"Snapshot 25:Sword's Point" Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and any other tangentially mentioned characters were created by Chris Carter, and remain the copyrighted property of him, TenThirteen Productions, and Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All characters are used without permission, and no infringement is intended. Archivists : Sure. Just make sure to keep my email address and this entire text as is without changes. Feedback : Please. Positive, negative, what have you. Address is drambo@sonic.net Classification : MSR, X, A Rating : R (Adult situations, gory violence) Geographical Note : There is no Court County in Montana, to the best of my knowledge, nor is there a town called Pave Creek. Readers that hail from Big Sky Country, I have created the entire town, it's population and customs out of whole cloth for the needs of this story. I have put Pave Creek in a place where there is no city, or if there is one there, it doesn't show up on my Rand McNally map. :) Author's Note : What follows, prior to the commencement of the story, is mostly administrivia. Please feel free to skip to the Enjoy! line and begin reading. *** WARNING WARNING WARNING *** This chapter contains information of a highly, deeply technical nature. There is some MSR in here, as always, but the majority of this chapter is dedicated to explaining some theoretical physics regarding temporal mechanics and espionage means and methods. This is a 'housekeeping' chapter, and by that I mean it exists solely to move the plot along to its (what one beta reader calls) "slam-bang conclusion." I apologize to those of you who think that the polysyllabic pseudoscientific technobabble detracts from the story. To those that enjoy this sort of stuff, you're gonna love this chapter. :) Technology Note : As Kai Nikulainen (knikulai@uti.fi) has pointed out, some of the technology that I am describing probably cannot exist. To put a finer point on it, my descriptions of computers (like Wuzzle,) and methods that Zack used to alert the NSA to his presence are probably best left in the realm of poetic exaggeration. In other words, they don't exist, and could not exist, knowing what we know about the laws of physics and how the computers of today's day and time are constructed. My defense to this (which has resulted in rather lively email exchanges,) is simplicity itself: We don't know what any 'alien' culture might have invented, so the author is free to let his imagination run wild, as it has most definitely (Bwahahahahaha) here. Additionally, my descriptions of espionage means and methods, as well as project names, places and dates, are part truth, part conjecture, and part total fantasy. To me, it adds 'fabric' to the quilt of the story, texture to the narrative, and can be skipped if one isn't into that. It is up to the reader to determine where reality ends and my creations begin. I am in the deep debt of several people, most of whom prefer to remain anonymous. Portions of Scully's dialogue in this chapter are lifted almost entirely and paraphrased from discussions that Kai and I had, and I am in his debt for helping me give voice to the ScullySkeptic that I so desperately needed in this chapter. Enjoy! ----------------------------------------- "All men by nature desire to know." -- Aristotle "Our knowledge can only be finite, while our ignorance must necessarily be infinte." -- Karl Popper "As we acquire more knowledge, things do not become more comprehensible, but more mysterious." -- Albert Schweitzer 22 Mon Bar Road Pave Creek, Montana "What do you mean, maybe?" Mulder asked, his voice insistent. Scully recognized his tone. When he got like this, he would not be denied. Perhaps it was the pregnancy, perhaps it was the natural maternal instincts her gender enjoyed, but whatever it was, Scully felt more than a little concern for Zack Tarses. He had never enjoyed a full-throttle MulderTantrum before, and unless he had a much better answer than 'maybe' to Mulder's eternal question, he was about to be treated to one. And then some. "Perhaps the physics student can explain." "Uncertainty principle?" Scully asked, suddenly understanding what Zack was getting at. The teenager nodded, the beaming smile on his face telegraphing his satisfaction at having someone who understood his work, if only a little. Sheesh, Scully thought, he's sixteen going on forty. Turning to Mulder, she started to explain. "The principle deals with subatomic particles. Basically, it says that the closer to get to determining the exact velocity of a particle, the further you get from being able to pinpoint its location. The reverse is also true...the closer you get to determining its location, the further you are from knowing its velocity." Mulder held up his hands. "That's all well and good, but what does that have to do with Sam?" Scully sat down heavily, sighing deeply. "What it means is that...while Zack here can spot a Hamion trail with his little box, and even examine it, I doubt he has the ability to...track one, if that makes any sense. In other words, for all intents and purposes, he's looking at...history. He's looking at what has already happened, because if he is able to know where it is-" "He has no idea how fast its moving." "Right," Scully said. She glanced over to Zack to see if she'd explained it