The X-Files: Gene X

 This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris

Charter, Ten Thirteen Productions and the Fox Broadcasting Company. No

infringement of copyright is intended.

Gene X

by:

Brian M. Suyat

ArchCorp@aol.com

1/2/95

Tuesday, 1:47 AM, Auburn, WA.

  Two figures duck through branches and bushes, keeping out of the moonlight.

They draw to a halt just shy of a clearing and a roving spotlight. Their

destination rises ahead, a modest two-story office building. Most of the

office lights are out, but the bottom floor remains active. A security

fence marks the perimeter. There is a good 50 meter run from the clearing

to the fence, another 100 meters to the compound.

  "My teeth ache," grumbles the shorter one.

  "Hush up, its only the security fence. Don't worry about it."

  The first digs into the pockets of his black fatigues. He pulls out a

black instrument with one LED and a small dial indicator. When he pushes a

button, the needle clicks to the high end.

  "Jesus," he cries. "There's enough charge to stick a ten pound cat to a

twelve foot ceiling."

  The larger one, his gloved hand wrapped around a compact crossbow,

needles him with the weapon. The scowl reminds Junior to shut up. He rolls

up the sleeve of his turtle-neck to reveal a large red tattoo on the

underside of his arm, a large, thick circle with an 'X' inside of it. Next

to the tattoo a watch ticks consistently toward 1:50.

  A loud thud fills the air. The sulfur lamps dim, and emergency halogens

come on. The four perimeter guards scramble closer to the building. Another

loud noise, this time a growing hum, befuddles the guards. Soon, the

halogens pop and the compound is put into darkness.

  All the time, Junior busily takes readings and makes notes. Now, Thug

grabs his shirt and tugs him to the fence. Of balance, Junior fumbles to set

his starlight goggles and check the dial.

  "No charge," Junior confirms.

  Thug quickly clips an opening in the fence, and they rush to the southwest

corner. Junior checks the dim glow of his GPS module, and points straight

up. Thug readies his crossbow.

  In an unexpected move, he shoves Junior and lands on top of him. Beams of

light dance around over them, but they disappear around the corner.

  Junior wipes dirt from his goggles as Thug puts a crossbow bolt through

the gap between roof and gutter. He climbs to the second window and easily

pops it open. Inside, he searches for a firm point to tie the line.

  Outside, the guards continue their sweep. Junior gets more fidgety and

thinks he hears a barking dog then coming around the corner. The left side

of his face still hurts from where Thug fell on him. He works it around

checking for broken bones. Luckily he holds tight to his mouth as Thug

started to drag him up the side of the wall. He would have let out a yelp

otherwise.

  Thug looks deep into Junior's eyes. "Stop goofing around." Hot breath

steams Juniors contact lenses.

  Thug then helps Junior in the room by tossing him to the far wall. "Get

to work."

  Now the other side of Junior's face hurts. He refrains from goofing with

it. Instead he fumbles into another of his pockets to pull out a small box.

It too has a single LED that lights when activated. He attaches a flexible

antenna to it. Out of a breast pocket, Junior pulls a floppy disk. Its

tangled cord wraps around his hand and he has to shake it free. He inserts

the disk part into a floppy drive, the cord end he inserts into the box.

Thug reenters the room, but makes no comment. He glances at his watch and

looks around. His gloved hands now hold a 9mm pistol.

  Junior bumps his head while searching around under the desk. He lets out

a yelp, and gets a kick as a reminder not to do it again. His hands search

the neatly arranged cords until he comes to the power strip carefully

mounted to the wall. He punches the 'on' button, but that LED does not light

up. He traces the cord to the outlet and pulls it out.

  Finding the releases with his free hand, Junior unclasps his belt, and it

falls to the floor with a dull thud. The plug end goes into a receptacle on

the belt and then the power strip's LED turns on. A smile appears on

Junior's face.

  Looking behind him, he doesn't see Thug. His smile drops to concern. The

GPS shows that their ride is arriving right on schedule, but his ticket has

disappeared.

  A beep on the computer reassures him that they are in business.

  Gunshots down the hall alert him to utter wrongness. Thug is bounding

toward him in staggering steps, chips are being peeled away from the walls

by gunfire. Thug lifts Junior up with both hands as he takes another slug

in the back of his kevlar coat. Two steps take them to the window, a third

big one takes them into the air. Thug's left hand grips the rope while his

right makes sure that Junior does not fly to far. Thug's grip manages to

control their decent, but he looses it as the rope tears through his glove

and into his flesh. They drop the last four feet and roll toward the

building. Thug grabs a fully-loaded weapon from his leg holster and fires

blindly up to the window.

