“The thing about people that secret authorities find troublesome,” Kersh mused, “is that they have to tread a very fine line between making them a martyr to a cause, and eliminating a threat. At one point, it was believed that your discoveries and investigations were annoying, but that your following in the fringe element was too strong. Kill you, and it’s proof to thousands of people with a lot of technical expertise and too much time on their hands that the conspiracies are real.” He chuckled. “They are, of course, but that’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” Mulder asked. “What changed?”
Kersh sighed. “When much of what you were looking to discover was destroyed, and the rest was still operating in secrecy, it was decided that it might be better to carefully and quietly deal with the threat that you represented. And so you were brought into the two primary phases of the project without your knowledge.” Kersh gestured towards Mulder as he sat back. “You were supposed to be pulled into the ongoing modification experiments, and then you would be used within the FBI to monitor the situation from the X-Files. Scully was to be introduced into the reproductive experiments.”
Mulder closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to lessen the tension of confusion. “And then I was abducted. How does that fit into the pattern?”
“That was unexpected,” Kersh admitted. “We’re still not sure what happened at that point, or who was taking our people, cutting them up, and dumping them in the middle of nowhere. But even the unexpected can be turned to one’s advantage. I was placed over AD Skinner to keep an eye on the X-Files, and Agent Doggett was assigned in your place.”
Mulder nodded. “We figured it was something like that. It’s a little too convenient that Doggett would just happen to be the one to be assigned, when his helpful friends turn out to be these super-soldiers. I guess Doggett was intended to be the new eye on any investigations into the project.” He shook his head again, still not quite believing what he was hearing. “This is all a nice little story, Deputy Director, but I have no reason to trust you. I still don’t even know why you’re telling me this.”
“We’ve all heard the potential drawbacks of the investigation,” Skinner said, shifting nervously in his seat. “I have my own worries, and your involvement would make this entire effort look like a personal vendetta. Never mind that it would be the final nail in Agent Doggett’s career.”
“And we’re all concerned for that,” Mulder quipped, rolling his eyes. “Get to the point.”
“The point is, Mulder, that they still have no idea why you were able to be cured of the modified virus,” Kersh said bluntly. “That is of great concern to them, because if there is a way to resist, then there is a weakness that has to be addressed.” Kersh pointed to Mulder again. “They’ve been watching you all this time. And if Agent Doggett uncovers anything truly substantial in his investigation, then quite simply, they have nothing to lose by moving up their timetable. And that means finding out how you managed to resist the effects of the virus...and I doubt they intend to get answers with anything less than vivisection.”
Mulder stood, his heads to his face. “You said that Scully was supposed to be part of the experiments, too. What about her? What about my son?”
“Frankly, they are watching them as well. They would like to be subtle in those observations. But make no mistake, if they need answers quickly...”
****
“DISHARMONIC CONVERGENCE”
(February 1999)
He stared at the images of the dead, cast in black and white, and considered his options. If this man had been a player in the game, a part of the project, he would have known. Chances were good that this was someone taking advantage of the aftermath of the Syndicate’s failure. And if that was the case, then he was as good an ally as anyone. It took just a moment to decide.
“You have an offer?” he asked, finally looking the man in the eye again.
“Oh, yes, I would think I do,” the man replied, and he gestured towards his table. “Shall we talk?”
He stood, a bit unsteadily, but his mind was clearing as the possibility of hope sobered him. “First, your name.”
“Of course,” the man said, holding out his hand. “Thomas McShane.”
He replied in kind, even though he was certain that McShane already knew who he was. He took the hand firmly, flashing McShane a confident smile.
“Alex Krycek…”
+++
(December 2001)
Mulder watched her go, and then turned towards McShane. “Agent Doggett told me about your daughter. He said that she was about two years old. That was just over a year ago.”
McShane smiled, giving a mysterious shrug of his shoulders as he walked over to the refrigerator. He scanned the contents as he spoke. “Actually, she was a little over two and a half years old when John came around. You see, at first, there is a tendency to leg behind in a few areas of development. That’s an effect of the ability to manipulate the world around them.”
