his reach.

Hands grabbed his legs. He tried to find a hold anywhere in the sand.

"Help me!" he cried.

Skinner looked at him.

Just looked at him for one second.

Then he sped over to Krycek who was sliding out of sight. He fired down into
the hole with one hand and grabbed Krycek with the other. Krycek yanked
himself back from the hole, a sliced arm clutched around his ankle. He shook
it off and rolled in the sand to smear off the acidic blood. Skinner fired
some more into the hole to chase others away.

Krycek laid there, panting. Then he lifted his head towards Skinner.

The big man stood over him, watching with his stern eyes.

Then he held out a hand to Krycek and he picked him up to his feet.

Krycek said, "I suppose there's no point in telling you that we should get
off this spot?"

"Not as long as Scully needs us here."

"That's what I thought you would say."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She kept waiting to pull the trigger. She had expected having to shoot her
way through a whole mile of rebels. Instead, the tunnels were empty except
for her. Maybe the aliens were trying to keep the fighting away from Mulder.
Maybe they were planning another kind of offensive.

She continued on at a steady pace, Mulder's voice tapping at her mind. It
was getting weaker, though. He had exerted himself too much in calling her.
Eventually, it faded out for good.

By then, she had found him.

He was strapped to a table. Behind his head was an arrangement of stiff
wires that looked like the design of some mad building. His skin was pale
and sweat slithered over it. A gray slime covered his scalp.

She quickly undid his straps, keeping an eye on the entrance. "Mulder?" she
said to his closed eyes. "I know you can hear me. Can you get up?"

Mulder made no motion. She touched his face.

"Come on, Mulder. Snap out of it."

She shook his head lightly by the jaw, trying to get a response. She tried
to hear his voice inside his mind, but got nothing.

"Please. I need you to..."

She heard gunfire from far off. She looked up, trying to find its source.

It was coming from the direction of Cassandra's holding place.

She looked down at Mulder furiously. "Dammit, Mulder, wake up NOW!"

She slapped him hard on the face.

His eyelids slowly lifted open.

"You know," he said in a mush-mouthed voice. "I don't slap you when you're
the one captured by aliens."

"Shut up and get into this." She pulled out an extra decontamination suit
from her satchel.

"Help me up."

Scully pulled him up into a sitting position and help shove his legs into
the suit. As she did this, she used her headset radio. "Charles, what's
going on?"

Despite the static, she was able to hear her brother. "We've got Cassandra,
but we've also got company!"

"Head for the exit! I'll be right behind you!"

"No," Mulder muttered.

She looked up at him.

"They've locked the dome entrance."

"Charles, hold position!" she yelled. "The exit has been blocked!"

Then she asked Mulder, "Is there another way out?"

He nodded. "We need to leave quickly."

"I know."

"No, I mean now. Something is coming."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Can you hear that?" Skinner asked.

Krycek nodded. The hum was distant but strong enough to hear as it slowly
overcame the silence of the desert.

"Do you know what it is?"

"I'm afraid so."

Krycek looked to the sky. Skinner followed his eyes.

It was descending from the clouds. At first, they only saw a bright light
hanging in the sky. Then there was an abrupt flash and it was now only a
hundred feet above them. It looked like the head of a great arrow. The
lights of its triangular underbelly shined down on them.

In a flat voice, Krycek said, "Here come the big guns."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART TWENTY-SEVEN
SOMEONE ELSE'S VICTORY

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"I see the hand of the gods; some men they raise from nothingness to
towering heights, others they humiliate and destroy."---Euripides

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Charles was really getting tired of these buggers. After he had shot the
lock off Cassandra's cell and got her into a decontamination suit, he
thought that they were home free. Then the faceless jerks came out of
nowhere, a whole platoon of them. He and Kersh had shot their way through to
an open corridor, but now they had to stand their ground until Dana called
back with an alternative escape route. She better do it quick, Charles
thought as he loaded one of his last two clips into his gun and wasted more
bullets into an alien's sticky hide.

Behind him, Cassandra pressed her hands over her ears. The roar of the guns
was being amplified by the tunnel's cramped spaces. It was so loud that
Kersh and Charles almost missed hearing Scully's voice.

"What?" Kersh yelled.

Scully yelled back with a set of directions to take.

"All right, let's go!" Kersh ordered.

"You two go on ahead," Charles said. "I'm going to hold them back for a bit,
try to give us some breathing space."

Kersh looked at Charles, then nodded. He tossed one of his last clips into
Charles' satchel, then motioned Cassandra to move. She didn't need much
encouragement.

An alien marched toward Charles, unafraid of destruction.

"Come here, boy," Charles said and aimed his gun.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was Langly who saw it coming.

"Susanne, look out!" he shouted.

Susanne turned her head, but it was too late. The rod was a few inches away
from her chest.

Then there was a flash of silver in the air. The man who looked like Victor
went into a spasm. Susanne backed up fast. So did everybody.

Except for one person. That would be the man who had suddenly appeared at
the doorway and thrown the steel stiletto into the phony Victor's neck. The
stiletto hadn't gone all the way in. He ran forward and pressed it in
further. The phony Victor collapsed onto the desk.

A horrid smell came from the dead man as he melted into a layer of slime.
Susanne's desk began to dissolve.

Richard Erickson tipped his hat to Susanne and said in a clear voice, "Guess
you need a new desk."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I'm sorry, Scully, Mulder thought. I'm sorry that you ever met me. I'm sorry
that I got you into this mess. I'm sorry that I'm so heavy and I'm sorry
that I have to lean on you to walk...

Once again, Mulder...shut up.

He blinked. Was it Scully who said that? Was that Scully who spoke into
his...?

"There it is!" she cried out.

Up ahead, moonlight was falling through an open hole. They saw the remains
of destroyed aliens fading into green smoke. They also saw a charred body.
Scully swallowed and wondered who it was.

"It's Kritschgau," Mulder said quietly. "I can sense Skinner and Krycek up
there."

She looked at the body for one moment. Then she said, "What's that sound?"

Mulder stared grimly at the open hole. "Scully," he said. "we better stay
down here."

"Why? We need to..."

"Someone else is up there."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was a flat-out hopeless situation. Where was there to run and where was
there to hide from this machine hovering over their heads?

"Never thought you would die next to me, did you, Skinner?"

Skinner looked at Krycek and said, "I never thought you would die an
honorable death."

"Yeah. Boy, life is weird."

The two men looked up at the ship and waited.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder twitched.

"What?" Scully whispered.

"There's something else coming."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Krycek and Skinner didn't hear it at first. The ship above them was that
loud. However, what was coming was louder.

They turned their heads towards the burning field. The ship also turned in
the air to look.

Floating above the desert was another spacecraft. A much bigger spacecraft.
The rebel ship was as big as a garage. This new one was the size of a whole
house.

"I can't believe it," Krycek said.

"What is it?"

"I...can't...believe it." He took a few steps towards the field, staring at
the new ship.

"What?"

Krycek burst out laughing. "It's the goddamn calvary!"

And the rebel ship turned tail and ran, a light fading into the sky.

"The colonists! We've just been saved by the colonists!" Krycek laughed
crazily and gave a finger to the departing ship. "That's right. Run, you
bastards!"

Skinner was just standing there in disbelief when he heard his name called
out. He bent down to the hole.

"Agent Scully, is that you?"

"That's right and baby makes three," the oh-so-sardonic voice of Agent Fox
Mulder said. "What's going on up there?"

Skinner sighed and said, "Apparently, our bacon has been saved."

"Great. Now give us a hand."

Skinner stretched his arm down into the hole. Carefully avoiding the alien
remains, Mulder reached up and took Skinner's hand. With help from Scully
("Christ, you are heavy, Mulder," Scully muttered), he was pulled out.

Mulder laid on the sand, his weariness really starting to sink in. He saw
Krycek jumping around and shaking a fist in the air.

"Hey, monkey boy, how about helping the others get out?" he yelled.

Krycek laughed at Mulder. "Sure, Mulder, whatever you..."

Boom.

Everybody turned.

The underbelly of the spacecraft was emitting these rapidly flashing lights.
It made sounds like the gods beating kettle drums.

Boom. Boom.

The lights hit the ground. A wide fountain of dirt burst upwards as the
lights pounded out a deep hole. The fire grew larger.

Then the ship moved slowly forward, leaving a long, burning crater behind
it.

"Oh, shit," Krycek said. "They're destroying the base."

Scully felt the rumbling and yelled, "What's going on up there?"

"Scully, give me your hand now!" Skinner barked. "Krycek, help me!"

Krycek stood there, wanting to run away but trapped by his briefly revived
conscience.

"Krycek, NOW!"

In the next moment, he was helping Skinner pull Scully out of the hole. She
took one look at the spacecraft heading their way and began to stammer,
"Th-they're still down there, they're still...Charles and Cassandra,
they're..."

"Are they coming this way?"

Scully nodded quickly.

"Then take Mulder and leave the area."

She stared at Skinner, her mind gone blank. The thunder of the spacecraft
had become murderously loud. Cracks in the ground were rushing towards the
humans. The ship was now sixty feet away.

"Scully, for once in your life, obey my order! Now, go!"

With her body working on automatic pilot, Scully helped Mulder back onto his
feet and they stumbled away.

"Want to join them?" Skinner asked.

Krycek said nothing and did nothing.

"Guess you're right, Krycek. Life is strange."

Boom.

Boom.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Charles was about to finish one last alien when the rumbling came. He
stopped firing. The alien stopped marching ahead. Charles saw something
different about the enemy.

The alien was tense, his arms held out against the walls.

He was scared.

Charles decided that this would be a good time to cut and run.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As Cassandra and Kersh ran towards the exit hole, he knew that the trembling
in the ground and the roar echoing down the tunnels meant something worse
than he could imagine. Cassandra, however, could imagine it exactly.

When they reached the hole, Skinner held out his two hands and Krycek held
out one. Both were yelling with loud urgency. Kersh quickly boosted
Cassandra through the hole, then allowed himself to be pulled out.

He was right. It was worse than he imagined.

An enormous spacecraft (damn right, a spacecraft) was blocking out the sky
above the cornfield. The earth beneath it was falling apart into a cloud of
dust and a ball of fire.

The lights were only thirty feet away.

"Where's Charles?" Skinner yelled.

"Charles is still down there!" Kersh shouted back.

Skinner looked down at the hole, begging for Dana's brother to appear.

Boom, boom, boom...

