X-PROOF
PART THREE:
4:36 pm
Stepping out of the airport terminal, Dana Scully regretted her choice of light wool
clothing for the day, even though she had dressed that morning not knowing she would
be dragged through the airport and flown into a part of the country that was decidedly
more humid than the coastal area of Washington D.C. Not that Mulder ever gave her
much of a choice, anyway, whenever he decided to act on an impulse. Not to mention
the fact that if he expected her to autopsy whatever remained of the supposed green
mess that would be left of the clone, there was no guarantee that she’d be able to find
the appropriate lab apparel.
“Where did you say this place was?” she asked of Mulder again, once they were
ensconced in their rental car and driving down the road leading out of the airport.
“We don’t even know if they’ll have the equipment I’ll need.”
He glanced at her with a half-amused, half wearied expression. “Is that the best you
can come up with for not going to Emerald City?”
“Emerald City?” Scully asked, incredulous.
“Yeah, its what the locals call it. I think its reference to the architecture where
NanoCorp is based. Green glass walls.” He reached over to tweak her sleeve.
“You wanna play Dorothy and I can play the Wizard?” When she gave him one of
her patented looks, he shrugged. “It’s a biomedical company. I’m sure they’ll have
something.”
“If what you say is true, there wouldn’t be much there to work with anyway,” she
replied. Despite her grumpiness, she had to admit she was a bit intrigued. Her one
concern was actually getting to crime scene. She glanced down at her watch. It
would be evening soon, and if the powers that ruled at NanoCorp had anything to
say about the matter, they would have tried to wrap up the investigation as quickly
as possible, especially since the next day was the start of the work week. No business
enjoyed the reminder of crime and violence. And no local law enforcement enjoyed
the uninvited presence of the Feds.
“How much do we know of the clones, Scully?” Mulder asked, unmindful of her
doubts.
“That they are possibly cloned from abductees and have green acidic blood. That they
are in some way connected to experiments performed on abductees. And that there is
some kind of regulator they fear will discover them. If what we find at NanoCorp is,
indeed, one of these clones, I’m not so sure we’d not just confirm what we already
know: that they’re spread out into the general populace and we don’t know what
their overall purpose is. I think I’m more interested in finding out the advances
NanoCorp has made in cloning than the actual one, Mulder.”
“I didn’t say NanoCorp made clones. The name itself tells you: nanotechnology.
Little robots, the kind that can show up in the blood. Weren’t you listening?”
She granted him one small lift of her eyebrows.
“Look, I don’t know what to think about any of this,” Mulder went on, seeing she
still needed persuading. “Alien clones, robots in blood, look-alikes; which is why
I thought we should go investigate. After what happened to Skinner, the serendipity
of it all is just too much to resist.”
“So you’re saying that you think this has more to do with Skinner?” Their supervisor,
Walter Skinner, had fallen prey to such a new technology, microscopic robots inserted
into his bloodstream at some unknown point and used to exact a horrible and untraceable
illness upon him, to the point of death. It was still a mystery as to where that ‘new
technology’ hailed from, who was using it, and what it had to do with a secretive
congressional bill tagged S.R. 819; all of which had been conveniently ‘resolved’ with
Skinner’s refusal to allow them to investigate further. Suffice it to say, there were still
numerous unanswered questions. “You’re thinking that the nanorobots they used on
him could be traced to here?”
“Just a gut hunch, Scully, but something tells me that the Wizard, whoever he is, is a
Wizard who will know.”
“Do we even know who the Wizard is?”
“Well, now see, that’s where my contact comes in with his bit about the Russell Crowe
look-alikes. He claims that his boss looks like a handful of others wandering around.”
“And we’re just burning inside to see if the Munchkins look like Maximus?”
Mulder laughed. “Mini Max!”
“Mulder, I think someone is just pulling you, someone who thinks that you won’t believe
his story about green blood,” Scully went on, a bit pleased she was able to score a laugh,
even though she did not let her facial features show it. “And why did he pick Russell
Crowe? Why not…Arnold Schwarzenegger? Or Tom Cruise…or…”
“Elvis? Can you picture the King as the head of a biomedical corporation? ‘Y’all, that
was a beautiful hostile takeover, thankyaverramuch. Can y’all build me a guitar that
attaches to my stomach and strums when I…”
“Mulder, here’s the turn off,” Scully broke in abruptly, thankful she had sighted the
sign indicating the sprawling grounds of the infamous NanoCorp before her partner
planted an image in her mind that would take the rest of the evening to shake.
