Misprision

Part One

The darkness was like a living thing, pressing in on him, squeezing him tightly, smothering, suffocating, leaching the life from him pulse by fevered pulse. He knew it was impossible, but it seemed to him as if the darkness grew in mass and substance - expanding until he no longer knew where he ended and it began. If, that was, he still existed at all!

With no point of reference for his senses his head span and the nausea welled up in him once again. The panic he had been fighting off, until now, overwhelmed him and soon he was beyond all reason, screaming and thrashing against the bonds that held him immobile.

Strangely the renewed sensation of being restrained gave him a focus point, something to concentrate on, and slowly but steadily he managed to get himself back under control. The rank smell of his own cooling sweat assaulted his nostrils. At least this time he'd managed not to vomit, but the feeling of disgust he felt at having been unable to control himself before, all the numerous times he had woken from his stupor, threatened to drag him back into the pit of despair. Desperately he struggled to control his breathing. The whirling sensation and the ringing in his ears started to decrease as he concentrated on inhaling and exhaling through his mouth. If he used his nose the stench might make him retch again and he was not sure that he'd ever stop once he started.

How long he'd been there he had no idea, it was certainly longer than a few hours, maybe longer than a few days - all he knew was that now the ache in his muscles had grown until it felt as if they had been sliced through with a white hot knife, and unfortunately he was all too aware of exactly what that felt like.

As if on cue, the level of agony in the remainder of his left arm rose until the effort of not screaming from the pain caused more beads of sweat to form all over his naked body.

Shit! Just what he needed. If only he could reach the stump and massage it a little to ease the biting sensation that swamped all else in his consciousness.

A current of cold air wafted across his chest, indicating that at least wherever he was wasn't air tight as he had feared. The sudden glare of yellow sodium lights made him wince. Blinded by the luminous glow after so many hours in the dark, his eyes began to water, his throat was dry and sore and he really wanted to rinse his mouth, even a sip to drink would be welcome but he had little hope that such a boon would be granted to him.

His own fault, he reflected bitterly, for not making certain of his enemy's demise. Sloppy work that, and now it seemed he was paying the price.

"Well, well, well. Not so high and mighty now Alex." The voice rasped in his ear

He wanted to snort his defiance but the bony hand that clutched his throat prevented him from making any sound. A tremor of fear ran unbidden through his body. For once he held no cards, could not think of a single bargaining chip to use. His fear was not that he would be killed, rather that he would be forced to live once again as a specimen, a lab rat.

'God no, don't think of rats,' he admonished himself. Rats always made him think of Mulder and thinking of Mulder was a weakness he couldn't afford right now. Mulder had been a weakness, or a beacon of hope, for him ever since they'd met. It had been the way the man continued to struggle, against all odds - often against all logic - that had encouraged him to think there might perhaps be a way out of his own predicament. The raw courage of the man had struck him when they had worked on the Augustus Cole case. The sheer seeming inability of the other man to worry about his own safety had given Alex confidence, and though it took him a long time to scrounge up the courage of his own to fight back - eventually he had done so. Though how brave it had been when it wasn't just his ass on the line was a moot point perhaps.

His guilt at that thought added to his misery. Perhaps he'd already sacrificed the hostage to his fortune. If that was so, he'd be damned if he'd just allow these bastards to kill him without some reciprocal action - though just how he might initiate any attack on them, given his current position, he couldn't imagine.

He'd won his 'freedom' once before, he could again if only he could get it together enough. Of course his 'freedom', hard won though it was, never seemed to last long. Somehow he only managed to stay one step ahead of the game for short periods. Either the Smoker or one of his 'cohort' would eventually decide they'd let him have his head for long enough and rein him in again.

Even after escaping the silo, when he'd foolishly thought he'd finally done it - broken free - actively sought out the resistance and given them everything he had gathered over the years, even that independence had been somewhat of an illusion.

He'd never felt safe in the resistance either, even with all the assurances they offered him. Some of the attitudes of the men and women he worked with there were too close to the consortium for him to truly believe he had any real protection. There had also been times when he wondered if the resistance was actually achieving anything, what if they were just a cover for more of the consortium's nefarious dealings? He'd spent time and energy trying to double guess all those around him. Mulder's motto 'Trust no one' made absolute sense to him. All the same, it had been exhausting and in the nature of all humans he'd had to allow himself to trust someone now and then. So he had relaxed his guard - possibly a fatal error.

Trusting Marita, 'too stupid Alex, really really stupid' he thought to himself. He of all people should have known better, especially not to trust a pretty face. She'd sold him down the river, he thought ruefully. He only hoped it had been worth it.

He couldn't really blame her he supposed, you did what you had to do to survive. If their positions had been reversed he might have done the same. Just because she was a woman, didn't mean they would have gone easy on her, he of all people knew that too.

However, none of that was any consolation to him now. He was well and truly caught. His only hope now seemed to be to goad them into killing him sooner rather than later, anything to avoid the fate he feared more than any other.

There was a greater urgency to the consortium's activities these days. They might be depleted in number but those who were left were now more fanatical than ever before. He could only imagine the glee with which those elders who had survived the conflagration would view him as a potential guinea pig for their version of the vaccine. He'd do almost anything to deny them that pleasure - strike that almost, he'd do anything. What he wished, more devoutly than he'd ever wished before, was that his captors were not so aware of that fact. It meant that he'd have to work harder to provoke them into killing him.

Yet even as the thought passed through his over-wrought brain, he knew he couldn't do it. He might desire an end to his damned enslavement, his pain, and the torment of knowing his future would be once again controlled by this man among others, but still, deep inside, the will to survive and to keep himself apart, aloof from it all, was stronger.

He swallowed painfully, his throat almost sticking to itself due to dehydration. The pressure on his neck had lessened, now it was almost a caress. God, if the old man thought he'd respond to that he must be mad. His shudder was completely involuntary.

"So Alex, how do you like my latest 'guest room'? Are you comfortable? I thought you'd appreciate the darkness. A home from home so to speak. Did it bring back fond memories for you?"

He didn't bother to dignify that with a reply. Instead he stared straight ahead. He had a good view of the ceiling, but not much else. The whole room seemed to be made of glass. No, not glass, perspex. Glass was too risky. The light source was actually outside the room and therefore also controlled from outside. He was in a perspex cube inside a larger outer room he concluded. His eyes finally stopped watering and he got a clear view of CGB Spender for the first time since he had left him for dead at the foot of the stairs.

Spender's tracheotomy tube was still in place, he looked the same. Still frail, but alive and full of the vindictiveness that was his trademark. Alex wished he had enough saliva to spit at the wraith-like figure. Instead he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to settle himself mentally for what was to come. He was not prepared, however, for the bastard to stub his cigarette out on his unprotected balls. His scream reverberated in the cube for a long time after Spender had left, returning him once more to the darkness.

Part Two

Walter Skinner viewed the man in front of him in stunned silence. He'd thought by now he was beyond being shocked at the depths of depravity to which the former agent would sink, but this! Yes this shook him far more than the nanocytes, more even than the incomprehensible request that he kill Scully's baby - a request he had dismissed out of hand at the time, and which, indeed, he'd scarcely taken seriously - deeming it a test to see if he would actually agree to anything or if he was still a wild card.

He'd taken a certain amount of pride in the fact that, despite the compromises he'd been forced to reach in the past, he had resisted any suggestion or order that would place Mulder or Scully in real danger. He could perhaps congratulate himself on the fact that he still had some integrity left, they hadn't managed to take it from him entirely.

If he'd thought the request to end Scully's pregnancy was incomprehensible, then this was three times more so. Krycek had gone out of his way many times in the past to help Mulder, certainly that had often been a double edged sword, but still...

It could not be denied either, that Krycek's information had led to some very awkward problems for the consortium. The inferno that had wiped out so many of the shadowy powers behind the throne was certainly no accident and was almost certainly engineered, at least in part, by the man who now stood with his gun aimed firmly at Mulder.

If he'd thought this was another test, however, it seemed he was wrong. Krycek's eyes narrowed as his trigger finger began to move. Shit! He was really going to do it!

Without thinking he pulled his own weapon and shot, giving no warning, hitting Krycek in his right arm. Krycek went down but brought his weapon up, clearly not deterred by his injury. Skinner had no hesitation in firing again. He wanted the son of a bitch alive if possible, but he wasn't going to allow him to take Mulder out. Hitting him high in the right shoulder he was satisfied to see his adversary's firearm fall from his hand. Still Krycek persisted. Pushing his gun with his rigid left hand towards Skinner might be considered an act of surrender, but coupled with his plea that Skinner kill Mulder it somehow lost that connotation.

Enough! Something inside Skinner snapped. So much of recent events made no sense, but one thing was clear. Krycek was now such a loose cannon that he could not allow him to continue with his threats towards Scully, her baby, Mulder, any of them. He fired one last shot, hitting him in the centre of the forehead. Krycek uttered a surprised 'Shit!' before falling back, silent and unmoving - eyes wide open.

As if he were on auto pilot, he heard himself tell Mulder to go - that he would get Scully's whereabouts from Doggett. He barely registered Mulder's car pulling out as he approached the lifeless body on the ground with caution. He was astounded to see the amount of blood. Sighing, he knelt next to the man. He checked for vital signs and came up empty. No two ways about it, he was dead. He pulled out his cell phone and called Doggett to tell him he needed to contact Mulder and then resumed his search of his enemy's body and person.

Remembering details form his former agent's file he first turned his attention to the torso. According to Krycek's physical record there was a five inch scar on the right side about three inches below the rib cage, it was jagged and had been caused by an injury sustained in childhood. As he pulled the blood stained clothing away it revealed the trunk of this body was smooth and unmarred. The scar that should have been there was conspicuous by its absence.

'Well I guess that solves that little puzzle,' Skinner mused disgustedly, 'I wonder how long this thing has been masquerading as Krycek?' Then another thought occurred to him, this thing had been carrying the palm pilot which controlled the nanocytes. A rapid search of the jacket revealed what he was looking for. He pocketed it triumphantly. He had no way of knowing, of course, if it was the only governor of the infestation that lurked within his bloodstream, but whether it was or not at least he had the satisfaction of knowing that this part of the threat was now removed. Placing his weapon in his holster he reached for his cell phone again and called a number he hadn't used in years. He'd need some specialist help in dealing with clear up here. Having made the request, and received an affirmative answer he quickly disconnected and turned his attention to removing the 'evidence'.

Hefting the surprisingly lightweight body over his shoulder he moved towards his car. Opening the trunk he rolled the lifeless body inside, closing it quickly. He returned to the 'scene of the crime'. Reaching for the fire hose he turned it on full and cleared all the visible blood from the concrete floor. Checking everything was back in its place he returned to his car. Starting her up he left to dispose of the remaining evidence. As he drove he found himself concentrating his thoughts on Mulder and Scully, hoping that Mulder and Doggett would manage to protect Scully and prevent whatever cataclysmic event had been planned for her and her baby.

There were a great many unanswered questions here and trying to unravel them was only serving to make his already aching head throb harder. He'd come back to his office, after checking out of the hospital, to try and clear his muddled thoughts. Something just didn't add up. If Billy Miles was the force of evil here why had he destroyed Zeus Genetics? The work there was obviously aimed at furthering the alleged colonisation programme. Why had Krycek arrived at the FBI with Knowle Rohrer? How did Knowle Rohrer know Agent Crane? Billy Miles was FBI too, how were the two things linked? If Billy Miles was an alien replacement why was he tying to prevent Dr. Lev and Dr. Pirenti from producing alien babies and destroyed both them and their work? So many things just did not add up, putting two and two together here was as likely to get you five, fifty-five, ninety-nine or any other number you cared to mention except the logical one of four! Not the least of the mysteries was the Krycek double he now had in his trunk. The only reassuring thing about that particular problem was that there seemed to be a singular lack of any signs of 'Krycek' reviving as Billy miles had done.

Pursing his lips in concern at that thought he drove on to the rendezvous he had arranged, his concern for Scully growing. He recalled how often in the past they had been unable to prevent the consortium's worst activities. He shook his head, as if to clear it of that depressing thought. They simply had no option but to succeed this time. The alternative was unthinkable.