"We don't have time!" Krycek called out to Skinner.

"We can't leave him here!"

"We...don't...have...time."

Skinner turned to the ship, the dust cloud touching his plastic faceplate.
The roar was like being on top of a volcano.

No. They didn't have time.

"Let's move!" he ordered.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From just enough distance to be safe, Scully and Mulder watched the lights
of the spacecraft create a wasteland. "Get out of there," Mulder repeated
over and over as Scully prayed to a God that she hoped was there.

Then they saw four people fleeing the base with just seconds to make it out
alive.

Four people.

Scully took a step forward. Lying down on the ground, Mulder grabbed her leg
and gave her a desperate look.

The four people finally reached them and collapsed onto the sand. Scully
looked at Skinner with a mix of horror and weak hope.

He looked like a man who could say nothing.

She turned back to the base. She watched.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Charles finally reached the hole in the tunnel, but only in time to see a
light burst through and cut towards him.

He spent his last second in absolute disbelief.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The ground around the hole caved in. Scully was knocked flat on her back.
Then the spacecraft reached the domes. Glass and steel were rendered into
dust as fire sprung out in a thick tower. Escaping bees enjoyed brief
moments of freedom before being burned or disintergrated. They looked like
sand vanishing into a river.

The spacecraft continued its attack for a few more seconds. Then it just
stopped.

Just like that, it stopped.

Five people sat before the wreckage, the flames heating their bodies and a
crater sloping down from their feet. The spacecraft was as oblivious of them
as before.

Then they became aware of a man walking towards them. They turned to see the
Bounty Hunter, his face as impassive as always.

He stopped and looked down at them. "We wish for you to know that
colonization has been terminated. Our leaders have been executed for their
lies to us. We will remove all remnants of our presence and leave you be."

With that, the Hunter turned away.

"That's it?" Mulder said.

The Hunter stopped in his tracks.

"You create all this destruction. You cause all this misery. And now that we
no longer suit your purpose, you just walk away?"

The Hunter looked back. "Yes," he said, then left them there. The spacecraft
then left, too.

Mulder slowly turned to Scully. She was staring at the destroyed base.

He wanted to say something. He couldn't. He wanted her to say something. She
didn't. She didn't even look at him.

He tried to open his mind to her. He forced his thoughts to reach out to
her.

Nothing happened. She could no longer touch his mind. He could no longer
make contact. The only thing that he could hear inside was his own guilt
stranded alone in the silence.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART TWENTY-EIGHT
SURVIVORS

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"All around you people are killed...but not you. They have been killed
instead of you. This observation is unavoidable. So, in time, is the
corollary, implicit in the word 'instead': in place of. They have been
killed in place of you---in your place."---Tobias Wolff

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He watched the television. He listened to a news report about the bee attack
in California. He learned about a vaccination program that had been
implemented there. The death toll had been seventy-nine, but everybody
agreed that it would have been a hundred times worse without the vaccine.

When he had heard enough, he turned off the television. Then he sat still in
the living room for awhile.

Finally, he got up and went to the kitchen. There he found Samantha making
breakfast for herself while George and Miriam---eight and six years old
respectively---ate their cereal.

"Morning, dad," she said.

"Morning, grandpa!" George and Miriam called out.

"Uh, morning. I have to leave."

Samantha turned away from the oven. "Leave?"

"Yes. Something pressing just came up. I have to go now."

"Ah, come on, grandpa!" George complained.

"I'm sorry. But I have to."

Samantha said, "Well...if you're sure."

He shrugged and held out his arms. Samantha hugged him. Then he hugged
George and Miriam, told them that he loved them and left the house, knowing
that he would never see them again.

As he drove away from Samantha's house, he made a phone call. "They're going
to come for Firstborn 6 soon," he said. "Tell them that it died. Considering
how sick the others were, they'll believe it."

Too bad that I can't make the same excuse for them, he thought, looking at
the house as it receded in his mirror. He also wondered if he should feel
depressed right now.

He decided that he didn't. Yes, these past decades of work had been wasted
on an event that had cancelled itself out. However, that could also mean
that new opportunities had presented themselves. If they were to be found,
he knew just the people who would lead him in the right direction.

He lit a cigarette.

A half hour later, a very large man burst into Samantha's house. She and the
children wanted to run, but they found themselves held still by those cold
eyes.

"You will come with me," the man said. "It's time to leave."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Byers was sitting in the headquarters of the vaccination program. He was the
only one there and watching television. Around him were silent phones,
discarded paper cups and wrinkled maps.

Senator Richard Matheson was holding a press conference. "I regret having to
exceed my authority on this one," he told the reporters. "I know that this
sort of emergency is usually handled by the FEMA. However, I saw a need for
action. I believe that the results speak for themselves."

Byers smiled. The senator had the next election in the bag for sure. Who
would vote against the man who had saved the West Coast? The forces that
would have punished him for his transgression were now too weak to hurt him.
However, they were not too weak to hurt Susanne Modeski. That's why no one
would know of her involvement. No one would know the deeper meaning of the
plague that hit California.

Of course, there were certain stories running around. There were rumors of
men attacking the vaccination workers with rods and then getting killed
themselves by other men with stilettos. Those were dismissed as
panic-created fantasies.

He glanced at the half-eaten desk. Everybody who had witnessed the incident
in here today had promised Matheson that they would be silent about it.
Years ago, such a promise would have gnawed onto Byers's gut.

Now, he found out that he didn't mind. Why was that? Why did he feel so
content right now?

He went downstairs and found Susanne sleeping on a cot. He laid next to her
on the cot and cuddled up against her body.

"What?" Susanne muttered, coming awake.

"Shhh. Go back to sleep."

"Where's everybody? Where's Langly and Frohike?"

"They're getting drunk. Now go to sleep."

Susanne nodded. In a few moments, they were both happily unaware of
anything.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, Mulder was still alone in his apartment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As usual, the meeting was held in a garage. What was it with garages?
Skinner wondered.

He found Krycek waiting for him. Krycek looked at the other man for a long
moment. Then he got out the controlling device. He made a slight adjustment
and Skinner felt a brief tingle in his body.

"There," Krycek said. "The nano probes have been rendered inactive. Your
excrement will be a funny color for awhile, but you'll be fine."

Skinner made no reply.

"Aren't you going to thank me?"

He was still silent.

"Whatever," Krycek said and turned to go.

"What are you going to do now?"

Krycek looked back. "Me?" He thought about it, then laughed. "I have
absolutely no idea."

With that, Krycek took his leave. Skinner, Mulder or Scully never saw him
again.

After his meeting with Krycek, Skinner went to see Alvin Kersh in his
office. He was surprised to see Kersh was cleaning out his desk.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Kersh looked up at Skinner, then he sighed. "When I told Agent Scully that I
would help her...I didn't expect to end up seeing the things I just saw. I
really got sucker-punched."

"I still don't understand. Are you quitting because of this?"

"Yes. I'm afraid so."

Skinner studied Kersh, then said, "You can't put this knowledge into the
context of the life you had before."

Kersh nodded. "Going back to this job...being a FBI assistant
director...dealing with the bureaucracy on one hand and the ordinary
criminals of the world on the other...I just can't see me doing that
anymore. And I can't believe you don't feel the same way."

"Actually...this is the only place where I can find the right context. But I
certainly respect your decision. What will you tell the higher-ups?"

"Oh, I can tell them any old excuse. But what can we say to Charles Scully's
family? Or to Kritschgau's? Do we explain what happened to them? Or are we
just going to stick by the official story?" Kersh shook his head. "What was
that one again? They died in a fire?"

"No, their families should know the truth."

"Maybe more people should know. Maybe the whole world should know."

"We've already talked about this. The aliens are leaving and they want to do
it silently. I don't want to risk getting them angry. Just as long as they
leave, it's fine with me."

"Amen."

It was silent for a moment. Then Skinner asked Kersh what he planned to do.

"I have absolutely no idea."

"You know, you're the second person to tell me that tonight."

"Well, if you know exactly what you're going to do, Mister Skinner, you're
one up on the rest of us."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, Scully was still alone in her apartment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next day, Richard Erickson showed up at the door to Mulder's apartment.
He knocked several times.

"Agent Mulder, it's me. Richard Erickson." Knock, knock, knock...

Mulder finally opened the door. Erickson saw his unshaved face and his
mangled clothes.

Mulder looked Erickson over and said, "I see they fixed you up."

"Uh, yes. I can speak now."

"I'm overjoyed."

"Yes, well...could I come inside?"

Mulder hesitated, then stepped out of the way.

"I went to see Agent Scully," Erickson said. "She didn't want to talk."

"She doesn't want to talk to anyone. Especially not you."

Erickson took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. "Look...I know
that you both feel guilty about Charles..."

"He died in my place. He died so I can live. But if I hadn't gone to
California in the first place..."

"If you hadn't, you wouldn't have found the mutated alien. And we wouldn't
have the proof needed to stop colonization. I understand how you feel..."

"No. You don't. You couldn't possibly know."

Mulder walked right up to Erickson's face.

"You don't know because nothing touches you. Throughout this whole affair,
you have sacrificed less than anybody. So, how could you know what I feel?
Do you know what's it like to see everybody die around you? Do you know what
it's like to see your father..."

Inside Mulder's brain, pieces suddenly snapped together. Realization lit up
his eyes.

Erickson slowly looked down to the floor.

"You," Mulder said.

Erickson made no reply.

A dizziness settled onto Mulder. "I thought...I had assumed...it was
Krycek..."

"You were half-right," Erickson quietly said. "Had you got up to the
bathroom in the time, you would have seen someone who looked just like him."

Mulder had to sit down. He stumbled over to his couch.

"It was me who helped Kenneth Soonan get the secret files," Erickson
continued. "I did a little programming on his computer without his knowledge
and made sure that it could penetrate the DOD's security."

Mulder almost laughed. Perfect, he thought. Just perfect.

"I assumed that he would take the information to the right person. Imagine
my surprise when he took it to you. Of course, you were the right person,
but...well..."

"My father was going to tell me everything," Mulder said in a hollow voice.
"He was going to tell me about you."

"Yes."

"But you didn't trust me."

Erickson swallowed and looked away.

"Guess it was just another one of your mistakes, wasn't it?"

Erickson made no reply. Mulder ran his tongue over his lips, then closed his
eyes.

"Get out," he said.

"Mulder, you have to hear me..."

"No."

"I need to tell you about your sister."

"I don't care. I don't care about any of it. Just get out."

