Evolution
AS8X22 - SERIES FINALE
An AS8 Original Episode
Written by: Kristel St. Johns
They came when the world was but an infant, shaping the very structure
of life on this planet in their own image. Altering the amino acids
and proteins that would someday become humanity. They were the Originators.
They were God.
There is only one secret to which they do not have the key, only one
truth unknown to them:
Even Gods can fall.
I entered this battle wanting only wealth and power. I made a deal
with the devil to ensure a life of comfort and control for myself.
I lied, stole, and killed to advance my own cause. Only when the truth
became known to me, only when the carefully constructed lies they
told came unraveled, did that imperative change. Now I have only one
drive, only one goal.
Now my cause is this: survive. By any means necessary.
--Alex Krycek
* * * * *
Downtown Washington D.C.
May 18, 2001
11:47 PM
Marita Covarrubias paces the dark alley nervously, glancing around
at the shadows and mist of the night. She reacts only with a cool
lift of an eyebrow when a figure emerges from the shadows, resolving
itself into the form of Alex Krycek.
"Until I heard you made it to Washington, I thought you were
dead."
"We have a leak. They found the base in the arctic, and they
got to Crane. Crane was our last hidden pipeline within the FBI."
"Then we find another pipeline."
"First, we have to find the leak. We're losing people faster
than we can recruit others." He gives her a guarded look. "There's
only one person who's playing both sides of the fence right now,"
he observes.
"Are you accusing me?"
He backs her against the damp wall of a building, pinning her there
with his good hand braced beside her head. He leans close and murmurs,
"I should kill you here and now and not take the chance that
you're playing me."
She looks up at him, her eyes glittering coldly. "But you won't.
You need me, Krycek. You need my access to Strughold and his access
to the colonists' plans. You need me to keep the others in line. Credibility
is not your strong suit."
They face off eye to eye for a moment, then Krycek pushes away from
the wall, releasing her. Calmly, she straightens the jacket of her
neat black suit as she inquires, "The child? How is it?"
"Healthy. Safe, for the moment, and under guard. Mulder and Scully
have predictably refused our offer of protection."
"It's just as well, I suppose," she mutters. "At this
rate, they can do a better job of protecting him themselves."
"But we need to have access to the boy."
"There are others. Not as many as we hoped for, but a few..."
"They're not viable," Krycek says softly. "Our last
tests before the attack confirmed it. They'll never survive, even
if the colonists don't get their hands on them. The experiment failed."
Cavarrubias' eyes drop. "Then he's practically all we have left,"
she sighs in resignation. "One of a very precious few."
"Which means we can't let Mulder and Scully keep him from us--no
matter what."
* * * * *
May 19, 2001
2:35 P.M.
In the hallway outside their apartment, Mulder juggles William seated
in an infant car-seat/carrier and Scully's overnight bag as he delves
in his pocket for his keys. Beside him, Scully shoulders a diaper
bag, her face drawn and her eyes tired, the ordeal of childbirth and
the worries of new motherhood clearly written on her face. Three days'
rest in the hospital have done nothing to alleviate the strain.
Just as Mulder slips his key in the lock, the door opens to reveal
Margaret Scully. She smiles brilliantly at them both and moves aside
to let them enter.
"Welcome home!" she exclaims, immediately drawn to the infant
seat as Mulder sets it and the overnight bag on the coffee table.
While Mrs. Scully liberates her sleeping grandson from the carrier,
Scully settles on the sofa, smiling softly while her mother coos to
the baby. Mulder perches on the arm of the sofa beside Scully.
"Oh," Mrs. Scully's attention suddenly returns to them as
she cradles the baby in her arms expertly. "I was told to tell
you that a Mr. Byers and his, er, associates stopped by. They said
they were here at your request to check the apartment, but I wasn't
sure if I should let them in given all the difficultly you've had
recently. They said they understood and would be in touch later."
"Thanks, Mom," Scully replies softly. "That's good.
It's okay to let them in. We trust them."
"Well, I really wish you'd come and stay at my house a while,
let me help you out until you're back up to speed."
Scully looks away unhappily, her mouth set in a tight, grim line.
Mulder answers, "We appreciate that, Mrs. Scully, really, but
we don't want to put you to any trouble."
He looks down and Scully meets his eyes and nods. It's obvious they've
already discussed this and reached a joint conclusion.
"Its no trouble," Mrs. Scully shrugs. "At the
very least, why don't you let me hire a nurse to come by and help
you for a while. Fox can't be here all the time, Dana, and believe
me when I tell you you're going to want all the help you can get,
at least for a few weeks."
"Thanks, Mom, but its really important right now that we not
have anyone else around, especially someone we don't know." Scully
murmurs.
"Dana," the older woman says sternly, her demeanor shifting.
Her mouth tightens, her expression severe. "Would you please
tell me what in God's name is going on? One night I get a call telling
me you're leaving town and you don't know when you'll be back, then
the next thing I know you're in a hospital in Pennsylvania and you've
had the baby and will be home in a few days, and could I please watch
your apartment for you. I think I deserve some answers as to why you
would go haring off in the middle of the night like that just hours
away from giving birth."
