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The newspaper headline was not funny. Not in the conventional sense. But the irony was delicious. Mulder would have seen the humor; Krycek wasn't too embarrassed to smile. Federal Agent Abducted by Aliens. Then in smaller, but still bold text - FBI Assistant Director Witnesses Abduction. Followed by a log-line of - FBI confirms that an agent vanished without trace while on assignment in Oregon and that the investigation remains open. It had been an easy payday and not even illegal. Scarcely even morally dubious. If the headline had appeared in the Washington Post, Fox Mulder might even have been grateful. As it was zapped across the front page of the Enquirer it might be a little less attractive, but no less valid. In a month or so, there would be an opportunity for an even easier payday when the story got debunked. By the Star, perhaps? Missing Federal Agent - his unmarried partner was pregnant, and his department was under review by Federal auditors investigating dubious expense claims. Scully would be furious. Skinner would grieve a little more. Mulder wouldn't even know about it, unless Krycek told him. What was he supposed to live on while he waited for something better to come along? Good suits didn't grant automatic access to the seats of the powerful. Even so, sometimes you needed more than just a pair of clean jeans to convince the naive that you were a player and not a pawn. Krycek recalled those Armanis in Mulder's closet. Was that why they imagined him to be more than just another do-gooder with a gun? Wouldn't that be ironic, too? Alex's smile faded at the sudden remembered image of Mulder. Had he pushed him too far in that last exchange? Was raising the specter of a Scully in pain too much? Looking back at the distress in Mulder's words, had there been some hint in there that Mulder might actually seriously be contemplating injuring himself, killing himself even? Or shutting down communication permanently, which would amount to the same thing. Surely Mulder knew that was the fast track to insanity. What if Mulder didn't care? On the bright side, maybe the aliens just had him too drugged to respond. A much nicer thought than Mulder rejecting his overtures outright. Maybe the equipment had failed. What if they'd removed or disabled the implant? Enough ifs. It was time he tried again.
"Hi, Scully." She tamped down the urge to fight or flee with a single shake of the head and pushed her hands against the edge of the desk instead. "I'm calling security." She rose to her feet, shifting her fingers towards the phone for emphasis. Krycek pointed at his lapel badge. "Visiting the Assistant Director, with special access to the X-Files office. Now. What are you doing here? Making yourself at home." He glimpsed up at the nameplates on the door to reinforce the point. "What do you want?" He toured the room, pausing to analyze and consider the placement of the furniture, the choice of pictures and newspaper clippings on the wall. "I like that. You, getting on with your life. Not preserving the place in aspic like some kind of shrine." He waved a gloved hand towards the tired looking spider plant. "That'll die, of course. Not enough light." "I didn't know you were a horticulturist." A knowing glance back in her direction. Scully swallowed and stood up a little straighter, keeping her eyes on his. "The plant's on rotation with two others, one week here, two weeks in my apartment." "Interchangeable clones, huh? If only we could do that with people." "If you've got something to say, feel free." "Mulder says - don't waste your life looking for him." Krycek glanced over at the in-box; it had been moved down from its high perch above a filing cabinet to a more practical, table level. "But I can see he needn't be worried." "Let me talk to him." "Not possible." "Then this conversation's over. I will not be played." Krycek made no move to reply, just watched her as a film of moisture glistened and coated her angry, tired eyes. He waited until her head drooped a little and she broke eye contact with him. Gratified, he spoke smoothly. "What can I ask him that will convince you that we are in contact?" "What have you done to him?" "Given him a link back to the world. Of course if you don't want to talk to him." She pawed at the ground for an instant, then forced her gaze back up to his face. "Ask him about my keychain." Krycek smiled, raised an eyebrow. "Not exactly warm and fuzzy, is it? But if that's what you think best." He switched his focus from her eyes to her stomach. "Anything you want him to know?" "Get out." "What. Not even a coffee?"