correctly, and saw the oddest smile on the boy's face. He had that cat-ate-the-canary expression that Mulder wore, and every time Mulder did it, Scully wanted to wipe it off his face. "What?" she asked, annoyed. "You," he said, "are half right. Now, take into consideration what I've explained about the temporal mechanics of the box, and explain how we might be able to get Samantha back." Scully felt herself chewing her bottom lip as she tried to wrap her mind around the problem. And then she had it. Snapping forward in her chair, she grabbed a pen. Dragging a blank legal pad from a corner of the desk over to where she sat, Dana began quickly figuring, using almost-forgotten equations from courses taken years ago. "Oh my god," she whispered. "What?" Mulder asked. Getting no response, he stood and walked behind the desk. Peering over Scully's shoulder, he tried to decipher what she had written on the page. "Scully?" "Let me think," she whispered urgently. "Einstein," Zack prompted. "...said that space-time was curved. That if you could go as fast as light, you'd occupy all points of the universe at the same time, and be able to see the back of your own head. But, he didn't anticipate the temporal layering effects. The way each parallel dimension is...layered on top of each other, like a stack of pancakes." Scully used her hands, trying to explain to both Zack and Mulder at the same time. "But since the temporal mechanics that Zack has told us about make sense, in a gravometric sense..." "Scully," Mulder sighed, "what the heck are you babbling about?" Zack and Scully shared a private, secret smile. "Sit down, and I'll try again, Mulder." The FBI agent retook his seat and cupped his chin in his hand, staring at his partner. "Go ahead," he prompted. "The different universes that Zack is talking about all exist in a certain super-time continuum, if that makes sense. The universe that we know, the one that you and I occupy, is but one of perhaps billions, perhaps an infinite number of universes. Okay so far?" Mulder nodded. "Ok...they're all stacked on top of one another. The way that these people can travel through the fields to a parallel universe would look to us, if we were in these other universes, as traveling through time, but only in a certain sense." Mulder's eyes started to glaze over. Scully took a deep breath and tried again. "Ok...imagine that you could leave this world, and appear on another, adjacent world. But on that world, it was a week ago. But from this second world, you drop through another field, into a third world, where it is two weeks in the future from the second world, or only a week in the future to the first world. To someone who was on the third world, it would look as if you were time traveling. Got it?" Mulder nodded slowly. "Wait a minute...it's all the same, isn't it?" Zack clapped his hands together. "Right, Mulder...you got it." "What?" Scully asked. "Mulder just solved the last piece of the puzzle." Scully looked towards her partner. "Huh?" "Scully...time, us moving through time at normal rates, as we live our day...we move through different iterations of our own universe. The choices we make, the decisions we perform, determine which direction...which specific universe we occupy at any one time." "Close..." Zack whispered, and then Scully got it. "No, not what you said, Mulder...but I'm almost there." "You won't make it," Zack said. "Nothing personal, but you just don't have the-" "Oh my god," Scully whispered again. "We're not aware of it, are we?" Zack's grin widened. "I was wrong...you do understand." "What?" Mulder asked. Now he was lost again. "We don't move through different universes, Mulder. They move through us." "Bingo!" Zack said, his expression so youthfully gleeful that Scully felt herself returning his smile. "Don't you get it, Mulder? It's subatomic particle theory all over again-- up and down quarks, the invisible gravometric glue that holds everything together...what this box does is allow the user to alter the forces at the sub-sub atomic level. By using the box, you can move a universe to you...which has the effect on every one else in that universe as if you've traveled through time, when in fact, it was...distance. You moved an actual distance, on a temporal plane." "Fate?" Mulder asked. "Well, as much as the laws of Newtonian physics can apply to something like fate...yes. You can move to a universe where a certain set of circumstances has occurred. A place where Sam hasn't been abducted, where we never met, where you never joined the FBI, where I'm not..." Scully couldn't finish that particular thought. "What happens to me here?" Mulder wanted to know. "You mean...what happens to you in 'now'," Zack explained. "Yeah, I guess," Mulder said. "Depends," Zack explained. "Perception..." Scully whispered. "Right..." Zack said softly, encouraging her. "Go on...go with it." "Depends on who sees you leave. Another version of you, from another time-space, might occupy your place here, if..." Scully struggled with the theory, trying to find the words to grasp something so fantastic. "...but your own perceptions would be of...nothing. It would be real to you. You wouldn't know if you've moved...it would almost be like a copy of you had...no, that's not right..." She stopped. "I can't..." she whispered. "I can't get there from here." "Perhaps," Zack