UMBRA 2:ELLIPSIS Chapter 13 By Dawson E. Rambo Edited by Scott Carr Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and any other tangentially mentioned characters created by Chris Carter remain his copyrighted property, the property of 1013 Productions, and the property of Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. The author believes that the use of copyrighted characters in the forum known as "Fan Fiction" is protected under the "Fair Use" statutes of US Copyright law. No infringement of any copyright is intended. Characters created by the author remain his property. Archive Title : ELLIPSIS 13/? Posting Date : 5 December 1998 Classification : SRA/MSR[m] Overall STORY Rating : NC-17 (explicit sexuality, violence) CHAPTER Rating : PG-13 Keywords : UMBRA, Mulder/Scully, Thriller Summary : Withheld at author's request. Spoilers : Umbra, 3rd Season Author's Note : This chapter jumps around on the timeline folks; but not that much. Just be sure to watch the section headers and adjust your internal chronometers accordingly. Also, please see the end note about two important things and one silly... thanks... "There are no secrets better kept than the secrets everybody guesses." George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950), Anglo-Irish playwright, critic "The secret thoughts of a man run over all things, holy, profane, clean, obscene, grave, and light, without shame or blame." - Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679), English philosopher "But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself is his own dungeon." John Milton (1608-74), English poet Enroute From Hawaii Scully turned off the reading lamp and glanced at her husband. Mulder was asleep, his feet propped up on the fold- out ottoman. His expression was pained, and Scully wondered what he was dreaming about. For a moment, she considered entering his mind, discovering his thoughts. But they had made an agreement long ago not to do such things. Mulder had patiently explained that sometimes, he couldn't control his thoughts, and that his dreams were worse. Reaching her free hand over, Scully ran her fingers down his cheek, trying to transmit her love through her touch. Mulder's expression instantly softened, even in sleep. Such is the magic of marriage, Scully thought, closing her eyes. +=+=+= February, 2000 Office of Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner Federal Bureau of Investigation Mulder shut the door gently and moved to the chairs in front of Skinner's desk. Scully was already in her customary position, one leg crossed primly over the other. "How can I help you?" Skinner asked. He seemed distracted. "We need to contact the Smoker," Mulder said softly. Skinner glanced up. Scully braced herself for the tirade she knew was coming. She'd tried to talk Mulder out of this, had tried hard. She was convinced that Skinner would react the same way he always did when Mulder made his seemingly semi-annual request for information regarding the black- lunged SOB. "I see," Skinner said, recapping his pen deliberately. "May I ask why?" Mulder responded without hesitation. "He came to see us a few months ago, offering us information about the Graves case. He produced a weapon he claimed was the one used to kill Graves at the Zeus Storage facility. The pathologist who performed the autopsy on Graves is a personal friend and former teacher of Scully's. She believes him. The evidence indicates that a Walther PPK was the murder weapon, and Scully wasn't carrying such a weapon at the time Graves died. Which means that our memories of that case are tainted." Mulder held up a hand to stay the expected outburst, but Skinner remained calm, collected, his expression open. He waited for Mulder to continue. "Uh," Mulder said, momentarily flustered, dropping his hand. "...anyway, the Smoker came forward himself to give us this information, as I said. I'm... that is, we're not sure what he's trying to tell us." Mulder glanced at his wife and then continued. "We've talked about it, and we feel that in this particular case, a less...confrontational approach with this man might work better than the...techniques that I have employed in the past." Skinner nodded, his eyes flicking to Scully's face for an instant. He could see that she was trying very hard not to smile at Mulder's exquisitely worded attempt at being politically correct. Rubbing a hand over his face to hide his own burgeoning smile, Skinner nodded. "I will...put in motion the process that I use to contact him. I cannot guarantee that he will respond to my request. But if he does, should I have him contact you here at headquarters?" Mulder took a deep breath and said the hardest words he'd ever spoken. "Whatever is easiest for him, sir." +=+= Two days later, that same soft, polite knock came at the office door. Scully glanced up at her partner and husband. His eyes widened as they both realized who was at the door. Scully was reaching for her pistol when Mulder made a "take it easy" gesture with his hands. Scully relaxed, but only partially. "Come in," Mulder called. The Smoker entered, smiled at Scully and closed the door, crossing to stand in front of Mulder's desk. Steeling himself, Mulder stood, extending his suddenly- sweaty hand. "Thank you for coming," Mulder said stiffly. The Smoker shook the offered hand and then sat, making himself comfortable. "We've examined the evidence you provided in the Graves case, and have come to the conclusion that my memories, and those of my...partner have been modified in some way." Mulder paused. "I assume that you approached us to offer information on what happened that day." The Smoker shifted in his seat. "In a way, yes. But it's both more and less than that, Agent Mulder." Mulder sat back, folding his hands across his abdomen. "I'm listening." The Smoker leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs. "This is the first of several such meetings between us, Fox. In a way, you are going to learn some of the things that you have been searching so long for. But you must arrive at the conclusions yourself. If I just provide you answers to the questions that you've asked, you'll never believe me." The Smoker sat back, tugging at his jacket. "For reasons you may not understand for a very long time, Fox, this is how it must be. You may feel, and rightly so, that over the years I've placed certain... obstacles in your path. That I've done things that you