From: Sean Smith X-From: rkwong@engin.umich.edu (Roberta Chi-Woon Kwong) Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: "Quanta" parts 7 and 8/17 Date: 17 Apr 1995 22:27:27 GMT This is being posted for Sean Smith , who is having some difficulty posting from his account. Please direct all comments to him. Apologies if any line noise remains in these posts. -------------------------------------------------- Samuel Beckett had always wondered how fast he was. In the past few years heUd been chased, and given chase, many times. But those were fleeting, ephemeral things, subject to the speed and luck of another person. Measuring yourself against a cargo train, on the other hand, was quite different. Sam had been running for ten minutes, and from the pain in his side, he knew he couldnUt keep running. HeUd dived through every back alley, circled back over his own path twice, and done everything he could think of to make up for the gross speed advantage the killers possessed. But it wasnUt enough, and heUd run out of room to maneuver. Thus it was that when he saw the cargo train some hundred yards away, he thought up a desperate plan. The train was crossing an open area, at a right angle to his own course. If he could beat both the train and the car to the intersection, theyUd be trapped on opposite sides of the track by the long, monstrous vehicle. It was a ridiculous idea, but it was the best option open. Sam started sprinting. His long legs ate up ground, although the black leather dress shoes he wore sent the force of each footfall coursing painfully up to his knees. He focused his eyes on the crossroads, trying to ignore the clanging, rattling mass of the train. It wasnUt too hard; his chest felt like a great weight was pressing him down, and his peripheral vision was fading out. When the bullets started kicking up dirt around him, Sam lost his rhythm, and faltered. He nearly fell, but kept going, his trenchcoat flying about him like dark wings. Every breath was painful, every exhalation creating puffs of steam in the air behind him. As his sight grew dimmer, Sam pushed himself. He didnUt need to look back to know the car was gaining, and the killersU aim was improving. His left foot came down on the gravel of the track bed. The noise of the onrushing train was deafening, threatening to paralyze him. His right foot came forward, but his toe caught the far track. Sam flew forward, and the blast of wind that marked the trainUs passing tossed him off the track completely, and onto the road on the other side. Sam slid along the ground, nearly unconscious from lack of oxygen. His breath came in great, painful gasps. Through the black blur of the train's spinning wheels, he saw the dark car skid to a halt before turning around. As Sam rolled over to try and force some air into his chest, he saw a pair of dark trousers come into view. They stood in front of the radiator of a large car. Wheezing, Sam watched as a single, heavy raindrop hit the dirt in front of his eyes. Then he passed out. * * * Dana spun her bike down an alley behind an Mexican restaurant and bar. She was breathing hard, and sweating despite the chill winter air. Working quickly, she leapt from the oversized bike, and ran to one of the foul smelling brown dumpsters behind the restaurant. She tossed back the heavy plastic lid, and dragged the bike up to the rusted wall of the dumpster. Grimacing with the effort, she grabbed the frame of her ten-speed, and hefted up to her diminutive shoulder. Working furiously, she managed to get the bike up and into the dumpster before closing the lid on it. Checking the heavy steel door leading into the back of the brick restaurant, Scully found it unlocked. She looked up and down the alley, her blue eyes bright and wide with the adrenaline flooding her. Trying to slow her breathing, she slipped into the restaurant, and found herself in a dark hallway connecting the kitchen and the dining room. Scully straightened her posture, and calmly walked to the restroom. Once inside the pale, tile room, Dana quickly set about hiding herself. She pushed open all the stall doors, looking for people. Then she headed to the mirror. She cleaned her face and clothing as best as she could. She would need the trenchcoat still to hide her wet clothes, despite the fact that it would be an obvious way to track her visually. She knew that the tears in the tights she used instead of hose would draw too much attention. Quickly, she reached up under her skirt, and pulled them away. Putting her shoes back on, she tossed her once white tights in a nearby trash can. Within a few minutes, she figured she would attract no more undue attention. All she neded now was a hat to cover her flaming red hair, and she could disappear into the crowd. She pulled her cellular phone out, and looked at it appraisingly. She had no idea who was chasing her, but scanning cellular calls