Essence

Story by: Kristel St. Johns

Written by: Auntie Diluvian and Kristel St. Johns

May 11, 2001

CAM-5 Distant Early Warning station

Mackar Inlet, Nunavut

Northern Canada

Mary Hendershot holds her daughter in her arms and glares at Dr. Parenti through the glass that separates the testing room from the control booth. "I can't do this any more. I won't put Ruth through any more procedures." The child squirms and frets, trying to reach the toys on the floor. The six-month-old is the size of a toddler and her mother struggles to keep a grip on her wriggling form. "She's gone through too much pain. All the children have! The tests, the growing, I can't watch it any more. Please, just let us go." She looks ready to bolt, but the armed guard outside the testing room is plainly visible through the window in the door.

"Mary, if we can get this stage of the tests finished, we can move you to a safe house," Dr. Parenti says reasonably, soothingly, but the microphone he speaks into makes his voice tinny and somehow sinister.

"Like the Jenkinses? I've heard that Nicky failed your little test and they got moved to a cozy little space six feet under the snow," Mary spits out, fear in her eyes.

Ruth tugs on the hand-shaped pendant around Mary's neck and babbles, "Mamamamama."

Dr. Parenti sighs and shakes his head, looking baffled. "Now, why would we do such a thing? After all our work, all the help we've given you getting the children through the growth spurts, why waste what we've accomplished?" He looks at the child, fondness on his features. "Nicky had some difficulty recovering from the last procedure, but the Jenkins family is fine now. Please, you must understand, your child is -- all these children are -- critical to the survival of us all, and there are so few of them. We have every interest in keeping you all safe, and everything to lose if any of you are harmed. Please, Mary, if we can do this final evaluation, we'll know what stage Ruth is at and can plan accordingly."

Mary hesitates, her fears clearly still unassuaged.

Dr. Parenti allows sadness to color his voice and expression. "I know that the Margolin girl's death affected us all. No one, me least of all, was expecting such a catastrophic result from that last stage of growth. But, Mary," he looks deeply into her eyes, "What we learned from Charlotte's death helped save Ruth a lot of pain, and did the same for all the other children who are suffering through the accelerated maturation. And the Margolins are safe elsewhere now, truly." Parenti drops his gaze to his computer screen, hidden from Mary's view. Displayed are the results of the Margolin DNA tests that show a 95% probability that all offspring will be similarly flawed. The last word on the screen is 'Terminated.' "Please, we need to do the final study and get you out of here."

Mary's half-formed answer is interrupted by the control room door opening. Alex Krycek enters, nodding to Dr. Parenti. Ruth squalls suddenly, burying her face in Mary's chest. The mother shushes and comforts the baby to no avail. Dr. Parenti raises a hand at Krycek in a forestalling gesture, trying to speak to Mary through the intercom over the increasingly strident wails from the little girl. "Mary, please think about it, I'll talk with you later." Cueing the microphone to a different frequency, Parenti summons the guard to take the woman and child back to their room.

As the guard unlocks the testing room door, Parenti switches the microphone off and turns impatiently to Krycek. "Can't you see I'm at a very delicate stage here? Why didn't you just observe from the main lab?"

Krycek's eyes flick towards the computer display and he shrugs, "Just making the rounds." He picks up Ruth Hendershot's latest test result printouts, and leafs through them.

Parenti stares at him for a moment, eyes narrowing in consternation. Krycek is casual, even impassive, holding the chart in his right hand and flipping the pages with his left.


The doctor's breath catches; he stares at the leather-gloved hand in shock. Krycek's prosthesis doesn't function that well. Parenti shakes himself, snapping out of his stunned paralysis. He nonchalantly starts shutting the computer down, reaching alongside the monitor for the silent alarm button.

As soon as Parenti presses the alarm, the guard escorting Mary Hendershot and her increasingly hysterical baby turns for instruction. Parenti edges away from the creature wearing Alex Krycek's form, and gestures through the glass to the guard that Krycek is the target. Parenti dives to the floor as the imposter looks up to find the guard taking aim at him. The window shatters, the noise eerily covered by the explosive rattle of the gun firing, and green froth erupts from wounds on the leather-covered chest. The alien spins and picks up Parenti, sending him crashing through the remnants of the observation window to knock the guard down.

Mary Hendershot turns in time to see Krycek's face change, the round jaw becoming square, the eyes narrowing.

... In the hospital just days after Ruth's birth ... the face of the nurse transforming into that of a man with chiseled, blunt features ... a merciless hand on her throat, choking her ...

Hendershot screams, clutching her screaming baby closer to her and whirling to run. Behind her, the guard yells in agony. Mary hesitates only an instant, looking back in shock at the sounds of the other human succumbing to the alien's toxins. Parenti is slumped unconscious across the struggling form of the guard and both men's eyes are swelling shut.