"Mrs. Scully," Mulder says diplomatically while Scully sighs
heavily, "I know you're concerned, but--"
"Fox, we are talking about my daughter and my grandson. If there's
a problem
"
"Mom," Scully interrupts, giving her mother a determined
gaze. "There's...no problem, okay? Don't worry. Just
please
let
us do this our way, all right?"
Mrs. Scully nods, plainly unmollified. Scully looks away from her
mother's questioning stare and meets Mulder's eyes. They share a bleak
look that belies Scully's reassurances.
* * * * *
May 21, 2001
2:24 AM
The bedroom is dark, illuminated only by the streetlights outside
the window. Mulder awakens alone in the bed, looks around the room.
On the other side of the bed Scully stands in silver-gray satin pajamas,
looking silently down into the basinet.
"Scully?" Mulder queries softly, his voice barely louder
than a whisper.
"I'm all right," she murmurs in a similarly subdued voice.
"He just ate and went back to sleep."
Mulder throws back the blanket and rises, wearing a pair of flannel
pajama bottoms. He shuffles across the hardwood floor in his bare
feet, rounding the foot of the bed and coming to stand next to her.
Side by side, they stare at the sleeping infant in a long moment of
silence.
"Krycek was right--he is a miracle," Scully says at last.
"It doesn't matter how it's possible, or what the cost is; for
him to even be here when all of medicine--all of science--says he
should never have been. I have to believe he's a gift from God; there's
no other explanation."
"I think you're right," Mulder replies. "And that's
saying something. Getting me to give credit to God for anything takes
some doing."
Scully gives his attempt at levity a small chuckle, then sobers again.
"When I first found out I was pregnant, Mulder, it didn't seem
real to me. I had just found out that you were--gone--and I couldn't
think about the pregnancy, couldn't internalize it. All I could think
about was getting you back. I took so many risks, jeopardized him
so many times, but I couldn't stop." She blinks rapidly and sniffles,
her eyes shining wetly in the dimly lit room. "When I think what
might have happened, how I might have harmed him, or lost him... and
now I know I could never do anything that would endanger him. There's
nothing I wouldn't do to protect him, nothing I wouldn't sacrifice.
Even if it meant giving up everything for him."
Even you. The conclusion of her statement hangs unspoken between them.
Scully looks up at Mulder, her eyes begging forgiveness for what she
can't bring herself to say. His hand rubs her shoulder, as much to
soothe her as to erase her self-condemnation for the hypothetical
choice she has made.
"I've thought a lot about what Krycek said about him, about what
he might mean in the end," Mulder says after a moment. "And
I realize it doesn't matter, not really. I don't care what he is,
or how he came to be, or any of that. I'll protect him and raise him
because he's mine. Because he's a part of me--" his voice breaks
off, and he draws a deep composing breath before continuing. "I'll
never let anyone hurt him, even if it means someone else pays the
price. To them, he's a commodity, this great hope for the future,
for humanity. But to me--he's just our son. And that's the only thing
that matters."
Scully nods solemnly, swallowing hard. Mulder's hand on her shoulder
pulls her toward him, and still watching their infant son sleep, she
leans her head wearily on his shoulder.
* * * * *
May 22, 2001
7:52 AM
Walter Skinner pulls his car into a parking spot in the garage at
the J. Edgar Hoover building and gets out, reaching back inside for
his briefcase. He pauses, then slumps against the door of the car,
choking, his hand on his chest. His eyes bulge, but after a moment
the spasm passes, leaving him winded and sweating.
By the time he reaches his office he looks composed and unsurprised
to see Alex Krycek sitting at his desk with a malicious smile.
"Walter. Glad you could stop by."
"Every time you do that, Krycek, you come just one day closer
to the day I do the world a favor and put a bullet in your brain,"
Skinner growls, advancing menacingly upon the smaller man.
"I doubt you'll ever have the chance," Krycek responds,
unimpressed. "Sit down. We have to talk."
"About what?"
"About Mulder and Scully. If they have half the brains I give
them credit for, they're making plans to disappear right now. I'm
counting on you to make sure that doesn't happen."
"Why does it matter?" Skinner demands. "You can't tell
me you wouldn't be able to track them down, anyway."
"I wouldn't be so sure. They can be pretty resourceful when they
feel like it."
"Good. At the earliest opportunity, I'll be sure to tell them
to get far away from anywhere you can find them," Skinner says
decisively.
"Let me spell it out for you," Krycek rises, a threat implicit
in his stance. "They disappear, I'm holding you responsible.
I don't care what you have to do, but I need to have that child where
I can keep an eye on him. Now--one push of a button and you're a dead
man, so it's in your best interest to dissuade them from grabbing
the kid and running, you got that?"
"I should have let Scully shoot you," Skinner replies in
a deadly quiet voice.
"You'll get over it. We all have regrets, Skinner. We deal with
them. It's like I told you before, it's all about deciding who to
sacrifice and who to protect. Play by my rules, and maybe I'll make
sure you never have to make that call yourself."