wasnUt difficult, especially in a small town. She decided it was too risky to call anyone with it. She slid it back into her bag as a young woman entered the rest room, and quitly slipped out the door. Heading for the nearest payphone, she searched her pockets for some change. * * * RFox, can you hear me. Fox! YouUve got to wake up soon. Fox, we donUt have any more time.S Donna stopped speaking, and bowed her head over Fox. One by one her tears dropped to the folds of the blanket wrapped about him. They hadnUt moved Fox because of the shock to his system. Instead Verbena and Donna were taking care of him in the middle of the Control Room. Donna was afraid that in this man were locked the secrets that could save her husband. And she couldnUt help him. Verbena reached out to touch Donna on the shoulder. RItUs not over. Al and Sam can handle this on their own.S SheUd known Sam since her residency, and was worried as well. Nevertheless, she reassured Donna as well as she could. RWell maybe I donUt want him to handle it on his own! IUm tired of it. I want to do more than work every day for years trying futilely to get my husband back!S All the anger sheUd held onto for years leaped out suddenly. RIUm not going to let Sam die because we donUt know what happened years ago.S She looked down at Fox, and shook him, RDammit Fox, wake up.S Verbena pulled her away gently. FoxUs skin was still sickly and waxen, and she didnUt want him hurt now while he was so vulnerable. Verbena pulled Donna close, and whispered in her ear, RItUll be okay. Sam will pull through this." Remarkably, Ziggy kept her comments to herself. It was as the two doctors were standing up that FoxUs eyes flickered open. RWhat...what happened to me?S Fox tried to push himself upright, but fell back against the floor. Then he smiled to himself. RI remember.S His eyes were dull, and he barely looked around, but his faint smile remained. RThank God!S It was all Donna could manage. Her husband had a chance. RDoctor Alisee, I had a very direct role in Agent MulderUs recovery of memory.S Ziggy sounded like an upset child. RYou could at least thank me, too.S Dr. Beeks dropped down next to Mulder, and felt his chest. He was still clammy, and frightfully cold, but his breathing was strong and regular. She felt his chest for a heartbeat, and found it to be too fast, but strong enough. She knew he would recover, and she smiled at him. RDoctor, nice to meet you like this. Did you know you have cold hands?S His humor and rough voice met with a worn, warm smile. RYes, I do. Can you tell us whatUs going on. SamUs in trouble.S RDana?S, he asked. Verbena tried to hold him down with her hand. He managed to push himself up nonetheless. RWhat about her?S Fox looked from person to person, his face ashen. For a brief moment, his heart stopped. RSheUs fine. SamUs covering for her, but some people are after them. Who are they, Fox?S RYou might need to know a few additional facts, Foxy.S Ziggy gloated at knowing more than anyone. RIt is extremely likely that another facility like this one exists in your time in Sacramento. Your memories have been damaged on several occasions by an effect similar to ours. Now killers are hunting Samuel Beckett, but seem to be ignoring your partner.S RThey know about him.S His eyes glittered through the puffy skin around them. RThere is a forty-three percent chance of that, black and blue eyes. But I like the way your head works.S Fox could have sworn the computer was hitting on him. RExcuse me, but what are you talking about?S Gooshie looked back and forth between leapee and computer. RSir, if there exists a second, similar facility in Sacramento of 1995, they might have noticed Doctor BeckettUs arrival.S Ziggy explained. RThey would have to be government to pay for it, and that probably means military.S Fox managed to struggle to his feet, holding on to Dr. Beek's shoulder for support. RAs such, they would find information on the future quite useful...and Dr. Beckett could be invaluable in any attempt to edit the past.S Ziggy and Fox were on a roll, and she loved having somebody play Watson to her Holmes. RAnd theyUd send agents out to get him, ignoring all else.S RHe could not reveal what he knew to anyone in that time, so there was no chance that the information would have spread.S RHowever, Scully would have followed the trail she thought led back to me. SheUd try to expose the operation. Therefore, she would have to be killed.S Gooshie looked back and forth between the two for a moment before he spoke up. RUm, does this mean you know what to do?S Fox slumped against one of the walls. RI'm still working on that. But there is only a thirteen percent chance that our actions will not be countered by our adversaries.S ZiggyUs satisfaction at having figured out what the mystery evaporated. RI will, however, let Admiral Calavicci know what we think. Perhaps he can warn Doctor Beckett