Task Force Vignettes
by Lee Burwasser

• Transcript
• Common Sense
• Quantico Mechanics
• Full Circle
• Civilian Contacts
• Curiosities
• The Man in the Green Eyeshade
• Mea Culpa
• Guys Named Ed
• Affirmation

Rating - G except for "Guys Named Ed" rated R
Category - V
Keywords - alternate universe - Sixth season never happened. for others see individual vignettes
Spoilers - see individual vignettes
Summary - see individual vignettes
Archive - OK, as long as the name stays with it
Feedback - sure lee46b@gateway.net
Disclaimer - see individual vignettes

This is a series of previously published vignettes (and two Artifacts, that's a kind of pseudobiblia), now appearing in their internal chronological order. There are eleven titles in all: "Transcript"; "Common Sense" and "Ground Rules"; "Quantico Mechanics"; "Full Circle"; "Civilian Contacts"; "Curiosities"; "the Man in the Green Eyeshade"; "Mea Culpa"; "Guys Named Ed"; "Affirmation." They do not make a story, just a series of snapshots.

Title - Transcript
Keywords - none
Spoilers - "The End"
Summary - If they'd had any sense at all . . .
Disclaimer - Dana Scully is not mine. But she needs a hug.

*****

Author's Note: This is a form of pseudobiblia, an imaginary FOIA document from an alternate XF universe. One where people act like they have some sense.

*****

STATEMENT OF SPECIAL AGENT DANA SCULLY: The arson in the X-Files has already given rise to some humor at the Bureau's expense, and several Freedom of Information Act requests, both for the report of the arson investigation and for a list of the destroyed files. The arson investigators

[5 lines of text blacked out]

clearly was neither random malicious mischief, nor a random piece of terrorism. Someone was determined either to destroy the X-Files Unit by destroying the files, or to conceal the theft of one or more of those files.

In this day and age, it is hard to believe that anyone has not heard of backup. Every X-File created for the past five years is backed up in at least one location; those with wider applicability are in more than one. It may be argued that anyone familiar enough with this Unit to desire its destruction must be aware of our clerical budget, or rather our lack of one, which has precluded a mass retrospective backup. Perhaps the arsonist wished to destroy an old X-File, and counted on it not having been backed up yet.

Unfortunately for such reasoning, it is clearly the best use of our limited clerical resources to back up the older files as they are consulted in the course of current cases. Unless the arsonist wanted to destroy a file that has no relevance whatsoever to any case pursued by this Unit for the past five years, he has failed. And I do not believe that anyone seriously thinks that a file of no relevance to the present work of this Unit is a plausible cause of arson.

Our best working hypothesis is that the arsonist has taken one or more files from the office, and set the fire to conceal the theft, or at least the identity of the file or files stolen. This is supported by the evidence of Special Agent [words blacked out] , that a man carrying at least one file folder left the area of the X-Files office just before the alarm went off.

The arson investigation report tells us that this was a low-tech job. The accelerant was commercial lighter fluid,

[3 lines of text blacked out]

as the investigators reconstruct this aspect of the crime, the arsonist opened the drawers of the cabinets near the desk, soaked the papers on the desk with lighter fluid, and set them alight.

The second source-fire was set *inside* a file drawer. Here again, other drawers in the same and neighboring cabinets were opened. One would expect that the source-drawer would be the bottom drawer of a strategically placed cabinet. Instead, it is one of the middle drawers of its cabinet.

[3 lines of text blacked out]

suggests that the file drawer in question was of great interest to the arsonist.

This drawer is the second half of the abduction alphabet. As the issue has been of great interest to several agencies recently, all the abduction files are backed up. Clearly, the first place to look for the reason for this arson is in those backup files. I will go so far as to suggest that the first files to search are those marked

[remainder of page blacked out]

Title - Common Sense, or It'll Never Happen, Ground Rules
Spoilers - The End, Movie, 6th season rumors Tooms, FTF
Keywords - M/S friendship
Summary - oops, being rational again another conversation in the car
Disclaimer - they ain't mine, or it *would* happen

". . . Fowley and Spender."

"WHAT?!?"

"I'm not deaf, Agent Mulder. The X-Files will be reopened under Agents Fowley and Spender. Agent Scully's transfer has been rescinded, and you two will continue as partners, in VCMO. Section Chief Kerch is an improvement over Blevins."

"Great! We've proved the worth of the X-Files, the Powers That Be have no choice but to re-open them -- but not with us."

"Bureaucratic pettiness is --"

"-- not the issue and you know it! There's more than one way to skin a cat, and more than one way to discredit the X-Files!"

Scully put in, "I have to agree with Agent Mulder, Sir. It may not be the worst possible assignment, but Agent Spender shows no sign of the . . . affinity for evidence that is necessary to work the X-Files."

"Nor is Agent Fowley notably intuitive."

Skinner growled, "She used to be your partner, Agent Mulder."

"That doesn't make her able to run the X-Files. And Spender sure can't."

"Then they'll just have to grow into it, because it's settled. And so are you. That will be all." He stood.

Scully did not. "Sir, the Consortium is not an X-File."

Both men jerked, glancing around the office.

"What does it matter if they overhear? They know the score. Last time I looked, it was Consortium seven, FBI zero. And it will continue so if *you* continue to expect a single pair of agents to take on a criminal syndicate. That case should be transferred to Organised Crime, Sir. And we should go with it. Our experience will be useful."

"What would a pathologist do in Organised Crime, Agent Scully?"

"Along with evidence tampering, the Consortium specialises in biotechnology. The team working the case will need someone with medical training and experience."

"You're asking me to set up a task force?"

"Whatever will be most efficient."

"And just who would you suggest to head it up?"

"Obviously, someone without connections to the Consortium. Someone who has worked cases of evidence tampering before. Someone who is either familiar with high tech, especially biotech, or willing to take the advice of those who are. And someone who will not allow himself to be persuaded that abusing American citizens is the way to protect America."

For a moment they locked eyes. Then: "That will be all, Agents."

Mulder's car
somewhere in Washington, D.C.

The cell phone's chirp startled both agents. Mulder pulled it out. "Mulder."

"We have him. Thanks for blocking the back door. Paper pushers say you can hand in the forms tomorrow, so good night to you both."

"Thank who ever hypnotised them for us," said Mulder and hung up. He'd taken hold of the ignition key when Scully's hand covered his. He let go and let her lift his hand away. "What is it, Scully?"

"Mulder . . ." She let go of his hand and took a long breath. "Mulder, did you mean it? In the hallway? That I haven't been holding you back?"

"Scully, I don't know where you got that idea --"

"Did you *mean* it? Do *you* feel I'm pulling my weight?"

"*Yes*, Scully! When you came, our solve rate went through the roof. Whatever made you think you weren't?"

"Five years of 'Why won't you believe?' when it's my job *not* to believe. Not to fall in love with any hunch or hypothesis, but test them all against the evidence. If I've kept you honest, Mulder, that's how I did it."

She bit her lips a moment, then went on. "I need to know something else." Another moment of silence, then: "Mulder . . . Can you do something my way?"

"How's that?"

"Back at the beginning, I told Skinner that by their very nature, the X-Files requires unorthodox procedures. But as I said just a while ago, the Consortium is not an X-File. It's a gang of serial kidnappers, illicit experimenters, who tamper with evidence and liquidate witnesses." Fingernails bit into palms. "All standard crimes, what standard operating procedure was designed to handle. Can you -- Are you willing to tackle the Consortium by the book?"

"Like how?"

"Like, if we can't get them for kidnapping, get them for evidence tampering. Find out who they are, what their holdings are, what they control -- and who."

"You're hoping Skinner can set up a task force or the like?"

She folded her arms defensively. "With or without Skinner's aid, I am going to solve my kidnapping. And the crimes related to it."

"Until now, you've never mentioned it except when events forced you to."

Another long breath. "At first it hurt too much even to think about. Then -- Finding the Allentown women . . . like getting hit with it all over again. Then learning that I, too, had the cancer. Then . . . Emily. No . . . never enough time between to . . . finish healing."

She pressed her folded arms tighter against her body. "But I -- I can't . . . I can't coddle myself any more. I -- Emily can't have been the only one; the technique is too . . . too polished. There must be others still out there. Maybe more of mine Maybe Penny's. No guessing how many from women I've never met. And the . . . the . . . host mothers -- how were they procured? Medical rape, Mulder. A -- a whole new form of sexual slavery.