Mulder turned the car onto a four-lane drive divided by a grassy median and pulled
up to the guard gates straddling the road. She found herself tensing as the guard stepped
up to Mulder’s open window to investigate the FBI badge he was flashing, almost positively certain that they would be turned away. To her surprise, the guard nodded and waved him
on in and Mulder gave her a small grin as if to prove his ability to overcome obstacles.
“Mulder,” Scully said, as they drove onward through a tunnel of tall spreading trees.
“Do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Don’t overreact.”
Working the actual crime scene had not taken but a couple of hours and Bud had had
every intention of slipping away to Terry’s office on the fourth floor of the building to
get an update of events, especially since the results of their excursion into Gladiator
had been such a disaster. But it became apparent it would not work out when John
decided to employ every search tactic he could think of for some trace of the perpetrator.
That included a major lockdown of those within the building and all those leaving the
campus. Bud found he really couldn’t blame John for such radical action. There was
no clue that would lead them to a suspect, nor any clue that indicated a fleeing
perpetrator. It was as if such a person had appeared out of thin air and then popped
out again. A thorough search blanket was the only thing that seemed possible for
discovering clues as to who murdered Tom Exton.
Unfortunately, that meant calling in off-duty personnel and spending several hours
going through the numerous buildings and fanning out with search dogs into the
grounds for any scent that might lead them to…what? Bud asked himself, as he ended
another phone call to John. Something more unusual? As if we could come up with
anything more unusual than green slime instead of blood.
He grimaced at that thought. Hell, Bud, look where you work!
The time on the digital clock on his desk said a quarter till five and there was still much
to be done. And he hadn’t even met with Terry yet, although Terry had left a message
telling him to gather up as much information as possible. Deidre had come to visit him
at noon to give her own synopsis, but he’d only been able to catch part of it, fielding
calls from reporters as well as confused security all the while.
Bud watched as one of the sniff-teams strolled by his window looking out upon the front
drive of the complex. He had chosen one of the more obscure corners of the first floor in
a wing that had been designated for small business wishing to capitalize on the proximity
of Emerald City, a concession he and Terry had finagled out of Sid, for his independence
in exchange for on-call status as retriever. While he had to enter and exit through the
main lobby of the building, Bud had arranged his desk to face the wall of glass with the
intent of someday putting a door directly there.
He got up out of the chair and stretched, a pure pleasure after sitting for an hour or so
fielding phone calls. He really needed a secretary, but almost dismissed that thought
out of hand. His last secretary had been seduced and…
He grabbed his jacket and turned off the lights. He’d call John from Terry’s office and
tell him he could be reached from there. The need to know what happened to Cort and
Rachel had nearly burned a hole in him and there was little more he could do at this
point anyway. Until there was a definitive autopsy done and a corroboration of others
who had been around, his job, his reason for living, as a detective was at a dead end.
“Where do we begin looking?” Bud heard a man’s voice echo down the slate-paved
concourse that led people from the vaulted front lobby and turned sharply into the
long carpeted halls. He chose to follow that voice instead of heading for the elevators
up to the fourth floor. Damn! Just what we needed on a hellacious Sunday afternoon.
Lost visitors.
Because it was Sunday, there was no receptionist to field their curiosity, no one loitering
on the benches at break-time or passing through on their way to a meeting; but Bud had
had a lot of practice this day of shooing off nosy nellies. He straightened his jacket and swaggered in a way to show that he was the Man In Charge, meeting the eyes of the man directly.
The newcomers didn’t appear intimidated, though; that much Bud picked up on in the
few seconds it took to cross the broad space between them. In fact, the taller of the two,
a lean dark haired man with gray eyes, looked like any number of executives coming in
from out of town in a dark suit and tie, and bore himself with the confidence of someone
who was used to muscling his way into situations himself. The woman with him, a gorgeous
red-head with outstanding blue eyes, was just as smartly dressed. Both of them exchanged
looks as he approached, and the woman’s cool appraisal of Bud melted into an expression
of surprise.
This made Bud very uneasy.
“You people lost?” He asked, a little distracted by the woman still. She was not
exactly standing with her jaw on the floor, but he could tell she was trying to wrap
whatever loosened emotion she was feeling back behind her usual façade. More than
that, he was a bit fascinated by the way the light coming through the green glass gave
her red hair a kind of halo.
“Special Agent Fox Mulder. This is my partner, Special Agent Dana Scully,” said the
man and flashed him an FBI badge. “We understand there’s been a murder on the
premises.”