in time.S * * * RSam. Can you hear me, Sam. You have to wake up soon. Sam, we donUt have any more time!S Al was leaned over the unconscious form of his friend, unable to do more than encourage him. For his part, Sam simply groaned softly. RThatUs it kid! Come on! YouUve got to listen to me. You collapsed at the feet of the police. Say something if you hear me.S Al leaned close to SamUs face. RPolice. Police?S Sam sat upright, passing through the hologram of his friend. From the other room, the scraping noise of a chair sliding across the floor could be heard. Then the steady, even sounds of footfalls rang from the walls. It could be heard over the pounding of the rain on the roof. RYou just relax Mister Mulder. You want police, you got police.S Sam sat up, and found himself lying on a low cot with old springs that creaked when he moved. He figured that in the afterlife, the springs wouldnUt creak, so he must have survived the train. Looking around, he saw off white walls, and a dingy linoleum floor. The light came from a dusty overhead incandescent bulb. The man who walked through the open doorway was a cop. He wasnUt wearing a uniform, just gray trousers and a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. But Sam knew his profession anyway. RIUm Lieutenant Eivers. You've been out for a while. You want to tell me why you slid to a stop in front of one of my men, sir?S The creases around his eyes smiled, but his voice was stiff. He was vey obviously worried about having an injured Federal Agent in his station. RSeveral men were chasing my partner and I. We were on foot, and the train tracks were all I could think of.S Sam ran a hand along the back of his head as he looked up at the detective. RWhy the hell were they chasing you? That car tore up half my town, and damn near killed a couple of people. Have you ever heard of backup?S Eivers looked like he was building up to a serious temper. Before Sam could formulate a suitable reply, Al cut in. RSam, theyUre after you. The people in the car knew you were a leaper.S RWhat?S Sam looked around, shocked. RI said, have you ever heard of calling for backup?S Eivers thought Sam was speaking to him, and was quickly turning red. RNo. I...uh, didnUt mean it that way, lieutenant.S Sam was trying to talk his way out of it, but he was too busy thinking about what Al had said. RExcuse me, but I have to go now.S Sam stood rapidly. RWhoa, now. You can wait until your station head shows up.S Eivers raised his hand to stop Beckett. RWhat do you mean?S Sam was confused. RYeah, whatdaya mean?S Al kicked in over SamUs shoulder. RWhile you were out, I called the FBI station in San Francisco. TheyUll have somebody out to pick you and Dana Scully up in half an hour.S RGreat, I could use some help.S Sam was relieved. RUh, Sam, I hate to burst your bubble, but how did some pencil pusher in Frisco know the name of the partner you flew into Sacramento with?S Al tended to come up with sound tactical thinking. Sam blinked, and turned to look at Al quizzically. Al simply gestured dramatically at Eivers. Sam obediently turned back to Eivers, confused. RDid the station head tell you the name of my partner?S RYeah, the guy on the phone did. Why? There some kind of problem?S Now EiverUs sounded confused. ROh, there will be. You just dialed one-eight-hundred-Bad Guys!S Al pointedly remarked in Eivers ear. His handlink beeped him. "Sam, get out of the building! The creeps'll be here in seven minutes!" "Lieutenant, thank you very much for your hospitality. When my er, friends arrive, tell them I went back to my hotel. Goodbye." Sam tried to rattle it all out on one breath as he headed out the door, and past Eivers. Once again, Eivers moved to stop Sam, this time by catching his sleeve, "Wait a minute. If there is something going on, tell me." Sam looked over at Al, who nodded at him. "I don't have time to explain everything, but the people on the way aren't FBI agents. They're imposters, after my partner and I. If I don't leave now, things will really be going down hill really fast. Please don't let them know I'm on to them. Just tell them that I told you I'll be at the hotel, and that's all." Eivers met Sam's desperate gave for a second, before gesturing toward the small station's door. Sam started moving at a near run before Eiver's voice stopped him short of the door. "Agent Mulder!" Sam spun to see something sailing at him. He instinctively caught it, and it tinkled musically in his hand. "The third cruiser on the right. And fill the tank before you bring it back." Sam looked down and found he was holding a set of car keys. He looked up to thank Eivers, but the man was already walking away. Sam turned up the collar on his overcoat, and ran out the door into pouring rain. * * * As a state run University, Davis had many facilities. Its sprawling, wooded campus was covered by an eclectic collection of building whose ages