might construe as...counterproductive to your mission, to your quest." Scully opened her mouth to speak. As if sensing her thoughts, Mulder cut his eyes to her, his expression warning her to keep silent. For the moment. "Sir," Mulder said, the sarcasm clear in his voice, "you have tried to kill me several times, and my...partner's life has been put in danger more times than I can count as a *direct* result of actions undertaken by you, or by men under your personal control, or by others involved in your...Project." The Smoker nodded. He looks sad, Scully thought. "Sir?" Scully asked. "How is your health, if I may ask?" The Smoker turned slightly to face her. His grin was tolerant. "Why would you ask such a question?" Scully glanced at Mulder and he nodded. "Well, sir, forgive me for perhaps assuming motivations that don't exist, but it's a common for people facing the end of their lives to make an attempt to... correct the perceived injustices of the past. We have both noticed that you smoke a great deal, and with your...advanced age, one might assume that you are..." She trailed off, letting her thoughts hang in the air. "A very astute question, Agent Scully." He paused. "My health is fine." He hesitated again. "I daresay I might outlive you both." "A threat?" Scully asked. "An observation," the Smoker said cryptically. "One that will make more sense as time goes on." "Anyway," Mulder interjected. "You were saying...?" "Yes, of course. What I am here to tell you today is that the tiny grains of information that you have gathered regarding the Project over the years are just that -- minute factoids that, taken alone, paint a very narrow view of what I am trying to accomplish." "Oh," Scully said. "I see. The Project is really designed for the betterment of mankind, is that it? Just one big social works program?" "Your sarcasm is understandable," the Smoker replied, "but sadly misplaced. And I don't expect you to take my word for it. Not for a long, long time. Not until I can prove to you my intentions." "And how, exactly, do you intend to do that?" Mulder asked. "Please understand me. If this is an honest attempt to give me the answers that I have sought, then I am interested in whatever you have to say. But if this is another disinformation attempt, another misdirection scheme, a bait-and-switch..." Mulder trailed off. The Smoker turned his attention back to Mulder. "I can't tell you everything. Not today. Not for a while yet. As I said, you have to arrive at your own conclusions. But I will tell you two things today, and show you another." Mulder took a deep breath, preparing himself. "Please continue." "The first thing I want to tell you, and the thing that I want you to keep uppermost in your mind during the next few years is that everything...every single action undertaken by me personally or by operatives connected to the Project has been for your own good." He paused and glanced at Scully out of the corner of his eye. "And that includes the...abduction of your wife and her resultant health problems. It includes her subsequent abduction and transportation to Antarctica." "And the infection with...whatever that was? That green shit she had running through her body when I found her inside that...ship?" The Smoker nodded. "A calculated risk," the Smoker said, his voice sounding lame even to his own ears. "You'll understand," Mulder said dryly, "if I find that somewhat difficult to believe." "I do understand, Agent Mulder. In fact, I would have it no other way. For reasons that will become clear in time." "What else did you want to tell us?" Scully interjected. "That you two have been chosen," the Smoker said. "You have felt manipulated in the past. Felt that there are shadowy forces allied against you, dogging your every step, watching you, interfering in your investigations, seizing and destroying evidence, misdirecting your careers, your very *lives.*" Mulder nodded. "That is only how it seems, Fox. And, in a very specific, very narrow way, it is true. But it has been...it has *all* been for a good reason. A supremely good reason. And in time, as things are made more clear to you, I think you will come to agree with me." He paused. "With us." Mulder drew a long, deep breath in through his nose, trying to center himself, trying to diffuse the anger he felt building within. Speaking softly, carefully, he asked, "You said you were going to show us something?" The Smoker nodded and closed his eyes. A moment later, Mulder and Scully both felt something... a tickle at the base of their brains. [He looks like's going to do a magic trick or an impersonation,] Scully heard in her mind. In Mulder's voice. [Ohmygod] Scully thought, and Mulder heard it in his mind. [Scully?] [Mulder?] [What the...?] [Listen to me,] a third voice said. A voice instantly recognizable as the Smoker's. [Every human being is born with an innate psychic ability. Fox, you have believed this for most of your professional life. You have seen what the boy, Gibson, was capable of.] [It's a trick,] Scully thought. [No, Agent Scully, it is not a trick. This is real. I have the ability to...awaken this skill in humans. You and Mulder are connected on a psychic level deeper than anything I've ever seen in my life. This...connection was detected very early on in both of your lives.] [By whom?] Scully asked. [We'll get into that at a later date, Agent Scully. Surely you can't think this is some kind of trick now. I'm answering questions that you have asked . How can that be a trick?] [I would put nothing past you,] Scully answered honestly. [And I understand that sentiment completely. But this is only the first part of what I wish to show you today.] Mulder gripped the edge of the desk, not sure he wanted this to continue. It was too much, too... [Intense.] [That's putting it mildly, lover,] Scully thought. Mulder's eyes flicked to hers and she blushed. She only referred to him as `lover' in her thoughts. She'd never spoken the word to him. "Lover?" he asked out loud, smiling. [There are great changes coming,] the Smoker thought. [You both believe that you have been on a journey of discovery. To your own perceptions that is true. I am here today to tell you that everything you have gone through since becoming partners, and indeed, several of the things you have gone through separately before meeting, were but tiny steps in the journey that you are to take.] Scully and Mulder exchanged a surprised glance. "Says