said after a moment, "a demonstration might be in order." Mulder's head snapped around. "A demonstration? Of what?" "The box." ***** Less than a hundred yards away, in a wooded area that bordered the rear of the "Edwards'" house, Scimitar lay, almost completely face down, pointing a parabolic microphone at the house. The microphone was a combination of laser range finder and acoustic decoupling microphone. It could read the window's minute vibrations and translate them into digital noise that was then interpreted by the smaller- than-a-thumbnail microchip inside the acoustic decoupler, which gave Scimitar a faint, but understandable earful of the conversation currently going on inside the house. For this particular jaunt in the woods, Scimitar wore a Soviet copy of a Finnish woodland-camouflage pattern. He had cammo grease paint smeared into every crack and crevice of his face and head, including his ear canals and nostrils. The laser parabolic microphone was also carefully and equally camouflaged. The entire conversation was being recorded on a specially modified Sony XBR-1 surveillance deck, which had a capacity of up to twelve hours. Scimitar had been prepared to wait that long, and longer, if necessary, to obtain the information he needed. But the Tarses boy had been more then cooperative, eager to spill his guts and share his soul with the two FBI agents. Briefly, Scimitar considered his mission. He searched for what had once passed as his conscience for some sign of regret or hesitation, and found none. A long time ago, he had been a Lieutenant in the Saye'eret (reconnaissance) platoon of the Golani Brigade's elite Egoz battalion. A Syrian artillery shell had changed that forever. His face had taken several months to heal, the nearness of the explosion almost tearing the skin completely away from his skull. His will to survive, his desire to do all that must be done in the name of preserving the State of Israel had been noticed by the right people, first at the AMAN (Agaf Modiin,) which roughly translated to "Intelligence Branch of the General Staff" of the Zahal, the Israeli Defense Forces, and then later, the Mossad Letafkidim Meouychadiym, (the Central Institute for Intelligence and Special Duties,) commonly known as, simply, Mossad. He had been groomed, taught, trained, tested, and sent into the field, first as a member of the elite group of operators that had been charged with tracking down and assassinating each and every Palestinian terrorist that had been associated with the Black September raid on the Israeli athletes' quarters during the 1972 Munich Olympics. Operation Kidon Hagideon (Sword of the Destroyer) had gone off without a hitch, and every single Palestinian terrorist had been eliminated. Then, later, as a specialist for the LEKEM (Leshkat Kesher Madao,) or Bureau of Scientific Relations, a sort of Israeli TECHINT (Technical Intelligence) branch of the Mossad, his specialty had been patience, a skill he had learned those long months undergoing surgery after surgery as the doctors struggled to rebuild his face. His family had long since believed him dead, since the day that Syrian shell at detonated on the Golan Heights. The Mossad knew the advantages to having a ghost operator, a man inside the organization who didn't exist on any roster, who was listed as Killed In Action. He had been given a new name, a new face, and a new code assignment : Scimitar. The man had never looked back. The Tarses boy and the two American FBI agents were not a direct threat to the security of Israel, Scimitar knew. But the General Staff Directorate had made its wishes known. The operation that Mossad was mounting to retrieve the box the Tarses boy had hidden was massive and intricate, even by Mossad standards. The idea itself, however, was simple. Scimitar had been fully briefed on the plan, and he agreed with the concept with his entire heart, body and soul. He would do everything in his ample power to make sure that he obtained the box. Simply put, Israel was going to use The Box as a weapon. The most effective weapon the enemies of Israel had ever seen. Agents of the Zahal, in conjunction worth Mossad and LEKEM would use The Box to travel back in time almost four thousand years. They would bring with them the tools of war that had been developed in the twentieth century, including tactical nuclear weapons. And then, once safely in the past, the military and intelligence agents would permanently remove all traces of any person or country that had ever been a threat to Israel. Israel's safety would be assured for all time, and the children of David would be able to exist peacefully in the land that God had promised them. It was a simple plan on the surface, beautiful in its directness. Scimitar knew he could not...would not fail. But he knew that the Fates might conspire against him, those same fates that had visited his grandfather and grandmother in Poland in 1941, the same fates that had shepherded them both to Auswitcz, the final destination of their lives. And so Mossad had given him a tool, a tool delivered by Avi. It was known, simply, as an "Arrow," and it was the single smallest tactical nuclear weapon ever invented, with a nominal yield of a single kiloton. Detonated at the right place and the right time, and Scimitar would never have to worry about the Box