varied by nearly a hundred years. Their appearance was similarly diverse, with both architectural marvels and absolute monstrosities. Being a University also meant that it had a large student body. Thousands of people milled about, despite the horrible weather. The gusts of freezing winds, and the showers that had just begun only meant that the students milled about in the hallways ather than on the grass. It was amongst these students that Dana Scully moved. She tried to be inconspicuous as she scanned the crowd for threats. She tried to unobtrusively draw her coat over her dirty clothes. She tried to politely rebuff the fraternity brothers who invited her back to the house. She was slowly moving from building to building, making her way towards the botany department when she stopped. Smiling, she held a hand over her haid to stave off the rain as she ran into the campus bookstore. She remembered the sort of University apparal that all bookstores liked to carry, and headed back to the section hung with clothes. She found a tan flannel jacket that didnUt look to odd once it was buttoned up, and hid her skirt. A matching tan cap with TUCDU eblazoned on it in forest green hid her hair, and shaved a decade off her age. With a few quick motions, Dana snapped the tags from the clothes, and hurried to the cashierUs desk. Scully rustled through her bag, withdrawing her checkbook. She managed to convince the large bearded man behind the counter that he should clear her check for fourty dollars over her purchase price. She had almost passed the lockers before she came to a stop. There, next to the exit, was a wall of free, lockable storage spaces. Dana smiled as she stuffed her still wet overcoat and bag into a space at her feet. She kept the phone, and her identification, but left the rest behind. Now she fit in perfectly as she ran between buildings through the rain with the students. By the time she made it to Davies' office, she was thoroughly soaked, despite her jacket and cap. She ran up to the door, looking for someplace nearby where she could hide and dry off. She pulled off her cap, and shook out her wet hair. As she looked around, water dripping from her rain darkened hair, the light coming from Davies office flickered. She pressed herself up against the wall, ignoring the chill of the wet cloth against her back, and tried the doorknob. It was open. She threw the door open, and ducked into the lab. She ended up face to face with a middle aged man, much taller than she, who froze where he was. She watched him, as water dripped from her coat. He remained stooped over, a fistful of papers halfway to his briefcase. It was Scully who spoke first. "Professor Davies. IUm Special Agent Dana Scully. My partner and I have been trying to contact you." "Ah, well, I hadn't heard about that. Please, come in." He dropped the papers into his briefcase, and shut it. Turning away, he cleared some books off a nearby chair, and then sat down on his desk. This made the large man fairly loom over her. Dana sat down, and scrutinized Davies. He was a tall, gawkish man whose hands and feet seemed too large for him to use well. He wore a thick workshirt over a fire engine red undershirt. His denim jeans looked worn, and his hiking boots were wet. His face and eyes were bland and forgettable, and his blonde hair dulled. All in all, he looked less like a doctor than a gardener. And despite his size, he seemed somehow afraid of her. "Doctor, do you have anything to tell us about the loss of your facilities?" Usually it was Mulder who played hunches, but she was excellent at reading people. Not as though he seemed hard to read. "No, no, not at all. I hope you can tell me soon if it was vandalism or not. I do need to get on with my work, you know?" He He scratched the back of his neck, and it seemed he did not know where to put his outsized hands. "We already have a number of leads on this case, Doctor Holland. I wanted to know if _you_ had anything to add." Her light blue eyes never let go of his brown ones. "I...well, I don't really have much to say. I already talked to the police, you see." He smiled blandly, but there was a slight flush around his collar. Dana smiled, without letting it reach her eyes. "Yes, I've read everything you told the police. I was wondering if you could explain it to me...again?" She blinked slowly. Holland open his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He looked absolutely trapped, and he knew it. But before Scully could pin him down, Sam burst through the door, the broad shoulders of his black greatcoat made darker by the water upon them. "Dana, we have to leave. Now." Sam used every ounce of desperation he had, and threw it into his voice. "Mulder..." Dana turned abruptly in her seat, her voice filled with relief and impatienence. "I've been worried about you. And I found Holland." Sam nodded vaguely at him, never looking