Gasping in horror, Hendershot flees with her child.

Behind her, the alien bounty hunter pulls a long baton from his jacket and touches it to the wall of the laboratory. Flame erupts and quickly spreads over the walls and to the ceiling and floor, surrounding the prostrate forms of Dr. Parenti and the guard. Implacably, the alien leaves the blazing room behind and stalks down the corridor, following Mary Hendershot.

May 13, 2001

The Apartment of Dana Scully and Fox Mulder

"Thank you so much for coming." Maggie Scully closes the door behind the final guest, turning to see her daughter already gathering wrapping paper into a trash bag. "Dana, please, sit down. I'll get that."

Scully smiles and hands Maggie the bag. "Thanks, Mom. It was a lovely shower." She carefully lowers herself onto her previous seat on the couch while Maggie continues picking up the debris.

"I was so glad to arrange it. But really, Dana, I wish you'd tell us if it's a boy or girl. Look at all the yellow! Well, some of these have receipts. I suppose you could exchange them for pink or blue if you want, later." Maggie holds up a lemon-colored jumper with fuzzy bears embroidered on the chest and grins at it fondly.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Maggie continues, "I spoke with Father McCue --"

Both women jump as the door lock clicks loudly. Scully automatically reaches for her gun before she realizes she's not wearing it.

The door opens a crack, and a large male hand appears, waving a white cloth. "I surrender! Permission for a Y chromosome to enter?"

Maggie calls back, "Only if he doesn't mind a lot of yellow!"

The Scully women laugh, and Mulder's hand retreats. He shoulders the door open, carrying a large bundle of cloth diapers in one arm and a large plastic hamper with a locking lid in the other. "I stopped by the diaper company, Scully," he says, waving the freed diaper at her again. "You wouldn't believe their Terms of Service restrictions! You sure we can't use disposables?"

"The landfills will thank us," Scully says firmly in a tone of voice that indicates this discussion has worn out its welcome.

"So you say now," Maggie comments sagely, her expression amused. "I think Tara lasted six weeks before deciding it was much more irresponsible to pollute the water supply with the excess detergents required to clean the cloth diapers than it was to take up all that space in the landfills."

"I dunno," Mulder says thoughtfully. "Scully's pretty stubborn. I'd give it eight weeks." He stops in his tracks, dumbfounded by the heap of presents on the coffee table. "Wow. You made out like a bandit."

Scully maneuvers herself up from the couch, and takes the hamper from Mulder. "Yeah, it was a regular estrogen parade in here, right, Mom?"

Maggie looks at her quizzically, then turns resolutely to Mulder. "Fox, there's some cake left in the fridge, and I was just talking to Dana about --"

"C'mon, Mulder, let's find a home for these," Scully says, pulling him towards the bedrooms.

"Dana, you're going to have to schedule the christening soon!" Maggie calls after them.

Mulder pauses, and Scully meets his eyes uncomfortably. After a long look, he grins, and Scully raises an eyebrow.

CAM-5 Distant Early Warning station

Mackar Inlet, Nunavut

Northern Canada

Marita Covarrubias' boots press new footprints into the dozens already marring the snow. She follows a single trail out into the otherwise pristine area near the woods to look at one of the bodies she saw from the air as the helicopter came in. Mary Hendershot, coatless, childless, frozen. Marita's face contorts into a grimace; Mary fled the building without protection from the elements. Whatever drove her outside was more terrifying than sub-zero temperatures and comfortless snow.

The tracks leading to the body are already muddled and Marita can barely make out that a larger set of feet followed the woman, then returned to the complex. Although the cause of death is not immediately evident, Mary was chased and killed, but not by fire. There is no trace of her daughter.

The rubble behind Marita has stopped smoking and the men she brought pick their way into the remains of the main lab. She returns to them, calling out, "Any sign of the children?"

The nearest shakes his head, replies, "None. All of the bodies we've found so far are adult. From what the tracks indicate, very few people even escaped the buildings, let alone made it out of the base. The tech says the lower levels are collapsed. It looks like the Colonists got everyone here, one way or another." His expression is bleak.

Covarrubias looks at the wreckage. The bodies in and around the building are charred and unrecognizable, but all of them have both arms.

Marita turns away, towards the helicopter. She unfolds a printout of an email. The coded headers tell her it's from Krycek and he's safe, but the contents proved to be as ominous as they first sounded. The email simply states, "Alarm sounded. Fear the worst." Marita mutters to herself, "Dammit, Krycek. If you aren't here, why haven't you checked in?"

May 14, 2001

The Lone Gunmen headquarters

5:30 P.M.