  Guards are running toward the southwest corner, but several canisters of

smoke fly across their path and stun them.

  A Hummer bursts through the barricade, its bright lights blinding the

guards. Seemingly out of control, the Hummer weaves through the smoke to

the southwest corner. Thug and Junior waste no time jumping into the vehicle

as it careens out the way it came.

Wednesday, 9:18 AM, Washington DC

  Agent Scully weaves her way through the a bull pen of other agents. All

hurrying from one place to another. At her elbow Field Agent Roberts trails.

  "So, are we still on for tonight?" He queries.

  Shouldering her purse and slipping to the left she misses an older agent

leading an entourage of cadets. Roberts is trapped as a seemingly unending

trail of youngsters separates the couple.

  Scully calls behind her, "I'll catch you later, I'm already late."

  Special Agent Mulder tosses a case file to her side of the desks as she

enters. "You almost missed the morning briefing," he prods.

  "Your friend the wire tap specialist asked me for coffee."

  "I thought that it would be good for him to get out and see other people."

  As dry as possible, "Thanks, Mulder. I'm surprised you hadn't broken it

off with him long ago." She picks up the folder absently.

  "Agent Roberts shares my, uh, search for what's out there."

  "That's because all the women on this planet have dumped him."

  "From what I hear, you haven't actually confirmed that figure yet." Mulder

may enjoy this banter, but his persistence hurries the conversation to the

next case.

  "Look, Mulder, I admit I'm late this morning, and its been rough already.

Can we credit this Q&A to the case and you just get right to the point?"

She sifts through the headlines, but notices no pattern yet.

  Mulder smiles in acquiescence. "Sure, Scully, all you have to do is ask."

He dims the lights and turns on the projector. "This is Brandt L. Jannes."

A picture of a young male is projected onto the far, blank wall. Jannes is

small for a fifteen-year-old. He has a bright face and glasses. He is

staring intently at a chess board as if willing the pieces into position.

  "What happened, did a ghost steal his bicycle?"

  "Are you up for more banter?" Mulder retorts. Scully rolls her eyes, but

remains quiet and attentive.

  Mulder skips through six slides of kids ranging in age from 11 - 16. The

last one is of a sixteen year old. He is a strong fellow with a mean look,

built like a professional linebacker, Scully believes him to have a serious

glandular problem.

  "This one, only known as 'Joey', doesn't really fit the mold, but for

sure," Mulder clicks to a picture of them as a group visiting a science

museum, "we are looking at a gang of high tech thieves."

  Scully looks intently at a small twelve year old girl with reddish hair.

Not too much unlike her own picture at that age. A gang of children.

"What does this have to do with us? How are they connected to the Files?"

He still hasn't gotten to the point, and it wearies her.

  "They steal them."

  A moment goes by as Mulder's simple answer weaves its way through the air

and into Scully's hearing.

  "Doesn't look like anything is missing here." Scully comments with glee

and motioning about the room. She is going to get the upper hand at some

point this morning.

  "How observant." Mulder clicks through more slides. "California, New York,

Texas, and last night Washington." He stops on a slide of a modest two story

office building.

  "Here?"

  "No, state." Mulder answers. "The place where its much gloomier than the

post cards depict."

  "Just last night? How did you fit that one in so fast?"

  "I saw it on CNN, they think its a Neo-Nazi group." He pauses for effect.

"I thought about calling you, but it was pretty late."

  "Then I guess I should have called you. I would have had an excuse out of

my tryst with Roberts."

  An outright smile drifts onto Mulder's expression. He manages to contain

it and get back to business. "These were all data storage sites of one type

or another."

  "How do you know they were after your Files, they could be after any of

the Bureau's secrets."

  "There are a number of places like this around the country. Some big and

some pretty small. All have an inordinate amount of security for their size,

policy, but they don't hold anything of much secrecy. What you can get out

of these places has already been published in Scientific American, Omni and

Wired. Its the kind of data no one much cares about."

  Realizing where this might be going, Scully interjects, "And you think the

bureau doesn't care about your Files?"

  "Doesn't matter what the Bureau thinks, these kids do care about them. If

they wanted useless data, they could tap our mainframe. No, they are looking

for something specific, and I have it."

