From: slyseng@gpu.srv.ualberta.ca (Susan) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW > 2013 < 1/2 by Summer Date: Sun, 14 Jan 1996 14:43:14 GMT A new one from Summer--please direct all comments to her (not me) at summer@rhf.bradley.edu--thanks :) --------------------------------------------------------------------- Proverbial Chinese curse: "May you live in interesting times." 2013 An X-Files Story by Summer "What about you, Becca? What do your folks do?" "Oh, god, don't ask." The young woman flipped back her auburn hair with a disdainful expression. "They work for the government. Bureaucracy crap, you know, paperwork and stuff. I think they have to pry my dad away from his desk at the end of every day. And they probably have to wake him up first." The circle of friends chuckled knowingly. "Come on, Beck," Trevor said insouciantly, "They're your folks. They're supposed to be dull." "I've met your mom and dad," Trina said to Becca, puzzled. "They seem really cool." "They are pretty cool," Becca admitted. "Actually, my parents are pretty great. But their lives are so boring! I mean, they actually get up and go in to the office and push bits around, like they can't do that from home. And they're _so_ old. I mean, my dad is 51! There's something messed up about me being 12 and my dad being 51." "My dad's 55," Trevor pointed out. "Career people wait 'til they're friggin' decrepit to have kids." "Yeah, but I've seen some of the crap their `careers' consist of," Becca grouched. "Trust me, there's nothing there worth waiting for. It's not like they act all that old or anything. I just, you know, I hope my dad doesn't keel over from a heart attack before I graduate high school." "That'll be next year, at this rate," Trina grinned. "Besides, Becca," Ellie put in, "Trev here is more likely to die of a heart attack than your father is. Doesn't he jog and stuff?" "Yeah," Becca sighed, "they're both total health nuts, I guess. I mean, they get up early to run, they play tennis on weekends. Sometimes I just wanna say, you know, what the hell are they keeping in shape for? They're middle aged. They should be sacking out on the couch and enjoying their golden years or something." Her friends scoffed. Trina laughed, "Geez, Beck, you're the only person I know who'd nudtz 'cause her parents are actually kinda neat. I mean, they do stuff with you, don't they? They don't like totally ignore you like my folks do..." "And they don't stand over your shoulder and pressure you constantly like my mom and dad," Trevor pointed out. "I know, I know." Becca shrugged. "I like my parents and all. I just wish I knew how these two reasonably cool people ended up with such suicidally boring lives." "They had you," Ellie replied promptly. The group began to laugh. Becca Mulder smiled weakly. "Probably," she said, almost sadly. She stood abruptly. "Come on. Let's motor out to the lake or something. I'm tired of sitting around." "Ah, Beck, you're forgetting. We have play practice." Trina got to her feet as well, stretching lazily. "Man, can you believe we're doing the Star Trek musical? Talk about sickening nostalgia." "Yeah," Ellie agreed, also rising, "Wasn't the sixties like, a long time ago?" "Aw, it could be a hundred years from now and they'll still be doing stuff from the sixties at this school," Trevor laughed. "It's sick," Trina sniffed. "What are we gonna do when we get old and it's the 2060s? Are we still gonna talk about `the sixties' and mean a decade that's a whole century before that?" "I'll see you guys later," Becca waved. The others paused. "Aren't you coming with?" Ellie inquired. "Nah." Becca smoothed back her fluffy mahogany hair and straightened her tunic. "I can program the sets on my porter. I'll see you guys tomorrow..." Her friends gave their farewells and headed into the high school auditorium; Becca checked her watch and dashed for the transit just in time to catch the four o'clock rail headed home. At the last minute, she changed her mind and lingered on the monorail as another two stops rushed by, then hopped down from the train and hurried down the street. She entered the complex and buzzed at the door impatiently. "Who is it?" "It's Becca! Okay if I stop in for a while?" "Of course--" the door clicked neatly open. "Hi, Aunt Sam..." Becca went to her aunt and knelt to hug her gingerly. Samantha touched her niece's face fondly. "Ah, Becca, I remember when you used to run and hug me with such abandon. You're just like your father now. Don't worry so much. I won't break." "Well... your crystals might..." Becca settled down next to her aunt, her wide hazel eyes playing over the stones arrayed on the low table. Samantha sat with her legs crossed and tucked underneath, legs Becca knew were weak from a rare childhood ailment. Her aunt had spent most of her life battling the disease, and the fight had left her physically frail. "Would you like to talk?" Samantha asked tranquilly. "Or would you like to meditate with me?" "Oh..." Becca hesitated. "I don't want to bother you..." "You couldn't bother me if you tried," her aunt assured