falling into the hands of the enemies of Israel, because he knew that if it did, they would not hesitate to do to Israel what Israel was planning to do to them. ******* The National Reconnaissance Office, a spooky agency funded and run out of the Pentagon, headquartered in a gorgeous, luxurious office building just outside the gates of Dulles International Airport, was responsible for maintaining the net of satellites that orbited the Earth, providing ELINT (Electronic Intelligence,) SIGNIT (Signals Intelligence) and COMINT (Communications Intelligence,) to the entire military and intelligence community that started in the bowels of the Pentagon and spread, ripple-like, through the alphabet-soup of intelligence and law enforcement agencies that made up professional Washington. Starting in the 1970's with their first BYEMAN program, NRO currently had more than a dozen platforms aloft, including the new KH-23 program, code named ROSE TRAWLER. There were only 4 KH-23 birds aloft at the moment, three of them tasked to the joint CIA-Air Force project that was responsible for keeping an eye on the hundreds of nuclear warheads that had been left over from the dissolution of the Soviet Union and its satellite states. The fourth, known in the Satellite Program Control Station (SPCS) outside Sunnyvale, California, as "Big Spooky" was detailed a separate, code-word classified project for the Defense Intelligence Agency. Unknown anywhere outside a very, very small group of people inside the DIA, Big Spooky had been sub-contracted out to yet-another government agency, this one so highly classified that its name had never appeared on a single Congressional budget request, internal memo, inter-agency telex, fax, or in any classified or unclassified governmental telephone directory. In the strictest sense of the word, the small group of administrators and case agents simply did not exist. Nominally, they drew their funding from a double-billed and highly classified account inside the DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Project Agency,) but they were neither headquartered within, or responsible to, DARPA. Instead, a single DIA agent, double-dipping with the CIA, was assigned to oversee operations. And she was headquartered in the CIA's complex in Langley, Virginia. Big Spooky was her satellite, she felt, and with a single call, she had it retasked from its current mission over the South China Sea (where it had been using its still-classified technology to peer down to a depth of almost a thousand feet to research oil deposits,) so that it would hover in a geosynchronous orbit above the northwestern United States. Big Spooky was her eye in the sky, and the several hundred million dollar espionage platform was currently occupied by pointing its TEAL OUTLAW infrared laser resolving microphone (ILRM) directly at 22 Mon Bar Road, Pave Creek, Montana. In a hotel room in neighboring Justice Court, Montana, Walter P. Starke sat on the end of his bed, a pair of headphones clamped over his ears as the STU-6 secure satellite communications link replayed the entire conversation that Scimitar had just recorded. Starke was also recording the conversation, on digital audio tape. When he was satisfied that he had gathered all the intelligence that he could, Starke planned to digitally compress the tape and forward the entire conversation to his boss via a secure burst transmitter that was included in his STU-6 package. His mission was to trail Zack, Mulder and Scully to the Box, and to retrieve it, at all costs. He had been alerted via a DIA mole in the Mossad (through the backchannel communications network that NSA used in the AMEMB [American Embassy] in Tel Aviv,) and then via his boss, that Scimitar was in town, and had planned on going hunting for the same thing Starke himself was. Starke, however, was relying on incomplete information, for he had no idea that Scimitar was carrying an Arrow. ***** Zack asked to use the bathroom, and Scully gave him directions to the guest facilities on the second floor. There was a more than capable powder room off the kitchen, but she wanted the extra time with Mulder that sending Zack upstairs afforded her. "Well?" Mulder asked, scant seconds after the office door had shut on Zack's retreating back. "What do you think?" "What do I think, or what do I know?" Scully asked. "Either. Both." "Well...if he's telling the truth, it's the single most important scientific discovery of this or any other century. If it's true, the future of the world has been placed squarely in the hands of an angry, dissatisfied teenager. If it's true, it will change forever the way physicists and every single world religion look at the concept of human existence." Mulder was bouncing in his chair. "I know...isn't it cool?" Scully crossed her arms and leaned her back against the door. "Mulder...have you heard a single word I've said?" Mulder turned his attention back to his partner. "Scully..." he started, his face wearing that Don't-Be-A- Spoilsport expression that she despised so much. "Don't 'Scully' me, Mulder. You see "Independence Day,' didn't you?" "Of course. We went together...So?" "Remember when I explained how Jeff Goldblum couldn't have written a virus to infect that alien computer system? With a Macintosh? What did you say when I explained that?" "Macintosh - The