who?" Mulder asked. "I do," the Smoker replied. "I don't expect you to understand or accept this now, Fox. I have a few more things to say, and then I want to show you the second half of what I promised. The first thing I want to tell you is about this...skill that I have just given you." He paused, looking for the words. "It is a powerful gift. Use it wisely." Mulder had a mental image of a crusading knight smiling softly as a certain famed archeologist sipped from a simple wooden chalice. Scully snorted. Mulder gaped at her. "You can read my mind even when I'm not..." "That is what I'm trying to say, Fox," the Smoker said gently. "You both have to learn how to control this gift. How to close and open your mind to each other. At this moment, I'm acting as a sort of...filter, dampening the emotional flow between you. You need to protect yourselves, so to speak. If left unchecked, the random thoughts that flow between you would... slowly drive you insane. You have to learn how to...listen and talk in this new way, and how to ignore each other when necessary." "Like learning a new muscle," Scully said. "Exactly," the Smoker replied. "Why have you done this?" Mulder asked. "I mean, if you have." The Smoker smiled. His prize pupil. Always so eager to believe and yet too quick to judge. "For several reasons. First, you will need this gift in the coming months and years." He hesitated. "Second, as a gesture of good faith. I invite both of you to undergo complete physicals, including neurological evaluations with CT, MRI and PET scans. Check everything you can think of. You'll see that nothing... measurable has been changed." [Bet on it, pal,] Scully thought. [I would expect no less from you, Agent Scully.] "Lastly, one thing about this...gift," the Smoker said. "This part of our discussion is quite delicate. As I said a moment ago, each of you will need to learn how to control the access to your thoughts by the other. Your emotions...strong, intense emotions can be transmitted between you quite easily." He waved a hand at Mulder. "When you get upset or frustrated, Agent Scully will be able to instantly feel that. Instead of just sensing it, just understanding that you are experiencing discomfort, she will be able to...feel it. As if it were happening to her." Mulder nodded, not sure where the conversation was going. Scully knew. "Uh, for that reason," the Smoker said, suddenly looking embarassed, "it's very important that you refrain from...uh..." "What?" Mulder asked. "Hmm..." the Smoker said. [Agent Scully, if you would?] "Lovemaking," Scully said to her husband. Mulder blushed. "Yes, that," the Smoker said. "Actually, any kind of extreme physical intimacy. At least until you gain a handle on this new skill." "And after that?" The Smoker shifted in his chair. "Once you, um, gain control of the skill, I have been told that it can...heighten the sensation of--" "I think we get the idea," Scully interjected. As interesting an afternoon as it had been, the thought that this son of a bitch was sitting in their office discussing their sex life was repulsive to her. [I'm sorry, Agent Scully. I have no desire to make you feel this way.] Scully imagined shutting a door in her mind, slamming it closed on the Smoker's thoughts. She looked up to see him staring at her. "What?" she asked. [She cannot hear my thoughts, Fox,] the Smoker thought. [She's already learned how.] [Scully...can you hear me? If you can hear me, smile.] Scully's face remained frozen in a mask of intense concentration. "Scully?" Mulder asked. "What did you just do?" "What?" "I can't hear your thoughts," Mulder said. "And you can't hear mine." Scully glanced between the two men. She saw the door in her mind again and then thought about it having an access- card reader attached to the lock, the kind that was used in high-security government installations. She saw Mulder in her mind, using his card to open the door. That same door was denied to the Smoker. [Can you hear me now?] she thought. [I can,] Mulder replied, a note of relief evident in his...voice? [Can you hear her?] the Smoker asked Mulder. [I can,] Mulder replied. [Can you?] [No. She is quite...impressive.] [You don't know the half of it, pal.] "This is an interesting exercise," Scully said aloud. "What else do you have for us?" "This," the Smoker said, closing his eyes again. Once again, they both felt the tickle at the base of their brains. "Now, when I leave, I want you to think back to the day Danny Graves died. I think you'll understand a little bit more of the situation." He stood, gathering his coat around him. "When you've assimilated the information, contact me again, and we can continue our..." The Smoker had been about to say `journey together,' but thought better of it at the last minute. "Work," he finally finished. "Should we use AD Skinner to contact you again?" Mulder asked. The Smoker smiled. "Why? You can just reach out for me, and I will come." +=+= He had left them then, shutting the door quietly. "How did you do that?" Mulder asked. "Shut me out like that?" Scully shrugged. [I just imagined a door closing in my mind.] Mulder tried it. He saw Scully standing in front of a door, and he slammed it shut. "Ow!" Scully said. "Sorry, I'm still working on this." "Don't slam it, Mulder. Just...close it." He tried again. There was silence in his mind. "Mulder?" she asked. He opened his eyes. "What?" "I can't hear your thoughts." "God," he laughed. "Who would ever have thought either of us would be saying something so..." "Spooky?" she teased. "Yeah. It is that." He paused, and then grinned. "Jesus, God, am I glad this...talent didn't awaken when I was with ISU." Scully opened her mouth to object, and then realized what he meant. If Mulder had been able to get inside the mind of the monsters that he'd tracked the way he was inside hers... [He'd be insane,] she thought. [Clinically nuts.] "You got it," Mulder said. "You know, Mulder, if we don't guard this ability of ours, if we... "do it" in front of other people, the rumors about us are going to double if not triple. Finishing unspoken sentences, things like that. It'd be...spooky." Mulder grinned. "I wonder what sex--" "No, Mulder." "Just a thought," he grinned. "A lecherous thought," she corrected, returning to her desk. Sitting down behind it, she threw a thought at him. [But not an unwelcome one.] "Scully!" "What? We..." she groped for the words, and decided to say exactly what