* * * * *
10:02 PM
The only illumination in the bedroom is a single lamp casting a soft
glow. In a rocking chair across the room from the bed, Scully nurses
the baby while humming softly.
In the living room, Mulder watches television with the sound turned
off, his eyes occasionally leaving the screen to survey to room and
fixate on the front door. He can hear Scully's humming and smiles
in spite of himself. Somehow, even the worst voices sound beautiful
when rendering a lullaby.
Scully's humming falters for a moment and then resumes, as she raises
her eyes from the down-covered head of her child to the darkened window
and the stars beyond it.
Mulder frowns and licks his lips, looking down at the coffee table
where his personal handgun sits unholstered and loaded.
In the bedroom, Scully slowly and mechanically rises and stands before
the window, staring out into the night, holding the baby in one arm.
Through the glass, the constellation Cassiopeia shines brightly. Her
free hand reaches up and absently rubs the back of her neck. She continues
her tuneless humming.
* * * * *
Research Facility
Location Unknown
On a black and white video monitor, a dark-haired woman paces a closed
room, occasionally crossing to the door and pounding on it frantically.
"MY BABY!!!" Theresa Hoese screeches, her voice hoarse with
hysteria and sobs. "GIVE ME BACK MY BABY!! Please," she
subsides into a wail, hiccoughing weakly as she sinks to her knees
before the door, "please
just let me have my baby. Please!"
Marita Covarrubias watches the screen impassively. "How long
as she been like this?"
"Off and on since we took her into custody," an orderly
in a white coat replies. There's been some talk about sedating her.
Her distress is upsetting the child."
Marita's gaze flicks to another monitor, where a disconsolate toddler
is being soothed by a nurse.
"We can't keep her sedated forever. When she comes up for air,
tell her that if she doesn't calm down we'll move her to another facility
and she won't be allowed to see her child at all. If that doesn't
get through to her, get rid of her."
"Yes, ma'am."
"What about the tests on the child?" she asks.
"The latest estimate shows that they have a moderate-to-fair
chance of cloning him, given donor eggs and a surrogate to carry the
results to term. It's going to put us years behind the timetable we
originally wanted, though, if we can't perfect the accelerated maturation
techniques."
Covarrubias shakes her head. "Too unstable. If it fails, we're
further behind than we are now. We have to find a way to stall for
time with the colonists, if we can. See what you can accomplish with
this subject, first."
"What about the other one? The one Strughold's people took? We
could get twice the results if we had that one available as well."
"I'll see what I can do; I'm being watched too closely to make
any overt moves. Right now, I'm still busy justifying why we need
to study the child rather than just destroy it. I've diverted attention
from myself as the possible leak in the organization, but I have to
watch where I step for a while."
"And the surrogates? How should we go about finding them, now
that the clinics have been shut down?"
She ponders the question for a moment, then looks back to the monitor
where Theresa Hoese is huddled against the door and sobbing weakly.
"Start with what you have available."
* * * * *
May 23, 2001
10:23 AM
"There's no other way?" Skinner asks softly, looking over
the cluttered worktable of the Lone Gunmen's office at Mulder. Mulder's
chin is grizzled, his eyes bloodshot, his hair uncombed. He looks
like a man who hasn't slept in days. Langly, Byers, and Frohike complete
a circle around the desk, wearing identical expressions of concern.
"If there is, I don't know what it could be," Mulder replies
with resignation. "We can't protect him here, where too many
people are coming and going all the time, never knowing who to trust,
who to let in. We can't raise him like that, someplace where anyone
can find us at any time. Sooner or later, our guard will drop, and
then
"
"But you'll be on your own," Frohike says earnestly, all
trace of his normal levity gone. "You won't have anyone to back
you up if someone comes after you."
"I know--but it's better than seeing the wrong person get in
the way and get hurt or killed. Scully's afraid for her mother already."
"I agree," Skinner interrupts, his expression grim. "There's
no choice; you've got to go. What do we need to do to make sure no
one ever finds you?"
* * * * *
11:17 AM
"Scully?" Mulder calls as he arrives back at the apartment,
unlocking the door and letting himself in.
"She's gone," a voice calls. Mulder tenses as Krycek steps
out of the bedroom and approaches him.
He's on the younger man in a second, pinning him against the wall
and punching him in the stomach. "What did you do with them?!"
he demands frantically, pummeling Krycek before pinning him to the
wall with his body, pulling his gun and cocking it, pressing it into
the soft flesh under the double-agent's chin. "WHERE ARE THEY!?"
he screams in Krycek's face.
"I didn't take them, Mulder! You have to believe me!" Krycek
gasps, struggling for air. "You can kill me, but you're wasting
time we don't have. I was having her followed--for her own protection.
She left the apartment with the baby an hour ago. My people somehow
lost her before she made it out of the D.C. metro area. We've got
to get to them, or she and that kid are as good as dead."
"She wouldn't just leave," Mulder grits out. "Not knowing
that they're after him."
"No, she wouldn't--not if she had a choice."
Mulder freezes, and slowly pulls away, his gun still trained on Krycek's
head. "You think she's being summoned?"