Mulder looks around the organized chaos of the Gunmen's workspace as their discussion tangles around him. The dimness, the clutter, the near-argument, all are familiar and almost comforting. On the table are maps tracking the alien ship into the arctic, and grainy satellite photos of a Distant Early Warning station in northern Canada. He picks up a picture and peers at it; the base is only recognizable by the general rectangular shapes of the blackened ashes of what used to be buildings.

Mulder is distracted from his perusal of the image by Frohike's bellow.

"I tell you, it's comin' down!"

Byers leans against the worktable and sighs, saying, "I still don't think that one abandoned station going up in flames is a sign of imminent colonization. We have no idea what really happened there."

"They wouldn't start in the arctic, anyway," Mulder mutters absently, his attention only partially on the conversation. "One, it's too cold and all indications are that these guys like it warm. Two, they'll start by hitting the population centers, the cities where they can get the most bang for their buck with contagion from the virus."

Langly chimes in from his workstation, "But, like, the ship was there, then all the transmissions from the satellite receivers at the active bases in the area went wacko. Everything pointing in that direction went to static, Byers. That's a lot of satellites to mess with."

Byers levers himself upright from the table's edge. "I agree that knocking out communications would be a logical precursor if invasion was about to begin, but the satellites were working again within a day. Even if they were going to hit one of the bases, why hit an inoperative one and leave the functional ones alone? Besides, everything we've learned indicates that the aliens need hybrids to successfully colonize and we haven't heard anything new on that front."

Frohike groans, rounds the worktable to his computer and slumps into his seat. "Not this again. Okay, Mulder told us Old Smokey said the Consortium was gonna hybridize their families and humanity would survive that way. I never understood why the aliens wanted to wait to colonize until human scientists patched together a hybrid. Why wait? Why not just dump the virus in our water supply and move in? Makes sense to me." He nods at Langly.

"Yeah. Why not just zap us all right away? They've got the technology if they can scramble the info like they did up at the DEW base."

Mulder finally gives the debate his full consideration. "Something's holding them back. It's obvious that they need some criteria met before they can colonize. And don't forget the massacre at El Rico. The rebels did some serious damage to the colonists' human power base there, not to mention --"

Jimmy, spectating in the background, blurts out, "The rebels? The guys with the sewn-up faces? Eew." He rubs his ears, looking sheepish for interrupting.

Mulder continues, "Not to mention the disappearance of Cassandra Spender."

"Well, what's up with that?" Langly interjects.

"What do you mean?"

Langly fidgets with an unplugged soldering iron. "First the aliens want hostages, or something, and take the consortium's kids and wives and whatever. Spender said they were gonna keep them until a hybrid was made. Okay, fine, I can see that. But then, they give some of the hostages back part time and make them test subjects?"

Byers quietly says, "I agree, it makes no sense if you take what Spender said as true. Cassandra Spender went from being a hostage to being a multiple abductee, brainwashed into spreading the word that aliens were here to help and heal us. And Samantha, from what evidence you found, was given back to CGB Spender, albeit with her memories erased. Even though she eventually, ah, died," he looks sorrowfully at Mulder, "she was still being tested, not just held hostage. From what Spender admitted later, he was part of the project to make the hybrids, which was a front for the project to engineer the vaccine. His keeping Samantha was a part of it."

Frohike looks thoughtful, the glare of his monitor reflecting on his glasses. "So if you take as a given that the aliens need the hybrids, and they don't have them yet so they can't colonize, why take more abductees, like at Bellefleur, but not try to hybridize them? Mulder, why didn't you come back with green blood?"

Mulder contemplates the ceiling, then the gadgetry on the table, considering his response. He starts slowly, "I've been thinking about this. The aliens took the abductees because they're still trying to conceal evidence of their existence. The abductees taken this time had all had anomalous brain activity, which could have been proof, evidence of the aliens' tampering. Like Gibson Praise. The genetic make-up which enabled his mental abilities, abilities that closely parallel whatever it was I and the other abductees experienced, is a concrete, physical link between us and them. Scientific proof. That's what they're trying to hide."

Mulder sighs, rubs his forehead, and resumes his answer, "They're covering up the verifiable data. It's been their policy all along to obfuscate the truth by exposing just enough of it to make the people who find it look like lunatics. They throw out tidbits of the real thing, covered in lies, and the people who know the truth is in there will hold on like bulldogs to get to it. These people do the aliens' job for them by discrediting the evidence. You can't get the general populace alarmed about something if the source looks invalid and the subject is straight from the tabloids." Mulder picks up an old issue of The Lone Gunman and flaps it at the other men tiredly. "See, you've tried. You've reached a few people, but most of them were believers already. The majority of humans won't believe, and won't be ready to fight colonization if the aliens have their way.