was on her mind. "Mulder, since we became lovers, since we got married, our relationship has changed. For the better, I shouldn't have to add. I have never felt as close to someone as I feel to you. I can't imagine any two people being closer. The thought that this...gift that man has given us might bring us even closer...especially during lovemaking...it's scary. And wonderful. And breathtaking." She paused. "To know what goes through your mind when we make love... it's every woman's fantasy, Mulder." She felt the door in his mind slam from across the room. Concentrating, she could almost feel him turning imaginary deadbolts, securing it against further intrusion. "Mulder," she said gently. "No, Scully. Don't *go* there." "Mulder," she tried again, "believe me...I'm not going to try and force you to share your thoughts with me when we're making love. Or ever, for that matter. But, if you do, when you do, I promise I will never hold anything against you. No matter what it is." Mulder's expression was dubious. "Scully, men..." he started, and then abruptly stopped. "It's complicated," he finally said. Scully smiled. "We'll talk about it later." Mulder nodded, turning his attention to the Graves case. "What are your memories of that day?" he asked. Scully sat down, crossing her arms. "We landed in the chopper. We went inside. You were carrying the CBX device..." she trailed off. "No," Mulder said slowly. "I wasn't." "No," Scully agreed. "You weren't. We stepped inside and..." They trailed off, trying to remember. For Mulder, it was like swimming through fog. His memories of that day jumped around and then finally settled. He could see... "He was there," Mulder said flatly. "Who?" Scully asked. "Him. The Smoker." Scully's eyes widened as Mulder's words triggered her own delayed recall of the events of that day. "He shot Graves," Scully said. "Right in the head." "And then what...?" Mulder asked. Scully took a deep breath and closed her eyes, concentrating. Fingers at her temples, she leaned forward, feeling the beginnings of a headache starting somewhere behind her eyes. "I...as hard as I try, I can't remember, Mulder..." "The next thing I remember is coming to, and seeing Graves' body. And then the White House and Stone's funeral, the whole thing. What..." "...happened?" Scully finished. +=+= They talked about it for another week, a week in which, without speaking about it directly, they both chose not to approach the other for lovemaking. Mulder was sure that until he got a hold on this new skill, it could be nothing but bad news for his marriage if Scully were to know *exactly* what went through his mind while they made love. Scully, for her part, had no problems with Mulder knowing her thoughts, but knew that he was wary of revealing too much too soon. And so, she respected his decision, contenting herself to cuddle with him before they fell asleep. The "skill," as they were both calling it, (although Mulder privately thought of it as a burden, even a curse,) made a sudden and unexpected appearance in the second week after the Smoker's most recent appearance. Standing tall before The Man in Skinner's office, Mulder was being gently chastised for yet another deviation from accepted Bureau standards and practices. Mulder, uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot, suddenly heard Scully's voice in his head. [He's right, you know.] Mulder resisted the temptation to turn and glare at Scully, and instead replied in kind. [No, he's not. He doesn't understand the situation. Neither do you, for the matter.] [Mulder, I understand perfectly. You went off again, half- cocked, on what can charitably only be called half a fact--] [Dammit, Scully! You know that this work...it's important to--] [You almost said it was your life, didn't you?] [No, you are my life, Scully. But my work--] "Are you two even LISTENING to me?" Skinner roared. "Yessir," they replied in unison. Skinner took a breath and continued. "Furthermore, Agent Mulder, although your recent accomplishments for the Bureau have been outstanding, that in NO WAY mitigates the--" [God, but he does drone on...] Mulder thought. [Mulder, we'll talk about this later. Try and pay attention to the man. Your work--] [OUR work.] [Fine. OUR work won't be worth a hill of beans if we're no longer FBI agents.] [Scully, I know you're right, but you know how I get when I think I'm onto something. I can't risk telling Skinner, not because I don't trust him, but because his ties to that Smoking bastard are so murky! We can't prove anything without *evidence* as you keep reminding me, and every time anyone but you or I are involved in a case, the goddamn evidence just-] "Disappears," Scully said aloud. Mulder glanced at her, alarmed. "Excuse me?" Skinner asked. "Uh, nothing, sir. I'm sorry," Scully stammered. "Please continue." "You two aren't even listening to me," he said, not unkindly. "You're standing there, lost in your own worlds, thinking about God only knows what. It's almost as if..." He glanced between them, his eyes widening. "My God," he whispered. Skinner sat back, removed his glasses and wiped one hand over his face. "I've heard the rumors. I've even seen it with my own two eyes before, but I always thought it was my imagination..." Replacing his glasses, Skinner regarded his two favorite agents. "It's true, isn't it?" "Sir?" Scully asked. "You two can...actually read each other's mind, can't you?" Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance. "Sir," Scully protested, "you realize that just on the surface, that question is absurd." "Bullshit," Skinner said cheerfully. "I've been talking to you for the last ten minutes about your little party in Seattle last week, and you two have been having an entire conversation without speaking a word. Furthermore, you weren't even *looking* at each other." He stood up and turned to face the window behind his desk. A strained silence fell over the room. Skinner turned back, staring at Mulder, hard. Mulder returned his gaze, not flinching. "Please," Skinner finally sighed, "have a seat." Slowly, the partners sat. Scully crossed her legs. Mulder folded his hands in his lap, waiting. "I guess it's finally time," Skinner said softly. "Sir?" Scully asked. [Time for what?] Mulder thought. "The Graves case," Skinner sighed, retaking his seat. He contemplated Mulder silently for a few moments and then reached for his phone. Lifting it, he punched a button. "I'm not