So Erickson left.

Mulder sat still on the couch, eyes closed. He stayed like that for almost a
hour.

Then he suddenly stood up. He got a shave, dressed in clean clothes and went
out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Martia Covarrubias laid inert in her bed. Her breathing was a tiny whisper.
You could only hear it if you were right next to her.

"Martia? Can you hear me?"

Her eyes remained closed and her tongue silent.

"I want you to know that it's all over," Richard Erickson said. "We've won.
Colonization has been terminated. Your efforts have not been..."

Erickson stopped himself. He looked down at her with an expression that was
confused and disturbed.

"I still don't know why, Marita. Why did I choose this side? Is it because I
have a conscience? Judging from what I've done, I doubt it. What was it
then? An act of charity on my part? A favor dispensed by a would-be god?"

He touched her hand. "I'm no god. I know that, Marita. But I've been playing
one for decades. Was my arrogance justified by the end result?"

His grip about her hand become tighter. "I wish that you could hear me. I
need someone to..."

Marita let out one more shallow breath. Then a silence rested on her lips.

"Marita?"

He lifted her wrist and felt it. His mouth slowly opened. It stayed open. He
looked at Marita's body as if he had never seen anything like it before. He
tried to say the right thing---a good-bye or a prayer. He could only
whisper---

"Mother?"

Then he carefully placed her hand back down on the sheets. He turned to the
door and took a step forward. Then his leg buckled, landing him on the
floor. He sat there, looking just like a hurt child.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder did a lot of driving before he reached the house of Margaret Scully.
When he got there, he saw two extra cars in the driveway.

He could guess whom they belonged to. He considered leaving.

Instead, he got out of the car and walked up to the front door. He knocked.
He waited, staring down at his shoe.

The door was answered by Bill Scully.

Great, Mulder thought and waited for the punch.

Bill stared at Mulder, but he didn't do it with his old loathing. Instead,
he just looked at Mulder as if the FBI agent was someone that he couldn't
understand as much as he tried.

"Come in, Mulder," he said.

Warily, Mulder entered the house. "This way," Bill told him and Mulder
follwed him to the living room.

Margaret Scully and another woman looked up as he entered. The woman was
pretty with brown curly hair.

"Julia," Bill said. "this is Fox Mulder."

Julia Scully looked at Mulder, then carefully got up. Mulder kept his hands
clutched inside his pockets as she walked towards him.

And then she hugged him. From the look of surprise on his face, you would
swear that she was squeezing the life out of him.

Her eyes lifted up to him and said, "I know everything. I know what's being
going on."

"H-how?"

"Your mother. She explained it to me."

"And...you believe it?"

"Should I not?"

"No. It's...it's the truth."

Mulder turned to Bill. The other man's face was tense, but Mulder could tell
that Bill Scully believed it, too.

Julia took a step back from Mulder, holding him by the hands. "I don't know
what exactly happened to you in Tunisia," she said. "But I can tell that
Charles gave his life for what he believed in. I will miss him, but I am
proud of him, too."

Julia touched Mulder's face. "And I know I will be proud of you, too."

Mulder just stood there, wondering why he deserved this.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Richard Erickson was sitting on top of a pile of skeletons. He reached down
and ripped off the skull of one.

"Alas, poor..."

He frowned, then threw it away. He ripped off another skull.

"Alas, poor..."

He shook his head and threw that skull away as well. He examined the pile of
skeletons and said, "I don't know any of these people."

"You have to remember," William Scully told him. He was standing at the
bottom of the pile, dressed in a navy uniform. "It will all mean nothing if
you don't."

Erickson's face pinched into a sour expression. He shrugged his shoulders.
"Some god you are," William muttered.

Then he turned to her. "You will have to remember then."

The words pounced upon her, the words and the names and the numbers swirled
into her eyes, demanding to be let in, history was being bled from the
planet and the wound needed a suture, calling the doctor, calling the
doctor, the blood of words was pouring over her, it was covering her mouth,
leaking into her mind...

Scully woke up with her heart beating painfully.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Charles and Mulder stood out on the front porch, looking up at the stars.

"How is your family doing?" Mulder asked.

"They're well." Charles shook his head. "It's impossible to describe what
happened to us. It was like witnessing the wrath of God. When you looked out
a window, you could barely see the sky."

Charles looked at Mulder. "I guess it's one of the reasons I believe you
now. What I saw was...was just too damn crazy. Your mother's story was the
only one that could make sense out of it."

"What are the other reasons?"

Charles took a breath. "You know...there are three people whose respect I've
always wanted---my dad's, my mom's and Dana's. And don't tell me that I have
her respect already. Because I don't have it the way that you have it."

"Look, Charles..."

"Let me finish. You might think that I don't see how close you two are, but
I saw it from the beginning. And I couldn't understand it for a long time.
You're supposed to be everything that her beliefs oppose, but you are still
her friend. When I saw your friendship...when I saw that she stood by you
even when she was dying...it just pissed me off. But it wasn't just that I
blamed you for her sickness. A lot of it was just pure envy."

Charles cleared his throat and turned away. "I was wrong. I just want you to
know that."

"So, I'm not a sorry son-of-a-bitch?"

Charles hesitated, then he slowly turned his head to Mulder. "Have you heard
from Dana?"

"No. Have you?"

"She's not answering any calls. I think you should go to her, Mulder. I
think you should go to her right now. If you don't...you're still a sorry
son-of-a-bitch."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Cassandra Spender was sitting by a grave. She ran her fingers over the name
on the tombstone.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. She quickly looked up to see a man in a hat
and battered clothes.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Someone who also lost family. And I'm someone with a lot to learn."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART TWENTY-NINE
PROTECTION

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

''...yes I said yes I will Yes."---James Joyce

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The music ended. For several minutes, she had been listening to the
carefully woven compositions of Bach. Harpichord, cello and violin had
worked together in a harmony that was as lovingly precise as a scientific
equation. She had listened with her hands clutched together and her neck
bent down as the music told her that order was still possible in this world.

Only now the music was over. She grabbed a CD---any CD---so she could end
this silence. She couldn't listen to Bach again. His faith in the existence
of hope and the will of God made no sense to her now. She couldn't listen to
a promise that she couldn't believe in.

Her random choice let out a bass strong as wine from the speaker. A beat
rigorously snapped and cracked from the percussion. It was a faintly
threatening sound.

Then a guitar played a few notes over and over again, echoing over a
synthesizer that laid itself carefully over the sound of bass. The music
gently eased away from its menace. Or, at least, it promised that tenderness
would always be just a few feet away.

She heard the knocking on the door. She closed her eyes, willing it to go
away. The knocking continued, but she remained still.

(...please, Scully...)

Then something pushed her. She headed for the door. She opened it.

The percussion broke its relentless beat just for a moment to introduce a
new instrument---a female voice who sang as if she was talking to a man over
the phone in the darkest hour of night.

...This girl I know needs some shelter...
...She don't believe anyone can help her...

He stepped through the doorway. She backed up to allow him in. It was hard
to tell if he was forcing his way in or if she was doing favor to a silent
plea. He closed the door.

...She's doing so much harm, doing so much damage...
...But you don't want to get involved...
...You tell her she can manage...

One of his hands went up to her cheek. He gently touched her pale face and
the dark circles under her eyes. It trailed through strands of her hair as
she looked back at him. Her eyes were telling him to leave, not because she
hated him but because there was nothing here worthy of taking.

...And you can't change the way she feels...
...But you can put your arms around her...

When his chest pressed against her, she felt how thick it really was. Mulder
was a slim man to look at, but there was a lot of strength in his arms. That
strength was holding her as gently as it could but it also refused to let
go.

Now, his hands were slowly going up and down her back. They were trying to
reach that numbness inside her and soothe it. Her own hands, however, stayed
hanging down and limp.

(...please...)

She had to make him let go. As carefully as she could, she had to tell him
that you could build no city on the ruins of her soul. There was too much
loss for one man to cope with.

That's why she held him firmly by the shoulders and raised her head towards
him. His eyes were begging for her to let him in.

She would, just for a moment. Then he would see that there was no choice
other than to say good-bye.

Her lips parted.

...I know you want to live yourself...
...But could you forgive yourself...

(...his mouth is so warm, a mouth shouldn't be that warm and soft...)

...If you left her just the way you found her...

The second kiss was just meant to be a brief coda. It was supposed to be a
parting gesture. Instead, it ended up being longer than the first. His
breath mingled together with hers and their hands grabbed onto each other's
shirts like cats clawing on a rug. She stroked his leg with her knee,
knowing that he would never let her fall. They closed their eyes, leaving
sight behind them for the new-found pleasures of smelling and touching and
tasting.

Then she opened her eyes and saw him...saw Agent Fox William Mulder kissing
her. She grabbed his face harder than she should have and pushed his head
back. Shock streaked across his features that had been colored red by the
blood rushing under his skin.

She felt ashamed. This was the very thing that she had been avoiding for
years. She didn't want to tie herself to a man as desperate as she was. It
would have been so easy for her and Mulder to take refuge in each other's
pain. Yet she needed more than that. Mulder needed more than that. She
wanted something better for him than just a fellow sufferer. He deserved...

Mulder smiled.

(Everything I want is right here, Scully.)

I can hear him, she thought.

(Yes, you can. I can hear you, too. That's because I want to hear you. I
want you inside me.)

(Mulder...I...oh, God, yes...)

(...yes...)

...I stand in front of you...
...I'll take the force of the blow...
...Protection...

Clothes came off quickly. It didn't make them feel naked, though. The
exposure of every inch of skin only left them feeling invulnerable. The heat
being given and received was an armor that could hold back the whole world.
The female singer repeated the word "protection" like a mantra. Then she
added...

...You're a boy and I'm a girl...
...But you know you can lean on me...
...And I don't have no fear...
...I'll take on any man here..
...Who says that's not the way it should be...

(It's like I never made love before.)

What was it? Why were they so surprised that a mouth could do this? And that
a hand could do that? What was so amazing that this part of the human body
could be a source of so much pleasure?

Then something really surprising happened.

Mulder felt a part of himself become moist and open like a wet flower. Below
her waist, Scully had the sensation of herself pulling forward and turning
into something hard, ravenous, filled with blood.

(Do you feel that, Scully?)

(I do. What...what is it?)

(Oh, damn, it's...)

They jerked away from each other. Their eyes were wide and unbelieving. They
stared at each other, breathing at the same tempo.