"But colonization isn't happening yet. Something's holding the aliens up and I think it's the hybrid issue. As to why I'm still here with my red blood cells intact --" Mulder unconsciously strokes the center of his chest, "I don't know. It's possible they tried something and it didn't take." He slumps against the side of the worktable. "These abductees, we all had the same medical problem -- the temporal lobe activity. Maybe the changes in our brains affected our bodies, or whatever the aliens did to fix us made our systems unsuitable for other changes, so they did the usual thing: dumped the evidence." Mulder looks down at the paper he's still holding, brows knit.

Langly clears his throat and says, "Well, speaking of evidence, what about the Distant Early Warning station? I say someone goes up there to check out what they were trying to hide." He looks expectantly at Mulder, who is leafing through the magazine.

"Hey, you never told me you did a story on crop circles."

"Mulder, dude, don't you want to go see what's up there?"

Mulder puts the paper down and looks Langly in the eye. "It's called a life, Ringo. You should try having one sometime."

Frohike chimes in, "Yeah man, he's got other priorities now."

Langly has the grace to look momentarily embarrassed, but obstinately says, "Oh, that's right, you're out of the FBI so now you're trying a white picket fence on for size. Guess the end of the world doesn't really rate any more."

Mulder, troubled, looks away and doesn't reply.

J. Edgar Hoover Building

6:15 P.M.

Agent Gene Crane tilts his chair back, grinning at Agent Doggett. It's late and the bullpen is dark, deserted except for the two men.

"You've got to admit, it's an impressive losing streak they've got going."

"Crane, if you don't stop giving me crap about the Mets I'm gonna draft you into the X-Files now that Scully's on leave. Then you'll hafta listen to me talk about baseball all the time, not just when I need somethin'."

"Sure, like that'll --" Crane's cell phone rings. He fishes it out, answers, "Crane."

Doggett observes Crane's posture changing as the other agent tenses up and speaks into the phone again, "I'll be there."

Crane closes the phone, wincing at Doggett's inquisitive look. "Forgot my kid's ball game. I gotta go pick him up."

Doggett smiles wistfully.

Crane rises, grabs his suit jacket off the back of the chair and heads for the door. "I'll get that info to you when it comes in. But the Mets are still gonna lose on Saturday."

"Dream on. They can take the Dodgers no problem," Doggett shouts at the agent's departing back.

Crane descends to the parking garage. As he exits the elevator, he scans the large space. Few cars, no people, one end of the level poorly lit. He heads purposefully for the darkest corner, warily whispering, "You there?"

Alex Krycek steps out of the shadows, studying him impassively as he approaches. As Crane draws near, Krycek's leather-gloved hand shoots out and grasps his throat, lifting him off the ground. Crane struggles; the sounds he makes are pitifully soft. The agent draws his gun but the weapon is struck away, sent skittering out into the light as his legs stop their final kicking.

Krycek's face shifts, alters. The bounty hunter puts the body into a car trunk, then goes to retrieve the gun. Green droplets pool and burn the concrete as he reaches for the firearm.

West 46th Street

New York, NY

Marita Covarrubias stifles a tired sigh, the travel bag slung over her shoulder evidence of her recent return from the Arctic and the fact that she didn't even stop to drop off her luggage before returning to these offices. The traditional haunt of the government that works in the shadows is dark and still, and the lounge that was once the domain of the smoking man and his cronies is mercifully empty except for the majordomo. The servant greets her respectfully and takes her bag while offering to bring her some tea. She nods her thanks and proceeds through the dim, silent sitting room, unlocking the door with a magnetic keycard and jabbing in the PIN with one perfectly lacquered fingernail. She gasps and starts as the lights come up and a shadow behind the desk resolves itself into the figure of a gray-haired older man.

"Herr Strughold," she says with cool courtesy, quickly regaining her composure. "You surprised me. Mitchell didn't tell me you were here."

"Hm," the elderly German shrugs noncommittally. "It is hard to find reliable assistance these days, is it not?"

Covarrubias stares at him impassively. "Either you are telling me that I should have reason not to trust my people, or you are implying that you have reason not to trust me. Either way, I had thought we were beyond these petty intimidation tactics by now."

The old man stands and laughs, a rusty, grating, unpleasant sound, and moves to a floral-print Victorian armchair across from the desk, gesturing with a gallantry born of another era for her to take her proper seat. She rounds the desk slowly and sits, and only then does he seat himself.

"Trust," Strughold muses, half to himself. "You use that word so much more easily than we did in my day. You, of all people, should know that trust is a commodity we cannot afford in our business, where allegiances are bought and sold on a whim."

Marita grimaces. "Am I to assume it is the uncertainty of any one person's allegiance that brought you all this way, or are we speaking philosophically?"

"You have been to the Arctic."

"I have."

"Word of the attack on the base reached us even in Tunisia. A rebel stronghold, by all reports."

