Oh! Pioneers

Happy didn't begin to describe how he felt. Glad wasn't adequate to express the relief, and euphoric barely covered the champagne bubbles in his blood or the rap tempo of his beating heart. Alex Krycek opened his arms wide, and spun round and round on the deserted beach.

The beach was beautiful. The moon was beautiful. The silver crested waves and the dark blue sky were beautiful. Alex Krycek flung himself down, rolled over and over in the soft warm sand, as whole as the night was beautiful.

He braced himself on his arms and laughed at the moon, howled at the waves, kicked up divots of sand with his toes and chortled when the grains rained down and landed on his back.

At length, he turned, crossed his arms on his chest and allowed the night noises and the night wind whisper to him.

He slept as he lay, without worry or fear.

Vindicated didn't cover the length and breadth of Fox Mulder's satisfaction. Validated, justified, glorified and right, right, right, weren't even close to the enormous happiness that flooded his veins with delight. He pumped his legs, ran on the soft green turf, and felt as if he were flying.

The perfect ground went on for mile after mile; the springy expanse designed for him alone was smooth, even and fragrant. Lemon scented air filled his lungs. Limitless energy and an effervescent moon spirited him along and he felt young, alive and at peace.

He dove headfirst into a sparkling lake and surfaced with sweet water and laughter on his lips. He floated as one with the night and the moon.

Smiling, he allowed the night's voices to call to him. At length, he rose from the water and curled up on a bed of scented pine. He slept as he lay, without anxiety or dread.

Dana Scully watched the two men through the observation windows of their cells. She was deeply concerned that Mulder would harm himself as he flailed about, limbs all tangled and restless. Krycek was doing the same thing, but Scully cared little whether or not he injured himself.

What struck her as particularly bizarre, were the grimaces on their faces. She shivered and reminded herself that some drugs caused the muscles in the face to appear almost in a death grin. The hallucinogen these men ingested must have that side effect. It was a chemical agent unknown to Dana Scully, but she was having it analyzed by both the FBI labs and the Gunmen.

Scully felt the anger well up in her gut until she was shaking. Only her resolute insistence that she maintain a professional demeanor kept it from exploding. She took some small measure of satisfaction that at least Krycek was also caught up in whatever mischief he had planned for Mulder this time.

She allowed the satisfaction to bloom as she realized that this time, they had Krycek and proof of his machinations. She smiled to herself. Once Mulder sobered up, they would be able to prosecute Krycek and be done with him forever.

At length, she made herself comfortable in the observation room chair, the ambient hospital noises went on whispering about her. Confident, she pulled her jacket more closely around her shoulders, and began writing up her notes.

Walter Skinner paced the hallway outside the hospital rooms in which Agents Mulder, Scully and the bastard, Alex Krycek, lay in restless sleep. Agent Scully had been the last to succumb to the virulent flu that swept though the small town of Pioneer, Wisconsin. She'd muttered something about hallucinogens, hypos and Krycek before she'd passed out with a temperature of 104.3.

Skinner felt anxious about the fate of his agents. Untreated, this flu was potentially fatal. None of the doctors could pinpoint how long Mulder and Scully had been ill before they were found and medical intervention began. The doctors made a case that Krycek was the first and most seriously affected as his general condition was the worst.

Skinner shook his head and paced more rapidly. He had to admit to himself that the amputation to Krycek's left arm was a surprise. He was more concerned however, by the fact that Krycek was in the same vicinity as his agents.

Skinner felt a surge of fury rise from his belly to his brain. Where the fuck was the nanocyte device Krycek used to control him. Granted, Krycek had not used the thing since his near death experience. He'd been clear, however, in the brief and threatening conversation in his car, and Skinner had no doubts he would. He called for the other agents, who were standing by awaiting orders, to make a thorough search of anywhere in Pioneer where Krycek could have stashed his belongings and bring all of it to him.

At length, Skinner's headache reached mammoth proportions and he began to worry that he had contracted the same flu as the others. He sat down on the couch in the doctor's lounge he'd commandeered. He wished he could turn off the whispering hospital intercom and rubbed his head. He groaned and reached for his cup of tepid coffee and swallowed a mouthful in the hopes that the caffeine would help.

Spender smiled. He'd drawn a full house this time and was one up over the remaining members of the council. He lit another cigarette and savored the harsh inhalation. He preened at his reflection in the glass of his limo window.

Knowing it was safe to breathe the fresh air of Pioneer once more; he lowered the window and happily observed the writhing bodies on the grass. Krycek and Mulder had been the first to get a dose of the experimental airborne spores. He hoped they were suffering, it was only fair that they should after sticking their fingers and noses in his business one time too many. Spender frowned, he had not been pleased to find Alex Krycek had not only been the one to warn Mulder about Weikamp, but had confiscated his nanocyte prototype and used it to compel Skinner to greater vigilance on the Agent's behalf.