He pulled out two bottles of beer, handing one to Mulder. “But before long, the development increases a bit more quickly. Speech, physical development, mental acuity...it all speeds up. Not something I expected, but that happens rarely enough. I’ve learned to enjoy the moments.”
“You’re saying this as though it should mean something to me,” Mulder noted, trying to maintain a sense of calm as he accepted the bottle. He had already learned to expect that there was more to everything McShane deigned to tell him.
“Of course,” Thomas admitted. He leaned against the counter, casually sipping at the beer as he spoke. “Let’s cut to the chase, Mulder. You know that your son is abnormal, whether he was part of the experiments we’re discussing at PRI or not. The thing to keep in mind is how that might manifest itself.” He gestured towards the ceiling. “My daughter began with telekinesis. It’s actually easier than telepathy, because it’s just motion. Infants move their arms and legs without understanding the process, after all. Motion is motion.”
+++
“My daughter, Mulder, is a product of two parents with extensive abilities that you might term psychic,” McShane obliged. “You know that. John Doggett passed all of what we told him to you. You carry it around even now, wondering if it holds the answers to your questions.” Thomas chuckled. “It does. And my daughter is even more talented than I am.”
Mulder glared at McShane. “I’ve been known to overdo the dramatics now and then, so I’m not impressed with the stall tactics.”
McShane sighed with disapproval. “What they tried to create in your son, Mulder, has occurred naturally more than once. It’s all about defense against something that requires maximum adaptability, and those of us designed to be that defense pass it on genetically. My daughter is a perfect example. Even now, less than four years old, she could defend herself against nearly every threat you can imagine in this world. Their goals are the same, and sooner or later, they were bound to stumble across the right formula.” McShane smiled as he sipped from his bottle. “I think your William might have that genetic formula, even if they were trying for something closer to Cassandra Spender.”
+++
McShane only smiled. “All in good time, Mulder. Accepting that I know more than you do about the situation is a good beginning. Also accepting that your best option is to cooperate, I think, would help. Stop trying to figure out my reasons for doing what I do. The fact is, my motivations are hardly in question. This is what I was meant to do. Let me do it, and at the same time, help yourself and the ones you care about.”
****
“VISIONS OF ANGELS”
(January 2002)
“So the white areas, those are the spots that don’t have surveillance?” Doggett assumed. “Looks like public access, places where normal security cameras would have the necessary coverage.”
“Yep,” Langly said, rolling his eyes. “But it’s the red that worried us. That, and the woman you mentioned last night.”
Skinner inspected the red spot closest to where he was standing. “Wait a second. That’s Agent Reyes’ apartment.”
“Positive?” Doggett asked, stepping behind Skinner to get a closer look. Then his eyes steeled. “I’ll be damned.”
“It gets better,” Byers said, stepping opposite Skinner and Doggett on the other side of the screen. He gestured to Langly, and that section of the map expanded. “Notice how the surveillance actually covers everything in the surrounding area, right up to the walls. Then, nothing. It’s like they can’t even look into the windows.”
“That makes no sense at all,” Doggett replied, shaking his head. “Why would they have any trouble watching Monica?”
“That’s what we were wondering,” Frohike admitted. He gestured towards the screen as it progressed through a number of similar images. “We ran a check on the other properties that they were having some kind of difficulty covering with their resources. Monica’s old apartment building in Alexandria, but as it turns out, only certain floors. Same with AD Skinner’s building. Part of Scully’s apartment. A commercial property in Georgetown. The storage compartment in Fairfax. And last but not least, a music club by the name of...”
“Tripping Billies,” Skinner said with a deep frown. He looked over his shoulder at Doggett. “I’m beginning to see a pattern.”
“So am I,” Doggett affirmed with a nod. He turned to Langly. “These are all places that we either live in or frequent.”