"Then you didn't authorize the attack?" she lifts an inquisitive eyebrow. Marita considers the implication as Strughold shakes his head slowly. "I have to confess, I find the degree of autonomy being displayed by the Colonists . . . troubling."

Strughold shrugs. "This is the way it has always been. Who are we to tell these beings who wield near God-like power to come and go? But what of this base? How was it able to operate for so long without our knowledge? If there was a rebel operation underway there, then we should have been the ones to take action against it, before *they* felt it necessary to do so."

"It was a decommissioned station. How they were able to get a hold of it is anyone's guess, but I suspect it involved bribing a Canadian official to turn a blind eye."

"And what were they doing there, these fools who support the alien rebels?"

"As far as I can tell, they were warehousing and studying the children of the Zeus Genetics project," she replies carefully. "We found none of the children, living or dead. I can only surmise that the Colonists have them now. Everyone else was killed. We found surveillance tapes of the testing they were doing, which may give us some indication of what they were hoping to accomplish."

"And who was in charge of this operation?"

Covarrubias doesn't hesitate before answering, "Krycek. He was on the tapes we salvaged."

"Was he also killed in the attack?"

"Unknown. We haven't identified, or even found, all the remains yet."

"If he's not dead, he will be soon. See to it."

She nods once, briskly.

"Krycek has support from somewhere within our own operation, true?"

Again, she doesn't hesitate or change expression. "I have to assume as much. Mary Hendershot's body was one of those we identified at the base. Obviously, for her to be in their care, someone from within our own circle had to have warned Krycek that the Colonists were going to make a grab for her."

"Do you know who this leak might be?"

"I'm working on it," she answers with assurance, betraying by neither word nor gesture that at that very moment, tapes of her single visit to the Cam-5 DEW Line base the previous January are being incinerated. "Whoever it is, the attack has to have put a rather large hole in Krycek's organization, but there were signs that his support structure has other installations. Records we found indicate that there might be safehouses elsewhere. If we can get to them before the Colonists do, we have a good chance of acquiring one of these children for ourselves."

"The children are virtually irrelevant, a curiosity, no more. One way or the other, eventually they will be destroyed. I am more concerned with the security breach you seem to be disregarding. When I put you in your present position I gave you a fair degree of independence in choosing your own people. If you have a leak, it must be plugged. If you are unwilling to do that, I will be obliged to do it for you," he says ominously.

"It will be attended to," she reiterates. "In due time. Meanwhile, the children--?"

"Take them if you can. Let's see this fragile hope for the future they are pinning all their expectations upon. But if they cannot be captured, they must be killed."

Golden Dragon Chinese Express

7:18 P.M.

The warmth of the night is oppressive after the air-conditioned coolness of the restaurant. Mulder tucks the bag of Chinese takeout under his arm and fishes in his pocket for his car keys, walking towards his vehicle. As he passes an alleyway, an arm reaches from the darkness and drags him out of the light. The bag tumbles to the ground as Mulder is pulled off balance.

Mulder reacts quickly. Lashing out, his punch is blocked by a surprisingly hard forearm. Rage crosses his features as he recognizes his assailant. "Krycek." He struggles forward, swinging for the double agent's head, barely visible in the shadows.

"Mulder," the other man greets him while blocking another hit. He backs Mulder against the wall of the alley, chest to chest, trapping Mulder's right arm between them and effectively shielding himself from further blows. His right hand captures Mulder's left wrist as he shoves his face close. The humidity and sudden exertion make his skin shine wetly, matching the gleam in his eyes. "You need to listen to me."

"You have nothing I need. Get the hell away from me, and stay away from Scully."

"This involves Scully -- and the baby. They're in danger."

"Yeah, from you. I know how you tried to get your hands on Scully's amniocentesis results. Jesus, her doctor was working for the same guys whose boots you spit shine!"

Krycek laughs humorlessly. "You're a closed-minded fool. You don't have the first clue about what's really going on. Did you think Scully's pregnancy was just some happy miracle?" The younger man's expression sobers. "Don't you know by now? God doesn't do anything free of charge. Scully's baby may be a miracle -- but not the way you're all assuming."

Scully/Mulder Apartment

8:05 P.M.

Mulder flings open the door, wide-eyed. The apartment is dim, lit by the television and illumination leaking from the back rooms. A half-finished glass of milk rests on the coffee table, but there is no sign of life. Mulder's face goes blank. "Scully?"

"Yeah?" She comes out of the bathroom, rubbing the full curve of her belly through her robe.

Mulder's shoulders sag in relief. "You all right?"

Scully grimaces. "I've been having Braxton-Hicks contractions all evening. Did you get the potstickers I asked for?"

"You have to get dressed, Scully, we need to leave."

She frowns, balks. "Mulder, no way am I going anywhere. I'm this close to being put on bed rest --"

"You're in danger, the baby's in danger, we need to go."