To dispel these profitless thoughts, he busied himself lighting another cigarette. Neither Mulder nor Krycek would be a problem much longer. He felt a faint stirring of pity at the sight of the proper and unflappable Dana Scully trying to bundle herself in her coat. He felt his admiration for her perseverance against all the dangerous odds that had come her way, momentarily make him reconsider her fate. However, she and Skinner were both a constant annoyance and he shook his head, reminding himself of their arrogance.

Spender got out of the limo and approached the scientist in charge of the experiment. The man wore a dismayed expression and Spender sighed to himself. It was always the same with these brilliant amateurs. They could invent the most delicious ways of assisting the Project when they were high on unlimited funding and the freedom to experiment. However, once faced their inventions, they always felt remorse. Fools, thought Spender, did they imagine that their prototypes would not be put to use?

Nonetheless, he complimented the sallow faced scientist on the bounty his work had brought to bear. He dismissed the man and had him escorted back to his mobile lab. As the taillights of the van faded in the distance, "Kill them," Spender ordered the remaining man, indicating the four figures on the grass.

The Expressionless Man nodded once. Spender returned to his limo and had the driver start the car. He poured himself a double finger of scotch and savored the warm bite as it slid down his throat. He lit another cigarette and felt great satisfaction with the day's outcome.

The Expressionless Man waited until the limo rounded the bend and was lost to sight. Kneeling easily, the man placed his hand on Alex Krycek's forehead. After a few minutes, his face gentled into what could almost be described as a smile. He pushed the damp hair off the young man's brow and seemingly without effort, lifted Krycek and carried him to a car parked in the fringe of the woods. "You will find your way," the man said quietly as he laid the body on the back seat and removed a small electronic device from Krycek's pocket.

He returned to the grassy knoll.

He knelt at Mulder's side and repeated his gesture. This time, he stroked the sweaty forehead and murmured softly, "Your time will come, Mr. Mulder." The young man's body ceased its restless motions and calmed, curling up comfortably, with a sigh of satisfaction.

The man bent beside Dana Scully and deftly untangled her arms from her coat and laid it upon her restive body, tucking it around her and covering her small frame. "You are a determined soul, child. But you will come to believe." The man said softly and the woman sighed and relaxed beneath her warm cloak.

He went to Skinner and sat next to him on the grass. He placed his hand over Skinner chest and then his frown-furrowed brow. "You have the heart of a lion and you will come to understand," whispered the man. Skinner groaned. The man waited a few more moments, drew the small electronic device from his coat pocket, and put in Skinner's hand. Skinner swallowed once and relaxed.

The Expressionless Man looked at his handiwork and raised his eyes to the encroaching evening, as it darkened the sky. He searched the heavens and finding a point in its vast reaches, nodded.

He went to his car and drove for several miles, called the local emergency number and reported that three unconscious FBI agents were lying on the grass, between the highway and the woods, outside of town. He waited until he heard the faint sounds of sirens in the distance and drove on.

Krycek woke in the backseat of a car and struggled to sit up. It was very late, he didn't know what had happened to him, but he felt no fear. In an automatic gesture, he rubbed the remains of his left shoulder, and was surprised that he felt none of the usual aches and pains.

Cautiously, he got out of the car and checked the steering column. The keys were in the ignition. Alex Krycek looked around and saw he was on a slight rise at a highway rest stop. A town spread out before him. He imagined the people going about their usual routines, cursing the drudgery of dinner dishes piled in the kitchen sink and fractious children slamming the back door every time they came and went.

He shook his head to clear it of such mundane musings. He wondered where the road would lead him next, looked up at the stars which were, once again, the only roof he could count on, got in the car and drove away.

I CAN'T HELP BUT WONDER WHERE I'M BOUND
(Tom Paxton)

It's a long and a dusty road
It's a hot and a heavy load
And the folks that I meet ain't always kind
So are bad, some are good
Some have done the best they could
Some have tried to ease my troubling mind

And I can't help but wonder where I'm bound
Where I'm bound
And I can't help but wonder where I'm bound

I have wandered thru this land
Just a doing the best I can
Tryin to find what I was meant to do
And the people that I see
Look as worried as can be
And it looks like they are a wondering too

I had a little girl one time
She had lips like Sherry wine
I loved her til my head went plumb insane
But I was too blind to see
She was drifting away from me
And my good gal went off on the morning train

And I had a buddy back home
But he started out to roam
I hear he's out by Frisco Bay
And sometimes when I've had a few
His old voice comes a ringing thru
And I'm going out to see him some old day

If you see me passing by
And you sit and you wonder why
And if you wish that you were a rambling too
Nail your shoes to the kitchen floor
Lace them up and bat the door
Thank your stars for the roof that over you