From: ADIves Date: 18 Apr 1998 13:49:05 GMT Subject: The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent (1/14) Title: The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent (1/14) Rating: G Categories: Humour Summary: When Scully develops a taste for writing fiction, her chosen subject matter lands her in a lot of trouble. But not everything is exactly as it seems. Spoilers: None Author: Adrian.D.Ives E-Mail: adives@aol.com Web: http://members.aol.com/ADIves01/ See end of file for disclaimers etc. * * * Introduction After five Doctor Scully adventures, I find myself in the position of having written four more stories than I'd ever intended. So, if you got this far, I hope you enjoyed them. If you didn't like them ... well, then at least I made the titles easy for you to skip over! Anyway, I sort of promised that I would write this particular story a while back, but I got sidetracked on some other ideas. So, thanks for letting me use some of your News Group's bandwidth without flaming me off the face of the planet, and here is the last ever Doctor Scully story ... * * * The X Files: The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent by Adrian.D.Ives Episode One : FBI Headquarters : Washington D.C. "Mulder. Even if I believed a tenth of this totally absurd story - which I don't ..." Said Scully, holding the book away from him with one hand, and fending him off with the other. "... I am *not* going to give you this book!" "But, Scully, you don't understand." Mulder pleaded with her, as he tried to find a way to get his hands on the leather bound volume that she was clutching. "That book has been printed with biomorphically coded genetic inks. It has the power to alter human personality." She looked at him with complete disbelief. "... Right." "Scully, I'm serious." He let his hands fall to his side, and then he tried to put on his very best wounded puppy dog expression. That always worked. Always. "And there's no use you trying that stupid expression with me." She said, stepping back and dropping the book into the top drawer of her desk. She slammed the drawer shut, and sat on the edge of the desk, her arms folded. "But, Scully, it was all part of a plot by an evil Time Lord called The Manipulator - to take control of the world's governments and start a third world war -" "Mulder. You haven't been at the Peeps again, have you?" She had been grinning and nodding her head all the while he was telling her his unlikely story. "You know I don't touch them anymore, all that sugar kept giving me hallucinations. Especially the purple ones." There was a knock at the door. Scully reached over and twisted the knob, pulling the door open. A short thin man, dressed in dark brown coveralls and wearing a baseball cap the wrong way round, stepped nervously into the office. He looked at Scully first, then at Mulder, then back to Scully. Then he pointed to the colourful logo stitched into the breast pocket of his overalls. It was a picture of some indeterminate member of the cockroach family, with some words stitched around it in red and blue thread:- BUG-BUGGERERS inc We get the little Buggers - and Good! "B-B-B-Bug B-B-B-Buggerers." He stuttered. "I'm sorry?" Said Scully, looking at the man as if he had just escaped from somewhere. "B-B-B-B-" "Bug?" She offered. "B-B-B-B-" "Buggerers?" She completed, hopefully. "Y-Y-Y-Yes." The little man held up a huge blue spray can that had a picture, on the side, of a bug being squashed under somebody's foot. The bug had a pained expression on its cartoon face. "You've come to bugger some bugs, then?" Said Mulder, grinning. He couldn't resist it. The man in the overalls nodded enthusiastically, and then he started walking around the office, spraying purple smoke everywhere. "So, anyway, Mulder -" Scully coughed and spluttered, as a cloud of purple fumes drifted in her direction. "- You were telling me that you've actually met Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos." Mulder dodged a cloud of spray. "That's right. And, Scully, she really does travel through time and space in a passport photograph booth that's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside." "You made that up." Scully grinned. "Did not." He said. "You did too." She waggled her finger at him. The little man sprayed some more spray around, then he bowed a couple of times, and backed slowly out of the door. Mulder and Scully watched him leave. When the door clicked shut, they both started laughing. "Bug Buggerers?" Mulder shook his head with disbelief. "You've come to bugger some bugs?" Scully did a passable imitation of Mulder's dry intonation. They both laughed. Again and again. When Assistant Director Walter Skinner walked into their office, they were still laughing. "Something funny, Agent Mulder? Agent Scully?" Mulder forced a straight face, but it was clearly taking an enormous amount of self-control to maintain it. Skinner turned to Scully, who quickly altered her expression from a very broad grin back to her usual professional pout. Skinner shook his head slowly, then he handed Mulder the brown manilla envelope that he had been carrying. "But, Sir." Said Mulder, taking it from him. "My birthday's not for another three months." "Well, perhaps if you'd care to study the contents." Said Skinner, on his way out. "You might still be working for the Bureau when it comes time to celebrate it." On the way out, he stared at Scully again. Her face was slowly breaking up into a grin again, so he just shrugged, and shook his head slowly, and closed the door on his way out. Scully looked at Mulder who looked back at Scully. They both laughed. Eventually, Mulder got around to opening the envelope. "Well, what is it?" He held up an eight by ten glossy. "Recognise anyone?" Scully's mouth dropped open in surprise. The picture showed Mulder, walking back to a rental Chrysler, with a red-haired woman dressed in what she could only describe as some form of fancy dress. She stepped closer, taking the photo from him. And then the penny dropped. "Mulder, that's m-" "-Doctor Scully." He said, in an 'I-told-you-so' tone of voice. "Guardian of the Cosmos." "But -" "She looks kinda familiar, huh?" "Aw, come on. I'd *never* wear banana yellow trousers." "What about that time at-" "Well, *almost* never." "And then there was the-" "That was different. They acted as a natural repellent for the crocodiles." "Yeah? But I can remember when -" "Alright. Alright. - But I'd never wear *those* banana yellow trousers." Mulder studied the back of the photo, where a message had been scrawled untidily in black felt-tipped pen. "What does it say?" She asked, leaning closer. "It says: Don't waste your time reading this message because it won't tell you anything." She looked disappointed. "Oh." He rummaged around inside the envelope. Nothing. "Where did it come from?" Scully asked. Mulder looked at the return address, stamped on the back. "Jack's Curio Shop. 4109 West Ninety-Eighth. D.C. - Hey, isn't that where we went to get your mom's birthday present?" "It's where we went to *look* for mom's birthday present." She corrected him. "*If* you remember, I had to arrange an afternoon off work the following week to *actually* get it." "Yeah, but it's where *that* book came from." Said Mulder. "... I wonder how Skinner got this." Scully picked up the telephone. "Let's ask him." Mulder quickly pressed his finger down on the hook, and took the receiver away from her. "Nah, he didn't look like he was in a very good mood ... We'll ask him later." "Later?" She regarded him suspiciously. "Yeah." He slipped the photograph back inside the envelope, and then folded the envelope up before putting it in his inside jacket pocket. "After we've paid a visit to Jack's Curio Shop." "Mulder-" "C'mon, Scully. It's Friday afternoon. The weekend starts now." Mulder had already made it to the door. "It's two pm." She said, shaking her head with exasperation, but following him, nonetheless. "Clock watcher." He made a face. "Truant player." She responded, making one back. Together, they made their way out of the basement at FBI Headquarters, and went looking for a pool car. * * * "Well, how was I to know it'd be shut?" Mulder defended himself, as he flopped down in the reclining chair in Scully's lounge. "I mean, what kinda Curio Shop closes on a Friday afternoon?" Scully sighed, on her way past him to the bedroom. When she'd pushed the door to, Mulder got up and started wandering around the room. He stopped at her desk, where he noticed that her PC was still switched on. Glancing over his shoulder first, to check that the door to Scully's bedroom was still shut, he moved the mouse and the monitor made a soft crackling noise as it came out of standby mode. "If you want to make yourself useful ..." Scully called. "... I could use a coffee." "Sure, Scully." He said, only half listening. He was more interested in the text in the window of her Word Processor program. Becoming engrossed, he sat down and started scrolling back through the document. "You know where it is." She added. "Uh, huh." Said Mulder. When she appeared behind him, ten seconds later, he was totally absorbed. "Mulder." She said, standing behind him with her arms folded, now out of her business suit and into a pair of jeans and a sweat shirt. "Hmmmn." He said, clicking in the scroll bar with the mouse. "The coffee is in the kitchen, I think you'll find." "Huh?" "Mulder!" She reached past him, and switched off the monitor. He spun around, looking just a little bit guilty. Well, very guilty, actually. Scully folded her arms again, and looked down at him like a teacher scolding a pupil. "See anything that interested you?" "I didn't know you were a writer, Scully." He said. "- I mean, of fiction." "I expect there's a lot of things that you don't know about me, Mulder." She still had her arms crossed, and she didn't look very pleased. Perhaps it was time for the winning Mulder schoolboy smile. But then again- "For instance. I expect you don't know that I don't like people prowling around my apartment while my back is turned ..." "Uh, well, it wasn't quite -" "... And that, were I to discover someone doing that, I'd be tempted to-" "Scully. Don't finish that sentence." He held his hands up in surrender. "Guilty as charged. I apologise. Unreservedly." She stared at him suspiciously for a few seconds, before finally breaking into a grin. "So, what did you *really* think?" "Well -" She reached past him again, and switched on the monitor. "You can tell me." She said, pulling