"This -- this is my . . . quest, if you will. Make a case that an attorney can bring to court. No . . . chasing after ultimate, abstract truths. Just evidence; evidence of crimes committed. Solid evidence that will stand up."

"Am I allowed hunches?" he grinned.

She did not smile back. "Everyone has hunches. The test is what we do with them."

He gave over levity. "Where do we start?"

"Blevins." Her arms unfolded. 'And the chain of custody."

Again he reached for the ignition. The partners headed home.

VCMO Section
J E Hoover Bldg

Mulder dropped a stapled mass of papers on her desk. "Ed Daws. What's with you and guys named Eddie, Scully?"

"Who?" She reached for the papers. The name did sound familiar . . .

"We are due for the pleasure of his company in the next ten minutes -- on the other side of the building. Shall we hike?"

Scully grabbed her briefcase and hiked.

Conference Room
J E Hoover Bldg

The four men awaiting them were all of Skinner's generation. Two of them were stamped *Marine* as clearly as Skinner was, too. The man at the head of the table, just as clearly stamped "accountant" --

"Eyeshade!" said Scully -- then blushed crimson, both for calling the older man by his nickname and for blurting out what amounted to a confession that she had only just made the connection.

Agent Daws grinned, "Good of you to remember, Doc," and waved them toward the unoccupied seats. Agent Edward R. Daws, CPA. The Man in the Green Eyeshade -- and the best shot in the FBI.

"Eyeshade" introduced everyone all around, not forgetting "Doc" Scully's latest pistol scores. The ex-marines were Agents Jeffrey Fletcher and Martin Parks. The fourth, Agent Jake Randall, was quintessentially unremarkable, blending with the woodwork -- a useful knack in an investigator.

"As I understand it," Agent Daws began, "the documentary evidence went up with the rest of the X-Files. The backups are of course archive copies, non-admissible. The physical evidence had . . . departed the Bureau's custody . . . before the fire." He put his hand on a stack of folders. "Which leaves your reports to Assistant Director Skinner. He vouches for them as being in the same ballpark as the truth.

"So, Agents: Tell us about this Consortium."

*****

Author's Note:

See, Daws? We *can* name characters after you. *Nice* ones, even. Now: Where's chapter 11?

*****

Title - Quantico Mechanics
Spoilers - none
Keywords - none
Summary - all paperwork and no PT makes Fox a dull boy
Disclaimer - M&S belong to CC, the rest are mine

Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
10:30 a.m.

"Paperwork may be what brings down syndicates," Mulder told his partner, "but it brings down agents even faster. All paperwork and no exercise is going to send me right up the wall. Not to mention getting all but our sitting muscles atrophied."

"Quite right," said Ed Daws from the doorway behind him. "Eat a light lunch, we're going to Quantico this afternoon."

*****

FBI Academy
Quantico, VA
2:00 p.m.

At least they started with a run, to get unkinked from the ride. And Daws actually grinned and said, "Beanpoles set your own pace." Parks had a five-yard lead before Mulder shifted gears.

Steadily, he cut down Parks's lead, then drove ahead, not so much making a race of it as reaching for his cruising speed and the runner's high. It wasn't the other runners he was leaving behind, but paperwork and protocol, the pestiferous problems of a six-man team, with more to come in the indefinite future.

But he couldn't run away from his memory. Scully smiling at Daws, her almost shy gratitude for his "Thank you, Dana. You put these things very clearly." Thank you for spoon-feeding biotechnology to the head of the Task Force on Biotechnology. And she gave him that grateful smile and "Thank you, Sir."

-- How did Parks get ahead of him? Waving him to the side and the break in the fence. Next to the break, like railbirds at a race track, leaned the task force. Fletcher and Randall nibbled on grass stems. Scully brushed her nose with some wildflower, which she dropped as she came to check him over while he made up his oxygen debt. She handed him a bottle of some gaitor-clone or other. Never mind the label, he needed the electrolytes.

*****

2:30 p.m.

At the firing range, the task force studiously ignored their audience -- or rather, Daws and Scully's audience. ("Eyeshade" and "Doc," how original!)

Mulder looked up at a snort of laughter from Parks. Following the older man's gaze, he saw they were lined up by height: Scully, Daws, Randall, Fletcher, Mulder, Parks. He grinned back, and addressed himself to his target.

Actually, he was a pretty good shot, when he and the target were both standing still and no one was jogging his elbow. Not in Daws and Scully's class, but well above qualification. He grouped his shots nicely in the Q, every target, and retired from the range well satisfied.

Daws, Scully and the marines sat down to clean their guns; Randall and Mulder got the message and joined them.

*****

3:00 p.m.

He had begun to hope the afternoon really would be a pleasant break, but in Defensive Tactics his luck caught up with him. Mulder had always managed to avoid the martial-arts *schtick*, but Daws and Randall had both picked up Bo Fung Do in New York. No Oriental mysticism, thank goodness, but "physiokinesis" and the like were no improvement. And he might just write a monograph on the law enforcement cult of The Street.

He and Randall were sparring when he heard Daws say, "It won't do."

Looking over, he saw Daws hectoring -- no, be fair, he was not hectoring Scully. Just laying down the law. "You're a good enough shot to get away with unorthodox use of firepower, but for *any*one our size, street fighting *cannot* be sporting. It is a life-threatening emergency."

Scully stood to attention for her chewing-out like a good little marine -- or in her case, sailor. Daws clapped his hands and called, "Wolfpack!"

Fletcher and Parks both jumped Scully, with Randall a few seconds behind. Daws was looking for an opening when Mulder sledged him two-fisted under the ribs, sending him sprawling away from the fight. *You want The Street, you get The Street.* Fletcher was next to hand, and Mulder had dragged him off when Parks and Randall got Scully pinned and immobilized.

Daws halted the exercise, then turned to Mulder. "Might one ask why you intervened?"

"You want realism, you got it," the younger man snarled. On their precious *Street*, Scully would have had backup.

"Quite right." Daws pointed at Mulder and said, "Hostage." Fletcher grabbed him. Again Daws called "Wolfpack!"

This time Scully was better prepared, and had fewer opponents to deal with. She took down Randall and tried to dodge past Parks to aid Mulder, but no matter how she doubled and turned, he kept between her and the other group. Just then, he looked less like an ex-marine than an ex-Harlem Globetrotter.

Then Randall clipped her from behind, and once again the two pinned and immobilised her.

"No sport," Daws repeated earnestly. "Survival."

*And when Eddie Daws says 'Quite right' -- run for the hills.*

*****

Author's Note: Bo Fung Do is an actual martial arts form, taught by the Modern Warrior self-defense group in Lindenhurst, New York. Their home page is at http://www.mwarrior.com/ They list the FBI among their clients.

*****

Title - Full Circle
Spoilers - none
Keywords - Sk/other friendship
Summary - Welcome back to the fight
Disclaimer - they ain't mine, except Ed Daws

What if he'd just driven on when Skinner passed him, pausing just long enough to say, "Stay on my tail," did a quick K-turn behind him and then passed him again? It was an order, though; a lawful order from his superior, though not in his direct line of command. So he'd stayed on Skinner's tail through a set of maneuvers to see if anyone *else* was tailing them, just as they'd done years ago . . .

Sure enough, they'd headed down to the river, following Ohio Drive along East Potomac Park, toward the point. If Mister AD Skinner had thought nostalgia would make Daws more pliable, he was mistaken. It had brought back Supervisor Skinner pulling him off still another evidence-tampering case. Dropping it, closing it up, with some bullshit about the Big Picture.

"You have to understand, Ed --"

"That's *Agent Daws* to you. Sir." He'd fought clear up to the then AD of Criminal Investigation, but he hadn't got paranoid enough soon enough. The case was dead. The only gain had been the Skinner's masters by damn knew that Ed Daws was not for sale.

He'd shaken free of the bitter memories and pulled over behind Skinner's car. They'd gotten out and walked to the riverbank, staring out over the water as they had so many times in the past.

Skinner had said abruptly, "I need ten honest men."

"Diogenes couldn't find one."

"You may have been even more right than you realised. Accept that some people are expendable -- for the good of the country --

"'. . . and when they came for me," he'd quoted, "there was no one left to protest.'"