Alex was panting, fighting for breath. His brain screamed at him to pull in more air. It seemed that Cancerman's 'new guest room' had several interesting features, and this was one he could definitely have done without. A small part of his brain was able to recognise this as one of that old fossil Romberg's jolly little experiments. The former Nazi had hidden himself away in the consortium, along with Victor Klemper and others, during the general 'love in' that was 'Operation Paper-Clip'

Romberg had spent his time as a Nazi doctor at Dachau 'experimenting' on Jews, Poles, Russians. Experiments in air-pressure and freezing with his pal Rascher. Alex remembered the old man's enthusiasm for filming the death throes of the concentration camp inmates. The sick fuck had delighted in bringing out his personal 'souvenirs' for general viewing at the least provocation. How the hell he had managed to be acquitted at Nuremberg was beyond him. It had always revolted Alex when he'd been forced to be present at one of Romberg's 'screenings' as he'd called them. The general atmosphere of jollity amongst those members of the consortium who'd always come along to one of those soirees had made his skin crawl, not that he'd ever allowed himself to reveal that of course - though he had no doubt that Spender knew, as his Father had known, what 'dear little Alex' was really feeling. His Father. Now why, at a time like this, would he be thinking of his father?

It was hard to hold on to coherent thoughts, though he tried desperately to do so - anything to help fight off the sense of panic.He wasn't sure whether or not he should be grateful, but Spender had not been near him since the cigarette burning incident. When he'd regained consciousness he'd realised someone had been in and hosed him down, then they'd attached an intravenous drip. That in itself had freaked him out. He had no way of knowing what substances were being pumped around his system and that worried him. His balls still hurt where the burned skin was puckered and blistered, but he could tell that too had been cleaned. He'd been given a urethral catheter and there were also some kind of wires connected to sub-dermal probes, one in each testicle. The metal bands holding him immobile were as solid as ever.

Basically he was stuck where he was until they decided to kill him, retrain him or let him go. He had no hope of a rescue. No one who could help knew where he was, and no one who might be able to help would actually care enough to do so. He resigned himself to whatever the fates decreed and tried to concentrate on his breathing.

The air pressure in the chamber had dropped considerably by now. His brain was screaming that it was dying, he could feel the veins in his forehead pulsing. The pain was magnified way past unbearable, intensifying with every beat of his heart.

What puzzled him was the monitoring equipment. Why was it focussed on his balls? He soon had no energy to waste on worrying about it though. The fleeting emotion disappeared in the panic that now enveloped him. Every breath was torture. He knew that he could not affect the amount of air he was taking in by breathing harder, but logic had no place in a brain starved of oxygen.

He could feel himself choking, his head swam and blackness nudged at the edge of his vision, slowly encompassing it entirely as he finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

Part Three

Skinner entered his office to a familiar and hated smell. He groaned inwardly. Damn the man. Of late he'd been aware that the regular annoyance of this man's presence in his office had become more of a rarity than it had been when he'd first had the agents responsible for the X-files assigned to him. Another thing that should have alerted him to the fact that things were not quite as they seemed in the world of the consortium. When Spender had been worried that things were getting out of hand, when he'd come to Skinner in the past, it had always been a sign that they, Mulder, Scully and to a lesser extent he himself, might be getting close - too close for Spender's comfort at least, it was just that they had never known quite what it was they might be too close to.

He'd been free of visitations from the malignant manifestation in his office for some months now, and had begun to hope that the man had met with a serious accident and gone the way of those who had met their end in the inferno. No such luck it seemed, though the fact that he was now in a motorised wheelchair and had resorted to smoking his beastly cigarettes through a tube in his neck did not escape him, and the sight pleased him more than he could say. The thought that the old man was also vulnerable to the ravages of disease, age and accident was comforting at least.

"To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company?" He said, snarling. He was feeling far too tired to deal with this man's machiavellian machinations now, but it appeared he had little choice.

"Why Assistant Director, anyone would think that you weren't pleased to see me."

The dry rasping voice grated on his eardrums. Spender's smirk did little to reduce the tension in the room. Skinner grimaced, he was damned if he was going to play diplomat with this loathsome relic.

"I'm not in the mood to play games tonight Spender, so say your piece and leave. Better still you could just leave now without bothering me further."

"I'm sure you'd like that," Spender replied, "but then you'd wish I had stayed and shared what I know with you."

"What you know!" Skinner blasted. "You've never been straight enough in the past to actually share any real information with me. Orders, instructions, threats, those you are good at - information on the other hand, well in that department if you'll excuse the expression, you suck!"

"My my, Assistant Director, so violent a temper! I am shocked, and surprised that you have lasted this long in your position with so little tact at your command."

"If you mean I'm not prepared to kiss ass anymore just to keep my job, then you'd be correct. I, however, deem this to be an admirable quality rather than a character flaw. Now, unless there was something else?"

He gestured towards the door, indicating that he wished the man to leave.

"Such impatience. Aren't you the least bit curious to know what prompted the bizarre circumstances surrounding the birth of Agent Scully's child?"

"I've seen all I want to of the bizarre events thank you. Of course I'd like to know what prompted them but I have no reason to believe you'll actually tell me the truth about that, or anything else of any use." Skinner said tersely. "As I said, I'm not in the mood for cryptic clues, either tell me what you came to say or leave."

"Very well," Spender said, "but before I go I want you to know this. I've always seen you as a worthy adversary. I look forward to our continued association, and we will be seeing each other again - you can count on it."

So saying he turned his wheelchair towards the door. Before he exited, however, he looked back at Skinner.

"You really should take every step to ensure that the investigation into Zeus Genetics is kept strictly within limits. It would be a shame if anything untoward were to occur to anyone involved. I'm sure we are all relieved that Agent Scully gave birth safely. I pass on my sincere best wishes that the child's health continues to be the most robust."

So saying he left.

Skinner sagged and slumped exhaustedly into his chair. He was really tired of the veiled threats and insinuations emanating from that cigarette smoking bastard. He pulled out his cell phone, not trusting his office line to be secure, and was about to dial Doggett's number when the instrument chirped. Hitting the button to accept the call he held it to his ear.

"Hello." He said, tentatively.

"Walter, it's Conrad." The voice on the line said. "I'm puzzled here, you said this man was shot this evening and that he was about thirty seven years old."

"That's right." Skinner said " Why? What's wrong?"

"Well he is certainly dead, but when I began to open him up to start on that thorough check you asked for there were some anomalies. There's some severe necrosis of internal organs that indicates, or would seem to indicate, a far greater age than that of a man in his thirties. Also, given the time of death I would have expected rigor to have begun to set in at least a couple of hours ago. However the body is still warm, core temperature is 31.6 degrees Celsius, which is again not in keeping with the time of death. There is no discolouration of the body, no cyanosis, the limbs are still pliant and the capillary refill function is unimpaired. In short, despite the fact that this man is to all intents and purposes dead his body is reacting as if it were merely in repose. It's a huge puzzle and I don't know what to make of it. Frankly it's giving me the creeps and that's saying something."

Walter sighed deeply, his friend, Conrad Borrachio, had been his best buddy since their time in basic training in the Marine Corps. He'd stayed in the Corps after Vietnam, unlike Walter, completing his medical training - working his way up the ranks and going on to become head of medical staff at the Office for Naval Research. Like Dana Scully, he was qualified to practice general medicine but preferred working in forensic science and research to the rigours of hospital life. If Conrad said there were anomalies with 'Krycek's' body then it merely served to further fuel his worst suspicions.

"I'll give you one piece of advice Conrad. Secure the body any way you can, and don't stay alone in the building with it. I'll get someone to assist you in guarding it until you finish your investigations. You will continue to look at this for me won't you?"

He was suddenly anxious that he was putting too much on his friendship with this man, and that he might decide that this was too freaky and likely to cause too much of a problem to continue with the search Walter had set him on.

"No need to worry Walter, I may be freaked, I don't mind admitting it, but I am too intrigued to stop now. As for the precautions. If you say they are necessary then I'll take your word for it. What exactly is it that you think I should do?"

"Take the highest precautions you can, treat him as if he were the most dangerous mental patient, out of control, psychotic, a danger to life and limb, you know the kind of thing."

"Shit Walter, you sure know how to brighten my day." Conrad sighed. "If you say so buddy, though it seems a lot of bother to go to for a dead man. Now if I may make a suggestion, you sound exhausted. When I saw you here earlier you looked like shit. Go home and get some rest Marine. I'll call you again in the morning. If you want to send the help over asap I'd appreciate it."

Walter closed his eyes against the renewed throbbing in his head. He did need to go home, he also needed a shower and some sleep but he couldn't actually see himself relaxing enough to get any. For now though he'd at least make the effort, after ensuring Conrad had his protection and that all his 'chicks' were roosting safely.

"Ok Conrad, but I am serious about that security, make sure you use the highest level of restraint on that body. I'll get my Agent or Agents to you within the half hour."

I'm on it Walter," Conrad said, "No go home."

"Roger that." Walter said, and he hung up the phone before beginning the first of a round of calls to get the guarding of 'Krycek' under way. Life, it seemed, was not about to get less bizarre anytime soon.

He awoke again to semi-darkness, and to excruciating pain. Nothing new there but the man working on introducing something into his body by means of a hypodermic syringe was new. He was pale haired, almost albino in appearance, yes there was definitely a hint of pink about those eyes above the surgical mask. He was tall and rangy looking, and was paying his 'patient' no attention, as if what happened to the man strapped to the table was supremely unimportant to him.

Licking his lips and trying to get some saliva into his mouth Alex watched in horror as the needle plunged into his chest. He managed to find his voice this time and, though he knew that questions might be met with violence or - if he were luckier than he had any right to be - complete and indifferent silence, he had to ask.

"What," he paused, as if appalled at the fact that he'd had the temerity to speak at all, "what are you giving me?" His voice was harsh to his own ears, even more husky than usual - from prolonged bouts of screaming, his throat painful and dry.

"Dexamethazone, 8mg. Standard dose," was the brisk response, "The old man doesn't want you fading out on us before things get interesting."

"So if he doesn't want me dead what does he want?" Alex asked, almost cockily.

He couldn't help himself it seemed. Having begin to talk his mouth was running away with him. he almost cringed as he heard his smart mouth take over

"I'm sure when he feels the time is right he'll tell you for himself. No why don't you be a good boy and just lie still and let the programme continue." The pale haired man replied.

"Oh yeah sure, like I'm really going anywhere." Was the swift unthinking response.

The man leaned down and stared at him as if he were a bug on a pin. Grabbing Alex's chin in his hand he tightened his grip.

"You won't be so cocksure of yourself before long boy, and remember, if you don't give the old man what he wants he can always get her in here to take your place."

Giving Alex's head a shake he let go and turned on his heel and left, the airlock making its sucking sound as Alex was once again left alone. He drew in a deep breath, the pain in his chest was lessening since the injection, but his action merely served to aggravate his cough. The bout lasted so long he thought he would pass out again from the choking, restrictive feeling in his chest and throat, finally it subsided leaving him breathless, covered in a sheen of sweat and shaking.

When he managed to get his breathing under control again he thought back with dismay over this recent encounter with Spender's latest medical turncoat. Somehow the colourless man scared him more than Spender and he felt sure the rest of the 'programme' was going to be one of the worst experiences of his entire life, and that was certainly saying something. Sighing, he tried to clear his mind of everything but the fact that he was currently still living and almost in one piece, if you didn't count the lack of a left arm. Somehow it wasn't reassuring in the least.

Part Four

Doggett returned to the Hoover building around midnight. Instead of going to his office some instinct or sixth sense sent him towards Skinner's. He could see when he got out of the elevator that there was still a light on in the room. He had assumed Skinner was at home when he'd spoken to him earlier on the phone. After all, the man was just out of the hospital recovering from a fairly nasty head wound. He'd suspected that Skinner's story of just being let out that evening was a smokescreen so he'd done a bit of digging and found that he was right. Skinner had in fact discharged himself against medical advice.

After taking care of placing agents with Skinner's friend Dr Borrachio, he'd stopped by the hospital to check his hypothesis and after flashing his FBI ID had been told the Assistant Director had requested his clothes repeatedly and refused to stay, despite their best efforts to persuade him otherwise. Citing an emergency at the Bureau he'd eventually forced them into handing over his clothing but had insisted he sign himself out AMA. Doggett had given the nurse on duty a resigned smile and agreed with her that the AD was a stubborn man.