Bud had to restrain the impulse to step backward, so surprised was he in this turn.
“The Feds?” He rasped. “No one called the Feds. No one had authority to do so! You
don’t have authority in this case.”
“So there has been a murder then…?”
“You should leave now. The local authorities are in charge here, and if you have any
questions, you can ask them,” Bud interjected, turning to go.
“You’re not local authority?” He heard Dana ask. She had reached into her own jacket
and pulled out her own badge, but Bud ignored it. This was not good. Not good at all.
“No,” Bud replied. “I have my own business to take care of. Look, Fox…
“Mulder. Call me Mulder,” the man said, tersely.
“Mulder,” Bud sneered. “Fine. Look, Mulder, go back to the front gates and report in
there. Our men here have everything under control,” he snapped and took large strides
back to the carpeted hallway where the elevator was.
“We came here because there was a report of some unusual aspects in events that just
took place here,” the woman called after him. “As in blood type?”
Bud froze.
As careful as they had been to control documentation of the site, there had still been the
chance that gossip had leaked. It would not have been surprising; but that’s what the
front gate was for: to filter out the curiosity seekers. John had busted his ass to make
sure the lockdown took place fast and hard, even on a Sunday. And yet federal agents
slipped past…
He found he had turned back to face them without realizing it.
“How did…?”
“We work in a specialized division, Mr...?” Dana replied, voice gentle.
“White. Bud White.”
“Mr. White.” Bud could almost swear he saw Mulder repress a laugh. “A division known
as the X files. We’re here at our own behest, and we know something about what you’ve encountered earlier today.”
Dana Scully was unreadable as she spoke, but Bud had seen her wince earlier when Fox
used the word ‘we’ in reference to themselves, so her use of it now meant that she was
going to be a hard one to shake.
“I doubt that,” Bud replied, but that didn’t feel honest coming from his lips.
“May we have a look at the crime scene?” Mulder asked.
“There’s no jurisdiction for the Feds to be here,” Bud repeated. What should he do?
A quote Rachel sometimes repeated whenever their conversations turned political
floated through his mind: ‘the most frightening words in the English language were
“We’re from the government and we’re here to help you.”’ And here they were!
“Did the body disintegrate, Mr. White? Is all that you have left is a black substance and
stained clothing?” Mulder persisted.
Bud worked his jaw, glancing out the doors to the parking lot beyond. He was starting
to wonder if the Feds did not have an interest, considering the numerous defense contracts
the company had taken in recent years. If this had any implication at all with spying
activity, they’d have more problems than the Feds to deal with.
Terry. He was suspicious of spying activity now, Bud knew. Either he’d have to lead
these two g-men on a merry goose chase or introduce them to Terry. And he had the
distinct feeling the merry goose chase would end up being turned against him.
Ah, hell and damn and fuck.
“So, X files means…what?” He asked, remembering that Mulder and Dana were watching
him. “X marks the spot?”
He was rewarded with a warm smile from Dana and a roll of the eyes from Mulder.
“Something like that, Mr. White. I think you’ll find we can be of more assistance than
you realize,” she replied. “May we at least speak to the one in charge?”
Bud swallowed.
“You’ve no idea what you’re asking me to do,” he said, but gestured toward the carpeted
hall anyway.
He had made his way through much of the complex, shifting shapes into people who
had come and gone, weaving his way into what he knew to be the heart of the nano-
research complex, the laboratory of the warp systems. No one knew he was still
hunting, having dispatched one such prey and caused enough confusion to last a while.
And the others that had infiltrated the ranks of the employees were, by now, well warned.
He’d have time enough to reach them as well. For now, he had other matters on his mind.
He reached a hallway, yards from the warp room. There was a thrum of energy beyond
the wall he stood in front of. He put his palm flat upon it. The aberration was beyond
the wall, but the aberration, being what it was, and what it was not, was clever. Very
clever. And apparently had not shared its cleverness with the others. Also clever.
He pulled his hand away, the surface of his palm stinging. He could sense titanium…
and magnetite. Titanium would have been simple, but Sid 6.7 had purposefully placed
magnetite in the walls as well, knowing what it did to his kind.
Very clever indeed.
This would require additional planning.