up. He didn't even leave the entranceway, his hand holding the door open. "Hello, nice to meet you. Let's go. They can't be far behind me." He touched Dana's shoulder as he spoke. "He doesn't have anything t o do with this." The two seemed oblivious to the presence of another person in the room as the conversed. "How do you-" She was cut off mid sentence. "Don't ask me how I know. I just do. Please, we're running out of time, Dana." "The last time you said please, Mulder, our rooms were trashed." Dana took his elbow firmly and dragged him inside the office. She turned her face away from Dr. Holland, and spoke softly as he bent down to her. "He's hiding something, and so are you. Now I want one of you to talk, Mulder. Something here is very wrong." Sam looked down at Dana, a cold look on her face. She wasn't sure what to do, but she was absolutely sure she was going to get what she wanted. Sam decided to do just that. Sam took a deep breath before turning to Holland with a polite smile. "Dr. Holland, I loved reading your report. you mentioned using phenylated alkaloids as mutagens. I was just wondering, how did they manage to interact with the base pairs properly?" Sam smiled politely as he rattled this off. "Um, that's hard to explain..." Dr. Holland stood up, flushing. "I understand. But seeing as how alkaloids are wildly toxic, as well as teratogenic, how did you get the plants to survive the treatments?" Sam crossed his arms, his eyebrows raised. "Well, I used an advanced series of-" Dr. Holland spoke while looking at the ceiling. He stopped when Sam cut him off. "Amazing. Especially how you managed to get a general poison to act as a specific mutagen. Normally you'd get widespread alterations. How'd you isolate such specific loci?" "I-" Now both Davies and Dana were staring at Sam. "Doctor, just admit you stole the money. It's a lot less embarassing than putting your name on that kind of junk, and actually publishing it." "How did you get a hold of my thesis? I haven't published it yet!" The researcher was shocked, still idly rubbing his palms on his shirt. Sam realized that the paper he remembered reading hadn't been published yet. Small error. "It wasn't that difficult, Mr. Holland. So, what happened to the money the government gave you?" "I was planning on retiring. I've got a great house in Italy, now." Davies wiped his forehead. "Shouldn't have gotten into all this I suppose. Heck, nobody in my family can lie well. I suppose you're going to take me in, huh?" He extended his arms, his large hands dangling forelornly. "No. Now we have to go." Sam opened the office door, and stepped through. He gestured to an astounded Scully. "Come on. You got your wish." He closed the door on Davies, who was still frozen in place with shock. Dana faced him, searching for words. "How...? "Forget it. Its not that important." Dana looked about the hallway at that. "It's time to get out of here." "Ignoring the fact that you had an embezzeler dead to rights back there, how do you expect to get off campus?" "Come on, I've got a police cruiser in the parking lot. We can head to the nearest rental agency in it." The storm had made even the stark white academic halls darker and moodier. The sound of distant footsteps and mutted voices bounced along the halls. Scully, noticed none of this, so intently was she focused on her partner. "A police car? Very subtle." She was caught between a smile and a frown. "No one will notice it, I'm sure." "If you have any better ideas, now's the time." She followed him down the corridor, awhere he bolted through a door and out into the stinging rain. It wasn't very far to Lot 24 where he'd left the car. "Actually, I do." she replied. She smiled as she put her hands in her pockets, and darted through the door, and into the storm. * * * "No, dammit, you can't ask them to do that!" Through the towering windows of the Project windows, the setting moon lit Fox's face with blue highlights, and made his white bodysuit gleam as he moved. His strong features were set in determination, and the muscles under his smooth skin moved as he wo rked his jaw. Above him, Ziggy shimmered, as if in response to the pressure waves of his words. The Control Room itself was darker now, with no one else to hear them argue. Only Al remained, and he was locked in the imaging chamber, trying to reach Sam. "There is absolutely no reason why I shouldn't ask Dr. Beckett and Dana Scully to locate these individuals. If the persons chasing Doctor Beckett are part of a similar Project, they too might be limited in number. And therefore attempting to enter their Project is a sound alternative. Perhaps stopping their work is why Dr. Beckett Leapt into you." Ziggy no longer sounded as content as a distant oracle. In fact, the computer was beginning to sound annoyed. "There's one very good reason you can't ask them to do that." Fox gestured to her as he spoke. "You'd