This penchant for stubbornness had been apparent to John Doggett during his initial investigation into the disappearance of Agent Fox Mulder, and if anything he would say that Skinner had become more stubborn as their acquaintance lengthened. In fact the three of them, Skinner, Mulder and Scully were the most stubborn people he had ever met. After a few months of working the X -Files, however, he'd begun to understand where this stubborn self-reliance and mistrust came from. The pressures they had been under, and the levels of distrust towards them from within the FBI had formed their attitudes, made it almost impossible for anyone to begin to make a dent in their armour. He liked to think he had managed that to some extent with Skinner at least - now, however, he was beginning to doubt he really knew enough about any of them to be considered a part of their inner circle.

He supposed in a way it was his own fault. Perhaps if he had been less confrontational when he'd questioned Skinner and Scully during his investigation he might have been able to gain their confidence more easily. It wasn't that they distrusted him exactly, after all Skinner, Mulder and Scully had all warned him to look out for himself - and risked themselves to help him in the past. So no- it wasn't distrust as much as it was a long established habit to 'trust no one' and let outsiders in as little as possible.

Monica seemed to have had more luck in establishing some rapport with the trio though. Of course she actually believed in the 'alien conspiracy' thing even before she got involved in the X-Files. He had been stubborn in his own way on that front he freely admitted. However, after several months of working on the X-Files, after Mulder's miraculous 'resurrection' and the problem of the 'alien virus' both Mulder and Billy Miles had been carrying, not to mention having seen Billy Miles squashed flatter than a pancake and then knowing he'd somehow got back up on his feet and gone to harass Scully and Reyes in Georgia, he had to conclude that one of two things was true.

There could only be one truth at a time.

Therefore, either he lived in a cartoon world like the one in 'Who framed Roger Rabbit?' or the X-Files held more truth in them than he'd ever dreamed credible or possible. He had come to agree with Hamlet, that there were more things in Heaven and Earth that he'd ever dreamt of in his philosophy. It had been an uncomfortable discovery, and one he was sure that Scully had gone through herself years before, but that didn't make it any easier to cope with. Heaving a huge sigh he straightened his shoulders ready for the battle he feared he'd have to fight to get Skinner to agree to go home.

As he cautiously opened the door, after knocking and receiving no response, Doggett saw Skinner sitting at his desk. There were papers strewn across it, covered in the AD's neat script, and he was drawing a 'spider gram' apparently trying to draw all of his 'scribblings' into one coherent whole. He didn't acknowledge Doggett's entrance but continued working feverishly.

Shaking his head slightly, Doggett pulled up a chair to the other side of Skinner's desk and waited. Skinner continued as if oblivious to the fact that he was no longer alone. Only the occasional glance in his direction told Doggett that his presence had registered with the older man. Finally the silence was too much for him.

"Sir? What are you doing?" He said.

Skinner held up a hand to forestall him from further questioning and began gathering all of his sheets together, making the unaccustomed mess on his desk disappear. He leafed through the gathered sheets, glancing down at his diagram as he did so. At last he stacked the papers with customary neatness on his desk, reached for the diagram and turned towards Doggett.

"I couldn't get these questions out of my mind, I needed to start trying to figure out just what was wrong with the so called 'information' we've been given over the last few days. So much of it didn't add up. I thought after I shot 'Krycek' I'd have some answers but all I seem to have now are even more questions."

He pushed the papers, with his original thoughts on, towards Doggett.

"Here, look these over. Tell me if I've missed anything. I'd appreciate an honest assessment and right now there aren't many people I'd trust to give me one, except perhaps Mulder you are the only one I feel I can count on right now."

Giving Skinner a surprised glance, Doggett took the offered papers and the diagram without speaking and began to read through the thoughts his superior had committed to paper. Skinner sat back, rubbing his head gingerly around the left temple. His headache had grown to mammoth proportions but he felt a little clearer in his mind now that he had managed to think around the puzzle he'd been struggling with over the last couple of days. Standing to go and fetch some water from his bathroom he wavered suddenly as he lost his balance. Doggett dropped the papers back on the desk and moved quickly round it to help him.

"Sir you need to lie down, you should be at home resting. I understand your need to keep working but you don't have to do it all alone."

He pressed his point by forcing Skinner towards the couch, one hand under his right elbow as he guided the AD.

"I can see that your head is still bothering you, and I know the hospital gave you some painkillers amongst other things, so tell me where are they and when did you last take them?"

Skinner didn't bother to protest at Doggett's treatment of him. Truth be told he had come to the end of his tether. After talking to Conrad, and promising to go home, he'd started working on his puzzle instead, ignoring the incipient pain in his head - and now his neck. He'd tried the pain killers earlier on at the hospital but they just made his head feel fuzzy so he'd ignored the doctor's directions and not taken any more. Now he was beginning to feel that had been a big mistake.

"Sir?" Doggett prompted again.

"Oh," he blinked up at Doggett, "about six this evening, before I left the hospital, but I couldn't think straight or concentrate on anything after that so I stopped."

He closed his eyes while Doggett untied his laces, removed his shoes and swung his legs up on to the couch. He felt ridiculous, but he couldn't deny that it was a welcome relief to let go and relax. He leaned back against the arm of the couch and gratefully accepted a glass of water from Doggett.

"Pills?" Doggett asked pointedly.

With a sigh Skinner opened one eye and regarded him.

"In my pocket." He said, reaching in and pulling put the prescription bottles. One of painkillers and another of antibiotics.

"Can you open the bottle? I don't think I'm quite up to doing battle with the child proof containers right now." He said with a rueful grin at his subordinate.

Doggett took the containers, opened them, checked the dosage and shook out the prescribed amount into his hand before handing them to Skinner who took them gratefully washing them down with the water Doggett had provided. Taking the now empty glass, Doggett went back to the desk to resume his reading of Skinner's notes. Before too long a gentle snoring emanated from the couch. Doggett relaxed with a faint grin. At least the AD had accepted defeat and finally done what his doctors had ordered. Now he had to try and figure out exactly what was going on.

At first he found the notes confusing, rambling even, but as he read on he began to see the clear logical line of thought that ran through them. It was impressive, a reminder, if he'd needed one, that Skinner'd had a damned fine record as an Investigative Agent before his promotion.

Skinner had started by noting that Billy Miles had been targeting Zeus Genetics and destroying their work. Zeus Genetics had, according to Duffy Haskell, been creating 'Alien Babies' and implanting them into human mothers. Therefore, ran Skinner's argument, Billy Miles was destroying the work of the alien conspiracy and was not a part of it at all. The question was why? As an Alien replacement surely he should have been helping Drs. Lev and Pirenti rather than opposing them. If Billy Miles was fighting against the alien conspiracy why was he so interested in Scully's baby? If her baby was as much a threat to the alien conspiracy as 'Krycek' had insisted then why would Billy Miles want to harm it? Surely he'd want to protect her and the baby if he was fighting the conspiracy?

Then there was the curious incident of 'Alex Krycek' himself. He also claimed to be fighting against the alien conspiracy, yet he was afraid of Billy Miles (it seemed). He had clearly warned them that Billy Miles was a threat. Skinner, it seemed, had come to the conclusion that when Billy Miles had come to the Hoover building he came looking for 'Krycek', or possibly for Crane and others also. Skinner's injury had been accidental. He had after all followed 'Krycek' as the former tried to escape Miles. At first Skinner had thought 'Krycek' was setting him up, but on further reflection he'd decided that all 'Krycek' was doing, as per usual, was saving his own skin.

The evidence seemed to point to the fact that Duffy Haskell had been killed by Billy Miles, but Lizzie Gill and Haskell had been, apparently, working together - yet the tablets Lizzie Gill had slipped into Scully's medicine cabinet had been harmless vitamin supplements according to the doctor at the hospital.

Doggett sighed. His own head was beginning to ache with the effort of trying to unravel the evidence before him, and he had no head injury to blame for it. Skinner must be exhausted after all his efforts here, yet so far he could find no fault with the older man's reasoning. He skimmed through the rest of Skinner's ponderings and his chart. it was very difficult not to come to the same conclusions. There had to be at least two sides involved here and Billy Miles was apparently not on the same side as 'Krycek'. Then there was the fact that the Krycek who had been shot in the garage was, according to medical records, not the same Krycek who had been assigned to Mulder. There were also several medical peculiarities, anomalies, with the corpse of the mystery Krycek double. Doggett grabbed a blank sheet and began to make his own notes to add to Skinner's findings so far.

Knowle Rohrer and Agent Crane were apparently working with 'Krycek' (or whoever he was) - or at least they were not actively working against him. Kersh, it seemed, was also involved. Whatever process had produced Billy Miles had also produced Rohrer and Crane. They had the same tell tale vertebral protrusions. However, clearly Billy Miles was not working with them and they had actively participated in the mission to throw him off the scent during 'operation protect Scully'. The more Doggett thought about it, the more he tried to untangle the mess, the more impenetrable it seemed to become. One thing was clear though, whatever the truth of the matter, if Skinner's notes on the meeting with Spender were anything to go by, the need to get moving on the investigation into Zeus Genetics was paramount. Still and all, however urgent this was, he too needed to get some sleep. He loosened his tie, removed his jacket and rolled it up, making it into a makeshift pillow. Placing it on the desk he put his head down and closed his eyes. soon he too was sleeping soundly.

Mulder entered the building leaving Reyes to go and tell the helicopter pilot that they would be taking a trip to the hospital, allowing him time to make his contacts and file an emergency flight plan. He saw Scully sitting on the bed, her hair mussed, holding the child in her arms. She looked sweaty and exhausted but incredibly pleased. Mulder blinked slightly as he hesitantly approached the bed.

"Hey," he said, feeling somewhat lame and out of place, "we've got a helicopter outside to take you to the hospital."

'That's right Mulder,' he thought, ' can't handle this emotionally so you concentrate on details.' He didn't even dare to ask about the baby. One thing at a time was the only way he could do this.

Scully, however, looked incredibly relieved and gave him a tired smile. Apart from the trauma of labour and the worries she'd harboured all through her pregnancy, she'd been terrified of two things. That whoever was with Billy Miles would take her baby from her, and that there would be something wrong with the baby. Add to that the fact that she was a doctor, she felt more at home with the paraphernalia of hospital than she did here. Reyes had done a wonderful job of making things bearable here but the sooner she could wrap herself in the comfort blanket of hospital routine the happier she would be. All other questions could wait until later.

"My White Knight to the rescue," she joked, " sounds wonderful Mulder, let's get this show on the road."

Mulder gave her what support he could as she carried the baby. Reyes reappeared and, grabbing their bags, she followed them out to the waiting chopper. She had a feeling that she was needed back in DC as soon as possible so she left the car to be collected later and clambered aboard with Mulder and Scully, sitting up front with the pilot to give Scully and Mulder a little privacy. She signalled for take off when the pilot was ready. As they rose above the small, and now empty town she found herself puzzling over the actions of the game warden towards Billy Miles. They'd both had those ridges on their necks, which made them both 'alien replacements' according to what Doggett had told her on the phone. The question was, were they both on the same side? How many sides were there? And who were they? There were more questions than answers it appeared. Still, she was sure it was only a matter of time before she and Agent Doggett would get it all straightened out so that they could see how next to proceed. Picking Mulder's brain wouldn't hurt either, but right now he had other things to occupy him. Lost in thought she stared out of the window, hardly noticing their progress through the sky.

Milton Graaf handed his data to Spender with something of a flourish. It was evident that he as pleased with himself and his findings.

Alex, watched and listened, unable even to feign sleep since whatever the last substance they had given him was, it was making him feel as if he needed to run coast to coast before he'd even be able to think of winding down. His alarm grew deeper throughout Graaf's recitation.

"The haemoglobin oxygenation was phenomenal, the ability of the cells to deal with high levels of carbon dioxide was equally pleasing. Response to atmospheric pressure was way beyond expectations. Digestive system responses are, again, more than exemplary. The subject was able to absorb nutrients from the electrolytic mixture contained within the IV fluids more than adequately, added to which it took over ninety six hours for the nutrients to be totally broken down. We've managed to successfully increase physical efficiency whilst slowing the metabolism beyond all hoped for results."

'Shit!' thought Alex, 'whatever the hell they are up to it sounds as though I am guinea pig number one yet again.' His thoughts skittered around in horror trying to pin down what the purpose of all this experimentation might be. It boded no good for him, and maybe not for others either, that was the one thing which could be absolutely guaranteed.