Then he closed his eyes.

"Mulder?"

"Too late to stop now, Scully."

He really is going to let me in, Scully thought. More than any other man
could. Or would.

So she held onto Mulder's thighs and closed her eyes as well and the female
singer was saying I'm a boy and you're a girl over and over again and Scully
felt herself get hard (...I am getting hard, dear Lord almighty, I am
getting hard...) and Mulder was opening his (...her legs, but now they're my
legs...) legs to let Scully (...in my body...) enter in and it was a
terrible sensation at first, letting yourself be invaded, a living thing was
now inside him (...inside the most tender part of my body and it hurts,
please stop it...) while Scully had to handle this bizarre, uncontrollable
organ that was driving the rest of her (...his...) body into a frenzy (...we
joke, we sneer, we tell the men that it must have a mind of its own, but it
does, it really does, it's an animal that cannot be tamed...) and they were
both afraid that they had touched onto something that should never have been
thought of, much less done.

Then...

Scully learned how to cooperate with this body, accepting its strengths and
its needs. She came to enjoy thrusting forward, being the one who brought
the spark to this flame, loving the power of this muscle.

And Mulder was learning the joys of this penetration. Letting this flesh
enter him was not an act of vulnerability. It was an invitation to the other
for warmth and love.

(...Mulder...am I doing this right...)

(...you're doing fine...doing great...for a beginner...)

(...oh, really, wise guy...then what if I were to do...)

(...god, Scully...is this how it feels...god...)

When it was finally done, Mulder almost blacked out from the electric shock
that he felt. Scully collapsed upon his body (his body now returned to him),
never feeling so exhausted before. They must have laid there for a hour with
no touching and kissing. Her body rested there on his larger one, rising and
falling slightly with his heaving chest.

Finally, she spoke up.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"That was fantastic."

"Get no argument here."

"But, from now on...let's do it the old-fashioned way, okay?"

"Again, no argument here."

A few minutes later, they did do it the old-fashioned way. Repeatedly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder dreamed about the wooden corridor. He stood there, breathing in its
humid air. A door waited for him at the other end.

He was waiting for Mulder, too.

This time, however, Mulder was not afraid.

He heard the man say, "Really? Well, good for you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He woke up in Scully's bedroom, but she wasn't with him. He sat up and
looked around him. Then he looked further. His mind searched out for her.

She was found curled up and naked on the sofa. Her tears were leaving spots
on the cushions. He knelt down by her and stroked her side.

"I was so happy awhile ago," she whimpered.

"I know."

"How could I be happy? How is that possible? How could I forget about
Charles?"

"You haven't forgotten about him."

Scully shook her head furiously. "You don't understand, Mulder." She looked
at him with her red-lined eyes. "I want to forget about him. I want to
forget about him and Melissa and Emily and all of them. I want..."

She cut herself off.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I want you, Mulder. I want you with me. I just want to stay with you and
make love to you forever and just let the last six years go away."

He said nothing, only continued to gently stroke her.

"But I can't do that, can I? The past doesn't go anywhere. It just stays at
your side and...hurts you more."

Mulder gathered her into the arms and they laid together on the couch. "What
can I do?" she whispered in his ear.

"You do what they would want to do. Live your life. Live and be happy."

"I'm happy with you, Mulder."

Mulder's throat tightened. She saw the apprehension in his eyes.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm not sure you can be happy with me."

"Why?"

"Because it's not over."

She pulled back an inch. "What do you mean? Of course, it's over. The
colonization is..."

"I know. And I wish that was the end of it. But there's one thing missing.
There's one last piece of the puzzle."

Scully could feel cold in her stomach. "You're going to go look for him,"
she said.

"I don't want to."

"Mulder..."

"No. I mean it. If I could stay here...right here with you...that would mean
everything to me."

To her amazement, she saw that he was telling the truth. "Then why go on?"
she asked.

"Because it's not about me. It's never been about me. It's about people like
your brother and your sister and...and my father. All the people who
sacrificed themselves or were victimized. That's a long, long list. I owe
something to all of them. For them, there should be one person who knows the
truth."

She didn't speak for a long time.

Finally, she said in a small voice, "Then I have to come with you. I owe
them the same thing. And you shouldn't do it alone."

"I shouldn't. And what's more..." He held her to his chest. "...I can't do
it alone. I never meant that as much as now."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART THIRTY
I JUST WANT TO SEE HIS FACE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I'm too high.
"I'm too high.
"But I ain't touched the sky."
                                    ---Stevie Wonder

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Frank Sinatra once said that he didn't care what got you through the night,
whether it be booze or religion.

Diana Fowley toasted the jukebox that was playing a Sinatra tune,
acknowledging the singer's excellent advice. Lately, her own personal
religion had received a kick in the pants. So, now she was indulging in
Sinatra's other alternative.

"It's been awhile since I seen anybody drink that much."

Her bleary eyes focused on the bartender, a woman with short blonde hair.
The bartender looked back at Fowley as if she expected her to fall off her
stool.

"What?" Fowley responded.

"There was this guy in her last summer. He was sitting up at the bar here
and drinking like it was the last day of the world."

"Oh."

"So is it?"

"Is it what?"

"The last day of the world."

Fowley picked up her glass and said, "Not anymore it ain't." She gulped down
the stinging contents of the glass.

"Uh...huh," the bartender replied slowly. "Well, that's a good thing, isn't
it?"

Fowley said nothing. The bartender decided to leave this one alone and went
back to counting receipts.

Fowley felt a hand on her shoulder and heard "Putting one on, aren't we?"
Without turning to look, she said, "Keep in mind that this is a no-smoking
bar."

The smoking man took a stool next to her. "Why do you look so glum?" he
asked.

Fowley shifted her head towards him. She saw something strange about his
face. At first, she didn't realized what it was.

Then she saw it. He was smiling.

"Why do you look so happy?" she shot back. "It's over. You've wasted years
of your life for nothing."

"If you're assuming that mere collaboration has been my main goal, then
you're mistaken."

"Then what was your goal?"

"The better question is---what is your goal? I think I know. I think I've
figured it out."

"Do tell."

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

She put down the glass and tensed her shoulders. He leaned back, waiting for
her response.

"Well," she said. "I can't have it now, can I?"

"Would I bring the matter up if obtaining it was no longer possible?"

She ran a finger along the rim of the glass. Sinatra was singing about
sharing a kiss the devil has known.

"What is it you are proposing?"

"Mulder and Scully are heading off to Italy. They're going to use Rifada's
artifact to deal with La Concordia."

"And you're letting this happen?"

"I told Dolci to greet them with open arms."

"What are they...what is Mulder up to?"

"I bet Mulder is going to find the very thing you desire. Would you like to
be there when he finds it?"

Fowley's head swayed back and forth slightly. "You know...you're an evil
man."

"Since when has that been relevant?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They waited by a road. Stretching out from both sides of the road were
fields of tall yellow grass. There was no one else visible in this open
space, but that didn't mean that they were alone.

Clouds swam leisurely through the sky. A bird would occasionally land nearby
to pick at the ground and then fly away. A few cars passed. Mulder and
Scully walked in slow circles, occasionally giving the other a squeeze of
the hand or a smile.

Then Salvatore Dolci came, driving his simple-looking car. He pulled to the
side, turned off the engine and stepped out of the car.

"Agent Mulder," he said politely. "Agent Scully. I would like to have it
now."

"No," Mulder said.

Dolci's eyebrows lifted above his glasses.

"We don't have it with us. We'll only hand it over when you take us to the
right place."

Dolci looked over at Scully. She was no less resolute.

He asked, "Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely."

Dolci scratched his cheek, then said, "Tell you what. I'll take you there.
Along the way, I'll tell you a story that might change your minds."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The man born Alberto Luciani and soon to be Pope John Paul I came across as
a quiet, cheerful, self-effacing man, but everybody who knew him closely had
learned of the strength under his smiling face. He had the kind of will that
a man has when he only wants to do the right thing.

This strength was a secret to many. That's why several people were shocked
when he started to look into the  irregularities of the Vatican's own
finances. Everybody had expected him to be an affable Pope and not a
boat-rocker.  Yet here he was, ordering an investigation into the Vatican's
connection with the Banco Ambrosiano.

The tension was felt in La Concordia Silente. What if John Paul followed the
money all the way to them? What if he learned of their secrets? In all of
the one-hundred-and-sixteen years of the group's covert existence, no Pope
had ever been informed about them. How would this one react to learning of
their existence?

Much to the group's shock, their leader said, "Why don't we go ahead and
find out?"

One night, the Pope was visited by a short man in glasses. "Don't worry
about Roberto Calvi," the Pope was told. "He will be taken care of."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Salvatore Dolci. I'm a holder of secrets. I also like to think that I'm
a good judge of character. I've come here to tell you things."

"What things?"

"Things regarding a group called La Concordia Silente. I believe...I hope
that you have the steel to hear about it."

The next day, the Pope was dead.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Scully looked away from Dolci. She had heard a lot of horrible things over
the past few years, but this wasn't something that she wanted to know.

"I guess John Paul wasn't going to be a team-player," Mulder said bitterly.

Dolci shook his head. "No, no. Don't be ridiculous. We didn't kill him. La
Concordia would never touch the Pope."

"Then what happened?"

"Don't you see? Luciani poisoned himself."

Scully's head spun towards Dolci. "That's impossible," she said.

"I would have thought so, too. But he did it. That was the secret of his
death. Not that it was a murder, but that it was a suicide."

"You expect us to believe that a Pope would kill himself...that he would go
against centuries of church teachings...just because of what you told him?"

Dolci glanced at Scully, giving her a glimpse of his sad eyes. Then he
turned back to the road.

"You're a believer, I see," he observed.

"I...I don't know if I still am. But if John Paul was the strong man that
you say he was..."

"You never know what could break a man. When I told him of what La Concordia
had been hiding, he snapped. Now, if the exposure of our secrets could drive
a Pope to suicide, what would it do to the rest of the Church? What would it
do to the world?"

Scully touched the cross on her neck. Mulder watched her as she stared at
the countryside rolling by. He was remembering the things that he had said
about religion, the jokes that had practically mocked her beliefs. Maybe he
had been getting her back for her own jabs, but now those words seemed so
cruddy and spiteful. He wanted to interject something. He wanted to stand up
for a belief that he didn't hold...

"Maybe it wasn't what you said, but how you said it."

Dolci briefly looked at Mulder. "Excuse me?"