to be disturbed," he said. "Even if the Director or the AG call. Understood?" Without a further word, he hung up. "We really haven't talked about that case," Skinner started. "Since the death of Commander Stone, I mean." Neither agent replied, each patiently waiting for Skinner to continue. "We never talked about the Guardians," Skinner finally said. [Oh man,] Scully thought. "...and my role in that organization, and how it...relates to the Smoker." Scully could feel Mulder's excitement. His mind was a noisy mixture of images and sounds and smells and tastes. Images of cases past flew through his head at dizzying speed. Scully started to feel nauseated. Concentrating, she imagined closing the door on Mulder's face. After a moment, the buzz inside her head quieted. Skinner took off his glasses again and sat back, cupping the back of his head in one palm. "I was approached after I was wounded in Vietnam. I was never told why, but over the years, I came to understand that certain people were...watched. From a very early age. They are tested, put through certain...trials. Events are shaped in such a way as to tell the watchers whether or not the subject, in this case me, has the sort of mettle required by the Guardians' mission." "To save the world," Mulder said. There wasn't a trace of irony or sarcasm in his voice. "Yeah," Skinner said gently. "To save the world. Sounds good on the surface. Only...some of the things you have to do towards that end aren't quite mentioned in the recruiting speech. Sometimes you have to do things you thought you'd never find yourself even contemplating." "Such as?" Scully asked. Skinner's eyes slid over to her. "Way too many to count, Agent Scully. Way too many." "I'm sure there were some good things that you had to do as well, sir," Scully said softly. "Yeah. There were some good things. Still are, as a matter of fact. But things are speeding up." He paused. "I'm not high enough in the organization to have the full picture. Few are. By my count, maybe ten or twelve people on the face of this planet have a full understanding of our mission, our techniques, personnel, history...all of that." Turning to Mulder, he continued. "Some of those people are the nameless and faceless men you two keep raging against." He thought about what he'd just said and then added, "Not specifically, I should say. None of leaders of the...movement, I guess, are members of the same group that you two have been struggling against all these years." He paused one final time. "Except one," he added. "The Smoker," Mulder supplied. Wordlessly, Skinner nodded. "The Smoker." "What *is* his role?" Mulder asked. Skinner smiled. "That...that is complicated, my friend." [We've got all day,] Mulder thought. Scully smiled, and then frowned, realizing that the mental door she'd shut on her husband had opened again without her even realizing it. [How'd you get in here?] she asked, smiling. [I've got a key,] Mulder teased. "He is a member of both groups. He serves them both. And in a way, he is at cross-purposes with them both. His loyalties are...complicated." "He's tried to have both of us killed at one time or another," Scully pointed out. "Yes," Skinner said, surprising them both with his honesty. "He has. But not out of malice towards you. He believes in a higher purpose." "To save the world," Mulder repeated. "Over the years, we've seen things--" [YOU'VE seen things,] Scully interjected, trying to send the smile she was feeling along with the thought. As if he were a ventroquilist's dummy, Mulder parroted, "Well, I've seen things over the years that lead me to believe that he's part of the international governmental conspiracy to hide the existence-" [...of extraterrestrial visitation, experimentation and-- ] Scully mentally mimicked. Mulder shot her an annoyed glance. "You've read my reports," he said to Skinner. "You know what I think he's involved with." Skinner nodded. "I can't speak to the validity of that. I'm not in that specific loop." He paused. "Let me ask you both a question. The Smoker came to see you a few days ago. Did he give you more information about the Graves case?" Mulder nodded. "Yes," Scully said. "New evidence." "I thought so. He told me that you two would probably not be using me to attempt to contact him any longer." Skinner paused. "That he would be setting up...alternate communication channels." Waving a hand between them, Skinner continued. "And it appears that he has...accomplished that." The two agents remained silent. [Let him believe what he wants,] Mulder warned. [I know, Mulder. I know.] Skinner stared at his desk blotter, absently rubbing his left thumb and forefinger together, lost in thought. After almost two full minutes of silence, he sighed deeply and looked up. "Starting today," he said, speaking formally, "you two are no longer required to clear your operations and investigations through me, or anyone in the FBI. You will, however, keep me informed of your operations and investigations. That is for your own safety, and so that I can cover your asses. Anything that you need from this office that I can provide, I will. I will also act as liaison between this office and other federal agencies, including certain...factions of the military and intelligence communities." He paused. "You're giving us a hunting license," Mulder said softly. Skinner shook his head. "He gave it to you. The Smoker. I'm just an errand boy on this one, Mulder." "Why?" Mulder asked, and then clarified. "Why now?" Skinner shrugged. "Ask him. Ask the Smoker. He told me that I'd know when it was time, and it's time. If he's giving you the smoking gun on the Graves matter, and has...given you this new communication ability, then...it's time." [He almost looks...excited,] Mulder thought. Scully had to agree. Skinner looked ten years younger. "Get out of here, you two. Finish up the current cases you have, file the paperwork and then..." He shrugged, stood and offered his hand first to Scully and then to Mulder. "And then...go with God." +=+=+= Things picked up after that fateful meeting. Mulder and Scully finished up the paperwork on all their open cases, filed it and... Found themselves utterly unable to figure out what to do. Skinner had as much as said they had an open-season hunting license on the Consortium. But where to start? It was Scully who came up with the crowbar they needed to pry open the doors to the secrets they sought. "State Department," she said