  

Thursday, 8:19 AM, PNW Memory

  "And then they left through the gate, but my people say they were too

quick and precise to stop them." Security Lieutenant Amanda Edwards explains

as she led Agents Mulder and Scully to the southwest corner office. Lt.

Edwards is small but built powerful. She carries a large sidearm, wears

armor, and never takes off her sunglasses.

  Mulder trailed behind a little too closely, twice getting nicked by that

thin, black nightstick. "How did they manage to get to the archival files

below from way up here?" he asked.

  "The techies are still working on that one. In theory, all the computers

are LANned by physical wires," She looked thoughtful, as if preparing to

sound silly, "but that night the power was cut. There was no juice to run

the hardware. The power came up unexpectedly, and we immediately yanked the

transmitter here and cut the terminal off. So, we still aren't sure how or

when they actually pulled the Files."

  She hands a small, black project box with a single LED to Mulder and

points to a cable running across the floor. The casing had been hacked away

and the wires split and frayed as if cut by a dull boot knife.

  Lt. Edwards continues, "We thought it was caught in time, but deep memory

probes reveal that files in alt.files.x were accessed."

  "What was the time stamp on the access?" Mulder asks.

  "The LAN clock went out with the power, they don't know when they were

accessed, but since no one researches your records, Agent Mulder, they

figure.."

  Silent until now, Scully interjects, "What else seems to have been

tampered with."

  Lt. Edwards turns to Scully, "Commonly used files, we're not sure. It is

reasonably certain that no other limited access data was retrieved

recently."

  Mulder approaches the computer, examining it closely. "Does this thing

still work?"

  "Yes, it suffered no damage, but its not connected to the LAN."

  "Have you examined these, uh, artifacts?" Scully asked, referring to the

gadgets that stole precious FBI secrets.

  "That is a battery pack, used to boot up and run the computer, apparently

they accounted for us trying to pull the plug on it."

  Seemingly oblivious to the rest of the conversation, Mulder crawls under

the desk searching for loose wires.

  "And this?"

  "We figure that's a GPS, uh Global Positioning System."

  "Who do you think it positions?"

  "This room for sure, or rather a disk we found in that box. A pirated

copy of 'Doom'." Noticing Scully's quizzical expression Lt. Edwards adds,

"Its a very violent video game, quite addicting." Edwards adds after a

pause too long, "So I am told."

  Scully nods comprehension to get to her next question, "What else?"

  "It's specifically tuned to a couple of very unique signals."

  "How unique?"

  Embarrassed, Edwards replies, "We don't even know why this disk sets

it off."

  At this time, Mulder decides to make his exit from underneath the computer

desk. He bumps his head in the process and manages to shove the two women

out of his way by crawling back into them.

  "Agent Mulder, are you all right?" Edwards queries.

  Smiling, "Yeah, sure, I'm fine." He is rubbing his head and absently

searching his pockets. "Scully will you do me a favor?" He produces a

floppy disk from his long trench coat. "Take this to some computer and

print out last week's budgetary analysis?"

  "Mulder, I don't..." but Scully stops as she sees protesting would only

prolong the agony of suspense. Taking the disk dejectedly, she looks to

Edwards for help.

  "Oh, there is a computer and laser printer down in this office." Edwards

leads Scully down the hall. Scully stops at the door to turn at Mulder, but

he only gives a winning smile and starts tapping at the keyboard.

  Mulder leans back in the chair, puts his feet up, and steeples his

fingers. His mind drifts through the many images he has picked up in his

life. A complex filing system, product of a photographic memory, sorts the

images and places them in proper Fox Mulder order. He runs a quick

regression exercise to deal with the flood. Last year, the academy, Oxford,

high school. That report on primates in the seventh grade is still as clear

as daylight. He spent most of the night before tracing and meticulously

coloring his cover drawing to match the encyclopedia. He couldn't quite find

the right shade of brown among Samantha's old crayons.

  Samantha, his little sister, gone, left all her toys behind. He remembers,

with perfect clarity, her frightened face. He tries harder to go back to

happier times, when he and Samantha were together. Those memories are not

so clear. He vaguely remembers a birthday party, either his or Samantha's,

kids there. Happy, they were happy he was sure of it, even though he

couldn't make out all of the smiling faces.

  "Mulder, I got that report for you."

  Reality snaps into focus as Scully returns, still annoyed, with a stack

of papers twenty some odd pages thick. "Thanks, Scully." He pulls the top

page off and examines it thoughtfully.