"I don't know what exactly you have. But maybe you have interpreted it
wrong. Maybe there's an explaination for it that you haven't considered."

Dolci was silent for a long time.

Then he said, "That would be nice, wouldn't it?"

He said nothing more. Scully was silent, too, but she turned to Mulder with
her tense, sad face. She wondered if he meant what he had just said.

(Yes, Scully. I do.)

She smiled.

(Thank you.)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The warehouse was exceedingly well-guarded as was to be expected. To reach
it, you had to get past an electrified fence. Then you had to cross a
compound patrolled by guards, be checked out at the front door and tap a
security code into the lock before you could even enter the building.

Dolci led the two FBI agents through grey hallways and past sealed doors. He
took them to one particular door.

"We have acquired numerous items and artifacts over the years," he said,
then he pointed at the door. "Here is where we keep our most recent
acquisition."

Mulder could feel a slight buzzing in his head.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"We are," Mulder said, trying to hide the pain slowly building in his skull.

Dolci looked at Scully. She nodded.

Then he punched in the security code and the door unlocked.

There was a heavy darkness behind the door. The only light in the room was
the one coming from the hallway. Mulder and Scully carefully stepped inside.

Dolci flicked on a light switch.

The first thing that they noticed was that the room was very big. Then he
saw the object on the floor, locked down by chains. It was wide and grey and
metallic.

"I'll leave you alone now," Dolci said and he slammed the door behind them.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dolci went to another room with television screens. He found the smoking man
standing at a distance from them. He seemed more interested in his cigarette
than what they showed.

The woman, however, was close to them like an attentive child. She watched
with her arms crossed over her chest.

"What are you hoping to accomplish here?" Dolci asked.

"For once, I'm on Mulder's side. I want the truth, too."

Dolci lowered his voice to a whisper. "And what does she want?"

The smoking man smiled. "She wants the truth as well. It's good to see so
many cooperative people, isn't it?"

The woman let out a little gasp. Not one of shock, but of expectancy. On the
video screens, Mulder could be seen. He had collapsed to the ground.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The writing was screaming at him. It had opened its mouth and it was
screeching history into his ears. No longer would he be subjected to just
the voices of the minds around him. He would now hear the thoughts of the
dead and all those who had walked the earth and all those who lived in the
stars. The hands of God were now pressing on both sides of his skull and
slowly crushing it.

He wanted to push away the object in front of him, throw a cloth over its
face, run away. Yet it sat there with the stories of the world inscribed
onto it, torturing him with the past.

("You see, Mulder? You should have been afraid.")

I have been blown apart, he thought. I have been flayed and stripped into
pieces of meat. (...Mulder...) There is only a hole now, a black hole. Throw
all your thoughts down it and they'll be stretched till they break. I have
to be a hole because that's the only means of absorbing all these voices.
(...Mulder, take my hand...) I must become as blank and indifferent as
history itself. (...Mulder, please...) I am history. I am God. There is no
void in God's place. God is not dead. God is the void. God is death. God
knows nothing of love and forgiveness because if He did, (...Mulder, let me
in...) then he would break down crying from all that he sees. I will be like
unto God. I will be alone.

I'm not alone.

How can that be? How can God have a companion? Or a mate? No one could get
close to God.

Unless I'm not God.

Then who am I then?

I'm Fox Mulder. And this is Dana Scully. We are both tumbling back through
the past, breaking apart in the process, holding onto each other. We don't
scream. We keep a silence, a deliberate counterpoint to the sound that wants
to smash us into bits. We do this out of fear. We also do it out of
defiance. "Look at this!" we shout back. "One thing can survive history! One
thing can live under the weight of your secrets!"

We fall, waiting to hit bottom.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The door to the storage room opened. Diana Fowley walked in on careful feet.
She watched Mulder and Scully. His head was resting in her lap. She was
holding one of his hands. Their eyes were wide open, but without seeing anyt
hing in front of them. They were both trembling.

She stepped up to them as if they were land mines. She knelt down. With
fingers slightly shaking, she touched Mulder on his other hand.

Dolci and the smoking man watched from the door.

Dolci whispered, "I still don't understand. What is she doing?"

"It's a question of will power, you see. Mulder is in this state because he
wants to be in it. Well, Fowley wants to be along for the ride. Her desire
is intense enough to achieve a bond with him."

"But why does she want this?"

"So she can know everything. That's all she really wanted." The smoking man
smiled slightly. "She wants to meet God."

Dolci looked horrified, but he didn't run away. He stood there, watching the
three people who were in danger of losing their minds.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They didn't know that she was watching them. She wasn't even visible. She
was a ghost lurking behind them as they walked down the wooden hallway,
their steps thumping on the floor. Unlike them, she didn't feel the
uncomfortably humid air.

She saw that they were holding hands. She smiled. Poor Dana, she thought.
You probably thought that I wanted to steal Fox away from you because I
wanted to share his bed. Nothing of the sort. You can have that measly
pleasure. I wanted to take him away from you because I thought you were
holding him back. When I first met Fox, I knew that he would take me to this
place one day. I knew that his pain and obsession would lead me here.

Then I had my period of doubt. That's why I left him. That's why I went into
the arms of the smoking man, hoping that he could take me here. The smoking
man only had power, though. You, Mulder, on the other hand... you had your
dreams,

And I thought that Dana was a pollutant in your dreams. I realize that I was
wrong. If I had known my mistake at the time, I would have done all I could
to bring you closer together. You need her. You need the way that she
anchors you down. You wouldn't have been able to reach this place if it
weren't for her.

So, I guess I should thank you both.

Now, you've reached the end of the hallway. Neither one of you wants to open
the door.

But Mulder does open it.

And God is waiting.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

An old man is sitting at a table. On the table are these small wooden
squares and triangles. Each one of them has been carved with Navajo writing
(or what became Navajo writing.) The old man is shifting them around,
forming shapes and words. He seems to playing some kind of game, but the
rules are known only to him. He does it with an air of boredom.

The old man is pale and repulsively thin. You can tell how skinny he is
because he's naked. Long white hair falls from the back of his head to his
shoulders.

Apparently, he's a man. He does have genitalia and a normal-sized mouth. His
fingers have, however, an extra two inches to them. There are also
protrusions along his cheeks and forehead. His eyes look too big for his
head. While it's hot in the room and sweat dampens his chest, he seems
unaware of the heat.

He pays no attention to them at first. He continues with his little game as
they slowly walk around him, their own bodies turning moist.

Finally, he sighs and looks up at them.

"Sit down."

Two chairs appear out of nowhere.

"I suppose I should tell you everything."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
HOW IT ALL REALLY BEGAN

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"...[T]here is a third character, beyond my control, beyond my perception,
mocking me. The third man is the closeted man. The man of whom no one else
may speak....The third man is our madness whispering to us, 'Nothing is as
it seems. Everything you know is false.'...The third man is your real
father. You want him, you want him to come forward, and yet you fear if he
does you will learn things you do not wish to know."---Curtis White

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Our stories, myths, legends and religions are full of warring brothers.
Jacob and Esua, Thor and Loki...these are just a couple of examples.

The world started out with a war of brothers.

Think of two races, both sprung from the same strands of DNA that washed up
from the ocean. One has the greater strength, the other the more advanced
mind. The former can kill the other with a swipe of his arm. The latter has
to rely on guile and its ability to communicate without speech.

What if the two races had remained on the same planet forever? Would one
have exterminated the other? Or would they have learned to work together?
The possibilities of mutual existence were ended, however, when a vistor
came to their world.

To be more exact, he stumbled onto the world. Crashed. Fell out of the
heavens.

His ship landed on a continent's shoreline. The being inside was unhurt. He
couldn't be hurt. He didn't even have a body. Instead of a mind, his
thoughts existed inside a cloud of atoms swirling in the air.

However, that existence wouldn't go on for much longer. He still needed
technology to sustain his life. The necessary machines had been badly
damaged in the crash. So, he reached out for another place to live.

He found it in a whole race of grey-skinned telepathic creatures. His new
home would be inside their collective mind. They would never be aware of his
existence.

Unfortunately, they had an enemy which he couldn't use as a host. This other
race had telepathic abilities, but not strong enough and not in enough
numbers for him to create a sustainable environment for himself. Protection
needed to be provided for the gray-skinned race that hosted him.

Luckily, he was not just able to intertwine himself with the thoughts of the
grey-skins. Their very cell structure could be manipulated by him. He made
the grey-skins a tougher, stronger race as well as gave them the ability to
increase their numbers through a mutating virus. As for the other race,
while their telepathy was weaker, he was still able to manipulate them in
some fashion. He whispered stories and myths into their subconsciousness.
Legends were instilled into their minds that could civilize them or, at
least, tame them. Separate stories were given to different tribes as a way
of preventing coalitions between them.

For a long time, the grey skins were the dominant race on the planet.
However, the being living in their subconsciousness eventually felt
something unusual.

He felt bored. Restless.

That's why he taught the grey skins a new technology. Within a few decades,
they were able to build space crafts that could traverse galaxies while the
other race was still playing around with fire.

The grey-skins took their leave, never knowing that they were doing it at
the behest of someone else. For centuries and centuries and centuries, the
being journeyed the universe with them.

Then he got bored again.

He had finally gotten tired of his hosts. They had become an unbearably
arrogant bunch, particularly in the myths they had developed. They
attributed their advanced technological skills to good breeding. They
thought that they were the ones who had created their brother race, blithely
ignorant that they sprouted up from the same biological soil.

The being had enough of them. Once again, he manipulated their DNA, this
time shortening their life span. The cure for their defective cells was
always out of their grasp because he kept it from their minds. Eventually,
they turned to the direction that he wanted them to go into.

They returned to their home world (never knowing that it was their home
world.) Plans were made to replenish their race. The being, however, had his
own plans. The virus that they would infect the world with would mutate
again.  The grey-skins were doomed to die along with the slower, dumber
humans as a new species was created. Then...

He would start all over again. He would create a whole new set of stories
for them and play with their destiny. Maybe this new species would be more
amusing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"That's it?"

The old man shrugged.

"That's...it?"

"Yes, Mulder, that's it," the old man snapped. "That's the big secret. That
has been the driving force behind the histories of two races. It was me all
along."

The old man formed a shape out of the runes and examined it with mild
interest. Mulder sat there in his chair, staring at him and trying to speak.

"You have manipulated...billions upon billions of people...just for your own
amusement?"