"It's happened before, hasn't it? That implant in her neck is
a mixed blessing at best; you know that."
Mulder holsters his gun, and turns on his heel for the door. "You
can't leave; you don't know where they're calling her!" Krycek
protests, following him.
"Yes, I do. UFO hotspots. The places where they always summon
people. But if Scully has any free will left--and I have to believe
she does--she's going to go someplace where she knows I'll look. Back
to where it all began for her."
* * * * *
Route 229, near Rixeyville, Virginia
Scully hums tunelessly while William fusses in his seat in the back
of the car. She passes a sign that reads "Skyland Mountain: Ascend
to the Stars."
* * * * *
12:46 PM
"I'm surprised you didn't stop to call Skinner."
"If I call anyone, it might give the wrong people advance notice
that we're coming after her," Mulder answers.
"If you're wrong about this, they're both gone. You know that,
Mulder," Krycek cautions from the passenger seat as he and Mulder
speed along a deserted stretch of highway. Mulder doesn't answer,
his jaw set grimly as he clutches the steering wheel.
"Why is it so important that they have him now?" he asks
after a moment. "The smoking man told me the timetable for colonization
was set; there's no way these kids are going to mature before it's
too late. So why are they taking them?"
"The timetable isn't as definite as the aliens would have liked
everyone--including Spender--to believe," Krycek snorts derisively.
"Colonization was dependent upon having hybrids available, workers
and soldiers who could survive the colder climates on this planet.
You ever watch PBS, Mulder?"
"Until not too long ago, my taste in television tended towards
channels you have to pay extra for," Mulder answers. "Why?"
"Something not many people realize is that Earth is overdue for
another ice age. Scientists say one should have begun by now, that
historically, the planet has never gone this long without one and
they're puzzled as to why it hasn't started yet. Pseudo-science would
have us believe that global warming is the only thing staving it off.
Who knows, they might even be right. You think it's an accident that
an oil baron is sitting in the oval office?" he asks with a wry
smile.
"So. What about it?"
"So, it's possible the aliens might lose their chance at colonization
for another several thousand years. When Cassandra Spender fell into
the rebels' hands, the hybridization project came grinding to a halt.
It actually bought us a reprieve. There's no way the colonists are
going to be able to meet their deadline now, and their only hope for
having any chance is that the impending ice-age holds off long enough
for them to make up for lost time creating the hybrids. And if the
ice age sets in before they complete the hybrids, they miss their
shot."
"And what happens if they miss their shot?"
"Humanity survives--for now. If we can keep from blowing ourselves
up, first. That's why the colonists have to eliminate these children
while they're young and vulnerable and pose no threat. Because while
they're waiting for their next chance, the Gibson Praises and Bobby
Hoeses and William Mulders of the world will grow up and reproduce,
and their offspring will have offspring, and so forth. Completely
unbeknownst to the other six billion people on this planet, evolution
will have taken a leap forward and mankind will be a step closer to
being the one thing in this galaxy these colonists have yet to encounter."
"Whats that?"
"A race capable of defeating them."
* * * * *
Washington D.C.
6:37 PM
Marita Covarrubias steps into her apartment, the early evening sun
filtering in between the louvered blinds on the windows and casting
shadows about the room. As she sets down her case, one of the shadows
behind her resolves itself into the form of a broad-shouldered man.
There is the ominous click of a gun being cocked, and she feels cold
steel press against the back of her skull.
"Turn the light on. Slowly." Skinner commands. She reaches
a steady hand out and flicks on the light switch.
"Turn around and sit down," he orders. "Try not to
make any sudden moves. Mulder and Scully have disappeared. You're
going to tell me where and why."
"Why do you think I know? After what's happened, surely it's
not unreasonable that they might take off on their own."
"No, it's not. But that's not the case right now."
"This is news to me," she said impassively, staring at him.
"I don't have any information for you."
"Why do I find that very hard to believe? Krycek cautioned me
just yesterday against letting them skip town. Maybe he decided to
take things into his own--hand. Does he have them?"
"If he did I would know about it, and I assure you that he has
not informed me of any such intentions."
"What about the aliens? If Mulder and Scully were abducted, can
you find out?" Skinner queries.
"They don't report to me or to anyone, Mr. Skinner,"
Marita replies scathingly. "Sometimes they inform us of what
they've done or intend to do, when they want our assistance. Sometimes
we aid them, when it's advantageous. Other times, we try to cut them
off at the pass without getting ourselves killed in the process. That's
the way it works."
"Yeah, well, this time we're gonna change all that. You're going
to help me find the aliens before they get to Mulder and Scully."
* * * * *
Rural Virginia
8:13 PM
The setting sun is hidden on the other side of the mountain, darkness
making the winding road even more treacherous. Mulder is taking the
switchbacks at a dangerous speed.
"We find them in time," Krycek states, "it's in your
kid's best interest for you to take me up on my offer of protection.
We have people inside, people who sometimes know what moves they're
planning to make, and when."
"Yeah, but at what cost to us?"