Krycek slipped another weight onto the exercise machine. Being prepared was the name of the game. Life might be about to get a little harder, and it was important to get in shape. Though, actually, using the damned prosthetic arm made everything hard. Trying to maintain muscle tone and balance across the shoulders and back was miserable. Months in that lousy prison, trying to be ready for when he got out and with nothing, no one to help. It had been hard enough to hold onto enough food, let alone hold onto anything else. So Mulder was having a hard time, was he? Whiner. There had been moments in that prison when Alex would have been grateful for anything that knocked out the sound effects, anything that stopped him feeling every inch of the bruising on his body. Any distance between himself and what was happening around him, to him. So Mulder didn't like being surrounded by aliens, was scared that he'd go insane, worried that he might not get out? Mulder hadn't had a monster sharing his body, hadn't spent weeks sharing a missile silo with a thing. Insanity had looked like a very attractive option then, but Krycek was made of sterner stuff. He pushed against the weight machine; pushed harder until the sinews threatened to end the session; pushed faster until the sweat dripped through his eyebrows and slipped down onto his eyelashes. Negative vibes, got to deal with those. Not possible to do justice to the present, if he was still looking for revenge against the past. Those things hadn't even been Mulder's fault. Krycek had already had his dose of vengeance against the man who represented those hurts. Didn't stop Mulder being a whiny-assed son of a bitch, though. Which just made it all the more infuriating. Why did anyone care? Scully probably had some excuse, but hell, just how good in the sack did a man have to be to get that kind of loyalty and self-sacrifice? And exactly when had that little turnaround occurred anyway? Surely, they weren't lovers when Diana had been on the scene? His mind flashed on Marita, and his blood pressure kicked up another few points. Skinner, those conspiracy geeks, the Cancer Man, some of the top players in the old conspiracy, some of the leading wannabes in the new - what the hell did Mulder have that made him attract such a devoted following? Even the aliens gave him star treatment. The sweat stung as it broke past the eyelash buffer zone and into his eyes. Shit. He was going to do damage if he kept this up. He carefully released the strain of the weights. Panting as he listened to the thunder of his pulse raging through his temple, he tried to let it all go. They weren't the only ones giving Mulder top billing; he was doing it himself. What he'd give to go and pound a punchbag and call it Mulder. That would get it out of his system. He knew it. Trouble was, it wasn't nearly so effective now that a quick one-two, the old left and right combination, wasn't possible. Brains, that was what were needed now. Mulder was feeling bad. The rights and wrongs of it didn't matter. It didn't matter which of them had been hurt more, been through the worse torture, the most pain, the cruelest isolation. All that mattered was that Mulder was valuable, therefore Mulder was an asset that needed protection. Rational analysis was going to have to win out over the desire to bait. Mulder needed to be saved from himself. Nothing unusual there. Alex Krycek would save Mulder. He would nurture and protect Mulder's sanity, even if Mulder was too busy brooding to notice the favor. Still, today's chat should have focused Mulder's mind on the task in hand. Tomorrow a gentler, more understanding Krycek would tempt Mulder back out. The stick and carrot approach was necessary, and Alex knew he couldn't let frustration or anger get in the way. Didn't stop Mulder being a whiny ass, but Alex didn't need to let that taint their conversations. Krycek was pleased with himself for choosing the gym as a venue for this meeting today. Not only a suitably public place but also a chance to work a few things out. He'd have to come here more often. He headed for the showers. Walter Skinner was waiting for him as he entered the locker room. Krycek paused in the doorway to assess any threat. The Assistant Director could be dangerous, with or without a gun. Not today, though. Krycek breathed a little more comfortably as he recognized the sadness that lingered in the man's eyes and the helplessness in the droop of his shoulders. Skinner was still in mourning. Skinner seemed to be analyzing him in turn, so Alex brought the stand- off to an end by supplying a bright smile. "Nice of you to join me." Skinner didn't move. "How is he?" "Alive. Did you give Scully my message about her keychain?" Skinner averted his eyes as he nodded. "Then you know it's true?" The suddenness of Skinner's assault took Krycek by surprise. The ferocity of it was going to leave bruises as Krycek's face bounced against the doorframe. The stranglehold around Krycek's neck tightened as Skinner followed up actions with words. "You're going to help me find him." Skinner was going to regret this latest assault. Krycek could feel it in his bones; his time would come again. But not right now. "You know who he's with. We can't 'find' him." The dull groan in Skinner's breathing as he eased back in the hold took Krycek by surprise. The assault had been a mere whim then? A whim that Skinner was already trying to distance himself from? "Let her talk to him." "I'd like to, but it just doesn't work like that." To be thought indispensable was almost as good as being indispensable. "So, you are - " "A conduit." "What's happening to him?" "The usual. I'm sure Scully's got it in the files." "He'll be coming back?" "It's not up to him. We have to find something his captors want, something they want more than they want him." "Such as?" "That's what we've got to try and find out. But I need more resources. Better access to records and files. Official clearance. Protection from prosecution. Money." "Money." "Don't knock it. You know how much Mulder costs; they made you a spreadsheet about it. Now, try to think how much more it'll cost if we don't just want a few more open-ended files? We need tangible results. I may have to buy my way into a few secrets."