the reclining chair closer, and settling on the arm of it. "Uh -" "I value your feedback, Mulder. Really." "It's just that -" She pulled the chair a bit closer still, and waited eagerly for him to finish his sentence. "- Don't you think the Doctor Scully concept is a little bit ..." A scowl came over her face, and he knew at once that he'd said totally the wrong thing. "A little bit what?" She snapped. "Um, well ... It's, ah, not exactly original is it?" She considered that for a moment. Mulder started thinking that now would probably be a good time to go and make that coffee. "You didn't like it." She said, solemnly. Mulder looked shocked. He shook his head. "No, No. Scully, I *loved* it. Really." "But?" "Well, telling a story to a group of eight year old schoolkids is one thing ..." "You didn't like it." She said, again. "I guess it's not so much whether *I* liked it." Said Mulder, finally. "It's all those thousands of people out there on the Internet. I mean, Scully, did you *have* to post it to alt.tv.x-files.creative? You know Bureau policy on that show. And don't you think that a return address of agent.dana.scully@fbi.gov.usa sorta gives the game away?" She was about to say something, but the doorbell rang. "Hey, you'd better get that." Said Mulder, grinning. "It might be Bug Buggerers." It rang again. So she had to answer it. Outside, a tall man, dressed like a cowboy, doffed his ten gallon hat politely. "Yes?" Said Scully. "Are you Dana Katherine Scully, Ma'am?" He asked. "Yes, I am." He handed her a large white envelope, which she took without thinking. "Good day, Ma'am ... Oh, and consider yourself duly served." He turned quickly on his heels and strode off down the corridor at speed. As Scully came back into the lounge, she was tearing open the envelope. Mulder looked up. "What is it?" She waved a bundle of neatly typed documents at him. "Mulder, it's a subpoena ... I'm being ordered to appear before the Washington State Court. Next Monday at nine a.m." Mulder frowned. He stood up, and moved to her side. "What's the charge?" While he looked over her shoulder, she rummaged anxiously through the thick wad of documents, eventually finding the specifics of the case. "It seems that the rights to the Doctor Scully character are owned by the English Broadcasting Corporation. "- I'm being indicted for Copyright Infringement!" To be continued ... IMPORTANT --------- The X-Files, Mulder and Scully are the intellectual property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Television. Doctor Who is copyright BBC Television. All other copyrights are hereby acknowledged. This story is fan fiction and has not been produced to profit from the commercial property of the copyright owners, nor to deprive them of revenue. This story may be archived or distributed, provided that the author is clearly identified, this complete section remains intact, and the story is not altered. It may not be distributed for profit. * * * Previously in: The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent ... Mulder receives a photograph that shows his meeting with Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos, in Southfield, Michigan - where, together, they had defeated The Manipulator's plans for destroying the world. The return address on the picture says Jack's Curio Shop, where Mulder and Scully first found the strange book that started off the whole series of adventures, but when they get there - the shop is closed. Returning to Scully's apartment, Mulder discovers that she has been writing stories about Doctor Scully, and posting them on the Internet. Just as Mulder is in danger of telling Scully what he *really* thinks about her stories, a Process Server delivers a subpoena to Scully. She is being indicted for Copyright Infringement, by the original owners of the Doctor Scully character, the English Broadcasting Corporation ... * * * The X Files: The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent by Adrian.D.Ives Episode Two There probably was a way in which he could have inserted one more cigarette in his mouth, along with the twenty that were already smouldering there, but his last packet was empty. Coughing, and spluttering, and choking, and making all sorts of other stomach-churning noises through his lungs, Emphysema Man screwed up the packet in disgust, and hurled it into the waste paper basket. The Extremely Tall and Stupid Looking Man waited for the crumpled carton to land, right on the top of the pile that had already half-filled the bin, before he held out another packet of Red Band. Emphysema Man took one look (up) at his colleague, and shook his head with irritation. "Not my brand." He wheezed, dropping at least two cigarettes onto the floor in the process. Seeing what he had done, he went down on his knees and immediately began scrambling about on the ground to retrieve them. "Has the subpoena been served?" Asked the Man With an Indeterminate Accent, in an accent that could not be distinguished as originating from anywhere that was at all well known. Emphysema Man shoved the two cigarettes back into the corner of his mouth and nodded frantically, showering the other man with copious quantities of ash, and puffing thick clouds of carcinogenic, tar-laden, smoke in his direction. "It has." He coughed. "Then, gentlemen, the wheels have been set in motion. The plan begins anew." The Man With an Indeterminate Accent folded his hands in his lap, and closed his eyes. He seemed, to the other two, to be meditating. The Extremely Tall and Stupid Looking Man took a step closer, bashing his head on the low rafters of the ceiling. The loud crack echoed right through the smoke-filled, dimly lit, room. The Man With an Indeterminate Accent opened his eyes suddenly, and smiled. His gaze went from the tall man to the one who was going to die of lung cancer in the very near future. "It really is a pleasure to see that our operation is proceeding so smoothly." He said, clammily. "With his partner in jeopardy, Mulder will behave in exactly the way that he always does. He will be so busy running around trying to save Agent Scully that, once again, he will not see the wood for the trees." Emphysema Man coughed. In fact, he coughed so hard that he had to temporarily remove all 20 cigarettes from his mouth, so that he could spew up some phlegm into a dirty handkerchief that he pulled from the top pocket of his jacket. "You shouldn't underestimate him." He rasped. "Mulder is not quite as straightforward as that." "Of course he is." Said the man with no accent. The Extremely Tall and Stupid Looking Man nodded his head, stupidly, in agreement. Emphysema Man glared at him. "Relax, my friend." Said The Man With an Indeterminate Accent, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a packet of 40 Lung Stripper Triple-X Unfiltered. "Here. Have a cigarette." * * * : EBC Television Licence Fee Enforcement Agency : Two Channels Tower : Docklands : London, England, EU Winston Bradwell, Senior Licence Fee Collector (Third Grade), paced back and forth in the short length of corridor outside his boss's office. He had been waiting one minute seven point three seconds. Exactly seven point three seconds longer than the time that had been indicated by Jaqueline, his boss's secretary, when she had said "He'll just be a minute." He looked again at his multi-function digital wristwatch. The one that he had got free when taking out a ninety year non-cancellable subscription to Cloud Television - the latest satellite channel, that was screening, 24 hours a day, repeats of his favourite science fiction series: Doc- "Come in, Winston." Said his boss, standing at the door, wringing his hands together with anticipation. Nervously, Bradwell cleared his throat. He glanced at Jacqueline who, as usual, was totally ignoring him, then stepped forwards. "Take a seat." His boss waved a hand towards a rickety old steel chair, that had hessian sacking strung between the uprights, while *he* descended into a padded leather swivel recliner that had certainly cost more than Bradwell would ever earn in a hundred lifetimes. Bradwell cast a glimpse at the posters lining one wall of his boss's office. One of them showed a squad of heavily armed Licence Fee Collectors, backed up by an armoured car, advancing on a cowering retired couple who were dressed in rags, and were carrying all of their belongings in a pair of tatty carrier bags. Licence Fee Evasion ... It said, in bold, blood-streaked, letters ... It's not fair. It's not right. And it upsets the Chairman of the EBC! Pay or Die! Similar posters represented a recurring theme, which, broadly speaking, revolved around the concept that failure to pay your television licence fee, a heinous crime more serious than any other on the statute books, would lead to the severest of punishments. "How are you, young Bradwell?" Said Bradwell's boss. "Keeping well, I hope?" "Um, actually I've had a spot of bowel trouble -" "Good. Good. Glad to hear it." His boss offered him the silver bowl full of marshmallows. "Rabbit-shaped Marshmallow?" Bradwell shook his head. (a) He didn't like marshmallows, and (b) they didn't look anything like rabbits. "Now then, young Bradwell. Got a little job for you. Something a bit different." "Sir?" "Need you to go over to the States." Said Bradwell's boss, getting out of his chair and marching down one side of his office, military fashion, to a tall filing cabinet. "Some blasted woman over there has had the dashed impertinence to write stories about one of our television shows. Can you imagine the gall of these Yanks?" "Uh, which show would that be, Sir?" Bradwell asked, cautiously, twisting his head around to try and see what it was that his boss was extracting from the filing cabinet. His boss came back across the room, again marching in perfect double step, and handed Bradwell a blue plastic folder. The young man's eyes lit up as soon as he saw the diamond-shaped logo on the front cover. "Thought you'd like that, young Bradwell." Said his boss. "One of your favourites, isn't it?" Winston Bradwell was ecstatic. So ecstatic that he didn't check the display on his digital watch for at least another sixty seconds. "Sir, you know I'm a great fan of Doc-" "Yes, yes. Well everything you need is in there. Our office over in Washington is handling the prosecution. And we've got the full co-operation of the State Department, FBI, CIA, NSA etc. This is serious stuff, young Bradwell. If this young slip of a girl thinks she can take on the might of the EBC, well, I