"Nothing too drastic. The occasional blood or tissue sample from
the boy. Maybe once in a while, letting our doctors look him over."
"I'll see you dead before I ever let that happen, Krycek,"
Mulder replies flatly. "You think I'm going to let you do to
him what they did to Scully? To Cassandra Spender? To Samantha?"
Krycek shakes his head. "You know what they say, Mulder. Better
the devil you know. You can give us what we need willingly, or we
can take it behind your back. You think there's anything that could
stop us?"
"A bullet springs to mind."
"If it's not me, it'll be someone else, someone who will pick
up where I left off. Someone who isn't willing to make the concessions
I am. I just want access to the boy--the occasional blood sample.
He'll never miss it. Someone else, on the other hand--they might want
him around full time. Might want to keep him in a lab, where they
can observe him around the clock, run tests to see how his abilities
are progressing."
"Not while I'm still alive."
"You think that will stop them? That you're not expendable? At
least with us, you know we want to keep him alive, while there are
others out there who want him dead. We need to have more like him,
viable children that bridge the gap between alien and human. If we
can study his genetic code, we can be that much closer to giving humanity
the push in the right direction it needs to survive. There are other
fertility clinics out there; other women who won't question too closely
if their babies don't come out with just the right eye or hair color.
Don't underestimate our desire to live, Mulder. You think we care
about your convenience or the happiness of your precious son with
the fate of the world at stake? Are you ready to sacrifice the lives
of six billion people to give your child a normal life? Are you really
that selfish?"
Mulder takes a curve sharply, throwing Krycek against the door of
the car. "Keep talking, Krycek, and the next time I'll make sure
that door is open and you fall out."
"Were almost there," Krycek observes as they pass
a sign for the Skyland Mountain summit.
"You do anything but cover my back while I get them, I'll throw
you off a cliff," Mulder vows. "You don't go near them,
either of them, ever."
* * * * *
FBI Headquarters
"Anything?" Skinner asks as Marita Covarrubias disconnects
her cell phone and frowns. Agent Doggett has joined them, watching
the proceedings with concern.
"No. Whatever is happening, none of my people have heard about
it. I don't dare inquire any further; I'm raising too many red flags
as it is. We could risk tipping off the wrong people that we're looking
into the matter."
The phone on Skinner's desk rings and he answers.
"We've got something," Frohike announces from the other
end of the line.
"What?"
"Probable UFO activity, same earmarks as all the other times."
"Where?"
Frohike pauses, listening as Langley says something to him, before
Skinner demands again, "Where's the activity?"
"Southwestern Virginia," he replies, his voice subdued.
"Near Skyland Mountain. You'll never get to them in time."
* * * * *
Skyland Mountain, Virginia
9:29 PM
The sun has almost set as Mulder and Krycek reach the peak. Mulder
slams on the brakes when they see Scully's car idling in the parking
lot with the lights still on. Clouds have swept across the mountain,
casting everything in an eerie mist. Mulder throws off his seatbelt
and jumps from the still-running car while Krycek struggles to free
himself from his own restraints with his single arm.
"SCULLY!!" Mulder yells desperately, charging recklessly
through the darkness. There's a flash of light, and suddenly he sees
her silhouetted at the summit in almost the exact spot he found Duane
Barry almost seven years ago. She carries the baby cradled in her
arms, and he can hear their child crying in his weak, newborn voice.
"SCULLY!" he shrieks again.
She hesitates. Behind her, he can see the squarely built, broad-shouldered
shape of the bounty hunter making its way toward her. In its hand,
it holds a long cylindrical wand.
"Scully, run!" Mulder calls.
She seems frozen in place, watching as the alien approaches her, and
when Mulder finally reaches her and tries to take the baby from her
arms, she struggles to get away from him, taking an implacable step
toward to bounty hunter.
"Dammit, Scully, no!" Mulder screams, grabbing her bodily
around the waist and hauling her away. Beyond her, he can see that
other broad-shouldered shapes, identical to the first, have joined
the bounty hunter.
Mulder turns, the struggling Scully still holding the baby, as something
breezes past his shoulder. It's Krycek, holding one of the spiked
gimlets.
"Get her out of here!" he shouts to Mulder.
Scully swings an elbow and catches Mulder in the throat, gagging and
stunning him while she slips from his grasp.
"GO!" Krycek yells again, looking back over his shoulder
to see them both still present.
Mulder catches Scully before she gets farther than a few steps in
that methodical, automaton-like pace toward her doom. Mulder spins
her around. His blow is harder than hers was, catching her on the
jaw and knocking her out. He throws his arms around her and the baby
as she slumps to the ground, enveloping their son between them. Mulder
picks Scully and the child up and runs with them back toward the cars,
away from the encroaching bounty hunters.
Behind him, Krycek faces off against the aliens, outlined in bright
white light and surrounded by mist as the distance between them closes.
* * * * *
May 24, 2001
2:12 AM
Hours later, Scully's car passes through the night. Mulder glances
in the rear-view mirror as they travel a dark rural road. Scully holds
the baby, nursing him, bending down to kiss his soft head. She doesn't
hum. In the darkness, Mulder doesn't see the tears that roll down
her cheek or off her chin, where a bruise darkens.