one morning, holding her hand out for the shampoo bottle. Mulder, standing next to her in the shower, handed Scully the bottle and frowned. "Not sure I follow." "Your father. It all goes back to him. At least, that's your starting point in all this. We go to State and ask them for all records pertaining to your father." "Scully, they'd never-" "Remember what Skinner said. And...and we can ask..." [Him,] her mind said. [Do we want to be in his debt?] Mulder replied. [Do we want the truth?] Scully asked simply. +=+=+= "That didn't take long," Skinner said, smiling ruefully. "Have you already asked, or is this visit a preemptive strike?" "We asked," Mulder said shortly. "They gave us the usual song-and-dance. Top Secret -- Compartmentalized. Need to Know. Four-Zero classification. Way, way beyond our pay grade. Not a chance in hell, when hell freezes over, etcetera." "Have you tried your...friend?" Skinner asked carefully. "No," Mulder admitted. "We wanted to see..." He left the sentence unfinished, his meaning clear. "If I had as much juice as you think I do," Skinner finished with a smile. "Let me make a call." +=+=+= The files were delivered two days later. Thirteen copier- paper boxes jammed full, under armed plainclothes Marine Corps guard. "Sir," the detachment leader said, offering his clipboard, "please sign for these and then direct me to the classified documents facility." "The what?" Mulder asked, scrawling his name on the proffered form. "Sir, these documents are classified above Top Secret, and by federal law they must be stored in a secure facility." He glanced around Mulder and Scully's office. "You can't just...*leave* them scattered around." "Ah," Mulder said, holding up a finger. "Hold on a sec." He quickly dialed Skinner's office. "Sir, do we have a classified documents facility?" +=+=+= Indeed they did. The files were stored in the CDF upstairs on the sixth floor. The room was tiny, and was more of a walk-in vault than anything else. Mulder and Scully had to sign in and out, and were unable to enter with pen, paper or any other recording instruments of any kind, and they were not allowed to leave with any papers or files. The day after the boxes had arrived, Mulder and Scully signed in, locked themselves inside the CDF and surveyed the boxes. "Pick a box at random, or do we figure out a system?" he asked his wife. "System always works for me," Scully said. [You *would* say that,] Mulder thought. +=+=+= "This is useless," Mulder said, four days later. "These files all refer to operations, projects, missions...but they don't have any details. They talk about "packages" and "merchandise" and "transportation systems," but they don't really *say* anything!" "Plausible deniability," Scully offered. "If you don't write it down, it can't be subpoenaed." "Great..." "What we need to do is make a list of the code-words and project names, and then go to the NSA and the CIA and the DIA and every other "Agency" in the intelligence community and start asking for the documents that relate to these--" "Scully, first off, this is a tiny little room. There's no way we could fit all of that information in there. Second, I doubt Skinner has that much pull with the CIA. Or the DIA. Or the NSA." "We could ask--" She stopped in mid-sentence, casting her eyes towards the floor. [Sorry,] she thought. [No, that's ok. It...it looks like we're going to have to.] [Patterns,] Scully thought. [He wants to see if we can spot the patterns. It's like he wants to...] [Test us,] Mulder finished, his surprised glance meeting Scully's across the tiny room. "He's testing us," Mulder repeated aloud. "Let's get to work," Scully said. +=+=+= It took another two weeks of sixteen hour days in the CDF. "Ok," Scully said. "What have we got?" "STREGA," Mulder said. "That was the first project that my father was involved with. According to the dates and locations of those early papers, it was something to do with a communication system. From that, JOHN WAYNE, whatever the hell that could be. And then into CLARION. If we can find the connection between those three projects, we'll have a starting place." Scully closed the folder she'd been reading and massaged the bridge of her nose, nodding. "I think it's time to call him," she said. "Luke," Mulder said, dropping his voice three or four registers. "I am your FAH-THER!" He proceeded to make SCUBA- breathing noises. Scully smiled. "The dark side of the Force, eh? So, if you're Luke Skywalker, I guess that means I'm Leia." "Ew," Mulder said. "They're *brother and sister*, Scully!" "Good point." +=+=+= The next day, Mulder sat in his office, mentally preparing himself to try and contact the Smoker for the first time. "How do you think I should do it?" he asked his wife. "Well, I'm not sure," Scully said. "Being psychic is kind of new to me." Mulder smiled. "We're not psychic, Scully. We can't predict the future or contact the dead or--" "Not *yet*," she pointed out. "Who the hell knows what other... talents that man can activate inside our brains?" Mulder closed his eyes and concentrated. He saw his hands folding something and placing it in an envelope. An invitation, he thought. Inviting him to come over for a little chat. A little sit-down. A pow-wow of sorts. He saw his hands inserting the envelope into a mailbox. He opened his eyes. "Well, I hope it got there," he said to Scully. Sighing, he turned his attention to some files he'd requested from the National Security Agency under the Freedom of Information Act. It wasn't anything especially interesting, but until the Smoker made contact again, they had nowhere else go to. Mulder suddenly sat upright, a buzzing in his head. "What is it?" Scully asked. "Hold on," Mulder said, closing his eyes. Scully saw what he was doing and for the first time, decided to join him. Sitting back, she closed her eyes again and imagined a door, a door to Mulder's mind. Opening it, she stepped through and found herself in a tiny dark room. Mulder was standing there. [Cool,] the mind-Mulder said to her. [How'd you do that?] [I'll show you later,] she said. Glancing around, she noticed that the...room, for lack of a better word, was filled with boxes and boxes of papers and magazines and newspapers. The place looked like it would have a slightly musty smell. [Love what you've done with the place,] she quipped. And then, feeling really silly, she asked, [Why are we here, anyway?] [Uh,] Mulder replied, his expression sheepish. [Someone's at the...uh, door.] The Mulder in Scully's mind pointed to a door she hadn't noticed. Mind-Mulder reached out and opened it. Of all things Scully expected to see, a FedEx man was among the last. Without a word, the FedEx man handed Mulder an envelope and then vanished. [Hm,] Mulder thought, [I prefer using UPS.] [Open it,] Scully urged. Mind-Mulder tore the envelope open and extracted a single sheet of paper. On it were five words, handwritten in large, bold letters: TOMORROW. 