computer for the rest of the galaxy," Mulder deadpanned. "Mulder, I'm serious." "So am I, Scully. What's your point?" "Zack was talking about...what did he call it? PEACH? Some new computer language that he developed? Mulder, any program written in any language can be written in any language. Zack makes it sound like he changed the laws of physics, the laws of computing, logic and information theory. That just isn't possible. If a sixteen year old, admittedly brilliant computer wonk can write his sniffer program, than you can be sure the gronks at NSA have already written one just as good, if not better." Mulder chewed on that for a minute. "If that's true, Scully, and I'm not saying it is, why did they come after him? Why did they put him on this project? Why did they hand the box to him?" Scully unfolded her arms, using them to shrug. "My point, Mulder. You just made it -- there are holes in Zack's story big enough to drive a Mack truck through. Assuming that what he says is true... why didn't the NSA have him...interrogated when he hid the box?" "Good question," Mulder admitted, knowing what, exactly, Scully meant by '...interrogated.' If the Box existed, and it did do what Zack said it did, there was no governmental agency in the world that would stop at anything to get their hands on it, including torturing a sixteen year old boy. "Let's ask him when he gets back." Mulder retreated back into his own thoughts, but since he was with Scully, he didn't make any effort to keep his emotions from his face. As if reading the newspaper, Scully could see his feelings cross his face. The disappointment at possibly losing yet another chance at finding out where Samantha was, and what had happened to her, was almost too much for the man to bear. Scully crossed the room quickly, holding out her hand to him. "C'mere," she whispered, and he stood, opening his arms for her. Stepping into his embrace, Scully buried her face against his chest, trying to let her love, her deep caring for him transmit itself through her arms, through her body, into his, where he could take and cherish them, where he could draw power and strength from her. "I just thought of something," Mulder said softly. "What?" "If he's telling the truth...we're in a really bad place, Scully." "What do you mean?" "Skinner doesn't know about it, for sure. There's no way he would trust us with this. This is so far above our pay grades that I don't think the Director of the FBI is qualified to handle it." "So?" "So that means, no matter what Stone tells us...we have to treat everyone except you, me and Zack as a possible unfriendly." Scully smiled, feeling the comforting Mulder Paranoia wrapping its arms around her. "So?" "So that means that even though Stone has told us that this place is clean, no bugs, nothing -- we have to assume that this conversation, that every conversation is being overheard, recorded, disseminated and responded to. We could be under someone's microscope even as we talk." ****** "Shit!" Starke sighed. He was going to enjoy killing Mulder. No one should be as paranoid as that man was. It made doing business too fucking hard. ***** Scimitar frowned, for much the same reason that Starke had. Mulder would have to be watched. For the first time in recent memory, Scimitar was actually looking forward to emerging from the shadow world he inhabited to meet an enemy on the field of battle. Mulder would promise to be an interesting adversary, Scimitar thought. ***** "So what do we do?" Scully asked. "First, we have to get a secure call to Skinner to call out the calvary. Or at least warm it up. Where's the nearest HRT to Billings?" Scully thought a minute. "Probably Seattle. Or Denver." "Denver," Mulder thought. "The Seattle HRT is in Alaska undergoing winter survival training. We have to get the Denver HRT team warmed up...maybe even a military unit." Scully pulled back so quickly she almost snapped her neck. "WHAT?" Mulder looked down at her. "What, what?" "Military? Fox William Mulder calling out the military to help solve a problem?" She crossed her arms again, and then reached up with the back of a hand to test the warmth of Mulder's forehead. "No fever...so, who are you, and what have you done with my husband?" Mulder grinned for two reasons; first, the impish look on Scully's face, and second, her casual, used-to-it description of him as her husband. "Think about it, Scully...if what Zack says is true, the military has to be watching this place. And if we call the military to help us with this, then they won't be able to make it vanish. An official request from the FBI, from an Assistant Director, for help recovering what may be an actual extraterrestrial artifact, can't be buried. Too many people would know about it. Too many witnesses." Scully nodded. "Unless they start making witnesses disappearing." Mulder grimaced. "Wait here," he said, moving towards the living room. He found what he was looking for in a small bag of goodies that he had managed to sneak on the mission. Two little presents from the Lone Gunmen. He took one out and looked at it carefully; a small round circular disk, not much larger than a drink coaster. Lifting the phone, he dialed from memory and placed the disk on the mouthpiece. When the voice answered, Mulder began to speak. "Get a pen and pencil. No names on this line. Call the following