* * * * *
The sun is rising over the mountain as the car bearing Walter Skinner
and Marita Covarrubias comes to a stop next to the one Mulder and
Krycek abandoned the night before. Left running, it has run out of
gas overnight and stalled, the doors still open, and Skinner surveys
it grimly as he gets out of his car. Agent Doggett and several more
FBI fleet sedans pull in behind them, Doggett barking orders to the
teams of agents.
"Fan out! Search the area for any sign of them!"
Skinner himself is drawn to the spot near the summit where the morning
mist seems heavier, the acrid scent of smoke making his nostrils flare.
Covarrubias follows him silently as they approach the place where
the ground is charred. Around it lie several spots where the grass
is withered and eaten away by some corrosive agent. But in the middle
lies the charred remains of a human corpse.
"Over here," Skinner calls, not very loudly, but enough
to let the agents know he has found something. There is no triumph
or surprise or urgency in his voice. What they have found will not
help them.
Beside him, Marita Covarrubias stares at the singed and partially
melted, flesh-colored synthetic of an arm-shaped prosthesis, attached
to the corpse only by the charred remains of leather straps.
* * * * *
A motel room
Rural West Virginia
May 27, 2001
9:34 AM
On a tacky polyester bedspread, William sleeps, pillows on either
side of him to prevent him rolling off the bed.
In the bathroom, Scully raises cold, bleak blue eyes to the mirror
over the sink, meeting Mulder's gaze there. The bare florescent light
flickers and hums above them, casting them in a sickly greenish pall.
Scully holds a scalpel up over her shoulder as though to hand it to
Mulder, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head, rejecting it.
Her jaw tightens, her fist clenching around the implement, and she
shoves it back towards him again, almost in a stabbing motion. Slowly,
reluctantly, his hand closes over hers on the handle, taking it from
her. She winces once as it bites shallowly into the back of her neck.
A salty teardrop mingles with the spot of blood that rises to the
surface of the wound as Mulder bends over the incision and withdraws
the small, metallic implant with a pair of tweezers. He holds it up
for her, and Scully turns on the water with shaking hands. She takes
the tiny chip onto the tip of her index finger, smearing the traces
of blood from the tweezers onto her skin in the process, and stares
at it for a long moment, transfixed. Mulder has closed his eyes again,
his face wet with tears, unable to bear the sight. Finally, she slips
her hand into the stream of water from the corroded faucet, and watches
as the chip and her own blood slide down the drain and disappear.
* * * * *
Skinner and Marita Covarrubias pull into the motel parking lot in
West Virginia, followed by Agent Doggett.
"That's their car," Doggett points at the sedan parked next
to room 1013.
They knock on the door, calling out their identities to Mulder and
Scully, but there is no answer. Moments later, with the aid of the
motel manager, Skinner and Doggett enter the room.
"They're not in here," Skinner says needlessly, surveying
the shabby interior while Marita waits by the doorway.
"Wherever they are, they're long gone from this place,"
Doggett concurs, returning from investigating the bathroom. He brushes
wordlessly past Marita, his brusqueness clearly conveying his displeasure
in her presence, and returns to his car.
Skinner bends over the rumpled bed, then straightens.
"I think this belongs to you," he says coldly, also roughly
passing Marita while thrusting something into her hand. Drawing a
deep breath, she looks down at the small vial of blood resting in
her palm.
* * * * *
May 30, 2001
8:29 AM
"Hey, welcome back," Agent Doggett says tiredly, looking
up from his desk in the X-Files office as Agent Reyes enters the room.
She's moving stiffly, and her eyes are still rimmed with red, but
she gives him a game smile.
"So this is where you've been stuck for the last nine months,"
she observes, taking in the surroundings. "Well
at least
it's quieter than the bullpen."
"Yeah, too quiet," Doggett snorts. "Down here you get
an odd sympathy for prisoners in solitary confinement."
"Not for long. My transfer request got approved. Looks like you've
got a new partner."
"Seriously?" Doggett's question is an odd combination of
consternation and relief. "What about Agent Scully?"
Reyes meets his look somberly. "You really think she's going
to come back after what's happened?"
Whatever reply Doggett is about to make is cut off when his phone
rings. He picks up the receiver. "Agent Doggett." A moment
of silence passes. "Okay, we'll be right there." He hangs
up and looks at Reyes. "Deputy Director Kersh wants to see us
in his office ASAP," he informs her, rising from the desk. "Welcome
to the X-Files," he mutters as he passes her.
* * * * *
"Agent Doggett, Agent Reyes, please--have a seat," Deputy
Director Kersh's voice rumbles as his assistant admits them to his
office. "Agent Reyes, I trust you're feeling better?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Reyes responds, taking a chair
to Doggett's right, across the desk from the deputy director.