"I still have two, surprisingly enough, but they can't take down the bastards alone. It was all they could do to rescue me. They need backup."

"From you?"

"Others who deny that American citizens are expendable."

Exasperated: "Cut the cackle. Sir."

"A task force on biotechnology, everything except weapons and infringement.

It's certain to run afoul of . . . my erstwhile masters . . . and that will be the real point. It will be prepared and equipped to take on a criminal syndicate that operates behind impeccably legitimate fronts. It needs a leader, a creator, from Organised Crime. Who's demonstrated that he can't be intimidated and won't be bought."

"I won't be your stalking horse."

"Dana Scully spelled it out: Someone without connections to the Consortium. Someone who has worked cases of evidence tampering before. Someone who is either familiar with high tech, especially biotech, or willing to take the advice of those who are. And someone who will not allow himself to be persuaded that abusing American citizens is the way to protect America. She and Mulder need a team up to their own quality, but with more experience."

"'Doc,' hm?" He'd heard good things about her, besides her pistol scores. But she'd had less than ten years in the Bureau, not enough to build real pull. They could both be set up to fail. "And if the men I want are all for various impeccably legitimate reasons unavailable, will you have 'suggestions' for substitutes?"

"You'll have to sell it to them yourself, but I'll do whatever I can to remove any administrative obstacles."

"I want Martin Parks. I want Jake Randall. And I want what your masters have on you."

*****

Ed Daws shook his head and reached for the phone. The secretary -- no, they were office managers now -- rang him through.

"Skinner."

"In the current vernacular, Headquarters evidence security sucks."

"The point?"

"The Mall."

"Two o'clock." Click.

And at two o'clock the two were strolling the Mall, just as they had once strolled Central Park. Skinner finally said, "What makes you think they're not out here with zoom lenses?"

"If they are, it's because they already know anything they could learn from us today."

"Mm. You were saying."

"Your proteges take it for granted that physical evidence will grow legs and walk. And they don't seem to have heard of PGP encryption."

"It's illegal."

"It's the only thing that will keep the moles out. The physical side, though: My first thought was to switch our whole operation to the Field Office, but I'd rather not bring my old squad to this Consortium's attention."

"Do you really think the Field Office doesn't have moles?"

"It has anal-retentive clerks who make *every*one sign for *every*thing, and guard their records tooth and nail. You could do with a bunch of them. I could walk through HQ chanting 'National Security' and trash every record in the building."

"First they have to *get* the evidence to HQ."

"Yes, we have to field bigger and better organised teams --"

"How do you plan to organise Agent Mulder?"

"Handcuff him to a desk, if it comes to that. We'll certainly need an anchor, someone in the office to take faxes, interim field reports, and yells for help. And that someone will need a way to yell for help if anyone decides to cut the anchor. Some kind of silent alarm. In fact, we'll need independent surveillance of the office, 24/7. Especially if we can nab a few of these Men in Black, as your proteges call them, and start building a database."

"As to the technology, Agent Mulder has some civilian contacts he thinks well of. I'm not sanguine about involving civilians, no matter how competent they are technically."

"I think I know the ones he means. They're paranoid --"

"Mulder's paranoid, and he still goes off half-cocked."

"They know the technology, and the top names in the field; they're pretty top-name themselves. And they believe in Mulder's quest. They won't knowingly sabotage it."

"Back to square one. If we're going to keep evidence in the building, it has to be secure. And the chain of custody has to be secure. Anything else defeats the purpose of evidence."

"What do you want me to do?"

"*I* can't shake them up; I'm just an SSA. I want you to be my stalking horse, Walter."

*****

Author's Note: Agent Daws is of course quoting Pastor Martin Niemoeller of the German Confessing Church.

*****

Title - Civilain Contacts
Spoilers: F. emasculata, Memento Mori, Redux I/II, Xmas Carol/Emily
Keywords: alternate universe
Summary: underground meets undercover
Disclaimer: they ain't mine, except Jake the Snake and Eyeshade
OK, Dahlak, you asked for it.

One thing different, at least; instead of using her partner's tie as she'd threatened, Doc had bandaged his eyes, and camouflaged with chunky sunglasses. Now she tugged off the bandaging, and he got his first look at the lair of said civilian contacts.

The room, and two of the civilians, apparently fell into the "precision worker/personal slob" type, at least if Doc was right about their work. The tall one was more interesting. In that conservative suit, he should have stood out like a stiff -- that is, like a sore thumb, but somehow he blended.

The three in turn looked him over with undisguised hostility. He nodded, not offering to shake hands, and they reciprocated. All glanced sidelong at Doc and her lanky partner, who had clearly opted for Bystander Mode. Jake said carefully, "What kind of technology are we talking about?"

The three did know their chosen technology, both surveillance and encryption. And they were clearly torn between mistrust and a desire to show off. If they could be relied on, they might well be as valuable as Doc's partner thought they were.

The entire party ended up around a table while the civilians extolled the virtues of an office scanner that squealed for help if anyone tried to tamper with it. The shortest of them was now torn three ways, the third being his desire to get as close as possible to Doc, who ignored his maneuvering. Jake tried to do the same, out of respect for Doc's judgment, but it irked him.

"The only way to prevent a record being made," the tall one concluded, "is to destroy the log, which is kind of obvious in and of itself. If you check both each day, and the log says nobody's tampered with either, you're OK."

Doc's partner looked at him. Jake nodded. "Eyeshade always said that security clerks *should* be anal-retentive."

The civilians nodded in their turn. The shortest asked, "Who's Eyeshade?"

"Our supervisor, Ed Daws. You probably haven't heard of him, but he's the reigning expert on tracking laundered money. Every good cop respects the chain of custody; Eyeshade has this *thing* about it. Comes of dealing with the reigning experts in evidence tampering and witness intimidation."

Everyone nodded that time, including Doc and her partner. Jake went on, "When you've re-checked your security, gentlemen, we can discuss policy." The tall one and the short one did a round of the battlements, so to speak, while the long-haired one kept his eyes on Jake.

When they were all gathered again at the table, Jake laid it out. "The syndicate we know as the Consortium falls under the purview of the new Task Force on Biotechnology. Specifically, the companies you have dealt with in the past -- Pinck, Lombard, TransGen and Rousch -- are a legitimate part of our new beat. But we're playing under different rules, now. We are not about to endanger civilian bystanders, and This Means You."

He silenced their protest with an upraised hand. "There are rules on the employment of civilian contacts, and there are accepted bendings of these rules. The slightest step outside that line can be used to sabotage any case we build against the Consortium. We are not dealing with stupidity on the review boards, but with malice. The only thing we can legitimately request is your legitimate experience and expertise.

"The task force is at home to walk-in sources, but we must assume that such sources are compromised -- at the very least, known to the Consortium or to its minions in the intelligence or law enforcement communities. We must regard such information, essentially, as a chance to catch the Men in Black in action."

He hammered it home, not just to the civilians: "That means nobody works alone, no matter what the source demands. Backup can be overt or covert, but will always be there. No member of the task force works without it."

Title - Curiosites
Spoilers - Humbug, Small Potatoes
Keywords - none
Summary - Ed Daws reviews an old X-File or two.
Disclaimer - they ain't mine; except Ed Daws and Mandy
Blame Dahlak; she's the one who said there was more to Ed Daws than I wrote.

Hoover Building
Friday afternoon

Supervisor Ed Daws closed the file drawer marked "Curiosities of Nature" and opened "Human Curiosities." He wondered briefly if Dana Scully was being Politically Correct or just professionally formal in using "curiosities" instead of "freaks," then forgot the matter as he selected the files he would take home with him. Dana would have to brief him on the medical details, but the cases in outline were clear even to a layman. As clear as the need for those who would enforce laws on biological engineering to be familiar with Mother Nature's oddities.

There would be no trouble justifying Dana's appointment to the Task Force on Biotechnology. Her partner would take serious defending; in five years, she had never gotten through to him that unusual, even unprecedented, did *not* mean unearthly or unnatural. Though he had reversed himself on little green -- no, it was grey -- men, he was no more restrained in attitude. Now the problem was his penchant for attributing to malice what was quite adequately explained by stupidity.

Adams Morgan
Friday evening

Daws pushed away his plate and poured another cup of coffee. X-Files were hardly dinnertable topics, but his meals at home had long since become mere refueling.