Krycek bit into his sugar-coated breakfast. No wonder so many people had a thing for Mulder. It wasn't every puppet that was so easy to handle, nor so responsive. He took a good swig of coffee to help swallow down the mouthful of donut. The blinking light on the answering machine brought with it an invitation to lunch. Things were moving along nicely. The X-Files office was brighter than Krycek remembered it. The reduction in clutter, the streamlining of the notice board's contents, the plants. Someone had cleaned the glass on the high windows, the dead tubes in the light fittings had been retired and replaced with new "daylight" types. Little things. The new broom was sweeping clean. The nest was being feathered. "Mike Nicholson, I presume?" The nod of the head was stiffly controlled, dark brown eyes never wavering from Alex Krycek's face. "And you are?" "Alex Krycek. I'm here to see Scully." "Agent Scully has just slipped out for a moment." Nicholson shifted his linebacker frame far enough out of the doorway to let Krycek enter the office. "Coffee?" Krycek's face shifted to a brief smile. At last, someone with manners was working down here. Scully's new partner was a man of few words and certainly with none to spare. When Krycek had read the summary of the man's casework, he'd anticipated a geek, albeit a geek with good range scores. Something more along the lines of a Frohike than an African American version of an Alien Bounty Hunter. Krycek watched him move, heavy and solid, but never clumsy. No wonder Mulder had wanted to thank Skinner for the choice. Krycek wondered if Scully had even noticed. There had probably been a time when she'd have been annoyed at such an obvious bodyguard. Maybe she'd learned to accept a little protection. When Scully returned she exchanged a quick glance with Nicholson. He waited for her all-clear signal and said a polite goodbye as he left the room. It gave them the necessary privacy for what might be a difficult conversation. Krycek smiled. "He's cute." Scully shook her head and almost smiled. "His looks are deceptive. He's smart, too." "And believes Mulder was abducted by aliens?" Her lips tightened. "He believes Mulder is worth finding." "Mutual appreciation, then. Mulder was pleased Skinner chose him." "I chose him. Skinner assigned him." "Mulder'll be jealous." Her eyes clouded over, and she looked toward an image on the wall, wanting to believe. "How is he?" "He's holding up." "I need to talk to him." "I can't do it." "Can't or won't?" "Think of me as a conduit." "Then start conducting, talk to him now." "Doesn't work like that. He's going to send you some notes on what they've been telling him about their history and ours." Her mouth drifted open as she considered his words. "Oh." "Anything you want me to tell him?" "Just - just, that I know he'll come home." Krycek accepted her words. They would need to start campaigning together soon. But that was going to have to wait until tomorrow. Today, he had other fish to fry. And one of the sharks was going to buy him lunch. Wasn't that a thing, a lunch invitation that wasn't just a suggestion he stop off at a Dairy Queen on his way home? The Watergate Hotel. Maybe the new suits really were having an impact on the weak-minded men who wielded power, or imagined they did. Such trivial people, and these were the leaders of the race? There were moments when Krycek doubted not only mankind's ability to survive but also its worthiness. Krycek had raised a flag, and now he needed to know just who would salute. Knowledge is power. But then, so is money. And he was only one man whereas these people, despite their setbacks, had resources he could only dream of. How to negotiate himself into the right position? From pawn to player was a leap, but then so was having a direct line onto an alien ship. No need for them to know that the equipment at the other end of the line was proving itself frustratingly fragile and all too human. The Maitre D' considered him for an instant. Krycek recognized the appraising glance, punk or prince? The respectful response reassured him of his princely status. "Mr Carver's party?" A waiter escorted him directly to the quiet corner table. "Mr Krycek. We've met before." Krycek cursed powerful men with good memories. Being Cancer Man's general gofer and temporary chauffeur was not an impressive line on his biography. "It's been a while." "A lot's changed." "A lot," confirmed Krycek strongly, keen to maintain the momentum. The man named Carver had no such compulsion. He returned to conversation with the other three men at the table, debating menu items, seasonal vegetables and the possible break-up of the Microsoft Corporation. Krycek almost lost it at that. These men had the fate of mankind in their hands? Perhaps he could do mankind a favor and poison their whiskeys. Later. Best to sit back and enjoy the ride; they'd get down to business soon enough. Business waited until the meal was almost over, until the food had gone and only the drinks remained. "So, Mr Krycek. What's your price?" Krycek choked down the sip of bourbon that he'd just taken. "I'm not selling." "Of course you are." "You don't even know what I've got." "A way to talk to Fox Mulder." "More than that. It's a link. To them." "Captured technology. Stolen from one of my former colleagues I believe. But I don't hold that against you. The price?" "It's not that simple." Krycek sensed rather than felt the gun barrels that were now trained on his body. Carver smiled as Alex stiffened. "I suggest you think very hard before you make my life complicated." The four men walked out without further comment. Krycek was just relieved that they hadn't left him to pick up the tab. Just sell it. Sell the goddammed thing. Find out what they'll pay and do the deal. Solo, he wasn't a match even for the people at the table, though he knew that he could give the men themselves a run for their money. The people at the table weren't the problem. They were the officers; there was no doubt that each one of them had his own personal squad of marines backing him up. Coup d'etats were possible. But only if you could get inside and work on the fractures. Take money for this, and he was doomed never to be anything more than a nobody. A rich nobody, for sure. But also, a wanted nobody. Scully wouldn't forgive him. Neither would Skinner. And both of them already looked so tightly wound that he was surprised they weren't spinning. And it was always the pawns that got sacrificed first. Maybe there was another route. Another faction. Maybe he should get out of the States and try his luck elsewhere. Such as? Tunisia again? Russia? He slid the car back into the traffic and wondered if there was some way he could use Skinner on this. Maybe one of Skinner's government contacts could tip the balance. Dare he ask Mulder? He struck that thought away, Mulder was a boy scout, not a player. Had he ever considered becoming a player? Tried it and found himself lacking? Or had he never even tried? Krycek could have laughed at the irony. If only it wasn't so fucking pathetic. What was the betting if Mulder had walked up to that table, bearing no gifts at all, they'd have welcomed him home like some prodigal son? Which, of course, was exactly what Mulder was. When he pulled into the parking garage, he was struggling against the urge to walk up to his apartment, pick up the palmtop computer and use it to ream Mulder a new one. Play nice? Why the fuck should he? Maybe if he played it right and messed with Mulder's head efficiently enough, he could sell them exactly what they deserved, a piece of worthless junk. He double-checked the locks on the car's door before heading for the stairs. Something was moving in the shadows. Krycek slipped behind a concrete pillar and froze, willing himself to be silent and invisible. Wonderful. He'd spent too much time profiling Mulder, and now he was so into the mindset that he had started to pick