be asking them to kill themselves." He smacked the back of one hand into the palm of his other. "I do not possess feeling of guilt, Agent Mulder. It would appear that this is the only logical alternative." "No, you're forgetting something." Fox walked to the windows, and stared out into the quiet night, one hand upon the glass to steady himself. "That is an impossibility. I am not capable of forgetting." The smug confidence was back in her voice again. "Then you're leaving something out of the equation. You told me that Dr. Beckett started his 'leaps' in March of Ninety-Five. That's _two weeks_ after the point Scully and he are at now." Fox turned to face Ziggy, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Agent Mulder, we are prohibited from tampering with our own past, and-" "Oh, just the rest of us lowly peons can be trapped here by you?" Fox still couldn't remember sections of his life, but he remembered enough for this cavalier attitude to push some buttons. "No, all of 'us peons' are fair game, handsome. But if we tamper with our own past, we risk altering our present, possibly killing our present selves." Fox hung his head. "If you went back in time and killed yourself ten years ago, how could you now go back in time to kill yourself. Paradox." He looked back up at Ziggy. "So how come none of the 'alterations' you've made in the past have indirectly al tered your life? Haven't you heard of the the chaos theory?" "Mulder, I am the only computer _capable_ of understanding chaos theory, and its ramifications. But we don't know why it doesn't effect us here." He smiled in the half darkness. 'Here's a thought for you. What if every change you've made has spread in concentric ripples of change, and you and this project...everybody here has been changed. Maybe you don't even realize the changes yet." "I thought of that. If so, there is little we can do, and no method of calculating results, therefore I don't think about it much. _I'm_ not obsessive." "But it would mean it was okay for you to go around editing your past. Get it?" Mulder shook his finger tiredly at the vast supercomputer. "Nice try, but you can't exactly convince me. This oneUs been well thought out." Ziggy loved finding somebody who liked being up late, and whose conversation occupied at least some of her tremendous computing resources. Humans could be so interesting, sometimes. Mulder sighed, and went back to looking out the window into the darkness of the desert. For his part, he was far less thrilled about the conversation. Once again, the ability to change things, to get it all done _right_ was just outside his grasp. He realized that no one in the Project knew anything about his past save what he told them, or what Scully said to Sam. He was free to do and be who or whatever he wanted. But what he wanted was outside the rules...again. Then a singular thought occurred to him. "Ziggy," he turned around slowly, "There's almost no chance of Sam leaping soon, is there?" "One-point-one percent. And you're planning something." Damn, he thought, she's almost as good as Scully at that. "Yes. Your calculations would be better off if you had all the files to work with, right?" "Yes. And you wish to leave the project in an attempt to retrieve them. Absolutely not. You cannot be exposed to the future environment. The effect could be catastrophic." "I'll forget it all if Sam leaps out and I leap back. No big deal." "You are forgetting the neural trauma you have experienced. Further activity could worsen your stress levels. And the carbamaperazine Doctor Beeks has proscribed for you is slowing you down 9.2 percent." He spoke as he sat down on the floor. "Do you think that being trapped in here, useless, is helping my stress levels any?" "You are needed to provide information as we proceed." "I could get more if I could leave. I have ways-" "Had. In this timeline, you are presently deceased." Fox rubbed his face with his hands. Ziggy spoke up, "Your heart rate increased, and I do not believe it was because you thought about your own mortality." Fox wished he could hold someone just then. "No, it wasn't. But I can convince you to let me go.S * * * Dana Scully watched as the green rolling hills of the valley slid by the police car's windshield. She'd been driving for more than an hour, trying to get them both to San Francisco. She reasoned that a police car would be harder to track out on the open road. One of her brothers had moved out to San Francisco with his wife, and she was heading there for help. The call she made earlier was to them, and right about now he ought to be renting a car for her. She looked over at the unusually pensive look on her partner's face. Sam could see the troubled look on Dana's face, and wanted to avert whatever train of thought she was following. She'd accpted his knowledge so far, but he was pushing Fox's credibility with her. That she'd aquieced