"Cardiac capacity is increased five-fold. Lactic acid production is down by sixty percent. Lung capacity and aerobic respiration has been increased by three times the normal rate, which corresponds to the oxygen levels in the blood. Physically the subject is able to function fully in extremely adverse conditions. Lymph Node activity in the face of infection is hyper efficient. The Thymus Gland was not only capable of fighting of the Smallpox virus but also the Typhus infection that was introduced. Large numbers of antibodies were produced. It's very impressive."

'Fuck! Typhus! The bastard gave me Typhus.' Alex panicked inwardly, though he was still incapable of moving or making any noise.

"Indeed." Spender said dryly, perusing the report his tame scientist had given him. "I do, however, have a question."

"Yes sir?" Graaf responded.

"You paint quite a shining picture of our guest's achievements with regard to your tests. Am I to understand that you think he is physically stronger now than he was before?"

"That is my assessment sir." The pale man replied.

"Then are we safe to leave him unguarded? You tell me his physical body is now more efficient, that you have lowered his metabolism so that even four days without food will have no effect on him, and I am greatly impressed and pleased with your work Dr Graaf. However, I wonder if we are not also creating problems for ourselves here?"

Graaf looked at Spender. He seemed totally at ease and had obviously been expecting the question.

'Believe me sir, I understand your concern, but rest assured that the tests were conducted in such a way that the test subject remained restrained and unmoving throughout. He is being given a paralysing drug, of the sort that prevents muscle movement during surgery. If I was to remove the bonds and tell him now to get off the table he would be totally unable to respond. Also, after several weeks of restraint the muscle tone is less than adequate for him to even twitch a finger voluntarily, even without the chemical barrier to movement. All the trials of his muscle action and responses have been done with minimal stimulation - certainly not enough to constitute exercise, only to simulate it. The subject is weak and lethargic."

He gave what was meant to be a reassuring smile, but it looked for all the world to Alex like a grimace. He shuddered inwardly at the sight, and at the information that he had been restrained here for 'weeks'.

"Well then I shall accept your assurances and look forward to our next thrilling session. Is he ready yet do you think?"

'Great! Now he's talking about me as if I wasn't even aware of what's going on.' Alex thought. It chilled him. He hated Spender, but he rather thought it was better to be a 'someone' rather than a 'something' around the Old Man. He was definitely in very deep shit here.

"He can be made ready whenever you need him sir." Graaf said. "Just give me some time to get the new monitors hooked up."

Spender looked at his watch. Alex having lost track of time long since, idly wondered whether it was night or day, but otherwise concentrated on trying not to think about what joyous little entertainment the old man and the washed out looking man had in line for him next, and failed miserably.

"It's getting late," Spender said, " and I need my beauty sleep. Will you be ready tomorrow morning at say, eight thirty?"

"As you wish sir." Graaf said, moving to collect up his papers which were now lying on Alex's still naked body.

"You may leave those," Spender said, waving the man away. "I will see you at eight thirty sharp in the morning."

So saying he gathered up the notes himself so that he might read them again.

Wordlessly, Graaf bowed his head toward Spender and left quietly, only the sound of the airlock interrupted the silence. He was ecstatic. There was a great deal to get ready before the next round of tests, and the questioning of his subject. A surge of glee at the way things were progressing rushed through him. Things would be very interesting in the morning. He grinned nastily to himself as he returned to his office to gather the things he needed.

'Beauty sleep?' Alex thought as he looked at his former boss with barely concealed contempt, 'wonder how long he'll have to sleep to achieve that? Forever wouldn't even begin to be sufficient.'

"Well now Alex dear boy," Spender said dispassionately, barely even looking up from the papers Graaf had left with him. " I think you also need your beauty sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long and very interesting day. I'll bid you good night. Sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite."

He patted Alex's cheek in a pseudo friendly manner before folding the papers, placing them inside his jacket and turning his chair and leaving.

Alex was alone again, alone with his thoughts. The panic he'd felt earlier was nothing to what he felt now. Any chance of sleep was now seemingly banished forever from his unquiet mind.

Part Five

Skinner awoke to find his head much clearer and the pain dulled to bearable proportions. Sitting up he glanced over at his desk and was slightly taken aback to see John Doggett asleep in his chair, head cushioned on the desk by his suit jacket, tie undone. Checking his watch he saw it was almost 5 am. Standing carefully he went to the bathroom, washed his face and cleaned his teeth before venturing back out into his office to retrieve the coffee pot. Filling it, he returned to the office and set the machine going then he turned back to look at Doggett.

It appeared that Doggett was still sleeping and Skinner was reluctant to wake him, but the sense of urgency he felt with regard to Spender's cryptic message spurred him on. Gently he placed a hand on Doggett's shoulder. Doggett opened his eyes instantly and gazed at him blearily for about half a second before sitting up and stretching his arms up behind his head. Skinner heard his spine popping and winced in sympathy.

"Coffee's ready when you are," he said, "there's soap in the bathroom along with all the other necessities."

Doggett nodded his thanks and went to freshen up. When he came back Skinner had poured their coffee and was sipping his appreciatively. Doggett took the other cup and swallowed at least half of it before he ventured to speak.

"I read through it all," he said, "and I must admit it all seems very thorough and all too believable."

"I know," Skinner said "The question now is, what do we do next?"

"Have you spoken to Mulder about any of this?" Doggett asked.

"No, there was no time yesterday and besides, he needed to be with Scully."

"What about now though?" Doggett said. "Reyes called me and told me everything is fine, Scully and the baby are both in good health and they were released from hospital immediately following their check-up."

"Mulder may still want to be with her, but I think I'd like his thoughts on this." Skinner said. "In the meantime I need to check in with Conrad."

Doggett nodded. "Sure, and while you do that I'll check in with Agent Reyes, see if she's up for some private sleuthing."

He pulled out his cell phone and began punching in the numbers whilst Skinner did the same.

Alex felt grateful that for once no one had turned off the lights. He'd always hated the dark. Dark to him always meant danger, pain and often hunger, ever since his early childhood. Since the silo in Dakota though, the dark had not just hidden danger, it had presaged it, even embodied it in his mind, as if the dark itself was a physical entity with inborn malice aimed directly at him.

He was also grateful that whatever it was Graaf had been giving him to induce muscular paralysis was now wearing off and seemingly almost gone from his system. This enabled him to flex his fingers and toes, open and close his mouth and eyes. He was irritated though, to note that return of sensation to his body was accompanied by severe pins and needles in his extremities. Whilst he was pleased to have regained some control over his body, he couldn't help worrying about what Spender and Graaf had in store for him next.

To him their earlier conversation had given little away, except that their damned experiments so far had yielded results greater than they had hoped for. He hadn't liked the glee they had exhibited when discussing his physical state. He gathered that what they had done had enhanced his body in a way that might in some way be beneficial to Spender, and this gave him grave cause for concern.

The other thing that worried him greatly was that he barely remembered the majority of time he'd spent here as a lab rat. Graaf had said that he'd been working on him for several weeks, yet he could clearly remember no more than five or six days of his captivity here. He fought the urge to scream in fear and frustration, to do so would be to give his captors greater satisfaction, he knew. No doubt they were filming his every move, recording it for posterity as was their usual habit.

He shuddered, remembering how - at Romberg's seventieth birthday celebrations - there had been a champagne reception. Music had been provided by a string quartet. All the consortium elders had been present as had several young men 'specially procured' for the occasion. One of the highlights of the evening had been the screening of some of Romberg's past 'triumphs' as well as some of his newer forays into 'medical research'. Alex clearly remembered the evening for two reasons.

Firstly, most of the newer films had been of him, though there were others. Since he had been working with the consortium Romberg had found it easier to secure new subjects for his 'tests' though more often than not Alex had been the favourite. Romberg had boasted that it was much simpler to get new test subjects now than it had ever been even when he was with the Third Reich. During the screenings of the films of his own tests Alex had been ordered to stay and watch, though to this day he had no idea how he'd forced himself to stay and do so without breaking out into a panic attack. Somehow he'd managed to do it without reverting to the hysterical behaviour he'd exhibited during the actual tests themselves. Everyone, it seemed, had thoroughly enjoyed his begging and pleading and terrified screams on film, shooting him amused glances when they could tear their eyes from the screen.

A casual observer might have thought that the assembled group was watching a Laurel and Hardy movie or a Tom and Jerry cartoon from their reactions and their laughter - even his own father had joined in with the general hilarity.

Secondly, and this was a much harder memory for him to deal with, he'd made his debut that night.

Much later Alex had learned of the very old practice of Southern Belles making their debut. It being a genteel way of introducing young ladies of marriageable age into polite society. Alex snorted. His 'debut' had been anything but genteel. he'd been so bloodied and bruised by the end of Romberg's party that he's spent the next several weeks in Romberg's own medical unit being patched up so that he would be serviceable again as soon as possible.

He'd been a virgin, though in theory he knew a great deal about the things that were required of him. Everything there was to know about sexual intercourse had been drummed into him, one painful lesson at a time. Nevertheless that had been his first physical experience of either men or women.

There had been a dozen men at the party and all of them had made use of his services in one way or another, showing their disapproval of any failure to please then on his part in the time honoured way. Hence the broken ribs, dislocated hips, fat lips, lost teeth, perforated ear drum, bruised kidneys and blackened eyes that affected his vision to the point he was barely able to see straight for a month. No his debut had been anything but genteel. He'd been thirteen years old.

Conrad looked up as Skinner and Agent Doggett entered the lab. He was as tall as Skinner, not quite as muscular though, with sandy coloured hair, a little sprinkled with grey. The hair was short, cropped, although not quite a buzz cut. His deep blue eyes conveyed a perplexed look as he frowned at them in greeting.

"I'm glad you came so quickly," he said, "frankly I fear that unless we move fast on securing the data from this autopsy it will never get finished and I wanted you to see for yourselves exactly what I mean."

He gestured to them to follow him into what he liked to call his 'inner sanctum' or his 'holy of holies'. It was rare that Conrad undertook autopsies these days. Something for which he thanked god on a daily basis. At first he'd thought his mind was playing tricks on him due to the lateness of the hour, or due to his lack of practice in autopsy work of late - that maybe that had caused him to make some mistake in the care of the cadaver and had somehow caused the enhanced decay he had noted. Though he had no idea what that might have been.

As he had progressed through the examination though he's begun to realise that nothing he could have done would have resulted in any of the effects he's seen on the internal organs as well as on the fleshy musculature or the skeletal frame of this man, if man he was.

He led them to the table in the centre of the room and raised the surgical green sheeting which covered the body. He looked at Doggett and Skinner.

"I'm sure you are used to grisly sights in your line of work gentlemen," he said, "but believe me this one is particularly gruesome and bizarre. If you need to leave at any time here please feel free to do so."

Skinner grunted an acknowledgement and Doggett merely raised his eyebrow expectantly at Conrad. Sighing, Conrad finally withdrew the sheet from the lifeless body. Skinner had to admit that even after the warning the sight that met his eyes was one of the most grisly that he had ever seen. The man he'd shot, he no longer allowed himself to think of him as Alex Krycek, had been young and vibrant - irritatingly so at times. He'd had youth, vigour and even a certain amount of beauty.

This 'thing' looked worse than any corpse of his acquaintance. He'd been prepared for the normal discolouration, the waxy yellow appearance usually observed in those no longer living. This body, however, still seemed to be oozing blood from the wounds his bullets had made and the autopsy incision. Not only that but the flesh appeared to be disintegrating. The body, it seemed, was decomposing at a remarkable rate, and yet the blood continued seeping - for all the world as if the heart was still beating.

"My God!" Skinner said hoarsely.

"Yeah!" Doggett agreed.

"I did warn you gentlemen." Conrad said looking earnestly at them both. "Walter, I told you last night that the internal organs showed signs of decay. At first I thought that this was due to hard living. Now, however, I 'm absolutely certain that everything here has been caused by attempted genetic recoding."

"Are you serious?" Skinner asked incredulously

"Couldn't be more serious if my life depended on it." Conrad replied.

Dr Borrachio," Doggett began, "are you familiar with a company named Zeus Genetics?"

Conrad screwed his face up in thought for a moment.

"I've heard of it," he replied, "they do work on IVF treatment and genetic coding for birth anomalies."