up his sloppy habits. Just great. Someone had trailed him home. Inevitable, really. They needed the palmtop. They couldn't risk violence back at the restaurant. If they'd killed him there, they might never have located it. Now, back in his apartment block, it didn't even matter that he'd not led them to his door. They could order an emergency evacuation using the CDC or FEMA for cover and search the place top to bottom without a moment's delay. The thought made him smile. Amateurs. They'd followed him inside. All they'd had to do was log which building, and they could have driven straight past without him ever spotting them. Easy then. It would only be one car. Four men tops, and probably not even that. All he had to do was grab the palmtop and get away. They hadn't won anything yet. He edged forward, listening for any sound. How patient were these guys? He knew they were stupid. But were they patient, or were they going to need to get it over with, presenting themselves as targets like over-eager sitting ducks? A car pulled in through the gates and Krycek got his answer. The man he'd seen in the shadows tried to use the new arrival's engine noise as cover and started to run to the next pillar, looking to improve his angle on Krycek. A second man offered covering fire from the driver's seat of a dark sedan. Alex was sure of it now, these two were simply not good enough. He ignored the covering fire, sensing that the range and the awkwardness of the shooter's position would render him ineffectual. Krycek pushed forward, took aim and fired at the running man. The man's run turned in an instant into a dead weight tumble that deposited the body messily between two parked cars. The car that had just entered the garage discharged two people. A linebacker and a redhead. "FBI. Hands in the air." Great timing. The other shooter chose that moment to drive out of the lot, losing the car's open door as he turned too hard past a concrete wall. Really great timing. It was bad enough that he'd picked up Mulder's sloppy habits, now he'd inherited his luck as well. "Put down your weapon." Krycek turned around, furious, but he did as he was told. There was no point testing the nerves of Agent Nicholson. Nor the temper of Agent Scully. Palms forward, he walked slowly towards them. "We've got to get it and get out of here." "It?" Scully's excitement obvious even through her professional calm. Nicholson acted as if there was nothing to negotiate. "Hands behind your back, you're under arrest." Alex made no attempt to comply, just kept talking. "The communications device. They'll be back. With more men." The words went directly from Krycek's mouth to Scully's brain, she took her decision in an instant and there was no doubt in her voice. "Mike." She caught her partner's eyes as he turned toward her. "Check on him," she waved at the unmoving body between the cars. "Call it in. I'll catch up with you." She nodded at the tilt of Nicholson's head that asked if she was serious. She motioned to Krycek to head for the stairs and they ran. Krycek listened to the familiar survival mantra playing through his head that ordered him to worry about later, later. Right now, they needed that palmtop. Later, he could make sure that it was his and not theirs. Later was another opportunity. *** The car journey was conducted in silence, the computer sitting awkwardly behind Scully's back as she drove. Krycek understood her reasoning. It was the only place she could find that was safe from any sudden break for freedom he might make. It was also at less risk of being flung around in the car. She was being careful. He watched the way her spine seemed to curve around the unit, as if she were caressing it. He wondered what that meant, if it meant something, or was he just seeing things that weren't there. Of course, the palmtop's location had created other problems. Scully's gun looked like a damned uncomfortable lump in her jacket. Awkward to reach as well, and she'd need to use her left hand. All the time in the world for him to get away. But she was right of course, he wasn't going anywhere without the palmtop. The telephone call with Skinner had been terse. Had it been any agent other than Dana Scully addressing her Assistant Director in that way, Krycek assumed she'd be on insubordination charges the next day. Well, any other agent except Mulder, perhaps? Still, the conversation that he'd listened to had sounded very much like she was the one giving the orders, despite her use of the word "Sir" after demanding an urgent meeting. It was obvious that Skinner had taken it as an order; his only question had been, "Where?" It had been Alex Krycek who supplied the venue. Which was why as they approached the gym, Krycek was confident that Skinner would already know just who he was meeting. Krycek could supply only a startled smile as Scully opened the discussion with her boss with an urgent appeal for a safe house. Such a formal-sounding request, for such a seat-of-the-pants ride. Still, if that helped them cope, who was he to argue? If the safe house didn't meet his standards, it wouldn't stand much chance of keeping him in. "I've spoken to your partner, Agent Scully." Krycek marveled at the formality, was it for his benefit or was this some little role-play thing they had going? The color drained from Scully's face and her gasp said it all. Skinner quickly recovered from the slip. "Nicholson. Agent Nicholson called in the shooting." "It was self-defense, sir." Skinner nodded, stiff-necked and with so many questions in his eyes. "Nicholson agrees." "Good." "There's also the matter of the weapon." Skinner turned to Krycek. "I'm assuming it's illegally held. We may need to pull strings." Krycek decided it would be a good moment to join the party. "Actually, it's registered to Dana Scully. A precaution. Sorry," he added, as he heard her low grumble of irritation. "Let's go." A Bureau fleet car wasn't the ideal vehicle for a quiet journey to invisibility, but it would have to do. There was always later, Krycek reminded himself. Lots of opportunities later, so long as he played it right. The hotel had nothing much to distinguish it, apart from the name over the door and a fairly crowded parking lot of recent, well cared for cars. It was fleet car heaven. Krycek saw the board in the lobby welcoming the meeting of victim support group organizers and looked at Skinner. Skinner nodded, "I'm due to speak here later." Good one. Maybe Skinner was a player. Maybe a Bureau fleet car was invisible. They had scarcely even mentioned what might happen next. That had been left for the moment when they were safely behind closed doors. Scully hugged the computer protectively as they walked to the two- bedroom suite they'd taken. When he first saw the unit, Skinner had looked torn between throwing up his lunch and slamming Krycek into another wall. Krycek was gratified that he suppressed both reactions. He didn't blame the man for being a little testy about such things. But the sooner they let go of the past the better their chances. Well, the better Krycek's chances anyway. By the time that they reached the suite's living area, Scully was struggling not to run. Only fierce control allowed her to place the palmtop on the table with the same delicacy that she might have laid a baby in its crib. "How does it work?" "Don't touch that!" Krycek screamed out his command as her fingers shifted toward the power button. Scully pulled back her hand as if she'd connected with hot coals and swallowed. Krycek moved to stand just behind her. "It's set to destroy itself if it's tampered with." He wondered if they believed him. Not that it mattered. Neither Skinner nor Scully were going to gamble on a thing like that. "Show me." Krycek worked quickly, making as many mistakes as possible and correcting them with the surreptitious dexterity of someone whose life might depend on not being too easy to read. The screen turned gold.