  "Mulder, what is it this time?" Scully's curiosity barely overshadows her

annoyance.

  Mulder points to the upper left hand corner of the page, where you can

see the time of printout.

  5:58 AM

  "Scully, what happens to your alarm clock when the lights go out?"

  "Mulder, I hope this is going somewhere." She looks at him expectantly.

Fearing the worst, she answers him, "It turns off, of course."

  "What time is it when the lights come back on?"

  "It would flash 12 midnight. Just like your VCR." Scully answers, just a

little pleased with her small victory so far.

  Ignoring her jibe, Mulder continues, "So, when the power went out, all

the computers lost their time, right?" The rhetorical question allows Mulder

to plod on, "then the thieves put power to this computer and the clock

resets. Moments later, guards come in, foil the robbery chase the villains

out."

  "Yes, that fits the report so far."

  "They somehow get away in the smoke and confusion just before the power

comes back on and ALL the clocks reset. And by this, they would have reset

at," Mulder checks his digital watch reading it at 08:27, "about 2:30 in the

morning."

  "Mulder, you had me print out a twenty-seven page report so you could

check the time on the computers?" Exasperated, she tosses the other twenty

six pages on an unused desk. "Why didn't you just ask?"

  "I did," Mulder calmly replies turning the screen to Scully.

  C:\> time

  Current time is  6:29:46.14a

  Enter new time:

  C:\>

  "Seems that this computer turned on just before 2:00 AM. It was running

for a good half an hour, and no one noticed."

Thursday 1:24 PM, Bellvue

  "Was this Ghetts a friend of yours in the Bureau?" Scully asks.

  They had driven into the Seattle area. Mulder had figured he might be

able to get some local information from an old acquaintance. Scully was

still not sure where this whole case was going, but that was nothing new.

  "He and I went to the same, uh, school at one time."

  Scully wasn't really listening to Mulder's replies and his stories of a

boarding school for reclusive, yet gifted young children. Instead she

drifts thinking about this case. Why were their Files being stolen? How do

they do it? And, what made Mulder care so much?

  This was really a security matter. The files belonged to them, Mulder and

Scully in some way, but, to tell the truth, this whole case was a matter for

a different department. Surely, there were some suspicious circumstances,

yet that's why it was a mystery. If there were no mystery, the culprits

would be behind bars and the case closed.

  Mulder was looking for something. More likely, he had already found

something and hadn't yet told her the whole thing. Stealing Files would be

a very personal matter for Mulder. You'd have to be a lot like Mulder to

risk so much for, what?

  "They helped us deal with our abilities and to socialize. It was a great

help to people like us?" Mulder was finishing his stories about his youth.

  Scully became aware he had been talking, and that she had probably missed

something. "What, Mulder?"

  "Scully are you OK?"

  "Yeah, I'm OK. I, uh, what were you saying about kids like you?"

  "Oh, that. Its nothing really, ancient history.I didn't mean to bore you."

  "No, I," but Scully hesitated. She wondered what it was really like to be

like Mulder. Ahead of the game somehow. What would it be like to know more

than one Fox Mulder type person?

  "Ah, we're here." Mulder pulls into a parking tunnel that lead below the

University of Washington. They find a parking space somewhere underneath the

main courtyard, Red Square. A staircase opens up directly into the heart of

the campus.

  Two rollerbladers and a group of mountain bikers whisk past them. All too

quick to ask for directions. Out of one of the libraries, a young coed

breaks into the sunlight. She has long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail.

She is quite engrossed in whatever reading assignment she had just picked

up, but passes close enough to for Scully to get her attention.

  "Um, excuse me, where do you find the computer sciences buildings?"

  The girl looks up to greet them with a smile. Despite her light hair, her

eyes are very dark, with very little white to them. She is quite young for

a college student, easily mistaken for a teenager. The girl looks them over,

and, upon deciding that they do indeed require assistance, points to the

main library.

  "You see that building with the scholars who look like gargoyles?" She

paused to see if they find humor in that. Mulder did, but Scully was

squinting. "Well, you go down and around it to the left. Go straight. They

look like a 70's retro-futuristic office building. You can't miss them."

  When she saw that they had accepted the directions as fact, she slipped

away. The area wasn't too crowded between classes, but she somehow vanished

before Scully had a chance to thank her. Mulder was already heading off to

seek out the retro-future.

  The sign on the door said Willis Ghetts, Ph.D. Mulder opened it after

waiting for a reply to his knock.

  "Hey, its Snaps!" Dr. Ghetts called out.