"Well, not just for my amusement. I need a race of telepaths to keep myself
alive."

"But you would wipe out both aliens and humans for..." Mulder jumped out of
the chair, grabbing the back of his own neck. His eyes looked wild as he
stomped around the room.

"That's just the way it is," the old man said without looking up. "I know
you were expecting something else. Something grander than me. But, like it
or not...I'm God. And as God, I can do as I will."

"Not anymore you can't," Mulder snarled. He went up to the table, planted
his hands on the edge and leaned towards the old man. "Colonization won't
happen."

"Yes. That was unfortunate. I've gotten quite rusty in my manipulations."
The old man looked up and there was a faint smile on his face. "I'll do
better next time."

Mulder's throat went dry. The heat in the room was weakening his body.

"I'll have to wait a couple hundred years," the old man continued. "But I've
got patience. After some time has passed, these events will have been
forgotten and I will start up a new plan. And guess what, Mulder?"

The old man leaned forward until he was an inch away from Mulder's face.
"You can't do jackshit about it. I could kill you right now, but I don't
have to. You can leave this place, knowing all the crazy things that I have
told you, but it will do you no good. You'll just have to accept...that you
can't fight my future."

The old man settled down onto his chair. Mulder dropped back onto his own
seat, feeling like a wet, useless piece of flesh.

(I shouldn't have come here.)

"No, Mulder, you shouldn't have. You would have been much happier." The old
man returned to his game of runes.

Nobody said anything for a whole minute.

Then Scully spoke up.

"May I say something?"

"Of course," the old man replied.

Scully's hand whipped across the table. The runes flew off and clattered
onto the floor.

The old man looked at her.

She looked straight back and said, "It ends here."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART THIRTY-TWO
GOD'S GOD

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"But Faith, like a jackal, feeds among the tombs and even from these dead
doubts, she gathers her most vital hope."---Herman Melville

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The three people on the floor hadn't moved for over ten minutes. Their eyes
were still open and unseeing, their bodies still trembling.

"We can't let this continue," Dolci said.

The smoking man let out a cloud of dirtied air.

"We have to help them."

"The Lord helps those who help themselves," the smoking man replied, then
walked over to Diana Fowley. He bent down to her and whispered in her ear.

She gave silence in return. He whispered something a little louder and a
little more threatening.

At first, her throat made choked sounds which then forced themselves into
words.

"I'm in...a room...with God..."

Dolci steadied himself against the doorway.

"And what is God doing?" the smoking man asked quietly.

"He..he...he's going to..h-h-hurt Sc-Scully..."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The old man looked down at the runes on the floor, then back to Scully. "You
should not anger me," he replied.

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Why? You have every reason in the world to be afraid."

"Because you're not God."

The old man smiled slightly. He slowly stood up, his legs shaking under his
tiny weight. "For all intents and purposes, I am." He pointed at the cross
hanging from Scully's neck. "That was my creation."

"No," Scully said, standing up herself. "It isn't."

"You are a stubborn woman, aren't you?" the old man chuckled. "Agent Scully,
I was there. I created those stories. Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel, Abraham,
the whole lot of them were my idea. So, you better learn to respect..."

Scully laughed in his face. The old man's own amusement vanished from his
expression. Mulder grabbed Scully's hand, wanting to rein her in.

She squeezed his hand back.

(I know what I'm doing, Mulder.)

No, you don't, Mulder wanted to say, but it was too late for that. He had
come too far with her on simple trust. He couldn't throw that trust away
now.

Not even in the face of God.

"Little girl, you are being very stupid..." the old man growled.

"No, you're the stupid one. That's why I don't believe you. I refuse to
believe that you..."

She poked him right in his chest. The old man's eyes widened. Mulder's body
turned rigid as he resisted his urge to pull Scully away.

"...could have thought up any of that. Those stories are responsible for a
lot of good in this world. You don't have that kind of goodness in you and
you certainly don't have that kind of imagination."

The old man stared at Scully with his wide eyes. You could almost see storm
clouds in them. Mulder expected the room to collapse any second.

Then, just like that, the old man's face turned blank and he sat down. His
long-fingered hands layed inert on the table.

He cleared his throat and said, "I had never thought..."

He stopped himself. He looked around the room as if he was seeing it for the
first time. Then he turned his eyes back to Mulder and Scully.

"If I didn't think up your religions...then where did they come from?"

Scully opened her mouth to answer that, but found no words to say. Her
defiance changed to a horrible doubt.

"Well?" the old man said.

Scully looked to Mulder. His own mind was whirling, trying to grasp any
possible solution.

And he found one.

"I don't know where they came from," Mulder said slowly. "But maybe they
were already here before you came. In the minds of early humans."

The old man frowned. "I don't understand."

"You said that you could establish a psychic connection with the humans..."

"A weak one."

"But strong enough to send messages to them. And maybe...strong enough for
you to receive them without you knowing it."

The old man reached up and scratched his chin.

"Don't you see?" Mulder said, standing up, an excitement growing inside of
him. "You didn't create our stories. You  pulled them out of our minds and
gave them a coherent form, but they were there already."

The old man considered that, but then shrugged. "It doesn't mean anything. I
was still the one who gave them shape. Doesn't that make me God?"

"Well, then..." Mulder started, but now it was his turn to hit a wall. He
turned to Scully, begging for her help.

She hesistated, then she slowly walked around the table to the old man. She
knelt down next to him.

"Who made you God?" she asked gently.

"Huh?"

"Who made you God?"

"Well...nobody made me. It was an accident, really..."

"Are you sure?"

The old man slowly turned his head towards her. "Are you saying...that I was
meant to crash on your planet?"

She just looked back at him.

The old man looked away, his head wobbling slighly on his neck. "It's...it's
an interesting possibility."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"No..." Fowley said, shaking her head.

"What is it?"

"They're confusing G-G-God. They're lying...saying lies to him. They, they
can't lie to...my God. I have to..."

"Don't do anything. Just watch."

"But I..."

"If you interfere, I will yank you away. Now, just watch and tell me what
you see."

A tear fell down Fowley's cheek.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Do you have any faith of your own?" Scully asked.

The old man blinked. "Excuse me?"

"What is your religion? What unseen things do you believe in?"

The old man touched his white hair. "You know, I have never considered these
things before," he said.

Mulder knelt down on the other side of the old man. "Where did you come
from? Who were your people? What did they believe in?"

The old man now looked like...an old man. Tired and bewildered and falling
apart. "I don't remember any of those things," he whispered.

"I think," Mulder said. "you've been here too long."

The old man nodded.

"You know...I'm starting to think that Scully and I didn't come here on our
own. I'm thinking that you brought us here. I'm thinking that we're saying
things that have been at the back of your mind for a long time. You just
needed us to say them."

"You think so?"

"Yes. Deep down, you know that you're not God. You don't want to be God. I
think you want to quit."

The old man's eyes now looked distant.

"Yes," he said. "I believe you're right."

His eyelids fluttered and he slumped to one side. Mulder and Scully had to
catch him as he fell out of his chair. They laid his light body onto the
floor. He was hardly breathing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"He's dying," Fowley weeped. "God is dying."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"There has to be something we can do," Scully said.

"No," Mulder quietly replied.

"We can't just let..."

"Always the doctor, aren't you?" the old man croaked. His eyes opened just
enough so he could see her.

"I want..." he wheezed.

"What?"

"I want...to believe..."

He lifted one hand with his last bit of strength. He motioned Scully to bend
forward. When she did, he touched her on the forehead. Scully's eyes
blinked.

"Now...you know..."

Mulder said, "Scully, what happened?"

She said, "I...I know how to cure the aliens' genetic defect."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The smoking man smiled.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The old man was also smiling. "They won't be able...to take it from you.
I've buried it too deep. You'll have to...have to tell them."

The old man closed his eyes. "Now...I get to find out. I get to find
out...who's really God. And if I don't...then I'll have fun just looking.

"Good-bye now."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She could see the old man falling away as the humid air in the room
dissipated into a vacuum and the wooden walls cracked into bits. Mulder and
Scully were thrown backwards, returning to their own bodies. For just a
moment, Mulder saw her, startled at her presence. He reached out for her,
trying to grab ahold of her hand.

She didn't even try to reach back. Instead, she flung herself into the pit
after the old man, weeping for her lost god, trying to save him from his own
suicide.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The first thing that he saw was Scully. She had snapped back to reality (or
what they considered reality) at the same time as him. They stayed still for
a few moments, trying to calm their sweating, heaving bodies.

Then he quickly turned to the side.

Diana Fowley was lying on the ground, no longer holding his hand. Her face
was frozen into an expression of despair.

He stuttered Scully's name, pointing at Fowley's body. Scully turned,
briefly registered surprise at seeing the other woman, then carefully lifted
Mulder off her lap so she could check on Fowley.

Her body was already cold.

"Don't feel too sorry for her," a voice said. Mulder and Scully looked up to
see him (of course he was there, he was always there, always behind them).

"She followed a ridiculous faith," he said in a mild tone. "When she finally
found out how hollow her god was, she just wasn't strong enough to handle
it."

"You did this to her," Mulder shot back in a rough, choked voice.

"She did it to herself. I only gave her the opportunity to get what she
wanted. Just as I allowed you to get what you wanted."

The smoking man grinned at them. "And now...you're going to give me what I
want."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART THIRTY-THREE
PUNISHMENT AND REDEMPTION

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Ring the bells that still can ring.
"Forget your perfect offering.
"There is a crack
"A crack in everything.
"That's how the light gets in."
                                    ---Leonard Cohen

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I had Fowley describe what was happening," the smoking man said, his
cigarette burning in his hand. "I know, Agent Scully, about what you hold in
your brain now. I know that the aliens cannot reach it with their mind
scans. From now on, that information is in my control and it serves my
purpose."

Scully took a breath and said, "What is your purpose?"

The smoking man stared at her.

Then he began to laugh. No one in that room had ever heard him laugh before.
In fact, it had been a long, long time that he had ever laughed. He
certainly had never laughed that loud. It was a hysterical sound that echoed
from one wall of the storage room to another. That grey face was acquiring a
shade of pink.

The laugh lasted for over a minute before the smoking man settled down. When
he spoke, his voice was loud. "What do I want?! I want to hold those
grey-skinned bastards by their metaphorical balls, that's what I want! I
want them to squirm! I want them to suffer! Don't you realize how they've
warped my life?! Don't you know what they forced me to do?! Well, now, they
have to deal with me! On my terms! And only when they..."