Scully bit down angrily on her lip. "Why did you disconnect?" Mulder had had plenty of time to respond. Krycek shrugged apologetically. "Maybe he can't reply right now." Krycek felt the room grow cold as the air buzzed around him, a hazy storm of fear and doubt suddenly building. Scully turned away, clenching her hands into tight fists as she escaped into her bedroom. Krycek shook his head as she pulled the door shut. "She expects too much." He started to shut down the unit, but then his eyes caught on the icon at the bottom of the machine's display. "He's left a message." Skinner moved to get Scully back, but Krycek waved for him to wait until he'd checked the contents. After only a couple of seconds, Krycek nodded. "Let's get this on your PC. It's for her." Skinner took a long deep breath, exhaled slowly and came to look over Krycek's shoulder. The screen was a mass of words, he picked up only the occasional phrase. 'Disruption of hydrogen bonds between base pairs... The role of re-engineered plasmids... Modified DNA replication prior to meiosis...' Skinner grumbled out his commentary, "I think we can safely say it's for Scully. But who the hell wrote it?" "Well, it's coming in via Mulder." There was no need to say more. Skinner had brought his presentation for tonight's meeting on his portable so Krycek hooked up the palmtop to the parallel port. The right lights started to flutter and the data was quickly transferred. Krycek smiled as the unit flashed that the task had been completed successfully. Encouraging Skinner to take the PC back with a wave, he talked amiably. "Easier to work with it on there, better screen and she can get a printout." "Sure," Skinner mumbled impatiently, snatching the PC away the instant Krycek disconnected the link. Scully barely looked at Skinner when he knocked on her door. He presented her with the PC and told her which file to view. Her eyes were too focused on the machine to see his nervousness or his hope. She thanked him and quickly disappeared again. Turning back after a few seconds spent staring at the closed door, Skinner started to prowl. He rubbed at his forehead, pushing his glasses away to make it easier to drag thumb and forefinger over his eyes. Trying to push the bad thoughts away. Krycek sat, the one calm place in the middle of the swirling storm. "He can't always respond. They knocked him out for days after he killed some of them." "Killed?" "Killed, murdered. You'll have to ask him." "You said he couldn't move." "That doesn't seem to be a problem." "Then why doesn't he..." "Kill the rest? You'll have to ask him." "No. Not that... Surely he could threaten... Something." Krycek's laughter was snorted, short and muffled. Wasn't it great to have geniuses playing on your team? "He doesn't 'do' anything. When they knock him out, he prefers it. When he killed those three, they knocked him out for longer. I wouldn't be surprised if he started killing them just so they'll keep him under."