"What danger? What the hell is going on? Mulder!" Her resistance falters as he palms her shoulder gently, steering her towards the bedroom.

"I'll explain in the car. C'mon Scully, get dressed. I'll pack some things for you." He pulls out his cell phone, pressing a speed dial number. The display reads 'SkinMan.'

J. Edgar Hoover Building

A.D. Skinner's office

9:12 P.M.

Mulder pushes the door open. Skinner and Krycek break their mutual glare, both looking at Scully as she enters. Skinner rises from his seat behind the desk, saying, "I called Agent Doggett. He's on his way."

Scully puts a hand on Mulder's arm as she passes him, the contact smoothing the expression of annoyance that has crossed his face. "Good," she says as she crosses the floor, "If what Mulder tells me is true, we'll need his help."

Krycek remains leaning against the conference table as Scully walks resolutely up to him.

"Give me information. Now."

Krycek blinks sleepily, smiling down at the redhead. "What, no gun in my face? I'm so disappointed."

Mulder and Skinner both move towards him and he laughs, nimbly sidestepping around the conference table, away from the other men. "Hey, I'm here to help. I tried to help before, but Scully wasn't ready to hear it, I guess."

Scully licks her lips, looks down at where her feet would be if they weren't hidden from her view. "So talk."

Krycek seats himself at the table, making a sweeping gesture for them to join him. Scully lowers herself into a chair, but Mulder and Skinner remain standing, each covering a path to a door.

Krycek smirks at the men, then directs his speech to Scully. "Zeus Genetics."

"Go on."

"Former abductees with the ability to reproduce stolen from them. One of their most basic human dignities taken, possibly to be given back by a miracle of technology at the hands of doctors. The doctors gave them their miracle, a miracle not just for the parents, but for all of mankind, because those children would be the key to their salvation when the aliens came calling.

"The scientists took it upon themselves to play God, because God had abandoned them to their fate, to be hunted down and exterminated like vermin on their own planet. They tampered with the very essence of what makes humans human and made these children something more, the embodiment of the essence not only of humanity, but the essence of the aliens as well.

"The doctors modeled their creations after what they knew of Gibson Praise, using the alien fetus and Cassandra Spender as roadmaps, and built a bridge between human and alien. These children are human, but without the frailties that would enable the aliens to destroy them. Within their bodies they have the same activated DNA that composes the alien virus, the life force that enables the aliens to control, and to gestate inside of, humans. The virus 'recognizes' this activated DNA as being the same as itself and will not attack anyone with it. The children are immune to the viral apocalypse."

Mulder breaks in, "This has nothing to do with Scully. There were no clinics, no fertility treatments, no donors, anonymous or otherwise, no in vitro fertilization or artificial insemination. Scully had an amnio done, ran a genetic makeup of the baby, and there's no question who parented this child; it was us, not scientists playing God."

"True. We know whose baby it is, but how it came to be is quite the mystery. How a woman once infertile spontaneously conceived ..." The expression on his face tells a different story; he obviously has a theory.

Scully speaks, her voice brittle and flat. "Krycek, 'infertile' means my chances of conceiving were statistically negligible. My ovaries were irradiated to induce super ovulation and the follicles that didn't produce ova in that procedure were damaged in the process, the ovaries scarred to the point that they had very little chance of ever producing a viable ovum. Very little chance, not no chance at all."

"So, what, you bucked the odds? As a scientist, you should know better. That's a pretty flimsy rationalization, Scully." Krycek pulls two photographs out of the inner pocket of his leather jacket. "Recognize these?"

"They're ultrasound photos," Scully responds disinterestedly, then stops as she sees her own name on them. "MY ultrasound photos." The accusation in her voice clearly bespeaks her anger with yet another invasion of her privacy.

"This first picture is from when you had cancer, and this one is when you were fourteen weeks pregnant."

"Where did you get these?" Skinner demands.

Krycek looks blandly up at the A.D. "They were in Dr. Parenti's records."

"The FBI confiscated those records after the Mary Hendershot incident, Krycek."

"Yes, you did."

Skinner's jaw clenches.

Scully has been looking at the pictures now spread in front of her on the table. "This first image shows the expected scarring, but this one," she leans back, tapping the more recent image, "The ovaries don't look damaged. But this means nothing; ultrasounds are notoriously hard to read, and we can't even be sure these are mine." She leans back, crossing her arms, but doubt is on her face.

Krycek smiles. "You were exposed to something -- something powerful enough to create life from death, to heal so completely it's as if there was never an injury to begin with ..."

"The ship on the Ivory Coast," Scully murmurs, suddenly looking shell-shocked. In the space of an instant, flashes of memory play behind her eyelids ...