"I called you in here to discuss the matter of Agent Crane's
death, and its possible connection to the disappearance of Agent Scully
and Fox Mulder," Kersh announces grimly. "I've got a whole
lot of questions and very few answers for Agent Crane's widow, Agent
Scully's mother, and the Director. You two are the last agents to
see or interact with any of the people in question. I've read over
your statements and find them incredible, bordering on absurd. Am
I to believe, Agent Doggett, that you think the last three conversations
you had with Agent Crane weren't with *Agent Crane*, but with someone
who looked and spoke like him, while he was actually already deceased?"
"Sir, the coroner's report puts Agent Crane's time of death a
full day before the last times I interacted with him. The last day
I saw him, he--meaning the person posing as Agent Crane--admitted
to me, and the CIS department confirms, that he didn't know Agent
Crane's password and it needed to be reset. Agent Crane's wife hadn't
heard from him since the day the coroner estimated he died. Whoever
it was that we dealt with that day, it was not Agent Crane."
"And just who do you propose it was, Agent Doggett?"
"Whoever attacked Agent Reyes and Mulder and Scully and their
child in Pennsylvania that night, obviously, sir."
"Which brings me to Agent Reyes' report about her assault. By
a man who--" Kersh consults the papers on his desk before him,
"--introduced himself as Agent Crane, but later changed appearance
before her very eyes, 'bled green blood' when stabbed in the shoulder,
and who had enough strength to lift an adult woman by the neck with
one hand. Agent Reyes, I have to admit it was with some reservations
that I approved your request for transfer to the X-Files division,
and this report doesn't do much to justify my faith that I made the
right call. Frankly, the X-Files have a history of bringing out the
worst tendencies in even the best of agents--" he fixes Doggett
with a condemning glare, "--and your record is colorful enough
to start with."
"Sir, regardless of how the report may sound," Reyes says
levelly, "one can't dismiss the facts of this case. There were
traces of the same retrovirus I was hospitalized with in Agent Crane's
blood, though his official cause of death was asphyxiation due to
a crushed larynx. Evidence of the same corrosive agent that was found
in the farmhouse in Pennsylvania, both on the porch where I was assaulted
and inside where Agent Scully and Fox Mulder were attacked, was also
found by Agent Doggett here in the parking garage at the FBI the same
day Agent Crane is estimated to have died. It was also found on Skyland
Mountain where Fox Mulder's car was discovered, near the remains of
the wanted fugitive Alex Krycek. The only reasonable conclusion to
draw is that whoever was responsible for my attack, the disappearances
of Mulder and Scully and their child, and the death of Agent Crane
are one and the same."
"I don't argue that it appears that the party or parties responsible
for these two separate attacks are the same," Kersh replies.
"I do, however, object to official FBI investigations being filled
with reports of people bleeding green blood and changing identities
before our very eyes. You can ask Agent Doggett if you want to know
my opinion of this sort of sloppy, irresponsible investigating."
"I'm sorry, sir. I can only report the facts as best as they
are available to me."
"Well, here's another conclusion for you to consider. That whoever
was responsible for Agent Crane's death--as well as the immolation
of Alex Krycek--has gone on the run to evade justice for their crimes."
"Wait--sir, you're not implying that Agent Scully and Mulder
killed Crane and Krycek
" Doggett protests.
"Why else would they run, if they didn't have something to hide?"
Kersh demands.
"And the attack on me?" Reyes asks coldly.
"I can only assume, given the absurdity of your account, that
your injuries affected your memory. For future reference, I expect
reports from every division--and the X-Files are no exception--not
to read like they came straight out of a B-movie. Don't make me reconsider
my decision to assign you to the X-Files, Agent Reyes, or to keep
the X-Files division active to begin with. Report back to me when
you have some answers that make some sense.
"I've put out an APB on Mulder and Scully and their child, citing
them as being persons of interest in the investigation of the deaths
of Agent Crane and Alex Krycek. If you get any word on their whereabouts,
I expect you to report it to the task force immediately. Dismissed."
* * * * *
Doggett and Reyes are silent as they pass through the reception area
of Kersh's office, nodding politely to the Asian woman waiting on
the sofa there. As the door closes behind them, they hear Kersh's
assistant tell her she can enter.
"If he doesn't want the answers, why bother asking the questions?"
Reyes demands once she and Doggett are back out in the corridor.
"His first consideration is keeping the FBI from looking foolish,"
Doggett shrugs. "I've got to admit he's come up with a brilliant
way to pull it off. Discredit the sources of the reports he would
like to hide, by saying Mulder and Scully are possible criminals.
There's no way I'm going to think that Mulder and Scully are responsible
for Crane's death. But I can't say I'm any more comfortable with the
answers in those reports than he is; I'm not sure I buy half of the
stuff that Krycek character tried to sell to me and Skinner, though
I hate to say it, it seems a lot more plausible now than it did nine
months ago."
He stops, and Reyes looks at him quizzically. "Nine months ago,"
he muses, "traces of that same corrosive agent were found in
the Arizona desert where we looked for Agent Mulder. Assistant Director
Skinner nearly died of the same retrovirus you were exposed to, and
that's when Agent Scully first told me about some creatures--aliens--who
could change identities. Kersh knows all that; it's in the file, and
I drew the parallels in my report this week, indicating that whoever
it was who attacked you and Crane also may have been responsible for
the attack on an agent in Arizona, as well as those on Skinner and
Agent Scully. But he didn't mention any of that in there."