It had been his plan to track down blueprints of the Emerald City complex and begin a systematic search of every cubby hole, nook, and cranny; the image of the hidden door
snapping shut in his face between himself and Sid with his prize burning like a salted
insult every time he thought about the events of the last 48 hours. Once the blueprints
were acquired, his plan quickly devolved into frustration and anger. Where in the
devil’s playground had Sid disappeared? It was ludicrously obvious that Sid had some
hidey-holes tucked away in places that not even he had expected. That door sliding open
and shut in his face was vast proof of that; and nothing in the blueprints gave any hint
of a possibility of that door, or any hidden unaccounted for space beyond. It didn’t take
long for Terry to realize that Sid had made his work well cut out for him.
Bastard.
In the meanwhile, he and Bud kept continual communication as John shut down the
entire NanoCorp complex and Deidre did her own research from her office. Noon
passed, then four more hours, and he was nowhere near any idea of where to begin
looking for some chink in the armor Sid had created. Deidre tried getting him to step
away to refresh his eyes and mind, but the thought of Maximus and Brianna at the hands
of the nanotech refused to leave him alone.
“Any joy, luv?” He asked as soon as he heard the door to his office open, bent over the blueprints, following lines to natural, and unnatural conclusions, searching for any
occlusion that would reveal secret passageways. Looking up to confirm that it was
Deidre returning from her own efforts to track information down, he found Bud hovering
in the doorway. With a sigh of relief, he leaned back in his chair and stretched, grinning
at his friend with some amount of embarrassment. “Sorry, mate, thought you were
Deidre.”
“Did you?” Bud asked in a distracted way. He glanced behind him, as though expecting someone to follow him and stepped further into the room. “I don’t know how to tell you
this, but…”
Terry straightened in his chair, worry flooding him.
“Has something happened to her?”
“No, no! Nothing like that. Where did she go?”
“To get us a bite to eat, although after bending over this all day, I could use more of a
good swim. Sit down. I just contacted John and he said he’d spare us the time to…”
“I hope you don’t mind if we invite ourselves to the party,” came a second voice at the
doorway and Terry turned to find a tall man filling up the door way, holding open a
rectangular badge that he could see held the large blockish letters ‘FBI’. “I’m sorry
for not waiting until Mr. White introduces us. We had a rather hurried trip to get here
and will be needing dinner ourselves soon.”
Terry stared as the man introduced himself and stepped aside to introduce a diminutive
figure behind him, who entered the room with arms folded and a decidedly disgruntled expression on her face.
“What Agent Mulder is trying to say is we hope we can ask some question without
interfering with your other plans,” Scully said, giving Mulder one last glance before
facing Terry. Her hair was a lighter red than Deidre’s and she was less open with her expressions. Mulder looked like the sort of man whose persistence and courage
outweighed any physical strength he possessed.
Terry cast his own glance at Bud, who seemed to be fuming at himself, and stood up
from his chair, if for no other reason than to regain bearings after this bit of shock.
“A little explanation might be in order,” he rumbled. He didn’t invite them to sit,
although he had a nasty feeling they weren’t going away any time soon, hunger or not.
“They heard about the blood,” Bud interceded. “Word of the murder victim got
around. Believe me, this is the last thing John and I expected.”
“I should say so,” Terry agreed. “I think I shall have more questions than you,” he went
on, turning back to Mulder. “We do have federal defense contracts if that is what this
is all about, but I assure you, this…incident has no bearing on the completion or
effectiveness of those whatsoever.”
Mulder nodded sympathetically.
“You might think that the murder is an isolated incident in your quarters, but it has
direct ties to a line of cases I’ve been working on. Also,” Mulder said, and stepped
closer to the desk when Scully gasped slightly, as if she knew what he would say next,
“there have been reports of clones in this area…clones of a certain appearance and
with common factors.” He looked over at Bud, then back at Terry.
“We’re just brothers,” Terry replied glibly, smiling to show he understood what they
were getting at, that he was used to the implication. “No more cloning than what good
genes our mother supplied.”
Scully and Mulder stared at him for several moments, his lips pursed, her face inscrutable, bordering on second thought, that maybe they were not where they should be. Which
was what Terry aimed for. Usually, such an act was successful in redirecting people
towards less sensational speculations; Terry was chancing that that the two agents were
as easily bluffed. That hope, however, died a small death, though when John Biebe came
in and greeted them, with Nolia behind him.
If the looks that were exchanged around the room had been bullets, he’d have fallen to
the floor a riddled mess.
“Sit down,” Terry told Scully and Mulder wearily. “This was bound to happen and
frankly, I'm at a loss right now. You’ve got us pegged. What do you want to know?”
ON TO PART 4
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