can tell you, she's got another think coming." "Right, sir." Said Bradwell. "Uh, it says here that she's an FBI Agent." "Scandalous, isn't it?" Bradwell's boss grunted with distaste. "What is the world coming to when you can't trust law enforcement officers to be good, honest, upright citizens? Why, I wouldn't mind betting that, if she lived in this country, she'd be another one of those damned communist lefties who won't pay their television licences. Scandalous I say!" Bradwell found a picture of Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully, and he instantly felt himself going all weak at the knees. Even though he was sitting down. "She's g-" "-Out of job by now!" Grunted Bradwell's boss. "And hopefully rotting away in some stinking jail cell along with the other commies!" "Sir, there's just one more thing." Said Bradwell, very, very, carefully. "Yes, what is it?" "According to this file, the stories that she's been writing are under the title of Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos." "So?" "Well, that's not what *our* series is called is it, Sir?" Bradwell's boss's face started to go very red. Almost as red as the blood-red lettering on the posters warning about the penalties for licence fee evasion. "And, anyway." Bradwell continued, wondering how much longer he was going to have a job. "We *did* cancel our series over eight years ago." "Details, young Bradwell." His boss dismissed him with a wave of the hands. "Details. You are to assist the Special Prosecutor to the best of your abilities. Your flight leaves at one thirty ... Well, run along, man." "Yes, sir." Bradwell got up and walked to the door. "And, Bradwell." His boss called after him. "Don't forget, The Corporation expects every man to do his duty." * * * : FBI Headquarters : Washington D.C. Skinner looked up from his desk, as the two agents walked in. "Sorry to trouble you, Sir." Said Scully. Skinner folded shut the file that he had been studying. "I assume that this is important, Agent Scully?" She handed Skinner the subpoena, which he studied with a mounting expression of concern. Scully and Mulder sat down in front of him. Eventually, he said: "Is this true, Agent Scully?" "I have been doing some writing in my spare time, Sir, yes." She admitted. "And you've been posting these stories to the Internet?" "Yes, but-" "Through a Bureau-supplied account?" She hesitated. Now, with hindsight, it seemed so ridiculous. "Sir, the strangest thing is that I remember doing it, but -" "But what?" "Sir, Agent Scully may have been affected by the personality-warping properties of an alien book." Said Mulder, suddenly, and perfectly seriously. Scully and Skinner both looked at him with disbelief. "Flown down to her, special delivery, by a flying saucer manned by little green men, no doubt?" Skinner remarked, sarcastically. "He was white." Said Mulder, deadpan. "And his name was The Manipulator." "Mulder, please." Scully reached out and touched him on the arm. "Scully, don't you realise that everything that's happened has not been your fault?" She shook her head, and turned back to Skinner. "Sir, I accept full responsibility. I shall be entering a plea of Guilty." Skinner rubbed his forehead wearily. "If you do that, Agent Scully, I shall have no other option than to ask you for your badge, and I will have to place you on immediate suspension without pay." She saw that he was giving her a chance, and she might have taken it - if, at that precise moment, the door to Skinner's office hadn't flown open, and two dark-suited men marched right in. "Just who the hell are you?" Skinner rose angrily. The taller of the two men flashed an ID card under his nose. "Special Agent Brent Barker, Sir. Office of Professional Conduct." He turned immediately to Scully. "Agent Scully. I have to inform you that, pending the outcome of your trial, you have been suspended from the FBI with immediate effect. I must ask you to hand over your badge and weapon at once. "I don't know how you're planning to plead, Miss Scully." The man sneered. "But, frankly, I think it's all over for you now!" To be continued ... IMPORTANT --------- The X-Files, Mulder and Scully are the intellectual property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Television. Doctor Who is copyright BBC Television. All other copyrights are hereby acknowledged. This story is fan fiction and has not been produced to profit from the commercial property of the copyright owners, nor to deprive them of revenue. This story may be archived or distributed, provided that the author is clearly identified, this complete section remains intact, and the story is not altered. It may not be distributed for profit. * * * Previously in The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent ... Scully has taken up writing fiction in her spare time, and she has been posting it to the Internet. Unfortunately, she has chosen to write about Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos, the (fictional?) character that she and Mulder first discovered in a very strange book at an old curio shop (Doctor Scully and the Mutant Mega-Mice from Mars). Mulder thinks the book is a remnant of The Manipulator's scheme to destroy the world (Doctor Scully and the File after "W"), but Scully refuses to believe him. In a dimly lit and smoke filled room, some very strange men are plotting to bring about Scully's downfall - to distract Mulder while they implement a much larger plot. But they're not important right now. What is important is that the English Broadcasting Corporation have got very upset with Scully, bringing a court action against her for Copyright Infringement. Even now, one of their top troubleshooters (well, someone who works for them anyway) is on his way to Washington, to assist the Special Prosecutor to bring about a conviction by whatever means necessary. To make matters worse, Scully has just been suspended, pending the outcome of .... The Trail of a Time Travelling FBI Agent by Adrian.D.Ives Episode Three : Office of the United States Attorney : Washington D.C. "Think of it this way." Said Emphysema Man, withdrawing all twenty cigarettes from the pack at once, and inserting them into his mouth. "You have certain ... ambitions. My - group - can help you achieve those." Michael Rank bounced the steel stress balls around in the palms of his hands for a few more seconds before coming to a decision. He had come a long way in the last few years. From those early days running hundred dollar skip traces, and getting grainy photographs of cheating wives and husbands. But everyone had to start somewhere. He had started small. But he was damned sure that he was going to finish big. "What's the evidence against this Scully woman?" He leaned forward and placed the stress balls back in their wire cradle; between the digital telephone with more buttons than he had fingers and toes, and the picture of his beautiful wife and daughter. Emphysema Man struck a match, and proceeded to light all 20 cigarettes one after the other. The match had almost burnt down to his fingertips when he finished. He dropped the charred piece of wood in the centre of the blotter on Rank's desk. Then he reached beside him and picked up a plastic ring binder, which he held under Rank's nose. "I believe you'll find everything you need in here." He coughed. Rank waved away a cloud of nicotine smoke, and took the folder from him. "We've also arranged some ... assistance for you." Emphysema Man continued. "I don't need any outside help." Rank was dismissive. He started flipping through the file. "Don't you?" Asked the other man, seeming surprised. Or at least acting that way. "Well, my affiliates would feel more - at ease - were you to agree to work with this man." Rank grunted with annoyance. "Alright, who is he?" Emphysema Man coughed and spluttered, and puffed even harder on the cigarettes that so filled his mouth, that it made it extremely hard for him to talk at all. "He's from England. The English Broadcasting Corporation, in fact." "Great." Said Rank, sounding totally unimpressed. "He will be." Said Emphysema Man, enigmatically. * * * : Legal Plaza : Washington D.C. Neville. T. Rustingside III, Attorney at Law, Senior Partner: Rustingside and Taylor Associates, made a clucking sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and shook his head in a manner that was not altogether confidence inspiring. Mulder was staring out of the huge window towards the sunset that was falling rapidly below the city skyline. Scully sat perfectly still, her hands clasped together and resting in her lap, watching every expression, every nuance of body language, that the lawyer displayed. "It's not good is it?" She said, more to relieve some of the tension that she felt than to receive an answer. Mulder twisted his head around. Rustingside closed the file, dropped it in his lap, and began to steer his wheelchair around the front of his desk. He came to a halt just in front of her, and reached out to touch her hand. "No, Dana." He said with a soft, kind, voice. "It's very very bad." She started to say something, but Rustingside swivelled his chair around with surprising speed, and propelled himself across the room towards the ornate drinks cabinet. "But that's what you're paying me to worry about." He said, his voice rising quickly to a more cheerful intonation. He selected a 70cl bottle of Chong Zo Fung Single Malt, specially imported from the People's Republic of China; removed the top, and poured himself a very large measure into a heavy bottomed glass tumbler. The lawyer raised his glass in Scully's direction. "And I am the best, Dana. The very best. Cheers." Mulder turned back to the almost dark skyline, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. He could feel her eyes boring into his back. Knew that she was reaching out to him for support. But what could he realistically do right now? "This has all the hallmarks of an Affiliation plot." He said, without looking back at her. "But what would they hope to gain?" Scully asked. "They'd split up the X Files team." He suggested, spreading out his fingertips and pressing them against the glass. "It'd do them no good, Mulder, your work would still go on." She insisted. "Well, maybe it's a distraction ..." Rustingside steered his wheelchair back to the desk. "Ah, excuse me, but ... Affiliation?" Mulder crossed to the other big chair and sat down next to Scully. "The Affiliation are a group of very powerful people." He explained. "Outside the law. Accountable to