Sipping the coffee, he thought about Leonard, the possibly innocent killer of Gibsonton, doomed by the death of his twin. Had he even realised that he was killing? Had he known no other way to approach people, except as he approached his brother? And the question that was probably unanswerable from the beginning: did Lanny hit the bottle before or after he felt that Leonard had rejected him?

There was another sideshow case, or . . . He riffled through the files. No, sideshow background. Van Blundht, Senior. Evidently, Junior agreed with that chap in Gibsonton . . . Here it was: "convinced me that to make a living by publicly displaying my deformity lacked dignity. So now I carry other people's luggage."

He returned to the Van Blundht file. When he got as far as, "Hypothetically, what's the harm?" he slammed it shut hard enough that it slid across the table, disgorging a fan of papers.

Honest wives duped into letting a stranger into their bodies. Longed-for children turned into changelings. And imposing on that poor deranged woman--! For that matter, leaving his children dependent on men who knew them for an intruder's. "Hypothetically, if I were a garbage can, I wouldn't want to be seen with you."

He realised he was rubbing his thumb against his ring. Mandy had wanted children so much. Of course their problem wasn't infertility per se . . . The old grief rose once more, purged now of guilt. He hadn't been there. She knew the bad guys didn't keep business hours, and she'd been prepared, but . . . He hadn't been there.

He pushed the papers back into the file any-which-way, then took his used dishes to the sink.

Glenwood Cemetery
Saturday morning

On impulse, he brought flowers to Mandy and the girls. Mandy always liked wildflowers better than hothouse exotics.

He told her about the neighborhood goings-on, and the doings of their niece and nephews. He did not mention the rapist; that was not something Mandy should hear about. He did tell her about Walt; she'd always liked him.

"I think he really has come back. Of course they have something on him, likely more than one. He does seem to be trying to make sure they can't take us with him. Those youngsters of his . . . They've been to hell and back, Mandy, and yet in some ways they're still so naive . . ."

At last he straightened the flowers and stood to go. "Sleep well, darlings."

Hoover Building
Saturday afternoon

Talking to Mandy had always cleared his head. There was nothing to be done that someone wasn't already doing, but he would do no harm by checking things out. At least as far as he could from D.C. -- with a little help from his cyber-friends.

All the families were still together, and still living in Martinsburg. The deranged young woman was still dotty, but had been judged fit to raise her baby. Two of the husbands had formally adopted their wives' children. All the kids had already shown varying degrees of "rubber face," but only one seemed to have inherited the complete capability. That one was already getting counseling, but whether it would overcome the sociopathy that went with it --

No, that was unfair. Their grandfather had led a decent life, using his ability only to entertain.

Adams Morgan
Saturday evening

Ed sorted and re-ordered the papers in the Van Blundht folder, adding his own unofficial checkup at the end. He saw Dana had made an addendum after handing in her report.

• fortunate that Agent Mulder was not delayed. Fighting off Van Blundht while thinking him to be my partner would have been traumatic.

  Van Blundht's technique owes more to Dale Carnegie than to Ovid. Since he knows nothing of the husbands' businesses or activities, he cannot discuss them. Instead, he draws out the wives about their own affairs, encouraging them to talk about themselves and their own interests. He listens, he focuses on them. It must have felt like being courted all over again.

A heavy tick here on the margin. That must have gotten to Walt. "Where do I get the hunch that Mulder has never read this?" he murmured. Well, youth is self-curing.

Isn't it?

Title - The Man in the Green Eyeshade
Spoilers: Tunguska/Terma, F. emasculata, 731, Xmas Carol/Emily
Keywords: Scully/Skinner/other friendship
Summary: Ed Daws takes the stand
Disclaimer: thay ain't mine, except Ed Daws and the Task Force
Dahlak says it's readable . . . well, didn't say it's UNreadable . . .

"Isn't Agent Mulder coming?"

"He has something to chase down, sir. He'll rely on our reporting."

Skinner raised his eyebrows and drew breath to speak further, but it escaped him in a wordless sigh as their eyes locked. He seated her beside him. She knew they were both remembering a hearing before this same subcommittee, less than two years ago.

Supervisory Special Agent Edward R. Daws identified himself and swore to tell the truth in a clear, carrying voice. She admired his poise, respectful and self-respectful -- a veteran of trials and hearings past counting.

"Tell us about your current assignment, Agent Daws."

"At present, I head the cadre of the Task Force on Biotechnology."

"And just what is that cadre doing?"

"At present, rigging scaffolding, chasing down administrative glitches -- the preliminary paperwork that always takes longer than you expect it to. We shall be operational before the end of the calendar year. Our target date is the beginning of the fiscal year."

"And when you *are* finally operational," weighed in another senator, "just what will you *do*?"

*I remember you, Senator.* She was unlikely to forget his badgering, or the jail time she had done as a result. Senator Where-is-Agent-Mulder clearly expected to make as short work of Ed Daws.

But Ed Daws spoke firmly, respectfully, and informatively: "Both the public and legal response to the news of successful cloning and of embryonic stem cells shows severe disarray. We are going to investigate the criminal effects and criminal uses of biotechnology, developing methods to combat them and advice for future legislation."

"Isn't that already *being* done? by your agency among others?"

"We will of course need a thorough background in bioweapons and bioterrorism, but our concern is what one might call the civil and commercial side. We do not expect much in the way of overlap, except possibly illegal contractors. Similarly, we can expect some overlap with economic espionage, but we will be working the more . . . physical side of intellectual infringement."

"Are you a biotechnician, Agent Daws?"

"Oh, no. No, CPA."

"And why put a CPA in charge of a Biotechnology task force?"

"Biotechnology is not something you can hang on your wall. We can expect to encounter ostensibly legitimate businesses, such as are common in organised crime."

The Senator did not care to go further into that. "And is anyone covering the biotechnological aspect?"

"Special Agent Dana Scully."

*Yes, you remember that name, Senator.*

"And what are Miss Scully's qualifications?"

"*Agent* Scully -- or in this case we might say *Doctor* Scully -- has encountered both bioengineering and natural biological curiosities in the course of her various investigations. She is also very good at explaining things to CPAs and other laymen."

"Then why isn't *Agent* Scully in charge?"

"I asked that myself. She's never been assigned to any permanent group larger than her partner and herself. Nothing at all larger than a SWAT team. This assignment will plug that hole in her experience; in a few years, she should be quite formidable."

The exchange gave her a feeling of empowerment she couldn't explain; after all, she was only a witness to it.

"And the rest of the cadre?" Senator Answer-the-Question to the rescue of his hunting mate.

"Special Agent Fox Mulder is a forensic psychologist. He will be primarily working to psych out the opposition's tactics and strategy. Special Agent Martin Parks is a lawyer, specialising in civil rights and national security. He is a two-time whistleblower, upheld both times. If anyone can keep us honest, he can. Special Agent Jeffrey Fletcher is a veteran field investigator, with a wide range of experience in Violent Crimes and Major Offenders. He has never yet lost a partner in the field. Special Agent Jake Randall is a veteran of organised crime investigation. He is cautious and painstaking without being rigid, known for keeping his priorities straight."

*We needn't tell them about "Jake the Snake's" undercover reputation, do we, sir?* Not that they or their masters couldn't find out, but if it never occurred to anyone to look, so much the better.

Daws continued, "By the time we go operational, we shall have added a specialist in patent law, a computer expert or two, a couple of lab technicians and the like. Selecting and recruiting them is part of our present administrative go-round."

"And what, *specifically*, do you plan to accomplish?"

"To begin with, most of our work will be with the effects of biotechnology on what might be called 'traditional' crime: the misuse or abuse of biotechnological tools, how things like malpractice or negligence look when biotechnology is involved. In time, we will be able to concentrate more on purely biotechnological crimes."

"*Specifics*, Agent Daws?"

*Now we come to it.* Could Ed Daws justify the task force without letting these minions of the Consortium in on their strategy?

"Consider the Tuskeegee experiments; American citizens used as lab animals without their knowledge, much less consent."

"That won't happen again," broke in another senator she didn't remember.

"That scenario won't, because everyone will be on the lookout for it. But the attitude behind it is still very much alive: the view that some people are expendable for the benefit of others. Not just in Nazi concentration camps or Axis Japan's Unit 731, but right here in America. All it takes is a decision-maker short on ethics and a vulnerable group without a defender.