"That may have been one of the things they did." Doggett commented dryly and he went to outline the discoveries he and Mulder had made concerning Drs Lev and Pirenti and the things they had seen at the laboratories.

"Damn!" Conrad said, "now I remember. The facility was razed to the ground in an arson attack a few days ago. One of the chief researchers was presumed killed."

"Actually Conrad, both of the men responsible for policy and research at Zeus Genetics have been killed this week and all of their 'research samples' have been destroyed." Skinner said.

"Ok Walt," Conrad said, "you've been playing things pretty close to your chest. Suppose now you tell me exactly what you think is going on here?"

He replaced the sheet over the body on the table, but before he could complete the task Doggett grabbed a corner of the sheet to take another look.

"You know Sir, " he said to Skinner, "this reminds me of one of Mulder's files."

"Which one?" His boss asked interestedly.

"The Incanto case Sir, the guy who sucked the adipose fat from those women. I recall the file saying that the bodies suffered 'severe autolysis' in a very short period of time."

Skinner nodded, he recalled the case now.

"But that wouldn't explain things here," he said, "I mean this advanced decay seems to have been brought about by the bullet in his brain not - er, what was it Mulder called it? A fat sucking vampire?"

Conrad looked incredulously at the two men, then shook his head.

"I hope you aren't pulling my leg here gentlemen," he said, "but in any case Walt is right, This man still has all his fat tissue, though it is now degrading rapidly along with the rest of him, nevertheless he was pretty intact when you brought him to me."

"What about his arm?" Skinner asked.

"Ah yes, that's very odd." Conrad said.

"In what way? Doggett asked.

"Well it seems a curious thing to do to encase the lower part of a perfectly serviceable arm in a rigid plastic mould."

"Shit!" Skinner said, and pulled the sheet back again to look. Sure enough there was the so called prosthetic arm lying next to the body which had two perfectly normal whole upper limbs. Perfectly whole except that, like the wicked witch of the west, they seemed to be melting.

"Just another little mystery among many eh Walt?" Conrad said. "So why don't you tell me all about it?"

Whilst his voice clearly said 'don't bullshit me marine' his face showed a willingness to listen and to help where he could.

Looking at Doggett, Skinner sighed. He was tired of this mess and tired of being tired but they needed help and they needed it soon. Though he hated to get his friend in any deeper than he was already. He indicated that they should leave the corpse and go out into Conrad's office. The presence of the body of the man he'd shot made him feel uncomfortable.

When the three of them had found seats Conrad looked at Skinner, waiting. So much of what his friend and Agent Doggett had spoken of to date had seemed like a bad Sci-Fi movie. Somehow he doubted he was going to like the whole story any better. However, he owed Walt and he trusted him, so he listened at first in disbelief and then with growing anger as John Doggett and Walter Skinner laid out the Consortium's plan and their resulting actions for him.

Part Six

6 am Scully's apartment

Mulder was staring at the perfectly formed fingers of William. 'So tiny and defenceless' he thought, and the thought made him feel both vulnerable and invincible. It was for this he had fought so hard all these years. Not just the quest to find out what had happened to his sister, but also to protect the innocent and defenceless. A task that had been redefined when he had discovered the extent of the consortium's duplicity. They may have beaten him on one front but there was still truth to be sought, justice to be done. He had been reassured that, when it came to the crunch, Doggett had stood by them. Monica Reyes too. She'd been a godsend. Their support, their steadfastness had made a world of difference.

Looking back at the way he had treated Doggett after he had been 'returned' he couldn't help but feel a little guilty. He'd been pissy and arrogant. Then again Scully often told him he'd been like that for years. He sighed. He knew she was right. He'd been the lone voice in the wilderness for so long that he found it hard to accept others into his 'crusade'. Scully had managed to worm her way in under the fence, but even with her he'd not always been fair or supportive. His trust was hard won and he projected a prickly exterior to protect himself from disappointments and betrayals, kidding himself that if he kept people at bay he wouldn't have to deal with any of the fallout when things didn't work out. Of course that had been so much bullshit.

'Sheesh! 'Sometimes Mulder you're such a schmuck you amaze even me.' He thought.

He gently traced the outline of the baby's nose before sighing and preparing to go and tell Scully he needed to leave. He'd barely made it out of the bedroom when his cell phone rang.

"Mulder." He said in a low voice so as not to disturb the sleeping child.

"Mulder." Doggett's distinctive tones said. "How are you fixed at the moment?"

"If you mean can I spare you some of my valuable time Agent Doggett I think the answer is that I'm available. Where do you want me?"

"At the research lab of a Dr Conrad Borrachio," Doggett replied, "and preferably by yesterday."

Mulder's eyebrows rose at this.

"Hey Doggett, you asking me to work a case? Didn't you hear? I got fired." He said.

"Yeah, yeah." Doggett replied, "but you and I both know that is only going to put a small crimp in your style. Besides we need your input."

"We?" Mulder queried.

"A.D. Skinner and I have a few worrying puzzles we need to get solved asap." Doggett said. "So, you gonna get your butt out here or not?"

Mulder laughed. "How can I refuse such a kindly invitation?" He said. "Ok I'll bite, just tell me how to get there."

As Doggett gave him directions Scully emerged from the bathroom. She gave him a querying look.

"Doggett." He mouthed at her.

She nodded, understanding and went to fetch his coat.

"You go," she said, "my Mom will be right over any minute, we'll be fine."

As Doggett finished telling Mulder how to find them he reiterated the urgency.

"Hurry Mulder," he said, 'I got the feeling we don't got time to waste on this one."

"Be there in twenty minutes." Mulder promised before he hung up.

6.25 am Office of Dr Conrad Borrachio

"Hey." Mulder said as he entered the room. "So what's the all important puzzle?"

Skinner looked at him, noting the fact that his former agent was tired. No doubt, after the gruelling few days they'd all endured Mulder'd had little time for sleep. He knew he'd stayed with Scully after she was given the all clear at the hospital and that having a baby in the house might have made any sleep opportunities very limited. Nevertheless, despite his obvious fatigue, there was a light in Mulder's eyes that said he was sharp and ready for action, which was good because right now he was feeling extremely pressured. Quite why or where his sense of extreme urgency came from he wasn't sure - but as Mulder might have said, his 'Spidey Senses' were tingling.

Skinner made brief introductions before relating to Mulder the content of his 'meeting' with Spender.

"Son of a bitch is baiting us." Mulder said

"Of course he is, the thing is do we go in or don't we?" Doggett said.

Before Mulder could reply Skinner held up his hand.

"There's more and we really don't have time to go into all of it so I'll be brief, also there's something you need to see."

He gave Mulder a condensed rundown of his thesis, Billy Miles versus the Consortium, Crane and Rohrer as collaborators within it. Mulder listened carefully nodding his acceptance of his former boss's theory, until that was he reached the part about Alex Krycek and his double, plus Conrad's theory about genetic manipulation.

"I'll go along with you on the Billy Miles front up to a point, but come on Skinner, Krycek was always a rat bastard. I don't see anything inconsistent in his behaviour here. He played both sides and this time he chose the wrong one. You had to shoot him, and believe me I am not going to shed any tears over that." He said.

"How easy would it be for you to identify your former partner Mulder?" Skinner asked.

""Pretty easy I'd say."

"You know about his distinguishing marks?"

"Apart from the long rat's tail you mean?" Mulder said smirking, but then he became serious. "Sure I know about the scar he had, it was pretty long and ugly if I recall. He seemed pretty embarrassed about it, said he'd got it in an accident as a kid."

"That's right, and being so distinctive a scar would you therefore be surprised if the man I shot showed no signs of any such scar or even any injury in that area?"

"Well sure, even with plastic surgery there'd still be a mark." Mulder said.

"Exactly Mr Mulder," Conrad said, "yet this body had no scar tissue in that area at all. Some small incision sites near the kidneys, but nothing else."

"What about..?"

"The arm?" Doggett said. "Well that's a complete mystery. I mean why would anyone go to all the trouble to encase a perfectly good arm inside a false prosthesis?"

"Perfectly good? No Krycek lost his arm in Tunguska from just above the elbow, the left one." Mulder stated.

"How sure are you?" Doggett asked. "Did you ever actually see it?"

"Once." Mulder said thoughtfully. "After Russia, before he came to tell us about Oregon. There's no way you could hide it or repair it. It was a real mess."

"Well then, if you are sure of these facts then you'll have to agree that the man A.D. Skinner shot last night was not Alex Krycek." Doggett said. "Dr Borrachio took pictures before he began the autopsy, here." He handed a small set of Polaroids to Mulder. "Take a look at them carefully."

"Well there's certainly no sign of the scar on this man," Mulder said, "but why are you showing me photos? Don't you still have the body?"

"Indeed I do," Conrad replied, "perhaps when you see it you'll understand our perplexity and our anxiety." He opened the door to his research lab and Mulder, Doggett and Skinner followed him inside. The gurney was still in the centre of the room. Conrad lifted the sheet to show Mulder why Polaroids were a better idea than the actual body when it came to identification.

Mulder looked carefully at the body, pulling on latex gloves from the box on the instrument table, and probed and prodded the cadaver before he announced - "You're right, there's definitely no sign of any of the marks Krycek should be carrying."

"So do you agree that this isn't Krycek?" Skinner asked.

"It would certainly seem that way." Mulder said. "The question is where is the skulking rat bastard?"

"No Mulder," Doggett said, "the question is, why the deception? And maybe also, what produced the curious accelerated decay of this body?"

"Maybe we find the answer to one and we'll find the answer to the other." Mulder responded.

"But where do you start?" Conrad asked.

"Zeus Genetics." Doggett and Mulder said together. Then both looked at each other in amazement, but it seemed that for once they were both agreed on something.

"Zeus Genetics it is then." Skinner said. "It's logical to assume that it must hold the key to everything or else why would Spender be so set against a free and fair investigation into it? The only reason I can think of is that he is running scared and Zeus Genetics holds the key."

"But where do you start?" Conrad persisted. "If the facility was burnt to the ground what is there left to investigate?"

"That's just what they'd like us to think." Mulder said. "However, they also love to taunt us, send us on wild goose chases time and time again. Who's to say that this time is any different?"

Well what say we go and find out?" Doggett said. "If my vote counts for anything here, I'd go for looking back at the site of the research laboratory, Dr Lev's lab."

"OK sure, sounds like a plan." Mulder said,

"Then I'm coming with you." Conrad insisted. "I'm damned if I'm going to stay in the dark about this any longer than I have to."

"What about the body?" Skinner asked.

"I'll put it on ice, that should halt the decay, and in any case he isn't going anywhere." Conrad said.

"OK. No problem." Skinner said. " We can leave agents to guard your lab in case. If you're sure you want to come it could be handy to have a medical expert along. I should warn you though that this is not official FBI business so we'll have no backup if anything goes wrong. Also, the people we are up against play hard ball and they are unlikely to let any perceived insult or interference in their work go lightly.

"Walt. If you're trying to scare me off it's not working." Conrad said. "I just have to know what in the hell they did to that guy in there to produce such results, and why the incisions to the kidney area were made, and I'm sure I can think of other questions I need answers to. Just accept the fact that I am coming too and let's stop wasting time and get going."

And so it was decided.

Part Seven

8 am Somewhere in Washington DC

Fear is one of the best weapons man has to use against others. Alex knew this. It was a lesson which had been deeply ingrained in him over the years. A lesson taught to him by masters. Sow a seed of fear in the mind and it will bloom and grow exponentially with astounding rapidity. However, knowing this was in no way helpful. Knowledge might be power in certain circumstances but in this one, it seemed, it had no power - except to aid his subconscious in enhancing the level of trepidation planted by Spender and Graaf's 'cosy' little chat.

Now that he could move a little he began to fight against his bonds again. Intellectually he knew he was going nowhere, but instinct, habit and pride made it imperative that he at least try. A rat caught in a trap will fight for freedom, even if that freedom costs it a limb or a tail and he, Alex Krycek, Rat Bastard, was no different after all. As before, of course, the more he fought the more his terror robbed him of the ability to reason. His one wrist, upper arms ankles and thighs were raw and bloody from where the metal bindings securing him cut into his flesh. When Dr Graaf entered the chamber to begin setting up his equipment for the coming session Alex was covered in perspiration, his limbs streaked with blood, and he was frothing at the mouth and choking. Angrily, Graaf slapped Alex's face.