no-one. And they're following a secret agenda that we believe is against the best interests of the American people." "Hmmmn." Said Rustingside, sipping the whisky. "No worse than the IRS then. And, I take it, you've managed to upset these people." Mulder grinned. "Once or twice." He admitted. "Well, any information that you have on this group will be helpful." Said the Lawyer, indicating that the consultation was at an end. "Oh, and there's also this foreign agent. What did you call him? The Manipulator?" "His code name." Scully interjected. When Mulder had insisted on telling him about the Southfield investigation, Scully had proposed a slight distortion of the (i.e. Mulder's) truth that wouldn't make them both look like raving lunatics. Although, right at the moment, a plea of insanity was beginning to look like her only hope. "Right." Rustingside drained the glass empty. "As I say. Any information." Scully and Mulder shook hands with the lawyer and left. When they'd gone, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a cellphone. * * * : The Manipulator's Time Ship : Somewhere outside of Einsteinian Space/Time His gloved hand took hold of the scanner control, and he twisted it savagely. The image of Mulder and Scully, leaving Rustingside's office, dissolved into fragments of coloured light. Had this been a scene from a TV show, the camera would then have panned slowly back and up, bringing his shadowed face in to fill the screen, the harsh lines of his sinister sneer picked out by a strategically placed spotlight. Or something like that. Suffice to say that this guy is one evil son of a bitch. He is so incredibly nasty, that he makes the Ebola virus look like an attractive cure for a migraine. The Manipulator is such a thoroughly evil and rotten example of alien life, that he ranks second in Braithwaite's Universal Handbook of Power-Mad Alien Super Beings; only just being beaten by a whisker to the top spot by Percival Ernestine Flugelthwaite, a butterfly collector from Boise, Idaho, Earth - who, during an unfortunate trans-dimensional phase shift, accidentally pulled the wings off what he thought was a Great Purple Wanderer; but which was, in fact, the refugee ark containing the ninety two quintillion survivors of the displaced Plondotribian Empire - thereby committing an act of mass genocide of a magnitude never before seen in the history of the Cosmos. Of course, it won't be long before The Manipulator gets to that top slot. After all, it's what he's aiming for. It's his career goal. Everything he ever wanted. The Manipulator laughed. He does that a lot. But then he is a psychotic sociopath with delusions of Godhood, and an underlying schizoid paranoia. *And* he pulls the heads off jelly babies. "Soon, Doctor." He drawled. "Soon your friend will be at his wit's end. Soon he will turn to the one person that he believes can help to save his partner. To you, Doctor. To you!" With each sentence his voice raised an octave, and increased ten decibels in volume. "And, like the disgusting little do-gooder that you are, you will come running. Right into my trap. And, this time, Doctor ... You shall be MINE!" "You shall *beg* me to take your place at my side - as my consort throughout *all* of eternity. "Do you hear me, Doctor? YOU SHALL BEG *ME* !!!" To be continued ... IMPORTANT --------- The X-Files, Mulder and Scully are the intellectual property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Television. Doctor Who is copyright BBC Television. All other copyrights are hereby acknowledged. This story is fan fiction and has not been produced to profit from the commercial property of the copyright owners, nor to deprive them of revenue. This story may be archived or distributed, provided that the author is clearly identified, this complete section remains intact, and the story is not altered. It may not be distributed for profit. See end of file for disclaimers etc. * * * Previously in: The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent ... Just about everybody whose anybody appears to be involved in a dastardly plot to convict Agent Scully on a charge of Copyright Infringement. It all started when she published, on the Internet, some Doctor Scully adventures that she had written. And the players are:- The Affiliation: A bunch of very odd men with stupid names who are hell-bent on world domination. The Manipulator: The unbelievably psychotic arch-enemy of the real(?) Doctor Scully. A man so evil that he has redefined the word evil. He is dedicated to achieving Universal domination - and on satisfying his vile and degenerate Time Lord urges with Doctor Scully throughout all of eternity. But not necessarily in that order. Michael Rank: United States Attorney with a burning ambition. In the pay of The Affiliation, he is intent on becoming the most successful human being ever to have walked the planet. And then some. Winston Bradwell, Senior Licence Fee Collector (Third Grade): His boss, at the English Broadcasting Corporation (EBC) has sent him to Washington to assist Rank in getting a conviction. Bradwell is just obsessed with getting a date with his boss's secretary, but that's never going to happen - so, instead, he consoles himself by taking out lifetime subscriptions to satellite television channels that only show repeats of his favourite TV series. Special Agent Brent Barker, FBI Office of Professional Conduct: He just doesn't like Scully very much - and he's determined to make her life a complete misery. Neville. T. Rustingside III: Scully's lawyer. He drinks Chinese whisky - so what more can you say about the guy? Like most lawyers, he's interested in only one thing: $ $ $ $ $ What a nasty rotten bunch they are! With poor Scully's career in the balance, and Mulder seemingly unable to help her, only one question remains: Where, in all of time and space, is Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos? Without her, can nothing prevent the seemingly inevitable outcome of ... The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent by Adrian.D.Ives Episode Four "I insist that you enter a plea, Miss Scully." Repeated Judge Isiah Hoskins, patiently. Scully's eyes frantically searched the courtroom for a reassuring face, but she saw only open hostility and hatred. She found herself feeling as if she stood charged with some hideous murder, or even a plot to overthrow the government. But such crimes seemed to pale into insignificance alongside the gross travesty that she stood accused of. "Miss Scully." Repeated the Judge, his patience clearly at an end. Even Mulder was absent. She'd expected Skinner to stay away, but without Mulder she felt as if her last hopes had just drained away. "Sorry." She shook herself out of an almost trance-like state. "How do you plead?" He asked, one last time. "Not guilty, your Honour." The whole courtroom took a sudden deep breath. "Very well." The Judge turned his attention to the Prosecuting Attorney. "Mr. Rank. Proceed please." "Thank you, your Honour." Rank stood up, buttoned up his Armani suit, smoothed out his sleeves, and walked slowly out into the main area of the court, turning to face the jury. He waited five seconds for impact. Waited until they were on the edge of their seats. Waited while the CNN camera got a close framing shot on his face. "Ladies and Gentlemen." He opened his palms towards them. "Today, your country expects a great service of you. For there is no greater service than to bear the burden of judgement over one of your peers." He took a step towards the accused, where she sat next to Rustingside. "And this duty is an especially difficult and vital one. It must be carried out with the utmost precision and accuracy. The honourable Council for the Defence will tell you that I must prove to you, beyond all reasonable doubt, that the accused is guilty as charged." Rustingside was studying some papers. He peered over the top of his gold-rimmed spectacles at that last sentence, then returned his attention to the document. "And he will be right." Said Rank, walking now to the end of the juror's benches. "And if I do anything less in these coming days, then this woman must be set free. It is your duty." He stopped, halfway down the row. "But." He paused a beat. "Should I prove to you that Dana Katherine Scully, formerly an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, one of this country's greatest and most highly respected law enforcement institutions, wilfully, and maliciously, sought to infringe the copyright of the English Broadcasting Corporation, then you, also, will have no option. "You *must* find her guilty, Ladies and Gentlemen. You *must*." Scully felt her heart pounding, and her respiration becoming uneven. How could this be happening to her? "And that is exactly what I shall do." Said Rank, clasping his hands behind his back, and turning away from the jury towards the rest of the court. His eyes zeroed in on Scully and he stared right at her. "I shall demonstrate to the court how Miss Scully, a trusted Federal Agent, sought to misuse her position by utilising a government funded Internet account to post her plagiarised works of fiction for thousands of people to read. I shall show how every piece." He spun back to face the jury. "*Every* piece," He emphasised, "that she wrote, is based so blatantly upon the intellectual property of the EBC that it can be judged as nothing less than theft." Rustingside peered over the top of his spectacles and looked across at Scully. He smiled at her, but she couldn't bring herself to respond. "That's right, Ladies and Gentlemen." said Rank, walking back towards the jury. "Theft. The wilful taking and using of something that does not belong to oneself to use to further one's own ends. And Miss Scully is the worst kind of thief. The kind that betrays the trust that the people have placed in her. The kind that, in other circumstances would be known as: TRAITOR!" He spun around, and stabbed his finger towards her. She jerked back in an involuntary reaction. Rank grimaced. He took a deep breath, perfectly demonstrating to his audience the sight of a passionate man fighting to bring his hatred and loathing under control. He could see, from the looks on their faces, that his act was working. "Find her guilty!" He snapped. "I *know* that you will do the right thing. Right for justice. And right for the American people." Slowly, Rank returned to his table. The atmosphere was electric as Rustingside steered his wheelchair out into the court. He spun it around and lined