With a shudder, he ended his tirade. He kept smiling, though. "Of course,
everybody will benefit. The aliens can teach us many things. Their knowledge
can be ours for the taking."

"But you'll be the go-between, right?" Scully said quietly.

"Who better than me?"

"This is monstrous," Dolci declared. "You're talking about holding an entire
race hostage! You can't in good conscience..."

"Shut up," the smoking man told him. "Spare me your moral indignation,
Dolci. You've done plenty in your life."

"Nothing like this. I'll have no part of it."

The smoking man sneered at him. "Who's asking you to join in? This is the
real game, Dolci. And there's no room here for amateurs."

"I'm not playing, either."

The smoking man slowly turned his head to Scully and her unwavering eyes.
Then he looked towards Mulder who was standing behind Scully.

"Mulder, explain it to her."

"She doesn't need any explaining," Mulder said in a low voice.

The smoking man looked back to Scully. "Then maybe she should be reminded of
what's been done to her," he said as if he was still talking to Mulder. "The
aliens are responsible for her near-death, her sterility, the general
miserable condition of her life. Can she look me in the eye and tell me that
she doesn't want revenge?"

Scully's head bent down to stare at the cement floor.

"Come on, Scully. Tell me. Tell me that there's no hatred in your soul,
too."

(Mulder...)

(Do what you know is right, Scully.)

She looked back up.

"First of all," she said in a barely controlled voice. "who the hell do you
think you are? Some kind of innocent bystander? If there's hatred in my
heart, then all of it is for you.

"Second of all, this is genocide that you're talking about. I will not
participate in it. I will not let an entire race die out, no matter what
they have done.

"So, I want you to go back to your hole before I beat the shit out of you."

The smoking man looked between the two agents. "Well," he said, then dropped
his cigarette to the floor where it was crushed under his shoe. "I thought
that you might say that. I was hoping you wouldn't, but...I always plan
ahead."

Scully felt a queasiness in her stomach. "What do you mean?"

"You really don't think that only one child was created with your ova?"

The wide room seemed to shrink down to the size of a closet. The smoking
man's face was pressing down on her.

"What is this?" Dolci gasped. "What have you been..."

"I said, shut up, Dolci!" the smoking man yelled.

Scully looked into the smoking man's hard eyes and whispered, "Emily?"

"You may call her that if you wish. She's the last child left. The rest of
them died out. These things have happened before. Some defective gene
surfaces during cloning. But this one is alive...for now. She's on
life-support that could be turned off with the push of a button."

The smoking man pulled out his cigarette pack and lighter. "So, what is it
going to..."

Mulder grabbed the smoking man by the coat. The lighter and pack fell to the
floor. With their noses almost touching, Mulder said, "If anything happens
to her...I will kill you."

"If I die," the smoking man responded calmly. "then Emily will certainly
die. The ones holding her are under the strictest orders."

Mulder concentrated. His mind rammed into the smoking man's thoughts.

"And reading my mind will do you no good, Mulder. I don't know where she
is."

To his dismay, Mulder saw that he was telling the truth.

"However, one phone call from me will end her life. In fact, if I don't call
within the next hour, her life support will be deactivated."

Mulder's fingers unclenched from the smoking man's jacket. He looked at
Scully, wishing that she could see something other than fear in his eyes.

She turned away, her hand pressed against her mouth, arms held against her
chest. She walked aimlessly away from everyone.

The smoking man continued talking. "Of course, it's all your decision. You
might decide that you are willing to sacrifice a child for your beliefs.
I've done it myself. I've been able to live with it. Can you?"

She stopped next to the spacecraft, staring at it as if the stories
inscribed onto it could give her a way out. Mulder watched her...

(I'm so sorry, Scully. I can't think of a way out of this. There are no
words that I can say. Please forgive me for ever bringing you here.
Please...)

...but he only heard the torment in her mind.

"So, what's it going to be?" the smoking man asked.

He received no answer. He shook his head slightly and bent down to the
floor, picking up the pack and lighter. He pulled out a cigarette and placed
it in his mouth. When he flicked the lighter, he heard---

"That's a disgusting habit, you know."

At first, he didn't move. The lighter's flame remained away from the
cigarette in his shocked face.

Then he looked behind him and saw his wife standing at the door.

She was pointing a gun at him.

Everybody turned to see her and were almost as shocked as he was.

"I used to think that habit was your worst trait." she said.

She stepped towards him. The cigarette slipped from his mouth to the floor.

"You might to want to pick that up," she snarled. "It's going to be your
last."

"Cassandra, wait!" Scully yelled. "If he dies..."

"It's all right, Dana," she said.

Another person stepped into the room, right behind Cassandra.

"Emily is safe," Cassandra explained. "Richard has taken care of that."

Richard Erickson tipped his hat to the smoking man. "Luckily, I suspected
that you might be holding another of Scully's children." He looked at
Scully. "Don't worry. She's safe under my care."

Scully closed her eyes and said, "Thank you." Her body trembled. Mulder
embraced her. She pressed her head against his chest, holding back the
tears.

Mulder looked at Erickson.

Richard Erickson, the person who killed his father.

He couldn't say "thank you" to the alien. He just nodded.

Erickson nodded back.

"And since your last card has been played," Cassandra told the smoking man.
"it's time to deal you out."

The smoking man kept his eyes on Cassandra as she walked towards him. She
pressed the gun against his chin.

"Go ahead, dear," she said. "Tell me you did it for a good reason. Tell me
that you killed our son for the welfare of us all."

He had nothing to say. This was the end of the road for him. No more tricks,
no more escape hatches, no more smooth words. It was just him, his wife and
all of his sins.

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything?"

The smoking man closed his eyes.

Scully and Mulder looked at each other, sharing their confused impulses.
This wasn't the fate they wanted for this man. They wanted something else
than a blunt execution. His justice should be better than that.

Yet who were they to stop this woman?

"Say something," Cassandra said as her finger inched back.

His tongue remained still. He merely waited for the brief thunder and then
darkness.

"Okay, then."

She pulled the trigger.

The smoking man jerked his head.

Then he realized that he hadn't heard a shot. He had only heard the snap of
a released hammer.

He opened his eyes to see Cassandra smiling at him from the other end of an
unloaded gun. "I've got more imagination than that," she sneered.

"Wh-what do you mean?" he stuttered.

"It means," Erickson said. "that it's time for you to leave the planet that
you have caused so much trouble on."

A shrill noise rose up from out of nowhere. Cassandra and the smoking man
were covered with a blinding white light. She just stood there, still
smiling. The smoking man stretched out his arms and opened his mouth to
scream.

He never got a chance. Within a heartbeat, he and his wife vanished.

The noise went away, leaving only silence for a moment.

Then Mulder said, "Damn, we never got a chance to say good-bye."

"You're one of them," Dolci said, almost whispering.

Erickson turned to him and nodded. Dolci straightened his back and said
grimly, "Am I to punished as well?"

"No. No, actually you've been kind of promoted. From now on---" Erickson
waved his hand at the spacecraft. "---the conspiracy is all yours. You are
in total charge of this secret. It will be yours to cover or expose."

Dolci looked at the spacecraft, then at Mulder and Scully. "In that case, I
must insist on having everything."

Scully pulled herself away from Mulder, but still held his hand. "You'll
have it," she said. "But you should know this...I've gotten my faith back."

Dolci held in his breath for a moment, then said, "How?"

"Find out for yourself. And one of these days, you should let others find
out as well."

Dolci said nothing. He did smile a little, however.

"Well," Erickson said. "now that's done with, why don't we go take a walk?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A breeze of wind rustled through the tall grass and across their legs.
Erickson was fifteen feet ahead of them, his hands inside his pockets.
Mulder and Scully watched his back as they held hands.

They had been walking for some time, casually strolling over the
countryside. Erickson hadn't said a word and the two FBI agents were waiting
for him to speak.

Finally, he said, "You won't have to worry about my fellow aliens, Scully."

"What do you mean?"

"Even with that information safe in your mind, some will use means not
unlike our smoking friend's to get it."

"So why shouldn't I worry?"

"Because I won't tell them."

Scully stopped in the grassy field, halting Mulder at her side. They watched
Erickson as he continued to saunter away.

"It'll be your decision and your decision alone whether you want to save
us," Erickson said.

"I've already made my decision," Scully called out to him.

Erickson stopped. The breeze ran across his face.

Then he said, "Are you sure?"

Mulder and Scully looked at each other.

"Yes," she said. "I'm sure."

"Hm," he responded with his back still towards them. "You know, I need your
cure as well. I'll be dead within five years if I don't receive it."

He bent down and plucked out one of the long blades of grass. He ran his
fingers up and down it.

"I don't think that I will accept it."

Scully was about to speak, but Mulder interrupted her. "Scully, Erickson and
I need to speak alone."

She almost complained, but she nodded and let Mulder walk up to the alien.
He knelt down in the grass next to him.

"You think you should be punished for what you did?" Mulder asked.

"Possibly," Erickson answered, not looking up.

"Has something led you to think this way?"

"Let's just say...I understand now what it means to lose a loved one."

Mulder held his hands together, their tips pressed under his nose. "What
if," he said. "I said that I forgive you?"

Erickson lifted his eyes towards him. "Do you?"

"Actually...it's not my forgiveness that you should want."

"What should I want?"

"You should want to correct what's wrong."

Mulder gestured behind them, making Erickson turn and look at Scully
standing far away. He watched that woman, knowing everything that had been
done to her.

"Yes," Erickson said. "I should."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART THIRTY-FOUR
GOOD-BYE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age."---Matthew 28:20

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Walls were present, but not entirely. He drifted through one room to
another. He might have used doors. He wasn't sure. Whether he had even been
walking wasn't something he would have vouched for, either. The colors,
however, were real.

The first room had been white, a pure white that seemed capable of devouring
all around it. She had been floating in that room. Her pale body had been
naked and her red hair had been lifting upwards as if she was underwater.
Below her, long hands were touching her legs and gently caressing them.
Black eyes looked upwards to her and tiny mouths opened and closed as if
they were being fed.

He found himself frightened for her, but she told him that it was all right.
She was a doctor, remember?

He moved onto the next room. The color green was all around. A dark,
diseased green. Metal girders jutted from the walls like the ribs of an
animal's carcass. His feet pressed into a black slime sprayed over the
floor. A man was encased in a block of ice, mouth always open for a scream
no one would hear.