"Stop that, you stupid bastard, you'll dislodge the probes and injure yourself." He shouted. "You need to learn one thing around here, and learn it very quickly. You are mine, you are going nowhere and I've just about had it with your histrionics. The only value you have around here right now is to me so you'd better learn to co-operate with me. Is that understood?"

Alex merely closed his eyes, but snapped them open again when Graaf grabbed his head.

"I said is that understood?" Graaf repeated.

Licking his lips a little, Alex carefully formed his reply.

"Go to hell you Nazi wannabe," he spat, "you're just a pale imitation of Spender's former collaborators and the pun is most definitely intended."

"You little shit!" Graaf roared, backhanding Alex again across the face, splitting his lip and making his nose bleed. Graaf looked as though he was about to launch a further attack until he saw Alex's triumphant expression. He drew in a deep breath and took a step back from the table.

"Very clever Mr Krycek." He said. "Who'd have thought you'd still be capable of trying to goad me into killing you after so many weeks here? I'm impressed by your tenacity, but I can assure you that it isn't going to work. We intend to continue with our work and for now, at least, you are an integral part of that."

With that he turned to the trolley he had brought in with him and began arranging cables and conductor pads, tape and other paraphernalia.

Blood continued to flow from Alex's nose, he could feel it and taste it, the coppery tang making him gag. He still felt dizzy and nauseous, probably as a result of having no solid food for as long as he could remember. Whatever nutrients his body was getting were in the IV (assuming he was still being fed in that way) and despite the fact that this had obviously been keeping him alive, it did nothing to assuage his gnawing hunger or his lightheadedness. He fought to stop his gorge rising as the blood cascaded back into his throat. Graaf had placed a band around his head which prevented him from turning it in any direction, if he vomited now he would choke on it. He began to splutter in the effort not to swallow more blood. Graaf, hearing him, whirled around in time to see Alex's predicament and realising that his 'patient' would vomit and then inhale it, thus drowning, he released the head band and turned Alex's head to one side, holding a kidney bowl beside it.

"If you have to throw up, do it in here now." He ordered.

Alex did as he was told, unable now to hold back. The blood and bile he produced seemed to him to be endless, making it almost impossible for him to breathe and making his stomach ache. Eventually though, he finished retching and he was left cold and shaking with spots dancing before his eyes. There was a roaring in his ears and he felt his head begin to spin again, and everything went black.

Spender entered the chamber just as Alex lost consciousness.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice its usual low and menacing rasp.

Graaf had been so engrossed in dealing with Alex that he had not heard the telltale sucking sound of the airlock. Spender's voice startled him and he almost dropped the kidney bowl on the floor. Managing to collect himself before that happened he turned to face his employer, carefully putting the container of blood and bile on the trolley beside him.

"I'm sorry sir, you startled me. I didn't realise you were here."He said.

"Obviously," Spender said dryly, "but you haven't answered my question."

Graaf swallowed nervously, but he knew from experience that it did not do to anger this man - however valuable you might be to him.

"I was cleaning him up, he shows a distressing tendency for vomiting and fainting." Was all he would commit himself to though.

"So I see. However, I can also see that there is blood there. Is there some problem with his biological physiognomy that we did not foresee?" Spender asked, moving his chair closer to the figure of Alex.

"No sir. There does seem to be an unfortunate inability of the subject to accept his situation, however, and I'm afraid I let his irritating verbalisations affect my judgment."

"In short, you struck him and caused the bleeding which caused him to choke and vomit before he passed out." Spender said. "Isn't that it Dr Graaf?"

Graaf gulped a little when he saw the venomous glare which was being directed at him. He could not hold man's gaze.

"Yes sir," he replied, "that is correct. I let myself lose control and a jeopardised our work here. I'm sorry. I can promise you that it will not happen again."

"Indeed." Spender said. "I understand fully how aggravating Alex can be, believe me, after thirty seven years of dealing with him I know exactly how he can try one's patience."

Graaf began to relax in relief.

"However," Spender went on, "if I ever have cause to reprimand you on his treatment again I will have you removed from our project. You are useful to me, but there are others who share your expertise and I would have no trouble in finding a replacement for you. Please remember that fact before you take any further unauthorised action against our subject."

Beads of sweat stood out on Graaf's forehead.

"I will remember sir, believe me. I am as anxious as you are to see this project through to its conclusion. I will do nothing to compromise it now."

"Very well, I will take you at your word." Spender rasped. "For now though, I suggest we bring him around and then we get started on the interrogation."

"Agreed." Graaf said, and he began to attach electrodes to Alex's body. Each had a long thin needle-like probe of between three to six inches in length which were thrust downwards into Alex's flesh. One was pushed into each nipple, one into the end of his stump and one into his navel. A probe was pushed into each temple. conductor pads were placed around the scalp and the probes in his testicles were re-attached to the generator on the trolley. Finally a probe of almost two inches diameter and six inches in length was pushed into Alex's rectum. This last action caused Alex to jerk back to consciousness, a hoarse scream wrenched from his throat as the probe tore into his anal passage.

"Good, you're awake." Spender said, as he watched Alex try to control the pain. "Perhaps now you can tell us exactly what little game you think you are playing?"

Alex gritted his teeth as he stared at the architect of his torment.

"Fuck you!" He said, his throat so traumatised now from screaming and vomiting that his voice was barely audible and the pain involved in vocalising the epithet was obvious.

"Alex, Alex. When are you going to learn that your petty rebellions only serve to land you in deeper trouble?" Spender said coldly. "You cannot seriously have believed that we would continue to allow you to defy us?"

Alex closed his eyes and tried to focus his thoughts on something other than the pain in his body. His mind, however, began cataloguing the sites and sources of each new pain. His breathing accelerated alarmingly as he noted the probe in his stump and cold biting fear arose from the pit of his stomach. A slap to his face made him open his eyes again to find the cold rheumy eyes of his erstwhile boss and mentor staring down at him.

"Alex, you could make this so much easier for everyone, especially you, if you'd just tell us what we need to know." He pressed on one of the nipple probes, pushing the tip further down into Alex's chest muscle, causing Alex to almost bite his tongue in half in an effort not to scream.

"These probes," Spender went on, "are attached to an electric generator capable of producing very high voltage. You will tell us what we want to know. The question is, Alex, would you rather tell us now and be allowed to go free, or, are you going to continue to play your new, and misguided, martyr role and make us go through with the indignity of torture? We will have our answers one way or another, it really is up to you."

Alex refused to speak and after a long silence Spender sighed and pulled out a cigarette.

"Very well." He said, pausing to light it. "You leave us no choice. Really Alex, you are the most troublesome young man."

He nodded at Graaf who acknowledged him with an evil grin. He turned to the monitors and control panels he had assembled. Turning one knob a little he then pressed a button on the console in front of him and the machine began to hum. At the same time Alex felt and electric shock deep within his abdomen, followed by another, then another. The pain was intense, as if someone was cutting their way out of his stomach with a sharp and red hot knife. He seemed unable to scream, but a gargling sound escaped him, clearly expressing his agony. Suddenly, to his intense relief, the pulsing shocks and the pain simply ceased. He felt like crying with joy as the torture stopped, but he knew well that this was only the beginning.

"Now Alex, I'm sure you understand, this was just a mild taste of what is on offer. If you want this to stop all you have to do is tell me what I want to know. Firstly, who were you working for when you sent Mulder to Oregon? Who was your contact in the resistance?"

He looked expectantly at Alex but no answer was forthcoming. Alex merely swallowed hard, closed his eyes, clenched his fist and waited for the inevitable.

"Stubbornness is a highly overrated thing Alex," Spender said, "you'd get much further with loyalty to those who raised you, clothed you, fed you, nurtured you throughout your life."

Still Alex refused to speak, so Spender gestured to Graaf to resume.

This time the pain was stronger, sharper, longer, more intense, and instead of being focused solely in his navel it was spread now amongst his navel, balls and nipples. Alex squirmed, trying to escape, pulling frantically at his bound wrist until he heard it snap - and the white hot agony that engulfed him masked even the pain from the probes. A scream was ripped from him which reverberated around the chamber. Spender tutted and Graaf stopped the electrical current on his signal.

"Are you satisfied now?" Spender said. "See what you've done here?"

He grasped Alex's wrist firmly, grinding the bones together, ignoring the strangled noises coming from his captive.

"You are your own worst enemy Sasha. Why couldn't you be more like Kolya?"

"Maybe because you always encouraged us to be independent of each other." Alex managed hoarsely, panting. "In any case, his loyalty to you hasn't gained him anything. He's still your plaything, your puppet. I'd rather be dead than to live like him."

"Well perhaps your misplaced loyalty to Scully, Skinner and Mulder will be altered when you learn what happened last night." Spender said, smiling evilly.

Alex just looked at him, unwilling to encourage him and also unable to get his voice to work at that moment.

"AD Skinner shot Kolya three times, twice in the arm and once between the eyes. He's dead Alex, you are the last hope we have to prevent the coming apocalypse. Just give up these ridiculous notions of yours. I need to know how the resistance has managed to alter the programming of some of the alien replacements."

"Why?" Alex croaked. " So you can tell them how much you admire their work and make a donation to the cause? I know you too well, you have no interest in the resistance - never have had. All you want to do is save your own sorry ass. What happens to the rest of humanity doesn't matter to you. We're all pawns in your game. We're all dead, or worse than dead if you succeed. Why would I come back and be your tame pet again, knowing what I know?"

He coughed, the exertion of talking had exhausted him. he had no way of knowing how much of what Spender had said was true but he did know that, come what may, he could not betray the resistance to this man. No matter what he'd done before for the evil bastard he could not go back to being Spender's puppet, even if it cost him his life, or worse.

Angrily, Spender ordered Graaf to turn up the dials and the current.

Alex's whole universe became narrowed to focus on the incredible pain in his anus, nipples, navel and balls. He became incoherent as he babbled and begged for it to stop. The pain was like nothing he had ever borne before, there was no language to describe its all encompassing control. White lights lanced his skull in echo to the pulsing current which sliced him internally. Then to his horror and humiliation he felt his cock stiffen and grow until, unbelievably, he was coming - coming- unable to stop. The stimulation continued, and so too did the unwanted orgasm. His whole body contorted into rictus, mimicking the pleasure that should have accompanied this most primal of bodily functions, but he felt no pleasure at all. He felt, rather, as though he was being devoured whole from within.

The sharp spikes of agony caused his vision to blur and rendering him incapable of voluntary movement. His heart began to pound until he feared it would would leap out of his chest. The noise in the chamber was unbelievably loud. Someone should stop it before the sound became unmanageable. Somehow he knew that the source of the sound was him, but all control had long since fled. All he could hope for now was to die before Spender decided that this 'delightful game' was something he would like to add to his party repertoire.

Suddenly the flow of pain through his body ceased and there were cool gentle hands caressing his forehead, a soothing voice caressing his ears before, mercifully, the whole scene shut up around him like a kaleidoscope.

Part Eight

8.40 am former offices of Dr Lev, Zeus Genetics.

Doggett pulled up in front of the ruined building. Parts of the rubble were still smouldering, but all emergency vehicles and personnel had long since departed. He glanced at Mulder.

"Where do you think we should start?" He asked.

"I think we need to look underground," Mulder said, "it seems to me that the Consortium has a thing for hiding in the sewers like rats."

"Didn't see any signs of underground offices when we were here before." Doggett said. "Not that we really looked that hard." He acknowledged.

"Might not be a place that you can see from within the main building, we should keep a look out for any possible entrance in the grounds." Mulder observed.

"Why don't you and Doggett take the back of the building while Conrad and I check out the front?" Skinner said. "That way we can cover more ground in a shorter time."

Mulder nodded and, after getting out of the car, ran to the rear of the building with Doggett close behind him.

Conrad allowed Skinner to lead the way, uncertain exactly what it was they were looking for. A few feet from the front entrance, just off to the left, Skinner spotted what appeared to be a metal casing set into a slightly raised bank of grass. It closely resembled a drain covering, but it did seem a slightly odd place to put one. For one thing it was not laid flat, flush with the ground, which he would have expected. For another thing there was no indication in writing on the metal casing of the manufacturer, or of the designation of the outlet.