... a pendant in the shape of a hand with an eye in the palm, the late Mary Hendershot's voice ... "she said it was for healing ..."

... in a tent on the coast of Africa, the stunned assistant staring at her with wide eyes ... "They're from the Koran ..."

... a madman kneeling in that same tent, hours later, plunging his hands into a sack full of dead fish and pulling out their now-wriggling bodies, crowing with triumph in the split second before she knocks him out ...

"That's what you're referring to, isn't it?" she concludes, opening her eyes.

Krycek nods. "Yeah."

Mulder blurts, "So? Okay, say it's true. So what? Why does that prove Scully's baby is in danger? What does her baby have to do with the children that were created at Zeus Genetics?"

"Because," Krycek answers, "by sheer accident Scully's baby has something that was designed into those other children deliberately. A genetic code, a sequence of active DNA that's inactive or 'junk' DNA in other humans. Those children created by Zeus Genetics were not the first phase of the experiment. They were a last-ditch effort, a final, frantic hope, and the only thing that might save humanity is if those children mature quickly enough to be able to fight the colonists when the time comes. It was a flimsy, fragile hope. But the scientists' other efforts -- efforts to activate that DNA in full-grown adults -- had failed and nearly killed the adults in the process. Adults like Theresa Hoese and Billy Miles. People who exhibited unexplained temporal lobe trauma for a while; trauma that only went away when the experiment was realized to be a failure and the doctors reversed what they caused."

"Like Mulder," Scully says. "He exhibited those same symptoms."

"A combination of exposure to the alien virus and contact with the rubbing from the alien spacecraft," Skinner breaks in. "That's how Michael Kritschgau explained it."

"Right," Krycek says. "It was a fluke. Sheer chance. One in six billion, literally. Or maybe not such a chance. Maybe God was looking out for these scientists after all, giving them more of an opportunity to save themselves than they had been able to engineer in the fertility clinics. The virus introduced the alien DNA into Mulder's system, and it was rendered dormant by the vaccine, which is actually a form of gene therapy. It turns the alien virus DNA into more of the same 'junk' DNA humans already possess.

"Then the DNA was activated when he was exposed to the rubbing of the ship, which carried traces of the radiation that not only powers alien vessels, but is a source of sustenance for the aliens, radiation that they absorb into themselves and use as a weapon if needed. That radiation caused the DNA in Mulder's body to activate, the same way that alien life essence will come out of a dormant state when exposed to extreme heat, or during contact with another living being, or encountering one of its own kind even millennia after going into hibernation."

Scully shakes her head, folding her hands over her belly and grimacing. "You're lying, Krycek. I expected that, but I didn't expect you to give yourself away so quickly. I was exposed to that same virus, and that same vaccine, as well as the rubbing from the ship and I was unaffected. If what you're saying is true, I should have exhibited the same symptoms as Mulder."

"There's one other variable," Krycek answers. "Your abduction."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning the chip in your neck that inhibits the spread of the chimera cells that led to your cancer, chimera cells which are alien in nature themselves, also prevented the activation of the junk DNA in your system. If it weren't for that, neither you nor Mulder would be here today. Bet you never thought the day would come when you'd be grateful for your abduction."

"You realize this is all scientifically insupportable? The level of genetic manipulation you're discussing, the activation and deactivation of inherent genetic traits is completely beyond anything scientists have ever been able to accomplish."

"Depends on who your scientists are. Ours had a leg up."

"So cut to the chase, Krycek," Skinner grits out. "How does all of this affect Scully and Mulder's baby?"

"What was done to Mulder and the Bellefleur abductees was to physically deactivate the God module by means of brain surgery. But the scientists didn't have the ability to render the DNA inactive, other than to use the vaccine, and they weren't sure what effect that would have on the subjects in the absence of the complete virus itself, the alien life essence, and in any case they didn't have supplies of the vaccine to waste. So the DNA was still active in the abductees' systems, a dominant genetic trait ...."

"Passed on to their offspring," Scully concludes again. "That's why they took Teresa Hoese, and later Beth Miles."

"To protect them," Krycek insists. "They're safe."

"Mary Hendershot?"

Krycek doesn't blink, but his shoulders droop noticeably. "Dead. Killed in an attack on a satellite monitoring station where she was being hidden in the Arctic." He and Mulder lock eyes, but it's Skinner who breaks the momentary silence.

"We've got to get Scully out of here."

May 15, 2001

J. Edgar Hoover building

2:20 A.M.

Mulder runs down the steps leading to the basement corridor, looking panicked. He skids to a halt inside the open door of the X-Files office. Scully stands in the middle of the room, staring at the bulletin board behind the desk where the "I Want to Believe" poster still occupies a position of prominence.

Scully looks sheepish, saying apologetically, "Sorry, I should have come right back. But I just needed to be here for a moment."