it up in the direction of the jury, and then set himself slowly moving forwards. "Council for the Prosecution has placed great stress upon one word." He said, his voice low and gravelly. "The word trust. And the trust that the American people place in their law enforcement agencies. "Do you have any idea what it takes to become a Special Agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation?" He ran his gaze from left to right along the front row of benches, then back the other way along the back row. "Do you know how many months ... years ... of training are required? Do you have any comprehension of the dedication that the Bureau requires of its agents?" He could see that they did not, and they were listening with anticipation. "And do you realise just how much a person must surrender in order to join that organisation? A normal family life is the exception rather than the rule. Just take a look at my client, Ladies and Gentlemen. A healthy young woman who has sacrificed everything to serve her country. Why do you think she would do this?" He waited, confirming to himself that they were still with him. "Because she trusts in America, Ladies and Gentlemen. Because she holds that trust so dear that she will give up everything to help maintain the peace and security of this great country." Was that a tear that he could see forming in one old lady's eye? "Trust." Said Rustingside, as he approached her. "There can be no greater prize. And I ask you, Ladies and Gentlemen, does it really sound feasible to you that such a dedicated, loyal, American would betray that trust for something so ... inconsequential?" Good. At least five of them looked as if they were wrestling with their doubts. "Of course not." Rustingside appeared to dismiss the whole proceedings as an irrelevancy. "The very notion is absurd. When the Council for the Prosecution even suggests that you consider it, he is doing you all a great dis-service. "In this court, over the coming weeks, I shall prove to you - beyond any and all reasonable doubt - that the charges against my client have been trumped up by a cartel of global criminals intent on discrediting the law enforcement agencies of this country. I shall show how they hoped this *sham* trial would dent the reputation of the FBI and help bring about the decline that they seek. A decline that would leave them free to engage, unhindered, in their own nefarious activities. "Ladies and gentlemen. Together, we shall examine the real facts. Together, we shall explore the spotless record of this remarkable - this loyal - and highly capable, law enforcement officer. Together, we shall come to see how Dana Katherine Scully cannot possibly be guilty as charged. "I feel sure that, together, we will acquit this woman and allow her to return to the work to which she has dedicated her life." He paused for three seconds, checking eye contact and body language. It was a good start. All he had to do now was to maintain it through to the bitter end. When he turned back towards his client, he was sure that he saw the light catch the moisture in her eyes. * * * : 24hr Strip-A-Go : Downtown Washington D.C. Special Agent Fox Mulder stared into his drink. He had stopped watching the gyrating naked girls some hours ago, and now the only thing that interested him was what came in the bottom of a glass. Scully's trial had started two hours ago. What must she be feeling right now? What he was feeling was more to the point. He had never felt this helpless before. It was like being paralysed. And yet he knew that there were things that he could be doing to help her. That blasted book. Why hadn't he broken into her desk and taken it down to the lab for analysis? And why hadn't he tackled The Affiliation? He was certain that they were behind this. But he knew why. He knew exactly why he couldn't - wouldn't - take any action. He was being manipulated. People were expecting him to behave in a certain way. To give in to that urge would be to bend to their plan, whatever it was. He raised his glass towards the barman, who started walking in his direction. Then a woman's hand closed on his wrist and made him put the glass down. The barman saw what had happened, shrugged, and turned back to the two hookers that he had been chatting to. "Hello there." Said Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos. "Need any help?" To be continued ... IMPORTANT --------- The X-Files, Mulder and Scully are the intellectual property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Television. Doctor Who is copyright BBC Television. All other copyrights are hereby acknowledged. This story is fan fiction and has not been produced to profit from the commercial property of the copyright owners, nor to deprive them of revenue. This story may be archived or distributed, provided that the author is clearly identified, this complete section remains intact, and the story is not altered. It may not be distributed for profit. * * * Previously in: The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent ... Scully has been suspended from the FBI after being indicted for Copyright Infringement when she publishes some stories that she wrote, about Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos, to the Internet. The English Broadcasting Corporation (EBC) are insisting that the Doctor Scully character is a rip-off of a show that they cancelled eight years ago. In the background, two forces seem to be working towards bringing about Scully's downfall: The Affiliation - a cartel of strangely named men who enjoy playing God; and The Manipulator, a psychotic Time Lord who just wants to *be* God. As Mulder drowns his sorrows in a cheap strip joint (presumably because his VCR has broken down), Doctor Scully arrives back on Earth. But is she too late to save Scully? And what is the real reason behind the fact that this story is in 14 parts? * * * The X Files: The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent by Adrian.D.Ives Episode Five : Jack's Curio Shop : 4109 West 98th : Washington D.C. Doctor Scully peered through the thick green glass, shielding her eyes from the harsh midday sun with her left hand. She rapped her knuckles on the hard wood one more time. "Appears to be deserted." She said, drumming her fingers on the glass. "Curious." "How so?" Mulder asked, pressing his face to the glass shop front. "I don't know." She replied, thoughtfully. "But there's something terribly familiar about this place ..." "It was where it all started." Said Mulder, thinking back to that warm afternoon, and to their chance discovery of the book. And to what followed. (No, not *that* ... the other Doctor Scully adventures). The Doctor gathered up her scarf and flipped it over her shoulder. She took a step backwards. "Well, we've got to get inside somehow." She said. "You're not planning to use the Polymorphic Pliers again?" Mulder enquired, glancing around to make sure that there were no witnesses. She grinned in his direction, and reached carefully into her pocket. * * * "Please state your name and occupation for the record." Said Rank, leaning on the witness box and inclining his head slightly towards the zoom lens of the CNN steadicam as its operator crossed the front of the juror's benches. The old man cleared his throat, pulled a pair of false teeth out of the top pocket of his dark black shirt, and popped them into his mouth. He sucked them into place, making a disgusting slurping sound that the microphone amplified and the speakers echoed throughout the court. "Berthold Stein." He said, in a kind of American-German accent that sounded like it had come out of a bad nineteen fifties war film. "But you vill call me Bert. Ya?" "Ya, er, Yes." Rank adjusted the set of his silk tie slightly, and glanced at his reflection in the man's spectacles. "And your occupation ... Bert?" "I am ze senior lecturer in Dramatic Writing at ze Vashington Institute of Literature and Culture." He said, proudly. Scully shot a glance over at Rustingside. The wheelchair-bound lawyer returned it with a warning nod, then redirected his attention to Rank's questioning of the first prosecution witness. "Bert. Would you like to tell the court what you were doing on the evening of the ninth of this month?" "Ya." Bert nodded with obvious enthusiasm. Rank waited. The court waited. "Well?" Said Rank, finally. "Vell?" Bert shook his head, and looked confused. Rank looked up to the ceiling and said a silent prayer. What I do for success and fame, he thought. "*What* were you doing?" "Oh ... I vas surfing ze Veb!" He clapped his hands together with joy, as if he had just discovered some long lost toy. "Surfing the Web." Rank repeated, for the benefit of the jury. "Ya. Is vot I said." "And ... while you were 'Surfing the Web' ... did you come across anything that interested you?" Bert thought about that for a moment. He scratched his chin, and sucked his false teeth. And looked very confused. Rustingside suppressed a grin. "Mr. Stein -" Rank took a very long, and very deep, breath. "Please. You vill call me Bert." Then, as if a two hundred watt bulb had just come on inside his head, his face beamed with understanding. "Ah ... Ya. You mean ze full frontal pictures of ze woman from zat series about ze FB-" "No, Mr. Stein." Said Rank, firmly. "I do not mean that." "Objection." Said Rustingside, smiling, and peering over the top of his spectacles. "Respectfully request that the witness be allowed to answer the question." Judge Hoskins nodded his head sleepily, and glared at the prosecuting Attorney. "Upheld." He said. "Please continue, Mr. Stein." "Continue vot?" Asked Stein. "Your Honour." It was Rustingside, from across the court. "Request that the testimony of the witness be stricken from the record on the grounds that he is mentally incompetent to testify." "Mr. Rank?" The Judge raised his eyebrows. "Ah, you mean ze stories!" Said Stein, suddenly, raising his index finger up before him. "Your Honour?" Rank looked at the Judge with an almost pleading expression. Hoskins waved his hand in front of him. "Get on with it, Mr. Rank. But, I warn you, the burden is on you to demonstrate the credibility of this witness." Scully opened her mouth to say something. The man was clearly in the advanced stages of senile dementia. How could the Judge allow him to testify? Rustingside touched her hand and gently shook his head. She bit her lip. "Tell the court about the stories." Rank continued, looking a lot more confident now. So confident, that he managed to slip in a rapid