5:00pm. YOUR OFFICE. Mind-Mulder turned and faced Scully. [Beats the hell out of email,] he thought. +=+=+= The next night, at exactly 5:02, a soft knock came at Mulder's door. "Come in," he called. The Smoker entered, smiling. "I hope you got my message," he said. "Yeah," Mulder said, unable to take his eyes off the man. "I did. That's...amazing." "It's only the beginning, Fox," the Smoker replied, taking his by-now customary seat in front of Mulder's desk. "So, why did you request a meeting?" "We've done some research on some of my father's papers from when he was with the State Department," Mulder began. "An excellent choice," the Smoker offered. "But before we get to that, I..." Mulder trailed off, and then switched to his new skill. [What do I call you?] [I think "Black-Lunged SOB" fits quite nicely, don't you think?] Mulder flushed in embarrassment. [I'm sorry you had to...uh, hear that, but...you can understand why I would--] [Well, I go by many names,] the Smoker's thoughts interrupted. [I can honestly say that I almost don't remember my real name anymore. I used to go by Raoul Bloodworth.] [That cheesy spy novelist?] Scully asked in shock. [You've read my work?] The Smoker's voice in both Mulder and Scully's head sounded oddly pleased. [No,] Scully said quickly. [But, I've, er, heard of him. From friends.] [I see,] the Smoker replied, frowning. "What would be comfortable for you?" he asked Mulder. "Tanner," Mulder finally said. "You look like your last name should be Tanner." "Tanner it is, then," The Smoker said. Reaching into his jacket, he returned with a small white card, reaching across the desk to offer it to Mulder. Mulder took it and glancing at it, gasped. "How did--?" he asked. The Smoker shrugged. Scully walked behind her husband's desk and glanced over his shoulder. It had the six-color crest of the FBI in the upper left corner, and centered, in the middle, "M. Tanner." Below that, in slightly smaller print, "Special Investigative Consultant." "My...home number is on that card," the Smoker said. "If, in the future, you need to contact me, you can use that number." Mulder pocketed the card, feeling a little like Alice in Wonderland. I'm late, I'm late, he thought. For a very important date. [Mulder,] Scully sent. [This is weird.] [You said it.] "So," the Smoker said. "This meeting...?" "Right," Mulder said after a minute, retaking his seat. "Project STREGA," he said. "It had something to do with communications technology, but that's all we were able to discern from my father's papers. Can you fill in the details?" "STREGA," the Smoker said, tapping his fingers on Mulder's desktop. "Hmmm....you are familiar with the Navaho code-talkers from World War II?" "Intimately," Scully said, a little snidely. "As you are well aware." "Of course," the Smoker said. "I'm sorry to sound so condescending, Agent Scully. STREGA was an offshoot of that idea. The Russians had discovered, by the time of the Malta Conference, that we were using an unbreakable code to communicate in the South Pacific." He sat back, crossing one leg over the other. "This is going to take a while," he said to Scully. She retook her seat. The Smoker began. +=+=+= "As I said, the Russians learned that the Americans were using Navaho Indians to facilitate secure radio communications in the South Pacific Theatre of Operations. At that point in the war, the Russians were firmly a part of the Allied effort, but everyone in the intelligence and military community knew that as soon as the war was over, the Russians were going to be our true adversaries for a long time to come. And, just as we knew this, so did they. "The Russians were incredibly upset that we had such a secure system. They were concerned that they would be unable to intercept and decrypt our communications once the war ended. "Several Code-Talkers were wounded during the Pacific campaign. Six or seven of them specifically requested that they not be sent back to the front. In some cases, for reasons that have been lost to the mists of time, those requests were granted. One of them, a young corporal, was transferred to the European Theatre of Operations. When the defeat of the Germans occurred, the Soviet and American armies linked up, and this particular corporal...vanished." "We knew the Russians took him, but we were unable to prove it. To this day, we don't what happened him. He could be dead. He could be alive, living somewhere inside Russia. We just don't know." "STREGA?" Mulder interrupted. "I'm getting to it, Fox," the Smoker said, chastising Mulder slightly. "As I was saying, the chief reason that the Russians kidnapped the corporal was because they wanted someone who spoke Navaho so if we chose to continue using the code, they could intercept and decrypt." The Smoker paused, collecting his thoughts. "In 1948, the newly formed National Security Agency was charged with making this country's communications as secure as possible. STREGA was one of the projects that had to do with that effort. "It was thought that the Navaho code-talkers were a wonderful idea. Using a language that wasn't widely known to send messages in the clear was desperately needed at that point in this country's development, since satellites and recursive-key-encryption systems and microwave systems were still...fantasies of science fiction writers. "STREGA...do you know what the word means?" the Smoker asked. "Witch," Mulder said. "It's Italian." "Correct," the Smoker smiled. "You've done your homework." Mulder nodded, accepting the praise...but barely. "So, the idea was to find a language that only a handful of people spoke, and co-opt it for a temporary fix while the NSA worked on more sophisticated means of communications security." "Did they find one?" Scully asked. "We certainly did." He looked at Mulder and grinned. "We found one that not a single person on this planet spoke." The Smoker sat back, obviously finished with his story. Mulder frowned, knowing