Mulder approaches her, "Yeah, well, next time let me know you're taking the tour. I thought you got sucked in." He looks around, taking in the changes in the office, and the things that remain the same, but his attention returns to Scully. "Doggett's friend just landed at the airport, so we'll be able to leave soon. I'm still not comfortable including a stranger in this, though."

"We hashed this out hours ago, Mulder. Agent Doggett trusts her implicitly, and we need another able body to help protect us. We don't know her so it's less likely she'll be followed. And since you won't stay, Skinner needs Agent Doggett's help to try and cover our tracks, and to investigate Krycek's story," Scully sighs, rubbing her eyes and grimacing. She looks at the floor as if the linoleum was fascinating, then glances around her. "Hard to believe we spent eight years like this," she comments morosely.

"What do you mean?" Mulder asks cautiously.

"This is no good," she says at length. "We're off to the races again, and I'm in no shape for it." The hand she runs over the curve of her belly trembles slightly. "I can't live like this, on the run, no stability, no security. It was all fine and good before, but now we have a commitment, an obligation."

"Don't we first have an obligation to make sure the baby is safe? If we don't do that ...."

Scully's eyes, still lowered, sheen with unshed tears. "I didn't want this for the baby. I wanted normalcy. I wanted him to have everything we've been denying ourselves for the past eight years."

"We'll find a way." Mulder's arms shelter her and she nestles into his embrace for a moment. They pull apart by inches, and her hands come to rest on the slight shelf formed by the upper curve of her abdomen. Mulder's hands bracket hers, holding them and the baby between them as they pause for a moment, forehead to forehead. Then her shoulders square as she pushes back, finally meeting his eyes, and she nods.

FBI parking garage

3:35 A.M.

Three people wait in a dark corner of the garage. The tall, dark-haired man fidgets, but stays close to the heavily pregnant redheaded woman holding a small black doctor's satchel. The other man paces, agitated, but his eyes never leave the open space in front of them.



"I don't like this. How do we know we can trust this guy Krycek?" Doggett mutters, clearly upset. He turns and makes another round, his heels making loud echoes as he prowls back and forth.

Mulder, standing next to Scully, says, "We don't, but when it comes to Scully and the baby, I'm not taking any chances hanging around waiting to see what will happen."

Scully shifts the bag to her other hand. "Mulder, I still think you should stay here, keep an eye on Krycek and make sure he's not up to something."

"That's not my job anymore. Skinner and Agent Doggett can handle it. My first priority is to keep you and the baby safe."

A dark car screeches across the pavement, and both men draw their firearms. Doggett's gun lowers when he sees Reyes' face behind the steering wheel, but Mulder remains on guard. Mulder steps around the car to the driver's side, keeping the gun trained on the driver. "Step out of the car!" he barks. "Slowly!"

Doggett's eyes widen in shock, darting between Scully's expression of resigned tolerance to Mulder's deadly earnest aim at Reyes. "Mulder, what the hell are you doing? Put the gun down!"

"Just keep your weapon trained on her until I say it's okay to drop it," Mulder commands sternly. "Reyes, get out of the car."

Slowly, Reyes opens the driver's door and steps out, keeping her hands in plain sight. "Agent Mulder. It's a pleasure to meet you at last," she says calmly, her expression baffled. "Or it was."

"Just hold out your hand, and don't do anything that will startle me," he replies humorlessly.

Sighing, Reyes extends her hand, palm down. Holstering his weapon, he pulls a pocketknife from his back pocket and opens it. Doggett nods in comprehension as he recognizes Mulder's intent and steps in front of Scully, shielding her in case Mulder's paranoia turns out to be merited.

Mulder draws the blade of the knife across the back of Reyes' wrist, making an inch-long shallow cut. Blood wells up from the incision. Nodding grimly, Mulder produces a handkerchief and presents it to Reyes with a chagrinned grimace. "Fox Mulder. Pleased to meet you."

Reyes winces as she blots the cut. "You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?"

"Just doing my job," he murmurs with a glance at Scully, who steps around Doggett and greets Reyes.

As Doggett draws Reyes aside to exchange a private word with her, Mulder helps Scully into the car, then gets in the back seat. He nods at Doggett, who nods back as Reyes returns to the driver's seat. Doggett watches them go, then pulls out his cell phone and continues his self-imposed circuit. After a few rings, a sleepy voice on the other end answers.

"Crane."

"Gene, sorry to get you out of bed in the middle of the night, but I need you down here at HQ. I need your help."

"I'll be right there." Click.

Doggett folds up his cell phone as he turns, then notices something previously hidden from his view. Behind where Mulder and Scully just stood, there is a small puddle-shaped greenish-black corrosion of the concrete floor. Doggett stares at the spot in consternation, frowning.

To be continued ...