her. "What's on your mind?" "Nothing," Becca lied. "It's just-- it's nothing." "Make up your mind," Sam laughed. "Is it something, is it nothing...?" "I hate school," Becca burst out. "I hate being the first generation that has to go through these reforms. I hate feeling like a guinea pig in some kind of experiment or something, like our educations are just practice for the next set of people. And they're the ones that really matter. We're just test subjects or something." Her aunt stared at her for so long that Becca started to worry. Sam blinked rapidly and looked away. "Things are always changing, sweetie. The reforms are a big deal in the news, but really, education has been adapting and evolving all along-- they were fooling around with new approaches way back when your dad was in school. I... understand how much you resent going through the schools while they're changing. But you wouldn't want things to stay the same forever, would you?" "I guess not..." "After all, you don't want to live a boring life." Becca's eyes widened. "How do you _do_ that?" "That's what I thought," Sam pounced. "Becky, your mother and your dad have a very happy, full life. All they've ever needed is each other and you, and their work. We've talked about this before. I still don't see why you worry about them so much." "But Aunt Sam-- they don't have any friends except the people they work with. They never seem to go anywhere or do anything, unless it's for their jobs. And their jobs are so boring!" Becca grabbed a stray floor pillow and flumfed onto it in exasperation. "They're SO smart and accomplished and strong and capable..." "It's hard to live up to all that, I know," Sam soothed. "No, it's not that," her niece dismissed. "It just seems like such a waste! Why aren't they doing something important with all this stuff they're good at, everything they know? They just go in to the FBI and fill in all the forms for some- one else's work, hang around the water cooler for a couple of hours and come home and gossip about a bunch of junk. Why doesn't mom run for office again? What happened to dad's writing? Why do they run around like they're accomplishing something when it seems like they're just winding down?" "Oh, Becca..." Sam clasped the girl's hands. "You're proud of your parents, aren't you. What is it, what's bothering you?" "They did all this cool stuff before I was born, Aunt Sam. I don't know anyone who talks like they do, it's like listening to Einstein and Stephen Hawking going back and forth. They act like they're... prepared for something. Like their whole lives they've been ready for something. Except that now whatever it is will pass them by because of me." Becca's mouth tugged down, her shoulders hunching up. "Aunt Sam... did mom and dad really want, you know, a family...? Did they want me?" "Sweetheart--" Samantha's voice was gentle as she pulled her niece into her arms. "Your mother's a doctor, Becca," she reminded. "You weren't just wanted, you were planned... scheduled, almost," she chuckled lightly. "Or hasn't Dana showed you the calendar she kept with the day of your conception marked beforehand?" "What?" Becca drew away, wiping her eyes. Sam laughed. "I probably shouldn't tell you this story-- it's your mom's to share-- but maybe she thought you'd be embarrassed to hear it from her. Or," she considered, "maybe she'd be embarrassed herself. Anyway. Your mother and father had been married a couple of years, and they had agreed that they wanted to have children at some point. Right then, Fox was just happy to be married to your mom, and happy to have me back-- from the hospital, after all the treatments-- and so he didn't really press her on the issue." Sam leaned back against the abandoned pillow. "He was just starting to worry about beginning their family when one night they were talking about what your mom wanted for her birthday. And Dana said that what she really wanted-- Becca, what she wanted more than anything-- was to have their child that year. And your dad couldn't have been happier. So your mom arranged it and you were conceived on your mother's 36th birthday." "January 24th, 2000," Becca realized. "A day that will live in infamy," Sam teased. "I was a little early," the girl continued wonderingly. "Mm-hm. They had hoped you might be late, actually, so you might even have been born on your dad's birthday-- oh, Fox was very excited about that idea." "I bet mom wasn't!" "Not once she reached term, no," Samantha laughed. Becca grinned. "At least I managed to show up on the thirteenth. I didn't get it quite right-- September 13th-- but hey, I was young." "You ARE young," her aunt observed. "Becca, sweetie, I'm glad you realize that your mom and dad are remarkable people. It's good that you respect them like you do. But don't ever think you're holding them back, okay? Fox and Dana chose this life; they chose each other and they chose you. And I don't think either one of them has ever regretted it for a moment." Becca's smile lit the room. "Thanks, Aunt Sam." She leaned to hug her aunt's slender frame again. "I love you." "I