"The obvious one is of course prisoners. We accept offering the chance to repay their social debt by taking a medical risk; if someone with a new bug to test doesn't bother to ask for volunteers, who's going to defend the rights of a bunch of convicted felons? Mix something in their food, dust something into the ventilation system, or infect a single inmate and watch how it spreads."

*My God, he's baiting them!* Three senators reacted. *Check them for Pinck-o holdings.* She was learning to think in terms of corporate linkages -- and her sense of humor was getting as bad as Mulder's.

Ed Daws didn't let up on them. "And there are others: the homeless; the insane; and as with Tuskeegee, the indigent ill. Without the flag of racism, you might get away with it for some time."

"We get the picture, Agent Daws." Senator Answer-the-Question didn't like the answers he was getting.

"Yes, sir," said Daws, and turned the page in front of him. "There is also the recent experiments with embryonic cells. The NIH put together some very thoughtful guidelines, but with the Federal government prohibited from engaging in such work, who's going to apply them? Again, we accept infertile couples donating "spare" ova from in vitrio efforts -- what if a dishonest tech pockets a few without asking? Fertilise them with a genetic donor of his own choice, perhaps someone with a genetic disease, in reversal of screening? A faithful wife might have a child she was never aware of, by a man she never met."

She must have moved or stiffened; Skinner gripped her shoulder briefly.

"And just what will you be *doing* about all this?" Senator Where-is-Agent-Mulder broke in.

"Of course the presence of patented organisms will be something of a giveaway, though we can expect counterfeit organisms eventually. We will also try to define signatures, either idiosyncratic or at least narrowing the field. We will of course be consulting with the Centers for Disease Control and the Federal Emergency Management Agency, among others. And there will be whistle-blowers, as there were at Tuskeegee; nobody listened in the Sixties; we intend to listen."

*They don't have to hear about forensic archaeology, either.* Just now, she and Parks were studying Geological Survey maps of the area around Perkey, West Virginia, while reading up on the Disappeared -- and the men who found burial sites no one was meant to find.

Senator Answer-the-Question still didn't like the answers. "And your enviable command of all this information results from briefings by your cadre?"

"Yes, sir. It's been quite an education, in both directions."

"Have you brought us transcripts of those briefings, Agent Daws?"

"The briefings themselves are classified," he said slowly, apparently thinking aloud, "but there's no reason you can't subpoena transcripts." He nodded pensively. "Of course the question-and-answer sessions have yet to be transcribed, but we can get hardcopy of the presentations to you as soon as you get us the paperwork to secure the chain of custody."

*You don't like that, do you, Senators?* She was still in that inexplicable exhilaration of empowerment.

*So what IS it about me and guys named Ed?*

Title - Mea Culpa
Spoilers - Piper Maru, F. emasculata
Keywords - Sc/Sk friendship, Sk/other friendship
Summary - Which side are you on?
Disclaimer - Scully and Skinner belong to the Surfer Tease; Moby Dick belongs to Herman Melville and his heirs; the War Prayer belongs to Sam Clemens and his heirs; the closing quotation belongs to the Duke of Wellington; Ed Daws is mine

*That makes sense.* He knew that voice . . . *Ed Daws.* "Ed, why can't I see?"

"Your eyes are bandaged."

"I figured that much!"

"Sir, you're awake!" came another voice. *Scully*. Something rattled at the foot of his -- bed? *Reading my chart*. "Do you remember anything of what happened?"

*What happened? The garage!* "Someone accosted me in the garage. About a head shorter, caucasion, dark hair, no facial hair, no distinguishing marks I could see. Dark work clothes. Mentioned the Task Force, gave me a bad case of deja vu; took me back to when I tried to re-open your sister's case."

Scully caught her breath. "They shot you, that time."

"So I didn't want to wait around this time. No such luck, the guy sprayed me in the face. Stung like hell, and everything went blurry. Then someone took me from behind; choke hold. The one I could see started punching me in the gut. I was starting to get dizzy when the one behind loosened the choke hold to start kidney-punching. Then it all went black."

Ed gripped his forearm. "I've seen more competent workings over. You were lucky."

"Slight bruising of the kidney," Scully specified, "should heal up fine. Slight internal bleeding, already fixed. No fractures. Doesn't look like any permanent damage to your eyes -- so long as you don't mess with the bandages!"

"When can I go home?"

He felt breath on his cheek; Scully must be leaning close. A TV set blared, then quieted slightly; still loud enough to drown soft voices. Breath on his other cheek, Ed was leaning close, too.

Scully took it. "Agent Mulder and his friends are at your place, sweeping for bugs. They're sweeping, he's packing you a travel kit. When he sends them home, they'll drop it at my place on their way, and then they will hole up and not squeek. Agents Mulder and Randall will play reception committee.

"Meanwhile, you will be a nice, cooperative patient, and get dischanged to my care today. We go to my place to eat, pick up your kit and mine, and wait as long as necessary to reach the safe house at dusk. Agents Fletcher and Parks are presently assembling the guard detail that Agent Daws has picked, and the place should be ready by then. When we arrive, you turn in; you *must* get enough sleep."

It did not really appeal. "I'd rather go home."

Ed: "Sorry, that's not an option. Either a safe house, or stay in the hospital. And the safe house is easier to guard."

*****

For a wonder, it all worked. Not such a wonder; Ed Daws planned things to the hilt. After a loose cannon like Mulder, Scully must find Ed a vacation. The only problem was more of an intimation: eating blind was a knack Walter had yet to acquire. With her usual perception, Scully fixed them finger food and served his soup in a mug.

At breakfast in the safe house, eating in front of an audience was solved by Walter and Scully eating early. He knew better than to ask Scully to leave him unattended, and he found he didn't mind knowing she watched him fumble about. She was in Doctor Mode, and had seen worse. They relenquished the kitchen to the day shift and settled in the front room.

"Not much in the way of soothing music," she said, and put on something classical-sounding. "Nice little library, though. Mark Twain, Frederick Douglass -- Moby Dick!" She sounded like someone unexpectedly meeting a friend.

"Since I can't read any of them -- "

"I'll read to you. There is a team of agents prowling around with eyes peeled and gun hands twitching, to keep the place secure; my job is to keep you healthy, and that includes sane."

He threw up his hands. "I surrender. I gather you like Moby Dick."

"My favorite," she admitted bashfully. As if Special Agent Doctor Dana Katherine Scully could be bashful.

"I never had the time to tackle it. But I guess time is what I have most of just now."

She fussed over him a bit before settling down.

"'Call me Ishmael. Some years ago--never mind how long precisely . ..'"

She read well. He pictured Margaret Scully listening to her children read their lessons aloud, a comforting image, then let the narrative draw him in.

He had no idea how long he'd been listening when Scully broke off. There was a *click*, as of a tray on a table, and she asked "What's that, Sir?" in her normal voice.

Ed answered. "Buttermilk. To treat, or better still prevent, Performer's Throat. If you can't stand the taste, just chug it and use the iced tea for a chaser."

"Thank you, Sir. I'll manage."

"You've managed to keep Walter quiet for half the morning." His footsteps approached Walter, and there came another *click* next to his elbow.

"Some credit to Melvile," Walter said, reaching out a careful hand. It found a tall, cold glass. "Do you know, Agent Scully, your voice drops half an octave when you read aloud?"

He heard a smile in her voice. "I always hear my father reading it to me."

"That could explain it."

Ed's footsteps retreated to the kitchen.

"I wonder if something without association . . ." God knew why he was doing silly experiments, except that Melville went best in small chunks. "Did you say they've got Mark Twain here?"

"Yes, Sir." A sound of moving about. "The posthumous works."

"Some of them are pretty salty."

"Uhm. Here's 'the War Prayer'."

He nodded. Again, the sounds of settling down.

"'It was a time of great and exalting excitement.'" She sounded self-conscious at first, then settled into the narrative -- in her normal vocal range.

Then she came to the War Prayer itself: "'. . . help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds . . .'" Again that drop in pitch, and then a slow rise, not in volume, but intensity: "'. . . help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief . . .'"

*Ed argued with that same intensity: "They'll destroy you, Walt." That same quiet passion, right to the end . . . "That's Agent Daws to you -- Sir."*

Had she finished? There was silence. Then a troubled, "Sir?"