comb through his dark brown hair with his left hand. "Ya, vell it vos like I said. Zere I vos, zurfing ze Veb, ven I came upon zese stories. Zey zeemed very familar to me at zat time." "What were ze - the - stories about?" "Doctor Scully." The old man said, his eyes lightning up. "Guardian of ze Cozmos." Rank turned to face the jury. He ran his eyes along both rows of jurors before speaking, very precisely: "Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos." He turned back to Stein. "And what was it that you found interesting about these stories?" "Vell she vos a very sexy lady. You know vot I mean, ya?" The old man was bouncing up and down in his chair now, running the tip of his tongue around his lips at high speed, and rolling his eyes. "Yes, but apart from that, Mr. Stein." Rank placed his hand on the witness box, and levelled his most serious gaze at the man. "Vot? Oh ... ya." The man seemed to calm down again. "Ya, zere voz somezing elze. I zaw it straight avay." "What did you see, Mr. Stein?" Rank leant closer to the witness, keeping his profile in perfect frame for the NBC camera over on the other side of the court. "*What* did you see?" Scully looked at Rustingside with a questioning expression. Once again, he nodded very slightly. "Zey vere a copy, of course." Said Stein, his voice becoming more steady. Taking on more conviction. Rising ever so slightly in volume. "A rip-off. A steal." "A copy." Said Rank, directing a self-satisfied smile towards Scully. "A Rip Off." And back to the jury. "A steal." Then turning back to Stein for maximum dramatic effect. "A steal of what?" "Ze most famous science fiction series of all time of course." Said Stein. "EBC's Doctor Why." "Objection." Said Rustingside, raising his hand and waving his pen at the Judge. "Speculation." "Overruled." Said Hoskins. "And would you please tell the court why you are so sure of this." Rank continued, moving in for the kill. "Because I wrote ze first six seasons of zat series!" He shook his fist towards Scully, and she stared back at him in horror. Looking very pleased with himself, Rank returned to his chair. "Your witness, Counsellor." He said, nonchalantly, as he passed Rustingside. Rustingside snapped his pen in half. * * * : Jack's Curio Shop : 4109 West 98th : Washington D.C. "Empty!" Said Mulder, the frustration heavy in his voice. All around them the shelves of what had been the book room were completely bare. Not a trace remained. Even the dust had been vacuumed away. The Doctor thumbed the lapels of her Edwardian Long Coat and spun through a full circle on the tips of her toes. "Yes, there does seem to be somewhat of a dearth of books." She finally agreed. Mulder sat down in the same chair from which he had first found *the* book - when he had reached behind him at random, and picked the first volume that had come into his hand. That book had been titled: 'Doctor Scully and the Mutant Mega-Mice from Mars', and it had set in motion a chain of events that were almost as bizarre as the X Files themselves. In fact, it had been an X File. Still was. "Doctor." He looked up at the female Time Lord, which was really only possible from a seated position. "Right now Scully is probably being crucified in that court. I've got to *do* something." "Yes." She said, thoughtfully, tapping her fingertips together. They both remained like that for several minutes; Mulder staring at the floor, The Doctor running through scenario after scenario in her mind. "Got it!" She said, suddenly. "What?" "A devilishly good plan." She grinned, taking hold of his hand and pulling him along after her. "But, Doctor!" In the doorway, she stopped suddenly, and his momentum sent him crashing into her. "What?" She asked, blushing quite visibly, as he drew himself, somewhat reluctantly, away from her. "It's just that ..." They stared at one another. It was hard to believe that this was not Dana Scully standing in front of him. Hard, that is, until she spoke, or moved, or looked at him. Or touched him. Then she was so very different. "Mulder?" "Nothing." He said, finally, shaking his head. "Nothing at all." "Oh." She shrugged, turned, and marched out of the door, muttering: "Curious." under her breath. * * * : Department of Defense : Maximum Toxicity Chemical Weapons Deep Ground Store : Blue Ridge, Colorado Emphysema Man handed the Colonel the shrink-wrapped package. The Colonel studied it carefully for a moment, squinting to look through the semi-transparent wrapping at the leather-bound book within. Emphysema Man slipped eight cigars into his mouth, and lit them, one by one, with an old-fashioned lighter. He puffed smoke in the Colonel's direction. "A book?" The Colonel asked. "*The* book." Said Emphysema Man. "The only one that matters." "I see." He handed the package to the lab-coated orderly. "Level Five containment?" "Six." Said the man, coughing and spluttering. The Colonel looked shocked. "But there is no Level Six." "Then make one." Said Emphysema Man, as he turned to leave. "Your life may depend upon it." To be continued ... IMPORTANT --------- The X-Files, Mulder and Scully are the intellectual property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Television. Doctor Who is copyright BBC Television. All other copyrights are hereby acknowledged. This story is fan fiction and has not been produced to profit from the commercial property of the copyright owners, nor to deprive them of revenue. This story may be archived or distributed, provided that the author is clearly identified, this complete section remains intact, and the story is not altered. It may not be distributed for profit. * * * Previously in: The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent ... The case for the prosecution is underway. The Accused: Dana Katherine Scully, currently suspended from her position as a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The Charge: First Degree Copyright Infringement. The Particulars: That Dana Katherine Scully did, with malice aforethought, wilfully and knowingly conspire to violate the copyright of the English Broadcasting Corporation in respect of their science fiction television series 'Doctor Why'; by writing, and causing to be widely distributed, through the medium of Internet News Group postings, several works of fiction based upon that character, under the collective title 'Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos'. The Truth ... Scully has obviously been set up. And it's another one of those nasty evil plots - by nasty evil men whose names are made up of sentences describing their physical characteristics. Oh, and there's a deranged megalomaniac Time Lord in there as well, just for good measure. His name is The Manipulator ... and we've met him before. So has Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos. She has arrived on Earth just in time to help Mulder to try and save his partner from a lifetime in prison. But they may already be too late: Because, as they try to track down the origins of the strange book that Mulder believes caused Scully's personality to change, a member of The Affiliation, a clandestine organisation apparently acting against the interests of the United States, delivers the book to a top secret chemical weapons storage depot ... from where it may never be recovered. In the Washington State Court, US Attorney Michael Rank has just delivered a crushing blow to the defence, by introducing the author of the first six seasons of Doctor Why - and having him testify that the Doctor Scully character is a blatant copy. For Scully, the outlook has never looked bleaker .... * * * The X Files: The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent by Adrian.D.Ives Episode Six Rustingside wheeled his chair slowly towards Berthold Stein. He came to a halt just a few centimetres in front of the witness box, pausing to rustle the wad of papers that he was holding. The court held their breaths. "Mr. Stein." Said Rustingside, very slowly and deliberately, as he looked up at him, over the top of his glasses. "You vil call me Bert." Said Stein, nodding genially. "Mr. Stein. Would you please tell the court how many seasons the series 'Doctor Why' ran for, in England." Stein started counting on the tips of his fingers. He lost count at five, and had to start all over again. Rustingside continued to study the papers as if losing interest. After twenty seconds or so, the wheelchair-bound lawyer cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, how many was that?" He asked. Stein looked at him like the nodding dog on the parcel shelf of a Citroen 2CV. "Do you know how many, Mr. Stein?" Rustingside glanced over the papers again, then turned to the court. The old man looked dumbfounded. Michael Rank produced a silver plated comb and nervously groomed his quiff, his eyes searching for a camera that was focussed in his direction. "You don't know do you?" Rustingside finally said. "Objection." Rank jumped up. "Irrelevant. And the Council for the Defence is badgering the witness." Judge Isiah Hoskins looked up from his copy of 'What Sentence?' towards the US Attorney, then back to Rustingside. "Goes to the credibility of the witness, Your Honour." Said Rustingside, simply. "I'll allow it, Mr. Rank." He shrugged, and turned his magazine through ninety degrees, to better appreciate the centre spread - a full-length photograph of a classic gallows set, fashioned out of a very tasteful mahogany. "You don't *know*, Mr. Stein" Rustingside continued, with a slight nod of acknowledgement to the Judge. "And yet Council for the Prosecution has sought to introduce your evidence on the grounds that you are an acknowledged expert on the subject matter." "Ya, but-" "In fact, Ladies and Gentlemen," Rustingside directed his gaze at the jury. "There were 26 seasons of Doctor Why, running from November 23rd 1963 through 6th December 1989." "Objection." Rank jumped up from his seat, waving his hand in the air. "Seven different actors played the character of The Doctor throughout that time." Rustingside continued, undeterred. "Mr. Stein, I wonder if you would tell the court what was the one thing that those seven all had in common?" "Er -" Stein looked baffled. "- Zey all played ze part of ze Doktor?" He finally proposed. "Yes, but there was something else. Something very pertinent to the case against my client." He waved the wad of papers at the old man, as if that might elicit the required response from him. Stein scratched his head. Rank returned quietly to his seat. He had managed to