Krycek grinned at Skinner. Skinner was keeping his eyes judiciously away from the screen and making it very clear that he considered himself both Krycek's jailer and the guardian of good taste. He didn't want Krycek to play voyeur either. "I think we can safely say that the link is up. Let's give them a bit of space." Krycek shook his head. "It's tuned to me. No alert Alex in the room, no keypad connection." Skinner snorted in an angry lungfull of air. His authority had been challenged over and over again, and this time it was one time too many. He called Krycek's bluff and his cool cover cracked. "Let's test that theory." Skinner moved to grab Alex by the arm, clearly grateful for an opportunity to burn off some energy by dragging Krycek from the room. Krycek avoided Skinner's move, and pulled quickly away. "Sure." They were only about six feet from the unit when Scully's horrified scream stopped them in their tracks. Skinner looked down at the screen. It carried only one line of text, blinking furiously as it screamed its message back at him - Disconnected. "I did warn you." The challenge was too much. Skinner threw his full weight behind the blow that caught only Krycek's prosthetic arm. But fake flesh or not, it was delivered with enough momentum to knock Krycek off balance. He recovered his poise just in time to break his fall with a clean slam to the ground. Scully was between them in an instant, glaring in disbelief at Skinner even as she addressed her words to the man on the floor. "Get him back." "No can do. Security lock-out. Twenty-four hours before I can try again." Skinner didn't say a word, just stood shaking his head at what had taken place, cradling his now-stinging fingers with his other hand. His rage reared up again as Krycek's words suddenly hit him like a blow to the gut. He shifted his eyes to the body on the floor and was ready to follow up his earlier punch before he felt the restraining arm of Dana Scully fold around him. "No." She was angry, but she was also well aware of the lesson. "We're going to have to learn to work together." So, the enigmatic Dr Scully was also the pragmatic Dr Scully. Krycek knew that he shouldn't be surprised. She'd bent the rules for Mulder; she'd challenged her science and her faith to stay in the game. She could bend some more now, to see if there was an advantage in keeping him close. He felt a sudden, unfamiliar burst of admiration. He needed allies, needed them badly. Scully might only offer temporary and conditional support, but even that was not a gift to be discarded lightly. He pressed himself to his feet, offering Skinner a glance of understanding and commiseration as he did. Oh yeah, there would be payback. Alex Krycek wasn't the type to take a grudge to the grave, especially when it could be avenged so much sooner. However, there were more urgent matters right now. He turned his attention to Scully, then nodded toward the coffeemaker and offered his services. A demonstration of both his single-handed dexterity and the need for clear heads. By the time the coffee was on the table, the temperature in the room had dropped. Each of them took a seat and pretended to ignore the palmtop computer with its now blank screen, sitting like some ghostly guest of honor at the head of the table. Krycek was careful not to smile at the machine. Voice-activated on-off controls were hardly the cutting edge, but rigging "sure" to mean "disconnect" certainly helped preserve the magic. If they gave it to the Lone Gunmen then they'd maybe see the trick. But Scully wouldn't dare, not if every keystroke might be the equivalent of pushing an auto-destruct. Krycek could appreciate her dilemma. Scully stared at her reflection in the coffee's surface, took a single sip and cleared her throat. "What did he mean - disconnected his ears." Skinner closed his eyes as Krycek started to speak. "They disconnected everything. That's their term, not mine. His term as well, now. He's got no control over his body and he can't feel anything coming back from it. They did his eyes and ears, too, but they wired his sight back up." She swallowed, reached for that word again. "Disconnected?" "Oh, don't worry. They haven't chopped off his head or anything. He said it was an injection in the spinal fluid. Autonomic systems are functional. Voluntary systems and pain receptors are not." "Why didn't you tell me?" "You didn't ask?" Krycek was now the only one of the group with his eyes open. "Besides, what were you going to do about it?" "I could have said something." "He can do 'sorry for himself' without your help." Scully's features tightened, the need for a restrained response bringing a blush of red to her cheeks. Skinner opened his eyes and looked at Krycek, dry mouthed against what was being said. Krycek himself was a mass of tension, nervous energy waiting to be burned off, but with the adrenaline diverted into fueling snapped and harsh replies. Even so, he was still in better shape than the other two. He broke the uneasy silence, "So what did you learn from him?" She ignored the question. "How does he control the keyboard?" "Keyboard? Oh. Right. No keyboard. I fitted an implant behind his ear before he left." Skinner was back on his feet and threatening to do damage before the sentence was complete. Krycek glared up at him but made no other move, deciding to preserve the charge of adrenaline a little while longer. "Haven't you caused enough trouble?" The sound of Scully's clenched fists thumping into the table shifted their attention to her face. "But that's not why they took him, is it?" "No." Alex's reply was delivered with a confident tone that belied the fact that he really had no idea. "Tell me everything you know." Krycek settled down for a late night of talk. Skinner had to leave to speak at the meeting but made sure that Krycek knew that he planned to return, and then cuffed him to the metal frame of the closet. Krycek ensured that his expression was both challenging and resentful as he looked at Scully. "This is working together?" She shrugged. If there was an alternative, then it clearly wasn't obvious to her right now. "Sorry. I can't risk losing," she waved a hand at the silent computer. She didn't mention Krycek himself. It was taken as understood that she now believed him to be part of the same package. "So I'm under arrest?" She ignored the query. "24 hours before we can try again? I need to be ready. I want to know everything you know, whatever he's told you." Krycek beckoned for her to throw him a pillow. If he was stuck here then he might as well make himself comfortable. What he'd learned from Mulder would take a lot less than 24 hours. In fact, she could read the transcripts of their discussions in what? Ten minutes tops. Even allowing her a few minutes brooding time. He almost smiled at that. Now, if someone was entitled to go broody, maybe it was Dana Scully. He kept the