He put out a hand. She took it in both of hers.

"Can you trust me, Agent Scully?"

"You've bled for the cause."

"No. No, I've bled for turning my coat. Double-crossing my *benefactors*. Ed told me it was a mistake to go management. He was right."

"There are true conversions. True changes of heart. Wasn't Earl Warren involved in the internment of Japanese-Americans in World War Two? Twenty years later, he was a champion of the civil rights movement."

"It hasn't been twenty years. It hasn't been ten." For some reason, he had to catch his breath. "I keep remembering that Pinck Pharmaceuticals case, the bug with the obscene name . . ."

"Faciphagia emasculata."

"That one. That insultingly flimsy cover-up. Right, they shipped infectious material FedEx, no precautions, and they *accidentally* sent it to an address that was obviously a prison. With any kind of backing, you could have smashed right through it. I remember how furious you were, knowing you'd lost what you should have won. They didn't have to be convincing; they had me on a leash."

She stroked his arm, and spoke slowly, seriously. "That it happened in the past . . . does matter. But it matters more that it not happen in the future."

"It won't. If they eliminate me I won't be around to back you up. But until I get jailed -- or assassinated -- I'll be there." He gripped the hand that still held his. "Listen: If I do get jailed, or assassinated, stick with Ed Daws. And tell him . . ." He felt his mouth curve in a humorless smile. "Tell him that I said: 'Publish and be damned'."

Title - Guys Named Ed
Rating - R for some disturbing content and verbal violence
Spoilers - Anasazi, Blessing Way, Apocrypha, Tunguska/Terma, Paper Hearts, the End
Keywords - M/S friendship, prison rape
Summary - Ed Daws is shot from ambush; who had motive -- besides Fox Mulder?
Disclaimer - they ain't mine, except for the Task Force, the Organised Crime Squad, and the extras

*****

Author's Notes:
The Washington Metropolitan Field Office is entirely distinct from FBI Headquarters. They are housed in different buildings. More comprehensive explanation follows the story.
You might want to imagine Agent Carol Dixon playued by CCH Pounder.

*****

Line 'em up. Okaaay, now, squeeeze . . . BOOM! Down he goes -- Oh, shit! he's still moving! Line 'em up again . . . squeeeze . . . BOOM! Damn! he's under cover. Can't wait. Get going, or get caught. Go!

Washington Metropolitan Field Office
Criminal Division
Organized Crime Squad
Memorial Building, Washington DC
Tuesday morning

Supervisory Special Agent Johnston began the briefing. "Someone ambushed Ed Daws on his doorstep." He tapped a Metropolitan Police folder on the table in front of him. "MPD is making nice; on the off chance that it's a syndicate hit, they're doing the main investigation but co-operating with ours. A neighbor who heard the shots called Metropolitan Police, and there was a team close at hand. They didn't get the assassin, but they found what was probably the weapon: a partially disassembled Remington 700 --" he waved them silent "-- the barrel missing. Well-kept, hadn't been lying out there for long. Forensic team found a bullet that apparently went through his leg and hit the wall; forget trying for a match."

He tapped another folder. "EMTs took him to Howard University emergency room, where the team dug the other bullet out of his shoulder; that one is in good enough shape for comparison. The team was more worried about the leg. The bullet exposed the femoral aterial bundle. If it had done more than expose it, he'd've bled out before help could arrive. They got him sewed up and stabilised, but he still hasn't reganied consciousness.

"Working out the angle of the wounds puts the gunman on a roof. MPD's combing the best possible sites. They're also keeping an eye out for that missing barrel. Meanwhile, we've got out end of it: who has reason to want Ed Daws dead?

Tom Lindstrom got in first. "That's a hunting rifle. Not likely to be a mob hit."

Carol Dixon agreed. "By now they know Ed's been pulled off the squad, and there was never any particular grudge."

Minkowski put in, "Too sloppy to be a contract hit. And no one that Ed put away has gotten out recently."

"How recent is recent?" said Carol. "A lot of people he put away weren't gunmen when they went in. They'd have had to wait until they got out to get a gun and learn to use it."

"You're seriously suggesting that some embezzler --"

"--after years in one of the top criminal schools we call prisons, may have persuaded a wolf to teach him the tricks of the trade. Or maybe a punk listened to his jock chewing the fat with other jocks."

None of them liked that last. What, they thought *any*one these days was ignorant of prison rape and hooking up?

"Reaching, said Johnston. "Really reaching."

"We have to reach on this one. As Mink says, no contract killer would do such a sloppy job, no convict with reason to resent Daws has gotten out in the past year. And if there's anything in his personal life to give anyone a motive, it's buried deep."

Tom laughed mirthlessly. "If we're going for 'extreme possibilities'," with quotation in his voice, "maybe someone was out to blow his cover. It seems he told his neighbors the exact but misleading truth: he's a CPA, and he works for the Justice Department."

Kevin O'Bannion snorted. "Isn't that enough dog and pony show? What about this task force?"

Johnston picked up a hearing transcript. "Clearly, there is one hell of a political connection. Before the task force is up to strength, let alone ready to take the field, a senate subcomittee hauls Ed up and tries to intimidate him." Snorts all around. "Then, by some strange coincidence, AD Skinner is assaulted, and while he's recovering, Daws plays bodyguard."

"He *is* the best shot in the Bureau," Tom offered.

O'Bannion snorted again. "the whole task force played bodyguard. And don't forget, right up to the time he left us, Daws never so much as mentioned Skinner's name. Whatever that was, it went deep."

Carol shook he head. "If anyone can put away his personal feelings to save a life, it's Ed Daws. Whether or not they were reconciled, if someone put it to him that he was the best man for the job --"

"Save the hair-splitting," said O'Bannion. "The most likely place to look for motive is this task force."

More like a covert ops team," mused Minkowski, studying the folder. "Two not-so-ex-Marines, an undercover op, the Bureau's top marksman, a forensic pathologist with a minor in field trauma --"

As he hesitated, Tom finished, "-- and a certified nutcase."

Mink looked his inquiry.

"I worked with Spooky Mulder once. Not official partners, thank God, but I had to cope with him for a month."

"He's been partnered with this Agent Scully for some years now."

"Either a saint or soft in the head. Maybe both."

Supervisor Johnston cut in. "In that case, perhaps Carol should handle Agent Mulder. You can divide up the rest of the task force however you like."

FBI Headquarters
Criminal Investigative Division
Task Force on Biotechnology
Hoover Building, Washington DC
Tuesday afternoon

The remaining Task Force was gathered around a table full of folders, apparently trying to get on with their work. Evidently not doing to great a job; they were talking worriedly, in low voices. Carol introduced herself and Tom; one of the older men, Agent Parks, introduced the group.

"We're sorry to interrupt your work . . ."

"It's already interrupted," said the lanky young man who turned out to be Agent Mulder. "And we're come up with the obvious: a syndicated hit, or someone he put away."

The woman, Agent Scully, asked, "Have you run up against an international syndicate specialising in biotechnology?"

"Mobs want a finger in everything, but specialising? No."

Tom added, "International organised crime is mostly ethnic gangs with a modus vivendi."

"In that case, you haven't met the Consortium. We expect to run afoul of them once we're in the field -- which will be soon," she added with a wave at the folders on the table. Personnel folder, now carol got a look at them. "They surely expect the same. It would do little good simply to remove Supervisor Daws, but it would be very useful for them to replace him with someone they own."

"Someone -- in the *Bureau*?"

The lanky Mulder folded his arms behind his head. "The late Section Chief Blevins took orders from the Consortium's top enforcer."

Carol cut in, "Let's get this organised, shall we? With five of you and only two of us, getting all the facts down is going to take a while. Agent Mulder, why don't you and I find a quiet room somewhere?"

Parks said, "There's not a lot of choices. Why don't you use the Supervisor's office, and Agent Lindstrom use the cubby? It's over here," he addressed Tom directly, leading the way and effectively selecting himself as first interview. Rather than waste time in dominance displays, the Field Office agents followed his advice without discussion.

There were two chairs in front of the desk, and by unspoken consent, they did not jockey for the one behind it. "How well do you know Ed?"