get the CNN steadicam focussed on him again, and he wanted to smooth out the crumple in his silk tie, before it caught the light. "They were all *men*, Mr. Stein." Said Rustingside, to the court, and, before Stein could respond; "Didn't you just say - and I quote:" Rustingside managed a very passable German accent, "Vell she vos a very sexy lady." A sharp intake of breath went around the courtroom. "A lady." Said Rustingside, triumphantly. "Not a man. A woman." "Ya, but -" "And the character of The Doctor ... throughout all twenty six seasons ... all one hundred fifty nine adventures ... has always been a man?" "Ya, but -" "And yet you testified that the character of Doctor Scully was a *copy* of Doctor Why." "Ya, zat is zo, but -" "Tell me, Mr. Stein, would you accept that there a number of significant differences between a man and a woman?" "Oh, ya, definitely." His eyes lit up, and condensation started forming inside the old man's spectacles. I mean, zis Gillian Ander-" Rustingside threw the papers to the floor in front of him, and glared at the poor old man. "Isn't it true, Mr. Stein, that Doctor Scully cannot possibly be a copy of Doctor Why." He stabbed his finger towards the witness. "Because she is female, and Doctor Why is *male*." Again he jabbed his finger accusingly. "And, as you've already accepted to the court, there are significant differences between a man and a woman." Rustingside was really getting into the part now, pushing his wheelchair as close as he could get it to the witness box, and raising himself with his arms to stare straight at Stein. "And therefore my client's stories are no copy! " ... Your Honour, I submit that there is no case to answer." At that moment Scully felt elated. She was almost ready to jump right out of her seat and run across the court, to plant a great big kiss right on Neville.T.Rustingside III's nose. Hoskins tut-tutted and shook his head. "Nice try, Mr. Rustingside." He said, smiling broadly. "But my teenage daughter is a great fan of the re-runs of that show, and, if my memory serves me, The Doctor was able to regenerate into a new body." Rank allowed himself a self-satisfied smile. He caught Rustingside's eye, and chalked up a '1' in the air with his forefinger. Scully slumped back in her chair, the hope draining from her once again. Was it all really going to end with twenty years in a Federal Penitentiary? Already, she was wondering how she would survive. And where was Mulder? Surely he wouldn't leave her to face this alone? Not after everything they'd been through. No, she couldn't believe that of him. Wouldn't believe it. But, if only he'd just *be there*. On the far side of the court, The Man With an Indeterminate Accent rolled up his copy of the Washington Post, and carefully made his way out of the room. He looked very satisfied indeed. * * * : Dana Scully's Apartment : 3:55 pm "It's alright." Mulder stepped in front of her, before she had a chance to use the Polymorphic Pliers. "I've got a key." "Oh." The Doctor regarded him with questioning expression and a raised eyebrow. Carefully, Mulder turned the lock and opened the door. The Doctor pushed past right past him and did a quick circuit of the room, pausing only to look at the Mutant Mega-Mouse bendy doll sitting on the rim of the empty fruit bowl. "What are we looking for?" Mulder asked, carefully closing the door. To Mulder, what they were doing felt wrong, like a betrayal of trust. But, if The Doctor had a plan, it might be Scully's only hope. The Doctor found the door to Scully's bedroom and she pushed it open. She went straight for the closet and swung open the door to reveal a rack of freshly laundered clothes. She glanced back to Mulder, grinning as she kicked shut the door to the bedroom. "Just what The Doctor ordered." He heard her say, as the door clicked shut. Mulder settled down on the couch and looked at his watch. Almost four pm. They'd recess at five. He wondered how the first day had gone. Damnit, but he should have been there. Should have. Whatever else happened their partnership always came first. It always had. Always would. Except this time was different. Dana Scully came out of the bedroom. "Scully!" Mulder looked up in shock. She had changed into one of Scully's suits, the one in soft pastel. "*Doctor* Scully." She corrected him with a mischievous wink. "Well? Will I do?" "Do?" "Hold it right there, Sir. Federal Agent." She held up her Polymorphic Pliers as if they were a gun, and the voice was absolutely spot on. Mulder just stared at her, his mouth hanging open. "Well, come on, Mulder." She said, heading for the door. "I don't want to miss my day in court." * * * : The Manipulator's Time Ship : In the Vortex "Oh, Doctor. Ever the ingenious little minx." He twisted off the scanner control and watched the image fade to nothing. Then he turned back to the large four poster bed. The one that he had picked up on Earth, back in 1794. He walked slowly over to the bed (which looked somewhat out of place in the console room) and gently stroked the silk sheet with his gloved hand. "... And I am so looking forward to the consummation of our relationship, Doctor. Finally ..." His voice began to rise steadily in both pitch and volume. "Our union shall be magnificent, Doctor!" He howled like a wolf. "In the burning heat of our embrace, in the throes of our passions ... it shall be but the beginning of the journey that we shall take together ... "Together, Doctor. Together we shall raise ourselves above the worthless degenerates that populate this tiny, insignificant, Universe. Together we shall become ... GODS! "GODS TO RULE THE ENTIRE COSMOS!" To be continued ... IMPORTANT --------- The X-Files, Mulder and Scully are the intellectual property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Television. Doctor Who is copyright BBC Television. All other copyrights are hereby acknowledged. This story is fan fiction and has not been produced to profit from the commercial property of the copyright owners, nor to deprive them of revenue. This story may be archived or distributed, provided that the author is clearly identified, this complete section remains intact, and the story is not altered. It may not be distributed for profit. * * * Previously in: The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent ... Scully is out of the FBI; Suspended pending the outcome of a trial on the charge of First Degree Copyright Infringement. And it's going rather badly. Rustingside, Scully's lawyer, and winner of the 1998 Raymond Burr Lookalike Contest, has totally failed to dent the prosecution's case. The Judge seems to be more interested in looking at pictures of antique gallows. While the prosecutor, US Attorney Michael Rank, is in the pay of the devious 'Affiliation' - another bunch of conspirators without proper names. And Mulder seems powerless to help his partner, unwilling to participate in what, he is sure, is a trap. Only one woman can save Scully now: The Ninth Doctor. But can even she save Scully from twenty years in a Federal Penitentiary? More to the point, will she be able to escape falling into the clutches of The Manipulator - the depraved, sexually frustrated, psychopathic megalomaniac who is hell-bent on ruling the entire Cosmos, with The Doctor as his consort until the end of eternity? Could this be the beginning of the end for Mulder, Scully AND The Doctor? Well, not yet ... because there's another seven episodes in the pipeline. * * * The X Files: The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent by Adrian.D.Ives Episode Seven Winston Bradwell slipped into the alley, hastily raising his copy of the day before's Satellite Times to cover his face. Unfortunately that meant he couldn't see anything, so he trod on a fluffy white poodle that had been peeing up against a trash can there. The poodle, not being particularly fond of being trodden on, least of all whilst in the middle of setting out an essential territorial border, did what most dogs have a natural disposition towards doing. She bit his ankle. Bradwell yelled out in pain, dropping his magazine as he clutched his ankle with both hands. The dog yapped at him, then ran off down the alley. Across the street, The Doctor and Mulder came down a flight of steps and walked over to the blue Ford. Bradwell pressed his back against the wall and did his very best to make himself invisible. Already he was wondering how the hell Scully could be there, when she was sitting in a courtroom somewhere over on the other side of town. He heard the car doors slam, and came out of the alley just in time to see the back of the vehicle as it threaded its way west, through the leafy suburban street. Bradwell pulled his cellphone out of his coat pocket and pushed one of the Speed Dial buttons. * * * : The Affiliation Club Room : Location unknown The Man With an Indeterminate Accent carefully put down the receiver, and turned to his colleagues, a look of concern on his face. They were all gathered together in the smoky, dimly lit, room, each of them seated in one of the antique high-backed dining chairs. The Obese Woman raised her eyebrows. "What is it?" "Agent Scully appears to have acquired a double." He said, skeptically. "I find that most unlikely." Coughed Emphysema Man, his mouth seriously obstructed by several large Havanas and a selection of unfiltered cigarettes. "Nonetheless." Said The Man With an Indeterminate Accent. "Bradwell has seen her. Just now. Leaving her apartment with Agent Mulder." "He must be mistaken." Said The Obese Woman, shaking her head so that the folds of flab around her neck wobbled about like a stale peach flavoured milk jelly. "Bradwell is a fool." Said the Extremely Tall and Stupid-Looking Man, his head touching the ceiling even in a sitting position. Emphysema Man glared up at him. "He *is* an Affiliate." He said, simply, puffing nicotine smoke at the other man. "However, this does introduce a new factor into the equation." Said The Obese Woman, shovelling a large Hazelnut Hershey Bar into her mouth. "Indeed." The Man With an Indeterminate Accent agreed. "However, like all plans, ours is flexible enough to cope. The objectives will still be met. Mulder will still bring about his own downfall - and that of his partner. If anything, this new element may increase the effectiveness of our strategy." "Should she be eliminated?" Emphysema Man ripped the plastic wrapping off another packet of Red Band. "No. She may be of use." "And if she is not?" "Then how very unfortunate that will prove to