love you too," Sam smiled back. "Take care." The door shut behind Becca lightly; she carried her head high as she made her way back to the monorail. Her com queeped at her while she waited for the train. She unhooked it from her belt and had a look at the screen. "Becky, please let us know when you'll be home from play practice. We'll wait dinner for you. Love Mom & Dad." She raised the com to her lips. "Reply. I'm on my way home. Send." The com flashed SENT on its screen; Becca put it away as the monorail arrived. She entered swiftly, ran her hand carelessly over the pay plate and settled into a seat. end part one =========================================================================== From: slyseng@gpu.srv.ualberta.ca (Susan) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW > 2013 < 2/2 by Summer Date: Sun, 14 Jan 1996 14:45:28 GMT Part two of Summer's latest--please send all comments to her (not me) at summer@rhf.bradley.edu--thanks :) ------------------------------------------------------------------- Proverbial Chinese curse: "May you live in interesting times." 2013 An X-Files Story by Summer part two, of two A tall, stuffy man in an official-looking uniform came into the railcar from the next compartment. "Excuse me. Miss Rebecca Mulder?" "Yes?" Becca responded. The other people on the train carefully ignored the exchange. "I'm afraid there's been a problem with your ADA." "What? There can't be, I'm on my family's account." The man looked at his porter. "Your family, hm? Let's see, I've got this as Fox and Dana Mulder, 146 West Grover Street right here in Washington... that correct?" "That's right," Becca replied with confusion. "And I know their anonymous debit account is good, I mean, they work for the government, for goodness' sake." "I don't know, Ms. Mulder," the man said politely. "Could you please come with me to the office at the next stop? We'll get this all straightened out there." "Okay... just let me com my parents..." "It'll only take a minute. I'm sure you won't be late," the man told her as the rail came to a smooth stop. "Here we are. Follow me, please." Becca hesitated, one hand on her com, but the man turned and gave her an impatient, expectant look; she hurried after him without calling home. The man led her through the terminal to an office marked `Financial Services'. Becca frowned. "Interesting euphemism," she noted. "Is this a rail station or is it a bank?" The man smiled colorlessly and opened the door for her. She stepped inside, fumbling with her com to draw her ID card from its slot on the side of the communications unit as she approached the desk and its shadowy occupant. "Listen, um, this is some kind of mistake. I'm on my parents' ADA, and they work for the government, so--" she jumped as the man outside shut the door firmly behind her, leaving her in the darkened room with the person at the desk. "That's okay," a smooth voice interceded. "So you're Rebecca Ann Mulder...?" "Right," she answered suspiciously. "What is this?" The man on the other side of the dim room chuckled. "You look just like them, you know. Your mother's eyes, but the color of your fathers'; her nose, his lips. I would imagine you'll be a striking young lady in a few years." Becca scowled. "Okay, mister, that's just way too creepy. Forget you." She pivoted and tried to open the door, but it was locked. "Oh, come ON, is this some kind of joke?" she asked belligerently, but she was getting nervous. A small flame went up in the darkness. He was lighting a cigarette. "This isn't a joke, Rebecca. Do they call you Becky? In other days I would have known the answer, but surveillance has become considerably more difficult than it was the last time I faced off with your family." She muttered, "Oh, you're too cool. Didn't anyone tell you? Smoking went out of style right about the time it stopped being dangerous." Another chuckle. "And you've inherited the Mulder penchant for the quick retort. I suppose by the time you're twenty you'll be as much of a smartass as your father ever was." "My dad? Come on." Becca faced the figure again, both hands behind her still working on twisting the doorknob compulsively. "Who are you? Why do you keep talking about my mom and dad?" "I know your parents, Rebecca. I may know them better than you do. Have they ever told you the truth about your Aunt Samantha?" The man took a puff from his cigarette lazily. An edge of light from the lamp cast over his smooth, lined features and sparked in his blue eyes. "What do you mean, the truth? I know she was sick for a long time. She had a rare form of multiple schlerosis that kept her in the hospital most of her life, and-- what's so funny?" she demanded while the cigarette smoking man shook with laughter. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen," the man said, still laughing. "After all his impassioned rhetoric about the truth, Fox Mulder passes on the party lies to his only child. I suppose domesticity is enough to break even the most strong-willed of men." "What are you talking about? Let me out of here right now. This is messed up." "Rebecca, your aunt was not sick as a child. She was missing. Samantha Mulder disappeared from her home at the age of eight and was not found for twenty- three years. In that time, your father became a respected federal investigator, and then an expert on paranormal phenomenae whose belief in extreme possibilities earned him the disgust and scorn of his colleagues. He took over a section of the FBI known as the X-Files in order to look for Samantha; your father thought that his sister had been abducted by aliens. Your mother was assigned to the X-Files to debunk his work, but she believed in your father, even if she didn't believe in his work. They were together as partners for years, investigating bizarre crimes or following leads that Mulder believed would help him to find his sister. Your father devoted his life to that search." "You're crazy," Becca declared. "My parents push bits. They're bureaucrats, they've never been out in the field." The man snorted and breathed another mouthful of smoke. "Rebecca, your parents spent three years as the most active investigative team perhaps in the history of the FBI. They processed as many as thirty, forty cases a year, when the norm was perhaps ten or twelve at the limit. Mulder was shot in the line of duty once, and shot again by your mother during an unofficial inquiry regarding a digital tape. This digital tape, as a matter of fact," the man said, producing a cracked old plastic cassette from his suit pocket. "It contains proof of an elaborate government conspiracy which your father believed was hiding evidence of extraterrestrial visitation. Your mother vanished for two months in 1994 because of her involvement with the X-Files. She was subjected to the same experimental tests that have crippled your aunt. The tests nearly killed her, but she recovered, and continued to work with your father despite the dangers." Becca stared. "You are _so_ zoned. I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I'm not listening to any more of this." She keyed in the emergency code on her com and glared at him defiantly. "There. The police and my parents know where I am and that I'm in trouble. If you let me go now, you might not get your ass kicked." "I took the precaution of blocking your com signals before we began our little chat," the man replied easily. "Is any of this getting through to you, Rebecca? I had thought that Mulder and Scully's little girl would be advanced enough to understand these things by twelve, but maybe I overestimated you." She rolled her eyes. "Man, where do you get this dialogue, _Lensman_ reruns? I get what you're saying. My parents were secret agents who ran around looking for proof of alien life on Earth. And my aunt was stolen away by little green men and that's why she had to have all that therapy, not MS. They lived a life of adventure until they found Samantha and then suddenly my mom ran for office, my dad wrote a novel, they got married and lived happily ever after and never told me about any of it." Becca put her hands on her hips. "Man, the Star Trek musical has a more convincing plot." "Then let me convince you." He tapped the ashes of his cigarette into a small glass tray, produced a DAT player and turned it on. A woman's voice inquired, `What are you doing with these?' `Four of the doctors in this photo were on that videotape I showed you before, performing that autopsy.' Becca's eyes widened as she heard her mother and father's voices. "When was this--" "This is from 1995," the man told her. "Listen." `...those same four men were murdered yesterday, found here right on U.S. soil,' her father's voice went on. `Murdered for what?' her mother asked. `That's what I'd like to know.' `Well, murdered by whom?' `Possibly our government.' `Our government? For what possible reason?' `For continuing their work, the work the Nazis were doing, trying to create an alien-human hybrid.' `Mulder, that is still a fantasy.' `Scully, after all you've seen-- after all you've told me you've seen, a tunnel filled with medical files, the beings moving past you, the implant in your neck... why do you refuse to believe?' `Believing's the easy part, Mulder, I just need more than you. I need proof.' `You think that believing is easy...' There was a tinny beeping sound. The man shut off the tape and drew more smoke from his cigarette. "Convinced?" "Play it again," Becca requested. "Certainly." The man rewound the tape and let it echo in the room once more. When it finished, he hit pause and squinted at her through a haze of smoke. "Maybe you'd like to hear something else. Your parents discussing Mulder's missing sister? Their theories regarding a conspiracy of silence about tests with alien DNA? How about your father's proposal of marriage?" "How did you get these tapes?" Becca asked warily. "I made some of them," he replied. "Though, by 1995, I had... other concerns. Your parents uncovered the conspiracy in 1996, but the men responsible had power enough to keep it from going public." "My mom and dad would never agree to that--" "But they did," the man interrupted. "In exchange