"Why wouldn't he at least take notice of a potential link between
this case and one that remains open and unsolved?" Reyes asks.
"Unless there's some reason he's intentionally disregarding it,
especially when it could take any potential suspicion off Mulder and
Scully?"
"Now hold on--I'm also not ready to go accusing a Deputy Director
of the FBI of willfully ignoring evidence."
"You know what they say, John," Reyes shrugs with a wry
smile. He looks at her in askance. "Trust no one."
* * * * *
June 05, 2001
1:37 PM
Public Rest Area
Location Unknown
Mulder steps out of the men's restroom into the bright June sunlight
and shields his eyes with his hand, scanning the scattered picnic
tables until he finds the one he's looking for.
Scully stands over the car-seat carrier, her newly blonde hair swinging
around her face as she leans over, making silly faces at the baby
in the seat. The breeze carries the sound of a delighted infant gurgle
to Mulder, and Scully laughs, pulling another absurd expression and
making nonsensical noises.
Mulder closes his eyes for a moment, thankfully, reverently, a tender
expression crossing his face. After a moment, he opens them again
and stands watching them thoughtfully. Then he grins and lopes across
the lawn to join them.
* * * * *
University of Maryland Medical Center
Psychiatric Unit
Bethesda, Maryland
June 26, 2001
"My baby," Theresa Hoese moans in her hospital bed, tossing
fretfully.
Observing through a window in her hospital room door, the attending
psychiatrist updates his colleague.
"Paranoid delusional Jane Doe," he reports. "Came in
a few days ago. Has a tendency to get hysterical and combative. She's
only about three weeks pregnant, but she's having persistent delusions
that her baby has been taken from her. We have to keep her sedated
to prevent her from miscarrying."
Inside the room a nurse soothes Hoese. "Shh, try to be still,
you've been very sick, and if you don't take it easy you could hurt
your baby."
"My baby? Where is he? Is he here? Please--where's my baby?"
"It's all right. Your baby is right here," the nurse indicates
Theresa's stomach. "He's safe."
"No
" she moans, thrashing on the bed against her restraints.
"NO! What have you done to me? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!!?"
"See what I mean?" the psychiatrist says knowingly to the
other doctor, entering the room to assist the nurse in calming their
patient.
* * * * *
West 46th Street
New York City, New York
Yoong Li, the same Asian woman Doggett and Reyes saw waiting outside
Deputy Director Skinner's office weeks before--and the same who had
been unceremoniously dragged from her bed the night Beth Miles was
murdered--sits across the desk from Marita Covarrubias in her well-appointed
office.
"The FBI situation?" Covarrubias asks, her own hand resting
over her stomach.
"Secured. Our associate there knows the importance of cooperation.
He's made sure the manhunt has special urgency behind it, with insinuations
of Mulder and Scully's complicity in the other agent's death. If we
do manage to track them down, we have an assured way of keeping them
occupied."
"And there's been no luck tracing them by other means?"
* * * * *
The Office of The Lone Gunmen
Baltimore, Maryland
"Their bank accounts haven't been accessed," Frohike reports
to Skinner, Doggett, and Reyes as Langly and Byers nod in agreement.
"No cars have been rented, bus, train, or airline tickets purchased
with credit cards or identification registered to them. They're off
the map."
"That's a good sign, though, right?" Doggett asks.
Skinner nods unhappily. "Yeah, it's good. No one knows where
they are or how to find them, except maybe these guys," he cocks
his head in Frohike's direction. Langly, Frohike and Byers all stare
back with studiously blank expressions. "So I get to tell Mrs.
Scully nothing has changed."
* * * * *
"Well," Covarrubias concludes. "We have to trust that
if we haven't found them, neither have the colonists. Which means
they got rid of the implant somehow."
"It would appear so," Li replies. "All in all, it's
better that they're out there and untraceable than in the wrong hands."
Marita nods. "For now. We have the Hoese child in our custody
to work with, and I anticipate soon having access to Billy Miles'
daughter as well."
"I thought Strughold intended to have that one destroyed."
Covarrubias gives her associate a meaningful look. "Strughold
is being
attended to."
* * * * *
Tunisia
Conrad Strughold enters the rough hut in which he lives near his projects
in the Tunisian desert, sweating in his light khakis. Night is just
beginning to fall, but it isn't dark enough yet for the desert heat
to have abated. He crosses to a chipped basin and uses tepid water
to wash his face, toweling off in a dusty mirror. Outside, a sandstorm
is rising, and he can hear the wind howling. Beneath it, however,
a low humming is growing louder in the room, and he looks around to
see bees emerging from an open crate at the foot of the narrow cot.
"Mein Gott!" he swears, running for the door, only to find
it barred from outside. The loud thumps and crashes that indicate
his attempts to open it eventually subside into screams, which are
drowned out by the rising desert wind.
* * * * *
Somewhere in North America...
an anonymous car fades into the night.
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