  "Hello, Clicker." Mulder offers his hand and they shake like old friends,

patting each others arm in a friendly male ritual.

  "Clicker, this is my partner, Agent Dana Scully." Mulder pulls Scully

into the room and half pushes her to meet his friend.

  She offered a timid smile. "Pleased to meet you Dr. Ghetts. You have a

nice place around here." she motions out the window where you could just

about make out the sun glimmering off of the water if you looked at the

reflection in the darkened widows across the quad.

  "Thank you, Agent Scully. It's nice to be appreciated." He offers them

chairs and returns to behind the desk. Ghetts is a broad shouldered man.

His dark hair is speckled with gray, and his face is quite wrinkled. He

folds large hands on the top of his desk and beams at the two agents. A

broad, teeth showing smile pasted on his face. "So, what has my old pal,

Snaps, been dragging you into lately?"

  "Well, Agent Mul-der," Scully emphasizes the pronunciation of her

partner's name, "has an interesting way of keeping me on my toes. He has a

very open viewpoint."

  "Yes, so did we all. But Mulder was always the talker. Kind of the

ring-leader, you know?"

  Mulder breaks in with, "I think we can leave Agent Scully out of the old

times review."

  Scully looks at him like she wouldn't mind knowing a little more about

her peculiar partner. She holds her gaze until it is clear to Mulder that

they would indeed have to go over this at a later time. Mulder breaks the

look by turning to Ghetts and changing the subject to work.

  Mulder pulls out a small file folder and removes photographs of the

children. "Have you ever seen any of these kids before?"

  Ghetts takes three of the pictures and holds them up to the light. He

frowns a bit in concentration. Waiting a sufficient time to show interest

he replies, "you know I don't have your prowess with faces, but I can be

pretty sure that I do not recognize anyone here."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Well, as sure as I can be. Where do you think I might have had chance

to meet them? My students usually come from a more mature demographic,

you know."

  "They are from The School," Mulder places a heavy emphasis on 'school'.

  Scully is noticeably more surprised than Ghetts at this revelation.

  She shoots Mulder another look that he tries to avoid but can't help but

understand. It very clearly stated that a trip into Mulder's past is most

definitely scheduled for later in the day. Especially the parts about these

kids, his school and how he fits them all together.

  Ghetts becomes more sure of himself. "Nope, I can honestly say, I have

never met these kids. If they are from the school, I hope they get as much

out of it as we did." A broad smile returns to his face as he looks at

Mulder.

  Mulder has changed his expression to a less revealing business countenance.

He plods on with more questions about what Ghetts might know of the school's

curriculum these days and what activities he may know of in the area. He

also manages to give enough hints about his past to keep Scully quiet for

the time being.

  Oh, there will be hell to pay later, but for now, Ghetts is only confirming

what Mulder already is sure of. Ghetts manages to convince the agents that

he doesn't have any information for them at this time. If any came up, he

would most surely pass it along to them. They plan to get together later

that night as he has to rush off to class. Mulder agrees saying he would

call to confirm a restaurant for dinner. A quick mental note is created to

cancel that idea later on.

  Mulder thanks the professor for his time, and wishes him a good afternoon.

Scully and he had much more work to do.

  "I don't get?" Scully looks at Mulder questioningly. "What is it with the

nicknames?" The two were walking back through Red Square to the parking lot,

the sun setting over evergreens.

  Mulder smiles, but not at Scully, more at fact that he and Ghetts still

couldn't call each other by their proper names. "Well, at the school, every

kid had a nickname of sorts. You earned it by some of the things you could

do."

  Scully nodded in acknowledgment, but really didn't get the picture.

  "Ghetts got his because he was always good at math stuff. Applied math,

Calculus and all that."

  "And you got your because of your ability to recall things as if by

photograph?" Scully found the idea slightly distasteful. "And the teachers

allowed this?"

  "They thought it was a good way for people to accept their gifts. So that

they would not fear themselves or each other."

  "And you don't see anything wrong with it, even now?" Scully was trying

to pin him down, but she did not yet know why.

  Mulder, sensing her uneasiness, shook it off, "Well, it was a long time

ago, we were kids. Now, it's just a part of us."

  Scully had planned her attack well so that she could get this whole thing

straight. After her mildly curious question, she goes for the real thing.

  "All right, Mulder, tell me all that you haven't been telling me." Scully

stops short of the underground staircase. "Why is it always such a big

secret?" This was the most annoyed she would allow herself to get, it had

better be enough.