"Not all that well. I know he and AD Skinner worked Fraud together, 'way back when, and he was Jake's -- Agent Randall's case agent a couple of times, working undercover for Organised Crime. He plans everything to within an inch of its life, and he's as well known for tracking laundered money as for his marksmanship. Oh, and he doesn't like rock, but thinks Elvis is a good citizen. And when he says, 'Quite right,' it's time to duck."

Organized Crime Squad
Memorial Building
Wednesday morning

They gathered once again in the conference room. Johnston had an update from MPD. "Seems one of the Friends of Meridian Hill spotted some trash in the cascade fountain. She started to pull it out when she realised it was a rifle barrel. She quite sensibly left it where it was and called MPD. No fingerprints, not even the finder's. But it hadn't been there long, and it's a match for the bullet dug out of Ed Daws. Probable match for the partly disassembled rifle they found near the scene."

He dropped the folder and picked up a fax sheet. "The rifle was part of a warehouse heist in Pennsylvania, one of the very few hunting rifles that apparently got mixed in by mistake. The only one of those few that's turned up as a crime weapon."

He put that sheet into the folder and picked up another. "Who asked for the prison-release search to go back an extra year? Dixon?" She nodded, and he slid the sheet over to her. "Follow it up in your copious free time. What have you got on the task force?"

"My money is on Mulder," said Tom.

"The shouting match?" Carol asked. "Mulder himself played it down, of course, and neither Randall nor Fletcher were within earshit at the time, but both of them discount the stories going the rounds of the Hoover Building. Randall compares them to a childhood game of 'Telephone'."

"Parks *was* in earshot, but all he could make out clearly was Mulder shouting 'We don't even *have* the X-Files any more, and you're still trying to separate us,' and Daws telling him to be quiet. After than they kept their voices down."

He leaned forward. "I still get some of the gossip from Violent Crimes, and time and again I hear how she covers his ass -- hell, she did jail time for him! -- or goes charging out to hellangone to pick up the pieces. Now, Parks told me, and I'm sure Fletcher and Randall told you, about this 'you and me against the world' they both used to have. Mulder still has it; Scully is part of the Task Force. Parks also mentioned how Scully just drinks up Ed's praise. Like a desert plant. And if you get Agent Scully going on Ed, she focuses on how wonderfully well he *listens.*

"Ed's a good leader. We all know that."

"And Mulder must be a piss-poor one, the way Agent Scully is bowled over by Ed's style. Five years of fanatical devotion to Spooky and the X-Files, and she's toatlly *un*used to being listened to, never mind praised."

"That's still not a motive."

"It is to a paranoid. They don't horsetrade; either you agree completely, or you're one of THEM. And she no longer agrees completely. Never mind that it was her idea to call in Organized Crime experts in the first place; she thinks somebody else's way is the way to go."

"Does Parks suspect Mulder?" Johnston asked.

"He didn't say aye, yes or no. He never does until he's sure."

Carol put in, "Fletcher's reputation is more reliable than clever, but Randall had to be good at sizing people up, to survive under cover. He agrees with you that professional jealousy is more likely than sexual, but he can't see Mulder as a killer from ambush."

Johnston persisted. "Who *do* they all suspect?"

"A syndicate they know as 'the Consortium.' I asked why a syndicate would hire such a poor shot. According to Agent Mulder, assassination from hiding is not the Consortium's strong point. A couple of their killers got Agent Scully's sister instead of her. One of them with another partner shot AD Skinner point-blank, and he recovered. And when they tried to off their own top enforcer, he was back in the field within a year."

O'Bannion snorted. "The original gang that can't shoot straight."

"Exactly what I said. To which *he* said that what they *are* good at is making evidence disappear. And to them, a failed assassin is just so much incriminating evidence."

"So they figure that if this Consortium hired the shooting, they've killed the shooter?"

Johnston said, "Not from ambush, presumably.. Anything else?"

Carol and Tom looked at each other. Carol instinctively lowered her voice. "They are convinced that this Consortium has people inside the Bureau."

"What!?!?" the others cried in near-unison.

Tom said, just as softly, "They think it possible that one or more of us are." His gesture included the entire table. "It doesn't seem to bother them as long as Daws is still alive. They'd be doing watch and watch in his hospital room, except they realise that they're suspects, too. So they're leaving it to Skinner."

Johnston recovered his composure. "This needs more thought. Any further bombshells?" At Carol and Tom's headshakes, he went on to O'Bannion. "Anything new from AD Skinner?"

"You know, he just might agree with the task force. Didn't say so, but he *did* say that he hasn't been able to catch anyone reacting funny, or as if they expected a slot to be opening up. Aside from that, just more 'When are you or MPD going to nail the bastard?'"

OCS
Wednesday afternoon

The voice on the phone had one hell of a New England twang. "What can the Williamsport Resident Agency do for the Washington Field Office?"

"Gossip about your neighbors," said Carol. "We have a shooting with a rifle, and a shortage of suspects with both motive and means. One with possible motive got out of USP Lewisburg back in '96, so it's cerain he knows more about crime than he did going in."

"Tell us about it."

"Right. Now, I can guess how this chap survived, but it's not my business to pry. My only concern is whether he made any connections that would give him tips while he was inside, or arm him once he got out."

"Understood."

"The name is Phil Gunn, did ten years for fraud plus obstruction and --

"What the hell was he doing in Lewisburg?"

"Freaked out when they came for him. Tried to brain the arresting agents."

"Oh, shit."

"Three years, maybe, if he hadn't resisted arrest. Five or six if he'd assaulted anyone but A Federal Officer Engaged in Official Duties. Of course, aggravated assault would have put him in the pen for those five or six, so it's kind of moot. Anyway: who did he associate with; are any of those associates out; and could any of those associates have recommended a gun dealer?"

OCS
Thursday morning

Carol shook her head. "What have you got? A time window that just barely works, an itinerary that practically doesn't, a motive that any law student could tear into shreds -- This is the kind of case that gives 'circumstantial' a bad name."

"The motive is not flimsy, Carol. The man is a time bomb; he's escalating. A couple of years ago he put a choke hold on a militiaman in his cell; then there was Roche, both slugging him and taking him on an outing; and while he'd been drugged without his knowledge when he assaulted Skinner a few years ago, he *wasn't* drugged when he assaulted Spender last spring. It takes less and less to set him off."

"Those were all impulsive acts. If you want to argue that he needs treatment before he kills someone in the heat of the momeknt, I'd say you had a case. But not for shooting from ambush -- that could hardly be more premeditated."

"Again, you're neglecting the paranoia. Over time, the amorphous THEM becomes a specific enemies list, and eventual striking 'back' at people who never posed any rational threat."

"It's a theory, but where's the evidence?"

Thirty minutes and no progress later, the phone rang. Carol picked up. "Dixon."

"Looking for a nice gossip?" came a heavy New England twang.

"From you, Sugah, any time," Carol came back with honeysuckle.

"For most of his time, your Mr. Gunn was hooked up with a jock named Carl Mansfield, doing ten to fifteen for armed robbery and aggravated assault. He's still in Lewisburg. Of his known associates who were out when Gunn got out, the only one likely to sell a rifle to an unknown is one Arthur Parsons, who will sell anything to anyone.

"About a year and a half ago, he sold a rifle to a hunter who practically crippled one of his party with it. In the course of the write-up, the klutz mentioned what a bargain he got on the rifle, a mark-down that would tell any sensible man it had to be stolen, but the sheriff says the guy really is that dense.

"Anyway, the rifle was from a warehouse heist two years ago."

"Wait one!" cried Carol, and put the call on speaker while she scrabbled in the case folder. "Mostly automatics, just a few hunting rifles?"

"Which they unloaded on Parsons. Of course he claims that was the only one he ever had in stock, and nobody's been able to prove he had or sold any more, but nobody doubts it, either. Why, is that where yours came from?"

Sure enough, the serial numbers checked. The unnamed klutz had bought another of the same lot. Williamsport faxed the data, and both sides hung up with many mutual compliments.

Tom broke in on her admiration of the fax. "OK, you've got someone totally unrelated to your suspect tied to the weapon. Now what?"

"Now leg work. He had to learn how to use that weapon. He's bound to have left some trace."

"Did someone say 'circumstantial'?"

"So far. Evidence is what we have to get."

Woodley Park
Washington DC
Saturday evening

Carol slammed the car door, jiggled the handle to be sure it locked, and turned toward the apartment building when the voice came.