for a full reform within the federal government, the continuation and legitimization of the X-Files division, and the safe return of Samantha Mulder. Your mother became one of DC's first state representatives in order to assure that the reforms were conducted. Your father instituted the X-Files as a valid part of the FBI during that time. It was only after they were sure that the terms of their agreement had been met that they felt safe enough to have a child. Apparently, they kept their part of the bargain as well-- even hiding the truth from you, Rebecca." "That's not--" Becca clenched her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "That can't be true." "I can prove it all," the man said calmly. She looked askance at him. "Why are you telling me this? Who are you really?" He moved forward to sit on the edge of the desk; she could see him now, a distinguished man in his late forties, dressed in an old-fashioned sharp-shouldered suit, grey just beginning to infiltrate his black hair. "Krychek," he answered. "Alex Krychek. I worked with your father a long time ago, Rebecca. I'm telling you this because your parents think they solved the mystery. They think the reforms ended it all, but they're wrong. They wouldn't listen to me, and I can't get near them, but if I can convince you--" "Why can't you get near them?" Becca cut in. Krychek inhaled a drag from his cigarette. "People who brought your father information on this matter tended to die, in the old days. I have every reason to think that the same thing would happen to me if I came forward now. It's up to you, Rebecca. You can leave now..." she felt the doorknob suddenly give under her hands. He continued, "You're free to go home. If you ask your parents about any of this they will, I'm sure, deny everything." Krychek put out his cigarette in the tray. "Or you can see the evidence of an international conspiracy to hide the existence of intelligent alien life-- the same evidence that your parents risked their lives to uncover. And the proof I've found that the conspiracy outlived the reforms despite your parents' efforts." Becca shook her head in confusion. "Wait a minute, let me think." She moved away from the door cautiously, brows knitting with concentration. "You're saying that my parents let these people cover up this proof to get my Aunt Samantha back... she really was abducted by aliens?" "No. By a covert group within the United States government," Krychek said seriously. "Your grandfather was involved in the experiments. Your aunt was taken away to ensure his silence. Eventually your father discovered these things through the X-Files." "By the government? They _work_ for the govern- ment!" She laughed uncertainly. "You sound like my dad's friends from that magazine." "Why do you think they're his friends?" Krychek studied her carefully. "I've seen your records, Rebecca. You're a remarkable young woman-- not everyone has their essay on educational reform published in the dailies at age twelve. According to your teachers, you want to be an investigative journalist." Becca nodded numbly. "So you're carrying on the crusading tradition of the Mulder family," he said drily. "If you're anything like your parents, Rebecca, you must want the truth." "And you'll tell me the real story?" she asked. Krychek nodded solemnly. "If you want to go, you can go. But if you come with me, I'll give you all the evidence you need to convince your parents that their fight isn't over. I'll show you the truth." She swiveled and opened the door. The railway station outside was busy. People streamed by in torrents, going about their business and living their ordinary lives. It was Friday; her father would be making dinner right about now while her mother finished up the bitwork from the office. Becca hovered on the edge of leaving behind this talk of secrets and power, rejoining the pantomime of school and work and pretending she didn't notice her parents' strange paranoia, their occasional nightmares, the time missing from her aunt's life... all the things Becca had never understood about her family that were now beginning to make sense. Becca paused and closed the door. She faced Krychek. "Show me the truth," she said. "Tell me about the X-Files..." * * * This story was originally conceived as teh kickoff for a tag team story on Lisdean Warner's XAngst Anonymous mailing list, but no one picked up the ball on it and i've resigned it to this one-shot stand-alone form. Lisdean deserves credit, though, for inviting me to try a tag team story, thus inspiring this work. And as always, eternal thanks to Saint Susan, who posts my stories for me! I'm summer@camelot.bradley.edu; i welcome all comments and answer all mail. Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Samantha Mulder and Alex Krychek as well as the concept of THe X-Files are the brilliant creations of Chris Carter and associates; they belong to Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, maybe to the FOx Network-- anyway, they don't belong to me. Everything else in the story, though, is mine. Thanks for reading.