Skinner made a sign that they should continue with caution. Conrad nodded in agreement as he watched his friend kneel before the 'drain' to give it a closer inspection. Skinner ran his hands over the covering trying to see how it might open. As he did so he made a discovery. There was a faint indentation in the top left hand corner of the cover. As he looked carefully again he could make out two words scratched into the slight recess.

"Napier's Constant." He read, "That sounds familiar."

As he spoke he pressed against the words, and was surprised that the entire covering slid to the right, revealing a key pad of the kind used to unlock doors with a code. Conrad's eyebrows rose in surprise, but he made no comment.

At that point Mulder and Doggett came into view. Conrad waved them over, then he knelt beside Skinner and looked to see the notation his friend had spotted.

"Bizarre!" He said. "Not exactly the place you'd expect to see that."

Mulder appeared behind him and, having read the words he too squatted down beside his former boss.

"Bizarre it may be, but this is not the first time I have seen or heard reference to Napier's Constant in the context of the Consortium's genetic and medical research." He said

Skinner raised a questioning gaze to him.

"When we were trying to unravel the information from the DAT tape," Mulder said, "Scully and I went to an abandoned mine. There were old workings which had been sealed behind heavy doors all governed by key pads such as this one. Victor Klemper had told us to use Napier's Constant to gain access to vast numbers of files in the complex. We only managed to open one door, but what we found was astonishing."

"I remember." Skinner said.

It had been, after all, one of their first encounters with the level of menace that Spender was prepared to use to protect his secrets.

"So are we ready to key in the code and see what happens next?" He asked.

All three of his companions answered in the affirmative and Conrad keyed in the number of Napier's Constant. 2-7-1-8-2-8.

As they watched, a green light showed at the base of the key pad, and the entire fake drain covering retracted about a foot into the bank before sliding to the right, revealing a subterranean staircase which was well lit. They felt cool air emanating from the tunnel in front of of them which seemed to indicate that whatever was down here might still be operational, despite the level of destruction in the laboratories above ground. Doggett and Skinner immediately drew their guns. Mulder automatically reached for the one he no longer wore and gave a rueful grin to his two former colleagues.

Guess you'll have to be the advance guard and the good Doctor and I get to ride shotgun, with no actual shotguns." He quipped.

Skinner grunted in agreement and, waving them to follow him, led the way down into the depths below. At the base of the stairs the tunnel continued. The level of lighting increased and the area broadened. They found themselves in a long hallway with doors leading off. None of these doors had any visible locks on them so they tried each in turn. The first two seemed to be store rooms lined from floor to ceiling with racks containing video tapes, all labelled and neatly stacked. The third room held numerous paper files on carousels, similar to those found in hospitals. Inside the fourth room they met their first indication that this facility was still partially operational. There was a bank of CCTV monitors flickering as they showed their images to a single man. At least the man was supposed to be watching the monitors - currently, however, he was asleep, eyes shut firmly, head back against the head-rest of his chair, mouth wide open, snoring loudly.

Doggett took the safety off his gun and stepped around to one side of the sleeping man. he looked at the console in front of him. it seemed they had caught a lucky break. The first four monitors showed the entrance way and the area above ground. If the man in the chair had been on the ball he'd have raised the alarm well before they had managed to make an entry. There were sixteen screens in all, though eight of them were blank. The top and bottom rows were, however, functioning perfectly.

Having checked the top row Doggett now looked at the bottom row of monitors. One showed an empty laboratory, equipped but unmanned. The next showed a store-room, the third revealed a woman pacing anxiously and wringing her hands. The final monitor was focused on a room which contained a clear cube like structure at its centre. It was this last which drew Doggett's attention. Mulder, however, was intent upon the previous monitor and the woman.

Her face was partially covered by shadow, but as she turned towards the monitor again he could see her features more clearly and his heart leaped in his chest. It was Samantha!

He let out an involuntary exclamation. He knew, somehow, that this really was his sister, not a clone. She was the real thing. To find her here after all this time, after even he had given up believing that she had survived, believed instead that she had 'gone into the starlight'. After all that, to realise how wrong he had been was a shock of the greatest magnitude.

Skinner saw Mulder's reaction and barely blinked an eye as he left the room. Skinner too now, was looking aghast at the final monitor. What shook him was the action occurring in the cube like chamber.

Within the chamber were three men. One damnedly familiar figure in a wheelchair, one tall, pale and insipid looking man in a white coat, and one whose face was currently hidden from view. This man was lying naked, prone, bound to an object which resembled an operating table, his legs raised in stirrups as if for a gynaecological examination. Reaching forward to the console in front of the monitors, Skinner pushed the volume control for the final room. When the sound reached them they all flinched, not least the man sleeping in his chair. Without stopping to think Doggett cold cocked him , though he had the presence of mind to remember his gun safety was off and used his bare hands instead. Relieved to have averted a near disaster he removed his tie and used it to secure the guard, before returning his attention to the monitor.

Skinner had never heard so much screaming from one man. Even in Vietnam. He paled at the sound, and at the implication that it carried with it. Whoever that man on the operating table was he was clearly not nicely anaesthetised. It was obvious that he was being tortured by Spender and the other man. Who he was and why they were torturing him was unclear since Spender's head still obscured their view of the victim.

Then the screaming became only one of the sounds coming from the monitor. They heard Spender speaking to the man on the table as he grasped his wrist.

"Are you satisfied now?" They heard him ask. "See what you have done here? Sasha, you are your own worst enemy. Why can't you be more like Kolya?"

As he spoke he jerked the wrist of the man he'd called Sasha. Skinner looked carefully at the torso of the bound man and gasped.

"It's Krycek!" He exclaimed, feeling sickened that a part of him was actually pleased that the former agent was in such a predicament.

Doggett, Skinner and Conrad stood transfixed for some minutes as they observed Krycek's response to Spender's taunting and watched in horror as the old man signalled for his companion to resume the torture. As they watched Krycek's body respond to the terrible stimulation each of them felt sympathetic twinges of pain and disgust.

It took only a minute for Skinner to move, but it felt like eons. Then he was running out of the door and down the hallway to the room with a number twenty on the door.

Doggett and Conrad followed him closely. As they reached the door they could clearly hear the sounds of torment from within. 'No one could withstand such pain and not go mad.' Skinner thought, feeling sickened at the noise, knowing what was causing it. There had been, he admitted, many times in the past when he'd wished to exact such a penalty from Krycek himself. Hearing the reality, though, as opposed to what his imagination had conjured, was too terrible.

As he reached for the handle to the door he found himself pushed aside by a woman who burst out of the adjoining room. Mulder trying desperately to hold her back.

"Samantha, you can't go in there, " Mulder was saying, "please don't."

It was too late to stop her, however, as she reached the door and wrenched it open.

"Don't try to stop me Fox." She said. "I can't allow these men to do this any longer."

So saying she entered the room and made straight for the transparent cube at its centre. One by one they followed her through the airlock until they stood inside the chamber of horrors itself.

Conrad moved behind the man in the white coat and gave him a quick chop to the side of his neck, felling him instantly. Not stopping to check his victim, he turned his attention to the controls the man had been manipulating and cut the power to the current that was flowing ferociously through the man on the table. Skinner took great delight in putting his cocked gun to Spender's head and pulling the chair back away from the table.

Krycek's body slumped down onto the table beneath him. A distressed gurgling sound escaped him, but that was at least better than the ear-splitting screams he'd been emitting.

Samantha stood behind him, gently stroking his shaved head and murmuring.

"It's all right Alex. It's all over now." She crooned, soothingly.

Whether or not he heard her, Alex relaxed completely and, unsurprisingly, after the level of torture his body had endured, he lost consciousness altogether.

Part Nine

This time when he came round he was no longer bound. His right wrist was heavily strapped and in an elevated sling so that his hand was palm down against his left shoulder. The effect of this made him feel distinctly uneasy, but at least the pain in his right arm was less noticeable. All the probes had been removed and he was lying in a soft bed with pillows and covers. He was no longer in the room within a room. This was was more like the old bedroom he'd had when he was six and was about as homelike as life within the consortium ever got. Luxury like this was almost unheard of in Spender's little underworld, especially when it came to providing for Alex's comfort. He frowned as he tried to work out how he had got here from his prior location. He hurt like hell all over, his head felt as if it would explode with the next beat of his heart and his throat was on fire. He was covered in sweat and yet he felt cold clear through to his bones. He was so hungry and thirsty that he could almost feel his body consuming itself. He blinked a little and and tried to clear his throat, but that just intensified the pain to the point where he felt that he'd rather die than try that again.

Although he was no longer in Spender's little chamber of horrors he barely dared to hope that he was now safe from the old bastard's clutches. Yet if he was merely being rested before a new round of tests, torture and questions he really didn't think he could take it. Far better to be shot trying to escape than to allow himself to relax and become soft in this cosy environment. It was decision time. Either he allowed them to continue to play their sickening games with him in the vain hope that he could continue to protect the young woman they'd held hostage to his good behaviour all these years, or he resigned himself to the fact that he could never save her and took the opportunity that presented itself now by leaving. He had done it before after all, and with her blessing.

There was no choice as far as he could see. Soon he would be unable to take anymore of Spender's treatment and he'd give the man all the ammunition he needed to defeat the rebellion. If he did that no one would be safe, no matter who they were. Sighing internally, decision made, he began to focus his depleted energy on trying to get up out of the bed, on trying to figure out where he could find some clothing and a weapon, not to mention just how the hell he was going to get to the rebellion with information without drawing Spender along after him. As he struggled to get his brain in gear he also managed to wriggle himself up into a sitting position. Shit! It hurt like nothing had ever hurt before, even the loss of his arm. His vision greyed around the edges a little as he fought to breathe and push back the feeling of dizziness and nausea. This was getting old fast. If he wanted to get old though, he needed to leave now. No more time for messing around.

Carefully he swung his legs around to hang over the side of the bed. Feeling his energy reserves plummeting as he did so, he realised he was going nowhere. It hit him that he was weaker than a new born kitten, naked, sick, and totally without defences. His left arm ended about four inches above the elbow, and his right arm was tied around his neck! Try as he might he couldn't figure out how the hell he was going to unfasten it. Intellectually he knew that even if he did manage to get it free, the arm would probably be worse than useless. He recalled the pain as he had broken the wrist during his last struggles, and the sharper pain as Spender had grabbed his wrist and ground the bones together. His legs felt like jelly and his head was swimming again. He could feel the cold sweat as it formed on his skin and the fear that grew in the pit of his stomach overwhelmed him to the point where he let out a high pitched whimpering moan of despair before he was even conscious of doing so.

The door to the room opened and a large male figure stood, momentarily, in the door way. Not Spender, not Graaf either. Whoever it was wasted no time in entering the room and coming to deal with him. He braced himself mentally for whatever form of punishment he was about to face. He could not have been more surprised, therefore, to hear a gruff voice airing its concern for him.

"Jesus, Krycek! Don't you know when you've had enough boy? Here. Lie back and let's make sure you haven't added to your problems with this madness."

Large comforting hands gently put him back into a position which eased the pains in his body somewhat. A cool cloth was passed over his face, wiping the stinging sweat away from his eyes. Finally, and best of all, his mouth was flooded with cold moisture, as his visitor fed him ice chips, careful not to choke him or cause him any further distress. The sigh that escaped him this time was of ecstasy rather than despair. His eyes fluttered closed in an acknowledgement of the blissfulness of the moment. Then it seemed as if he'd been jerked back from the realm of Valhalla to the pit of Hades. He groaned deeply, despite the protest of his throat and his eyes flew open as his brain registered for the first time the face of the man who had come to his aid. Assistant Director, Walter Skinner of the FBI. The same man who, the last time they had been alone, had handcuffed him to a balcony railing seventeen storeys up in the middle of November, and had left him there all night.

'So finally Spender decides to indulge in his bizarre sense of humour.' Alex thought. 'Having told me for years that Skinner was off limits to me because he had his own plans for the AD, he gets the bastard to come here and finish me off. I suppose you could call it poetic justice.'

"Shhh." Skinner said, offering more of the ice and frowning as Alex tried at first to resist him. As Alex gave into his need for more liquid, no matter what the consequences, a gentle smile stole across Skinner's face.

"You should try to relax and rest Krycek. Conrad says it will be some time before you are fit again, but we need your help, so the sooner you accept ours the sooner we can do whatever it is we need to do to prevent Spender from selling us all down the river."