"Freeze, bitch!" He stepped out of the shadows, handgun pointed at her. No chance to draw her own weapon. "I know you carry. Take it out -- *slowly*."

She obeyed.

"Set it down. Kick it away."

Again she obeyed, sliding it toward the shadows.

"You take it in the ass, bitch?"

"My man doesn't go for that."

"You got a man, cop-bitch? That partner who trots after you while you run around asking 'have you seen this man'? You ever let him on top? 'Cause you're nothing but a pain in the ass to me, cop-bitch."

"Good connections," she said, trying for a rueful admiration.

"You make it easy, cop-bitch. Ain't nobody likes a ball-bustin' nigger wench."

"I didn't rape you, Mr. Gunn. Neither did Ed Daws."

"He put me in line for it. And you're not putting me back."

Get him off that topic. "Why a rifle?" Keep him talking. "Kind of expensive, and we know you were never in the military."

"Think I'm gonna shoot it out with Mr. Wild West Show? That's what the big bastard said after the Little Fuckin' Sharpshooter got my arm. 'This isn't the Wild West Show. Center of mass, remember?' No way do I give him another shot at me."

"You're alive because he disobeyed standing orders." It was like Ed to try to wound instead of kill, because he knew he was good enough to do it. And in return, Gunn tried to kill him. "Prison rape is cruel and unusual punishment, but why blame Ed Daws?"

"When they decided to put me in high security, he came by to gloat. Told me that unless I could make the other convicts think I went berserk when I resisted arrest, I'd better hook up with someone who could protect me. At least I'd have only one prick up my ass."

"He wasn't gloating. Advice was all he could offer, back then. If the wrong people had overheard him, he could have been in deep trouble. He risked that to do the little he could."

"Bullshit. You ain't talkin' to a girl, now. I ain't *never* taking it in the ass again."

"Your manhood isn't between your legs. It's in your heart and head. You can get help --"

"SCREW your 'I'm from the government and I'm here to help you.'"

She shook her head. "People like you. People who've been through what you have, and come out the other side. They know all about it, and they *do* want to help. They're working to change the system --"

"You're gonna take it in the ass tonight, cop-bitch. I'm gonna fuck your black ass, then shove this up your hairy twat and pull the trigger."

This was what the "corrections" system had made of a kid who'd made one mistake and then panicked. And Carol would have to make a corpse of him if she could; she wasn't Ed Daws, to bring off fancy shots in defiance of standing orders and common sense.

Something clanged beyond Gunn. As he jerked at the sound, she dove for her weapon and the concealment of the shadows. He fired and missed, fired again and hit, but not square enough to stop her. She had her weapon, came to a kneeling position and pointed at the center of his mass. Not knowing what had distracted him, or whether it/they would come after her, she fired once rather than double-tap and stared into the shadows beyond him. Silence from the shadows. Silence from the fallen Gunn.

Still kneeling, she dug out her phone, keeping her weapon at ready one-handed. Gunn hadn't moved; playing possum? No noise or movement from the shadows; silent stalkers? She couldn't wait indefinitely. She was bleeding. She risked using her gun hand to dial for backup.

"Sorry, kid: I'm not Ed Daws."

*****

Author's Notes:
Adams Morgan is a DC neighborhood near Embassy Row, best known for its ethnic restaurants. My street atlas puts Belmont Street next to Meridian Hill Park. West of Adams Morgan is Kalorama, and west of that is Georgetown, where Scully lives.

Howard University Hospital is the closest emergency room to Adams Morgan.

Woodley Park is one of the residential neighborhoods along the Connecticut Avenue Corredor, running north-northwest of Adams Morgan.

The homepage of Stop Prisoner Rape is at http://www.igc.apc.org/spr/

FBI Headquarters is located in the Hoover Building, just north of the Federal Triangle. The Washington Metropolitan Field Office is entirely distinct from HQ. It's located in the new Memorial Building, five blocks east and a couple or three north of the Hoover Bldg. The Washington Field Office is like any other field office, except it's bigger; like the New York City and Los Angeles Offices, it's run by an Assistant Director in Charge instead of a Special Agent in Charge.

As of Feb 1998, the Washington Field Office had a Criminal Division, run by a SAC, working white collar crime, organised crime, violent crime, and drugs. I'm guessing that there's an Organised Crime Squad, parallel to the Computer Crime squad, and like it run by a Supervisory Special Agent.

If I used the sentencing tables properly, fraud of multiple victims for over $120K, plus obstructing justice, would get not quite 3 years for a first offense back in '86. Aggravated assault would get about 3 years, ditto. But assaulting a federal officer with a deadly weapon could get up to 10 years for that alone.

USP Lewisburg is a United States Penitentiary in Pennsylvania. My road atlas puts Lewisburg just south of Williamsport, where there is a resident agency of the Philadelphia FBI Field Office. Penitentiaries are higher security than Federal Correction Institutions, where white-collar criminals are normally sent.

Title - Affirmation
Spoilers - abduction arc through "Emily"
Keywords - S/other friendship
Summary - an undelivered letter
Disclaimer - Dana Scully is not mine -- but she needs a hug

*****

Author's Note: This is another "artifact," in this case an imaginary letter from the Task Force universe.

*****

I hesitate to do this. Just knowing the information could be dangerous, and you are an investigator. There would be no point in telling you if I did not think you would find a way to check out the databases and read the files. And if our allies can put tags on the files -- that's how I know they're still in the databases -- so can our enemies.

I know, that's treating you like a civilian; someone who was never there, who can't understand, and must be protected. Like my mother. I love her, I depend on her support, but there is so much I can't tell her. Not only what I'm forbidden to tell a civilian, but what is too dangerous to tell a civilian, and what a civilian could never comprehend.

And please forgive me, but you and your colleagues, and most of my colleagues, are civilians in the matter of the Consortium. That is why you see me as in orbit around Mulder. The only people who understand this war are the Task Force and AD Skinner. And the only other person who comprehends the five years Mulder and I fought alone, the five years that made the Dana Scully you know, is Fox William Mulder.

So yes, I guess it is a form of 'love me, love my dog.' Except that if you're reading this, all you can do for us is guard your back, preserve the evidence, and carry on.

I'm putting this off. For two or three years, I couldn't even think about it, much less speak. Or write. I'm still not sure what finally healed me. Partly the passage of time itself. And a great deal, of course, the existence of the Task Force: tooling up to get those bastards has done more than anything else to make me feel in control of my life again.

Enough waffling:

I'm going to tell you very little, actually: the little that you can verify independently.

In the FBI personnel database is a file on Duane Barry, retired when he was shot in the head in line of duty. His injury occasioned a personality change; he became convinced that he had been abducted by aliens, and that he would be again, unless he offered them a substitute. The substitute he chose was me. You can cross-check this in the Highway Patrol database, since in the course of taking me up Skyland Mountain, Virginia, in the trunk of his car, he shot a Highway Patrol officer.

In the Missing Persons database is a file on me. I was missing for three months. I have almost no memory of this time, a few scattered fragments, and nothing you can verify independently. At the end of those three months, I turned up in the Georgetown Medical Center. No record of who brought me in, who received me, who hooked me up to the respirator and monitors. I simply appeared -- in a coma, and with all physical evidence scrubbed from my skin and hair.

In the San Diego PD's homicide files is one on Roberta Sims. She was first recorded as a suicide, but a second examination showed she had been murdered. Her husband was accused and jailed; he was murdered in the jail. This left their three-year-old adopted daughter, Emily. She was a special-needs child, and her genetype showed her to be my genetic daughter.

I never carried Emily. I never knew of her until shortly before her death. A bit of arithmetic shows that she was conceived during the time I was missing, and had I been pregnant on my return, it would soon have been impossible to hide. It is a safe deduction that she was conceived in vitro, and implanted into a host mother for gestation.

So, is there any point to all this? Is it more than just a mutual obsession, a follie a deux? This is why I give you only what you can confirm independently of any source I may have a hand in.

How many other children do I have out there? How many other women have had children bred from them like livestock? And what of the surrogate mothers? How were they procured?

It gives a whole new meaning to the term 'sexual slavery'. But the basis is unchanged: the abduction and abuse of American citizens. And not by aliens.

God keep you,

S.A. Dana Scully, M.D.

(finis)