“All of which also have another common element,” Byers pointed out. He hesitated for a moment, looking at Skinner and Doggett with trepidation as he said the next. The image changed as he spoke. “Before he left, Mulder asked us to find out as much as we could about the woman who called herself Angel.”
+++
“The deeper we dig into this, the more convoluted it gets,” Frohike added, picking at his teeth with a toothpick. “I hate to say it, Walter, but it looks like there’s more than two sides to this.”
Skinner glared at Frohike’s familiar tone, squinting in confusion. “How do you figure that?”
“According to Agent Doggett, not to mention Scully,” Byers said with a slight smile, “there is some kind of scheme in motion involving super-soldiers, the same plans that involved Mulder’s apparent death and the intrigues surrounding his abduction.”
“On the other side of that,” Frohike continued, “was whatever organization or group that contacted Mulder before he left. They helped cover his tracks, and after what happened last week, it looks as though they’ve been experimenting with ways to fight these super-soldiers.”
Langly gestured towards the laptop on the conference table. “Angel, and whoever this other woman is, seem to also be working against the conspiracy, but in a more passive capacity.”
Skinner nodded for a moment, and then turned to Frohike. “And if Angel was working with the people protecting Mulder, why would they have sent him a message to look into Angel’s activities without her knowledge?”
“Mulder made it clear that Angel was unaware of the message having been sent,” Byers confirmed. “In fact, she had some suspicions about the source, but nothing more than that.”
+++
Scully cleared her throat, her expression clouding. “They said that John was suffering from some kind of memory loss. I was hoping that you might be able to help.”
Monica stared at Scully, and then turned to Angel, confused. “Is that even possible? I know that you deal in items that supposedly retain the memories of the previous owners, and obviously you must have some ability to detect those memories yourself. But helping John recover his memories? You could do something like that?”
Angel eyed Scully impassively for a moment, and then sighed, nodded hesitantly. “It would depend on the circumstances. But the same principle applies. Memory is imprinted into an object in the same way it is imprinted into one’s mind. Find the mechanism, and then anything is possible.”
Monica looked over at Scully, and was glad to see that even she was more than a little unsettled, even though Dana had been the one to suggest Angel’s involvement. “And you’ve done this before?”
Angel hesitated again, but finally, she nodded slowly. “Helped to recover memories, among other things.”
“What about reading someone’s memories?” Scully asked, and Angel could tell that she was thinking of those first few weeks in April at the antique store. “What about someone’s thoughts?”
“Thoughts are just memories in formation,” Angel said calmly. “Emotions, thoughts, memory...in the end, there is little difference.”
+++
“I came here because I thought you might be able to explain it to me,” Monica said incredulously. “I think I have a good enough reason.”
“Yes, I would say you do,” Angel admitted. She took another good, long drink from her glass, and then placed it on the floor. “You’ve been told, from what Craig has explained to me, that memory is simply a form of information. And like all information, it is recorded. Sometimes it’s something as tangible as the material reality of a necklace or a bracelet or even a shirt. These are the items that I attend to, information that has a need to be passed on to someone, and it needs to be done through a conduit, like the medal.”
Sensing Monica’s coming objection, she held up a hand for patience. “That’s only a special case, though. Most of the time, that information is simply imprinted on the fabric of the universe itself. It’s part of a unifying intelligence that connects all things.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Monica said with a slight nod of her head. “In general, of course, over the years, one way or another. More specifically, though, Craig once told John the same thing. During the McShane case.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Angel replied. “How I knew that Craig would be coming here, and the significance of that knife. But that’s a part of what I’m trying to explain.” She shifted in her seat, as if trying to get more comfortable. “One can access that information. Know things that have happened, even what has yet to happen, the possibilities. Memory is the collective information of a life, and all life comprises the greater intelligence.” She pointed to Monica. “You’ve touched that before. More than once. This is no different.”