number and tell the man at the other end that there is a code sixty-five with the Edwards project. Get a callback number and a time. Take your birthday and add the number eleven to the month, sixty one to the day and four hundred to the year. Take the resultant number and add it to the callback number. Post the result on alt.government.conspracies in one hour. Make sure that it hits the mailing list. In two hours, use a canclebot to get rid of the message." Mulder hung up before the voice could answer or question him. ***** FBI Headquarters J. Edgar Hoover Building Six minutes later Assistant Director Walter Skinner, Federal Bureau of Investigation, did not hang his phone up. Instead, he reached over and pushed the switchook down with a single finger. Releasing it, he heard the dial tone and dialed the eleven numbers from memory. "Denver HRT duty line, Duty Officer," the answering voice said. "This is Assistant Director Skinner," Skinner said. "Scramble two teams immediately. Warm up the Lear jet. Your destination is Billings, Montana. I want you off the ground in sixty minutes. You will await further orders upon arrival." "Yes, sir," the voice said. Skinner disconnected and opened a desk drawer, looking for a very special, and highly classified phone directory. Running his finger down the columns of names and numbers, he found what he was looking for and dialed. "JSOC HQ, Duty Officer speaking, sir." "This is Assistant Director Walter F. Skinner, Federal Bureau of Investigation. I am placing plan HUBRIS into effect as of this moment. Scramble the alert team. Your destination is Billings, Montana. You have thirty minutes to be airborne." "Sir, what is your authentication code?" the voice asked. Skinner consulted the book open on the desk in front of him. "I authenticate Zulu Bravo Oscar Six Six Eight." There was a moment. "I challenge you," the voice said. "Challenge is Whisky Tango Echo." Skinner groaned. The man in Tampa was doing it by the book, but there was precious little time to get this done and done right. "I authenticate again: Charlie Romeo Sierra." There was another pause. "Very good, sir. THREATCON?" The man was asking what the THREAT CONdition was. "Charlie," Skinner said after a moment's pause to consider. The Joint Special Operations Command had four different levels of THREAT CONditions, ranging from Alpha through Bravo and Charlie, to Delta. Charlie simply stated that information has been received, or an incident has taken place, that indicates that a terrorist incident had, or was about to take place. The HUBRIS plan was put in place so that the Federal law enforcement apparatus could quickly respond with military might when a terrorist incident took place within the borders of the CONUS (Continental United States.) THREATCON Charlie would get at least a SEAL Team scrambled and airborne. "Sir, will you notify NMCC?" "Through the Justice Department, yes." "Very good. We will scramble now and try to get operational authority once airborne via the NCA." The National Command Authority was the military's way of saying "The President of the United States," or in his absence, the Vice President, or the Secretary of Defense or the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The NMCC, or the National Military Command Center, was the Pentagon's "War Room," where all military action was directed from. "Very well," Skinner said, and disconnected. He dialed a third number. "This is Skinner. Warm the Lear up and get a chopper on the roof in ten minutes." He disconnected and dialed a final number. "I need to speak to the Attorney General," he said. ---------------------------------------- End Chapter 25 End Note: What remains is mostly administrivia and mailing list info. If you're on the list, and don't give a rat's patootie about the technology and espionage means and methods that I describe herein, please feel free to ignore the remainder altogether. Technology Note : As Kai Nikulainen (knikulai@uti.fi) has pointed out, some of the technology that I am describing probably cannot exist. To put a finer point on it, my descriptions of computers (like Wuzzle,) and methods that Zack used to alert the NSA to his presence are probably best left in the realm of poetic exaggeration. In other words, they don't exist, and could not exist, knowing what we know about the laws of physics and how the computers of today's day and time are constructed. My defense to this (which has resulted in rather lively email exchanges,) is simplicity itself: We don't know what any 'alien' culture might have invented, so the author is free to let his imagination run wild, as it has most definitely (Bwahahahahaha) here. Additionally, my descriptions of espionage means and methods, as well as project names, places and dates, are part truth, part conjecture, and part total fantasy. To me, it adds 'fabric' to the quilt of the story, texture to the narrative, and can be skipped if one isn't into that. It is up to the reader to determine where reality ends and my creations begin. I am in the deep debt of several people, most of whom prefer to remain anonymous. Portions of Scully's dialogue in this chapter are lifted almost entirely and paraphrased from discussions that Kai and I had, and I am in his debt for helping me give voice to the ScullySkeptic that I so desperately needed in this chapter.