Alex was unable to prevent the shudder that ran through his body.'So this is how they are going to play it,' he thought, 'good cop, bad cop time at the OK Corral.

Remembering just in time how much it would hurt he managed to refrain from snorting indignantly but he did manage to convey his disgust to Skinner with the scornful look in his eyes. Skinner looked hurt for a moment before he donned his usual mask of bland indifference.

"I suppose it is too much to hope that you actually might care enough about anyone other than yourself that you'd even consider helping us out." He said.

Alex refused to respond, but then he started a little and his gaze turned from antagonistic to fearful for a moment. Skinner wondered what had caused the look of alarm that crossed Krycek's face. he didn't have to wait long to find out. Mulder had entered the room unnoticed by either occupant, his face clouded with anger. Seemingly without conscious thought he approached the bed and the man lying on it.

"You Rat Bastard, you fucking bastard!" He yelled. "You knew where she was all the time and you never fucking told me."

Before Skinner could make a move to stop him Mulder had balled up his fist and dealt Alex a stunning blow to the side of his head. On other occasions Alex had managed to shrug off such attacks from Mulder, though they had left his head ringing for a couple of days afterwards. Now, however, Alex was so weakened by the prolonged period of restraint and torture that he was unable to deal with this blow with his usual blase attitude. His head was already splitting before the blow, now it felt as though all of the grey matter inside his head was pouring out through his eyes and ears. He was retching and choking and struggling for breath when he dimly heard another male voice.

"For god's sake Mulder! Whatever your fight is with this man do you think you could manage not to kill him? We did just rescue him from these bastards and I'd like to get him fully recovered which he can't do if you decide to pound him into the ground."

Unbelievably, Alex heard Mulder apologise. Not to him of course, but to the unknown man, who was even now pressing a cold cloth to Alex's neck and to his temple in a soothing gesture.

'This could be very interesting.' Alex managed to think tiredly, as his fatigue and the assault began to lull him into what passed for sleep around here of late. 'Very interesting indeed. Can't wait to see what other little scenarios Spender has cooked up for me.'

Part Ten

Having managed to get Mulder to apologise, however ungraciously, and then to leave, Conrad resumed his treatment of Alex. It was clear to him that he'd got himself into more than he'd bargained for when he'd become involved in Walter's 'little predicament'. He sighed. He'd known when he'd seen his friend's face that things were likely to be chaotic, but he'd never dreamed that anything so nefarious or disturbing as the consortium would be involved. Turning his attention back to the man in the bed he carefully examined him.

The man's head had been shaved and there were still two contact pads around the area of each temporal lobe. Gently he removed the pads and was relieved to see that there was no sign of burned tissue beneath them, obviously the electrodes that had been attached to these pads had not been used. Nevertheless he carefully applied a topical anaesthetic gel to each point. He winced as he checked the chest area, each nipple was red and raw. The probes he had removed from these had penetrated deeply into the chest muscles going vertically down through the nipple tissues. It was testament to his skill as a physician that Alex did not stir as he palpated the chest. This time though the inspection of the delicate aureolal tissue revealed a fair amount of internal damage which, if left untreated, would fester.

Cleansing the area carefully, Conrad applied the gel and dressings to the chest and noted that he would need to administer both antibiotics and anti-pyretic drugs to counter infection and fever. The damage at the navel was similar to that on the chest. When he reached the testicles he was alarmed to discover heat, pus and hardness in the tissue. The penis was similarly inflamed. This time Alex grimaced although, blessedly, he did not waken as Conrad checked the genitals as delicately as he could without compromising his examination. He decided that he would need ice to pack around the area, as well as topical antibiotics, to help reduce the heat and swelling. He had no way of knowing how long the probes and the catheter had been in place, but it was clearly more than a few days given the level of damage caused. If Alex had been subjected to such treatment over a prolonged period of time then he seriously feared for the man's mental, as well as physical. well being.

The tissue around the anus, where the largest probe had been, was torn and angry looking. There would be the need for a few stitches, at least, just for the external tears. Donning gloves, and using a generous amount of lubrication, he carefully worked a finger into the damaged anus and felt around the walls of the anal sphincter. As he had feared there were some deep tears here also, as well as some very spectacular blisters caused by the heat from the electricity that had been pulsing though the probe. The same would no doubt be true of the urethra, though examining that internally right now was out of the question.

Rarely had Conrad felt so angry at the condition of any patient. He had treated former prisoners of war after Vietnam, as well as Desert Storm and other undisclosed conflicts, but even they had not been used quite as callously by their captors as this man had. Conrad was also puzzled. If Alex Krycek had been a creature of the consortium, with all that Doggett and Walter had told him that signified, why had Spender deliberately inflicted such barbaric treatment on one of his trusted personnel? It just didn't fit.

Conrad Borrachio might be a medical man, but he was also a military man, both by training and instinct. To have merited such treatment from his 'own side', in his view, Alex Krycek would have had to commit the ultimate sin in any war - Walter had certainly described this as a war situation - the ultimate sin being to betray one's colleagues, or possibly also to actively join the opposition.

It seemed to him that, whatever his patient might have been guilty of in the past he had deliberately and actively chosen to renounce his past association with the consortium. Nothing else made sense. Add Spender's little speech to Alex as they had overheard it on the monitor, and he was convinced that he had made a correct assessment of the situation.

Taking his stethoscope he checked the lungs of his patient and frowned. There was an indication that fluid was collecting there. He knew that if Alex had been held in that chamber of horrors, unmoving, for any length of time then pneumonia was a serious risk. Whatever is was that Graaf and Spender had been doing it was clearly not with any view to Alex's well being, present or future. He hoped that he could manage to return his patient to health as quickly as possible, and as quickly as Walter was expecting. Clearly, Walter Skinner felt that Alex had vital information and that it was imperative to get that information without delay.

A door opened behind him and he turned to see the young woman Mulder had been with earlier entering the room.

"How is he?" She asked, her voice trembling a little and full of concern.

'He's been through a great deal and he will need some time to heal fully." Conrad said. "I'm afraid that he may develop a fever and he shows signs of respiratory infection. His wrist is broken and I need to set it, though it's strapped up for now, he has some internal burns and of course several bruises and contusions, as well as infection in his genitals. Given the circumstances in which we found him I'd really like to give him a more thorough examination to see what other internal damage may have been caused."

He paused and looked at her. As he had catalogued Alex's condition her colour had drained and she looked a little faint. Conrad kicked himself mentally. This woman was obviously someone who cared for Alex and he had run off at the mouth about his injuries and the prognosis as if she was one of his assistants and not someone with a personal involvement with his patient. However she soon pulled herself together.

"I see," she said, calmly, "if you need to make use of it there is all the medical diagnostic equipment you could need here in this facility. Graaf has the keys to most of the labs but we can easily make him give them up now that Spender is no longer in a position to give him orders."

"Thank you," Conrad said, "I would certainly like to x-ray Alex's hand, wrist chest and abdomen. His wrist is in need of a cast but I am loathe to put one on before I have examined the internal damage, I need to check the alignment of the bones and ensure there is no possibility of nerve damage before I do anything else. How open do you think Graaf will be to telling us exactly what he was doing to Alex and why?"

"Not very, probably a little too scared of Spender, though it wouldn't hurt to ask. However, there is also a constant recording of his 'experiments'. All you need do is play back the tapes and you'll have everything you need. Graaf also keeps meticulous written notes." Samantha said.

"On everything?" Conrad asked.

"Doctor, this is a state of the art medical research facility with all the necessary equipment for surgical procedures, testing, diagnosis and treatment. If we don't have it here, you don't need it. Everything done in this facility is recorded for posterity, and I mean everything, going back over fifty six years."

Conrad raised his eyebrows at that but decided to take her at her word.

"How familiar are you with medical procedures?" He asked.

"Unfortunately I am very familiar, especially within this facility. However, I think that right now I might be glad of some of the expertise I've gained if it will help you to help Alex."

"Indeed." Conrad said. "I am going to need some Erythromycin, Succinylsulphathiazole, Allantoin, Phenazone, Promethazine, and Zinc Oxide Powder as well as surgical swabs and alcohol wipes, syringes, sutures and anything else you might think is useful. Some more ice would be a good idea, and if there's any chance of moving Alex to a bed with hydraulic head and foot rests then please locate one. A fleece for the bed to help prevent the severe pressure sores he has already from becoming worse would be a boon too. We shall need to start IV fluids and some physical stimulation to promote and encourage good circulation and prevent muscle atrophy from becoming more pronounced. I'd like to run full scans of both toxicology and blood gases. So if you can manage all of that, and gain access to the records you spoke of then we should be in business."

"Right away doctor," Samantha said, "I'll get Fox and Agent Doggett to give me a hand with locating everything we need."

She seemed more relaxed now that she had something she could do to help.

"It's Conrad. " He insisted, smiling at her.

"And I'm Samantha." She replied.

"Thank you Samantha, I appreciate your help, and I think this young man will appreciate it too."

"It's no more than he deserves, after all he's done for me. I owe Alex more than I can ever repay." She said, giving the object of her concern an affectionate glance. Then she left the room.

Conrad sighed as he returned his attention to his patient. His skin colouration was much better, but the temperature was now 103.4 Fahrenheit, and rising. This was worryingly high. His greatest concern now, apart from respiratory problems, was that Alex's fever might increase to the point where febrile convulsions were not only possible but probable. If that happened, there was a great likelihood of brain damage being caused.

Taking surgical alcohol wipes from his jacket, he bathed Alex's extremities in an effort to cool him a little. The sooner he could start a proper course of treatment, with analgesics and anti-pyretics, the happier he'd be.

Carefully, he propped Alex up with extra pillows. In lieu of an adjustable bed this was at least something that would help ease his breathing. As he worked to make his patient more comfortable his mind was busy working on figuring out the purpose of this facility. It seemed fairly clear that it was something to do with producing either a genetic or an anti viral defence against whatever the 'aliens' Walter had spoken of were intending to unleash on the unsuspecting population of the world.

The problem seemed to be the methods they were prepared to use to obtain that defence. Somehow he doubted Spender's altruism. From what he'd seen and heard of the man so far he was fairly sure that Spender's circle of inclusion, with regard to defence against alien attack, was pretty small. In fact he was sure such a cirlce amounted to just one person, Spender himself. Conrad tried to imagine the mind set necessary to accept the Spender's methods, and failed.

Taking a deep breath, he refocused on the task in hand checking for an aortic pulse he found that it, at least, was fairly even and within normal parameters. The rapid fluttering pulse he'd encountered in his primary examination had now calmed. This was a relief. He knew they were not out of the woods yet, but any sign of progress was welcome. He'd be happier though if he could assure himself that there were no serious internal injuries as yet undetected.

As he continued to check over his patient he noted the old scars on Alex's body. The large jagged scar on the torso was the most prominent, he could easily understand why anyone who had seen it would remember it and instantly be able to identify it. There were other scars, as deep and as old, all over the body. Judging by the way the skin had grown around the scarred tissue, a large number of the scars must have been caused when this man was just a boy.

The amputation site above the left elbow was a mess too. The scar tissue was still red and angry looking, yet clearly the arm had been lost a while ago, at least ten months or more by his judgment. Where the probe had been inserted into the puckered mass, there were blisters. Conrad dressed the arm and added a sterile bandage to hold it in place. As he completed this work Samantha returned pushing a trolley with equipment. She was not alone. Agent Doggett was with her.

Conrad was pleased to see that Fox Mulder was not among their party. Whatever the problem between Mulder and his patient he would prefer it if it could be kept out of his treatment room. The last thing Alex needed was to be beaten further after all the trauma he had been through, no matter how much Mulder might think he deserved it. Carefully ensuring that Alex was stable and adequately covered by the bedclothes he turned his attention to the bounty which Samantha and Agent Doggett had procured for him.

Mulder looked at Spender in disgust. The older man had a disturbing knack of making him feel somewhat like a small bug under a microscope. Every encounter they'd ever had, had left him feeling more and more convinced that he'd been deliberately used, that the truth had been carefully concealed whilst apparently being revealed in all its glory. Now Mulder was anxious to get some answers, now that he finally had the bastard where he wanted him, but of course it would be too simple to expect Spender to co-operate.

The last encounter they'd had was somewhat blur