be for her." * * * : The Court Room : 4:25 pm Michael Rank carefully plucked a tiny speck of fluff off his lapel, holding it momentarily between his thumb and forefinger before flicking it away. As inconspicuously as possible, he glanced at his reflection in the polished wood of the table top, and then he stood up to cross the court. "Good afternoon Miss D'Arcy." He said, showing both rows of perfect white teeth, in a very broad smile that was directed right at camera number three - the live feed to The Trial Channel. Murgatroyd D'Arcy crossed her legs and nodded nervously. Several tufts of mousey red hair fell into her eyes. She brushed them away, then looked uncomfortable about doing so. Rank leant against the witness box. "Now, Miss D'Arcy, you work for the Communications Services Procurement and Administration Authority of the Federal Government, is that correct?" "No." "What? -" Rank looked taken aback, but he quickly recovered his composure and resumed the examination. "Where do you work then, Miss D'Arcy?" "The Communications Services Procurement and Administration *Agency*." "Oh." "Only I always think that it's important to get the names of things right, don't you." She batted her eyelashes at him. "You just can't have effective two-way communications without accuracy. It's so vital." Rustingside looked across at Scully and grinned. But she didn't feel like grinning back. So far Rank had done a fantastic job of proving her to be the most evil criminal genius ever to have come before the bench. Rank surreptitiously checked, with a slight sideways glance, to see if the camera was still on him. He was a little peeved to see that the cameraman seemed to be lining up the lens on Miss D'Arcy's mini-skirted thighs instead. Judge Isiah Hoskins yawned, and turned another page in his paperback. "Would you please tell the court exactly what your job is." Rank continued. "We supply communications services to all the other Federal Government Agencies." She said. "Really. And would that include radio, telephones, fax? ..." He stirred his right hand around, leaving the question open-ended. "All of those." She said. "Plus electronic mail, digital video, carrier pigeon, sub-space -" "Electronic Mail." Rank stopped her. "And would that be via the Internet?" "Sometimes through the Public Internet." She nodded, seemingly pleased to have lots of people to tell about her terribly important job. "But we also contract out private Wide and Metropolitan Area Networks." "Which agencies use Public Internet?" Rank looked around the court. "Well ... all the social welfare, taxation, law enforcement -" "Law Enforcement?" "Yes. Public Internet lets them interchange data with other agencies throughout the world, and to host Web Pages for information retrieval." "I see. That's very interesting, Murgatroyd." He ran a couple of fingers delicately through his hair, adjusting the lay of several strands that had fallen out of place. "And the FBI - being a Federal law enforcement agency - they use Public Internet as well?" "Of course." She said, enthusiastically, wondering if Rank was married. He wasn't wearing a ring. And he did look terribly well off. "The FBI even allocate their agents individual accounts." "Individual accounts." Rank repeated slowly. "And they would be allocated for what purpose?" "Well, you understand that how an agency uses the services we provide is entirely down to their own management -" "Of course, but you must have an idea." "Objection." Rustingside raised his hand. "Calls for speculation on the part of the witness." The Judge suddenly woke up. "Ah. Oh. ... Overruled." "But, Your Honour -" "Overruled, Mr. Rustingside." The Judge repeated, raising his voice with obvious irritation. "Thank you, Your Honour." Rank sucked up to the Judge for a few seconds, with a deferential tug of the forelock, then he returned to Miss D'Arcy. "Please, go on." "The agents use them in the pursuit of their investigations." She explained - mainly Web and E-Mail access. "I see. And would it be normal practice - based on your *considerable* experience with Federal Government communications policy - for an Agent to use a Public Internet account for private purposes?" She shook her head vigorously. "No. That's definitely not allowed." She said. "It's considered a very serious offence." She glared at Scully. Rank looked at Scully too, with a sneer on his face. "So." - Walking slowly towards the accused - "Were an FBI Agent to use their agency-supplied Public Internet account for personal use, it would be considered a very serious breach of discipline?" Scully felt the eyes of the whole court turning on her and burning into her. She felt herself going very red. "Yes." Said Murgatroyd D'Arcy with conviction. "*Very* serious." Rank turned around just half a metre from where Scully was sitting, and started back towards the centre of the court. "I'd now like to turn to the events of the ninth of this month." He said. "Miss D'Arcy would you tell the court what you were doing that day." She nodded. "It was a Monday, so I was working of course." She replied. "And did you have cause to examine the records relating to the utilisation of the Washington FBI Headquarters Building Public Internet Gateway?" "Yes. I did." Her voice never wavered once. "In fact they have two TCP/IP Gateways, passing sub-nets two three one one hundred and -" "Yes, thank you, Miss D'Arcy." Rank stopped her. "Was this a routine examination?" "Yes. Every month we audit the line utilisation records and prepare a report for them." "I see. Every month. And, during this examination, did you discover anything out of the ordinary?" She took a deep breath, preparing herself, as if she had been waiting all her life to say what came out next. "Yes, Sir. I noticed several very large text uploads to a Usenet News Group. The group was alt.tv.x-files.creative - I remembered it because I know the Bureau policy on that particular show, and I thought it was a bit odd." Rank nodded his head thoughtfully. "You said large, Miss D'Arcy. Could you elaborate on that?" "Six postings, each between 12 and 15 K." "K - that's a thousand characters?" "A thousand and twenty four." She corrected him. "Do you know what was in those postings?" "Well, we shouldn't really -" "But on this occasion you felt it so *serious* a breach of procedure that you decided it was your duty to investigate." Prompted Rank. "Your Honour!" Rustingside threw up his hands in despair. "I really must protest at the way the Council for the Prosecution is leading the witness." "Yes, quite right." Said Hoskins, putting down his copy of 3001: The Final Odyssey. "The witness will disregard that last question, and the statement will be stricken from the record." Rank sighed. "Miss D'Arcy, what was in the postings?" "They were parts of a story." She said. "Doctor Scully and the Last Bug-Eyed Monster - by Dana.K.Scully." Rank's face literally lit up. He walked across the court room, towards the jury, and repeated the woman's words. "Doctor Scully and the Last Bug-Eyed Monster. "By Dana.K.Scully." He turned and stabbed his finger at Scully. "And the accused's middle name, Ladies and Gentlemen, is Katherine. Dana Katherine Scully." "Objection." Said Rustingside, wearily. "My client's name is a matter of record. The Counsellor is attempting to play the role of Judge as well as Prosecutor." "Council for the Defence has a point." Said the Judge, firmly. "Control yourself, Mr. Rank." Rank walked back to the witness box. "One last question, Miss D'Arcy. From what account were these postings made?" Without hesitation, she replied. "agent.dana.scully@fbi.gov.usa - I checked, and that account is registered to a Special Agent Dana Scully." Scully lowered her head and cupped her hands over face. "Thank you." Said Rank, drawing a figure '2' in the air with his index finger, as he walked back to the prosecution table, past Rustingside. "Your witness, Couns -" "Ah, gentlemen. It's five pm. Court will now recess." Said the Judge, gathering up his paperback book, a small chess set, three empty Budweiser cans, and a Sony Walkman. "We'll resume at nine am tomorrow, when the Defence will start their cross examination of Miss D'Arcy." * * * : Washington State Court : 5:12 pm In the small room just off one of the wide corridors that criss-crossed the vast court building, Scully sat quietly at the table. "Cheer up, Dana." Said Rustingside. "It's never quite as bad as you think." "No." She said, gloomily. "It's worse." "Oh, I don't -" "Hi, Scully!" Mulder pushed through the door, and she felt her heart lift. But it was only a momentary flash of elation, and it was soon replaced by anger. "Mulder. Where the hell have you been?" Rustingside carefully pushed his wheelchair away from the table, making room for a confrontation, if that was what was about to happen. Mulder and Scully stared at one another. "In the wrong place." He said finally, looking down at the floor. "Scully, I'm sorry." She turned her back to him and walked over to the window. He came up to her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders, but he felt her tense at his touch, and so quickly withdrew. Eventually she let out a long sigh and turned to him, reaching out to touch his wrists. "I'm having a really bad day." "Yeah ... Scully, I'm sorry. Really sorry. I should have been here." "Did you find anything?" She asked, hopefully, at the same time knowing that it was hopeless. "Sort of." He grinned. "Scully, there's somebody I'd like you to meet." They all turned around as the woman made her theatrical entrance. Scully stared at her, and went quite white, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Dana Scully." Said Mulder, holding one hand out to Scully, and the other towards The Doctor. "Meet Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos." To be continued ... IMPORTANT --------- The X-Files, Mulder and Scully are the intellectual property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Television. Doctor Who is copyright BBC Television. All other copyrights are hereby acknowledged. This story is fan fiction and has not been produced to profit from the commercial property of the copyright owners, nor to deprive them of revenue. This story may be archived or distributed, provided that the author is clearly identified, this complete section remains intact, and the story is not altered. It may not be distributed for profit. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** Adrian.D.Ives Bedfordshire, England, EU http://members.aol.com/adives01/