  "What do you want to know, Scully.?" Mulder is bad at playing innocent,

and poor acting was just enough to make Scully twice as annoyed.

  "Look, we're partners. I know you do things a little differently and I

accept that. But it seems this time you have been keeping me totally out of

the scene. This time you really do know something. There are no hunches

here and you still won't let me know." Scully pauses to take a deep breath

before belting out, "WHAT'S GOING ON?"

  Unfazed by her vehemence, Mulder calmly reaches into his coat pockets and

pulls out a floppy disk. Scully looks at him with something nearing rage in

her eyes. She won't print out a budget just to tread water again. He holds

up his left hand as if to restrain her. "Here is a listing of all the

children. Can you run a check on their medical records?" Scully makes no

move to take the disk. Her breathing is ragged and her fists clench and

unclench in hypnotic rhythm.

  "Please." Mulder knows a smile would be out of order. He makes a thin

line with his lips showing that he might smile.

  Scully reaches for the disk slowly. At the last minute, she lunges for

Mulder's paisley tie a pulls his face mere inches from her own. An icy

gaze locks Mulder in position.

  "I... hate... you." The words are spaced evenly and spoken with precision.

  She snatches the disk out of his hand and turns on a heel. Special Agent

Fox Mulder is left stooping in the middle of Red Square at the University

of Washington in Seattle.

Thursday, 5:12 PM, Interstate 5, Seattle

  Agent Mulder hadn't expected to be on the freeway at this time. He had

really gotten lost after separating from Scully earlier in the day. At one

time he was near Fisherman's Wharf, then the next thing he knew he was

tooling onto the express lane of the freeway. He had just caught a glimpse

of the Boeing test strip, and nothing else interesting. His only hope is to

get to the Zoo exit. That might lead to where he wants to go.

  The radio had been acting up lately. He couldn't find a channel that

wasn't playing some type of grunge rock, revolutionary, counter-culture

music. He had given up and settled on a talk radio channel about psychics

and UFO sightings.

  "And there was this blinding white light,"a woman on the radio was saying.

  "It was like a light that I had never seen before, but I wasn't afraid,

even though I knew I should be."

  Mulder looked directly at the radio to speak a single word, "Fake."

  His motion to change the channel was interrupted by a high squeal. A

tremendous amount of feedback belched forth from the tiny speaker in the

dash. He fell unconscious before reaching the volume.

  

  Mulder awoke strapped to a table. He was clothed in a white robe. He

looked around him, but the entire room was white. Out of the corner of one

eye, he spied his real clothes in a heap on the floor. Above him, a large

probing light loomed. A light hum indicated that it indeed was moving

toward him.

  An grumbling voice echoed from somewhere inside the chamber. "Do not be

afraid Mr. Mulder, we will not harm you."

  Sweat began dripping into his eyes. An intense fear gripped him, and he

struggled with the bindings. His teeth clenched and he bit his tongue. The

taste of blood gave him strength.

  "Please, do not struggle," the voice urged.

  Mulder did not heed. He began yelling obscenities as he wrenched his

body from side to side.

  "Mr. Mulder, we are your friends. Please, just look into the light. Do

not be afraid, we are here to help you. To help you understand."

  Mulder forced himself to calm down, taking deep breaths. He looked

directly into the light. Through clenched teeth, he breathed, "Fake."

  

  "When I came to, it was like no time had passed," the lady on the radio

continued.

  Mulder looked about him. There was a three car length gap ahead of him

that was already being filled by four cars. The car behind him blared its

horn incessantly. His watch proclaimed it to be 5:16 PM. Mulder spun around

in his seat to check the back. Nothing was there. On the dashboard, though,

a small LED blinked quietly from a black project box with flexible antenna.

Thursday, 10:04 PM, Downtown Seattle

  Scully poured over the laptop computer. She had burned up the last four

hours on the phone with the network computers in Washington D. C. and

wherever else they stored the country's medical files.

  She had taken a taxi back to the extravagant hotel room that the two

partners shared. Normally, this situation would not be the case, but there

was an inordinate number of conventions going on in the city this week. The

two were forced to share a truly overpriced suite with an uncountable number

of amenities.

  Scully had, at first, parked herself in the reading alcove with a pulp

novel she picked up at the airport. It was her determination that there

would be no researching while she was in this mood. In fact, the first thing

upon entering the room was to toss the disk Mulder had given her into the

fireplace. It was a symbolic