to his unusual requests suggested a lot to Sam about their relationship. "So, Scully, I get the feeling you want to ask me about Holland." Sam smiled at her, his cheer a little forced. "You could say that." She drove silently for a moment, drawing one slim finger across her full lips. "How did you know about Dr. Holland's research. It wasn't in any of the files you gave me, Mulder." Her quiet words gave voice to a mute accusation. "Scully...Dana... You know I trust you." Sam knew Mulder did. He had to. Beckett also knew that he himself had grown to trust her implicitly. "No, Mulder, I don't know that. Not now. Not when you're running around giving me half answers to everything." Sam opened his mouth, but a curt wave from Dana silenced him. The anger in her voice disappeared as she continued. "Let me finish. I feel like you're cutting me off. And I don't know why." "Turn off here. I guess we need to talk." Sam knew that this Leap was putting a tremendous stress on their relationship. "Alright, but I hope you like Brownsville." She smiled softly as she nosed the big Chrysler towards the off-ramp for the sleepy town. * * * "Ziggy, you know full well that somebody went through my head and edited out memories, right?" Fox was leaning against the frigid glass of the control room window, using itUs cold surface to stay awake and standing. "That is the best explaination. It also fits that the Accelerator I detected in Sacramento was the machine responsible." "Why?" "Ockham's Razor. There is no need to postulate a more complex situation than nescessary." Ziggy purred. RSo, twenty-six years ago on the east coast, I lost my memory due to a machine in Sacramento, according to you. Do you really think they had that technology then?S His head was resting on the glass, his eyes closed. RUnlikely, Agent Mulder. But, if it functions in a manner similar to our own Accelerator, it could have been used at any future point in time. Their Project may not yet even be operational.S RSo you think theyUre planning on altering the past?S RThat is a reasonable hypothesis. We have encountered individuals trying to perform just that task." Fox smiled weakly, "Let me guess, they couldn't perform, right?" "Ooh, you're good." Now Fox was certain; the computer was making a pass at him. "Well, listen to this theory, Ziggy." He pushed off from the glass. "These...people...have had their technology for a while...maybe forty years." "Well, that makes a whole lot of sense. Are you sure you're lucid, Mulder?" For a moment, Ziggy reminded him of Dana. "Cute. And yes, I am." Fox shambled tiredly over to the control panel, and leaned over it. "Now, I have documents that suggest that devices similar to the ones you described were located in a wreckage decades ago. Only they weren't part of a time machine, they were a propulsion system." He looked up at her, smiling. "Foxy, are you suggesting that I look out for flying saucers? Now, that is what I call a theory from left field. Aside from being ridiculous, there's no evedence to support that kind of wild assertation." "Oh, and an AI running a time machine is a really normal thought? Come on, you have to be open to extreme possibilities." Fox wanted to lie down, badly. "My job is to pick _likely_ possibilities, not the ones most fit for daytime talkshows." "Ziggy, do you honestly think that there is a team full of Government scientists running around who can understand Dr. Beckett's theories? It makes more sense to believe my files. The ones that talk about fusion powered accelerators as propulsion systems. If I'm right, e might be able to shut down the other Project. Then you're home free to do whatever you want." "So, I have to choose between a brain damaged agent's word about men from Mars, or another Government PQL project. Hmmm, tough call. I'll pick the one without the UFOs." She dripped sarcasm. "Okay, then let me get my evidence. That way, you can base your calculations on something." "Sorry mister G-Man, but _you_ don't exist anymore. Your office is mildly gone." "I saved some of my work, some files...elsewhere. And they'll help you know what's going on." He lay his head on Ziggy's multicolored console. "They may even have something about why I'm getting sicker. C'mon, it's two for the price of one." "Excellent. Why didn't you say so, Sweet Cheeks? Just tell us where to find them, and we can retrieve them for you." "No." He raised his head blearily. "I have to get it myself." "I hate to burst your bubble, but there is no 'you' anymore, _Dr. Beckett_. You don't look much like Foxworthy Mulder at this time. Care to reconsider?" The little blue globe swam with diaphanous shapes as she spoke. "Let me do it, or it doesn't happen. Your call." He slid down the pedestal of the console, and rested his head against her smooth plastic side. "What do you want, Ziggy. It's all or nothing, baby. All or nothing." He closed his sad eyes. * * *