that he was being tested yet again. He sat back himself, squinting. [That can't be all of it,] he thought to Scully. [We're missing a piece.] [Latin?] Scully offered, and then amended that thought. [Forget it. That makes no sense. Sure, no one really "speaks" Latin anymore... but that's not secure.] [It'd have to be something no one had never spoken before.] [Which means that it doesn't *exist*, Mulder!] [Unless they invented it,] Mulder replied. [Esperanto?] she asked. [Too obvious,] Mulder said. [Although the timing is right. Wasn't that huge in high schools around that time?] [I was a zygote, Mulder. I have no idea.] "A language you invented?" Mulder asked aloud. "No," the Smoker said. "More like...discovered." Mulder frowned. [Uh, Mulder...] Scully thought. [Yeah?] [1948.] [Yeah?] [What happened around that time?] [Uh, Truman in the White House, two years before the Korean War, and--] [Mulder. New Mexico.] [New....ROSWELL!] "Roswell?" he asked aloud. "Very good, Fox," the Smoker smiled. "You're telling me," Scully said, standing up, "that the STREGA project was an attempt to use an ALIEN language as an encryption tool to secure communications?" "It was more than an attempt," the Smoker said. "It was a huge success." "That's insane," Scully said, crossing her arms. "The Roswell incident was--" "A cover-up. A misdirection ploy. Nothing happened at Roswell. We had a security leak at another facility. Roswell was created so that anyone who came forward screaming that the sky was falling would be looked upon as unreliable, a kook. But, the operation, the true salvage operation that has resulted in the recovery of spacecraft from without this system...that carried with it enough information about the alien language that STREGA was an immediate success." Scully laughed. "Mr...Tanner, is it? Mr. Tanner, I don't know why after all this time you insist on playing this game- -" "It's no game, Agent Scully." "Ok, answer me this. If there was an alien crash, how did they get here? How did this alien civilization conquer the speed limit of the universe? Remember? Lightspeed? 186,000 miles per second? It's not just a good idea, it's the law?" The Smoker smiled at Scully's joke. "Fairly easily, actually." He grinned wider. "As you well know, Agent Scully. Stable wormholes." Scully would not be deterred. "Sir, stable wormholes would leave all kinds of traces in the atmosphere that--" "Could not be detected with the technology we possessed in 1948," the Smoker finished. "But now, we could--" "Now, the technology has advanced." "Stealth wormholes?" Mulder asked. The Smoker turned back to face his prize pupil. "I guess that term is as good as any, Fox." The Smoker stood. "Wait," Mulder said. "JOHN WAYNE!" "Good actor," the Smoker replied. "Oh...the JOHN WAYNE project." He waved his hand dismissively. "An attempt by one of our pilots to fly a...captured aircraft." "Aircraft or spacecraft?" Mulder pressed. "It was designed to cross a stable wormhole and enter the atmosphere. I'm not sure what you'd call it. Vehicle." "Did it work?" The Smoker shook his head. "No. The...craft was manufactured for a specific race. We couldn't redesign it to fit your bodies, or the kinds of stresses that your bodies undergo during spaceflight. The project was a dismal failure." "CLARION?" "You're getting ahead of yourself, son," the Smoker said. "Please don't call me that," Mulder said softly. The Smoker turned to leave. "I'm sorry," he said over his shoulder. "I meant no offense." "What do we do now?" Scully asked. "Investigate," the Smoker replied. "You have some information. Work on it." "Where the hell do we start?" Mulder asked, angry. "Well, if it were me, I'd track down the pilot in the JOHN WAYNE operation and ask him a few questions," the Smoker said, and let himself out. +=+=+= Mulder made an immediate, emergency request through Skinner for USAF personnel records. Access was granted, and a messenger appeared late that night at the X-Files office, bearing a bland manila envelope. Mulder tore it open, scanning the pages. "I don't believe it," he said, tossing the papers on his desk. "I just don't fucking believe it." Scully, curious, snatched the papers up and read. It was a flight medical report on a pilot. In the "Unit/Squadron Assigned" box, someone had typed "MAJIK-12". Scully continued to scan, until she found the name. "Oh my God," she whispered, reflexively crossing herself. The name read: Ivan Ilyich Krycek. "His..." Scully stared. "Father..." Mulder finished. "That rat bastard's fucking FATHER!" +=+=+=+=+=+=+= END CHAPTER 13 End Note #1: Since I am no longer posting the chapters themselves to the newsgroup, or to the mailing list, this means that if you are reading this, you have probably stopped by my website, unless someone has emailed this chapter to you. If you are here on the website, please do me a favor and check out The Patch Project page. (www.azstarnet.com/~drambo/pp.htm) This is kind of important to me, and I can't tell you why until about next May or June or so. As I said, it's just a favor. Additionally, I want to thank all the people that have written to me about my recent health difficulties. As it turns out, it was mostly me overreacting to some indigestion and "pins and needles" in my left arm that occurred at exactly the same time. But, as I used to tell my own patients on the ambulance, it's much better to get checked out than to ignore the symptoms, and risk further health problems. Believe me, I know exactly what I'm talking about in this case -- my father, Morris, died at age 47 because he thought the "indigestion" and "chest pains" he was having were nothing. He had an acute myocardial infarction (heart attack to you laypersons,) at his desk in Pittsburgh, PA, and was dead before he hit the floor. I know. I read the autopsy report. He blew out an entre wall of his heart. Even if the transplant team had been standing in his office, with the donor heart in a cooler, it's doubtful he would have survived. The scare that I received Tuesday night has caused me to reexamine a great many things in my life, and as a result, I'm eating healthier, getting more exercise, and I have a...new outlook on life, as cliched as that sounds. So, once again, thank you all for the kind notes and the "get well soon" wishes. And the silly thing...notice the quote from Thomas Hobbes at the beginning of this chapter? The character "Hobbes" in "Calvin and Hobbes" is named after him.