He looked at the trapped man for awhile, then moved on to the next room.

Blue.

The blue of a summer sky, just before nightfall.

A metal cot was centered in the room. He found himself tired and he laid
down on the cot which proved to be as soft as air.

Did he fall asleep and then wake up? Or was it only in sleep that you could
find the real blue room? Whatever the explaination, he became aware of a
woman standing next to the cot. He recognized her as the wife of the man
trapped in ice.

The woman kissed him on the forehead. Then she left. (Through a door?
Through a wall? Through nothing? Did she go into another room? Were these
separate rooms even connected?)

Then two other women walked in. They both looked exactly alike.

One of them stopped herself before reaching his cot. She turned away as if
he was too painful to look at. She went into a corner to cry.

The second woman gave her twin a sad look, then knelt down next to him. She
held his hand and called him by his first name.

He said her own name in return, the one that truly belonged to her and not
to the other woman. He said the name slowly as if it was a strange word.

She smiled and stayed at his side for a long time, holding his hand. Neither
one of them spoke.

Then he left the room. Or, more likely, the blue room went away to be
replaced by a black room. The red-haired doctor was here as well. They stood
on a cliff's edge with nothing below to see.

The twin women were standing at the far end of the room and holding hands.
Behind them was a man wearing a hat. The woman who had been at his side
whispered into the ear of the one who had wept. The latter raised her eyes
to him. She waved good-bye with a hesistant gesture.

He waved back at her, equally hesitant.

Then he turned away and jumped over the edge with the doctor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It didn't seem like there should be that many stars in the sky, but there
were. Their number was so great that their light seemed capable of
obliterating the darkness. When Scully awoke, she saw the stars and Mulder
looking at them.

She wondered where she was, but it only took her a moment to recognize the
shape of the horizon and the treeline. She was back on Skyland Mountain.
This triggered a brief moment of anxiety, but it disappeared.

She lifted herself off the grass and went up to Mulder. When she spoke, she
did it carefully.

"Was that her?"

Mulder nodded.

"And that other woman...that was her clone? The one you met before?"

Mulder nodded.

"Is she going to stay with them?"

"It's the only life she knows. She grew up among them. She wants to stay
even though..." He swallowed. "...even though they hurt her."

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

"No. You don't understand. She's also staying because she wants to change
them. She and Richard are going to try to make them a better people."

"I'm still sorry."

Mulder began to sway. At first, Scully thought that he might be sick. Then
she saw the shaking in his lips and she put her arms around him.

He cried for a long time, his tears reflecting the stars.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART THIRTY-FIVE
TIME HAS TOLD ME

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Who will not secretly rejoice when the hero puts his armour off...who will
blame him if he does homage to the beauty of the world?" --- Virginia Woolf

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He was not in her bed.

She looked around her, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. She listened
for any sounds in her apartment. She listened for the music of his mind even
though she had stopped hearing that days ago.

He wasn't here. Then where? Where would he be at this early part of the
morning?

Of course.

He would be at work.

They hadn't stepped through the halls of the FBI Headquarters for several
days. Luckily, Skinner had covered for them, understanding their need for a
rest.

However, even though so much had changed for them, the world remained the
same. It still demanded that they perform the daily functions of life.

That's why she got out of bed, showered, dressed, put on her makeup, ate
breakfast and headed to work, purse under her arm.

She thought about the thousands of times that she had done this ritual. She
thought about the first time that she had done it.

("Agent Mulder, I'm Agent Scully. I've been assigned to work with you.")

How long did she expect that new assignment to last? Five, six months? And
what had been the worst that she had expected? Embarrassment and discomfort
over working with such an unorthodox partner?

Instead, the X-Files had become the context of her entire life, symbolizing
everything that was sorrowful and joyous in her existence. She realized that
the last thing she could imagine was never coming to this basement office
again. How could she not enter this cluttered domain of Fox Mulder and wait
for his latest attempt to make her life a little stranger? He was always
prepared with a bit of the unexpected.

This day, it came in the form of music.

Guitar notes faintly reached her as she stepped out of the elevator. A low
voice murmured the lyrics into almost a  wordless hum.

...Time has told me...
...You're a rare rare find...
...A troubled cure...
...For a troubled mind...

When she entered the office, she took a few seconds just to watch Mulder
sitting behind his desk, his face turned away from her. A tape player was
the source of the music that had his attention.

Then she said, "I never figured you for a Nick Drake fan."

He turned to her and smiled. "How could I not be? All that moodiness and
angst is right up my alley."

"I would say that your tastes more run to getting drunk at a Led Zepplin
concert."

"Color me eclectic."

She took a chair in front of his desk (not the same chair that she had sat
in for so long, that one had burned up in the fire, but this was the same
spot she always took). "Is this what you are going to do with your day? Just
sit here and listen to music?"

"Sounds okay to me."

"The people's tax dollars at work."

"Well, the people can fire me, then. I don't think that I would mind."

Her back went completely straight. "What are you saying?"

Mulder made no reply.

...And time has told me...
...Not to ask for more...
...Someday our ocean...
...Will find its shore...

"Mulder, talk to me. Are you thinking about quitting?"

He looked around him, the posters, the photos, the filing cabinets. "A lot
of my life is in this place. Maybe it's time to get some of it back."

Scully clenched her fists together and placed them on his desk's edge. "I
understand how you feel. It seems like it's all over. That there's nothing
more to do. But the X-Files has been more than about Samantha."

"Has it?"

"We've accomplished a lot. And there's more that we can do."

He turned in his chair towards her. "Wouldn't you like to move on?"

Now, it was her turn to lack for words.

...Time has told me...
...You came with the dawn...
...A soul with no footprint...
...A rose with no thorn...

Mulder came around the desk and he knelt down next to her. He held her hand
as he waited for her to speak.

"It's not just the work," she said, looking down at her lap. "My life has
become completely anchored here. I have seen so much because of the
X-Files."

She paused, then said, "I met the man I love because of the X-Files."

"Funny. I met the woman I love because of them, too. What a coincidence."

"So, what would happen if we left it behind? Without that between us, could
we..."

She looked up at him. "I don't want to lose you, Mulder."

He took her into his arms.

...Your tears they tell me...
...There's really no way...
...Of ending your troubles...
...With things you can say...

"You're asking me to guess the future," he said quietly. "I can't do that. I
only know that there can be a future. I know that there can be a future for
you..."

He touched her under her breasts.

"...right here. You've been healed. You've been given your choice back.
That's enough for me."

"I know. I have everything back now. Even my faith."

She saw the slight tension in his eyes.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Now is not the time to keep things to yourself, Mulder."

He sighed. "Scully...you're just back on square one. You haven't been given
any real proof that there is a God. You only know who isn't God."

She gave him an askance look.

"I wish that God could be real, I do," he babbled. "I wish that I could give
you the proof..."

She pressed a finger to his lips. "I don't need it. Square one is where I
want to be. That's where faith starts."

He looked at her, then he smiled. They took a long minute to just hold each
other, silently reveling in each other's touch. Mulder found himself a
little regretful that they could no longer hear each other's thoughts. His
telepathic abilities had faded away after their encounter with the aliens.
He couldn't explain why.

Maybe because he didn't need them anymore.

...And time will tell you...
...To stay by my side...
...To keep on trying...
...Till there's no more to hide...

Then Mulder said, "I haven't come to any decision."

"I haven't, either."

"I like that, though. To be able to decide without the world pressing down
on me."

"Me, too."

"However...I have decided what to do with today."

"Got a case?"

"Nope. Got you. And I want you to go with me."

"Where?"

"I don't know. Somewhere. Let's extend our vacation a little longer."

She nodded. "I like that."

So, she picked up her purse and he put on his coat. They headed to the door.
Mulder flicked off the light switch.

He looked back behind him. The light from outside was falling on a poster.

"I WANT TO BELIEVE."

In what?

In us.

Good enough.

He closed the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jeff Kingston was tired of driving trucks. He had been doing it for over
thirty years and the highways of the U.S.A. were becoming a little too
familiar to his eyes. His wife and family were getting less familiar. He had
saved up enough money to handle retirement so he had decided to give himself
a couple more months and then quit.

One thing hadn't changed about him, though. He still picked up hitch-hikers.

"I hope you don't mind doing this," his latest passenger told him.

"Not at all." In fact, he was glad that he had found her. A woman in her
late fifties shouldn't be walking out on the highway at this late hour.

"What were you doing out here?" he asked.

"Well, I was supposed to have been dropped off further on up, but a slight
miscalculation was made." She shrugged. "No big deal, but thanks for saving
me the walk."

"It's not just the walk that's inconvenient. It's not that safe out here."

She gave him a smile. There was a lot of confidence in that smile. Jeff
realized that this woman could handle herself through means he couldn't even
guess at.

He also remembered the last time that he saw a smile like that.

"I once picked up a strange fella along this very stretch of highway," he
said.

"Strange how?"

"Well, he couldn't talk, but what was really strange...well, I don't know.
It was just a feel to him. Of course, the fact that he gave me a hundred
dollar bill was weird, too."

"Hm. That is strange."

"So, why are headed up to D.C.?"

She looked down at her shoes, still smiling. "I have a brother there. I
haven't seen him for a long time."

"Well, it's good you're seeing him. Where have you been?"

"I've been involved in something very important. It's kept me away from him,
but...now..."

Her voice trailed away.

"There's nothing like coming home," Jeff told her.

She looked up at him in surprise. "Home?"

"Uh, yes. Home."

She turned her eyes to the outside, studying it for a long time. Then she
looked back at Jeff. "You're right. This is home." She grinned. "How about
that?"

Despite his confusion, Jeff grinned back.

"Say, Jeff, mind if I put on some music?"

"Not at all. As a matter of fact, if you don't mind country..."

"Well, got any Johnny Dale Gilmore?"

"A woman after my own heart."

In a few moments, the cab was full of bluesy guitars and wailing hamonicas
as Jimmie Dale Gilmore told you that the choice was now and it had to be
love or fear.

The choice never seemed easier.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

AUTHOR'S NOTE: "This is the end. I never thought that I would hear myself
say that after all these years."---CSM

Well, after all these days, anyway.

A few weeks back, I took a dive into the raging waters of the mythology.
Whether I drowned or made it to the shore is up to you. As always, feedback
should be directed to ottercrk@sover.net

There's not much else that I could say that wouldn't sound maudlin or forced
so I'll just say...

Good-bye for now.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX