I have walked down the streets of this brave new world, and I have met those that have stood strong in the face of incredible odds. They greet me as you might expect, with awe, with reverence, and even with uncertainty. It is strange for them to see someone, in their point of view, so alone. Some of them understand that it is a matter of choice, a conscious effort to maintain privacy in a world where privacy is a foreign concept. Others wonder if there is some ultimate truth that I keep hidden away, safe from prying eyes, to explain what has happened since that fateful day, one year ago.
Wherever my travels have taken me, one thing has stood as the common thread. In truth, there are days and nights when it is the only thing that keeps me going, the only thing that helps me remember why I must endure. I live my life as a symbol, a burden that I never truly understood when that future was revealed to me, so long ago. But when I hear the stories told, again and again, I understand. I see myself through those eyes, and in those moments, I also see him.
It might seem odd that I enjoy hearing the stories. After all, I spent so much of my life uncovering the truth, and as someone intimately involved with the events when they took place, I know better than most that the stories are often selective and embellished. At first, I admit, I took exception to the liberties taken with my life, with the motivations assigned to those I care for. But it wasn’t long before I saw that the stories had taken on a life of their own. People found truths of their own in our work, and by sharing their perceptions, those truths became history. The real truth, my truth, became just another story, another way of looking at the times that changed the world.
And so in some stories, it was love at first sight. For others, it took much longer. There are even those who insist that there was no love, merely the passion that forms between two people living under constant siege. I can only say that my own story finds it something hard to define. I can’t honestly say that there was a moment when friendship and respect became love. I can only say that once I realized that line had been crossed, it was as if there had never been a line at all.
Already there are those that speak of the stories that will become legend, the stories that tell of my years working on the X-Files. These are stories of mystery, stories that challenge. These are stories that attempt to shed light on the motivations of powerful men overwhelmed by a lack of trust. These men, it is said, attempted to protect themselves from a threat beyond this world. They have become a symbol as well, a symbol of everything that this new world seeks to leave behind. Those men are symbols of self-interest and paranoia.
All those stories, the legends that might ultimately endure, end in the same place. Perhaps it is because in the days after, the events are well known. In the ten years that followed, our every move was a matter of common knowledge among those that now survive. But few speak of the days between, and even fewer speak of the sacrifices that were made. And no one speaks of the choice that was made, though all know of it. If there is an ultimate truth that I keep hidden, then it is that truth. And that is the truth that I choose to share today, on the eve of our Blessing Day. I will tell you about the last days of the human race. I will tell you of the sacrifice of my dearest love.
I will tell you the truth about Fox Mulder.
***
NEAR ELLENS AIR BASE
SOUTHWEST IDAHO
11:23 PM EST
The wind made the long stalks of grass hiss all around him, setting his nerves even more on edge than they already were. With the recent increase in patrols along the perimeter of each and every military base, gathering last minute intelligence was difficult at best and deadly at worst. Too many of their resources were moving into position, and detection was a real concern. The Rebels were descending on many of the same critical locations. If McShane happened to look in the right places, it wouldn’t take him long to figure out the endgame.
Lifting the binoculars to his eyes, he zoomed in on the nearest hanger. All of their intelligence had indicated that there would be at least one of the long-range craft on base, but visual confirmation had been elusive. The last team had been lucky to escape detection, and as the locals had learned the hard way, any perceived incursion past the perimeter would be met with lethal force.
Years of terrorist attacks and carefully planned “homeland security” measures had rendered such responses routine in the minds of the American public. The masses had borne the brunt of the conspiracy’s master plan, and had come to believe in the concept of “national security” above all. The deployment of troops into Afghanistan and Iraq had only been the beginning. Five years after the terrorist attacks of 2001, only a token National Guard presence remained within the borders of the United States.
Those years had seen the emergence of the “security implants”, the solution to the perceived need for a national identification card. Military forces abroad and federal government personnel were the first to receive the implants, advertised as the perfect means of identifying casualties and providing critical medical histories when needed. The fact that the implants recorded and maintained medical data was troubling to some, but as casualties mounted among those without the implants, public perception slowly changed.
He remembered all too well how quickly things changed. His allies had been forced into further isolation as the public demanded the same implant technology following the modified smallpox outbreak of 2005. The eastern seaboard decimated, the government made the implants available to anyone who wanted them. After all, the implants had the side benefit of instant vaccination. He knew all too well how the implants were able to heal all wounds, when programmed to do so.
Things had only gotten worse in the days that followed. As the decade marched on, the rumblings within the scientific community had begun. The implants had been offered to the world in exchange for support in the ongoing “war on terror”. The United Nations had implemented programs to provide the implants to countless millions in famine-stricken lands. The AIDS crisis in Africa had all but been eliminated. New outbreaks seemed to only affect those still holding out on the new technology. By all estimates, just under four billion souls had staked their lives on the security implants.
He remembered the day when the terrible truth came out. As usual, it was couched in terms of regret. According to the media around the globe, the unknown plague had struck before the implants had been perfected. The president and his advisors reminded the populace that such terrible crimes against humanity were the very basis for the ongoing and costly efforts to end world terrorism. But there was little that would comfort a world seemingly left barren.
By 2010, he and the others had been forced to relocate the children to remote camps. With the birth rate suddenly down to almost nothing, any young child was the focus of close scrutiny. Though the masses were unaware of the measures taken to contain the truth, he remembered the cost whenever someone realized that those without implants were the only ones still conceiving. Politically convenient “suicide bombings” had kept the truth concealed and the public dependent on the ever more powerful Department of Homeland Security.
Over the past two years, the final phase of the conspiracy’s grand Project had come to fruition. Much of the world was under the “protection” of the worldwide Counter Terrorism Authority. Each and every one of the soldiers within the CTA was an augmented super-soldier, the kind that had been perfected so many years earlier. If the general population was aware of how many of those soldiers had been declared KIA during operations since the “war on terror” began, there was no evidence of it.
In the past year, millions of children had been born, the result of the “glorious achievement” of government scientists. As expected, the implanted populace seemed to ignore how different the new children were. They were all healthy as could be, all without the need for the implants. But they were also empty inside, docile and content. He had seen children like that himself, long ago. He and the others knew what function they were meant to perform.
And now it was less than 24 hours from the moment when that purpose would be fulfilled, unless they could bring their plan to fruition. The endless labor of ten years of planning would finally come to account. So much of it required that there be a long-range craft in one of the hangers on Ellens Air Base, and so he had volunteered to complete visual confirmation himself. After all, he was the one that would be leading the team to steal it, the one rushing headlong into his unforgiving destiny.
He was shaken out of his reverie by the sudden realization that he was staring at an open hanger door through his binoculars. Excitement stirred in his chest as he recognized the familiar shape of the long-range UFOs used by the conspiracy. Smiling to himself, he slid the binoculars back onto his belt and listened for patrols.
“You were daydreaming again.”
He turned, his eyes wide, even though he recognized the voice. “What are you doing here?”
Dressed all in black, William knelt down, trying not to laugh. He gestured towards his companion, also in black. “Chris told me you were taking care of this yourself. The others told me, of course, but I didn’t want to believe that you would do something so foolish.”
“Someone had to do it,” he replied with a smirk. “Last time I checked, there weren’t many options.”
“Bullshit.” Despite his relative youth, Chris sounded just like his father. His voice had the same mixture of gravel and whiskey, as though he had lived ten years for every one. But then, there was no childhood anymore, not in the conventional sense. “My father would have taken care of it. You should be back at camp, not here.”
He looked into Chris’ eyes, and saw the true meaning of his words. “I thought it would be better to do it myself.” He stood, comfortable that no patrols would sneak up on them with William around. “I’m leading this mission in the morning.”
Chris shook his head. “And I’ll be there with you. So don’t act like that’s your reason.”
He gave Chris a warning glance, and then gathered the rest of his gear. “We have visual confirmation. No reason not to head back now.” He saw something flicker across William’s face, and noticed that Chris tensed as well. “What’s going on? You’re not here just to check on me, are you?”
William’s expression darkened. “Something’s happened. Something unexpected.” William hesitated, and then looked him in the eye. “I don’t know what to do about this. I need your guidance.”
Before he could ask for more information, Chris stepped in. “Not here. We need to leave now. We can cover details on the way, but there’s no time to waste. This could change everything.”
He looked back towards William, who seemed to be staring into space. The young man, usually so sure of himself, looked stricken with doubt. There were only two things that he could think of that would have such an effect on him, and both of them seemed impossible at this stage of the game.
“Who is it?” he choked out, hoping that he was wrong.
“Everyone’s fine,” Chris replied, nodding to confirm that it was the other issue. “My mother’s seeing to the injured, but that’s the least of our worries.” He turned back to William, to make sure the young man wasn’t listening. “You haven’t told her, have you?”
He glared at Chris, biting back a curse. “Your father talks too much. It’s none of your damn business.”
“You have to tell her,” Chris insisted, keeping his voice low. “You can’t do this to her again.”
“Don’t we have another crisis to deal with?” Mulder stepped around Chris, intentionally walking towards his son. “We can argue about what should or shouldn’t be said later. We’re running out of time.”
***
ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO
MAY 27, 2002
2:15 AM EST
“You were daydreaming again.”
Mulder turned towards Scully, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was. Scully was still propped up on the bed, rubbing at her eyes wearily. Mulder sighed, and resumed looking out the window, watching as the rain pelted the glass. Whatever had just run through his mind, it was already fading. For all he could tell, it was some kind of fantasy, some vague dream of a final stand against all odds. Everything that had happened over the past few weeks rushed back. There was little wonder why he kept seeing things, dreaming up events that would never happen, after what he had learned. It was one thing to know the date was set; it was quite another to see that date in all its reality.
“What are you thinking?” He heard her question through the muddle of his own thoughts, but he wasn’t sure how to answer. “Mulder?”
What was he supposed to say? He had been on trial for his beliefs, a trial meant to justify his execution. He wasn’t even sure why he had been on trial anymore. He remembered breaking into the Mount Weather facility, but beyond that, he couldn’t grasp anything that had happened since he had left her. An entire year was a jumble. For every disjointed memory of sitting with Gibson, hiding from the world, he could hear the sound of the wind through the stalks of grass, the profile of a familiar young man, and yet it told him nothing.
“I’m thinking,” he said hesitantly, “I’m a guilty man. I’ve failed in every respect. I deserve the harshest punishment for my crimes.”
“You don’t believe that.” He could hear it in her voice. She knew him so well, to see that he was as confused as anyone. But he had to try to communicate what he was feeling, even if he wasn’t sure of it himself.
“I believe that I sat in a motel room like this with you, when we first met, and I tried to convince you of the truth. And in that respect, I succeeded, but in every other way?” He turned to look her in the eye. “I’ve failed.”
If she doubted him, there was no hint of it behind her eyes. “You don’t believe that, either.”
He sighed, not sure what he believed. He had been trying to uncover the truth for years, and in the end, the conspiracy had crushed every single attempt he had made. Then they had come for Scully and their son, and all he could do was leave. But for all that he had sacrificed, he had been unable to keep Scully and William out of the line of fire. In the end, he hadn’t just failed himself; he had failed them as well. And now he had proof, solid proof, that his work on the X-Files had been for nothing.
“I’ve been chasing after monsters with a butterfly net,” he said finally. “You heard the man. The date is set. I can’t change that.” Or was it that he didn’t want to, knowing the price?
“You wouldn’t tell me.” The way she looked at him, it was almost as if she understood something that he didn’t. Or maybe it was something he couldn’t know, not within his current confusion. Whatever the case, there was a resolve behind her words that he couldn’t deny. “Not because you were afraid or broken, but because you didn’t want to accept defeat.”
“Well,” he said, searching his feelings for something substantial, “I was afraid of what knowing would do to you.” Again, his words felt familiar, and the trace of his daydream teased at the back of his mind. Just what was he afraid to tell her, on the eve of the end of the world? “I was afraid that it would crush your spirit.”
“Why would I accept defeat?” She seemed to reconsider her words, and then she continued. “Why would I accept it, if you won't? Mulder, you say that you've failed but you only fail if you give up. And I know you . You can't give up. It's what I saw in you when we first met. It's what made me follow you...why I'd do it all over again.”
“And look what it’s gotten you.”
“And what has it gotten you? Not your sister. Nothing that you’ve set out for. But you won’t give up, even now.” She reached out, taking his hand firmly, as if trying to impress her own will upon his own. Whatever it was she was keeping to herself, it was still lending strength to her words. “You’ve always said that you want to believe. But believe in what, Mulder? If this is the truth that you’ve been looking for, then what is left to believe in?”
Maybe it was the touch of her skin, or just the resolve in her voice. Whatever it was, it seemed to resonate with something within his soul, reaching past his doubt to something locked away. He tried to take hold of it, but it remained elusive. He could plainly remember his time with Gibson and everything that he had said during the trial, but now it felt ephemeral. He had the sense of something more, events that were more real than the ones locked in his mind. A truth beyond the one he had espoused all those years.
Faces flashed before his eyes, the faces of those passed on. They were the same faces that he had seen at Mount Weather, in his cell, in the desert, and in so many ways, they had not been the faces of the dead. He had spoken with them, touched them, received information from them. They had been watching over him, all by the will of a higher power, one that had touched him before. And he knew, without understanding how, that his experiences made sense, that he had seen enough, long before coming back. It didn’t matter how he knew. It only mattered that something had shaken him to the core, forcing his eyes open, and the time had come to accept it.
“I want to believe that the dead are not lost to us,” he said finally, trying to put it all into words. “That they speak to us as part of something greater than us, greater than any alien force.” He looked into Scully’s eyes, to see if she understood what he was trying to say. On the edge of his consciousness, he could feel that presence. “And if you and I are powerless now, I want to believe that if we listen to what's speaking, it can give us the power to save ourselves.”
“Then we believe the same thing.” Even as she said it, he could see it in her eyes. Whatever she had been keeping to herself, his words had matched it. He could tell that she wanted him to continue, to shake off whatever fatalism had fallen around his shoulders. It was clear as day that she knew something more, something that could change everything. He couldn’t remember what it was, but now he wasn’t so sure that his memories weren’t suspect.
Reaching up, he carefully slid his finger under the cross hanging from her neck, staring at the light reflecting from it. He wasn’t one to believe in God, not in the conventional sense, but more than ever, he could understand her belief. With everything in his own mind in doubt, he still knew that there was something more, just out of reach. Something that could give them answers, if he believed that were answers.
He ran his thumb across her lips, and she kissed it, still staring into his eyes. He could see how much she believed in him. Slipping onto the bed and into her embrace, he thought about all that she had sacrificed for him, and what it meant for her to choose to remain at his side. As she nuzzled close, in mind’s eye, he saw the young man standing in the darkness, the son that was still out there.
“Maybe there’s hope,” he whispered.
But even as he closed his eyes, he heard his own weary voice echoing through the darkness.
“We’re running out of time...”
***
INTERSTATE I-25
OUTSIDE RATON, NEW MEXICO
MAY 27, 2002
2:28 AM EST
John Doggett pulled into the parking lot of the small rest area, staring at the bright neon signs promising food and gas. A quick glance to either side confirmed that there were only a few other travelers at the rest stop, but that didn’t do much to ease his fears. They were still using Knowle’s government issue black SUV, and despite the lack of an obvious tail, he was sure it was just a matter of time before they were located.
He turned to Monica, concerned by her blank, stunned expression. All those miles, and she had barely spoken a word. The reality of their situation was still sinking in, despite the fact that they’d known what was coming for months. They’d been talking about it since the day Mulder left without a word, desperately trying to keep Scully and William out of the line of fire. In a way, John understood what Monica was going through, but he also knew that letting it determine their actions would be fatal. They had to keep moving if they wanted to have a chance at survival.
“Listen,” he said, undoing the seat belt with a slap of the strap against the door. He gently touched her arm, shaking her cautiously until she stirred and turned towards him. He chose to ignore the pained look in her eyes, the depths of loss reflected there.
“We need to get some food, whatever we can pick up without making a scene,” he said, rummaging for his wallet. He checked the contents, and tapped one of his credit cards. “We’ll need to get rid of these. Yours, too. They’ll probably have only one ATM in there, so we’ll have to try to get the maximum cash advance from each card. Hopefully they haven’t thought to freeze our accounts yet.”
“They’ll know where we’ve been,” Monica said, her voice flat.
“Can’t help that,” John countered. He gestured towards the dashboard. “As long as we’re driving this, we’re not going to get very far. We’ll need to think about that problem when we get the chance.” He pulled out his credit cards, including the debit card for his personal back account. “No cards from now on. We’ll get what we can get, and then we leave these where they can be found.”
Monica shook her head, obviously confused and close to being overwhelmed. “Why?”
“Because we want them to be stolen,” John replied with a humorless grin. “Spread yours around. I’ll do the same. Best case, a few people take one each, all going in different directions. We use cash, and we break the bills as soon as possible. No use letting them trace us by the serial numbers through the bank running the machine.”
He pulled the keys from the ignition, taking a deep breath as he considered what else they should be doing. “All right. Food and money are the priorities. We know they’ll trace us this far, so we might as well make a few phone calls. If we have the time.” He glanced at the layout of the building, noting how exposed they would be, thanks to the numerous windows. “One of us should be watching for trouble while the other’s busy.”
“You really think we can make it?” Monica asked, looking him in the eye.
John hesitated, wondering if he should bother lying to her. But knowing Monica, she would see right through it. “I don’t know. Maybe, if we get enough cash to buy a new car first thing in the morning, and the news hasn’t spread. Kersh suggested we make for Canada.” He rubbed his chin, thinking it over. “That’s still our best bet.”
“What about the others?” Monica said, her eyes pleading. “John, we can’t just leave them to fend for themselves.”
“We don’t have a choice,” John said evenly, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. “We have to face facts, Monica. We’re fugitives now. Mulder, Scully...we don’t even know if they survived.” He stuck his wallet and credit cards in the nearest pocket, and reached for the door. “Besides, we can’t help anyone else if we end up getting caught.”
“Would they turn their backs on us?” Monica replied, staring at him as he opened his door.
John sighed, resting his head on his arm, leaning over the open cab. He nodded towards his cell phone, sitting prominently in one of the cup holders in the center console. “If they were trying to find us, we’ve given them every opportunity. Like I said, we have to face facts.
“We’re in this alone.”
***
WOODBURY, NY
MAY 27, 2002
2:35 AM EST
“... investigation are the agents working under Assistant Director Skinner as a part of the so-called X-Files Department, a unit assigned to unsolved cases with supposed links to strange or otherworldly phenomena. Details are sketchy at this time, but some reports claim that Agents John Doggett and Monica Reyes have obstructed attempts to re-capture Mulder in the hours following his escape. Another agent, identified as Dana Scull and seen here in footage from an episode of the reality television show ‘COPS’ on the Fox Network, has also been linked to Mulder, who can be seen espousing one of his unconventional theories...”
Kate Doggett stared at the television screen in disbelief, even though this was the third time that the same report had run on CNN. What they were saying was impossible. John would have never gotten himself involved with some kind of government conspiracy, especially one led by some insane lunatic claiming that the world was about to be invaded by space aliens.
Running her hands through her hair, biting her lip, she ran over to the phone and grabbed it, punching John’s cell phone number. It was much later than she would have called under normal circumstances, but she had a feeling that he was awake. Looking out the kitchen window into the side yard, she found herself wondering where John would be hiding. It took a moment for the dead silence on the line to register. Before she could react, she was startled by a sudden pounding at the door, the phone slipping from her fingers and clattering on the floor.
“Kate!” She instantly recognized Tommy Egan’s frantic voice, and ran towards the door. “Katie!”
She threw open the door, and recoiled when she saw the barely restrained panic in Tommy’s eyes. It was an expression she had never seen on his face before, and it made her blood run cold just at the sight of it. “Tommy? Have you-”
“I’ve seen all of it,” Tommy said, taking her by the shoulders. “Listen, John told me there might be trouble. He said to get you out of here if anything like this happened, something out of the ordinary.”
“Out of the ordinary?” Kate repeated, trying to comprehend. “What-”
“No time,” Tommy interrupted, pulling her through the door. “We have to get as far away from here as we-”
The power cut out, and in the same moment, Tommy was cut off as he pitched backward. Kate felt a spray of something warm across her face as he drove her back against the door, falling to the ground. It was only after she saw the rapidly expanding pool of blood spreading from under Tommy’s body that she realized what was happening.
Falling to the floor on instinct, she knew better than to rush out the door into the line of fire. She ran into the darkened house, relying on her experience to get her to the back door without injury. She made it as far as the other side of the living room before someone stepped out of the shadows. Then she felt something slam into her chest, and she went tumbling across the room.
***
ALEXANDRIA, VA
MAY 27, 2002
2:37 AM EST
Elyssa set her deep blue gaze on the hallway light next to her door as it winked out. Letting out a curse as she sighed, she immediately resumed fishing for her keys, considering whether or not it would be easier to just find a light that was working rather than keep looking in the dark. As the thought crossed her mind, she stopped and glanced down the hallway, the reality of her situation dawning on her a moment too late.
Before she could call out, something wrapped itself around her throat, and someone pulled her away from the door. Her bag fell to the ground, the contents spilling out across the floor as she struggled against her attacker. Scrambling for her life, she drove her foot back into what she thought was a knee. There was a loud crack, and the pressure across her throat fell away as a wire draped itself across her shoulders. She was still sucking in her first breath when she was tossed forward. The impact with her apartment door reduced it to splinters, and by the time she hit the floor, she was screaming in agony. At least one arm was shattered, the flesh raked open on the way through.
Struggling to her knees, supporting her weight with her uninjured arm, she crawled toward her kitchen, praying that she had left her cell phone on the counter. As she inched towards the nearest chair, she struggled as her knees slipped against the wood. She knew it was her own blood, but she needed to call for help before whatever psycho in the hallway came to finish what he had started.
She was halfway to her feet when she heard the sound of fighting in the hallway, and she thought her prayers might have already been answered. But as she turned, she saw someone dressed in black step through the ruins of her door. His hands were empty, but she knew better than to think that mattered. She pulled herself up from her knees and ran for the counter, the cell phone in sight. She wasn’t halfway across the room before something grabbed her mutilated arm close to the shoulder and she was tossed into the opposite wall. The impact sent agony through her mangled limb. Before she could even think to breathe, her killer grabbed her by the throat, lifting her along the wall.
Then, Elyssa heard her neck snap just before everything went black.
***
Craig heard Elyssa screaming as the power cut, and he knew that the moment had arrived. Ever since Mulder had resurfaced, Angel had warned him to keep a low profile, to wait for the inevitable assassins to arrive. By nightfall, he had been certain it would be hours at most. The only surprise was the choice of targets.
Craig launched to his feet, reaching out with his senses. Nothing was completely distinct, but he only registered five modified humans throughout the building. They were all on the same floor, which meant that they were killing the rest of the tenants before turning their attention to him. At best, he would only have a few minutes before they knew what they were dealing with.
He heard the sound of wood snapping, and he pulled open his door, lashing out with a wave of force across the hallway. Three men went crashing to the floor, and Craig jumped at the nearest opponent, driving his knee into the man’s chest. There was a satisfying crunch, but he knew better than to assume the man was down. He broke the man’s right leg on the way to his feet, turning his attention to his second target.
By then, the third man had stepped into Elyssa’s apartment, forcing Craig to change plans. His intended target tackled him to the floor, and then drove a fist into Craig’s side. Craig grunted as he felt something give, and he struck back with a kick, sending the assassin across the hall and onto the stairs. As he pulled himself to his feet, making for Elyssa’s apartment, he heard the sound of her neck being crushed.
Hesitating just long enough to grab a long sliver of wood from the door, he rushed through the doorway as Elyssa’s killer dropped her body. Sensing rather than hearing his remaining opponent recovering behind him, he tossed the wooden spear into the air, driving it towards Elyssa’s killer with a thought. The spear ripped into the man’s chest, impaling him against the wall.
Craig ducked as the third assassin swiped at his head with a Ka-Bar, taking instant advantage when the blade caught in the door jam, breaking his opponent’s arm at the elbow. He was caught by a knee to the gut, expertly delivered to the same spot where he had been punched earlier. He bit back a cry as he forced himself not to drop to the ground, grabbing for the grip of the Ka-Bar as he drove his palm into the bridge of the assassin’s nose. The force sent the delicate bones of the sinus cavity into the man’s brain, and he fell backward. Craig ripped the Ka-Bar out of the door jam, and in the wink of an eye, he jumped out of the doorway into a somersault, slashing across the man’s throat before sending it on a direct course into the chest of one of the two arriving killers.
The last assassin saw the blade take his partner down, and instantly pulled his automatic, emptying the clip at Craig as fast as the weapon could fire. Craig’s eyes went wide, and he desperately tried to divert the bullets as they came at him with blinding speed. Even as he dove for the relative safety of his own apartment, three of the bullets struck him in the side, a fourth lodging itself in his left thigh. Unable to fully react as he hit the ground, he saw the shooter toss away his weapon, reaching down to rip the Ka-Bar free of his wounded partner.
Struggling to his knees against the wall, Craig prepared to defend himself, summoning the strength to slam the man with enough force to rupture every organ in his body. But before he could even begin to pull together the necessary resources, the assassin come to a halt, falling to his knees with a grunt. He was aware of the sound of dozens of bodies dropping.
Angel rushed down the stairs, running to his side. In her eyes, Craig saw a fire that he had only ever seen during their most intimate moments. It was like looking into the depths of creation itself, an elemental force that could be neither controlled nor denied. Even as he watched, that mercurial power seemed to drain from her, and she almost fell against him as he found his feet.
“Elyssa,” he choked, suddenly aware of how hard it was to breathe.
“I know,” Angel said, recovering from her own efforts as she pulled his arm over her shoulder, taking on his weight. “We need to leave.”
Craig let himself be helped towards the front doors and into the night. He noticed that the road had been evacuated, and that there was a strong police presence on either end of the block, where crowds had gathered. None of the watching eyes seemed to register their presence.
“They’re not dead,” he forced himself to mutter. “They’ll come back.”
“No,” Angel replied, pulling him behind one of the cars on the other side of the street. “They won’t.”
She pushed his head down, covering him with her own body. Through his connection with Angel, he felt the slight shift of power as she mentally detonated the explosives that the assassins had been carrying. Concealed within the ensuing choas, Angel pulled him into the shadows, and everything became a blur.
***
MAY 27, 2002
2:43 AM EST
It began with the pain, the sensation of burning in his shoulders, the strain of his muscles stretched tight against their will. The ache seemed to reach up his neck into the back of his head, where a fire was inexorably smoldering, seemingly flaring with every pulse of his beating heart. For a moment, he tried to escape it, but then he realized that it wasn’t going away, no matter how he tried to get around it. So he focused on the pain, letting it expand his senses until he could almost feel again.
It didn’t take long for him to realize that his arms were bound tightly to the back of a chair, the top brace just high enough against his back to force his shoulders to resist. The result was the feeling that his collarbones were about to snap from the pressure. He tried to relax his arms slightly, but the pain only increased as the tight straps binding his arms to the back of the chair bit into his flesh. It was an odd relief to return to the strain.
He tried moving his fingers next, to see if there was any way to touch the straps around his wrists. When that failed, he shifted in his seat, testing the rest of his body. Sure enough, his ankles were strapped to the front legs of the chair. It didn’t take long to confirm that his captors knew what they were doing; his feet could barely touch the floor, and any movement reminded him that his legs were forced into an awkward, bent position. There was no chance of escaping on his own.
He took a slow, deep breath, and felt some lingering pain in his chest. There was something familiar about it, something that he couldn’t quite place. No matter how he used the pain in the back of his head to keep himself alert, it also made it very hard to think clearly. He was aware enough to wonder if that was the point.
Taking another deep breath, he forced his eyes open, and found that he was in a dark room, with only a small window on the far wall. The light from the outside wasn’t enough to give him a sense of the space he was in, but he couldn’t imagine that it was anything other than a crude and efficient cell. Through the window, there was only a formless white; it could have been any prison or isolated facility. The total of absence of sound, other than his own breathing and pounding heart, told him the rest of the story.
Left to his own thoughts, he realized that he had no idea how he had ended up in the cell. He remembered being pulled into a room by members of the conspiracy, men that he knew to be killers, assassins. Even worse, they weren’t human. They had closed the door, and then there was nothing; he couldn’t remember a thing after that. But his current situation meant that things had gone badly, without a doubt.
He wasn’t a fool. When that door had closed, he had felt the rush of fear and regret that comes in the moments before certain death. Even now, he could see it in that last flash of memory, the eyes of the man standing by the door as it was locked and secured. It was a fate he had resigned himself to months, even years earlier. He had always understood that there would be a price.
Death, however, would have been a mercy. It didn’t take much to understand why he was still alive. He had information, and people didn’t wake up strapped to a chair in a dark room if they weren’t going to be tortured. He wondered absently if that was the familiar sensation in his chest. Something told him it had been a kind of torture, but nothing conventional. He looked away from the window, hoping against all reason that his eyes might somehow adjust, that he might discover some detail about his cell. At the very least, it was an excuse to focus on something other than the pain.
There had been so many chances to change things, to take a stand instead of biding his time, waiting and waiting until there was nothing left but the most tenuous chance at prolonging his own life. By the time he had made a choice, it was far too late to make a difference. Too many allies were gone, and everyone with influence had been replaced. It had become a question of maintaining a kind of false value. He knew, in the end, that he was only giving the others a few more months of survival with every attempted double-cross and betrayal. It was unlikely that he would ever know if it had been worth it.
The window moved to one side as a large rolling door opened along the front wall of his cell. Blinking against the sudden brightness of the stark white walls, he saw two dark figures standing in the wide entrance. As his eyes began to focus, he noticed the hallway on the other side of the door, the walls covered with some kind of white plastic material.
He blinked, trying to get a better look at the two figures in the doorway. One was much taller than the other. The tall one, definitely a man, stepped into the room. He couldn’t focus on the man’s features, but it was clear that the man was staring at him intently. The man stopped about halfway into the room, and then gestured for the other to come forward. He was unable to tell if the shorter figure was a man or woman, but he had the very disturbing feeling that it was a child. As the door began to close, he suddenly realized where he had to be, and who was visiting him in his cell. And just as immediately, he knew that his situation was far, far worse than he could have imagined.
The room went dark again, and then without a sound, a bright and harsh light erupted from above. From the small amount of space that was illuminated, he could guess that it was a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. But he was more worried about the two standing in front of him, now fully revealed in the light. The young girl seemed to stand just on the boundary between light and shadow, but she watched him with a clinical intensity that left him cold. Still, it was nothing compared to the depths of unspoken intent within her father’s eyes.
Placing a hand on the arm of the chair, Thomas McShane bent down, so he could be plainly seen and understood. He smiled, but there was nothing of amusement in that expression.
“Good to see you’re awake, Walter. We have much to discuss.”
***
INTERSTATE I-25
OUTSIDE RATON, NEW MEXICO
MAY 27, 2002
2:51 AM EST
John watched Monica casually walk towards one of the two ATMs, prominently located next to the restroom entrances and the small but functional food court. She was a bit more animated now that they had some semblance of a plan in place, but he could still read defeat in her body language. He couldn’t blame her for feeling like they were fighting a losing battle. Regardless of how many times Angel had warned them, no matter how hopeless their cause had become, nothing could match the reality of standing on the wrong side of the fence.
Scanning the desolate landscape surrounding the rest stop, John picked up the phone and absently called Skinner’s office number. It was a move that he knew their enemies would anticipate, and as he expected, there was no answer. He was sure that Walter was dead, and he knew that he might find out what really happened to his friend.
It took him a moment to remember Tommy’s cell phone number. He would have called Kate directly, but he didn’t want the wrong people to know he was checking on her. Tommy, on the other hand, was an old friend in law enforcement; they would John to call him, to call in whatever markers he had. John frowned when he received a message that the number was no longer in service.
He tried several more numbers, running through a mental list of family members. He even tried to contact Mo Dannah again, just to see what the response would be. Every call sent his heart deeper into the pit of his stomach; every single line was disconnected or no longer in service.
He heard someone come up behind him, and saw Monica staring at his face. There must have been something about his expression that told her what was happening, because she visibly paled. He shook his head, hanging up. “I can’t get in touch with anyone.”
Monica swallowed past an obviously dry throat. She placed a credit card inside one of the phone booths. “I managed to get a little less than a thousand from three cards. I couldn’t use the bank card, but we might be able to use it for a car in the morning. It’s a check card.”
“All right,” John breathed, pulling out his wallet. He counted the cards again. “I’ve got four, not counting the bank card. I’ll hit up the other machine, grab some food.” He gestured towards the phone. “Maybe you should try your family while we’ve got the chance.”
“Yeah,” Monica said, reaching hesitantly for the phone. Her hand was shaking badly. “What if they don’t answer? Does that mean what I think it means?”
“I don’t know,” John admitted. He glanced over at the food court, and sighed at the choices. “Hope for the best, even if you can’t get through.” He dismissed the fast food, preferring the thought of something more substantial. “Keep an eye out for trouble.”
He left her to make her calls, carefully scanning the faces of the other patrons as he walked over to the ATM. None of them returned his gaze with anything other than disinterest, which was a good sign. He noticed for the first time that there was a television in one corner, tuned to Fox News. He smirked, sliding the first card into the machine as he listened to the newscast.
“...from Colorado this evening, as the standoff appears to be coming to a head. ATF officials are working with the Office of Homeland Security to determine whether or not the children are being held hostage at the commune as part of a domestic terrorism agenda. Statements from the Department of Justice have yet to address the impact of growing federal forces at several staging areas close to the commune lands.
“There have been, however, several more press conferences regarding the recent escape of suspected domestic terrorist and ex-FBI agent Fox Mulder from military detention outside of Washington more than 24 hours ago. There’s no word regarding the identity of the accomplices in Mulder’s escape, but officials have speculated that the murder of Deputy Director Alvin Kersh was committed by missing Assistant Director Walter Skinner. Skinner is reported to have assaulted several senior officials inside the Hoover Building during the initial stages of the investigation into Fox Mulder’s escape. It is widely believed that Walter Skinner has been implicated in that investigation....”
John stared at the television screen as Walter’s profile, and then their own pictures, were briefly displayed, along with their physical descriptions. He was relatively sure that none of the others in the rest area were paying close attention, but he knew that his features were distinctive enough to be memorable. They were running out of time.
“...what the President had to say about the events of the past 48 hours: ‘It has become apparent that there has been a concerted effort on the part of several members of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, led by a charismatic, maverick agent named Fox Mulder, to undermine the security of this great nation. Mulder and his associates have been linked to several bizarre allegations against almost every government agency, playing on paranoia and sowing seeds of distrust. It has come to the attention of my administration that Mulder had sufficient knowledge and experience regarding domestic terrorist groups, as well as aid from within the FBI and elsewhere, to pursue his own disturbing agenda.’
“It is unclear whether or not the recent reports possibly linking the recent bioterrorism in New Jersey and Washington...”
John tuned out the rest, not wanting to get caught up in the details while in such a vulnerable position. They could listen to the radio while they were driving, if they wanted to know more. He counted the money from his cards, happy to find that his cash advances had amounted to more than a thousand dollars. Between the two of them, there was more than enough to get a decent used car, if they could get far enough overnight to find a town large enough for that kind of economy.
Leaving his last card in the machine, he took three $20 bills and stuffed the rest into his pockets. Sooner or later, they’d have to find a place to secure their funds, but now wasn’t the time. He cautiously stepped up to the counter of a small sub shop, avoiding eye contact as he placed an order for six whole subs. It was enough to hold them over until they could get to the border, which meant getting a new vehicle would be the only substantial delay.
“Hey!” John looked up to see a man in a flannel shirt staring at him by the door. From his appearance, he was likely a truck driver, and probably not local. “You look familiar! Do I know you?”
“Don’t think so,” John replied dismissively, tossing his money on the counter as his sandwiches were tossed into a bag.
“Yeah,” the man said, glancing over at the phones. “Yeah, I’ve seen you, you and the other one. You’re those FBI agents. The ones on the news, the ones who helped that terrorist escape!”
“I think you’ve got the wrong people, friend.” John noticed that his money was still sitting on the counter, which meant the girl behind the counter had also recognized him. He was keenly aware of the number of people looking at him, and he glanced at Monica to see if she was making a move. Thankfully, she was willing to wait, taking his lead.
“I don’t think so,” the driver replied with a scoffing laugh. “I think I’d remember a face like yours. And that woman of yours.” He turned to a man eating at one of the tables. “Call the police. I’ll make sure they don’t go anywhere.”
John slowly slid his hand towards his weapon, staring the man down. “It doesn’t have to be like this. We just want to get some food and be on our way. You’re involving yourself in a federal invest-”
He stopped short at the sound of a cell phone clattering on the floor, and he noticed that everyone else in the room had gone still. They blinked, as if unsure of something, and then carried on as if the entire confrontation had never happened. He watched the truck driver step into the restroom, and only looked away when he heard the sound of the register as the girl got him his change.
“You should have been more careful. You ought to know how it works, being an FBI agent.”
John turned and saw Gibson Praise standing at the door, the young Native man just behind him. The Native man smiled, and then tossed a set of keys to John. John absently caught them, not entirely aware of what was happening. Monica appeared at his side, similarly confused as she took the change and food from the girl behind the counter.
“There’s a car waiting outside,” Gibson explained, stepping towards them. He thrust out his hand. “He’ll need the keys for your truck. He’ll take it from here.”
John pulled out the keys, glancing at the Native man as he handed them to Gibson. “What the hell is going on? Is he the one who did...that?” He waved towards the restroom.
Gibson nodded. “That and more. He was able to convince a few people to give us plane tickets to Dallas, and then some other people sold us their car at the airport. There’s no chance of them tracking you.” He pointed at the bulge in Monica’s pocket. “Even the money should be all right for a couple of days.”
John studied Gibson carefully, and saw an odd determination in the young man’s eyes. “What exactly is happening here?”
Gibson smiled, but it was a humorless act. “What we hope is an unexpected move.”
***
PHARMACEUTICAL RESEARCH INSTITUTE
RARITAN, NJ
MAY 27, 2002
3:23 AM EST
Skinner strained to watch asMcShane methodically moved surveillance equipment against one of the walls. The wires seemed to move of their own accord, and McShane connected them with little hesitation. In the space of ten minutes, dozens of small screens had been arranged against the wall, all showing various locations around McShane’s complex. While it was hard for him to see clearly, thanks to the contrast between the bright screens and the relative darkness of the room, it seemed that none of the hallways were currently occupied.
“Only a few of the actual employees remain,” McShane said, as if in response to Skinner’s thoughts. “They’ve served their purpose. Now that we’ve revealed our existence, there’s little point in maintaining the cover of a typical research facility.”
“I don’t understand,” Skinner choked out. The pain in the back of his head was still making it hard to think, mated with the fire in his shoulders. “Why are you doing this?”
“You mean, why have I brought you here,” McShane replied. He stepped back, as if inspecting the array of screens, and then nodded to himself before turning in Skinner’s direction. “I wasn’t looking for you, actually. I was hoping to find Mulder. He would have been the most useful bait for this trap, but there wasn’t time.” McShane smiled. “You, however...you were the prefect alternative.”
Skinner licked his lips, wincing at the bitter mixture of blood and sweat. “I know all about you. What makes you think I’ll help you?”
McShane grinned. “You do know about me, don’t you? John, Monica, Craig. Even...Angel, is it, now? You’d be interested to know some of what she’s done in the name of preserving the future.” He walked into the middle of the room, just in front of Skinner, his expression completely unreadable. “I know they’ve talked to you about me. That much I can see in your thoughts. But what they’ve told you, the details...that I can’t see. Interesting.”
“It’s hidden.” McShane’s daughter, Rhiannon, stepped into the light, examining Skinner as if he were a specimen. “She made sure of it.”
“Of course,” McShane muttered under his breath. “She knew some of you would be caught, didn’t she? And the enemy has made certain advances, in terms of extracting information.” Without warning, McShane reached forward and pressed two fingers against Skinner’s neck. Immediately, Skinner felt a wave of vertigo, and it became difficult to breathe. “The question is, Walter, did Angel take us into account?”
McShane continued to apply pressure, until Skinner was sure that he was going to pass out. But just as black specks began to rush over his field of vision, McShane stepped away, leaving Skinner to choke out a rough hacking cough, desperately trying to get some air.
“We don’t have much time, Walter,” McShane continued, walking back over to the wall of screens. “And once the fun begins, there won’t be much time to consider the next move. Everything has been leading to this moment.” He turned back, but remained standing in the pale glow of the monitors. “I’ve been studying the conspiracy’s own communications, Walter. They’ve been preparing for critical moment for quite some time, and I’ve seen it all. Unless someone does something about it, right now, they will be too strong to resist. And I can’t allow that.”
Skinner tried to laugh. It sounded more like a strained wheeze, but he managed to get his point across. “You don’t need me for that. And as far as I’m concerned, I hope they tear your ass apart!”
McShane shook his head. “That won’t happen.” He gestured towards the surveillance monitors. “Right now, the enemy is on the way to this facility with about a third of their available resources. They have reason to believe that some of Mulder’s sympathizers might be operating a terrorist cell here. Evidence for which I have been more than happy to provide.”
“What makes you think they’d be stupid enough to use so many?” Skinner spat out. “Do you know how many of those things there are?”
“Yes,” McShane answered plainly. “As to why they might have incentive for coming here...”
He nodded towards Rhiannon, and the young girl stepped forward, forcing Skinner to look her directly in the eye. She gave him a cruel smile, and that was the last thing he saw, as the pain in the back of his head became a blinding white heat, consuming everything.
***
Skinner looked back at John, Monica, and Gibson, sure that it was going to be the last time he saw any of them. He had no illusions regarding his own survival, not anymore. In the end, he had made the right choice, defending Mulder in that kangaroo court. He had know, from the beginning, that there would be consequences, and with the stranglehold that the conspiracy had on the intelligence community and the military, it was only a matter of how and when he would be killed.
Of course, he hadn’t expected it to be in the middle of the Hoover Building.
One of the replacements closed the door, and Skinner glanced around the room. Along with Kersh, he was surrounded by five of the so-called super-soldiers. The one in charge, a man with a severe crew-cut, locked the door and gestured for one of the other men to guard it as he slipped on black leather gloves. Skinner, unsure of how this was supposed to happen, stepped towards the outside window, glancing at the ground far below. There was no chance that anyone would see anything unusual, not with the sun reflecting on the glass.
“All right,” Kersh bellowed, staring down the lead assassin. “So now what are you going to do? Kill us right here?”
The assassin responded by pulling out a handgun, silencer already in place. He fired off three quick, tightly grouped shots to the center of Kersh’s chest. The man was dead before his body tumbled back against the desk, crumpling in a heap on the floor.
The assassin calmly placed the handgun on the desk, sliding it towards Skinner. “Pick it up.” When he hesitated, one of the other assassins stepped forward, grabbing him by the back of the neck and forcing him towards the desk. “This is the clean way to do it. Don’t force our hand.”
Skinner glared at the lead assassin, nostrils flaring, as he reached for the gun. At a nod from his leader, the replacement behind Skinner let him go, stepping back into his previous position. Skinner took a deep breath, staring at the gun in his hand. Knowing the answer, he asked the obvious question anyway. “What now?”
“Murder/suicide,” the lead assassin said with a sigh. “You never got along with the Deputy Director. You felt that he had gained his position by betraying your trust. After recent events, rather than go to prison for treason, you chose this.”
“You expect me to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger,” Skinner replied, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. The assassin simply smiled; that was answer enough.
Skinner glanced out the window, staring out into the brightness of the day. So this is where it would end. More than a few times, he had been willing to die for Mulder’s cause, but every time, there had been a way out, usually by compromising himself even more, time and again. Now, at the end, he wondered whether Mulder and Scully would survive long enough to benefit from his final act of sacrifice.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, raising the gun to his head. Before he got even halfway, he stopped as a stabbing pain erupted in his shoulder. His eyes snapped open as a numbing cold seemed to spread through his body, leaving him unable to control his own movements. He heard the voice of the lead assassin, but it was as if at a distance.
As if watching someone else, Skinner saw his arm swing out, blackened veins distending along its length. He was vaguely aware that he was moving faster than the assassins could react, as he emptied the rest of the clip into the nearest window pane. Massive spider webs erupted within the glass, but it remained intact. Skinner felt his legs tense beneath him, the same stabbing pain ripping through his limbs. Without a sound or word, he leapt at the window, crashing through the weakened glass as though it hadn’t even been there. Despite the hazy disconnected feeling pervading his entire body, he experienced the terror of every second of the freefall to the ground.
The moment of impact brought a crushing wave of agony, more than he had ever thought possible. Somehow, he remained conscious, and he was aware of every broken bone and burst organ in his body. Flashes of memory from Vietnam shot past his awareness. He knew that he was dying, and even as the darkness began to descend, he wondered what had possessed him to do something so stupid. And he wondered if everything Angel had said about death would turn out to be true, or just another pleasant fiction.
It took a moment for him to realize that he wasn’t dead; in fact, he had actually started to breathe again. He was vaguely aware that his pain was receding, leaving only the fire in his veins and the throbbing in the back of his head. Not knowing what might be next, he pushed himself onto his side, ignoring the horrified stares and cries of people on the street. He was still trying to gather enough will and energy to pick himself off the ground when someone stepped into view. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he saw a young girl standing a few feet away, staring at him with open curiosity.
“Well,” the man said, kneeling down. The man was relatively nondescript, but a power radiated from within, as if burning behind his eyes. “So this is Walter Skinner.” The man looked up, to what Skinner imagined was the shattered window high above. “I imagine they think you know a great deal, to want you to blow your brains out.”
Skinner blinked. Whatever had just happened, it was getting even more insane by the moment. He choked out a sound, still unsure what was working and what wasn’t.
“Now, now,” the man said, shaking a finger in warning. “Don’t try to talk. There’ll be time for that soon enough.” He smiled, a cruel gesture. “Just give those friends of yours in your blood some time to heal those wounds. After all, how else are we going to discover what you can endure?”
***
Skinner snapped out of the recovered memory with a jerk. He ignored the resulting lance of pain in the center of his back, focusing instead on the fading pain in the back of his head. He was all too aware that it was centered near the back of his neck.
“The nanocytes,” Skinner croaked out past a suddenly dry throat.
“Easy enough to control,” McShane confirmed, nodding absently, still crouched in front of Skinner. “I’ve been studying them for quite some time. Thanks to what we discovered about their operation, in fact, we were able to unlock the secrets of those so-called super-soldiers.”
McShane tapped the back of his neck. “You see, Walter, it all comes down to control. In your case, the nanocytes are controlled from an outside source, such as that wonderful Palm Pilot that Krycek used to possess.” He gestured in Skinner’s direction. “The nanotechnology has evolved since then, of course, but as you might now realize, your nanocytes were just waiting for something to send a command.”
Realization dawned, and Skinner couldn’t hide his horrified reaction. “You were controlling me?”
McShane just nodded. “Your little friends might be primitive compared to what we’re facing now, but they are remarkably adaptive. All of the necessary functionality one could want: replication, repair, enhancement…it’s not surprising that they took the next step towards the organic analogue, but sometimes the old tech still has uses.”
“If what the others said is true,” Skinner rasped, “then you can do anything you want.” He nodded towards Rhiannon. “Same with that daughter of yours. So why?”
McShane smiled, shaking his head. “I thought that was obvious. Walter...ah, Walter, there’s nothing I can’t make your own body do, completely against your will. Everything Krycek could do, I can do with a thought. And more, if necessary.” He looked back at Rhiannon. “And as I said, your nanocytes are quite similar to those within the super-soldiers coming to kill us. My daughter could use some practice, and I could use some information.”
McShane turned back towards Skinner, nearly expressionless. “Now...the others. Tell me where they are, or where they were planning to go.”
Skinner knew what was coming, regardless of his answer. But he had to try anyway, just to tell himself that he had done everything in his power to spare himself the agony. “I don’t know where they are. How could I? You know as well as I do that I was about to be killed!”
“I know,” McShane said softly. “But what did you see that you were unaware of, Walter? What did you observe without realizing it? That’s what we’re going to dig out of you, Walter. One scrap at a time.”
Even though he was expecting it, the flare of pain in the back of his head exploded, as if acid were being poured into an open wound. Skinner felt his muscles twitching as something like electricity sent him into tremors, and the strain began to tear his shoulders apart. Through the haze of his blurred vision, he could clearly see Rhiannon walking towards him, a slight smile on her face.
***
TIR NAILL
DECEMBER 22, 2012
12:16 AM EST
Mulder stood on the hillside, staring out over the rolling countryside. The moon was partially obscured by clouds, but there was enough light to paint the world around him like waves on a sea of shadow. This place had been called many names, and he had no doubt that most of them fit. William still called it Tir Naill, the name that Angel had given it years before. For Mulder, another name had stuck: The Dark Plain. The fact that it wasn’t a plain at all was incidental.
Years had passed since the burned out shells below had provided true shelter; until recently, it had been avoided as a security risk. For those travelers on the strangeways that needed a place to rest, carefully hidden from view, the hills were far more convenient. With the moment of truth coming ever closer, risks had to be taken. Returning to Tir Naill was one of those risks. Several paths among the strangeways converged at this place.
“You couldn’t have known.”
Mulder turned, frowning at the sight of Chris looking out over the same nightscape. He looked too much like his father in that moment, his features softened in the low light. “I’m the one who made the call. I should have known that coming back here would be trouble.”
“My father agreed with your plan,” Chris reminded him. “And he’s never been one to invite exposure.” He walked a bit further out onto the hill. “What are you looking for out here, Mulder?” He looked back, his expression guarded. “You still expect him to show?”
“Have I ever been wrong?” Mulder said with a half-hearted grin. “Well, about that, anyway?”
“No,” Chris admitted. “But when it comes to Prophet, we’re concerned that there’s always a first time.” Shrugging, he walked back in Mulder’s direction. “I don’t feel anyone out there.”
“None of you can feel it when he’s there,” Mulder pointed out. “For that matter, there’s this other little problem we’re now dealing with that none of you noticed, either.” Chris didn’t answer, but then, Mulder wasn’t expecting him to. Ever since the short argument outside of Ellens Air Base, Chris had kept a relative distance, physically and emotionally. As they walked the short distance down the hill to the largest of the burned out frames, Mulder admonished himself for pushing away his son’s closest confidante. Chris was like family, and even if Mulder wasn’t especially happy about the young man knowing more than he should, he was confident that family secrets would remain exactly that.
As they approached the edge of the shelter, they were greeted by a middle-aged woman with streaks of grey in her hair. Along her left cheek was the distinctive line of a scar, something that marked her as a rarity among those within the underground. Few of the sentinels retained scars for long, once they learned to alter their appearance at will. But this woman wasn’t a sentinel in the strictest sense, and she had chosen to retain much of her humanity from the very beginning.
“Mother,” Chris said, pulling her into a hug.
“Morgan,” Mulder said with a slight grin. “How are they doing?”
“Well, one of them may never break out of it,” Morgan Dannah admitted as she led them into the remains of the building. Mulder tried not to take too close a look at the ruins; it would be all too easy to remember that day, to let it distract him. Even so, Mo seemed to read his mind. “It’s hard coming back here, isn’t it?”
“So many died here,” Mulder said, knowing that any further explanation would be unnecessary. Mo had been there, when Tir Naill had fallen. She understood why the sacrifice had been made, and what that day had made possible. As Mulder stared out onto the field where so many had died, his eyes fell on a small rise, several hundred yards opposite the hill where he had been standing. That was the spot that held the most meaning for him, even if the others would never fully understand the choice he had made when standing in that very spot. At least, not until that choice played itself out.
“Our friends won’t add to the toll,” Mo replied, “but like I said, one of them will never fully recover, even if he comes to.” She led them to the center of the ruined building’s floor, and stepped to one side with Mulder. Without breaking stride, Chris reached out with his mind, lifting the heavy steel plate that covered the entrance to the underground shelter. The young man stopped at the top of the stairs and let Mulder and his mother step down ahead of him. Once they were clear, he followed, gently dropping the steel plate back in place as he descended.
Mulder followed Mo into one of the small rooms off the main hallway. Though the buildings above ground had been destroyed ten years earlier, the bunkers below the main building had remained intact. The main building had been used by the military for some time after the second World War, and it had been easy to re-engineer the space for their own purposes. One of the rooms made for an efficient makeshift infirmary with several cots; two of the cots were currently occupied.
“David ought to be fine in a few hours,” Mo continued, gesturing to a strong young man fitfully sleeping on a cot in the far corner. “William apparently realized what was happening and got here in time to prevent the worst.” She walked over to the other occupied cot, and gently stroked the hair of the young man lying there, still and staring into space. “Jonothan wasn’t so lucky.”
Mulder watched Jono for a few minutes, thinking furiously. This was everything they had been afraid of, ever since the final strategy had been set into motion. The timing was too perfect to be an accident. Jono had to have been a message, and it wasn’t likely that the message was going to be a good one. “Where is she now?”
“Father’s watching her,” Chris said behind him. Quickly, he added, “He kept her away from William.”
Mulder took a deep breath, unable to stop worrying about his son. Jono had been one of the most promising among the sentinels, one of William’s closest friends. Now he was catatonic, unable to overcome what had been seared into his psyche. Mulder didn’t have to guess at what had been done to Jono; the same thing had happened dozens of times over the past few years. One of the sentinels would be sent into the field, usually undercover, and he or she would end up missing. Upon discovery, they always looked like Jono: stunned into an eternal haze of overwhelming ecstasy, completely unresponsive.
“I won’t end up like Jono.”
Mulder turned, and saw William in the doorway, staring at his friend. “Why risk it?”
“Because it’s the reason she came here,” William replied, as if he had rehearsed the answer a million times in his head. “She did this to Jono to remind us of what she could’ve done to all of us, if that’s what she’d come to do. She’s here for something else.” He hesitated, and then looked at Mulder with an expression that was all too personally familiar. “She’s here for me.”
“No,” Mulder said, shaking his head as he stepped into the hallway, grabbing William by the arm. He looked his son in the eye. “Listen to me. I can see what she’s doing to you. She’s under your skin, and there’s not a thing you can do about it, is there? You know what’s at stake come morning. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you step into a trap now.”
“It’s not your choice.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Mulder snapped back, the image of that small rise above ground returning unbidden to the forefront of his thoughts. “I can’t let you do this.”
William shook his head. “It’s not your choice. I don’t know how to explain this to you, but this is something I’ve seen coming my entire life, as long as I can remember. I’ve always known that it would come down to the two of us. It’s like this...this moment, this choice...this is what it’s all been for.”
“I need you to understand,” Mulder said, placing his hands on his son’s shoulders. “If you walk into that room, and she wins, everything we’ve done for the last ten years, everything we’ve fought and died for, will mean absolutely nothing.” The full weight of his own choice fell on him, and for a fleeting instant, he wanted to tell his son what had to be, the outcome that he had seen with his own eyes. But in the end, he couldn’t.
“And I need you to understand, father.” William smiled slightly. “If I don’t face this, if I don’t walk into that room, then we’ve already lost.” He gently took Mulder’s hands from his shoulders, and took a step further down the hall. “She’s already here, and that means one of two things. Whichever it is, I’m the one to face it.”
Mulder looked into his son’s eyes, and felt pride welling in his chest. It nearly killed him to think that he would never get to see his son in better days, when the threat was finally over. The best outcome was still, for him, the end of the line. “All right,” he relented. “But John and I will be watching and listening. Understood?”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” William replied. “Let’s get this over with.”
Mulder followed William through the underground maze until they found John waiting for them, leaning against one of the closed doors with his arms crossed. By his expression, it was clear to Mulder that John agreed with him about the risk to William. But he was also clearly waiting for William to come and get it over with. Like his father before him, once William made a decision, there was no talking him out of it.
John Doggett stroked his chin, one fingertip tracing the scar along his neckline, as it always did when he made the gesture. Like Mo, John had chosen to retain the marks of his humanity. It had been a decision they had made together; as long as some trace of humanity was left in the world, they would look the part. “Couldn’t talk him out of it?”
“I even forbade him,” Mulder replied evenly. “Twice.”
“Worked about as well as usual,” William added, but his usual humorous tone was deadly serious. “We’re running out of time.”
John glanced at Mulder with a grimace. “You’re telling me.” John shook his head, and then pointed to the next door down the hall, turning to William. “We’ll be right in there behind the glass.”
“She’ll know you’re there,” William reminded him.
“Good,” John countered. “You need us for anything, we’re only a few feet away.” He shrugged. “Not like that would help, if she’s here to kill us all, but between the two of us, hopefully someone will hear all the things you’ll miss.”
William raised an eyebrow. “You think I’ll miss something?”
“Kid,” John said with a rueful smile, “has there ever been a time she hasn’t gotten under your skin? Of course you’ll miss something.” William didn’t reply, so John waved them away from the door. Letting out a deep sigh, he turned the knob and pushed it open.
She was standing in the corner of the room, staring at the doorway with a sultry smile on her ruby lips. Waves of crimson framed her angelic face, flowing down over her bare shoulders to the top of the leather halter that clung to her body like a second skin. Her boots tapping on the concrete under her feet, she walked over to the small chair next to the wooden conference table in the center of the room. Slowly, she turned the chair backwards, straddling it. She leaned forward with a wolfish grin.
“William, William,” Rhiannon cooed, shifting in her seat, enjoying his reaction to the sound of her leather pants creaking with every movement.
“Shall we dance?”
***
PHARMACEUTICAL RESEARCH INSTITUTE
RARITAN, NJ
MAY 27, 2002
4:11 AM EST
Thomas McShane tapped one of the monitors, frowning. By all evidence, everything was going according to schedule. His sources had noted the efficient movements of several squads slipping into position in the surrounding area, and at that very moment, one of the advance teams had begun reconnaissance from a position just west of the Somerville Circle.
What bothered him, more than anything, was the unbearable feeling that something was still left in doubt. He was confident in his plans for the coming ambush, despite his lack of combat experience. He had managed to develop strong hand-to-hand fighting skills, but his true tactical advantage was information. His abilities made it nearly impossible for the conspiracy to effectively hide pertinent information from him, since subordinates rarely understood the value of what they discovered through casual notice.
But for all that he could determine the movements of his enemies within the conspiracy within the next several hours, he could not see beyond that point into the future. Even events a day away were hopelessly entangled by the interference caused by others with similar prescience. And that made him very, very nervous.
On an intellectual level, he understood that this was a time he knew would come. His future self wouldn’t have sent back representatives into the recent past, armed with certain knowledge of future events, unless no other method had been at his disposal. As it was, he only knew that he was destined to create and foster a following of genetically altered humans, co-opted from the conspiracy itself, with the intent to end the threat of Purity and place his daughter in firm control of humanity’s future.
It sounded insane, even to his own ears. These were the dreams and fantasies of the disturbed, not the aims and goals of a practical man of the modern world. And yet, he was the near-culmination of a genetic program begun thousands of years earlier, by beings that were practically angelic in their own right. Absurdity was more or less the norm of his existence.
The past few years, ever since he had faced the truth about his own future endeavors, had been a long and carefully laden path towards this moment. He understood that dealing with the unknown required intricate planning for every possible contingency. Training Rhiannon had been vital. He knew that they would survive, but he had received very little information about the state of play over the next ten years. In a prolonged period of constant strife, Rhiannon would need the skills to operate independently, even at her young age.
He knew that time could be coming. For all the effort spent to keep the Tunguska facility out of sight, other resources would be needed. His most recent prototype would give him parity against the advances of the conspiracy, but sooner or later, it would come down to espionage. He had trained Rhiannon to be the perfect instrument to that end. Even more than his cloned colleagues, the beneficiaries of the conspiracy’s organic technology, Rhiannon could alter her appearance with uncanny accuracy.
It was a question of applying those abilities, developing the right strategy for the near-term to ensure that the next ten years would not be a constant struggle to regain lost ground. He hadn’t lied to Skinner; the impending confrontation would effectively reduce the conspiracy’s current forces by a third, if not more. That was a good start, but it wouldn’t necessarily be enough to give him the time and latitude he desired. He needed his assets in the right place when the next phase of the conspiracy’s plan began.
Thus far, nothing had indicated where the conspiracy would strike next. He understood well enough that his current strategy would work only once, at least at the scale he had envisioned. Future attacks using the same tactics would need to be surgical in nature, quick and efficient, much like the terrorism that the conspiracy used as a pretext. And that was why those tactics would have to be used sparingly; the conspiracy could easily use such attacks as a tangible basis for advancing their own agenda.
Finding the right place to confront the conspiracy was, unfortunately, not the most pressing concern. He had known, for quite some time, that Angel had certain designs for the future. Her people, after all, were the ones behind the genetic manipulation that had given rise to his own kind; the “sentinels” were meant to be their secret weapon, thousands resistant to Purity.
Only the most powerful among those thousands had been identified by the conspiracy, and they had been hunted down over the past 30 years, all in an attempt to find and eliminate the “foretold” child that would ultimately defeat Purity and take custody of humanity’s future. Angel had been involved in a long and systematic process of removing the most powerful survivors, just before their deaths were imminent, and her reasons remained a mystery.
Over the years, he had tried to find some of the other sentinels. Some, like Kirsten and Craig, were relatively easy to find. But for all his abilities and resources, it had become difficult to find any of his brethren that hadn’t been identified through Mulder’s work on the X-Files and similar programs by the conspiracy. His own knowledge of the sentinels suggested that they should be rather easy to find, and yet for all his efforts, only a fraction had been located. Something else was at work, keeping them out of sight.
Everything pointed to Angel. He knew better than to think that she had any more information about the near future than he had; the same interference that blocked his inner vision obscured her own. What Angel had was a substantially longer preparation time, and while he could overpower her in certain circumstances, he couldn’t guess her ultimate plans. He only knew that they would take his own activities into account, and that meant Angel was a threat.
It had been easy enough to use Mulder and his son as a decoy, but Angel had been involved. His time with Mulder had confirmed that the former agent had been unaware of Angel’s gambit, but she could have foreseen that need for keeping Mulder out of the loop. And William Scully’s recent disappearance into some unknown hiding place was deeply troubling for that very reason. Angel had plans for William, he was sure of it. He was equally sure that it was all part of Angel’s larger scheme.
The conspiracy’s own network had given him a means of controlling any action taken on the Raritan facility. At the same time, weeks had been spent trying to find something that might reveal what the conspiracy knew about Angel and the sentinels. In the past few days, several locations tied to Angel and the agents assigned to the X-Files had been targeted. But that was the extent of what the conspiracy had uncovered.
In the end, the conspiracy would remain a threat, and one that would still need to be addressed to further decimate their numbers. But removing the bulk of the conspiracy’s present military might would also play into Angel’s hands. The main goal, he understood, had to be discovering Angel’s resources and eliminating them. And the key to that effort was bound and broken in the center of the room.
“Anything?” he said finally, when he realized that the room had grown silent again.
“Nothing we didn’t already know,” Rhiannon replied, her voice full of disgust. She stepped close, inspecting each monitor for herself. Already, she had begun the process of accelerating her own physical development; a stranger would easily believe that she was on the verge of adolescence, rather than about four years old. But then, her consciousness had matured much faster, part of her genetic legacy.
“Patience,” he murmured, smiling slightly. “We still have some time left before the assault begins. You can relieve your frustrations when the time comes.” He glanced back over at Skinner. “For now, keep working at getting past the defenses Angel placed around those memories.”
He stepped towards the middle of the room, staring at Skinner’s shattered body. Rhiannon had spent the better part of the past couple of hours systematically breaking every bone in the man’s body, forcing him to remain conscious throughout. Pain, it seemed, would not work as a direct method. More subtle prodding would be required.
“Let the nanocytes heal him, and then move on to the next stage,” he said finally.
Rhiannon smiled wickedly, a look he still found vaguely disturbing, even understanding her true nature. It was difficult to transcend the expectations and interpretations of the human world. “How far should I take it?”
He stepped back to the monitors, resuming his previous train of thought while observing the movements of a second reconnaissance squad. “Until there’s nothing left to break.”
***
TIR NAILL
DECEMBER 22, 2012
12:44 AM EST
“This is a horrible idea.”
“What? Letting the daughter of our worst enemy, the same daughter that tortured at least two of us and killed her own mother when she was practically still in diapers, sit in a room with my son, hours before he’s supposed to lead a secret mission to save the world?” Mulder shrugged. “I don’t see the problem.”
John pointed to her, not sure that she wasn’t listening to them through the glass. “She’s been playing mind games with him for years. He’s talked about those dreams. In detail.”
“I know,” Mulder muttered. “I think she was wearing that outfit in a few of them.” He forced a smile. “He asked me to trust him. What else was I going to do?”
“Say no?”
Mulder sighed. “Yeah, well, where were you when we were having that conversation?”
***
William grabbed one of the chairs along the wall and pulled it in front of the table across from where Rhiannon was still waiting. Despite the extended silence, her sultry smile never left her lips, and she seemed to be looking right through him. It only served to remind him to keep his guard up.
“It’s refreshing,” she said finally, as he took his seat. “To finally talk with you, face to face.”
William smiled, understanding her all too well. “I’m not so sure we could call what we’ve done ‘talking’.”
“No, I suppose not.” She tilted her head to one side, her expression more serious. “You’ve always kept me from getting inside, even when I could tell that you wanted me to. Did you know that you’re the only one who can do that? The only one I’ve ever known who can keep me out, even when I push.”
William’s smile faded. “You’ve tried often enough. I have men and women who have never recovered from your idea of ‘pushing’. What makes you think I would want to end up like them, that I would even consider risking it?”
“What makes you think I would do that to you?”
“Because it feels like an invitation.” William gestured in the direction of the makeshift infirmary. “You get them so worked up with just a word, a brush of your fingers, whatever it takes to slip past their defenses. You come to them every time looking like something out of a dream, some forbidden fantasy, and you leave them for me to find.” He leaned forward, looking her in the eye. “And ever since that first time I found Sasha, writhing naked in her bed, I knew it had been you. And you wanted me to know it.”
Rhiannon returned the stare, all trace of amusement long gone. “You make it sound so simple. I won’t say I didn’t enjoy it. For that matter, so have they, and they always will. But it’s better than the alternative.”
“The alternative?” William repeated, rolling his eyes. “Those were good people, Rhiannon, and no matter how you did it, you took their lives.”
“Not like my father would have preferred.” Rhiannon shook her head. “I didn’t come here to argue with you, William.”
“Well, now we come to it,” William replied in agreement, settling back in his chair. “I can’t read you, you can’t read me, so why don’t we skip the song and dance? You knew to come here, now, which means I have a problem.”
Rhiannon nodded sagely. “Yes, you do. My father has been planning his endgame for years, William. We both know that he intends to make his move and prevent Colonization. And we both know that he’s been waiting to see what you’ve been planning all this time. He can’t afford to have any surprises today.”
“So he sent you to make sure of it.”
“Something like that,” Rhiannon admitted. She closed her eyes, and for a moment, her face was completely expressionless. “He sent me to find you, William, to get your attention.”
“Here I am,” William said, opening his arms in mock supplication.
“Yes, here we are,” Rhiannon murmured, and then she laughed softly. “He wants me to give you a choice, William. He knows that when it comes down to it, it’s you or me. You control the others of our kind. He wants that resource for himself, and he would prefer that you do it out of self-interest, if nothing else.” She opened her eyes, and once again, it was as if she could see into his soul. “Join him, William, and he offers you the world. Among other things.”
***
“Son of a bitch,” John muttered. “He’s pimping off his daughter to get William to switch sides.”
“I noticed.” Mulder swallowed, aware that his throat was suddenly very dry. “McShane’s got us pinned. If he could send her with this offer, then he could have sent in his hunters just as easily. This is the easy way.”
“Damn it,” John said, stepping towards the door. “I’ll send Chris for reinforcements. Looks like we’ve got a-”
“No,” Mulder said, grabbing John by the arm to stop him. “Something doesn’t feel right. There’s more to this than she’s saying.” He nodded towards William through the window. “He feels it, too. Let’s give him a chance.”
John glared at Mulder with impatience. “You said it yourself, Mulder. He’s been dreaming of her for years. I love him like a son, Mulder, you know that, but ask yourself. Is this something he can walk away from?”
Mulder glared back, and then shrugged, letting go of John’s arm. “I guess we’re about to find out.”
***
“No,” William said finally, after a moment of silent contemplation. “That’s not why you’re here.”
Rhiannon smiled widely, but this time, there was a different kind of victory behind her eyes. “Is that right?”
“It’s the reason you told your father you were coming,” William admitted. “And it was the option that you offered to counter his original suggestion.”
“Which was?”
“To kill me and take my place.” William smiled ruefully. “He was right about that much. If I were gone, you would be the strongest. And you know enough about us to know who else to kill or subvert. Your father would no doubt prefer that you surgically eliminate our leadership and force the rest into supporting his efforts. But you...you convinced him that you could entice me into coming with you. But only if you were the bait.”
“An interesting theory,” Rhiannon allowed. She shifted in her seat, as if suddenly uncomfortable. “But according to you, that’s not why I’m here.”
“No, it’s not,” William agreed. “So why are you here?”
Rhiannon looked him in the eye, and this time, she was letting him see into her soul. “Because I want to be whole again. Because every time I reach out to touch you and you shut me out, it leaves me bare and cold. Because there’s no one else in the world that I could ever dream of touching and holding without wondering if they really, truly want to be there. Because you’re the one person in this world that I can’t control.”
***
“Get him out of there, Mulder.”
“He knows what he’s doing,” Mulder breathed.
“No, he doesn’t, because there’s not a man alive that could possibly handle this, even if she’s being honest, which she’s not!” John pointed to the door. “Let me call in the troops before it’s too late.”
“Just trust him.”
***
William had paused, letting Rhiannon’s words sink in. “You can’t possibly expect me to trust in that.”
Rhiannon smiled, this time ruefully. “Of course not. If you were that easy to convince, then it wouldn’t be worth the effort. No, William, I don’t expect you to believe me now. But now you know enough to understand what I’m about to offer you.”
William raised an eyebrow. “More than just you, on a silver platter?”
“That comes later,” Rhiannon replied smoothly, but from her body language, it was clear that she appreciated his effort to preserve something of her usual self-assuredness. “Like I said, you have to know that my father knows enough to make your current plans impossible to implement. My father wants you to join him, and pledge your resources to the cause. Short of that, I’m to kill you and your leadership. I offer a third alternative.”
William looked in her eyes, searching for the answer himself, and then gasped with sudden realization. “You’re not here to deliver me to him. You’re here to offer yourself to us.”
“To you,” Rhiannon corrected softly. “I’m here to help you.”
William stood, and began pacing the floor behind his chair, lost in thought. “Why would you do that?” He shot her a skeptical sneer. “Not for my sake.”
“Not entirely, no,” Rhiannon admitted. She stood as well, leaning forward over the table. For once, she seemed not to care about how the pose might distract her opponent; all of her attention was on William and his reaction to her proposal. “My father turned me into something I hate. All my life, I’ve let him dictate my conscience. But you’ve been there too, William, for almost as long. I’ve watched you, and I’ve seen what I might have been, and I hate what I’ve become.”
“So now I’m your inspiration?” William mused, grabbing the back of his chair, his knuckles white. “You know damn well that you’ve been an example for me, too, Rhiannon. An example of everything I could become if I lost my humanity.”
Rhiannon chuckled, shrugging. “And now I’m here, seeking your guidance, asking you to show me another way. It’s not like I’m coming to you empty handed.”
“Oh, no, you’re coming to me with the promise of victory, but only if I trust you enough to tell the truth.” William shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “For all I know, Rhiannon, this is more about your master plan.”
“Then let me prove it to you,” Rhiannon snapped back, standing straight and defiant. “Look into my mind, William. Look for yourself. I’ll let down my defenses, you let down yours, and let’s put any issues of trust to the test.”
“You were ordered to kill me if I refused your father’s offer,” William pointed out. “I let down my defenses, you could kill me where I stand.”
“Your father and John Doggett are watching us right now,” Rhiannon countered, pointing at the mirror on the wall. “How far would I get? You want a show of faith? Then I’ll open to you first. I’ll be at your mercy.” She stepped out from behind the table to stand directly in front of him. “You think I’m a threat? Slice and dice to your heart’s content. Or look inside and prove for yourself that I’m telling the truth.”
William took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look in his eyes. “You’re insane.”
“So I’ve been telling you,” she breathed. “What will it be, William? Just come inside...maybe you’ll like what you see.”
For just a moment, they stood together, staring into each other eyes, breathing hard past the tension within. Finally William let go, his expression stricken. Rhiannon looked away slightly, and then closed her eyes, her face a mask of regret. William ran his hands over his face, and then stumbled wildly over to the door, pounding on the wood, calling for his father.
***
ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO
MAY 27, 2002
4:59 AM EST
Mulder awoke to the sound of someone pounding on the door of their hotel room. He sat up straight, blinking away the stray images of the dream he had been having. He could still see the young man, so familiar, stumbling away from a stunning redhead. He knew them somehow, but the details were already fading as he forced himself to concentrate on the present.
Scully was already on her feet, grabbing her gun from the nightstand. “How the hell did they find us here? I thought they couldn’t handle being in Roswell!”
“They shouldn’t,” Mulder replied, rubbing at his eyes as he grabbed for his own weapon. “That son of a bitch probably lied to us.”
“Then we’re screwed,” Scully said bluntly. She glanced over at Mulder. “Unless you have some idea how to stop those things?”
Mulder smirked, and stepped over to the door. The pounding was even more insistent. “If it is one of those super-soldiers, why would they bother knocking?” Taking a deep breath, he slid open the deadbolt and took hold of the doorknob. Counting down from three under his breath, he pulled the door open, dropping to a squat to clear Scully’s line of fire, even as he took aim.
Outside, a young Native man calmly raised his hands, a slight smile on his lips. “I know the two of you are paranoid, but really.”
Mulder blinked furiously, sure that he had seen the young man before. “I know you.”
“Yes,” the young man replied. He looked up at Scully. “And so do you. But we can cover that in a few moments. For now, we need to leave.”
“Leave?” Scully said, still aiming for the young man’s head. “Leave where?”
The young man sighed, as if he had been expecting an argument. “I’m not going to say while we’re standing here. There’s little time to waste. The manager of this fine establishment has already recognized you, but he’s waiting until morning to call the authorities because he’s not certain. If you’re here when he comes knocking...”
“I get it,” Mulder said, standing and waving Scully off. Scully glared at Mulder, but still placed her gun on the dresser. “Mind telling me how you know what the manager was going to do?”
“I read his mind,” the young man replied with a grin. He laughed at Mulder’s expression. “Don’t act so surprised.”
Scully stepped next to Mulder in the doorway, a small bag filled with their few remaining possessions slung over her shoulder. “I believe him, Mulder.” She turned to the young man. “You’re one of Angel’s sentinels, aren’t you?”
“Something like that,” the young man replied with a grin. “But to answer your real question...yes, Angel did send me. She had me drop off Gibson with John and Monica on the way to you, and we’re supposed to leave as soon as possible.”
“Without knowing where we’re going,” Mulder added, skepticism clear in the tone of his voice.
“Grab everything out of the car you stole from the mesa,” the young man ordered as he turned, walking back towards the parking lot. “We can talk more on the way.”
Scully placed one hand on his arm when she noticed his hesitation. “Mulder? What is it?”
“I don’t think I was staying with Gibson when I was away, Scully.” Mulder looked at her, almost as if seeing her for the first time in months. “I think something happened to me.” He nodded in the direction of the young man. “I think he had something to do with it. So why do I still think we need to trust him?”
“I feel the same way,” Scully admitted. “And after all I’ve seen the past year with Angel, I’ve learned to trust my instincts. At least when it comes to her.”
Mulder saw the young man waving to them, leaning on an unfamiliar car and looking very impatient. He remembered his visions, the apparent visitations by the dead, and nodded to himself. “It’s not like we weren’t running anyway. Maybe it’s time we get some real answers.”
***
PHARMACEUTICAL RESEARCH INSTITUTE
RARITAN, NJ
MAY 27, 2002
6:14 AM EST
Skinner attempted to blink away the mixture of blood, sweat, and tears caked around his eyes. It had been hours since he had seen anything other than a blur of light and shadow, punctuated by agony. The only clarity had been Rhiannon’s voice, slashing through the rest of the noise and confusion as though she were inside of his mind, a part of his own consciousness.
He imagined that was the point.
All things being equal, he was just as shocked as they had to be. He never expected to last so long, not when the real physical damage had begun. Rhiannon had demonstrated a clear understanding of human physiology, and her control over the nanocytes was more than sufficient. By comparison, Krycek’s use of the technology had been crude and unimaginative.
At some point, he had lost all conception of the process, lost in the overwhelming pain. Rhiannon had been relentless, probing for every possible weakness, pausing only when it was to her own advantage to do so. For a time, he had harbored some hope that she would tire, that manipulating his body, the nanocytes, and slashing through his memories would eventually exhaust her. That moment never came.
It had ended so abruptly that he instantly went into shock. Now, though, he felt no worse than he had when he had first realized he was being held against his will. It was exactly as he feared it would be. McShane wasn’t content to simply use the nanocytes to torture him; he would use the damn things to fix him back up, just to start all over again.
He couldn’t be sure, but the fact he was still tied down was a big hint that he hadn’t broken. His vision still obscured, it was impossible to see any of the monitors on the wall. For all he knew, the anticipated assault had already begun. If McShane was being truthful, he needed to get information before the black ops squads came through the front door. Skinner couldn’t imagine a reason why McShane would leave him alive after that.
If that was his situation, then he had no intention of just waiting for the moment he became expendable. He had already given in to that kind of thinking too many times, and he couldn’t pretend that he was out of options anymore. He had no idea how to do it, but if McShane and his hellspawn of a daughter could figure out how to use the nanocytes to heal him, then he ought to be able to do the same. The only question was how much damage he could endure in the process of getting free.
Closing his eyes, he relaxed his shoulders, testing the strain to see if popping one of his arms out of its socket would get him anywhere. It hurt like hell, but after what had just been done to him, it was almost a comfort. Before he could get very far, though, someone reached under his arms, carefully lifting him back into a more stable position.
“No, don’t.” He recognized Rhiannon’s voice immediately, but instead of the harsh and impersonal tone of her previous interrogation, she was talking to him softly, her tone of voice full of compassion. He felt her wipe something moist and cool over his eyes, and when he opened them, he could see her clearly, kneeling before him.
He was instantly struck by how different she seemed. John had always described McShane’s daughter as a young girl, barely more than a toddler. Monica had been shocked to think that little Rhia could be anything more than the terrified baby that had she had been forced to protect. Even when the torture had started, the girl had appeared older than she should have been, but still a child. The young woman kneeling in front of him now was no little girl. She wasn’t an adult, either, but she was definitely well on her way.
As if noting his confusion, she smiled slightly, looking away. “I know. My father says it’s the way things are going to be from now on. We’ll be like normal babies at first, until we realize that we can develop at our own pace. Then, it’s up to us.” She let out a long and labored sigh. “There wasn’t much point to playing the little girl anymore.”
Skinner swallowed, pushing away the dry soreness in his throat. “What you mean, ‘from now on’?”
Rhiannon shrugged. “Humanity is evolving, whether we like it or not. The seeds were planted a long time ago, and I’m just another result of that experiment. By the time my father, or those men in the government, whoever...when they’re done, there won’t be any normal people left. Just people like me.”
Something wasn’t right. Why would she be telling him this? “I don’t understand.”
“I know.” She smiled, and then resumed wiping the sweat and grime from his face. “It’s hard to explain, but imagine what it would be like to be a kid and start seeing into the heads of everyone around you, without any control. And then think about what it would be like to have someone intentionally expose you to memories and thoughts that...”
She trailed off, shaking her head, but Skinner didn’t need her to say more to know what she was trying to explain. “No wonder you decided to grow up faster.”
Rhiannon nodded, looking over her shoulder towards the monitors. “My father wouldn’t want me talking to you about any of this, but the way I see it, what could it hurt?”
Skinner smirked. “Because I’ll be dead soon anyway.”
Rhiannon turned back to him, her expression pained. “I’ve done horrible things for my father, Walter. I killed my own mother because he told me it was necessary. Do you have any idea what that was like? I was in her head when she was dying!” She tossed down the moist rag, rising to her feet, running her hands through her long, wavy red hair. “I can’t get it out of my head, what that was like. And now we’re about to kill dozens of people, people who had no choice in becoming what they are.” She laughed, looking back in his direction. “I guess I know how that feels.”
Skinner watched her step towards the door, suddenly aware of how vulnerable she really was. McShane had been pushing her too far, too fast, pushing her physically and mentally beyond her available maturity. That was something that none of them could have anticipated, not even Angel. If Rhiannon was unstable, then maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.
“You don’t have to do these things, Rhiannon,” he rasped out. “You said it yourself. You know your father is trying to make you into a weapon, but it doesn’t have to be that way. You’re not just a tool!”
Rhiannon turned, and he could see a hint of suspicion in her pained expression. “What else can I be? It’s what I’ve been taught. I don’t know any other way.”
“You can learn,” Skinner replied quickly. “It’s not too late!”
She watched him for a long moment, and then gestured towards the door mechanism. There was a subtle shift in the position of the door, followed by a grinding sound. Sighing loudly, she shook her head, and then walked slowly towards him. In the low light, he was struck by how well she had learned her lessons, reading the minds of others. She had managed to create a very attractive body for herself.
“You realize he would kill me,” she said, kneeling in front of him, her eyes level with his own. “If he even thought for a moment...”
“I know,” Skinner breathed. He couldn’t push too hard, he knew that. She had to believe that he was just following her own train of thought, agreeing with her own suggestions. “You don’t have to do anything now. But think about it. Anything can happen in the middle of a firefight.”
Rhiannon winced, and then stared into his eyes. Her eyes were such a unique shade of green, almost unnatural. It was more than just her eyes, he realized. It was as if she had only approximated an adult form, adding small touches here and there in an effort to create something more distinct. The overall effect was exotic and alluring.
“What about the future?” she whispered, as if afraid of the answer. “My father, me...we’re supposed to play a major role. So much of the past depends on things we still have to do.” She smiled slightly, still uncertain. “Do you really think it’s worth it?”
“I don’t think we can even count how many people have died, all these years, just for this,” he replied. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry again. It was hard not to notice how vulnerable she was, how delicate the situation really would be. “You might not even be born. Maybe none of us would be. But I know what my choice would be.”
She bit her lower lip in thought, glancing back over her shoulder at the door. “I don’t know if I could do it alone.”
He licked his lips, staring at her profile. He felt something unsettled in his stomach at the thought that he might have to face his attraction to her. He wondered if she could sense it, if she was shifting her appearance in subtle ways in response. The thought was oddly powerful, just the possibility of being with a woman that could be whatever he wanted or needed.
“I could,” she murmured, turning towards him with a sultry smile. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Walter. I’m still not convinced.”
He blinked, forcing himself to stay focused. “I could help. He wouldn’t expect me to be a threat.”
Rhiannon nodded, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “We could make you look hurt, maybe. Take him by surprise.”
The touch of her skin was almost more than he could endure. There was a buzzing in the back of his head, something he couldn’t quite understand. “No need to rush.”
“No,” she said, leaning closer. She seemed flushed, staring at him in wonder. “Let him take out the enemy, then deal with him. Make it seem like an accident.” She slid her hand behind his neck. “But then what? Where would we go?”
All at once, he understood. He pulled back, ignoring the lance of pain at the sudden movement. She blinked in apparent confusion, but now he could see through it. “Is that what this is all about?” Looking at her now, he remembered that she was really just a few years old, and he fought the urge to wretch at his previous desires. “This was all about getting your damn answers!”
She rocked back onto her haunches, frowning slightly. “Too much. I should have taken more time with it.”
Everything was drowned out as a blast of white hot pain ripped through the back of his skull. By the time he recovered, the older Rhiannon was gone. Standing in the shadows, he could just make out the real child, her father standing beside her with disapproval. Her own expression was one of disgust.
“Remember his responses,” McShane said, walking towards the wall of monitors as though nothing unusual had occurred. “Especially his thoughts on how he might manipulate you. In the future, look for similar signs and reinforce them. Remember that it’s all about being the one with the most convincing illusion.”
Skinner couldn’t hold back anymore, spewing all over the floor in front of him. He gasped at the lingering pain in his head, and then remembered what she had made him see and feel. He felt ill again, but the thought of wrenching his shoulders with heaving was more overwhelming. “How could you do it?” he choked out instead. “How could you do that to her?”
McShane glanced in his direction with a smirk. “All available means, Walter.” Turning back to the monitors, he gestured to Rhiannon. “We’re running out of time. Continue.”
Steeling himself for the agony, he was almost ready when the fire ran through his veins again.
***
100 MILES NORTH OF ROSWELL, NM
MAY 27, 2002
7:09 AM EST
“Christopher.”
The young man behind the wheel turned to Mulder, a wide smile on his face. “So you remember now?”
Mulder glanced at Christopher, but then resumed staring out the passenger side window. “Some. Enough to know I’ve never met you, not really. But I still feel like I have.”
“I feel the same way,” Scully remarked from the seat behind Mulder. “You mentioned Gibson. You were with him. You told us he was willing to testify at Mulder’s trial.”
“I was around more than that,” Christopher replied. He glanced in the rear view mirror, and seemed satisfied at what he saw. “Now that we’re alone, I can say more. I’m Angel’s brother, and now that the shit’s hit the fan, I’m here to make sure you get where you need to go.”
Scully sat back, apparently satisfied, but Mulder glared at Christopher in obvious distrust. “And where would that be?”
Christopher returned Mulder’s stare, and then shrugged. “It’s outside of Taos.” He looked back at Scully. “You mentioned the sentinels back in Roswell. We’ll be meeting some of them where we’re going, from various Native tribes. They’re going to help you, both of you.”
“Help us what?” Mulder asked, his patience running thin.
“You’re at a crossroads, Mulder, and not just personally.” Christopher pointed up the road. “Waiting in Taos are answers to questions you haven’t even considered asking, answers that will put your struggles into perspective and maybe give you a chance at survival. What do you remember about the past year? Honestly?”
Mulder closed his eyes, biting back a sarcastic comment. “I was with Thomas McShane. He was running a research facility in New Jersey, and he was investigating the super-soldiers and their weaknesses. And he was using me, Scully, our son…all of us to cover up the fact that he was setting up his own daughter as some kind of destined savior for the human race.”
Scully cleared her throat. “Angel told us the same thing. I had no idea that you knew the truth about William and why he was being hunted.”
“He couldn’t have told you,” Christopher said with a rueful smile, “because when McShane tried to wipe Mulder’s memory clean, I intervened.” He tapped his forehead. “You figured it all out, Mulder, which is what we expected you would do. We also expected McShane would want to use you as bait. It was just a question of when your actual survival would become a liability for McShane, and what he would do about it. Once McShane made his move, I stepped in, and made sure you would only remember what you had learned before leaving last year.”
“So I wouldn’t say too much at the trial,” Mulder mused.
“Right now, the conspiracy is aware of something big out there, a resistance movement that they want to eradicate,” Christopher continued. “They know about you and your allies in Washington, so that’s one set of targets. They know about McShane’s facility in New Jersey, and they assume that’s connected to you somehow. They don’t know about McShane himself. They also know about a commune in Colorado, but they don’t have a reason to connect that to you or anything specific. They just know they don’t control it, and that makes them nervous.”
“By repeating the same old disinformation about alien invasions and conspiracies, Mulder kept the focus on his own work and the possible connection to McShane,” Scully said, working it out as she spoke. “You’re buying time for the people in Colorado.”
“Only a couple of days at best,” Christopher confirmed. “But that ought to be enough time to get the survivors out of harm’s way while you and Mulder meet with our friends in Taos.” He sighed heavily. “McShane will be trying to figure out the big picture at the same time. It seems like a good play to let the enemy confront him first, to buy us time, but it could also help him in the long run. If we’re going to co-opt his plans for the future, then we need to make the right countermoves.”
“And going to Taos, that’s one of the right moves?” Mulder asked plainly.
Christopher nodded, his expression suddenly very grim. “Maybe the most important move of all.”
***
PHARMACEUTICAL RESEARCH INSTITUTE
RARITAN, NJ
MAY 27, 2002
8:14 AM EST
Skinner slumped forward as he felt his strength returning. After several rounds of Rhiannon’s refined interrogation, he’d come to the conclusion that trying to minimize the pain in his shoulders was a waste of time. Compared to what the nanocytes were doing to him under her control, repairing the damage from some pulled muscles and torn joints was nothing.
Even that pain didn’t register anymore. So much of what they’d been doing to him was becoming background noise. McShane apparently knew better than to simply torture him with pain. Rhiannon had hit him with bursts of intense pain and pleasure, mixed with enough severe digestive distress to make every new session impossible to predict. The only constant, the one thing he couldn’t ignore, was the pain in the back of his head, right above the base of his neck.
Now that he could think clearly, he figured that pain had something to do with their need to constantly use the nanocytes. The damn things were never inactive; now that he knew they were there, he could tell. When Rhiannon wasn’t using them in the endless search for useful information about Mulder or the others, they were programmed to heal whatever damage had been inflicted. That left him ready for more, when they came back around.
It was impossible to know how much time had passed. At least hours, if not days. Rhiannon had continued messing with his perceptions, to the point that he didn’t believe anything that his senses told him anymore. His eyes told him they were still in the same isolated room, but he couldn’t trust that he hadn’t been moved. He couldn’t even be sure that he was ever in the room to begin with. Even his body continued to betray him, every sensation open to question.
All that was left was the tatters of his self-identity. By now, he was sure that Angel had taken necessary precautions so that nothing he knew would be revealed. McShane had said as much himself, at the beginning of the process. Skinner understood that the torture would only continue as long as McShane believed that there was more to be gained. And that meant that nothing Skinner had said, in those unknowable moments of complete darkness and madness, had betrayed his friends. It also told him that he wouldn’t be able to end the cycle.