thought to himself. Sadly, bringing the unit back to life now, when he'd promised a 24- hour security shutdown, would rather spoil his credibility as a maker of threats. It would also be an unnecessary demonstration of the use of its archive. Besides, this method would allow him the opportunity to put his own spin onto some of the exchanges. Maybe even throw in a few things that weren't strictly the whole truth. Preserve the mystery. Play on her weakness for Mulder, and her darker fears about her partner's character. But first there was something Krycek needed to know for future reference. "How did you follow me, without me spotting you?" "Nicholson planted a transmitter on your car while we were talking in the office." "And I thought he was just being polite by giving us some privacy." He approved of his new ally; it was just a shame she was only on loan. "Mulder can see again now, but he's never told me what he can see." "Why did they do that, take his sight away and then give it back?" "Maybe as punishment for the murders, maybe just for more testing. He's not sure himself. I thought we might lose him then." "Murders?" Krycek shook his head. "His description, not mine. He killed three of them." "Is that why they did that thing, paralyzing him with the drugs?" "The disconnection? No. They did that as soon as he got there. The work they're doing on him is pretty nasty, apparently, but they needed him alert so they could re-educate him. Again, that's his description. Brainwash maybe. He killed them just by thinking about it." Scully's lips tightened against the impulse to say impossible. Krycek carried on for her. "I'm not sure what he is now. Sometimes he sounds almost like Mulder. But another few months - I don't know what we'll get back." She nodded, not in agreement, but in recognition of the validity of the statement. *** The first thing Scully saw as she opened her eyes the next morning was the blank screen of the palmtop computer. Her wake-up yawn turned into a sigh of relief. Another morning, another day since Mulder had gone missing. But at least today she knew he was still alive. She'd taken one of the bedrooms and the palmtop had spent the night with her. She'd slept with it tucked under the pillow on the empty side of the bed. Krycek had taken the second bedroom. Skinner had spent the night on the too-small couch in the living area, and had served as both a buffer zone and armed guard between Krycek and the machine. Scully sat up and listened carefully for any tell-tale noise drifting through the door. She could hear voices. That was a good sign, she decided. Even if it was just the TV, it was still a good sign. Skinner wouldn't be watching TV if Krycek was on the run. Pleased with her analysis, she turned her attention to the logistical problem of how to get showered and dressed without taking her eyes off the unit. Her body decided to take the timing out of her hands, betraying her with a demand to go and deal with other problems. It always hit her like this, coming just a few minutes after she woke up. She'd yet to resolve whether it was simply morning sickness, or just the moment each day when she remembered that Mulder really was missing and the weight of it had spread from her brain to her stomach. Both men were staring in her direction as she entered the living room. Krycek looked vaguely amused, Skinner looked guilty. To her boss's credit, he quickly turned his face away and acted as if he was engrossed in the morning TV news coverage. Krycek had no such qualms, he just kept watching, even as she placed the palmtop back on the table and picked up the waiting glass of orange juice. She flushed a little under the scrutiny and from the idea that one of them had decided that coffee wasn't what she needed right now. She took her first sip, relishing the fresh taste in her mouth, even though it would do nothing to ease her stomach. "I need to go into the office." Skinner turned to study her again. She chose to answer the unspoken question. "I want to do some research on de-afferent trauma and the operation of muscle relaxants, among other things." "You're not going to find the drugs listed in any edition of the PDR." Scully didn't reply, so Krycek carried on talking. "If you really want to help him, you could start looking at the studies done on the use of sensory deprivation during torture." Skinner shifted uncomfortably as Scully's face whitened. He threw her the offer of a distraction. "De-afferent?" Grateful for the hiding place of scientific terminology, Scully ignored Krycek and turned toward Skinner. "It refers to a failure of the somatosensory system, the thing that gives you feedback on limb position. Conditions like sensory neuropathy and some spinal injuries can cause it." Krycek nodded. "Nice that you've been able to disconnect, too. I guess you won't be needing me until, what - 6:30 tonight?" Scully frowned, she hadn't really thought about that. Obviously the palmtop would travel with her, but did she really want Krycek there too? Wouldn't he just attract all the wrong sort of attention? Maybe it was safest to split up the pair. "Six. Here?" The men shrugged; it seemed as good a place as any. "If there's a problem - leave a message at the front desk." *** Mike Nicholson looked wary as Dana Scully walked into the X-Files office. Scully could see his point but couldn't really think of anything to say that would make it any easier on him. "Is that the thing that Krycek had?" She nodded, still uncertain of whether the correct way forward was to offer an apology, an explanation, or nothing. She said nothing. "What does it do?" What she'd give now to be dealing with some jerk as her partner. Perhaps not another Peyton Ritter. Maybe just someone who she could lie to with equanimity, a Jeffrey Spender perhaps, or perhaps not. But preferably someone who really didn't have the brains to be sharing her workspace. Nicholson wasn't so easy to ignore. She tried to keep it vague. "Nothing, right now. I'm just looking after it." "And then?" She couldn't reply, and this time Nicholson remained silent, too. When she finally looked up at him, his jaw was tight and his lips shifted as if he was working his way back up to speech. Despite the fact that at first sight the men had little in common, his expression reminded her so much of Mulder, that it hurt to see it. She owed him something for yesterday. "It can link us to Mulder. But it needs Krycek to drive it." "And we've lost him?" "No. No. That side's ok. I need to do some research." "Anything I can do?" She'd almost forgotten; the man was here for a reason, not just as her conscience. "I could use someone with knowledge of sensory deprivation and brainwashing." She pulled in her chin before adding a supplementary question. "And anything you can find on places that might be experimenting with it. Maybe if you looked for..." Nicholson nodded. "Places