+++
Angel picked up her glass, taking another sip of the Scotch. “I know that this may be hard to accept. But you have always been aware of the larger whole. You’ve had feelings about things, notions and visions. Just knowing something without rational explanation. Like knowing that there was something more behind Luke Doggett’s death.”
“So what, it will happen again?” Monica said finally, her expression stricken. “Getting pulled into situations like this, believing that I’m somehow responsible or beholden to something someone else did decades, even centuries ago?”
Angel sighed. “I’m afraid so. That’s what it means to walk the path you’ve chosen.”
Monica nodded, knowing that there was little else she could do but accept it. And she knew, when the worst of the emotions passed and she could consider her position more objectively, she would know that she wanted it to be that way. She had embraced her gifts for too long to turn her back on them now. But just thinking about that made her think of something she hadn’t considered.
“You said that this was part of the price I had to pay, in having these connections and feelings,” Monica said. “That I would have to play a role in things greater than myself. But I’m not the only one who saw something more when we found Luke Doggett’s body. John saw it, too. I know he did, but he’s been denying it ever since.”
Angel nodded, but there was a sadness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Yes. John, Dana, Walter, Craig, all of them are in the same position that you are, whether they accept it or not. All of you have gifts and abilities to some extent. This leaves you open to influences that you don’t even recognize. This time, it was a stronger impulse, more specific in terms of effect and purpose.”
Monica let out a long sigh, sipping at her glass of water. “In the case we just...concluded, if what you say is true, the needs of the original officer carried over time, finding the right people at the right time to fulfill that need. Like there was some sliver of that original mind carrying down time, a will behind the simple command. A guiding will, I suppose.”
“That would be more or less the way it works,” Angel agreed. “Coherent continuity of memory is the key to intelligence. That remains, even as a part of the greater whole. Individuality balances with the overall collective intelligence.”
“That’s rather vague,” Monica pointed out.
“Well, we’re speaking from a limited point of view,” Angel reminded her. “We experience these connections as individuals, and that makes any acceptance or recognition of what binds us together harder to grasp.”
“But if the persisting desires of a single man from over one hundred years ago could be so overwhelming,” Monica pressed, “what about those larger roles that you mentioned? The more subtle influences that we don’t recognize? If there was a will behind the desire for justice, then what will exists behind those influences? What guiding force?” She laughed to herself. “God?”
“Some people might consider it in that fashion,” Angel said, nodding. “They feel something more than the strict rational world that they live in, and call it God. Or karma. Or aliens. Or all of the above.”
Monica slipped her water, and then rubbed her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I mean, it all makes sense, when taken with everything McShane told us, or Mulder, or Scully. But this is veering just a little too closely to those late night discussions at the academy.”
Angel shrugged. “You wanted an answer. I gave you one. Can’t help it if it sounds a little overly metaphysical or pretentious.” She poured back the rest of her Scotch, and placed the glass on the floor. “Mind answering a question for me?”
Monica shrugged. “All right.”
“You’ve heard me talk about what I can do,” Angel said frankly. “You’ve heard the stories, made a few connections. And I know how it must sound, when taken out of context. But I think that now, after what you’ve been through, what we’ve discussed...maybe now you might have some perspective on those suspicions.” She looked at Monica with an open expression. “I just want to know if you are willing to trust me.”
Monica looked away for a moment, and then sighed heavily, tossing the pillow onto the other end of the couch. She stood running a hand through her hair, pacing the floor back and forth a few times. Finally, letting out another sigh, she sat on the high end of the couch. “You’re right. I do have suspicions. You know more about us than you have any right to know. But at the same time, when I think about what you’ve done for us, how often John or Craig smile at the club, how much strength you’ve given to Dana...and my instinct is to trust you.”
“Thank you,” Angel said, smiling in appreciation. “I hope to live up to that.”
“I hope you do, too,” Monica replied sincerely. “Because one way or another, sooner or later, you’re going to have to explain whatever we might discover about you.”
“I know,” Angel said with a hint of sadness. “I’ve always known.”