He honestly didn’t know where Mulder or the others were now, or if any of them had survived past the first few hours. He was the first to fall, something McShane knew all too well. He was aware that Angel had explained things in detail, before everything went to hell, but he couldn’t remember a thing. Angel had locked it all away, without his knowledge or even his permission. There was literally nothing he could do.
The back of his head flared in agony, and he bit down on his lower lip, letting the fresh taste of his own blood focus his mind. The agony wasn’t something Rhiannon had done to him; it was just the constant effect of the nanocytes working throughout his body. He understood that to be true. Whenever the system began to strain, the feedback caused pain. The pattern had become obvious.
This latest wave of pain was almost more than he could stand. Once he realized that, he knew that he was at the end. Much more, and he wouldn’t remember how to come back. He wasn’t even sure how he’d been returning to some semblance of sanity, or if he’d long since crossed that line. Either way, it didn’t matter anymore. He simply knew that he’d come to the end.
He wondered, absently, if he could just gather up enough willpower to let the injuries remain, stop the healing. The pain in the back of his head was the only constant in his world, and it would be so easy to just push it away, shut it down. Just as easy, maybe, to let himself believe that he had done it. It wasn’t like he could control the things himself; it would all have to be self-delusion. That was something he could accept.
He closed his eyes, pushing away the lies, the confusion. He could hear McShane in the background, talking about the latest movements of the enemy. If the man was talking to someone, he couldn’t tell who it was. Maybe it was him. Whatever the case, time was running short. He wondered if they would kill him when the assault began, or leave him until it was over. If he had anything to do with it, he would be beyond knowing.
Pushing away every sound, he stripped away every other sensation: the taste of blood lingering on his tongue, the texture of the straps around his wrists, the damp cling of sweat on every inch of his skin. All that was left was the core of pain. He kept focusing until he couldn’t even remember where the pain was coming from anymore. It was just a part of him now. Maybe it was all he was, and now he was just beginning to accept it.
If that was the case, then it was simple. Snuffing out the pain would mean an end to it all. No more questions. He could finally die, knowing he had remained true to his friends in the end. This time, he wouldn’t be the one to betray them. He would let himself die, and whatever secrets he still kept would die with him. With every beat of his heart, he reached into the center of the pain, and willed it to be that much less than it had been the beat before. No matter how many times it flared back to life, just as strong as before, he kept at it, wearing it back down. It was all he had left that was his own, and it was his to destroy.
Soon it was the same every time, a steady pain that was no worse and no better. So it continued, beat after beat, until he began to expect and accept it. He found it easier to deal with now, as natural as every new breath. That he was still breathing was something of a shock, since he could tell his heart was beating more slowly, slowing with every passing moment. He wondered if the rest of his body was still healing. If he was still breathing, then he wasn’t bleeding to death. And if he wasn’t bleeding to death, then he was still recovering, despite all his best efforts.
Just thinking about it was enough to bring sensation rushing back, and the discomfort in his back and shoulders returned as he opened his eyes. Resigned to his own failure, he silently cursed himself for his own weakness. At least the conspiracy would have ended it cleanly. McShane wouldn’t even give him the choice of taking his own life. He would just descend farther and farther, beyond caring.
Staring at the ground, he realized that something was wrong. No, not wrong; just different. It took only a moment to realize what it was. The pain in the back of his head had reduced to a dull ache, more like the absence of something than the remnants of it. Blinking in confusion, he shifted in his seat, forcing his shoulders and neck to spasm. Like before, the pain in his joints gradually slipped away as the damage was repaired.
In the back of his head, there was no pain. Not ready to trust it, he bit down on his bottom lip again, tearing into the flesh without hesitation. Again there was the metallic rush of his own blood, pouring into his mouth and down his chin. The blood stopped almost instantly, and then the wounds began to close, just like they had before. But again, there was no pain.
Swallowing hard, he glanced over at the wall of monitors, where McShane and Rhiannon were watching the final preparations for the coming assault. They didn’t seem to notice that anything was different. For that matter, he wasn’t sure that they would. He couldn’t even be sure what had happened. The nanocytes were still working on their own, following their usual instructions. It just didn’t seem to hurt so much. For that matter, he could have finally lost touch with reality, unaware that the pain was still there. Somehow, he had the feeling that wasn’t the case.
McShane turned, as if suddenly aware he was watching. “It’s down to a matter of a few hours, at the most,” the man said, walking towards the center of the room. “Apparently they’re dealing with a timetable. It’s hard to be sure, with the amount of interference out there.” He knelt down, looking Skinner in the eye. “I’ve been getting some indication that something is happening in Colorado,” McShane continued. “I’ve heard the news reports. They’ve found something, haven’t they? Something important.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Skinner spat out, not caring if they noticed the remnants of blood.
“We’ll see about that,” McShane promised. It was meant to be a threat, but Skinner couldn’t help but smile. McShane noticed, and his expression faltered slightly. The young man stared at Skinner intently, and then shook his head, standing.
“Focus on Colorado,” McShane said to Rhiannon, as he resumed his inspection of the preparations outside. “Find out what he knows.” He hesitated, looking back in Skinner’s direction. “Don’t go too far. We wouldn’t want to lose him, now that we have something to go on.”
Skinner’s smile widened, even as he felt the subtle changes in his body that meant Rhiannon was beginning again. Right now, it didn’t matter if he remained sane through the next session, or if he had already crossed that line. All that mattered was that McShane sensed something was different, and the bastard couldn’t figure out what it was. And apparently, neither could Rhiannon. It meant that there was something he knew, however meaningless, that he had been able to hide willingly.
Knowing that he had beaten them, just that much, was enough.
***
OUTSIDE LA CUEVA, NM
MAY 27, 2002
9:09 AM EST
The past couple of hours had been spent comparing notes, tying to piece together what had happened in the months since Mulder’s departure from Washington. Mulder could tell that it had been a matter of losing ground day by day; his apparent noble sacrifice had been in vain from the moment he left to investigate the summons to Antarctica. But then, when he thought about it, he couldn’t blame anyone else for failing to keep Scully and William safe and together. The deck had been stacked against them from the beginning, and McShane had made sure of it.
Despite the disapproving looks from Christopher, Mulder was selective with his accounting of the trip to Antarctica. He said nothing to give Scully the impression that there was something to hide, emphasizing instead the fact that discoveries at the site had eventually revealed evidence of time travel. He had expected more of an argument from her on the subject, but apparently Scully was already a convert.
It was disconcerting to think that Angel had spent decades plotting their present course. Scully’s side of the story seemed to suggest that Angel was still working out her strategy, and that didn’t make sense, based on his own experiences. Angel had managed the details for years, and if her own explanations were to be taken at face value, she understood time in a very different way. For that matter, McShane had been operating from information from a future time.
“It’s not that simple,” Christopher reminded them. “We may be able to see how the future will unfold, but it’s not a matter of concrete details. It’s probability.”
“Angel made it sound like all of this is about determining which direction humanity will evolve,” Scully added, nodding in agreement. “There were essentially three outcomes, based on who came out on top. She never made it sound as though the future was set in stone.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Mulder maintained. “Scully, so much of what’s happened requires that certain events take place in the future. If we believe everything we’ve heard, then the conspiracy sent back forces to manipulate the Syndicate. For that matter, the crash at Roswell might not have been an accident. If the future isn’t set in stone, then it’s a paradox. If we try to prevent those events, then we would never have gone through all of this, and we would never have had the chance to prevent it.”
“That wouldn’t change the past,” Christopher replied with a sigh. “That’s not the way it works. Let’s say that you were to discover that the Roswell crash, essentially the beginning of the end, were the result of a plot initiated in the near future. You could make an effort to prevent that from happening, and yes, then everything that followed would be wiped out, as if it never happened.
“The result would be an adjustment in the entire system. As things stand now, excursions through time are perfectly balanced. Where future events have changed past events, the overall flow has fallen into an equilibrium. Make a change, and the equilibrium shifts…the system eventually regains balance. But what remains is a past, present, and future that looks nothing like what exists in the current state.”
“Like a pool full of water,” Scully murmured. “Drop a pebble in, it causes ripples and waves, but eventually, the surface of the pool is calm again.”
“But everything inside the pool has moved around, creating new patterns that didn’t exist before.” Christopher smiled, looking over his shoulder in her direction. “And there’s no telling how that new arrangement would turn out. Maybe if none of the choices before us were in play, who’s to say that it wouldn’t be worse?”
“Fine,” Mulder snapped. “But if that’s true, then everything fits into a pattern now, so we’re right back where we started. There’s a way things are supposed to happen, a way things are supposed to be arranged in this system you keep talking about. If you and your sister can see that, then why can’t we skip the drama and just make it happen?”
“Because sometimes when we look at the whole system, Mulder, there are stretches of time where events are obscured,” Christopher admitted with a scowl. “Because so much is at stake in this short period of time, the next ten years, everyone with any ability to discern the future has attempted to see these events clearly. If one observer tries to see an event, the context disappears. Trying to see the context obscures the view. Add more observers, and you add more interference. Suddenly it’s not so clear what happened to make the system stable.”
“So all these visions I’ve been having,” Mulder said, working at the tension in his forehead with his fingers. “That’s not what will happen, but what might happen?” He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head slightly as he looked up, staring out the passenger side window. “Why do I bother trying to work these things out? Scully, why do I do that?”
“Because you can’t leave well enough alone,” Scully quipped, before turning back to Christopher. “So we’re not really trying to fix things, so much as make the right choices to bring about the future we want, out of the choices Angel can see.” From the tone of her voice, Mulder could tell she wasn’t convinced, despite her earlier agreement.
“Someone once said that a war is won before the first battle, because it all comes down to the planning.” Christopher shrugged. “Assuming that winning the war means getting our desired outcome, then Angel’s work has been the advanced planning for our side. We all know that the conspiracy and McShane have been doing the same. So now it comes down to which plan is the best, and when things go wrong, which side can adjust the best.”
“So this is the first step in the plan?” Mulder asked, somewhat incredulously. “We’re going camping?”
“He has a point,” Scully added, once she was sure that Mulder was done talking. “I know you said that this will help buy time for whatever you have planned in Colorado, but why not go there directly? Why wait, when every time we listen to the radio, it sounds like more and more of the military are showing up at their door?”
“We want them there,” Christopher reminded them with a grin. “And we need a few things to happen in the meantime. Not all of the conspiracy’s assets will be in Colorado. A lot of them will be sent McShane’s way very shortly, and that’s something we were hoping for. If we get lucky, the others will manage to get clear and meet us there, but that’s going to take time.”
“And we’re all supposed to make it?” Scully asked. She didn’t bother hiding her worry.
Christopher hesitated, and then shrugged. “That’s the plan. Hard to say how the cards will fall.”
Mulder couldn’t see Scully’s face, but the silence spoke volumes. He knew her well enough to understand what she was thinking, at least in a situation like this. “Well, what are the chances that these visions are from the possible future that we’re supposed to be working towards?”
“You want odds?” Christopher asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m still alive,” Mulder replied quickly, turning around in his seat to look at Scully directly. Her face was pale, and she seemed to be hanging on to his every word. He understood now why she had been spending so much time on the theory and science of it all; it was the only thing keeping her sane. “And William’s with me, Scully. Our son is alive, and he’s healthy.”
“All right,” Scully murmured under her breath. “All right, who else did you see?”
“John Doggett, and someone who seemed to be his son.” Mulder shrugged. “I don’t know. His name was Chris, and he was a good friend of William’s. They were like brothers, and someone named Mo was his mother.”
“Morgan Dannah,” Scully said, her voice a bit more steady. “But John mentioned that Mo can’t have children.”
“Neither could you,” Mulder observed. “But like I said, I can’t be sure of the context. For all we know, it could have been this Christopher, just playing another role.” He glanced at the young man in the driver’s seat, but Christopher didn’t react. “I didn’t see you, Scully, but I’m pretty sure that we were talking about you at one point.” He thought it over for a moment, and then he shook his head. “I don’t remember anything about Skinner or Agent Reyes. But I do know that Rhiannon was there, and she wanted something from William, something to do with her father’s plans.” He turned fully in Christopher’s direction. “What do you think? Is that the right future?”
“I don’t know,” Christopher replied, though Mulder couldn’t tell if he was being truthful. For all that Scully trusted Angel, neither of them really knew a thing about her supposed brother. “That’s something we’ll be working on at Taos, putting some of the pieces together, to better understand the system, see how the numbers fall out. But Mulder, there’s one thing that Angel and I both agree on. It’s likely to come down to your son and McShane’s daughter. One of them will get the upper hand over the other, and that’s going to be the difference. What do your visions tell you about that?”
Mulder slumped back into his seat, and remembered what he had last seen, just before Christopher’s arrival. “I don’t know,” he said under his breath, even though he had cold feeling in his chest. “I’m not sure.”
***
PHARMACEUTICAL RESEARCH INSTITUTE
RARITAN, NJ
MAY 27, 2002
10:29 AM EST
Rhiannon rocked back on her haunches, staring into Skinner’s face with concern. Even though he had been careful to keep his ability to control the pain secret, however subconscious that control might have been, Skinner knew that she was strong enough to recognize that he was being deceptive. He wondered, absently, how she could still not know what was happening, when he was obviously thinking about it. But he was afraid to think too deeply on the whys and wherefores, afraid to accidentally ruin that one sliver of good fortune. Rhiannon was creative enough as it was.
“If you know something about the operation in Colorado,” Rhiannon said finally, “then you should tell me before my father comes back. He’s running out of patience.”
Skinner smirked, ignoring the taste of freshly drawn blood on his lips. “Is that right? Remind me to tell him how much I care about his lack of patience.”
Rhiannon shook her head. “He’s not going to let you divide his attention, no matter how useful you are as bait.”
“Then just get it over with.”
The door slid open, and McShane strode in, coming right for him. “Time’s up, Walter. Things are going to get interesting in the next hour or so, and I can’t waste any more time on you or your hidden memories. Even I need time to consider the next move, information or no.” He glanced at his daughter with a hint of irritation. “Rhia?”
“He’s seen a couple things,” she said with a youthful shrug. “Mostly stray items...handwritten notes, that sort of thing, coming in and out of meetings that he didn’t really understand.” She rubbed her forehead with a slight wince of irritation; it was the first sign of weakness she had shown. “Most of it matches the news reports. There are a number of children and their guardians in a commune in Colorado, south of Denver, near the mountains.”
“And that’s it?” McShane asked, sighing under his breath.
“It’s not the content,” Rhiannon replied. Skinner caught her staring at him again. He still couldn’t read her expression; if he hadn’t learned better the hard way, he might have interpreted something like compassion or pity behind her green-tinged eyes. “It’s the context.”
McShane wandered towards the monitors. Skinner noticed he was focusing on the cameras covering the front entrance to their building; the man hadn’t been lying about his concern over the impending assault. “Tell me more.”
“The references to Colorado were often in conjunction with military planning of some kind,” Rhiannon explained. Skinner found it surreal to have a young girl discuss memories that he couldn’t even conceive of owning. “And that planning took place over a period of weeks, maybe even months. A lot longer and more complex than a simple standoff would imply.”
McShane turned in their direction, his features practically alight with interest. “That fits. So something is happening there...something important enough that the conspiracy is acting with caution.” He glanced at Skinner with a smile. “And is there any indication that this might have something to do with Angel and her plans?”
“Nothing,” Rhiannon noted, smiling herself. It was not a pleasant look.
“Absolutely nothing?” McShane repeated to himself. “That seems rather unlikely, doesn’t it, Walter?” He stepped into the middle of the room, staring at Skinner the entire time. “Angel had to know something was happening there, that the conspiracy was interested. So why wouldn’t she want to look into it?”
“Maybe she did,” Skinner snapped. At this point, what was the point of avoiding punishment? “I wouldn’t know everything she was thinking or doing.”
“True,” McShane conceded. “But it’s the lack of anything that could be placed in that context...that’s what I find intriguing. As if she made sure it wouldn’t be found.” McShane shook his head. “No, there’s a connection. I’m sure of it. You may not know what it is, but Angel was worried that you might say something you shouldn’t.”
“So we keep him alive,” Rhiannon guessed.
McShane nodded. “We do.” He bent over, his face inches from Skinner, his eyes full of malicious intent. “If Angel is involved, and I think she is, then this is just the first step. We handle them here, on our terms, and then we figure out how to use Walter here in Colorado.” He stood up straight, walking back towards the wall of monitors. “Angel kept him from revealing secrets for a reason.”
Skinner stared at the blurred images on the monitors, trying to see what McShane found so interesting. He wasn’t sure that his reprieve was a blessing. He had to admit that McShane’s logic made sense; why else would Angel have ensured that he wouldn’t say or remember the wrong thing? And how else could he explain why certain thoughts and memories remained hidden, no matter how much he thought about them?
He only hoped that he would survive long enough to know what he was supposed to be doing.
***
INTERSTATE I-70
OUTSIDE MARSHALL JUNCTION, MO
MAY 27, 2002
11:57 AM EST
The back of the Ford Explorer was down, allowing John and Gibson a chance to eat in the fresh air. Behind them, on the back seat, Monica was stretched out, getting as much as rest as possible. John understood completely. He’d been foolish enough to keep driving, without a break, after the confrontation at the rest stop outside Raton, after a week of mostly sleepless nights and hours of exhausting tension fleeing from the Anasazi ruins. Monica had taken over somewhere in the middle of the night, about an hour before they’d managed to catch I-70.
While driving through southern Colorado, John had listened to the radio, hoping for some kind of definitive report about their situation, at least from the public’s point of view. As it was, the media was focused on the administration’s response to Mulder’s escape. He found it oddly comforting to know that there was little interest in their whereabouts, though they were considered “still at large and extremely dangerous”. They were implicated, but not one of the main targets.
Most of the reports involved the same information, repeated over and over. The situation at the commune in Colorado was still escalating, with the expectation of armed assault on the main compound within a matter of days. The discovery of a possible terrorist cell in central New Jersey, related to a major intelligence leak and possible ties to the bioterrorism plaguing the nation’s capital for the past several months, was the justification for another impending military action. And on top of that, there was the allegation that Mulder and his allies were involved in both of those activities, to some extent or another.
Between the various news reports, Gibson had offered explanations for what was happening. It had taken some convincing for John to accept that they were supposed to get back to Washington as soon as possible, now that Angel and Craig were in some kind of danger and nearly everyone else was dead. But when Monica had failed to get through to her parents in Mexico City, it was clear their fears had been realized. Not only were their lives finally forfeit in the eyes of the conspiracy, but their loved ones were being held accountable for their past actions and decisions. It was a steep price to pay.
If the stress of the moment hadn’t been enough to test Monica’s resources, the realization that everyone in her family was dead had just about done the job. In between largely unsuccessful attempts to rest while she was driving, she had her occasional questions for Gibson. Her tone of voice was almost inhuman, even and deceptively calm. He couldn’t remember a time when she’d been so close to giving up and letting the bastards win.
John had to admit to himself that he was holding on to the hope that Angel and Craig might still be alive, even if it wasn’t the sole thread holding together his sanity, like it appeared to be for Monica. He was more concerned with coming to terms with Gibson’s version of the big picture. It had been easy enough to believe that Mulder wanted to hide his connections with Gibson, especially if the young man was involved with Angel in some way. Gibson still hadn’t explained that part.
But it was much harder to reconcile the fact that Mulder had supposedly been a prisoner of Thomas McShane, held hostage until McShane was ready to implement his own plans. It fit what Angel had told them: William and the conspiracy’s attempts to control him were all a ruse engineered by McShane to protect his own daughter. John felt foolish for not seeing the possibility earlier, especially since he’d been the first to encounter McShane and his ability to mess with everyone’s heads.
Gibson seemed to know more, and it had something to do with Angel. John knew that Angel had resources, and now he knew that those resources were hidden from McShane as well as the conspiracy. But it was just as clear that Angel’s resources were finite. McShane had to have been the agency behind the attempts to infiltrate the conspiracy’s intelligence network over the past few months, and just as clearly, the man was responsible for the deaths of Langly, Frohike, and Byers after they discovered as much.
Still running through the events of the past few months in his mind, John glanced over at Gibson, who was staring out into the heat of the Midwest early afternoon. The young man’s expression was completely different than any of them had come to expect. Even his body language had changed. He was no longer the victimized prodigy that he had allowed others to perceive and abuse. He and the Native man at the rest stop had been behind the elaborate deception during Mulder’s trial to hide Mulder’s true whereabouts and intentions, using whatever McShane had done to their friend to tell the conspiracy exactly what they wanted to hear.
“We should get moving again soon,” Gibson said, absently wrapping up the other half of his sub sandwich. Obviously, Gibson had been watching him just as intently, but hadn’t been so blatant about it.
“I’m still not sure why I shouldn’t just take the first chance to turn north and never look back,” John replied.
“You’d never make it past the border now,” Gibson countered, glancing at John with a rueful smile. “Your best chance is with Angel.”
“Is that right?” John asked. He took a moment to check on Monica, who was still sleeping on the back seat. “How can you be sure that her resources aren’t being wiped out along with ours?”
“Some of them are being wiped out,” Gibson admitted. He let out a long sigh. “Chances are, her stockpiles are being raided, and all of the buildings and areas kept out of the conspiracy’s network have probably been burned to the ground.”
John understood what Gibson was telling him. “So everything’s gone. My house, Monica’s...even Scully’s apartment and those storage warehouses.” Then something occurred to him. “What about the other tenants in those apartment buildings? What happens to them?”
Gibson shook his head. “I wouldn’t count on any of them surviving.”
John closed his eyes, thinking of the dozens of people in the apartment buildings where Skinner, Angel, and Craig had lived. How many of them were among the suspected or confirmed “terrorists” described on the news reports? How many of them had been killed under the ruse of protecting the national interest?
“And you’re still positive that you’ll be able to find Angel and Craig?” John asked, shoving the last of his sub into his mouth. “We’re not just wasting our time?”
Gibson nodded. “I can sense where she is. It may be difficult, though. The enemy is strong in Washington, and they feel almost the same as Angel does at this distance.”
“But you don’t know what’s happening to the others?” John pressed, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You can’t tell me if any of this is worth it, if they’re even alive?”
Gibson hesitated, but ultimately, he shook his head. “I’d tell you if I could.”
John crumbled the wrapping of his sandwich into a ball, tossing it into a plastic bag. “I’m taking an awful lot on faith, Gibson.”
“I know.” Gibson said, following John as the older man jumped to the ground. “But that’s all we have right now.”
***
OUTSIDE TAOS PUEBLO, NM
MAY 27, 2002
12:02 PM EST
“We’re here.”
Mulder stirred from the daze that he had been in since the border, blinking away the weariness. Despite wanting to understand more about his own visions, and despite knowing that Scully had more questions about his months with McShane, Mulder had let the oppressive silence take over. More quickly than she might have expected, Scully had passed out, exhaustion overcoming curiosity. But he had been unable to sleep, still haunted by visions of the future.
Shaking away a slight disorientation, Mulder opened the passenger door and stepped onto the dry sands surrounding them. Looming on the horizon were mountains covered in green, capped in white. Not far, in the distance behind them, stood the unassuming structures of the Native pueblo. For a moment, the image reminded Mulder of Anasazi ruins where he had stood hours earlier. His time with Scully in Roswell had felt so much longer than one night, but now, the whirlwind of the past week left him staggering.
“Come,” Christopher said, gesturing to them as he walked past the SUV, gesturing further into the valley. Standing in the middle of the bare land, tucked away between the sparse trees, was a lodge. To Mulder it looked much like what he had seen when healing under Albert Hosteen’s care. Glancing at Scully, he could tell that she had seen such places as well.
“What exactly are we going here?” Mulder said loudly. “I thought we were supposed to be doing something important, not sight-seeing!”
Christopher didn’t bother turning around. “This is more important than you think. I don’t suggest you waste any more time.” He pointed towards the low clouds hovering near the edge of the mountains. “We should be inside before the walking rain comes.”
Mulder smiled slightly, turning to Scully. “Sight-seeing, it is.”
“Mulder,” Scully breathed, letting her tone of voice express her own frustrations. “I can’t be sure without walking over there, but that looks like a traditional sweat lodge. I saw something like it when they brought Albert Hosteen home from the hospital. And something tells me you recognize it, too.”
He nodded, sighing as he moved to follow Christopher. “Yeah. Yeah, I recognize this.”
Scully caught up with him, and together, they walked towards the lodge. As Christopher approached, well ahead of them, three men stepped out of the lodge. Christopher pointed in their direction, and the men nodded. One of them returned to the lodge, while the other two remained with Christopher. One of them seemed familiar, an old man with a bearing of complete authority. The other man was young, barely an adult. It wasn’t until he approached them, moments later, that Mulder realized that these were not strangers.
“I don’t believe this,” Scully muttered next to him. “You’re a part of this?”
Eric Hosteen smiled. “Hard to believe that this day has finally come.” He turned to Mulder. “My uncle did not tell me the truth, not until you were gone from us. I think he wanted to be sure that it was the truth, even if Asdzaa Nadleehe, Changing Woman, said his visions were true visions. Still, I wish he could be here, to do this himself.”
“Not a time for doubts, boy,” the old man said with a smirk. “Running Fox has enough of those on his own.” The man held out his hand, the smirk widening into a sly grin. “I told you we would meet again in eight years.”
“Ish,” Mulder said, not quite believing his own eyes and ears. “I remember when you said that, but I thought...”
“I know what you thought,” Ish said, with a dismissive shrug. “This has nothing to do with what happened eight years ago. I’ve been watching you since the last time we met, Running Fox, and I was right. You respect our beliefs more than I could have dreamed.” He nodded towards Scully. “And you, for that matter. You’ve come a long way. I should have known you were the ones to bring Lost Brother home.” He turned back to Mulder. “You really don’t know why you’re here?”
Mulder shook his head, waving a hand at Christopher. “He said it was something important, something about making sure the future turns out the way it should. I’m not sure how this is supposed to help make that happen.”
“You have visions of the future, Mulder,” Eric replied. Mulder didn’t bother asking how he knew about that. “You struggle to place those visions into perspective. But as this brother to Changing Woman told you, we don’t have ten years to figure it all out. The seeds of the next world are being planted now.”
“Have already been planted, years ago,” Ish said with a grunt. “And that’s what this is about, Mulder. Once before, you crossed into the Otherworld, where the ancestors dwell. Then, you needed to be close to death to walk that path, to stand on the threshold, because Changing Woman wanted your visions to be locked away, out of sight. Now, it’s time for you to walk that path again.”
“Changing Woman?” Scully said softly. “You mean Angel?”
“That is how she has revealed herself to you, in your world,” Eric replied. “In our oldest stories, she is Asdzaa Nadleehe, Changing Woman. To others, she is Grandmother Toad, Horny Toad Woman...there are thousands of names, but they are all the same. She is what you might call the female aspect of the diyin dine, the Holy People.”
“In the past eight years,” Ish continued, “since you left the Trego, I have walked among my brothers of other tribes, heard their stories, felt the truth of their ceremonies. I strongly believe this was the task given to me. Just as you have attempted to reveal the truth to your people, I have sought the truth among my people.”
“My uncle told you of the Anasazi,” Eric said, nodding as Ish paused.
“He called them ‘ancient aliens’,” Mulder confirmed. “And the prophecies of the Anasazi have come up more than a few times.” He glanced at the lodge. “That’s what this is about?”
“My travels brought me here,” Ish answered, before Eric could consider his words. “And when I met with the Hopi, I understood. They call their ancestors Hisatsinom, ‘the ancient ones’, and in their sacred stories, they come from the stars themselves.”
“Ancient aliens,” Mulder murmured. “So the Anasazi prophecies...”
“...became the prophecies of the Hopi,” Ish finished. “And that is why you are here. Those prophecies, and those of the People around the world, are coming true. Your visions, Mulder...your visions confirm it. And your son is the one we have all been waiting for.” He gestured towards the lodge. “We have brought you to speak with an elder of the Waicha, a tribe that has also been preparing for this day. Together, we will walk with the ancestors, and you will see how we came to this moment.”
Mulder smirked. “Sounds to me like you already have the answers.”
“We have our answers, the answers of our people,” Eric admitted. “But you seek the truth, Mulder. In the end, that means finding the answers of your own people, just as you sought them when you walked among them with my uncle.”
Mulder turned to Scully, but she was already stepping towards the lodge. “Do what you want, Mulder. But if this is what we need to find William, to help him, then I’m walking wherever they tell me to walk. I trust Angel enough for that.”
Mulder looked after her, and then let out a long, weary sigh. “Christopher...if that’s really your name.” The young man gave him an amused grin, but waited for Mulder to finish, rather than rising to the bait. “Are you sure we have time for this?”
Christopher laughed. “I think you’ll find, Mulder, that time works somewhat differently here.”
Scully stopped at the entrance to the lodge, looking back in his direction. Mulder recognized the expression on her face; she was practically begging him to play along. There was no way for her to understand, which struck Mulder as rather ironic. For years, Scully had been given chance after chance to accept personal proof of the paranormal, but she’d always found a way to keep herself detached, at arm’s length from anything that would force her to accept what she had experienced against her will.
Now, he was in the same position. He understood himself well enough to know that he was seeking a way out of a future he knew was coming. He had seen his own body, frozen for thousands of year in Antarctic ice. He understood that he was destined to end the threat of Purity at the cost of his own life. But until now, he had been dealing with prophecies and prediction born of a madman’s desire to control and shape the future.
This was something entirely different. These were beliefs and portents thousands of years old, borne of a connection to a being that had already proven her ability to know future events and act accordingly. Walking into that lodge meant facing confirmation of his own fate. The others were right, this was exactly the kind of offer that he had always wanted: a chance to know the truth, to understand. And hadn’t he risked his life a dozen times over, just for some shred of the truth? The only difference was that he had risked with the possibility of success, his fate uncertain. Now, the price of the truth was all too clear.
“The truth,” he whispered, turning to Christopher. The young man watched him with ancient eyes, and somehow, it made his choice that much simpler. He took a deep breath, and went to join Scully. He saw the relief and anxious joy on her face, and deep inside, he etched that expression into his memory, swearing never to forget it.