employing researchers with published papers and doctoral theses in sensory deprivation and disorders, labs with isolation facilities. Security clearances disproportionate with the official work at that location. That kind of thing?" She nodded and looked quickly away, almost guilty that she still couldn't truly believe in something she thought she knew. She blocked the reaction. Even Mulder had said that this was her job. She was allowed to look for him down here, and not just assume that he was in the unsearchable "out there." Every investigation needed a list of possible suspects. Mulder had once told her not to be so exclusive. All possibilities, however extreme. And, however mundane. Content that she was doing the right thing and with the alarm on her watch set to remind her when it reached five, she set to work. She worked with the palmtop safely lodged between her PC's keyboard and its screen, its presence both reminding her of her reasons and comforting her with its presence as she started to search. *** She checked at the hotel front desk. There had been no messages. Would Krycek actually show up? She shivered at the question before answering it in the affirmative, a process that she'd repeated a hundred times that day. This was Krycek's meal ticket and, if he were to be believed, his mission. The suite looked unoccupied. The lights were off. Not surprising. After all, it was only 5:40 and still broad daylight. But she could hear no sounds either. No TV. No talk. Still, it really was only 5:40 - the two men simply hadn't arrived yet. Another hour and they could try the link again. Another hour and she would be talking to Mulder. As soon as she stepped through the door she realized just how wrong her assessment had been. It seemed like only a fraction of a second, but it might just as well have been forever. The voice said not to move, the gun against her head emphasized the point. She felt the hands that came forward to remove the precious palmtop from her fingers. She couldn't see the hands, her eyes had clouded over instantly with some mix of horror and shame. The gunman held his position, the cool solidity of the Glock unwavering as it rested at her temple, no hint of compassion or hesitation in the weapon or in the muttered words of the man holding it. "Steady. Don't do anything you'll regret." New York accent, perhaps? It was a little hard to tell from so few words, so soft in their delivery. She recognized enough to hear the voice of a man who both knew his job and meant business. The only thing she could do was blink, she fluttered her eyelashes until a man with a blond crewcut came into focus and she could see him work. He did a swift check to make sure that he had a real live piece of hardware and not just some pile of junk in a computer's carrying case. He put the palmtop down on the table and Scully realized that it was back in exactly the same position as she'd placed it herself, the night before. The last time she'd spoken with Mulder. She felt the gunman's left hand unfasten her holster and remove her gun, felt the way his right hand never lost interest in threatening to blow out her brains. The man with the crewcut returned and quickly hauled Scully's hands behind her back and then pulled her across the room to where he could finish the job by looping the handcuffs around the closet's frame. The same thing that Skinner had used to imprison Krycek the evening before. The sudden thud of a noise from outside the door got Scully's instant attention, and she made sure that every ounce of her adrenaline and frustration went into a piercing scream of, "Help!" The gunman snapped out his reaction. "For fuck's sake, shut her up." Before the order was even half spoken, the other man had his hand clenched firmly across her lips. He was not pleased. "We should just have shot her." "Those aren't the orders." A few seconds later and Scully was gagging against the bunched-up heap of Kleenex he'd pulled from the bedside table and jammed into her mouth. He completed the job by adding a short length of duct tape. "When you're quite ready," complained the gunman. He cautiously opened the door and scanned the corridor. "It's clear, let's go." "What about Krycek?" "Later. I'm more worried about whoever was out here just now." He sighed, looked from side to side again, then shook his head. "Fuck it. Move." The other man picked up the palmtop and both of them ran, leaving Dana Scully to choke on furious sobs and to try not to suffocate. *** The welcome committee comprising Carver and three of his senior colleagues was pleased to see the men return on time and with their precious cargo intact. After the embarrassing incident of Krycek's escape just the day before, another failure could have been disastrous. At least for Carver's reputation and maybe for something more. Carver was rather less pleased to hear that they had failed to collect Alex Krycek. That could make things a little awkward later. A captive Krycek might have been useful. A dead Krycek at least couldn't have caused any trouble. A Krycek free to run could be a dangerously loose cannon. Still, Carver was not going to allow a detail to spoil his enjoyment of a battle won. The palmtop had been the primary objective and they had brought it safely home. With all the caution of a bomb disposal specialist, he delivered the unit to his technicians. The men in his lab were familiar with the device, of course. All of the small crew of scientists and engineers had at least seen the interface drawings and had worked with the software emulation of the unit before. Only one of them had ever seen the real communications device and he'd actually helped to build the prototype of this unit. But even he had never seen the matching human implant. At least, not an implant in working order. He'd seen them after they'd been removed from bodies. They all knew enough to know that both the body and the device seemed to die if you removed one. Carver looked at his expert assistant. "Same technology?" "Looks it." The white-coated figure moved his hand away from the freshly-exposed electronics of the unit to reveal a tiny dancing ball of rapidly changing kaleidoscopic light. A spider's web of gold wire appeared to be holding the ball captive, and was actually pinning it to the more prosaically earthly computer that lay underneath. Carver smiled at the happy news. It was really just a matter of finding out what control codes Krycek was using and they'd be home free. He suggested that they make it snappy. Carver's favorite scientist disappointed him by failing to respond right away. The man's brow crinkled before he spoke and, when it finally came, his speech was hesitant. "We'll need time. Krycek may have modified it, there may be time bombs rigged, boobytraps and even viruses." Carver just repeated the order to make it snappy.
END of Disconnected II |
Disconnected IIby Joann Humby |